king about such petty
things. They complain that I tell them nothing. What have I to tell? My
Prince! my own Leboo, if I might lie in the stall with you, then I should
feel thoroughly happy! That is, if I could fall asleep. Evelina declares
we are not eight miles from Dayton. It seems to me I am eight millions of
miles distant, and shall be all my life travelling along a weary road to
get there again just for one long sunny day. And it might rain when I got
there after all! My trouble nobody knows. Nobody knows a thing!

The night before my departure, Miss Pollingray did me the honour to
accompany me up to my bedroom. She spoke to me searchingly about Charles;
but she did not demand compromising answers. She is not in favour of
early marriages, so she merely wishes to know the footing upon which we
stand: that of friends. I assured her we were simply friends. 'It is the
firmest basis of an attachment,' she said; and I did not look hurried.

But I gained my end. I led her to talk of the beautiful Marquise. This is
the tale. Mr. Pollingray, when a very young man, and comparatively poor,
went over to France with good introductions, and there saw and fell in
love with Louise de Riverolles. She reciprocated his passion. If he would
have consented to abjure his religion and worship with her, Madame de
Riverolles, her mother, would have listened to her entreaties. But
Gilbert was firm. Mr. Pollingray, I mean, refused to abandon his faith.
Her mother, consequently, did not interfere, and Monsieur de Riverolles,
her father, gave her to the Marquis de Marzardouin, a roue young
nobleman, immensely rich, and shockingly dissipated. And she married him.
No, I cannot understand French girls. Do as I will, it is quite
incomprehensible to me how Louise, loving another, could suffer herself
to be decked out in bridal finery and go to the altar and take the
marriage oaths. Not if perdition had threatened would I have submitted. I
have a feeling that Mr. Pollingray should have shown at least one year's
resentment at such conduct; and yet I admire him for his immediate
generous forgiveness of her. It was fatherly. She was married at sixteen.
His forgiveness was the fruit of his few years' seniority, said Miss
Pollingray, whose opinion of the Marquise I cannot arrive at. At any
rate, they have been true and warm friends ever since, constantly
together interchangeing visits. That is why Mr. Pollingray has been more
French than English for tho