artists; they could not bamboozle us in this way. Your strain is an old
story; it is taken from the 'Mariage de raison', first act, second
scene."

"You will do me the favor to leave me as soon as we reach the woods,"
said Gerfaut, as he continued to limp with a grace which would have made
Lord Byron envious; "you may go straight ahead, or you may turn to the
left, as you choose; the right is forbidden you."

"Very well. Hearts are trumps, it seems, and, for the time being, you
agree with Sganarelle, who places the heart on the right side."

"Do not return to the chateau, as it is understood that we are together.
If you rejoin the hunting-party, say to Bergenheim that you left me
seated at the foot of a tree and that the pain in my foot had almost
entirely gone. You would have done better not to accompany me, as I
tried to make you understand."

"I had reasons of my own for wishing to get out of Christian's crowd.
To-day is Monday, and I have an appointment at four o'clock which
interests you more than me. Now, will you listen to a little advice?"

"Listen, yes; follow it, not so sure."

"O race of lovers!" exclaimed the artist, in a sort of transport,
"foolish, absurd, wicked, impious, and sacrilegious kind!"

"What of it?"

"What of it? I tell you this will all end with swords for two."