You, my dear Louise, will supply the romance of my life.  So you must narrate to me in full all your adventures, describe your balls and parties, tell me what you wear, what flowers crown your lovely golden locks, and what are the words and manners of the men you meet.  Your other self will be always there—­listening, dancing, feeling her finger-tips pressed—­with you.  If only I could have some fun in Paris now and then, while you played the house-mother at La Crampade! such is the name of our grange.  Poor M. de l’Estorade, who fancies he is marrying one woman!  Will he find out there are two?

I am writing nonsense now, and as henceforth I can only be foolish by proxy, I had better stop.  One kiss, then, on each cheek—­my lips are still virginal, he has only dared to take my hand.  Oh! our deference and propriety are quite disquieting, I assure you.  There, I am off again. . . .  Good-bye, dear.

P.  S.—­I have just opened your third letter.  My dear, I have about one thousand livres to dispose of; spend them for me on pretty things, such as we can’t find here, nor even at Marseilles.  While speeding on your own business, give a thought to the recluse of La Crampade.  Remember that on neither side have the heads of the family any people of taste in Paris to make their purchases.  I shall reply to your letter later.

VI

Don Felipe Henarez to don Fernand
Paris, September.

The address of this letter, my brother, will show you that the head of your house is out of reach of danger.  If the massacre of our ancestors in the Court of Lions made Spaniards and Christians of us against our will, it left us a legacy of Arab cunning; and it may be that I owe my safety to the blood of the Abencerrages still flowing in my veins.

Fear made Ferdinand’s acting so good, that Valdez actually believed in his protestations.  But for me the poor Admiral would have been done for.  Nothing, it seems, will teach the Liberals what a king is.  This particular Bourbon has been long known to me; and the more His Majesty assured me of his protection, the stronger grew my suspicions.  A true Spaniard has no need to repeat a promise.  A flow of words is a sure sign of duplicity.

Valdez took ship on an English vessel.  For myself, no sooner did I see the cause of my beloved Spain wrecked in Andalusia, than I wrote to the steward of my Sardinian estate to make arrangements for my escape.  Some hardy coral fishers were despatched to wait for me at a point on the coast; and when Ferdinand urged the French to secure my person, I was already in my barony of Macumer, amidst brigands who defy all law and all avengers.