He had scarcely left me, when I thought that if I had avowed my solitary state he might have asked me to join his party, which was evidently a merry one; and I internally execrated the parasol, which had been the means of preventing this. If by any accident I should meet him again, I resolved that he should not see me with _it_, and without the lady; so I deposited it at a little lace-maker's, and soon after began to ascend the Côte de Grace, not without hopes of meeting the party as they returned, perhaps from Val-à-Reine. Between each wind of the zigzag path was a flight of wooden steps, by which the adventurous might ascend directly from the bottom of the hill. At the head of some of these flights of steps were rustic seats; they were generally on the outer edge of the path, but a few were placed far back, so that the hill immediately below was unseen. I always climbed the Côte by the steps, as I used ever and anon to lie down on the green carpet which nature has spread over each of the short ascents. On the present occasion I had not mounted far before a pleasant piece of this turf-flooring near the top of one of the little hills seduced me from my toils. I sat down, took Shelley's "Revolt of Islam" from my pocket, finished my cigar, and in consequence of reading half a dozen stanzas from the poem--fell asleep. I woke suddenly, and as soon as I had my faculties about me, noticed that people were speaking, and in loud tones, close above me. Otherwise, all was still around. There was no wind among the little trees; a bee buzzed past me now and then, and insects hummed, but further off down the hill, and these voices sounded harsh and dissonant in the quiet air. I listened, at first mechanically. The conversation was carried on in French. "It is time to end this," said a stern, disagreeable voice; "and I will not wait any longer, M. Raymond." "But M. Gray," answered another and more pleasant voice, "you will think of my situation--my family. I have done all I could." "I have thought too much of your family," replied Gray; "but I must also think of myself. Esther--your daughter--she does not speak with me, for example, as you said she should." "Monsieur!" exclaimed the other. "This Le Brun--she is all ears and eyes for him. She----" "M. Gray!" said Raymond. His voice had been deprecating before--it was firm now. "You are so harsh to me; how can you expect kindness from her?" "Why, sir, you promised to use your influence with her----" "Promised, M. Gray!" Raymond burst in. "You did not think I should sell my daughter for a debt of the table? I do not think, monsieur, you expected me to _sell_ my Esther, for example." And there was an emphasis on these last words which only a Frenchman could give.