unjust prejudices against the Marquis. Miss Graham
scornfully refused to vouchsafe me even a word.

I confess more than once my temper prompted me to abandon the
enterprise, and suffer wilfulness to reap its own bitter harvest; but
then, my better feelings prevailed, and old memories of my poor friend
Graham again enlisted me in defence of his sister.

Of no avail was it that I followed these worthier promptings. It seemed
as if the man had thrown a spell over these two unhappy women, one,
being perfectly enthralled, the other, nearly so, by the artful
fascinations of his manner; and yet he was neither young, handsome,
rich, nor of high lineage. On the contrary, the man was at least
fifty-three or four, a perfect monster of ugliness, with an ex-pression
of sardonic sycophancy actually demoniac.

If I were not relating "a fact"--one of which I can answer, that many
now living can entirely corroborate--I would hesitate about dwelling on
a case where improbabilities are so strong, and where I have nothing to
offer like an explanation of them. Wilkes has long since convinced the
world how little good looks are concerned in winning a woman's
heart, and how, indeed, a very considerable share of ugliness can be
counterbalanced by captivations of manner and personal agreeability.
But, judging from the portraits--even Hogarth's fearful sketch--Wilkes
was handsome compared to Salvatori; and in point of reputation, low as
it was, the Libeller and the Satirist was still better than the Spy.

To go back again: I argued, I entreated, begged, threatened, and
denounced. I went further;--I actually transgressed the limits of
official authority, and refused to sanction the ceremony--a threat
which, I soon remembered, I dare not sustain. But, do what, say what, I
would, they were equally resolute and determined; and nothing was left
for me but to recall M. Salvatori and his friend, and suffer the affair
to proceed.

I do not remember, among the varied incidents of my life, one
whose effect weighed more heavily upon me. Although acquitted by my
conscience, I felt at moments horror-struck at even my share in this
infamy, and would have given any thing that it had never occurred. It
may be believed I was happy to hear that they all left Naples the same
day.

Years rolled over, and I never even heard of them, till one morning,
when waiting along with a diplomatic friend for an interview with the
French Minister for Foreign Affairs, a