'I know not how to begin all I have to say, but the message comes to you partly from the Chevalier d'Ische, and from the Prince, his companion.' 'De Vaudemont?' 'Hush! oh, hush!' she cried, in a stifled voice; 'were that name heard here I should be destroyed. Well, monsieur, they are charmed by your courage and bearing.' 'They do me infinite honour, mademoiselle, no less by the compliment than by the messenger they have chosen; and this message--' 'Concerns Madame d'Amboise.' 'Your mistress?' 'My mistress?' reiterated Nicola, with a haughty laugh. 'Your friend then.' 'Neither my mistress nor my friend; but one day you may know this enigma. Well, 'tis of this lady I would speak: M. Blane, you do not love this woman--foolish boy, you cannot love her!' 'You call me boy, who are but yourself a girl.' 'A girl? true; but a woman in experience. We begin life early in this lively city of Paris, my dear M. Blane. Can you hope to fix such a heart as that of the Countess?' 'I dare hope anything,' said I, as all Clara's beauty and fascination came before me. 'Is it worth fixing, a heart that is full of vanity, and finds no charm in religion, or in virtue? You cannot raise this woman to the rank even of a citizen's wife if you married her.' 'Married her!' I reiterated; 'by my faith, mademoiselle,' I added, after a long pause of perplexity, 'you are a bold little chit to speak thus of the Countess--' 'Of the wretched mistress of Louis XIII.!' said Nicola, with a gesture of contempt. 'Marriage was never thought of, by me, at least; on my honour, I assure you, Nicola.' ''Tis well,' she replied, with singular dignity; 'for by that act you would lower yourself for ever, and adopt the stigma of her shame, and of her crimes.' 'Crimes! oh, mademoiselle, whither is your energy carrying you?' 'Crimes, or sins, you would soon learn to despise her, while your own purity would render you an object of hate; your youth, as contrasted with her riper years, an object of intolerant jealousy. Avoid her, M. Blane, and love one who is young, beautiful, and worthy of you.' 'Like yourself, charming Nicola,' said I, gallantly, and attempting to take her hand; 'the deuce! you are reading me quite a motherly lecture, little one.' She blushed under her velvet mask, and drew back, for kindness and earnestness had borne her thus away, and my perhaps mistimed gallantry offended her. 'Do you not perceive how she receives you? She is always dressing her hair, or reclining on a couch, her neck and shoulders bare; her dress a dishabille. Her eyes are ever rolling, drooping, or languishing, and she courts compliments and kisses, which take the rouge from her cheeks; and thus has she dallied with many before you knew her. Oh, fie! M. Blane, you have been both very naughty, and very silly. There is no love in all this, it is mere allurement. Pure love,' she added, in her tremulously gentle voice, 'should be pure and chaste as an infant's dream.'