HARLEY.--"Man of sense! Where shall I find a model? I don't know a man
of sense!--never met such a creature. Don't believe it ever existed. At
one time I thought Socrates must have been a man of sense: a delusion; he
would stand gazing into the air, and talking to his Genius from sunrise
to sunset. Is that like a man of sense? Poor Audley! how puzzled he
looks! Well, I'll try and talk sense to oblige you. And first" (here
Harley raised himself on his elbow),--"first, is it true, as I have heard
vaguely, that you are paying court to the sister of that infamous Italian
traitor?"

"Madame di Negra? No: I am not paying court to her," answered Audley,
with a cold smile. "But she is very handsome; she is very clever; she is
useful to me,--I need not say how or why; that belongs to my metier as a
politician. But I think, if you will take my advice, or get your friend
to take it, I could obtain from her brother, through my influence with
her, some liberal concessions to your exile. She is very anxious to know
where he is."

"You have not told her?"

"No; I promised you I would keep that secret."

"Be sure you do; it is only for some mischief, some snare, that she could
desire such information. Concessions! pooh! This is no question of
concessions, but of rights."

"I think you should leave your friend to judge of that."

"Well, I will write to him. Meanwhile, beware of this woman. I have
heard much of her abroad, and she has the character of her brother for