is imaginary lady's favour was at the bottom of their
quarrel.

"Perhaps it was Madame de Mauban herself," I suggested.

"No!" said George decisively, "Antoinette de Mauban was jealous of her,
and betrayed the duke to the King for that reason. And, to confirm what
I say, it's well known that the Princess Flavia is now extremely cold to
the King, after having been most affectionate."

At this point I changed the subject, and escaped from George's
"inspired" delusions. But if diplomatists never know anything more than
they had succeeded in finding out in this instance, they appear to me to
be somewhat expensive luxuries.

While in Paris I wrote to Antoinette, though I did not venture to call
upon her. I received in return a very affecting letter, in which she
assured me that the King's generosity and kindness, no less than her
regard for me, bound her conscience to absolute secrecy. She expressed
the intention of settling in the country, and withdrawing herself
entirely from society. Whether she carried out her designs, I have never
heard; but as I have not met her, or heard news of her up to this time,
it is probable that she did. There is no doubt that she was deeply
attached to the Duke of Strelsau; and her conduct at the time of his
death proved that no knowledge of the man's real character was enough to
root her regard for him out of her heart.

I had one more battle left to fight--a battle that would, I knew, be
severe, and was bound to end in my complete defeat. Was I not back
from the Tyrol, without having made any study of its inhabitants,
institutions, scenery, fauna, flora, or other features? Had I not simply
wasted my time in my usual frivolous, good-for-nothing way? That was the
aspect of the matter which, I was obliged to admit, would present itself
to my sister-in-law; and against a verdict based on such evidence, I had
really no defence to offer. It may be supposed, then, that I presented
myself in Park Lane in a shamefaced, sheepish fashion. On the whole, my
reception was not so alarming as I had feared. It turned out that I
had done, not what Rose wished, but--the next best thing--what she
prophesied. She had declared that I should make no notes, record no
observations, gather no materials. My brother, on the other hand,
had been weak enough to maintain that a serious resolve had at length
animated me.

When I returned empty-handed, Rose was so occupied in triumphing over
Burlesdon that she let me