mor was afloat
that several officers had received orders to join their regiments; and
now I began to fear lest I should leave the capital without meeting her,
and was thinking of some plan by which I could attain that object, when
a note arrived from Mademoiselle de Lacostellerie, written with more
than her usual cordiality, and inviting me to dinner on the following
day with a very small party, but when I should meet one of my oldest
friends.

I thought of every one in turn who could be meant under the designation,
but without ever satisfying my mind that I had hit upon the right one.
Tascher it could not be, for the very last accounts I had seen from
Germany spoke of him as with his regiment. My curiosity was sufficiently
excited to make me accept the invitation; and, true to time, I found
myself at the Hotel Clichy at the hour appointed.

On entering the _salon_, I discovered that I was alone. None of the
guests had as yet arrived, nor had the ladies of the house made their
appearance; and I lounged about the splendid drawing-room, where every
appliance of luxury was multiplied: pictures, vases, statues, and
bronzes abounded,--for the apartment had all the ample proportions of
a gallery,--battle scenes from the great "vents of the Italian and
Egyptian campaigns; busts of celebrated generals and portraits of
several of the marshals, from the pencils of Gerard and David. But
more than all was I struck by one picture: it was a likeness of Pauline
herself, in the costume of a Spanish peasant. Never had artist caught
more of the character of his subject than in that brilliant sketch,--for
it was no more. The proud tone of the expression; the large, full eye,
beaming a bright defiance; the haughty curl of the lip; the determined
air of the figure, as she stood one foot in advance, and the arms
hanging easily on either side,--all conveyed an impression of high
resolve and proud determination quite her own.

I was leaning over the back of a chair, my eye steadfastly fixed on the
painting, when I heard a slight rustling of a dress near me. I turned
about: it was mademoiselle herself. Although the light of the apartment
was tempered by the closed jalousies, and scarcely more than a mere
twilight admitted, I could perceive that she colored and seemed confused
as she said,--

"I hope you don't think that picture is a likeness?"

"And yet," said I, hesitatingly, "there is much that reminds me of you;
I mean, I can discover-