the shoulder by
Monsieur Parole d'Honneur, who had come up quietly behind me, without my
noticing his approach. He was on his way to pay a visit to his "good
vicaire" at the vicarage, after giving his usual Wednesday lecture at
the neighbouring "college for young ladies;" where, blooming misses--in
addition to their curriculum of "accomplishments" and "all the
'ologies"--were taught the noble art of family multiplication, domestic
division, male detraction, feminine sedition, and, the glorious rule
of--_one_!

Me grieving, he joyously addressed.

"Ohe! my youngish friends"--his general term in speaking to me--"how
goes it?--Hi--lo!" he went on, seeing from my face, as I turned my head
to speak to him, that, "it" did not "go" particularly well--"Hi--lo! vat
ees ze mattaire?--you look pallide; you have got ze migraine?"

"No," I answered; "there's nothing the matter with me, I assure you,
Monsieur Parole. I'm all right, thank you."

"Ah! but yes," he retorted--"you cannote deceives me. You are pallide;
you take walks on feet this detestable day.--Mon Dieu! votre climat
c'est affreux!--I knows ver wells, Meestaire Lorton, dat somesings ees
ze mattaire!"

"But, I'm quite well, I tell you," said I.

"Quaite well en physique, bon:--quaite well, here?" tapping his chest
expressively the while--"non! I knows vat ees ze mattaire. C'est une
affaire de coeur, ees it not, mon ami? You cannote deceives me, I tells
to you! But, nevaire mind dat, my youngish friends: cheer oop and be
gays--toujours gai! I have had, myselfs, it ees one, two, tree,--seex
lofes! Seex times ees mon coeur brise, and I was desole; and now, you
sees, I'm of a light heart still!"--and he laughed so cheerily, that,
even Lady Dasher, I think, could not have well helped chiming in with
his merriment.

I did not laugh, however. "Pardon me, monsieur," I said,--"I'm not in a
joking mood."

"Come, come, mon brave," he continued, seeing that my dejection was
beyond the point where it could be laughed away; and accommodating
himself to my humour, with the native delicacy of his race--"I have
myself, suffered:--ainsi, I can condoles! You know, my dear, youngish
friends, when I was deporte de mon pays, he?"

I nodded my head in acquiescence, hardly feeling inclined for the
recital of some revolutionary anecdote, which I thought was going to be
related to me. Monsieur Parole, however, astonished me with quite a
different narration.

"Leesten," s