When the Marquis first proposed that I should spend a day or two with him at his _pavilion de chasse_, in the neighbourhood of Bagneres, I felt a doubt in regard to it, of which I was ashamed--I was afraid of feeling afraid of anything, and I instantly accepted his invitation. I know not whether this may be very comprehensible to every one, but let any man remember his feelings when he was nineteen--an age at which we have not learned to distinguish between courage and rashness, prudence and timidity--and he will, at least, in some degree, understand, though he may blame my having acted as I did. I would willingly have suffered the Marquis to be a day in advance before I fulfilled my engagement, longing for that promised half-hour of conversation with Helen, which was to me one of those cherished anticipations on which the heart of youth spends half its ardour. Oh, how often I wish now-a-day that I could long for anything as I did in my childhood, and fill up the interval between the promise and the fulfilment with bright dreams worth a world of realities. But, alas! the uncertainty of everything earthly gradually teaches man to crowd the vacancy of expectation with fears instead of hopes, and to guard against disappointment instead of dreaming of enjoyment. However, as the Marquis was only to remain three days at his _pavilion_ ere he set out for Paris, he insisted on my accompanying him when he left the Château de l'Orme. The ride was delightful in itself, but he contrived to withdraw my attention from the scenery by the charms of his conversation. The first subject that he entered upon was my proposed visit to the court; and he drew a thousand light, yet faithful sketches of all the principal courtiers of the day.