ing with. "You were the beautiful Rose-girl; are your roses withered so soon?"
"What is there that does not wither? not the constancy of man? I saw you when you slipped off with the Carmelite. Acknowledge your inconstancy—you can deny it no longer."
"Hem," answered Philip, dryly, Accuse me if you will, I can return the accusation."
"How,—pretty butterfly?"
"Why, for instance, there is not a more constant man alive than the Marshal."
"There is not indeed!—and I am wrong, very wrong to have listened to you so long. I reproached myself enough, but he has unfortunately discovered our flirtation."
"Since the last rout at Court, fair Widow—"
"Were you so unguarded and particular—pretty butterfly!"
"Let us repair the mischief. Let us part. I honor the Marshal, and, for my part, do not like to give him pain."
The Widow looked at him for some time in speechless amazement.
"If you have indeed any regard for me," continued Philip, "you will go with the Marshal to Poland, to visit your relations. 'T is better that we should not meet so often. A beautiful woman is beautiful—but a pure and virtuous woman is more beautiful still."
"Prince!" cried the astonished Widow, "are
