ed-chamber after the play was over, he found upon his
dressing-table a note addressed to himself. He hastened to open it,
trembling from head to foot with excitement and delight, and read as
follows: "It is true, as you say so eloquently--too eloquently for my
peace of mind--that goddesses can only love mortals. At eleven o'clock,
when all the world is sunk in slumber, and no prying human eyes open to
gaze upon her, Diana will quit her place in the skies above and descend
to earth, to visit the gentle shepherd, Endymion--not upon Mount Latmus,
but in the park--at the foot of the statue of silent love. The handsome
shepherd must be sure to have fallen asleep ere Diana appears, so as not
to shock the modesty of the immortal goddess--who will come without
her cortege of nymphs, wrapped in a cloud and devoid of her silvery
radiance."

We will leave to the reader's imagination the delirious joy that filled
to overflowing the foolish heart of the susceptible Leander, who was
fooled to the top of his bent, when he read this precious note, which
exceeded his wildest hopes. He immediately began his preparations to
play the part of Endymion--poured a whole bottle of perfume upon his
hair and hands, chewed a flower of mace to make his breath sweet,
twisted his glossy curls daintily round his white fingers--though not a
hair was awry--and then waited impatiently for the moment when he should
set forth to seek the rendezvous at the foot of the statue of silent
love--where we left him anxiously awaiting the arrival of his goddess.
He shivered nervously from excitement, and the penetrating chilliness
of the damp night air, as he stood motionless at the appointed spot. He
trembled at the falling of a leaf--the crackling of the gravel under
his feet whenever he moved them sounded so loud in his ears that he felt
sure it would be heard at the chateau. The mysterious darkness of
the wood filled him with awe, and the great, black trees seemed like
terrible genii, threatening him. The poor wretch was not exactly
frightened, but not very far from it. Mme. la Marquise was tardy--Diana
was leaving her faithful Endymion too long cooling his heels in
the heavy night dew. At last he thought he heard heavy footsteps
approaching,--but they could not be those of his goddess--he must be
mistaken--goddesses glide so lightly over the sward that not even a
blade of grass is crushed beneath their feet--and, indeed, all was
silent again.

"Unless Mme. l