'You know nothing. That is because you have been in the King's Bench. I will now tell you, what nobody else knows, that Madame Vallance is Jenny Wilmot. I have left the stage, for a time, to avoid a certain person. Here, if I go among the company, I can wear a domino and remain unknown. Do you know nothing about us? We have masquerades, galas, routs--everything. Come with me. I will show you my Ball Room.' She led me up the grand staircase from the Hall into a most noble room. On the walls were hung many mirrors: between the mirrors were painted Cupids and flowers: rout seats were placed all round the room: the hanging candelabra contained hundreds of candles: at one end stood a music gallery. 'Will,' she said, 'go upstairs and play me something.' I obeyed. I found an instrument, which I tuned. Then I stood up in the gallery and played. She stood below listening. 'Well played!' she cried. 'Now play me a dance tune. See if you can make me dance.' I played a tune which I had often played to the jolly sailors. I know not what it is called. It is one of those tunes which run in at the ears and down to the heels which it makes as light as a feather and as quick silver for nimbleness. In a minute she was dancing--with such grace, such spirit, such quickness of motion, as if every limb was without weight. And her fair face smiling and her blue eyes dancing!--never was there such a figure of grace: as for the step, it was as if invented on the spot, but I believe that she had learned it. Afraid of tiring her, I laid down the violin and descended into the hall. She gave me both her hands. 'Will,' she said. 'You will make my fortune if you consent to join my orchestra. There never was such playing. Those sailors! How could they let you go? Now listen. I can pay you thirty shillings. Will you come? The Treasury pays every Saturday morning. You shall have, besides, four weeks in advance. Spend it in generous food after your long Lent. Say--Will you accept?' 'It is too much, Jenny.' I took her hand and kissed it. 'First you take me out of prison: then you give me the means of living. How can I thank you sufficiently? How repay----' 'There is nothing to repay. I will tell you another time why I take an interest in you.' 'When the most beautiful woman in the world----' 'Stop, Will. I warn you. There must be no love-making.' I suppose she saw the irresistible admiration in my eyes. 'Oh! I am not angry. But compliments of that kind generally lead to love-making. They all try it, but it is quite useless--now,' she added with a sigh. 'And you, of all men, must not.' I made no reply, not knowing what to say. 'There is another face in your home, Will, that is far more beautiful than mine. Think of that face. Enough said.' 'I protest----' I began. She laid her hand upon my lips. 'There must be no compliments,' she said. Her voice was severe but her smiling eyes forgave. I left her and hastened home with dancing feet.