The grand Pitt diamond--the Queen's own star of the garter--a
sample of otto-of-roses at a guinea a drop, would not be handled
more curiously, or more respectfully, than this porcelain card of
the Baroness. Trembling he put it into his little Russia-leather
pocket-book: and when he ventured to look up, and saw the eyes of
the Baroness de Florval-Delval, nee de Melval-Norval, gazing upon
him with friendly and serene glances, a thrill of pride tingled
through Pogson's blood: he felt himself to be the very happiest
fellow "on the Continent."

But Pogson did not, for some time, venture to resume that sprightly
and elegant familiarity which generally forms the great charm of
his conversation: he was too much frightened at the presence he
was in, and contented himself by graceful and solemn bows, deep
attention, and ejaculations of "Yes, my lady," and "No, your
ladyship," for some minutes after the discovery had been made.
Pogson piqued himself on his breeding: "I hate the aristocracy,"
he said, "but that's no reason why I shouldn't behave like a
gentleman."

A surly, silent little gentleman, who had been the third at the
ordinary, and would take no part either in the conversation or in
Pogson's champagne, now took up his hat, and, grunting, left the
room, when the happy bagman had the delight of a tete-a-tete. The
Baroness did not appear inclined to move: it was cold; a fire was
comfortable, and she had ordered none in her apartment. Might
Pogson give her one more glass of champagne, or would her ladyship
prefer "something hot." Her ladyship gravely said, she never took