Meanwhile Sigrid was thoroughly enjoying herself. True, Mr. and Mrs. Horner were vulgar, and now and then said things which jarred on her, but with all their failings they had a considerable share of genuine kindliness, and the very best side of them showed that night, as they tried to make all their guests happy. A children’s party generally does call out whatever good there is in people; unkind gossip is seldom heard at such a time, and people are never bored, for they are infected by the genuine enjoyment of the little ones, the dancers who do not, as in later life, wear masks, whose smiles are the smiles of real and intense happiness, whose laughter is so inspiriting. It was, moreover, the first really gay scene which had met Sigrid’s eyes for nearly a year, and she enjoyed to the full the quaint little cavaliers, the tiny court ladies, with their powdered hair and their patches; the Red Riding-hoods and Bo-Peeps; the fairies and the peasants; the Robin Hoods and Maid Marians. The dancing was going on merrily when Mme. Lechertier was announced, and Sigrid looked up with interest to see what the lady who was pronounced to be “quite a character” was like. She was a tall and wonderfully graceful woman, with an expressive but plain face. In repose her expression was decidedly autocratic, but she had a most charming smile, and a perfect manner. The Norwegian girl took a great fancy to her, and the feeling was mutual, for the great Mme. Lechertier, who, it was rumored, was of a keenly critical disposition, instantly noticed her, and turned to the hostess with an eager question. “What a charming face that golden-haired girl has!” she said in her outspoken and yet courteous way. “With all her simplicity there is such a pretty little touch of dignity. See how perfect her bow is! What is her name? And may I not be introduced to her?” “She is a friend of my cousin’s,” explained Mrs. Horner, glad to claim this sort of proprietorship in any one who had called forth compliments from the lips of so critical a judge. “She is Norwegian, and her name is Falck.” Sigrid liked the bright, clever, majestic-looking Frenchwoman better than ever after she had talked with her. There was, indeed, in Mme. Lechertier something very refreshing. Her chief charm was that she was so utterly unlike any one else. There was about her an individuality that was really astonishing, and when you heard her talk you felt the same keen sense of novelty and interest that is awakened by the first sight of a foreign country. She in her turn was enchanted by Sigrid’s perfect naturalness and vivacity, and they had become fast friends, when presently a pause in the music made them both look up. The pianist, a pale, worn-looking lady, whose black silk dress had an ominously shiny back, which told its tale of poverty, all at once broke down, and her white face touched Sigrid’s heart. “I think she is faint,” she exclaimed. “Do you think I might offer to play for her?”