me, and always at the
right moment, an authoritative glance, which compelled her to submit
to his escort. Anybody but La Palferine would have been frozen by his
reception, and disconcerted by the lady's first efforts to rid herself
of her cavalier, by her chilly air, her curt speeches; but no gravity,
with all the will in the world, could hold out long against La
Palferine's jesting replies. The fair stranger went into her milliner's
shop. Charles Edward followed, took a seat, and gave his opinions and
advice like a man that meant to pay. This coolness disturbed the lady.
She went out.

"On the stairs she spoke to her persecutor.

"'Monsieur, I am about to call upon one of my husband's relatives, an
elderly lady, Mme. de Bonfalot--'

"'Ah! Mme. de Bonfalot, charmed, I am sure. I am going there.'

"The pair accordingly went. Charles Edward came in with the lady, every
one believed that she had brought him with her. He took part in the
conversation, was lavish of his polished and brilliant wit. The visit
lengthened out. That was not what he wanted.

"'Madame,' he said, addressing the fair stranger, 'do not forget that
your husband is waiting for us, and only allowed us a quarter of an
hour.'

"Taken aback by such boldness (which, as you know, is never displeasing
to you women), led captive by the conqueror's glance, by the astute yet
candid air which Charles Edward can assume when he chooses, the lady
rose, took the arm of her self-constituted escort, and went downstairs,
but on the threshold she stopped to speak to him.

"'Monsieur, I like a joke----'

"'And so do I.'

"She laughed.

"'But this may turn to earnest,' he added; 'it only rests with you. I am
the Comte de la Palferine, and I am delighted that it is in my power to
lay my heart and my fortune at your feet.'

"La Palferine was at that time twenty-two years old. (This happened
in 1834.) Luckily for him, he was fashionably dressed. I can paint his
portrait for you in a few words. He was the living image of Louis XIII.,
with the same white forehead and gracious outline of the temples, the
same olive skin (that Italian olive tint which turns white where the
light falls on it), the brown hair worn rather long, the black 'royale,'
the grave and melancholy expression, for La Palferine's character and
exterior were amazingly at variance.

"At the sound of the name, and the sight of its owner, something like
a quiver thrilled through Claudine. La Palferi