The ball-room was brilliantly lighted, and Eleonore’s beauty was the theme of every tongue. Her dress was white satin, covered with white lace and looped with white roses. The only ornament she wore was the miniature necklace, clasped tightly around her throat.
The countess was delighted with the appearance of her young guest, and introduced her to all her particular friends. In about half an hour there was a rush in the hall; the folding-doors of the ante-chamber were thrown wide open, and the prince royal entered, leaning on the arm of Monsieur La Graviere, and followed by his suite.
Monsieur La Graviere, after saluting his wife and presenting her to the prince, turned away to pay his compliments to some of the ladies present, when his eye was suddenly caught by Eleonore’s face, as she stood within a few feet of him. “Good God! my sister!” he exclaimed, impetuously.
“She does indeed resemble Aunt Eugenie! We all observed it,” said Victorine.
“Introduce me, my child. What is her name?”
“Eleonore Carron.”
“Carron—it was not his name. It is impossible.”
The introduction was made, and the master of the castle was inquiring if she was a native of Paris, when he stopped short—started, and then said:
“Forgive me, mademoiselle; but is not that a miniature of my sister Eugenie in your necklace?”
Eleonore trembled, but she stood erect, and answered firmly. “It is a miniature of my aunt.”