Saying that, “since you know how to dance the _Pavane_ and the _Basse-dance_, it will be easy for you to dance the _branles_,” he then proceeds to give account of over a score, including two which seem later to have assumed a right to be considered as separate dances, namely, the _Triory de Bretagne_ (or simply, the Triory) and the _Branle de la Haye_, sometimes called merely the Haye, Hay, or Hey, which was an interlacing chain-dance. Among the examples he gives is a _Branle d’Escosse_, of which he says: “_Les branles d’Escosse estoient en vogue y a environ vingt ans_,” and it is much like the customary Scotch reel. The _Branles des Lavandières_, he explains, is so-called because the dancers make a noise by clapping their hands to represent that made by the washerwomen who wash their clothes on the banks of the Seine. Another, the _Branle du Chandelier_, was danced with lighted candles. A description of the _Gavotte_ follows, and it is interesting to note that this dance which is still seen on the stage sometimes to-day, was an established favourite as far back as 1588. Then comes an account of the “Morisque” dance, the origin of which Arbeau places in the Saturnalia of the ancient world, not without reason, one fancies; and then he gives account of the _Canaries_, which, he says, _some_ say takes its name from the Canary Isles, while others derive it “from a ballet composed for a masquerade in which the dancers were dressed as kings and queens of Mauretania, or even as savages therefrom, with headdress of varied plumage.” The last chapter is devoted to the dance of Bouffons, a dance with sword and buckler supposedly derived from ancient Rome and a never-failing source of delight to French playgoers and opera-lovers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Before the “Dialogue” actually closes, young Capriol politely thanks Monsieur Arbeau for the trouble he has taken to teach him dancing, and Arbeau responds by promising a second volume (alas! never written) dealing with the ballets of the masquerades “made” at Lengres. He urges him meanwhile to practise “_les dances honnestement_,” and so become a worthy comrade of the planets “_qui dancent naturellement_”: and he closes his discourse very prettily with the words, “_Je prie Dieu vous en donne la grace_.” We have lingered somewhat over this old manual of dancing, but there are some half-dozen points in the history of ballet that it is of vital importance to emphasise, and Arbeau’s book is one of them.