"Angry? oh! no; on the contrary, she appeared heart-broken and miserable--raising her clasped hands towards heaven, as if to implore mercy, while her tears flowed down her pallid cheeks. About an hour after midnight she bade me call her attendants to undress her, but as soon as they had done so, and she found herself again alone with me, instead of retiring to bed, she sat down to her writing-table, and began to write in a sort of private memorandum-book. I have observed she always writes after any thing extraordinary has happened. I ventured to express my fears that she would over-fatigue herself, but she replied that, on the contrary, writing was the sole occupation which would have the effect of calming her mind. About four o'clock in the morning I left her; but long after that I could perceive the light still burning in her chamber. Upon entering softly, I found her still occupied in writing." The account of the mulatto (who by the way fabricated the history of the private memorandum-book and the extreme despondency of the princess) became of inestimable value to M. de Brévannes, who flattered himself that his unexpected presence had occasioned all the agitation, anxiety, and distress evinced by the princess--he was not aware of Madame de Hansfeld having previously recognised him at the Opera-ball, and his greatest wonder was to find her more afflicted than irritated by their meeting. M. de Brévannes was not only egotistical and obstinate, but also singularly vain, and, spite of all the coolness, even amounting to aversion, manifested by Madame de Hansfeld towards him when in Italy, he had never despaired of winning her love; his fatal duel, in compelling him to quit, had neither extinguished his selfish passion nor destroyed his insensate hopes of ultimate success, and frequently did he mentally assure himself, that but for his flight, rendered necessary by the rigour of the Italian laws, he should certainly have succeeded in gaining the heart of Paula Monti by the very violence of his passion, and through the excesses even to which its ardour impelled him, and have easily won her to forget the very name of Raphael, who, after all, had forced the quarrel upon him. Vanity is at least as blind as love itself, and M. de Brévannes, being as vain as love-stricken, felt a gleam of hope in learning that the princess had witnessed his re-appearance more in sorrow than in anger; and he farther dwelt with considerable interest on the fact as related to him by Iris. If Paula having passed her midnight hours after what he erroneously supposed her first surprise at seeing him in writing long passages in a book devoted, it would seem, to the reception of her most private thoughts and occurrences, doubtless this volume contained every particular relative to the death of Raphael as well as the circumstances which led to it, and then he too, Brévannes, must likewise figure in its pages.