In the garden that lay below his windows--a garden owned by his
neighbour, a farmer--he saw Clorinde. She was this yeoman's only
daughter. He at once fell passionately in love with her, as David once
loved Bathsheba.

The President married Clorinde, who was very pleased to have a fine name
and a title. But her husband soon saw--if not with surprise, at least
with pain--that his wife did not love him. A young and handsome
Spaniard, belonging to the Spanish Legation, danced one day with
Clorinde; to her he seemed as radiant as the god of melody and song. She
lost her heart, and without further delay confessed to him this loss.

On returning home, the President said to his youthful consort, "Madame,
every one is noticing and censuring your imprudent conduct; even the
young Spaniard himself finds it compromising."

"Nothing you say can please me more," she replied, "for this proves that
he is aware of my love. As he knows this, and finds my looks to his
liking, I hope that he will wish to see me again."

Soon afterwards there was a grand ball given at the Spanish Embassy.
Madame de Nesmond managed to secure an invitation, and went with one of
her cousins. The young Spaniard did the honours of the evening, and
showed them every attention.

As the President was obliged to attend an all-night sitting at the
Tourelle,--[The parliamentary criminal court.]--and as these young ladies
did not like going home alone,--for their residence was some way
off,--the young Spaniard had the privilege of conducting them to their