“Indeed, I must implore you to return. But she did not in the least want to do that. "By G—! she has missed her footing. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. “We are Mr. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly.
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