She is urging him to dance, and he refuses! Never mind, _ma belle_--you shall have your valse, and Corydon may be as cross as he pleases!" "Don't flatter yourself that she will displease Corydon to dance with your lordship!" I said, laughingly.
"Pshaw! she would displease fifty Corydons if I chose to make her do so," said Dalrymple, with a smile of conscious power.
"True; but not on her wedding-day." "Wedding-day or not, I beg to observe that in less than half an hour you will see me whirling along with my arm round little Phillis's dainty waist.

Now come and see how I do it." He made his way through the crowd, and I, half curious, half abashed, went with him.

The party was five in number, consisting of the bride and bridegroom, a rosy, middle-aged peasant woman, evidently the mother of the bride, and an elderly couple who looked like humble townsfolk, and were probably related to one or other of the newly-married pair.
Dalrymple opened the attack by stumbling against the mother, and then overwhelming her with elaborate apologies.
"In these crowded places, Madame," said he, in his fluent French, "one is scarcely responsible for an impoliteness.

I beg ten thousand pardons, however.

I hope I have not hurt you ?" "_Ma foi!_ no, M'sieur.