pe a suitable match like that may make us relations."

There is something magical about the word "marriage."

What the countess said pleased me extremely, and I replied with a bow of
the most gracious character.

We went to pay a call on the lady who had come to the castle the day
before. There was a canon regular there, who after a great many polite
speeches in praise of my country, which he knew only from books, asked me
of what order was the cross I carried on my breast.

I replied, with a kind of boastful modesty, that it was a peculiar mark
of the favour of the Holy Father, the Pope, who had freely made me a
knight of the Order of St. John Lateran, and a prothonotary-apostolic.

This monk had stayed at home far from the world, or else he would not
have asked me such a question. However, far from thinking he was
offending me, he thought he was honouring me by giving me an opportunity
of talking of my own merit.

At London, the greatest possible rudeness is to ask anyone what his
religion is, and it is something the same in Germany; an Anabaptist is by
no means ready to confess his creed. And in fact the best plan is never
to ask any questions whatever, not even if a man has change for a louis.

Clementine was delightful at dinner. She replied wittily and gracefully
to all the questions which were addressed to her. True, what she said was
lost on the majority of her auditors--for wit cannot stand before
stupidity--but I enjoyed her talk immensely. As she kept filling up my
glass I reproached her, and this gave rise to the following little
dialogue which completed my conquest.

"You have no right to complain," said she, "Hebe's duty is to keep the
cup of the chief of the gods always full."

"Very good; but you know Jupiter sent her away."

"Yes, but I know why. I will take care not to stumble in the same way;
and no Ganymede shall take my place for a like cause."

"You are very wise. Jupiter was wrong, and henceforth I will be Hercules.
Will that please you, fair Hebe?"

"No; because he did not marry her till after her death."

"True, again. I will be Iolas then, for . . ."

"Be quiet. Iolas was old."

"True; but so was I yesterday. You have made me young again."

"I am very glad, dear Iolas; but remember what I did when he left me."

"And what did you do? I do not remember."

"I did not believe a word he said."

"You can believe."

"I took away the gift I had made."

At these words this charm