not bound my criticism on the Count by
what I saw and observed in his manner, but extended it to every possible
deduction I could draw from his air and bearing; winding up all by a
very broadly-hinted doubt that those ferocious whiskers and that deep
baritone were any thing but a lion's skin over a very craven heart.

The last words were scarcely uttered, when a servant announced the Count
de Favancourt. There is something, to a young person at least--I fancy I
should not mind it now--so overwhelming on the sudden appearance of any
one on whom the conversation has taken a turn of severity, that I arose
confused and uneasy--I believe I blushed; at all events, I perceived
that Lady Blanche remarked my discomfiture, and her eyes glanced on
me with an expression I never observed before. As for the Count, he
advanced and made his deep reverence without ever noticing me, nor, even
while taking his seat, once shewed any consciousness of my presence.

Burning with indignation that I could scarce repress, I turned towards
a table, and affected to occupy myself tossing over the prints and
drawings that lay about--my maddened thoughts rendered still more
insufferable from fancying that Lady Blanche and the Count seemed on far
better and more intimate footing than I had ever known them before.

Some other visitors being announced, I took the occasion to retire
unobserved, and had just reached the landing of the stairs when I heard
a foot behind me. I turned--it was Favancourt. For the first time in my
life, I perceived a smile upon his countenance--an expression, I own,
that became it even less than his habitual stern scowl.

"You have done me the honour, sir," said he, "to make some observations
on my manner, which, I regret to learn, has not acquired your favourable
opinion. Now, I have a strong sense of the _inconvenance_ of any thing
like a rupture of amicable relations between the embassy I have the
honour to serve and that to which you belong. It is, then, exceedingly
unpleasant for me to notice your remarks--it is impossible for me to let
them pass unnoticed."

He made a pause at these words, and so long that I felt bound to speak,
and, in a voice that passion had rendered slightly tremulous, said,

"Am I to receive this, sir, in the light of a rebuke? because, as yet,
I only perceive it conveys the expression of your own regret that you
cannot demand an explanation I am most ready to afford you.

"My demand is somewh