e
useless. The Englishman, who prides himself on his strict adherence to
the law of the land, is curt and rude in his manner, and the English
officials cannot be compared to the French, who know how to combine
politeness with the exercise of their rights.

English is different in every respect from the rest of Europe; even the
country has a different aspect, and the water of the Thames has a taste
peculiar to itself. Everything has its own characteristics, and the fish,
cattle, horses, men, and women are of a type not found in any other land.
Their manner of living is wholly different from that of other countries,
especially their cookery. The most striking feature in their character is
their national pride; they exalt themselves above all other nations.

My attention was attracted by the universal cleanliness, the beauty of
the country, the goodness of the roads, the reasonable charges for
posting, the quickness of the horses, although they never go beyond a
trot; and lastly, the construction of the towns on the Dover road;
Canterbury and Rochester for instance, though large and populous, are
like long passages; they are all length and no breadth.

We got to London in the evening and stopped at the house of Madame
Cornelis, as Therese called herself. She was originally married to an
actor named Imer, then to the dancer Pompeati, who committed suicide at
Venice by ripping up his stomach with a razor.

In Holland she had been known as Madame Trenti, but at London she had
taken the name of her lover Cornelius Rigerboos, whom she had contrived
to ruin.

She lived in Soho Square, almost facing the house of the Venetian
ambassador. When I arrived I followed the instructions I had received in
her last letter. I left her son in the carriage, and sent up my name,
expecting she would fly to meet me; but the porter told me to wait, and
in a few minutes a servant in grand livery brought me a note in which
Madame Cornelis asked me to get down at the house to which her servant
would conduct me. I thought this rather strange behaviour, but still she
might have her reasons for acting in this manner, so I did not let my
indignation appear. When we got to the house, a fat woman named Rancour,
and two servants, welcomed us, or rather welcomed my young friend; for
the lady embraced him, told him how glad she was to see him, and did not
appear to be aware of my existence.

Our trunks were taken in, and Madame Rancour having ascertain