English. And the tale shall be of France--France, where the ladies
always leave the dinner-table before the men. Note this, and use it
at page ninety of thy first volume. And thy French shall be worse than
thy English, for thou shalt speak of a _frissonement_, and thy friends
shall say, "_Nous blaguons le chose._"

"Stop!" I cried, in despair, "stop, fiend!--this is too much!" I
sprang at the monster, and seized it by the throat. Our eyes, peering
into each other's, seemed to ravage out, as by fire, the secrets
hidden in our hearts. My blood hurled itself through my veins. There
was something clamorous and wild in it. Then I fell prone on the
ground, and remembered that I had eaten one _marron_ for dinner. This
explained everything, and I remembered no more till I came to myself,
and found the divisional surgeon busily engaged upon me with a _pompe
d'estomac_.

CHAPTER III.

My father, M. le Duc DI SPEPSION, belonged to one of the oldest French
families. He had many old French customs, amongst others that of
brushing his bearded lips against my cheek. He was a stern man, with
a severe habit of addressing me as "_Mon fils_." Generally he
disapproved of my proceedings, which was, perhaps, not unnatural,
taking all the circumstances of the case into consideration. Why have
I mentioned him? I know not, save that even now, degraded as I am,
memories of better things sometimes steal over me like the solemn
sound of church-bells pealing in a cathedral belfry. But I have done
with home, with father, with patriotism, with claret, with walnuts,
and with all simple pleasures. _Ça va sans dire._ They talk to me
of Good, and Nature. The words are meaningless to me. Are there