Jacques was going toward the door, when it was flung open, and a man entered—a large, powerful man, dressed carelessly, but with something of courtliness; for his clothes were of rich material, and slightly adorned with embroidery; but his hair was of its natural warm brown, thick, wavy, and abundant, giving a leonine power to the great head, remarkable, because it was free of powder, and fell downward in natural waves, which stirred heavily whenever he turned. “Monsieur le count! I did not expect you so early.” “So it seems,” answered the man, glancing at Madame Gosner, with mischievous significance. “But I beg pardon; hearing voices in this room, I supposed you had changed lodgings, and came in more rudely than madame will forgive, I fear.” The rough manner which had marked this person on his entrance, changed to the most elegant courtliness the instant he saw Marguerite standing near her mother. The hat was instantly lifted from his head, and once more he begged leave to apologize. He came in search of his foster-brother, and had no idea of the company he was honored in finding himself. The contrast of this man’s address, which was soft and persuasive, with the rude grandeur of his head, had a sort of fascination in it. The two ladies felt themselves transferred back to the saloons which nature and education had given them a right to enter. In this man the energy of the people seemed blended with the elegance of the court; thus they found him in harmony with old memories and recent ideas. Madame received his apologies with the grace of a Roman matron. She waved her hand toward one of the rude chairs, and requested him to be seated, while Monsieur Jacques, recovering from his surprise, presented his visitor as the Count De Mirabeau. Mirabeau seated himself, and began to converse; his words were directed entirely toward Marguerite, who listened in breathless awe to his brilliant sayings, without dreaming that they were all intended for her; and that each glance of those eyes were sent to measure their effect. In this presence Monsieur Jacques allowed himself to subside into insignificance. He spoke in monosyllables, and sat with his hands clasped, as if in adoration of the talent which broke forth in every word this strange man uttered. Marguerite, too, was fascinated and enthralled. At first the exceeding ugliness of their visitor had repelled her; but the moment he spoke, this feeling changed, and she listened with all her soul, and that shone in her beautiful eyes.