time, with her
uncle, an ex-officer of the king's household. To the fair neophyte the
scene was one of rare enchantment; and although her keen instincts
enabled her to conform with aptitude to the usages of the lively world
around her, there was a freshness and a _naivete_ in her manner which
contrasted charmingly with the effete and ceremonious forms of the
experienced. M. de Montalvan met her at a masked ball, and was
captivated with becoming rapidity. Although poor beyond description, his
family was among the best, and he found no difficulty in making M. de
Terville's acquaintance, and in due season that of his niece. For once
he abandoned his acerbity, and returned to the character which had been
natural to him ten years before. None could be more winning than M. de
Montalvan if the impulse prompted him; and his graceful conversation,
overflowing with anecdote and illustration which the homely wits of the
home-keeping youth of Paris could not rival, made a vivid impression
upon Virginie's imagination. They met only twice; for, just as M. de
Montalvan was beginning to take serious thought of where this would lead
him, he received an appointment from M. de Richelieu to the command of a
company in the Minorca expedition, and was obliged to sail for Port
Mahon without even the opportunity of a hasty adieu. Partly by good
luck, partly by hard fighting, and partly owing to the blunders of
Admiral Byng, the island was captured in a few months, and it was not
long after his return from victory--as full of honors and as empty in
purse as ever--that De Montalvan encountered his "little Fronsacquin" on
the threshold of the Cafe de la Regence.

* * * * *

Louis de Berniers was the incarnation of aristocratic _niaiserie_. He
was young, titled, not ill-looking, and had vast wealth at his command.
But for this latter possession he might possibly have distinguished
himself otherwise than by his follies; for he was not without one or two
good qualities,--for example, generosity. But with him generosity took
the form of a reckless prodigality, which caused him to be surrounded by
a swarm of flatterers and parasites, male and female, who so fed and
pampered his raging vanity that he believed himself a Crichton at
eighteen. His ambition soared only to the height of emulating the
boudoir exploits of M. de Richelieu, and he fancied himself a master of
all the social ceremonies of the capital. So far as his