Had I lived in the world of society for the last hundred seasons, I could not have interpreted the appearance of that note more sagaciously.
"It is from a lady," said I to myself.

Then seeing Dalrymple tear up his own letter immediately after reading it, and begin another, I added, still in my own mind--"And it is from the lady to whom he was writing." Presently he paused, laid his pen aside, and said:-- "Arbuthnot, would you like to go with me to-morrow evening to one or two _soirees_ ?" "Can your Civilizer provide me with my evening suit in time ?" "He?
The great Michaud?
Why, he would equip you for this evening, if it were necessary!" "In that case, I shall be very glad." "_Bon!_ I will call for you at ten o'clock; so do not forget to leave me your address." Whereupon he resumed his letter.

When it was written, he returned to the subject.
"Then I will take you to-morrow night," said he, "to a reception at Madame Rachel's.

Hers is the most beautiful house in Paris.

I know fifty men who would give their ears to be admitted to her _salons_." Even in the wilds of Saxonholme I had heard and read of the great _tragedienne_ whose wealth vied with the Rothschilds, and whose diamonds might have graced a crown.