CHAPTER LXXI.

Nocet empta dolore voluptas.
--Ovid.

The FIRST person I saw at the Duke of--'s was Mr. Mivart--he officiated
as gentleman usher: the SECOND was my mother--she was, as usual,
surrounded by men, "the shades of heroes that have been," remnants of a
former day, when the feet of the young and fair Lady Frances were as
light as her head, and she might have rivalled in the science de la
danse, even the graceful Duchess of B--d. Over the dandies of her own
time she still preserved her ancient empire; and it was amusing enough to
hear the address of the ci-devant jeunes hommes, who continued, through
habit, the compliments began thirty years since, through admiration.

My mother was, indeed, what the world calls a very charming, agreeable
woman. Few persons were more popular in society; her manners were
perfection--her smile enchantment; she lived, moved, breathed, only for
the world, and the world was not ungrateful for the constancy of her
devotion. Yet, if her letters have given my readers any idea of her
character, they will perceive that the very desire of supremacy in ton,
gave (God forgive my filial impiety!) a sort of demi-vulgarism to her
ideas; for they who live wholly for the opinion of others, always want
that self-dignity which alone confers a high cast to the sentiments; and
the most really unexceptionable in mode, are frequently the least
genuinely patrician in mind.

I joined the maternal party, and Lady Frances soon took an opportunity of