“_Morbleu!_ to be sure I have. It is for that I am here in Paris in the dog days; travelled one hundred and twenty leagues; ay, and more, too,--have brought with me my most aristocratic aunt, who never remembers in her life to have seen full-grown leaves in the Tuileries gardens. I knew what an ally she would be in the negotiation; and so I managed, through some friends in the bureau of the minister, to give her a rare fright about an estate of hers, which by some accident escaped confiscation in the Revolution, and which nothing but the greatest efforts on her part could now rescue from the fangs of the crown. You may be sure she is not particularly in love with the present Government on this score; but the trick secures her speaking more guardedly than she has the habit of doing, besides inducing her to make acquaintances nothing but such a threat would accomplish.” “You intend, then, she should know Madame de Lacostellerie?” “Of course. I have already persuaded her that the Hôtel Clichy is the pivot of all Paris, and that nothing but consummate tact and management on her part will succeed there.” “But I scarcely thought you cared for mademoiselle; and never dreamed of your proposing to marry her.” “Nor I, till about a week ago. However, my plans require money, and would not be encumbered by my having a wife. I see nothing better at the moment, and so my mind is soon made up. But here we are; this is our resting-place.” The “Moisson d'Or,” although not known to me, was then the most celebrated place for dining in Paris. The habits of the house--for there was no _table d'hôte_--required that everything should be ordered beforehand, and the parties all dined separately. The expensive habits and extravagant prices secured its frequenters from meeting the class who usually dined at restaurants; and this gave it a vogue among the wealthy and titled, whose equipages now thronged the street, and filled the _porte cochère_. I had but time to recognize the face of one of the marshals and a minister of state, as we pushed our way through the court, and entered a small pavilion beyond it. “I'll join you in an instant,” said Duchesne, as he left the room hastily after the waiter. In a couple of minutes he was back again. “Come along; it's all right,” said he. “I wish to show you a corner of the old house that only the privileged ever see, and we are fortunate in finding it unoccupied.” We recrossed the court, and mounted a large oak stair to a corridor, which conducted us, by three sides of a quadrangle, to a smaller stair, nearly perpendicular. At the top of this, a strong door, barred and padlocked, stood, which, being opened, led into a large and lofty _salon_, opening by three spacious windows on a terrace that formed the roof of the building. Some citron and orange trees were disposed tastefully along this, and filled the room with their fragrance.