ing, for he had been carrying on for about
fifty-seven minutes; and I don't like a man to have ALL the talk to
himself.

"Blanche de Bechamel was wild, then, about this secret of Masonry. In
early, early days I loved, I married a girl fair as Blanche, who, too,
was tormented by curiosity, who, too, would peep into my closet--into
the only secret I guarded from her. A dreadful fate befell poor Fatima.
An ACCIDENT shortened her life. Poor thing! she had a foolish sister who
urged her on. I always told her to beware of Ann. She died. They said
her brothers killed me. A gross falsehood. AM I dead? If I were, could I
pledge you in this wine?"

"Was your name," I asked, quite bewildered, "was your name, pray, then,
ever Blueb----?"

"Hush! the waiter will overhear you. Methought we were speaking of
Blanche de Bechamel. I loved her, young man. My pearls, and diamonds,
and treasure, my wit, my wisdom, my passion, I flung them all into
the child's lap. I was a fool. Was strong Samson not as weak as I? Was
Solomon the Wise much better when Balkis wheedled him. I said to the
king--But enough of that, I spake of Blanche de Bechamel.

"Curiosity was the poor child's foible. I could see, as I talked to her.
that her thoughts were elsewhere (as yours, my friend, have been absent
once or twice to-night). To know the secret of Masonry was the wretched
child's mad desire. With a thousand wiles, smiles, caresses, she strove
to coax it from me--from ME--ha! ha!

"I had an apprentice--the son of a dear friend, who died by my side at
Rossbach, when Soubise, with whose army I happened to be, suffered a
dreadful defeat for neglecting my advice. The young Chevalier Goby de
Mouchy was glad enough to serve as my clerk, and help in some chemical
experiments in which I was engaged with my friend Dr. Mesmer. Bathilde
saw this young man. Since women were, has it not been their business to
smile and deceive, to fondle and lure? Away! From the very first it has
been so!" And as my companion spoke, he looked as wicked as the serpent
that coiled round the tree, and hissed a poisoned counsel to the first
woman.

"One evening I went, as was my wont, to see Blanche. She was radiant:
she was wild with spirits: a saucy triumph blazed in her blue eyes. She
talked, she rattled in her childish way. She uttered, in the course of
her rhapsody, a hint--an intimation--so terrible that the truth flashed
across me in a moment. Did I ask her? She would lie to me