many believed him Russian, and a few,
affecting deeper knowledge, declared he was from Dalmatia. He was a
Count, however, of somewhere, and as certainly was he one who had the
_entree_ to all the best circles of the Continent, member of its most
exclusive clubs, and the intimate of those who prided themselves on
being careful in their friendships. While his manners were sufficiently
good to pass muster anywhere, there was about him a genial kindliness, a
sort of perennial pleasantry, that was welcome everywhere; he brought to
society that inestimable gift of adhesiveness by which cold people and
stiff people are ultimately enabled to approximate and understand each
other. No matter how dull and ungenial the salon, he was scarcely across
the doorway when you saw that an element of social kindliness had just
been added, and in his little caressing ways and coaxing inquiries you
recognized one who would not let condescension crush nor coldness chill
him. If young people were delighted to see one so much their senior
indulging in all the gay and light frivolities of life, older folk were
gratified to find themselves so favorably represented by one able to
dance, sing, and play like the youngest in company. So artfully, too,
did he contribute his talent to society, that no thought of personal
display could ever attach to him. It was all good-nature; he played to
amuse _you_,--he danced to gratify some one else; he was full of little
attentions of a thousand kinds, and you no more thought of repayment
than you'd have dreamed of thanking the blessed sun for his warmth or
his daylight. Such men are the _bonbons_ of humanity, and even they who
do not care for sweet things are pleased to see them.

If his birth and origin were mysterious, far more so were his means of
life. Nobody ever heard of his agent or his banker. He neither owned nor
earned, and yet there he was, as well dressed, as well cared for, and
as pleasant a gentleman as you could see. He played a little, but it was
notorious that he was ever a loser. He was too constantly a winner in
the great game of life to be fortunate as a gambler, and he could well
afford to laugh at this one little mark of spitefulness in Fortune.
Racing and races were a passion with him; but he loved sport for itself,
not as a speculation,--so, at least, he said; and when he threw his arm
over your shoulder, and said anything in that tone of genial simplicity
that was special to him, I 'd li