little looking-glass to discover whether her _mouches_ are well placed. She carefully arranges the patch upon the middle of her cheek. She would be "gallant" to-night, would lay aside things _spirituelle_. She twirls carelessly her fan, a creation of ivory and mother of pearl, elaborately carved, tipped with gold and silver and set with precious stones. Close at the elbow of Madame de Tencin steps a figure of different type, a woman not accustomed to please by brilliance of mind or vivacity of speech, but by sheer femininity of face and form. Tall, slender, yet with figure divinely proportioned, this beautiful girl, Haideé, or Mademoiselle Aïssé, reputed to be of Turkish or Circassian birth, and possessed of a history as strange as her own personality is attractive, would seem certainly as pure as angel of the skies. Not so would say the gossips of Paris, who whisper that mademoiselle is not happy from her _chevalier_--who speak of a certain visit to England, and a little child born across seas and not acknowledged by its parent. Aïssé, the devout, the beautiful, is no better than others of her sex in this gay city. True, she has abandoned all artificial aids to the complexion and appears distinct among her flattering rivals, the clear olive of her skin showing in strange contrast to the heightened colors of her sisters. Yet Aïssé, the toast of Europe and the text of poets, proves herself not behind the others in the loose gaiety of this occasion. And there came others: Madame de Prie, later to hold such intimate relations with the fortunes of France in the selection of a future queen for the boy king; De Sabran, plain, gracious and good-natured; Parabère, of delicately oval face, of tiny mouth, of thin high nose and large expressive eyes, her soft hair twined with a deep flushed rose, and over her corsage drooping a continuous garland of magnificent flowers. Also Caylus the wit, Caylus the friend of Peter the Great, by duty and by devotion a _religieuse_, but by thought and training a gay woman of the world--all these butterflies of the bubble house of Paris came swimming in as by right upon this exotic air.