famous; and the author of _Faublas_ is now courted and sought after on
all sides.'

As the crowd thickened, De Noe could but just tell the names of the
more remarkable characters without time for more. There was Pelleport, a
marquis by birth, but now a spy, and libelist of the lowest class,
side by side with Condorcet, the optimist philosopher, and Brissot, the
wildest enunciator of republicanism. Carsu, with a dozen penal sentences
over his head, was talking familiarly with old Monsieur Roland himself,
a simple-hearted old egotist, vain, harmless, and conceited. Yonder,
entertaining a group of ladies by the last scandals of the day, told as
none but himself could tell them, was Gaudet, a young lawyer from Lyons,
his dress the exaggeration of all that constituted the republican
mode; while looking on, and with air at once rebuking and amused, stood
Dumont, his staid features and simple attire the modest contrast to the
other's finery.

'A young friend of mine, just come from Italy, Madame, said De Noe,
suddenly perceiving Madame Roland's eyes fixed on Fitzgerald.

'And "of us"?' said she significantly.

'Assuredly, Madame, or I had not dared to present him,' said De Noe,
bowing.

'You must not say so, sir. Do you know,' said she, addressing Gerald,
'that it was only last week he brought a bishop here, Monseigneur de
Blois.'

'Ah! but be just, Madame; he had been degraded for immorality,' broke in
De Noe, laughing.

'You should have shared his penalty, Monsieur De Noe,' said she, half
coldly, and moved on.

'Come, Gerald, let me present you to some of my illustrious friends.
Whom will you know? That choleric old lady there, a dismissed court
lady, and the sworn enemy of the queen; or her daughter, the pretty
widow, playing trictrac with Fabre d'Eglantine? Or shall I introduce you
to that dark-eyed beauty, whose foot you are not the first man that ever
admired? She is, or was, La Comtesse de Ratignolles, but calls herself
Julie Servan on her books.

'Why don't you answer me? What are you thinking of? Ah, parbleu! I see
well enough. It is the Gabrielle; and the tall, pale man she leans upon
is Talma. Is not that enough of homage, _mon cher_? See how they rise
to let her pass. We have been courtiers in our day, Gerald, but did you
ever see a more queenly presence than that?'

It was truly, as De Noe described, like the passage of royalty. Marietta
swept by, bowing slightly to either side, and by an easy gestu