"Was that young gentlewoman not Mdlle. Zoraïde?"
"No; nor Madame Zoraïde either."
"Why did you tell a lie, then?"
"I told no lie; but you are in such a hurry. She is a pupil of mine—a Swiss girl."
"And of course you are going to be married to her? Don't deny that."
"Married! I think I shall—if Fate spares us both ten weeks longer. That is my little wild strawberry, Hunsden, whose sweetness made me careless of your hot-house grapes."
"Stop! No boasting—no heroics; I won't bear them. What is she? To what caste does she belong?"
I smiled. Hunsden unconsciously laid stress on the word caste, and, in fact, republican, lord-hater as he was, Hunsden was as proud of his old ———shire blood, of his descent and family standing, respectable and respected through long generations back, as any peer in the realm of his
