Marcel was a curiosity in his way. A bit of a dandy, and a great favourite with the fair sex, he seemed to be always in evidence when any function of importance was going on. He rather prided himself on the originality of his dress, and invariably appeared at dinner in knee breeches, black silk stockings, a white waistcoat, embroidered with many coloured flowers, and a velvet coat, while his neck was adorned with a blue silk bow of vast and convincing proportions. The back of his neck was entirely hidden by the length of his hair, which fell on his shoulders in lustrous locks after the manner of the poet Milton. Was it not then natural that such a beautiful prize should be competed for by the ladies to grace their receptions? But although a fop as regards his dress, Marcel showed traces of real genius, and had already begun to be talked about for his wit and power of repartee. In fact no lady considered her house completely furnished unless a copy of his sonnets, or his epigrams bound in the most delightful of plush covers was to be found in her boudoir. Duval was quite another character. Young, clever, pushing, and extremely self-opinionated, he was nevertheless very narrow-minded, and obstinate and jealous to a degree. When he had made up his mind to any course of action he stopped at nothing to carry it out, and threw caution to the winds. His clean shaven face save for a slight moustache revealed a hard mouth with thin, closely set lips, and a square, firm jaw. Truly such a man was more likely to be feared than loved, and few would venture to make an enemy of him. "What did you say that gentleman's name was who is arguing with our friend the poet?" "Pierre Duval, a new advocate just admitted to the bar. Quite a rising man, I assure you. A man who is anxious to attain to fame by every road, and as cheaply as possible. Oh, by the way, here is my daughter, Céleste," exclaimed Villebois, as she came into the room all blushes and confusion for being so late. "What has kept you so long, Céleste?" "Oh, papa, it's all the fault of those wretched dresses of mine." "What on earth do you mean, my child?" "Well, papa, it's this way. I did want to look very nice, and I found that I had nothing to wear." "Nothing to wear? What do you mean, Céleste? Why, I wager you have ten times as many dresses as Renée." "Yes, that may be, but you wanted me to sit next to Marcel, and I had nothing that would harmonise with his lovely waistcoat. The moment I saw it, I knew at once that it would kill all my dresses. I found I could not match it, do what I would. At last I had to put on something, and now look at me," and a tear rolled down her cheek.