With that she disappeared. What could
this secret be? Could it be indeed—that
the wanderer had inspired with a sort of
regard this gentle recluse, this charming
provincial? It seemed terrible coxcombry
to let such a notion even near me: and yet
one might have as well shammed blindness.
Why may I not admit, to myself only and in
the strictest confidence, that I lean to that
persuasion?

And pray why not let me ask (this I spoke
to myself, pacing the garden, thoughtfully
waiting for breakfast summons), are not
our French sisters outspeaking in such
matters; not suffering anything in the likeness
of a worm i' the bud to prey on their
olive cheek? Else what the significance of
that little embarrassment and those blushes?
It was a great mystery and a pleasing
mystery, too. Then I fell into that old
speculation of how a worse destiny might surely
befall one than spending the residue of his
life in this pleasant retreat, far removed from
the busy hum of men. Proprietor of this
little territory, where none of the world's
wickedness had as yet penetrated; where
might be studied eternally that pastoral
simplicity so characteristic of the French rural
districts. Where, at the head of my own
table, I might learn from passers-by how
the rough world outside was progressing.
Madame's charms would daily heighten:
children: Antoine, Marie, Estelle, growing
up about us: the golden age at hand, life
tolling on like a dream.

"Breakfast, Monsieur!" Garçon, with
fluttering napkin, announces.

IV.

In the boudoir, as it was called, Madame
was seated.

"I have promised to tell you my secret,
and shall keep my promise."

I drew near confidently. "Will you be
angry, Madame, if I tell you that I have
half guessed it already?"

"Not a soul in the house knows it but
yourself and another!"

"Another!" I said. "You have told it to
another?"

"Ma foi, why not? Was it indiscreet?"

"H'm," I said.

"Well then," she said, "in three words,
my little secret is this, I am going to be
married next week!"

I started to my feet with a bound. "Married!
What do you mean?"

'"Tis intelligible," she said, laughing.

"It is monstrous!" I said, intensely mortified:
"and to whom, pray?"

It was to that insolent, insufferable trading
exquisite, of the pointed moustaches. He
was so elegant, Madame said; such grace
in his bearing, his air so distinguished.
Had he not struck Monsieur in that view?
Adolphe, that was the name. Dear Adolphe
had indeed offered his hand. Noble person!
Such qualities, such powers, and he had even
terres—that is to say, some sort of estates.
He was altogether charmant.

A four-horse Diligence went by in an hour's
time. I would depart by the four-horse
Diligence. That business of mine had now
become so pressing, it would not admit of a
moment's delay, I said, packing my portmanteau
violently.

As for Madame Croquette, the conclusion
I came to when fairly caged in the coupée of
the Diligence was, that she was a thorough
French——well, not to be uncharitable, that
her name contained one letter too many.

AMALEK DAGON.

NEXT to the inexpressible privilege of
belonging to the best circles oneself, must be
certainly ranked that of being acquainted
with those that do belong to it. If we are not
the rose ourselves, at least let us get as near
to that flower as possible, that when we
return to baser company, we may, with truth,
have something to congratulate ourselves
upon. My rose is Sir John Aighton, Baronet,
or, as I feel myself sometimes justified in
calling him, Cousin Jack. A man who has
dined with no less a person than our
Sovereign Lady the Queen. A man who is on
the committee of the Rhadamanthus Club,
and the third best whist-player in Britain.
I except, of course, Field-Marshal Bang,
whose fame is more than European, and
Lord Charles Five-to-two, who is known to
have never missed a trump since he was of
the age of thirteen. Sir John, sirs (I am
addressing myself to the concentrated public),
was at Cremorne, you may take your oath,
when the nobs alone had the run of those
premises, and when you rang the bell and
clamoured at the gate so loudly without the
smallest attention being paid to you. He
was in the dock of docks, the innermost
sanctum of Cherbourg, when you and your
House of Commons were tossing about half
smothered and wholly sick, outside the
breakwater. He sits in the Duke's box at
Goodwood, when you think yourselves happy
in being in the grand stand at all. He never
had to wait—as the French king nearly had
to do—in all his life save once (an occasion
which he speaks of with a manly resignation),
when he permitted the Prince Consort to
have the pas of him. And no mortal eye has
ever seen him run or hurry himself. I cannot
positively affirm that Cousin Jack never
saw a copper in his existence, but I am
perfectly certain that he never took one into his
elaborate hands, to the pruning and adorning
of which, by the by, he devoted several
ingenious silver instruments.

When he leaves Pall Mall it is to hunt at
Bister; when he forsakes his native land it
is to start for Norway in his private schooner
yacht.

I was extremely surprised to see him in