accent, an urbane courtesy, and an ease of manner that could
change in a moment to insolence, a superficialobserver might

have taken them for a couple of bankers. Any such mistake would
have been impossible, however, if the listener could have heard

them converse, and seen them on their guard with men whom they
feared, vapid and commonplace with their equals, slippery with

the inferiors whom courtiers and statesmen know how to tame by a
tactful word, or to humiliate with an unexpected phrase.

Such were the representatives of the great noblesse that
determined to perish rather than submit to any change. It was a

noblesse that deserved praise and blame in equal measure; a
noblesse that will never be judged impartially until some poet

shall arise to tell how joyfully the nobles obeyed the King
though their heads fell under a Richelieu's axe, and how deeply

they scorned the guillotine of '89 as a foul revenge.
Another noticeable trait in all the four was a thin voice that

agreed peculiarly well with their ideas and bearing. Among
themselves, at any rate, they were on terms of perfect equality.

None of them betrayed any sign of annoyance over the Duchess's
escapade, but all of them had learned at Court to hide their

feelings.
And here, lest critics should condemn the puerility of the

opening of the forthcoming scene, it is perhaps as well to remind
the reader that Locke, once happening to be in the company of

several great lords, renowned no less for their wit than for
their breeding and political consistency, wickedly amused himself

by taking down their conversation by some shorthand process of
his own; and afterwards, when he read it over to them to see what

they could make of it, they all burst out laughing. And, in
truth, the tinsel jargon which circulates among the upper ranks

in every country yields mighty little gold to the crucible when
washed in the ashes of literature or philosophy. In every rank

of society (some few Parisian salons excepted) the curious
observer finds folly a constant quantity beneath a more or less

transparent varnish. Conversation with any substance in it is a
rare exception, and boeotianism is current coin in every zone.

In the higher regions they must perforce talk more, but to make
up for it they think the less. Thinking is a tiring exercise,

and the rich like their lives to flow by easily and without
effort. It is by comparing the fundamental matter of jests, as

you rise in the social scale from the street-boy to the peer of
France, that the observer arrives at a true comprehension of M.

de Talleyrand's maxim, "The manner is everything"; an elegant
rendering of the legal axiom, "The form is of more consequence

than the matter." In the eyes of the poet the advantage rests
with the lower classes, for they seldom fail to give a certain

character of rude poetry to their thoughts. Perhaps also this
same observation may explain the sterility of the salons, their

emptiness, their shallowness, and the repugnance felt by men of
ability for bartering their ideas for such pitiful small change.

The Duke suddenly stopped as if some bright idea occurred to him,
and remarked to his neighbour--

"So you have sold Tornthon?"
"No, he is ill. I am very much afraid I shall lose him, and I

should be uncommonly sorry. He is a very good hunter. Do you
know how the Duchesse de Marigny is?"

"No. I did not go this morning. I was just going out to call
when you came in to speak about Antoinette. But yesterday she

was very ill indeed; they had given her up, she took the
sacrament."

"Her death will make a change in your cousin's position."
"Not at all. She gave away her property in her lifetime, only

keeping an annuity. She made over the Guebriant estate to her
niece, Mme de Soulanges, subject to a yearly charge."

"It will be a great loss for society. She was a kind woman.
Her family will miss her; her experience and advice carried

weight. Her son Marigny is an amiable man; he has a sharp wit,
he can talk. He is pleasant, very pleasant. Pleasant? oh, that

no one can deny, but--ill regulated to the last degree. Well,
and yet it is an extraordinary thing, he is very acute. He was

dining at the club the other day with that moneyed
Chaussee-d'Antin set. Your uncle (he always goes there for his

game of cards) found him there to his astonishment, and asked if
he was a member. `Yes,' said he, `I don't go into society now; I

am living among the bankers.'--You know why?" added the Marquis,
with a meaning smile.

"No," said the Duke.
"He is smitten with that little Mme Keller, Gondreville's

daughter; she is only lately married, and has a great vogue, they
say, in that set."

"Well, Antoinette does not find time heavy on her hands, it
seems," remarked the Vidame.

"My affection for that little woman has driven me to find a
singular pastime," replied the Princess, as she returned her

snuff-box to her pocket.
"Dear aunt, I am extremely vexed," said the Duke, stopping

short in his walk. "Nobody but one of Buonaparte's men could
ask such an indecorous thing of a woman of fashion. Between

ourselves, Antoinette might have made a better choice."
"The Montriveaus are a very old family and very well connected,

my dear," replied the Princess; "they are related to all the
noblest houses of Burgundy. If the Dulmen branch of the Arschoot

Rivaudoults should come to an end in Galicia, the Montriveaus
would succeed to the Arschoot title and estates. They inherit

through their great-grandfather.
"Are you sure?"

"I know it better than this Montriveau's father did. I told him
about it, I used to see a good deal of him; and, Chevalier of

several orders though he was, he only laughed; he was an
encyclopaedist. But his brother turned the relationship to good

account during the emigration. I have heard it said that his
northern kinsfolk were most kind in every way----"

"Yes, to be sure. The Comte de Montriveau died at St.
Petersburg," said the Vidame. "I met him there. He was a big

man with an incrediblepassion for oysters."
"However many did he eat?" asked the Duc de Grandlieu.

"Ten dozen every day."
"And did they not disagree with him?"

"Not the least bit in the world."
"Why, that is extraordinary! Had he neither the stone nor gout,

nor any other complaint, in consequence?"
"No; his health was perfectly good, and he died through an

accident."
"By accident! Nature prompted him to eat oysters, so probably

he required them; for up to a certain point our predominant
tastes are conditions of our existence."

"I am of your opinion," said the Princess, with a smile.
"Madame, you always put a maliciousconstruction on things,"

returned the Marquis.
"I only want you to understand that these remarks might leave a

wrong impression on a young woman's mind," said she, and
interrupted herself to exclaim, "But this niece, this niece of

mine!"
"Dear aunt, I still refuse to believe that she can have gone to

M. de Montriveau," said the Duc de Navarreins.
"Bah!" returned the Princess.

"What do you think, Vidame?" asked the Marquis.
"If the Duchess were an artless simpleton, I should think

that----"
"But when a woman is in love she becomes an artless simpleton,"

retorted the Princess. "Really, my poor Vidame, you must be