e that I can ask you for her without 'dot.'"

"I promise you that," said the colonel. "You know, monsieur, with what
assurance the public, both in Paris and the provinces, talk of fortunes
that they make and unmake. People exaggerate both happiness and
unhappiness; we are never so fortunate nor so unfortunate as people say
we are. There is nothing sure and certain in business except investments
in land. I am awaiting the accounts of my agents with very great
impatience. The sale of my merchandise and my ship, and the settlement
of my affairs in China, are not yet concluded; and I cannot know the
full amount of my fortune for at least six months. I did, however, say
to Monsieur de La Briere in Paris that I would guarantee a 'dot' of two
hundred thousand francs in ready money. I wish to entail my estates, and
enable my grandchildren to inherit my arms and title."

Canalis did not listen to this statement after the opening sentence.
The four riders, having now reached a wider road, went abreast and soon
reached a stretch of table-land, from which the eye took in on one side
the rich valley of the Seine toward Rouen, and on the other an horizon
bounded only by the sea.

"Butscha was right, God is the greatest of all landscape painters," said
Canalis, contemplating the view, which is unique among the many fine
scenes that have made the shores of the Seine so justly celebrated.

"Above all do we feel that, my dear baron," said the duke, "on
hunting-days, when nature has a voice, and a lively tumult breaks
the silence; at such times the landscape, changing rapidly as we ride
through it, seems really sublime."

"The sun is the inexhaustible palette," said Modeste, looking at the
poet in a species of bewilderment.

A remark that she presently made on his absence of mind gave him
an opportunity of saying that he was just then absorbed in his own
thoughts,--an excuse that authors have more reason for giving than other
men.

"Are we really made happy by carrying our lives into the midst of
the world, and swelling them with all sorts of fictitious wants and
over-excited vanities?" said Modeste, moved by the aspect of the fertile
and billowy country to long for a philosophically tranquil life.

"That is a bucolic, mademoiselle, which is only written on tablets of
gold," said the poet.

"And sometimes under garret-roofs," remarked the colonel.

Modeste threw a piercing glance at Canalis, which he was unable to
sustain; she