etly enjoyed all the absurdities of his hostess, and
even stored up some of her charming flights for repetition elsewhere.
He had damaged Haggerstone, whose evil-speaking he dreaded, and, by
impugning his good breeding, had despoiled him of all credit. He had
seen the Polish Count in a society which, even such as it was, was
many degrees above his pretensions; and although they met without
recognition, a masonic glance of intelligence had passed between them;
and, lastly, he had made an ally of the dear Zoe herself, ready to
swear to his good character, and vouch for the spotless honor of all his
dealings on turf or card-table.

"Has he explained the Newmarket affair, madam?" said Haggerstone, as the
door closed on the Viscount's departure.

"Perfectly, Colonel; there is not the shadow of a suspicion against
him."

"And so he was not scr-scr-scratched at the 'Whip'?" cried Purvis,
emerging from his leafy retreat.

"Nothing of the kind, Scroope."

"A scratch, but not a wound, perhaps," said Haggerstone, with a grin of
malice.

"I am ver happy please ver moosh," said the Count, "for de sake of de
order. I am republiquecain, but never forget I 'm de noble blood!"

"Beautiful sentiment!" exclaimed Mrs. Ricketts, enthusiastically.
"Martha, did you hear what the Count said? General, I hope you didn't
lose it?"

"I was alway for de cause of de people," said the Count, throwing back
his hair wildly, and seeming as if ready to do battle at a moment's
warning.

"For an anti-monarchist, he turns up the king wonderfully often at
ecarte" said Haggerstone, in a low muttering, only overheard by Martha.

"I don't think the demo-demo-demo" But before Purvis had finished his
polysyllabic word, the company had time to make their farewell speeches
and depart. Indeed, as the servant came to extinguish the lamps, he
found the patient Purvis very red in the face, and with other signs of
excitement, deeply seated in a chair, and as if struggling against an
access of suffocation.

What the profound sentiment which he desired to enunciate might
therefore be, is lost to history, and this true narrative is unable to
record.

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE VISCOUNT'S VISION.

WHEN Lord Norwood arrived at the Mazzarini Palace, he was surprised not
to find the usual half-dozen carriages of the habitues drawn up in the
courtyard, and still more so to learn that her Ladyship did not receive
that evening. He ascended to George Onslow's apar