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my friends, would only affront her ears of pensionnaire, could she understand you, which as yet she can not do. She is a child of my own country."

"Is she beautiful?" Paul Martens wanted to know.

"Ah, beautiful ... !" Rosing held up his hands in protest. "Who can ever prophesy what will happen to the chrysalis? She is a mere baby, a gosse, and in no way remarkable. As to the future, I can not say."

With this they had to be content. But the butcher's boy informed Doctor Silvercroys that early, oh, very early in the morning the piano tinkled in Rosing's big salon and then a young lady might be observed dancing like a fairy before the big mirror, a very young lady in skirts so short that is was quite possible even from outside, to observe the entrancing shape of her legs.

Doctor Silvercroys was so ashamed of the source of his information that he dared not confide in his friends, but this diffidence did not prevent him from stalking outside the salon window the very next morning. Alas! surely there were spies in the house of his good friend, Rosing; the piano tinkled, it is true, but the shutters were fast, and all was desolate, for the fairy danced by candlelight.

"These inquisitive fellows!" Rosing muttered to himself. "They shan't surprise my secret—no one shall guess that, no, not even when I myself am sure."

And as yet he was by no means sure.

As for his pupil, Lina, she soon began to think this new life harder even than the circus. True, she had plenty to eat, a room to herself and pretty dresses to wear, but on the other hand there were the interminable lessons of Rosing, who worked her like a slave. Unlike Madame Vanessi, he seldom screamed or lost his temper and he taught with imagination and fire, but his standards were so pure, his expectations so ambitious and his comments

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