driven to the
necessity of admitting the utility of such provisionary measures."

Madame d'Harville's smile left her lips. She cast down her eyes, and,
blushing deeply, said, in a low and sad voice, "This is not generous, my
lord!"

At first Rodolph regarded the marquise with astonishment, then added, "I
understand you, madame. But, once for all, let us weigh well your
position as regards M. Charles Robert. I will just imagine that one of
your acquaintances may one day have pointed out to you one of those
pitiable-looking mendicants who roll their eyes most sentimentally, and
play on the clarionet with desperate energy, to awaken the sympathy of
the passers-by. 'That is really and truly a genuine case of distress,'
observes your friend. 'That interesting musician has at least seven
children, and a wife deaf, dumb, blind,' etc. 'Ah, poor fellow!' you
reply, charitably aiding him with your purse. And so, each time you meet
this case of genuine distress, the clarionet-player, the moment he
discerns you from afar, fixes his imploring eyes upon you, while the
most touching strains of his instrument are directed to touch your
charitable sympathies, and that, too, so successfully, that again your
purse opens at this fresh appeal. One day, more than usually disposed to
pity this very unfortunate object by the importunities of the friend who
first pointed him out to you, and who is most wickedly abusing your
generous heart, you resolve to visit this case of genuine distress, as
your false friend terms it, and to behold the poor object of your
solicitude in the midst of his misery. Well, you go. But, lo! the
grief-stricken musician has vanished; and in his place you find a
lively, rollicking fellow, enjoying himself over some of the good things
of this world, and mirthfully carolling forth the last new alehouse
catch. Then disgust succeeds to pity; for you have bestowed your
sympathy and charity alike upon an impostor, neither more nor less. Is
it not so?"

Madame d'Harville could not restrain a smile at this singular apologue.
She, however, soon checked it, as she added:

"However grateful I may feel for this mode of justifying my great
imprudence, my lord, I can but confess I dare not avail myself of so
favourable a pretext as that of mistaken charity."

"Yet, after all, yours was an error based upon motives of noble and
generous pity for the wounded feelings of one you believed a genuine
object for commiseration. Fortun