betrayed.

"Why, of course, when she loves," was her reply.

Renee, tell me, do you think we could be betrayed by a man?

Miss Griffith has at last discerned that I am not an utter ignoramus,
that I have somewhere a hidden vein of knowledge, the knowledge we
learned from each other in our random arguments. She sees that it is
only superficial facts of which I am ignorant. The poor thing has opened
her heart to me. Her curt reply to my question, when I compare it with
all the sorrows I can imagine, makes me feel quite creepy. Once more she
urged me not to be dazzled by the glitter of society, to be always on my
guard, especially against what most attracted me. This is the sum-total
of her wisdom, and I can get nothing more out of her. Her lectures,
therefore, become a trifle monotonous, and she might be compared in this
respect to the bird which has only one cry.

III. THE SAME TO THE SAME December.

My Darling,--Here I am ready to make my bow to the world. By way of
preparation I have been trying to commit all the follies I could think
of before sobering down for my entry. This morning, I have seen myself,
after many rehearsals, well and duly equipped--stays, shoes, curls,
dress, ornaments,--all in order. Following the example of duelists
before a meeting, I tried my arms in the privacy of my chamber. I wanted
to see how I would look, and had no difficulty in discovering a certain
air of victory and triumph, bound to carry all before it. I mustered all
my forces, in accordance with that splendid maxim of antiquity,
"Know thyself!" and boundless was my delight in thus making my own
acquaintance. Griffith was the sole spectator of this doll's play,
in which I was at once doll and child. You think you know me? You are
hugely mistaken.

Here is a portrait, then, Renee, of your sister, formerly disguised as a
Carmelite, now brought to life again as a frivolous society girl. She is
one of the greatest beauties in France--Provence, of course, excepted.
I don't see that I can give a more accurate summary of this interesting
topic.

True, I have my weak points; but were I a man, I should adore them. They
arise from what is most promising in me. When you have spent a fortnight
admiring the exquisite curves of your mother's arms, and that mother the
Duchesse de Chaulieu, it is impossible, my dear, not to deplore your own
angular elbows. Yet there is consolation in observing the fineness of
the wrist, and a certain