greeableness of
the young chatelaine, had led her in to dinner, and devoted himself
to her and the Lady de Tilly with the perfection of gallantry of a
gentleman of the politest court in Europe. On his left sat the radiant,
dark-eyed Hortense de Beauharnais. With a gay assumption of independence
Hortense had taken the arm of La Corne St. Luc, and declared she would
eat no dinner unless he would be her cavalier and sit beside her! The
gallant old soldier surrendered at discretion. He laughingly consented
to be her captive, he said, for he had no power and no desire but to
obey. Hortense was proud of her conquest. She seated herself by his
side with an air of triumph and mock gravity, tapping him with her fan
whenever she detected his eye roving round the table, compassionating,
she affirmed, her rivals, who had failed where she had won in securing
the youngest, the handsomest, and most gallant of all the gentlemen at
Belmont.

"Not so fast, Hortense!" exclaimed the gay Chevalier; "you have captured
me by mistake! The tall Swede--he is your man! The other ladies all know
that, and are anxious to get me out of your toils, so that you may be
free to ensnare the philosopher!"

"But you don't wish to get away from me! I am your garland, Chevalier,
and you shall wear me to-day. As for the tall Swede, he has no idea of a
fair flower of our sex except to wear it in his button-hole,--this
way!" added she, pulling a rose out of a vase and archly adorning the
Chevalier's vest with it.

"All pretence and jealousy, mademoiselle. The tall Swede knows how
to take down your pride and bring you to a proper sense of your false
conceit of the beauty and wit of the ladies of New France."

Hortense gave two or three tosses of defiance to express her emphatic
dissent from his opinions.

"I wish Herr Kalm would lend me his philosophic scales, to weigh your
sex like lambs in market," continued La Corne St. Luc; "but I fear I am
too old, Hortense, to measure women except by the fathom, which is the
measure of a man."

"And the measure of a man is the measure of an angel too scriptum est,
Chevalier!" replied she. Hortense had ten merry meanings in her eye,
and looked as if bidding him select which he chose. "The learned Swede's
philosophy is lost upon me," continued she, "he can neither weigh by
sample nor measure by fathom the girls of New France!" She tapped him
on the arm. "Listen to me, chevalier," said she, "you are neglecting me
alre