She was unchanged, inwardly at least. The
old, insolent, defiant countess.

"Never mind what I have been doing to
myself. Will you come and sup? We will have
plenty of champagne."

"Champagne! I am too old to drink
champagne. I like cognac better. Well, never
mind. We will have a night of it, as we used
to have in the old time:

                       Eh gai, gai, gai,
                       La gaudriole!"

she sang, in an old cracked voice.

William Long could scarcely refrain from a
shudder; but he continued diplomatic to the
last. "How long shall you be changing your
dress?" he asked.

"Half an hour. I must wash this paint off
and put some more on. Il faut que je me fasse
belle ce soir pour vous, mes beaux seigneurs.
Wait until the fireworks are over, and then come
for me to this door. Who else will be of the
party besides Milor Curzon?"

She rolled his name and title under her
tongue, as though it were a sweet morsel, and
had a delicious flavour to her. I dare say it
had. She had been brought very low in the
world. It was long—a weary, dreary long
time—since she had consorted with lords. Now
she felt herself again. She would so paint and
bedizen herself, she thought, as to make it
impossible for them to discover that she was no
longer young.

"Tom Tuttleshell will be of us. You know
Tom?"

"Do I know my grandmother? Histoire de
l'Arche de Noé. Monsieur Tuttleshell and I
are friends—business friends—of some standing.
C'est un franc niais, mais il m'a été utile. Who
else?"

"Mr. Edgar Greyfaunt."

"Connais pas. What a droll of a name."

"He is to all intents and purposes an Englishman;
but his grand-aunt, a Madame de Kergolay,
who brought him up, was a Frenchwoman,
and died lately in Paris. Monsieur, or Mr.
Edgar Greyfaunt, has inherited the whole of
her fortune."

"A-a-a-h!" the countess exclaimed, drawing
a prolonged breath. "It seems to me that I
have heard some stories about this Madame
de Kergolay before. An old hypocrite who
stole children away from their parents, quoi?
I should very much like to see this Monsieur
Edgar Greyfaunt. Now go away, and I will
get ready."

"Is there any one else you would like to bring
with you to supper? Comrade, sister, any one?"

"I have no sisters, as you know, or ought to
know by this time. Comrades, forsooth! Are
you in the habit of associating with stable-boys?
What men are here I hate, what women I
despise. You have asked my director, I suppose?
He is as avaricious as a Jew, and has robbed me
shamefully; but otherwise he is bon enfant,
and amuses me."

"We will take care to secure Mr. M 'Variety.
But consider well. Is there no one else?
Whose voice was that I heard in your dressing-
room? Had you not a child—a daughter—
years ago? She must be grown up by this time."

The countess made him an ironical curtsey.
"Merci du compliment, monseigneur," she
sneered. "Yes, I know well enough that I am
growing old. Du reste, let me inform you that
I am not in the habit of bringing my fille de
chambre"—she laid, perhaps intentionally, a
stronger emphasis on the word "fille" than on
those which followed—"and that if you will be
good enough to take care of your own affairs, I
shall have much pleasure in attending to mine.
I come alone or not at all. Am I understood?"

"Perfectly. Brava! you are quite the old
countess—I beg pardon, the young countess—
we used to know and call Semiramis. Come
alone, if such is your will. Now, good-by until
after the fireworks."

He was retiring, when she recalled him.

"Stop, mauvais sujet," she cried, "have you
got a billet de cent francs about you par hasard?
I want to buy some gloves."

Sir William laughed. "You will scarcely
find the Burlington Arcade at South Lambeth,"
he said, as searching in his waistcoat-pocket he
brought out some loose sovereigns and dropped
them into the woman's outstretched hand.
She just nodded her thanks, and going into her
room shut the door.

The performances in the circus were over, and
the workpeople were turning off the gas. The
baronet had some difficulty in groping his way
to the door.

"She has not changed a bit, save in looks,"
he soliloquised; "what a devouring harpy it
is, to be sure! If ever the horse-leech had a
fourth daughter, the countess must have been
the one. How hungry she used to be in the
old days after money."

Madame Ernestine, on her part, was also
soliloquising. "Ah! I am Semiramis, am I?
Ah! I am asked to supper because it is thought
I have a daughter. Ah! pieces of gold are
flung to me with a taunt, like pennies to a
beggar. Little devil"—she said this savagely,
and not to herself. "Thou art sticking pins
into me on purpose. Quick, my pink dress;
quick, or I shall strangle thee!"

BLOOMSBURY BOUQUETS.

I HAPPEN to live near the gardens of the
Horticultural Society at South Kensington. So surely
as there is a flower-show held therein, as surely
does my landlord receive a letter informing him
that at the end of six months I shall resign my
tenancy. The annoyance passes away with the
departure of the last van that removes the
extra marquees, and I revoke my decision; but
while the affair is being prepared for, being
carried out, and being carried off, my resolution
is inflexible.

On the thirteenth of this very last July, a
grand fête was held in those Horticultural