he was tried by her peers--or "something more." They were,
however, all nice discriminators as to the class of case before them,
and they knew well what danger there was in admitting to their "guild"
any with a little more disgrace than their neighbors. It was curious
enough that she, in whose behalf all this solicitude was excited, should
have been less than indifferent as to the result; and when, on the third
day of the trial, a verdict was delivered in her favor, and a shower
of visiting-cards at the porter's lodge declared that the act of her
recognition had passed, her orders were that the cards should be
sent back to their owners, as the Countess had not the honor of their
acquaintance.

"Les grands coups se font respecter toujours," was the maxim of a
great tactician in war and politics; and the adage is no less true
in questions of social life. We are so apt to compute the strength of
resources by the amount of pretension that we often yield the victory
to the mere declaration of force. We are not, however, about to dwell on
this theme,--our business being less with those who discussed her, than
with the Countess of Glencore herself.

In a large _salon_, hung with costly tapestries, and furnished in the
most expensive style, sat two ladies at opposite sides of the fire. They
were both richly dressed, and one of them (it was Lady Glencore), as she
held a screen before her face, displayed a number of valuable rings
on her fingers, and a massive bracelet of enamel with a large emerald
pendant. The other, not less magnificently attired, wore an imperial
portrait suspended by a chain around her neck, and a small knot of white
and green ribbon on her shoulder, to denote her quality of a lady in
waiting at Court. There was something almost queenly in the haughty
dignity of her manner, and an air of command in the tone with which
she addressed her companion. It was our acquaintance the Princess
Sabloukoff, just escaped from a dinner and reception at the Pitti
Palace, and carrying with her some of the proud traditions of the
society she had quitted.

"What hour did you tell them they might come, Nina?" asked she.

"Not before midnight, my dear Princess; I wanted to have a talk with you
first. It is long since we have met, and I have so much to tell you."

"_Cara mia_," said the other, carelessly, "I know everything already.
There is nothing you have done, nothing that has happened to you, that
I am not aware of. I m