“Martinelli.” “Quite so; through Lord Spencer, who is a member. I would not become one.” “Why not?” “Because I don’t like argument.” “My taste runs the other way, so I shall try to get in.” “By the way, M. de Seingalt, do you know that you are a very extraordinary man?” “For what reason, my lord?” “You shut yourself up for a whole month with a woman who spent fourteen months in London without anybody making her acquaintance or even discovering her nationality. All the amateurs have taken a lively interest in the affair.” “How did you find out that she spent fourteen months in London?” “Because several persons saw her in the house of a worthy widow where she spent the first month. She would never have anything to say to any advances, but the bill in your window worked wonders.” “Yes, and all the worse for me, for I feel as if I could never love another woman.” “Oh, that’s childish indeed! You will love another woman in a week--nay, perhaps to-morrow, if you will come and dine with me at my country house. A perfect French beauty has asked me to dine with her. I have told some of my friends who are fond of gaming.” “Does the charming Frenchwoman like gaming?” “No, but her husband does.” “What’s his name?” “He calls himself Count de Castelbajac.” “Ah! Castelbajac?” “Yes.” “He is a Gascon?” “Yes.” “Tall, thin, and dark, and marked with the smallpox? “Exactly! I am delighted to find you know him. You will agree with me that his wife is very pretty?” “I really can’t say. I knew Castelbajac, as he calls himself, six years ago, and I never heard he was married. I shall be delighted to join you, however. I must warn you not to say anything if he seems not to know me; he may possibly have good reasons for acting in that manner. Before long I will tell you a story which does not represent him in a very advantageous manner. I did not know he played. I shall take care to be on my guard at the Betting Club, and I advise you, my lord, to be on your guard in the society of Castelbajac.” “I will not forget the warning.” When Pembroke had left me I went to see Madame Cornelis, who had written a week before to tell me my daughter was ill, and explained that she had been turned from my doors on two occasions though she felt certain I was in. To this I replied that I was in love, and so happy within my own house that I had excluded all strangers, and with that she had to be contented, but the state in which I found little Sophie frightened me. She was lying in bed with high fever, she had grown much thinner, and her eyes seemed to say that she was dying of grief. Her mother was in despair, for she was passionately fond of the child, and I thought she would have torn my eyes out when I told her that if Sophie died she would only have herself to reproach. Sophie, who was very good-hearted, cried out, “No, no! papa dear;” and quieted her mother by her caresses.