“Know you!” she repeated, still leaning on his arm perhaps a little heavier than before. “What lady in Paris does not know you as the citadel to resist all her efforts of attack?—as the Orson, the woman-hater, the man of marble, who has no vanity, no feelings, no heart?—the only creature left in this uninteresting town worth conquering? And all those who have tried it, no small number, vow that victory is impossible.” “It shows how little they comprehend me,” he replied, in a tone of jest, and still pretending not to recognise his companion, who held her head down and took refuge studiously beneath her mask. “If you, madame, would condescend to become better acquainted with me, you would soon learn the falsehood of these ladies’ reports to my discredit!” “Discredit!” she echoed, and to his surprise, nay, to his dismay, a tear fell on the gloved hand within his arm. What could he do but dry it with a kiss? “Discredit!” she said again, in a tone of increasing emotion. “How little you must understand us if you can make use of such a term! Who would care to possess that which half the town has worn and thrown away? What is the value of a heart that has been cut into little scraps and shreds, and left in portions at different friends’ houses like gifts on New-year’s-day? No, monsieur, if I must give all I am worth for a diamond, let it be such a diamond as the Regent’s—large, clear, and entire—not a collection of fragments only held together by their golden setting, like a necklace of Madame de Sabran or Madame de Parabére.” Captain George did not quite follow out the metaphor, his attention being at this moment somewhat distracted by a figure that reminded him of Cerise, yet that he felt was as unlike Cerise as possible. The Musketeer was also a very moderate proficient in the lighter accomplishments of gallantry, being of a self-contained though energetic nature, that was disposed to do its work thoroughly or not at all. He was one of those men, of whom there are more in the world than ladies suppose, whose respect for the sex restrains them from taking that initiative which they forget the latter are especially privileged to decline. Unless, therefore, a woman throws herself at their heads, they make no advances at all, and then these wretches are just the sort of characters with which such a course, repugnant to their instinctive sense of fitness, is least likely to succeed, after all. They are consequently very difficult birds to tame, and either escape altogether, or are lured into the cage, accidentally as it were, by a pretty face, a shy manner, and some rare combination of circumstances which nobody on earth could have foreseen. When a lady has fairly started, however, and got warmed to her subject, I imagine little is to be gained by interrupting her, and that no efforts of eloquence find so much favour as the forbearance of a good listener.