all this charming Parisian society, and give a grand ball whenever I
liked, would be just paradise. And to have it all in my grasp, and not
be able to take it, is too aggravating. It is so vexatious that the
right man never has the right things."

We went to church. M. Vergniaud called, but recollected an engagement
which took him away early. Monday evening he dropped in again just after
dinner: "Do not let me derange you in the least, je vous en prie,
madame. I come early because I am engaged to three balls to-night."

Miss St. Clair could hardly have been more mute and statue-like if she
had been born and bred in France, where in the presence of gentlemen
young girls silently adhere to their brilliant mothers, whose wit and
grace and social tact make the charm of the Parisian salons. Apparently,
the French consider that the combined attractions of youthful faces and
sprightly conversation would be too much for any man, and mercifully
divide the two. And this leaves them helpless before a little American
girl, laughing, talking, jesting, teasing, till, bewildered by such a
phenomenon, they are swept down so easily that one is reminded of
Attila's taunt to the Romans, "The thicker the grass, the quicker it is
mowed."

This social etiquette was very irksome to my little firefly, who seemed
always opening and shutting her wings. In the course of the evening M.
Vergniaud slipped into her hand, unperceived by any of us, a closed
envelope with the whisper, "Put it in your pocket. Do not let any one
see you."

She opened it deliberately: "M. Vergniaud is so kind as to give me his
photograph, Madame Fleming. Do you think it a good likeness?"