those pages that treat of the fashions,—profoundly versed, I warrant, in the Magasin des Modes tacked to the end of the index. But shall I, even with all the mastership which my mind must exercise over his,—shall I be able utterly to free myself in this 'Peer of the world's' mind from a degrading remembrance? Cuckold, cuckold, 'tis an ugly word; a convenient, willing cuckold, humph!—there is no grandeur, no philosophical varnish in the phrase. Let me see,—yes! I have a remedy for all that. I was married privately,—well! under disguised names,—well! it was a stolen marriage, far from her town,—well! witnesses unknown to her,—well! proofs easily secured to my possession,—excellent! the fool shall believe it a forged marriage, an ingenious gallantry of mine; I will wash out the stain cuckold, with the water of another word; I will make market of a mistress, not a wife. I will warn him not to acquaint her with this secret: let me consider for what reason,—oh! my son's legitimacy may be convenient to me hereafter. He will understand that reason, and I will have his 'honour' thereon. And by the way, I do care for that legitimacy, and will guard the
