n he paused a moment, began,--

"Believe me, sir"--

But he interrupted her, saying with unusual vehemence,--

"Oh! I beseech you, madam, let me finish. Many in my place would have
spoken to your father; but I thought that would hardly be fair in your
exceptional position. Still I have reason to believe that Count Ville-
Handry would look upon my proposals with favor. But then he would
probably have attempted to do violence to your feelings. Now I wish
to be indebted to you only, madam, deciding in full enjoyment of your
liberty; for"--

An expression of intense anxiety contracted the features of his usually
so impassive face; and he added with great earnestness,--

"Miss Henrietta, I am an honorable man; I love you. Will you be my
wife?"

By a stroke of instinctive genius, he had found the only argument,
perhaps, that might have procured credit for his sincerity.

But what did that matter to Henrietta? She began, saying,--

"Believe me, sir. I fully appreciate the honor you do me; but I am no
longer free"--

"I beseech you"--

"Freely, and among all men, I have chosen M. Daniel Champcey. My life is
in his hands."

He tottered as if he had received a heavy blow, and stammered with a
half-extinct voice,--

"Will you not leave me a glimpse of hope?"

"I would do wrong if I did so, sir, and I have never yet deceived any
one."

But the Hon. M. Elgin was not one of those men who despair easily, and
give up. He was not discouraged by a first failure; and he showed it
very soon. The very next day he became a changed man, as if Henrietta's
refusal had withered the very roots of his life. In his carriage, his
gestures, and his tone of voice, he betrayed the utmost dejection. He
looked as if he had grown taller and thinner. A bitter smile curled on
his lips; and his magnificent whiskers, usually so admirably kept, now
hung down miserably on his chest. And this intense melancholy grew and
grew, till it became so evident to all the world, that people asked the
countess,--

"What is the matter with poor M. Elgin? He looks funereal."

"He is unhappy," was the answer, accompanied by a sigh, which sounded
as if it had been uttered in order to increase curiosity, and stimulate
people to observe him more closely. Several persons did observe him; and
they soon found out that Sir Thorn no longer took his seat by Henrietta
as formerly, and that he avoided every occasion to address her a word.

For all that he was not