If he had a grief, it was that he had discovered no great man who in return for practical favours would engrave his memory in brass.

He was a Maecenas without a Horace, an Earl of Southampton without a Shakespeare.

In a word, Aix-les-Bains in the season was the very place for him; and never for a moment did it occur to him that he was here to be dipped in agitations, and hurried from excitement to excitement.

The beauty of the little town, the crowd of well-dressed and agreeable people, the rose-coloured life of the place, all made their appeal to him.

But it was the Villa des Fleurs which brought him to Aix.