recent victims decently buried, in the cemeteries I contribute so largely towards filling.  When a man has performed such feats of courage and carnage as I have—­killing my hundreds single-handed, while my dastardly comrades trembled with fear, or turned and fled from the foe—­to say nothing of my daily affairs of honour, now that the wars are over—­he may assuredly indulge himself occasionally in milder amusements.  Besides, the whole civilized world, having now been subjugated by my good sword, no longer offers any resistance to my indomitable arm, and Atropos, the eldest of the dread Parcae sisters, has sent word to me that the fatal scissors, with which she cuts the threads of human lives, have become so dulled by the great amount of work my trusty blade has given her to do with them, that she has been obliged to send them to Vulcan to be sharpened, and she begs for a short respite.  So you see, Scapin, I must put force upon myself and restrain my natural ardour—­refrain for a time from wars, massacres, sacking of cities, stand-up fights with giants, killing of monsters and dragons, like Theseus and Hercules of glorious memory, and all the other little pastimes which usually occupy my good sword and me.  I will take my ease now for a brief period, and Death may enjoy a short rest too.  But to whom did my worthy prototype, Mars, the great god of war, devote his leisure hours? in whose sweet society did he find delight?  Ask Venus, the immortal goddess of love and beauty, who had the good taste to prefer a warlike man to all others, and lent a willing ear to the suit of my valiant predecessor.  So I, following his illustrious example, condescend to turn my attention for the moment to the tender sex, and pay my court to the fair Isabelle, the young and beautiful object of my ardent love.  Being aware that Cupid, with all his assurance, would not dare to aim one of his golden-tipped arrows at such an all-conquering hero as my unworthy self, I have given him a little encouragement; and, in order that the shaft may penetrate to the generous lion’s heart that beats in this broad breast, I have laid aside the world-famed coat of mail—­made of the rings given to me by goddesses, empresses, queens, infantas, princesses, and great ladies of every degree, my illustrious admirers the world over—­which is proof against all weapons, and has so often saved my life in my maddest deeds of daring.”

“All of which signifies,” interrupts the valet, who had listened to this high-blown tirade with ill-concealed impatience, “as far as my feeble intellect can comprehend such magnificent eloquence, that your most redoubtable lordship has fallen in love with some young girl hereabouts, like any ordinary mortal.”