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” She rang the bell, and he waited by her side until she was admitted to the tall, gloomy lodging-house. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. ‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. I intend to remain very serious indeed while I’m doing it. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. “Well,” she said, “good-night, father. They talked for the better part of an hour, and at last walked together to the junction of highroad and the bridle-path.

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