Coningsby was very happy. His morning visits to the Rue de Rivoli seemed always welcome, and seldom an evening elapsed in which he did not find himself in the society of Edith. She seemed not to wish to conceal that his presence gave her pleasure, and though she had many admirers, and had an airy graciousness for all of them, Coningsby sometimes indulged the exquisite suspicion that there was a flattering distinction in her carriage to himself. Under the influence of these feelings, he began daily to be more conscious that separation would be an intolerable calamity; he began to meditate upon the feasibility of keeping a half term, and of postponing his departure to Cambridge to a period nearer the time when Edith would probably return to England. In the meanwhile, the Parisian world talked much of the grand fete which was about to be given by Sidonia. Coningsby heard much of it one day when dining at his grandfather’s. Lady Monmouth seemed very intent on the occasion. Even Lord Monmouth half talked of going, though, for his part, he wished people would come to him, and never ask him to their houses. That was his idea of society. He liked the world, but he liked to find it under his own roof. He grudged them nothing, so that they would not insist upon the reciprocity of cold-catching, and would eat his good dinners instead of insisting on his eating their bad ones. ‘But Monsieur Sidonia’s cook is a gem, they say,’ observed an Attaché of an embassy. ‘I have no doubt of it; Sidonia is a man of sense, almost the only man of sense I know. I never caught him tripping. He never makes a false move. Sidonia is exactly the sort of man I like; you know you cannot deceive him, and that he does not want to deceive you. I wish he liked a rubber more. Then he would be perfect.’ ‘They say he is going to be married,’ said the Attaché. ‘Poh!’ said Lord Monmouth. ‘Married!’ exclaimed Lady Monmouth. ‘To whom?’ ‘To your beautiful countrywoman, “la belle Anglaise,” that all the world talks of,’ said the Attaché. ‘And who may she be, pray?’ said the Marquess. ‘I have so many beautiful countrywomen.’ ‘Mademoiselle Millbank,’ said the Attaché. ‘Millbank!’ said the Marquess, with a lowering brow. ‘There are so many Millbanks. Do you know what Millbank this is, Harry?’ he inquired of his grandson, who had listened to the conversation with a rather embarrassed and even agitated spirit. ‘What, sir; yes, Millbank?’ said Coningsby. ‘I say, do you know who this Millbank is?’ ‘Oh! Miss Millbank: yes, I believe, that is, I know a daughter of the gentleman who purchased some property near you.’ ‘Oh! that fellow! Has he got a daughter here?’ ‘The most beautiful girl in Paris,’ said the Attaché. ‘Lady Monmouth, have you seen this beauty, that Sidonia is going to marry?’ he added, with a fiendish laugh. ‘I have seen the young lady,’ said Lady Monmouth; ‘but I had not heard that Monsieur Sidonia was about to marry her.’