The conversation of those around chiefly concerns two lovers, whom all Paris is just now petting and caressing, the young and charming Monsieur de Monnière-Croix and his fiancée Mademoiselle de Flourens. The match is altogether a singular and remarkable one. Those who have seen the young man report him very handsome, but it is whispered that he is of obscure origin. Were it not for his stupendous wealth, the story of which is very well authenticated, it would have been a dreadful misalliance. As it is, that wealth is so great as to level all distinctions, and the world has not only forgiven the match, but has been vastly interested in the love affair. The talk of it has reached even Madame de Pompadour's ears, and she has been pleased to express a desire to have them presented to her. The day and the time for that presentation has arrived, and that perhaps is why the conversation just now concerns the lovers. Madame de Berry protests that they are the handsomest couple that she has ever seen; their love so innocent, so deliciously childlike. They are a new Corydon and Phyllis--Cupidon and Psyche. In them Arcadia is come again. It is the prettiest thing in the world to see their uneasiness when separated, their fond glances when together. Monsieur de Gontat had heard the Duchesse de Choiseul speak of them the other day. She declares them her latest passion, and says that they are like that which the poets describe, and which nobody ever saw before. She loves to have them near her--the dear Duchesse--and says that they make her feel that life is not altogether like the new screen that Monsieur Watteau has just finished for her, not altogether flat, not altogether surface, not all pretended simplicity in powder and patches, and with painted fan to hide a painted blush; she says they make her have a better opinion of herself. So the buzz of talk goes on, and Madame de Pompadour fans herself and listens impassively. Then the talk suddenly turns to the Count de St. Germaine, who has grown such a favorite, not only with Madame de Pompadour, but of late with his Majesty himself. Monsieur de Gontat tells of the last wonder relating to him. Yesterday his Majesty sent for him. "Monsieur Count," said he, "they say that you can remove flaws from a diamond. Is it so?" "Yes, sire," answered the count. "Then here is a diamond that would be worth fifty thousand livres except for this flaw; it is not worth five thousand now. Can you remedy it?" "I can try, sire," answers the count, and he slips it into his waistcoat. Would you believe it? He brings it in this morning sound and whole and without flaw. "I myself," says Monsieur de Gontat, "was present when the jeweller appraised it. His Majesty said that he would keep it as one of the greatest curiosities of his cabinet." Monsieur de Gontat had hardly ended his story when Oliver and Céleste were announced.