ole yourself," he said, "with the reflection that your case is
pretty general in this sinful world. But what is the name of the amiable
barbarian, the sweet monster, the bewitching, yet cruel oppressor, that
excited the tender sentiments of your virgin heart, and turned you from
the true faith."

"What! you are yet unacquainted with my husband?"

"Husband!" ejaculated Roque, "so there was a husband in the case! Oh,
then I am not surprised."

"He treats me like a brute, as he is."

"Indeed! that is astonishing," cried Roque, "wonderfully astonishing,
considering the means you have in your power of enforcing proper
behaviour on the unruly. And pray what is the name of your brute?"

"You might have perceived it before: it is Aboukar."

"Aboukar!" exclaimed Roque; "Now, indeed, my wonder ceases--Aboukar! Oh
the sweet creature! with his pretty lobster eyes, and most awful and
portentous proboscis, which seems for all the world like a fine ripe
tomato displayed on a copper platter."

But here Roque thought it prudent to make a retrograde motion, as he
looked at the masculine arm of the dame, and remembered the little
relish she had evinced for his talent of drawing portraits, and the
manner in which she remunerated the artist.

"So Aboukar is your husband!"

"Alas! yes," answered the ancient, "we have been married now these five
years."

"_Valgame San Roque!_" cried his namesake. "What a dull dog have I
been!--five years married--certainly I ought to have discovered that
long ago by his treatment."

"Treatment!" re-echoed Marien Rufa, a little incensed, "What treatment?"

"Oh! I mean no harm," replied Roque, "conjugal treatment, that is all."

"Roque," resumed the crone, modulating her croaking voice to something
like a human sound, "Roque!" and she suddenly stopt, and looked the
valet steadfastly in the face. "Well?" said Roque, surprised at the
pomposity of her manner.

"Roque, my child, are you a kind and compassionate soul--a thorough good
Christian?"

"A very good Christian," responded Roque, "though a humble sinner. But
methinks such a question comes with ill grace from the mouth of a
renegade."

"I will confide in thee, Roque," returned Marien Rufa, "I am an
unfortunate woman, and alas! might I hope that my repentance were not
too late? Roque, thinkest thou that there is truly a hell as terrible as
it is depicted?"

"Worse, worse, a thousand times worse," replied Roque. "All the torments
which yo