"To finish about this toilette, madame," said M. de Lugeac. "After the first part of the concert was over, Létorière was seen entering the box of Judge Solar, ambassador of his majesty the King of Sardinia,"--and M. de Lugeac inclined his head towards Mlle. de Soissons, a cousin of this king. "The box was empty; the Marquis remained there a few moments to observe the audience. He wore a coat of plain, straw-colored _moiré_, with cuffs of changeable gold and sea-green stuff; his shoulder-knot was of gold and green; you see, madame, that so far, nothing could be more simple." . . . "The shades are well enough selected, we will allow," said the abbé. "But," continued the count, "what was truly marvellous was the trimming of this coat. First, the Marquis's Steinkerque order was fastened with a magnificent emerald buckle; then his large and small buttons, and even the mounting of his sword, were in magnificent opals, which threw green, blue and orange rays, almost as brilliant as the diamonds which encircled these superb stones."[1] "But ornaments like those must be worth more than twenty thousand crowns!" cried the abbé. "I can well believe it," replied M. de Lugeac, "and it is a foolish extravagance; but it is always so whenever the Marquis appears in that box, so magnificently dressed, his hair, lightly snowed like hoar-frost with unbleached powder, falling in his own fashion in waving curls on each side of his temples, he always excites in the public a kind of ecstasy of admiration, succeeded by a murmur more and more approving, until at last almost universal bravos burst forth." "But, in truth, this foolish apotheosis of the beauty of a man is but a pagan ovation," said Madame Rohan-Soubise, with a contemptuous smile. "Besides, what is quite as amusing as the enthusiasm of the Parisians for the charming graces of M. de Létorière, is the profound admiration he has for himself. The vanity of this new Narcissus has been, they say, so ridiculously exalted for some time past, that he has become quite invincible; there are numbers of desperate and weeping beauties, who in vain call with loud cries upon this disdainful Celadon. Undoubtedly no woman now appears to him worthy of his attentions." "Or perhaps, madame, he has found one worthy of his love," said Mlle. de Soissons, raising her noble and beautiful face, radiant with goodness, love and pride, as she listened to this indirect eulogium on the fidelity of the Marquis. Madame Rohan-Soubise, not perceiving her niece's emotion, continued: "But, my dear princess, if this be so, we ought to know this phoenix! For discretion is not the rôle of M. de Létorière. No, no, believe me, if he is fixed, as you say, then his choice is so unworthy of him that he is obliged to conceal it from the world." "Perhaps, on the contrary, it is the world who, in M. de Létorière's eyes, is not worthy of knowing his secret," replied Mlle. de Soissons. This second repartee struck her aunt, who answered: