"A fool can speak the truth, you see," said Clarence, laughing.

"Thank you, Linden; you shall have my good word with La Meronville for
that: mais allons."

Mademoiselle de la Meronville, as she pointedly entitled herself, was
one of those charming adventuresses, who, making the most of a good
education and a prepossessing person, a delicate turn for letter-
writing, and a lively vein of conversation, came to England for a year
or two, as Spaniards were wont to go to Mexico, and who return to
their native country with a profound contempt for the barbarians whom
they have so egregiously despoiled. Mademoiselle de la Meronville was
small, beautifully formed, had the prettiest hands and feet in the
world, and laughed musically. By the by, how difficult it is to
laugh, or even to smile, at once naturally and gracefully! It is one
of Steele's finest touches of character, where he says of Will
Honeycombe, "He can smile when one speaks to him, and laughs easily."

In a word, the pretty Frenchwoman was precisely formed to turn the
head of a man like Lord Borodaile, who loved to be courted and who
required to be amused. Mademoiselle de la Meronville received
Clarence with a great deal of grace, and a little reserve, the first
chiefly natural, the last wholly artificial.

"Well," said the duke (in French), "you have not told me who are to be
of your party this evening,--Borodaile, I suppose, of course?"

"No, he cannot come to-night."