always approved of the sentiments which your lordship has
entertained for Madame Georges."

"But you are astonished at the interest I take in this poor girl, are
you not?"

"Pray, pray, my lord, I was wrong; I was wrong."

"No, I can imagine that appearances have deceived you; but, as you know
my life--all my life, and as you aid me always with as much fidelity as
courage in my self-inflicted expiation, it is my duty, or, if you like
the phrase better, my gratitude, to convince you that I am not acting
from a frivolous impulse."

"Of that I am sure, my lord."

"You know my ideas on the subject of the good which a man ought to do
who has the knowledge, the will, and the power. To succour unhappy, but
deserving, fellow creatures is well; to seek after those who are
struggling against misfortune with energy and honour, and to aid them,
sometimes without their knowledge,--to prevent, in right time, misery
and temptation, is better; to reinstate such perfectly in their own
estimation,---to lead back to honesty those who have preserved in purity
some generous and ennobling sentiments in the midst of the contempt that
withers them, the misery that eats into them, the corruption that
encircles them, and, for that end, to brave, in person, this misery,
this corruption, this contagion, is better still; to pursue, with
unalterable hatred, with implacable vengeance, vice, infamy, and crime,
whether they be trampling in the mud, or be clothed in purple and fine
linen, that is justice; but to give aid inconsiderately to well-merited
degradation, to prostitute and lavish charity and commiseration, by
bestowing help on unworthy and undeserving objects, is most infamous; it
is impiety,--very sacrilege! it is to doubt the existence of the
Almighty; and so, he who acts thus ought to be made to understand."

"My lord, I pray you do not think that I would for a moment assert that
you have bestowed your benefits unworthily."

"One word more, my old friend. You know well that the child whose death
I daily deplore--that that daughter whom I should have loved the more,
as her unworthy mother, Sarah, had shown herself so utterly indifferent
about her--would have been sixteen years of age, like this unhappy girl.
You know, too, that I cannot prevent the deep, and almost painful,
sympathy I feel for young girls of that age."

"True, my lord; and I ought so to have interpreted the interest you
evince for your protegee. Besides, to succour