you consequently any hope of success? That is the question. I don't mind telling you, for my own part, that I have failed. Now that I am no more piqued I reason it out to myself in this way; she is often bad tempered, and as I will tell you in a minute, she is quite vindictive.
"I fail to detect in her that bilious temperament which is the sign of genius, and shows as it were a veneer of passion over all its actions. On the contrary, she owes her rare beauty and her fresh complexion to the phlegmatic, tranquil character of the Dutch."
Julien began to lose patience with the phlegmatic slowness of the imperturbable Spaniard; he could not help giving vent to some monosyllables from time to time.
"Will you listen to me?" Don Diego Bustos gravely said to him.
"Forgive the furia franchese; I am all ears," said Julien.
"The maréchale de Fervaques then is a great hater; she persecutes ruthlessly people she has never seen—advocates, poor devils of men of letters who have composed songs like Collé, you know?
"Jai la marotte
D'aimer Marote, etc."
And Julien had to put up with the whole quotation.
The Spaniard was very pleased to get a chance of singing in French.
That divine song was never listened to more impatiently. When it was finished Don Diego said—"The maréchale procured the dismissal of the author of the song:
"Un jour l'amour au cabaret."
Julien shuddered lest he should want to sing it. He contented himself with analysing it. As a matter of fact, it was blasphemous and somewhat indecent.
"When the maréchale become enraged against that song," said Don Diego, "I remarked to her that a woman of her rank ought not to read all the stupid things that are published. Whatever progress piety and gravity may make France will always have a cabaret literature.
"'Be careful,' I said to madame de Fervaques when she had
