"Madame Eagle is a picture," remarked Miss Chantry. "---- Eagle! What a name for civilized people to give a christened child! But these French are as likely as not to call their boys Anne or Marie, and it wouldn't surprise me if they called their girls Cat or Dog. Eagle or Crow, she is the handsomest woman on the floor." "Except Mademoiselle Annabel," the doctor ventured to amend. "That Annabel de Chaumont," his sister vigorously declared, "has neither conscience nor gratitude. But none of the French have. They will take your best and throw you away with a laugh." My master and I watched the brilliant figures swimming in the glow of wax candles. Face after face could be singled out as beautiful, and the scant dresses revealed taper forms. Madame de Ferrier's garments may have been white or blue or yellow; I remember only her satin arms and neck, the rosy color of her face, and the powder on her hair making it white as down. Where this assembly was collected from I did not know, but it acted on the spirits and went like volatile essence to the brain. "Pheugh!" exclaimed Miss Chantry, "how the French smell!" I asked her why, if she detested them so, she lived in a French family, and she replied that Count de Chaumont was an exception, being almost English in his tastes. He had lived out of France since his father came over with La Fayette to help the rebellious Americans. I did not know who the rebellious Americans were, but inferred that they were people of whom Miss Chantry thought almost as little as she did of the French. Croghan looked quite a boy among so many experienced gallants, but well appointed in his dress and stepping through the figures featly. He was, Miss Chantry said, a student of William and Mary College. "This company of gentry will be widely scattered when it disperses home," she told us. "There is at least one man from over-seas." I thought of the Grignon and Tank families, who were probably on the road to Albany. Miss Chantry bespoke her brother's attention. "There he is." "Who?" the doctor inquired. "His highness," she incisively responded, "Prince Jerome Bonaparte." I remembered my father had said that Bonaparte was a great soldier in a far off country, and directly asked Miss Chantry if the great soldier was in the ball-room. She breathed a snort and turned upon my master. "Pray, are you teaching this lad to call that impostor the great soldier?" Doctor Chantry denied the charge and cast a weak-eyed look of surprise at me. I said my father told me Bonaparte was a great soldier, and begged to know if he had been deceived.