arrangements which it forces me to make, did not deprive me
of the sweet hope of an honour of which my respect and my
sentiments would perhaps make me worthy, but which my
present circumstances permit me not to seek.

Sensibility does not seem to have seen anything very unhandsome in this
broad refusal to throw the handkerchief; but though not unhandsome, it
could not be considered satisfactory to the heart. So M. de Cressy
despatches this private note to Adelaide by "Machiavel the
waiting-maid"--

Is it permitted to a wretch who has deprived himself of the
greatest of blessings, to dare to ask your pardon and your
pity? Never did love kindle a flame purer and more ardent
than that with which my heart burns for the amiable
Adelaide. Why have I not been able to give her those proofs
of it which she had the right to expect? Ah! mademoiselle,
how could I bind you to the lot of a wretch all whose wishes
even you perhaps would not fulfil? who, when he possessed
you, though master of so dear, so precious a blessing, might
regret others less estimable, but which have been the object
of his hope and desire, etc. etc.

This means that M. de Cressy is ambitious, and wants a wife who will
assist his views. The compliment is doubtful, and Adelaide receives it
in approved fashion. She opens it "with a violent emotion," and her
"trouble was so great in reading it through, that she had to begin it
again many times before she understood it." The exceedingly dubious
nature of the compliment, however, strikes her, and "tears of regret and
indignation rise to her eyes"--tears which indeed are excusable even
from a different point of view than that of Sensibility. She is far,
however, from blaming that sacred emotion. "Ce n'est pas," she says; "de
notre sensibilite, mais de l'objet qui l'a fait naitre, que nous devons
nous plaindre." This point seems arguable if it were proper to argue
with a lady.

The next letter to be cited is from Adelaide's unconscious rival, whose
conduct is--translated into the language of Sensibility, and adjusted
to the manners of the time and class--a ludicrous anticipation of the
Pickwickian widow. She buys a handsome scarf, and sends it anonymously
to the victorious Marquis just before a Court ball, with this letter--

A sentiment, tender, timid, and shy of making itself known,
gives me an interest in penetrating the secre