myself by criticising everything, and horrified my companion by proposing to dance the polonaise.
"Why not?" I cried. "There goes the German ambassadress."
"I really think you had better not," remonstrated Mr. Cheremenieff. "People might think it strange."
"But why are you so afraid of what people will say? In America we do exactly as we like. If the President were dancing a polonaise, I should not hesitate to step in behind him if I wished it," cried I, devoutly hoping that Alice might not hear the tales with which I was entertaining this young man, well knowing she would immediately tell him that I was talking nonsense.
"Indeed!" he responded. "It must be a—a—charming country. I hope to visit it some time. O mademoiselle" (suddenly becoming sentimental) "if you would only try to like Russia! Believe me, the greatest joy—"
Here the polonaise interrupted my companion's speech. After the necessary salutations had been gone through with, a charming young Frenchman who stood near me raised his dark eyes plaintively to mine, and murmured,—
"Mademoiselle, je vous en supplie! J'ai reçu tous vos contre-coups!"
The next moment Mr. Cheremenieff resumed his place by my side.
"Sometime," he said in a low tone, "I shall visit America. I am now studying English, and making great progress. Would you" (putting on a beseeching look) "would you welcome me if I came to your country?"
