"Good gracious, Mr. Burrel!" she exclaimed, much more surprised than was at all proper. "Or Mr. Beauchamp, am I to call you? for people tell me, that the Mr. Burrel I had the pleasure of knowing, was known to others under the name of Beauchamp. But under whatever name you choose, I am most happy to see you; for all your good friends in England told me you were dead." "They have done me too much honour in every respect, my dear madam," replied Beauchamp. "Those the gods love, you know, die young. But though I must plead guilty to having deceived you, by calling myself names far different from my own; yet believe me, when I assure you that I had no hand in my own death. That was entirely arranged by my friends and relations--though I doubt not, when I go back to England, the public prosecutor will think fit to arraign me for _felo-de-se_ with as much justice as the coroner's jury returned a verdict of murder against poor William Delaware." "Ah, that was a terrible business!" replied Mrs. Darlington. "A terrible business, indeed, poor young man! and I should like to talk it over with you, Mr. Beauchamp--but I dare say that was your carriage waiting, and I will not keep you now; but if you will return at half-past six, and dine with me and the Abbé de ----, who is as deaf as a pug-dog, I will tell you a curious circumstance which has occurred to me since I came here--not about the Delawares, indeed, poor people, but about something that happened just at the same time." Now every thing that happened at that time was more or less a matter of interest to Henry Beauchamp; and therefore he willingly agreed to dine and hear, according to invitation. A few minutes after the appointed time, he was in the saloon of Madame Darlington's apartments, where he found that lady, with a worthy ex-emigré Abbé--the very sort of man who could dine with a widow lady of any age without scandal. Beauchamp fully understood the _beinseance_ of never being curious about anything, and therefore he listened to all Mrs. Darlington's reasons for being in Paris--how London was of course out of the question in October--how the house she had hired near Emberton had turned out as damp as a fen, and smelt of a wet dog from the garret to the kitchen--how Paris always afforded variety, &c.--without showing the slightest inclination to enquire into the occurrence she had mentioned in the morning. Dinner was announced, and was as _recherche_ in France as if it had been at Emberton; but not a word took place concerning _the occurrence_ Mrs. Darlington spending all the leisure moments in marvelling that Mr. Beauchamp and herself could have remained in the same house for four days without discovering their proximity. After dinner, Beauchamp's _beinseance_ began to get tired, and probably would have broken down entirely, had he not fortunately happened to take up a very beautiful eyeglass, set with emeralds, in the French fashion, which lay upon the table in the saloon.