marry? Ah," he
murmurs, "you need not go far if that is the case."

And he glances tenderly at Belle-bouche, who smiles and blushes.

"I wish to be a man, that my movements may not be restricted. There is
my guardian, who murmurs at my travelling about from county to county
with only Jugurtha to drive me--as if Jugurtha couldn't protect me if
there were any highwaymen or robbers."

Jacques laughs.

"But there are disadvantages connected with manhood," he says. "You
are ignorant of them, and so think them slight."

"The prominent ones, if you please."

"You would have to make love--the active instead of passive, as at
present."

"I would enjoy it."

"How would you commence, pray?"

"Oh, easily--see now. I would say,'My dear Bel! I am at your service!
If _you_ love _me_, _I'll_ love _you_!' And then with a low bow I
would kiss her hand, and her lips too, if she would permit me."

Jacques sighs.

"Do you think that would succeed, however?" he says.

"I don't know, and I don't care--I'd try."

Jacques sighs again, and looks wistfully at Belle-bouche, who smiles.

"I'm afraid such a cavalier address--at the pistol's mouth as it
were--at forty paces--like those highwaymen you spoke of but
now--would only insure failure."

"You are mistaken."

"I doubt the propriety of such a 'making love.'"

"If I were a man, you would see my success. I'd have any woman for the
asking."

"Well, fancy yourself a man."

"And who will be my lady-love?"

"Fancy my sex changed also--make love to me, my charming Madam
Philippa."

"Forsooth! But I could win your heart easily."

"How, pray," says Jacques, sighing, "granting first that 'tis in my
possession?"

"By two simple things."

"To wit?"

"I would talk to you of flowers and shepherdesses, and crooks and
garlands----"

"Oh!"

"And I would adopt, if I had not naturally, that frank, languid,
graceful, fatal air which--which--shall I finish?"

"Yes, indeed."

"Which Bel has! What a beautiful blush!"

And Philippa claps her hands.

Jacques tries very hard not to color, thus forfeiting all his
pretensions to the character of a self-possessed man of the world and
elegant coxcomb; but this is equally forlorn with his attempt not to
observe the mischievous glance and satirical lip of the fair Philippa.

He seeks in vain for a word--a jest--a reply.

Fortune favors him. A maid from the house approaches Philippa, and
says:

"Mr. Mowbray, ma'am."

A blus