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Oh, what bitter grief and anguish a mother's heart has to contend with! Meanwhile, all the guests were assembled in Mr. Kecskerey's saloons. One after another bevies of charming women alighted at the entrance with delicate coquetry, permitting the eye-glassed cavaliers to catch glimpses of their tiny beribboned feet as they dismounted from their equipages.

"Then there's nothing more to be done," murmured Abellino, between his teeth, "unless it be to kill myself or that woman." Kecskerey's strident rasping voice seemed to cut clean through that desperate murmur.

They departed accordingly, and the company was disturbed no more. A few minutes afterwards every one knew that Fennimore and Abellino had quarrelled at cards, but every one pretended that he knew nothing at all about it. But the quarrel in the card-room of Mr. Kecskerey's establishment had serious consequences for both the principal disputants.

And yet, for all that, they bow and scrape to one another as politely as if he were a real host and they were real guests. Mr. Kecskerey's shrill nasal voice resounded above all the din and bustle. "I am so delighted that you have not rejected my modest invitation. Your excellency has, indeed, honoured my poor house by your presence.

Kecskerey's rooms; and a beautiful invitation card was enclosed, addressed to "Mademoiselle Fanny de Meyer avec famille." Quite a family party, you see! Fanny sent back the servant with the message that she accepted the invitation to supper, and sent her best greetings to Mr. Kecskerey. But who was this Mr. Kecskerey you will ask?

Without him the whole winter season would have been abominably dull. There was no mention even of balls and assemblies until he came back again. Some men have a peculiar talent, a special faculty, for arranging such things, and it was "our friend" Kecskerey's speciality. The whole world of fashion called Kecskerey "our friend," so it is only proper that we should give him the same title.

Flora was so kind-hearted that she would have raised this woman up to her own level; but she never reflected that this woman had a shady past, and that her own good name might be soiled by contact with her. Of course he knew that it was Kecskerey's habit to run down every one unmercifully, but he also knew that he vouched for everything he said.

Kecskerey's suppers, and many others of a like kidney, were the sort of guests who frequented these saloons of an evening, generally twice a week. It must not be supposed for a moment, however, that there was ever the slightest breach of good manners at Mr. Kecskerey's social evenings. Any one supposing the contrary would be making the greatest mistake in the world.

This intervention brought the combatants to their senses. They began to recognize that this was not the place for adjusting affairs of honour. The appeal to the sanctity of Mr. Kecskerey's house also did something to restore the good-humour of the majority. Fennimore and Abellino were therefore advised by their friends to go home, and settle their little matter the next morning.

"Who is it, who is it?" cried Abellino, catching hold of Kecskerey's arm. "Would you like to know?" "I should." "Then it is her husband." "This is a stupid jest," cried Abellino, quite forgetting himself; "and nobody will believe it. That woman loves somebody, loves some one with shameful self-abandonment.