I hear he is courting the girl I mean
to marry."

"You! Whom do you speak of?"

"The celebrated Pisani! She is divinely handsome. She would make my
fortune in a republic. And a republic we shall have before the year is
out."

Mervale rubbed his hands, and chuckled. Glyndon coloured with rage and
shame.

"Do you know the Signora Pisani? Have you ever spoken to her?"

"Not yet. But when I make up my mind to anything, it is soon done. I
am about to return to Paris. They write me word that a handsome wife
advances the career of a patriot. The age of prejudice is over.
The sublimer virtues begin to be understood. I shall take back the
handsomest wife in Europe."

"Be quiet! What are you about?" said Mervale, seizing Glyndon as he saw
him advance towards the Frenchman, his eyes sparkling, and his hands
clenched.

"Sir!" said Glyndon, between his teeth, "you know not of whom you thus
speak. Do you affect to suppose that Viola Pisani would accept YOU?"

"Not if she could get a better offer," said Mervale, looking up to the
ceiling.

"A better offer? You don't understand me," said Nicot. "I, Jean Nicot,
propose to marry the girl; marry her! Others may make her more liberal
offers, but no one, I apprehend, would make one so honourable. I alone
have pity on her friendless situation. Besides, according to the dawning
state of things, one will always, in France, be able to get rid of a
wife whenever one wishes. We shall have new laws of divorce. Do you
imagine that an Italian girl--and in no country in the world are
maidens, it seems, more chaste (though wives may console themselves with
virtues more philosophical)--would refuse the hand of an artist for the
settlements of a prince? No; I think better of the Pisani than you do. I
shall hasten to introduce myself to her."

"I wish you all success, Monsieur Nicot," said Mervale, rising, and
shaking him heartily by the hand.

Glyndon cast at them both a disdainful glance.

"Perhaps, Monsieur Nicot," said he, at length, constraining his lips
into a bitter smile,--"perhaps you may have rivals."

"So much the better," replied Monsieur Nicot, carelessly, kicking his
heels together, and appearing absorbed in admiration at the size of his
large feet.

"I myself admire Viola Pisani."

"Every painter must!"

"I may offer her marriage as well as yourself."

"That would be folly in you, though wisdom in me. You would not know
how to draw profit from the speculation! Cher