in, not, however, before he had held a
small but disagreeable levee to one or two rather impatient callers whom
he couldn't satisfy, and a certain Amadeus Levi, who, having helped him
to the payment of those debts of honor incurred in Harry's rooms, held
him by Golden Fetters as hard to unclasp as the chains that bound
Prometheus. He shook himself free of them at last, drove to
Knightsbridge, and had a chat with Godolphin, over coffee and
chibouques, went to his two or three hours' diplomatic work in the Deeds
and Chronicles Office, and when he came out, instead of going to his
club as usual, thought he might as well call on the Cashrangers, and
turned his steps to Lowndes Square. Valerie L'Estrange was sitting at a
Davenport, done out of her Watteau costume into very becoming English
morning dress; he had only time to shake hands with her before Bella and
her mamma set upon him. Miss Cashranger had a great admiration for him,
and, though his want of money was a drawback, the royal gules of his
blazonments, joined to his manifold attractions, fairly dazzled her, and
she held him tight, talking over the palace concerts, till a dowager and
her daughter, and a couple of men from Hounslow, being ushered in, he
was at liberty, and sitting down by Valerie, gave her a book she had
said the night before she wished to read.

"'Goethe's Autobiography!' Oh, thank you--how kind you are!"

"Not at all," laughed Falkenstein. "To merit such things I ought to have
saved your life at least. What are you doing here; writing some more
proverbs, I hope, to give me a part in one?"

She shook her head. "Nothing half so agreeable. I am writing dinner
invitations, and answering Belle's letters."

"Why, can't she answer them herself?"

"My motto here is 'Ich Dien,'" she answered, with a flush on her cheeks.

Bella turned languidly round, and verified her words: "Val, Puppet's
scratching at the door; let him in, will you?"

Waldemar rose and opened the door for a little slate-colored greyhound,
and while Bella lisped out her regrets for his trouble, smiled a smile
that made Miss Cashranger color, and looked searchingly at Valerie to
see how she took it. She turned a grateful, radiant look on him, and
whispered, "Je m'affranchirai un jour."

"Et comment?"

She raised her mobile eyebrows: "Dieu sait! Comme actrice, comme
feuilletonniste--j'ai mes reves, monsieur--mais pas comme institutrice:
cela me tuerait bientot."

"Je le crois," sa