"
"So we were," said Lysimachus, "until the angel came; and the devil went
for the pie."
"There--there--there! Now, you mark my words; we shall never get that
idea out of their heads--"
"Until," said Mrs. Woffington, lumping a huge cut of pie into Roxalana's
plate, "we put a very different idea into their stomachs." This and the
look she cast on Mrs. Triplet fairly caught that good, though somber
personage. She giggled; put her hand to her face, and said: "I'm sure I
ask your pardon, ma'am."
It was no use; the comedian had determined they should all laugh, and
they were made to laugh. Then she rose, and showed them how to drink
healths _a la Francaise;_ and keen were her little admirers to touch her
glass with theirs. And the pure wine she had brought did Mrs. Triplet
much good, too; though not so much as the music and sunshine of her face
and voice. Then, when their stomachs were full of good food, and the soul
of the grape tingled in their veins, and their souls glowed under her
great magnetic power, she suddenly seized the fiddle, and showed them
another of her enchantments. She put it on her knee, and played a tune
that would have made gout, cholic and phthisic dance upon their last
legs. She played to the eye as well as to the ear, with such a smart
gesture of the bow, and such a radiance of face as she. looked at them,
that whether the music came out of her wooden shell, or her horse-hair
wand, or her bright self, seemed doubtful.
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