Florestan de Saint-Herem had uttered the words "I am ruined" with so much simplicity and carelessness that the countess gazed at him dumbfounded for a moment, unable to believe what she had heard.

"What!" she finally gasped, "you are—"

"Ruined! completely ruined!" he repeated. "My uncle left me five millions five years ago; I have spent it all, plus eighteen hundred thousand francs. The sale of this mansion, however, with its furniture, paintings, silver, etc., will pay my debts and leave me in possession of about a hundred thousand francs. With that I shall retire to some smiling country place and turn shepherd; a charming contrast, especially when I recall my past existence. What marvelous, impossible dreams—changed into realties for myself, my friends, my mistresses—my gilded whirlwind carried in my train! What renown is mine! how all that was beautiful, elegant, sumptuous, recherchÉ, was swallowed up in my dazzling orbit! Would you believe, madame, that my reputation for liberality had spread over Europe? Nay, more; a Chandernagor lapidary sent me an Indian saber with its handle studded with gems, enclosing a pretty, laconic note in these words: 'This cimeter belonged to Tippo-SaËb; it should belong to M. Saint-Herem. The weapon is worth twenty-five thousand francs, payable at the Rothschild house, in Paris. Received twenty-five thousand francs.' Yes; the rarest and most precious objects of art were naively addressed to me from all parts of the world; the finest horses walked into my stables, the most exquisite wines filled my cellars; the most illustrious chefs fought for the privilege of serving me, and the celebrated Dr. Gasterini—do you know him, madame?"

"Who has not heard of the most famous gourmand the world has ever known?"

"Well, madame, that great man proclaimed that he had eaten as good a dinner in my house as in his own—a compliment he could not pay, even to the table of M. de Talleyrand. Ah! madame, what a grand, complete, beautiful life! And women! Ah! women!"

"Monsieur!—"

"Fear not, madame, I shall speak of women only as objects of art. And really, can there exist a more charming pretext for magnificence? Luxury is but the accessory; a woman is so pretty, adorned and surrounded by all the products of art. Believe me, madame, I have the certainty of having ruined myself generously, nobly and intelligently. I have neither a foolish expense nor a wicked action to reproach myself! It is with a mind full of delicious souvenirs, a heart full of serenity, that I see my fortune take wings!"

His tone was so sincere, the truth of his words and sentiments were so strongly expressed on his loyal, handsome face, that the countess could not but be convinced of the reality of all he said.

"I must admit, monsieur," she observed softly, "that such philosophy confounds me! Now that the hour of renouncing such a life is at hand, not a word of bitterness escapes your lips!"

"Words of bitterness! after so much joy and happiness? Ah, madame, that would be blasphemy!"

"You leave this enchanted palace without regret, without even a sigh, and at the very moment when you would have enjoyed it?"

"What will you, madame? I did not believe myself so near the end until a week ago, when my rascally steward showed me my accounts, and I resign myself to the inevitable with a good grace. Besides, in leaving this palace, created with so much love, I am like the poet who has written the last stanza to his poem, the artist who has given the last touch to his canvas; there still remains the imperishable glory of having achieved a masterpiece. This palace is a monument of art and magnificence; it shall always be the temple of luxury, fÊtes, pleasures. Ah! how ungrateful I should be to complain of my fate! It is you, madame, who shall be the divinity of this temple; for you shall purchase it, will you not? You would grace it so well! Do not lose the opportunity; for, as the duke has informed you, Lord Wilmot has made me very pressing offers. I should be sorry to sell it to him; he is so ugly, and so is his wife, and so are his five daughters! What divinities for this temple, which seems built expressly for you! I beg you, madame, take it for the love of that art you appreciate so well. Only, be merciful to my worthy uncle! It is a magnificent painting and, although the portrait and the name of Saint Ramon are often repeated in sculptured medallions on diverse parts of the facade, I would be happy to think that this brave uncle—from the height of his marble monument—would assist for centuries to the pleasures of which he deprived himself during life!"

"My dear Florestan," interrupted the duke, touching his elbow, "it is all very beautiful and wonderful. But eighteen hundred thousand francs—including furniture and silver, of course—is an exorbitant price."

"I am completely disinterested in the matter, my dear duke," replied the young man, with a smile, "those eighteen hundred thousand francs belong to my creditors, and I shall therefore be horribly tenacious on the conditions. Moreover, as I have already told you, Lord Wilmot offers me that sum and urges me to accept it."

"That may be, but I am sure you would grant me a favor you would refuse Lord Wilmot. Come, Saint-Herem, don't be inflexible—give me a discount, and—"

"Monsieur de Saint-Herem," broke in the countess, "I shall take the house on the conditions you proposed."

"Heaven be praised!" exclaimed Florestan, extending his hand toward her. "My good star never deserts me, madame; the affair is settled."

"But, madame—" interposed the duke, surprised and annoyed at the liberality of his future wife, and still hoping to obtain a reduction on the price, "this is a matter involving considerable money! And at the point we have reached, it is impossible that you should act without my authority. When we are married—"

"Monsieur de Saint-Herem, you have my word," interrupted the countess, with a scornful glance at the duke. "This purchase is a personal matter; my steward will negotiate with yours to-morrow, at any time you may wish."

"Agreed, madam," assented Florestan; then turning to M. de Riancourt, he added gaily, "I hope you will bear me no ill-will, my dear duke; you should show yourself to be a real grand seigneur, and not bargain like a banker."

The orchestra; which had been silent for a quarter of an hour, now struck up a new cotillion.

"Pardon me, countess," resumed the young man, "but I must leave you. I am to dance this cotillion with the charming daughter of one of the best workmen who assisted in the building of this mansion—or rather of your mansion, madame. And I cannot tell you how happy I am to carry away that thought in leaving you."

He bowed respectfully, and vanished in the throng.

"My dear Foedora," said the princess, who had remarked the long tÊte-À-tÊte of her niece and Saint-Herem with much impatient anxiety, "it is growing late, and we promised Madame de Sardaigne to come early."

"Allow me to observe, madame," put in the duke, addressing his fiancÉe in his turn, "that you were too hasty in this matter. Saint-Herem is forced to sell this house to pay his debts, and with a little perseverance we could have obtained a reduction of fifty thousand crowns at least, especially if you had requested it yourself—some things are very difficult to refuse a pretty woman!" he concluded with his most amiable smile.

"My dear Foedora, what are you thinking about?" resumed the princess to her niece, who was leaning on a gilded mantel covered with flowers, absorbed in deep reflection and deaf to all remonstrances. "Foedora," repeated her aunt, tugging gently at her sleeve, "what are you dreaming about?"

"I am thinking of M. de Saint-Herem," said the conntess, regretfully awakening from her reverie. "All this is so strangely odd—"

"I really believe that despair at his ruin must have impaired poor Florestan's mind," observed M. de Riancourt, sententiously. "One must be mad to inaugurate a mansion with such a ball; it savors of socialism!"

"The duke is right; the thing is absurd and ridiculous," chimed in the princess. "What an amusing story we shall have to relate at the embassy!—but, my dear Foedora, why don't you answer?—what ails you?"

"I don't know," replied the countess; "what I experience, is most singular."

"You want air, my dear countess," rejoined the duke, with solicitude. "This agglomeration of the masses is stifling; and though the apartments are spacious—"

"Foedora, are you ill?" broke in the princess.

"No, indeed," declared the countess, "the emotion I experience is, on the contrary, full of sweetness and charm. To tell you the truth, my dear duke, I scarcely know how to express—"

"In mercy, explain yourself countess," urged the duke, anxiously. "The strong perfume of these flowers probably affects you strangely."

"No, that is not it. I hesitate to speak, because you will both think me so strange, so eccentric—"

"Ah! countess, how could we think you otherwise than charming!" exclaimed the duke gallantly.

"Foedora, explain yourself," said her aunt impatiently.

"I am quite willing to do so, but I shall surprise you greatly I know," she said, with a confident air; then turning to the duke, she added archly: "It seems to me—"

"It seems to you," repeated he, encouragingly.

"That—"

"Go on."

"That I am dying to marry M. de Saint-Herem," she concluded, very low.

"Madame!" cried the amazed duke, turning crimson. "Madame!"

"What is it, my dear duke?" inquired the princess. "How flushed your face is!"

"My dear countess," rejoined the duke, with a forced smile, "the jest is rather—"

"Pray, give me your arm," interrupted Foedora carelessly, "we are already very late. But then, it is all your own fault; how is it that you, the personification of exactitude, did not proclaim the hour of eleven long ago?"

"Ah! madame, I assure you I am not in a laughing humor. Your cruel jest wounded me to the heart."

"I was not aware that you possessed such a vulnerable heart."

"Your suspicion is unjust; I would die for you!"

"Really?"

The duke raised his eyes to heaven and heaved a long sigh.

"If I were to ask anything of you," she retorted, "it would not be so heroic a sacrifice, I assure you."

The carriage was now announced, and the party left the mansion. Almost at the same instant the old mulatto was also turning away from the place, dazzled and amazed at what he had heard and seen, and still dreaming of the blessings showered on the name of Saint-Ramon by the guests of this peculiar fÊte.

"Half-past eleven," murmured the old man, as the hour struck from a distant steeple. "I shall be there at midnight—and what shall I learn? Ah! what anguish is mine!"

And with a deep sigh he slowly began the ascent of the declivity, stretching along the Seine, to the Rue Chaillot.