Chapter XX: The Ambassadress’ Ball

I do not question what thou art,
Nor what thy life in great or small;
Thou art, I know, what all my heart,
Must beat or break for. That is all.
—OWEN MEREDITH.

The front of that handsome house in Cavendish Square, known then as the American Embassy, blazed with light. Not only the street before it, but the cross-streets around the corners were thronged with carriages.

Our Ambassadress was giving her first ball of the season and the élite of London were to honor it with their presence.

Many another house would have been crowded to suffocation with the company that assembled in this; but here, so spacious were the corridors and staircases, so _very_ spacious the halls and saloons, that the seven hundred fair and noble guests wandered through the decorated and illumined rooms, refreshed by pleasant breezes and inspired by delightful music, and all without the usual accidents of crushed toilets and crossed tempers.

In the first reception room, near the entrance door, stood the distinguished ambassador and his accomplished wife receiving their friends with their usual cordiality. The ambassador wore the dress of a plain American citizen; the ambassadress was resplendent in mazarine blue velvet and diamonds.

At about half-past ten o’clock General Lyon and his party were announced and entered the first reception room. The General and his nephew wore the stereotyped evening costume of gentlemen—the black dress-coat and black pantaloons and the white vest and white kid gloves.

Anna wore a mauve _crêpe_, looped up with white roses; and white roses in her hair and in her bosom, and pearls and amethysts on her neck and arms.

Drusilla’s toilette was perfect. It was a full dress of priceless point lace over a pale maize colored silk. In her hair, on her bosom, and looping up her dress, were clusters of snowdrops and crocuses, sprinkled with the dewdrops of fine diamonds. The effect of this simple and elegant toilette was rich, delicate and beautiful beyond comparison.

General Lyon and his young friends had to stand a few moments, while a group who had passed in before them paused to pay their respects to the host and hostess.

At length, when their own turn came, the General took precedence of his nephew and led Drusilla up to the ambassadress. First he shook hands heartily with his old friend the ambassador and bowed to the ambassadress, and then presented Drusilla as:

“My niece, Mrs. Lyon.”

Drusilla curtsied deeply, and the minister and his wife received her kindly. And after a few commonplace courtesies the General passed on to make room for Dick and Anna, and also to look out for some of his own friends in the crowd.

But ah! what a suppressed buzz went through the room as the veteran passed, with the newest beauty of the season hanging on his arm.

“What an exquisite young creature!” lisped young Leslie of the Guards.

“Who is she then?” inquired Beresford of the Hussars.

“Don’t know, I am sure. Does anybody here? Do _you_, Kill.? You look as if you did,” said Leslie, turning to Lord Killcrichtoun, who was standing like a statue staring after the retreating form of General Lyon and Drusilla, who were speedily lost in the crowd.

The question recalled him to himself.

“Do I—what?” he inquired, with assumed carelessness.

“Do you know that lovely girl who passed just now, hanging on the arm of that tall, gray-haired old gentleman?”

“What girl? I noticed no _girl_ particularly.”

“Chut! are you subject to catalepsy, Kill.?” laughed Leslie.

“But who _can_ she be? Some girl that is just out, I suppose. Somebody must know. Let’s go and ask Harry. He knows everything,” said Beresford, moving off.

“Stop—find out who the old gentleman is first. He looks like a foreigner, and she must be his daughter,” suggested the Guardsman.

“Oh! by the way! that is it!” suddenly exclaimed the Hussar.

“What is it? Have you made a discovery?”

“Yes! you said he looked like a foreigner; and so the whole thing flashed upon me at once. He is the Prince Waldemar Pullmynoseoff. Her Majesty received him yesterday. He has a daughter. The Princess Shirra.”

“Why, certainly! of course! undoubtedly! how could we have missed seeing it at once.”

And so these young men, upon their own sole responsibility, settled the rank of the simple republican gentleman and lady.

And Alexander Lyon, or Lord Killcrichtoun, smiled as he heard this.

While they spoke several of their acquaintances came lounging up. One of them, a fair young man with straw-colored hair and mustache, spoke:

“We have just seen the loveliest little creature. Can any of you tell who she is?”

“Now, in the first place,” said Leslie, maliciously, “where there are so many lovely creatures present, how are we to know which you mean?”

“Oh, you cannot mistake if you have seen her! the most perfect beauty of the season. She wore—there now I cannot tell you what she wore: but her dress was the most elegant as she was the most beautiful in the room,” persisted the young man, pulling at his fair mustache.

“Now look here, Duke—taste in beauty and taste in dress differ so much, you know. How can I tell what individual girl you mean when you talk of the most beautiful creature in the most elegant toilet in the room? Why, there are hundreds of beautiful women in elegant toilets present, and each one of them may be the _most_ beautiful and the _most_ elegant to some one else’s particular fancy.”

“Ah! bah, Leslie, that may be all very true of commonplace beauties; but I tell you, and you know it is true, that there are _some_ beauties whom _every_ body acknowledges to be pre-eminent; and of such is the sweet creature who passed here like a beam of sunshine—an exquisite creature! Stop chaffing now and tell me, if you know, who she is.”

“Was she leaning on the arm of a tall, gray-haired gentleman?” asked Leslie, laughing.

“Yes! yes!”

“Oh, then, yes, I know her. She is the Princess Shirra, daughter of Prince Waldemar Pullmynoseoff. He is here on a visit; some say on a private mission. Her Majesty received him yesterday.”

“Daughter of old Pullmynoseoff. I’ll go and get introduced,” said the young duke, hurrying away.

Again Alexander laughed within himself. He was somewhat amused by the mistake those discerning gentlemen had made in supposing Drusilla to be the little Russian princess; but he was also bitterly jealous of the admiration so generally expressed for his beautiful, young, forsaken wife; and he was deeply indignant that men should take her for a girl to be wooed and won.

He followed the duke. He could not help it. He wanted to see the end of this adventure, in which the young duke went in search of Drusilla and the Princess Shirra, both in one. He followed him through the mazes of the whole suite of rooms; and everywhere he heard the same suppressed murmur of admiration, curiosity and conjecture of which the new beauty was the subject. Others beside the group of officers took her for the newly-arrived Russian Princess.

“Look at her diamonds—a shower of dewdrops over her flowers,” murmured one lady.

“They cannot _all_ be real. Some must be paste among so many,” objected another.

“Paste! Look at her point-lace dress, then, more costly still than her diamonds. _None_ but a princess of the highest rank could wear such a priceless robe.”

Alexander passed on, leaving these people to their dispute, and followed the young duke until he stopped before a group of ladies and gentlemen. The ladies were seated on the sofa, and the gentlemen were standing before them.

The duke bowed and exchanged the courtesies of the evening, and then, turning to one of the gentlemen, said:

“Lord John, you presented the Prince Waldemar Pullmynoseoff to Her Majesty yesterday. Will you be good enough to present me to the prince this evening?”

“With pleasure, Lillespont. Come!” said the Lord John, at once turning to lead the way.

“I think his daughter decidedly the most beautiful woman in the house,” said the Duke of Lillespont as they threaded their way through the crowd, closely followed by Alexander. “Unquestionably the most beautiful woman here,” repeated His Grace, as if challenging contradiction.

“Do you? I am rather surprised to hear you say so,” observed Lord John.

“The most beautiful woman I have ever seen—that is, if one may call so young a creature a woman at all,” he added.

“Young?” repeated Lord John, raising his eyebrows. “Ah, but then you are at a time of life when all women’s ages are alike, I suppose.”

And, saying this in rather a low tone, Lord John paused before a gentleman and lady seated on a sofa, around which quite a court of worshippers were gathered.

Waiting for a few minutes for a fair opportunity, and then gently making his way through the circle, Lord John took his protégé, and said:

“Prince, permit me to present to your Highness the Duke of Lillespont; Duke,—Prince Waldemar Pullmynoseoff!”

And, before the young duke could recover from his surprise and disappointment, he found himself bowing deeply before a little dry, rusty, scrubby, hairy old gentleman, who looked more like a very aged and very cunning monkey than a man, not to say a prince. However, he was certainly a European celebrity, filled full of diplomacy, covered over with orders, and possessed a string of titles—all told—a yard and a quarter long. So the duke bolted his disappointment and bowed his body low before the royal and venerable mummy.

And then he was presented to a little, withered woman, very like the prince, and looking very little younger, but so covered with jewels of all sizes and colors that she presented the idea of an elderly fire-fly.

Again the duke bowed low, and exerted himself to be agreeable, but he was very glad when the coming up of another party gave him an excuse to make his final bow and withdraw.

Alexander, grinning like Mephistophiles, still followed.

“I was quite mistaken in the princess. It was another whom I took to be Prince Waldemar’s daughter,” said Lillespont, deeply annoyed that he should have led any one to believe so ill of his tastes as that he should have fallen in love with the elderly fire-fly.

“Hem! I thought you had made some mistake of the sort,” said Lord John kindly.

“Oh, yes, quite another sort of person! a lovely young creature, just out of the schoolroom, I should say. Ah, there—there she is now, sitting within that window!” suddenly exclaimed the young man as an opening in the crowd, like a rift in the clouds, showed a vista at the farther end of which a bay window lined with lilies and roses and occupied by General Lyon and his party, and by a select circle of their particular friends.

“There! that lovely, dark-eyed houri, looking the very spirit of spring and youth, clothed with sunshine, adorned with flowers, and spangled with diamond-dew! Do you know her?”

“Know her? Stop,—let me see. I know that party she is with. I met them here at this house a few mornings ago. Let me see,—there is General Lyon, and Mr. and Mrs. Hammond, and—yes, the young creature you admire so justly is Mrs. Lyon.”

“‘_Mrs._’—did you mean to say ‘Mrs.?’”

“Yes, ‘Mrs.’ I remember perfectly well being as much surprised as you are at seeing so childlike a creature introduced by a matronly title.”

“But she is never the wife of that old man? It would not—that sort of union—be May and December, it would be April and January!”

“Oh, no, she is not his wife—she is his niece, I think. Yes, I am sure he introduced her as his niece, Mrs. Lyon.”

“_Mrs._ Lyon? that child.”

“Well, I tell you, I was as much surprised as you are to hear her called so; but then I reflected that in America, as in all young nations, people marry at a very early age.”

“Ah! but where is _Mr._ Lyon?” very pertinently inquired Lillespont.

“Oh, Mr. Lyon? I don’t know that there is any Mr. Lyon. I have somehow or other received the impression that this childish beauty is a young widow, and a very wealthy one also.”

“A youthful, beautiful, and wealthy widow,” said Lillespont, musingly. “Lord John, you say you know her,—will you introduce me?”

“With pleasure,—come,” said the elder man, leading the way to the bay-window.

Alexander followed them no further, but muttering to himself:

“Ass, puppy, coxcomb!” and other injurious epithets—probably applied to Lillespont—withdrew to a convenient spot from which, unseen, he could see all that might be going on in the bay-window.

He saw the old gentleman called Lord John take Lillespont up and present him to General Lyon, who forthwith presented him to the ladies of his party. And next he saw the young duke bow deeply to Drusilla, and make some request, to which she graciously responded. And then he saw her rise and give her hand to Lillespont, who, with the air of a conqueror, led her off.

Alexander ground his teeth together with rage and jealousy.

They passed down the room and onward towards the dancing saloon, where new quadrilles were being formed. And the duke led his beautiful partner to the head of one set. And there as everywhere else a low, half-suppressed but sincere murmur of admiration followed her.

Alexander foamed with fury, and hurried away from the scene because he could not trust himself to remain.

Of course he had not the least right to be jealous or indignant, but just _because_ he had no such right—and he knew it—he was all the more furious. It enraged him to see her looking so beautiful, blooming, happy, and independent of him, enjoying herself and exciting universal admiration in society, when he thought, by rights, she ought to be pale, and sad, and moping in some obscure place. It infuriated him to see her the object of another man’s homage.

“And that puppy, perdition seize him! takes her to be a young widow; is thinking now perhaps of asking her to be his wife! His wife!” And here Alexander ground down unuttered curses between his set teeth.

Ah, could he have looked into his young wife’s heart, his anger must have been appeased. Could he have seen how little she cared for all the homage she received, except in so much as it might make her more worthy in his eyes. Truly she smiled on the young duke at her side—not because he was young and handsome and a duke, but because it was her sunny, genial, grateful nature to smile on all who tried to please her. Yes! to smile on all who tried to please _her_, while from the depth of her heart she sighed to please but one on earth.

Alexander found food enough for his insane jealousy. Drusilla was the acknowledged beauty of the season. Everywhere he heard her murmured praises. Every one supposed her to be a young widow. Some genius, indebted to his imagination for his facts, had fancied that because Mrs. Lyon the supposed young widow, was niece-in-law to old General Lyon, therefore the husband of Mrs. Lyon had been a military officer who had been killed in the war between the United States and Mexico; and had so effectually started the report that before the evening was over every one had heard that Captain Lyon had been shot while gallantly leading his company at the storming of Chepultepec. Of course this report never once reached the ears of the General or Mrs. Lyon, or of Mr. or Mrs. Hammond. Reports seldom do reach the ears of those most concerned in them; and false reports never.

But Alexander was doomed to hear it all.

“Kill have you seen the newest beauty out?” inquired young Hepsworth of the Dragoons. “There she is dancing with Prince Ernest of Hohenlinden. She is engaged ten sets deep; but I come in for the eleventh for the Lancers. That is after supper. Look at her now, as she turns. Isn’t she perfect? Just perfect?”

“Who is she?” growled Alexander, feeling himself called upon to say something.

“Who is she? Not Satan in the form of an angel of light, as one might judge from the tone of your question. She is Mrs. Lyon, a young widow, though you would hardly suppose her ever to have been a wife. But you know how early girls marry in America, stepping from the cradle to the altar, one might say. However, that young creature has been married and widowed. Husband, gallant fellow, lost his life in leading a forlorn hope in the storming of Chehuaple—Chehuapaw—Chehua-peltemback, or some such barbarously named place.”

“Oh! he did, did he?”

“Oh, yes, bless you! And I am very much obliged to him for doing so; but she was perfectly inconsolable for three years. But she has at last left off her weeds, as you see. And we may suppose she is in the market.”

“Ah! she is, is she?”

“Oh, yes! Lovely creature? And _stu_-PEN-_dously_ rich too,” exclaimed the dragoon.

“Oh, she is rich?” sneered Alexander.

“Rich? She’s a California Crœsus. A great catch for some fortunate fellow!”

It would not do to take a gentleman by the throat and shake him there in the ambassadress’ drawing-room; yet Alexander could scarcely refrain from laying hands on the dragoon who continued very innocently piling up wrath.

“Do you know, I think Lillespont is taken? Lillespont who has escaped all the man-traps set for him for the last four years, since he first appeared in the world? But then this young creature is such a perfect novelty! It would be of no use for a captain of dragoons to enter the lists against a duke, else hang me if I did not go in for the little beauty myself,” said the young officer, complacently drawing himself up, sticking out a neat leg, and caressing his moustache.

“You are an ass!” exclaimed Alexander, turning on his heel and walking away.

The astonished dragoon gazed after him in a sort of stupor, and then, still pawing at his moustache, muttered:

“Per Bacco! what a rude savage! Very great bore, but I shall have to challenge him. And hang me if I have the least idea what the row is about. However, I must stay here until I keep my engagement with the little beauty for the Lancers, and then—to teach that uncivilized brute that he is not to indulge his savage propensities in ladies’ drawing-rooms.”

And so saying, the young fellow, who with all his effeminacy, was brave enough, sauntered away to look up a brother officer to act as his second, and afterwards to wait for his partner in the Lancers, his mind being equally occupied by the thoughts of dancing and dueling.

Meanwhile, Alexander had moved to another standpoint, from which, unseen by her, he could follow every movement of his beautiful and admired young wife.

“I suppose,” he muttered to himself, “I shall have to meet that young coxcomb. For after what I said to him unless he is a poltroon as well as a puppy, he will challenge me. Well! I don’t care a rush for my own life, and it is not likely that I should care for his——Yes! and by all that is maddening, there is another fellow I shall have to fight!” he exclaimed, as he watched Prince Ernest of Hohenlinden, who was bestowing on the beauty of the evening much more devotion than it was at all necessary to show to a mere partner in the dance.

Just then the dance came to an end, and his Highness led Drusilla back to her seat beside Mrs. Hammond in the bay window.

Alexander followed, keeping out of her sight.

“I fear you are very much fatigued,” said Prince Ernest, still retaining her hand, and gazing with respectful tenderness upon her flushed cheeks and brilliant eyes. “Let me bring you an ice,” he continued, with affectionate solicitude.

“No, thanks,” said Drusilla, courteously, but withdrawing her hand.

“A glass of water then?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

“The rooms are very warm. Will you permit me to take you into the conservatory. It is open and airy there.”

“Much obliged; but I am very well here,” said Drusilla, sweetly.

“Permit me this privilege at least,” pleaded the prince, gently possessing himself of her fan and beginning to fan her.

Alexander set his teeth and ground his heel into the floor, growling within himself:

“Confound him, what does he mean? I know I shall have to fight him!”

But if Alexander meant to call out all Drusilla’s admirers, who, believing her to be a widow, were ready to become her lovers, he would have his hands as full of fights as the most furious fire-eater might desire.

While Prince Ernest was still standing before Drusilla fanning her, and in every admissible manner exhibiting his devotion to her, a very handsome, martial looking man, of about thirty years of age, wearing the uniform of an Austrian field-marshal, and having his breast covered with orders, came up and, bowing low before the beauty, claimed her hand for the quadrille then forming.

Alexander knew him for General Count Molaski, an officer high in the Austrian service, and one of the most distinguished foreigners then in London. He led his lovely partner to the floor, where she was soon moving gracefully through the mazes of the dance.

“Her head will be turned!—her head will be completely turned! Who would ever have dreamed of her coming _here_ to play the _rôle_ of a beauty—of a queen of beauties—in society! Aye, and with a fortune of her own, and the countenance of General Lyon’s family to sustain her in it. Perdition! I wish to Heaven she had never left Cedarwood—never inherited that fortune—never been taken up by that old Don Quixote, my uncle! _Then_ I might have had some chance of a reconciliation with her; but now—I have no hope at all. If she has not already forgotten me, these flatterers will soon make her do so. Ah! great Heaven, I was certainly blind and mad ever to have left her! I always loved her—when did I love her not? And to have left her whom I did love for Anna whom I only admired! Why, look at Anna now. Only what is commonly called a fine woman here. There are a hundred in this room as pretty as Anna, but look at Drusilla, my wife—she _is_ my wife, after all! She is the most beautiful woman present, and the best dressed. _My_ choice has been endorsed by the verdict of the best judges of beauty the world possesses. She _was_ my choice. _I_ thought her all that these judges have decided her to be. Yes, yes, I thought her so when she was without the adventitious aids of wealth, rank, dress, and general admiration to enhance her charms! How could I have left her? I was mad—just mad! No lunatic in Bedlam ever madder!”

By this it will be seen that Alexander Lyon, Lord Killcrichtoun, had in his heart—for no one knows how long—returned to his first love—perhaps his only love—and was now consuming with a hopeless passion for his own discarded wife.

“When I first saw our boy, what a shock of mingled joy and pain the sight gave me! I scarcely needed the chambermaid’s information that he was Mrs. Lyon’s little son. I knew him at once from his likeness to his mother. True, he has the hair and eyes of our family, but he has his mother’s beautiful brows and sweet lips. Ah! what a dolt! what an ass! what a pig I have been!” inwardly groaned Alexander, still grinding his teeth together.

But soon his rage was diverted from himself to Drusilla’s partner.

“There she goes,” he muttered—“swimming through the dance as happily as if I were not in existence, and were not so wretched. And, set fire to that fellow! how his eyes follow her and seem to feast—— Ugh! yes, I will be shot if I don’t call him out!”

“Hallo, Kill.! how do you do? Good evening. Fine company assembled here this evening. Good many distinguished foreigners present—nearly the whole diplomatic corps also. But all that is nothing to the debut of the celebrated beauty. You know her, of course,” said young Frederic Dorimas, coming up to Alexander’s side. “You know her?”

“Know whom?” said Drusilla’s husband, evasively.

“Why, the beautiful young widow who is turning all heads this evening.”

“No, I know no young widow here.”

“Then you are a very lucky fellow in having such a pleasure still to come; and I shall be happy to present you. Now, no thanks, my dear fellow, because I don’t deserve them. My own heart and hand being already engaged to another young lady, I am not free to become a candidate for the beautiful widow’s favor, and so I will not play the part of the dog in the manger. Come as soon as this dance is over, and I will take you up and introduce you.”

“Much obliged; but I prefer to decline the honor,” said Alexander, coldly bowing and turning away from his new tormentor.

“Eh, Kill., not dancing this evening? and looking as glum as if you had lost a sweetheart or a fortune. What’s the matter? Did you bet on a losing horse, or fail to get an introduction to the lovely Mrs. Lyon?”

“Go to the demon with your lovely Mrs. Lyon!” burst out the sorely tried Alick.

“With great pleasure, or anywhere else in the universe with _her_. But, hark you, my lord! I am not accustomed to receive such answers from gentlemen; and by my life, sir——”

But Alexander had turned on his heel and walked off again, leaving the last speaker in the middle of his speech.

Alick, in his utter wretchedness, was behaving very much like a brute. He had already insulted one gentleman and affronted another. He was sure of being called out by young Hepsworth of the dragoons, and he was strongly inclined to call out some half dozen other gentlemen who had been guilty of dancing with Drusilla and delighting in the honor.

He passed on, growling inward curses, and so for some moments lost sight of his young wife.

When he saw her next, she was seated in the bay window, with her court of worshipers around her. She alone occupied the sofa.

General Lyon was standing at some distance with a group of old friends that he had been so fortunate as to collect together.

Anna was waltzing with Henry Spencer.

Dick was waltzing with Nanny Seymour.

Drusilla never waltzed, and therefore for the time she was sitting alone on the sofa with her court standing around her.

There were Prince Ernest of Hohenlinden, General Count Molaski, the Duke of Lillespont, and one or two others of the same class.

Drusilla exhibited none of the awkwardness of a novice under such trying circumstances. The only lady in the circle, she was nevertheless not only self-possessed and graceful, but she was animated and witty. She kept the ball of conversation quickly flying back and forth, so that those about her forgot the passage of time until the cessation of the waltz music and the commencement of a march, followed by a general movement of the company in one direction proclaimed the opening of the supper rooms.

With a bow, Prince Ernest asked the honor of taking Mrs Lyon into supper.

With a smile of thanks, she accepted the courtesy, and arose.

And he drew her arm within his own, and proudly led her off.

They passed so near Alexander that he might have stepped upon her dress. But she never turned her eyes in his direction.

“She has forgotten me—clearly and finally forgotten me! But I will be hanged if I don’t make somebody sensible of my existence before the night is over!” said Alexander to himself as he followed them.

At supper the prince waited on the beauty with as much devotion as ever courtier offered to his queen.

Near them stood Anna, served by Henry Spencer and Nanny Seymour waited on by Dick.

There was really nothing at which Alexander had the least right to take exception. Yet his blood was boiling with jealousy so that he was actually almost frenzied.

After supper Prince Ernest led Drusilla back to her seat, and stood devoting himself to her service until the next dance was called and Captain Hepsworth came up to claim her as his partner in the Lancers.

Very sweetly Drusilla smiled on the young dragoon, as she gave him her hand and let him lead her forth to the dance.

But not Drusilla’s smile of courtesy nor the young officer’s simper of gratified vanity enraged Alick half so much as the air and manner assumed by Prince Ernest.

He, the prince, gazed after the retreating form of the beauty until she was lost in the crowd, and then with a profound sigh he took possession of her vacated seat, picked up a flower that might or might not have fallen from her bouquet, pressed it to his lips and put it in his bosom.

“I’ll kill him for that, or he shall kill me! I hardly care which!” growled the maniac in the depth of his heart. He would have liked to throttle his Highness on the spot; and in refraining from doing so he only postponed his vengeance.

When the Lancers came to an end Drusilla returned, obsequiously attended by the young dragoon, and followed by General Lyon and all the members of her party.

Prince Ernest started up from the sofa and with respectful tenderness took Drusilla’s hand and placed her in her seat, and remained standing beside her.

“My dear, it is four o’clock, and you look very tired-had we not better go?” inquired General Lyon, speaking in a low tone to Drusilla.

“Just as you and Anna please, dear uncle. As for myself, I am quite ready,” she replied.

“So am I,” said Mrs Hammond.

“Come then,” said the General, offering his arm to Drusilla.

“Pardon me, sir, if you please. I will have the honor to attend Madam!” exclaimed Prince Ernest.

With a bow and a queer smile the General gave way.

And the prince bending before the beauty, took her hand and drew her arm within his own and led her on.

And Alexander from his covert saw all this; and breathing maledictions, followed them, first to the presence of the ambassador and ambassadress, before whom they paused to make their adieux, then to the cloak room, where he saw Prince Ernest take Drusilla’s bouquet and hold it with one hand, while with the other hand he carefully wrapped her in her mantle; then he followed them down-stairs to the hall, where they all had to stop and wait some time before their carriage could come up—and finally to the sidewalk, where he saw Prince Ernest carefully place Drusilla in her carriage, and tenderly lift her hand to his lips as he bade her good-night. Saw him then gaze upon the faded bouquet that he had taken from the beauty, who had probably forgotten to reclaim it—gaze upon it, press it to his lips, and place it, as some priceless treasure, in the breast of his coat.

That last act of folly filled up the measure of the prince’s offences. It maddened Alexander. Henceforth he was no more responsible for his actions than a lunatic.

Going up to Prince Ernest, he clapped him smartly upon the shoulder.

The prince whirled around with an involuntary expression of surprise and anger.

“You, sir, I want a word with you!” exclaimed Alexander, breathing hard between his set teeth.

“At your pleasure, sare, perhaps! But, first, who may you be?” replied his highness, with cool hauteur.

“There is my card, sir! I would be glad to have yours?”

“‘Baron Killcrichtoun?’ I do not know the name or title. Well, Baron, what is your will with me?”

“First, sir, that bouquet, which you have had the insolence to keep! Secondly, sir, satisfaction for the insults you have offered to a lady who is near and dear to me?”

“INSULTS!” exclaimed the excitable Austrian, jumping off his feet. “Insults! sare, I never offer insults to a lady in my life! Sare, you speak von untruth! Sare, you speak von large lie! Sare, it is I, myself, I, who will have von grand satisfaction!”

“So you shall! but first give me that bouquet!”

“Sare, I will give you no bouquet! Sare, I defend my bouquet with the best blood of my heart! Sare, by what right you demand my bouquet?”

“By a right too sacred to be talked of here! Give me the bouquet that you have stolen!”

“‘Stolen!’” cried his highness, vaulting into the air, “Sare, I will put back that word down your t’roat with the point of my rapier, sare! I will have von grand, von very grand satisfaction, sare!”

“All right! I will send a friend to you this morning, to arrange the terms of a meeting,” said Alexander, turning away.

“Make your testament, sare! I advise you, set your house in order, sare!” exclaimed the Austrian, shaking his hand aloft. “Make your testament, sare! for, for me, myself, I will have von grand satisfaction! von very grand satisfaction!”