tion and a prepossessing person, a delicate turn for
letter-writing, and a lively vein of conversation, came to England for
a year or two, as Spaniards were wont to go to Mexico, and who return
to their native country with a profound contempt for the barbarians whom
they have so egregiously despoiled. Mademoiselle de la Meronville was
small, beautifully formed, had the prettiest hands and feet in the
world, and laughed musically. By the by, how difficult it is to laugh,
or even to smile, at once naturally and gracefully! It is one of
Steele's finest touches of character, where he says of Will Honeycombe,
"He can smile when one speaks to him, and laughs easily."

In a word, the pretty Frenchwoman was precisely formed to turn the head
of a man like Lord Borodaile, who loved to be courted and who required
to be amused. Mademoiselle de la Meronville received Clarence with a
great deal of grace, and a little reserve, the first chiefly natural,
the last wholly artificial.

"Well," said the duke (in French), "you have not told me who are to be
of your party this evening,--Borodaile, I suppose, of course?"

"No, he cannot come to-night."

"Ah, quel malheur! then the hock will not be iced enough: Borodaile's
looks are the best wine-coolers in the world."

"Fie!" cried La Meronville, glancing towards Clarence, "I cannot endure
your malevolence; wit makes you very bitter."

"And that is exactly the reason why La belle Meronville loves me so:
nothing is so sweet to one person as bitterness upon another; it is
human nature and French nature (which is a very different thing) into
the bargain."

"Bah! my Lord Duke, you judge of others by yourself."

"To be sure I do," cried the duke; "and that is the best way of forming
a right judgment. Ah! what a foot, that little figurante has; you don't
admire her, Linden?"

"No, Duke; my admiration is like the bird in the cage,--chained here,
and cannot fly away!" answered Clarence, with a smile at the frippery of
his compliment.

"Ah, Monsieur," cried the pretty Frenchwoman, leaning back, "you have
been at Paris, I see: one does not learn those graces of language in
England. I have been five months in your country; brought over the
prettiest dresses imaginable, and have only received three compliments,
and (pity me!) two out of the three were upon my pronunciation of 'How
do you do?'"

"Well," said Clarence, "I should have imagined that in England, above
all other countries, your v