s was
neutral ground and nobody there would betray Monsieur Voltaire, as he
well knew.

I entered the large saloon in the wake of Count Saxe, made my devoirs
to Mademoiselle Lecouvreur, and then retired against the wall, as the
unimportant do. I was surveying the crowd of the great, and wondering
what Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's father, the hatter, and my father, the
notary, would say, if they saw the fine company their children kept,
when my eyes fell upon my young friend, Gaston Cheverny, who, I
supposed, lay in his lodging with a hole in his left side! The sight
so staggered me that I felt my head swim. But there he was, as
smiling, as debonair as man could be, wearing a handsome embroidered
satin coat, white silk stockings and red-heeled shoes, his hair
powdered and in a bag. I thought him handsomer than before. And that
there was no mistake about it, I heard him addressed as Monsieur
Cheverny.

I felt myself gaping with astonishment and became altogether lost to
what was going on around me, except to this young man. I contrived to
move nearer to him, and presently we were touching elbows. There was
much laughter and conversation going on, the candles were blazing
brightly, Monsieur Voltaire was telling a story in a loud voice, but
I saw and heard nothing clearly but this young Cheverny.

Considering our adventures together, I felt justified in addressing
him, so I said, as soon as I got close enough:

"Monsieur, I hope you find yourself well?"

"Perfectly," he replied courteously. "And you, Monsieur?"

"The same," I replied. "I am glad to hear of it. I could not have made
so large a hole in you as I thought, the night before last."

He looked at me, puzzled for a moment; then his countenance cleared,
and he said, laughing:

"It is the common mistake. You take me for my brother, Gaston
Cheverny, who now lies at his lodging ill--his complaint probably
small-pox or measles--" he winked as he said this. "I am Monsieur
Regnard Cheverny, at your service--the elder brother, by three years,
of Gaston Cheverny."

I saw, then, on closer examination, that he was indeed the elder, and
his seniority was very plain. But in feature, in complexion, in gait,
in voice, he was more like his brother than would seem possible. He
then went on, affably, to tell of his brother's continued improvement.
We talked a while together. Regnard Cheverny, like his brother, was no
man of milk and water, and once seen, was likely to be rem