He strove with all his might to modulate the notes, but for all that his tenderest passages made everything tremble. I even shook with rage! What irritated me most was that his instrument monopolised his whole attention. “Won’t you take a walk? have a little fresh air?” I would say to him. “You must feel tired, dear.” I could have beaten him. When we walked out together he used to stop and gossip at all the street corners, turning up all sorts of filthy heaps. Oh, how he made me suffer; he was born to be a butcher’s dog. How many times has he not left me to pick up a bone, or quarrel with some inoffensive dog? His loud laugh and vulgar conversation with ill-conditioned curs, and . . . I began to hate him; he bothered me, irritated me beyond measure. I own he would have cut himself in quarters to make our home happy, and he worked like a slave. But, alas! money can never compensate for a badly-assorted match. Little by little I withdrew myself from his company, and took to loitering about alone. I frequented a public garden, the resort of the aristocratic world, where every one was seen to advantage. My delight knew no bounds when I discovered that I was much noticed. I had found my own set at last. One day I remember walking along a shady alley when I heard a voice whisper, “Oh, madam, how happy would he be who, in the midst of the crowd, could attract your attention.” These words, so respectfully uttered, and so full of a something, a sort of passionate earnestness, pleased me immensely. I turned and beheld a well-dressed, beautiful insect flying near me. His manner was so graceful and his flight so fashionable, that I at once perceived he had moved in the higher circles of the air-istocracy; besides, he seemed to me to know his value, and to account himself a very fine fellow indeed. “Ah, Greyhound!” he said, “how beautiful you are. What a fine head you have—a true type of the classic. Your feet would hardly {153} soil a lily-leaf. Your silky dress, too, is so simple; yet it is enough to set off such charms as yours.” [Illustration] I quickened my pace, trembling at the audacity of this polished flatterer. Still he followed, and his voice vibrated in my ear like {154} delicious music. He had evidently no ordinary appreciation of the beautiful. “You are married, sweet one?” he added. I could not resist the temptation of fancying that my fetters were broken, so I replied gaily, “No, I am a widow, sir!”