Her _salon_ is full of Anarchists now--and, by the way, it seemed to me that she had cast her eyes on you, my dear Hyacinthe." Hyacinthe had hitherto held his tongue, as if he took no interest in anything.

"Oh! she bores me to death," he now condescended to reply.

"If I'm going to her _matinee_ it's simply in the hope of meeting my friend young Lord George Eldrett, who wrote to me from London to give me an appointment at the Princess's.

And I admit that hers is the only _salon_ where I find somebody to talk to." "And so," asked Amadieu in an ironical way, "you have now gone over to Anarchism ?" With his air of lofty elegance Hyacinthe imperturbably confessed his creed: "But it seems to me, monsieur, that in these times of universal baseness and ignominy, no man of any distinction can be other than an Anarchist." A laugh ran round the table.

Hyacinthe was very much spoilt, and considered very entertaining.