perspective of pillars, conveying the idea of unlimited saloons, all
opening into each other. Three Bohemian vases, filled with natural
flowers, were placed on pedestals in places where they would be least in
the way, if it were possible to make such a discrimination. But the
great feature of the scene was a magnificent paper chandelier of nine
candles, which hung from the centre of the framework, and made every
spectator, while he admired, tremble with fear that it would set the
house on fire.

At a small table in front, covered by a rich cloth, sat the heroine,
dressed in a gorgeousness of apparel that mocked her misery. Beneath the
gems that studded her bosom, there was supposed to be unappeasable
wretchedness; and the white brow, covered with a spangled wreath, was
presumed to ache with mental agony. She was pale and beautiful. Murmurs
of applause ran round the apartment.

By her side was the faithful Bidette, armed with a bottle of salts. She
bent affectionately over her mistress, and asked if she wanted anything.

"Nothing, my child--but death," was the thrilling reply.

Bidette was taken somewhat aback. She made a respectful pause. Then she
said:

"But, my dear mistress, though you do not love Signor Rodicaso--"

"In Heaven's name, stop, child! You are piercing my heart with a hot
iron. Name not love to me. Henceforth I erase it from the tablets of my
brain. Now go on" (with tranquil despair).

"I was about to say, dear mistress, please, that Signor Rodicaso has a
splendid town house, and a beautiful country seat (they say), and
thousands of acres of land, which will all be yours--"

The eloquent grief of her mistress's face checked the maid.

"Bidette," she said, "I shall want but a small portion of all his
lands."

"What do you mean, dear mistress?" asked the frightened maid.

"Only enough for--a grave," was the harrowing reply.

This dreary dialogue was here interrupted by the appearance of the
father in tights, knee buckles, velvet coat, ruffles, a powdered wig,
and a general air of having been got up for a great occasion. He
carefully picked his way through the furniture to his daughter, and
kissed her on the forehead.

"Are you happy, my dear daughter?" he asked.

"Happy? Oh! yes, father, I am _so_ happy! See how I smile." So saying,
she made a feeble attempt to smile, which was a most artistic failure,
and brought out another tribute of applause.

The father, not detecting the sad irony