pleased, although I think you cannot possibly assume a more attractive character than your own."

Stanley appreciated this flattering observation, and having acknowledged the receipt of the compliment inclosed, he gracefully took leave of Madame Poupetier, stepped into his cab, and drove off.

It was perhaps but natural that he should have deemed all this strange. The interview, instead of satisfying his curiosity, had had the effect of exciting it still more. What could be the nature of this important communication? What could it mean? Surely no lady had become desperately enamoured of him? It was very mysterious! The warm manner of Madame Poupetier, her mode of pressing hand, and sticking so closely to him on the sofa, with other little familiarities, with which he could not feel displeased, he attributed to the fact of her being a Frenchwoman, in whom they were understood to be common civilities. This he could-or, at all events, fancied he could-well understand, but nothing more; all the rest was a mystery, which had still to be solved.

CHAPTER XIV.

Explains the characteristics of a peculiar Fancy Dress Ball, at which Stanky receives a highly interesting communication.

Ar the appointed hour the following evening, Stanley-having explained to Amelia that, as he was going to sup with a few friends, he should not perhaps return quite so early as usual-repaired to the residence of Madame Poupetier, who received him with characteristic grace, and expressed herself highly delighted.

"Mademoiselle Mignon," said Madame Poupetier, after the first cordial greeting, "has not yet arrived; but I expect her every inYou cannot conceive how enraptured she was when I told her that you would be here."

stant.

Stanley now, of course, perceived that Mademoiselle Mignon was the little Isabelle, and having observed that he should be equally delighted to see her, he was sent with an attendant to put on the dress she had prepared, and was then led by Madame Poupetier into a brilliantly illuminated ball-room, in which there were from thirty to forty persons assembled, of whom the majority were females, dressed in various styles, with so much elegance and taste, that each style appeared to be absolutely the most attractive. He had never before seen so much beauty. It appeared to be impossible for the pas sion of envy to be excited there; for although some were habited as nuns, some as sylphs, and some as peasants, while others were in Persian, Greek, and Turkish costumes, they vied with each other in personal charms so successfully, that it would have been indeed extremely difficult to point out the loveliest in the room.

As Stanley entered, eight very young and graceful creatures, who appeared to have been under the tuition of some accomplished maître de ballet, were engaged in a picturesque dance, of which several gaily-attired elderly gentlemen appeared to be lost in admiration. At the upper end of the room a quadrille band was stationed, and by the side of the temporary orchestra a group of old ladies, with remarkably round, red, anti-aristocratical faces, stood discussing with surprising volubility, divers matters, in which they seemed to take the deepest possible interest. But for this particular group,

which was not fairy-like in the slightest degree, the whole scene would have appeared to be one of enchantment. This reduced it at once in Stanley's view to reality; and, as an elegant brunette at the moment took his arm pro tem. he began to notice the chief characteristics of the scene, a variety of which struck him as being most strange; but that which he held to be more extraordinary than all was the dearth, nay, the almost total absence of young men. The ladies danced with each other, promenaded with each other, and chatted with each other exclusively, which Stanley conceived to be not quite correct; although it might have been reasonably inferred, from their vivacity, that nothing was really wanted to render their happiness complete.

the

He had scarcely, however, brought his mind to bear upon cause of this singular circumstance, when Madame Poupetier re-entered the room with an exceedingly delicate beautiful blonde, whom she introduced to Stanley as plain Isabelle. He had never before beheld a creature so fair. Her skin was as clear and fine as that of an infant, rendering more sparkling her brilliant blue eyes, which, notwithstanding the whiteness of her lashes and brows, were peculiarly expressive; while her flaxen hair, soft and fine as silk, hung in ringlets upon a bosom comparable only to animated wax.

There could be now no longer any doubt about which was the loveliest girl in the room; for, although she was dressed in the most simple style, she, at least in Stanley's view, eclipsed them all; while -on recovering her self-possession, for she appeared somewhat tremulous when Stanley took her hand-she spoke in tones of surpassing sweetness.

There is probably nothing more really engaging than the simple conversation of one who has acquired a sufficient knowledge of our language to make herself just understood. Like the innocent prattle of an infant, it fixes our attention, while we are interested and amused, and almost imperceptibly inspires us with feelings which are nearly allied to those of love.

Isabelle was born and educated in France. She had been at the period of her introduction to Stanley but twelve months in England, and knew just enough of the English language to make those with whom she conversed comprehend what she meant. Stanley was therefore charmed with her conversation, and gazed upon her as she spoke as he would have gazed upon a child. Indeed he regarded her but as a child, assumed a patronising tone, smiled at everything she said, however seriously intended, and kept her hand playfully in his.

"You will dance with me, Isabelle ?" said he.

"Oh! I vill be mos delight!"'

"You are extremely fond of dancing, I presume?" "Oh, yes! I vos lof it indeed veery great."

Well, then, we'll dance the next set."

And they did so; and nothing could surpass the elegant ease of Isabelle, who glided through the figures like a fairy. Stanley now became more delighted with her than ever, and went through the following set, and then joined in a waltz, which he kept up with spirit, until his knees began to tremble, and he had lost the point of

sight, when with great consideration he drew her arm in his, and inquired if she did not begin to feel fatigued. "Fatigue!" she exclaimed, with surprise. feel fatigue till the day beefore to-morrow.'

"Oh non: I vill not

Stanley believed what she meant to convey; but as he felt fatigued himself, he confessed it, and led her to a seat, when she gaily explained to him that she had on one occasion danced "tree days effeery day, vid no daylight, no fatigue, no sleep," and he warmly applauded her spirit.

"And now, Isabelle," said he, taking advantage of a pause, "what is this highly important secret you are so anxious to communicate ?" "Oh," said Isabelle, blushing deeply, and pretending to adjust Stanley's dress, "I cannot possible tell to you now: I am beesy." But, my dear girl, you may as well tell me at once."

My dear girl!" echoed Isabelle, with an expression of pleasure. "Upon my word I beg pardon," said Stanley; "but really I am so accustomed-"

"Accustom!" interrupted Isabelle, as she turned her blue eyes full upon him-"Accustom!-Oh, yes!" she continued, as her features relaxed, "you have leetel sistare-dear girl-I comprehend." "Well, then," said Stanley, "now, keep me no longer in suspense. What is it?"

"Noting a tall beefore souper! Indeed it vos not quite possible to tell to you beefore."

Madame Poupetier now approached, and, after making a variety of observations touching matters in general, but more particularly with reference to the perfect understanding which appeared to exist between Stanley and Isabelle, she expressed a highly laudable hope that they were happy, and left them again to themselves.

"Have you known Madame Poupetier long?" inquired Stanley. "No; not long. I vos not been in Engeland long." "Your friends knew her, probably, before you arrived ?" "Oh, no," said Isabelle, with an aspect of sadness. "My friends nevare vos know Madame Poupetier." And as she spoke, the tears sprang into her eyes, which she tried, but in vain, to conceal.

Stanley changed the subject in a moment; but before Isabelle could reassume her wonted gaiety supper was announced, to the entire satisfaction not only of the elderly gentlemen, but of the redfaced ladies, who hailed the announcement with manifest delight. They therefore at once slipped away, taking with them all who were not then engaged in the dance, save Stanley and Isabelle, who found pleasure in lingering until the conclusion of the quadrille, when they followed of course with the rest.

On entering the supper-room, Stanley found everything arranged in the most recherché style, and for the first time perceived that, while engaged with Isabelle, the number of gentlemen had greatly increased.

"Is that Monsieur Poupetier?" he inquired, alluding to a fine portly person who sat at the top of one of the tables.

Isabelle looked and smiled, and then replied, "Non. Dere nevare vos be Monsieur Poupetier. Madame Poupetier vos nevare be marry."

"Indeed!" said Stanley; "I was not aware of that." Isabelle looked and smiled again.

The champagne soon began to go round very briskly, and the guests felt, in consequence, much less restrained. They conversed with more spirit, and laughed with more freedom, and, indeed, there were several present who displayed no inconsiderable share of true wit. These, however, did not create the most laughter. The greatest amount of merriment was produced by two aged individuals, who had not a tooth between them, but who, nevertheless, exhibited the chief characteristics of buffoons to such perfection that Mirth burst the barrier of Pity to roar. Not, however, content with this pleasing result of the laudable development of his genius, one of them actually kissed two nuns who sat beside him; and Stanley conceived, as they offered no resistance, but, on the contrary, felt rather flattered than not, that he was the father of those nuns, or their uncle, or their guardian at least, until Madame Poupetier, who saw the outrage committed, exclaimed, with appropriate solemnity, "My Lord!"

The expression of the noble individual's queer countenance on being thus solemnly called to order, became so excessively droll that it induced a simultaneous burst of laughter, which, being both loud and long-continued, threw his lordship into a state of perfect rapture, the powerful development of which he managed by rolling remarkably in their sockets his two odd eyes, with which, in point of legitimate obliquity, nothing at all comparable in the annals of eyes, either ancient or modern, exists upon record. The only person who did not laugh at this highly interesting exhibition was the noble lord's rival. To him the effect was wormwood. He became extremely jealous. He held it to be a monstrous monopoly, and tried to break it down; but, although he laboured hard to eclipse the noble lord, he eventually felt himself utterly extinguished.

It may here be remarked, that champagne is a wine of which ladies in general are fond: it were useless, perhaps, to dive to any depth into the cause; but that they do love it dearly is a fact which experience has placed beyond the pale of dispute. Such being the case, then, it may, without any impropriety, be mentioned, that at this particular period of the evening that light and lively wine began to work its legitimate effects upon the elderly round-faced ladies by whom the festive board was adorned, and who entered at large into the general economy of the establishments over which they had respectively the honour to preside. This appeared to be deeply interesting to them, but not to Stanley: still his eyes might even then have been opened, had not Madame Poupetier, with great adroitness, suggested that the young ladies present were then at liberty to return to the ball-room, when, as this correct suggestion was acted upon generally, Stanley and Isabelle joined them at once.

"Now, Isabelle," said Stanley, having led her to a seat, “what is this grand secret?"

Isabelle gazed at him intensely for a moment, and then said, "Estil encore un secret?

"Oui, vraiment," replied Stanley ; “mais parlez Anglais. Il m'est difficile il m'est difficile de vous faire comprendre en Français; en même temps j'admire beaucoup plus-beaucoup plus-j'admire beaucoup plus votre Anglais que votre Français."

"Vich vos be de same to me myself, but different. Still I sall try to pleasure you."

"Well, then," said Stanley. "Now, what is it?"

"Vy," said Isabelle, as she played with Stanley's chain, and arranged it in various devices upon his vest, "it is—I—it is veery terrible to me to tell you. I cannot possible."

"Why, you silly girl?"

"Vell, you sall-you sall deviner-vot you call?-guess—yes, yes, you sall guess."

"Impossible! I cannot."

"Cannot guess? Vot vill I do? You vill not be angry ? Please do not be angry."

Angry, my dear girl! Why should I be angry? I cannot be angry with you."

Isabelle raised her eyes, which then sparkled with pleasure; but dropped them again as she said, "Oh, it is veery shocking for me! but it vill as vell bee done at last as at fost!" when, taking a deep inspiration, she added, "I lof you!" and buried her face in his bosom.

"And this is the secret," thought Stanley. "Well! I suspected as much. Now how am I to act? I must not be serious with this poor girl. I must pass it off with levity-treat it as a jest. Isabelle," said he, playfully, "let me see your eyes."

Conceiving that his object was to test her sincerity, she looked at him firmly in an instant.

"And so you really love me?"

"Oh, yes, indeed! I have veery dear great lof for you in my heart." "Upon my honour I feel highly flattered."

"Oh, no: tere is no flatterie in vérité. Indeed I vos not a tall flatter."

"And, pray, how long have I had the honour of your love?" "Evare, from ven I deed know you to see."

"Indeed! Well, that is strange. But, Isabelle, what is the character of your love?"

"Te character? I cannot tell. I nevare deed lof like tis lof beefore. Oh! it is happiness-yet it is not: it gives to me pleasure, and yet it does not: it is te supreme-it is-oh!-it is lof!"

"Now, suppose, Isabelle, that I were married."

"But, if I were ?

Vy, if you vere marry, it vill be veery terrible to me."

"Of course in such a case you would love me no more?"

"No more! Till evare and evare! I vill not help it. But, no, no, you are not marry a tall. I perceive by you smile you are not, vich is veery great felicity to me."

"Well, come," said Stanley, attempting to rise, "shall we dance

the next set?"

"Yes-yes," said Isabelle; "but-you have quite forget to tell to me someting."

"Indeed! What have I forgotten?"

"You have quite entirely forget to say you lof me." "Well, that is indeed very wrong, is it not?"

"But," said Isabelle, after a pause, "you have nevare tell to me still!-You do not love me."

"Love you! How can I resist? I can't but love so sweet a girl." "But do you lof me vid de veritable lof vich is lof—vich is true? Ah! vy you hesitate? vy you not answer to me? You are marry!