distance a grand battle in the snow, and mouths of burning cannons. The
other picture, placed upon an easel and lighted by a lamp with a
reflector, was one of Ingre's the 'chef-d'oeuvres'. It was the portrait
of the mistress of the house at the age of eighteen, a portrait of which
the Countess was now but an old and horrible caricature.

Arthur Papillon talked in a low voice with Amedee, explaining to him how
Madame Fontaine's drawing-room was neutral ground, open to people of all
parties. As daughter of a Marshal of the First Empire, the Countess
preserved the highest regard for the people at the Tuileries, although
she was the widow of Count Fontaine, who was one of the brood of Royer-
Collard's conservatives, a parliamentarian ennobled by Louis-Philippe,
twice a colleague of Guizot on the ministerial bench, who died of spite
and suppressed ambition after '48 and the coup d'etat. Besides, the
Countess's brother, the Duc d'Eylau, married, in 1829, one of the
greatest heiresses in the Faubourg St. Germain; for his father, the
Marshal, whose character did not equal his bravery, attached himself to
every government, and carried his candle in the processions on Corpus
Christi Day under Charles X, and had ended by being manager of the
Invalides at the beginning of the July monarchy. Thanks to this
fortunate combination of circumstances, one met several great lords,
many Orleanists, a certain number of official persons, and even some
republicans of high rank, in this liberal drawing-room, where the
Countess, who was an admirable hostess, knew how to attract learned men,
writers, artists, and celebrities of all kinds, as well as young and
pretty women. As the season was late, the gathering this evening was not
large. However, neglecting the unimportant gentlemen whose ancestors had
perhaps been fabricated by Pere Issacar, Papillon pointed out to his
friend a few celebrities. One, with the badge of the Legion of Honor
upon his coat, which looked as if it had come from the stall of an old-