ry like it--and as they neared
Paris he took the little hand with its delicate Jouvin glove in his, and
whispered,

"Remember your promise: I can brave, and have braved most things, but I
could not bear your scorn. _That_ would make me a worse man than I have
been, if, as some folks would tell you, such a thing be possible."

It was dark, but I dare say the moonbeams shining on the chevelure doree
showed him a pair of truthful, trusting eyes that promised never to
desert him.

The day after he had, by dint of tact and strategy, planned to spend
entirely with Nina. He was going with them to the races at Chantilly,
then to the Gaite to see the first representation of a vaudeville of a
friend of his, and afterwards he had persuaded Gordon to enter the
Lion's den, and let Nina grace a petit souper at No. 10, Rue des Mauvais
Sujets, Chaussee d'Antin.

The weather was delicious, the race-ground full, if not quite so
crowded as the Downs on Derby Day. Ernest cast away his depression, he
gave himself up to the joy of being loved, his wit had never rung finer
nor his laugh clearer than as he drove back to Paris opposite Nina. He
had never felt in higher spirits than, after having given carte blanche
to a cordon bleu for the entertainment, he looked round his salons,
luxurious as Eugene Sue's, and perfumed with exotics from the Palais
Royal, and thought of one rather different in style to the women that
had been wont to drink his Sillery and grace his symposia.

He knew well enough she loved him, and his heart beat high as he put a
bouquet of white flowers into a gold bouquetiere to take to her.

On his lover-like thoughts the voice of one of his parrots--Ernest had
almost as many pets as there are in the Jardin des Plantes--broke in,
screaming "Bluette! Bluette! Sacre bleu, elle est jolie! Bluette!
Bluette!"

The recollection was unwelcome. Vaughan swore a "sacre bleu!" too.
"Diable! she mustn't hear that Francois, put that bird out of the way.
He makes a such a confounded row."

The parrot, fond of him, as all things were that knew him, sidled up,
arching its neck, and repeating what De Concressault had taught it: "Fi
donc, Ernest! Tu es volage! Tu ne m'aimes plus! Tu aimes Pauline!"

"Devil take the bird!" thought its master; "even he'll be witness
against me." And as he went down stairs to his cab, a chorus of birds
shouting "Tu aimes Pauline!" followed him, and while he laughed, he
sighed to think that even these