Ernest looked rather gloomy at the compliment, but turning to Nina, begged to introduce her to Madame de Mélusine. The gay, handsome baronne, taking in all the English girl's points as rapidly as a groom at Tattersall's does a two-year-old's, was chatting volubly to Nina, when the others came up. Gordon, though wont to boast that he belonged to the aristocracy of money, was always ready to fall in the dust before the noblesse of blood, and was gratified at the introduction, remembering to have read in the _Moniteur_ the name of De Mélusine at the ball at the Tuileries. And the widow was very charming even to the professedly stoical eyes of a Brutus of sixty-two. She soon floated off, however, with her party, giving Vaughan a gay "A ce soir!" and requesting to be allowed the honor of calling on the Gordons.
"Is she a great friend of yours?" asked Nina, when she and he were a little in advance of the others.
"And you are very intimate, I suppose, as she called you by your Christian name?"
He smiled a smile that puzzled Nina. "Oh! we soon get familiar here!"
"Where are you going to see her again this evening?" she persevered, playing with her parasol fringe.
"At her own house--a house that will charm you. By the way, it once belonged to Bussy Rabutin, and it has all Louis Quatorze furniture."
"No, an Opera supper--she is famed for her Sillery and her mots. Ten to one I shall not go; what amuses one once palls with repetition."
"I don't understand that," said Nina, quickly; "what I like, I like pour toujours."
"Pauvre enfant! you little know life," muttered Ernest. "Ah! Miss Gordon, you are at the happy age when one can believe in the feelings and friendships, and all the charming little romances of existence. But I have passed it, and so that I am amused for a moment, so that something takes time off my hands, I look no further, and expect no more. I know well enough the champagne will cease to sparkle, but I drink it while it foams, and don't trouble myself to lament over it. Qu'importe? when one bottle's empty, there is another!"
"Ah! it is such women as Madame de Mélusine who have taught you that doctrine," cried Nina, with an energy that rather startled Ernest, though his nerves were as strong as any man's in Paris. "My romances, as you term them, still I believe sleep in your heart, but the world you live in has stifled them. Do you think amusement will always be enough for you?--do you think you will never want something better than your empty champagne foam?"
