Give my dear little goddaughter Irene a kiss for me. Oh, I am so glad she is growing prettier every day! IRENE DE CHATEAUDUN. XX. ROGER DE MONBERT _to_ MONSIEUR EDGAR DE MEILHAN Richeport, Pont de l'Arche (Eure). Paris, July 8th 18--. Dear Edgar,--Stupidity was invented by our sex. When a woman deceives or deserts us,--synonymous transgressions,--we are foolish enough to prolong to infinity our despair, instead of singing with Metastasio-- "Grazie all' inganni tuoi Al fin respir' o Nice!" Alas! such is man! Women have more pride. If I had deserted Mlle. de Chateaudun she certainly would not have searched the highways and byways to discover me. I fear there is a great deal of vanity at the bottom of our manly passions. Vanity is the eldest son of love. I shall develop this theory upon some future occasion. One must be calm when one philosophizes. At present I am obliged to continue in my folly, begging reason to await my return. In the intense darkness of despair, one naturally rushes towards the horizon where shines some bright object, be it lighthouse, star, phosphorus or jack-o'-lantern. Will it prove a safe haven or a dangerous rock? Fate,--Chance,--to thee we trust! My faithful agents are ever watchful. I have just received their despatches, and they inspire me with the hope that at last the thick mist is about to be dispersed. I will spare you all the minute details written by faithful servants, who have more sagacity than epistolary style, and give you a synopsis:--Mlle. de Chateaudun left for Rouen a month ago. She engaged two seats in the car. She was seen at the depot--her maid was with her. There is no longer any doubt--Irene is at Rouen; I have proofs of it in my hand. An old family servant, devoted to me, is living at Rouen. I will make his house the centre of my observations, and will not compromise the result by any negligence or recklessness on part. The inexorable logic of victorious combinations will be revealed to me on the first night of my solitude. I am about to start; address me no longer at Paris. Railways were invented for the benefit of love affairs. A lover laid the first rail, and a speculator laid the last. Happily Rouen is a faubourg of Paris! This advantage of rapid locomotion will permit me to pass two hours at Richeport with you, and have the delight of pressing Raymond's hand. Two hours of my life gained by losing them with my oldest and best friend. I will be overjoyed to once more see the noble Raymond, the last of knight-errants, doubtless occupied in painting in stone-color some old manor where Queen Blanche has left traditions of the course of true love.