"Where did we leave off?" cried one.
"At the quadrille," replied several at once, and began arranging the columns as if they had just come out of the supper-room. My dancer and the major were alone absent!
In vain my eyes were fixed on the door—every instant some one entered, but not the one I sought.
At last the major appeared. He looked round, and when he saw me, immediately approached, and, making a grotesque bow, without waiting for me to speak, "Fair lady!" he said, "your dancer entreats your pardon for this breach of politeness; but he is unable with the best will to enjoy the happiness of dancing the française with you, having been shot through the leg, which is obliged to be amputated above the knee."
Oh, Ilma! I shall never dance a quadrille again.
I am very ill! I am overwhelmed by despair!
THE END.
In the Press, 2s. 6d. cloth, Volume II. of
THE MISCELLANY OF FOREIGN LITERATURE.
A VOLUME OF RECENT TRAVELS IN GREECE.