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The susceptible Doctor was quite fascinated, translated, as he entered into the spirit of the thing. He thought of scenes in Delibes’ ballets, of Sylvia and Coppelia, also of the wonderful grace of Beaugrand upon Walpurgis night when she first appears enveloped by a cloud descending upon the stage, the cloud disappearing, the dancer wafted forward to whirl amid a maze of fascinating melody.

Adele and Paul also could not resist the temptation to “try it in the hall,” but soon gave that up; Adele expecting to sing herself, therefore careful of her voice, and Paul because the fascination was quite sufficient without the dancing just then. They were again caught sitting on the stairs under the benign countenance of “Fanny,” the old family clock, who ticked on solemnly as if accustomed to witness waltzing and flirtations, in past times as well as to-night,—this when the Doctor put in an appearance to ask Adele to sing.

Adele was an enchanting personification of youthful enjoyment when Paul led her into the room, her dark eyes lustrous and full of fire, yet but little conscious of self when she at once dropped Paul’s arm to rush up to Miss Winchester and thank her for the treat she had given them. “I never heard you play better in my life, my dear! Oh, how I wish I could do it!” and then, feeling her own position, became more subdued in manner as she approached the piano. Henri Semple had kindly offered to accompany her—they had often sung together as she called it, so felt in unity at once. Only a word was necessary to Henri, “Please go straight on, if I should trip I’ll catch up again.” Henri smiled and began the introduction.