to others and to a virtuous mortal, a Grandison like yourself.  But I think differently; to me your conduct appears cowardly, base and contemptible.  I should not be able to control myself, but would endeavor to make you comprehend my opinion of you, by slapping you in the face, wherever I met you.  I hope that you will spare me such a disagreeable alternative by consenting to pose for a few moments before my sword or pistol, as you please.  Allow me to entreat you not to exhibit any grandeur of soul, by firing in the air, it would not produce the slightest effect upon me, for I should kill you like a dog.  Your presence upon the earth annoys me, and I do not labor for morality in deeds myself.

EDGAR DE MEILHAN.

XXXVIII.

COMTE DE VILLIERS to MESSRS.  ROGER DE MONBERT and
EDGAR DE MEILHAN,

VILLIERS, Aug 18th 18—.

Let us drop such language unworthy of you and of me.  We are gentlemen, of military descent; our fathers when they did each other the honor that you offer me, challenged, but did not insult each other.  If the affair were equal, if I had only one to contend with, perhaps I might attempt to bring him to reason There are two of you; come on, I await you.

COMTE DE VILLIERS XXXIX.

VILLIERS, August 21st 18—.

For two days I have been trying to answer your letter, my dear Valentine, but I am so uneasy, nervous and excited that I dare not commit to paper my wild and troubled thoughts; I am still sane enough to accuse myself of madness, but dread to prove it.  Were I to write down all the strange ideas that rush through my mind, and then read them over, conviction of insanity would stare me in the face.

I was right when I told you it was a risk to accept such a wealth of happiness; my sweet enchantment is disturbed by dark threatening clouds—­danger lurks in the air—­the lightest word fills me with uneasiness—­a letter written in a strange hand—­an unexpected visitor, who leaves Raymond looking preoccupied—­everything alarms me, and he gently chides me and asks why I look so sad.  I say because I am too happy; but he thinks this a poor reason for my depression, and to divert my thoughts he walks with me through the beautiful valleys and tells me of his youth and the golden dreams of his early manhood, and assures me that his dreams of happiness are realized beyond his most exalted hopes—­that he did not believe the angels would permit so perfect a being as myself to dwell on earth—­that to be loved by me for a day, for an hour, he would willingly give up his life, and that such a sacrifice was a small price for such a love.  I dared not mar his happiness by giving expression to my sad fears.  His presence allays my apprehensions; he has so much confidence in the future that I cannot help being inspired with a portion of it; thus, when he is near me, I feel happy and reassured, but if he leaves me for a moment I am