and
hair, in manner demure, alluring with great power by the instrumentality
of lustrous eyes, though secretly, I felt, like the tigress itself in
cruelty to her victims. She was a magnificent figure, and gave me a
merry dance. After it, she set about explaining the meaning of her
garland decorations and the language of flowers, the Convent school at
Sault-au-Recollet, dinner parties, and the young men of her
acquaintance.

"You seem very fond of society?" I advanced.

"I adore society--it is my dream. I waltz, you see. I know it is wrong,
and the church forbids it; but--I do not dance in Lent. After all,"
shrugging her shoulders, "we can confess, you know, and when we are old
it will suffice to repent and be devout. I shall begin to be excessively
devout," (toying with a jet cross on her necklace)--"the day I find my
first grey hair."

"You have then a number of years to waltz."

Her dark eyes looked over my face as a possible conquest.

"I tremble when I think it is not for ever. But look at my aunt's and
that of Madame de Rheims!"

These ladies were indeed distinguished by their hair; but I suspect that
it was not the mere fact of its greyness to which she wished to draw my
attention--rather it was to the manner in which they wore it, brushed up
high and away from their foreheads, like dowagers of yore. Standing in a
corner together very much each other's counterpart, both a trifle too
dignified, they were obviously proud leaders of society. She watched my
shades of expression, and cried:

"There is my favorite quadrille--La la-la-la-la-la-a-la," softly humming
and nodding her head, an action not common among the English.

"Pardon me, sir, your name is Mr. 'Aviland, I believe," interrupted a
young man with a close-cut, very thick, very black beard, and the waxed
ends of his moustache fiercely turned up.

I bowed.

"Our Sovereign Lady De Rheims requests the pleasure of your
conversation."

On turning to Mlle. Sylphe to make my excuses, she smiled, saying with a
regretful grimace: "Obeissez."

Mde. De Rheims stood with Mde. Fee, the aunt of Mile. Sylphe, near the
musicians, receiving and surveying her subjects,--a woman of majestic
presence. Nodding dismissal to the fierce moustache, she acknowledged my
deep bow with a slight but gracious inclination.

"Madame Fee, permit me to introduce Monsieur Chamilly Haviland, a
D'Argentenaye of Dormilliere,--and the last. My child, your attractions
have been to