It comes home to us; for," added Maltravers, with a slight change of voice, "how many of us fancy we see our own image in the mirror!" And where was the German baron ?--flirting at the other end of the room.
And the English lord ?--dropping monosyllables to dandies by the doorway.
And the minor satellites ?--dancing, whispering, making love, or sipping lemonade.

And Madame de Ventadour was alone with the young stranger in a crowd of eight hundred persons; and their lips spoke of sentiment, and their eyes involuntarily applied it! While they were thus conversing, Maltravers was suddenly startled by hearing close behind him, a sharp, significant voice, saying in French, "Hein, hein! I've my suspicions--I've my suspicions." Madame de Ventadour looked round with a smile.

"It is only my husband," said she, quietly; "let me introduce him to you." Maltravers rose and bowed to a little thin man, most elaborately dressed, and with an immense pair of spectacles upon a long sharp nose.
"Charmed to make your acquaintance, sir!" said Monsieur de Ventadour.
"Have you been long in Naples ?...

Beautiful weather--won't last long--hein, hein, I've my suspicions! No news as to your parliament--be dissolved soon! Bad opera in London this year!--hein, hein--I've my suspicions." This rapid monologue was delivered with appropriate gesture.

Each new sentence Mons.