Epernay, where Marechal Biron was killed by a cannon-ball, was our next halting-place; and there at our inn we saw a picture of Guilleriz, the famous robber, who built a castle in the wood of Gralla in Brittany, where, after being besieged by five thousand men, he was taken prisoner, and broken alive upon the wheel in 1608. Now, as Epernay lies only fourteen miles south of Rheims, I began to perceive that we were travelling a little too fast, and that the time when I must part from my delightful companion drew nearer by every hour and mile. CHAPTER XXXV. IN LOVE WITH A SOUBRETTE. 'Neither virtue nor vice consists in passive sentiment--but in action.' I remembered this maxim of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, and resolved to be actively good, and to thrust the Countess from my heart for the future; never considering, at the time I applied this trite saying of M. Marcus to myself, it was merely the image of Mademoiselle Nicola which was gradually effacing that of Madame d'Amboise. Propinquity, no doubt, had much to do with this new fancy which hourly grew upon me; besides, the young heart is decidedly opposed to existing in a state of vacuum, and loves novelty and variety; hence, the moment one bright image passes away, another occupies it; thus as the distance between the Countess and me increased, the greater grew my interest in Nicola--but then, Nicola was only a soubrette! Now as all that lovers say--but here as yet the love seemed all on my side--is deemed very prolix, vapid, and foolish, by the wise and matter-of-fact people of this world, I will not attempt to rehearse the various little conversations by which Nicola and I beguiled the way. One or two I may insert, as I know that such conferences are not without interest to the fairer portion of mankind; and with them I have the honour to agree in all things. 'Mademoiselle,' said I, after a long silence, as we approached Chalons, 'I am so happy to be with you!' 'I am equally glad that Monsieur is pleased.' 'How can we ever part, Nicola? When the time comes, I shall be the most wretched man in Lorraine.' 'A gallant man would have said "in the world,"' she replied, with a waggish smile; 'but will not M. l'Abbé have his prayers to attend to? 'By Jove! my dear girl, then I shall have to pray in my helmet and boots, like a bishop of Cahors.' I observed, however, that unless my remarks savoured of the merest commonplace, of the scenery, the towns we passed through, or of the war which had cast us so oddly together, she was usually silent; and whenever I attempted to become tender or complimentary (and then only with a timidity for which I could not account), she betrayed a mixture of cloudy reserve, or quick irritation, which, if not very artful in a soubrette, were decidedly perplexing to me.