’twas easy for the illest beauty to perceive that they made her complexion appear more brilliant by contrast.  The poets declared that Venus herself must have used them and that they spoke the language of love; thus one on the lip meant the ‘coquette,’ on the nose the ‘impertinent,’ on the cheek the ‘gallant,’ on the neck the ‘scornful,’ near the eye ‘passionate,’ on the forehead, such as this one I wear, sir, the ‘majestic.’” As she spoke, so rapidly and archly did her mobile features express in their changes her varying thought that Calvert sat entranced at her piquancy and daring.  “And now, Monsieur, have you no apology to make to these maligned patches?” and she touched the tiny plaster upon her brow.

“A thousand, Madame,” said Calvert, politely, “if you will still let me be of my opinion that your beauty needs no such aid.”

“So you would prevent my wearing so innocent a beautifier?  You are more of a Quaker than Dr. Franklin himself, whom I remember seeing here often,” said Adrienne, with a little laugh and a shrug.  “I think he liked all the ladies and would have continued to like them had they worn rings in their noses!  But as for you—­’tis impossible to please you.  No wonder you Americans broke with the English!  You are most difficile.  But I am sure that Mr. Jefferson or the witty Mr. Morris could have found a handsomer reply than yours, Monsieur!  Ah, here he is now,” and she rose as Mr. Morris entered the room and made his way to her side.

“At last I have the pleasure of saluting Madame de St. Andre!” he said, very gallantly.

“You are late, sir.  We had about given over seeing you this evening.  Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Calvert have been with us an hour.”

“I envy them their good fortune, Madame!  But—­I have been detained.”

“What a lame and insufficient excuse!” cried Adrienne, laughing. “’Tis no better than one of Monsieur Calvert’s compliments!”

“Ah, Madame,” said Mr. Morris, recovering himself, “you must forgive us and remember that you complete our mental overthrow already begun by the dazzling brilliancy of the gayest capital in the world and the multitude of attractions it offers.  A man in your Paris, Madame, lives in a sort of whirlwind which turns him around so fast that he can see nothing.  ’Tis no wonder that the people of this metropolis are under the necessity of pronouncing their definitive judgment from the first glance, and, being thus habituated to shoot flying, they have what sportsmen call a quick sight.  They know a wit by his snuff-box, a man of taste by his bow, and a statesman by the cut of his coat.”  As he finished speaking there was a general movement at the card-tables, and Madame d’Azay, accompanied by Mr. Jefferson, who had been looking on at the game (for he never played), and followed by the company, entered the drawing-room.

“Ah, Monsieur Morris!” she said, catching sight of that gentleman.  “You have a talent for being always a propos, Monsieur!  We have just finished our game and are ready to listen to the latest gossip, which, I am sure, you have heard from that charming friend of yours, Madame de Flahaut.”