irm fame.

CHAPTER XII.

"In effect he entered my apartment."--_Gil Blas_.

"'I am surprised,' said he, 'at the caprice of Fortune,
who sometimes delights in loading an execrable author
with favours, whilst she leaves good writers to perish
for want.'"--_Gil Blas_.

IT was just twelve months after his last interview with Valerie, and
Madame de Ventadour had long since quitted England, when one morning, as
Maltravers sat alone in his study, Castruccio Cesarini was announced.

"Ah, my dear Castruccio, how are you?" cried Maltravers, eagerly, as the
opening door presented the form of the Italian.

"Sir," said Castruccio, with great stiffness, and speaking in French,
which was his wont when he meant to be distant--"sir, I do not come
to renew our former acquaintance--you are a great man [here a bitter
sneer], I an obscure one [here Castruccio drew himself up]--I only come
to discharge a debt to you which I find I have incurred."

"What tone is this, Castruccio; and what debt do you speak of?"

"On my arrival in town yesterday," said the poet solemnly, "I went to
the man whom you deputed some years since to publish my little volume,
to demand an account of its success; and I found that it had cost one
hundred and twenty pounds, deducting the sale of forty-nine copies which
had been sold. _Your_ books sell some thousands, I am told. It is
well contrived--mine fell still-born, no pains were taken with it--no
matter--[a wave of the hand]. You discharged this debt, I repay you:
there is a cheque for the money. Sir, I have done! I wish you a good
day, and health to enjoy _your_ reputation."

"Why, Cesarini, this is folly."

"Sir--"

"Yes, it is folly; for there is no folly equal to that of throwing away
friendship in a world where friendship is so rare. You insinuate that I
am to blame for any neglect which your work experienced. Your publisher
can tell you that I was more anxious about your book than I have ever
been about my own."

"And the proof is that forty-nine copies were sold!"

"Sit down, Castruccio; sit down, and listen to reason;" and Maltravers
proceeded to explain, and soothe, and console. He reminded the poor
poet that his verses were written in a foreign tongue--that even English
poets of great fame enjoyed but a limited sale for their works--that it
was impossible to make the avaricious public purchase what the stupid
public would not take an interest in--in short, he used all those
ar