nd
''Enery!' Sparkle again,--read their magnificent productions, the
_World_ and _Truth_,--all sparkle, every line! It is the secret of
success, Flopsie--be a sparkler and you've got everything before you."

Louise Renaud looked across at him half-defiantly. Her prim, cruel mouth
hardened into a tight line.

"To spark-el?" she said--"that is what we call _etinceler_--_eclater_.
Yes, I comprehend! Miladi is one spark-el! But one must be a very good
jewel to spark-el always--yes--yes--not a sham!"

And she nodded a great many times, and ate her salad very fast. Briggs
surveyed her with much complacency.

"You are a talented woman, Mamzelle," he said, "very talented! I admire
your ways--I really do!"

Mamzelle smiled with a gratified air, and Briggs settled his wig, eyeing
her anew with fresh interest.

"_Wot_ a witness you would be in a divorce case!" he continued
enthusiastically. "You'd be in your helement!"

"I should--I should indeed!" exclaimed Mamzelle, with sudden
excitement,--then as suddenly growing calm, she made a rapid gesture
with her hands--"But there will be no divorce. Milord Winsleigh is a
fool!"

Briggs appeared doubtful about this, and meditated for a long time over
his third glass of port with the profound gravity of a philosopher.

"No, Mamzelle," he said at last, when he rose from the table to return
to his duties upstairs--"No! there I must differ from you. I am a close
observer. Wotever Winsleigh's faults,--and I do not deny that they are
many,--he is a gentleman-that I _must_ admit--and with _hevery_ respect
for you, Mamzelle--I can assure you he's no fool!"

And with these words Briggs betook himself to the library to arrange the
reading-lamp and put the room in order for his master's return, and as
he did so, he paused to look at a fine photograph of Lady Winsleigh that
stood on the oak escritoire, opposite her husband's arm-chair.

"No," he muttered to himself. "Wotever he thinks of some goings-on, he
ain't blind nor deaf--that's certain. And I'd stake my character and
purfessional reputation on it--wotever he is, he's no fool!"

For once in his life, Briggs was right. He was generally wrong in his
estimate of both persons and things--but it so happened on this
particular occasion that he had formed a perfectly correct judgment.

CHAPTER XIX.

"Could you not drink her gaze like wine?
Yet in its splendor swoon
Into the silence languidly,
As a tune into