way into deep water, leaving me disconsolate
on the pier, forgetful in my grief of friends,
home, religion, or the Foreign Office— forgetful
even that I had been called a 'party'—an
insult which, under other circumstances, would
be alone sufficient to drive me to despair.

"I now waited—I need not say impatiently
—for the announcement of her safe arrival—
for the sweet little illegible note that was to
convey such glad tidings. To my astonishment,
I received not a line, not an intimation. In
vain did I write to an address in Paris which
had been left me—I received no reply. The
Walsingham family were all out of town—
had gone I knew not whither —so I could gain
no information in that quarter. It happened,
however, that political events—as you may
remember— took a certain turn which removed
the restriction hitherto imposed upon
me, and left me a free man. I need not say
that I availed myself immediately of my
freedom, and hurried over to Paris. The
very first persons whom I met in the Champs
Elysées (without counting some ten thousand
strangers) on the day of my arrival, were
the very ladies I sought. They were sitting
very composedly in an open carriage, and
close by the little refreshment house up there
looked me full in the face. I ran towards
them—that is to say, I hastened my steps a
little more than is considered correct in the
Champs Elysées—expecting the carriage to
stop. What was my surprise to see them
pass on without honouring me with the
slightest look or gesture of recognition! I must
have looked somewhat absurd for a few
seconds—standing with my hat in my hand,
gazing at Isabel's golden hair, as it set, like a
sun, behind a cloud of vehicles. I thought at
the time that Isabel looked somewhat agitated,
but I have since remembered that ladies can
be sullen, and that the carriage had a pink
lining.

"What did I do then? you ask. I did not
scamper after the carriage and throw myself
under the wheels; such proceedings belong
only to the rites of Juggernaut, and the
writings of fashionable novelists. I did what
most sensible men, who entertain any respect
for their pantaloons and social position, would
have done. I ate an ice, and wondered what
the deuce it all meant. Returning home,
however, I addressed a letter—full of point
and passion—to Isabel, demanding the cause
of her conduct to me in the morning. The
next day I received a 'correctly cold' epistle
from the elder lady, informing me, that, 'as
it was impossible to mistake my very
mischievous pleasantry for anything short of
an intentional insult, it was the wish of
Miss Walsingham to cease any further
correspondence,' &c. Mystery upon mystery.
I wrote again, and this time—and the next,
and the next—received no reply.

"In despair—that is to say, very much
puzzled and annoyed—I quitted Paris, and
took up my quarters in a pretty little village a
few miles off, for the double purpose of
indulging my grief and allowing my moustache
to grow again. While lingering over a late
breakfast that morning, I took up a number
of 'Galignani,' and my eye at once fell upon
a paragraph in which I could not doubt myself
to be interested.

"The writer set forth in an impertinent sort
of style, which he doubtless considered very
lively and clever, that 'considerable amusement
had been created in high circles, both
in London and Paris, by the eccentricity of
a young Frenchman, not very recently
connected with the Embassy of the Republic in
London;'  that this gentleman was betrothed
to a young English lady, who, having occasion
to visit France, was, on landing in that
country, discovered to have no resemblance
to the person described in her passport (which
was a special document from the French
Embassy in London, intended to secure the
bearer every respect and attention); that, in
consequence of this fact, and the unsettled
state of the diplomatic relations between the
two countries, the lady had been arrested,
under suspicions of a nature to which it was
unnecessary (in the opinion of the writer)
more particularly to allude, and was released
only after considerable delay, and the establishment
of her identity through the mediation of
the English Ambassador.

"But the most amusing part of the whole
affair, according to 'Galignani,' was the
personal description which had been the cause
of the contre-temps. The eyes of the lady, upon
paper, were 'bleus comme le ciel'—upon her
face, they were a very ordinary grey. The
written authority gave her a Grecian nose—
the authorities of the Custom-house were
inclined to think it retroussé. In the one case
her mouth was 'très petite'—in the other it
was generally considered a moderate size.
Nor would the matter-of-fact gendarme be
persuaded that the neat little figure of the
lady was a 'taille superbe;' and as for her
hair being 'dorés comme un ange' he
pronounced it, at once, to be a clear and
unmistakeable red.

"The mystery was revealed, and I never felt
so ridiculous in all my life. I need scarcely
tell you that in my enthusiasm I had taken
upon myself the subordinate office of filling
up the passport; and there is even less reason
to add that I had better have left that department
to the clerk. The fact is, that a lover
does not—nor is it desirable that he should—
see with the same eyes as a Custom-house
official."

Auguste concluded with this wise reflection.

"If you had told me In the beginning," said
I, "that the young lady's hair was red, I
might have given you an interesting piece of
information long ago—that she is again in
Paris, and will probably drive past us in a
few minutes. A dozen men have been telling
me this morning of an amazing English