tion had made a favorable impression upon M. des
Rameures, but regretting his apparent want of progress with the
fairy-footed niece.

He was in error.

"This youth," said M. des Rameures, when he was left alone with Madame
de Tecle, "has some touch of the ancients, which is something; but he
still resembles his father, who was vicious as sin itself. His eyes and
his smile recall some traits of his admirable mother; but positively,
my dear Elise, he is the portrait of his father, whose manners and whose
principles they say he has inherited."

"Who says so, uncle?"

"Current rumor, niece."

"Current rumor, my dear uncle, is often mistaken, and always
exaggerates. For my part, I like the young man, who seems thoroughly
refined and at his ease."

"Bah! I suppose because he compared you to a nymph in the fable."

"If he compared me to a nymph in the fable he was wrong; but he never
addressed to me a word in French that was not in good taste. Before we
condemn him, uncle, let us see for ourselves. It is a habit you have
always recommended to me, you know."

"You can not deny, niece," said the old man with irritation, "that
he exhales the most decided and disagreeable odor of Paris! He is too
polite--too studied! Not a shadow of enthusiasm--no fire of youth! He
never laughs as I should wish to see a man of his age laugh; a young man
should roar to split his waistband!"

"What! you would see him merry so soon after losing his father in such
a tragic manner, and he himself nearly ruined! Why, uncle, what can you
mean?"

"Well, well, perhaps you are right. I retract all I have said against
him. If he be half ruined I will offer him my advice--and my purse if
he need it--for the sake of the memory of his mother, whom you resemble.
Ah, 'tis thus we end all our disputes, naughty child! I grumble; I am
passionate; I act like a Tartar. Then you speak with your good sense and
sweetness, my darling, and the tiger becomes a lamb. All unhappy beings
whom you approach in the same way submit to your subtle charm. And that
is the reason why my old friend, La Fontaine, said of you:

'Sur differentes fleurs l'abeille se repose,
Et fait du miel de toute chose!'"

CHAPTER VIII. A DISH OF POLITICS

Elise de Tecle was thirty years of age, but appeared much younger. At
seventeen she had married, under peculiar conditions, her cousin Roland
de Tecle. She had been left an orphan at an early age and educated
by h