as possible.

"I had lost nearly all my money and a good share of my self-respect by
the course I had taken, and I could think of only one substantial
advantage which I had gained. That was a note of introduction from my
lovely cousin to Madame Waldoborough. That would be of inestimable value
to me in Paris. It would give me access to the best society, and secure
to me, a stranger many privileges which could not otherwise be obtained.
'Perhaps, after all,' thought I, as I read over the flattering contents
of the unsealed note,--'perhaps, after all, I shall find this worth
quite as much as it has cost me.' O, had I foreseen that it was actually
destined to procure me an invitation to ride out with Madam
Waldoborough herself, shouldn't I have been elated?

"I reached Paris, took a cheap lodging, and waited for the arrival of my
uncle's goods destined for the Great Exhibition,--for to look after
them, (I could speak French, you know,) and to assist in having them
properly placed, was the main business that had brought me here. I also
waited anxiously for my uncle and a fresh supply of funds. In the mean
time I delivered my letters of introduction, and made a few
acquaintances. Twice I called at Madam Waldoborough's hotel, but did not
see her; she was out. So at least the servants said, but I suspect they
lied; for, the second time I was told so, I noticed, O, the most
splendid turn-out!--the same you just saw pass--waiting in the
carriage-way before her door, with the driver on the box, and the
footman holding open the silver-handled and escutchioned panel that
served as a door to the barouche, as if expecting some grand personage
to get in.

"'Some distinguished visitor, perhaps,' thought I; 'or, it may be, Madam
Waldoborough herself; instead of being out, she is just going out, and
in five minutes the servant's lie will be a truth.' Sure enough, before
I left the street--for I may as well confess that curiosity caused me to
linger a little--my lady herself appeared in all her glory, and bounced
into the barouche with a vigor that made it rock quite unromantically;
for she is not frail, she is not a butterfly, as you perceived. I
recognized her from a description I had received from my cousin the
bride. She was accompanied by that meagre, smart little sprite of a
French girl, whom Madam always takes with her,--to talk French with, and
to be waited upon by her, she says; but rather, I believe, by way of a
contrast to s