Alexis, who had waited at the entrance of the tent during the visit his master had paid to M. de Mallet, and was now following them, sighed heavily at this remark. Roderick heard him;--"What is the matter with the boy?" said he: "Were you ever in love, Alexis?" The page sighed yet more deeply than before, and, crossing his arms upon his breast, bent his head in token of assent. "It is to be much lamented you cannot tell us all about it," continued Roderick; "for you could never choose a more fitting moment for such a tale; as you may depend upon the sympathy of Mr. Montagu, even if I should be so barbarous as to refuse you mine:-- 'We pity faults to which we feel inclined, And to our proper failings can be kind;' as one of your own poets says. Eh, Edric! Don't you think he's right?" "I think you are very provoking." "That is because I am touching upon a string that happens to be not quite in tune; so no wonder it jars a little. Do you not remember the old proverb? 'Touch a man whose skin is sound, He will stand, and fear no wound: Touch a man when he is sore, He will start, and bear no more.'" "How can you condescend to repeat such nonsense?" cried Edric, indignantly. "It is unworthy the poorest beggar in your dominions!" "And how can you condescend to be moved at such nonsense, Edric?" replied Roderick, laughing. "Come, come! own the truth, for it is useless to attempt any longer to deny it. Say, candidly, that you are in love with Mademoiselle de Mallet, and I will tease you no longer." "In love is too strong a term. I admire, esteem, and respect Mademoiselle de Mallet. I even think her possessed of a thousand charms and a thousand virtues; but as to being in love----" "Well, well! we will not quarrel about words. I do not think you will ever make a romantic lover. You Englishmen are too reasoning and prudent ever to fall violently in love. Your blood is as cold as your climate. Now we take the thing quite differently; with us love is a devouring flame! a fire that absorbs our whole being--a stream that sweeps every thing before it--a madness--a delirium! In short, I don't know what it is!" "I think not," said Edric, dryly. "Psha, psha!" continued Roderick; "if it could be described, it would not be worth feeling. It is all spirit! all soul! if you tie it down to rules, it evaporates. Don't you think so in Greece, Alexis?" The page bowed, and shaking his head, pressed his finger upon his lips. "True," returned his master; "I had forgotten: but if you cannot speak, you can write. Take these tablets, I should like to know your opinion." The page took the tablets, and wrote with astonishing rapidity--"Since your Majesty condescends to ask my opinion, I think that the love which can stay to reason, or hesitates to sacrifice every thing to the beloved object, does not deserve the name."