I did, my dear, because I would deny you nothing that your heart was set upon: but the chevalier has given you such good reasons to suspend his lectures, that I wish you would not be earnest in your request.

But I can’t help it, madam. I want to be happy.

Well, madam, let us begin now. What English book have you at hand?

I don’t know. But I will fetch one.

She stept out, Camilla after her; and, poor lady, forgetting her purpose, brought down some of her own work, the first thing that came to hand out of a drawer that she pulled out, in her dressing-room; instead of looking into her book-case. It is an unfinished piece of Noah’s ark, and the rising deluge: the execution admirable. And, coming to me, I wonder where it has lain all this time. Are you a judge of women’s works, chevalier?

She went to the table Come hither, and sit down by me. I did. Madam, to her mother; my lord, to her brother (for the marquis withdrew, in grief, upon this instance of her wandering); come, and sit down by the chevalier and me. They did. She spread it on the table, and, in an attentive posture, her elbow on the table, her head on one hand, pointing with the finger of the other Now tell me your opinion of this work.

I praised, as it deserved, the admirable finger of the workwoman. Do you know, that’s mine, Sir? But tell me; every-body can praise; Do you see no fault? I think that is one, said 1; and pointed to a disproportion that was pretty obvious Why so it is, I never knew you to be a flatterer.

Men, who can find fault more gracefully, said the bishop, than others praise, need not flatter. Why that’s true, said she. She sighed; I was happy when I was about this work. And the drawing was my own too, after after Iforget the painter But you think it tolerable Do you?

I think it, upon the whole, very fine. If you could rectify that one fault, it would be a master-piece.

Well, I think I’ll try, since you like it. She rolled it up Camilla, let it be put on my toilette. I am glad the chevalier likes it. But, Sir, if I am not at a loss; for my head is not as it should be

Poor lady! She lost what she was going to say She paused as if she would recollect it Do you know, at last, said she, what is the matter with 1113’ head? putting her hand to her forehead Such a strange confusion just here! And so stupid! She shut her eyes. She laid her head on her mother’s shoulder; who dropt an involuntary tear on her forehead.

The bishop was affected. Can you, chevalier, whispered he, suppose this dear creature’s reason in your power, and yet withhold it from her?

Ah, my lord said I, how cruel!