The man paused for a few moments, and then replied--"Night and day, I pray to God, upon my bended knees, only one unvarying, unceasing prayer, and that is--'When the last agonies shall be upon that man--when, sick with weariness, pain, disease, hunger, he lies down to die--when the death-gurgle is in the throat, and the eye swims beneath the last dull film--when remembrance peoples the chamber with Hell, and his cowardice would falter forth its dastard recantation to Heaven--then--may I be there?" There was a long pause, only broken by the woman's sobs, which she appeared endeavouring to stifle. At last the man rose, and in a tone so soft that it seemed literally like music, addressed her in the most endearing terms. She soon yielded to their persuasion, and replied to them with interest. "Spite of the stings of my remorse," she said, "as long as I lose not you, I will lose life, honour, hope, even soul itself!" They both quitted the spot as she said this. O, that woman's love! how strong is it in its weakness! how beautiful in its guilt! CHAPTER XXII. At length the treacherous snare was laid, Poor pug was caught--to town convey'd; There sold. How envied was his doom, Made captive in a lady's room! --Gay's Fables. I was sitting alone a morning or two after this adventure, when Bedos entering, announced une dame. This dame was a fine tall thing, dressed out like a print in the Magasin des Modes. She sate herself down, threw up her veil, and, after a momentary pause, asked me if I liked my apartment? "Very much," said I, somewhat surprised at the nature of the interrogatory. "Perhaps you would wish it altered in some way?" rejoined the lady. "Non--mille remercimens!" said I--"you are very good to be so interested in my accommodation." "Those curtains might be better arranged--that sofa replaced with a more elegant one," continued my new superintendant. "Really," said I, "I am too, too much flattered. Perhaps you would like to have my rooms altogether; if so, make at least no scruple of saying it." "Oh, no," replied the lady, "I have no objection to your staying here." "You are too kind," said I, with a low bow. There was a pause of some moments--I took advantage of it. "I think, Madame, I have the honour of speaking to--to--to--" "The mistress of the hotel," said the lady, quietly. "I merely called to ask you how you did, and hope you were well accommodated." "Rather late, considering I have been six weeks in the house," thought I, revolving in my mind various reports I had heard of my present visitor's disposition to gallantry. However, seeing it was all over with me, I resigned myself, with the patience of a martyr, to the fate that I foresaw. I rose, approached her chair, took her hand (very hard and thin it was too), and thanked her with a most affectionate squeeze.