“He calls himself Count de Castelbajac.”

“Ah!  Castelbajac?”

“Yes.”

“He is a Gascon?”

“Yes.”

“Tall, thin, and dark, and marked with the smallpox?

“Exactly!  I am delighted to find you know him.  You will agree with me that his wife is very pretty?”

“I really can’t say.  I knew Castelbajac, as he calls himself, six years ago, and I never heard he was married.  I shall be delighted to join you, however.  I must warn you not to say anything if he seems not to know me; he may possibly have good reasons for acting in that manner.  Before long I will tell you a story which does not represent him in a very advantageous manner.  I did not know he played.  I shall take care to be on my guard at the Betting Club, and I advise you, my lord, to be on your guard in the society of Castelbajac.”

“I will not forget the warning.”

When Pembroke had left me I went to see Madame Cornelis, who had written a week before to tell me my daughter was ill, and explained that she had been turned from my doors on two occasions though she felt certain I was in.  To this I replied that I was in love, and so happy within my own house that I had excluded all strangers, and with that she had to be contented, but the state in which I found little Sophie frightened me.  She was lying in bed with high fever, she had grown much thinner, and her eyes seemed to say that she was dying of grief.  Her mother was in despair, for she was passionately fond of the child, and I thought she would have torn my eyes out when I told her that if Sophie died she would only have herself to reproach.  Sophie, who was very good-hearted, cried out, “No, no! papa dear;” and quieted her mother by her caresses.

Nevertheless, I took the mother aside, and told her that the disease was solely caused by Sophie’s dread of her severity.

“In spite of your affection,” said I, “you treat her with insufferable tyranny.  Send her to a boarding-school for a couple of years, and let her associate with girls of good family.  Tell her this evening that she is to go to school, and see if she does not get better.”

“Yes,” said she, “but a good boarding-school costs a hundred guineas a year, including masters.”

“If I approve of the school you select I will pay a year in advance.”

On my making this offer the woman, who seemed to be living so luxuriously, but was in reality poverty-stricken, embraced me with the utmost gratitude.

“Come and tell the news to your daughter now,” said she, “I should like to watch her face when she hears it.”

“Certainly.”

“My dear Sophie,” I said, “your mother agrees with me that if you had a change of air you would get better, and if you would like to spend a year or two in a good school I will pay the first year in advance.”

“Of course, I will obey my dear mother,” said Sophie.