Her dark eyes looked over my face as a possible conquest.

"I tremble when I think it is not for ever. But look at my aunt's and
that of Madame de Rheims!"

These ladies were indeed distinguished by their hair; but I suspect that
it was not the mere fact of its greyness to which she wished to draw my
attention--rather it was to the manner in which they wore it, brushed up
high and away from their foreheads, like dowagers of yore. Standing in a
corner together very much each other's counterpart, both a trifle too
dignified, they were obviously proud leaders of society. She watched my
shades of expression, and cried:

"There is my favorite quadrille--Là là-là-là-là-là-à-là," softly humming
and nodding her head, an action not common among the English.

"Pardon me, sir, your name is Mr. 'Aviland, I believe," interrupted a
young man with a close-cut, very thick, very black beard, and the waxed
ends of his moustache fiercely turned up.

I bowed.

"Our Sovereign Lady De Rheims requests the pleasure of your
conversation."

On turning to Mlle. Sylphe to make my excuses, she smiled, saying with a
regretful grimace: "Obeissez."

Mde. De Rheims stood with Mde. Fée, the aunt of Mile. Sylphe, near the