little Westphalian peasant-girl.

He had quite a venerable air, with his long gray beard and his fine
purple robe with his large pastoral cross. While he was arranging
somewhat his costume, which had been so roughly pulled by those violent
Anabaptists, I asked him if he would be willing to give lessons to two
young girls of good family.

The pious bishop accepted with alacrity. His price was ten francs an
hour.

The little skaters had gone on the stage, and were performing wonderful
feats. The wings had suddenly become calm and silent. We gave ourselves
up, his Reverence and myself, to a little friendly chat.

"Yes, sir," his Highness said to me, "I give dancing lessons. I have
many patrons among the aristocracy and the bankers. I have no reason to
complain; and yet one must admit things were better once, much better.
Dancing is going out, sir, dancing is going out."

"Is it possible?"

"It is as I have the honor of telling you. Women still learn to dance;
but no longer the young men, sir, no longer. Baccarat, races, and the
minor theatres--that's what they enjoy. It's a little the fault of the
Government."

"How can that be?"

"M. Jules Ferry has recently rearranged the curriculum of the