The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 370: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE LADY’S - MAID dog personal tributes of her lover, yet were it impossible to deny that they would make a remarkably interesting couple. ‘How long, my sweet Constance,” said the marquis, as they sat down together upon a bench beneath the verdant covering of the trees, ‘‘ are we to pursue this stealthy and clandestine course, —a course which, though marked by so many hours of indescribable happiness, has nevertheless in it something humiliating alike to your feelings and mine.” ‘“ What would you have me do, my beloved Etienne? ” asked Constance, gazing affectionately upon his countenance. ‘“‘T tremble at the idea of a furtive marriage.” ‘“‘ Listen, my sweet Constance,” exclaimed the marquis, in a tone of firmness and resolution. ‘‘ I have not concealed from you that my resources are small, that, indeed, they are so limited as to be onlysufficient for one, and would constitute privation if not poverty for two. But I have now the hope of obtaining diplomatic employment from King Louis Philippe’s government. The recent change in the French Ministry has brought into power an old and devoted friend of my father’s, and I believe, therefore, that I shall not now have to ask a favour in vain. Tell me then, Constance, tell me, my well-beloved, will you consent to become mine if I succeed in obtaining a post which shall guarantee me the means of maintaining you in comfort, if not in splen- dour?’ “Splendour, my dear Etienne!” returned Constance. ‘Oh, let not that word be associated with love! I seek not for splendour, I am sick of the present splendour in which I live. The gaieties, the dissipations, and the frivolities of fashionable life seem a mockery to the soul that longs for a blissful seclusion with the object of its love. Think not, therefore, that if in wedding you I should wed even poverty that reproaches or regrets would ever fall from my lips. No, no, that were impossible. But — ”’ “ You hesitate, Constance, you hesitate?’’ murmured. Etienne, as his arm gently encircled her waist, and he gazed fondly upon the countenance on which a shade of mournful- ness had suddenly settled. ‘‘ Tell me, my sweet girl, where- fore do you hesitate? Have you no confidence in my love, or do you believe I am the unprincipled adventurer that I know your mother has sought to represent me? ” “No, no, not for an instant do I entertain such a dis- CORMNICLOO© <S) (C(O)