In society a little mot will go a long way. M. le Baron de Chauxville
was, moreover, a manufacturer of mots. By calling he was attaché to the
French Embassy in London; by profession he was an epigrammatist. That is
to say, he was a sort of social revolver. He went off if one touched him
conversationally, and like others among us, he frequently missed fire.

Of course, he had but little real respect for the truth. If one wishes
to be epigrammatic, one must relinquish the hope of being either
agreeable or veracious. M. de Chauxville did not really intend to convey
the idea that any of the persons assembled in the great guest chambers
of the French Embassy that evening were anything but what they seemed.

He could not surely imagine that Lady Mealhead--the beautiful spouse of
the seventh Earl Mealhead--was anything but what she seemed: namely, a
great lady. Of course, M. de Chauxville knew that Lady Mealhead had once
been the darling of the music-halls, and that a thousand hearts had
vociferously gone out to her from sixpenny and even threepenny galleries
when she answered to the name of Tiny Smalltoes. But then M. de
Chauxville knew as well as you and I--Lady Mealhead no doubt had told
him--that she was the daughter of a clergyman, and had chosen the stage
in preference to the school-room as a means of supporting her aged
mother. Whether M. de Chauxville believed this or not, it is not for us
to enquire. He certainly looked as if he believed it when Lady Mealhead
told him--and his expressive Gallic eyes waxed tender at the mention of
her mother, the relict of the late clergyman, whose name had somehow
been overlooked by Crockford. A Frenchman loves his mother--in the
abstract.

Nor could M. de Chauxville take exception at young Cyril Squyrt, the