While gazing at Trianon, across the verdant lawns, (then studded with the little daisy called in France "la belle Marguerite," from the Virgin of Cortona,) and pondering which apartment of that long façade, that is sixty-four fathoms broad, was occupied by the Countess, I seated myself upon a rustic sofa under a broad umbrageous elm, and drawing her miniature from my breast, unclasped and looked upon it, remembering her remarkable advice to wear it constantly for her sake, as it might 'prove a _talisman_, should I ever get into trouble.' Something of the old and dangerous tenderness this fascinating woman had excited in my young breast rose again within me, as I gazed upon her beautiful face and winning smile; but while these thoughts coursed through my heart and head, the hot champagne seemed bubbling to my brain; the avenue, the palace and its fountains swam around me, and overcome by the languor of the day, the toil of my late journey, and the potent wine of the most Christian king, I fell into a sound sleep, with the miniature open in my hand--the miniature of the King's mistress, whose face was as well known to the court as the great clock of Notre Dame de Paris; and this was within a pistol-shot of the gate of Versailles!' How long I slept I know not, but I awoke chilled and stiff. The lengthened shadows of the elm-trees, and the deepening gloom that fell across the courts of Versailles, warned me that the day was past, and I started up. 'The miniature!' thought I. Anxious and bewildered I searched for it on every side, but searched in vain. It had been stolen from me while I slept; and not daring to make any inquiry after it, I was glad to mount and ride back at a furious pace to Paris, with a vague hope of leaving danger behind me. I had soon reason to repent the loss of my _talisman_. CHAPTER XXVIII. MARION DE L'ORME. After putting my costume in proper order, I placed a new plume in my hat, pointed up my moustache, perfumed my hair like a court gallant, and sent little Poquelin about dusk for a fiacre, in which I was driven to the house of Marion de l'Orme, for whom I had no less than six billets, one of which was from my friend the Marquis de Toneins, son of the Marechal Duke de la Force. I felt confused and anxious while I was driven through the streets; and amid the clatter of wooden shoes and the cries of dealers in nicotina, perfumed wash-balls, walking canes, and bonbons, I thought only of the loss of the miniature, and its probable results if it fell into evil hands. Mademoiselle de l'Orme's residence was in the Rue St. Jacques, and adjoined an old house which was one of the sights of Paris, for therein Alexander II. of Scotland, when on a visit to Queen Blanche, the mother of Louis IX., visited St. Dominique, the confessor, in 1219, so it was old enough, you may be assured.