ertainly has a very
prepossessing _tout ensemble_. I praised him enthusiastically to Madame
d'Harville, exalted the nobleness of his sentiments, the elevation of
his mind, and, as I knew her weak side, I worked upon her sympathy and
pity, by representing him as loaded with every trouble and affliction
unrelenting fate could heap upon a devoted but most innocent head. I
directed M. Robert to assume a melancholy and sentimental air; to utter
only deep sighs, and to preserve a gloomy and unbroken silence in the
presence of Madame d'Harville. He carefully pursued the path marked out
by me, and, thanks to his vocal skill, his fine person and the constant
expression of silent suffering, so far engaged the interest of Madame
d'Harville, that, ere long, she transferred to my handsome friend the
warm and sympathising regard Rodolph had first awakened. Do you
comprehend me thus far?"

"Perfectly; proceed."

"Madame d'Harville and Robert met only upon terms of intimacy at my
house; to draw them more effectually together I projected devoting three
mornings in the week to music, and my mournful ally sighed softly as the
breath of evening while turning over the leaves of the music, ventured
to utter a few impassioned words, and even to slip two or three billets
among the pieces he copied out for the marquise to practise at home. I
own I was more fearful of his epistolary efforts than even his powers of
speech; but a woman always looks indulgently upon the first declaration
of love she receives; so far, therefore, the written nonsense of my
silly pupil did no harm, for, in obedience to my advice, his _billets
doux_ were very laconic. The great point was to obtain a rendezvous, and
this was no easy matter, for Clemence's principles were stronger than
her love; or, rather, her passion was not sufficiently deep to induce
her to sacrifice those principles. Unknown, even to herself, the image
of Rodolph still filled her heart, and seemed in a manner to preserve
her from yielding to her weak fancy for M. Charles Robert,--a fancy, as
I well knew, far more imaginary than real; but, led on by my continual
and exaggerated praises of this brainless Apollo, whom I persisted in
describing as suffering under the daily increase of every imaginary evil
I could invent, Clemence, vanquished by the deep despair of her dejected
adorer, consented one day, more from pity than love, to grant him the
rendezvous so long desired."

"Did she, then, make you