on with your feet flying and accompanied by delightful music; every eye gazed at us; every ear, in the whirl of the dance, almost touched our lips and caught what we said.  Our gayety seemed contagious, and the whole room smiled approval.  My partner was radiant with joy; the fast moving of her feet, the excitement of her mind, the exaltation of triumph, the halo of wit had transfigured this woman; she positively appeared handsome!

For one instant I forgot my despair in the happy thought that I had just done the noblest deed of my life; I had danced with a wall-flower, whose only crime was her ugliness, and had changed her misery into bliss by rendering her all the intoxicating ovations due only to beauty.

But alas! there was a fatal reaction awaiting me.  Glancing across the room I intercepted the tender looks of two lovers, looks of mutual love that brought me back to my own misery, and made my heart bleed afresh at the thought that love like this might have been mine!  What is more touchingly beautiful than the sight of a betrothed couple who exist in a little world of their own, and, ignoring the indifferent crowd around them, gaze at each other with such a wealth of love and trust in the future!  I brought this image of a promised but lost happiness home with me.  Oh! if I could blame Irene I would console myself by flying in a fit of legitimate anger! but this resource fails me—­I can blame no one but myself.  Irene knows not how dear she is to me, I only half told her of my love,—­I flattered myself that I had a long future in which to prove my devotion by deeds instead of words.  Had she known how deeply I loved her, she never could have deserted me.

Your unhappy friend,
ROGER DE MONBERT.

VI.

EDGAR DE MEILHAN to the PRINCE DE MONBERT,
St. Dominique Street (Paris).

Richeport, May 26th 18—.

Dear Roger:—­You have understood me.  I did not wish to annoy you with hackneyed condolences or sing with you an elegiac duet; but I have not the less sympathized with your sorrows; I have even evolved a system out of them.  Were I forsaken, I should deplore the blindness of the unfortunate creature who could renounce the happiness of possessing me, and congratulate myself upon getting rid of a heart unworthy of me.  Besides, I have always felt grateful to those benevolent beauties who take upon themselves the disagreeable task of breaking off an engagement.  At first, there is a slight feeling of wounded self-love, but as I have for some time concluded that the world contains an infinity of beings endowed with charms superior to mine, it only lasts a moment, and if the scratch bleed a little, I consider myself indemnified by a tirade against woman’s bad taste.  Since you do not possess this philosophy, Mlle. de Chateaudun must be found, at any cost; you know my principles:  I have a profound respect for any