"Of course, and evaded paying the dot with every single one of them," emphasizing each syllable. "What do you think of that, hein? Oh, she has a head for business. She has plenty of money to give balls."
"Who can he be, Tante Pauline?" asked Odile, looking towards the young man whose coat she had rescued.
"Eh!" The sharp eyes screwed under their brows. "But what specimen is that? I can't place him. Ma chère, how foolish, but don't you see whom he is looking at? But look over there! there!" and she pointed with a long knotted finger. "Black velvet, diamonds, marabout feathers. Ah, what a masquerade! a whole Mardi-gras. But, Odile, how stupid of you! Madame Montyon, enfin; that is her son,—her step-son, I should say."
"Ah!" said Odile, with a vivid show of interest; "just from France!"
"Of course, my dear. Have you not heard? But where have you been all this week? Come over on business, to buy out or sell out, Heaven knows what!—all of us poor creoles who owe her a picayune. And then there is the Arvil suc-
