ANOTHER CHAPTER ON THE " RIGHTS OF WOMAN." 277 



session which seemed to proceed as much from the kindness of her heart as 

 the boldness of her character. e What's the matter?' said she, * you are 

 ill or unhappy, which ? speak to me, 1 am your friend.' 



" St. Julien drooped his face upon the beautiful hands of Quintilia, and 

 moistened them with his tears. 



" ( You are in love ?' said she, pressing them towards him affectionately. 



" ' Oh ! madam.' 



"'Yes is it not so?' 



" < Well then, yes.' 



<" With whom?' 



" ' I shall never dare ' 



" ' Is it with Ginetta ?' 



" ' No.' 



" ' Then it is with me ?' 



"'Yes/ 



" f So much the worse for you/ replied she, with a gesture of impa- 

 tience bordering upon anger, ' so much the worse for us both/ 



" St. Julien fancied he had wounded her pride. ' Pardon me,' said he, 

 ' I am silly and presumptuous. You will dismiss me, but I shall antici- 

 pate your commands. All that I could venture to aspire to, was a word 

 of pity from your mouth before flying from you for ever.' 



" ' Good God, St. Julien, you know not what you say ; I am not going 

 to dismiss you, and if you will go, it is contrary to my wishes. You think 

 I am offended you deceive yourself. If I loved you, I would tell you so; 

 and if I told you so, I would marry you.' 



" St. Julien was confounded by these words, and rubbed his eyes like 

 one awakening from a dream. He felt all the mortification of this frank- 

 ness. He fixed his eyes on the ground, and stammered out some incoherent 

 phrases. 



" ' Come, away with these woe-begone airs. Listen, St. Julien, all 

 young men are either foolish or romantic. You are not foolish, but you 

 are romantic. You fancy yourself in love with me you are not so. How 

 could you ; you don't comprehend me/ 



" ' There you are right,' cried St. Julien, ' I do not comprehend you ; 

 if I did, I should be either radically cured or utterly incurable. I should 

 love you to madness, or I would hate you, so as to fly from you without 

 regret. But the fact is, I know not what you are, and my uncertainty is 

 my torment. Sometimes I pray to you in my heart as to an angel of God, 



and sometimes -yes, I will tell you all I compare you to Catherine 



the Second/ 



" ' Omitting the murders, prisonings, and other similar propensities, 

 which, after all, do not constitute such a difference,' said the princess, with 

 cold irony, and taking up her fan of feathers she seated herself, adding, 

 with deriding calmness, ' Go on, sir, I am ready to hear your harangue/ 



" ' Deride me despise me, if you will,' said St. Julien ; ' but it cannot 

 continue I must be gone. You treat me with confidence ; I am un- 

 worthy of it. You overwhelm me with favours, and I am ungrateful. 

 Instead of confining myself to the duties of my office, I pry into your 

 actions ; I watch you as if I was to assassinate you. I am jealous 

 jealous and distrustful. Aye, laugh at me, mock me; I mock myself 

 more bitterly than any body can do. For these three last days I have been 

 mad quite mad. I am every moment on the point of reproaching you 

 of asking you why I am to be thus tormented? I, who am but your 

 servant, madam I know I am but your servant/' 



<e ' You are going too far,' interrupted the princess ; e I do not wish to 

 humiliate you. This would do very well for those who have no other 

 means. You are not my servant, and even if you were, there would- be 



