an exquisite mazurka, and a polonaise, both of which are always played at the palace balls.
I was so engrossed in the piece that I forgot my companions until my attention was called to them by a low voice in my ear. I turned to see Sacha's dark eyes fixed imploringly upon me.
"What did you say?" I asked.
"That I am the most miserable fellow on the earth," he exclaimed, in a dramatic whisper.
Following the direction of his eyes, I saw Judith sitting behind the curtain of the box, with her head turned away from the stage, presenting her pretty profile to our view. She was looking at a couple of large, brown hands, which were playing with an opera-glass; and the owner of the hands,—George,—with head bent forward until it was on a level with Judith's shoulder, was talking earnestly to her.
That the subject of conversation was something absorbing, I could not doubt. The corners of my cousin's mouth quivered once, and she looked as if she were going to cry. Then came a sudden change of expression; she looked at her companion with one of her sweetest smiles; he smiled back at her, but, observing our scrutiny, frowned slightly, and sat upright in his chair through the remainder of the act.
"You see," whispered Sacha again, "it is evidently all settled."
I smiled inwardly, and wondered what this young man would think if he should visit America, and see a flirtation carried on in a scientific way; but I only said, "I think you are mistaken."
