was styled Monsieur le Marquis; a variation of nomenclature that made an incalculable difference in the old gentleman's happiness and self-complacency; and fully compensated for all the advantages he was content to forego to enjoy it. Besides, after the vengeance of his enemy was supposed to have relaxed, he frequently revisited the place of his nativity; and he found it more agreeable to his haughty relations to be invited to the Château de la Rosa, where his remnant of nobility still adhered to him, than to busy Bourdeaux, where it was neither esteemed nor acknowledged.
Now, it happened that Monsieur le Marquis had the misfortune to be fitted by nature with some rather incongruous attributes; he was very ugly, very vain, and, withal, an inordinate admirer of beauty—of beauty of all shades and countries, but more especially of English beauty. He had been in love all his life; but he had been one of the most unsuccessful of lovers, particularly amongst the goddesses of his peculiar worship the fair Englishwomen; not one of whom had he ever been able to persuade to listen to his vows. Nevertheless, he did not despair; he loved on as sanguine people live on, through a thousand disappointments; reviving
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