'Ah, to be sure. Pardieu, they would say to-morrow that they had been omitted too, if they didn't appear.'
'What are we to do?' said her ladyship with energy. 'Grammont can be of no use here; for unfortunately these people are not French.'
'What then,' said I, 'is it some of the crowned heads who are the entertainers?'
'Oh, no! Indeed, I don't know who they are; nor do I know any one who does. The only fact of importance is that this is their third fête—the first two were the most brilliant things ever given in Paris; that the Emperor of Russia always dances there; that the King of Prussia makes his whist-party; that Blucher takes the head of one of the supper-tables; and, in a word, Talleyrand himself has employed more diplomacy to secure an extra ticket than he has often dispensed in carving out a new monarchy.'
My mother handed me a splendidly embossed card, as she spoke, upon which, in letters of pale burnished gold, were inscribed the following words: 'Madame de Roni, née Cassidy de Kilmainham, prie honneur,' etc. A burst of laughter at the absurdity of the title stopped my reading further.
'She's an Italian, possibly,' said my mother.
'I should think not,' I replied; 'the “née Cassidy de Kilmainham” smacks of something nearer home. What think you of Ireland?'
'Ireland! Are these people Irish?' said she, starting with horror at the thought. 'I trust, my dear John, you would not think it proper to jest on such a subject.'
'My dear mother, I never heard of them before; the only thing that strikes me is the name. “Cassidy” is assuredly more Milesian than Roman.'
'But she has birth—that's certain,' replied my mother proudly.