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The heat of the room in which the fancy fair was held had caused a very considerable number of persons to leave the place at the same time Lord Meersbrook did, but two or three like himself, struck with the distingué air of the gentleman in black, turned again in order to find out who he was. In a very few minutes he followed their example. His entrances and exits were now unnoticed; the "Who is he?" "Who can he be?" heard on every side, referred to a man old enough to be his father. Several gentlemen were at the duchess's stand, every one of whom bent their regards on the stranger advancing towards them. "Bless my life!" exclaimed one, "here is Lucien Buonaparte, without a single friend or attendant; but every one makes way for him—that is something." "It is not the Prince of Canino," said the duchess, "though the features much resemble his. I have seen several of the family: all are handsome, but not one has so good a figure as the person approaching us, by a great deal." At this moment the Count's eye fell on her grace,