company; and as for
the _liaison_, if there were one, why it must end, and probably the
difficulty of terminating it might even hasten the catastrophe which he
had so much at heart. 'So, Laura, dearest! let the Graftons be asked to
dinner.'

In one of those rides to which Caroline was not admitted, for Lady
Aphrodite was present, the Duke of St. James took his way to the
Regent's Park, a wild sequestered spot, whither he invariably repaired
when he did not wish to be noticed; for the inhabitants of this pretty
suburb are a distinct race, and although their eyes are not unobserving,
from their inability to speak the language of London they are unable to
communicate their observations.

The spring sun was setting, and flung a crimson flush over the blue
waters and the white houses. The scene was rather imposing, and reminded
our hero of days of travel. A sudden thought struck him. Would it not be
delightful to build a beautiful retreat in this sweet and retired land,
and be able in an instant to fly from the formal magnificence of a
London mansion? Lady Aphrodite was charmed with the idea; for the
enamoured are always delighted with what is fanciful. The Duke
determined immediately to convert the idea into an object. To lose no
time was his grand motto. As he thought that Sir Carte had enough upon
his hands, he determined to apply to an artist whose achievements had
been greatly vaunted to him by a distinguished and noble judge.

M. Bijou de Millecolonnes, Chevalier of the Legion of Honour and member
of the Academy of St. Luke's, except in his title, was the antipodes
of Sir Carte Blanche. Sir Carte was all solidity, solemnity, and
correctness; Bijou de Millecolonnes all lightness, gaiety, and
originality. Sir Carte was ever armed with the Parthenon, Palladio,
and St. Peter's; Bijou de Millecolonnes laughed at the ancients, called
Palladio and Michel barbarians of the middle ages, and had himself
invented an order. Bijou was not so plausible as Sir Carte; but he was
infinitely more entertaining. Far from being servile, he allowed no one
to talk but himself, and made his fortune by his elegant insolence. How
singular it is that those who love servility are always the victims of
impertinence!

Gaily did Bijou de Millecolonnes drive his pea-green cabriolet to the
spot in question. He formed his plan in an instant. 'The occasional
retreat of a noble should be something picturesque and poetical. The
mind should be led to