himself in his best, to
give another lesson to Miss Lucinda. But, somehow or other, the lesson
was long in beginning; the little parlor looked so home-like and so
pleasant, with its bright lamp and gay bunch of roses on the table, that
it was irresistible temptation to lounge and linger. Miss Lucinda had
the volume of Florian in her hands, and was wondering why he did not
begin, when the book was drawn away, and a hand laid on both of hers.

"Lucinda!" he began, "I give you no lesson to-night. I have to ask. Dear
Mees, will you to marry your poor slave?"

"Oh, dear!" said Miss Lucinda.

Don't laugh at her, Miss Tender-eyes! You will feel just so yourself
some day, when Alexander Augustus says, "Will you be mine, loveliest of
jour sex?" only you won't feel it half so strongly, for you are young,
and love is Nature to youth, but it is a heavenly surprise to age.

Monsieur Leclerc said nothing. He had a heart after all, and it was
touched now by the deep emotion that flushed Miss Lucinda's face, and
made her tremble so violently,--but presently he spoke.

"Do not!" said he. "I am wrong. I presume. Forgive the stranger!"

"Oh, dear!" said poor Lucinda again,--"oh, you know it isn't that! but
how can you like _me_?"

There, Mademoiselle! there's humility for you! _you_ will never say that
to Alexander Augustus!

Monsieur Leclerc soothed this frightened, happy, incredulous little
woman into quiet before very long; and if he really began to feel a true
affection for her from the moment he perceived her humble and entire
devotion to him, who shall blame him? Not I. If we were all heroes, who
would be _valet-de-chambre_? if we were all women, who would be men? He
was very good as far as he went; and if you expect the chivalries of
grace out of Nature, you "may expect," as old Fuller saith. So it was
peacefully settled that they should be married, with a due amount of
tears and smiles on Lucinda's part, and a great deal of tender sincerity
on Monsieur's. She missed her dancing-lesson next day, and when Monsieur
Leclerc came in the evening he found a shade on her happy face.

"Oh, dear!" said she, as he entered.

"Oh, dear!" was Lucinda's favorite aspiration. Had she thought of it as
an Anglicizing of "_O Dieu_!" perhaps she would have dropped it; but
this time she went on headlong, with a valorous despair,--

"I have thought of something! I'm afraid I can't! Monsieur, aren't you a
Romanist?"

"What is that?" said he