tocracy, more or less pure, that paraded up and down the Champs
Elysees, in the theatres, at the race-course, and on the most frequented
promenades, its frivolous affairs and rival vanities.

Virtuous themselves, they read with interest the daintiest bits of
scandal and the most equivocal adventures that took place among the
elite. It was their happiness and their glory to learn the smallest
details of the high life of Paris; to follow its feasts, speak in its
slang, copy its toilets, and read its favorite books. So that if not the
rose, they could at least be near the rose and become impregnated with
her colors and her perfumes. Such apparent familiarity heightened them
singularly in their own estimation and in that of their associates.

Now, although Camors did not yet occupy that bright spot in the heaven
of fashion which was surely to be his one day, still he could here pass
for a demigod, and as such inspire Madame Lescande and her mother with
a sentiment of most violent curiosity. His early intimacy with Lescande
had always connected a peculiar interest with his name: and they knew
the names of his horses--most likely knew the names of his mistresses.

So it required all their natural tact to conceal from their guest the
flutter of their nerves caused by his sacred presence; but they did
succeed, and so well that Camors was slightly piqued. If not a coxcomb,
he was at least young: he was accustomed to please: he knew the Princess
de Clam-Goritz had lately applied to him her learned definition of an
agreeable man--"He is charming, for one always feels in danger near
him!"

Consequently, it seemed a little strange to him that the simple mother
of the simple wife of simple Lescande should be able to bear
his radiance with such calmness; and this brought him out of his
premeditated reserve.

He took the trouble to be irresistible--not to Madame Lescande, to whom
he was studiously respectful--but to Madame Mursois. The whole evening
he scattered around the mother the social epigrams intended to dazzle
the daughter; Lescande meanwhile sitting with his mouth open, delighted
with the success of his old schoolfellow.

Next afternoon, Camors, returning from his ride in the Bois, by chance
passed the Avenue Maillot. Madame Lescande was embroidering on the
balcony, by chance, and returned his salute over her tapestry. He
remarked, too, that she saluted very gracefully, by a slight inclination
of the head, followed by a