d out in succouring this hero. It may
have been to this end that Florac's confessions tended; though, to do
him justice, the incorrigible young fellow would confide his adventures
to any one who would listen; and the exact state of his wardrobe, and
the story of his pawned pelisse, dressing-case, rings and watches, were
known to all Baden.

"You tell me to marry and range myself," said Clive (to whom the
Viscount was expatiating upon the charms of the superbe young Anglaise
with whom he had seen Clive walking on the promenade). "Why do you not
marry and range yourself too?"

"Eh, my dear! I am married already. You do not know it? I am married
since the Revolution of July. Yes. We were poor in those days, as poor
we remain. My cousins the Duc d'Ivry's sons and his grandson were still
alive. Seeing no other resource and pursued by the Arabs, I espoused the
Vicomtesse de Florac. I gave her my name, you comprehend, in exchange
for her own odious one. She was Miss Higg. Do you know the family Higg
of Manchesterre in the comte of Lancastre? She was then a person of a
ripe age. The Vicomtesse is now--ah! it is fifteen years since, and she
dies not. Our union was not happy, my friend--Madame Paul de Florac
is of the reformed religion--not of the Anglican Church, you
understand--but a dissident I know not of what sort. We inhabited
the Hotel de Florac for a while after our union, which was all of
convenience, you understand. She filled her salon with ministers to make
you die. She assaulted my poor father in his garden-chair, whence
he could not escape her. She told my sainted mother that she was an
idolatress--she who only idolatrises her children! She called us other
poor Catholics who follow the rites of our fathers, des Romishes;
and Rome, Babylon; and the Holy Father--a scarlet--eh! a scarlet
abomination. She outraged my mother, that angel; essayed to convert the
antechamber and the office; put little books in the Abbe's bedroom. Eh,
my friend! what a good king was Charles IX., and his mother what a wise
sovereign! I lament that Madame de Florac should have escaped the St.
Barthelemi, when no doubt she was spared on account of her tender
age. We have been separated for many years; her income was greatly
exaggerated. Beyond the payment of my debts I owe her nothing. I wish I
could say as much of all the rest of the world. Shall we take a turn
of promenade? Mauvais sujet! I see you are longing to be at the green
table."