It happened that on the day they had visited Notre Dame cathedral, Colonel Willoughby took advantage of their return through the Rue St Honoré to call at his banker’s in that leading street. He had transacted his principal business there, and only found some difficulty in detaching himself from the subsequent animated conversation of the courteous financier, whose spirits seemed to be excellent on account of some continued increase in the price of corn; a motive but dimly understood by Sir Godfrey, while at each step or two of his egress from the antechamber he was still detained by some fresh ground of satisfaction. As regarded places of abode to be had, in any part of France whatever, the perplexity did not certainly result from want of choice; since his last inquiry, the notices and advertisements had increased, particularly in the rural provinces; to be let or sold, they seemed surprisingly plentiful; nor were their advantages in every point omitted, after the usual style of such description, which sometimes dilated on the very nature of the landscape, or dwelt with gusto on the particular character of architecture. “It is doubtless owing, Monsieur le Baron,” suggested the banker, complacently, “to the immense resort, at the present, of the nobility to Paris. The attraction is excessive! It will indeed be impossible to reside but in the vicinity—and M. le Baron sympathises, I imagine, with the party of our ——, probably to a certain extent in the ——?” “I really know very little of political matters, Monsieur,” said the baronet, smiling, “even at home,—and as for those in this country, I can scarcely say that I have attended to them much.”