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340
BIERCE'S COLLECTED WORKS
strains of the Blue Danube float out upon the night. Avaunt, miscreants! lest we chase ye with flying feet and do our little dance upon your unwholesome carcasses. Already the toes of our partners begin to twiddle beneath their petticoats. Come, then, Stoopid— can't you move? No! — they change it to a galop— and eke the good old Sturm. Firm and steady, now, fair partner mine, whiles we run that gobemouche down and trample him miserably. There: light and softly again— the servants will remove the remains.
And hark! that witching strain once more:
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