ontrary, I thought him a comelier man than he had ever
been before. And strange, for a man who had spent seven years of
hardship and labor among a half-civilized people, he bore no trace
whatever of awkwardness or boorishness amid his splendid surroundings.
He might just have stepped from the _oeil-de-boeuf_ at the king's
levee at Versailles, he was so graceful and so much at ease, but he
had ever been remarkable for that.

The great apartment was full of people. I recognized Madame Riano, who
called me to her and spoke to me most graciously. Also, Father Benart,
who had on a new cassock for the occasion. He, too, spoke to me most
kindly, but he was rather subdued and silent. I judged that like the
pagan Greeks of old, this Christian man felt a fear for those who
stood upon the shining peaks of perfect joy.

Bellegarde was not there. Francezka, somewhat unreasonably, I think,
haughtily refused to see or to speak with him, and sent him a message
to the effect that his life would be spared, for which he should be
thankful. She was very bitter against him, but the rest of the world,
including Gaston Cheverny, took a more lenient view of poor
Bellegarde's offense, and he was laughed at rather than condemned. Nor
was the Bishop of Louvain present. I fancy he was afraid to face
Madame Riano, after having persistently declared his conviction that
Gaston Cheverny would never be again heard of, and having pooh-poohed
Madame Riano's signs, dreams and presentiments that Gaston would
return.

I have said before, that although declared a prince, a Tatar prince, I
have a most unprince-like habit of retiring to the wall when in fine
company, and this I did in the red saloon. I could not take my eyes
from Francezka. It seemed to me as if no change could come over her
that did not increase her hold upon hearts. Certainly I had never at
any time seen her look so beautiful or so winning as in this, her day
of triumph. She disarmed envy by a silent appeal for forgiveness that
she was so much happier than most of the children of men.

No woman ever lived who knew better how to be splendid than Francezka
Cheverny, and she and all about her were very splendid on this night.
Supper was served in state, the handsomest youths of the best families
in Brabant serving at table, according to the old Brabant custom.
There was no want of attention to any one present--not even to me,
Babache. When the company was being marshaled for supper, Gaston