these fifty years past, and, indeed, its use would have been forgotten,
and the name only survived, had not some small quantities been yet
preserved and brought out on rare occasions at the palaces. Instead,
there was chicory prepared from the root of the plant, grown for the
purpose; fresh milk; fine ale and mead; and wine from Gloucester.
Butter, honey, and cake were also on the table.

The guests helped themselves, or waited till the servants came to them
with wooden carved trays. The particular characteristic of tea is the
freedom from restraint; it is not considered necessary to sit as at
dinner or supper, nor to do as others do; each pleases himself, and
there is no ceremony. Yet, although so near Aurora, Felix did not
succeed in speaking to her; Durand still engaged her attention whenever
other ladies were not talking with her. Felix found himself, exactly as
at dinner-time, quite outside the circle. There was a buzz of
conversation around, but not a word of it was addressed to him. Dresses
brushed against him, but the fair owners were not concerned even to
acknowledge his existence.

Pushed by the jostling crowd aside from the centre of the floor, Felix
presently sat down, glad to rest at last, behind the open door.
Forgotten, he forgot; and, looking as it were out of the present in a
bitter reverie, scarcely knew where he was, except at moments when he
heard the well-known and loved voice of Aurora. A servant after a while
came to him with a tray; he took some honey and bread. Almost
immediately afterwards another servant came and presented him with a
plate, on which was a cup of wine, saying, "With my lady's loving
wishes."

As in duty bound, he rose and bowed to the Baroness; she smiled and