Evelyn has been open and avowed—approved by my only friend, Madame de Mercœur, who, as a girl, was the confidante of an attachment whose origin she witnessed—why still unfulfilled, has been in consequence of my feeling that it was a duty we owed to Mr. Evelyn's father, not to marry without his consent. I pray your pardon for troubling you with what can so little interest a stranger; but every man must have some feminine tie near and dear to his heart; and for the sake of such, he owes somewhat of courtesy to all who bear the name of woman.—As for you, sir," again addressing Evelyn, "I must say, our parting will to me be only a relief. Your right has for some time been your only claim on affections that have long ceased to be yours. I felt your unworthiness before I knew it. My only sense at this moment is thankfulness." She turned away, and passed De Joinville with a slight bend, and in another instant was hidden by the trees.
"I must follow her," exclaimed Evelyn, "And even try a little flattery;" but De Joinville observed that he did not take the same path.
"Ma foi!" exclaimed the Chevalier, "he must try his flattery on himself."
