“Make as light of it as you please, ladies and gentlemen-many stranger things have come to pass.  As for the exile, Grouski, I always esteemed him a very excellent gentleman.”

“Exactly!” interposes the Judge, tipping his glass, and preparing his appetite for the course of game-broiled partridges, rice-birds, and grouse-which is being served by the waiters.  “No one more worthy,” he pursues, wiping his sleepy face with his napkin, “of being a princess.  Education, wealth, and taste, you have; and with Grouski, there is nothing to prevent the happy consummation-nothing!  I beg to assure you.”  Madame Flamingo makes a most courteous bow, and with an air of great dignity condescends to say she hopes gentlemen of the highest standing in Charleston have for ten years or more had the strongest proofs of her ability to administer the offices of a lady of station.  “But you know,” she pursues, hoping ladies and gentlemen will be kind enough to keep their glasses full, “people are become so pious now-a-days that they are foolish enough to attach a stigma to our business.”

“Pooh, pooh!” interrupts the accommodation man, having raised his glass in compliment to a painted harlot.  “Once in Europe, and under the shadow of the wife of Prince Grouski, the past would be wiped out; your money would win admirers, while your being a princess would make fashionable society your tool.  The very atmosphere of princesses is full of taint; but it is sunk in the rank, and rather increases courtiers.  In France your untainted princess would prognosticate the second coming of—­, well, I will not profane.”

“Do not, I beg of you,” says Madame, blushing.  “I am scrupulously opposed to profanity.”  And then there breaks upon the ear music that seems floating from an enchanted chamber, so soft and dulcet does it mingle with the coarse laughing and coarser wit of the banqueters.  At this feast of flowers may be seen the man high in office, the grave merchant, the man entrusted with the most important affairs of the commonwealth-the sage and the charlatan.  Sallow-faced and painted women, more undressed than dressed, sit beside them, hale companions.  Respectable society regards the Judge a fine old gentleman; respectable society embraces Mr. Soloman, notwithstanding he carries on a business, as we shall show, that brings misery upon hundreds.  Twice has he received a large vote as candidate for the General Assembly.

A little removed from the old Judge (excellent man) sits Anna Bonard, like a jewel among stones less brilliant, George Mullholland on her left.  Her countenance wears an expression of gentleness, sweet and touching.  Her silky black hair rolls in wavy folds down her voluptuous shoulders, a fresh carnatic flush suffuses her cheeks, her great black eyes, so beautifully arched with heavy lashes, flash incessantly, and to her bewitching charms is added a pensive smile that now lights up her features, then subsides into melancholy.