ling which I am only
assuming."

"Well--and what then?"

"It's hard on the woman, surely?"

The Baroness was shocked, unaffectedly shocked.

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed, "how can anything that you do for the
Princess be hard on a woman of the lower orders? There must be an end of
this nonsense, sir! You have heard what I propose, and you know what the
circumstances are. My mistress is waiting for your answer. What am I to
say?"

"Let me see her Highness, and speak for myself," I said.

"Quite impossible to-day, without running too great a risk. Your reply
must be made through me."

There was to be a Court concert at the end of the week. On that occasion
I should be able to make my own reply. In the meanwhile I only told the
Baroness I wanted time to consider.

"What time?" she asked.

"Until to-morrow. Do you object?"

"On the contrary, I cordially agree. Your base hesitation may lead to
results which I have not hitherto dared to anticipate."

"What do you mean?"

"Between this and to-morrow," the horrid woman replied, "the
Princess may end in seeing you with my eyes. In that hope I wish you
good-morning."

VI.

MY enemies say that I am a weak man, unduly influenced by persons of
rank--because of their rank. If this we re true, I should have found
little difficulty in consenting to adopt the Baroness's suggestion.
As it was, the longer I reflected on the scheme the less I liked it. I
tried to think of some alternative that might be acceptably proposed.
The time passed, and nothing occurred to me. In this embarrassing
position my mind became seriously disturbed; I felt the necessity of
obtaining some relief, which might turn my thoughts for a while into a
new channel. The secretary called on me, while I was still in doubt what
to do. He reminded me that a new prima donna was advertised to appear on
that night; and he suggested that we should go to the opera. Feeling as
I did at the time, I readily agreed.

We found the theater already filled, before the performance began. Two
French gentlemen were seated in the row of stalls behind us. They were
talking of the new singer.

"She is advertised as 'Mademoiselle Fontenay,'" one of them said. "That
sounds like an assumed name."

"It _is_ an assumed name," the other replied. "She is the daughter of a
French singing-master, named Bonnefoy."

To my friend's astonishment I started to my feet, and left him without a
word of apology. In another minute I