kind a Nymph or Aphrodite just bursting from the sea. Madame de St. Cyr
received me with _empressement_, and, so doing, closed the door of this
shrine. We spoke of various things,--of the court, the theatre, the
weather, the world,--skating lightly round the slender edges of her
secret, till finally she invited me to lunch with her in the garden.
Here, on a rustic table, stood wine and a few delicacies,--while, by
extending a hand, we could grasp the hanging pears and nectarines, still
warm to the lip and luscious with sunshine, as we disputed possession
with the envious wasp who had established a priority of claim.

"It is to be hoped," I said, sipping the _Haut-Brion_, whose fine and
brittle smack contrasted rarely with the delicious juiciness of the
fruit, "that you have laid in a supply of this treasure that neither
moth nor rust doth corrupt, before parting with that little gem in the
Gironde."

"Ah? You know, then, that I have sold it?"

"Yes," I replied. "I have the pleasure of Mr. Ulster's acquaintance."

"He arranged the terms for me," she said, with restraint,--adding, "I
could almost wish now that it had not been."

This was probably true; for the sum which she hoped to receive from
Ulster for standing sponsor to his jewel was possibly equal to the price
of her vineyard.

"It was indispensable at the time, this sale; I thought best to hazard
it on one more season.--If, after such advantages, Delphine will not
marry, why--it remains to retire into the country and end our days with