friends
of the family, constituted all the party I invited, and I requested
them to keep my marriage secret until the very day for celebrating it
arrived. I did this from a desire of avoiding compliments intended as
sarcasms, and visits rather of curiosity than friendship. On flew the
days, and it was now the one preceding my wedding. I was dressing to go
out upon a matter of business connected with the ceremony, and I then,
as I received my hat from Desmarais, for the first time thought it
requisite to acquaint that accomplished gentleman with the rite of
the morrow. Too well bred was Monsieur Desmarais to testify any other
sentiment than pleasure at the news; and he received my orders and
directions for the next day with more than the graceful urbanity which
made one always feel quite honoured by his attentions.

"And how goes on the philosophy?" said I: "faith, since I am about to be
married, I shall be likely to require its consolations."

"Indeed, Monsieur," answered Desmarais, with that expression of
self-conceit which was so curiously interwoven with the obsequiousness
of his address, "indeed, Monsieur, I have been so occupied of late in
preparing a little powder very essential to dress, that I have not had
time for any graver, though not perhaps more important, avocations."

"Powder--and what is it?"

"Will Monsieur condescend to notice its effect?" answered Desmarais,
producing a pair of gloves which were tinted of the most delicate
flesh-colour; the colouring was so nice, that when the gloves were on,
it would have been scarcely possible, at any distance, to distinguish
them from the naked flesh.

"'Tis a rare invention," said I.

"Monsieur is very good, but I flatter myself it is so," rejoined
Desmarais; and he forthwith ran on far more earnestly on the merits
of his powder than I had ever heard him descant on the beauties of
Fatalism. I cut him short in the midst of his harangue: too much
eloquence in any line is displeasing in one's dependant.

I had just concluded my business abroad, and was returning homeward
with downcast eyes and in a very abstracted mood, when I was suddenly
startled by a loud voice that exclaimed in a tone of surprise:
"What!--Count Devereux,--how fortunate!"

I looked up, and saw a little dark man, shabbily dressed; his face did
not seem unfamiliar to me, but I could not at first remember where I had
seen it: my look, I suppose, testified my want of memory, for he said,
wi