“Ar--really--I am scarcely sanguine enough to hope to carry the citadel by a _coup-de-maim_,” returned De Grandeville; “but my tactics will be very much regulated by those of my fair enemy at present. If I might judge by one or two slight skirmishes we have had together, the garrison will not hold out to extremity when once the breastworks are taken, and the place properly invested.” At this moment a servant approached De Grandeville with a message from General Grant requesting his presence. “Ar--yes--say I’ll attend the General immediately,” was the reply; then, as the servant departed, De Grandville continued, “Ar--the course of true love never did run smooth, you see, Mr. Leicester. Ar--I shall have an opportunity of speaking to you again on this matter, and hearing your opinion more in full; at present I must wish you good morning.” So saying, he slightly raised his hat in salutation, and marched off in a great state of dignified self-complacency. Leicester watched him till he was out of sight; then, springing from his seat, he began pacing up and down the terrace with hasty strides, muttering from time to time such uncomplimentary remarks as, “Insufferable puppy!” “Conceited ass!” all of which evidently bore reference to his late companion. Having let off a little of his extra steam by this means, he gave vent to the following soliloquy: “Well, I’m nicely in for it this time! Because a love affair, with the chance of possible consequences, wasn’t trouble enough, I must have a rival step in--and such a rival--why, the very sight of that man disagrees with me; and then to hear him talk, it’s positively sickening! I’ll be off to London to-morrow morning; and yet I do like the girl,--I know I do, because it is continually occurring to me that I am not half good enough for her. I suppose she looks upon me as a mere fortune-hunter--thinks I only care about her for the sake of her money. I wish she hadn’t a farthing! I wish--eh! what am I talking about? Heigho! that’s another curse of poverty: a poor devil like me can’t even afford the luxury of a disinterested attachment. Then that man--that De Grandeville--to hear an animal like that debating whether she was good enough for him! I declare he’s made me feel quite feverish! I’d no idea it was possible for _anything_ to excite me to such a degree. If the notion were not too preposterous, I should really begin to fancy I must be falling in love! She never can have the bad taste to like him--in fact, there’s nothing to like in him--and yet the fellow seemed confident; but that is the nature of the brute. Though I don’t know, women are such fools sometimes, she might take him at his own price--that military swagger of his might go down with some of the sex. Once let a woman fancy a man to be a hero, or a martyr, or a patriot, or any other uncomfortable celebrity certain to make a bad husband, and she will be ready to throw herself at his head,--just as if such a fellow were not the very last