f my
attentions to his inamorata. Indeed, the good gentleman was far too much
pleased with himself to be susceptible of the suspicions common to less
fortunate lovers. At dinner I sat next to the pretty Englishwoman, whose
name was Green.

"Monsieur Margot," said I, "has often spoken to me of you before I had
the happiness of being personally convinced how true and unexaggerated
were his sentiments."

"Oh!" cried Mrs. Green, with an arch laugh, "you are acquainted with
Monsieur Margot, then?"

"I have that honour," said I. "I receive from him every morning lessons
both in love and languages. He is perfect master of both."

Mrs. Green burst out into one of those peals so peculiarly British.

"Ah, le pauvre Professeur!" cried she. "He is too absurd!"

"He tells me," said I, gravely, "that he is quite accable with his
bonnes fortunes--possibly he flatters himself that even you are not
perfectly inaccessible to his addresses."

"Tell me, Mr. Pelham," said the fair Mrs. Green, "can you pass by this
street about half past twelve to-night?"

"I will make a point of doing so," replied I, not a little surprised by
the remark.

"Do," said she, "and now let us talk of old England."

When we went away I told Vincent of my appointment. "What!" said he,
"eclipse Monsieur Margot! Impossible!"

"You are right," replied I, "nor is it my hope; there is some trick
afloat of which we may as well be spectators."

"De tout mon coeur!" answered Vincent; "let us go till then to the
Duchesse de G----."

I assented, and we drove to the Rue de--.

The Duchesse de G--was a fine relict of the ancien regime--tall and
stately, with her own grey hair crepe, and surmounted by a high cap of
the most dazzling blonde. She had been one of the earliest emigrants,
and had stayed for many months with my mother, whom she professed to
rank amongst her dearest friends. The duchesse possessed to perfection
that singular melange of ostentation and ignorance which was so peculiar
to the ante-revolutionists. She would talk of the last tragedy with the
emphatic tone of a connoisseur, in the same breath that she would ask,
with Marie Antoinette, why the poor people were so clamorous for bread
when they might buy such nice cakes for two-pence a-piece? "To give
you an idea of the Irish," said she one day to an inquisitive marquess,
"know that they prefer potatoes to mutton!"

Her soirees were among the most agreeable at Paris--she united all the
rank