Lord Percy, as I have remarked, was deeply in love with my Agatha.  He followed her about everywhere, was present at all the rehearsals, waited for her at the wings, and called on her every day, although her landlady, a duenna of the Pacienza school, would never let her see him alone.  The principal methods of seduction—­rich presents—­had not been spared, but Agatha persistently refused them all, and forbade her duenna to take anything from the young nobleman.  Agatha had no liking for him, and kept me well informed of all his actions, and we used to laugh at him together.  I knew that I possessed her heart, and consequently Lord Percy’s attempts neither made me angry or jealous—­nay, they flattered my self-esteem, for his slighted love made my own happiness stand out in greater relief.  Everybody knew that Agatha remained faithful to me, and at last Lord Percy was so convinced of the hopelessness of the attempt that he resolved on making a friend of me, and winning me over to his interests.

With the true Englishman’s boldness and coolness he came to me one morning, and asked me to give him breakfast.  I welcomed him in the French manner, that is, with combined cordiality and politeness, and he was soon completely at his ease.

With insular directness he went straight to the point at the first interview, declared his love for Agatha, and proposed an exchange, which amused, but did not offend me, as I knew that such bargains were common in England.

“I know,” said he, “that you are in love with Redegonde, and have long tried vainly to obtain her; now I am willing to exchange her for Agatha, and all I want to know is what sum of money you want over and above?”

“You are very good, my dear lord, but to determine the excess of value would require a good mathematician.  Redegonde is all very well, and inspires me with curiosity, but what is she compared to Agatha?”

“I know, I know, and I therefore offer you any sum you like to mention.”

Percy was very rich, and very passionate.  I am sure that if I had named twenty-five thousand guineas as overplus, or rather as exchange—­for I did not care for Redegonde—­he would have said done.  However, I did not, and I am glad of it.  Even now, when a hundred thousand francs would be a fortune to me, I never repent of my delicacy.

After we had breakfasted merrily together, I told him that I liked him well, but that in the first place it would be well to ascertain whether the two commodities would consent to change masters.

“I am sure of Redegonde’s consent,” said Lord Percy.

“But I am not at all sure of Agatha’s,” said I.

“Why not?”

“I have very strong grounds for supposing that she would not consent to the arrangement.  What reasons have you for the contrary opinion?”

“She will shew her sense.”

“But she loves me.”

“Well, Redegonde loves me.”