"That is a comfort!" quoth Mr. Philip. "Now, I liked the looks of you a good deal better in that brown cashmere. But I am an absolute nobody, as you will find very shortly, if you have not done so already." "The brown cashmere will go on again to-morrow, and I shall not be sorry for it. But, Philip"-- "Stop! look out--somebody is coming." A gentleman in dark blue led in a lady very elaborately dressed in pink. As they entered by one door, Lady Ingram came forward to receive them from another. She stood and made three courtesies, to which the lady in pink responded with one. Then Lady Ingram came forward, and, taking the hand of her guest, turned to Celia and Philip in the corner. "_Bon soir, ma tante_," observed the latter unceremoniously from his station behind Celia's chair. "Celia, this is my sister, the Duchess de Montausier," Lady Ingram condescended to say; and Celia, rising, made two low courtesies, having already forgotten the number of reverences due. "Three," whispered Philip, too low to be overheard, thus saving his sister a scolding. The Duchess returned the compliment with a single courtesy, Celia thought a rather distant one. But her astonishment had not yet left her at the meeting between the sisters. "Is that really your aunt?" she asked of Philip. "Yes, my mother's sister," answered Philip, smiling. "Why?" "They courtesied so!" was Celia's ungrammatical exclamation. "Ah! you think it unsisterly? The one, my dear, is a Duchess, the other only the widow of a Baronet. You must not consider the sistership." Celia laughed within herself to think how the Squire and Madam Passmore would look, if they saw her and Isabella courtesying away at each other in that style. "Now don't lose all these folks," resumed Philip, as more people entered. "That little man dressed in black, with a black wig, to whom my mother is courtesying now,--do you see him?" "I was just looking at him," replied Celia. "I cannot say that I like him, though I have no idea who he may be." "Why?--because he is so short?" "Oh no! I hope I should never dislike a man for any natural infirmity. I thought he looked very cross." "He has the happy distinction of being the crossest man in France," said Philip. "Well, he looks like it," said Celia. "But one of the most distinguished men in France, my dear. That is the great Duke de Lauzun,[1] who has spent ten years in prison for treason, who aspired to the hand of Mademoiselle, the King's own cousin, and whom King James trusted to bring the Queen and the Prince of Wales over here from England." "I wonder he trusted him," observed Celia. "I never wonder at anything," philosophically answered Mr. Philip Ingram. "Now look to your right! Do you see the lady in black, with fair hair, and blue eyes, who seems so quiet and uninterested in all that is passing?" "I think I do."