and thought to himself that it was not strange that she, who had been accustomed to this splendor since her birth, should treat an unassuming, untitled gentleman from an almost unknown country, without fortune or distinction, with supercilious indifference.  Indeed, in his heart Mr. Calvert was of the opinion that this dazzling creature’s beauty alone was enough to place her above princesses, and (thinking of the fresco on the ceiling) that had Aeneas but met her instead of Queen Dido he had never abandoned her as he did the Carthagenian.

Perhaps something of the ardor of his thoughts was reflected in his expression, for it was with a somewhat embarrassed look that Adrienne pointed to a low gilt chair beside her own.

“Will you be seated, sir?  And now for your confession!  But even before that I must know why you come to see us so seldom.  Were you provoked because I rebelled at being taken to task that afternoon on the ice?  But see!  Am I not good now?” and she threw him a demure glance of mock humility that seemed to make her face more charming than ever.

“You are very beautiful,” said Mr. Calvert, quietly.

“Tiens!  You will be a courtier yet if you are not careful,” returned Adrienne, smiling divinely at the young man from beneath her dark lashes.

“Tis no compliment, Madame, but the very truth.”

“The truth,” murmured the young girl, in some embarrassment at Calvert’s sincere, if detached, manner.  “One hears it so seldom these days that ’tis difficult to recognize it!  But if it was the truth I fear it was not the whole truth, sir.  I am sure I detected an uncomplimentary arriere pensee in your speech!” and she laughed mockingly at the young man, whose turn it was to be embarrassed.  “I am very beautiful, but—­what, sir?”

“But you would be even more so without those patches, which may be successful enhancements for lesser beauties but are beneath the uses of Madame de St. Andre,” returned Calvert, bravely, and joining in the laugh which the young girl could not repress.

“Pshaw, sir!  What an idea!” said Adrienne.  “Am I then so amiable that you dare take advantage of it to call me to account again?  I am beginning to think, sir, that I, who have been assured by so many gentlemen to be perfection itself, must, after all, be a most faulty creature since you find reason to reprove me constantly,” and she threw Calvert so bewildering a glance that that young gentleman found himself unable to reply to her badinage.

“Besides, Monsieur,” she went on, “you do not do justice to these patches.  Is it possible that there exists a gentleman so ignorant of women and fashion as not to know the origin and uses of the mouche?  Come, sir, attend closely while I give you a lesson in beauty and gallantry!  These patches which you so disdain were once tiny plasters stretched upon black velvet or silk for the cure of headache, and, though no one was ever known to be so cured,