Plump, rosy, black-haired, bright-eyed, bewilderingly coquettish, this lady might have been about thirty years of age, and seemed by no means unconscious of her powers of fascination.
"I implore a thousand pardons, Madame...." began my friend.
"_Comment_! A thousand pardons for a single offence!" exclaimed the lady.

"What an unreasonable culprit!" To which she added, quite audibly, though behind the temporary shelter of her fan:-- "Who is this _beau garcon_ whom you seem to have brought with you ?" I turned aside, affecting not to hear the question; but could not help listening, nevertheless.

Of Dalrymple's reply, however, I caught but my own name.
"So much the better," observed the lady.

"I delight in civilizing handsome boys.

Introduce him." Dalrymple tapped me on the arm.
"Madame de Marignan permits me to introduce you, _mon ami_," said he.
"Mr.Basil Arbuthnot--Madame de Marignan." I bowed profoundly--all the more profoundly because I felt myself blushing to the eyes, and would not for the universe have been suspected of overhearing the preceding conversation; nor was my timidity alleviated when Dalrymple announced his intention of going in search of Madame de Courcelles, and of leaving me in the care of Madame de Marignan.
"Now, Damon, make the most of your opportunities," whispered he, as he passed by.