ed for a landau.

Nathalie was a coquette. Accustomed to charm, she listened with smiles to
the numerous protestations of admiration which she received. She sent all
who aspired to her hand to her uncle, saying: "Before I give you any hope,
I must know my uncle's opinion."

It is likely that Nathalie would have answered differently if she had ever
felt a real preference for any one; but heretofore she seemed to have
preferred her liberty.

The old uncle, for his part, being now master in his niece's house, was
very anxious for her to remain as she was. A nephew might be somewhat less
submissive than Nathalie. Therefore, he never failed to discover some
great fault in each of those who sought an alliance with the pretty widow.

Besides his egotism and his epicureanism, the dear uncle had another
passion--to play backgammon. The game amused him very much; but the
difficulty was to find any one to play with. If, by accident, any of
Nathalie's visitors understood it, there was no escape from a long siege
with the old gentleman; but most people preferred cards.

In order to please her uncle, Nathalie tried to learn this game; but it
was almost impossible. She could not give her attention to one thing for
so long a time. Her uncle scolded. Nathalie gave up in despair.

"It was only for your own amusement that I wished to teach it to you,"
said the good M. d'Ablaincourt.

Things were at this crisis when, at a ball one evening, Nathalie was
introduced to a M. d'Apremont, a captain in the navy.

Nathalie raised her eyes, expecting to see a great sailor, with a wooden
leg and a bandage over one eye; when to her great surprise, she beheld a
man of about thirty, tall and finely formed, with two sound legs and two
good eyes.

Armand d'Apremont had entered the navy at a very early age, and had
arrived, although very young, to the dignity of a captain. He had amassed
a large fortune, in addition to his patrimonial estates, and he had now
come home to rest after his labors. As yet, however, he was a single man,
and, moreover, had always laughed at love.

But when he saw Nathalie, his opinions underwent a change. For the first
time in his life he regretted that he had never learned to dance, and he
kept his eyes fixed on her constantly.

His attentions to the young widow soon became a subject of general
conversation, and, at last, the report reached the ears of M.
d'Ablaincourt. When Nathalie mentioned, one evening, that she