se
would not serve him in such a case. So, if ever the flame of hope had
for a moment lighted his mind, he had summarily extinguished it, and
flung aside, as it were, the tinder-box of every inflammable
recollection.

The day before M. de Berniers's arrival, M. de Terville had been
suddenly called to the South in consequence of the dangerous illness of
a relative. The ceremony of welcome rested therefore with Mlle.
Virginie. That young lady was far better acquainted with the habits and
character of her proposed bridegroom than he imagined. She had heard
much of him in Paris, and, since the project of an alliance had been
submitted, contrived to learn more. Being a girl of spirit and
intelligence, the information which she gained was not agreeable to her.
She regretted not having met M. de Berniers in Paris, and longed for the
opportunity of encountering him at least once or twice under other
circumstances than those which now seemed inevitable. Upon the departure
of her uncle, she set her wit to work; and as of wit she had no lack,
there presently arose from the depths of her consciousness a scheme
which promised to be successful.

"Mariotte," she said, summoning her waiting-maid, "bring me my
cavalier's dress,--wig, buckles, stockings, everything."

"Yes, Ma'm'selle. Would Ma'm'selle wish to put them on?"

"Most certainly."

"But Monsieur de Berniers is expected this morning."

"Precisely."

"And Ma'm'selle will hardly have time--"

"I shall receive him _en cavalier_."

"_Seigneur Dieu du ciel!_" said Mariotte, astounded, "but that is
impossible."

"Be reasonable, Mariotte," said Virginie, "and listen to me. M. de
Berniers proposes to do me the honor of espousing me. I have never seen
M. de Berniers, but I know something of him and I wish to know more. My
uncle earnestly desires this marriage, and it is my duty to oblige him.
But he will not urge it against my inclination. If M. de Berniers, on
arriving here, finds only the delicate and decorous young lady to whom
he offers his hand, he will assume his best manner, conceal his faults,
affect a hundred good qualities, and present nothing but a virtuously
colored portrait of himself, which, I may afterward find out, bears
little resemblance to the actual man. If, on the other hand,--do you
see?"

"Not exactly."

"Mariotte, your stupidity pains me. You know that in my cavalier's dress
nobody can distinguish me from a young gentleman of the court."

"A v