Prince d'Alchingen had been much put out of conceit with himself by disappointment. The small dinner which he had carefully arranged for Orange and Castrillon took place, but Orange was not present. He had sent word from Almouth House that he could not leave Lord Reckage. His Excellency, therefore, was thoroughly annoyed, and Castrillon's persiflage fell heavily upon his ears. He tried to think that this nobleman's vivacity made him appear flippant, whereas he was, in reality, a Don Juan of the classic type--unscrupulous, calculating, and damnable. When he remarked that it was _grande folie de vouloir d'être sage avec une sagesse impossible_, the Prince's spirits rose--only to fall again, however, at a later pronouncement from the same lips to the effect that virtuous women always brought tears to his eyes. "They tell me," said the Prince, weighing each syllable with great deliberation (they carried on their conversation principally in French and Spanish) "that Mrs. Parflete is an admirable actress." Castrillon kissed the tips of his fingers to the air, and ejaculated: "Adorable!" "Does she resemble, in any way, I wonder, her good mother, Madame Duboc?" No, she had her own style--although she was coquettish enough. And pretty? Delicious. "This is better," thought his Excellency, "much better. And do you think," he asked, aloud, "that she cares at all for Orange?" Castrillon smirked and put his hand, half instinctively, to his breast-pocket. D'Alchingen inferred, from this quick movement, that he carried a letter or two, or a keepsake, from the lady near the region of his heart. "She may need the tonic of some Platonic love in order to bear the burden of a solitary life," said the Marquis; "but, all the same, I have no especial reason to think that M. de Hausée is her ideal." "He is the ideal of several persons," said Alchingen; "I don't know what to make of him." But at this point Castrillon displayed a maddening discretion. The Prince was glad when he took his departure, and he exhausted his stock of malice in wishing the young coxcomb to the devil. His Excellency was becoming more and more morose over his snuff and the last mail--which was longer and duller than usual--with a peculiarly sharp note from his Chief into the bargain--when Mudara was announced. Mudara bowed to perfection, and then, going forward, presumed to put his hand on the Ambassador's arm. "Your Excellency," said he, "I have some important news. On the whole it is gratifying. It may make us cynical, but it is absurd to expect human nature to be Divine. Mrs. Parflete has been at Orange's lodgings this afternoon." "You don't mean it?" "Indeed, it is too true. When he moved to Vigo Street, I was fortunate enough to secure a room in the same house immediately under his." "Good!"