Your letter arrived a trifle late; I had already seen the banker.
You are a child, Melchior, and you are playing tricks with us. It
is not right. The duke himself is quite indignant at your
proceedings; he thinks you less than a gentleman, which casts some
reflections on your mother's honor.

Now, I intend to see things for myself. I shall, I believe, have
the honor of accompanying _Madame_ to the hunt which the Duc
d'Herouville proposes to give for Mademoiselle de La Bastie. I
will manage to have you invited to Rosembray, for the meet will
probably take place in Duc de Verneuil's park.

Pray believe, my dear poet, that I am none the less, for life,


Your friend, Eleonore de M.


"There, Ernest, just look at that!" cried Canalis, tossing the letter
at Ernest's nose across the breakfast-table; "that's the two
thousandth love-letter I have had from that woman, and there isn't
even a 'thou' in it. The illustrious Eleonore has never compromised
herself more than she does there. Marry, and try your luck! The worst
marriage in the world is better than this sort of halter. Ah, I am the
greatest Nicodemus that ever tumbled out of the moon! Modeste has
millions, and I've lost her; for we can't get back from the poles,
where we are to-day, to the tropics, where we were three days ago!
Well, I am all the more anxious for your triumph over the grand
equerry, because I told the duchess I came here only for your sake;
and so I shall do my best for you."