The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 21, 1903, Page 3

frail as the spider’s house upon the dew- bung grasses. Yet to this latter, there should be somewhat of qualification. The wisard who created this falry structure saw it swiftly grow beyond its original plan, sew unforeseen results spring from thos causes which were first well within his comprehension. Berated by later generations as an ad- venturer, a schemer, a charlatan, Law originally deserved anything but such a werdict of his public. Dishonest he was not, insincers he never was; and as a student of fundamentals, he was In ad- vance of his age, wnich ever to be ac- cursed. His method was but the fore- runner of the modern commercial system, which is of itself to-day but a tougher faith bubble, may be seen in all the changing cyecles of finance and trade. His bank was but a partion of & nobler dream. His system was but one vast be- lief, one glorious hope. The Company of the West—this it was that made John Law’s heart throb. Amer- ice—its trade—its future! John Law, dead now and gone—he was the colossal pio- neer! MHe saw In his dreams what we see to-day in reality; and no bubble of ell the frenzied Paris streets equaled this splendid dream of a renewed and revived bumanity that is a fact to-day. But thers came to this dreamer and doer, at the very door of his success, that which arrested him even upon his enter- ing in. There came the preliminary blow which in & flash his far-seeing mind knew was to mean ultimate ruin. In & word, the loose principles of a dissolute men were to ruin France, and with it one who had once saved France from ruin. Philippe of Orleans found it ever dif- ficult to say no to & friend, and mors so f that friend w a woman; end of the ter sort, none had more than he. Men and women alike, thess could allsee only this ebundance of money made of paper. , then, was to prevent the regent, all from printing more and yet more iving it to his friends? The re- for insincerity. Philippe of Orleans could not see why, since credit based on specie mads po ble a great volume of accepted mnote credit based on all France might not w rant en indefinite issue of such notes. He offered his director general all the con- cessions which the crown could give, all the revenue-producing elements of France t, all France itself, as security. In return asked but the small privi- lege for himself as much money as he chose and whenever he saw fit! The notes of the private bank of Law were an ebsolute promise to pay a certain and definite sum, not a changeable or in- and Law made it & part of creed that any banker was death who issued notes with- He insisted that th mean specie in the valus of the on which the note was issued. This the regent liked little, as being two se for his temper. Was it not of w Louls, the Grand Monargue, made certain millions for h the simple proce: of chai ue of the coin? Dicing, dr easy-going, & ing, t thou better srone than for a banker’s chair! which the regent him- er when he saw the ivate Lank of circu- had ever ayment > firm protest. lio t their tenor spelled n for the em of finance which, at such had erected. These notes prom- for instance, fitty livres in not “in coin of the weight rd of this day,” as had the tes of Law's bank. That ls to tes meant nothing sure and finite. They might be money > me, but not forever; and this the ector general was too shrewd a man 10w nder this issue you shall have France,” sald the regent to him one y, as they renewed their discussion yet again upon this scheme. “You shall have the farming of the taxes. I will give you ell the foreign trade as monopoly, if you like—will give you the mint—will give you, in effect, as I have sald, all France. But, Monsieur, my director gen- eral, I must have money. It is for that purpose I appoint you director genera.— because I find you the most remarkablo Grac , “print your notes thus, end print them to such ex- tent as you wish, and France is again worse than bankrupt! Then, indeed, you have worse than repudiated the debts of mon drole! You are {ll to- day. You have & migraine, perhaps? What folly for you to speak thus. France hath swiftly grown so strong that she can never sgain be rulned. What ails my magiclan, my Prinos of Golconda, this morning? France bankrupt! Even were it g0, does that relieve me of this begging of De Prie, of Parabere, and all the others? My God, Monsieur L'es, they ere like leeches! They think me made of money.” “And your Grage thinks France made of money.” only think my director-general money, or can make it as And this was ever the end of Law's reproaches and his expostulations. This, then, was to be the end of his glorious enterprises, thought he, as he sat one morning, staring out of the window when jeft alone. This sordid love for money for its own sake—this was to be the limit of an ambition which dealt in theories, in men, in nations, and not in livres and louis @'or! Law smiled bitterly. For an instant he was not the confident man of action and of affairs, not the man elaim- ing with assurance the perpetual pro- tection of good fortune. He sat there, alone, feeling nothing but the great hu- man craving for sympathy and trust. A line of carriages swept back across the street at his window, and streams of nobles besought entrance at his door. And the man who had called out &ll thess, the man for whose friendship all Europe clamored—that man sat with aching heart, longing, craving, begging now of fortune only the one thing—a friend! At last he arose, his face showing lean and haggard. He passed into another room “WiIL"” said he, “I am at a place where J am dizzy and need a hand. You know what hand it means for me. Can you go —will you take her, as you did once be- fore for me, a message? I cannot go. I <an not venture into her presence. Wil you go? Tell her it is the last time! Tell her it is the last!” CHAPTER VII. THE MIRACLE UNWROUGHT. “¥qu do not know my brother, Lady Catharine.” Thus spoke Will Law, who had been admitted but a half hour since at the great door of the privale hotel” where dwelt the Lady Catharine Knollys. “*Twould seem, then, 'tis by no fault of his,” replied Lady Catharine, hotly. “And is that nof well? There are many in Paris who would fain change places with you, Lady Catharine.” “Would heaven they might!™ emelaimed she. “Would that my various friends. or the prefect of police, or heaven knows who that may have spread the news of my acquaintance with your brother would take me out of that acquaintance.” “They might hold his friendship & high honor,” sald Wil “Oh, an honor! KExcellent well comes this distinguished honor. Sirrah, car- riages block my street fllled with those who beseech my Introduction to John Law. I am waylaid if I step abroad by ‘women—persons of quality, ladies of the realm, God knoweth what—and they beg of me the favor of en introduction to John Law. There seems spread, I know not how, a sllly rumor of the chfld Kate. And though I did scarce more than name e convent for her attendance, there a: now out all manner of reports of Mon- sieur John Lew’s child, and—what do say—'tis monstrous! I protest thatI have come closer than I care into the publio thoughts with this prodigy, this John Lew, whose faver is sought by every ene. Honor!—'tis not less than outrage.” “'Tis but argument that my brother is & person not without note.” “But granted. “We have seen his ear- riage at your curb,’ they say. I insist that it is & mistake. ‘But we saw him come from your door at such and such an hour.” If he came ‘twas but for meet- ing such answer as I have always given him. WIIl they never believe—will your did he have, as he himself says, France in the hollow of his hand, he could be nothing to me? Now I will make an end to this. I will leave Paris.™ ‘“Madam, you might not be allowed te go. “What! I not allowed to go! And what would hinder a Knollys of Banbury from going when the hour shall errive?” “The regent.” “And why the regent?™ “Because of my brother.” “Your brother!" ‘““Assuredly. My brother {s to-day king of Paris. If he llked he could keep you prisoner in Paris. My brother does as he chooees. He could abolish Parliament to- morrow if he choss. My brother can do all things—except to win from you, Lady Catharine, one word of kindness, of re- spect. Now, then, he has come to an end, He told me to come to you and bear his word He told me to say to you that this is the last time he will importune, the last time that he will implore. Oh, Lady Catharine! Once before I carried to you e message from John Law—from John Law, not in distress then more than he is now, even In this hour of his success.” Ledy Catharine paled as she sank back into her seat. Her white hand caught at the lace at her throat. Her eyes grew dark in thelr emotion. “Yes, madam,” went on Will Law, tears shining in his own eyes, “ "twas I, an un- faithful messenger, who, by an error, wrought ruln for my brother and for yourself, even as I 4id for myself. Mad- em, hear me! I would be a better mes- senger to-day.” Lady Catharine sat still silent, her bosom heaving, her eyes gone wide and stipining. have seen my brother weep,” sald ‘Will, going on impulsively. “I have seen him walk the floor at night, have heard him cry out to~himself. They call him crazed. Indeed he is crazed. Yet ‘tis but for one word from you.” o “Sir,” sald Lady Catharine, struggling to gain self-control, and In spite of her- self softened by this appeal, “you speak well.” “If I do, "tis because T am the mouth- plece of & man who all his life has sought to speak the truth; who has sought—yes, 1 say to you even now, Lady Catharine— who has sought elways to live the truth. This T say in spite of all that we both know.” There came no reply from the woman, who sat still looking at him, not yet moved by the voice of the proxy as sl might then have been by the voice of that proxy’s principal. Vehemently the voung man, ordinerily so timid end dif- fident, approached her. “Look you!” exclaimed he. “If my brother said he could lay France at your feet, by heaven! he can well-nigh do so now. Beel Here are some of the prop- ertles he has lately purchased In the realm of France. The Marquisat d'Effiat —'tis worth eight hundred thousand livres; the estate of Riviere—worth nine hundred thousand livres; the of Rolssy—worth six hun- fitty thousand livres; the estates of Berville, of Fontaine, of Yville, of Gerponville, of Tancarville, of Guermande—the tale runs near a scorel Lately my brother has purchased the Hotel Mazarin and the property at Rue Vivienne, paying for them one million two hundred thousand llvres. He has other city properties, houses In Paris, estates here and there, running not into the hun- dreds of thousands, but into the millions of livres in actual value. Among these ere some of the estates of the greatest nuobles of France. Thelr value is more than any man can computs. Is this not something? Moreover, there goes with it all the dignity of the most stupendous personal success ever made by a single man since the world began. 'Tis all yours, Lady Catharine. And unless you share it, it has no value to my brother. I know myself that he will fling it all away, calling it worthless, since he can not have that greatest fortune which he craves. “Sirrah, I have entertained much spesch of both yourself and your brother, be- cause I would not seem ungracious nor forgetful. Yet this paying of court by means of figures, by virtue of lists of es- tates—do you not know how ineffectual this must seen?” “If you could but understand!” cried ‘Will. “If you could but believe that there is none on earth values these less than my ther. Under all this he has yet great@r dreams. His ambition is to awak- en old world and to build a new one. By heaven! Lady Catharine, I am asked to speak for my brother, and so I shall! These are his ambitions: First of all, Lady Catharine, you. Becond, Ameérica. Third, a people for America—a people who may hope. Oh, I admit all the folly of his life. He played deep, yet ‘twas but to forget you. He drank, but ‘twas to forget you. Foolish he was, as are all men. Now he succeeds, and finds he cannot forget you. I have told you his ambitions, madame, and though others may never know nor acknowledge them, you at least must do so. And I beg you to remember, madame, that of all his ambitions ‘twas you, Lady Catharine, your favor, your kindness, your mercy, that made his first and chief desire.” “As for that,” sald the woman, some- what scornfully, “if you please, I had rather I received my protestations direct; and your brother knows I forbid him fur- ther protestations. He has, it is true, raised some considerable noise by way of enterprises. That I might know, even did I not see this horde of Dukes and Duch- esses and Princes of the blood clamering for the recognition of even his remotest friends. I know, too, that he is accepted as a hero by the people.” “And well he may be. Coachmen and valets have liveries of their own these days. Servants now eat from plate, and THE SUNDAY CALL. clal moment, Will Law:broke further on into material details. “To be explicit, as I heve sald,” resumed he, ‘“everything seems to center about my brother, the Director General of Finance. He took the old notes of the Government, worth not half their face, and in a week made them treble their face value. The King owes him over 100,000,000 livres to-day. My brother has taken over the farming of the royal taxes. And now forms a little Compeny of the Indies; and to this he I adds the charter of the Senegal Company, Not content, he adds the entire trade of the Indiea, of China and the South Seas. He has been given the privilege of the royal farming of tobacco, for which he pays the King the little trifie of 200,000,000 livres, and assures to the King certain interest moneys, which, I need not say, the King will actually obtain. In addi- tion to these things, he has lately been given the mint of France. The whols coinage of the realm has been made over to this Company of the Indies. My brother pays the King 80,000,000 livres for this privilege, and this he will do within fifteen months. All France is indeed in the hands of my brother. Now, call John Laew an adventurer, & gambler, if you will, and if you canj but at least admit that he has given life and hope to the poor of France, that he has given back to the King a people which was despolled and ruined by the former King. He has trebled the trade of France, he has saved her honor, and opened to her the avenues of the world. Are these things nothiug? They have all been done by my brother, this man whom you believe incapable of faith and constancy. Good God! It sure- ly seems that he has at least been con~ stant to himself!"” “Ch, I hear talk of it all. I hear that a share In the new company promises dividends of 20 livres I hear talk of shares and ‘sub- called ‘mothers,” and ‘daughters,’ and ‘granddaughters,’ and I know not what. It seems as though half the coin were divided into centimes, and as though each centime had been planted by your brother and had grown to be worth a thousand pounds. I admit somewhat of knowledge of these miracles.” “True, Lady Catharine. Can there not be one miracle more?” Lady Catharine Knollys bent her face forward upon her hands, unhappiness in every gesture. “Sir,” said she, “it grisves my heart to say it; yet this answer you must take to your brether, John Law. That miracle hath not yet been wrought which can give ack the past again.” ‘“This,” sald Will Law, sadly, “is this all the message I may take?” “It is all.” “Though it iz the last?™ “It is the last” CHAPTER VIII. THE LITTLE SUPPER OF THE RE- GENT. Paris, city of delights; Paris drunk with gold, mad with the delirfum of excesses; Paris with no aim except joy, no method but extravagance, held within her gilded gates one citadel of sensuality which re- mained ever an object o. mystery, & source of curiositv even in that dlssi- pated and pleasure-sated city. In the Palals Royal, back of the regally beau- tiful gardens, bu:k'pt.jho?znbla rows of trees, beyond the gate$ of iron and the guards in uniform, lived krance's regent, in a city of libertines the prince of liver- tines. In a city where there were more mistresses than wives, he it was who led the list of the licentious. In a city of unregulated vice and yet of exquisitely ordered taste, he it was who accorded to himself dally pleasures which were ad- mittedly beyond approach. How unspeak- ebly unbridled, how delightfully wicked, how temptingly ingenious in their fea- tures the littls suppers of the re- gent might be—these were mat- ters of curious interest. to all, of Intimate knowledge to but few. It was to one of these famous yet mys- terious gatherings that the regent of France had invited the master of that great and glittering bubble house, where- in dwelt so insecurely the affairs of France. John Law, director general of the finances, controller of the Compapy of the Indies, was chosen by Phlme of Orleans for a position t granted to the crafty Dubols or to the shrewd D‘Ar- genson, the last of that strange trinity who made his council. John Law, gal- lant, graceful, owner of a reputation as wit and beau scarce behind that of his sudden fame as financler, was admitted not only to the business affalrs of the gay Duke, but to his pleasures as well. To him and his brother WIiil, still asso- clated in large measure in the stupendous operations of the director general, there came the invitation of the regent, prac- tically the command of the King, to join the regent after the opera for a little supper at the Palais Royal. Law would have excused himself from this unsought honor. “Your Grace will observe,” sald he, “that my time is occu- pled to the full. The people scarcely suf- fer me to rest at night. Perhaps your Grace might not care for company so dull as mine.” “Fie! my friend, my very good friend,” replied Philippe. “Have you become de- vout? When this sudden change? Consider —'tis no hardship to meet such ladles as Madame de Sabran or Madame de Prie— designer though I fear De Prie is for the domestic felicity of the youthful King— nor, indeed, my good friend La Parabers, somewhat pale and pensive though she groweth. And what shall I say for Madame de Tencin, the spirituelle, who is to be with us; or Madame de Caylus, niece of Maintenon, but the very opposite of Maintenon In every possible way? Moreover, we are promised the attend- ance of Mademoisells Aisse. Bhe hath be. come devout of late and thinks it a sin even to powder her hair, but Aisse devout is none the less Aisse the beautiful.” “Surely your Grace hath never lacked in excellent tasts, and that is the talk of Paris,” replled Law. “Oh, well, long training bringeth per- fection in due time,” replied Philippe of Orleans, composedly, it having no ill ef- fect with him to call attention to his nu~ merous {ntrigues. *“It should hardly be ‘called a poor privilege, after all, to wit- nes the results of that highly cultivated taste, as {t:shall be displayed this even- ing, not to mention the privilege you will have of meeting one or two other gentle- men; and lastly, of course, myself, if you be not tired of such' company.” “Your Grace,” replied Law, ‘“you both honor and flatter me.” “Why, sir, you speak as if this were a new experience .for you. Now, in the days—*" “’'Tis true; but of late years T have grown grave Iin the cares of state, as your Grace may know.” “And most efficiently,” replied the re-. gent. “But stay! I bave kept until the i & secret.of the fair un- known who is reputed to have been espe- clally kind to Philippe of Orleans for these some months past. Join us at the little enterprise, my friend, and you shall see, I°promise you, the most beautiful woman in Paris, crowned with the great- est gem of all the world. The regen diamond, that great gem which you ha: ‘mdo possible for France, shall, for the first time, and for one evening at least, adorn the forehead of the regent's queen of beautyl" As the gay words of the regent fell upon his ears there came into Law's heart a curious tension, s presentiment, & feeling as though some great and curious thing were about to happen. Yet ever the challenge of danger was one to draw him forward, not to hold him back. If for a moment he had hesitated, his mind was now suddenly resolved. “Your Grace,” sald he, “your wish is for me command,-and certainly in this instance is pecullarly agreeable.” “As I thought,” replied the regent. “Had you hesitated I should have called your attention to the fact that the table of the Palals Royal is considered to pos- sess somewhat of character. The Vi- comte de Bechamel is at the very zenith of his genius, and he dally produces dishes such as all Parls has not ever dreamed. Moreover, we have been fortu- nate In some recent additions of most ex- cellent vin d'AL. I make ne doubt, upon the whole, we shall find somewhat with which to occupy ourselves.” Thus it came about that, upon that evening, there gathered at the entrance of the Palais Royal, after an evening with Lecouvreur at the Theatre Francals, some scattered groups of persons evident- ly possessing consequence. The chairs of others, from more distant locations, threading their way through the narrow, dark and unlighted streets of the old, crude capltal of France, brought their passengers in time to a scene far different from that of the gloomy streets. The little supper of the regent, arranged in the private salle, whose decorations had been devised for the special purpose, ‘Wwas more entrancing than even the glit- ter of the mimlo world of the Theatre Francals. There extended down the cen- ter of the room, though filling but a small portion of its vast extent, the grand table provided for the banquet, a reach of snowy linen, broken at the upper end by the arm of an abbreviated cross. At each end of the cross-arm stood mag- nificent candelabra, repeated at intervals along the greater extension of the board. Noble epergnes, filled with the choicest plants, found thelr reflections in plates of glass cunningly fnlaid here and there upon the surface of the table. Vast mir- rors, framed in wreaths of roses and sur- mounted by little laughing cupids gleamed in the walls of the room, and in the faces of these mirrors were reflected the beams of the many-colored tapers, carried in brackets of engraved gold and silver and many-colored glasses. The ceiling of the room was a soft mass of silken draperies, depending edgewise from above, thou- sands of yards of the most expensive fab- rics of the world. From these, as they were gently swayed by the breath of in- visible fans, there floated delicious, lan- guorous _perfumes, Intoxicating to the senses. On any hand within the great room, remoyed at some distance from the table, were rich, luxurious couches and divans. As one trod within.the door of this tem- ple of the senses surely it must have seemed to him that he had come into an- other world, which at first glance might have eppeared to be one of an unright- eous ease, unprincipled enjoyment and an unmanly¥abandonment of embowered vice. Yet here it was thatPhilippe of Orleans, ruler of France, spent those hours ‘most dear to him. If he gave thought to affairs of state during the day it was but that th affairs of state might give to him the means to indulge fancies of his own. Alike shrewd and easy, alike haughty and sensuous, here it was Philippe held his real court. These young gentlemen of France, thess roues who have come to meet Philippe at his little supper—how different from the same beings under the rule of the Grand Monarque. Their coats are no longer dark in'hue. Their silks and vel- vets have blossomed out, even as Paris has blossomed since the death of Louis the Grand. Jabots of lace are shown in full abundance, and so far from the abol- ishment of jewels from their garb, rubles, sapphires, diamonds sparkle everywhere, from the clasp of the high ruffles of the neck to the buckles of the red-heeled shoes. Powder sparkles on the head cov- erings of these new gallants of France. They step dafntily, yet not ungracefully, into this brilliantly lighted room, these creatures, gracious and resplendent, sparkling, painted, ephemeral, not un- suited to the place and hour. .For the ladies, witness the attire, for Instance, of that Madame de Tencin, the wonder of the wits of Paris. A full blue costume, with pannier more than five yards in circumference, under a skirt of silver gauze trimmed with golden gauze and pink crepe, and a train lying six yards upon the floor, show- ing silver embroideries with white roses. The sleeves are half-draped, as is the skirt, and each caught up with diamonds, showing folds lying above and below the silk underneath. M2dame wears a neck- lace of rubles and of diamonds, and above the pannier a belt of'diamonds and ru- bies. Her hair is dressed, following th, mental habit of madame, in the Greel style and abundantly trimmed with roses and gems and bits of silver gauze. There 18 a little crown upon the top of madame's coiffure. Her bodice, cut sufficlently low, is seen to be of light sllken weave. From her hair depends a veil of light gauze covered with gold spangles, and it is se- cured upon the left side by a hand’s grasp of pink and white feathers surmounted by a magnificent herof plume of long and silken whiteness. The gloves of madame are white silk, and so also, as she is not reluctant to advise, are her stockings, picked out with pink and silver clocks. Her shoes, made by the celebrated cor- donnler, Raveneau, shows heels three inches In height. As madame enters she casts aside the camlet coat which has covered her costume. She sweeps back the veil, endangering its confining clasp of plumes. Madame makes a deliberate and open Inspection of her face in her little looking-glass to discover whether her mouches are well placed. She carefully arranges the patch upon the middle of her cheek. She would be “gallant” to- night, would lay aside things spirituelle. Bhe twirls carelessly her fan, a creation of ivory and mother of pearl, elaborately carved, tipped with gold and silver and set with precious stones. Close at the elbow of Madame de Ten- cin steps a figure of different type, a wom- an not accustomed to please by brilllance of mind or vivacity of speech, but by sheer femininity of face and form. Tall, slender, yet with' figure divinely propor- tioned, this beautiful girl, Haldee, or Mademolsells Aisse, reputed to be of Turkish or Circassian birth and possessed of a history as strange as her own person- ality. is attractive, would seem certainly as pure as angel of the skies. Not so ‘would say the gossips of Paris, who whis- per that mademotselle is not happy from her chevaller—who speak of a certalu visit to England and a litfle child bern across seas and not acknowledged by its parent. Alsse, the devout, the beautiful, 1s no better than others of her sex In this gay city. True, she has abandoned all artificial alds to the complexién and ap- pears distinct among her flattering rivals, the clear olive of her skin showing in strange contrast to the heightened colors of her sisters. Yet Alsse, the toast of Eu- rope and the text of poets, proves herself not behind the others in the loose gayety of this occaslon. And there came others—Madame ds Prie, later to hold such Intimate relations with the fortunes of France in the selec- tion of a future Queen for the boy King; De Sabran, plain, gracious and good- natured; Parabere, of delicately oval face, of tiny mouth, of thin high nose and'large expressive eyes, her soft hair twined with a deep flushed rose and over her corsage drooping a continuous gar- land of magnificent flowers; alsp Caylus the wit, Caylus the friend of Peter the Great, by duty and by devotion a re- ligleuse, but by thought and training a gay woman of the world—all these butter- flies of the bubble house of Paris came ::dnunln‘ in as by right upon this exotie = And all of these as they advanced into the room paused as they met, coming from the head of the apartment, the im- posing figure of their host. Philippe of Orleans, his powdered wig drawn closcly into a half-bag at the nape of the neck, his full eye shining with merriment and good nature, his soft yet not unmanly figure appearing to good advantage in his ‘well-chosen garments, advances with a certuin dignity to meet his guests. Flo is garbed in a coat made of watered silk, dts straight collar faced with dark green material edged with gold. A green and gold shoulder knot sets off the garment, which is provided with large opal buttons set in brilllants, this same adornment ap- pearing on the hilt of his sword, which he lays aside as he approaches. From the sides of his. wig depend two carefully ar- ranged locks dusted with a tan-colored powder. His small clothes, of lighter hue than the coat, display fitly the propor- tions of his lower limbs. The high-heeled shoes blaze with the glare of reflected lights as the dlamonds change their an- gles during the calm advance down the room. “Welcome, my very dear ladles,” ex- claimed Philippe, advancing to the head of the board and at once setting all at ease, If any there needed such encourage- ment, by the grace and good feeling of his air. “You do me much honor, ladies. If T be not careful the fair Adrienne will become jealous, since I fear you have de- serted the pomp of the play full early for the table of Philppe. Ladies, as you know, I am your devoted slave. Myself and the Vicomte de Bechamel have la- bored, seriously labored, for your wel- fare this day. I promise you some- thing of the results of those painstaking efforts, which we both hope will not Jis- appoint you. Meantime, that the moments may not lag let me recommend, if T am allowed, this new vintage of Al, which Bechamel advises me we have never yet surpassed in all our efforts. Madame de Tencin, let me beg of you to be seated close to my arm. Not upon this side, Mademoiselle Haldee, if you please, for I have been wheedled Into promising that #tation this night to another. Who Is ft to be, my dear Caylus? Ah, that is my secret! Présently we shall see. Have I not promised you an occasion this even- ing? And did Philippe ever fall in his endeavors to please? At least, did he ever cease to strive to please his angels? Now, my children, accept the blessing of your father Phifippe. your friend, who, though years may multiply upon him, retains in his heart, ‘none the less, for each and all of vou, those sentiments of passion and of admiration which constitute for him his dearest memorles! Ladies, I pray you be seated. I pray you tarry not too long befcre proving the judgment of Bechamel in regard to this new vintage of AlL" “Ah, your Grace,” exclaimed De Tencin, 'were it not Phillppe of Orleans, we women might not apt to sit in peace together. Yet, as we have earlier proved your hospitality, we may perhaps not scruple to continue.” Philippe smiled blandly. The remark was not {ll-fitted to the actual case. Though the regent counted his sweet- hearts by scores, he dismissed the one with the same air of interest as he wel- comed the other, and indeed ended by re- taining all as his friends. “Madame de Tencin, in admiration there can be no- degrees,” sald he. “In love there can be no rank.” ‘“Why, then, do you place as your chief guest this other, this unknown?” pouted Mademolselle Alsse, as she seated herself, turning upon her host the radiance of her large, dark eyes. “Is this stranger, then, ®0 passing falr?” “Not so fair as you, my lovely Haldee, that I may swear, and safely, since she is not yet present. Yet I announce to you that she is tres Interessante, my unknown queen of beauty, my belle sauvage from America. But see! Here she comes. 'Tis time for her to appear, and not keep our guest in- waiting.” There sounded at the back of the great hall the tinkle of a little bell of some soft metal. It approached, and with it the sweeping stir of heayy silken garb. ‘The door opened, admitting a still greater blaze of light, and there swept into the hall. as though swimming upon the flood of this added brilliance, a figure striking enough to arouse attentlon even at that time and place, even among the beauties of the court of France. There advanced, calm and stately, with the gliding ease of a perfect carrlage, the figure of a woman, slender, with full, bright eyes and somber hair—so much might be seen at a glance. Yet the newcomer left some- what of query in the mind of woman- kind accustomed to view in detail any costume. The stranger was enveloped in a wide and undefining garment, a sweeping robe fit for any Duchess of the realm, whose flowing folds showed a magnificent tissue of silver embroidery covered with golden flowers, below the plum-color and green. The high corsage of the white robe cov- ered the bosom fully, and was caught at the throat with' a bunch of blazing jewels. Under these soft draperies, tinkling in timo with the movements of an otherwise noiseless tread, there sounded ever the faint note of the little bell. At the toe of shoes otherwise silent, there peeped In and out the flash of dlamonds, and in the dark masses of her hair, shifting as ehe trod bgneath each new sconce in tus and ca(chl"l more and more brilliance as she advanced, there smoldered the flame of a mass of scintillating gems. A qQueen’s raiment was that of this un- known beauty, and she bherself might have been a queen as she swept down the great hall, scornfully careless of the eyes of those other beautles. She stepped to the place at the regent’s right hand, with head high and eyes un- drooping. For a dramatic instant she paused, as though In the rehearsal of a part—a part of which it might be wald that the regent was not alone the author. This trilumph of woman over other women, this triumph of vice over other vice, of effrontery over effrontery akin— this could not have been so planned and executed by any but a woman. One an- other these beauties might tolerate, knowing one another's fraiitles as ihey did; yet the elegance, the disdain, the in- difference of this newcomer—this they could not support! Hatred sat in the bosom of each woman there as she swept her courtesy to the new guest of the regent, who took her place as of right at the head of the board and near the Tegent's arm. “Qur gentlemen are somewhat late this evening,” exclaimed Philippe. *“'Tis too bad the Abbe Dubois could not be with us to-night to administer clerical conso- lation.” “Ah! le drole Dubols!™ Madame de Tencin. “And that vagabond, the Duc de Riche- lleu—but we may not wait. Again, ladles, the glasses, or Bechamel will be ag- gritved. And finally, though I percelvey most of you have graciously unmasked, let me say that the moment has now arrived when we make plain all secrets.” He turned his gaze upon the woman at his right. As though at a signal, she half rose, unclasped the circlet of gems at her throat, and swept back across the 'm of her chair the soft garment which enveloped her. A sigh, a long breath of amazement broke from those other dames of Paris. Not one of them but was sated with the blaze of diamonds, the rich, red light of rubles and the fathomless radlance of eapphires. Silks and satins and cloth of gold and silver had few novelties for them. The costumers of Parls, cente® of the world of art, even In those times of unrivaled extravagance and unbridied self-gratification, held no new surprise for these beauties, possessed so long of al that their imagination required or that princely liberality could supply. Yet here indeed was a surprise. As she stood at the regent’s right, calm- 1y and composedly looking down the long board as she arranged her drapery before reseating herself, this new favorite of the regent appeared in tull costume of the American natl long soft tunio of exquisitely dress e leather feil below her hips, 1 tely embroidered in the native bead Workgpt America, and stained with great-blotchs of eolors done in the quills of the porcupl: heavy reds, sprightly yellows jand d;p blues. Down the seams of this loosen@tfing tunis de- pended little waving f imges. The beit which caught it at the #st was wrought likewise in beads. th the level of the table, as she stood, the inquiring eyes might not so clearly see; yet the white leggings, fringed and beaded and covered by a sweeping blanket of snowy buck- skin, might have been seen to finish at the ankle and blend in texture and ornamen- tation with tiny shoes, which covered the smallest foot yet seen in Paris—shoes at the side of which there dangled the littls bells of metal whose tones had told her coming. Here and there upon the bead work of the native artist, who had made this at- tire at the expense of so much patient effort, there blazed the changing rays of real gems, dlamonds, rubles, emeralds— every stone known as precious. As the full bosom of the scornful beauty rose and fell thers were cast about in sprays of light the reflections of these gems. Brace- lets of dull, beaten metal hung about her wrists. In her halr wers ornaments of some dull blue stone. Barbarie, beautitul, fascinating, savage she surely seemed as she met unruffed the startled gaze of these beautiful women of the court, who never, at even the most fanciful bal masque in all Paris, bad seen costums like to this. “Ladies, la volla!” spoke the regent “Ma belle sauvage!™ The newcomer swept a careless courtesy as she took her seat. As yet she had spoken no word. The door at the lower end of the hall o “His Grace le D ds Richelleu,” an- nounced the attendant, who stood beneath the. board. There advanced igto the room, with slouchy, f{ll-bred carriage, & young man whose sole reputation was that of being the greatest rake in Paris, the Duc de Richelieu, half gamin, half nobleman, who counted mors victims among titled ladies than he had fingers on his hands, whose sole concern of living was to plan some new impassioned avowal, some new and pitiless abandonment. This creature, meeting the salute of the regent, and catching at the same moment a view of the regent’'s guest, found eyes for nothing else and stood boldly gazing at the face of her whom Paris knew for the first time and under no more definite titled than that of “Belle Sauvage.” “Pray you, be seated, Monsieur le Duo,” said the regent calmly, and the latter was wise enough to comply. “Your Grace,” said Madame de Sabran, “was it not understood that we were to meet to-night none less than the wizard, Monsieur L'as?" “Monsieur L'as will be with us, and his brother,” replied Philippe. “But now 1 ask you to bear witness to the shrewdness of your friend Philippe in entertainment. I bethought me that, as we were to have with us the master of the Messasebe, it were well to have with also the typi- fied genius of that same Messasebe. ‘Twas but a little conceit of my own. And why —mon enfant, what Is it to you? What do you know of our controller of fin- ance?” The face of the woman at his right had suddenly gone white with a pallor visible even beneath its rouge and patches. She half turned, as though to push back her chair from the board, would have arisen, would have spoken perhaps; yet act and gesture were at the time unnoticed. “His Excellency, Monsieur Jean L'as, le controleur general,” came the soft tones of the attendant near the door. “‘Monsieur Guillaume L’as, brother of the controleur general.” The eyes of all wers turned toward the door. Every petted bells of Paris thers assembled shifted bodily in her seat, turn- Ing her gaze upon that man whose repu- tation was the talk of all the realm of France. There appeared now the tall, erect and vigorous form of & man owning a superb physical beauty. Powerful, yet not 100 heavy for eass, his figure retained that elasticity. and grace which had won hini favor in more than one court 4t Europe. He himself might have been King as he advanced steadily up the brilliantly {lluminated room. His costume, simply made, yet of the richest materials of the time; his wig, highly powdered though of modest proportions; his every item of apparel appeared alike of great simplicity and barren of pretentiousness. As much might be sald for the garb of his brother, who stepped close behind him, a figure less gelf-contained than that of thea man who now occupied the ab- sorbed attention of the public mind, even as he now filled the eager eyes of those who turned to greet his entrance. *“Ah Monsieur L'as, Monsieur L'as!" ex- claimed Philippe of Orleans, stepping for- ward to welcome him and taking the hand of Law in-both his own. “You are welcome, you are very welcome indeed. The soup will be with us presently, and the wine of Al is with us now. You and your brother are with us: so all at last is well. These ladies are, as I believe, exclaimed