l not make it odious to me by
tormenting me about it."

"But, my Lady, I have a heart; a heart that would be broken by a
betrayal."

"What a strange heart for a Frenchman! About as suitable to the
Boulevards Italiens as snow shoes to the tropics. Monsieur de
Pracontal," said she, in a much graver tone, "please to bear in mind
that I am a very considerable item in such an arrangement as we spoke
of. The _whole_ question is not what would make _you_ happy."

Pracontal bowed low in silence; his gesture seemed to accept her words
as a command to be obeyed, and he did not utter a syllable.

"Is n't she handsome?" cried she, at length. "I declare, Count, if one
of your countrywomen had a single one of the charms of that beautiful
face she 'd be turning half the heads in Europe; and Marion can do
nothing with them all, except drive other women wild with envy."

CHAPTER LVII. AT THE INN AT CATTARO.

When L'Estrange had carried off Jack Bramleigh to the inn, and had seen
him engaged with an excellent breakfast, he despatched a messenger to
the villa to say that he was not to be expected home by dinner time,
but would be back to tea "with a friend," for whom he begged Gusty
Bramleigh's room might be prepared.

I shall not delay to chronicle all the doubt, the discussion, and
the guessing that the note occasioned; the mere fact that George had
ventured to issue an order of this kind without first consulting
Julia investing the step with a degree of mysteriousness perfectly
inscrutable. I turn, however, to Cattaro, where L'Estrange and Jack sat
together, each so eager to hear the other's tidings as to be almost too
impatient to dwell upon himself.

To account for their presence in this remote spot, George, as briefly as
he could, sketched the course of events at Castello, not failing to lay
due stress on the noble and courageous spirit with which Augustus and
Nelly had met misfortune. "All is not lost yet," said L'Estrange; "far
from it; but even if the worst should come, I do not know of two people
in the world who will show a stouter front to adversity."

"And your sister, where is she?" said Jack, in a voice scarce above a
whisper.

"Here,--at the villa."

"Not married?"

"No. I believe she has changed less than any of us. She is just what you
remember her."

It was not often that L'Estrange attempted anything like adroitness in
expression; but he did so here, and saw, in the heightened color and
sparklin