to feel a half indifference to the result in the manifold cares of my then existence.  To this state of fatalism, for such it was becoming, had I arrived, when the vision was dispelled in a moment, by a visit from my aunt, who came to say, that some business requiring her immediate presence in London, she was to set out that evening, but hoped to find us in Paris on her return.  I was thunderstruck at the news, for, although as yet I had obtained no manner of assistance from the old lady, yet, I felt that her very presence was a kind of security to us, and that in every sudden emergency, she was there to apply to.  My money was nearly expended, the second and last instalment of my commission was all that remained, and much of even that I owed to trades-people.  I now resolved to speak out—­the worst must be known, thought I, in a few days—­and now or never be it.  So saying, I drew my aunt’s arm within my own, and telling her that I wished a few minutes conversation alone, led her to one of the less frequented walks in the Tuilleries gardens.  When we had got sufficiently far to be removed from all listeners, I began then—­’my dearest aunt, what I have suffered in concealing from you so long, the subject of my present confession, will plead as my excuse in not making you sooner my confidante.’  When I had got thus far, the agitation of my aunt was such, that I could not venture to say more for a minute or two.  At length, she said, in a kind of hurried whisper, ‘go on;’ and although then I would have given all I possessed in the world to have continued, I could not speak a word.

“‘Dear John, what is it, any thing about Mary—­for heavens sake speak.’

“‘Yes,’ dearest aunt, ‘it is about Mary, and entirely about Mary.’

“’Ah, dear me, I feared it long since; but then, John, consider she is very handsome—­very much admired—­and—­’

“’That makes it all the heavier, my dear aunt—­the prouder her present position, the more severely will she feel the reverse.’

“‘Oh, but surely, John, your fears must exaggerate the danger.’

“‘Nothing of the kind—­I have not words to tell you—­’

“‘Oh dear, oh dear, don’t say so,’ said the old lady blushing, ’for though I have often remarked a kind of gay flirting manner she has with men—­I am sure she means nothing by it—­she is so young—­and so—­’

“I stopped, stepped forward, and looking straight in my aunt’s face, broke out into a fit of laughter, that she, mistaking for hysterical from its violence, nearly fainted upon the spot.

“As soon as I could sufficiently recover gravity to explain to my aunt her mistake, I endeavoured to do so, but so ludicrous was the contre temps, and so ashamed the old lady for her gratuitous suspicions, that she would not listen to a word, and begged me to return to her hotel.  Such an unexpected turn to my communication routed all my plans, and after a very awkward silence of some minutes on both sides, I mumbled something about our expensive habits of life, costly equipage, number of horses, &c., and hinted at the propriety of retrenchment.