About ten o'clock, some half-a-dozen of those gay lovers of London, who, like Lilburne, remain faithful to its charms when more vulgar worshippers desert its sunburnt streets--mostly single men--mostly men of middle age --dropped in. And soon after came three or four high-born foreigners, who had followed into England the exile of the unfortunate Charles X. Their looks, at once proud and sad--their moustaches curled downward-- their beards permitted to grow--made at first a strong contrast with the smooth gay Englishmen. But Lilburne, who was fond of French society, and who, when he pleased, could be courteous and agreeable, soon placed the exiles at their ease; and, in the excitement of high play, all differences of mood and humour speedily vanished. Morning was in the skies before they sat down to supper. "You have been very fortunate to-night, milord," said one of the Frenchmen, with an envious tone of congratulation. "But, indeed," said another, who, having been several times his host's partner, had won largely, "you are the finest player, milord, I ever encountered." "Always excepting Monsieur Deschapelles and--," replied Lilburne, indifferently. And, turning the conversation, he asked one of the guests why he had not introduced him to a French officer of merit and distinction; "With whom," said Lord Lilburne, "I understand that you are intimate, and of whom I hear your countrymen very often speak." "You mean De Vaudemont. Poor fellow!" said a middle-aged Frenchman, of a graver appearance than the rest. "But why 'poor fellow!' Monsieur de Liancourt?" "He was rising so high before the revolution. There was not a braver officer in the army. But he is but a soldier of fortune, and his career is closed." "Till the Bourbons return," said another Carlist, playing with his moustache. "You will really honour me much by introducing me to him," said Lord Lilburne. "De Vaudemont--it is a good name,--perhaps, too, he plays at whist." "But," observed one of the Frenchmen, "I am by no means sure that he has the best right in the world to the name. 'Tis a strange story." "May I hear it?" asked the host. "Certainly. It is briefly this: There was an old Vicomte de Vaudemont about Paris; of good birth, but extremely poor--a mauvais sujet. He had already had two wives, and run through their fortunes. Being old and ugly, and men who survive two wives having a bad reputation among marriageable ladies at Paris, he found it difficult to get a third. Despairing of the noblesse he went among the bourgeoisie with that hope. His family were kept in perpetual fear of a ridiculous mesalliance. Among these relations was Madame de Merville, whom you may have heard of." "Madame de Merville! Ah, yes! Handsome, was she not?"