ollowing answer like the lash of a whip through the poet's lies.

To Monsieur le Baron de Canalis:--

My dear poet,--Mademoiselle de La Bastie is very beautiful;
Mongenod has proved to me that her father has millions. I did
think of marrying you to her; I am therefore much displeased at
your want of confidence. If you had any intention of marrying La
Briere when you went to Havre it is surprising that you said
nothing to me about it before you started. And why have you
omitted writing to a friend who is so easily made anxious as I?
Your letter arrived a trifle late; I had already seen the banker.
You are a child, Melchior, and you are playing tricks with us. It
is not right. The duke himself is quite indignant at your
proceedings; he thinks you less than a gentleman, which casts some
reflections on your mother's honor.

Now, I intend to see things for myself. I shall, I believe, have
the honor of accompanying _Madame_ to the hunt which the Duc
d'Herouville proposes to give for Mademoiselle de La Bastie. I
will manage to have you invited to Rosembray, for the meet will
probably take place in Duc de Verneuil's park.

Pray believe, my dear poet, that I am none the less, for life,

Your friend, Eleonore de M.

"There, Ernest, just look at that!" cried Canalis, tossing the letter
at Ernest's nose across the breakfast-table; "that's the two thousandth
love-letter I have had from that woman, and there isn't even a 'thou' in
it. The illustrious Eleonore has never compromised herself more than she
does there. Marry, and try your luck! The worst marriage in the world
is better than this sort of halter. Ah, I am the greatest Nicodemus that
ever tumbled out of the moon! Modeste has millions, and I've lost
her; for we can't get back from the poles, where we are to-day, to the
tropics, where we were three days ago! Well, I am all the more anxious
for your triumph over the grand equerry, because I told the duchess I
came here only for your sake; and so I shall do my best for you."

"Alas, Melchior, Modeste must needs have so noble, so grand, so
well-balanced a nature to resist the glories of the Court, and all these
splendors cleverly displayed for her honor and glory by the duke, that I
cannot believe in the existence of such perfection,--and yet, if she is
still the Modeste of her letters, there might be hope!"

"Well, well, you are a happy fellow, you young Boniface, to see the