olitics and has just assured me that no one has an
idea of the charm of life who has not lived before this year of 1789. I
can easily believe it. But perhaps he told you the same thing--I saw you
two talking together at supper."

"Yes," said Calvert, "we were talking, but not of politics or the charm
of life. He was very interesting and unexpectedly friendly," he added,
with some emotion, for he was still under Monsieur de Talleyrand's
spell.

"I would have thought him the last man to interest you, my young
Bayard," returned Mr. Morris, with some surprise. "He appears to me to
be a sly, cunning, ambitious man. I know not why conclusions so
disadvantageous to him are formed in my mind, but so it is. I cannot
help it."

Mr. Calvert could not repress a smile, for it occurred to him that it
was more than possible that Monsieur de Talleyrand's well-known devotion
to Madame de Flahaut (whom it was evident Mr. Morris admired greatly,
though he so stoutly denied it) might have prejudiced his opinion of the
Bishop. Mr. Morris was quick to note the smile and to divine its cause.

"No, no, my dear Ned," he said, laughing, "'tis not Monsieur de
Talleyrand's connection with Madame de Flahaut which makes me speak of
him after this fashion. Indeed, there is but a Platonic friendship
between the fair lady and myself," and, still laughing, Mr. Morris
turned away from Calvert and stumped his way back to the side of the
lady of his Platonic affections, where he remained until the company
broke up.

As for Mr. Calvert, in spite of Mr. Morris's predilections, he was of
the opinion that of the two--the unchurchly bishop and the pretty
intrigante--Monsieur de Talleyrand was the more admirable character.
Indeed, he had disliked and distrusted Madame de Flahaut from the first
time of meeting her, and, to do the lady justice, she had disliked Mr.
Calvert just as heartily and could never be got to believe that he was
anything but a most unintelligent and uninteresting young man, convinced
that his taciturnity and unruffled serenity before her charms were the
signs of crass stupidity.

If Mr. Calvert found the pretty and vivacious Comtesse de Flahaut little
to his taste, the society of which she was a type offended him still
more. It had taken him but a short time to realize what shams, what
hollowness, what corruption existed beneath the brilliant and gay
surface. Amiability, charm, wit, grace were to be found everywhere in
their perfecti