in going up to the Grands Mulets. We are not worthy of those
distinguished men, and would prefer the society of hard-riding Dick
Foley of the Blues. He had a few feelings in common with us once on a
certain point (how we hated him then), and he won't wonder if we are
duller than usual this evening. Perhaps his own nerve will scarcely be
as iron as usual in the Grand Military, to come off in the course of the
week.

Well, the bottle is out, and Mademoiselle Zelpa comes to say that
"Madame is ze raidèe." So one glass of Cognac neat, as a _chasse_ (to
more things than good Claret), and then--let us put on our whitest tie
and our most attractive smile, and "go forth, for she is gone."




CHAPTER VIII.

"A man had given all other bliss
And all his worldly worth for this,
To waste his whole heart in one kiss
Upon her perfect lips."


We were asked to dine and sleep at Brainswick, where the hounds met on
the following morning. Mr. Raymond could not make up his mind to the
exertion, so Forrester and I accompanied Guy alone.

"By-the-by," the latter observed, as we were driving over in his
mail-phaeton, "I wonder if we shall see the Bellasys to-night? I know