“Mademoiselle de Lacostellerie, the daughter of the house,” said the baron, completely overcome with astonishment at our ignorance. “And you not to know this!--you, of all men living! Why,” he continued, dropping his voice to a lower key, “there never was such a fortune. Mines of rubies and emeralds; continents of coffee, rice, and sandal-wood; spice islands and sugar plantations, to make one's mouth water.” “By Jove, Baron! you seem somewhat susceptible yourself.” “I had my thoughts on the subject,” said he, with a half sigh. “But, _hélas!_ there are so many ties to be broken! so many tender chains one must snap asunder!” “I understand,” said Duchesne, with an air of well-assumed seriousness; “the thing was impossible. Now, then, what say you to assist a friend?” “You,--yourself, do you mean?” “Of course, Baron; no other.” “Come this way,” said the old man, taking him by the arm, and leading him along to another part of the room, while Duchesne, with a sly look at me, followed. While I stood awaiting his return, my thoughts became fixed on Duchesne himself, of whose character I never felt free from my misgivings. The cold indifference he manifested on ordinary occasions to everything and everybody, I now saw could give way to strong impetuosity; but even this might be assumed also. As I pondered thus, I had not remarked that the dance was concluded; and already the dancers were proceeding towards their seats, when I heard my name uttered beside me,--“Capitaine Burke.” I turned; it was the countess herself, leaning on the arm of her daughter. “I wish to present you to my daughter,” said she, with a courteous smile. “The college friend and brother officer of your cousin Tascher, Pauline.” The young lady courtesied with an air of cold reserve; I bowed deeply before her; while the countess continued,-- “We hope to have the pleasure of seeing you frequently during your stay in Paris, when we shall have a better opportunity of making your acquaintance.” As I expressed my sense of this politeness, I turned to address a few words to mademoiselle; and requesting to have the honor of dancing with her, she looked at me with an air of surprise, as though not understanding my words, when suddenly the countess interposed,-- “I fear that my daughter's engagements have been made long since; but another night--” “I will hope--” But before I could say more, the countess addressed another person near her, and mademoiselle, turning her head superciliously away, did not deign me any further attention; so that, abashed and awkward at so unfavorable a _début_ in the gay world, I fell back, and mixed with the crowd. As I did so, I found myself among a group of officers, one of whom was relating an anecdote just then current in Paris, and which I mention merely as illustrating in some measure the habits of the period.