Shortly after Monsieur de Villardin's return, on the day of which I have just been speaking, I received notice that I should be required to accompany him in the evening to a great supper at the house of the Duke de Bouillon. As I was beginning, at that time, from one circumstance or another, to imagine that I was in no degree uglier than my fellow mortals, to find out that good looks were prized even in a page, and that a handsome person was not shown to less advantage by appearing in becoming apparel, I took care that the finest of my wardrobe should be displayed on the present occasion, where I was sure of seeing, and in some sort mingling with, all that was bright, and noble, and beautiful, in the French capital. Although self-conceit has made many a man very comfortable through life, I do believe that the peculiar modification of the same feeling which is generally called vanity, seldom, if ever, produces anything but disappointment. We did not arrive at the Hotel de Bouillon till more than one half of the company had assembled; and though the scene was certainly as splendid as youth, beauty, wealth, gaiety, good taste and grace, could render it, my pleasure was of course confined to seeing others, without attracting the slightest attention myself. Confounded with the other pages, of whom there was an immense profusion, nobody, in all probability, ever saw me, except worthy Monsieur de Vitray, who recognised me instantly, and spoke a few words to me as he passed. As is usually the case, I believe, all the visiters who appeared there, came with their own thoughts and purposes, and gave not one idea to anybody else, except as they were connected with their designs and pleasures. From the extraordinary twist, too, that everything had got in France at that time, the general order of all things seemed inverted. The bright, and the beautiful, and the young of the other sex gave up the whole of their conversation to politics and factious intrigue; while cunning statesmen, deep lawyers, and reverend divines, old warriors, and grey-headed politicians, universally devoted themselves to making love to everybody they should not have made love to. I came away, thinking a Parisian party very dull; and sitting in the _portière_ of the Duke's coach, who earned along with him one or two of his particular friends in the body of the vehicle, I ruminated over my disappointment, too young, indeed, to investigate metaphysically the sensations which I experienced, but quite old enough to resolve that I would never again expect any one to take notice of me, either for my fine clothes or my good looks.