“He had already been for some time at Paris without being able to obtain a clue whereby to form any probable conjectures upon the subject, when, one evening, being by chance at a _soirée_ given by Barras, his attention was attracted to a young lady whom he had at first observed with that languid indifference with which one is too apt to survey a stranger, where there is nothing in particular to arrest the attention. M. de Talleyrand had been standing, half hid by a curtain, in a recess of one of the windows, talking to Count Réal, and the lady had left her seat at the further end of the room, to take one close beside him. He had paid but slight attention to this circumstance, and after the departure of Réal, went to join the group of talkers assembled in the doorway.
“He had not been here many moments, before he observed the same pale lady in deep black move stealthily from the place which she had occupied, and where she had been listening with glistening eyes and heaving bosom to the various questions of interest which he had been debating, and again seat herself close to his side. M. de Talleyrand, struck with the pertinacity with which she seemed to follow his movements, was naturally led to examine her with more attention. She was of small stature, and delicate in feature, with eyes of most peculiar lustre, and the sable weeds in which she was attired added to the interest inspired by her youth and pallid countenance. ‘Who is that lady?’ asked M. de Talleyrand, abruptly, of the person with whom he was conversing. The lady blushed deep as scarlet. It was evident that she had heard the question. ‘She is the widow of the Count de Flahaut,’ was the reply; but it conveyed no association to the memory of M. de Talleyrand, and he shook his head, endeavouring to recall to mind the name at the old court, when suddenly his informant continued, ‘You surely must remember her marriage? It is not so very long ago. She was a Demoiselle _Filleul_, a name of no importance—second-rate provincial _hobereaux_.’
“The word acted like magic upon the whole nervous system of M. de Talleyrand. By some unaccountable chain of thought, the laughing observation of Madame Champion recurred to his mind, and he inquired more fully concerning the lady. Everything he heard tended to confirm the idea which had so strangely taken possession of his mind with regard to her identity with his unknown protector. His first step, of course, was to get himself presented to her. And how could he, with his tact and observation, fail to perceive the strong emotion visible in her manner of acknowledging his attentions, and the faltering, unsteady voice in which she answered his seemingly careless, though strictly polite address? He steadfastly avoided, however, in this first interview, any allusion to his journey to London or to his return—he was fearful of creating embarrassment—fearful of exciting alarm or suspicion of his real motive for seeking her acquaintance, and he was aware of the necessity for prudence and discretion. He despatched a note the next morning to inquire at what hour he might be permitted to present himself at the lady’s house. This was done designedly.