“You need not wait; the marquis will return home in my mama’s carriage.”

M. Cambray was obliged to submit to be called the “marquis.”  The harmless fib was due to the rank of the little countess; she could not have driven through the streets of Paris in the same fiacre with a pekin!

“We will not go up the main staircase,” said the child, taking her companion’s arm and leading him into the palace.  “I don’t want to meet any of the servants.  We will go directly to mama’s boudoir, and take her by surprise.”

The countess mother, however, was not in her boudoir; only a screaming cockatoo, and a capuchin monkey that grimaced a welcome.  Through the folding-doors which opened into an adjoining room came the melancholy tones of a harmonium; and M. Cambray recognized a favorite air—­Beethoven’s symphony, “Les adieux, l’absence, et le retour.”  He paused a moment to listen to it.

“That is mama playing,” whispered the child.  “You go in first, and tell her you have brought me home.  Be very careful; mama is very nervous.”  M. Cambray softly opened the door, and halted, amazed, on the threshold.

The room into which he had ventured unannounced was a magnificent salon, filled with a brilliant company.  Evidently the countess was holding a matinee.

The assembled company were in full toilet.  The women, who were chiefly young and handsome, were clad in the modest fashion of that day, which draped the shoulders and bust with embroidered kerchiefs, with priceless lace adorning their gowns and genuine pearls twined among their tresses.  The men also wore full dress:  Hungarian trousers, short-waisted coat, with large, bright metal buttons, opening over an embroidered waistcoat.

Surrounded by her guests, the mistress of the house, an ideal of beauty, Cythera herself, was seated at the harpsichord, her neck and shoulders hidden by her wonderfully beautiful golden hair.  When M. Cambray, in his plain brown coat buttoned to the chin, with black gloves and dull buckle-shoes, appeared in the doorway of the boudoir, which was not open to all the world, every eye was turned in surprise toward him.

The lady at the harpsichord rose, surveyed the intruder with a haughty stare, and was about to speak when a lackey in silver-embroidered livery came hastily toward her and said something in a low tone.

“What?” she ejaculated, with sudden terror.  “My daughter lost?”

The guests crowded around her, and a scene of great excitement followed.

Here M. Cambray came forward and said: 

“I have found your daughter, countess, and return her to you.”

The lovely woman made one step toward the child, who had followed M. Cambray into the room, then sank to the floor unconscious.  She was tenderly lifted and borne into the boudoir.  Two physicians, who were of the company, followed.

When the door closed behind them, the entire company remaining in the salon gathered about M. Cambray.  The ladies seized his hands; and while a blonde houri on his right sought to attract his attention, a brunette beauty claimed it on his left—­both women ignoring the attempts of the men to shake hands with the hero of the hour.