"I want to present to you one of your greatest admirers, who, the other night at the opera, spoke of nothing but your beauty; he is the Prince of Nerins." She became as red as a cherry. Palmer looked at her and began to laugh. "Ah, you read the other day in that paper?" "I read--yes, I read--" "But where is the prince, where is he? I saw him during the day, and he was to be here early." Mme. Derline was not to see the Prince of Nerins that evening. And yet he had intended to go to the Palmers and preside at the deification of his lawyeress. He had dined at the club, and had allowed himself to be dragged off to a first performance at a minor theatre. An operetta of the regulation type was being played. The principal personage was a young queen, who was always escorted by the customary four maids-of-honor. Three of these young ladies were very well known to first-nighters, as having already figured in the tableaux of operettas and in groups of fairies, but the fourth--Oh, the fourth! She was a new one, a tall brunette of the most striking beauty. The prince made himself remarked more than all others by his enthusiasm. He completely forgot that he was to leave after the first act. The play was over very late, and the prince was still there, having paid no attention to the piece or the music, having seen nothing but the wonderful brunette, having heard nothing but the stanza which she had unworthily massacred in the middle of the second act. And while they were leaving the theatre, the prince was saying to whoever would listen: "That brunette! oh, that brunette! She hasn't an equal in any theatre! She is the most beautiful woman in Paris! The most beautiful!" It was one o'clock in the morning. The prince asked himself if he should go to the Palmers. Poor Mme. Derline; she was of very slight importance beside this new wonder! And then, too, the prince was a methodical man. The hour for whist had arrived; so he departed to play whist. The following morning Mme. Derline found ten lines on the Palmer's ball in the "society column." There was mention of the marquises, the countesses, and the duchesses who were there, but about Mme. Derline there was not a word--not a word. On the other hand, the writer of theatrical gossip celebrated in enthusiastic terms the beauty of that ideal maid-of-honor, and said, "_Besides, the Prince of Nerins declared that Mademoiselle Miranda was indisputedly the most beautiful woman in Paris!_" Mme. Derline threw the paper in the fire. She did not wish her husband to know that she was already not the most beautiful woman in Paris. She has, however, kept the great dress-maker and the English coachman, but she never dared to ask for the little groom. THE STORY OF A BALL-DRESS