portion. Vavasour liked to know everybody who was known, and to see
everything which ought to be seen. He also was of opinion that everybody
who was known ought to know him; and that the spectacle, however
splendid or exciting, was not quite perfect without his presence.

His life was a gyration of energetic curiosity; an insatiable whirl of
social celebrity. There was not a congregation of sages and philosophers
in any part of Europe which he did not attend as a brother. He was
present at the camp of Kalisch in his yeomanry uniform, and assisted at
the festivals of Barcelona in an Andalusian jacket. He was everywhere,
and at everything; he had gone down in a diving-bell and gone up in a
balloon. As for his acquaintances, he was welcomed in every land; his
universal sympathies seemed omnipotent. Emperor and king, jacobin and
carbonaro, alike cherished him. He was the steward of Polish balls and
the vindicator of Russian humanity; he dined with Louis Philippe, and
gave dinners to Louis Blanc.

This was a dinner of which the guests came to partake. Though they
delighted in each other's society, their meetings were not so rare that
they need sacrifice the elegant pleasures of a refined meal for the
opportunity of conversation. They let that take its chance, and ate
and drank without affectation. Nothing so rare as a female dinner where
people eat, and few things more delightful. On the present occasion some
time elapsed, while the admirable performances of Sidonia's cook were
discussed, with little interruption; a burst now and then from the
ringing voice of Mrs. Coningsby crossing a lance with her habitual
opponent, Mr. Vavasour, who, however, generally withdrew from the
skirmish when a fresh dish was handed to him.

At length, the second course being served, Mrs. Coningsby said, 'I think
you have all eaten enough: I have a piece of information for you. There
is going to be a costume ball at the Palace.'

This announcement produced a number of simultaneous remarks and
exclamations. 'When was it to be? What was it to be? An age, or a
country; or an olio of all ages and all countries?'

'An age is a masquerade,' said Sidonia. 'The more contracted the circle,
the more perfect the illusion.'

'Oh, no!' said Vavasour, shaking his head. 'An age is the thing; it is a
much higher thing. What can be finer than to represent the spirit of an
age?'

'And Mr. Vavasour to perform the principal part,' said Mrs. Coningsby.
'I kno