The reader will remember that Vivian had agreed to dine, on the day after the fête, with the Baron, in his private apartments. This was an arrangement which, in fact, the custom of the house did not permit; but the irregularities of great men who are attended by chasseurs are occasionally winked at by a supple maître d’hôtel. Vivian had reasons for not regretting his acceptance of the invitation; and he never shook hands with the Chevalier de Boeffleurs, apparently, with greater cordiality, than on the day on which he met him at dinner at the Baron von Konigstein’s. Mr. St. George had not arrived. “Past five!” said the Baron; “riding out, I suppose, with the Fitzlooms. Aurelia is certainly a fine girl; but I should think that Lady Madeleine would hardly approve the connection. The St. Georges have blood in their veins; and would, I suppose, as soon think of marrying a Fitzloom as we Germans should of marrying a woman without a _von_ before her name. We are quite alone, Grey, only the Chevalier and St. George. I had an idea of asking Salvinski, but he is such a regular steam-engine, and began such a long story last night about his interview with the King of Ashantee, that the bare possibility of his taking it into his head to finish it to-day frightened me. You were away early from the Grand Duke’s last night. The business went off well.” “Very well, indeed!” said the Chevalier de Boeffleurs; completing by this speech the first dozen of words which he had uttered since his stay at Ems. “I think that last night Lady Madeleine Trevor looked perfectly magnificent; and a certain lady, too, Grey, eh? Here is St. George. My dear fellow, how are you? Has the fair Aurelia recovered from the last night’s fatigues? Now, Ernstorff, dinner as soon as possible.” The Baron made up to-day, certainly, for the silence of his friend the Chevalier. He outdid himself. Story after story, adventure after adventure, followed each other with exciting haste. In fact, the Baron never ceased talking the whole dinner, except when he refreshed himself with wine, which he drank copiously. A nice observer would, perhaps, have considered the Baron’s high spirits artificial, and his conversation an effort. Yet his temper, though lively, was generally equable; and his ideas, which always appeared to occur easily, were usually thrown out in fluent phraseology. The dinner was long, and a great deal of wine was drunk: more than most of the parties present for a long time had been accustomed to. About eight o’clock the Chevalier proposed going to the Redoute, but the Baron objected. “Let us have an evening altogether: surely we have had enough of the Redoute. In my opinion one of the advantages of the fête is, that there is no New House to-night. Conversation is a novelty. On a moderate calculation I must have told you to-day at least fifty original anecdotes. I have done my duty. It is the Chevalier’s turn now. Come, de Boeffleurs, a choice one!”