with a
plump elderly woman, who is homely and domestic to the last degree,
that you should play the pining lack-a-daisical youth, who, as somebody
says, 'sighs like an oven, and makes songs on his mistress's
tears,'--that, I say, I can only look upon as a sort of disease! The
only thing that could excuse you in any way, and put you in a poetical
light, would be the Spanish Infanta in the 'Physician of his
Honour,'[2] who, meeting a fate similar to yours, fell upon his nose
before Donna Menzia's gate, and at last found the beloved one, who
unconsciously--"

"Stop!" interrupted Victor, "stop! Don't you think that I see clearly
enough, that you take me for a silly dolt? No, no, there is something
else--something more mysterious at work. Let us drink!"

The wine, and Albert's lively talk, had produced a wholesome excitement
in Victor, who seemed aroused from a gloomy dream. But when, at last,
Albert, raising his full glass, said, "Now, Victor, my dear Infanta,
here's a health to Donna Menzia, and may she look like our little pet
hostess."--Victor cried, laughing, "No, no, I cannot bear that you
should take me for a fool. I feel quite cheerful, and ready to make a
confession to you of every thing! You must, however, submit to hear an
entire youthful period of my life, and it is possible that half the
night will be taken up by the narrative."

"Begin!" replied Albert, "for I see we have enough wine to cheer up our
somewhat sinking spirits. I only wish it was not so confoundedly cold,
nor a crime to wake up the good folks of the house."

"Perhaps," said Victor, "Paul Talkebarth may have made some provision."
And, indeed, the said Paul, cursing in his well-known French dialect,
courteously assured them, that he had cut small and kept excellent wood
for firing, which he was ready to kindle at once. "Fortunately," said
Victor, "the same thing cannot happen to me here, that happened at a
drysalter's at Meaux, where honest Paul lit me a fire that cost, at
least, 1200 francs. The good fellow had got hold of Brazilian
sandal-wood, hacked it to pieces, and put it on the hearth, so that I
looked almost like Andolosia, the famous son of the celebrated
Fortunatus, whose cook had to light a fire of spices, because the king
forbade him to buy wood. You know," continued Victor, as the fire
merrily crackled and flamed up, and Paul Talkebarth had left the room,
"you know, my dear friend, Albert, that I began my military career