the vehement declamation, the credulous beliefs, or the inflated bombast,
which constitute so large a portion of the Parisian press. The articles
rather resembled certain organs of the English press, which profess to be
blinded by no enthusiasm for anybody or anything, which find their sale
in that sympathy with ill-nature to which Huet ascribes the popularity of
Tacitus, and, always quietly undermining institutions with a covert
sneer, never pretend to a spirit of imagination so at variance with
common-sense as a conjecture how the institutions should be rebuilt or
replaced.

Well, somehow or other the journal, as I was saying, hit the taste of the
Parisian public. It intimated, with the easy grace of an unpremeditated
agreeable talker, that French society in all its classes was rotten; and
each class was willing to believe that all the others were rotten, and
agreed that unless the others were reformed, there was something very
unsound in itself.

The ball at the Duchesse de Tarascon's was a brilliant event. The summer
was far advanced; many of the Parisian holiday-makers had returned to the
capital, but the season had not commenced, and a ball at that time of
year was a very unwonted event. But there was a special occasion for
this fete,--a marriage between a niece of the Duchesse and the son of a
great official in high favour at the Imperial Court.

The dinner at Louvier's broke up early, and the music for the second
waltz was sounding when Enguerrand, Alain, and the Vicomte de Mauleon
ascended the stairs. Raoul did not accompany them; he went very rarely
to any balls,--never to one given by an Imperialist, however nearly
related to him the Imperialist might be. But in the sweet indulgence of
his good-nature, he had no blame for those who did go,--not for