The Immortal

ing at the table of his 'respected friend,' as he called the Duchess, some members selected from the various departments of the Institute

n the right of the Duchess sat Léonard Astier, and on her left Monsignor Adriani, the Papal Nuncio. Then came successively Baron Huchenard, representing the Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres; Mourad Bey, the Ambassador of the Porte; Delpech the chemist, Member of the Académie des Sciences; the Belgian Minister; Landry the musician, of the Beaux-Arts; Danjou the dramatist, one of Picherals 'Players'; and

is delicate attention the Duchess Padovani looked as if she were the only woman at dinner. The Duchess is elegantly dressed, tall and fair, with a tiny head and fine eyes of a golden hazel colour-eyes whose shifting haughty glance, from under long dark brows almost meeting, shows their power of expressing kindness, affection, or anger. Her nose is short, her mouth emotional and sensitive, and her complexion has the brilliancy of a young woman's, owing to her custom of sleeping in the afternoon when she is going out in the evening or receiving friends at her own house.

his broad silk sash, the purple Chechia of Mourad Bey, and the red tunic of the Papal Guard with its gold collar, blue embroideries, and gold braid on the breast, decorated also with the huge brilliant cross of the Legion of Honour, which the young Ita

re, and the epicure is not the Duchess, who, like all leaders of French fashion, thinks the dinner good if she has on a becoming dress and the table is carefully and tastefully decorated. No; the epicure is the lady's humble servant, the Prince d'Athis, a man of cultivated palate and fastidious appetite, spoilt by club cooking and not to be satisfied

riendly touching of chairs. A gloomy chilly underground feeling separates the guests, in spite of the soft breath of the June night floating in from the gardens through the half-open shutters and gently swelling the silk blinds. The conversation is distant and constrained, the lips scarcely move and have an unmeaning smile. Not a rem

ch interest about his recent book, and thinking to himself: 'Oh dear, how this learned gentleman does bore me with his primitive dwellings! How much better off I should be at Roxelane, wh

isten to the history of the habitations of Man. He is looking at his nails, which shine like shells, and is thinking: 'At the Embassy this morn

saying, 'How disgusting in these Westerns to bring their women into society, when they are as dilapidated as this! I had rather be impaled right off than ex

scene when the old man comes in, supported on the arm of his great-grandson. Perhaps we may get an order out of His Highness.' Then, as she looks affectionately at the Duchess, s

has raised the man of her choice! And already she is making plans for removing her own establishment to St. Petersburg, to a mansion not too far from the Embassy; while the Prince, with his pale sunk cheeks and rapt look-the look whose penetration Bismarck could never sustain-checks upon his contemp

ge and very ingeniously worked into the complimentary address. This letter was the great thing at the meeting, had been mentioned in the papers two days running, and heard of all over Europe, giving to the name of Astier, to his collection, and to his work, that astounding and disproportionate echo with which the Press now multiplies any passing event. Now Baron Huchenard migh

s, when he was presented, congratulated on his interpretation of the cuneiform character, confounding him with his colleague of the Académie des Inscriptions. It should be said that, with the exception of Danjou, whose comedies are popular abroad, the Grand-Duke has never heard of any of the Academic celebrities introduced to him at this dinner. Lavaux this very morning, in concert with the Aide-de-camp, arranged a set of card

ng upon the Imperial lips. Suddenly the august nose is silent, and Léonard Astier, who has made a show of resistance in order to improve the effect of his opponent's victory, throws up his arms like broken foils and says with an air of surrender, 'Ah, Your Highness has mated me!' The charm is broken, the company feel the ground under them again, everyone rises in a slight flutter of applause, the doors are thrown open, the Duchess takes

grandfather, M. Jean Réhu, the old

great drawing-room, not nearly filled, though the

than Réhu himself. The Grand-Duke, much affected, tries to say something happy, but the author of the Letters to Urania is not upon his cards. He gets out of it by a few vague complimentary phrases, in answer to which old Réhu, supposing that he is being asked as usual about his age, says, 'Ninety-eight years in a fortnight, Sir.' His next attempt does not fit much better with His Highness's gracious congratulations. 'Not since 1803, Sir; the town must be much changed.' During the progress of this singular dialogue, Paul is whispering to his m

pretence of serious conversation, but obviously engaged in attracting His Highness's attention. It was for His Highness that Landry the musician stood pensive by the chimney-piece, gazing upward with his inspire

, where, unable to escape from Jean Réhu, sat the Prince. The hostess had forgotten to present him, and his fine nose

t her reception next Monday. Ah! change the scene as you will, it is always the same performance-pretension, meanness, readiness to bow down, the courtier's a

ner

High

be in time fo

re we stay

s to be a surprise wh

gid as on parade or in the Imperial box at the Théatre Michel. Old Réhu stood before them, he would not sit down; he was still talking, still exhibiting the dusty stores of his memory, the people he had known, the many fashions in which he had dressed. The more distant the time, the clearer his recollection. 'That is a thing I ha

-patica, surtout, simpatica.' Charming and responsive-this was his general idea of the ladies of Paris. He only wished he need not go back. The French wine had loosed his tongue, and he began describing his life in the Guards, the advantages of the profession, the hope which they all had on entering it that they might find a rich wife-that at one of His Holiness's audiences they would dazzle some wealthy English Catholic or a fanatical Spaniard f

his mocking and disagreeable tone, 'if you w

so? W

. The mention of a good match always mad

e. Old Padovani can't

Prince

ever mar

ugh, seeing that the establishment must shortly split, he stood on the side which he thought the safest 'G

t bella!' said the

after a moment's amazement, delighted to find an Academician wi

d enamel, and padding, you'll get it. I believe she's a ma

ders. There's for your truffes farcies; there's for your gelinottes, and your 'chateaux' at fifteen shillings a glass! Danjou and he have got together on purpose to play this popular game of running-down; and a great deal they know and a great deal they tell. Lavaux serves the ball and Danjou returns. And the s

ght, gen

to you, y

was taken first this evening; and the girl, warm from her triumphant performance, had come to give her dance again for the benefit of the Duchess's Imperial guest. A more delightful surprise his respected friend could not have devised. What more exquisite than to have all to yourself, close to yourself, and within an inch of your face, the pretty whirl of muslin and the panting of the fresh young breath, and to hear the sinews of the little creature strain like the sheets of a sail! His Highness was not alone in this opinion. The moment the dance began the men drew together, selfishly making a close ring of black coats and leaving the few ladies present to see what they could from outside. Even the Grand-Duk

e terrace to smoke. The applause and the thin sounds of the piano, audible in the distance, made an accompaniment to his reflections, which took shape little by little, even as his outward eyes, growing accustomed to the dark, made out by degrees in the garden the trunks of the trees and their quivering leaves, and far away at the end the delicate tracery of an old-fashioned trellis against the wall. It was so hard to succeed; one must hold on so long to rea

r him. Why did he not come into the drawing-room with all the rest? She leane

act was-the fact was-that he had had enough of starving. Dun, dun, dun. One

, together with the expressionless voice of Valère, directing

d the mother trembling. She had

's more than you cou

?' she as

ssession. There would be a sale and all sorts of horrors. Sooner than that-and here he ground

ow? Hush!' And she flung herself upon him, and she pressed her hands in agony