Some half dozen brilliant _soirées_ were, it seems, on the _tapis_ at the date of Louis Napoleon’s manœuvre; the invitations had been sent, and upon the evenings appointed—a week or more subsequent to the turn of the magic lantern—the guests presented themselves before closed doors. The occupants and intended hosts were, it seems, of that timid class living along the Faubourg St. Honoré and the Faubourg St. Germain, who imagined themselves, their titles, and their wealth, safer under the wing of King Leopold of Belgium, than under the shadow of the new-feathered eagle. A thriving romance or two, they say, belonged to the quiet movements of the Republic. Thus, the papers make us a pleasant story out of CAVAIGNAC and his prospective bride, Mademoiselle ODIER. And if we furbish up for the reading of our country clients, we venture to say that we shall keep as near the truth as one half of the letter-writers. For two or three years, it seems that General Cavaignac has been a constant visitor at the house of the rich banker, M. ODIER, He was regarded as a friend of the family, and wore the honors of a friend; that is to say, he had such opportunities of conversation, and for attention in respect to the daughter of the house, as is rarely accorded to Paris ladies in their teens. The General looks a man of fifty—he may be less; but he has a noble carriage, a fine face, and a manner full of dignity and gentleness. The pretty blonde (for Mlle. Odier is so described), was not slow to appreciate the captivating qualities of the General. Moreover, there belonged to her character a romantic tinge, which was lighted up by the story of the General’s bravery, and of the dauntless way in which he bore himself through the murderous days of June. In short, she liked him better than she thought. The General, on the other hand, somewhat fixed in his bachelor habitude, and counting himself only a fatherly friend, who could not hope, if he dared, to quicken any livelier interest—wore imperturbably the dignity and familiarity of his first manner. One day—so the story runs—conversation turned upon a recent marriage, in which the bridegroom was some thirty years the lady’s senior. The General in round, honest way, inveighed against the man as a deceiver of innocence, and avowed strongly his belief that such inequality of age was not only preposterous, but wicked. Poor Mademoiselle Odier!—her fond heart feeding so long blindly on hope, lighted by romance and love, could not bear the sudden shock. She grew pale—paler still, and, to the surprise of the few friends who were present—fainted. Even yet the General lived in ignorance; and would perhaps have died in ignorance, had not some kind friend made known to him the state of Mlle[.] Odier’s feelings. The General was too gallant a man to be conquered in loving; and the issue was, in a week, an acknowledged troth of the banker’s daughter with the General Cavaignac.