(for it is he whom the reader has had before his eyes since the beginning of this chapter) slowly approached the balcony. “Stay,” said Fleur-de-Lys, laying her hand tenderly on Phoebus’s arm; “look at that little girl yonder, dancing in that circle. Is she your Bohemian?”

Phoebus looked, and said, —

“Yes, I recognize her by her goat.”

“Oh!

in fact, what a pretty little goat!” said Amelotte, clasping her hands in admiration.

“Are his horns of real gold?” inquired B�rang�re.

Without moving from her arm-chair, Dame Aloise interposed, “Is she not one of those gypsy girls who arrived last year by the Gibard gate?”