and favoured room, to which she was
conducted by a private staircase. It was a most dainty and luxurious
apartment, fitted up with exquisite taste, and hung round with portraits
of beautiful women--admirably painted by Simon Vouet, a celebrated
master of that day--representing different mythological characters, and
set in richly carved oval frames. These were all likenesses of the young
duke's various mistresses, each one displaying her own peculiar charms
to the greatest possible advantage, and having consented to sit for her
portrait--in a costume and character chosen by the duke--as a special
favour, without the most remote idea that it was to form part of a
gallery.

When the duenna had entered and made her best curtsey, the duke
condescendingly signed to her to be seated, and immediately began to
question her eagerly about Isabelle--as to whether there were any signs
yet of her yielding to his suit, and also how matters were progressing
between her and the detested Captain Fracasse. Although the crafty old
woman endeavoured to put the best face upon everything, and was very
diplomatic in her answers to these searching questions, the information
that she had to give was excessively displeasing to the imperious
young nobleman, who had much ado to control his temper sufficiently to
continue the conversation. Before he let her go he begged her to
suggest some plan by which he could hope to soften the obdurate
beauty--appealing to her great experience in such intrigues, and
offering to give her any reward she chose to claim if she would but
help him to succeed. She had nothing better to propose, however, than
secretly administering a strong narcotic to Isabelle, and concerting
some plan to deliver her into his hands while unconscious from the
effects of it; which even the unscrupulous young duke indignantly
rejected. Whereupon, fixing her wicked old eyes admiringly upon his
handsome face, and apparently moved by a sudden inspiration, she said:
"But why does not your lordship conduct this affair in person? why not
begin a regular and assiduous courtship in the good old style? You
are as beautiful as Adonis, my lord duke! You are young, fascinating,
powerful, wealthy, a favourite at court, rich in everything that is
pleasing to the weaker sex; and there is not a woman on earth who could
long hold out against you, if you would condescend, my lord, to plead
your own cause with her."

"By Jove! the old woman is right," sa