"Isn't it very funny to behold in me a lover's messenger?--I, who could cheat them all of their conquests. It's a great joke, in truth." "Come, monsieur ambassador, give me your message," said Julia, looking pityingly at the envoy. Chaudoreille threw a glance all around him, put a finger on his mouth, examined the persons who were in the shop, pushed from him a stool on which the cat was lying, then leaning toward Julia with the air of a conspirator, he whispered in her ear,-- "A great lord sent me to you. He's a rich and powerful man; he's a personage in favor; he's the gallant who--" "He's the Marquis de Villebelle," said Julia impatiently. "I've known him for a long time. What does he want with me? What has he bidden you say to me? Come, monsieur, speak." "It must be that I am very adroit," said Chaudoreille, "when without my speaking she divines everything that I wish to say to her.--Since you know his name," resumed he, again approaching his face to Julia's ear, the latter brusquely pushing him away, "I have no need of telling you. This great nobleman adores you." "Undoubtedly he did not employ you to express his sentiments." "No, but he sent me to ask you to meet him. If you do not accord him this favor, he will set fire to the four corners of this street, that he may have the pleasure of saving you, fair Julia,--for it is thus I believe that you are called, which makes me think that you are not French. Have I rightly divined?" "Has anyone commissioned you to ask that question?" asked Julia, looking at Chaudoreille disdainfully. The latter bit his lips, put his left hand on his hip, and said in a bass voice,-- "What shall I say to the noble Marquis de Villebelle, of whom I am the intimate confidant, and whom I represent at this moment?" "Tell him to choose his messengers better," said Julia in a dry tone. "I was sure of it," said Chaudoreille, taking some steps backward; "she has fallen in love with me; it is my personal attractions that have played me this trick. All this is very disagreeable; I should have disguised myself a little, or at least should not have permitted my eyes to make fresh wounds. There is money to be got here. By jingo! I must not lose sight of that;" and Chaudoreille repeated to Julia, not allowing her, as a matter of prudence, to see more than his profile,-- "What shall I say to the marquis? Where will you walk tomorrow evening?" The young girl waited for some moments in silence, appearing to reflect deeply; while Chaudoreille fingered his purse, very anxious as to her answer, and saying to himself,-- "In any case, I shall not give them back the ten crowns. "Tomorrow evening at eight o'clock, on the Pont de la Tournelle," said the young Italian at last; for Julia, in fact, was not French.