reserved. Good heavens! look at myself, for instance. It is to waltzing
that I owe my happiness. Mme. Morin was not then Mme. Morin. I kept my
eye on her, but I hesitated. She appeared thin, and--well, I'll admit
that to marry a thin woman didn't suit my ideas. You know every one has
his ideals. So, sir, I was still hesitating, when one evening, at the
wedding of one of my friends, a very capable young man, a deputy manager
of a department at the Ministry of Religion, they started a little
dance. For the first waltz I asked the one who was to be my companion
through life. Immediately I felt in my hand a delightful figure--one of
those full but supple figures; and while waltzing, quite enchanted, I
was saying to myself, 'She isn't really thin! she isn't really thin!' I
took her back to her place after the waltz, and went at once to her
mother to ask for her hand, which was granted me. For fourteen years I
have been the happiest of men, and perhaps I shouldn't have made that
marriage if I hadn't known how to waltz. You see, sir, the results of a
waltz?"

"Perfectly."

"That is not all, sir. Thanks to dancing, one discovers not only the
agreeable points of a person, the fulness of her figure, the
lithesomeness of her waist, but also, in a briskly led waltz, a little
examination of the health and constitution of a woman can be had. I
remember one evening twelve or so years ago--in the Rue Le Peletier, in
the old Opéra-house, which has burned down--I was on the stage awaiting
my cue for the dance in 'William Tell,' you know, in the third act. Two
subscribers were talking quite close to me, in the wings. One of the
gentlemen was an old pupil of mine. I have had so many pupils! Without
wishing to, I heard scraps of the conversation, and these two sentences
struck my ear: 'Well, have you decided?' 'Oh,' replied my pupil, 'I find