ous words, "_Qui m'aime me suive_."

The other three have the utmost difficulty in preventing Sergy (by main
force at first) from obeying. And the captain tries rationalism,
suggesting first that the pretended Ines is a bait for some gang of
assassins or at least brigands, then that the whole thing is a trick of
Bascara's to "produce" a new cantatrice. But Boutraix, who has been
entirely converted from his Voltairianism by the shock, sets aside the
first idea like a soldier, and Bascara rebuts the second like a sensible
man. Brigands certainly would give no such warning of their presence,
and a wise manager does not expose his prima donna's throat to
cohabitation in ruins with skeletons and owls. They finally agree on
silence, and shortly afterwards the three officers leave Spain. Sergy is
killed at Lutzen, murmuring the name of Ines. Boutraix, who has never
relapsed, takes the cowl, and the captain retires after the war to his
own small estate, where he means to stay. He ends by saying _Voila
tout_.

Alas! it is not all, and it is not the end. Some rather idle talk with
the auditors follows, and then there is the above-mentioned Radcliffian
explanation, telling how Ines was a real Las Sierras of a Mexican
branch, who had actually made her debut as an actress, had been, as was
at first thought, murdered by a worthless lover, but recovered. Her
wits, however, were gone, and having escaped from the kind restraint
under which she was put, she had wandered to the castle of her
ancestors, afterwards completely recovering her senses and returning to
the profession in the company of Bascara himself.

Now I think that, if I took the trouble to do so, I could point out
improbabilities in this second story sufficient to damn it on its own
showing.[89] But, as has been said already, I prefer to leave it alone.
I never admired George Vavasour in Trollope's _Can You Forgive Her?_ But
I own that I agree with him heartily in his opinion that "making a
conjurer explain his tricks" is despicably poor fun.

Still, the story, which ends at "Voila tout" and which for me does so
end "for good and all," is simply magnificent. I have put it elsewhere
with _Wandering Willie's Tale_, which it more specially resembles in the
way in which the ordinary turns into the extraordinary. It falls short
of Scott in vividness, character, manners, and impressiveness, but
surpasses him in beauty[90] of style and imagery. In particular, Nodier
has here,