Nothing was concealed, but rather displayed with a half-cynical pride.

All was moth-ridden, worm-eaten, fallen to decay--but it was of the Monarchy.

Not half a dozen houses in Paris, where already the wealth, which has to-day culminated in a ridiculous luxury of outward show, was beginning to build new palaces, could show room after room furnished in the days of the Great Louis.
The very air, faintly scented it would seem by some forgotten perfume, breathed of a bygone splendour.

And the last of the de Gemosacs scorned to screen his poverty from the eyes of his equals, nor sought to hide from them a desolation which was only symbolic of that which crushed their hearts and bade them steal back from time to time like criminals to the capital.
"You see," he said to Colville and Barebone, "I have kept my promise, I have thrown open this old house once more for to-night's meeting.
You will find that many friends have made the journey to Paris for the occasion--Madame de Chantonnay and Albert, Madame de Rathe and many from the Vendee and the West whom you have met on your journey.

And to-night one may speak without fear, for none will be present who are not vouched for by the Almanac de Gotha.