Mr. Morris bowed low before Madame la Duchesse, succeeding perfectly in conveying by a look his appreciation without committing himself to anything more serious.

“And did Your Royal Highness also send for a substitute in case I prove wearying to Madame la Comtesse?” he asked, smiling, as he caught sight of a gentleman who had followed Madame de Flahaut into the room and who wore the ecclesiastical dress of a bishop.  Perhaps what most attracted Mr. Morris’s notice was that he seemed a man of about his own age and, like himself, lame.  “Who is it?” he asked, in a low voice, as the two approached.

“Monsieur de Talleyrand-Perigord, Bishop of Autun, who, I understand, is in danger of losing his place in the affections of Madame on account of Monsieur Morris,” returned the Duchess, hurriedly, and glancing mischievously, though keenly, at Mr. Morris’s face, which, however, preserved its expression of impassivity.

“Ah! place aux eveques!” murmured Mr. Morris, quietly.

Salutations and the presentation of Mr. Morris and Mr. Calvert having been made, the Bishop of Autun turned to the Duchess.

“Your Highness,” he said, “I have come to beg a dinner.”

“And we have brought our bread with us, that we may be sure of our welcome!” cried out Madame de Flahaut, with a little laugh.  And indeed they had, for wheat was so scarce in Paris that it was the fashion for ladies and gentlemen to send their servants with bread when dining out.

“Monsieur l’eveque knows he is always welcome,” said the Duchess, gently, and smiling at Madame de Flahaut.  “Once our guest, always our guest.”

In a little while the tutor of the young princes came in and took away his charges, and the company sat down to supper.  It was one of Her Highness’s little soupers intimes, which she gave each Thursday, and upon which Monsieur le Duc d’Orleans and his wild companions never intruded.  Though the company was small it was very gay, and it would have been hard to say who contributed most to the wit and sparkle of the talk which went on ceaselessly—­Mr. Morris, Monsieur le Vicomte de Segur, or Monsieur de Boufflers, who, as usual, was present in the train of the beautiful Madame de Sabran.  As for Mr. Morris, he was in the highest spirits and devoted himself with gallant courtesy to Madame la Duchesse d’Orleans, on whose left he sat, much to the evident pique of Madame de Flahaut.  With that wonderful adaptability which made him at ease in any society in which he found himself, he adjusted himself to the company of the evening, and, being perfectly master of the French language, could not only understand the light talk and persiflage, but even led in the conversation.

As for Mr. Calvert, having none of that adaptability possessed in so large a share by Mr. Morris, he felt himself out of his element, uninterested and therefore uninteresting, and he listened with inward irritation to the loose anecdotes, the piquant allusions, the coarse gossip, so freely bandied about.  It was with something akin to a feeling of relief that he heard his name spoken and turned to find the keen, restless eyes of Monsieur de Talleyrand, beside whom he was seated, fixed upon him.