You, no doubt, pronounce me, dear Roger, a pitiable Don Juan, a common-place Amilcar, for not profiting by the occasion.  A young man strolling at night in a garden with a screen painter ought at least to have stolen a kiss!  At the risk of appearing ridiculous, I did nothing of the kind.  I love Louise, and besides she has at times such an air of hauteur, of majestic disdain that the boldest commercial traveller steeped to the lips in Pigault-Lebrun, a sub-lieutenant wild with absinthe would not venture such a caress—­she would almost make one believe in virtue, if such a thing were possible.  Frankly, I am afraid that I am in earnest this time.  Order me a dove-colored vest, apple-green trowsers, a pouch, a crook, in short the entire outfit of a Lignon shepherd.  I shall have a lamb washed to complete the pastoral.

How I reached the chateau, whether walking or flying, I cannot tell.  Happy as a king, proud as a god, for a new love was born in my heart.

EDGAR DE MEILHAN.

IX.

IRENE DE CHATEAUDUN to MME. LA VICOMTESSE DE BRAIMES,
Hotel de la Prefecture, GRENOBLE (Isere).

PARIS, June 2d 18—.

It is five o’clock, I have just come from Pont de l’Arche, and I am going to the Odeon, which is three miles from here; it seems to me that the Odeon is three miles from every spot in Paris, for no matter where you live, you are never near the Odeon!

Madame Taverneau is delighted at the prospect of treating a poor, obscure, unsophisticated widow like myself to an evening at the theatre!  She has a box that she obtained, by some stratagem, the hour we got here.  She seemed so hurt and disappointed when I refused to accompany her, that I was finally compelled to yield to her entreaties.  The good woman has for me a restless, troublesome affection that touches me deeply.  A vague instinct tells her that fate will lead us through different paths in life, and in spite of herself, without being able to explain why, she watches me as if she knew I might escape from her at any moment.

She insisted upon escorting me to Paris, although she had nothing to call her there, and her father, who is still my garret neighbor, did not expect her.  She relies upon taking me back to Pont de l’Arche, and I have not the courage to undeceive her; I also dread the moment when I will have to tell her my real name, for she will weep as if she were hearing my requiem.  Tell me, what can I do to benefit her and her husband; if they had a child I would present it with a handsome dowry, because parents gratefully receive money for their children, when they would proudly refuse it for themselves.

To confer a favor without letting it appear as one, requires more consideration, caution and diplomacy than I am prepared to devote to the subject, so you must come to my relief and decide upon some plan.