of a travesty of the Moor and his gentle lady, in which
the parts shall be reversed according to the plan just sketched--you,
however, being in my nightcap. Farewell, mademoiselle!" He bowed on her
hand, absolutely like Sir Charles Grandison on that of Harriet Byron;
adding--"Death from such fingers would not be without charms."

"Mon Dieu!" murmured Frances, opening her large eyes and lifting her
distinctly arched brows; "c'est qu'il fait des compliments! je ne m'y
suis pas attendu." She smiled, half in ire, half in mirth, curtsied with
foreign grace, and so they parted.

No sooner had we got into the street than Hunsden collared me.

"And that is your lace-mender?" said he; "and you reckon you have done
a fine, magnanimous thing in offering to marry her? You, a scion of
Seacombe, have proved your disdain of social distinctions by taking up
with an ouvriere! And I pitied the fellow, thinking his feelings had
misled him, and that he had hurt himself by contracting a low match!"

"Just let go my collar, Hunsden."

"On the contrary, he swayed me to and fro; so I grappled him round the
waist. It was dark; the street lonely and lampless. We had then a
tug for it; and after we had both rolled on the pavement, and with
difficulty picked ourselves up, we agreed to walk on more soberly.

"Yes, that's my lace-mender," said I; "and she is to be mine for
life--God willing."

"God is not willing--you can't suppose it; what business have you to
be suited so well with a partner? And she treats you with a sort of
respect, too, and says, 'Monsieur' and modulates her tone in addressing
you, actually, as if you were something superior! She could not evince
more deference to such a one as I, were she favoured by fortune to the
supreme extent of being my choice instead of yours."

"Hunsden, you're a puppy. But you've only seen the title-page of my
happiness; you don't know the tale that follows; you cannot conceive the
interest and sweet variety and thrilling excitement of the narrative."

Hunsden--speaking low and deep, for we had now entered a busier
street--desired me to hold my peace, threatening to do something
dreadful if I stimulated his wrath further by boasting. I laughed till
my sides ached. We soon reached his hotel; before he entered it, he
said--

"Don't be vainglorious. Your lace-mender is too good for you, but not
good enough for me; neither physically nor morally does she come up
to my ideal of a woman. No; I dre