“Surely!  I would be a very raven among those splendid birds of paradise,” said the young man, a trifle scornfully.

“They are very great gentlemen,” returned Adrienne, tossing her head.  “See, there is Monsieur le Duc d’Orleans himself leading the noblesse,” and she courtesied low, as did the rest of the company, when he looked toward the balcony and bowed.

So that was Monsieur le Duc d’Orleans, the King’s cousin, the King’s enemy, as many already knew, the wildest, the most dissolute of all the wild, dissolute youth of Paris, the boon companion of the Duke of York, the destroyer of the unfortunate Prince de Lamballes, the hero of a thousand chroniques scandaleuses of the day!  As for Calvert, he thought that in spite of the splendid appearance of the royal personage he had never seen a human countenance so repulsive and so depraved.  The brutal, languid eye looked out at him from a face whose unwholesome complexion, heavy jaw, and sensual mouth sent a thrill of sickening disgust through him.  As he gazed at the retreating figure of the Duke, which, in ifs heaviness and lethargy, bore the mark of excesses as unmistakably as did the coarsened face, all the disgraceful stories, the rumors, the anecdotes which he had ever heard concerning this dissipated young prince—­for his reputation was only too well known even in America—­flashed through his mind.

“And this is one of your great gentlemen?” asked Calvert, looking, not without some sadness, at the haughty beauty beside him, still flushed and smiling at the notice bestowed upon her by Monsieur d’Orleans.

“His Highness the Duc d’Orleans is one of the greatest personages in the kingdom, sir!  Tis said, perhaps, that he has been guilty of some indiscretions”—­she hesitated, biting her lip, and coloring slightly beneath Calvert’s calm gaze—­“but surely something must be pardoned to one of his exalted rank; to one who is incapable of any cowardice, of any baseness.”

“Since he is of such exalted rank, it seems strange, Madame, that he should walk so far ahead of his order as almost to seem to mingle with the tiers,” replied Calvert, quietly.  “But I am glad to have such a good report of the Duke, as there are those who have been mistaken enough to doubt his bravery at Ouessant, and, merely to look at him, I confess that I saw many a humble deputy of the tiers who looked, even in his plebeian dress, more the nobleman than he.”

“Ah, Monsieur,” returned Madame de St. Andre, contemptuously, “I see that you are indeed a republican enrage and hate us for our fine feathers and rank of birth as cordially as these people who applaud the tiers and remain silent before the deputies of the nobles.”

“Indeed, you misjudge me, Madame,” says Calvert, who could scarce restrain a smile at the lofty manner of the beautiful girl, “as you misjudge the crowd, for ’tis applauding someone among the noblesse now,” and he stood up and looked over the balcony rail to better see the cause of the shout which had suddenly gone up. “’Tis for Monsieur de Lafayette, I think.  See, he is walking yonder, with d’Azay on one side of him and Noailles on the other.”