. It was not that the young
Frenchman was so much more elaborately and exquisitely dressed than in
the days when Calvert had known him in America, or that he was older or
of more assurance of manner. There was some subtle change in his very
nature, in the whole impression he gave out, or so it seemed to Calvert.
There was an air of flippancy, of careless gayety, about Beaufort now
very unlike the ingenuous candor, the boyish simplicity, of the
Beaufort who had served as a volunteer under Rochambeau in the war of
American independence.

"What will you have?" he asked again, nonchalantly. "Wait until you have
been in Paris awhile and you will better understand our manner of
speech. 'Tis a strange enough jargon, God knows," he said, laughing in a
disquieted fashion. "And France is not America."

"I see."

"And though the cold is doubtless unfortunate for the poor, the rich
have enjoyed the winter greatly. Why, I have not had such sport since
d'Azay and I used to go skating on your Schuylkill!" He flicked the
horses again. "And as for the ladies!--they crowd to the pieces d'eau in
the royal gardens. Those that can't skate are pushed about in chairs
upon runners or drive all day in their sleighs. 'Tis something new, and,
you know, Folly must be ever amused."

Even while he spoke numbers of elegantly mounted sleighs swept by, and
to the fair occupants of many of them Beaufort bowed with easy grace.
Here and there along the wide street great fires were burning, tended by
cures in their long cassocks and crowded around by shivering men and
women. The doors of the churches and hospitals stood open, and a
continual stream of freezing wretches passed in to get warmed before
proceeding on their way. Upon many houses were large signs bearing a
notice to the effect that hot soup would be served free during certain
hours, and a jostling, half-starved throng was standing at each door.
There was a sort of terror of misery and despair over the whole scene,
brilliant though it was, which affected Calvert painfully.

"Where are you going to take me?" he asked Beaufort, as the horses
turned into the Place Louis XV.

"Where should I be taking you but to the incomparable Palais Royal, the
capital of Paris as Paris is of France?" returned Beaufort, gayly. "'Tis
a Parisian's first duty to a stranger. There you will see the world in
little, hear all the latest news and the most scandalous gossip, find
the best wines and coffee, read the l