"We will not go up the main staircase," said the child, taking her
companion's arm and leading him into the palace. "I don't want to meet
any of the servants. We will go directly to mama's boudoir, and take her
by surprise."

The countess mother, however, was not in her boudoir; only a screaming
cockatoo, and a capuchin monkey that grimaced a welcome. Through the
folding-doors which opened into an adjoining room came the melancholy
tones of a harmonium; and M. Cambray recognized a favorite
air--Beethoven's symphony, "_Les adieux, l'absence, et le retour_." He
paused a moment to listen to it.

"That is mama playing," whispered the child. "You go in first, and tell
her you have brought me home. Be very careful; mama is very nervous." M.
Cambray softly opened the door, and halted, amazed, on the threshold.

The room into which he had ventured unannounced was a magnificent salon,
filled with a brilliant company. Evidently the countess was holding a
matinée.

The assembled company were in full toilet. The women, who were chiefly
young and handsome, were clad in the modest fashion of that day, which
draped the shoulders and bust with embroidered kerchiefs, with priceless
lace adorning their gowns and genuine pearls twined among their tresses.
The men also wore full dress: Hungarian trousers, short-waisted coat,
with large, bright metal buttons, opening over an embroidered waistcoat.

Surrounded by her guests, the mistress of the house, an ideal of beauty,
Cythera herself, was seated at the harpsichord, her neck and shoulders