“You will surely hang for this!” Shouted Lady Marguerite at the dance master, Monsieur Pierre. On the floor sat Princess Pirouette, red-faced and screaming at the top of her lungs. Her classmates huddled in a corner, frozen with fear. Never had they heard such calamitous outpouring of pain sprinkled with rage.
“It’s not my fault the child has two left,” huffed M. Pierre.
“How do you know she won’t tell her father that you tripped her? Why, he could walk through that very door now!” Lady Marguerite pointed at the entrance to the nursery.
As if the lady had invoked a spell, Prince Devant appeared in the doorway. “What’s all the fuss?” He queried.
Beautiful Photographs 