The chairmen swarmed in the street at Lady Malbourne's door, where the
joyous vulgar fought with muddied footmen and tipsy link-boys for places
of vantage whence to catch a glimpse of quality and of raiment at its
utmost. Dawn was in the east, and the guests were departing. Singly or
in pairs, glittering in finery, they came mincing down the steps, the
ghost of the night's smirk fading to jadedness as they sought the dark
recesses of their chairs. From within sounded the twang of fiddles still
swinging manfully at it, and the windows were bright with the light of
many candles. When the door was flung open to call the chair of Lady
Mary Carlisle, there was an eager pressure of the throng to see.

A small, fair gentleman in white satin came out upon the steps, turned
and bowed before a lady who appeared in the doorway, a lady whose royal
loveliness was given to view for a moment in that glowing frame. The
crowd sent up a hearty English cheer for the Beauty of Bath.

The gentleman smiled upon them delightedly. "What enchanting people!" he
cried. "Why did I not know, so I might have shout' with them?" The
lady noticed the people not at all; whereat, being pleased, the people
cheered again. The gentleman offered her his hand; she made a slow
courtesy; placed the tips of her fingers upon his own. "I am honored, M.
de Chateaurien," she said.

"No, no!" he cried earnestly. "Behol' a poor Frenchman whom emperors
should envy." Then reverently and with the pride of his gallant office
vibrant in every line of his slight figure, invested in white satin and
very grand, as he had prophesied, M. le Duc de Chateaurien handed Lady
Mary Carlisle down the steps, an achievement which had figured in the
ambitions of seven other gentlemen during the evening.