“No, no; not that.” “Oh, here it is. 'Great Scandal in High Life.--A very singular correspondence has just passed, and will soon, we believe, be made public, between the Heralds' College and Lord Glencore.'” Here the reader stopped, and lowered his voice at the next word. “Read on, Prince. _C'est mon mari_,” said she, coldly, while a very slight movement of her upper lip betrayed what might mean scorn or sorrow, or even both. The Prince, however, had now run his eyes over the paragraph, and crushing the newspaper in his hand, hurried away from the spot. The Duke as quickly followed, and soon overtook him. “Who gave you this paper, Duke?” cried the Russian, angrily. “It was Lord Selby. He was reading it aloud to a friend.” “Then he is an _infame!_ and I 'll tell him so,” cried the other, passionately. “Which is he? the one with the light moustache, or the shorter one?” And, without waiting for reply, the Russian dashed between the carriages, and thrusting his way through the prancing crowd of moving horses, arrived at a spot where two young men, evidently strangers to the scene, were standing, calmly surveying the bright panorama before them. “The Lord Selby,” said the Russian, taking off his hat and saluting one of them. “That's his Lordship,” replied the one he addressed, pointing to his friend. “I am the Prince Volkoffsky, aide-de-camp to the Emperor,” said the Russian; “and hearing from my friend the Duke de Brignolles that you have just given him this newspaper, that he might obtain the translation of a passage in it which concerns Lady Glencore, and have the explanation read out at her own carriage, publicly, before all the world, I desire to tell you that your Lordship is unworthy of your rank; that you are an _infame!_ and if you do not resent this, a _polisson!_” “This man is mad, Selby,” said the short man, with the coolest air imaginable. “Quite sane enough to give your friend a lesson in good manners; and you too, sir, if you have any fancy for it,” said the Russian. “I'd give him in charge to the police, by Jove! if there were police here,” said the same one who spoke before; “he can't be a gentleman.” “There 's my card, sir,” said the Russian; “and for you too, sir,” said he, presenting another to him who spoke. “Where are you to be heard of?” said the short man. “At the Russian legation,” said the Prince, haughtily, and turned away. “You're wrong, Baynton, he is a gentleman,” said Lord Selby, as he pocketed the card, “though certainly he is not a very mild-tempered specimen of his order.” “You did n't give the newspaper as he said--” “Nothing of the kind. I was reading it aloud to you when the royal carriages came suddenly past; and, in taking off my hat to salute, I never noticed that the old Duke had carried off the paper. I know he can't read English, and the chances are, he has asked this Scythian gentleman to interpret for him.” “So, then, the affair is easily settled,” said the other, quietly.