“‘Monsieur, I am about to call upon one of my husband’s relatives, an elderly lady, Mme. de Bonfalot—’
“‘Ah! Mme. de Bonfalot, charmed, I am sure. I am going there.’
“The pair accordingly went. Charles Edward came in with the lady, every one believed that she had brought him with her. He took part in the conversation, was lavish of his polished and brilliant wit. The visit lengthened out. That was not what he wanted.
“‘Madame,’ he said, addressing the fair stranger, ‘do not forget that your husband is waiting for us, and only allowed us a quarter of an hour.’
“Taken aback by such boldness (which, as you know, is never displeasing to you women), led captive by the conqueror’s glance, by the astute yet candid air which Charles Edward can assume when he chooses, the lady rose, took the arm of her self-constituted escort, and went downstairs, but on the threshold she stopped to speak to him.
“‘Monsieur, I like a joke——’
“‘And so do I.’
“She laughed.
“‘But this may turn to earnest,’ he added; ‘it only rests with you. I am the Comte de la Palferine, and I am delighted that it is in my power to lay my heart and my fortune at your feet.’
“La Palferine was at that time twenty-two years old. (This happened in 1834.) Luckily for him, he was fashionably dressed. I can paint his portrait for you in a few words. He was the living image of Louis XIII., with the same white forehead and gracious outline of the temples, the same olive skin (that Italian olive tint which turns white where the light falls on it), the brown hair worn rather long, the black ‘royale,’ the grave and melancholy expression, for La Palferine’s character and exterior were amazingly at variance.