a corner at work. Leon himself had considerably changed; from a boy he
had grown into a man. "I suppose, Constantia," he said, "you have
been told what a, good boy I am, and with what docility I shall submit
myself to the matrimonial yoke, which the Count and Countess have
provided for me?" and he began whistling, and danced some steps of the
Mazurka.

"Perhaps you will be refused," said Constantia coldly.

"Refused! Oh, no. The old Prince has already given his consent, and
as for his daughter, she is desperately in love with me. Look at these
moustachios; could anything be more irresistible?" and he glanced in
the glass and twirled them round his fingers; then continuing in a
graver tone, he said, "To tell the sober truth, I cannot say that
I reciprocate. My intended is not at all to my taste. She is nearly
thirty, and so thin, that whenever I look at her, I am reminded of
my old tutor's anatomical sketches. But, thanks to her Parisian
dress-maker, she makes up a tolerably good figure, and looks well in
a Cachemere. Of all things, you know, I wished for a wife with an
imposing appearance, and I don't care about love. I find it's not
fashionable, and only exists in the exalted imagination of poets."

"Surely people are in love with one another sometimes," said the
sister.

"Sometimes," repeated Anielka, inaudibly. The dialogue had painfully
affected her, and she knew not why. Her heart beat quickly, and her
face was flushed, and made her look more lovely than ever.

"Perhaps. Of course we profess to adore every pretty woman," Leon