As the hour for the Matinee approached, Helen’s drawing-rooms presented a coup d’oeil of splendor and elegance.  Daylight was carefully excluded; and alabaster lamps threw a soft, moon-lit radiance, through flowers and garlands, over the scene.  The costly mirrors, the magnificent furniture, of the time of Louis le Grande, the lofty, frescoed ceiling, the exquisite statuary, and rare paintings, were all in fine keeping with each other, and gave, what an artist would call, tone and harmony to the scene.  Attired in white crape and pearls, Helen had never looked more lovely; and of all who crowded with compliments around her, there was not one to rival her.  Group after group of the beau monde made their way to the head of the room, where she, with her high-bred worldly air, received them with a smile and pleasant passing words.

“Your Matinee is the most brilliant of the season, Mrs. Jerrold,” said a fashionable old lady, with a dowager air—­such a one as we meet with constantly in society, who, tangled up in laces, false hair, and a modish style of dress, look like old faries at a christening, and who impress the young and inexperienced by their affected zest that the fleeting pleasures of life are immortal.  “Your matinee is really splendid!  Such a fashionable company—­so much beauty—­really, it reminds me of old times.  But, my dear creature, did you know there is the greatest sensation in town now about religion?”

“How?” asked Helen, smiling.

“The Romanists are holding something they call a mission at the cathedral, and really, I am told, that the performances are very impressive.  It is quite the fashion to go for an hour.”

“It is never considered outre to go to the cathedral, as the very elite of our society are Catholic, and attend there; but entre nous, shall you go, Mrs. Jerrold?” observed a lady near them.

“Yes,” continued the dowager, with a spiteful air; “and very few parvenues amongst them.  Most of them sprung from something better than low trades-people.”

“Granted.  No doubt they enjoy their pedigree as much as I do the substantial fortune my grandfather acquired by trade,” said the lady, pleasantly.  “But, Mrs. Jerrold, the music is fine, the preacher superbly eloquent, and every body goes now, instead of attending the opera!”

This grated on Helen’s ears.  Classing the Church with the opera!  But what right had she, who trampled it under foot, to complain?

“Really, I have heard nothing of this mission before!” she said, with an indifferent air.  “What is it?”

“I really cannot tell exactly.  Thousands go, and thousands come away because they can’t be accommodated with seats.  Altogether with the music, the eloquent preaching, and the crowd, it is quite a spectacle.”

“Yes,” put in the dowager; “and that is all.  It is a spectacle!”