The Parisians, Book 9.

onversation which had ended so painfully. He had, in theory, a delicacy of tact, which, if he did not always exhibit it in practice, made him a very severe critic of its deficiency in ot

at better, though

view with Madame Savarin that Isaura left her

, and with that indescribable appearance of exhaustion which betrays continued want of sle

mbracing her, "you have indeed been ill

g cold-the air of Paris is very trying. N

irardin; the speculations as to the result of the trial of the alleged conspirators against the Emperor's life, which was fixed to take place towards the end of that month of June,-all matt

ane-he has refuse

he has-he is so e

ed," said Isaura, wi

who to

One may have good sense, tho

; it is beneath you to

to Paris; never mind, he will come next year. I shall

two or thr

is w

him for. Many people told Frank that he is much changed since he came into his fortune-is grown very stingy, quite mis

une when he was here. Mone

and fixing on her startled visitor eyes no longer dim, but with something half fierce, half imploring in the passion of their gaze, said: "Your

; sit here beside

n!-weak as a woman, but

tr

" that which the girl now demanded. But then she had meant to break the truth in her own gentle, gradual w

d. A man like him does not stoop to love for a woman who has known

e truth,- there, read and judge for yourself." And Mrs. Morley drew forth and thrust into Isaura's hands the letter she had concealed from her husband. The letter was not very long; it began with expressions of warm gratitude to Mrs. Morley, not for her invita

ore sincerely join in the belief that the praise which greets the commencement of her career

ng than the stage, she no less left behind her the peaceful immunities of private life. Were I even free to consult only my own heart in the choice of the one sole partner of my destinies (which I cannot at present honestly say that I am, though I had expected to be so ere this, when I last saw you at Paris); could I even hope-which I have no right to do-that I could chain to mys

res like hers of whom we speak, 'Limit to the household glory of one the ligh

ertainty so strong." Mechanically she smoothed and refolded the letter-mechan

of superiority-nay, of equality-in the woman he 'can only value as he does his house or his horse, because she is his exclusive property, the more

g dreamily into space. It was some moments before she replied, and he

r to his level-I see now how sadly I was mistaken. All that perplexed me before in him is explained. I did not guess how foolishly I had deceived myself till three days ago,-then I did gue

of mine- a good friend, a wise and kind one. Yet I was so ang

was this friend, and wh

d was Mada

ou more except my

I have been-until she had the shelter and protection denied to me. And I have thus overleaped the bound that a prudent mother would prescribe t

married to one very different from Mr. Vane-one who would be more proud of your genius than of your beauty-one who would say, 'My name, safer far in its enduring nobility than those that d

ibly there are such men. Where?-among those that are already united by sympathies in the same callings, the same labours, the same hopes and fea

was a pretty way of hers when seeking to con

re flashes upon the future,-the future which yesterday was invisible. There is a line by some English poet-Mr. Vane once quoted it, not to me, but to M. Savarin, and in illustration of his argument, that the most complicated recesses of thought are best reached by the si

e the line that so imp

h a woman's

ne? Oh, I remember

om a tower th

me about this conversation: never a word about M