Comte de Gondreville, formerly known as Citizen Malin, whose
elevation had made him famous, having become a Lucullus of the
Conservative Senate, which "conserved" nothing, had postponed an
entertainment in honor of the peace only that he might the better pay
his court to Napoleon by his efforts to eclipse those flatterers who had
been before-hand with him. The ambassadors from all the Powers
friendly with France, with an eye to favors to come, the most important
personages of the Empire, and even a few princes, were at this hour
assembled in the wealthy senator's drawing-rooms. Dancing flagged; every
one was watching for the Emperor, whose presence the Count had promised
his guests. And Napoleon would have kept his word but for the scene
which had broken out that very evening between him and Josephine--the
scene which portended the impending divorce of the august pair. The
report of this incident, at the time kept very secret, but recorded by
history, did not reach the ears of the courtiers, and had no effect on
the gaiety of Comte de Gondreville's party beyond keeping Napoleon away.

The prettiest women in Paris, eager to be at the Count's on the strength
of mere hearsay, at this moment were a besieging force of luxury,
coquettishness, elegance, and beauty. The financial world, proud of its
riches, challenged the splendor of the generals and high officials of
the Empire, so recently gorged with orders, titles, and honors. These
grand balls were always an opportunity seized upon by wealthy families
for introducing their heiresses to Napoleon's Praetorian Guard, in the
foolish hope of exchanging their splendid fortunes for uncertain favors.
The women who believed themselves strong enough in their beauty alone
came to test their power. There, as elsewhere, amusement was but a
blind. Calm and smiling faces and placid brows covered sordid interests,
expressions of friendship were a lie, and more than one man was less
distrustful of his enemies than of his friends.

These remarks are necessary to explain the incidents of the little
imbroglio which is the subject of this study, and the picture, softened
as it is, of the tone then dominant in Paris drawing-rooms.

"Turn your eyes a little towards the pedestal supporting that
candelabrum--do you see a young lady with her hair drawn back _a la
Chinoise_!--There, in the corner to the left; she has bluebells in the
knot of chestnut curls which fall in clusters on her head. Do not