iful
hair. She was, besides, a most splendid dresser. Her toilet was the very
perfection of taste, and if a little inclining to over-magnificence, not
the less becoming to one whose whole air and bearing assumed something
of queenly dignity.

In the world of society there is a very great prestige attends those who
have at some one time played a great part in life. The deposed king, the
ex-minister, the banished general, and even the bygone beauty, receive a
species of respectful homage, which the wider world without-doors is not
always ready to accord them. Good breeding, in fact, concedes what mere
justice might deny; and they who have to fall back upon "souvenirs" for
their greatness, always find their advantage in associating with the
class whose prerogative is good manners.

The Princess Sabloukoff was not, however, one of those who can live upon
the interest of a bygone fame. She saw that, when the time of coquetry
and its fascinations has passed, still, with faculties like hers,
there was yet a great game to be played. Hitherto she had only studied
characters; now she began to reflect upon events. The transition was
an easy one, to which her former knowledge contributed largely its
assistance. There was scarcely a royalty, hardly a leading personage, in
Europe she did not know personally and well. She had lived in intimacy
with ministers, and statesmen, and great politicians. She knew them
in all that "life of the _salon_" where men alternately expand into
frankness, and practise the wily devices of their crafty callings. She
had seen them in all the weaknesses, too, of inferior minds, eager after
small objects, tormented by insignificant cares. They who habitually
dealt with these mighty personages only beheld them in their dignity of
station, or surrounded by the imposing accessories of office. What an
advantage, then, to regard them closer and nearer,--to be aware of their
shortcomings, and acquainted with the secret springs of their ambitions!

The Princess and Sir Horace very soon saw that each needed the other.
When Robert Macaire accidentally met an accomplished gamester who
"turned the king" as often as he did, and could reciprocate every
trick and artifice with him, he threw down the cards, saying,
"Embrassons-nous, nous sommes freres!" Now, the illustration is a very
ignoble one, but it conveys no very inexact idea of the bond which
united these two distinguished individuals.

Sir Horace was one of t