Upon an old-fashioned sofa, with prim high back and arms and a long "sofa-table" in front, sat the Colonel's wife, Mrs. Baron, a very graceful figure, young still, and in manner slightly languishing. Though it was early in the afternoon, she wore a low-necked frock, with a scarf over it; and her hands toyed with a handsome fan. A white crape turban was wound about her head. Beside her was Mr. Bryce, a short man, clothed in blue swallow-tailed coat and brass buttons--frock-coats being then unknown. His face was deeply scored and corrugated with small-pox. The wide low room, with its large centre-table and ponderous furniture, had one other inmate; and this was a lovely young girl, in a short-waisted and short-sleeved frock of white muslin. A pink scarf was round her neck; dainty pink sandalled shoes were on her small high-instepped feet; long kid gloves covered the slender round arms; a fur-trimmed pink pelisse lay on a chair near; and from the huge pink bonnet on her head tall white ostrich-feathers pointed skyward. Polly Keene was on a visit to the Barons, and she had just come in from a stroll with Mr. and Mrs. Bryce. Young ladies, ninety years ago, did not commonly venture alone beyond the garden, but waited for proper protection. Polly had the softest brown velvet eyes imaginable, a delicate blush-rose complexion, and a pretty arch manner. Upon a side table stood cake and wine, together with a piled-up pyramid of fruit, for the benefit of callers. Afternoon tea was an unknown institution; and the fashionable dinner-hour varied between four and half-past five o'clock. "A fortnight in Paris! And what of Nap meanwhile?" vivaciously demanded Mrs. Bryce. "What of old Boney? That is the question, my dear sir. What may not that wicked tyrant be after next?" In those days even old friends and relatives used the terms "sir" and "madam" very often one to another. "Buonaparte has a good deal to answer for, ma'am, but really I do not imagine that he will have the responsibility of hindering this little scheme of ours," Colonel Baron replied. Mrs. Bryce turned herself briskly towards the sofa. "If I were you, Harriette, I'd refuse to go. Then, at least, you wouldn't have it on your conscience if everything gets into a muddle." Mrs. Baron's large languid grey eyes opened rather more widely than their wont. "My dear Harriette, wake up, I entreat of you. Pray listen to me. Doubtless all the world is going to France. Nothing more likely, since half the world consists of idiots, and another half of madmen. That is small reason why you two need comport yourselves like either." "Do you really suppose there will be war again so soon?" asked Mrs. Baron incredulously.