moiselle, but he appears so distinguished."

"Too much so, Nanette; a great deal too much so for poor Bathilde."

"Too distinguished for you, Mademoiselle!" cried Nanette, "as if you
were not worth all the noblemen in the world! besides, you are noble!"

"I know what I appear to be, Nanette--that is to say, a poor girl, with
whose peace, honor, and love, every nobleman thinks he may play with
impunity. You see, Nanette, that this window must be closed. I must not
see this young man again."

"Mon Dieu! Mademoiselle Bathilde, you wish then to kill this poor young
man with grief? This whole morning he has not moved from his window, and
looks so sad that it is enough to break one's heart."

"What does his looking sad matter to me? What has he to do with me? I do
not know him. I do not even know his name. He is a stranger, who has
come here to stay for a few days, and who to-morrow may go away again.
If I had thought anything of him I should have been wrong, Nanette; and,
instead of encouraging me in a love which would be folly, you ought, on
the contrary--supposing that it existed--to show me the absurdity and
the danger of it."

"Mon Dieu! mademoiselle, why so? you must love some day, and you may as
well love a handsome young man who looks like a king, and who must be
rich, since he does not do anything."

"Well, Nanette, what would you say if this young man who appears to you
so simple, so loyal, and so good, were nothing but a wicked traitor, a
liar!"

"Ah, mon Dieu! mademoiselle, I should say it was impossible."

"If I told you that this young man who lives in an attic, and who shows
himself at the window dressed so simply, was yesterday at Sceaux,
giving his arm to Madame de Maine, dressed as a colonel?"

"I should say, mademoiselle, that at last God is just in sending you
some one worthy of you. Holy Virgin! a colonel! a friend of the Duchesse
de Maine! Oh, Mademoiselle Bathilde, you will be a countess, I tell you!
and it is not too much for you. If Providence gave every one what they
deserve, you would be a duchess, a princess, a queen, yes, queen of
France; Madame de Maintenon was--"

"I would not be like her, Nanette."

"I do not say like her; besides, it is not the king you love,
mademoiselle."

"I do not love any one, Nanette."

"I am too polite to contradict you; but never mind, you are ill; and the
first remedy for a young person who is ill, is air and sun. Look at the
poor flowers, when they a