found in France, and from whom I have just learned that you were a spectator of the races in the Champ-de-Mars, yesterday.”
Château-Renaud bowed to the countess.
“So you were at the races, baron?” inquired the countess eagerly.
“Yes, madame.”
“Well, then,” pursued Madame G⸺ with considerable animation, “you can probably tell me who won the Jockey Club stakes?”
“I am sorry to say I cannot,” replied the baron; “and I was just asking the same question of Albert.”
“Are you very anxious to know, countess?” asked Albert.
“To know what?”
“The name of the owner of the winning horse?”
“Excessively; only imagine—but do tell me, viscount, whether you really are acquainted with it or no?”
“I beg your pardon, madame, but you were about to relate some story, were you not? You said, ‘only imagine,’—and then paused. Pray continue.”
“Well, then, listen. You must know I felt so interested in the splendid roan horse, with his elegant little rider, so tastefully dressed in a pink satin jacket and cap, that I could not help praying for their success with as much earnestness as though the half of my fortune were at stake; and when I saw them outstrip all the others, and come to the winning-post in such gallant style, I actually clapped my hands with joy. Imagine my surprise, when, upon returning home, the first object I met on the staircase was the identical jockey in the pink jacket! I concluded that,