turned, and saw a woman about eight-and-twenty, dressed in
perfection of taste, with an exquisite figure, and a face of brunette
beauty; the rouge most undiscoverable, and the eyes artistically tinted
to make them look larger, which, Heaven knows, was needless. She darted
a quick look at Vaughan's companion, which Nina gave back with a dash of
hauteur. A shade came over his face as he answered her greeting.

"Will you not introduce me to your friend?" said the new comer. "She is
of your nation, I fancy, and you know I am entetee of everything
English."

Ernest looked rather gloomy at the compliment, but turning to Nina,
begged to introduce her to Madame de Melusine. The gay, handsome
baronne, taking in all the English girl's points as rapidly as a groom
at Tattersall's does a two-year-old's, was chatting volubly to Nina,
when the others came up. Gordon, though wont to boast that he belonged
to the aristocracy of money, was always ready to fall in the dust before
the noblesse of blood, and was gratified at the introduction,
remembering to have read in the _Moniteur_ the name of De Melusine at
the ball at the Tuileries. And the widow was very charming even to the
professedly stoical eyes of a Brutus of sixty-two. She soon floated off,
however, with her party, giving Vaughan a gay "A ce soir!" and
requesting to be allowed the honor of calling on the Gordons.

"Is she a great friend of yours?" asked Nina, when she and he were a
little in advance of the others.

"I have known her some time."

"And you are very intimate, I suppose, as she called you by your
Christian name?"

He smiled a smile that puzzled Nina. "Oh! we soon get familiar here!"

"Where are you going to see her again this evening?" she persevered,
playing with her parasol fringe.

"At her own house--a house that will charm you. By the way, it once
belonged to Bussy Rabutin, and it has all Louis Quatorze furniture."

"Is it a dinner?--a ball?"

"No, an Opera supper--she is famed for her Sillery and her mots. Ten to
one I shall not go; what amuses one once palls with repetition."

"I don't understand that," said Nina, quickly; "what I like, I like pour
toujours."

"Pauvre enfant! you little know life," muttered Ernest. "Ah! Miss
Gordon, you are at the happy age when one can believe in the feelings
and friendships, and all the charming little romances of existence. But
I have passed it, and so that I am amused for a moment, so that
something takes