“But pray don’t make any excuse to me—­what have I to do with it?” Miss Burgoyne said, sweetly.  And then, as she gathered up her long train and swung it over her arm, she added, “Will you kindly open the door for me, Mr. Moore?” And therewith she passed out and along the corridor and up into the wings—­he attending her, for he also was wanted in this scene.

Well, Miss Burgoyne might drive down to Richmond with Lord Denysfort or with any one else; he was not going to forsake Nina.  On the afternoon appointed, just as it was dark, he called at the house in Sloane Street, and found the two young ladies ready, with nothing but their bonnets to put on.  Both of them, he thought, were very prettily dressed; but Nina’s costume had a somewhat severe grace, and, indeed, rather comported with Nina’s demeanor towards this little French chatterbox, whom she seemed to regard with a kind of grave and young-matronly consideration and forbearance.  When they had got into the brougham which was waiting outside for them and had started away for Putney Bridge, it was Mlle. Girond who was merry and excited and talkative; Nina only listened, in good-humored amusement.  Mlle. Girond had never been to Richmond, but she had heard of it; she knew all about the beautiful view and the terrace overlooking the river, and she was promising herself the romance and charm of a stroll in the moonlight.

“I don’t see much sign of that full moon as yet,” Lionel said to her, peering through the window of the brougham, “but I suppose the glare of the gas-lamps would hide it in any case.  However, there’s a good deal of fog always along the Thames at this time of year; don’t be disappointed, Miss Girond, if you have to remain in-doors.  Indeed, it is far too cold to go wandering about among statues in the moonlight.”

“And if in the dark, they will be all the more mysterieuz, do you not think?” said Mlle. Girond, eagerly.  “And there will be surprises—­perhaps a laugh, perhaps a shriek—­if you run against some one.”

“Oh, no, I am not going to allow anything of that kind,” said he.  “I have to look after you young ladies, and you must conduct yourselves with the strictest decorum.”

“Yes, for Nina,” Mlle. Girond cried, gayly.  “That is for Nina—­for me, no!  I will have some amusement, or I will run away.  Who gave you control of me, monsieur?  I thank you, but I do not wish it.”

“Estelle!” said Nina, in tones of grave reproach.

“Ah!” said the wilful young lady, and she put out the tips of her fingers as though she would shake away from her these too-serious companions.  “You have become English, Nina.  Very well.  If I have no more gay companion, I go out and seek a statue—­I beckon to him—­I defy him—­ah! he freezes me—­he nods his head—­it is the Commendatore!” And then she sang, in portentous bass notes—­

   “Don Giovanni, a cenar teco
    M’ invitasti—­e son venuto!”