shouts of recognition by the promenaders on either side.  Everything now went on in the old train.  He was readmitted to the intimacy of the Orleans family, and retained his place and the confidence of his master until the revolution of February drove the Orleans family into exile.  He retired into obscurity with a grace and dignity befitting the premier gentilhomme de France—­without reproach, without a stain upon his escutcheon.  He refused the most tempting offers of employment at the imperial court, and was seen no more, save when now and then, passing down the boulevard with hurried steps, he was recognized by his long white hair and braided jacket, with the persistent cipher of the royal house to which he had been for so many years attached.  Then, as he hastened along with riding-whip in hand and jingling spurs upon his heels, some old bourgeois sipping his demi-tasse at the door of a cafe would exclaim, “There goes the Count de Cambis, le dernier gentilhomme de France!”

A desperate attempt was made by the imperialists to set up a premier gentilhomme of their own in the person of Count Morny, who sought to revive the traditions of De Grammont and of De Montrond.  He was brave, he was witty, his physique might be said to realize the ideal of the role, but his morale was founded on the theories of the Bonaparte school.  De Grammont tells us how he cheated the greasy cattle-dealer; De Montrond makes us laugh when he relates how in his tour of mediation with Prince Talleyrand he was wont to take bribes from two rival princes, each willing to pay a heavy sum that the other might be baffled; but neither De Grammont nor De Montrond would ever have consented to soil his hands with such vile commercial speculations as the Houilleres d’Anzin or the Vieille Montagne, or condescend to such disgraceful financial mystification as the “Affaire Jecker” of Mexico.

It would be impossible to explain the difference which exists between the “gentilhomme” and the “gentleman.”  It is felt and understood, but cannot be described.  The term “gentleman” itself is conventional.  Neither birth nor accomplishments, nor even gentle manners, are necessary for undisputed assumption of the title.  The man who acts as a lawyer’s clerk cannot be called a gentleman, according to Judge Keating’s decision, because, the title having no place in the language of the law, if he chanced to be indicted for a criminal offence he would be denominated a “laborer.”  Serjeant Talfourd’s sweeping theory, of the term “gentleman” being legally applicable to every man who has nothing to do and is out of the workhouse, cannot be accepted, as it would of necessity include thieves, mendicants and out-door paupers.  The American police have been compelled, to defend the border-line of gentility against the encroachments of their vagabond gold-seekers, card-sharpers and ruffians, and confine the term to those of respectable calling.  In California the term may be applied