Lady Martindale was solicited at the dinner table to promise some new guests who were there, to exhibit to them the scene with the dog; but on pretence of having hurt her foot she refused. This led to a conversation on dancing, of which art, to my great surprise, De Walden declared himself a great admirer in the early part of his life. "When I was very young," said he in French, "I saw such dancing as I shall never forget. It was that of a young creature on the Paris stage, who was then called Annette Beauvais, and she quite bewitched my young heart, both on and off the stage; for I once saw her in a private party, but then I was quite a boy: she was at that time the mistress of a _fermier général_: since then she has figured, as I have heard, in many different capacities, and I should not be surprised to hear of her as a peeress, or a princess; so great and versatile were her powers." This discussion, so little _à-propos_, for what did any one present care for Annette Beauvais? convinced me De Walden had a meaning beyond what appeared; and casting my eyes on Lord Martindale and his lady, I saw they were both covered with confusion: but the former recovering himself first, said, "Annette Beauvais! My dear Eugénie, is not that the name of the girl who was reckoned so like you?" "_Mais oui--sans doute_--I was much sorry--for I was take for her very oft'--_et cependant elle est plus grande que moi._[3]" [Footnote 3: Yet she is taller than I.] "She may look taller on the stage, my lady," said De Walden, again speaking in French, that she might not lose a word; "but I would wager any money, that off the stage, no one would know Annette from you, or you from her." "_A la bonne heure_," said she in a tone of pique, and avoiding the searching glance of his eye; then, on her making a signal to Mrs. Oswald, she rose, and we left the dining-room. With the impression which I had just received on my mind of Lady Martindale's former profession, or rather character, I could not help replying to the attentions which she now lavished on me with distant politeness; and I saw clearly that she observed my change of manner, and, resenting it in her heart, resolved to take ample vengeance; for, as I stood with my arms folded in a long mantle which I wore, lost in reverie, it happened that I did not answer Lady Martindale when she first spoke, and when I did, it was in a cold and absent manner, and as if I addressed an inferior; on which the artful woman, who sat in a recess by the side of my husband, threw herself back, exclaiming, "_Mais voyez donc comme elle me traite! Ah! comment ai-je mérité cette dureté de sa part?_"[4] She accompanied these words with a few touching tears. [Footnote 4: Only see how she treats me! How have I deserved such hard treatment from her?]