plucked Mr. Love by the sleeve as he rose, and whispered petulantly,
"I do not see any one here to suit me, Monsieur Love--none of my rank."

"_Mon Dieu!_" answered Mr. Love: "_point d' argent point de Suisse_. I
could introduce you to a duchess, but then the fee is high. There's
Mademoiselle de Courval--she dates from the Carlovingians."

"She is very like a boiled sole," answered the Vicomte, with a wry face.
"Still-what dower _has_ she?"

"Forty thousand francs, and sickly," replied Mr. Love; "but she likes a
tall man, and Monsieur Goupille is--"

"Tall men are never well made," interrupted the Vicomte, angrily; and he
drew himself aside as Mr. Love, gallantly advancing, gave his arm to
Madame Beavor, because the Pole had, in rising, folded both his own arms
across his breast.

"Excuse me, ma'am," said Mr. Love to Madame Beavor, as they adjourned to
the salon, "I don't think you manage that brave man well."

"_Ma foi, comme il est ennuyeux avec sa Pologne_," replied Madame Beavor,
shrugging her shoulders.

"True; but he is a very fine-shaped man; and it is a comfort to think
that one will have no rival but his country. Trust me, and encourage him
a little more; I think he would suit you to a T."

Here the attendant engaged for the evening announced Monsieur and Madame
Giraud; whereupon there entered a little--little couple, very fair, very