“Keep your eyes about you; the heiress is here.”

The ladies were at first a little surprised at this invasion of the room by the male element, but Paul’s extreme beauty soon attracted their attention.  The hum of conversation ceased, and Paul’s embarrassment increased as he found a battery of twelve pairs of eyes directed full upon him.

Mascarin, however, was quite at his ease, and upon his entrance had made a graceful though rather old-fashioned bow to the fair inmates of the room.  His coolness was partly due to the contempt he felt for the human race in general, and also to his colored glasses, which hid the expression of his countenance.  When he saw that Paul still kept his eyes on the ground, he tapped him gently on the arm.

“Is this the first time you ever saw well-dressed women?  Surely you are not afraid of them.  Look to the right,” continued Mascarin, “and you will see the heiress.”

A young girl, not more than eighteen, was seated near one of the windows.  She was not perhaps so beautiful as Mascarin had described, but her face was a very striking one nevertheless.  She was slight and good-looking, with the clear complexion of a brunette.  Her features were not perhaps very regular, but her glossy black hair was a beauty in itself.  She had a pair of dark, melting eyes, and her wide, high forehead showed that she was gifted with great intelligence.  There was an air of restrained voluptuousness about her, and she seemed the very embodiment of passion.

Paul felt insensibly attracted toward her.  Their eyes met, and both started at the same moment.  Paul was fascinated in an instant, and the girl’s emotion was so evident that she turned aside her head to conceal it.

The babel had now commenced again, and general attention was being paid to a lady who was enthusiastically describing the last new costume which had made its appearance in the Bois de Boulogue.

“It was simply miraculous,” said she; “a real triumph of Van Klopen’s art.  The ladies of a certain class are furious, and Henry de Croisenois tells me that Jenny Fancy absolutely shed tears of rage.  Imagine three green skirts of different shades, each draped——­”

Mascarin, however, only paid attention to Paul and the young girl, and a sarcastic smile curled his lips.

“What do you think of her?” asked he.

“She is adorable!” answered Paul, enthusiastically.

“And immensely wealthy.”

“I should fall at her feet if she had not a sou.”

Mascarin gave a little cough, and adjusted his glasses.

“Should you, my lad?” said he to himself; “whether your admiration is for the girl or her money, you are in my grip.”

Then he added, aloud,—­

“Would you not like to know her name?”

“Tell me, I entreat you.”

“Flavia.”

Paul was in the seventh heaven, and now boldly turned his eyes on the girl, forgetting that owing to the numerous mirrors, she could see his every movement.