All rose instantly at the idea, and we went forward, urged by irresistible curiosity. As we drew near the stranger, who was conversing with Honoria and Dalton, a shudder went through me. It was a thrill of the universal Boswell; I seemed to feel the presence of "the most aristocratic man of the age." Honoria introduced me. "My Lord Duke, allow me to present my friend, Mr. De Vere; Mr. De Vere, the Duke of Rosecouleur." Was I, then, face to face with, nay, touching the hand of a highness,--and that highness the monarch of the _ton_? And is this a ducal hand, white as the albescent down of the eider-duck, which presses mine with a tender touch, so haughty and so delicately graduated to my standing as "friend" of the exquisite Honoria? It was too much; I could have wept; my senses rather failed. Dalton fell short of himself; for, though his head stooped to none, unless conventionally, the sudden and unaccountable presence of the Duke of Rosecouleur annoyed and perplexed him. His own sovereignty was threatened. Lethal stiffened himself to the ordeal of an introduction; the affair seemed to exasperate him. Denslow alone, of the men, was in his element. Pompous and soft, he "cottoned" to the grandeur with the instinct of a born satellite, and his eyes grew brighter, his body more shining and rotund, his back more concave. His _bon-vivant_ tones, jolly and conventional, sounded a pure barytone to the clear soprano of Honoria, in the harmony of an obsequious welcome. The Duke of Rosecouleur glanced around him approvingly upon the apartments. I believed that he had never seen anything more beautiful than the _petite_ palace of Honoria, or more ravishing than herself. He said little, in a low voice, and always to one person at a time. His answers and remarks were simple and well-turned. Dalton allowed the others to move on, and by a slight sign drew me to him. "It is unexpected," he said, in a thoughtful manner, looking me full in the eyes. "You knew the Duke of Rosecouleur in Europe?" "At Paris, yes,--and in Italy he was a travel friend; but we heard lately that he had retired upon his estates in England; and certainly, he is the last person we looked for here." "Unannounced." "That is a part of the singularity." "His name was not in the published list of arrivals; but he may have left England incognito. Is a mistake possible?" "No! there is but one such man in Europe;--a handsomer or a richer does not live." "An eye of wonderful depth." "Hands exquisite." "Feet, ditto." "And his dress and manner." "Unapproachable!" "Not a shadow of pretence;--the essence of good-breeding founded upon extensive knowledge, and a thorough sense of position and its advantages; --in fact, the Napoleon of the parlor." "But, Dalton," said I, nervously, "no one attends him." "No,--I thought so at first; but do you see that Mephistophelean figure, in black, who follows the Duke a few paces behind, and is introduced to no one?"