Indeed, he
almost came to think that luxury profited nothing; and even now, the
city of Paris, with its passions, storms, and pleasures, was scarcely
more than a memory of childhood.
He admired in all sincerity the red hands, and shy, bashful manner of
some young lady who at first struck him as an awkward simpleton,
unattractive to the last degree, and surprisingly ridiculous. His doom
was sealed. He had gone from the provinces to Paris; he had led the
feverish life of Paris; and now he would have sunk back into the
lifeless life of the provinces, but for a chance remark which reached
his ear--a few words that called up a swift rush of such emotion as he
might have felt when a strain of really good music mingles with the
accompaniment of some tedious opera.
"You went to call on Mme. de Beauseant yesterday, did you not?" The
speaker was an elderly lady, and she addressed the head of the local
royal family.
"I went this morning. She was so poorly and depressed, that I could
not persuade her to dine with us to-morrow."
"With Mme. de Champignelles?" exclaimed the dowager with something
like astonishment in her manner.
"With my wife," calmly assented the noble. "Mme. de Beauseant is
descended from the House of Burgundy, on the spindle side, 'tis true,
but the name atones for everything.
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