door of the outer room, where she set the lamp down. The sound of
a kiss given and received found an echo in Hippolyte's heart. The
young man's impatience to see the man who treated Adelaide with
so much familiarity was not immediately gratified; the newcomers
had a conversation, which he thought very long, in an undertone,
with the young girl.

At last Mademoiselle de Rouville returned, followed by two men,
whose costume, countenance, and appearance are a long story.

The first, a man of about sixty, wore one of the coats invented,
I believe, for Louis XVIII., then on the throne, in which the
most difficult problem of the sartorial art had been solved by a
tailor who ought to be immortal. That artist certainly understood
the art of compromise, which was the moving genius of that period
of shifting politics. Is it not a rare merit to be able to take
the measure of the time? This coat, which the young men of the
present day may conceive to be fabulous, was neither civil nor
military, and might pass for civil or military by turns.
Fleurs-de-lis were embroidered on the lapels of the back skirts.
The gilt buttons also bore fleurs-de-lis; on the shoulders a pair
of straps cried out for useless epaulettes; these military
appendages were there like a petition without a recommendation.
This old gentleman's coat was of dark blue cloth, and the
buttonhole had blossomed into many colored ribbons. He, no doubt,
always carried his hat in his hand--a three cornered cocked hat,
with a gold cord--for the snowy wings of his powdered hair showed
not a trace of its pressure. He might have been taken for not
more than fifty years of age, and seemed to enjoy robust health.
While wearing the frank and loyal expression of the old emigres,