that shone like a star through
their thick foliage! shall I never see it again? It disappeared a year
ago, and I used to hope it would suddenly shine again. I thought: It is
absent, but will soon return to cheer my solitude. Sometimes I would
say: "Perhaps my ideal dwells in that little garret!" O foolish idea!
Vain hope! I must renounce all this poetry of youth; serious age creeps
on with his imposing escort of austere duties; he dispels the charming
fancies that console us in our sorrows; he extinguishes the bright
lights that guide us through darkness--drives away the beloved
ideal--spreads a cloud over the cherished star, and harshly cries out:
"Be reasonable!" which means: No longer hope to be happy.

Ah! Madame Taverneau calls me; she is in a hurry to start for the Odeon;
it is very early, and I don't wish to go until the last moment. I have
sent to the Hotel de Langeac for my letters, and must wait to glance
over them--they might contain news about Roger.

I have just caught a glimpse of the two ladies Madame Taverneau invited
to accompany us to the theatre.... I see a wine-colored bonnet trimmed
with green ribbons--it is horrible to look upon! Heavens--there comes
another! more intolerable than the first one! bright yellow adorned with
blue feathers!... Mercy! what a face within the bonnet! and what a
figure beneath the face! She has something glistening in her hand ... it
is ... a ... would you believe it? a travelling-bag covered with steel
beads!... she intends taking it to the theatre!... do my eyes deceive
me? _can_ she be filling it with oranges to carry with her?... she dare
not disgrace us by eating oranges.

X.

EDGAR DE MEILHAN _to the_ PRINCE DE MONBERT,
Saint Dominique Street, Paris.

RICHEPORT, June 3d, 18--

It seems, my dear Roger, that we are engaged in a game of interrupted
addresses. For my Louise Guerin, like your Irene de Chateaudun, has gone
I know not where, leaving me to struggle, in this land of apple trees,
with an incipient passion which she has planted in my breast. Flight has
this year become an epidemic among women.

The day after that famous soiree, I went to the post-office ostensibly
to carry the letter containing those triumphant details, but in reality
to see Louise, for any servant possessed sufficient intelligence to
acquit himself of such a commission. Imagine my surprise and
disappointment at finding instead of Madame Taverneau a strange face,
who gruffly a