But Jemima was right. There was something about her husband that was grandiose and princely, whenever he escaped from his accursed Machiavel, and gave fair play to his heart. And he spent the next hour or so in thinking over all that he could do for Randal, and devising for his intended son-in-law the agreeable surprises, which Randal was at that very time racking his yet cleverer brains to disappoint. These plans conned sufficiently, Riccabocca shut up his Machiavel, and hunted out of his scanty collection of books Buffon on Man, and various other psychological volumes, in which he soon became deeply absorbed. Why were these works the object of the sage’s study? Perhaps he will let us know soon, for it is clearly a secret known to his wife; and though she has hitherto kept one secret, that is precisely the reason why Riccabocca would not wish long to overburden her discretion with another. Chapter XIII. Randal reached home in time to dress for a late dinner at Baron Levy’s. The Baron’s style of living was of that character especially affected both by the most acknowledged exquisites of that day, and, it must be owned, also, by the most egregious _parvenus_. For it is noticeable that it is your _parvenu_ who always comes nearest in fashion (so far as externals are concerned) to your genuine exquisite. It is your _parvenu_ who is most particular as to the cut of his coat, and the precision of his equipage, and the minutiæ of his _ménage_. Those between the _parvenu_ and the exquisite who know their own consequence, and have something solid to rest upon, are slow in following all the caprices of fashion, and obtuse in observation as to those niceties which neither give them another ancestor, nor add another thousand to the account at their banker’s;—as to the last, rather indeed the contrary! There was a decided elegance about the Baron’s house and his dinner. If he had been one of the lawful kings of the dandies, you would have cried, “What perfect taste!”—but such is human nature, that the dandies who dined with him said to each other, “He pretend to imitate D——! vulgar dog!” There was little affectation of your more showy opulence. The furniture in the room was apparently simple, but, in truth, costly, from its luxurious comfort—the ornaments and china scattered about the commodes were of curious rarity and great value; and the pictures on the walls were gems. At dinner, no plate was admitted on the table. The Russian fashion, then uncommon, now more prevalent, was adopted—fruits and flowers in old Sèvres dishes of priceless _vertu_, and in sparkling glass of Bohemian fabric. No lively servant was permitted to wait; behind each guest stood a gentleman dressed so like the guest himself, in fine linen and simple black, that guest and lackey seemed stereotypes from one plate.