He rose from his seat, and was presented in due form to the lady, with whom Frederic then discreetly left him. “M. Lemercier tells me that you think that we were once acquainted with each other.” “Nay, Madame; I should not fail to recognize you were that the case. A friend of mine had the honour of knowing a lady of your name; and should I be fortunate enough to meet that lady, I am charged with a commission that may not be unwelcome to her. M. Lemercier tells me your nom de bapteme is Louise.” “Louise Corinne, Monsieur.” “And I presume that Duval is the name you take from your parents?” “No; my father’s name was Bernard. I married, when I was a mere child, M. Duval, in the wine trade at Bordeaux.” “Ah, indeed!” said Graham, much disappointed, but looking at her with a keen, searching eye, which she met with a decided frankness. Evidently, in his judgment, she was speaking the truth. “You know English, I think, Madame,” he resumed, addressing her in that language. “A leetle; speak un peu.” “Only a little?” Madame Duval looked puzzled, and replied in French, with a laugh, “Is it that you were told that I spoke English by your countryman, Milord Sare Boulby? Petit scelerat, I hope he is well. He sends you a commission for me,--so he ought; he behaved to me like a monster.” “Alas! I know nothing of Milord Sir Boulby. Were you never in England yourself?” “Never,” with a coquettish side-glance; “I should like so much to go. I have a foible for the English in spite of that vilain petit Boulby. Who is it gave you the commission for me? Ha! I guess, le Capitaine Nelton.” “No. What year, Madame, if not impertinent, were you at Aix-la-Chapelle?” “You mean Baden? I was there seven years ago, when I met le Capitaine Nelton, bel homme aux cheveux rouges.” “But you have been at Aix?” “Never.” “I have, then, been mistaken, Madame, and have only to offer my most humble apologies.” “But perhaps you will favour me with a visit, and we may on further conversation find that you are not mistaken. I can’t stay now, for I am engaged to dance with the Belgian of whom, no doubt, M. Lemercier has told you.” “No, Madame, he has not.” “Well, then, he will tell you. The Belgian is very jealous; but I am always at home between three and four; this is my card.” Graham eagerly took the card, and exclaimed, “Is this you’re your own handwriting, Madame?” “Yes, indeed.” “Tres belle ecriture,” said Graham, and receded with a ceremonious bow. “Anything so unlike her handwriting! Another disappointment,” muttered the Englishman as the lady went back to the ball. A few minutes later Graham joined Lemercier, who was talking with De Passy and De Breze. “Well,” said Lemercier, when his eye rested on Graham, “I hit the right nail on the head this time, eh?” Graham shook his head. “What! is she not the right Louise Duval?” “Certainly not.” The Count de Passy overheard the name, and turned. “Louise Duval,” he said; “does Monsieur Vane know a Louise Duval?”