let US hasten to say, she was more frequently charming than beautiful. The two persons appeared to have attained the culminating point of a discussion, half-bantering, half-serious.
"Now, Monsieur Malicorne," said the young girl, "does it, at length, please you that we should talk reasonably?"
"You believe that that is very easy. Mademoiselle Aure," replied the young man.
"To do what we like, when we can only do what we are able "
"Good!" said the young man; "there she is bewildered in her phrases."
"Who, I?"
"Yes, you; leave that lawyers' logic, my dear."
"Another impossibility."
"Clerk, I am Mademoiselle de Montalais."
"Demoiselle, I am Monsieur Malicorne."
"Alas, I know it well, and you overwhelm me by distance; so I will say no more to you."
"Well, but, no, I don't overwhelm you; say what you have to tell me — say it, I insist upon it."
"Well, I obey you."
"That is truly fortunate."
"Monsieur is dead."
"Ah, peste! there's news! And where do you come from, to be able to tell us that?"
"I come from Orleans, mademoiselle."
"And is that all the news you bring?"
"Ah, no; I am come to tell you that Madame Henrietta of England is coming to marry his majesty's brother."
"Indeed, Malicorne, you are insupportable with your news of the last century. Now, mind, if you persist in this bad habit of laughing at people, I will have you turned out."
"Oh!"
"Yes; for really you exasperate me."
"There, there! Patience, mademoiselle."
"You want to make yourself of consequence; I know well enough why. Go!"
"Tell me, and I will answer you frankly, yes, if the thing be true."
"You know that I am anxious to have that commission of lady of honor, which I have been foolish enough to ask of you, and you do not use your credit."
"Who, I?" Malicorne cast down his eyes, joined his hands, and assumed his sullen air. "And what credit can the poor clerk of a procureur have, pray?"
