'Like yourself, charming Nicola,' said I, gallantly, and attempting to take her hand; 'the deuce! you are reading me quite a motherly lecture, little one.'

She blushed under her velvet mask, and drew back, for kindness and earnestness had borne her thus away, and my perhaps mistimed gallantry offended her.

'Do you not perceive how she receives you? She is always dressing her hair, or reclining on a couch, her neck and shoulders bare; her dress a dishabille. Her eyes are ever rolling, drooping, or languishing, and she courts compliments and kisses, which take the rouge from her cheeks; and thus has she dallied with many before you knew her. Oh, fie! M. Blane, you have been both very naughty, and very silly. There is no love in all this, it is mere allurement. Pure love,' she added, in her tremulously gentle voice, 'should be pure and chaste as an infant's dream.'

'May such a love be yours, beautiful Nicola!' said I, struck by the truth of all she advanced, and charmed by the kindness of this interesting girl; 'I will ever esteem you as my kindest friend.'

'Money or favour may find you a hundred mistresses, but never a friend. Shameless and intriguing, brilliant and subtle, the Countess seeks only to allure you, as she has allured others, by studied coquetry, and inviting you by a thousand pretty ways to love her; but everything on earth passes away, and so, I trust, will your regard for Madame d'Amboise: her love for you is but the fancy of an hour, and it will pass, leaving perhaps shame, and it may be danger or death behind it.'

I stood for a minute silent, confounded by the lofty bearing, impressed by the sense, and piqued by the monitory tone of this little waiting-maid, whose excessive beauty gave her the privilege of an empress, and, in truth, she seemed quite disposed to take it.

'Mademoiselle,' said I, 'whether all these admonitions have come from the reckless chevalier, or are the pure offspring of your own amiable heart, I shall not be vain enough to determine; but war will fortunately soon remove me from the sphere you deem so dangerous, for to remain in it, and treat the Countess with real or apparent coldness, would destroy me as readily as if the King discovered her troublesome passion for me.'

'Farewell, M. Blane, I am glad that you see your position so well,' said she, giving me her white hand to kiss; 'farewell! remember all I have said; that I shall ever be your friend, and as a proof that I am well informed, be prepared for a journey—you will leave Paris to-morrow evening!'

'To-morrow?'

'Farewell!'