state, I could prove to you that most
illustrious blood runs in my veins. Whoever may love me, noble though
she be, will not degrade herself. But I have already said too much--my
lips are sealed. I shall never be other than the humblest, most devoted
of your slaves; even though, by one of those strange coincidences that
happen sometimes in real life, I should come to be recognised by all the
world as a king's son. If in your great goodness you will condescend to
show me, fair goddess of beauty, by the slightest sign, that my
boldness has not angered you, I shall die happy, consumed by the burning
brightness of your eyes upon the funeral pyre of my love."

How would Mme. la Marquise have received this ardent epistle? which had
perhaps done him good service already more than once. Would she have
looked favourably upon her humble suitor?--who can tell?--for the
feminine heart is past comprehension. Unfortunately the letter did not
reach her. Being entirely taken up with great ladies, Leander overlooked
their waiting-maids, and did not trouble himself to show them any
attentions or gallantries--wherein he made a sad mistake--for if
the pistoles he gave to Jeanne, with his precious epistle, had been
supplemented by a few kisses and compliments, she would have taken far
more pains to execute his commission. As she held the letter carelessly
in her hand, the marquis chanced to pass by, and asked her idly what she
had got there.

"Oh! nothing much," she answered scornfully, "only a note from Mr.
Leander to Mme. la Marquise."

"From Leander? that jackanapes who plays the lover in the Rodomontades
of Captain Matamore? What in the world can HE have to say to Mme. la
Marquise? Doubtless he asks for a gratuity!"

"I don't think so," said the spiteful waiting-maid; "when he gave me
this letter he sighed, and rolled up his eyes like a love-sick swain."

"Give me the letter," said the marquis, "_I_ will answer it--and
don't say anything about it to your mistress. Such chaps are apt to be
impertinent--they are spoiled by admiration, and sometimes presume upon
it."

The marquis, who dearly loved a joke, amused himself by answering
Leander's extraordinary epistle with one in much the same style--written
in a delicate, lady-like hand upon perfumed paper, and sealed with a
fanciful device--altogether a production well calculated to deceive the
poor devil, and confirm him in his ridiculous fancies. Accordingly, when
he regained his b