The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe

genuine virtue. And I say Yes to one, or No to the other, and am just as much bewildered about it in the case of John with the top-boots as I am in the case of John with the pigtail. Ah, nice little Mousey! come, kiss me. What is your own private notion of a virtuous man, my pret-pret-pretty? A man who keeps you warm, and gives you plenty to eat. And a good notion, too, for it is intelligible, at the least.” “Stay a minute, Count,” I interposed. “Accepting your illustration, surely we have one unquestionable virtue in England which is wanting in China. The Chinese authorities kill thousands of innocent people on the most frivolous pretexts. We in England are free from all guilt of that kind⁠—we commit no such dreadful crime⁠—we abhor reckless bloodshed with all our hearts.” “Quite right, Marian,” said Laura. “Well thought of, and well expressed.” “Pray allow the Count to proceed,” said Madame Fosco, with stern civility. “You will find, young ladies, that he never speaks without having excellent reasons for all that he says.” “Thank you, my angel,” replied the Count. “Have a bonbon?” He took out of his pocket a pretty little inlaid box, and placed it open on the table. “ Chocolat à la vanille ,” cried the impenetrable man, cheerfully rattling the sweetmeats in the box, and bowing all round. “Offered by Fosco as an act of homage to the charming society.” “Be good enough to go on, Count,” said his wife, with a spiteful reference to myself. “Oblige me by answering Miss Halcombe.”