As I was musing thus sadly, I was unexpectedly tapped on the shoulder by Monsieur Parole d'Honneur, who had come up quietly behind me, without my noticing his approach. He was on his way to pay a visit to his "good vicaire" at the vicarage, after giving his usual Wednesday lecture at the neighbouring "college for young ladies;" where, blooming misses--in addition to their curriculum of "accomplishments" and "all the 'ologies"--were taught the noble art of family multiplication, domestic division, male detraction, feminine sedition, and, the glorious rule of--_one_! Me grieving, he joyously addressed. "Ohe! my youngish friends"--his general term in speaking to me--"how goes it?--Hi--lo!" he went on, seeing from my face, as I turned my head to speak to him, that, "it" did not "go" particularly well--"Hi--lo! vat ees ze mattaire?--you look pallide; you have got ze migraine?" "No," I answered; "there's nothing the matter with me, I assure you, Monsieur Parole. I'm all right, thank you." "Ah! but yes," he retorted--"you cannote deceives me. You are pallide; you take walks on feet this detestable day.--Mon Dieu! votre climat c'est affreux!--I knows ver wells, Meestaire Lorton, dat somesings ees ze mattaire!" "But, I'm quite well, I tell you," said I. "Quaite well en physique, bon:--quaite well, here?" tapping his chest expressively the while--"non! I knows vat ees ze mattaire. C'est une affaire de coeur, ees it not, mon ami? You cannote deceives me, I tells to you! But, nevaire mind dat, my youngish friends: cheer oop and be gays--toujours gai! I have had, myselfs, it ees one, two, tree,--seex lofes! Seex times ees mon coeur brise, and I was desole; and now, you sees, I'm of a light heart still!"--and he laughed so cheerily, that, even Lady Dasher, I think, could not have well helped chiming in with his merriment. I did not laugh, however. "Pardon me, monsieur," I said,--"I'm not in a joking mood." "Come, come, mon brave," he continued, seeing that my dejection was beyond the point where it could be laughed away; and accommodating himself to my humour, with the native delicacy of his race--"I have myself, suffered:--ainsi, I can condoles! You know, my dear, youngish friends, when I was deporte de mon pays, he?" I nodded my head in acquiescence, hardly feeling inclined for the recital of some revolutionary anecdote, which I thought was going to be related to me. Monsieur Parole, however, astonished me with quite a different narration.