About an hour before breakfast, Victorine and Eleonore were taking their morning promenade on a terrace that overlooked the Seine, and Eleonore was unburthening her heart to her cousin, when Victorine exclaimed—
“Here comes the prince!”
“Good God! he is arm in arm with Victor Lazun!”
“Yes, that is my cousin, but not yours.”
“Your cousin!!! with the prince too. Ah! what will happen next; I hardly know now what I am saying, my senses are bewildered, one strange scene succeeds another till I almost doubt my own identity!”
“I salute you, ladies,” said the prince. “My lord duke and I have been rifling your flower-beds. May I present you this bouquet?”
“My flowers will feel grateful for your highness’ attentions,” said Victorine.
“Forgive me, Eleonore,” said young Lazun, “you will not love me the less now that I am a duke and peer of France. I am still Victor Lazun, as you are Eleonore Eboli.”
I had recently arrived in Paris. A ball was given at the Tuilleries, and many Americans were there. We stood in rows through which the royal family passed, followed by several maids of honor and ladies of the bed-chamber.