a confusion of blushes, and rendered me for a moment
almost incapable of answering him.

It must be remembered, however, that I had been rallied very much
concerning him of late by Monsieur Gironac, and I could scarcely avoid
perceiving that this exceeding assiduity in doing the honours to Auguste
could not but be attributed to some more potent cause than mere civility
to a fellow-countryman.

My confusion produced, for a second or two, a slight similar
embarrassment in the Count, and the blood mounted highly to his
forehead. Our eyes met, too, at the same instant; and though the
encounter was but momentary, from that time a sort of secret
consciousness was established between us.

This scene passed in less time than it takes to describe it; and,
becoming aware that every one's eyes were upon us, I rallied
instinctively, replied by a few civil words of thanks, and took a place
at the table, which had been left vacant for me, between my brother and
Lionel Dempster. This little interruption at an end, the conversation
returned to the course it had taken before I came in, and there was a
good deal of very agreeable talk; as is sure to be the case whenever
four or five pleasant and clever people are thrown together under
circumstances which create a sudden and unexpected familiarity, each
person desirous of amusing and rendering himself pleasant to his
companions of an hour; but not so anxious to make an impression, as to
become stiff, stilted, or affected.

Lionel, as I have said long ago, was remarkably witty and clever by
nature, and had profited greatly by his opportunities in France; so much
so, that I have rarely seen a young man of his age at all comparable to
him. The Count was likewise a person of superior abilities and
breeding, with a touch of English seriousness and soundness engrafted on
the stock of French vivacity; and my brother Auguste was a young, ardent
soldier, full of gay youth, high hopes, and brilliant aspirations, all
kindled up by the excitement of thus visiting a foreign country, and
finding himself in the company of a long-lost and much-beloved sister.

Caroline Selwyn was quick, bright, and lively; Madame Gironac was a
perfect mine of life and vivacity; and I, desirous of atoning for my
folly of the past evening, did my best to be agreeable.

I suppose I was not wholly unsuccessful, and every time I raised my
eyes, I was sure to find those of Monsieur de Chavannes riveted on my
face wit