is buried in Auvergne, trying to get himself
elected to his own States-General! Bah! what will it all come to?" She
fastened her keen, bright eyes on Mr. Jefferson's face and spoke with
indomitable energy and haughtiness. "The noblesse is all-powerful. We
have everything--why should we cry for something more? As for the
commons, they don't know what is good for them and they have all they
deserve. At any rate they will not get anything more. These contentions,
these revolts of the lower orders"--she stopped, for at that instant the
young Vicomte de Segur came up and, making a profound bow, offered his
arm to the Duchess.

"Madame," he said, "the Duchesse de Chastellux begs that you will join
her at a table of whist." He paused a moment, and then, with a languid
shrug of his shoulders and a whimsical smile, "Your Grace was speaking
of the discontent of the lower orders? They are very unreasonable--these
lower orders--they spoil one's Paris so!"

Calvert was about to follow the two figures into the crowd, when
suddenly he heard his name called softly, and, turning, found himself
beside St. Aulaire and Madame de St. Andre. She was looking at him, her
eyes and lips smiling mockingly. Calvert met her gaze calmly and fully.
They stood thus, looking at each other, courteously on Calvert's part,
curiously, almost challengingly, on the young girl's. It was Madame de
St. Andre who broke the silence. When she spoke, her voice was
exquisitely sweet and low, and her eyes became kind, and the artificial
smile faded from her lips. Looking at her so, Calvert could scarce
believe that it was the same arrogant beauty who had regarded him so
haughtily but a moment before. 'Twas as if she had let fall from her
face, for a moment, some lovely but hateful mask, which she could resume
instantly at will.

"Mr. Calvert," she said, "I hope my brother has had a chance to talk
with you. He is most anxious to see you." As she spoke, Calvert thought
he had never heard anything so beautiful as the sound of those clear,
French words, each one as sweet and distinct as the carillon of a silver
bell.

"Alas, no, Madame! We have exchanged but a dozen words. 'Tis almost
five years since we last talked together. That was at Monticello, where,
indeed, I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance--in miniature!"
He bowed and smiled as he noted her look of surprise. "And where---"

"And where," interrupted Beaufort, who at that instant joined them and