men, say I! My life has been a long one, and my
experience of them bids me say they are almost all angels. I have found
them true, tender and earnest. I could tell stories of women's quiet
heroism that would move any one's heart. God bless them, one and
all--they are the chief comfort in life!

Still even I, who love and respect them so much, am compelled to own
that there are women wanting in purity and goodness, in modesty and
reserve. I grieve to say Coralie d'Aubergne was one of them. She pursued
me, and yet it was all so quietly done that she left me no room to
speak--no ground on which to interfere.

If I went out in the gloaming to smoke a cigar, as I liked best to do
among the sighs of the roses, in a few minutes that beautiful, fair face
was sure to be smiling at my side. She had a pretty, picturesque way of
throwing a black lace shawl over her shoulders and of draping it round
her head, so making her face look a thousand times more fair.

She would come to me with that graceful, easy, dignified walk of hers
and say:

"If I am not intruding, Sir Edgar, I should enjoy a few minutes with
you."

She had a wonderful gift of conversation--piquant, sparkling and
intellectual. If I had been the dullest of the dull, I should have known
that such a woman would not pass her life as a companion unless she had
some wonderful end in view. She was far too brilliant. She would have
made a good ambassadress, for she could make herself all things to all
men. No matter what subject interested you, on that she could speak. She
seemed to understand every one intuitively; one's likes, dislikes,
tastes. She had a wondrous power of reading character. She was worldly
with the worldly, good with the good, romantic with the young, sensible
with the old. To me she was always the same. Sometimes, when I saw her
coming to meet me along those paths where the rose leaves lay dead, I
felt inclined to go away and leave her; but natural politeness came to
my aid. Then when she had talked to me for a few minutes, a strange,
subtle charm would steal over me.

I knew her well-chosen compliments were all flattery. I knew she was
pursuing me for some object of her own. Yet that charm no words can
describe was stronger than my reason. Away from her I disliked her; my
judgment was all against her; in her presence no man could help being
fascinated.

I thank Heaven that I had the shield of a pure and holy love; I was but
a weak man, and nothin