held it in that light. When it pleased Heaven, or Fate—whichever name you please to give the abstraction—to throw me out upon a world with which my life has been one long war, it pleased that Power to give me nothing but my brains for weapons in the great fight. No rank, no rent-roll, neither mother nor father, friend nor patron. All to win, and nothing to lose. How much I had won when I first saw you it would be hard for you, born in those great saloons to which I have struggled from the mire of the streets—it would be very hard, I say, for you to guess. I entered Paris one year ago, possessed of a sum of money which to me was wealth, but which might, perhaps, to you, be a month's income. I had only one object—to multiply that sum a hundredfold. I became, therefore, a speculator, or, as you call it, 'an adventurer.' As a speculator, I took my seat in the stalls of the Opera House the night I first saw you."
She looked at him in utter bewilderment, as he sat in his most careless attitude, playing with the gold handle of his riding-whip, but she did not attempt to speak, and he continued,—
"I happened to hear from a bystander that you were the richest woman in France. Do you know, mademoiselle, how an adventurer, with a tolerably handsome face and a sufficiently gentlemanly address, generally calculates on enriching himself? Or, if you do not know, can you guess?"
"No," she muttered, looking at him now as if she were in a trance, and he had some strange magnetic power over her.
"Then, mademoiselle, I must enlighten you. The adventurer who does not care to grow grey and decrepit in making a fortune by that slow and uncertain mode which people call 'honest industry,' looks about him for a fortune ready made and waiting for him to claim it. He makes a wealthy marriage."
"A wealthy marriage?" She repeated the words after him, as if mechanically.
"Therefore, mademoiselle, on seeing you, and on hearing the extent of your fortune, I said to myself, 'That is the woman I must marry!'"
"Monsieur!" She started indignantly from her reclining attitude; but the effort was too much for her shattered frame, and she sank back exhausted.
"Nay, mademoiselle, I did not say 'That is the woman I will marry,' but rather, 'That is the woman I must try to marry;' for as yet, remember, I did not hold one card in the great game I had to play. I raised my glass, and looked long at your face. A very beautiful face, mademoiselle, as you and your glass have long decided between you. I was—pardon me—disappointed. Had you been an ugly woman, my chances would have been so much better. Had you been disfigured by a hump—(if it had
