His nature was large, and the mirth at Malplaquet did no unkindness as it meant none.  He sat there quietly until the music stopped and the lesson came to an end.  The pupils not staying overnight went away, as testified the sound of wheel and stamp of hoof, the laughing voices and lingering good-byes, audible from the front of the house.  This noise died, then, after an interval, lights appeared in upper windows.  Slender arms and hands, put far out, drew to the wooden shutters; clear, girlish voices said good-night, and were answered by fervent and deeper tones below.

The quiet proper to the hour drew on, the lighted windows darkened one by one, and presently there appeared at the office the master of the house, accompanied by two or three young men.  These greeted Cary soberly, but with much kindness.  “We’ve put,” said the host, “all the talkative rattlepates away in the house, and given you three sensible men!  Mr. Bland has the room at the other end, Jack Minor and Nelson the one next to him, and in the little room beside yours, Fair, we’ll stow Mr. Pincornet.  They’ve all danced themselves tired, and the whole place is to have a quiet night.”  The three sensible men went, after a little, to their several quarters, and the kinsman continued:  “The class ends to-night, Fair.  To-morrow morning all go away except the Blands and the Morrises and George Harvie’s little Dorothea.  The house will be quiet, and you are not to ride away from us in the morning!  Good-night—­God bless you!”

Cary, left alone, watched the lights go out in the rooms of Mr. Bland, Mr. Minor, and Mr. Nelson.  He thought, “I will go to bed and go to sleep”; then, so bright was the moonlight, so sweet and fragrant and now silent the night, that he stayed on upon the little porch, his arms against the railing, his eyes now on the moon, now on the quiet great house and the shadowy clumps of trees.  Presently Mr. Pincornet, the moon whitening his old brocade and his curled wig, came from the house, crossed the grass, and mounted to the porch upon which his small room opened.

He started as he saw the figure by the railing.  “Who is it?” he demanded, in his high, cracked voice; then, “Ah, I see, I see!  A thousand pardons, Mr. Cary,—­”

“We are to be neighbours to-night,” said Cary.  “It has been long since we met, Mr. Pincornet.  I am glad to see you again.”

“I have been in Richmond,” said the dancing master, “since—­since September.”

Cary touched a chair near him with a gesture of invitation.  “Won’t you sit down?  It is too beautiful a night to go early to bed, and I do not think we will disturb the others’ slumbers.  But perhaps you are tired—­”

“The practice of my art does not tire me,” answered Mr. Pincornet.  “I will watch the moon with you for as long as you please.  We had nights such as this near Aire, when I was young”

He sat down, leaning his chin upon his beruffled hand.  The light falling full on his companion showed the dark dress and above it the quiet, much altered face.  Mr. Pincornet sighed, and tapped nervously upon the railing with the fingers of his other hand.  “Mr Cary, I have not seen you since—­Pray accept my profound condolences, my sympathy, and my admiration.”