I had frequent opportunities of seeing them together, for, according to
French ideas, nothing is more improper than to leave a young man and
woman a moment by themselves. Was it my fancy that he seemed too much
absorbed in himself, too little sensible of the rare good-fortune which
made him the favored lover of the beautiful Miss St. Clair? It might be
so, but others shared it.

"What ails the American?" asked Madame Le Fort. "Is it possible that he
is not in love with that fascinating young creature? Or are all your
countrymen so cold and inanimate? Elle est ravissante, adorable! I
cannot comprehend it."

"Probably," I replied, "he has too much reserve and delicacy to make a
display of his feelings in the presence strangers."

But I was not satisfied. The more I watched them, the more I perceived a
lack of deference to her opinions and respect for her judgment--an
irritating assumption of superior wisdom, as if he had worn the visible
inscription, "I will accept homage, but not suggestions. Offer incense
and be content." Would the little princess be content? I saw symptoms of
rebellion.

"Do _you_ think I am a little fool, Madame Fleming?" she asked with
heightened color and impetuous tone, turning suddenly to me while they
were conversing apart one evening.

November came, and we were launched on the full tide of Parisian
society. Mr. Denham had gone to Germany to complete certain scientific
studies, and he left his fair betrothed with a parting injunction not to
dance with any foreigner. As well shut her up in a cell! Nowhere is