--the first two were the most brilliant things ever given in
Paris; that the Emperor of Russia always dances there; that the King of
Prussia makes his whist-party; that Blucher takes the head of one of
the supper-tables; and, in a word, Talleyrand himself has employed
more diplomacy to secure an extra ticket than he has often dispensed in
carving out a new monarchy.'

My mother handed me a splendidly embossed card, as she spoke, upon
which, in letters of pale burnished gold, were inscribed the following
words: 'Madame de Roni, nee Cassidy de Kilmainham, prie honneur,' etc.
A burst of laughter at the absurdity of the title stopped my reading
further.

'She's an Italian, possibly,' said my mother.

'I should think not,' I replied; 'the "nee Cassidy de Kilmainham"
smacks of something nearer home. What think you of Ireland?'

'Ireland! Are these people Irish?' said she, starting with horror at the
thought. 'I trust, my dear John, you would not think it proper to jest
on such a subject.'

'My dear mother, I never heard of them before; the only thing that
strikes me is the name. "Cassidy" is assuredly more Milesian than
Roman.'

'But she has birth--that's certain,' replied my mother proudly.

Not caring to argue the point, which after all resolved itself into the
question that the lady was the child of somebody, and that somebody was
called 'Cassidy,' I began to meditate on the singularity of such a phase
in life as the entertainers of sovereigns, kaisers, kings, princes,
archdukes, and ambassadors being a person utterly unknown.

'But here's Grammont,' said my mother, as a gentle tap was heard at the
door and the Count entered--the only change in his appearance since last
I saw him being the addition of another cordon to his blue coat, and a
certain springiness in his walk, which I afterwards remarked as common
among all the returned _emigres_ at the restoration.

'Que diable faut il faire,' said the Count, entering, 'with this Madame
de Roni? She refuses all the world. Ah, Jack, _mon cher_, how do you
do?--safe and sound from all the perils of these terrible French, who
cut you all to pieces in the Peninsula? But only think, _miladi_, no
card for la Duchesse de Tavenne; Madame de Givry left out! _Sapristi!_ I
hope there is nothing against _ce pauvre_ Roi de Prusse.'

'Well, and here is John,' said my mother; 'what are we to do about him?'

My renewed disclaimer of any wish in the matter was cut short by a look