So Mam’selle Rosalie wiped away her tears, and Madame Desjardins smoothed her ruffled feathers, and Monsieur Philomene warbled a plaintive little ditty in which “coeur” rhymed to “peur” and “amours” to “toujours” and “le sort” to “la mort” in quite the usual way; so giving great satisfaction to all present, but most, perhaps, to himself.

And now, hospitably anxious that each of her guests should have a chance of achieving distinction, Madame Marotte invited Mdlle.  Honoria to favor the company with a dramatic recitation.

Mdlle.  Honoria hesitated; exchanged glances with the Cyclops; and, in order to enhance the value of her performance, began raising all kinds of difficulties.  There was no stage, for instance; and there were no footlights; but M. Dorinet met these objections by proposing to range all the seats at one end of the room, and to divide the stage off by a row of lighted candles.

“But it is so difficult to render a dramatic scene without an interlocutor!” said the young lady.

“What is it you require, ma chere demoiselle?” asked Madame Marotte.

“I have no interlocutor,” said Mdlle.  Honoria.

“No what, my love?”

“No interlocutor,” repeated Mdlle.  Honoria, at the top of her voice.

“Dear! dear! what a pity!  Can’t we send the boy for it?  Marie, my child, bid Jacques run to Madame de Montparnasse’s appartement in the Rue” ...

But Madame Marotte’s voice was lost in the confusion; for Monsieur Dorinet was already deep in the arrangement of the room, and we were all helping to move the furniture.  As for Mademoiselle’s last difficulty, the little dancing-master met that by offering to read whatever was necessary to carry on the scene.

And now, the stage being cleared, the audience placed, and Monsieur Dorinet provided with a volume of Corneille, Mademoiselle Honoria proceeded to drape herself in an old red shawl belonging to Madame Marotte.

The scene selected is the fifth of the fourth act of Horace, where Camille, meeting her only surviving brother, upbraids him with the death of Curiace.

Mam’selle Honoria, as Camille, with clasped hands and tragic expression, stalks in a slow and stately manner towards the footlights.

(Breathless suspense of the audience.)

M. Dorinet, who should begin by vaunting his victory over the Curiatii, stops to put on his glasses, finds it difficult to read with all the candles on the ground, and mutters something about the smallness of the type.

Mdlle.  Honoria, not to keep the audience waiting, surveys the ex-god Seamander with a countenance expressive of horror; starts; and takes a turn across the stage.

“Ma soeur,” begins M. Dorinet, holding the book very much on one side, so as to catch the light upon the page, “ma soeur, voici le bras"....

“Ah, Heaven! my dear Mademoiselle, take care of the candles!” cries Madame Marotte in a shrill whisper.