came to speak of marriage.  I did not miss the opportunity to disclose with a most innocent air, my little theories, with which you are acquainted.  Would you believe that the count concurred, more than concurred, with my views?  He is more royalist than the king; he does not admit that a good rule allows of any exception.  According to him, a poor man who marries a rich woman forfeits his honour, debases himself, sells himself; he is a man in bondage.  He developed this theme with sombre eloquence.  I assure you that the lion no longer bore resemblance to the fox.

“After the departure of this fine musician and great orator, Abbe Miollens, remaining alone with me, told me how much he was charmed with his conversation and manners; he could not cease to sing his praises.  I think he went a little too far.  However, I joined with him in regretting that a man of his merit should be reduced to live by expedients.  The abbe’s arm reaches a long way; he promised me that he would busy himself, at the expense of all other business, to find some employment for M. Larinski.  He remembered that there was some talk of establishing in London an international school for the living languages.  One of the founders of this institute had applied to him to learn if he could recommend some professor of the Slavonian languages.  It would be exactly the thing, and I should be delighted to procure for your protege an occupation that would insure all the happiness that it is possible to enjoy on the other side of the Channel.  After this, will you still accuse me of being prejudiced against him?

“Adieu, my dear monsieur.  Give my tender love to my amiable goddaughter.  I rely on you to read my letters to her with care and discretion.  Little girls should have only a part of the truth.”

Eight days afterward Mme. de Lorcy wrote a third letter, which was thus expressed: 

“August 27th.

“I am more and more content with M. Larinski.  I blame myself for the suspicions with which he inspired me.  The Viennese were right to consider him a worthy man, and Abbe Miollens has not valued him too highly.  You write, on your part, my dear friend, that you are not dissatisfied with Antoinette.  She is gay, tranquil; she walks, paints, never speaks of Count Abel Larinski, and, when you speak to her of him, she smiles and does not reply.  You claim that she has reflected; that time and absence have wrought their effect.  ‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ you say.  Take care!  I am more mistrustful than you.  Are you very sure that Antoinette may not be a slyboots?