announced in a resounding voice, sounded in Jenkins's drawing-rooms like
the clash of a cymbal, one of those gongs which, in fairy pieces at
the theatre, are the prelude to fantastic apparitions. The light of the
chandeliers paled, every eye sparkled at the dazzling perspective of
the treasures of the Orient, of the showers of the sequins and of pearls
evoked by the magic syllables of that name, yesterday unknown.

He, it was he himself, the Nabob, the rich among the rich, the great
Parisian curiosity, spiced by that relish of adventure which is so
pleasing to the surfeited crowd. All heads turned, all conversations
were interrupted; near the door there was a pushing among the guests,
a crush as upon the quay of a seaport to witness the entry of a felucca
laden with gold.

Jenkins himself, so hospitable, so self-possessed, who was standing in
the first drawing-room receiving his guests, abruptly quitted the
group of men about him and hurried to place himself at the head of the
galleons bearing down upon the guest.

"You are a thousand times, a thousand times kind. Mme. Jenkins will be
so glad, so proud.--Come, let me conduct you!"

And in his haste, in his vainglorious delight, he bore Jansoulet off so
quickly that the latter had no time to present his companion, Paul de
Gery, to whom he was giving his first entry into society. The young man
welcomed this forgetfulness. He slipped away among the crowd of black
dress-coats constantly pressed back at each new arrival, buried himself
in it, seized by that wild terror which is experienced by every young
man from the country at his first introduction to a Paris drawing-room,
especially when he is intelligent and refined, and beneath his