I may as well describe him here, for, though not an eminently distinguished man, M. de Cernay was the very type of a "man of fashion," in the best and least vulgar acceptance of the word. Now, a man of fashion of our day is a person of a well-recognised type. M. de Cernay was about thirty years old, of a very handsome face, and not wanting in ready wit of a certain kind. He was subtle, something of a scoffer, though at the same time he affected a high-toned good nature which gave him the reputation of being a "good fellow," though people said that he had to reproach himself with some perfidious actions and several mischievous falsehoods. He was very elegant in his dress, though, with some attempt at originality of appearance, he tried to look unlike other men; however, he always looked extremely well dressed. He was a good judge and very fond of horses, had the handsomest turnouts you could wish to see, and posed for as distinguished a sportsman as a man of fashion. M. de Cernay was very rich, very selfish, and uncommonly well versed as to business, which latter quality is particularly noticeable among men of our epoch, and which seems to exclude all ideas of beauty or display. M. de Cernay denied himself nothing; he lived luxuriously, but he paid his servants himself, and settled all accounts, being inexorable for every outlay that did not pay, at least in outward show, for what it was worth. He was a wily speculator, and had no scruples about serving a notice on any one of his farmers who was behind with his rent. He made out his leases himself, for (must the enormity be made public?) he had studied law in the most profound secrecy, under the direction of an old attorney. But it must be admitted that no glimpse of this legal knowledge was visible in the count's behaviour. His manners were perfect; he came of an ancient and noble race, and was as much of the "grand seigneur" as one can be in these days; and his sense of saving in superfluities and economy in luxuries was only known to the few people who had to ask some favour of him, and those are the last ones to tell of having been refused such a service. Nothing can be wiser nor more praiseworthy than to live with so much prudence and foresight. I insist on this significative peculiarity because it belongs to our epoch, which is becoming so strictly material and positive. Nowadays nobody ruins himself. It is considered very bad form to be in debt, and nothing appears more ridiculous and shameful than that wild and disorderly existence (sometimes even indelicate and dishonourable), which was for a long time tolerated as a type of what was called "delightful French gaiety," of the vagabond life of those "harebrained but good-hearted" fellows, who, on the contrary, had very cool heads and very bad hearts, and were generally the greatest villains in the world.