The old mulatto continued his way slowly to the entrance of abroad avenue, encumbered with a long line of carriages and almost dazzling with bright colored lights, and paused in amazement at the gate. "Why are these grounds so brilliantly illuminated?" he asked a curious looker-on. "In honor of the opening of the wonderful _Saint-Ramon_ mansion," replied the man addressed. "_Saint Ramon_!" repeated the old man, softly, as if speaking to himself. "How strange!" He seemed buried in reflections for a few minutes, then turning once more to the man he had already addressed, he asked with evident curiosity: "Can you tell me anything about this mansion, monsieur?" "People say it is the eighth wonder of the world; and upon my word, it must be wonderful; the work has been going on for five years," responded the man. "To whom does it belong?" "To a young millionaire, who has spent his money lavishly and very foolishly, I believe." "Do you know his name?" "I believe the name is Saint Harem or Saint-Herem--" "There is no more doubt," murmured the old man. "But why should he name it _Saint-Ramon_?" Again he seemed buried in sad reflections, until aroused from his reverie by his companion's voice. "How singular, after all," the man was saying. "A rich marquis should know only people with equipages; and yet, outside of two or three good carriages, the whole procession consists of _fiacres and cabriolets_." "Singular, indeed," repeated the old man. "But can you tell me the time?" "Half-past-ten," the man informed him. "I am to be at Chaillot at midnight only," said the old man to himself. "It leaves me ample time to investigate this mystery. What a strange coincidence." After some hesitation, the old man entered the gate, glided into the obscurity of a by-path shaded by secular elm-trees, and walked on toward the mansion. Notwithstanding his evident preoccupation, he could not help remarking the immense quantity of flowers that banked the main avenue, their thousand variegated colors illuminated by a profusion of many-hued lanterns and glittering glass candelabra of all shapes and shades. This fairy-land avenue ended in a vast hemicycle as brightly illuminated, beyond which arose the _Saint Ramon_ mansion, a veritable palace which, by the beauty and grandeur of its architecture, recalled the most brilliant days of the Renaissance. Crossing the hemicycle, the old man reached an immense porch leading to the peristyle. Through the glass doors that enclosed this antechamber in all its length, he could see an army of powdered footmen in magnificent livery, while around him a continual stream of carriages unloaded a multitude of men, women and young girls, whose extreme simplicity of toilet seemed in little harmony with the splendors of this enchanted palace.