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CHAPTER III.
"For what will love's exalting not go through,
Till long neglect, and utter selfishness,
Shame the fond pride it takes in its distress?"
Leigh Hunt.
"A traveller sees many wonderful sights," said the Chevalier de Joinville, as he entered Madame de Mercœur's apartment; "And such have I seen at Fontainebleau—De Bethune and his Armida filant l'amour parfait, in a style which it would be worth Scuderi's while making a journey there to study. I was riding through the forest, when suddenly (pray correct my phraseology if too worldly—you know I am not well read in these epics of the heart) I saw a knight and his lady traversing one of the glades; the golden sunshine fell athwart the green leaves, and showed their white steeds and whiter plumes, while the air around grew musical with their gentle words and laughter."
"Gage!" exclaimed Madame de Mercœur,
