ONE fine, frosty Sunday in November, Frances and I took a longwalk; we made the tour of the city by the Boulevards; and,afterwards, Frances being a little tired, we sat down on one ofthose wayside seats placed under the trees, at intervals, for theaccommodation of the weary. Frances was telling me aboutSwitzerland; the subject animated her; and I was just thinkingthat her eyes spoke full as eloquently as her tongue, when shestopped and remarked--

"Monsieur, there is a gentleman who knows you."

I looked up; three fashionably dressed men were just thenpassing--Englishmen, I knew by their air and gait as well as bytheir features; in the tallest of the trio I at once recognizedMr. Hunsden; he was in the act of lifting his hat to Frances;afterwards, he made a grimace at me, and passed on.

"Who is he?"

"A person I knew in England."

"Why did he bow to me? He does not know me."

"Yes, he does know you, in his way."

"How, monsieur?" (She still called me "monsieur"; I could notpersuade her to adopt any more familiar term.)

"Did you not read the expression of his eyes?"

"Of his eyes? No. What did they say?"

"To you they said, 'How do you do, Wilhelmina, Crimsworth?'To me, 'So you have found your counterpart at last; there shesits, the female of your kind!'"

"Monsieur, you could not read all that in his eyes; He was sosoon gone."

"I read that and more, Frances; I read that he will probably callon me this evening, or on some future occasion shortly; and Ihave no doubt he will insist on being introduced to you; shall Ibring him to your rooms?"

"If you please, monsieur--I have no objection; I think, indeed, Ishould rather like to see him nearer; he looks so original."

As I had anticipated, Mr. Hunsden came that evening. The firstthing he said was:--

"You need not begin boasting, Monsieur le Professeur; I knowabout your appointment to -- College, and all that; Brown hastold me." Then he intimated that he had returned from Germanybut a day or two since; afterwards, he abruptly demanded whetherthat was Madame Pelet-Reuter with whom he had seen me on theBoulevards. I was going to utter a rather emphatic negative,but on second thoughts I checked myself, and, seeming to assent,asked what he thought of her?

"As to her, I'll come to that directly; but first I've a word foryou. I see you are a scoundrel; you've no business to bepromenading about with another man's wife. I thought you hadsounder sense than to get mixed up in foreign hodge-podge of thissort."

"But the lady?"

"She's too good for you evidently; she is like you, but somethingbetter than you--no beauty, though; yet when she rose (for Ilooked back to see you both walk away) I thought her figure andcarriage good. These foreigners understand grace. What thedevil has she done with Pelet? She has not been married to himthree months--he must be a spoon!"

I would not let the mistake go too far; I did not like it much.

"Pelet? How your head runs on Mons. and Madame Pelet! You arealways talking about them. I wish to the gods you had wed Mdlle.Zoraide yourself!"

"Was that young gentlewoman not Mdlle. Zoraide?"

"No; nor Madame Zoraide either."

"Why did you tell a lie, then?"

"I told no lie; but you are is such a hurry. She is a pupil ofmine--a Swiss girl."

"And of course you are going to be married to her? Don't denythat."

"Married! I think I shall--if Fate spares us both ten weekslonger. That is my little wild strawberry, Hunsden, whosesweetness made me careless of your hothouse grapes."

"Stop! No boasting--no heroics; I won't hear them. What is she?To what caste does she belong?"

I smiled. Hunsden unconsciously laid stress on the word caste,and, in fact, republican, lordhater as he was, Hunsden was asproud of his old ---shire blood, of his descent and familystanding, respectable and respected through long generationsback, as any peer in the realm of his Norman race andConquest-dated title. Hunsden would as little have thought oftaking a wife from a caste inferior to his own, as a Stanleywould think of mating with a Cobden. I enjoyed the surprise Ishould give; I enjoyed the triumph of my practice over histheory; and leaning over the table, and uttering the words slowlybut with repressed glee, I said concisely--

"She is a lace-mender."

Hunsden examined me. He did not SAY he was surprised, butsurprised he was; he had his own notions of good breeding. I sawhe suspected I was going to take some very rash step; butrepressing declamation or remonstrance, he only answered--

"Well, you are the best; judge of your own affairs. Alace-mender may make a good wife as well as a lady; but of courseyou have taken care to ascertain thoroughly that since she hasnot education, fortune or station, she is well furnished withsuch natural qualities as you think most likely to conduce toyour happiness. Has she many relations?"

"None in Brussels."

"That is better. Relations are often the real evil in suchcases. I cannot but think that a train of inferior connectionswould have been a bore to you to your life's end."

After sitting in silence a little while longer, Hunsden rose, andwas quietly bidding me good evening; the polite, consideratemanner in which he offered me his hand (a thing he had never donebefore), convinced me that he thought I had made a terrible foolof myself; and that, ruined and thrown away as I was, it was notime for sarcasm or cynicism, or indeed for anything butindulgence and forbearance.

"Good night, William," he said, in a really soft voice, while hisface looked benevolently compassionate. "Good night, lad. Iwish you and your future wife much prosperity; and I hope shewill satisfy your fastidious soul."

I had much ado to refrain from laughing as I beheld themagnanimous pity of his mien; maintaining, however, a grave air,I said:--

"I thought you would have liked to have seen Mdlle. Henri?"

"Oh, that is the name! Yes--if it would be convenient, I shouldlike to see her--but----." He hesitated.

"Well?"

"I should on no account wish to intrude."

"Come, then," said I. We set out. Hunsden no doubt regarded meas a rash, imprudent man, thus to show my poor little grisettesweetheart, in her poor little unfurnished grenier; but heprepared to act the real gentleman, having, in fact, the kernelof that character, under the harsh husk it pleased him to wear byway of mental mackintosh. He talked affably, and even gently, aswe went along the street; he had never been so civil to me in hislife. We reached the house, entered, ascended the stair; ongaining the lobby, Hunsden turned to mount a narrower stair whichled to a higher story; I saw his mind was bent on the attics.

"Here, Mr. Hunsden," said I quietly, tapping at Frances' door.He turned; in his genuine politeness he was a little disconcertedat having made the mistake; his eye reverted to the green mat,but he said nothing.

We walked in, and Frances rose from her seat near the table toreceive us; her mourning attire gave her a recluse, ratherconventual, but withal very distinguished look; its gravesimplicity added nothing to beauty, but much to dignity; thefinish of the white collar and manchettes sufficed for a reliefto the merino gown of solemn black; ornament was forsworn.Frances curtsied with sedate grace, looking, as she always did,when one first accosted her, more a woman to respect than tolove; I introduced Mr. Hunsden, and she expressed her happinessat making his acquaintance in French. The pure and polishedaccent, the low yet sweet and rather full voice, produced theireffect immediately; Hunsden spoke French in reply; I had notheard him speak that language before; he managed it very well. Iretired to the window-seat; Mr. Hunsden, at his hostess'sinvitation, occupied a chair near the hearth; from my position Icould see them both, and the room too, at a glance. The room wasso clean and bright, it looked like a little polished cabinet; aglass filled with flowers in the centre of the table, a freshrose in each china cup on the mantelpiece gave it an air of FETE,Frances was serious, and Mr. Hunsden subdued, but both mutuallypolite; they got on at the French swimmingly: ordinary topicswere discussed with great state and decorum; I thought I hadnever seen two such models of propriety, for Hunsden (thanks tothe constraint of the foreign tongue) was obliged to shape hisphrases, and measure his sentences, with a care that forbade anyeccentricity. At last England was mentioned, and Francesproceeded to ask questions. Animated by degrees, she began tochange, just as a grave night-sky changes at the approach ofsunrise: first it seemed as if her forehead cleared, then hereyes glittered, her features relaxed, and became quite mobile;her subdued complexion grew warm and transparent; to me, she nowlooked pretty; before, she had only looked ladylike.

She had many things to say to the Englishman just fresh from hisisland-country, and she urged him with an enthusiasm ofcuriosity, which ere long thawed Hunsden's reserve as fire thawsa congealed viper. I use this not very flattering comparisonbecause he vividly reminded me of a snake waking from torpor, ashe erected his tall form, reared his head, before a littledeclined, and putting back his hair from his broad Saxonforehead, showed unshaded the gleam of almost savage satire whichhis interlocutor's tone of eagerness and look of ardour hadsufficed at once to kindle in his soul and elicit from his eyes:he was himself; as Frances was herself, and in none but his ownlanguage would he now address her.

"You understand English?" was the prefatory question.

"A little."

"Well, then, you shall have plenty of it; and first, I see you'venot much more sense than some others of my acquaintance"(indicating me with his thumb), "or else you'd never turn rabidabout that dirty little country called England; for rabid, I seeyou are; I read Anglophobia in your looks, and hear it in yourwords. Why, mademoiselle, is it possible that anybody with agrain of rationality should feel enthusiasm about a mere name,and that name England? I thought you were a lady-abbess fiveminutes ago, and respected you accordingly; and now I see you area sort of Swiss sibyl, with high Tory and high Churchprinciples!"

"England is your country?" asked Frances.

"Yes."

"And you don't like it?"

"I'd be sorry to like it! A little corrupt, venal,lord-and-king-cursed nation, full or mucky pride (as they say in---shire), and helpless pauperism; rotten with abuses, worm-eatenwith prejudices!"

"You might say so of almost every state; there are abuses andprejudices everywhere, and I thought fewer in England than inother countries."

"Come to England and see. Come to Birmingham and Manchester;come to St. Giles' in London, and get a practical notion of howour system works. Examine the footprints of our augustaristocracy; see how they walk in blood, crushing hearts as theygo. Just put your head in at English cottage doors; get aglimpse of Famine crouched torpid on black hearthstones; ofDisease lying bare on beds without coverlets, of Infamy wantoningviciously with Ignorance, though indeed Luxury is her favouriteparamour, and princely halls are dearer to her than thatchedhovels---"

"I was not thinking of the wretchedness and vice in England; Iwas thinking of the good side--of what is elevated in yourcharacter as a nation."

"There is no good side--none at least of which you can have anyknowledge; for you cannot appreciate the efforts of industry, theachievements of enterprise, or the discoveries of science:narrowness of education and obscurity of position quiteincapacitate you from understanding these points; and as tohistorical and poetical associations, I will not insult you,mademoiselle, by supposing that you alluded to such humbug."

"But I did partly."

Hunsden laughed--his laugh of unmitigated scorn.

"I did, Mr. Hunsden. Are you of the number of those to whom suchassociations give no pleasure?"

"Mademoiselle, what is an association? I never saw one. What isits length, breadth, weight, value--ay, VALUE? What price willit bring in the market?"

"Your portrait, to any one who loved you, would, for the sake ofassociation, be without price."

That inscrutable Hunsden heard this remark and felt it ratheracutely, too, somewhere; for he coloured--a thing not unusualwith him, when hit unawares on a tender point. A sort of troublemomentarily darkened his eye, and I believe he filled up thetransient pause succeeding his antagonist's home-thrust, by awish that some one did love him as he would like to be loved--some one whose love he could unreservedly return.

The lady pursued her temporary advantage.

"If your world is a world without associations, Mr. Hunsden, I nolonger wonder that you hate England so. I don't clearly knowwhat Paradise is, and what angels are; yet taking it to be themost glorious region I can conceive, and angels the most elevatedexistences--if one of them--if Abdiel the Faithful himself" (shewas thinking of Milton) "were suddenly stripped of the faculty ofassociation, I think he would soon rush forth from 'theever-during gates,' leave heaven, and seek what he had lost inhell. Yes, in the very hell from which he turned 'with retortedscorn.'"

Frances' tone in saying this was as marked as her language, andit was when the word "hell" twanged off from her lips, with asomewhat startling emphasis, that Hunsden deigned to bestow oneslight glance of admiration. He liked something strong, whetherin man or woman; he liked whatever dared to clear conventionallimits. He had never before heard a lady say "hell" with thatuncompromising sort of accent, and the sound pleased him from alady's lips; he would fain have had Frances to strike the stringagain, but it was not in her way. The display of eccentricvigour never gave her pleasure, and it only sounded in her voiceor flashed in her countenance when extraordinary circumstances--and those generally painful--forced it out of the depths whereit burned latent. To me, once or twice, she had in intimateconversation, uttered venturous thoughts in nervous language; butwhen the hour of such manifestation was past, I could not recallit; it came of itself and of itself departed. Hunsden'sexcitations she put by soon with a smile, and recurring to thetheme of disputation, said--

"Since England is nothing, why do the continental nations respecther so?"

"I should have thought no child would have asked that question,"replied Hunsden, who never at any time gave information withoutreproving for stupidity those who asked it of him. "If you hadbeen my pupil, as I suppose you once had the misfortune to bethat of a deplorable character not a hundred miles off, I wouldhave put you in the corner for such a confession of ignorance.Why, mademoiselle, can't you see that it is our GOLD which buysus French politeness, German good-will, and Swiss servility?"And he sneered diabolically.

"Swiss?" said Frances, catching the word "servility." "Do youcall my countrymen servile?" and she started up. I could notsuppress a low laugh; there was ire in her glance and defiance inher attitude. "Do you abuse Switzerland to me, Mr. Hunsden? Doyou think I have no associations? Do you calculate that I amprepared to dwell only on what vice and degradation may be foundin Alpine villages, and to leave quite out of my heart the socialgreatness of my countrymen, and our blood-earned freedom, and thenatural glories of our mountains? You're mistaken--you'remistaken."

"Social greatness? Call it what you will, your countrymen aresensible fellows; they make a marketable article of what to youis an abstract idea; they have, ere this, sold their socialgreatness and also their blood-earned freedom to be the servantsof foreign kings."

"You never were in Switzerland?"

"Yes--I have been there twice."

"You know nothing of it."

"I do."

"And you say the Swiss are mercenary, as a parrot says 'PoorPoll,' or as the Belgians here say the English are not brave, oras the French accuse them of being perfidious: there is nojustice in your dictums."

"There is truth."

"I tell you, Mr. Hunsden, you are a more unpractical man than Iam an unpractical woman, for you don't acknowledge what reallyexists; you want to annihilate individual patriotism and nationalgreatness as an atheist would annihilate God and his own soul, bydenying their existence."

"Where are you flying to? You are off at a tangent--I thought wewere talking about the mercenary nature of the Swiss."

"We were--and if you proved to me that the Swiss are mercenaryto-morrow (which you cannot do) I should love Switzerland still."

"You would be mad, then--mad as a March hare--to indulge in apassion for millions of shiploads of soil, timber, snow, andice."

"Not so mad as you who love nothing."

"There's a method in my madness; there's none in yours."

"Your method is to squeeze the sap out of creation and makemanure of the refuse, by way of turning it to what you call use."

"You cannot reason at all," said Hunsden; "there is no logic inyou."

"Better to be without logic than without feeling," retortedFrances, who was now passing backwards and forwards from hercupboard to the table, intent, if not on hospitable thoughts, atleast on hospitable deeds, for she was laying the cloth, andputting plates, knives and forks thereon.

"Is that a hit at me, mademoiselle? Do you suppose I am withoutfeeling ?"

"I suppose you are always interfering with your own feelings,andthose of other people, and dogmatizing about the irrationality ofthis, that, and the other sentiment, and then ordering it to besuppressed because you imagine it to be inconsistent with logic."

"I do right."

Frances had stepped out of sight into a sort of little pantry;she soon reappeared.

"You do right? Indeed, no! You are much mistaken if you thinkso. Just be so good as to let me get to the fire, Mr. Hunsden; Ihave something to cook." (An interval occupied in settling acasserole on the fire; then, while she stirred its contents:)"Right! as if it were right to crush any pleasurable sentimentthat God has given to man, especially any sentiment that, likepatriotism, spreads man's selfishness in wider circles" (firestirred, dish put down before it).

"Were you born in Switzerland?"

"I should think so, or else why should I call it my country?"

"And where did you get your English features and figure?"

"I am English, too; half the blood in my veins is English; thus Ihave a right to a double power of patriotism, possessing aninterest in two noble, free, and fortunate countries."

"You had an English mother?"

"Yes, yes; and you, I suppose, had a mother from the moon or fromUtopia, since not a nation in Europe has a claim on yourinterest?"

"On the contrary, I'm a universal patriot, if you couldunderstand me rightly: my country is the world."

"Sympathies so widely diffused must be very shallow: will youhave the goodness to come to table. Monsieur" (to me whoappeared to be now absorbed in reading by moonlight)--"Monsieur,supper is served."

This was said in quite a different voice to that in which she hadbeen bandying phrases with Mr. Hunsden--not so short, graver andsofter.

"Frances, what do you mean by preparing, supper? we had nointention of staying."

"Ah, monsieur, but you have stayed, and supper is prepared; youhave only the alternative of eating it."

The meal was a foreign one, of course; it consisted in two smallbut tasty dishes of meat prepared with skill and served withnicety; a salad and "fromage francais," completed it. Thebusiness of eating interposed a brief truce between thebelligerents, but no sooner was supper disposed of than they wereat it again. The fresh subject of dispute ran on the spirit ofreligious intolerance which Mr. Hunsden affirmed to existstrongly in Switzerland, notwithstanding the professed attachmentof the Swiss to freedom. Here Frances had greatly the worst ofit, not only because she was unskilled to argue, but because herown real opinions on the point in question happened to coincidepretty nearly with Mr. Hunsden's, and she only contradicted himout of opposition. At last she gave in, confessing that shethought as he thought, but bidding him take notice that she didnot consider herself beaten.

"No more did the French at Waterloo," said Hunsden.

"There is no comparison between the cases," rejoined Frances; "mine was a sham fight."

"Sham or real, it's up with you."

"No; though I have neither logic nor wealth of words, yet in acase where my opinion really differed from yours, I would adhereto it when I had not another word to say in its defence; youshould be baffled by dumb determination. You speak of Waterloo;your Wellington ought to have been conquered there, according toNapoleon; but he persevered in spite of the laws of war, and wasvictorious in defiance of military tactics. I would do as hedid."

"I'll be bound for it you would; probably you have some of thesame sort of stubborn stuff in you.

"I should be sorry if I had not; he and Tell were brothers, andI'd scorn the Swiss, man or woman, who had none of themuch-enduring nature of our heroic William in his soul."

"If Tell was like Wellington, he was an ass."

"Does not ASS mean BAUDET?" asked Frances, turning to me.

"No, no," replied I, "it means an ESPRIT-FORT; and now," Icontinued, as I saw that fresh occasion of strife was brewingbetween these two, "it is high time to go."

Hunsden rose. "Good bye," said he to Frances; "I shall be offfor this glorious England to-morrow, and it may be twelve monthsor more before I come to Brussels again; whenever I do come I'llseek you out, and you shall see if I don't find means to make youfiercer than a dragon. You've done pretty well this evening, butnext interview you shall challenge me outright. Meantime you'redoomed to become Mrs. William Crimsworth, I suppose; poor younglady? but you have a spark of spirit; cherish it, and give theProfessor the full benefit thereof."

"Are you married. Mr. Hunsden?" asked Frances, suddenly.

"No. I should have thought you might have guessed I was aBenedict by my look."

"Well, whenever you marry don't take a wife out of Switzerland;for if you begin blaspheming Helvetia, and cursing the cantons--above all, if you mention the word ASS in the same breath withthe name Tell (for ass IS baudet, I know; though Monsieur ispleased to translate it ESPRIT-FORT) your mountain maid will somenight smother her Breton-bretonnant, even as your ownShakspeare's Othello smothered Desdemona."

"I am warned," said Hunsden; "and so are you, lad," (nodding tome). "I hope yet to hear of a travesty of the Moor and hisgentle lady, in which the parts shall be reversed according tothe plan just sketched--you, however, being in my nightcap.Farewell, mademoiselle!" He bowed on her hand, absolutely likeSir Charles Grandison on that of Harriet Byron; adding--"Deathfrom such fingers would not be without charms."

"Mon Dieu!" murmured Frances, opening her large eyes and liftingher distinctly arched brows; "c'est qu'il fait des compliments!je ne m'y suis pas attendu." She smiled, half in ire, half inmirth, curtsied with foreign grace, and so they parted.

No sooner had we got into the street than Hunsden collared me.

"And that is your lace-mender?" said he; "and you reckon you havedone a fine, magnanimous thing in offering to marry her? You, ascion of Seacombe, have proved your disdain of socialdistinctions by taking up with an ouvriere! And I pitied thefellow, thinking his feelings had misled him, and that he hadhurt himself by contracting a low match!"

"Just let go my collar, Hunsden."

"On the contrary, he swayed me to and fro; so I grappled himround the waist. It was dark; the street lonely and lampless.We had then a tug for it; and after we had both rolled on thepavement, and with difficulty picked ourselves up, we agreed towalk on more soberly.

"Yes, that's my lace-mender," said I; "and she is to be mine forlife--God willing."

"God is not willing--you can't suppose it; what business have youto be suited so well with a partner? And she treats you with asort of respect, too, and says, 'Monsieur' and modulates her tonein addressing you, actually, as if you were something superior!She could not evince more deference to such a one as I, were shefavoured by fortune to the supreme extent of being my choiceinstead of yours."

"Hunsden, you're a puppy. But you've only seen the title-page ofmy happiness; you don't know the tale that follows; you cannotconceive the interest and sweet variety and thrilling excitementof the narrative."

Hunsden--speaking low and deep, for we had now entered a busierstreet--desired me to hold my peace, threatening to do somethingdreadful if I stimulated his wrath further by boasting. Ilaughed till my sides ached. We soon reached his hotel; before heentered it, he said--

"Don't be vainglorious. Your lace-mender is too good for you,but not good enough for me; neither physically nor morally doesshe come up to my ideal of a woman. No; I dream of something farbeyond that pale-faced, excitable little Helvetian (by-the-by shehas infinitely more of the nervous, mobile Parisienne in her thanof the the robust 'jungfrau'). Your Mdlle. Henri is in person"chetive", in mind "sans caractere", compared with the queen ofmy visions. You, indeed, may put up with that "minois chiffone";but when I marry I must have straighter and more harmoniousfeatures, to say nothing of a nobler and better developed shapethan that perverse, ill-thriven child can boast."

"Bribe a seraph to fetch you a coal of fire from heaven, if youwill," said I, "and with it kindle life in the tallest, fattest,most boneless, fullest-blooded of Ruben's painted women--leave meonly my Alpine peri, and I'll not envy you."

With a simultaneous movement, each turned his back on the other.Neither said " God bless you;" yet on the morrow the sea was toroll between us.