Dross. Henry Seton Merriman

gloved little hand.

      "But," he answered earnestly, "unknown to myself her vision must always have been here."

      And he touched his shirt-front with the tips of his fingers gently, remembering the delicacy of his linen.

      "It is an angel!" he added, with an upward glance of his bright little eyes, and tossed off a glass of champagne cup.

      Madame de Clericy sipped her coffee slowly, and said nothing; but her eyes travelled downward from the crown of her companion's head to his dapper feet. And during that scrutiny there is little doubt that she reckoned the value of Monsieur Alphonse Giraud. What she saw was a pleasant spoken young man, plus twenty thousand pounds a year. No wonder the Vicomtesse smiled softly.

      "And I," went on the Frenchman in half humorous humility, "what am I? Not clever, not handsome, not even tall!"

      The lady shrugged her shoulders.

      "C'est la vie," she said; a favourite reflection with her.

      "Yes, and life and I are equal," replied Alphonse, with his gay laugh. "We are both short! And now I wish to present to you and to Lucille my best friend, Phillip Gayerson. He stands over there by the table, he in English clothes. He only arrived in Paris ten days ago, and speaks French indifferently. But he is charming, quite charming, my dearest friend."

      "Did you know him before he came to Paris?"

      "Oh, no! Excuse me. I will bring him."

      Madame made no remark, but watched Giraud with her quiet smile as he went to seek this dear friend of eight days' standing.

      Phillip Gayerson was distinguished by a slight shyness. It was as little known or understood in Paris in the decadent days of the Second Empire as it is now in the time of our own social collapse in England.

      Thus, when the introduction was complete, Phillip Gayerson found that he had nothing to say to this elderly French lady, and was glad when Lucille came up, radiant on the arm of her partner. Alphonse presented his friend at once, and here Phillip felt more at his ease, being a better dancer than talker, and asked for the honour of a waltz without delay.

      "I have but two left," answered Mademoiselle de Clericy, with a gay glance of happiness towards her mother. "They are at the end of the programme, and I promised to reserve them for Monsieur Howard."

      She handed him her engagement card, in frank confirmation of this statement.

      "R. H.," said Gayerson, deciphering the initials Lucille herself had scribbled. "If this is Dick Howard I will take the first of his two dances, and risk the consequence. It will not be the first time that Dick and I have fallen out."

      

"THEN YOU KNOW MR. HOWARD?" SAID LUCILLE, WITH ANOTHER GLANCE AT HER MOTHER. "YES," … ANSWERED GAYERSON, BUT HAD NO TIME FOR MORE, FOR THE NEXT DANCE WAS GIRAUD'S, WHO WAS ALREADY BOWING BEFORE HER, AS BEFORE A DEITY.

      He wrote his name over mine, and returned the card to its owner.

      "Then you know Mr. Howard?" said Lucille, with another glance at her mother.

      "Yes," … answered Gayerson, but had no time for more, for the next dance was Giraud's, who was already bowing before her, as before a deity.

      Madame de Clericy made a little movement, as if to speak to Gayerson, but that young gentleman failed to see the gesture, and moved away to find his partner for the coming waltz.

      With the great people gathered at this assembly we have nothing to do, though the writer and the reader, no doubt, love to rub elbows with such lofty persons, if it be only in a public room. Many of them, be it noted, were not nearly so important as they considered themselves, and the greatness of some was built upon a base too frail to withstand the storm and stress of the coming years.

      Through the brilliant throng Lucille moved gaily and happily, taking, with the faith of youth, dross for gold, and a high head for the token of a noble heart. When Phillip Gayerson claimed his dance he found her a little tired, but still dazzled and excited by the brilliance of the occasion.

      "Is it not splendid?" she exclaimed, taking his arm. "It is my first ball. I am sure I shall never be too old to dance, as mother says she is. Is it not absurd to say such a thing?"

      Gayerson laughed, and as was his wont—a habit, indeed, with many shy men—came straight to the point.

      "Do you know Dick Howard, then?" he asked.

      "Yes, a little. Has he arrived? This is his dance, you know."

      "I cannot tell you if he has arrived, Mademoiselle," answered the Englishman, in his halting French. "I know him at home—in Norfolk. I was not aware that he was in Paris. But he will not be here to-night."

      "Why?"

      "Because his father is dead."

      Lucille said nothing. She obeyed the movements of his arm, and they danced, mingling with that gay throng, where the feet were lighter than the hearts, we may be sure. They went through the whole dance in silence, as Phillip afterwards told me—and he tried in vain to engage Lucille's full attention to matters of passing interest.

      "We must find my mother," she said at length, when the music had ceased. "Mr. Howard does not know. He has been travelling in the South with my father. His letters have not been forwarded to him."

      Phillip Gayerson guided his partner through the laughing throng.

      "It will be bad news for Dick," he said, "for his father has left him penniless."

      "I understood," observed Lucille, looking attentively at her bouquet, "that he was wealthy."

      "No. He quarrelled with his father, who left him without a sou. But Howard knew it before he quitted England."

      Lucille did not speak again until they had joined her mother, to whom she said something so hurriedly that Gayerson did not catch the import of her words.

      At this moment I entered the room, and made my way towards them, feeling more fit for my bed than a ball-room, for I had travelled night and day to dance a waltz with Lucille. As I approached, Gayerson bowed to the ladies and took his departure.

      "My dance, Mademoiselle," I said, "if you have been so kind as to remember it."

      "Yes," answered Lucille, coldly as it seemed, "but I am tired, and we are going home."

      I looked towards Madame, and saw something in her face, I knew not what.

      "Your arm, mon ami," she said, lifting her hand; "we had better go home."

Chapter VI

       Table of Contents

A Glimpse of Home

       Table of Contents