“Ah! but you would reject him with so much more ease, than I can do it.”

“Practice, my dear, is everything:  this time you may feel a little awkward, but you will find you will dispose of your second lover without much difficulty, and you will give his conge to your third with as much ease, as though you were merely dismissing a disobedient kitchen-maid.”

“I cannot bear to give pain; and Adolphe will be pained; his self-love will be wounded at the idea of being rejected.”

“Then spare his self-love, and accept him.”

“No; that I will not do.”

“Then wound his self-love, and reject him.”

“Would I could do the one without the other; would I could persuade him I was not worthy of him.”

“Nay, do not attempt that; that will be direct encouragement.”

“I will tell him that I am averse to marriage; in truth, that will be no falsehood.  I do not think that my heart is capable of more love than it feels at present.”

“That may be true now, Agatha; but suppose your heart should enlarge before the autumn, at the touch of some gallant wizard—­take my advice, dear girl, make no rash promises.”

“I will tell him that I cannot think of love till the King is on the throne once more.”

“If you say so, he will promise valiantly to restore His Majesty, and then to return to you to look for his reward.  Shall I tell you, Agatha, what I should say?”

“Do, dearest Marie:  tell me in sober earnest; and if there be ought of sobriety mixed with your wit, I will take your advice.”

“I would say to him thus:  ‘M.  Denot,’ or ‘Adolphe,’ just as your custom is to address him—­but mind, mark you, make him speak out firmly and formally first, that your answer may be equally firm and formal.  ’M.  Denot, you have paid me the greatest honour which a gentleman can pay a lady, and I am most grateful for the good opinion which you have expressed.  I should be ungrateful were I to leave you for one moment in doubt as to my real sentiments:  I cannot love you as I ought to love my husband.  I hope you will never doubt my true friendship for you; but more than sincere friendship I cannot give you.’  There, Agatha, not a word more, nor a word less than that; sit quite straight on your chair, as though you were nailed to it; do not look to the right or to the left; do not frown or smile.”

“There will not be the least danger of my smiling, Marie.”

“But do not frown neither; fancy that you are the district judge, giving sentence on a knotty piece of law; show neither sentiment, pride, nor anger.  Be quite cold, inflexible and determined; and, above all things, do not move from your seat; and I think you will find your lover will take his answer:  but if he do not—­repeat it all over again, with a little more emphasis, and rather slower than before.  If it be necessary, you may repeat it a third time, or indeed till he goes away, but never vary the words.  He must be a most determined man if he requires the third dose.  I never heard of but one who wasn’t satisfied with the second, and he was an Irishman.”