marry his sister.  Baletti was a fine fellow, and the duke was very fond of him.  He had a little country house, with a spare room, which he begged me to accept, as he said he was only too proud that the duke should know him as my best friend.  When his highness came, of course I would have an apartment in the palace.  I accepted; and as it was still early, we all went to see the young Toscani.  I had loved her in Paris before her beauty had reached its zenith, and she was naturally proud to shew me how beautiful she had become.  She shewed me her house and her jewels, told me the story of her amours with the duke, of her breaking with him on account of his perpetual infidelities, and of her marriage with a man she despised, but who was forced on her by her position.

At dinner-time we all went to the inn, where we met the offending colonel; he was the first to take off his hat, we returned the salute, and he passed on his way.

The dinner was a pleasant one, and when it was over I proceeded to take up my quarters with Baletti.  In the evening we went to Madame Toscani’s, where I saw two girls of ravishing beauty, Madame Toscani’s daughter and Vestri’s wife, of whom the duke had had two children.  Madame Vestri was a handsome woman, but her wit and the charm of her manner enchanted me still more.  She had only one fault—­she lisped.

There was a certain reserve about the manner of Mdlle.  Toscani, so I chiefly addressed myself to Madame Vestri, whose husband was not jealous, for he neither cared for her nor she for him.  On the day of my arrival the manager had distributed the parts of a little play which was to be given in honour of the duke’s arrival.  It had been written by a local author, in hopes of its obtaining the favour of the Court for him.

After supper the little piece was discussed.  Madame Vestri played the principal part, which she was prevailed upon to recite.

“Your elocution is admirable, and your expression full of spirit,” I observed; “but what a pity it is that you do not pronounce the dentals.”

The whole table scouted my opinion.

“It’s a beauty, not a defect,” said they.  “It makes her acting soft and delicate; other actresses envy her the privilege of what you call a defect.”

I made no answer, but looked at Madame Vestri.

“Do you think I am taken in by all that?” said she.

“I think you are much too sensible to believe such nonsense.”

“I prefer a man to say honestly, ‘what a pity,’ than to hear all that foolish flattery.  But I am sorry to say that there is no remedy for the defect.”

“No remedy?”

“No.”

“Pardon me, I have an infallible remedy for your complaint.  You shall give me a good hearty blow if I do not make you read the part perfectly by to-morrow, but if I succeed in making you read it as your husband, for example’s sake, might read it you shall permit me to give you a tender embrace.”