ace; in default of this, I stood facing her,
seeking in her eyes what she was about to ask for, and watching the
moment to change her plate. What would I not have given to hear her
command, to have her look at, or speak the smallest word to me! but no,
I had the mortification to be beneath her regard; she did not even
perceive I was there. Her brother, who frequently spoke to me while at
table, having one day said something which I did not consider obliging,
I made him so arch and well-turned an answer, that it drew her attention;
she cast her eyes upon me, and this glance was sufficient to fill me with
transport. The next day, a second occasion presented itself, which I
fortunately made use of. A great dinner was given; and I saw, with
astonishment, for the first time, the maitre d' hotel waiting at table,
with a sword by his side, and hat on his head. By chance, the discourse
turned on the motto of the house of Solar, which was, with the arms,
worked in the tapestry: 'Tel fiert qui ne fue pas'. As the Piedmontese
are not in general very perfect in the French language, they found fault
with the orthography, saying, that in the word fiert there should be no
't'. The old Count de Gauvon was going to reply, when happening to cast
his eyes on me, he perceived I smiled without daring to say anything;
he immediately ordered me to speak my opinion. I then said, I did not
think the 't' superfluous, 'fiert' being an old French word, not derived
from the noun 'ferus', proud, threatening; but from the verb 'ferit', he
strikes, he wounds; the motto, therefore, did not appear to mean, some
threat, but, 'Some strike who do not kill'. The whole company fixed
their eyes on me, then on each other, without speaking a word; never was
a greater degree of astonishment; but what most flattered me, was an air
of satisfaction which I perceived on the countenance of Mademoiselle de
Breil. This scornful lady deigned to cast on me a second look at least
as valuable as the former, and turning to her grandfather, appeared to
wait with impatience for the praise that was due to me, and which he
fully bestowed, with such apparent satisfaction, that it was eagerly
chorused by the whole table. This interval was short, but delightful in
many respects; it was one of those moments so rarely met with, which
place things in their natural order, and revenge depressed merit for the
injuries of fortune. Some minutes after Mademoiselle de Breil again