associated publicly with his,
Madame de Courcelles, during his absence in Algiers, has done me the
honor to prefer me. I have the first real love of her life, and the
short and long of it is, that we are to be privately married to-morrow."

"And why privately?"

"Ah, there's the pity of it! There's the disappointment and the
bitterness!"

"Can't Madame de Courcelles write and tell this man that she loves
somebody else better?"

"Confound it! no. The fellow has her too much in his power, and, if he
chose to be dishonest, could half ruin her. At all events she is afraid
of him; and I ... I am as helpless as a child in the matter. If I were a
rich man, I would snap my fingers at him; but how can I, with a paltry
eight hundred a year, provide for that woman? Pshaw! If I could but
settle it with a pair of hair-triggers and twenty paces of turf, I'd
leave little work for the lawyers!"

"Well, then, what is to be done?"

"Only this," replied he, striding impatiently to and fro, like a caged
lion; "I must just bear with my helplessness, and leave the remedy to
those who can oppose skill to skill, and lawyer to lawyer."

"At all events, you marry the lady."

"Ay--I marry the lady; but I start to-morrow night for Berlin, _en
route_ for anywhere that chance may lead me."

"Without her?"

"Without her. Do you suppose that I would stay in Paris--her
husband--and live apart from her? Meet her, like an ordinary
acquaintance? See others admiring her? Be content to lounge in and out
of her _soirees_, or ride beside her carriage now and then, as you or
fifty others might do? Perhaps, have even to endure the presence of De
Caylus himself? _Merci_! Any number of miles, whether of land or sea,
were better than a martyrdom like that!"

"De Caylus!" I repeated. "Where have I heard that name?"

"You may have heard of it in a hundred places," replied my friend. "As I
said before, the man is a gallant soldier, and does gallant things. But
to return to the present question--may I depend on you to-morrow? For we
must have a witness, and our witness must be both discreet and silent."

"On my silence and discretion you may rely absolutely."

"And you can be here by nine?"

"By daybreak, if you please."

"I won't tax you to that extent. Nine will do quite well."

"Adieu, then, till nine."

"Adieu, and thank you."

With this I left him, somewhat relieved to find that I had escaped all
cross-examination on the score of Madame M