He procured for him an invitation to a semi-state ball, held, as some no doubt remember, in the autumn of 1869.

It was Lucille de Clericy's first ball, and Giraud renewed there a childish friendship with one whose hair he confessed to have pulled in the unchivalrous days of his infancy.
Alphonse, who was of a frank nature, as are many of his countrymen, told Madame de Clericy, whom he escorted to the refreshment room after dancing with her daughter, that he loved Lucille.
"But my dear Alphonse," retorted that lady, "you had forgotten her existence until this evening." This objection to his passion the lightsome Alphonse waived aside with a perfectly gloved little hand.
"But," he answered earnestly, "unknown to myself her vision must always have been _here_." And he touched his shirt-front with the tips of his fingers gently, remembering the delicacy of his linen.
"It is an angel!" he added, with an upward glance of his bright little eyes, and tossed off a glass of champagne cup.
Madame de Clericy sipped her coffee slowly, and said nothing; but her eyes travelled downward from the crown of her companion's head to his dapper feet.

And during that scrutiny there is little doubt that she reckoned the value of Monsieur Alphonse Giraud.

What she saw was a pleasant spoken young man, plus twenty thousand pounds a year.

No wonder the Vicomtesse smiled softly.
"And I," went on the Frenchman in half humorous humility, "what am I?
Not clever, not handsome, not even tall!" The lady shrugged her shoulders.
"_C'est la vie_," she said; a favourite reflection with her.
"Yes, and life and I are equal," replied Alphonse, with his gay laugh.
"We are both short! And now I wish to present to you and to Lucille my best friend, Phillip Gayerson.