society was distasteful to her. In his presence she never seemed at ease—unless her occasional impertinences went to prove that it was intentional slight, and not shyness, which made her avoid conversation with him.
Irritated with others, contemptuous of himself, it was inevitable that he should grow more and more taciturn every day. In proportion as George was vivacious and good-tempered, Alaric was curt in manner and unconciliatory in his replies. Hatty suffered acutely. To that devoted sister those four days were days of pain. Far from her brother making his way, he had lost ground, when brought into hourly contrast with this odious, smiling Englishman. Alaric could not deceive her—he was in love with the girl; but he was showing so very much the worst side of his character, that it was impossible that Elizabeth should recognize its great worth and nobility. It was most provoking. She wished Mr. George had never come to the pension. She wished they had never come to Fontainebleau. The last afternoon there put the finishing touch to her misery; she caught cold sitting on the damp grass, and returned to Paris feeling really ill.
Elizabeth's entry in her journal that evening shows her mind at this time better than I could do it in my own words.
"I have written nothing here for four days—too tired each night to enter my impressions. The weather has been beautiful. I made three sketches in the forest, which Mr. George declared to be excellent, and which I really believe myself are good. Mr. Baring said nothing; but Mr. George sees nature more as I do. Besides, Mr.
