The dandies roared with laughter. They had at once recognized the pure
English style. They were not men to be deceived. One of them, a tall,
dark fellow, named Du Tremblays, affected an aggrieved air, and said:

"Le Brede, my dear fellow, you make us blush for you!"

The Prince passed, smiling and speaking in a low voice to the beautiful
Englishwoman, who was resting the tips of her white gloved fingers on her
cavalier's arm.

"Who is she?" inquired Le Brede, impatiently.

"Eh, my dear fellow, it is Lady Harton, a cousin of the Prince. She is
extremely rich, and owns a district in London."

"They say that a year ago she was very kind to Serge Panine," added Du
Tremblays, confidentially.

"Why did he not marry her, then, since she is so rich? He has been quite
a year in the market, the dear Prince."

"She is married."

"Oh, that is a good reason. But where is her husband?"

"Shut up in a castle in Scotland. Nobody ever sees him. He is out of
his mind; and is surrounded by every attention."

"And a strait-waistcoat! Then why does not this pretty woman get a