ak; and when the President returned, at five
o'clock, he saw Melladoro, to whom he was formally introduced by madame.

The President's welcome was a blend of surprise, anger, forced
condescension, and diplomatic politeness. All these shades of feeling
were easily perceived by the Spaniard, who showed not a trace of
astonishment. This was because Clorinde's absolute sway over her husband
was as patent as the fact that, in his own house, the President was
powerless to do as he liked.

Melladoro, who was only twenty years old, thought he had made a charming
conquest. He asked to be allowed to present his respects occasionally,
when Clorinde promptly invited him to do so, in her husband's name as
well as in her own.

It was now morning, and he took leave of the ladies. Two days after this
he reappeared; then he came five or six times a week, until at last it
was settled that a place should be laid for him every day at the
President's table.

That year it was M. de Nesmond's turn to preside at the courts during
vacation-time. He pleaded urgent motives of health, which made it
imperative for him to have country air and complete rest. Another judge
consented to forego his vacation and take his place on the bench for four
months; so M. de Nesmond was able to leave Paris.

When the time came to set out by coach, madame went off into violent
hysterics; but the magistrate, backed up by his father-in-law, showed
firmness, and they set out for the Chateau de Nesmond, about thirty
leagues from Paris.

M. de Nesmond found the country far from enjoyable. His wife, who always
sat by herself in her dressing-gown and seldom consented to see a soul,
on more than one occasion left her guests at table in order to sulk and
mope in her closet.

She fell ill. During her periods of suffering and depression, she
continually mentioned the Spaniard's name. Failing his person, she
desired to have his portrait. Alarmed at his wife's condition, the
President agreed to write a letter himself to the author of all this
trouble, who soon sent the lady a handsome sweetmeat-box ornamented with
his crest and his portrait.

At the sight of this, Clorinde became like another woman. She had her
hair dressed and put on a smart gown, to show the portrait how deeply
enamoured she was of the original.

"Monsieur," she said to her husband, "I am the only daughter of a wealthy
man, who, when he gave me to a magistrate older than himself, did not