‘And you say she dressed up to the Italian, to challenge her, rival her?’

’Only one night; simple accident.  Everybody noticed it, for they stood for Night and Day,—­both hung with gold; the brunette Etruscan, and the blonde Asiatic; and every Frenchman present was epigramizing up and down the rooms like mad.’

’Her husband ‘s Legitimist; he wouldn’t be at the Tuileries?’ Beauchamp spoke half to himself.

‘What, then, what?’ Palmet stared and chuckled.  ’Her husband must have taken the Tuileries’ bait, if we mean the same woman.  My dear old Beauchamp, have I seen her, then?  She’s a darling!  The Rastaglione was nothing to her.  When you do light on a grand smoky pearl, the milky ones may go and decorate plaster.  That’s what I say of the loveliest brunettes.  It must be the same:  there can’t be a couple of dark beauties in Paris without a noise about them.  Marquise—?  I shall recollect her name presently.’

‘Here’s one of the houses I stop at,’ said Beauchamp, ’and drop that subject.’

A scared servant-girl brought out her wizened mistress to confront the candidate, and to this representative of the sex he addressed his arts of persuasion, requesting her to repeat his words to her husband.  The contrast between Beauchamp palpably canvassing and the Beauchamp who was the lover of the Marquise of the forgotten name, struck too powerfully on Palmet for his gravity he retreated.

Beauchamp found him sauntering on the pavement, and would have dismissed him but for an agreeable diversion that occurred at that moment.  A suavely smiling unctuous old gentleman advanced to them, bowing, and presuming thus far, he said, under the supposition that he was accosting the junior Liberal candidate for the borough.  He announced his name and his principles Tomlinson, progressive Liberal.

‘A true distinction from some Liberals I know,’ said Beauchamp.

Mr. Tomlinson hoped so.  Never, he said, did he leave it to the man of his choice at an election to knock at his door for the vote.

Beauchamp looked as if he had swallowed a cordial.  Votes falling into his lap are heavenly gifts to the candidate sick of the knocker and the bell.  Mr. Tomlinson eulogized the manly candour of the junior Liberal candidate’s address, in which he professed to see ideas that distinguished it from the address of the sound but otherwise conventional Liberal, Mr. Cougham.  He muttered of plumping for Beauchamp.  ’Don’t plump,’ Beauchamp said; and a candidate, if he would be an honourable twin, must say it.  Cougham had cautioned him against the heresy of plumping.