At three o'clock in the afternoon, all the fashionable world at Nicemay be seen on the Promenade des Anglais - a charming place, for thewide walk, bordered with palms, flowers, and tropical shrubs, isbounded on one side by the sea, on the other by the grand drive,lined with hotels and villas, while beyond lie orange orchards andthe hills. Many nations are represented, many languages spoken, manycostumes worn, and on a sunny day the spectacle is as gay andbrilliant as a carnival. Haughty English, lively French, soberGermans, handsome Spaniards, ugly Russians, meek Jews, free-and-easyAmericans, all drive, sit, or saunter here, chatting over the news,and criticizing the latest celebrity who has arrived - Ristori orDickens, Victor Emmanuel or the Queen of the Sandwich Islands. Theequipages are as varied as the company and attract as muchattention, especially the low basket barouches in which ladies drivethemselves, with a pair of dashing ponies, gay nets to keep theirvoluminous flounces from overflowing the diminutive vehicles, andlittle grooms on the perch behind.

Along this walk, on Christmas Day, a tall young man walkedslowly, with his hands behind him, and a somewhat absent expressionof countenance. He looked like an Italian, was dressed like anEnglishman, and had the independent air of an American - a combinationwhich caused sundry pairs of feminine eyes to look approvinglyafter him, and sundry dandies in black velvet suits, withrose-colored neckties, buff gloves, and orange flowers in theirbuttonholes, to shrug their shoulders, and then envy him his inches.There were plenty of pretty faces to admire, but the young man tooklittle notice of them, except to glance now and then at some blondegirl in blue. Presently he strolled out of the promenade andstood a moment at the crossing, as if undecided whether to go andlisten to the band in the Jardin Publique, or to wander along thebeach toward Castle Hill. The quick trot of ponies' feet made himlook up, as one of the little carriages, containing a singleyoung lady, came rapidly down the street. The lady was young,blonde, and dressed in blue. He stared a minute, then his wholeface woke up, and, waving his hat like a boy, he hurried forwardto meet her.

"Oh, Laurie, is it really you? I thought you'd never come!"cried Amy, dropping the reins and holding out both hands, to thegreat scandalization of a French mamma, who hastened her daughter'ssteps, lest she should be demoralized by beholding the free mannersof these 'mad English'.

"I was detained by the way, but I promised to spend Christmaswith you, and here I am."

"How is your grandfather? When did you come? Where are youstaying?"

"Very well - last night - at the Chauvain. I called at yourhotel, but you were out."

"I have so much to say, I don't know where to begin! Getin and we can talk at our ease. I was going for a drive andlonging for company. Flo's saving up for tonight."

"What happens then, a ball?"

"A Christmas party at our hotel. There are many Americansthere, and they give it in honor of the day. You'll go with us,of course? Aunt will be charmed."

"Thank you. Where now?" asked Laurie, leaning back andfolding his arms, a proceeding which suited Amy, who preferredto drive, for her parasol whip and blue reins over the whiteponies backs afforded her infinite satisfaction.

"I'm going to the bankers first for letters, and then toCastle Hill. The view is so lovely, and I like to feed the peacocks.Have you ever been there?"

"Often, years ago, but I don't mind having a look at it."

"Now tell me all about yourself. The last I heard of you,your grandfather wrote that he expected you from Berlin."

"Yes, I spent a month there and then joined him in Paris,where he has settled for the winter. He has friends there andfinds plenty to amuse him, so I go and come, and we get on capitally."

"That's a sociable arrangement," said Amy, missing somethingin Laurie's manner, though she couldn't tell what.

"Why, you see, he hates to travel, and I hate to keep still,so we each suit ourselves, and there is no trouble. I am oftenwith him, and he enjoys my adventures, while I like to feel thatsomeone is glad to see me when I get back from my wanderings. Dirtyold hole, isn't it?" he added, with a look of disgust as they drovealong the boulevard to the Place Napoleon in the old city.

"The dirt is picturesque, so I don't mind. The river and thehills are delicious, and these glimpses of the narrow cross streetsare my delight. Now we shall have to wait for that procession topass. It's going to the Church of St. John."

While Laurie listlessly watched the procession of priestsunder their canopies, white-veiled nuns bearing lighted tapers,and some brotherhood in blue chanting as they walked, Amy watchedhim, and felt a new sort of shyness steal over her, for he waschanged, and she could not find the merry-faced boy she left inthe moody-looking man beside her. He was handsomer than ever andgreatly improved, she thought, but now that the flush of pleasureat meeting her was over, he looked tired and spiritless - not sick,nor exactly unhappy, but older and graver than a year or two ofprosperous life should have made him. She couldn't understand itand did not venture to ask questions, so she shook her head andtouched up her ponies, as the procession wound away across thearches of the Paglioni bridge and vanished in the church.

"Que pensez-vous?" she said, airing her French, which hadimproved in quantity, if not in quality, since she came abroad.

"That mademoiselle has made good use of her time, and theresult is charming," replied Laurie, bowing with his hand onhis heart and an admiring look.

She blushed with pleasure, but somehow the compliment didnot satisfy her like the blunt praises he used to give her athome, when he promenaded round her on festival occasions, andtold her she was 'altogether jolly', with a hearty smile and anapproving pat on the head. She didn't like the new tone, forthough not blase, it sounded indifferent in spite of the look.

"If that's the way he's going to grow up, I wish he'd staya boy," she thought, with a curious sense of disappointment anddiscomfort, trying meantime to seem quite easy and gay.

At Avigdor's she found the precious home letters and, givingthe reins to Laurie, read them luxuriously as they wound up theshady road between green hedges, where tea roses bloomed as freshlyas in June.

"Beth is very poorly, Mother says. I often think I ought togo home, but they all say 'stay'. So I do, for I shall never haveanother chance like this," said Amy, looking sober over one page.

"I think you are right, there. You could do nothing at home,and it is a great comfort to them to know that you are well andhappy, and enjoying so much, my dear."

He drew a little nearer, and looked more like his old self ashe said that, and the fear that sometimes weighed on Amy's heartwas lightened, for the look, the act, the brotherly 'my dear',seemed to assure her that if any trouble did come, she would notbe alone in a strange land. Presently she laughed and showed hima small sketch of Jo in her scribbling suit, with the bow rampantlyerect upon her cap, and issuing from her mouth the words, 'Geniusburns!'.

Laurie smiled, took it, put it in his vest pocket 'to keep itfrom blowing away', and listened with interest to the lively letterAmy read him.

"This will be a regularly merry Christmas to me, with presentsin the morning, you and letters in the afternoon, and a party atnight," said Amy, as they alighted among the ruins of the old fort,and a flock of splendid peacocks came trooping about them, tamelywaiting to be fed. While Amy stood laughing on the bank above himas she scattered crumbs to the brilliant birds, Laurie looked at heras she had looked at him, with a natural curiosity to see whatchanges time and absence had wrought. He found nothing to perplexor disappoint, much to admire and approve, for overlooking a fewlittle affectations of speech and manner, she was as sprightly andgraceful as ever, with the addition of that indescribable somethingin dress and bearing which we call elegance. Always mature for herage, she had gained a certain aplomb in both carriage and conversation,which made her seem more of a woman of the world than she was, buther old petulance now and then showed itself, her strong will stillheld its own, and her native frankness was unspoiled by foreignpolish.

Laurie did not read all this while he watched her feed the peacocks,but he saw enough to satisfy and interest him, and carriedaway a pretty little picture of a bright-faced girl standing in thesunshine, which brought out the soft hue of her dress, the freshcolor of her cheeks, the golden gloss of her hair, and made her aprominent figure in the pleasant scene.

As they came up onto the stone plateau that crowns the hill,Amy waved her hand as if welcoming him to her favorite haunt, andsaid, pointing here and there, "Do you remember the Cathedral andthe Corso, the fishermen dragging their nets in the bay, and thelovely road to Villa Franca, Schubert's Tower, just below, and bestof all, that speck far out to sea which they say is Corsica?"

"I remember. It's not much changed," he answered withoutenthusiasm.

"What Jo would give for a sight of that famous speck!" saidAmy, feeling in good spirits and anxious to see him so also.

"Yes," was all he said, but he turned and strained his eyes tosee the island which a greater usurper than even Napoleon now madeinteresting in his sight.

"Take a good look at it for her sake, and then come and tellme what you have been doing with yourself all this while," saidAmy, seating herself, ready for a good talk.

But she did not get it, for though he joined her and answeredall her questions freely, she could only learn that he had rovedabout the Continent and been to Greece. So after idling away anhour, they drove home again, and having paid his respects to Mrs.Carrol, Laurie left them, promising to return in the evening.

It must be recorded of Amy that she deliberately prinked thatnight. Time and absence had done its work on both the young people.She had seen her old friend in a new light, not as 'our boy', but asa handsome and agreeable man, and she was conscious of a very naturaldesire to find favor in his sight. Amy knew her good points, andmade the most of them with the taste and skill which is a fortune toa poor and pretty woman.

Tarlatan and tulle were cheap at Nice, so she enveloped herselfin them on such occasions, and following the sensible English fashionof simple dress for young girls, got up charming little toiletteswith fresh flowers, a few trinkets, and all manner of dainty devices,which were both inexpensive and effective. It must be confessedthat the artist sometimes got possession of the woman, and indulgedin antique coiffures, statuesque attitudes, and classic draperies.But, dear heart, we all have our little weaknesses, and find iteasy to pardon such in the young, who satisfy our eyes with theircomeliness, and keep our hearts merry with their artless vanities.

"I do want him to think I look well, and tell them so at home,"said Amy to herself, as she put on Flo's old white silk ball dress,and covered it with a cloud of fresh illusion, out of which herwhite shoulders and golden head emerged with a most artistic effect.Her hair she had the sense to let alone, after gathering up thethick waves and curls into a Hebe-like knot at the back of her head.

"It's not the fashion, but it's becoming, and I can't afford tomake a fright of myself," she used to say, when advised to frizzle,puff, or braid, as the latest style commanded.

Having no ornaments fine enough for this important occasion,Amy looped her fleecy skirts with rosy clusters of azalea, andframed the white shoulders in delicate green vines. Rememberingthe painted boots, she surveyed her white satin slippers withgirlish satisfaction, and chassed down the room, admiring heraristocratic feet all by herself.

"My new fan just matches my flowers, my gloves fit to a charm,and the real lace on Aunt's mouchoir gives an air to my whole dress.If I only had a classical nose and mouth I should be perfectly happy,"she said, surveying herself with a critical eye and a candle ineach hand.

In spite of this affliction, she looked unusually gay andgraceful as she glided away. She seldom ran - it did not suit herstyle, she thought, for being tall, the stately and Junoesque wasmore appropriate than the sportive or piquante. She walked up anddown the long saloon while waiting for Laurie, and once arrangedherself under the chandelier, which had a good effect upon herhair, then she thought better of it, and went away to the otherend of the room, as if ashamed of the girlish desire to have thefirst view a propitious one. It so happened that she could nothave done a better thing, for Laurie came in so quietly shedid not hear him, and as she stood at the distant window, withher head half turned and one hand gathering up her dress, theslender, white figure against the red curtains was as effectiveas a well-placed statue.

"Good evening, Diana!" said Laurie, with the look of satisfactionshe liked to see in his eyes when they rested on her.

"Good evening, Apollo!" she answered, smiling back at him,for he too looked unusually debonair, and the thought ofentering the ballroom on the arm of such a personable mancaused Amy to pity the four plain Misses Davis from the bottomof her heart.

"Here are your flowers. I arranged them myself, rememberingthat you didn't like what Hannah calls a 'sot-bookay'," saidLaurie, handing her a delicate nosegay, in a holder that shehad long coveted as she daily passed it in Cardiglia's window.

"How kind you are!" she exclaimed gratefully. "If I'dknown you were coming I'd have had something ready for you today,though not as pretty as this, I'm afraid."

"Thank you. It isn't what it should be, but you have improved it,"he added, as she snapped the silver bracelet on her wrist.

"Please don't."

"I thought you liked that sort of thing."

"Not from you, it doesn't sound natural, and I like yourold bluntness better."

"I'm glad of it," he answered, with a look of relief, thenbuttoned her gloves for her, and asked if his tie was straight,just as he used to do when they went to parties together at home.

The company assembled in the long salle a manger, thatevening, was such as one sees nowhere but on the Continent. Thehospitable Americans had invited every acquaintance they hadin Nice, and having no prejudice against titles, secured a fewto add luster to their Christmas ball.

A Russian prince condescended to sit in a corner for anhour and talk with a massive lady, dressed like Hamlet's motherin black velvet with a pearl bridle under her chin. A Polishcount, aged eighteen, devoted himself to the ladies, who pronouncedhim, 'a fascinating dear', and a German Serene Something,having come to supper alone, roamed vaguely about, seeking whathe might devour. Baron Rothschild's private secretary, a large-nosedJew in tight boots, affably beamed upon the world, as ifhis master's name crowned him with a golden halo. A stoutFrenchman, who knew the Emperor, came to indulge his mania fordancing, and Lady de Jones, a British matron, adorned the scenewith her little family of eight. Of course, there were manylight-footed, shrill-voiced American girls, handsome, lifeless-lookingEnglish ditto, and a few plain but piquante French demoiselles,likewise the usual set of traveling young gentlemenwho disported themselves gaily, while mammas of all nationslined the walls and smiled upon them benignly when they dancedwith their daughters.

Any young girl can imagine Amy's state of mind when she'took the stage' that night, leaning on Laurie's arm. Sheknew she looked well, she loved to dance, she felt that herfoot was on her native heath in a ballroom, and enjoyed thedelightful sense of power which comes when young girls firstdiscover the new and lovely kingdom they are born to rule byvirtue of beauty, youth, and womanhood. She did pity theDavis girls, who were awkward, plain, and destitute of escort,except a grim papa and three grimmer maiden aunts, and shebowed to them in her friendliest manner as she passed, whichwas good of her, as it permitted them to see her dress, andburn with curiosity to know who her distinguished-lookingfriend might be. With the first burst of the band, Amy'scolor rose, her eyes began to sparkle, and her feet to tap thefloor impatiently, for she danced well and wanted Laurie toknow it. Therefore the shock she received can better beimagined than described, when he said in a perfectly tranquiltone, "Do you care to dance?"

"One usually does at a ball."

Her amazed look and quick answer caused Laurie to repairhis error as fast as possible.

"I meant the first dance. May I have the honor?"

"I can give you one if I put off the Count. He dancesdevinely, but he will excuse me, as you are an old friend," saidAmy, hoping that the name would have a good effect, and showLaurie that she was not to be trifled with.

"Nice little boy, but rather a short Pole to support . . .

was all the satisfaction she got, however.

The set in which they found themselves was composed ofEnglish, and Amy was compelled to walk decorously through acotillion, feeling all the while as if she could dance thetarantella with relish. Laurie resigned her to the 'nice littleboy', and went to do his duty to Flo, without securing Amy forthe joys to come, which reprehensible want of forethought wasproperly punished, for she immediately engaged herself tillsupper, meaning to relent if he then gave any signs penitence.She showed him her ball book with demure satisfaction when hestrolled instead of rushed up to claim her for the next, aglorious polka redowa. But his polite regrets didn't imposeupon her, and when she galloped away with the Count, she sawLaurie sit down by her aunt with an actual expression of relief.

That was unpardonable, and Amy took no more notice of himfor a long while, except a word now and then when she came toher chaperon between the dances for a necessary pin or amoment's rest. Her anger had a good effect, however, for shehid it under a smiling face, and seemed unusually blithe andbrilliant. Laurie's eyes followed her with pleasure, for sheneither romped nor sauntered, but danced with spirit andgrace, making the delightsome pastime what it should be. Hevery naturally fell to studying her from this new point ofview, and before the evening was half over, had decided that'little Amy was going to make a very charming woman'.

It was a lively scene, for soon the spirit of the socialseason took possession of everyone, and Christmas merriment madeall faces shine, hearts happy, and heels light. The musiciansfiddled, tooted, and banged as if they enjoyed it, everybodydanced who could, and those who couldn't admired theirneighbors with uncommon warmth. The air was dark with Davises,and many Joneses gamboled like a flock of young giraffes. Thegolden secretary darted through the room like a meteor witha dashing frenchwoman who carpeted the floor with her pink satintrain. The serene Teuton found the supper-table and was happy,eating steadily through the bill of fare, and dismayed thegarcons by the ravages he committed. But the Emperor's friendcovered himself with glory, for he danced everything, whetherhe knew it or not, and introduced impromptu pirouettes when thefigures bewildered him. The boyish abandon of that stout manwas charming to behold, for though he 'carried weight', hedanced like an India-rubber ball. He ran, he flew, he pranced,his face glowed, his bald head shown, his coattails waved wildly,his pumps actually twinkled in the air, and when the musicstopped, he wiped the drops from his brow, and beamed upon hisfellow men like a French Pickwick without glasses.

Amy and her Pole distinguished themselves by equal enthusiasmbut more graceful agility, and Laurie found himselfinvoluntarily keeping time to the rhythmic rise and fall of thewhite slippers as they flew by as indefatigably as if winged.When little Vladimir finally relinquished her, with assurancesthat he was 'desolated to leave so early', she was ready torest, and see how her recreant knight had borne his punishment.

It had been successful, for at three-and-twenty, blightedaffections find a balm in friendly society, and young nerveswill thrill, young blood dance, and healthy young spirits rise,when subjected to the enchantment of beauty, light, music, andmotion. Laurie had a waked-up look as he rose to give her hisseat, and when he hurried away to bring her some supper, shesaid to herself, with a satisfied smile, "Ah, I thought thatwould do him good!"

"My rouge won't come off." and Amy rubbed her brilliantcheek, and showed him her white glove with a sober simplicitythat made him laugh outright.

"What do you call this stuff?" he asked, touching a foldof her dress that had blown over his knee.

"Illusion."

"Good name for it. It's very pretty - new thing, isn't it?"

"It's as old as the hills. You have seen it on dozens ofgirls, and you never found out that it was pretty till now - stupide!"

"I never saw it on you before, which accounts for the mistake,you see."

"None of that, it is forbidden. I'd rather take coffeethan compliments just now. No, don't lounge, it makes me nervous."

Laurie sat bold upright, and meekly took her empty platefeeling an odd sort of pleasure in having 'little Amy' orderhim about, for she had lost her shyness now, and felt anirrestible desire to trample on him, as girls have a delightfulway of doing when lords of creation show any signs of subjection.

"Where did you learn all this sort of thing?" he asked witha quizzical look.

"As 'this sort of thing' is rather a vague expression, wouldyou kindly explain?" returned Amy, knowing perfectly well what hemeant, but wickedly leaving him to describe what is indescribable.

"Well - the general air, the style, the self-possession, the - the - illusion - you know", laughed Laurie, breaking down and helpinghimself out of his quandary with the new word.

Amy was gratified, but of course didn't show it, and demurelyanswered, "Foreign life polishes one in spite of one's self. Istudy as well as play, and as for this" - with a little gesturetoward her dress - "why, tulle is cheap, posies to be had fornothing, and I am used to making the most of my poor little things."

Amy rather regretted that last sentence, fearing it wasn't ingood taste, but Laurie liked her better for it, and found himselfboth admiring and respecting the brave patience that made the mostof opportunity, and the cheerful spirit that covered poverty withflowers. Amy did not know why he looked at her so kindly, norwhy he filled up her book with his own name, and devoted himselfto her for the rest of the evening in the most delightful manner;but the impulse that wrought this agreeable change was the resultof one of the new impressions which both of them were unconsciouslygiving and receiving.