"We shall meet then," said Madame, and her look said more.

I rode into the Bois; and giving my horse to my servant, as I came near
Passy, where I was to meet Madame D'Anville, I proceeded thither on foot.
I was just in sight of the spot, and indeed of my inamorata, when two men
passed, talking very earnestly; they did not remark me, but what
individual could ever escape my notice? The one was Thornton; the other--
who could he be? Where had I seen that pale, but more than beautiful
countenance before? I looked again. I was satisfied that I was mistaken
in my first thought; the hair was of a completely different colour. "No,
no," said I, "it is not he: yet how like."

I was distrait and absent during the whole time I was with Madame
D'Anville. The face of Thornton's companion haunted me like a dream; and,
to say the truth, there were also moments when the recollection of my new
engagement for the evening made me tired with that which I was enjoying
the troublesome honour of keeping.

Madame D'Anville was not slow in perceiving the coldness of my behaviour.
Though a Frenchwoman, she was rather grieved than resentful.

"You are growing tired of me, my friend," she said: "and when I consider
your youth and temptations, I cannot be surprised at it--yet, I own, that
this thought gives me much greater pain than I could have supposed."

"Bah! ma belle amie," cried I, "you deceive yourself--I adore you--I
shall always adore you; but it's getting very late."

Madame D'Anville sighed, and we parted. "She is not half so pretty or