Mr. and Mrs. Granger made their way to the inner room by and by. It was the prettiest room of the three, with a great semi-circular window overlooking nothing particular in the daytime, but making a handsome amber-hung recess at night. Here there was a sea-coal fire _a l'anglaise_, and only a subdued glimmering of wax candles, instead of the broad glare in the larger saloons. Here, too were to be found the choicest of Madame Caballero's guests; a cabinet minister, an ambassador, a poet of some standing, and one of the most distinguished sopranos of the season, a fair-haired German girl, with great pathetic blue eyes. Even in this society Madame Caballero was rejoiced to see her sweet Mrs. Granger and her charming Miss Granger, who was looking unutterably stiff, in mauve silk and white lace. The lady and her friends had been talking of some one as the Grangers entered, talking rapturously. "_J'en raffole!_" exclaimed Madame; "such a charming young man, gifted with talents of the most original order." The ambassador was looking at a portrait--the likeness of Madame Caballero herself--a mere sketch in oils, with a mark of the brush upon it, but remarkable for the _chic_ and daring of the painter's style, and for that idealised resemblance which is always so agreeable to the subject. Clarissa's heart gave a little throb. The picture was like one she had seen on the easel in the Rue du Chevalier Bayard. "_Mais c'est charmant!_" exclaimed the ambassador; and the adjective was echoed in every key by the rest of the little coterie. "I expect him here this evening," said Madame; "and I shall be very much gratified if you will permit me to present him to your excellency." The ambassador bowed. "Any _protegee_ of Madame's," he said, and so on. Mr. Granger, who was really a judge of art, fastened on to the picture immediately. "There's something fresh in the style, Clary," he said. "I should like this man to paint your portrait. What's the signature? Austin! That's hardly a French name, I should think--eh, Madame Caballero?" "No," replied Madame; "Mr. Austin is an Englishman. I shall be charmed if you will allow him to paint Mrs. Granger; and I'm sure he will be delighted to have such a subject." There was a good deal of talk about Mr. Austin's painting, and art in general. There were some half dozen pictures of the modern French school in this inner room, which helped to sustain the conversation. Mr. Granger talked very fair French, of a soundly grammatical order; and Clarissa's tongue ran almost as gaily as in her schoolgirl days at Belforet. She was going to see her brother--to see him shining in good society, and not in the pernicious "set" of which George Fairfax had spoken. The thought was rapture to her. They might have a few minutes' talk to themselves, perhaps, before the evening was over. That interview in the Rue du Chevalier Bayard had been so sadly brief, and her heart too full for many words.