CHAPTER XX.
THE CHATEAU DE SAINTE AULAIRE.
"Mark yon old mansion frowning through the trees, Whose hollow turret wooes the whistling breeze." My acquaintance with Mademoiselle Josephine progressed rapidly; although, to confess the truth, I soon found myself much less deeply in love than I had at first supposed.

For this disenchantment, fate and myself were alone to blame.

It was not her fault if I had invested her with a thousand imaginary perfections; nor mine if the spell was broken as soon as I discovered my mistake.
Too impatient to wait till Sunday, I made my way on Saturday afternoon to Rue Aubry-le-Boucher.

I persuaded myself that I was bound to call on her, in order to conclude our arrangements for the following day.

At all events, I argued, she might forget the engagement, or believe that I had forgotten it.