is really a waiter at the Café ----, on the Boulevard des Italiens;
came down for his health. We were comrades once, and I promised to
keep the secret, for he thought it extremely probable that he might
meet a wealthy English lady here, who might fall in love with
him--your countrywomen are so eccentric. He has found a Russian
princess, which is better. I suppose we must now call him
Monseigneur?'

Although, like the rest of my species, disposed to laugh at the
misfortunes of my fellow-creatures, I confess that I pitied Madame de
Mourairef; for I felt persuaded that M. Jerome had passed himself off
as a very distinguished personage. However, there was no remedy, and I
had no right to interfere in the matter. The lady, indeed, had been in
an unpardonable hurry to be won, and must take the consequences.

In the afternoon, there was a great bustle in the hôtel, and
half-a-dozen voices were heard doing the work of fifty. I went out
into the passage, and caught the first fragments of an explanation
that soon became complete. M. Alphonse, courier to M. de Mourairef,
had arrived, and was indignantly maintaining that Sophie and Penelope,
the two waiting-maids of the princess, had arrived at the Tête Noire,
to take a suite of rooms for their mistress; whilst the landlord and
his coadjutors, slow to comprehend, averred that the great lady had
herself been there, and departed. The truth at length came out--that
these two smart Parisian lasses, having a fortnight before them, had
determined to give up their places, and play the mascarade which I
have described. When M. and Madame de Mourairef, two respectable,
middle-aged people, arrived, they were dismally made acquainted with
the sacrilege that had been committed; but as no debts had been
contracted in their name, and their letters came in a parcel by the