looked twice at the blind girl. All his
glances were for Henriette.

Self-conscious, the noble gentleman plumed and preened. Patting down
his somewhat ruffled apparel, adjusting his fashionable wig and
peruke, and touching up his mouth with the lipstick that the dandies
of that age carried, he advanced elegantly upon the young women, cane
in one hand and the other toying delicately with a hand muff.

Henriette curtsied and smiled, and bade Louise do the same. They
knew not the ways of Courts, but native courtesy and naive simplicity
were theirs. Presently the elder girl found herself telling the
distinguished personage all the details of their trip, the appointment
with M. Martin, and the hope of curing Louise by a visit to the
Faculty.

The gallant de Praille, all bows and smirks, was offering them the
hospitality of the chaise. What a grand stranger, truly! A regal
caress of Henriette's fingers in the handclasp. Most patronizing (or
was it odious familiarity?) his dainty touch of her bare arms; the
jeweled hand that toyed with her ringlets; the dexterous move as if to
encircle her waist; the playing--in the airiest, most fluttering
manner imaginable--with the lace that draped her adorable little
bosom!

Quietly Henriette replied to his overtures:

"No, monsieur, I think it is best that we go in our own coach!"

The chastiser of canaille and charmer of ladies did not seem a whit
abashed. Paying them ceremonious farewell, he withdrew and repaired to
his equipage, the road for which was now clear. The girls stood a
minute giggling at his mannerisms, as Henriette described his finery
and imitated his peacock airs.

The girls would not have smiled had they understood. La Fleur, whom
they had scarcely noticed, was the pander of the Marquis's vices. The
two were deep in plot. 'Twas whispered talk, but a chance bystander
might at least have overheard the words:

"... At my fete of Bel-Air--make no mistake, La Fleur--I rely on you.
One hundred louis, the reward...."

Or another scene that marked de Praille's entry into Paris, might have
interested them. Driving recklessly to make up time lost in the
blockade, the nobleman's equipage knocked down and ran over a luckless
denizen of the faubourgs. Carelessly flinging out gold to the
relatives of the dead woman who were sobbing or cursing him, he leaned
forward and inquired most solicitously of the driver:

"_But--are the horses hurt?_"

Indeed the nobles of that ti