“I engage to solve all on that head.” “Then there is the Viscount.” “For him, too, I hold myself responsible.” “Lastly, there is Albert Jekyl, who, however admirably he understands garçon life, might discover that the husband was not among the range of his characters. As it is, my dear Abbé, I lead a very pretty existence. I am neither bored nor tormented, I never quarrel with anybody, nor is the rudest man ever discourteous to me. I possess nothing that any one envies, except that heaven-born disposition to be pleased, of which nothing can rob me. I dine well, drive in rich equipages, and, if I liked, might ride the best horses; have at least a dozen Opera-boxes ready to receive me, and sweeter smiles to welcome me than would become me to boast of.” “Well, then, my proposal is to give you all these on a life interest instead of being a tenant-at-will,” broke in D'Esmonde. “And all this out of pure regard for me?” asked Jekyl, with a sly look. “As a pure matter of bargain,” replied D'Esmonde. “Lady Hester has advanced large sams to the cause in which I am interested. It would be difficult, perhaps impossible, to repay them. We still want means, and that ten thousand pounds' legacy would render us immense service at this moment. Her income can well spare the sacrifice.” “Yes, yes,” said Jekyl, musingly; and then looking fondly at his own image in the glass, he said, “I shall be a dead bargain, after all.” D'Esmonde bit his lip to repress some movement of impatience, and after a pause said,---- “This matter does not admit of delay. Circumstances will soon require my presence in England, and with a strong sum at my command; besides--” “If I understand you aright,” said Jekyl, “You are to conduct the whole negotiations to a successful end, and that I shall have neither a bill to endorse, nor a duel to fight, throughout the affair.” “You shall be scathless.” “There is another point,” said Jekyl, quickly. “How shall I figure in the newspapers,--Albert Jekyl, Esquire, of where? Have you thought of that? I wish I had even an uncle a baronet.” “Pooh, pooh!” said D'Esmonde, impatiently. “You marry into the peerage; that's quite enough.” “Perhaps you 're right,” said Jekyl. “All that enumeration of family connection----'niece to the Chief Justice of Rembouk,' or 'cousin-german to the Vice-Consul at Gumdalloo'--smacks terribly of 'Moses and Son.'” “We are agreed, then,” said the Abbé, rising. “I swear,” said Jekyl, rising, and throwing out his hand in the attitude of the well-known picture of the “Marshals.” “The step that I am about to take will throw its gloom over many a dinner-party, and bring sadness into many a _salon_; but I 'll retire at least with dignity, and, like Napoleon, I'll write my memoirs.”