h! I am not going home.'

"'Where are you going?'

"'To the ball.'

"'Where?'

"'At Mrs. Scott's. Will you come?'

"'But I have not been invited.'

"'Neither have I'

"'What! not invited?'

"'No. I am going with one of my friends.'

"'And does your friend know them?'

"'Scarcely; but enough to introduce us. Come along; you will see Mrs.
Scott.'

"'Oh! I have seen her on horseback in the Bois.'

"'But she does not wear a low gown on horseback; you have not seen her
shoulders, and they are shoulders which ought to be seen. There is
nothing better in Paris at this moment.'

"And I went to the ball, and I saw Mrs. Scott's red hair, and I saw Mrs.
Scott's white shoulders, and I hope to see them again when there are
balls at Longueval."

"Paul!" said Madame de Lavardens, pointing to the Abbe.

"Oh! Monsieur l'Abbe, I beg a thousand pardons. Have I said anything? It
seems to me--"

The poor old priest had heard nothing; his thoughts were elsewhere.
Already he saw, in the village streets, the Protestant pastor from the
castle stopping before each house, and slipping under the doors little
evangelical pamphlets.

Continuing his account, Paul launched into an enthusiastic description of
the mansion, which was a marvel--

"Of bad taste and ostentation," interrupted Madame de Lavardens.

"Not at all, mother, not at all; nothing startling, nothing loud. It is
admirably furnished, everything done with elegance and originality. An
incomparable conservatory, flooded with electric light; the buffet was
placed in the conservatory under a vine laden with grapes, which one
could gather by handfuls, and in the month of April! The accessories of
the cotillon cost, it appears, more than 400,000 francs. Ornaments,
'bon-bonnieres', delicious trifles, and we were begged to accept them.
For my part I took nothing, but there were many who made no scruple. That
evening Puymartin told me Mrs. Scott's history, but it was not at all
like Monsieur de Larnac's story. Roger said that, when quite little, Mrs.
Scott had been stolen from her family by some acrobats, and that her
father had found her in a travelling circus, riding on barebacked horses
and jumping through paper hoops."

"A circus-rider!" cried Madame de Lavardens, "I should have preferred the
beggar."

"And while Roger was telling me this Family Herald romance, I saw
approaching from the end of a gallery a wonderful cloud of lace and
satin; it surrounded this rid