man of violent passions. Johnson's American Circus was making a tour through France at the time. The comte followed it to Orlèans, to Tours, to Saumur, to Angers, and finally, at Nantes, he capped the climax of his folly, just as a Russian might have done, and having neither father nor mother living, carried you off and married you.
Oh, dear! how dolefully that asthmatic barrel-organ keeps on grinding out that old galop in the twilight!
What was there left to do after the first weeks of the delirious honeymoon, that you spent in a lovely little village at the seashore? The men at the Jockey Club, down there in the city, were laughing to split their sides, and the women of fashion were bursting with anger and jealousy behind their fans. The comte did the best thing he could under the circumstances; he went into voluntary exile for a few years. Ah! my poor comtesse, how you yawned with ennui in that great black palace at Florence, where your husband had you trained and taught like a little girl, and where you had to stomach so many lessons and endure so many instructors. Like the grateful woman that you were—alas! it could not be said that you were a loving one—you wished to please the comte and make yourself worthy of him, but that, of course, required time, and, for all his patience, how your husband used to wound you with his continual: "Don't speak like that—don't do that," invariably accompanied by a freezing my dear, that went to your heart!
All women are teachable. "Parvenu" is a word for which there is no feminine. At the expiration of
