all other second secretaries of legation in the world. You may be sure
that there is not a single idea in his head that is really his own. Even
his figure does not belong to himself; it is the _chef-d'oeuvre_ of the
united efforts of his tailor and his shirt-maker."

"According to this, a prime requisite in the man whom you could love is
to be poorly clad."

"If ever my heart is touched, it will be because I have met a man who
is not like all the other men of my acquaintance. After that I will not
positively forbid him to have decent clothing."

M. Moriaz made a little gesture of impatience, and then set out to
regain the chaise, which was some distance in advance. When he
had proceeded about twenty steps, he paused, and, turning towards
Antoinette, who was engaged in readjusting her hood and rebuttoning her
twelve-button gloves, he said:

"I have drawn an odd number in the great lottery of this world. In our
day there are no romantic girls; the last remaining one is mine."

"That is it; I am a romantic girl!" she cried, tossing her pretty, curly
head with an air of defiance; "and if you are wise you will not urge me
to marry, for I never shall make any but an ineligible match."

"Ah, speak lower!" he exclaimed, casting a hurried glance around him,
and adding: "Thank Heaven! there is no one here but the Albula to hear
you."

M. Moriaz mistook. Had he raised his eyes a little higher he would have