“She is entrancing!” he thought to himself,—­“so altogether fresh and naive!”

“My sweet saint,” he said, “such as you are the appointed guardians of us coarser beings.  The prayers of souls given up to worldliness and ambition effect little.  You must intercede for us.  I am very orthodox, you see,” he added, with that subtle smile which sometimes irradiated his features.  “I am fully aware of all that your reverend doctor tells you of the worthlessness of unregenerate doings; and so, when I see angels walking below, I try to secure ‘a friend at court.’”

He saw that Mary looked embarrassed and pained at this banter, and therefore added, with a delicate shading of earnestness,—­

“In truth, my fair young friend, I hope you will sometimes pray for me.  I am sure, if I have any chance of good, it will come in such a way.”

“Indeed I will,” said Mary, fervently,—­her little heart full, tears in her eyes, her breath coming quick,—­and she added, with a deepening color, “I am sure, Mr. Burr, that there should be a covenant blessing for you, if for any one, for you are the son of a holy ancestry.”

“Eh, bien, mon ami, qu’est ce que tu fais ici?” said a gay voice behind a clump of box; and immediately there started out, like a French picture from its frame, a dark-eyed figure, dressed like a Marquise of Louis XIV.’s time, with powdered hair, sparkling with diamonds.

“Rien que m’amuser,” he replied, with ready presence of mind, in the same tone, and then added,—­“Permit me, Madame, to present to you a charming specimen of our genuine New England flowers.  Miss Scudder, I have the honor to present you to the acquaintance of Madame de Frontignac.”

“I am very happy,” said the lady, with that sweet, lisping accentuation of English which well became her lovely mouth.  “Miss Scudder, I hope, is very well.”

Mary replied in the affirmative,—­her eyes resting the while with pleased admiration on the graceful, animated face and diamond-bright eyes which seemed looking her through.

“Monsieur la trouve bien seduisante apparemment” said the stranger, in a low, rapid voice, to the gentleman, in a manner which showed a mingling of pique and admiration.

“Petite jalouse! rassure-toi,” he replied, with a look and manner into which, with that mobile force which was peculiar to him, he threw the most tender and passionate devotion. “Ne suis-je pas a toi tout a fait?”—­and as he spoke, he offered her his other arm.  “Allow me to be an unworthy link between the beauty of France and America.”

The lady swept a proud curtsy backward, bridled her beautiful neck, and signed for them to pass her.  “I am waiting here for a friend,” she said.

“Whatever is your will is mine,” replied Burr, bowing with proud humility, and passing on with Mary to the supper-room.

Here the company were fast assembling, in that high tide of good-humor which generally sets in at this crisis of the evening.