"True," answered Bolingbroke; "to some natures, too restless to be
happy, excitement can compensate for all,--compensate for years wasted,
and hopes scattered,--compensate for bitter regret at talents perverted
and passions unrestrained. But we will talk philosophically when we
have more leisure. You will dine with me to-morrow: we will go to the
play together; I promised poor Lucy that I would see her at the theatre,
and I cannot break my word; and an hour afterwards we will commence our
excursion to Paris. And now I will explain to you the plan I have
arranged for our escape."



CHAPTER III.

THE REAL ACTORS SPECTATORS TO THE FALSE ONES.

IT was a brilliant night at the theatre. The boxes were crowded to
excess. Every eye was directed towards Lord Bolingbroke, who, with his
usual dignified and consummate grace of manner, conversed with the
various loiterers with whom, from time to time, his box was filled.

"Look yonder," said a very young man, of singular personal beauty, "look
yonder, my Lord, what a panoply of smiles the Duchess wears to-night,
and how triumphantly she directs those eyes, which they say were once so
beautiful, to your box."

"Ah," said Bolingbroke, "her Grace does me too much honour: I must not
neglect to acknowledge her courtesy; "and, leaning over the box,
Bolingbroke watched his opportunity till the Duchess of Marlborough, who
sat opposite to him, and who was talking with great and evidently joyous