During the colloquy Mr. Horace, leaning back inside his arm-chair, raisedhis eyes, and caught the reflected portrait of madame in the mirrorbefore him--the reflection so much softer and prettier, so much moreethereal, than the original painting. Indeed, seen in the mirror, thatway, the portrait was as refreshing as the most charming memory. Hepointed to it when madame, with considerable loss of temper, regainedher seat.

"It is as beautiful as the past," he explained most unnaturally, forhe and his friend had a horror of looking at the long, long past,which could not fail to remind them of--what no one cares tocontemplate out of church. Making an effort toward some determinationwhich a subtle observer might have noticed weighing upon him all theevening, he added: "And, apropos of the past--"

"_Hein_?" interrogated the very aged lady, impatiently, still under theinfluence of her irascibility about the mushrooms.