this distance, I could, recall and describe my experiences and
impressions of the peculiar aspect of Paris, in those strange times. It
was, to be sure, my first visit. But often as I have seen it since, I
don't think I ever saw that delightful capital in a state, pleasurably
so excited and exciting.

I had been two days in Paris, and had seen all sorts of sights, and
experienced none of that rudeness and insolence of which others
complained from the exasperated officers of the defeated French army.

I must say this, also. My romance had taken complete possession of me;
and the chance of seeing the object of my dream gave a secret and
delightful interest to my rambles and drives in the streets and
environs, and my visits to the galleries and other sights of the
metropolis.

I had neither seen nor heard of Count or Countess, nor had the Marquis
d'Harmonville made any sign. I had quite recovered the strange
indisposition under which I had suffered during my night journey.

It was now evening, and I was beginning to fear that my patrician
acquaintance had quite forgotten me, when the waiter presented me the
card of "Monsieur Droqville"; and, with no small elation and hurry, I
desired him to show the gentleman up.

In came the Marquis d'Harmonville, kind and gracious as ever.

"I am a night-bird at present," said he, so soon as we had exchanged the
little speeches which are usual. "I keep in the shade during the
daytime, and even now I hardly ventured to come in a close carriage. The