t. It is vanity that too often makes a woman consent at last
(though sometimes Love may awake and do it), and I think that Isabella
was never vain.

"I have good reason to be without vanity," she once said in my
hearing, but I do not know what she meant. The remark, as I remember,
was made in answer to Lucille, who happened to say that a woman can
dress well without being vain, and laughingly gave Isabella as an
example.

Isabella's chief reason in coming to London during the winter was a
kind one--namely, to put a temporary end to an imprisonment in the
country which was irksome to Lucille. And I make no doubt the two
ladies were glad enough to avail themselves of this opportunity of
seeing London. God made the country and men the towns, it is said; and
I think they made them for the women.

On returning to London I found letters from Madame de Clericy
explaining this change of residence, and in the same envelope a note
from Isabella (her letters were always kinder than her speech),
inviting me to stay in Hyde Park Street.

"We are sufficiently old friends," she wrote, "to allow thus of a
general invitation, and if it shares the usual fate of such, the fault
will be yours, and not mine."

The letter was awaiting me at the club, and I deemed it allowable to
call in response the same afternoon. The news of Lucille's engagement
to Alphonse Giraud was ever dangling before my eyes, and I wished to
get the announcement swallowed without further suspense.

Alphonse, a perfect squire of dames, was engaged in dispensing thin
bread and butter when I entered the room, feeling, as I feel to this
day, somewhat out of place and heavy amid the delicate ornaments and
flowers of a lady's drawing-room. My reception was not exactly warm,
and I was struck by the pallor of Isabella's face, which, however,
gave place to a more natural colour before long. Madame alone showed
gladness at the sight of me, and held out both her hands in a welcome
full of affection. I thought Lucille's black dress very becoming to
her slim form.

We talked, of course, of the war, before which all other topics faded
into insignificance at that time--and I had but disquieting news from
France. The siege had now lasted seven weeks, and none knew what the
end might be. The opportunity awaited the Frenchman, but none rose to
meet it. France blundered on in the hands of political mediocrities,
as she has done ever since.

I gathered that Alphonse was stayin