At eight o’clock Alphonso knocked at the door of Mr. Ingalls’ room. He was got up with the utmost magnificence which he could command. With his dress-coat, white tie, and imitation diamond pin, he made an imposing appearance.

“I am glad to see you, Mr. Jones,” said Mr. Ingalls. “Count Ernest de Montmorency, permit me to introduce my friend, Mr. Alphonso Jones.”

The count, a little man, with a waxed mustache of extraordinary size, a long nose, and pale, watery eyes, rose, and bowed profoundly.

“I am most happy, Monsieur Jones, to have ze honor of making your acquaintance,” he said.

“My lord count, the honor is on my side,” returned Alphonso, with an elaborate bow, which he had learned in dancing-school.

“Mr. Jones,” said Ingalls, “will you take the chair next to the count? Our distinguished friend is desirous of making some inquiries about fashionable society in America.”

“I shall be most happy,” replied Alphonso, immensely flattered, “to give the noble count any information in my power.”

“I understand from Monsieur Ingalls you do go much in society,” said the count.

“A little, your lordship,” said Mr. Jones, modestly. “I am intimate in some of our leading families.”

“You have some fine watering-places, n’est ce pas?”

“Yes, my lord count,—Newport, Saratoga, and Long Branch are all fashionable.”

“You have visit zem all?”

“Oh, yes,” answered Alphonso, who had once stopped over night at Saratoga, and made a day’s excursion to Long Branch. “I meet so many of my fashionable friends there, that it is very pleasant for me.”

“Sans doute, and which do you prefare?”

“Saratoga, my lord count. It is the most high-toned, in my opinion. My friends, the Vernons, of Madison avenue, always go there.”

“I once did know a Marquis de Vernon in my own country.”

“A relation of my friends,” said Alphonso, confidently. “How long has your lordship been in America?”

“Tree week, zat is all.”

“Have you been in New York all the time?”

“No, Monsieur Jones, I did visit Boston and Philadelphia, but New York is one fine city, ze best of all; it reminds me of Paris.”

“Paris is a very beautiful city, I have always heard, my lord count.”

“Oh, trÈs magnifique. Zere is no city like it. Have you visited Paris, Monsieur Alphonse?”

He is getting intimate, thought Mr. Jones, elated, or he would not call me by my first name.

“No, your lordship, I have not had that great pleasure.”

“When you come,” said the count, affably, “you must come to my chateau in Normandy, and stay one month.”

This was beyond Alphonso’s most sanguine hopes. To be invited to visit a foreign nobleman at his chateau was an unlooked-for honor.

“You overwhelm me with your kindness, my lord count,” said Alphonso, in a flutter of delight. “I hope some day to accept your honorable invitation.”

“I think you will have zer good time. My sister, the Countess Marie de Montmorency, will be charmed to see you. She adores Americans.”

Alphonso was in the seventh heaven of delight. Instantly he pictured the high-born Countess Marie falling in love with him, marrying him, and thus giving him a place in the aristocratic circles of France. Perhaps, in that case, family influence would procure him a title also. It was the happiest moment of his life.

“Nothing would delight me more than to make the acquaintance of your august family, my lord count,” he said, his voice partly tremulous with joy. “When do you propose to return to la belle France?”

“What, you do speak my language, Monsieur Alphonse?”

“Only a little, your lordship,” said Mr. Jones, modestly.

“Oui, monsieur, un peu.”

“Comment vous portez vous, Monsieur Alphonse?”

“TrÈs beaucoup bien,” answered Alphonso, proudly.

“What an accent!” exclaimed the count, raising both hands. “You do speak like one native.”

“I think I should soon learn it if I were in la belle France,” said Alphonso, much pleased.

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Ingalls, “I don’t like to interrupt you, but permit me to offer you a glass of wine.”

Glasses were handed to the company.

“Mr. Jones, will you propose the count’s health?” asked the host. Alphonso rose, and placed one hand on his heart.

“Gentlemen,” he commenced, “I feel—ahem! deeply honored, and—and happy on this auspicious occasion. We are assembled, sir, to do honor to an illustrious peer of the realm. The noble Count Ernest de Montmorency honors us with his high-toned presence. We all hope that he may enjoy his visit, and return in safety to his aristocratic relations, his honorable mother, and his sister, the noble Countess Marie de Montmorency. I propose the health of the noble count.”

The toast was drunk with enthusiasm.

“Mr. Jones, you are quite an orator,” said Mr. Ingalls.

“You have ze great talent for speaking Monsieur Alphonse. You should go to Congress.”

“My lord count, you flatter me,” said Mr. Jones, deciding that this was, by all odds, the proudest moment of his life.

“Not at all, Mr. Jones,” said Mr. Ingalls. “I never heard a neater speech, did you, Hayward?”

“Never,” said Hayward.

So poor Alphonso was fooled to the top of his bent, and when the company separated, and he retired to his humble apartment, he was visited by the most ravishing dreams, in which he stood at the altar with the high-born Countess Marie de Montmorency, clad in sumptuous attire, wearing on his breast the cross of the Legion of Honor.