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Full text of "Therese Dunoyer : a novel / by Eugene Sue ; translated from the French by J.S.H"

UStm tDorlb Cibrani of Jution, No. 3. 



THEKESE DUNOYER. 



A NOVEL: 






BY EUGENE SUE, 



AUTHOR OF •' MYSTERIES OF PARIS," "MATILDA," ETC. ETC. 






TQAN8LATBD ritOM THE PHBNOIH 



FOR THIS EDITION. 



NEW>YORK: 
J. WWCHESTER, NEW WOIUJ) PRESS, 30 ANN-STREET. 

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, 



THERESE DUNOYER. 



ii 



A NOVEL. 



BY EUGENE SUE, 



AUTHOR 01 « iiu_ HYftTElQU Of PARIS," "MATILDA," ETC. EH 



TRAXSLATED FROM THE FRENCH. 



BY J. S. H. 



1 



n 



NEW-YORK: 
J . W I N C H I IS T I : R , NEW WORLD PRESS 



30 ANN 8TR1 






1 







Kntered according to Act ol *fl, 

BY J. WINCHKbTKR, 

Iji the Cleik'b Office oi the Southern District d New- York, il t] 




- - 



/ 



* 



4 

* 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



i 






TflJBBM IMNOYER, on its publication in Paris, created a lively sensation, and 
added largely to the celebrity of its author. Some of the critics pronounced it 
unnatural, but this is a judgment which small writers always utter upon matters 
of the . phere of their experience or comprehension. It is truly a remarkable 
atory remarkable alike for the scenes it depicts, and the characters it describes. 
In fit--- latter there are strong original traits, which remind one of the happiest 
.,i Mr. Kulwer's conception*. Was there ever a personage in a novel, more 
■trilling and peculiar than the Marquis de Beauregard J 

w , IS of « The Mysteries of Paris" and « Matilda," by the same 

author, issued by the proprietors of The New World, the public are sufficiently 
them foci a confidence in other works by the name author, which 
may appear under their iayrimatur. Theresc Dunoyer is the translation of a 
gentleman of high literary capacity and attainments. While the spirit and style 
of the original are faithfully preserved, there is an English air to the book, which 

•anulators seldom succeed in imparting. P» B. 



♦v 



V) 

A 










■-- -L*' 



MM 







THERESE DUNOYER. 



CHAPTER T. 

THR PREDICTION OF GWENC ULAN.* 



'i 



The wintry wind blew a hurricane from the 
west : tin- huge black billows thundered and 
tossed, as far aa the eyr could reach ; and the 
trig sun, red as blood, threw upon the gran- 
ite cliffs which line the coast of Brittany, u 
baleful gleam of light, aa sad and ominous as 
a last farewell. 

Tin- troubled ocean moaned; — the night 
was falling ;— the green creBt of the combing 
surf lost its transparency ; and, as it broke, 
tin- foam which crowned it became whiter, m 
contrast with the inky hue it had assumed. 
in from shore, tossed by the wave, and 
Hwi-pi by ill-- l-"ter spray, might be seen a fra- 
gilo ski'ft', floating at the mercy of the sea. 
The darkness thickened ;— the storm mcreas- 
ed ; and, at length, it was only by the broad 
riches of lightning that this little bark, with 
,ts occupants— whose destiny seemed already 
lixed— could be discovered. Sometimes, with 
ails skimming the surface of the water, 
as it yielded t,> the fury of the blast, it flitted 
across the summit of some mountain billow; 
and then ngain disappearing in the gulf be- 
neath, fbl a period it would be loBt to view, 
and apparently to hope. 

Of ill-' two, who manned the little craft in 
lur perilous .situation, <> e held the helm and 
guided her course wit., a firm and steady 
'hand; it was Mor Nader, the pilot of the 

Isle of Sein. 

Mor Nader was said to be gifted with the 
power of second sight ; and, as a seer, he 
an object of dread to all who knew him. 
•ions were ever of evil to come ; 
and, what added tenfold to their terrors, they 
were Beldom known to fail. His language, 
figurative and poetical, resembled those mys- 
tic rhymes of the old Armorican bards, which 
have descended even to our own times. Mor 
Nader was old ; his long white hair, stream- 
ing in the wind, wu.s unconfmed by cap or 
hood. The cold wan bitter ; but his breast 
and his nervous arms were bare. A fero- 
cious scowl overspread his countenance, and 
his keen gray eyes gleamed with a sort of 
wild delirium. His voice, hollow, but sono- 



rous as a bell, was heard above the whistling 
of the blast, and the howling of the storm. 
His spirit seemed to rise, as the tempest be- 
came more and more appalling; and he sang 
in the dialect of the region of Coruouaille, 
with a rough and guttural accent, a strain of 
strange and sinister meaning; the burthen of 
which seemed to run as follows : 



Not Ural I fear; Heat not to die; 

Not Ural I fear ; I 've lived long enough, I. 



• Om of the matt popular toot* »f Bnltany— dialect of 
Ooroouaule. 



At the prow of the bark was seated ano- 
ther man. He was young, and was known 
as Ewen de Ker Ellio. 

Ewen de Ker Ellio was lord of the old 
castle ofTrefl'Hartlog, which reared its gra- 
nite walla, surmounted by sharp-pointed tur- 
rets, two leagues down the coast, upon the 
summit of the solitary cliff called the Black 
Crag. The manor attached to this castle was 
bounded by those dangerous points upon the 
coast, known as The Gulf of Treapasaera, and 
The. Race of Stragglera. 

Wo have said that Ewen was young. His 
long brown locks floated in the wind ; his 
countenance was bold and open; his eyes 
were riveted upon the old man, and he seem- 
ed to listen to Mor Nader's wild and strange 
chant with curiosity, not unmingled with 
uneasiness ;— while occasionally a sad, but 
sweet smile, would flit across his leatures. 

When the pilot had concluded the first 
stanza of his ditty, Ewen addressed him in 
the same dialect of Cornouaille which the for- 
mer had used : " You have told me, that the 
hour approached in which I should know my 
deBtiny. Common sense forbids me to believe 
that you are wiser than others, and reproaches 
me for my folly in listening to one who would 
deceive me. You have told me that upon 
the sea alone conld you foretell my fate. Now 
go on ; for the storm increases, and we shall 
soon have enough to do to manage the boat 
unless we are willing that both our destmiea 
should be accomplished immediately. 

Mor Nader continued his song, as it the 
mystic rhymes were the only answer he 
deigned to give to the questions of his com- 
panion : 

"What rami hnppen who need cnte i 
Who his fu if could ore beware! 
Thrice the doomed one mutt die. 
Ere habooet in peace ihall U« " 



q THERE 8 E 

« Is ray dead., then, so near at hand ? is this 
vour urophecv ?" cried Ewen. 
" « Wh need vou care ?" cried the old man 
in bitter irony :««• ml not an old unpoator," 

" Speak! luiswcr me . 
« Oh, no ; I am but a deceiver : how should 
1 read a man's coming doom upon Ins for* 

head 7" 

«• Will you answer me V 

" If I should say, ' EwendeKer Ellio, com- 
mend yourself to God, for you will shortly be 
whelmed beneath these waves ;' of what avail 
would it be? would you believe me ? no. 1 
had better tell you, ' Kwen, you shall hve 
long and happily J a lovely bride shall bless 
your marriage couch, and your cnildN n ! 
children shall play around your knees r " and 
the old man's wild ami fiendish laugh rang 
out above the voice o( the storm. 

\ superstitious terror began to creep into 
the soul of Ewen : he felt as if under the in- 
fluence of some unknown power, and regret, 
ted that he had placed himself at the mercy 
of his strange companion. 

" Explain yourself, Mor Nader," he said at 
last ; H if any danger threatens me, let me 
know it.'' 

" In what month died your grandfather, 
Ewrn de Ker Elbe?" exclaimed the old 
man, in tlie tones of a hyena. 

"In the block month," (November) answer- 
ed Ewen. 

" A«d your lather?" 

" In the black month ! in the black month .'" 
repeated Ewen, shuddering, he knew not 
why. 

" And what month is this ?" 

"The black month .'" faltered Ewen ; but 
immediately raising his voice, he cried, " Pi- 
lot! pilot! take can d this coming wave 
— damnation ! do you want to drown us, do 
you ?" 

He could not finish; for a towering wnve 

>t over the skiff, and throwing her upon 

ide, almost filled her with wad 

lor Nader sat firmly at the helm, his head 

t ; his fiery eye, unconscious of danger, 

fixed on vacancy ; his soul wrapped in wild 

ami fearful misgivings. 

" Here ronies another !'' screamed Kwen. 
" My God ! to-morrow our bodies will be 
bleaching upon the sands." 

"True, true !'' exclaimed the old man; 
"to-morrow, your body will lie upon the 
sands, and the sea-weed for a funeral wreaih. 
shall twine around your damp and pallid 
brow. If your time has dome you must die ; 
for the black month is ilie black month. ."' And 
Mor Nader continued his chant in a voice 
more wild and terrible than before. Thus 
rang the rhyme : 

" The sea-horse is coming to meet me In wrath ; 
The scared waves scatter, full wide from his path j 
Hit crest i* as white as the frt-h-drivcii snow, 
And his horns of brifht silvtr gleam deoth from oil 
brow " 




D U N O Y E K . 

Mor Nader had now nearly abando; 
helm. A second wave, more t 
the last, swept over the skiff, and cauaed f 
to quake and shudder like a living tail 
Ewen, nearly prostrated by the shod 

to his f< ' I. ; ""' ' " 0( '» '" u tneni 

tone, "Wretch! do you pnrpu 

ua 7" and then, in accents of desp 

lated, " Fool ! fool that I was, thus to venti 

myself with this madman !" 

"Oh, no!" returned the pilot, in i 
bitter irony ; " I am only an old in 
cannot hear the funeral ilir,"' "' those <■ 
to die, wailed out by the spirits ol 
1 cannot see the hand of death, 
laid upon those ready to perish. Kv 
KCr Kllio! will you call in- an >ulM 

when, whelmed beneath tins ra 
hear the billows thunder above your 1 
vou see, far— far behind, by the light 
•flash, yon mountain wave with foaming 
which follows ns? It comes on ;— it 
upon us. I hear it murmur ; — I und< 
its voice. It says, • No ! no ! Mor Ni 
no impostor ; he has called me to I 
my icy bosom the body o( the dead i 
here, and where is the dead?' " 

The strange testacy of the pilot had 
at its acme; his wild spirit, excited to i 
[irinm by the grand and appalling specli 

ore him— galled by his wounded pi 
blinded by rage and ferocity — willing to 
crifice his own life, to that he might 
his vengeauei- upon Kwen for his increduti 
and accomplish the fulfillment of his pred 
tion; — he abandoned the bark to itself, a 
stood erect in the stern. There, with 
sinewy arms crossed over his naked 
with frowning brow, and an ominous gl 
his fiery eyes, he looked the incarnat 
the demon oi die storm. 

The boat, no longer guided, whirled qui 
ly around once or twice — a fluttering H 
heard — a light crash — and the white Bait, t> 
from its mast, swept away upon the blast, a 
disappeared in the darkening mist ! 

■• VVc are cried Ewen, as he thd 

himself upon the old man, and attempted 
possess himself ot the helm. 

Mor Nader repulsed him with violence, I 
a deadly struggle took place* between the 
two men, while rating, at random, over t 
abyss which aln ly yawned to i the 

The old man I ceived a blow, which ma 
the blood irom his forehead. Kwi 

struck down by a heavy bar, fell at hislemi 
in the bottom of the bout, and. ball 
ed by the water, believed that his lost b 
had indeed come. He commended his s« 
to God, closed his eyes, and awaited the : 
proach of death with calmness. 

The helpless little craft was cast hither a 
thither upon the waves, and the old man, H 
bloody brow and haggard eye, wailed out 
d« ath.song. 

Ewen, half-reviviug, thought he listened 



THR CAST I. E OP THEFF HART L 0. 



the chants of the damned in another world, 

while the following words rung in Ins deal- 

cned ear i 

"01 i the sea, tell quickly t" me 

: y..u tear wiil« y«m Claw« umt yourueak.au 

I IOC. 

lory h«uil "i'u chieftain dead ! 
Awl I tcnr out hia oye*. »o bloody and i< 

" Pilot ! pilot of hell ! is it to the regions 
of darkness, that you conduct me V murmur- 
ed B wen, whose bewildered mind began to 
partake of the fronsy which possessed ttor 
Nader. " Am I indeed dying?" 

"Was I an impofltoi ' was 1 an impostor 
then 1" screamed the old ■an.aawitli b 
iqg brow he leaned as n,wholay help. 

the tUwaxtt of the bant. 
,,,! no! you are no impostor : pardon 
me. But before 1 die, you who know all of M, 
i.ll „„-, I betei i| who js the original o 

thai in ill portrait; what is that pallid 

face yes of deepest black, which even 

now haunts me like a spectre of remorse!" 

•" Tis a flower of the block month! a blos- 
som of the tomb '." returned the pilot 

Another wave swept over the boat. Ewen, 
overcome bv the •hook, was enable to stir, 
ami the little craft seemed already settling 
down beneath bii the wild and Ulomnn- 

i Moi Nader again rang out above 
the tumult of the elements: 

.ii wolf! wWnthnvn fan thin, 

.in- run >'"i ""><' nll<l lenr -' 
ri of one, mow crud ilmn I. 
Wl ,uefc«>rthede«p«t dye.- 

• n. . of ocmo, v. it it pobori dwad ^ 

Wl, > ; of ill'- newly -lend ' ' 

• i H hit »oul. wli.'ii ii ttkai ii 
And ni Mom ft doWl t" ii'* mtn "' "W : ' 

A mountain of brine, cniuc down, like an 
avalanche, upon the linking boat, and it dis- 
appeared fi ■ waters. Bwon, 
in despair, felt himself drawn down by the 
eddy into the fathomless abyss. 



CHAPTER II. 



THE CASTLK Or TREFF HART/LOO. 

The western. Brittany wUchatretch- 

etf,. Bt to \V. rntz, is bleak and bhoi- 

pitable, while, at abort intervals its lofty head. 
land aloomy grandeur overtha lea. 

Between thi I of K.minrvan and the 

p, lies a hajrofsuch evil repute that il 

te Gulf of Trespassers. 

A little fori' ' oi the Bti 

glen, am! the Rock ol ihe Dead; names but 

too justly signil i'"' 1 ' 1h '- 

set the mariner, whom the furious and almost 

constant westerly happened to drive 

ii this iron-bound coast. Not far from 

ti,,- ,>k plac taslrophe whu h 

we have related in the \ii< 

Upon the summit of the lofty peaks, which 
lined like sentinels the An Q shore, were 



posted the ancient castles of the Breton 

nobles \ rearing their granite walls, capped by 

nointed roofs, toward heaven. And here it 

thai aot far from the little town of St. 

Michacl.and overlooking the Gull of Trespas- 

sere, stood, a i we have said bofore,na chateau 

of Treff Hartlog; from time Immemorial the 

strong hold of the baronial family of Ker de 

Ellio, one of the most considerable among the 

m.bility of Brittany. 

It were futile to inquire, what induced tiie 
founders of Treff Hartlog to select tins wild 
and solitary place for their abode. Its granite 
wall e. med a part of the rock upon which 
it stood; in color, it was of the same dark and 
Ume-stained hue; the same yellow mo* .lung 
rough and rugged sides, while its angles 
were equally bleached and weather-worn. 
The main body of the building stood at the 
foot of a court-yard, planted with box and 
dwarf-oak, once beautifully and lymmemcaUy 
trimmed, but now neglected and run wild. 
left wing abutted upon a tower of con- 
siderable height, which was almost over- 
grown by ivy ; the right wing had long been 

The ndned portion of the edifice almost 
overhung the sea. From a sort of terrace, 
I of the dehrin of the interior, one 
looked directly down upon ihe narrow chan- 
nel which separated the Gulf of Trespassers 
from the Island of the Sein, while the ocean 
extended beyond the far-away horizon. Ihe 
farms, belonging to the manor ol Kerde 6,IUO, 
lay scattered upon the plain below, embosom- 
ed in groves of verdant oaks, which agreeably 
broke the monotony of the landscape of bar- 
and plains, which stretched landward as 
tar as the < '1 reach. 

Ewen de Ker Ellio had left Treff Hartlog 
in the morning, to take an excursion upon the 
sea with Mor Nader, the pilot of the Island of 
the Sein. The result of that adventure wo 
have seen; but it was not yet known at the 

The time was the month of November, 
1838 The day, which had been dark and 
Btormv, was waning fast; and a huge Im- 
roared and blazed in the great chimney ot the 
castle kitchen. The scene within would 
„ atreasure to a Flemish artist, ine 
apartment was lighted by a single win- 
dow-long, narrow, and glazed witl i small 
ea of greenish glass, set mfrainoa lOf Jead. 
h was the thickness of the wajb, that 
within tii« dee, , formed by the win- 

dow.was found abundant- room to place a a- 
blo of old .fashioned black walnut, and Ian old- 
fashioned leather easy chair, with ita high and 
well-worn back. 

aic-d in this chair, smoking the white 

pipe, which i by the Armorican 

peasantry, <n Ann JatW, the aged nurse of 
Ewen de Ker Ellio, diligently plying her du- 
taff The dav light had nearly disappeared 
and the characteristic and expressive profile 



M 



8 



THERESK DTTNOTKR 






G 




of the old woman, alone, was thrown into 
strong relief, by the last rays of the setting 
sun, as they pierced, with difficulty, through 
the dim green glass of the window. About 
her wrinkled brow was wound the snow- 
white handkercWefi winch constitutes (he 

head-dress of the old Breton dames; and the 
remainder of her costume, which < 
of a boddice of blue cloth, with silver but- 
tons, above a skirt of brown stuff, turned Dp 
with scarlet, had not been varied for forty 
years. 

The nightfall and the apartment, wan illu- 
minated by the flickering light of the fire 
.-dour. As this blazed Up from time to time, 
it discovered, for a moment, other urlich 

furniture belonging to the apartment. Here, 
stood a ma "I antique pain m 

— there, a dress, r covered with articles of 
leery and well-burni -h' 'I tin; — while fast. 
ened to the walls, at regular intervals, quaint- 
ly carved in bus-relief, and richly gilded, wore 
the portraits of the pairon saints of Brittany: 
St. Guehenoe, St. Hermok and St. Goulvenn. 
The principal ornament u\' this character, and 
fax thr hugeatj wns b representation of the 
< Impel of Falgoat — so famous as being the 
hermitage of Saleun — upon which, surround- 
ed by a sort of golden glory, was the effigy 
of that blessed child him ell. for this chapel, 
Ann Jann cherished feelings of the di i 
devotion ; ami to this saint she had made a 
vow, pending the infancy of her foster-child, 
Ewen de Ker ESliio. 

The wind increased in its fury. The win- 
dows and doors of the old kitchen rattled and 
shook, and the rain and hail beat incessantly 
against the thick green panes. Ann J| 
from time to time peered anxiously through 
the casem< at, and at length rose hastily, phi. 
ced her distaff upon the table, and add re 
herself, in the Breton dialect, to some one in 
the apartment, who had been till then invisi- 

" Lea enGoch! Les en Gocb !'' she cri< d ; 
" what b time for my foster-son to be out in !" 

" Wind and rain ! — pshaw! the chief saw- 
worse weather than this, when he kept the 
forest of MenezChom," replied the husband 
of Ann Jann, without altering his position. 

Les en Qoeh presented, in his own person, 
a fair ensample of the Breton of Brittany. A 
race as firm and rugged as their own Anno. 
rican rocks — a race at once loyal and reli- 
gious ; strong in their prejudices, but devo- 
ted to the cause they embrace; faithful and 
brave, intelligent and discreet. Seated by a 
chimney nook, the fire-light, when it shone 
upon him, revealed a countenance burned by 
the sun and tanned by spray. His long black 
hair was scarcely touched with gray, though 
more than fifty winters had shed their an 
upon his head. He was of the middling sta- 
ture, active and muscular. His brow 
wrinkled — his hazel eyes deep set and pierc- 
ing. His nose inclined to the aquiline, and till 



massive under-jaw was projecting. The grave, 
pensive, and almost melancholy expression 
pf Ins countenance, announced the mi 
thought. Clad in the rude but pii 

B of Brittany, with one leg crossml 
tiie other, resting his elbow upon his knees] 
und his chin upon his hand, he seemed, as he 
rely and quietly smoked his pipe, a most 
appropriate ornament to the vast chin. 
piece of the castle kitchen. 

A huge yellow wolf-dog, with his long sharp 
muzzle, and ears erect and painted, sat grave, 
ly before' the fire, apparently enjoying its 
warm ih, and ever and anon brushing the 
hearth with his tail. 

i at nothing may be wanting to comp 
the portrait of Les en Goch, we will add. 
he wore around his neck a host of relics sus- 
pi nded from a leathern thong; — that his en. 
ergetic countenance was without beard or 
mustache; — and that a long and de p scar 
crossed his forehead and cheek. He wore a 
low-crowned slouched hat, was girded with 
a sash of red worsted, and was shod \\ ith 
se wooden sabots. 
" Mow it rains! how it rains !'' exchifl 
Ann Jann. "Why will the master e 
sueh weather? Ah! Les en Goch, 1 d 
know; but it seems to me that n great change 
has come over our Ewen of late : not thai i 

kind to us, or good to the poor Heaven 
forbid ! but he is sad, so sad. What can la- 
the cause of it — think yon, my B1 

The old Breton made no reply, but smoked 
more rapidly than ho had befo 

" You won't answer me, Les en Goch," I 
tinued the old woman; "but I see that 
have noticed the same thing. Git at Hea> 
what a Storm ! what a storm ! do you hear the 
soa, how it roars ?" exclaimed Ann Jann, aa 
she replenished the fire. " Ever since morning 
the muster has been out, and it hus rain. 
live-long day. At least he shall ha ie. 

thiug to dry him by when he does n turn 

••The chief is hardy," remarked the old 
ton ; " win u we h. id the wood be slept 
On the -round, and it was not ah 
volley fired that aroused him. When tho 

sed soldiers were tracking us over the 
mountain like a pack of wolves, he was not 
down-hearted then." 

" Why will you always be speaking of that 
unhappy time, Les en Goch?" said the old 
woman, reproachfully; "was not our Ewen 
wounded in that war? were not you also, and 
were you not both captured and condom i 
death ? — though, thanks to Heaven ! you were 
both pardoned these two years. I tell you, that 
during the fifteen months of the Chovan rebel- 
lion, I wont daily to the church of St. Michai 
to pray God and the good saints of Brittany 
for your protection ; and when I returned to 
the castle, I hid my face in my apron and oried 
bitterly for my foster-son, and for you, Les en 
Goch." 

" For ail that, we had a very good time of 



THE CASTLE OP TREFF HARTLOG. 








it, and the chief never enjoyed himBelf better 
than when we were fighting every day. You 
should have seen howgayly he led the attack." 
" Why do you always cull him tho chief, 
now that ihe war is over and done with, through 
the mercy of God f " said Ann Jann, an she pro- 

ded to light a large brass lamp. 
he old Breton, pointing to a long musket 
which was suspended over the fire-place, r< •- 
plied quietly ; " Peace or war, a musket is al- 
ways called a musket." 

Thin the tempest broke forth with redou. 
bled violence ; the lightning flashed incessant- 
ly, the rain fell in torrents ; peal upon peal of 
thunder stunned the ear; the mighty ocean 
lifted up its voice from afar, and the waters of 
the gulf, beating upon the crags beneath, 
seemed to shake the castle to its very foun- 

dation. 

Jesu-Maria, and our lady of Falgoat, de- 
fend us !" cried Ann Jann, lifting her hands in 
prayer ; " and grant that our Ewen be not gone 
down (0 the shore; the sea must be sweeping 
over the low-lands." 

" He has not gone down to the shore," re- 
marked th> matic old Breton. 

•' \ir > r of that, Les en tioeh?" 

II, r husband made no answer, but extin- 
guwhed his pipe end rose from his seat. 

iger, the great wolf-dog, arose with his 

mssl 

'•Are you going to look for Ewen ? ' asked 

the nurse. 

T) I made no reply to his wife, but, 

v> itii his head drooping on his chest, and his 

U crossed, he began to stride rapidly back 
and forth across the kitchen. The dog fol- 
ios', footsteps with anxiety. 

•• God help us '." ejaculated the old woman ; 
who, by long experience, had got to compre- 
i ighteBt movement Of hi! silent hus- 
band ; " you put out your pipe, you are agi- 
tated, Lee en Goch : my child is in danger '." 
, no il Ugh, and he is at sea with 
Mor Nader," replied the Breton, with deep 

emotion. 

" Then, Heaven have pity on him I have 
nursed as n child '." cried Ann Jann, dropping 

upon her knei , , • 

Les en Goch took off his hat, and pieced it 
under hi , then, kneeling beside his wife, 

he kissed, devoutly, one of the relics suspend- 
ed around his neck ; and with joined hands, 
and moving, but noiseless lips, poured out Mfl 
soul in silent prayer. 

What is more touching than to behold, at 

this late day, two ancient servants who retain 

ao much of primitive simplicity, as to unite in 

prayer for tho safety of a master? Les en 

Goch having made a vow to our Lady of Au- 

ray, to induce her to deliver from peril Ewen 

de Ker Ellio, the young lord de Treff Hartlog, 

roac from his knees, much comforted ; and 

looking with confidence to a favorable issue, 

he recommenced his promenade ; pausing, 

oecuionaLly, to listen to the howling of tho 



storm, and to judge whether its fury was mo- 
derated. 

Time passed weurily on. The storm con- 
tinued without abatemont. The anxiety of 
the two old Bretons, who loved Ewen aa a 
child, was intensely painful — but it was mute 
and submissive ; — they had committed their 
loved one to the Lord, in prayer, and they 
bowed to His will. 

As some relief, the old nurse busied herself 
in preparing, as usual, the evening meal ot 
her foster-child. Drawing near the fire s 
highly-polished table of black-walnut, she 
covered it with a napkin, which had been 
woven during the long winter evenings at 
Treff Hartlog, and bleached to snowy white- 
ness beneath the sweet May moon. Upon 
this she set symmetrically, but mechanically, 
two massive silver salt-cellars, and other pie- 
ces of plate of antique pattern and elaborate 
workmanship. It may be thought, that the Ba- 
ron de Ker Ellio was somewhat patriarchal in 
his taBtes ; but he found a peculiar pleasure in 
eating his frugal meal before the kitchen fire, 
around which he had sported in childhood, 
and listened with charmed ear to the tales of 
that indomitable old fellow, the father of Lea 
en Goch; who fought over the battles in 
which he beat the Blues, and gained the ap- 
pellation of thci "badger." Besides this, 
while he eat Us JUesJ, Ewen was accustomed 
to arrange the details of his house-keeping 
with Ann Jann and Les en Goch, which lat- 
ter performed the duties of groom, gardener, 
huntsman, and valet de chauibre. 

Like his father, Treinadeur de L'Escoet Ba 
ron de Ker Ellio, Ewen gave audience to his 
farmers by his fireside ; — received their rents, 
or forgave them, as the case might be ; and 
r refused to do a service or grant a re- 
quest, which was consistent with justice to 
himself and others, or in accordance with an- 
cient custom. To that day, the fishermen. 
binught him the best of their haul, for winch 
he ever paid them liberally, notwithstanding 
the occasional grumbling of his housekeeper, 
who insisted they were his by right aa lord 
of the manor. After his evening meal, Ewen 
left the table to his faithful servants; and 
stretching himself in the old easy-chair, lit Ins 
pipe, fixed his eyes upon the fire, and tell into 
a fit of revery, (for he was a lamous dream- 
er,) which lasted till bed-time. About nine 
o'clock, he ascended to his chamber, and 
threw himself upon the bed where his great- 
grandfather had died— and his grandfather— 
and his father before him: he slept quietly 

till morning. . 

Thus, with the exception of a period ot nt- 
teen months, when, at the head of a tend of 
his own retainers, he had taken the field with 
the Vonde*an8, who rose for the Duchess de 
Berry, quietly and smoothly had glided on the 
life of the lord of Treff Hartlog. 

The clock struck eight— the storm contir. 
ued to rage in all its fury— and Ewen came not. 



A 



10 



T IT E R E 6 F. D IT N Y T. R 



:' 




" Gtn Mor Nader be rig ht 7" muttered the 
old Breton to himself. " Is it possible that he 
has second sight ?'* 

" Thn gift of wecond sight never comes 
from the Bon Dieu," remarked Ann Jaun. 

'* We don'i know— we do n't know, wife !" 
returned the Breton ; "but whutlu i pl- 

edge come from God ox the devil, curse him, 
and his prediction too !" 
"Prediction ! what prediction " 
" The other evening I was down upon the 
beach; the sun was setting red, and the u. ■:.. 
ther looked threatening. Seated upon a rock 
1 found Mor Nader, singing thai song ol in , 
which begins thus : 

' \\ li-'ii the -uiiMUredniMl ■ rli. 

I ..a my door sill, Urai md,- I.' " 

** Ah ! that is an ill. omen, d Bong, n rid they 
do say, ihat whenever Mor N heard to 

sing it, a great .stunn is sure to follow," 
Ann Jann. 

"It was the case that night; for the wind 
began to blow, and the sea to look black ami 
furious. I said, c we are going to have a bad 
night, pilot.' Without making any reply, 
directed my attention t<» the lowei of Treff 
Uartlog, which could be seen above the , 
* Well, what would you, Mor Nader" 1 a 
' that is the castle of the cliff.' Tin- pilot, 
alter a iimm< m' . Lb ace, aid, 'The wind of 
the black month carries death upon it wings 
tothe lords of that castle.' Not another word 
could I obtain (pirn him, and nou this alan 
me." 

" Why now, Les en Goch ?" 

After a few moments' hesitation, the old 
Breton said, in a low tone, " What month is 
Jhis, wife 7" 

"The black month," the old woman an. 
swered heedlessly. She, had not followed her 
nusband's train of thought; but the at tt mo- 
ment the truth Hashed upon her, and he c.\- 
claimed, in agony, « My husband, I compre- 
hend you ; this is the fatul month !" 

The old man's head sunk upon his breast, 
and he continued his walk. 

" Yes, this is the black month," said Ann 
Jann, with terror ; " and Ewen is on the sea 
in company with Mor Nader. Well may he 
be called the Snake of the Sea. Wicked and 
deceitful, the evil-doer is the terror of the 
whole country-side. The good rector of s,. 
Michaels, the Abb,- de Kerouclhm, ha 
ready threatened to excommunicate him, if 
"^continues to practice his sorceries." 

Ah! what a misfortune that the good 
abbe has been absent at Paris these three 

SSL*' ° r JU , S , t that ,imc ,il( <"" 'tasbcen 

we wer^fn^r" **2 ^ 'Option Which 
we were unable to afford." 

th fl 'i«,r rSinCe he began to 8 P ea ^ to us of 
iilLrX P1CtUre ' Ewen * 8 «P^ts have been 
S. Dld y°» never see that picture 

"NeveV.'' Ume> LCS en Goch ? 



"And yet it mjist be a very old picture 

The old Breton shook hi.s head will 
pf perplexity. 

" I'm not dd, " that i 

not some evil influence about that pii 

" Like enough, my liusbnud. i 
•licet how agitated and alarmed tin 
whe u we were unable to aiu wt 
quiries respecting it '"' 

•• ifes ; I 'm convinced that then i ». itch. 
craft about that picture !" exclaimed L< 

ch; "for the other day I went up 
master's chamber, when he was gone, a 

" And what, my husband 
" I' seemed to me, thai the eyea of that 
paleface moved and Rp ark led likediamon 

••Mi! but this portendasome great misfor- 
tune. Heavens! how tlie . torm in 
It is all over: it is all over! our child j 
screamed the frantic old nurse. 

" The Lord grant that .Mor Nader has not 

I the destiny of the chief." 
M Hie has not ; the Lord has not .so wilt 
cried the nurse, pointing to the door, and 
stooping down to listen. » ] h 

lu '' »» I Mn< | ! Holy Mother! blessed 
bo thy name, thai thou hast not „ir 

loved one in his hour of need 
upon her knot en Goch ,, g 

Sprang toward the door; it flew open before 

'>"> 'eaehed .. ..udEwende Kei Ellio stood 

before •hem. 



CHAPTER HI 

Tlti: KRTtTRN. 



in 



r first sight, the counti Danes . .i Ewen de 
EHio waa. not peculiarly attra. The 

thick masses of hair which overhung bis 
forehead, his h. e brows, and his I 

brown beard, which he had n, 

"■M-brrak m la Vendee, gave h, 
and si-vere aspect; whieh.nouew 
"l'"M further acquaintance, before th. 
smile winch was habitual to him. 

I" his man. .me excii |„. wu accug> 

tomedtowearthe loos, duel, ,. re d 

-ollen ja- ,„h hood attached, ,n , 

among the Breton sailors : and when he ma. 

hlS a,,p,,,; MK , ; ,„ ,,„. ( . ;isllf . K|(H|( 
nh^UHlmg »,, rain bia hood wa, down, 

T.l r ar ' l ""' Mly ,,al, ' ; hi8 bla.-klock, 
saturated with brine, hung down to. 
ders, and bis garments were dripping «, 
Upon us entrance, he closed the 5oor ai\ 
Inmw.th violence , as u he feared St! 

lnrd U orCffH an H a ' ani,,d '. ,nde0d ' did *» 
lord ol Ireft Hertlog seem, that Les en Go, 

seized us musket, and a,,proaching him ex 
"m"' 1% ! !»— --hathaaha'pp; d ? " 
'Blessed Mother- cried Am> Jaim, " what 

danger threatens you ?»» 

At these words, Ewen in a measure recov- 






THE CASTLE OF TUPF HARTLOQ 



11 



ered himself. He looked about him for a| 
moment, an if bewildered, and then pawed 
his hand ov,, his brow named of 10 pu. 

libition of fear, he lorced a .smUe, 

I, "WriOdo 

| wanted la keep out from to 
The old Breton looked Upon lus master 

-It was the red monk! he followed me ! 

added Ewen. 

The red monk was the traditional Bpectre 

of thai vicinity. But, notwithstanding this 

empt ai pleasantry, it was easy to see thai 

was disturbed by some myateriotw 

ungs of" apprehension. 

E»d di e red monk strike your cried foe 

old Brenm ; " your Irowsers are covered with 

blow , , ,„ 

•' Holy Mary! are von wounded, my son 
exclaimed the old n avoring to throw 

herself int taster's arms. 

it the first time, Eweu repulsed her, Ok 
ud without making any reply, 
tin, w himself ini u before the tiro. 

.. i,,.., en ,;,„■!,, he is wounded I" faltered 
Ann Jaim, lo a troubled voice, 

The old Chonan anawered not, but keeping 
his eyes fixed upon his master, exarrum d, 
attention, rhe ; blood Wl,h 

which i ra were stained. 

After ■ time, be said to his wife, "No; 
thai is no! his blood: h he walks too 

8tro be* n wounded." 

„ , t he Lord!" murmured Ann 

Jann, n foe sign ol the cross. 

..en's garni' re ho soaked with wet, 

that he shivered for cold. 

•• Will you not change your clotnea I m- 

quired tru nur e, gently. 

Ewen apparently did not hear her. »nc 

.roached and repi ated the question, but hi 

tb, placing her hand upon htf 

IkmiI.I. iff lightly, she said, 

•• My dear lord, you must not remain long- 
er in i! attire." 

Alter some minutes of sombre silence, bW- 

it of liia re very ; and, as if to re- 

r, by repeating but thoughts 

aloud, he said: . . , 

•• Bah ' what folly ! What is it to me that 

Palled the black month, any 

is called the bright month. 
(Vm , U gh to bo annoyed by 

.us fears? Because Mor IV 
it any sign thai he is a 
qd have I not just now esc 
from 'he: greatest danger which ever thrcat- 
d me in my life ' »*o! Come, 

me, Aim Jana,gfitmy supper ready, i 

ivering his usual tone and manner; 
et supper, and than bring a bottle ol the 
suongest wine, in I and Li 

i help me nut with it." 
"Glad and proud shall we he to dunk your 
health and happy return, mu 
the old Breton ; hut in a lower tone he added, 



■ to expose yourself thus, is to tempt the 

J « And to go to sea with Mor Nader alone, 
is surely to tempt him doubly," murmured 
Am. Jann, as she busied heraaH m preparing 
uppers 

At the name of the pilot, the brow of Lwen 
was again overcast, and for son he out 

in sombre silence; but at last, with an ei- 
fort, he recovered himself, and replied gayly, 

"Not so, nurse. Tie old wisard is just 
the one to go to sea with, for they say he is 
married to the atorm. But by St. Guenhoe, 
if be be, Madam Tempest proved herself but 

Q termagam wife to.day, for she buffeted her 
husband about till she drew the blood. 

« Drew blood ! master Ewen f 

« Do n't you see it upon my trow^ers " 

" Yes, master." 

"Well, Les en Goch, thus it was: we 
were trying to take in our sail, which was 
too heavy for us; a huge wave struck the 
boal and throw her on her side ; Mor Nader 
fell against one of the hooks upon the gun 
nel, and cut open his forehead. Luckily, he 
bled freely ; be was not much hui 

Altlun en strove to put on an air of 

assurance while giving tins explanation he 
was too little accustomed to deceit to be able 
entirely to overcome hia embarrassment. 

h \ ni i wei done with Mor Nader in 

the boat 1 " inquired the old Breton. 

"Certainly;— why not? What need had 
Mor Nader and I of Help to manage such a 
cockle-shell?" ... 

"And hiw Mor Nader n turned to the Isle 

of Seiu in all this storm '" . 

" No, no," said Ewen, with a hesitating 

air? "no, we ran aahore on the point of 

Kerer, and Mor Nader has probably gone to 

Bhelter at the hut of Le Oat, the >flMwr« 

'""''Are vou Ittfe, master, that Mor Nad, I 
is spending th- night at LeGal'afaut? m- 
quired Lea on Goch. 

« Sure of it? no !" exclaimed Lwen, witn 
„i,nco; "not sure of it, but E suppi 
I,,.,,. Bui enough of this? help me on with 
theae clothes, which weigh some hundred 

and Whieh have been denied 

!,. | to ld you, by the touch of the red nwnk. 

Lea en Goch was too di- md lll0 i re !' 

peetful to inquire the cause of his maaters 
ll;imi . wh en he entered the castle mtha 
precipitation. Supj fried a. d I, ma h 

ed after whieh Ewen retired immediate*) to 
^e„t,leavingthe two old servant, to 

their meditations. 

-Leg en Goch, buried in thought, smoked 
his pipe In alienee. While Am. Jam., well 
awarehow fmitloas would be the attempt to 
arouse the attention of her .d, took her 

seat : ana brooded over 

the painful thought, that her darling foster- 
cbJld had been exposed to other dangers than 
those of the seas. 




12 



THERE6E 



DUNOTER 







Suddenly, Lea en Goch started up, knocked 
the ashes out of his pipe, seized his gun, 
which he had replaced over the fire-place, ex- 
amined me charge, ami stepped lightly to tin; 
door. With his hand upon die latch* hi 
tated, seemed lost in thought for souk, mo- 
ments, and then returning to the fin , he rt 
placed his musket and sat down in silence. 

Ann Janrf had watched her husband's mo- 
tions with an anxious look ; bIic divined the 
thoughts and intents of his heart, and bi 
ing silence, she said i 

Lea in Goch, you were going to the hut 
of Le Gal f the fisherman, to seek Mor Nader. 
Do dot think of it, J pray you ; it' he has at- 
tempted evil against our master, the Lord 
above will punish him." 

Without betraying the least surprise thai 
his wife had so accurately read his purpose, 
the old Breton significantly replied : 

" The Lord sometimes makes use of human 
instruments to execute his vengeance."' 

" Les pn Goch. you will not kill Mor Na- 
der? no; wicked ns he is, you must not kill 
him." 

"I do 'hi know about thru," replied the 
Breton, coolly. 

Ann Jann ascended the stairs w iihout noise, 
and listened at her master's door. All was 
quiet! When she returned, she found her 
husband on his knees Bi prayer. She joi 
him, and silence soon reigned throughout the 
castle of TrerT ilartlog. 



CHAPTER IV. 

F.WEN PE KF.R ELLIO. 

Bf.forf. we proceed further in this narrat 
it may not he amiss to analyze, a little n 
closely, the singular character of the young 
lord of TrelV Ilartlog; re jiture 

period, the account of his miraculous escape 
from tin er into which he was plan 

by the maniac fury ol liar Nader, 

Bwen, the only son of ih> Baron Ker Bllio, 
lost his mother while still in the cradle; but 
her place was Bupplied with unexampled U n. 
denies* ami devotion, by Ann Jann, to vi 
Foati ring care his .lays of infancy wi n in- 
trusted. When the child became a youth, the 
baron sent for the Abbe" de KetouelUn, an old 
lieutenant of dragoons, who had holy 

orders, and become the cure, or as the Bretons 
always say, the rector, of tin pariah of I 
Michael's. To this worthy ecclesiastic was 
committed the charge of our hero's education. 

The abbe", as might be supp. as no 

great savanl; hut he was a man of sound 
sense and great force of character, which was 
much better. H e taught his pup gfa of 

grammar, to enable him to speak and write 
correctly ; and sufficient arithmetic to h 
his accounts with his tenants, and that was 
all. But it the young baron's library and sci- 
entific education was somewhat slighted, his 



j moral and physical faculties were cultivated 
by the good abb6 to their fullest extent ; and 
in this task he persisted until he had develop 
m his pupil great bi i "I body and energy 

of mind ; in short, lie made him a man loyal 
and gem rous, robust and hardy. .Sim ■ 
pious, a royalist by instinct, Ewen's pi; 
pies, religious and political, were those of the 
ancient Breton noble ; his creed might be com- 
prised in two words — God and thp King. 

The old baton died, and with his blessing, 
he gave his son the following count el : To be' 
ever faithful to the Church and crown ; just 
and kind to his tenants, and never to make 
Paris his residence — a place, as he Haid, where 
one was sure to lose his all, both here and 
hereafter. 

This advice, I Owen had scrupulously fol 
lowed. When the revolution of 1830 took 
place, civil wur broke out in the west, and 
lord of Treff Ilartlog, beliering U to be his 
duty to imitate his father, who had in the days 
Of the Republic, been R chosen chief at the 
head of a band of his own tenantry, took the 
field in the cause of him whom hi [red 

to be In- legitimate sov 

While the insurrection continued, E* 
maintained his ground; when it was put 
down, he Wfl I ; a price set upon his 

hi ad, and he was obliged to flee for saf< ty to 
the forest, accompanied by his raithful 

er, Lea en Goch. For lour months they led 

mdering life, when 
olaimi d, in which they wi re ind 

Kuui returned to his cMatc, with the rep 
tion of a good soldier, and a gallant man, 
h he had earned by the cool and deter- 
mined courage he had manifested throughout 
the war. 

lie now resumed th< ojuiel and tranquil 
-■ of life, winch he h tied bi 

it had been broken m upon by the call to 
: and though, at timi Mien en tted timthis 
days of wild mi at and cnivairic ardoj 

passed, his warlike spirit gradually Bob- 
aided, and he hi came, what is by no means 
common, in one of his age and endowments, 
a lover of BolitOl 

life passed away like a drown ! some, 
times, upon the boundless wastes which 
stretch over the interior of Brittany, some- 
times, upon the stupendous cliffs which line 
her coasts, he watched the mighty workings 
of nature, as she smiled in the sunshii 
frowned in the storm. Buried in r< 
would plant himself upon a rock, and watrh 
the sun as it set in the ocean. Twil 
Would succeed the day, and night lie. twilight, 
before Swing, rising from his seat, would re. 
turn to his castle, gazing with love and ad- 
miration upon the starry heaven, and breath- 
ing the sweet scent of the fern which li 
lus path. 

Arrived at home, the affectionate altcim 
ol Iur faithful servants forestalled his every 
riah. His repast made, Ewen lit his pipe, 









E WEN 



)E 



KER ELLIO 



and installing himself in his comfortable fau. 
I, resumed his revery until the hour for 
icpoMC a 

mounting his horse, he would 
scour the country for miles around, avoiding 
i Pont Croix and Kemper, so ili- 
taflteful to him was their noise and bustle ; 
and seeking in preference, those immense 
and .solitary sand plains, which, left by the 
remind one of the element! from which 
they are recovered. 

Thru again, Ewen would bunt the live. 
long day, through iho tangled brakes and the 
forests - , accompanied b ithful dogs, sur- 

mounting with ease tli' and in. 

diments of that wild and broken country, fd- 
ling his panniers with game, by the steadi- 
i, and returning at night, fresh 
I nhwearied, to his home. 
la ns this life might seem, his uiiud was 
ever net i Essentially poetical in bis tem- 
perament, Ewen was a poet in all but words. 
Ha studied deeply; hut it was the book of 
m" the literature of the day. 

among his peasant 
vn estate, he shunned the boc 
iinv of the ueighborhi 
Their b mirth annoyed him ; theii 

eoarse and k naual pl< »Ituig 

Still, such wai putation 

for | • Ity and cout ''l and cour- 

teous w< manners, thai his reserve gave 

id ofience; he lived without a Rx ; and the 
uihl and reckless young nobles, whose i 
etyheshun:. re content to avenge th 

salvi t, by nick-naming him 

"The Philosopher." 

But thin state of things could not always 

wearisome to th< lord ol Trefl Hartlog: he 
I for some kindred heart to i njoy with 

"him his irampnl pit d his wild imag- 

niiii 

Hitherto, we have raid nothing ol Ewi 
sentiment ha n fard to the 
for i asional rem with the I 

f00tedW00d.nyni;>h of Brittany, snemed hard- 
ly worth while rei i as their itn 

upon his mind ive birth 

to il. 

His neighbors occasionally asked 
•• Are you nevi o marry, M. de Ker 

Ellio '" but hil answer invariably was : 

•• Never i In I to marry. I nm 

too independe dous of my liberty 

ndet it. I never dream of it." 

In a nying, however, Ewen did not Strict. 
re to the truth -. he did dream ■>(' mar. 
riage ; and upon that wry dream, he foot 
the most extra vnganl and chimerical expects. 
iture happiness and joj to come. 
ieh perfection, indeed, did 
his imaginary bride, thai ho might well 
spairoi ig her in the sc« life. 

TBl ample fortune, ancient name, and no 
ble character of the young baron, ontitlcd him 



13 



to ask the hand of the richest and noblest 

damsel in the province ; and his old instruct- 

tor, thcAbh' u< Unn, had not unfrcquonU 

ly suggested to liim a connection with two 

of the high-bom and wealthy 

whom he met at an occasional fete of I 

Church, and other gatherings of the magnates 

pf the land ; but Ewen had alway 

under the pretence, of a love of freedom, and 

a repugnance to mere silken bonds. 

fn so doing, however, he did not assign 
the ieal reason ; nor did his indifference to 
his fair neighbors, arise from any want of 
beauty, or accomplishments, on the part of the 
blooming girls of Brittany. But, for a long 
time, the young baron occupied himself v 
completing the portrait of an imaginary fair, 
who was to make him blest. Day by day, he had 
added some new charm to the picture ; and 
when, at length, enriched with every treasure, 
which his heart or imagination could bestow 
upon it, he pronounced it finished ; he che- 
rished it huart, and only asked, «' Is 
tier-' such a woman' Why should there 

not i>< 
Bui when, 
iad< 'i bimsi If thai such a being di ' 
and thai he might fail to call her his own, th 
it wa.-: thai In ivileci ion- took a turn too pain- 

fnl to be endured. " Unhappy thai I i 
he would exclaim, u cherishing hopes impos- 
sible to be realized— ?I have unfitted mj 
for i which are within my rea 

I oud the hounds of reason- 
able . tion. What I am offered, is inca- 
pable of satisfying my desires." 

With these thoughts eommenecd the melan- 
eholy tO Wttich, afi before observed, 

Ewen bad, within a few months, become a 

prey. A sweet sadness, almost a weariness of 
111.-, was ereepin his soul ; — the gay face 

of natin landscape, the song of 

birds and th earn of flowers, had no 

longer any charm for him. The mild and 
troub and thi storm, 

alone filled him icy. 

These he would contemplate for hours, from 

Oltte lofty Cliff, and when he re- 
turned to h." home, the storm still r rith- 
in his breast. 

The man rnal care of Ann Jann, the silent 
devotion of Lea en Goch, in some n 
calmed the mrbulent emotions ; but still U 

h agitation, he would range through 
i isi nm 1 apartments of the castle, 

q to the wind, as il d and wi 

ed through its deserted halls, with wild excite- 
to rest. 
It was not Ion super- 

,1 upon a mind, so well prepared to give 
a habitation to its terrors. 

The whole country was fearful 

nunOTS of th •'" MOT Nader, the 

pilot of the Seine ; and I «vas smitten 

with the desire to test the wizard's power. 

ought him ; and the old man, half-maniac 



14 



THEKESE DTTMOYER 




if nothing more, had poured forth his sinister 
auguries concerning the fatnl influence o| the 
black month upon the destiny of the hi 
oFKerEllio; and finally, as we h 
an exce uvogi di lirium, h u it, ui 

(h« risk 'i his own life, to accomplish his 
fearful prophecy by the destru 

tiin. 

Let as here remark, that Ewen, notwith- 
standin: of character which his 

strange hallucinations had wrought, remained 
m his moral attributes (he and thai the 

s of his heart and his con i for 

the unhappy, ••• rued actually increased bj bJ 
own mental sufferings. 

Onr circu ■■ alone, seemed to render 

his malady Incurable; it was an event wl 
gave a palpable and permanent image to the 
idol which he worshipped - -the dream-girl of 

BOUl, 

. art were ran- in the cat tie ol 
Treff Hartlog; but in the Bleeping chamber 
was an old and balf-obliterated 
picture, which represented a woman of sur- 
passing beauty. 
A pali itanance, -nil more faded by 

time, some of a red tunic which had 

covered the shoulders, a mass of dark-brow a 
ir.ir which fell in long locks over the temples, 

, nil that wa e; the remainder of the 

figure and apparel had disappeared in the ob- 

sctttity of the background. The only par* 

i portrait i w< re entirely on. 

injm re the for* b< od and • v< i. The 

.', war-- Lofty" and commanding ; li 
t.) ,>,,:- dneaa and pnril 

marble. The eye-- were large, black, and ir- 
resistibly lov< '.. , notwithstanding a bold, and 
almost wicked sion, which shot forth 

from their gi tnce, The nose, mouth and chin, 
were so far (laded as to require b oonaidt table 
■ teii of the imaj i to define them. 

This picture, at the first view, created a 
Ming impression on the beholder. Tho 
large and snow. whim forehead, and piercing 
black eye--, seemed to start out from tho can- 
vaa, leaving the other features of the form 
wrapped in mystery and gloom. One thing 
alone remains to be remarked ; above the left 
♦•yebrow was a small natural mark, of the des- 
cription known, in common parlance, as beauty 
spots. Upon the dream-girl which he worship, 
ed, the diseased imagination of Ewen had 
at once bestowed the features of the mysteri- 
ous portrait — which at first sight had taken a 
strong hold of his wayward fancy, — and 
thenceforth, the first object which he sought 
in the morning and the last of which he took 
leave at night, was the magic picture, with its 
marble brow and jet-black eyes. 

In such a state of mind as the lord of Troll' 
Hartlog was, it will readily be conceived, thai 
any inexplicable circumstance connected with 
this portrait, should seem to him to partake of 
the supernatural ; and, strangely enough, such 
a circumstance did exist. Whether this pic. 



tun; had alwayB been in his apartment 

he had only now remarked it ; or whet! 

had lately been placed there, Ewi 

himself' in vain. When it cam 

from v. hence, he could not tell. II- 

h c.ill! i ii ■ r « i,l evi i li 'i in 111 

ihei ; and both his curiosity and jfl 

augmented, when both " 
Coch and Ann Jann, in answer to his in qui 

I, disclaimed all knowledge of its ej 
encc, 

The picture was painted upon wood ; ^H 
Ewen, after a careful and patient examinaJ 

could discover nothi w npoi 

Burfai epting pome nearly oblitei 

inscription in one conn r, "I which, afn 

d efforts, he could make out only thp 

word, "November." It was not without a 

thrill of horror, that Ewen read the nam< 
tho black- month. What did it there ihn 
name of that month, which tradition taught 

him was so fatal to die well.being o\ 

e ? He turned to i of .St. 

Michael, as the only on< who could probably 

throw n light upon this mystery j but the 

>r was absent in Paris; and during Ins 

stay, Which lasted for three months, the men. 

tal malady of his former p tpil had increased 

« ith frightful rapidity. 

Such was the condition of the young baron 

i urn of the rector. 



1 1 A P T 1 1 R \ . 
Tin: BSCTO* of St. MICHAELS. 

On the morning of the day after F wen's es. 
capt , M. le Abbe* de Keroueilan, rector of 
the parish of St. Michaels, mounted upo 
little white poney, might have been 

climbing the steep and circuitOUfl road wbicl 
led from lbs burgh t.. the castle of Tn I 

Hartlog. The abbe* wasastalwarl and ro. 
bust old man, who, in Bpite of his ecclesi 

cal robe, had the air and bearing of a soKImi, 
rather than of a priest. 

The storm had ceased. A thick and chill. 
ing fog had shut down over lh< horizon, 
hid the sea from the view; — though the ear 

iinded with the hoars, murmuringa of the 

surf, for B heavy ground-swell had succc< 
to the wild dashing oi the waves. 

Bred to arms, the abbe" performed, with 
punotillioUS exactitude, the important duth * 
imposed upon him by his religious pr< 
as he had, in former times, those of a soli 
— but Ins language was not always such in 
became the cloth he wore. Frank, ro 
and free-spoken, he sometimes let slip ai 
pression which savored rather strong! 
camp, <>r the guard-room ; but, Up 
casions, he never failed to qualify it, by ad- 
ding: " As I should havi' .smd. when I was] 
in the army-" For the rest, the abbe" 
erned his little, flock with equal firmness and 
sagacity, and was both respected and bel 






THE RECTOR OF ST. MICHAELS. 



15 



by them in return. His strong-featured and 
epen countenance, breathed the very spirit of 
benevolence and cordiality; — his firm 
creel i the saddle, proved thai 

no stranger in the manege; ami. :i we have 

l, In-- every movent 
cd his martial education. Arrived ai the 
"liter gate of the castle, the rector sounded 
the great bell. 

The summons was answered by Lea en 
Goch. who bowed reverentially to tin- abi>6, 
and silently took the bridle nt the horse, to 
lead him to the stable. 

" 1.-. I ii in the castl. " inquired the 
r< otor, who former pupil 

by this familiar denomination. 

'* Yea, rector. hief will be glad, 

indeed, to welcome you home." 

"I i ii since I have been ab- 

senl ,M inquired the rector, who had left St. 
Michaels for Paris, soon after Kweu's fit of 
melunri i commenced. 

The old Breton made no answer, but shook 
his head mournfully. 

HI find him no better than I left 
him," . u aid the abbe 

vlurli worse, Monsieur Rector.* 1 

* Has he had no company 1 — have nunc of 
his neighbors been to see him V 

** No one, monsieur: — but yesterday, daring 
the tempest, Ann Jaun and 1 were very 
anxious about him." 

"Ah! what wac be about, during the tern- 
peat ! — which, by the way, shook our pr< 
teries from the cellar to the garret: we 
not had such a blow upon the i ten 

years. Well, what was he about? speak ftp." 
t was a 

'• I ■ :Miai'.l us ! Whs-, he nm -t b 

Kne mad ! me pi 

n.ls. 

With Mur Nader." 

The priest's brow grew dark. "What! 

with thai old u retell, about whom SO many 
evil reports are rife ' That was wron r, L 
i n I loch," hi oed,"very wrens, 

" Yea! yes, \1 r Rector, it was iml 

■•ng; Mor Nailer i.-. leagued with the 

wiser as to what is to come, than 
a gou.i Christian ought to be." 

44 And than a good 

Christian be, to believe thai old scoun- 

drel's pretensions to fore-know you 

are as tol as your master; ami I 

am a greater fool than either of von, to stand 
here and attempt to reason with you : put up 
my horse, while 1 g., and find ftw< 

" The chief is not m yet, Won ieur !<• B 
t.. t 

Not up, and past ten oYlo.k ' Well, I'll 

wa! it 'II not be | time in hislife 

either. Tell Ann Jann to have some hot 
cakes ready, for 1 shall breakfast here this 
morning." 

The Breton bowed respectfully, and led the 
Itct rse to the stable, while thut d 



tary made his way up the granite staircase to 
the apartment of the lord of the castle. 

Instead of rapping' at the door, the abbe" 
pushed it rudely open, and (in ig iii 

'i orderlj srgeant in iho barrack, 
" 'I mil Ottl ! ll 

Bwen, half-dress- seated upon the 

side "i bis bed, contemplating the mysterious 
portrail ; which, that he mightsee it the better, 
In had placed before him on a chair. The 
abrupt entrance Of the abbe. sd him 

from his revery ; he sprang to hi and 

seeing who was his visitor, hi lied out 

his hand, exclaiming, " Welcome, a thousand 
welcomes, my dear abbii : is it you, and hav« 
you come at last '" 

Xhi abbe* retreated — u Ho ! ho ! mastet 

imer"he replied, "you do not deserve tha« 

uld shake hands with you — a fine report 

1 get of you, poor bewildered youth ! a pretty 

looking discipte you are. lia ! do you know 

that you are on the high road to the mad- 

i observing the sad and altered 

.-. oru expression of the young 

in, he dropped bis tone of raillery, and 

continued, in accents of mingled and 

reproach: "Look at him, only look at him — 

with bis hollow chi | his 

health i failing : it only want. <l tbi . 1 see it 

all. The explanation is perfectly simple. The 

man mut I need) afli ■ i the original, like 

play 
in game om ; and nou , v. hi n litude 
beeuni-' iiistipporl.il mi. he i I i 

to die rather than own it — yes, di< ! for you 
are dyit ami. — a of treat- 

in." those who love yOU, I- it nol mcli 

for living alone 

iii;ht," ceplied Bwen ; " to ' 
alone, Is to be miserabt 
"Well, and whose 

[told you to marry — n : our young 

and pretty maidens of Brittany, who v. ill fill 

your heart u ith joy, and your hoUBe W Lth C 

? But no, monsieur is too proud 
sieur think 4 * it is beneath I. tarry a | 

sinciol : p Pari- 

sian will do for him! u it nol o ' — oh, I ad- 
mire > our tat te.'' 

Jv dear abb< ,'" began Ewen, In rep 
•• i , on that you are mi itaken,and — ' 

i Hi, but thai b in i all," intert 

abb(', br iii upon the 'I his 

former pupil without ceremony ; " 'He 

Baron must have Ins amusements, and v. 
are tie y, mrsooth ?. He must put out to sea 
in a hurricane — anil with whom, forsoolht 
With an infamous old scoundrel, whom all 
honest people shun as they would a pi 
lenee ; and what leads Monsieur I u to 

the company of such a wretch? Be- 
cause, having enfeebled hia mind by pondering 
over dreams ami 'inr; in 

wild and extravagant vagaries, he has become 
weak enough — crazy enough — to believe in 
witchcraft and diablerie ! Very eccentric, very 






1G 



TIIERESE DTTNOYER 




original all this, to believe in sorcery ! Very in- 
teresting, to reduce one's sell to such a Bt 
that any little pit • ■■ of nonsense which would 
not aeari a child ol four years old. shall 
t ] ei;! mwirafaltt 

tones— 'Oh! thi tainly supernatural ; hu- 

man reason cannot account for it, and — But. 
Heavens! what do I see?" exclaimed the 
abbe", breaking short li ■ :i - he caugl 

ofthepicti lCed 

upon the chai ' Hl : '''' 

ho repeated, "how came thai portrait back 
nen ible that it is here?" 

.. \vi ia t mi i d Ewen, his heart 

throbbing with notion. 

The abbe - made no reply ; but seizing tho 
portrait, he rushed with it to the window and 
«ed it to the 1; 

Ewen, impatient for a solution of the mys- 
led his every morion with the moet 

intense anxii 

" It's the the abbe", a1 last, nf- 

ter a long and careful examination ; " but do 

I dream, or do I N ''- '"' 

ra h for are the 

n in red, in tli" 
corn ai ia it, -|r: ,ji ' ■ 

Well, I sin perfectly confounded I this is, 

; my reaaon refuses to 

ce to ra '"ill yet what I see 

to the touch i upon my 

me '" oried the 

.•ibl.(\ ; - he ca i the picture from Mm hi dis- 

Jiin 

There wa ling strange in 

ili. i an the c ; and 

the of the abbtf's harangue; — he 

hod begun by railing at thoee who believed in 

tural, and ended by excla imi ng aa 

above. "This >■■ incomprehensible — this ac. 

i u nil v fi IS me." 

Tl t produced upon Bwen« by this 

libition of emotion on the pail Ol B man so 

ible, bo firm, is more easily imagined than 

de.si 

«' Tell me. Bweb, 1 ask you again, how 
10 this | here, In your chi 

said the rector. 

"Thai is n ha ■ know myw If, at 

replied the young baron; "but now, tell me 
why its appearance here so aatoniahefl J 
1 1 may well oatonish me, my child ; 
rs ngo, your father and 1 burned that pic- 
ture to ashes, on that very bearth-etone." 

" Do you mean to say, that you saw this 
picture burned, before my father's death?" 
cried Ewen. 

" I repeat, that these eyes saw it burned oe- 
fore your father's death." 

" But, abb6, that is an impossibility." 
" I do not eay no ; nevertheless, it is true that 
1 saw it burned to ashes." 

" You have been in this chamber twenty 
times since my father's death, and my impres. 
aion ia, that this picture has always hung be- 
tween those windows.'* 



lOUH 1 



" If it is ao I have never remarked it, forfl 
that case my astonishment would have been 
real as H b nov 

llui why wis it burned' 7 when wm fl 
and why did I never hear until the ckftj 

ctimstancc '.'" 

" There was no reaaon that you hhoali 
know it ; you were absent, 1 think, on a hi 
ing party at Les Neven." 

" Rut why was it burned at all?" 

" Your father had requested me to aasut 
him, in a search for some papers relating 

winch was in the hands of that Jew of 
a banker, M. Achille Dunoyer." 

"Achilla Dunoyer! why, that is the name! 
of the banker, with whom my funds are 
placed, and whom you were to have seen for 
me while at Paris." 

"The same — though I did not see him, but 
of that hereafter ; — let us first dispose of thit 
diabolical picture. While searching for th« 
papers, which your father believed were lost, 
I had occasion to move a huge client, behind 
which, this half-effaced picture had donbtlesd 
slipped down years and yeara before. Thej 
moment your father perceived it, he turned] 
pale and exclaimed, 'There is the portrait 
whicbl have BOUghl for ao much since tl 
death of my father, for the purpose of destrc 
ing the Last vestige of those features whit 
recall so many fearful recollections. SeeJ 
abbe, ' he continued, ' there ought to be 
date in one corner of it — a date always fata 
to our house.' He examined, rind at length 
found in one corner, these words : • Novetn. 
ber, one thousand seven ' the rest was* 



gone." 
"The 



word 'November' is legible yet, 
observed G wen, examining the picture again 

•' but the figures have been obliterated by the 
mould and damp. But who was the woman! 
represented here ?" 

•• I know not ; only your fatlier,with clenclw 
cd list, thus addressed the portrait : ' Yot 
the evil genius ot" our race long enough 
thanks be to Heaven, you have at last va: 
ed from the earth! be it my task to desire} 
the sole remaining traces of your fiendil 

menu?!' So saying, your father ton! 
this panel from the frame, and as there wi 
no lire in the chamber of the tower where; 
then was, he brought it into this chain! 
where he had a basin of coal, and cor 
it before my face ; and this, I assure yc 
strictly true, upon my honor as a man, 
upon my faith as a priest.'' 

" And yet," further observed Ewen gravi 
" but a moment since, you were chiding 
for inclining to believe in the aupernatural." 

The good rector, too late perceived tl 
mischief he had done, in ministering fr 
aliment to his pupil's morbid craving for the i 
pernatural. 

" May the devil fly away with you f 
he exclaimed, — " aa I should have said when, 
I was in the army," ho added, by way of corJ 




* 



THE RECTOR OP ST. MICHAELS. 



w 



rection. " So, this is the improvement you 
denvc from my discourse. You must needs lie 
hi wait, to catch at every word that seems to 
justify your brain-sick vagaries. " 

"But indeed, abbe, how do you explain the 
instance, that you see and touch an object, 
which you, years ago, saw consumed by i. 
" Well, but what does it all prove ? '" 
" What, abbe" ! what does it prove ? " 
" To be sure ! ' lis the simplest thing in the 
world ; only look at it in a common-flense 
poinl ul view, and yon will understand it prop- 
erly. Attend to me now. We will allow, 
for a moment, that the circumstance is inex- 
plicable; it follow, that ii must therefore 
be supernatural ' Bj no means; for, see you, 
to be supernatural, a thing must be imp 
bla ; now an impossible thing cannot l"'. bnf 

thing is; therefore, the inference 
eistible, that it is aot supernatural, baton the 
contrary, perfectly natural in every respect." 
I logical as this reasoning was, it seemed 
iieans conclusive to the young baron, who 
shook his head doubth id passed to an- 

other branch of the subji et. 

"Bui mil epoch, SO fatal to our family? — 

this black month, in which my fame? and 

tther died, which is inscribed upon 

picture, and which you your- 

I was sup|)osed to exercise a malign 

influence over the destinies of our family. — 

what make you of this, abbe '" 

•• Now he is on another track — now he 
got hold of the black month ; may the devil 

me in hell ! — as / should have 

lohrn I wax in the army, — if be is not getting 

gteata goose as Lea en Goch. The 

block month! why do the leaves fall, and 

the plants die in November? And is it any 

more strange that men should do the same?'* 

•'Bui bow comes It mat two of my ances. 

ikonld die, one after the other, in this sad 

month, abbi 

" Thai is more than lean tell you, I am 
sworn ; but do mean to infer from thai, 

thai the bous< t Ellio alone bare the 

privi in the month of Novem- 

; I waste my words in tulk- 
ing to you, as I threw away my lime when 1 
mult tin i an education;'' i 

the unhappy reel be paced the floor 

with rapid strides. '*Ifl had wished to curse 
head with . nse, 1 should have 

given him poetry and romances to read — but 
no such thing ; I taught him only what I knew 
myself, which was no great things after all. 
To read, to write, and to speak his native 
language corrwcily ; the four ground rules of 
arithmetic; hi tory enough to know that 
I. "ii, XIII. was the son of Louis XII. 
and Bufncii land that 

Pekin wan the capital of China ; — no I. 
for I know no inoi 

to «ay moss. But when he left my hand- 
be was gay U nd cheerful, of good heart, and 
sound sense ; an active, hardy, and strong as a 



mountaineer ; aa brave and courteous as a 
gentleman ; — but now look at him 1 Who the 
devil ! — as I should once have said, — would 
believe that this gallant son of the ancient 
Breton line had become a dreamer — a vision- 
ary, as superstitious and timid as the stupid 
and ignorant peasant of the Lcouais ? Co 
come, Ewen, my dear Ewen ; arouse yourself; 
shake off these foolish fancies ; is November 
any the worse for being called the black month'' 
ionic, let us go and visit your workmen; 

you'll find them merry and happy, threshing 
out their grain upon the barn floo 
ing their country songs. If any have reason 
to call November the black month, my son, a 
is the poor wdio lack fuel and fire to keep off 
its chilling blast; and yet they find means to 
warm and enjoy themselves without murmur- 
ing or complaining. It is a sin against God 
and the really wretched, to invent imaginary 
evils. How can you dare to be ungrateful, 
when the world is full of those wl lawn 

with their children cold and hungry at night, 
and rise up to toil in the morning, and 
bless the Lord for the small returns they \<v\ 
for their labor and for their continuance in 
life, wretched asitscems. '' 

This simple but touching appeal, went to 
the heart of Ewen. He grasped th^ hand ol 
thcAbbdde eflan, and exclaimed, " 

are righi! my friend, my beat friend ! but m\ 
mind is weakened. I sometimes lose myself. 
I am the prey pi a secret longing, a craving 
after something imposible to be obtained, and 
this is killing me." 

" And that is killing you, my dear BOO " 
Ah ! you must go back to the good hook. 
read the story of the tree of good and evil. It 
is a case precisely the parable of your own. 
And you have been diging about the roots oi 
this tree, like a badger in his hole, and 
have found nothing but what was bitter to the 
and hurtful to the stomach. Instead of 
doing bravely the work which Cod has set 

ire you, like a good Christian and 
master, you have given yourself up to dreams 
and reverieSi and wasted your time in vain 
imagine. I fatal sophistries." 

"A i I noi know this? but bo. 

control my thoughts ! how could I foresee that 
my mind, OttCe BO cli or and bright, would be- 
come overclouded with the blackne i Of night? 
Nothing la more limpid and tranquil tl 
the river Hello near its source ; nothing m 
turbid and boisterous than the same stream, 
n it meets the ocean. Once, solitude was 
litful to me; tho charm increased, but 
as it did so, I began to long for some one to 
share its sweetness with me. I regretted, that 
I had not a wife, in whose loved company I 

I enjoy this life of onchantraent, and i 
would enjoy it with mo." 

" A marvellous discovery, truly. Have I not 
an hundred time-; and more, counselled you 
to many ' You have never lacked the oppor- 
tunity to gratify yourself in that way." 



18 



THERESE DTTNOYF. R. 



I 




"True, good father; but listen. 1 have 
lived so long in the ideal world, that 1 have 
. ,, ated for my imaginary bride, w 

I [ove to distraction : her counterpart i 
J cannot hope to find." 

Now Heaven bav< m< rcy on you, my 
poor unhappy Ewcn ! What ever j 
fantastic nonsense into your poor brain? An 

• I wife ! a thing of air. Morblcu ! there 
is but one way to cure this; — marry on 
our brave Br< ton girls off-hand. Y"vonne de 
Kergalec, for example, or Marie Jeane de 
Tremaxh k. Yon know iliem both.; yon have 
seen th< m at the fete of Falgoat. Take one 
,iial, rosy, bouncing girl of 
eighteen, with good spirits and a handsome 
fortune — a* fair end bright as the yellow 

', ;iikI q afl the sunny peach ; mar- 

ry liei, and love her, and she will bring you 
a brace of fine boys, who will scamper about 

<r grounds like a couple of wild goats; 
drive away the bines, and make every month 

a like May. Come, Ewen, let us get 
breakfast, and I will ride over at ones to the 
castle of Kergalec, or to that of Trenmdek, if 
you choose, and propose for you ;ii once. 
There will be no objection made, and in six 
m 'ks we will dance ai your wedding." 

" No. no, my friend, I can love none but 
my 'In am.girl; and, wo betide mi I if she to 
in existence, she must be the double of this 
portrait." So saying, th tg baron pointed 

with a melancbol) air at the mysterious pic. 
Hire, ;md relapsed Into 
The good rector could no longer restrain 
cation ami impatience; he gave the 
chair a furious kick, which sent it and the pic 

turc back upon the floor ; and then stamping 
upon the latter with his heavy bootj he cried. 
" To hell with you ! you cursed phantasm ! 
will you drive that poor foolish boy stark 
mad '.' Was it nut enough that you were the 
evil genie of his ancestor?" 

\libe, foi Heaven's sake, spare the pic- 
one!" cried Ewen; "take off your foot!" 

" Damn it ! damn it ! damn it !" reiterated 
the abbe. diggiO pUT into the 

panel, which Luckily bad fallen on its face. 
"Abbe!" cried llwen, beside himself with 

abbe", stop ! or " and he made a 

gesture of menace. 

" Or what !" exclaimed the abbe, drawing 
himself up to his full height, and regarding 
the young man with an air, at first stem, and 

then sorrowful, " Ah ! Ewen ! Ewen !'* he 

addeil iii a broken voice. 

•' Pardon me ! pardon m< !" cried Ewen, 
at his intemperance ; " 1 love yon, 1 rever- 
ence you as a father, but in m .are that 
picture !" 

The rector withdrew his foot from the pic 
ture, which Eweh took Up and placed upon 
the mantel.piece ;— when he turned around, 
the rector was leaving the chamber. 

"Where are you going'" exclaimed the 
young baron, overtaking him. 



" Ewen, you have threatened mc !" repl 
i he rector, disengaging himself from his p 
and making another step toward the door 

The young man remained si • nl 'or a 
Bient, but -nil clung to the abbe"; and 
lh he fcddrea ■• d him in a tone so sole: 
and mournful, that the old man was tool 
to ihe soul. 

" My friend," said lie, " you deny the 
isteoce of such things; and yet, look upon 

picture, which but just now yon acknowledg- 
ed had an inexplicable, almost a supernatural 
lory attached to it. The woman it rep. 

resents has been the evil genie of my family,! 

She it was who caused me to menace ) on. 
You, my early instructor, my best friend, the 
pious ministi r w ho clow d thi eyes ol m 
-tell me, tell me ! is there not a 
mystery in this 7" 

Struck, m spite of turn ' [f, with this strange 
recapitulation of facts, the abbe was for the 
moment embarrassed for an answer. E 
continued i 

u Attribute my conduct, father, I conjure 
you, to this mysterious influence, and not to 
any want of affection or respeel for you. Far- 
don hie, I am mortified ; ami deeply regret 
that I should have been betrayed into so nu. 
worthy an act." 

" It needed not this to induce me to forgive 
yon, my dear child," replied the abbe, cl 
lag Ewen in his arms. "Cod be thank..!, 
i, that it needs sonu thing mole than 
this old panel, which I thought I one.- saw 
burned, to turn my head. But give me 
hand, Ewen, we'll lay BO more about it. [*o | 
what is this? you tremble, your skin ii hot ; 
you have a fever !'' 

*' 1 passed a wretched night." 

' Yes; and yesterday you went to sea in 
the storm, with Mor Nader. Damn that 
rascal! he seems to P that, in my caJ 

pacity as shepherd of this flock, I bold tU*J 
rod as well as the staff; but I'll quicken his j 
in. niory with it, or enforce niv eoan I 
this good oak sappling. The Bon Dieu mum 
allow me this alight exercise of my t< m, I 
authority, while [ give the rogue the .souudesB 
thrashing that he can bear and live. VVtuM 
I'll tell him, 1 hat is what I would have gflfl 
you when I was a soldier. It will be a m^H 
to him, too, if it serves as the means of keepg 
ing him out of prison or out of the galleys. 

" Mor Nader is not what you think.*' 

" He is a villi impostor, who won] 

lain play the soothsayer; and if he perstafl 
I'll recommend him to the notice of the pubj 
lie prosecutor one of these pleasant man 
bigs; and we'll soon Bee, if M. MorNsdMT 

will keep my parish in an uproar any loilgSJ 
"My dear friend, listen to me. If IM 
man is an impostor, he deci nself; ■ 

may be a monomaniac, may be wholly mai 
if you will, but he is not wilfully a deceilfl^ 
He puts forth his predictions, without tee orl 






THE RRCTOR OF ST. Kl'CHARLS. 



H> 



reward ; and however you may account for 
it, they almost alwavs are fulfilled tothelet- 
ter. M 

"Bali! bah! he asks no payment in ad. 
vnrii'i', and in thai he shows himself a shrewd 
and far-reaching swindler. He offer 
vices gratuitously, ay a bait to his victims ; 
but in time he will make them pay dearly 
enough — and as to the fact that some of his 
predictions arc fulfilled, thai proven nothing 
more, than in playing pitch and toss, the cop- 
pere sometimes turn up h< ad ." 

" My friend," replied .Ewen, after a mo- 
ment's ailence, •• l ought, perhaps, to make you 
acquainted with the evenl • ol the last evening 
which T passed with him upon the sea ; — I 
will do so." And the baron proceeded to 
relate the occurrences of the night before, a: 
we have already given them. lie added, that 
when the boat sank, the sudden shock, and 

chill of the water, had brought him to him. 
self; and thai, aided by the tide which eras 
Betting in, and the wind which was blov 
on shore, he succeeded in reaching the laud, 
which was not so distant as he had supposed. 
Then, half-bewildered by the extraordinary 
and appalling nature of his adventure, and 
the strange exhibition of Inspired madness to 
which he had been a witnt ad of which 
he had nearly been the victim, he had made 

the castle. 

The sbbe" listened to his lecital, with q mix- 
ture of indignation and alarm ; and when he 
had concluded, broke- out Into new reproach- 
es and thru 

•• This shows," be exclaimed, " exactlj 

I expected — that the wreteh was stupid and 
ferocious enough to be willing to lose his own 
life, so that he might destroy y>>u ; and be re- 
garded by the people, niter his death, as a 
great sooth- aver. There arc not wan 
martyrs in I <es-as well as in good Ol 

and as you admit that you had caned him an 
impostor, I do not i that he undertook 

to revenge himself at the risk of his lift 

though ii is by no tain thai he was 

not aware of his vicinity to land, and certain 
of bis escape. But I 'II leave von to draw 
foui own in "n this occurrence, and 

doubt not you will see how Inexcusable was 
yom folly, m intrusting your life to the mer- 
cy of such an ill-conditioned brute. Enough 
o! this : !• i ns pass to another subject of 
importance, an 

ou8 attention. my dear Eta 

that you are in danger of being half niitt 
'• Halt ruined ' ou mean '" 

" Thai deposit, which your lather madl 

the banking-hon ie of M. Achillc Dunoj 
do you I. now that I think that ii is in jeop- 
ardy 7 It i I purl of ] 
fortune, and 1 cannot hell ould 
be Indifferent to you.'* 

"But what danger threatens litis dep 
"A very great one, I tear. M. Dunoyei 
did not p%y me the fourth part of the sum 



which you drew for, and which I was to get 
for you." 

" They say, however, that M. Dunoyer is 
very rich.'' 

" They say a good many other things, be. 
Bides, which are not to bo relied upon; but 
this much is a fact ;— -wh< n I called at his 
house with your draft, I was informed thai 
had gone a journey ; that it was uncertain 
when he would return, and that he bad left 
no provision for the payment of the amount. 
Now, as the sum called lor was bin fifty thou- 
sand francs —only a qua] ter of what you had in 
his hands, and a mere bagatelle to a man of 
[ft. Duno ipposed wealth — there seemed 

to me something »ery suspicious in this ex- 
cuse, and I h Inform you of it.'* 
•• It is somewhat singular, indeed." 
" Your notary at Kemper agrees with me 
in opinion, that you ought to go to Paris at 
once, and attend to the mt 

" Can I not j well give my Kemper 

notary t] r of attorney, and 

I. I linn go 

'• By no no for if it should turn out 

thai this Dunoyer is in ; circumsfant 

it may be necessary to take some prompt 
steps, or enter into some arrangement to which 
your personal consent will be necessary, 
about which yon ought to mi own 

discretion.*' 

"How vety annoying and disagreeable!" 
exclaimed Bwen ; " and then, to In o! 
stay in Paris for any definite period, lean ue 
ire it. I know no one there." 

•• Why, there is your cousin, the Count Ed- 
ward .ie Wnntal, to whom you gave me a 
letter.*' 

" I never have seen him but two or thre« 
my life, and that. W • ir years 

when he came to pass a mouth at Ki-m 

per, at the hi tbeChevaliei LeMdien." 

w Bui be will certainly receive you as cour- 
tly as he did me, and introduce you to, 
sty, to do which he seems well adapted : 

for he i< and it not wealthy, 

apparently ." 

" I suspect he baa little or nothing left from 

" So j I me before. But, Ewen, it 

this be so, be must have found the philosopher's 

stone, for he seemed to live en prince; and 
■ sired mo to say to you, with greatcor- 
dialiiy, that if you cum.- to Paris, hi wasen- 
■<•." 
" I'm v rj much obliged to hi 
"To be sn I are. Still, if I did not 

know you as well as I do, I should noi 

him ai your Blent during I 

visit to him, there came in a terrible good-for- 
nothing personage — a sort of mauvaU sugct 
of this age and the last. OnelM I'eaure- 

,.,,,!. yt m< Beauregard, keep 

it in mind,) a shrewd felio and a 

hold profligate ; though to do him justice, he 
was civil enough to rat knew wno 



20 



THERESE DUNOYER. 



T was. Your cousin, I imagine, doe? not 
often entertain men of my cloth, and the 
marquis's credulity shows that he was well 
brought up. Vou may imagine] I did not 
trou pany long ; but short 

as my stay was, I saw another \ery question- 
able sort of a body enter, dancing and singing : 
a damsel, whom your cousin called Jiili- 

" Who was shi 

"1 found "lit subsequently, by looking at 
the journals, that Mademoiselle Julio was 
one of t!i«' mo ••treses of the day; 

am! you may be assured, that the Abbe de 
Kerouellan felt no disposition to be housed 
in the sam< I of passage. 

For you, in' D, I think you should 

call upon your cousin, in spite of the dissipa- 
ted marquis, and flirting actress. Your prin- 
dnattheii fasoinatiens, and 
i art' men world, who 

can introduce you into Bociety, and possibly 
■rood nd our busiui 

So go to Paris at once, my 
son, as n * your pecuniary interest, as 

:!tli and Ipj 

Amid the bustle and excitement of die city, 
von will soon off the bluop ; re< 

your equanimity, and in a few months come 

back, well, i" take to your 

arms some nice cou Me, whom I'll look 

up fa 

" I don't know but you si • turned 

Ewen ; "J i ve mat my imaginatl 

disease.! mind, affected by soli- 

tud> i, and out of tlie way 

oecu , has ai 

the in v/i I . which threatens its health 

and Tlie change of scene, the 

of Pari'-, and the ncc >f at- 

, will dispel 

my old friend, you ha me to hope; 

and I trust return cured of all my ail. 

to marry one of your fair 
pari 

"Come to my arms, my darling boy !*' ex- 
claimed the good abbe, "you make my heart 
bent with joy, as it has not done for many a 
day. Go to-morrow ; indeed I would 
to-day, if yon were ready. Your noiar 
Kemper, told me he was in funds on your ac- 
count, to the extent of twenty thousand francs, 
which is twice as much as yon will want in 
Paris. And if you can settle your business 
rably with that M. Dunoyer, (of whom by 
the way I 've no great opinion,) the money 
will be well spent. And now, as to this mys- 
terioUs portrait," continued the abbo\ taking 
up the picture. " we will burn it this time, and 
no mistake. Luckily, there is a brazier at 
hand, as if for the very purpose." 

"No! no ! my friend," returned Ewen, " I 
particularly want to keep that portrait. Here- 
alter," he added, looking at it, "I shall laugh 
at my woakness." 

" Hum ! hum ! 1 should rather make an end 



of the cursed thing at once, if I had my way,*] 
said the abbe", reluctantly putting the pit 
down. 

" Now abbe*," cried Ewen, with a 1st 
" you must take care, or I shall begin to 
you arc afraid of it yourself." 

" By all the devils in hell ! — as I should fur 
said when 1 was in the army — if you thit 
so, I'll take it home and hang it up in 
presbytery." 

" No, no ; leave it here till my v. 
day; and then, if you like, we will 
grand auto da fe of it." 

"Very well, I trust that -day is not far ofl 

After this interview, convinced of the n{ 
cessity of a change of scene, and confide] 
of its good effects, Ewen became more call 
and self-possessed, than he had been 

iths. 
To strengthen himself in his good resoli 

. Bwen begged the abbe" lo spend the daj 
And the ensuing night, at tlie castle. The abj 
bd was too anxious to see his advice prompt, 
ly followed, not to consent: the day wi 
spent in making pre] is, much to tli. 

satisfaction ol all but the two old servants] 
one of whom, Ann Jann, frequently wiped hej 

I, as she thought of the perils her I 
child was about to undergo in Paris, wl 
she considered but another name for h- II. 
ho was less disturbed, manifest 
ed his dissatisfaction bj smoking with redou^ 
bled intensity, though in perfect sUenei-, I 
morning till night ; — even the chief, himsejfl 
could get nothing but monosyllables from 
sturdy retainer. [ 

Ewen, at one time, had thought of taking 
him with him ; but this the priest discoura 

irking that he would be more trouble _ 
benefit; and adverting t<> the impossibility 
inducing the old Breton to discard his nationtj 
costume, and assume that of an autrou 
monsieur, as he called it. 

The next morning, a pair of horses 
put to the old post-chaise, which had 
the family of Ker Ellio for two generic 
and, Ewen, with one of his retainers beL, 
drove to the post-town of Point Cr 
companied on horseback by the abbe", ^H 
wished to take a last farewell, and .<=• 
pupil safe en route. 

Vain would be the attempt tu paint the dit 
tress of the old servants, when the carrii 
which drove their master, disappear^ 
dust which it raised. Not only did they dt._ 
his exposure to the perils of Paris ; but wfoj 
the more especially struck terror to^f 
hearts, he had left his home on Fridaj 
black month ! When the noise of his e'arrii 
wheels died away in the distance, the 
ful couple betook themselves to their I 
fireside ; — the One to weep, and the ot 
smoke in silence till nightfall. 






M . LA M0NT1L. 



21 



CHAPTER VI. 

M. DE MONTAZ.. 

Wi will now ask the reader to loave the 
coast of Brittany, and follow ub to a small 
suite of rooms, in the entre sol of a house on 
the Italian boulevard. 

These lodgings, which were at present in 
the occupancy of Count, Edward de Mon- 
tal, had, if the expression be allowable, a 
physiognomy peculiar to themselves ; or, to 
explain our meaning more definitely, we will 
say, that at first sight one would be struck 
with the luxury and elegance with which 
they were furnished — while, upon a closer 
examination, he would be still more surprised 
to seo how entirely this was the effect of im- 
agination, aud how totally every substantial 
comfort had been sacrificed to appearances. 

The paper-hangings of cheap material, were 
thought to resemble the rich and massy folds 
of the antique damask ; — vases, of ordinary 
china, gaudily painted and mounted in brass, 
represented the exquisitely penciled Sevres, 
adorned with chased work and ormolu. There 
waa a cabinet of oak, stained dark, with go- 
thic panels and fretted mouldings, intended 
as an imitation of one of those ancient and 
invaluable structures of ebony, covered with 
Arabesque carved work, of children, and 
birds, and vines, and ilowers. The exquisite 
embellishments of coral and mnther-of.peari, 
and incrustations of motals, ongraved by the 
hands of Nauteuil or Adran, which are lav. 
islied upon the furniture of Boule, were but 
feebly shadowed forth by rough castings in 
brass, applied without stint and without taste. 
Thero were boxes of gilt metal, enriched by 
false atones ; and, upon a frame, ostentatious- 
ly displayed, some specimens of the enaim 1 
work of Limoges, which seemed but to put 
one in mind of those collections of Flore n 
bas-reliefs upon boxes of ebony and ivory, 
interspersed with minute figures of silver, 
which have upun their sockets of stone the 
name of Germain Pilon ; — or, of those sta- 
tuottes of gold, enamelled in the Byzantine 
Btyb, with purple and azure; — or, of those 
charming snuff-boxes, upon which the mar- 
vellous miniatures of Petitot lay half-hidden 
in a foliage of emeralds, and garlands of line 
pearls and rubies. So it was with the pic- 
tures. In broad and gaudy frames, coarse 
and ill-drawn copies in naming colony thickly 
plastered over with varnish, represented the 
inimitable masterpieces of Wou^ ,and 

Tenicrs, and Van Ostrade.* 

If it should be thought, that we have dwelt 
too strongly upon the distinction between true 
luxury and false ; or, e have subjected 

the theatrical decoration with which M. de 
Montal thought it proper to adorn his apart- 
ments, to too severe a criticism ; we can only 
reply, that we have seized upon this p 
tenaciously, as exhibiting on- , most — 

if not entirely the most—- striking characteris- 



tics of that gentleman's mind— a regard' for 
appearances, beyond all things else. And t 
characteristic will be more largely illustrated 
hereafter. 

Far be it from us to sneer at the humble 
abodes, to which misfortune obliges those of 
fallen estate to resort. We can reaped the 
manifestation of an attachment to the luxuries 
of better days, where it is indulged in even at 
the expense of severe taste. Most people who 
adorn their simple apartments in such a man. 
ncr, know some hidden source of i ent, 

which makes their homes peculiarly sei 
to them ; pi I with sum 

qualities, which dally qualify them to 

relish a retn Such people we resp 

— but to neither of these classes did M. de 
Montal belong. lie had embellished h I 
to the extent of his means ; but nothing waa 
more insupportable to him, than a day passed 
within its walls. 

And thus it is with many. To one who 
spends his timo abroad habitually, amid the 
noise and excitement of the external world — 
especially if he be immersed in its sins aud 
its follies — his own house is as silent and sob", 
tary as a desert. It is a Pandemonium, where 
every night are renewed the troubles of the 
day; — the mortifications, the pangs of j 
ousy ; — the torments of unrequited love, 
all renewed. Actors abroad, it is not until 
they reach their homes that thi Hence, 

to their fullest extent, the torments which. 
fore the eyes of the world, they have strh 
to endure and conceal under a smiling exte- 
rior. 

man of this character was M. de Mou- 
tal. He usually brought home im a 

wounded, jealous, and envious spirit; and, 
when left to him was forced to. 

plate the false and precarious position which 
he was sustaining in society. About thirty 
rs of age, this gentleman traced his origin 
to an old and ennobled family of Brittany ; 
his great-grandfather was the uncle of Eweu 
de Ker Ellio's father. Alter having held, un- 
der the Empire and the R oral 
important posts in tho adininistr;;- the 

government, the fatherofM.de Montal died, 
leaving to his son an income of Mime five- \ 

ity thousand franc?. Thi 
respectable fortune tho young count had. in 
the course of live or six years, sqi ed in 

d good cheer, upon <> 
promiaeuoEu debauchery. His overween 
vanity was his del traction ; — nothing 

Id Satisfy him, than tO vie with the most 

rtravagant of his cotem] 

What is more frightful, and at the smne 
time more common, than that reckless spirit 
which impels a man to pursue such a course — 
though conscious of imminent danger, cer- 
of ultimate ruin, and fully aware that 
alternative before him is beggary or sui. 
cide 1 






1 




92 

M. de Montal, with nothing of talent or 
originality to redeem him, was a mere vulgur 
profligate , and, as is the custom with pe» 
of that description, when bis resources failed 
him, instead of endeavoring to recruit them, 
only strove to h necessities, and de 

ceivethe world as to his actual situation. 

No one, bul he who dm experienced it, 

know, to how much misery, disappointment 

a and chagrin, One exposes him. 

;„ enters upon the task of i 

poverty from th< companions of 

ays;— and wha range, he is 

\y one who 'iocs not perceive, with 

■l, I be would fain 

self-respect, 

,[' happiness always, and soin. - 

vhich he mi '- its shrine. 

M. . tal had witnessed, nay, had Dl 

ol ilic foremost to exhibit mat hau 
v, uli which the beau monde gn 
those who havi i ".i 1 " 1 r 

for a bn »d before its eyes; and as 

turn approached, numberless were die 
bterfuges he made use of, to 
the poisoned chalice that 
he had commended to the lips of oth» 
,,, lelling his horses, parting with 

itung his ma 
apartments, he announced that hi iboul 

ravel in id that hereafter In 

lo live 

men) d to his in< 

His id furniture he said ho had 

r .suited his taste ; he 
mnflt have something more recherche. 1 1 

tag thou satisfactorily,! pposed.accoun^. 

of the 
. und realized a sum ol 
md francs. With that be 
might have lived moderately and comfon 
in some retired part of Fj but, ini 

id judicious, M. 
de Montal bought b travelling carriage, hind 
a vaht in livery, and departed in Btate for 
Italy, which be had so pompously announce d 
as his destination. 

\t Lyons he stopped, took the route to 
Avignon, and for three months resided in a 
little village in the vicinity of the lattei city. 
After this, he suddenly appeared in Paris; 
and to those who asked him about his adven- 
tures in Italy, he replied, with an air of I 
tery, that a romantic love affair, in which he 
'me involved when at Lyons, had made a 
great change in his plans ; that be could not, 
from prudence, enterinto partlcidars; hut that 
consequence of his intrigue was his im- 
mediate return to Paris, whence he was oblig- 
' •! to hold himself ready to depart at a mo- 
ment's warning; and hence he had taken the 
very humble apartments which we have al- 
ready described to the reader. 

As u oal, these elaborated lies deceived no 
one ; for the world has a wonderful moult] 
in discovering poverty, under all the flaunting 



HBRfiSE 1) U If V E R . 





disguise beneath which it seeks to hide 
wretchedness and rags. 

Still, M df Montal felt confid 
had satisfactorily accounted for hischi 
position. He still had left some twenty 
sand francs, and with this hi proposed 
for five or six years ; hoping, by means ofl 
most painful sacrifice of comforl and 
nience, to keep up appearances — with Inn 
the most important thing in lr 

Another trait of ill-omen, ilistim 
character of M. de Montal. It was a sort] 
ill. founded confidence in fate; which 
certain could never permit a man of fa 
and accomplishments, to become the victifl 
o! those bitter and humiliating misfortajfl 
which leave one no alternative but the pisfl 
or the Seine. A certain degree of tins sol 
of faith, every one duubtlesa posse ssed^^ 
grows out of that passion of hope, which ■ 
for wise purposes, implanted in every humsT 
i — -a passion which is si once the soura 

of confidence and courage to the prudent ao| 
energetic, but only the more enervates tl 

ill indolent, and indisposes tlicm 
exertion. 

When cham us, even momentarily, 

. QCOUiage this fei ling, it is indeed e.MraortM 
. to what foolish and extravagant lnitioi 
vis birth ; and we BhallsOOn 806 how or 

or two lucky events atrengthened M. deMoi 
be delusion, until he becao ntirj 

ly reckless of the future, that, reduced as 
fortune was:, he commenced ■> 
and fantastic, B8 was ever led by man. 

cut, instead of a box, at the opera, 
• ■fa club, an apartment furni.- 
iproach to fashion, a valet de chad 
bre — such are the necessary app"iutmcntaj| 
gentleman, and indispensable tohfl 
as food, raiment, and lodgings are to tfl 

upon town, to whom he is ran 
ly assimilating. For live or six thousfli 

annum, one can keep up thl 
bine luxury and fashion. Ruch i 

will enable one to kc< p his place m 

v ; and it must be acknowledged, thai 

most men in n duced circumstam 

in faction to enjoy that privilege at! 
i heap a rate. 

To M. de Montal, however, this co^^H 
ation was of little value. It only the flfl 
excited his envy and other base and uric 
fortable emotions, to be so constantly br 
in contact with those as rich as, or 
than he ever had been — and this, csj 
when the thought haunted him, which 
all vain men, that they are the objects 
vcrsal observation, and that every one is ai 
of their neglected opportunities, und mil 
fortunes. Goaded by such feelings, the co 
desire to regain his fortune w as meet 
and tormented him night and day ; and tl 
not so much for the sake of mjoj 

who now were rejoicinfl 



Mi- 
ld 

: 







outvie those 
his downfall 



I 



M. » E MDHTAl 



2S 



One day, he bought a ticket in one of the 
Frankfort lotteries, which cost him a Iotda ; 
it drew three hundred. This ho considi in sd 
a special interposition of Providence ; which 
watched over him, and promised him a pros- 
perous future. But M. de.Montal's chief 
hope, and his main dependence for hereafter] 
was upon some rich widow, or wealthy heir- 
eas, whom Ik: expected was to be especially 
provided, and so .situated, that she muat in- 
stantly fall into his toils. To contribute his 
part toward, this desirable conclusion, ho 
glit it incumbent upon him to exhibit 
himself nightly at the opera; and the money 
ndi d in this way, he considered as so 
led, ami which was to yield 
In ui a golden return. 

tths passed away, and neither 

widows ap|ic;i o pluy their 

appointed parts for his benefit. Still, M. do 

ital's confidence in Ids lucky star was 

unshaken : two new circumstances had oc- 

red, which, notwithstanding they had no 

bearing upon his matrimonial projects, still 

kept up his courage and sustained his ho 

One of his college-mates, a lawyer of no 
great parts, bui eulous pretension, be* 

came a deputy ; and then, by some strango 
■nunc, wr rather, of party — a min- 
i«ter. I ■ de Itoupi Gobillon. 

Anxious to exhibit himself in his new posi- 
tion, and decorated with hi-, new In. nor:-, to 
nl.male — who had hitherto avoid- 
ed film, as he WOttld a pestilence ; and desi- 
rous, also, to have it appear that ho had had 

some r , laintances before his 

elevation; M. de Roup] Gobillon mndo all 
sorts of advances to M. de Montal, in the 
hope "I overcoming his reserve. 

These ;ul' the count was not b: 

ward in ac i dging, and his adroitness 

m accounting for bis formei disdain, was 

admirable. '• l! I have appeared cool and di 

tful her< my dear sir," he said, " it is 

ful and influential as you have 

lirst as u great lawyer, then as a 

leading deputy) and now as a minister of 

state first advance should have 

come from yovu Good taste requires, thai 

great men, when they condescend to bestow 

their ti people of independent 

fortune, who are satisfied tu occupy a middlo 
station in good society, should appear to 
court rather than bo courted." 

M. Roupi de Gobillon, delighted with this 

court flattery* swallowed it at once, without 

waiting to suspect Uio motive which prompted 

it; and in return contrived a little surprise, 

which he thought would dolighl his friend, 

with whose straightened cireumstances he 

was well acquainted, notwithstanding the 

me he took to conceal them ; he offered him 

pectorship of tobacco. This M. de 

Montal re ('used, with a great show of spirit 

and independence, telling the minister openly 

that he wanted no offico ; but he did not less 



i ail to turn the offer (which he greatly mag- 
nified,) to his account, and found upon it the 
it of one, who stood well with the govern- 
ment, and could command any appointment 
within its gift. To this reputation he added by 
his acquaintance with some of M. Gobillon *s 
colleagues in office, whom he occasionally 
met at his house ; and who, finding him upon 
a good footing, without much inquiry ad- 
mitted a man of his fine extorior, and pel- 
d address, into their political circle. 

These connections, together with his club 
and opera — all exhibited as tho count de 
Montal knew how to exhibit them — gained 
him some eclat, and went far to reinstate him 
in the position which he was so rapidly 
ig in society. True, his advantages 
resulting from his political relations, were of 
a negative churacter in the general accepta- 
tion of the term ; but they afforded the count 
what he valued far more than the substance — 
they gave him the abearance of being a man 
of influence with the government; and had 
already . procured him tho gratification of 
having some richer and more able 

nun man himself, say, with an air of envy, 
" What a fortunate fellow you are! first you 
draw a prize in the lottery, and now you 
hand and glove with the ministry !" 

" Yes, I may flatter myself that 1 am ui 
their confidence," the count would reply; 
'• but it i9 a great bore." 

' 'Oh, you are a strange fellow — you al- 
ways can; for nothing — give yourself n«> 
trouble, but you always light upon your i 

.bat will happen; see what it is to be 
\d and knowing." 

Bat if the elevation of M. de Gobillon 

■led the count to acquire the reputation 

of' being a man of address and influence, bis 

Success, in another quarter, afforded a still 

more gratifying nutriment to his vanity. 

A young and pretty actress, Mademoiselle 
Julie Duhreuil, made her debntat the Comcdie 
Francaise, and created a great sensation — her 
beauty, grace and talent, became at once the 
theme of conversation in every fashionable 
circle. She was (he >■• ntre of attraction for 
v of tho leaders of the ton, but their vows 
and protestations were unheeded — a banker 
of enormous wealth was unsuccessful in hi* 
addresses, and a foreign prince, who dazzled 
all eyes with his magnificence, was prcsump- 
tously refused by this paragon of virtue. 

r Indomitable reserve drove half Paris 
mad, and carried at once Mademoiselle Julie 
to the height of celebrity. At this time it 
was, that M. de Montal, who for a year or two 
had b >iient!y awaiting until his lucky 

star should send him along some rich maid or 
»w — he did not care which — thought that 
he would amuse himself, in the meanwhile, 
by attempting the fortress of Julie's virtue 
He consequently procured an introduction to 
her. 

Among all tho would-be lovcra of the preu 









24 



THKRES* DT7N0YBR. 




ty actres?, some of whom hoped to win her 
by their own personal attractions and graces, 
and others, who relied upon the power of 
wealth, there were none who even affected 
to take any interest in her theatrical affi 
and not a few accompanied their addresses 
hi entreaty or a demand, for the dismissal 
of a son of old aunt of Julie's, called Madame 
Savagent, who was a creature pf insufferable 
temper, played the duenna to her nil 
od unbounded influence 
Far diil'ercnt was the conduct of M. dc 
Monial, who was obliged to make up by ad- 
dress, foi the want of wealth or of great per- 
sonal advantages. Admonished by the fate 
of his predecessors, he opened his battery in 
a now quarter, and applied himself first to 
overcome the redoubtable aunt Savageot. 
He spared no pains, and shrunk from no sa- 
crifice of pride or convenx nrc. to soften the 
heart of this ill-conditioned old woman. He 
led, by degrees, in procuring himself 
d as one of the family, by man- 
ifesting the warmest interest in Julie's pro- 
teasional concerns ; he entered into all the 
feelings of jealousy, rivalry and pique, which 
filled the heart of th< -. who was, or 

fancied herself, surrounded by enviouB and 
deal opponents; he look part, and mate- 
rially aided, in all the intrigues which she set 
on foot, to sustain herself or pal down her 
rivals. He supported both before 

behind the curtain. He managed to pon. 
• ci ome of the journalists, quiet oth 

who were in the opposition, and hounded oth- 
against the enemies of his fnir prote: 
go ; and eventually concluded, by making 
•elf indispensable to her as a counsel and 
onport 

.■ivago and cunning as she was, Madame 
ot could not resisl the art and pliabil- 
ity o! ML de Montal ; he gave her so many 
proofs of his respect and attachment, and ap- 
plied himself so assiduously to the business 
arrangements of her niece, that she called 
i aUernat I son, and my little lawyer; 

the last epithet being intended as a touching 
apliment to his talent for intrigue. 
At length M. de Mental's care, devotion 
and self-denial, met with its reward. Esteem- 
ed by the aunt, he was beloved by the fair 
Juli 

This brilliant success, which at once raised 
M. de Montal high in the hierarchy of fashion, 
and excited the envy of his compeers, did not 
add to his pecuniary expenses, for the attach- 
it of the actress was of the most di« 
ted nature ; during two years of their inter- 
course he spent but ten thousand francs. 
M. de Montal did not love Julie ; he could 
Her native vulgarity of speech and man- 
, annoyed him one day ; her imperious and 
humiliating exactions, on another ; but part 
with her he could not, for he was poor and she 
was his luxury — the only thing ho possessed 
which made him an object of envy to those 



whom he onvied. She was the most knpor 
ant of all those apj)earance« which he valu 
beyond his life or his soul ; and rath 
lose her, torment though she was, he wo 
have submitted to any aecret humili 
have committed any baseness in private. 

Nor were his mortifications altogether 
private nature. There was attached to 
theatre a veteran actor, Dticanson by nai 
who was the head of the party behind the 
tain which was opposed to Julie. This 
cynical, caustic and impertinent, was too 
and decrepit to fight, but he never let pa 
opportunity to affront the young lady, i v< a 

ace of the count; who often accom 
ed her to the play, since he had become, as] 
Madame Savageot said, at once her brother! 
and her lover. 

These affronts annoyed the count mor< 
on his own account than on that of the ladyjl 
and he was obliged to submit to them, as the! 
old actor could not be called to account. 

Time rolled on ; but the lucky star of the^ 
count brought no rich widows or heiresees.1 
Ho had continued his visits at the opera since j 
as well as before, his liason with Mademoi-j 
selle Julie. He had seen, one after another, allj 
the widows and heiresses in Paris, but no end j 
appeared to remark him. Mademoiselle had! 
d him no expense ; but, upon an cxamfl 
nation of his finances, lie found that he had! 
about enough to live upon for eighteen moi 
r; after which time, without a mira 
he would be reduced to absolute want, 
glad enough to ' the humblest placel 

from his Wend, GWbillon ; — if, indeed, thra 
Friend retained the power to give him onoJ 
M. -do Montal, in fine, began to doubt thai 
partiality of Providence, as the day of dis j 
aster and distress seemed to approach, withJ 
steady ami unrelenting step; when a sm 
thought struck him which revived his hopes! 
and caused him to cry aloud — 

" What a fool I am ! Providence, my kind 
Providence has thrown at my feet, if not uaj 
inexhaustible treasure, at least the means ufl 
living happily and comfortably, without cxtjl 
tion for the rest of my days ; and I havej^| 
blind enough to overlook it till the pr 
moment. Julie has more than a hun 
thousand crowns, well invested in the funds 
besides which, her professional receipts artj 
fifty thousand francs per annum. Why tl 
devil should I not marry her? It inu 
done. Am I too proud 1 then I deserve to d 
of hunger. Why, I have all the trouble i 
marriage state now, and that without any 
its positive advantages. I do not love Jul 
and yet I endure her for appearance sake* 
I marry her it will be going a step iurtli 
and I shall be still more strongly bound to 
but it will be for something worth having ; b 
sideH, let me once get possession of her mo 

and we'll sec . Yes : Julie has a hund 

thousand crowns in the funds, and ean 
income of fifty thousand francs per annifl 



i. - nil 

'Hindi 
Kiel 



a 






drefl 



** % y t 



MAUIA6E. 






35 



we can live Well enough upon that. To bo 
Burc, we cannot expect to be received into so- 
ciety, but wii will have our house full of nrti- 
elcs, which will be much more amusing. The 
world ! the world will condemn me 1 But," 

ing up hta ahonld 
iat the devil will Hi'- world do foe 
when I ed to ui loua, Ui at- 

tempting i" keep well with it ' what advan- 
i me, which will compare with 
inch will result from this man 
with Julie I Parbleu ! to reject tl 
recruiting my sli ! finance iwould, 

inde. lo relinquish the substance for the 

shadow." 

This was, indeed, a marvellous depression 
of the ambitious aspirations of 
iho difl thy widow, or a 

rich 1m ircsa in I tad< >noi- 

M H. , but the counl 

in|)t his kmd Providence too far ; 
incurrin 
mined upon taking what il 

■ the course most CO ol with piu- 

tndgood Still, there was some* 

thin revolting to the count and 

vanity, rafting such an alli- 

ance. Julio was as handsome a.- an angel ; she 
ly, and economical ; very regu- 
lar in her conduct, and p ' of uncora. 

moo talent m her pr "• But, on the other 

ha...' as whin exacting, and essen*- 

,u,r; loturc oi mind i -lie had 

racter or. sentiment, and her 

M holU Mlienlliv 

i i,, was oxojli iiely ele- 

less ; but this was ;i pari <>i 
ness. At home, when hi had 

from rami, and I 

her • '" ' 

tht i„. u from the contrast; and 

and cleve of old M 

Wlwi id her in this p 

viow, M. d< VIoni d, mau | i bis neces." 

d ; and especial!) is re- 

mon en .when he recalled to 

uuications of the old aunt, 

who, n lencc in her 

•' hiii. law d him, li'id ap. 

him that Ma cllo Julii 's bum 

rOWnj had been acciiriuihitcd from 

what had been left her by her forma 

to desig- 
r niocc had, ca 

1 to fl i himself, that 
r.and formerprot* i 
thy predecesso 
I5ut ihi« was i! only 

dead in the heart of Mademois* ie, as 

the count ascc his great disco 

tui I lady lo be 

more explicit. 



But although the reign of these defunct pro. 
tectors had been tor some three or four 

, still there was something revolting in 
the idea of og a wife's fortune, which 

had been gained by such impure means; and 
M, do Montal was at ti clined togranu 

bio at Ids hind Provi which offered him 

goodfoTtune, only upon such degrading con- 
ditions. But necessity is a hard mistress, and 
upon this occasion she was inexorable. He 
consoled himself with the reflection, that Hob. 

sm(|. lom throw themselves away BpOn 

needy ye ten; and that parents would 

iv unlikely to bestow their wcll-dowcr- 
ed daughters upon people whose only depend- 
ence was upon their stars, or upon tickets in 

Frankiorl Lotfti ind without even 

giving a him to his lair intended, or picturing 
to himself her exultation at the prospect of 
becoming a countess, he determined to nend 
|, u |, . impart his purpose to her, 

and make her I at once. It was one 

morning, then, about a fortnight before Eweu 
do Kei Bllio set out for Paris, that M. de 
MontaJ awaited the coming of Julie to make 
the announcement. 



CHAPTER VII. 

MARRIAGE. 

Havinu bestowed so much attention upon 

the moral quatitii s of M. de Montal, it may 

miss to say a word ahont his person. 

II, ij middle stature, slender and well- 

proportioned. His countenance, at first rinw, 
had a fn eh and open appi arance, which, how- 
ever, vanished upon .dose examination. Cer- 
Incipient wrinkle- and an habitual knit- 
ting of the brow, betrayed the workings of 
antra mind ; while his ihinand prim lip.", 

,1, dq haw I eyes some- 

, JMii of sweetness at,d 
humility ; hut generally, they were quick and 
live! s, thin, sharp, and promini 

gave hiii an air oi nni His face was 

oval in its general contour. His teeth were 
OC it her regular nor handsome. 

whole, M. de Montal was what 

d a good-looking man — with 

a line figure and a very dislinguf air. lie 

taste. While waiting 
for Julie, he had remained in rfesftaWHe. Bis 
costume consisted of u French eashnu 
do diamine, red drawers, and Turkish slip. 

| (hi room up and do 

Ui a state of visible agitation, when he heard 
th. street-bell ring. He started — a momen. 
tary shudder seemed to pass across his frame, 
aI1 ,l dined, with a resolute demeanor : 

•• 1 1 must be SO ! There 's no rime for hes- 
itation !" 
Th- door opened, and n young woman en- 
Ihe was tall, slender, an 
v. years of age. Mademoiselle Julie — 
for, as will bu anticipated, the visitor was no 



26 



THERESE DUNOYEE» 







lew a personage — was dressed with great 
plainness ; not from poverty, but from ava- 
rice. Her little mohair capote, with difficulty 
was made to WWBt 'lie heavy curls of dark- 
brown hair which hung in masses down each 
eidc her face. He* eyes were large and black 
— her mouth small — her lips red and pouting 
— her teeth of pearly whiteness — and her com- 
plexion clear and brown. En R word, not. 
withstanding the simp flier attire, Ma- 

demoiselle Julii i h arming . ' toe thing 

■lone detracted from her charms. She left 
hi i fine nianucrs, as we b ore remark' 

ed, at the theatre; — somi folks are an nice, 
liiai tlu y can never bear to use anything thai 

IS borrowed. 

M lelle Julie had left her unihrelht 

and socks in the ante-chamb r. Bhenow took 

off her mull', shawl and hat, handed them one 
by one to M. do Mental, and watched with 
some solicitude how he Left tli< m. 
The count, in nil abstraction, chanced to 
ihawlover the hat ; and Madcmoi- 
eeli> ii (1 out — 

\Iyhut! my hat! Take cure, Edward, 
you'll break it a* flat as a pan 

• ( >h, my dear Julie, mc, I did not 
think " 

"I i must think : the hat is almost 

Come, I'm none of your careless ones 

— I take good care of what is mine, I'd have 

you to know. Dut what maggot is running 

in yo in, pray tell mi • I put 

iin to t; iming here after 

iret for 
my foot. Youarepoli m'tthinl 

' i pui the count, kn< 

ing the fautonil upon whii 

had thrown herself, and resting low elbows 

ii thr arm of the chair — "my deur Jul 
have something >us to say to you.* 1 

" Oh ! but yen do look gent' ipon 

. with your gentle smile and coax- 
ing air," said tho little softened j but 
she continued, " Wei) may you look your 
', for I'm a-going I you." 
; cold mc for what, dearest ?" 
" For what, indeed? You're a pretty one 
to execute my commissions, are you not / 1 
you day befon ike the mi a- 
of my fool to Melnote tors pairofbfi 
quins, and when 1 stopped there to-day, he 
had never got the order. Very civil in you, 
it it not ?" 

" .My dear little girl, I told Oliver to go, 

and I thought " 

■ I -ii, you thought What had Oliver to do 

with it/ If I v ervenl to go, could 

it have sent Annette j I asked you to at- 

• to it, b rtain that 
it was attended to. Sec what I get for n ly. 
ing upon you." 

' Well, my love, do n't scold me, it is quite 
pumahnient enough to know that I have dis- 
appointed you ■'" 

"No, it is not enough I — for you ohv 



treat mc so. Did n't I tell you, thai 
to see that I had my cold bouillon 
the play and farce ? You know that 
play in two pieces, I am no fatigued 
need it." 

" Well, did I not go to Vcry's, snaoj 
for you 7 '' 

" And if you did, was n't it so greasy] 
I couldn't drink it ' You on 
stood by and seen them ikim it." 

" Come, my angel, do n't he 
not become you. Nothing makes votflT 
mouth looksoswret, as your charming sk 
•• < Mi, do n't try to come over mc witaj 
Battery. I'm not angry, — that Is not 
grieved, because you do n't c.-neusi^H 
mc as you used to. Yesterday, I asked] 
om< biscuits for Tripotte. You ki 
how much the little .-hit loves them, r 
much my attention to her pleases my . 
Savageof whom I love so much, and you ne] 
Qght of it." 
" Well, that is n matter which is easily : 
edied," replied the count, with an 
suppn . his Impatience; •• besides, you kr 
I have stopped at nothing to please tho 
lady.' 

" And well you may try to please her. 
told you often, Edward, I love yen dct 
1 have preferred you to many a riclnr rt 
and I would not take that from you, (bit 
her nail ;) but if my aunt Savaged was toj 
to me, 'Julie, you must ch 
and your Edward,' 1 believe I should havaj 
■.on up, my poor darling. 1 should 
tho most unhappy of all creatures, for I It 
you dearly. But, my dear, how yours] 
smokes ! 1 n ish yon would open the win 

a little." 

" You will catch cold. The fit' 
dom smokes — it is surprising." 

•• Well, if it m Idom smokes, I must 
unlucky; lor it BQiokcd the last time I 

: but what on earth did you v 
to come lure for ' Could you not talk si 
ously to me at my own apartment?" 

" No ! my love ; no! For both our 
I thought that what I had to suy, had 
be said here. Yes, my Julie," he eontiiij 
passing his arm around her win '. I dtT 
that a matter which concerns us both sefl 
ly, had better he discussed u», my own hf 

"Why, how alii 'donate you have gM_ 
all of a sudden ! What in the worfcj 
coming now 1 I »m fairly puzzled ! It] 
be something very genteel, I'm stir 
are so loving, so tender, so coaxing, wheal 
please ! You deceitful wretch ! Aunfl 
vageotcalls you her 'little lawyer.' Nqj 
you will only be. a little more atteuti 
orders, 1 '11 call you my little commit! 
But, come! you must open the wind 
smoke is intolerable. Perhaps the draft] 
make the fire bum. I should think 
chimney was so astonished at the stf 
fire, that it did not know what to do m 



»«. 



MARRIAGE 



27 



Give me my shawl ; I shall got hoar e- - -ami 
I play in the first piece to-night. Oh ! I for- 
got : I kn- W I had something to Bay to you 
You may shut the win- 
dow BOW. Blow the fire u little, and it will 
well enough." 

It is impossible to describe M. de .Mon- 
tal's irritation during this secne. Il< took 
good care to suppress it, however] lor it 
would not do to get in a pas-ion when upon 

the point "i announcing to Julii llonor 

he intended to confer upon her. lie 
the window, returned and placed himaeli al 
.Tn« i feet, with the intention of broaching 

the important subject al <mh <• ; I » 1 1 1 the lady 
took the bad, and started off upon a new 
trae k . 
•■ I knew," she began, " thai 1 had 

thing to say lo yon about the theatre ; and 
ilns is it : Just ah I was entering the house 

ilii-- morning, to attend rehearsal, l heard my 
name proaounoed. I looked about, and there 
.1 ih:ii old wreteh Dneanson, who has In- 
vented try infamous I i«_-t» about me. I 
got on i of patience, and retorted. lie became 

tj him that I would in- 

r.inn you of hi impertittenee. lie said be 

e aeoua for me, or my lover either ; 

well be might, for you pay not the slight 

ntjon to .'us ii. i 1 1 i ay to you upon 

the subject." 

But, my dear Jolfc " 

•' Oh ! mon Dieu ! I know what you are 
a will tell me, again, that 
0„, nftrrn old man. whom you 

i an to account ; but whal I that to 

, m m Insolent, and you 

will not pro* i:i me from in- insult . No 
should like to know whose business it Is, it 
not your* 

• But, my love, what would you have ms 
,i,. I You admit mil Dneanson is an a 

.,. Now, it I were to take him up for 
ice, what good would it do I 1 

itin ij render myself ridiculous." 

monsieur, I cannot expect 
you to put i any trouble on my ac. 

count ; - it i- much belter that 1 be insulted 
with impunity." 

" But, my good girl, have I not, at all lii. 
and upon all occasions, sustained your In. 

i part '" 
•• \nd do fan throw that up to m< 
«Ho! not at all; but 1 da think you are 
unreasonable in tins matter." 

•• I unreasonable ! Now 1 supposed ti 
pting you for a lover, I should have 
one v.i i espouse all my quarrels, par- 

take of all my dislikes', and regard inv 
mies as his own." 

nut, Julie, hear me " 

" Oh, mon Dieu ! if I had wanted a lover 
who would keep me merely tor his own 
amusement, I could have had my pick out ol 
a do2«n; but I had no occasion tor u mere 
fashionable, who would scorn to come near 



my theatre, and would think he did his* pari 
by showing me oil" in his carriage, giving mo 
money, and sending me presents. God be 
thanked ! I am under no necessity to take up 
with such kind of people. No 1 I am inde- 
pendent of the world already. I lay up my 
earnings, besides ; and I con afford to give 
my heart to one I love, without asking on* 
red copper in return: but I look for protec 
don from tho insolence of Ducanson by him, 
at least." 

M . do Montal's lips grew white with rage ; 
but, by a violent effort, ho controlled himself 
BUniciontly to say, In a gentle tone : 

".lulie, be jag* — r e fl ect, have 1 not done 
vthing fot you, upon every occasion, that 
a gentleman could do, except " 

" Yes, except when you found it more 

renientto leave an to tako care of my- 
sell ; - you will assign the same reasons, I sup- 
poee, for not interfering in the case ot that 

rowdy (Jrcnouillot." 

" Grenouillot, who is he •'" 

" What 1 who is he ! do n 't you know h 
ho is the chief of the Clu'iuriirs, and belongs 
to Ducanson'S clique; and that is the reason 
that Mademoiselle Darbot,— tho hateful little 
spider ! gets such rounds of applause when- 
ever she appoars, while my entrees are scarce- 
ly noticed." 

But really, Julie 



j» 



' Bttl really— but really, I know what you 
are going to say — and do you think, Uiat be- 
cause you managed to have little Darbot 
slightly hissed two or three times, you have 
doue your duty ? Does it follow, that 1 am 
-iilliciently applauded' You know, well 
igh.lhat I always want an snthl re- 

caption, and that I cannot do justice to any 
part without it. Well, when I complain to 
you o| Qrenouillot, your answer is — what? 
Why, that he is only a claqueur, and you can- 
not compromise yourself so far as to notice 
him. Suit is always, just the nine answer 
over again. And because one of these scamps 
is a claqueur and the othor is old and infirm, I 
must continue, to endure their insolence, just 
as if there was no other way of quieting them 
ihan by calling them out." 

11 But, my angel, what way is there 1 only tell 
me what wa 

" What way ! a thousand ! since you are 
not able to buy (Jrenouillot off with money, 
lie might be treated with more civility and 
tesy ; Ducanson too, is very accessible to 
the proper udvances ; easily cajoled, and put 
in good-humor." ( 

" But, Julio ■ would you ' 

" Would 1 1 no ! I'd sooner be cut into inch 
pjoeee, than give tho wretch a civil word." 

■'Well, lii.M, hOW " 

« How ? why, I expect you to do it. You 
have not the same reason to stand upon your 
dignity, that 1 have ; for he is not your equal, 
and, with a little address.and a little flattery, — 
and Heaven knows, that you have enough of 




— *— y Kli|WV*li» .^ Oh Um Wi of MV Am 

U-^» ■ ■ -■■••* * _«■ Mih. MbI 



I w 










»- i. 


















MARRUOfe 



Your treatment of me has been such, as to 
excite me to endeavor to prove worthy of 

your love." 

*• I betters you," cried M. dc Montal, with 
exultation—" I believe that my love has been 
the means of reinstating your mind in its orig- 
inal purity. I have watched you long and 
closely, and lay has increased my satis- 

faction. You have justified the deep affec- 
tion I have felt for you, and now 1 am proud of 
my attachment to you." 

"Ah ! who is there like you, that would say 
as imii'!i '*' 

" Who but you, my Julio, could inspire such 

sentiments 7" 

" Dearest — go on." 

'• Listen, then, my Julie ; it is time that your 
love, your tenderness, and, more than all, the 
dignity and propriety of your conduct, should 
meet with a suitable return." 

M What mean von, toy Edward?" 
" I mean," replied M. de Montal, solemnly 
— " 1 mi mi to give you a brilliant, n striking 
testimonial, not merely of my love and my 
gratitude, but of my esteem and respect." 

" Oh I Edward ! that must not be ; you 
know our agreement ; — you are not rich, and I 
positively will not take anything expensive 
from you . No, I tell you, a banquet of ten 
franca cost, on my fete day, is the extent of all 
I will receive. I want no present ; your heart 
is enough for u 

" Noble woman ! what elevation of soul ! 
but fear not," added M. de Montal, with a 
smile of mysterious triumph; "the pi 
1 urn about to offer you, though far beyond 
yout Ctarions, you will gladly, joyously 

accept." 

" What .s N 

" My band!* 1 

" What mean you?" 

That I will marry you, my adored one. 
Yes ; I am determined to brave the sneers and 
prejudices of the world, to devote my life to 
you, and giv. y..u mv n-mc. Now, will you 
use that , Mad .mo the Countess?" 

So saying, M. de Mental, with his I. n>w ra- 
diant with smiles, quietly waited the explosion 
of over-satiated vanity, gratitude and delight, 
which he expected would break forth. 

Mademoiselle Julie, at first, seemed struck 
dumb with am |1 ; and then, rising from 

his km- hi. w h. trw U into another fnu- 

ttuil, and hid her face in her hands. 

M. de Montal, believing her overcome with 

joyous surprise, approached, and, kissing her 

tenderly, whisper*! — "Pardon me, my angel, 

I should have prepared yon by degrees for this 

happy " 

Bcforo he could conclude, Mademoiselle 
Julie sprung to her feet, and, repulsing him 
roughly, exclaimed with an accent oi concen- 
trated bitterness and chagrin— 

"Ah ! it is just as my aunt Savageot said." 
" What is ? my Julie, \>hat did she say?" 
" She aaid that you would decoivo me 1" 



"How?" 

I* That you intended to marry me !" 
"What?" 

" Yes, I see it all now 1 Oh ! but this is too 
much! It is for my money, then, that you 
pretend to love me. It was in the hope of 
marrying me that you took such good can oi 
my concerns. Oh ! Edward ! Edward ! and 
I have loved you so disinterestedly; — how 
cruelly you have dispelled this illusion!" 

So astonished, so mortified, and so exaspe- 
rated was M. de Montal at this refusal — as of- 
i. n-ive as it was unexpected — that ho remain- 
ed, for a time, pale, speechless, and tremb- 
ling with rage. But Julie, whose self-love, as 
well as avarice, was wounded, could not con- • 
tain herself, but broke out with a fresh strain 
of indignant objurgation : 

" Yes," she exclaimed, " My aunt Savageot 
was right ; I no longer wonder that she looked 
with suspicion upon your submissive and cring- 
ing deportment. It is all plain enough now ; 
you were after my fortune, and it was well 
worth the trouble, too ; — a hundred thousand 
crowns well invested, and fifty thousand francs 
a year, salary and benefits. I did flatter my- 
self, that 1 was young and good-looking enough 
to excite a little disinterested affection, such 
as I felt for you. Oh ! did not my aunt Savageot 
see through you at once ? she was not so blind- 
ed by affection as I have been. She told me 
in the beginning — ' Be on your guard against 
this do Montal; use him, but watch him ; he 
i9 a regular profligate, over head and ears in 
debt; and, if you are not careful, and get into 
his power, he will leave you nothing but your 
eyes to cry with;' ami now, see how it has 
turned out! Oh! I Id ward! Edward!" con- 
tinued Mademoiselle Julie, with not a little 
real dignity, " and is it possible you could 
make such a use of the ring of your dying 
mother, to effect purposes so disgraceful !" 

These last words raised the passion of M. 
de Montal to an ungovernable pitch. 

"My mother's ring '." be said, pointing to 
another ring upon his own finger, " is here. 
Do you think I would prostitute it by bestow- 
ing it upon a creature like you? You are a 
greater fool than I thought you. I am only 
trifling with you." 

" Then monsieur, in making your mother a 
ring the instrument of a base deception, you 
have prostituted it far more than you would 
have done by bestowing it upon a creature like 
me," replied Julie, with an air of noble pnde. 
that pierced the count to the quick. 
" Be silent !" he roared. 
"Ah ! well, 1 never saw you when you threw 
off the mask before. What a face! 'tis fright- 
ful ! You terrify me— I must be gone." 
M- de Montal Beised her by the arm. 
" To tell everywhere that I have offered to 
marry you, and that you have refused me, I 
suppose ?" 

«• Edward ! Edward ! you have no right to 
detain me P screamed the actress, M Let go 




so 

my arm, you hurt me — let go my arm, I 
you." 

" Go, go, and play your part by all means," 
cried M. de Montal, in bitter irony,as hej 
ed the wrist of the girl with the tenacity of a 
vice ; then throwing her suddenly off", he oon- 
timied, " now, beware ! What has passed 
here is known to you and me alone. If it is 
ever known to another, I hold yon responsible 
for it. Understand me ; I have shown myself 
an able friend, — if I become yom enemy, I 
will destroy you.'' 

" Mon Diet! ! mnn Dieu !" eried the mi. 
happy girl ; " and is this all the return I re- 
ceive tor my love '" 

" Your love ! and have I not paid dearly 
enough tor it, by my forced attentions to your 
detestable old mint — by my humiliating and 
unworthy vassalage to yourself — attending to 
the details of your low occupation, and soil mi; 
my hands with your theatrical quarrels and 
intrigues 

"And this is all your devotion — all your 
care !" 

" Is the creature, then, vain and stupid 
enough to think that I would make roefe o 
donkey of myself for love of hat V* eried tin. 
count, shrugging his shoulders. '• I, in love 
with you? No: I sought you as my mistress 
for the sake of rivalry — to excite the envy of 
richer men than myself. I became tired and 
disgusted with the part I was playing, and I 
thought I would marry you for your money. 
Yes, for your money ! Do you hear ? Do you 
understand me now ? The idea was revolting 
enough, and I had a severe struggle with my 
sense of propriety. But no matter. I'll be n •- 
venged ! Do n't permit yourself to doubt it."' 
"You will be revenged, because 1 would 
not permit you to put a halter around my neck; 
is that it? and tliat, after 1 had found you mn. 
Is there anything more hase, than for a man 
in your situation to marry a girl like me, In . 
«• '.sIu'Iuih money9 Is there any eonfi- 

lU " ■ I I placed In such a man I Hi 

you well enough as a man — for iliat hound me 

to nothing ; butl would die a thousand deaths 

before 1 would marry you. If ever I marry, 
it shall be with a man whose probity of char- 
acter will be some guaranty for my future 
welfare and happiness." 

"Begone !— go to the devil for a husband ! 
but npver presume to take, my name in your 
mouth again." 

Such scenes are painful. It is humiliating 
to behold a man so servile and cringing, when 
he hopes to attain his object ;— so coarse and 
brutal, when he finds that he has missed his 
aim : but the sketch is true to the life. TJ 
we not the days in which to be astonished at 
anything, and every one, if he will but search 
the records of his memory, can .all to mind 
things quite as strange and extraordinary. 

the reader, we trust, has seen enough of 
Mademoiselle Julie, to convince him that any 
urther attempts of the count to possess him 



THERKSE DUNOYER 



tell 



her 






self of her purse, by means of 
would have been futile. 

Brought up in poverty, with miset 
stantly before her eyes, Julie, < 
dreaded an old age oi penury ui 
and hence, pushing her frugality to tin 
of avarice itself, she led tin close 
nomieal life we have before descn 
a woman, with few wants — a uatui 
disposition, and a fund of sound 
on to her money with a Wonderful 
tenacity. And, however Battering to ._ 
>ty might be the idea of becoming the wl 
the Count de Mound ; there was no <J| 
of her putting that honor for a in 
Comparison With the honor she felt, of bifl 
served by that amiable personage. 

M. de Montal's main-spring of life wa 
ity ; and judging Julie by himself, he thol 
that, by arousing that principle in her brt 
he was certain to obtain his end. He 
deceived. 

After mademoiselle's departure, the c<__ 
passed some hours in the most cruel agitath 
bi mind. II. r refusal had destroyed his It 
hopes; he had less than ten thousand Irani 
left ; and this small sum gone, what had he h 
but suicide, beggary, or crime? He i 
literally, at the Providence whieh In had trust* 
BO implicitly ; and had almost arrived at 
pilch of despair, when a new idea occur! 
to him, which at once restored his confident 
in hit star. 

M. de Montal had sometimes met, at t 
house of his friend, M. Roupi Gobillon, , 
M. Achille Dunoyer, a banker of great weald) 
somewhat past the prime of life, but full 
vanity and low ambition; anxious to be 
sidered a man of fashion, to which en 
aped all the ridiculous extravagance and 1 
ury of the aristocracy. 

M. Dunoyer had not attempted to eon. ej 
thai he considered the opportunity of mi 
M d« Montal a great privilege. M. de M< 
taJ was a member — thanks to his coil 
with the Maroni Beauregard— an in] 
m. nil., i- of that set of gay and elegant «_ 
men, among whom it was M. Dunoyei 
ardent dene to be admitted, and byevi 
of whom he esteemed it an honor to bi 

lli'/ed. 

The banker lr ' made the m..; t 
nary advances to lie count, who, not see] 
how he was to ni; |;e any use of him, receh 
him rather cavalierly, and had somev 
diously avoided him. But now that his lie, 
in re»ard to Mademoiselle Julie were !>li{9_ 
ftiu) his success had become so en 
the count began to think, that so rich a 
as M. Dunoyer was not exactly to be 
piscd ; and to contrive how he in 
to take advantage of the Ion 
long-refused intimacy, which he had 

Such was the position of M. de M< 
just before Ewen de Ker Ellio left his h, 
to look after his deposit with the house of 




M 



4 C H I I. I, E ntJNOYER 



noyer ; — ami as ihe banker is to make no in- 
considerable figure in our history, wo will 
take this opportunity to introduce him. 



C il A P T BR V I I i . 

M. ACHILLE DUNOV 

M. A r.'s office waa situated 

in tho Place de la Bouree ; but In 
With his faintly, en the first floor "I a 
house in the rue de Proven. 

This gentleman had two daughters, who 
were I. hi the third story o iame 

house, under the surveillance 
governess; — an arrangement which often sub. 
jected the young girls to disagreeable encoun. 
tere upon the stairs, be thi it own apart 

ment and those of their parents, Dunoyer 
would hnve much preferred to have occupied 

-ugle house with his family J but Madame 
Heloise Dunoyer insisted upon residing in the 
Chaussee d ; and it was impossible to 

nod a i moderate dimensions, in this 

Fsuxbourg St. Germain of finance. 

ldarne Heloise Dunoyer was about thirty- 
eight years of age. She had married 
young ; anil bet two children were — Tin 
seventeen year* old, and Clementina, fourt en, 

Pot mi |kl "i following the fashion, as 
well as of getting rid of a duty, which threat- 
ened to interfere with her love oi | 
Madame Donoyer had procured an English 

governess, as «r have already aid, to whom 

intrusted the instruction and management 

of the young Indies, in the ihird story. 

We aw fax from denying the Engli 

ten oi education, ail the praise it merits; 
but we do contend, that those of our fashion* 

able mothers, Who think thai all which is ne. 

cesanrv to conatitate a governess, is that 

ui call I m, or Miss Tur- 

ner, are liable io be sadly deceived. 
However that may be, Madame Dunn 

nglish governess — and the only 

• could find with her was, thai her 

name, Miss Jenny Hubert, was somewhat too 

She would fain have had her 

i isa Mortimei , or Miss Bloonv 

: ; but the proud Englishwoman would not 

con. i hi i in this particular. 

Madamr Dunoyer was considered, in the 

society he moved, what is called a 

Honest. She rode on horseback, with bran- 

deboiir's and . 

cigars; and, as a . pictorial illustration 

oi her charact her boudoir hung an 

leetrian portrait of herself, in full coBtume, 

teotli which waa suspended an Arabian 

ind head-stall, gt I with crimson. 

'i madam w only a lioness, hut an 

As to music, she had a grand piano 

»nd made grand pn railed 

B» (lea Hois-, tlr /■'. Llr.ethomn, 

Otttmvn; uud Weber, Wcbrrr. In hi. t ItUTi , 

ehe professed to follow Voltaire ; and he] 



31 

skill, as a painter, was shown in coloring 
lithographs, which covered hor tables by hun- 
dreds. 

While Madame Dunoyer amused herself 
wnh her fashionable follies and dissipations, 
i bildren were left to the sole care of Miss 
Hubert, and never saw their parents, except- 
ing lor a few moments at the hour of dinner 
— the time, by the way, which we have se- 
lected, as the most fitting in winch to intro- 
duce our readi ra to the family of the bans 

The two pupils of Miss Hubert were in I 
entering the 1. .mdon ol their mother. Ma- 
dam. Dunoyer was a beauty, of the red-chi i 
ed and vulgar order. She was of low statl 
—had a short and thick neck — and Q very 
full and llori.l countenance. She wap rather 
stout, and laced herself most uncomfortably 
i" 'onceal her embonpoint— -which increased 
apace, as she advanced in years. Although 
n was late in the day, Madame Dunoyer still 
the fantastic morning deshabille in which 
she had received her early calls. 

Mademoiselle The;, ,. ibmoyer presented, 
in her personal appearance, a striking con- 
trast to her mother. She was tall and slender, 
and her complexion, as pure ami white as ala- 
baster, was the more dazzling Mill, for being 
surrounded by hair of the d< black, 

which fell down In heavy tresses over her 

temples. But the most striding feature in her 

pure and somewhat sad countenance, was her 
eyes; which, large, languid, and of the most 
brilliant jet, fell upon the beholder with agaze 
pensive and melancholy, but mysterious and 
powerful. One thing more remaitiB to be no- 
ticed : above her left eyebrow was a small 
aatural mark, the mention of which will re- 
call to the mind of the reader, the mysterious 
portrait ol" the castle of Trefl" Ilartlog ; — to 
which, indeed, in every particular, this young 
girl bore th. most perfect resemblance, 

Clementine, (he younger sister, was the 
lh in;- of her mother, She was short, 

fat, and her joyous rosy countenance beamed 

forth like the sun in it-s glory, from forest of 

coarse red hair. Like her elder lister in her 
attire ahme, she was dressed in black. 

Miss Hubert, the governess, was a young 
lady of thirty-five. She wore her long flaxen 
hair braided, and permitted it to full in two 
separate portions over her sallow chei 
Her air was reserved and haughty ; and she 
took no pains to conceal, that she thought it a 
condi bci ;i-ion on hor pari to superintend 

education* of a banker's daughters;— 
Hubert, like most h governesses, 

was connected (as she said) with tho 6 lite of 

English aristocracy. Clementine was 

Madame Dunoyer's. favorite. In the gay, 

roils, and somewhat vulgar d> on -a nor of 

youngest daughter, she recognized and 

i herself in miniature ; but Theresa, al- 
ways reserved, silent and pensive, excited, at 
uw.r- her jealousy, by | ,iity of her 

charms, and her didike, by the dignity of her 



<? 



32 



TffBRBSF. I) TJ N * * R . 




deportment ;— both of which feelings were 
heightened by the consciousness, that the un- 
happy girl was the fruit of an unlawful, ami 
unfortunate amour. 

Boon eft< i marriage, and during a long ' 
age which her husband had underlain ate 
eign parts, Mad aim- Dunoyer yielded to the 
seductions of a man of trigs rank ; who 
tired of Lis vidgar conqut rted her 

for a new inamorata. But, unibrtunatelj 
her, upon her husband "• d" proofs of 

her infidelity were so apparent, that his sus- 
picions wire aroused ; and tbe birth ol The- 
rese became tl 

ment of the most I Benaions 

and unhappiness. Ki I by the fear of 

losing li 'a propci 

isions of the rid ith which a public 

. zpoauri led, M. Dunoyi 

lenp' luded, thai I lid be 

to ovrri- iltyofhi nor. Years, 

and the birth of another child, t" wl 

ty his claim was indisputab 
hi* I real offender ; but 

ing of ilie ofleni ould 

er regard with < nity. Upon Therese 

was l:i' ill the brutality and abuse 

which his unpleasant sccnees some 

* • licited ; and, to say, in this he 

was not only abetted, but seconded by hei 
mother ; who settled ti> think, thai by such 
an unnatural c: he could at 

propitiate hi r husband, and revenge h< r 
self for tie "I her r. 

bleness and baseness of disposition, 
high-minded, v ace they have commit- 

lie pangs of 
remorse by humility and genii, dneae. 

The coarse and vulgar, r< it of. 

frti< i , impudi 

with which the Mi,. con . 

i - <»f wnm?, and l.v the unl< cling in 
renrr with which they regard tin 

It was about five o'clock, when Miss Ilu. 
u r pupils, entered the 
doir of Madam. Dtmoyer; eni at the 

aame moment, M. Dunoyer m 

great goodJramor, radiant w it! 

Il<- Wl« a tilde man -linn, active, and dr< 

with very great care. A physiologist — espe- 
cially on*- of those who delight in tracing a 
mblance h. the human face and the 

physiognomy of different animals— would 
hay*- --truck with the remarkable simi- 

larity of expression which existed 
H. Dunoyer and a goat. The low forehead, 
uttletwinkl] —pointing obliquely up- 

ward toward the temples; the projecting uu. 
der.jaw. large month, and flaring , 

whu-h characterized the countenance of the 
banker, insensibly reminded 01 

and wanton animal. The habitual 

won of his features was a combination ol 
ry coarse, base, and sensual passion ; min 




with in overweening degree of pride, vtnflj 
ami self-conceit. But, by one ol those a^H 
organization." with which nature aornelH 
seems t" amuse herself, the hrutsl andfod 
ding countenance of tins man, at the slighfl 
notice or approach to familarity of a roan 1 
rank, became overspread with smiles the nag 

servile and sycophantic imaginable. 

M. I mimvi-r, as we have said, entered! 
wife's apartment with an air of triumph. 

" Hetoise !" be exclaimed, " we 
some one worth while to dine with 
morrow ; have everything in high order| 
it will be ii" common occasion, I asei. 

"Heyday! Achille f" returned the 
•• and pray, who is it that yon are goinj 
make mil a fusH about ■"' 

'• ( >ne of thennoMi -nable men in 

ris ; — a gallant, who is hand and glove with I 
i i i ■ - ilin i I the Fanxbourg St. tiprm 

u dreadful rake, but one of the fim I iello€| 
in the world ; and what is more, n c 

ml and adviser of the ministry ; B 
of great shrewdness in every capacitv, espej 
women. You have sea 
Julie — Julie of the Theatre Franrnis, 1 mead 
the fair actress who in so much admired, ant 
who hai I" en courted by the whoh world oi 
fashion ; Uu rich, the powerful, and the higf 

in rank, but all in vain. Now, my man lit 

to say, • Mademoiselle, I'm your humj 

i-i vant,' and, b< hold ! he sacks the ■ 

b of them all." 

" Hut do t. II i: ine of this Don Juaflfl 

M. |)imo\. i. who took n pleasure in tdf 

ing Ins wife, continued i 

\ll in -mod time. You shall know hi ml 

iidly with me, and I h , ■ I 

will lay youreeti out to please him. I met bin 

at the lions,. ,,| M. Ronpi (.'obillon, 1 1 u rnjfl 
; and that makes m> think that our Dm 
-luan, as you call him, can get me > leofl| 
deputy, if he choosef lo give me his milni 
i . lie ia the luck in in li 

fill, ii all 111 and he ir 

adroit Ohi he would make a devil of 
diplomatist !" 

" Really, Achille, it is very improper tM 

von to tense me so before these cluldrcnjjfl 

' m an aboininal.'e examji|e,"ga^ 

Madame Dunoyer." She found nothingi 
jecrionable m the matter of M. Duht 
communications, notwithstanding the nnt 
>>!' the subject and the pies, nee of tv. 

" Well, well, Helmsc. do n't get into n ptfl 
; ion ; you look as if you were ready to swafl 
low me. I'll tell you the name of my ft 
for fear you should take a prejudice ai 
him." 

" 1 certainly shall, if you annoy me 
longer about him." 

" Well, it is the Count de Montal ;—\ 
else but he?" 

"Not possible! laimed the lajfl 

" Well, if we get him here, the Duboiees wl 





M. ACHILLE DUN OYER. 



burst with jealousy. Oh ! I've heard so much of 
M. dc Montal — and I've seen him, too, at the 
opera. To be sure, I will lay myself out to 
plcaso him. There's only one thing 1 am 
afraid of, he locks like a very great qui/, ; — be- 
bides, one evening in coming out from (In: 
opera, I overheard him talking about Ma. 
dame Dubois and her i-law. Oh! 

what fun he was making of them. Did n't he 
show them up? However, there was no great 
harm in that, for they deserved it, the proud 
tints, with their grand she. But, Achilla, do 
you know that M. de Montal is the intimate 
friend of the Marquis de Beauregard, the hus- 
band of that pretty American lady who looks 
so simple?" 

" Certainly I do ; and more than that, the 
marquis is the king of the rakes, and de 
Montal is the prince. What a grand seigneur 
that marquis is ! how he spends the money ! 
They do say, that he went to America to re- 
cruit his finance*, uud that his wife brought 
him some millions." 

" But does he not support .on opera dancer, 
Madi in. us. He Kose, notwithstanding his mar- 
riage ?" asked Madame Dunoyer, playing 
with the hair of her youngest daughter, whose 
head was resting on her knees. 

" Yes, and her sister too, they say ; — for 
l>nth are seen at times in his box tit the opera; 
but his little fool of a wife never seems to 
suspect anything." 

" Ma foil so much the worse for her — tin 
poor thing ! In spite of all her beauty, I 
think she looks very stupid, with her puritani- 
cal bonnet, and her grave airs. .She looks 
like a nun," said Madame Dunoyer. 

" Is it because she looks like a nun, that 
she appears so stupid ?" asked little Cle- 
mentine. 

" You love of a child !" cried Madame 
Dunoyer, embracing her daughter with every 
mark of affection ; " 'pon my word ! what an 
idea that was ! She is so free-spoken — that 
girl — she ran never conceal, for a moment, 
what she thinks." 

" That is an accomplishment which may 
be carried too far," observed M. Dunoyer, 
•ententiou-lv. 

I'aitli! I tike her air much better than 
if sh< reserved and hypocritical," re- 

marked the mother, throwing a contemptu- 
look upon Theresa. 

"Oh, certainly l" rejoined M. Dunoyer, who 
caught her meaning', and also cast an ill-na- 
tured gaze upon the poor girl; "certainly! 
still water nam deep. Your deceitful char- 
acters should always be watched, and never 
trusted." 

Therese appear. i iy unconscious ; but 

sne understood these unkind allusions per- 
fectly. Miss Hubert listened, with a slight 
curl of tli.- h|-. 

Theresa's silence and apparent indifference 
awakened the in- of Madame Dunoyer. "I 
should think, mademoiselle, that it was worth 
2* 



your while to pay a little attention, when the 
conversation turns upon hypocrites,'' she re- 
marked. 

Therese made, no answer. 

"Therese !" cried M. Achille, " don't you 
hear your mother ?" 

" I was not aware that the conversation re- 
ferred to me," replied the young girl. 

" And who, did you suppose it did refer to, 
if I may presume to ask ? to the parson's cat V 
exclaimed madam, in a rage. " 1 think, if 
there is a hypocrite here, it is you." 

Therese made no answer. 

M Ah ! miss obstinate, wont you answer ?'' 
cried the mother, excited beyond all bounds. 

" Mademoiselle," put in M. Dunoyer, "in- 
stead of braving your mother thus, you ought 
to feci humbled, and say, ■ Mamma, I will 
never be a hypocrite more.' " 

" Mamma, I will never be a hypocrite," 
said Therese, without raising her eyes. 

*• Now, does she not deserve a good beat- 
ing ?" cried madnm. " Sec how she sulks, with 
her eyes on the ground — the deceitful hussy !" 

" Oh ! dear mamma, do n't scold Therese !" 
ened Little Clementine, kissing her mother. 

" If I do scold her, it is becauso she de- 
serves it," replied madam. "She has been 
nothing but a plague to me, ever since she 
was born." 

No sooner had she said this, than the bank- 
er's wife bit her lips in vexation. 

M. Achille Dunoyer threw upon his wife a 
bitter and malignant look: " Well may you 
say she has been a plague ever since she was 
born ; but the less you allude to such things, 
the better." 

" I shall say what I please," returned the 
lady, " and you wont hinder me !" 

" I tell you, again, that you had better not 
awaken the recollection of some events in 
your past life, madam." 

" Ah ! papa, papa, do n't scold mamma !'' 
exclaimed Clementine, throwing her arm 
around his neck. 

" And let me tell you, sir, that if those 
events have occurred, they had to be over- 
looked, because some folks found that it was 
for their interest to overlook them. Do you 
understand me, sir?" 

" Oh ! if it were not for the presence of 
your children, I would tell you what I thought 
of you !" cried M. Dunoyer. 

" Yes! and if it were not for the children, 
I'd tell you what I thought of you ! Oh! 
you need not put yourself in e rage ; I 'm not 
afraid of you !" 

Miss Hubrrt arose, and, with a haughty 
and supercilious air, said to the children : 
" Come, young ladies, your father and mother 
h t.- be left alone." 

" Yes, yes, Miss Hubert ; take them out if 
you please," cried M. Dunoyer, pacing up and 
down the room, in a violent tit of agitation. 

The two young ladies and their governess, 
left the room. " Shut the door !" bawled out 



04 



THERESK DtrNOYER 







the master of the house ; then turning to his 
wife, he began — 

" Are you not ashamed of yourself, io pro- 
voke me in this manner, and vourchi!- 

dren'" 

"Who began it, air; did IV 
"What, madam! and hove I no light, 
then, to express n»y indignation at your pant 
conduct I What, madam ! r I have 

been so generous as to forget " 

"Generous, I think you said ; great gene* 
rosity, forsooth. Come, I tike that. I Bhould 
like to know how generous you would have 
been, if you had not Involved my property in 
your business to inch an extent, that you 
were afraid to say anything which iuijditlead 
to a scitienunt between us. The fact la, 
you thought it better t<> bold your tongue, than 
to render me an account of my funds ; an un- 
dertaking which would have brought botli ru- 
in and disgrace upon you." 

" And is your conduct any the less crimi- 
nal on that account, madam '" 

"And is your clemency any the mora hon. 
orable on that account, sir? Can you deny* 
that you have permitted your pussion to be 
reined in by avarice, an* 7 — gen , in- 

deed ! How many times have you n-[>i«»:ulii il 
me with your generosity ' ft IB a thing to 
boast of, is it not?" 

"And, do you think, madam, that I h 
no blood in my veins; thai I can endure the 
presence of that living witness of your infa- 
my always before my face :— that girl, who is 
no child of mine ? I wonder at myself ;— at 
any forbearance — that 1 have not, long ago, 
turned her into the street !" 
' "Do what you like with her: what do I 
care? — who hinders you ? Did I over take 
her part against you? Have I not always 
shown my preference for her sttrtel ' Has not 
juy dislike for the great sullen thing, bean 
enough to convince you that I was sorry for 
what was past ? Now what more would jrou 
have ?" 

" I would have you, madam — when those 
unpleasant recollections, in spite of myself, 
force themselves upon me and make me net 
vous and irritable, — I would have you try to 
soothe me; or, at least, not endeavor io ■ \eite 
me still further." 

" And do you think it is very agreeable to 
me to be reproached h bis Therese, es- 

pecially, at the very times when I am giving 
her a scolding?" 

" Mon Dieu, madam ! everybody gets in- 
to a passion at one time or another ; and I'm 
mire I 've as good right and reason to do so as 
any one else." 

'Well, who hinders you? I don't care 
aow much you get in a passion, so that you 
select the proper time and place. Snppoee 
there had been strangers here—what a p, 

&tl rTV^rS ° m have befln? t( ' »y no. 
thmg of that M lS3 Hubert, with her cold, 



sneering, impertinent air. I'll warrant ■ 
did not let a word escape her." 

"And whose fault was that? It 
idea of your own — nothing but an 
governess would suit you, and now 
you are paying enormous wages- 
for a spy to watcb oval you."' 

" I choose to have an English gov* 
because it is the fashion to have one; 1 
took Miss Hubert because the Duhoisef| 
ed her. For the matter of being a sf ,, 
has not much chance, as she is never ! 
xcept at the dinner hour ; and it is 
OWJ1 fault, if she hears anything then 
she should not ; — as to her wages, the 
thousand francs a year that we pay her, 
not a going to ruin you." 

" Oh ! I 've nothing to say about that. 
t ever interfere with your expenditures, 
object to your doing what you please wfl 
yom money 

"Anil do I ever interfere with yourdoiu 
what you please ?" 

"I .never said you did." 
"Then ii is certainly very foolish for us 
quarrel." 

"Well, whose fault is it?" 
"Whose, indeed?" 

" Whose 7" cried M. Dunoyer, gladly catej 
ing at the chance of shifting the respon 
iv from himself; " why. it is that Tin i 
the sullen hussy ! I'll warrant aha is nil 
lung her hands with glee, now. because ■ 
has set us together by the ears." 

"Heavens! you are right. It would _ 
just like her, to get along with Miss Hube| 
ami make fun ol us. I 've no doubi 

as two thieves. Yes ; if she hal 

net driven ma half mad by her insolence ai 

oh ini.icy, J should not have forgot myselfl 
I did — for 1 was In the very best humor i, 
the Idea of having M. de Montal as visitiJ 

" Parbleu ! I knew I should please you vi 
much by bringing him here. But s< 
get for my pains ?" 

" Now, Achille, do n't let us begin nnot 
disputation. Have we not just agree 
was all the fault of that Therese, who wd 
in 6 a rout in Paradise itself if she was 

mere? What more do you want 

" Well, let Mademoiselle Theresi 
her own chamber to-day, then,'" cried M fM 
noyer ; " I 'in not a going to have suchaefl 
ter-box bear the sway in my house." 

" You are right, Achille; she shall be 
fined to her room, the hypocrite !— 
fear that will not be much of o pun 
to her." 

"What else can we do to her? Shel 
enteen years old— it will hardly anawfl 
keep her on bread and water." 

" Well ; we must do the best we can, then 

" Thank God, she ia old enough to be ma] 
ried !" 

M But who the devil will take her off m 
hands V 



1 



THERESE, 



«6 



Thus ended the matrimonial tete-a-tete, 
presenting a Btrango, but correct reflection of 
one of tbo numerous phases of domestic life 
in Pari* ;— and if the ha- eneea and brutalij 
uno of tlio parties, and the unnatural 
new of tin- other, should seem tu bo dolim a 
ted with too dark an outline, it must be n 
lected, that the husband was a usurer, and 
the son of ■ usurer, while the wife was but 
a vulgar upstart of easy virtue. 



CHAPTER IX. 



TnEBESK. 

The apartments occupied by the two young 
ladiea, were a saloon, which answered the pur- 
pose of a school-room ;— > chamber on the 
right, which was occupied by Miss Hubert 
and Clementine ; and another on the left, in 
which slept Therese and the maid-servant, 
who waited upon them. 

At i!i«- horn of dinner, s lervani came to 
cull Miss Hubert and Clementine— announc- 
Hme to Tlu case, th n 

would be sent Up la hex : B i 

I , hi , lUgence, which, is Madame Dun< 

,. i, ,i, gavi hi i no sort of concern, but 
was n gratification than a puni.shiu.-nt. 

abex "i Therese wa 
,, d no i only in bad,bul in a so 
mer. us taste; which clearly proved thsl 

, Dunoyi r was not one ol those mo- 
ihew, w bo d see, in the virgin retreal 

of her daughter, any weemUance to a temper 
of chastity am! purity. Having become tued 
of a large mahogma bedstead, ornamented 
with bas-relief In bronze and gUt,repr< 
ing i i the nymphs and ihe faui 

lowed it upon her i West daughter. 
The canopy oi this bedstead was 8urn.oui.ic rj 
by two doves billing; and it was ceiled within 
with I ijlass. 

Over the mantel.pie. a clock, deco- 

rated with the figures of a Satyr and a 
uite, executed in that Tree Btyle which 
,1 ,n the da) of the Dii i but 

wbi since bet n di emed inud 

in ri ibl< hoi 

and licentiou mess. 1 i ce of furniture, 

Jams Dunoyer had aJsodiscarded, but only 

|,, , Q a Ian ROCOW. 

The* ings bsd been b 

or rather, had descended m Thoi right 

niture, much to tin iction 

litti ii ; whom, hoi 

tme Dunoj id means to appeasi 

ing up to hor a night-lamp ol an Etni 

. doc. rated with red figures upon a 

which were intended to n 
nie interesting | the celebra- 

the ma " ; B "" ' 

The culpable im Du- 

Il( , utfngs, wss Up 

den..- oi n iniurally coarse ami depraved 
posiuon, rather tlian of any really evil intent 



upon the morals of her children. If she had 
been reminded that they were in bad taste, 
would have shrugged her shoulders, and 
said, bhu thought i: iy pretty. If any 

one had counselled her to have giveu her 
daughters chamber;-, of pun white, w ith a cru- 
cifix, and a pric dieu for furniture, and aome 
green boughs for Christmas decorations; 
she would have replied, that her daughters 
were not nuns, and she had no disposition to 
put them in cells. 

Miss Hubert, who was full of English pru- 
dence, was at first very much scandalized at 
the strange ornaments which embellished the 
chambers of her pupils, but she soon under- 
stood how it had come about ; and as she had 
only accepted the place temporarily, for lack 
of a better, she fell no interest in the welfare 
of those committed to her charge, and mani- 
fested none upon so important a concern as 
this. 

Therese, as we have said, experienced a 
sort of melancholy satisfaction, in being left 
iodine by herself ; nor was she in the least 
i ined to hear that M. Dunoyer had sent to 
places at ill*- opera for madam and him- 
self— -Clementine and Miss Hubert; leaving 
hi i to while away her hours as best she might. 
It was with positive ph asure Irtdsed, that she 
heard the carriage, which son them 1 1 the 
theatre, depart. She felt a degree of n 
and comfort in th.-ir absence ; and after lock- 
ing the door, i lie drew a couch rip before the 
and taking from under one of its eush. 
, with a mysterious air, a lit i 
bound book, she kissed it with almost in- 
fontfle delight. Then, reclining upon the 
OOncb, and resting her head upon one hand. 

which looked like alabaster in Contrast with 

lier deep black hair, she soon became absorbed 
in leading. 



Let us, in the meanwhile, endeavor in a lew 
words to delineate the character of this young 

girl. 

Th was naturally of a good heart and 

ileut disposition, whieh, indeed, had not 
i perverted by the bad examples which 
had been ■■ I her, nor bj the nnw iae and 
injudicious course ol D at to winch she 

had been ed. But, ala ! how de* 

plorobli itnation. Abused by both 

; deprived of all that care and 
which ii is the happiness, as v. 
he duty of a mother to bestow ; her peace 
and comfort uatly Bacrifici d to a blind 

djty for her Bister; inU-usted to 
pervision of a governess, who wat 
with walking through her pari withou 
a circle, who, d 

ion fei 
to inculcati ontiments 

piety; bul who, on the other hand, by their 

on, man ii. : ted their entire 
i constn rid rendered 

,i in Ible foi n to respect 

<e who gave them birth ;-^into what • aepth 



■•V •#- •*» — t— ■■» •• J*** 



^ u.» ..i ■ 



II. 







lk* y*m*i few** •*•»•• mU nn m 
u* Oft* U 1m I IwlW ui maud 

•■* ■ « <u*j mm! 




•mmw Ac U>4r« ***** mi wmmi *■ 



**J <tw m l ur i ■«■«»■■» i m* wi 

«i(l k* 1 ,.«i ». < U<« r*lW<l tate 

•*« ut«- iitUtriu< Imnmi » «k«W4 I* Ml 



» 




pi rmipi «* WMiMi mm 4 ^ 
+*r**m, far km «ma ptrwai 

•1 «tt«4 < M Um1«M> . TV 
MM* • I 
»;*** M*MM, i><h1 MtfttUod 

'"'I ^ lU» v t ^ lit llll 1 

« TWt*-. m* +, few » ) 



THETt ESE 



87 



long evening during which she was U il 
home by the play-goera. She forgot the hi 
and waa still Stretched upon the sofa — the 

>k in ber hand, and hi t i yt bathed in 
tears — whon ahe was aroused by a rappitj 

door. Aroused from her revery. The- 
rose started up in as much tenor as if the liv- 
ing Ren*" had been concealed in her room ; she 
stood for a moment, pale, trembling] and in. 
capable of motion. 

"Sister, sister Thereae !»' cried little Cle- 
mentine, "open the door; we have got back 
from the theatre." 

" What have you locked the door for, ma- 
demoiselle ?" said Miss Hubert, In an angry 
tone of voice. 

Therese recovered herself, and smiled to 
think of her alarm ; she hid her book, and 
hastened to open the door. 

" So you locked yourself in,'' said Cleim u- 

" Yea, my dear sister." 
" And why, mademoiselle ?" demanded 
Miss Hubert. 

" B I was afraid to remain here 

alone," replied Thereae, dryly. 

" You are not usually afraid," returned 
Miss Hubert ; " but I have performed my 
duties in making these observations." 

Such was the invariable formula with which 
the governess accompanied her observations 
upon whatever might seem unusual in the de- 
port! i pupils ; andwlie'hci- it nr.nli 
any imp nupon them, was of little im- 
portance in her en >u. 

" Shall I loll you what we saw at die thea- 
tre, sifter?" cried little Clementine. "We 
hav< Palais Royal, and we had 

jj inn ! Oh, how amusing Dejaa l 
played the part of a marchioness, and 
ahe bad a gentleman to r* in a her hus 

band waa sick ; and ihe said how much bi 
she liked him to kiss her than her mi iband, be 
cause he was so old. Didn't she. Miss Hubert. " 
•• Oh, yes ! certainly ; it way, doubtless, a 
• proving play for young girls," retni 
me Knglishwoinan. " Your parents thoi 
it very mm and, of coi ou ought 

to reaped mei i — and profit by all the 

thus given you," she added, 
wariun ;it the lire. 

Tli.- child, anxious to display her good i 
raory, continued i 

" And then there was a pretty peasant girl, 
that the old m the hu band ol the lady 

wanted to ki*s, am lid not liki liim, be- 

id, l»ut preferred to b< 
ed by the entleman who kissed the 

man In * in 8 her 

—that great felloW. 1^ that the way with 
all n, Miss [In 

" Hush : madenio k o before 

plied the governneji. " V ou had bet. 
ter uk your parent.' ; it will amuse mem." 

," said Therese, " there are some 
things that ought not to be talked about." 



" What ! such things as I waa telling you ?" 

" Was the house full ? Were the dresses 
handsome ?" inquired Therese, anxious to 
chungc the subject. 

" Oh yes ! all the world waa there J— and do 
you recollect the young gentleman papa was 
talking about before dinner ?" 

" What young gentleman ?" 

" Oh ! you know, the gentleman that is the 
lover of that actress at the Theatre Francaiae : 
the one who is to dine here to-morrow.'' 

" Oh : M. de Montal ?" 

" Yes, a count — a nobleman." 

"Well t" 

" He was in a box with some ladies — duch- 
esses, papa said they were." 

" There was but one duchess, mademoi- 
selle," put in Miss Hubert. " The Duchess 
de Miremont, whom I have often seen two 
years since at my lady's country seat, in En- 
gland," she added, by way of enlightening be* 
pupils as to the lofty position which she had 
formerly occupied. 

•• I >li, dear ! how bandsome she was ; was 
she not, Miss Hubert 7" 

" Charming — you never see such elegance 
and refinement, except displayed by the 6lite 
of the aristocracy." 

"And by those who have the privilege of 
being educated under your Boperviaion; you 
should add, Miss Hubert," observed Therese 
archly. 

The governness madi no reply, and Clem, 
antine continued! "Oh yes; and she was so 
genteel in her magnificent lace capote, — and 
then papa said to mamma, 'Do you see! do 
you see ! — that sad fellow, de Montal, com- 
me d chauffe the little duchess ?' What did 
be moan bj that, Miss Hubert, ckaufi* l! "' 
Little duchess? I kept that word in my mind 
on purpose tou.sk you what it meant.'' 

"And you might put your memory to a 

r use, m me tell you," replied Miss 

Hubert. "It is no part of my business td 

translate your father's indecent remark-- loi 

yon. Thank Heaven! I don't know French 

i nough to understand them myself. You had 

■I-, your mother to explain them to yoii. 

can do it well enough— I'll ansa 1 1 for if." 

onld not be anything improper," 
replied Clementine, "for papa said it to 
mamma." 
" A sure, conclusive eviden< e ol its propri- 
tdced :" returned the govern 

with a 

SBaaHubeit," said Therese firmly, "yon 

do very wrong to pi ik in that way before my 
If." 

"Oh, mou Dien! Mademoiselle, tell your 
pari hi If you like, pray do. I'm not so fond 
of tin place that I'm afraid to speak my mind, 
I con assure you." 

"Bui while you I our place, you will 

oblige me by speaking more respectfully of 
raj father, and moth- 





WMm* 



M. LE MARQUIS DR BEAUREGARD 



39 



Not content, however, with preachiag tip 
this crusade in behalf of veritable magnifi- 
cence, against unworthy pretonsiona to it ; 
the mnrquitj took, the cross himself in fall 
B, and 8 sample to precept. He had 

taiderably impaired Ins enormous 
fortune in this way, at the time we speak of. 
But Paris could, even then, boast of but few 
houses equal to his ; his cheer was still ex- 
quisite ; his music unrivalled ; and his whole 
establishment replete with every refiiu 
oi luxurj and comfort. His balls were Inim- 
itable; lor, in tin' production or the manage- 
ment of a fete, he had no equal. In the au- 
tumn, in- hunted over his estate oi Beaure- 
gard, m Dauphiny— the best ground 
France; and then at h chateau, he 

entertained with all the hospitality of an Eng- 
lish lord — which is saying all that can be said 
in praise of a country life. 

The masterly style in which he finish d all 
that he undertook, gave token of no oonunon 
mind ; but aside from this, the marquis was 
distinguished by other striking characi.n 
He v eentdc to a striking degree — and 

his ecc. -iitucity gtt w Otti Ol the strange con- 
trast between In natural goodness .>t heart 
and delicacy of feeling, and his atnpendona 
affectation of cynicism and perversity. 

in , there was no greater roue* in 

Puns than the marquis -but, in reality, B 
were few who were oftenet taken in-, 
this he was always ready to admit, with great 

good-hum <ayety. 

No one knew woman, better than the mar- 
quia; — no one possessed more lacilili- 
Win her. With a handsome person and unlim- 
ited wealth, he was master of i vety art ; to 
the tender, be could be devoted — could take 
by the indifferent i could dazzle the 

eye of the simple by display, overcome the 
modest by audacity, and attract the coquettish 
by disdain -.—never, in fact, was there a man, 
who knew so well how to mingle grace and 

impertinence, tenderness and presumption, 

courage and elf-denial, until the melangi 
came a charm almo?t ible. In theory, 

he was a Dan Juan— a [«OV< IftCe, without con- 
science or compassion, if you would bul be- 

lieve him; and yet, never was the, 

per. air, than the marqu 

hid hfl axpatiatfl upon the social Hystcm, as 

he professed tO vi.-w it — you would start hack 

in amazement at the depth of his depravity, 
and his uttn disregard ol principle. He m 

ed tO wish tO found B sort of tit I), the 

end of which should be, to secure present 'ii- 

tnent at any coat, and to trample apon 

poverty and distress, to at ll 0D« 

ject To one who knew little of hhn, be 

would appear to be hideously avarici 

fish, egotistical, without faith; withoul soul, 

it honor — (excepl the point of ho 
winch be had ever sustained with marked in. 
Uapidit] 
And yet die purse oi the marquis was over 



open to his friends, and to the needy ; his ex. 
treme good-nature and liberality, made the 
peasantry upon hi-- estates the lazit il and hap. 
t fellows in Franco. Hi ageni continually 
pillaged him ; and he * I her 

k ally or affectedly, even to invest hi the funds 
a large yum arising from the sale ol an estate, 
Baying, that ti gentleman ought always to I 
directly from his lauded property ; and: 1 
th< idea of securing a petty interest of four or 
live per cent., from money deposited, was 
quite beneath his dignity. 

But this was not all — the marquli affected 
the mo I • mir. contempt lor the meet sacred 
duties and relations of life. His lather being 
of a strong constitution, had lived to a very 
i age. As long as the old man was in 
health, there was no end to the atrocious wit- 
ticisms of the marquis upon his longevity ; and 
his complaints of the hardship of being 
Obliged to wait so long for his inheritance, 
were worse than those which used to dis- 
grace the drama of the last centiu 

One of his friends once met him, and 
said — 

" I have just seen your father — he looks ill : 
at bis ace tin- slightest indisposition is very 

much to be dreaded." 

"Flatterer!* answered the man. 

At another nun — it was a cold day in 

father said to him — 

'• It freezes hard t oough to split the rocks, 

and yet here I am, eighty seven years old, 

wearing nothing but a single surtotit. I be- 

e 1 have vigor enough oowj to live till I an 

a hundred." 

"Why will fOU always be saying such 
disagreeable things, monsieur'" replied the 
marquis pettishly. « 

And yet at the slightest approach of End 
Hon, the marquis passed hi- days and 
nights by his father's couch, andlavi 
upon him the tenderest and most filial cat 
Wlv r died, he was entirely over- 

come ; his grief was sincere and profound, and 
so lasting withal, that it was only assuaged by 
tune and foreign travel. 

After the lapse ofsome years, as we. have 
air. ady obaervi d. the marquis found bis for- 
tune somewhai Impaired •, and « hided it 

.Id be best to recruit his finances 

of an advantageous matrimonial c 

th etion. True to his charaeti r, the marquis 

had nosooner determined upon this expedient, 

tl.au he began to give utterance to the most 

,|y insolent remarks upon the con- 

rnsiou of the great lords, who d to 

oonnect themselves with ladies 

rank. The latter, he said, were but toon, 
honored, in being permitted to lay their for- 
mnes at the feel of those « ho picked them out 
Of their dung-hflls, cleaned away their pie- 
l„ [an i,!,!,, and gave then human appella- 
rions. Still, heHuid, it was sometimes neces- 
sary for men Of rank to manure then lands in 
this way ; and the money of a rich, though 



JO 



riiiiii H»oiii. 






•>tu«r father JaJew. ww a anrt af conrfert 
which ww aot mi bad attar all 

Bui the aautjuM k*. it* once dr> 

by e ■■■<■> m>n|n of p 

and b« -^ «tuUJuk*J I«M libw.a, Ul 

■rafrti «af sa An- •ur«, fur h» »M 

a arm believer in ike ■ 
uwwaeea. 
Ai lie* ana, be lingered aawe mouthe, 

- lataltMag U» a 
ui hu teaMn aaJ^Ha • *»«" l * onduwd 
bnrwj 
lady <* uiimq, aaaard Duloroe, «ud tie 
daughter oi bejgaw Pablo, a in 

object ut IU. rh lb« COOMSl of 

tbe- (atner, the o lavubed M much 

«od a* much dipMwnery. w 

ueatM* i> gain liie alfeetiuoe of lb* 
daagbirc, be dMpU)id fe*raco and 
enough, and expended wit and aeaid 

rad twewyof i 
* I'm iwaii beUe a aad in apile 
ot aU iue aim id Unf J 
etratageme, be • 

»ar, deeperat' iing 

Spaniard ; aad the day w hkh mad* ibr yonn g 
eouiheru br *u indeed the ban. 

pfoet day of Itw life. 

Tbe marout* bad never take* tbe i: 

Cwuidiag u» iu» reputed w ealtb, and bM pea. 
beudw arhi 
ic young lady be thought 



led • greet lard to taki 
I* 



mm 

hu> j»nde and diajaeereeWae* 
-awetft 

a awldewaa fvea a fortene.i 

. i with buu. a|H 



; m» be aagned tbe 

I 



| iiih| 
■ 



bk I 
IIDilt 
tl;r 

■tJg 



i »n 



•a Huron, tba Ince, or 
beeex apfM 



IU returw^ to Pam ; aad. fH«eu aj 

'4 art vwayufaJ 

be bad «ot a r»eb wtfe, br redoubled i 
rag* eivaaee aba world al^H 

bad not warned for byre, be www* a* 

pay bM old maWaai, and ingf ■< br. ...>efl 
eieo; — both of whow, in i • >4 

wfihmimt for mat which be did not feel, ■ 
exhibited atghtly tn one of hu bacw al M 



To cany out (be matter, at hie barb* lorl 
dinner, «n.rhh« atillkepiun.be chalk 
b« row5 eruuaintanew to make lav* t« mil 
wife, and only begged that way would wait 
■ lanwiu ii t'.ry anc waded. Han 




tdetep-laU 
led to do aa areraad i ood ; 

j , be endowrd bM daughir • 

»■ raa r«ibj land in Texaa. 
ba la >. i urn a |.«; h be 

luanofi/ ato- 

ewne an i n -law ; and u> wnwui 
for wm t vh mad, (u 

•pan bM bi i bar eJwnniwj blue 

tba wawd an 

Iraw % oat tat Iim airvady inwovanebed re- 
aonreae, tX l 

*•*» b» wamafa 

tract, oaiwad 

bnadred tbuawa- 

nwtawant «-i bia 

UMMaO , g luadMnw 

ba bdi An. tbat wi 

naabet, one auraan wow, and 

andtbecii>u Ueattwwu- 

Tber»a»om.badtu«n 
that be bad b«eo tab. 

tba».w4aw}butbtbadtvo 



W )<-afl 

bj rtadfo 1 1 ,-. mi "■< m bi ■ •• hi ! - i <•■ 
ininf mi i by aa tairodttstioa to tba waJ^H 
tbe world, and to liic in Pan. ,- J 

uon, by tba way, wbieb ba vuwed ba ra lfl 
not take tba trouble to five ber. And ffl 
Uda etranfc being breed hu wife devotedly^ 
nay. eJwoat wadfy. 

ord aow w to tbe coax* 
tbe Meruui. Da Beauregard aad M. de M( 
Ul. When tbe latin wade bM debar in tfli 
faaaaoaable world, tbe forawt ww in tba aaaj 
itb of bM giory i aad 1 -., 

cenoe ww tbe wawwal tbowe af eawe. ai 
uon . bM aatbont y W matter* « « 
'be « ildrat and mmt 



awtwa of a eantabk arear 

M de Monta!e adwiratwa l«r tbe n 

bw wit, bw Mnaaadeore. aad bia w w3 
bat bat awwaat tanwad a • 




tm 
t aad aow 



aaae«*. 
-pace. 
itofoataaaM | 



■.!» '« ■ 



aewtaoa af tbtabwg. tbat l.r Led <me 
aatwliw, reealeww about taw Urtlbaw |^H 
la bw tarn, tbe maie»M, wtawwt batam^^H 
aawaw fur , .awfl 

rank ww awawg tbe ebaaee eaun M 

ke diapaw d j tb n n fb be.at twa» i 

bun w Mb wa fatty in nnnMx t Hawjp^J 

g*^aaW paafcWWT a ■a^* ^^•aaa' awaa^S OTHe* 

ba Mai eadared bant* «a>> la 

eaaaw bw aafaalf . 1 

Twa ffar-ralraa «mb we ma,e 
any toraw, ww ail law ajaaiii 
tal. aad be wfbwtod a. ^ortattwfl 






THE PRE5P. NTATION, 



41 



strengthening it. According to him — and he 
took especial pains that the marquis should 
knew his opinion — that eccentric gentleman 
was just what he aspired to he thought— the 
: ihy successor of Bassompierre, of Riche- 
lieu and of de Lauzuu : he was, in fine, the 
man in Paris, in Europe, or in the world, 
who understood human nature, or who knew 
how to live. 

Upon this occasion, the marquis, Iho 
secretly llattrred, replied to M. de Montal, 
with his usuul cynicism — 

" You either want to borrow money of me, 
or to make love to my wife : I have five hun- 
dred louis at your service, If that is what you 
want ;or, if you prefer it, I will introduce you 
to the man-In. -morrow. Take your 

choice; and then 1 shall be able to enjoy 
your flattery with a clear conscience." 

M. de Montal, at that tfm*j bad money en- 
ough left to justify him in declining the prof, 
fared use of the marquis's purse, and his wife 
he considered as entirely above his preten- 
sions ; so he refused both offers, and by this 
show of independence,*rendered both himself 
and his Battery more acceptable. 

The marquis wan, indeed, somewhat toiuli- 

ed by this unexpected show of diainti 
ness — he shed the light of his countenance 
more freely and graciously, though he did not 
fail to abuse him roundly, at times, about his 
connection with Julie. Such people, he said, 
no gentleman ever connected himself closely 
with ; they were mere articles of luxury — a 
means of getting rid of money ; but to use 
them without paying for them, was bare-faced 
robbi 

It was at this period of our history, that, 
ii marquis made a call anon 
M. de Mont&i. A close observer mil' lii have 
perceived the tracts of ear'', anxiety, and i 

agitation, upon the countenance of tin 
noble, before ht ent< ri 'I the h 

i u U u Mb \\. dr Montal, In was si eahn 
and placid and philosophical as i \ 

The motive of this visit we will explain in 
the iii-.i chapter. 



CHAPTER X. 

BE i'RESENTATIOK. 

M. df. Momtai. was taking his tea and toast 
at his usual hour in the morning, when the 
door was finng opt n and the Bervanf announ- 
ced the \l i I< Beauregn 

The marquis was at this period about forty 

years of age; of good stature, and admirably 

pro| d ; though his figure, once re- 

>kably delicate and slender, bad become 

I a i he advanced In He was 

mornin \ undress, which consisted 

of an easy-setting frock, of a brown color, (he 

broml vi Ivi i lacings of which wen- thrown 
back upon mildew, so as to expo 

light satin waistcoat, surmounted by a neck- 



cloth of pale blue silk beneath ; — his panta- 
loons were of light Bilver-gray kerseymere, 
loose, and fell far over the highly varnished 
brodequins in which his feet, of aristocratic 
dimensions, were indued ; — his chestnut hair, 
in massive natural curls, which were here 
and there interspersed with a solitary silver 
thread, overhung his pale and lofty brow ; — 
his eyes, large, full and black, were fringed 
with long lashes ; — his eyebrows, clearly pen- 
cilled and arched, were uncommonly high 
set. Tim latter characteristic el indomitable 
pride, together with the naturally imped 
bearing of the marquis, and his constant 
habit of looking upward wherever he was, 
marked him out at once, as one who was not 
accustomed to hear his superiority questic 
For the rest, his aquiline nose, of the most 
manly, yet delicate cast, well became the 
general beauty of his countenance ; a sort 
of half-smile, half-sneer, played upon bis 
lips; his chin was massive, prominent, and 
gave an expression of great resolution to his 
face; he wore no beard, but small musta- 
ches, of a silken texture, and of the same 
dark chestnut color as his hair. 

The voice of the marquis was clear and 
silver-toned, and he spoke with the veritable 
accent of Parisian high life. Nothing but 
the embroidery and gold lace of the costume 
of the last last century was wanting, to con- 
stitute the marquis the moral and physical 
representative of the great lords of the reign 
of Louis XVI. — an epoch when M. de Lau- 
zun was the model of elegance, and M. de 
Lauraguais the standard of wit, humor and sa- 
tire. 

Whether it was from habitual ice, 

or because M. ard was the I" 

ideal of a marquis of the ancient regime, we 
will not undertake to say, but he was always 
addressed by his title alone, even in these 
democratic days; and spoken oj as the mar- 
quis, as if he bad been the sole eti-eimpl 

his ordi r • « i nit. 

M. «li ,i, then, such as We have- 

described him, ciii. m i| th< Qountde Mont 
saloon, in his usual oncerentonioo waj . end 
accosted its inmate with a mixture of gaycty 
and good -humor : 

• Why, my dear fellow, where- the devil 
have you been this age? It is n week since 
I. have seen you at the club. There are Bad 
reports about you — and I thought I'd come 
and tell you what they say." 

"What reporta, marquis? You alarm 

" t >h ! they say you have been subjected to 
a public exposure, before a whole theatre." 

"How/ Where?" 

» At the Palais Royal. Oh ! what a pillory ! 
In a box widi a vulgar fat woman, the man 
her husband, and her child, madam ma- 
dam " 

'• Heloise Dunoyer, marquis." 

*• Ileloise, ha ! Not the nouvelle Heloise, 







- • «Md * • ••* UN- «kW 
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vv> 



THE PRESENTATION 



43 



me. How much is Achille Dunoyer estima- 
ted to be worth 1* 

I don't know how much he is word), but 
his fatlier was said to have left them three 
or four millions." 

" A very handsome property, which he has, 
doubtless, increased ; and this Dunoyer has 
but two children, daughters, marquis." 

"Ah ha! now I understand you. But there 
is one thing in your way, my dear fellow ; — 
though you might be willing to stoop to the 
connection i be assured he would never fancy 
you for a son-in-law. I know these money. 
making old cits. He will be delighted with 
your acquaintance. You will be a feather in 
his cap. He will gi t dinners — ohtsueh 

dinners ! Nay, he will lend you two or three 
hundred louis, perhaps, if you ask him; and 
deny himself a new equippage to enable him 
to do so without loss ; for your company will 
afford Um more eclat than a new pair of hor- 
ses, and at less expense, too. But do u"t per- 
mit yourself to believe that he will give you 
one of his daughters." 

" He may not give me one ; but suppose I 
take her?" 

"What! run off with .Mademoiselle Du- 
noyer? Come, I like that better. But, my 
dear fellow, don't you know that such things 
as abductions exist iiosv-a-days, only in tradi- 
tion ; that the present race of girls believe that 
they never occurred except in romance'' a 
circumstance which tends to demoralize the 
little angels sadly, too." 

" Listen t>» in< , marquis, and do not do your- 
self the injustice to believe that one of your 
pupils is a fool. I will he frank with you ; 
ami as a mark of confidence, I will begin by 
telling you about Julie." 

" What ! that yon oflerod to marry hor, and 
she r- fill i d v.iii ?" 

"How! do you know it already?" rind 
the count, turning pale with rage. 

" Why it was all the talk in the ^en-room 
oi tho opera-house, yesterday and the 
before. Little Flora was telling every one 
how the old aunt Savageot abused you for try- 
ing to seduce her l into marrying you. 
Yea, seduce her baaely, as sho called it. I 
could not but laugh at the idea of calling a 
legal marriage seduetkn I — but every one irai 
their own notions upon such subjects. 1)1" 
course, I was too much your friend to believe 
a word of the nonsense ; besides, I knew you 
loved Julie too well, to attempt any such thing. 
Lot me assure you again, that 1 would q< 
admit the possibility of such an act of infamy. 
And now let us return to Mademoiselle Du- 
noyer ; she is better worth talking about.'' 

'•You are right, marquis. Well, then, 
three weeks ago. I dined for the Brat time 
with :\1. Dunoyer." 

" And what sort of a girl is the one whom 
you intend to honor? Some dowdy ; a n 
lar girl, I supposi 

The count rose, went to his secretary, and 



produced from a casket a minature, which he 
handed to the marquis. 

"What do you think of that face?" he 
asked. 

"Charming! beautiful! a spice of the de- 
vil in the expression, however. But who is it?" 

"It e the portrait of my great grandmo- 
ther, the Viscountess de Montal, one of the 
most beautiful, and, at the same time, one ol' 
the most diabolical women of the day. She 
nourished during the jovial days of the Re- 
v . Her life was a romance, the deno«u- 
iieui o|' which was terrible. Her folly, to call 
it by no harder name, brought the most fright- 
ful disasters upon my family. Such as you 
in r there, she caused tho d< ath of one of 
my grand-uncles, the grandfather of my Bre. 
ton cousin, whom I have named to you." 

" The Baron de Ker — Ker ; oh, I ne- 
ver can remember those Breton names." 

" Ewen de Ker Ellio, who lives like a real 
country gentleman in the castle of his am 
tore, upon his own estate." 

" Yes — Ker Ellio ; and his gandfather '" 

" Came to his death in a most shocking 
manner, by means of this beautiful creature 
whom you see portrayed here." 

" But what has the portrait of your great 
(lmother to do with the daughter of this 
Dunoyer. pray?" 

'• By some t is the exact 

image of her." 

" Pshaw ! my good fellow, the resemblance, 
I suspect, is either very much magnified by, 
or exists altogether in, your amorous ^liney. ,, 

" By no means ! I assure you that the re- 
semblance is perfect throughout. The fa 
are identically the same, even to that small 
natural mark which you see above the left 
!>row." 

" Indeed ! well, that is really extraordinary. 
And what is Strange too. since you have been 
talking of it, I have a confused recollection 
of having seen the same face myself, a long 
lime ago. But where ? where? By heavens ! 
I am certain I have seen it, but I cannot re- 
collect where. No matter, goon : The Du- 
rs are rich; one of the daughters re- 
I nil-les your grandmother, and you want to> 
run away with her." 

" Why 1 know not, but so it was— that 
Theresa (that is her name; was not present 
at the dinner to which I was invited by M. 
Dunoyer, and I might not have seen her a: 
all. had it um been for the tattling of a 
little fright of a child, her younger sUner, \\ 
betrayed thai she was oonfined to her room 
as a punishment, and complained that such 
was often the case. This at one. 
to me the favorable cireunistaiici . that The- 
rcse was the butt of the family, and gave me 
an opportunity to intercede for her. She was 
Bent for and came; but how can 1 describe 
to you my surprise at her face, hor figure, the 
elegance <-t her manner, the sweetness of lei 
voice, and tho grace of her motion ! Such 




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MMf^teAl 






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t.w i., — ^ »* « t Ml^W««|iMM| *r Mum 















*' * 



■I 








THE PRESENTATION 



45 



tone, and took my leave na if hurt by Made- 
moiselle Duuoyer's want of sympathy. Now 
I was sure of one of two things — either The- 



I 



rese would think that she had disconcerted me, 
i it is always flattering to a young girl to 
think lie has obtained the advantage over a 
in of the world, like myself — or else she 
would think me in earnest, and regret that 
she had so ubruptly rejected that very sym- 
pathy which .-.lie seems so much in Deed of. 
in any case, 1 should become an object of 
boom interest to her, and her feelings toward 
nie might be softened." 

■ It may be so ; but so far, I sec nothing 
very wonderful in your generalship; you have 
carried on the ruse correctly enough, but that 

is all » 

" One moment, marq Ve not finished 

yet. 1 observed that when Thcresc was sent 
for, Madame Dtmoycr said to the servant, 
' Tell my daughter to come down.' it was 
dent, linn, thai her apartmi ax was on a 
different floor from that of her mother." 

li By means of the fright, I discovered that 
the two girls with an English governess, lodg- 
ed on the third story, by themselves. The 
house was an immense one ; th< -lit be 

apartments to let 1 examined the hills when 
1 went out, and found two rooms vacant upon 
the fourth floor, just above the sisters. 
" Ah me ! that 's better." 
" The next day I sent an upholsterer to hire 
and furnish this little suite of rooms, in the 
name of one M. Bernard, a country gentle- 
man, who wished to have an apartment in 
Paris, where he could spend a few days oc- 
casionally. This was three weeks ago to- 
day, maiqiiis. I '11 not tire you with the re- 
cital of what I ins taken plaee aince, hut come 

at once to the pn tate of things ; and, 

that you may understand them tly, here 

is a letter which I received from the young 
lady yesterday." 
" Very good, indeed ; iet us sec the lctt 
M. de Montal handed the marquis the fol- 
lowing letter, winch the latter read aloud : 

1 My heart beats— my hand trembles. Mon 
Dieu! I know 1 am doing wrong; but, con- 
tiding implicit our honor, monsieur, 1 

"ire to sit down to entreat you to write 

no no more. Careful as you arc in sending 
your epistles, 1 trembli to n c< tve tb 
Why did you, by your very imprudence, f 
me to take th< Why was I weak 

•ugh to read n I Oh ! monsieur, I eon. 
you, write no more; and do not remain 
in that little apartment above ours. Won 
Dieu ! if you were to I overed, I sh 

lost ! I believe you — I believe yon, when 

say that I am the cause of youi unhappi- 

nesa. You say you love me. I believe it ; 

but there needs no such proof of your love as 

you are now giving, and it ntnv lead to ex- 

' You say you have given up that actress. 



My father says the same ; but for this, I would 
never have written you. You say that your 
litde retreat is so dear to you, becauso, when 
in it, you are near me. You say that is 
happiness enough ; and that, could you be as- 
sured that I returned your love, you would 
ask for nothing more : nnd then you say that 
a fatal secret forbids you to ask if I love you. 
Why then tell me that you lov< mi 

"Poor little thing ! she interests me," said 
the marquis, smiling; and then continued i 

'A fatal secret, say you? Mon Dieu I 

Whal IB it .' \\ hv have you uOl - d II 

to me in your long letters? I could no 
all night, the thought so tormented me. '• 
terday, wh< n you were at my mothei 
looked rj wobegone, that 1 could 

scarcely restrain mj U are. Wh< a I returned 
to my room, 1 wept in earnest. Mi.-,-, llu. 
bcrt is so malicious, that I have to bo v< 
guarded before her. 

'Mon Weu! what will become of me? 
My futlie r and mother are so severe ! they 

are not parents to me — ami then I 

weary yon with my complaints ? A fatal 
secret prevents, even you, from asking if 1 
love you. 

1 1 will consent to receive one moro letter 
from you — one more, and the last ; but only 
on condition that you promise to reveal that 
fatal secret, and to be more cheerful than J 
have been for some days past. 

'You complain that ] do not look at yon 
when I meet you. At my mother's, how 
can 1 Would you have me weep before all 
tho world 1 Four looks are so desolate and 
despairing, that the tears involuntarily start 
into my eye.-;. They used to tell me JfOU were 
so witty, so sarcastic, so gay ! uud 1 believ- 
ed it, and thought yoi c >uld not lovo p 
Rene. But you have forgiven me that, hate 
yon OOl I 

• Hon Dieul yes, you are worthy to love 
Rend. Oh ! I have so much to say to you, 
when I see you below ; and yet it seems to 
•ided me. Yesterday, when 
by chance we were left together for a mo- 
ment, yon said not a word ; but you loo! 
upon me with an expression at once so 
and so tender, that it baa haunted m 
lince ; and this it was thai forced me to write 
in you. 1 could see you alwi me. 

Do not look o sad again. It is not right; 
't is dangerous ; it makes mc think of you loo 
much. 

'And now, I know not if I shall hate the 
courage to slip this under your door, as you 
directed. "Mon Ibmi ! If I should cov- 

ered ! 'Tia wrong — verj 
tie r ! wh> my love — nn i onfidi 

" Here, ma Baid M. de Montal, " you 

can i-*." 

"Yes; and th» n ■ few words half-effaced 
by the ac:il ; and then the postscript, written 
in haste — ' burn thif!. 1 Now, than : when 



46 



THERE SE DUNOYER. 







v rherese gently slid tirtl under your door, did 
you throw it open impetuously, and " 

" n)i! marquisl No ! no ! I 'm not q 
such a novice as that. By So doing, I should 
have given her a fright which she would not 
m\ vorcd from iu a fortnight." 

" Good again. Your door remained 
the i 

tfotl faithfully closed. I had advised 
Theresa to wan until .Miss Hubert and her 
little sister had gone down to dinner, and tl 
10 take the opportunity of running up to iny 
door." 

"Not l> .(l. that. You are teaching her not 
■only to be guarded for the present, but to 
cherish net expectations of the future — a 
course of eon which, innocent in its in. 

Inevitably leads on to ; but hurra 

tor you, i imisingpupfl! you'll do nic 

rreii 

*• i a the first dinner-bell rang 

— that is Iial!' an hour before the meal WU 

• cd — I ran to :i hiding-place that I had ae> 

u d ; presently the door on the third floor 

opened, and the fright, attended hy the go. 

\< i ided with B great noise. Some 

tents after, I heard the light step of The. 

ascending the -laus hesitating and fal- 

tcring every moment. Through a crack in 

tb< ■ 'i, I could see bet every notion. 

•ke.i ahout hi r with an unquiet air; 

leaned net pretty hi ad I the balusters 

and h toned i then advanced, then stopped to 

listen again ; — by he ihns slowly 

■ door; fain, for a motai lit, 

■i j ill. ii assuming, for B moment, 

■n B CB I BUI I down aiid 

slippi 'I the li iter beneath the door. When 

she aro.-e, her face was ittfiused with a lilnsh ; 
her knee.:: trembled — she sustained herself by 

ih.. baluster, and placed her hand upon h« 
bosom, which palpitated violently; men, 

mce flitted that mingled expres. 

of boldness and timidity, of pride and 

irse, which ever betray the feelings of a 

ill, who, for the first time, has corn- 

11 M acl ol doubtful propriety. All at 
once, the voice of the fright was heard call- 
ing her I low ; like a startled fawn, she 
tookto flight \ he glided, like a fairy, down 
J staircase, 1 caught a glimpse of her 
inow-white neck, her form and her little foot, 

and then she vanished. Then " 

Before M. do Montal could proceed further, a 
servant announced M. h iapUsine de i Roches. 
At this name, a sudden glow of bitter hate flush. 

cd across the features of the marquis ; but bo 
flitting was it, that even the count percei\.-d 
it not, as he turned to his secretary to replace 
the miniature of his grandmother, nnd the 

letter of Thercse. 



CHAPTER XI. 






ZBB INVITATION. 

M. des K'xjtes was a captain of Spahi 
from the province of Mzeria. To a ham 
some and manly countenance, he added a find 
figure, betokening both strength nnd agility, 1 
Mi- age was about thirty; — his teeth were 
white as snow ; — his huir and beard * 
black and glossy as thi a*n wing. No. 
thing could be more stril "I bnll 

than the appearance this jroti utlemaj 

made iii his oriental costume ; hut this day 
he was iu a plain, though rich and el. 
ilns. 

Captain des Roches was not iMily » dfl 

dier of appro vi d gallantry, but one of the first 

sportsmen in France. II, was the best horseJf 
man, win ther for a race or a stcepIc-chaseV 
tho host shot and the boldest hunter. Amot 
those of his own sex, he was a free, jovii 
companion — always good-tempered and 
With the ladies, his success and his discrs 
lion were laid to be unbounded. 

The captain began to talk in the ante.] 
chamber ; and before he could sec the marJ 
quia he had commenced: "Did you heat 0| 
that affair of Beauregard's ?" Then, ob 
iug the presence of that personage, he ran itpj 
to htm, grasped him cordially hy the hand,] 
and exclaimed, *' So, it IB not true, tin q !" 
" What is not (rue V* asked M. de Montal 
" Why, ahout hi^ duel this morning," r< 
plied the captain. 

" Jlis duel ! what duel .' Did V 
this morning, marquis I" cried M. de Montal 

"Eh, moil Dieu! my good fellow, whj 
Bak) is I lenry Quatre dead'.' — yes, I Lillet 
Colonel Koller, some three hours ago.'' Am: 
turning quietly to des Roches, he said J 
" Well, Bedouin, how do you come on ?'' 

" Very well," replied the captain. " Whsfl 
a devil of a fellow you are, marquis ! You " 
nish your business well and quickly ! W hy] 
did you not take me for your second 

" And me, too ?" cried de Montal. 

" Baudricourt and St. Luce happ< 
be present when my quarrel with Koller U 
place, and the arrangement was mad' 
spot." 

"Oh! marquis, marquis ! you will alwaj 
be our master in everything !" e.v I d#| 

Montal. ** Des Roches, did you ever hear tht 
like ! here he has been this hour or two 
ling me storii . until I was ready to 
laughter ! and just, us calm and pleasan 1 
he had just come from his bed." 

"Wonderful, truly ! is itnot '"'retu; 
marquis. •'Am I a hoy in my teens? <>r in tl 
my first affair? Why, what the devil would 
you have me do '*' 

" But, what was the cause of this dn 
asked de Montal. 

" Koller was always vaunting of his da 
elling exploits, and it annoyed me." 

" 1 know it did, marquis ; and 1 have heud] 



- 



THE INVITATION. 



*1 



you tell him so a hundred tunes ; and 1 al- 
ways wondered how the savage submitted to 
patiently to your rebuk< s. The poor dovil 
had a gi ipect for you," observed &t 

Roches. 

'I'm mueh obliged to him; but the fact 
was, that laat evening he gave vent to a 
Btrociou antries about a duel with my 

onfortunaU friend, D'Arnientiercs, whom lie 
killed you know.'' 

M A mere lad, whom he forced Into it !" ob- 
served do Montal. 

"Yea 1 and that irritated m ■ I insulted 
Kollcr as grossly us 1 could — wc fought this 

naming, and l killed him. Thai':-- all: sow 
let us talk of something ol more importance." 
" Ah 1 marquis, manraifl ! Yon are some- 
thing too rash for a married man !" said do 
Alojital. 

u Talking of married men,"' observed the 
marqtdfl — "you do not seem to fancy my 
much, my dear Bedouin. Singular, too 
— I presented you to the marchioness at the 
masquerade, when you were arrayed in all 
your oriental splendor. That is two months 

b, and you seem to make no progress. 
You greet her as coolly as if you positively 
dialiked her — at least in my presence — and 

finds you perfectly insupportable 1 thai is, 

t«lis ma so." 

"How, maxouJB! — is it poaaible tliat you 
d, that des Rothes was so 
aly repulsed by yoax wife, in renin. 

that he conceived a 

1 animosity againat her?" 

■• Mod 11. 1- : rrrj deal 1 fellow!" replied the 

captain, laughing. " I'll tell you the truth, 

marquis: — lieaurogard ia a lit- 

tie too— too puritanical for me. I 'm a sad 

iw, and the company of \irtuous women 

max perfectly stupid i l can't Bad a 

v to them, liver since I have had 

ihe honor of visiting the marcbionees, 1 have 

been obliged to amuse myself by examining 

the tapestry, and watching the clock, to while 

away the time ; — it was necessary tor me to 

stay ; so that you see why she found me 

so dull and insiipporiablu." 

Do n'i believe a word he say*, de Montal. 
There are no more deceitful and treacherous 
owa in the universe, than your r.ikes, who 
!>/■ tend to l-e wholly taken up with low socie- 
ty. W e poor husbands know that to our cost ; 
there is no iu< h thing as putting one's wife on 
in r guard against them. If we undertake to 
reason with them — if we say, ' My dear, do you 
suppose, that such a one, (des Roches for in. 
ace,) wit 

e faahioi li-bred, eon: 

add re a 1 haracter?' My 

lady takes lire at once, and without deigning 

to e the matter for a moment, replies : 

iy, what do you take me for, monsieur ! 

Do yo.i mean to insult me >'" 

a the conversation was interrupted by 



tho entrance of M. do Montal's valet, who 
presented a card to his master. 

The count read it aloud ; the address wast 
4 Lc Baron de Kor Ellio.' 

" Ah ha ! the Chouan, our cousin of Brit- 
tany," cried the marquis ; " so dre wild goose 
has migrated at last." 

" Desiro M. de Ker Ellio to do me die 
honor to walk in," said tho count to the 
.ill. 

The valet left the room. 

"From the country — your friend?" asked 
Captain des liocllCS. 

" Yes," replied de .Montal, .smiling, "and 
this w his first visit to Paris." 

"Pardieu! that's eapital !'' said the mar- 
quia ; " he must dine with an to-day." 

"To-day, marquis .'" said dc Montal. 

" Yes, this evening. I came here purpose- 
ly to invite you to dine with me, and 1 meant 
to call at your house for die same purpose, 
Bedouin." 

"A thousand pardons, marqnie; but you 
scorn to forget — it would seem so odd — the 
duel this morning " 

"You think it strange, do you? Never- 
theless, I choose to give the dinner for rea- 
sons of my own ; and If you refuse to dine 
with* me, you are no friend of mine." 

At this moment tho door opened, and M. 
dc Ker Ellio entered. 

Wc trust that the reader has not forgotten 

thai Ewcn dc Ker Ellio was a man of great 
Simplicity, and great purity of character — 
thoughtful and abstracted; a dreamer; nay, 
almost a solitary, and wholly unacquainted 
with the morals as well as the manners of 
Parisian life. With all this, the noble 1 pint, 

high COUrSgO, and great self-possession of our 
country gentleman, gave him an air of perfect 
ectability in any presence, though his on- 
ly tutor had been the ex-dragoon, and now, 
Abbe" de Kerouellan. There was nothing in the 
personal appearance of Ewen upon which ridi- 
cule could fasten ; for thaw was an absence 
of all pretension. His blue surtout, buttoned 
tight in the neck, displayed a figure at once 
athletic and elegant ; while his (hick, but close 

cropped hair and beard, and the calm sedate 
expression of his countenance, gave him a 
sort of military air, which was almost stern. 
In die presence of the high-bred company 
into which he was thrown, he exhibited nei- 
ther diffidence nor timidity : nor, on the other 
hand, was he obliged to <ii- c( a roughness of 
manner, to exhibit the sense of equality which 
he was conscious of. His simple, frank, and 
yet courteous address, gave token of an in- 
nate nobility of soul, which needs no embel- 
lishment from the arts und graces of fashion- 
able life. 

As soon as he was announced, M. de Mon- 
tal advanced, and met tho baron with great 
cordiality. Captain des Roches arose to light 
a cigar, and the marquis kept his seat upou 



TflEKSSE B II N O V 1 E • 



> 



the soft, and fixed his eyes with evident cu- 
rio >n the young Breton. 

" I am delighted to see you, my dear - 

cin," cried die count. " Tin: Abb* do KY- 

roue I km encouraged me to hope for n visit, hut 

bi did itbfrwrtfcorfee m< to expect you so Boon." 

d not i xpecl i" be hr i my. 

. mmed the baron ; " but unexpected 

" 

■• Bat when did you arrivi 
•■A feu days since-? — a si ii:ht indisposition 
.mitm, il me le my poe 'ted mc 

from calling on ypt ''■'' 

"'I'll.' devil take thai indisposition ; it has 

depriv< I me "i a w rj gn si ph aeuro, J ' re- 

[bntal ; and di< u ad H. de 

Beauregard; he said : " Marquis, allow mete 

on miv kinsman, the Karon d< 
Klliq 

\l. dc B( aiircgard rose and bowed. 

'• Tins is my frh ad Captain di 'ics," 

continned th< count, presenting thai gentla- 

mun to 11 wen. 

The captain saluted tlic new comer court. 
It 1\ . and all took their seats. 
After a uojdj of silence, the marquis turn. 

cil to Ewi it, and addressing him with that 
melange of dignity and cordiality, which so 
much became him, said : 

'• Pardieu, monsieur ! 1 am to take 

ea( liberty with you, which 1 beg you to 

With the proverbial frankneaa and 

courtesy o! a Breton, your cousin, Captain 

des Roches, and a fi w oth< ra of my friends, 

are to honor mc with tin ii company at dinner 

lay. Will \-.ii join as ' 1 can proroi 
liiuk- you acquainted with some of the <Sli to of 
out mil — ovi r whom, by virtue of 

seniority, I claim I sort of ri£hl of super. 
on." 
Ewen had too much good taste, to decline 
this invitation upon the ground of want el" 
acquaii and he answered cordially : 

" With great pleasure, monsieur ! and I am 
much indebted to my kinsman* to whose kind 
ntations, I doubtless owe the honor of 
yd'i 

Vou arc right, n r. Your kinsman 

baa spoken of you in the highest terms." 
" I have said nothing more than you fully 
ny dear cousin," put in de Montal. 
Really, nen — do you know, that as 

n ten, 1 ought to In simple enough to bc- 
lieve all the flattering things you say of me 7" 
" We say no more than we mean," replied 
the marquis; "and to show you, that I am 
no means disposed to treat you as a stran- 
ger, 1 shall ask your permission to resume the 
conversation in which we were engaged, 
when you arrived?" 

" But, marquis !" cried M. de Montal. 
• Nay ! nay ! my good fellow ! what more 
can we say to our new friend? You certainly 
do not Wish to annoy him with the tloni 
which it is the vulgar custom to Infli 
all new-comers — such as, • How do you like 



Paris? Does it answer your expectation?' 
&c, frivolities unbecoming us to use, - r him 
to listen to." 

•« You are perfectly right, monsieur," ofl 
served Ewen, laughing. " There is uothinfl 

mop an-iivm:: to m-' tfaU such common-pine* 

mater oi questions, which mean naflfl 

ml require no answer. J thank you^H 
Og uie the iiilliclinn." 
" You are a man of sense, monsieur. 1 was j 

about to tell these gentlemen who they were. 

to meet at dinner to-day. 1 intend i« 

half a dozen of the liveliest actresses in Pa 

\h ha ! marquis ; I am certain you could 1 
not get along without the women." 

" The captain thinks, because 1 am mairicd, . 
I ought to stay at home always with my wife," 
rved the marquis gayly. " Apropo ." la 
added, "i trust that you will allow me topi 
sent you to Madame dc B< auregard She I 

c |yea company every Wednesday." 

'• You do me loo much honor, monsieur,! 
replied Ewen, bowing profoundly. 

"1 tell you beforehand, monsieur, that 
marchioness is but eighteen years of age, and j 
v as an angol ; — so beware how you fall J 
in love with her; for the captain is as jealous 
as a tiger. He wont admit it, but it is 
nevertheless." 

'• M.de Ker Ellio, I trust you will not peiS 
mil the marquis to mislead you. lie i- bent! 
Dpon quizzing me to-day. The truth is, that 
1 am so sad a rake, thai a lady of the loflfl 
character of Madame dc Bcauregurd ifl 
object of dread to mc. I am disconcerted 
when in in r pretence, and 1 am unable to) 
show her the attentions her rank and aeeom-j 
plishmcnts require; and upon that account it 
is, that the marquis rallies me so unsparing 

"Nevermind what lie says,*' rejoined the 
marquis, uddressing Ewen; "I tell you u< 
look out for Captain des Roches, if you find 
yourself moved to pay any particular at 
thins to my wife. There is another gentle, 
man also, who is very much devoted to tl 

■■hiencss. I mean M. Labirinte, though 
1 hardly know whether he should be cousid. | 
ered a very formidable rival. What say youm 
dee Roches 

" What a devil of a follow you are, mar- 
replied the captain. " However, ii 1 
was much interested in the prospects of the 
udorcrs of Madame dc Beauregard, I hould 
consider M. Labirinte'a pretensions b\ 
means to be despised. Why, he is a young 
poet — as fresh and blooming as a rose bta 
sides which he is a deputy, and the right-arm 
man of the minister. Roupi Gobillon, the ifl 
timate friend of de Montal." 

" You must excuse that name, monsieur," 
said the marquis, to Ewen. •« I was afraid 
you would think des Roches had made use of 
a vulgar expression ; but that is what 
low calls himself. One would suppose it wai 



The invitation. 



49 



bad enough named Roupi — the addi- 

tion of Gobillon is positively indecent." 

"No doubt he thinks it is very fine, not- 
withstanding," said Ewen, laughing. 
" Parditii ! monsieur, there 'a nothing more 
I evidently the illegitimate off. 
vpring of me aristocratic pride of a democratic 
sort of feeling that indu- 
\l . Labirinte to write sonnets to the mar- 
chioness, while he is dabbling m polil 
Ahl dfl li©ch< there the deputy has the 
fcof you. You are in the service of 
the country— 'he in the go Now, 

women we always fond oJ and of 

coarse <<\ 

"( am< .come, msrqi • 

tal, ■ l< inge tli. ot." 

"Agreed, my fino fellow. I know ii ifl 

in vary bad inste, I'T me to set these rivals 

p, But, now for die ac 

ies>whom we are to have to dine with ua. 
In the first place. Were ia .Mademoiselle Em- 
ma, and her sister, I lerminie. Emma," 
the marquis, turning t«> Kwen, M ia a very 
,1 ilunseuse, belonging to the bel- 
li i of the opera: — her sister, who is nearly 
her equal, lends the business of one of the 
minor theatres. 1 patronize them both; and 
1 shall brum them to-night, tor your espi 

thai upon your entree Into Parisan 

I oo may h a choice of good i 

or bad. By good, I mean, of course, 

Madame de Beauregard ; by bad, such as dee 

Roc i -Emma and her sister, for in- 

stance." 

"And what other ladies, marquis, shall we 
have V' asked de Montal. 

— the wittiest, and at 
the i the moat malignant of bei 

• 
"A i" tg name," reraarki ren, 

•■Oil! that i ■ only a soubriquet,"' said M. 
de Montal ; " her real name is Adele Cler- 
mont. Her intelligence, as to all that is go- 
ing on in the gay world, is only equalled by 
her reckless exposure ol all she knows, re- 
gardless of feelings or consequences.'' 

" As handsome as an angel! and as wick- 
ed as the devil !'' i 'I dea Roches. 

"And men, continued the marquis, we will 

have Clara Duval; who, by the way oi con- 
trail have named Clan-sa I larlowe, he- 
cau 8, in poinl of gayety and frolic, she is the 
very smipi that sorrowful lady ; the 
in,, G «( beautiful of all our 
itrical belles, with Madcmoi i lie Rosa and 
ter ; who, though all talkers, are charm, 
to look upon, ami these will complete the 

portion of oirr company." 
\nd what gentlt ?'' 

" \\ h the 

ihe ladie i, of course. Saiat Luce, 
for Serpentine; BaudricotDt) tor the fail 
Gn , . Herald for Clarissa Hnrlowe ; tb< n 
Major Brown, tin Duke de Serda, Pi 



Castelli, and that is nil ; — no, Thad forgotten, 
there is an M. Floras, an American, a cousin 
of my wife, a young Iowa , as I call him ; 
it is his first entrance into society, and we wdl 
try to make him open his eyes to night. ' 

"And mc also, marquis'" said Ewcn, 
smiling. 

"By no means, M.le Baron," replied the 
marquis, with admirable tact; "tin re | 

great difference between you, — my cousin 

will stare — you will observe — my cousin will 
n and wonder — you will hear and under- 
stand : " then rising, he said to de Montal, 
at half-past seven. Ymi understand?" 

44 Bui where, marque: ' " 

\l the Roolier de Cancale, of course, — 
where would you have a married man d 
his unmarried acquaintance?" then turning to 
Ewen, he added : "You will be very much 
disappointed with our fashionable caban 
I ui sh we euuld bring one from London, — 
the Clarendon hotel, with all its comforts and 
conveniences; but, alas ! we have nothing to 
set off against the magnificent public houses 
of England, except tolerable cheer and pretty 
girls, — you can — you must make all allow- 
ances, w ill you not 7 and permit rae hereafter, 
to endeavor to mend your tare ai my own 
house, where I shall have the honor to present 
you t.» Madame de Beauregard! Au revoir, 
de Montal. Where are you going, des Roches ? 
shall 1 set you down an 

'• I have a game of tennis to play with 
Saint Luce this morning, at the passage Cen- 
drier," replied the captain. 

•• Very well, V 11 leave you there." 

SakttJJ ii very cordially, M. de Beau- 

regard, with des Roches, took their leave for 
the tennis. court. 

"How do you like the marquis?" asked do 
tal oi' his cousin, when the company had 
departed. 

" I have often heard inv lather speak of 

the rivat lords of the ancieiie. regime ; of 
thoir wit and humor — their gayety, and the 
levity With which they regarded their matri- 
monial ties ; and I think M. de Beauregard is 
i y fair specimen of them. He is certainly 
a \, iv a .re, able man, and seems in espeeinl 

good-humor to day." 

'• You would hardly suppose that he had 
killod a man in a duel, this morning." 

44 He I" cried Ewen ; "and this i he 

-. an entertainment I" 
" h does not seem quite correct, T admit," 
replied do Montal ;" but still there is some 
for it. The man he slew was a sort 
of bravo; little less than an assassin, wb 
no body regrets, but whom every one is in- 
liiis for putting out of the 
wa\ ; he was a standing i 8 in Pa 

irquifl said he bad reasons of 
own, for giving die dinner to-day, and 
he was sn pressing, I could not refuse him ; 
and you had better go with me." 



60 



THERE S E DtTNOYE P. 



"I cannot well do otherwise, "said Bw. 
en, "now that I have accepted his invitation.* 

" The marquis must have taken some 
strange fancy into his bead, for it is fiv< 
six years since he h fl off fighling duels. Bui 
where do you lodge, baron ' If you wish, I 
will call for you on my way to this dims 

" Do so ; I shall be much obliged to yon. I 
liav. apartments at. the hotel du Crois. 

Bant, rue Montmartel ; and now 1 want to 
ask \ vni n question, which will make yon 
laugh. How shall I dress for this bachelor 
dinner' For, as I go under your anspici I 
should lie sorry to give jrou cause io blush 
the am h wardnese of my costume," said Ewen 
smiling. 

" Oh ! as to that — dress as simply as you 
please ; only exchange your frock for a dress 
coat. And now, I hope yon find y OUT affairs 
here in a situation which will require your at- 
U ntion for some time yet ?" 

" Why, as to that, my business is finished 

already, and without any trouble either. I 

.nt by the Abbe de Kerouellan, when he came 

to rati"*, a draft upon my banker, M. Achillc 

Dunoyer." 

"M. Achillc Dunoyer!" exclaimed de 

Montal. 

M Yes ; do yon know him ?" 

" Very well, indeed," replied the count ; 
" but go on/' 

" Well ; the good abbe", ignorant as a child 
about business matters, never dreamed that 
the banker had an office, but called at bis 
house; — it so happened, that the banker had 
gone to his villa. and bearii vant 

i,i the 'country, and had left no 

directions in regard to my draft — my worthy 
friend took the alarm at once, and hastened 
to inform mo that the large sum I had In M. 
Dunoyer's hands was in great danger ; inas- 
much as that gentleman had left the city, and 
made no provision to mcctmy draft." 

" Strange I" said M. de Montal, with invol- 
untary emotion. "M. Dunoyer's property is 

known to be immense, and bis bonne 000 of 

the safest in the country." 

" So every one tells me ; and what is more, 

when I called on M- Dunoyer this morning, 

be explained the mistake, and not only cash- 

• .iy draft, but offered to pay at once, the 

whole amount of my deposil with him." 

M. de Montal was evidently relieved, and 
answered, " Still I am surprised that such a 
mistake should have occurred." 

"Oh! it was the abba's simplicity and ig- 
norance of business. I have everywhere had 
such favorable accounts of M. Dunoyer's re- 
sponsibility, that I have, already, replaced the 
sum I drew, and for which I had no longer 
occasion, upon deposit with him." 

" You are right ; you could not invest it 
more securely. M. Dunoyer is a very wealthy 
man ; his real estate is estimated at more than 
two millions — besides his out.standing debts, 
and the capital of his banking-house. He 



was assessed, upon the last year's book*, at 
lour millions two hundred and sixty thousand 
francs." 

" Why, you seem to be very intimately ae- 
jruninted with his afliure! I ought to havu 
applied to you for information." 

• • ( Hi ! I merely repcat-what I have heard," 
replied the count, coloring slightly. 

" II. seems tome," continued F.wen, "a 
\i tv courteous and hospitable man — he invi- 
ted me to dine with him next Sunda\ . ' 

"NextSunduy !" repeated de Montal," that 
is capital ! 1 dirifl tli«r« myselt next Sunday.*' 

"Then I am truly fortunate. But 1 mu 1 
leave you now ; — good-bye, then, my dear i< I - 

low." 

" Good-bye — do n't forget to call for me this 
evening," said Ewen, shaking his kinsi 
heartily by the hand. 

Thus, we have fairly embarked Ewen dfl 
Ker Ellio upon the boisterous sea of Pari 
life. That he bore himself so well andmanfullv 
must be attributed equally to the natural har- 
dihood of his character, and the sound ami 
sensible education which had been bestov. 1 d 
upon him by his instructor, the ex-dragoon. 
His mind, which in the gloom of solitude and 
revery, had for the moment seemed to lose its 
equilibrium, speedily recovered its balance, 
when he came in contact with the realitir 
active life during his journey; and, since his ar- 
rival in Paris, sober reflection and external ob- 
servation, had taken the place of those wild 
and dangerous dreams in which his soul had 
bean wrapped, by day as well as by night, 
while immured atTreffHarn'og; and he could 

even laugh at the imaginary lerror of the mys- 
terious portrait. There was something unac- 
countable in its presence still ; but no longer 
anything supernatural or ominous of ill, and 
the pale ami sombre beauty which it depicted, 
ii to fade from the tablet of his mind, and 
give place to the image of the buxom nut- 
brown and mirthful maiden, whom the abbfe" 
was to provide as his partner on his return. 
When he reached his lodgings, Ewen wrote £ 
a cheerful letter to his old instructor — sent 
some kind messages to his old servants, ami 
prepared for his dinner engagement. Wh« 
the count called for him on his way to 
Uocher de Cancale, he found his count 
kinsman simply, but very neatly attired, in 
blue coat, white vest, and pantaloons of blacl 
and thus accoutred, he departed. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

LE SOCBER DE CANCALE. 

When Ewen and M.de Montal entered dn 
room appropriated to the \ 1 tie 1 

quis, that personage had not yet made his apfl 
pearance ; but they found Captain desRocheJ 



in conversation with his rival, M. Labinnte 
as M. de Beauregard chose to coll him* 






TUT. INVITATION. 



51 



M. Labirinte, the poetical deputy, was a 
doctrinaire in politics ; in person, he was deli- 
cate, with Y **aco, and a complexion 
which changed color at any new i motUnvbkc 
that oi b jrouug girl. Too timid to -peal 
theChai he vindicated with much 
iiir policy of the ministers, ai 
,!„. ccs and protection «t M. 
billon. 
Another of lh« pn ent, was M 
Bnr. sorianofficer.who had acquired 
om tin- extravagance oi his 
blch he almost always gained, partic- 
rly when that conld be dotre bydiaplay ol 
daring. In lOngland i tally, he 
, nu \ ri \ admiration, 

Bince his performance, of one feat, the 
of which Burpaaeed belief. The major was 
on board Lord I'm/. II- raid's pleasure yacht, 
which was scudding before the wind Oil the 
open sen. The gale was violent, and a sud- 
den gnU carried away Ins hat. 

i have lost your hat," exclaimed his 
,,, pointing to the unfortunate chapeau, 
h was Boating upon the crest of a wave 
far to windward. 

•• ni i>« t you a hundred lousr, I haw noi ■ 
urned flie major. 

•« Done !" responded his lordship, " an hun- 
dred u is !" 

Upon the word, the major plunged into i!,l 

Hi warn like a dolphin; but he was 
re d by his dress. Aft rincredib 
«,,-,,.. . uiappalliiigriak,he8ucceededin 

rep.. Itupoumi 

temerity, but had the presence ol mmd to put 

the yacht aboi: 01 and this mane 

dexterously executed, and aided by the 

fought tlu v. -d near the swim- 

mi :mUu ' 

was handed on hoard alive. 

rploitaof this description had mi 
major a real Bon. He < 1 young, of 

id figure, and had a countenance expres- 
,m of energy and intrepidity. 
The next guests who arrived were ,thc 
aeeCastelli and the Dukode Serds. 
>j M was a Florentine nobleman of 

high rank, who had been exiled Ml Carbo- 
ns,,. ,ppearanco, ba was worthy oi fee 
.„.,. ,,!;!„ Medici. He was elegant, act 
.and gay. An ardent lov, r ol It 
._,i conspirator without rancor— he D 
idredtime» risked his head, with Mmuch 

todUfcren.-i. u- it H *' ™ 

gallant and eluvalroua prince »■< m«-d i 

. t her age; his air and bear 
worthy ol the magnificent costume tnw 
Titian used to depict ifaa great lords ol his 
day, when, with their ladiea upon their arms, 
ih.-v strode majestically upon the fcrracoBOf 
,, marble palaces, which, in their turn, 

wen- thrown into strong relict b\ the deep 

blue sky of the background. 



The prince was at once a composer and a 
musician ; and when the brilliant lights of 
a festal party paled bcl'oro the first dawn of 
day, his voice might often he heard, as it rung 
out, in ita notes both sweet and clear, what 
at pass for Naturo's son:' to the morning. 
The prince, too, by virtue of Ins adven- 
tures, his wit, and hifl preeminent talent, might 
also be considered a veritable lion. In tact, 
in ft. Labirinte and Ewen, almost all the 
guests whom the marquis had invited were 
remarkable nn n. 

The Duke de Serda, of Bonavista, 

and a grandee ol Spain, had established a 
great range of stables in Normandy, upon 
which he lavished enormous sums. Hie stock 
had already distinguished itself, by taking the 
purses at Chantilly, and the Champ de Mars. 
1I« it was, who first introduced into France 
the practice of driving racehorses in harness; 
and if all these things did not make him a 
lion, what could ? In person the duke was a 
true Spaniard, thin, and of a sallow complex- 
ion, with the auburn hair which Velasquer. 
owe upon liis p.. mail-. He was grave 
and silent, and of a very lordly demeanor, 

notwithstanding Us sUglii stature. 

Thu next arrival was that of the Count de 

Saint Luce, still more of ■ Bos In the world 

of fashion than any who had , d him. 

This young nobleman worthily represented in 
the Chamber of Peere, the youth of the em- 
rile, m ii„. august assembly of which be 
was a member, be was always listened to 
with respect, and some ith the deepest 

i„t. iv-t. Thi Count de Saint Luce possess 
,.,l ,i„ Itj of i pi Jaking concisely and to 

point. His wit was pointed and elegant. 
ony cutting, and his sarcasm severe. He 
poascssc'! tact; his patriotism was un- 

doubted, and his contempt for mercenary 
politicians unbounded. His great pretension 
to the character of a lion, however, consisted 
ni the facility with which this really energetic 
and talented legislator could transform him- 
into the man oi fashion and ton, the hu- 
morist, the bon-vivant, or the rake. 

When a man of acknowledged talent i% 
placed ni ii sanation of serious responsibility, 
if he is ever and at all times serious in has 
deportment, he may bo respected; but he 
must be a very tiresome companion, torn 
man, by nature frivolous and gay, to be al- 
ways frivolous and gay, is no marvel; but 
„„. ;t ,,,, n man to be at once brilliant in the 
M na1 and at the board—tor 

him to foil, with the same ease, the prince, 
minister, and the bucehanal, at their own wea- 
—for him, in fine, to he the greatest eve. 

rvwhere, and In cv.-rv various and opposite 
capacity— displays a remarkable mind indeed. 
Another guest, M. Baudriebuft, was re. 
mnrkable for hifl love of play, ill more 

so for the extraordinary size of his stakes. It 
was nothing unusual for him to risk four or 
tive thousand louia upon a single point; ana 






52 



THERESE DUNOYER 



whenever, as sometimes happened, a foreign 
gambler of great courage and immense re- 
sources made hi* appearance in Paris, he was 
told at once, " Baudricourt is your man ;" and 
inBnudriiMurt he inevitably found his match. 
Play was the business of this man's life, and 
asa business, it furnished him with the menus 
of living ; he was supposed to lay by from 
his winnings, some sixty or eighty thousand 
francs per annum ; and he always had by 
him, for Immediate use, double that amount 
with which to encounter the strongest com- 
petitor. The great secret of his BttCCMS was 
this; he avoided all games of chance — con- 
fined hi to those of skill, and played 
with wonderfo and dexterity. 

Lord 1-iiz Herald had his own peculiar 
tastes, but his passion was for flowers. Hi.-; 
collection of plants won hi have vied with 
thai -f Devonshire ; he had gar- 

dem la florists constantly travelling in 

Asia, Africa, and America, who were eontin. 
uafly sending him the tropical flowers, and 
fruits and shrubs, in steamers fitted up as hot- 
houses. His conservatory was wonderful ; he 
had apartments, the temperature of which 
he graduated to the wants of all his vej 
ble favorites ; — and from one which be called 
the department of Magellan, and which he 
kept heated to Hie height of some 120 Faren- 
heit, he was one day brought out in a state 
of asphyxia; having been nearly suffocated to 
death by an atmosphere like that which pro- 
ceeds the typhoon of India. 

M. di Bi i i regard's C I (120 

Flore's, was a young An; reman- 

for Dotting but hifl curly black hair and ; 
white teeth, which he displayed Qnci 

Such were the gentlemen of the. party; of 
the ladies, there only were present Serpen- 
tina, Clarissa, and Cora, sometimes called 
the fair Greek. Serpentine was a straight 
figure, slender and graceful ; her complexion 
was of a clear brown, her features admirably 
cut; but her wicked black eyes, her close 
prim mouth, and a scarcely perceptible, 
though constant knitting of the brow, an- 
nounced a mischievous disposition which she 
was by no means slow in exhibiting, 

Clarissa was a blonde with golden hair, and 
eyes of heaven's own blue ; her sweet round 
face full of gayety b des, her well devel- 

oped form, her sprightly step and her un- 
bounded flow of spirits, were but littl 
keeping with the ch of the melancholy 

heroine, whose name had been so ironically 
bestowed upon her. 

Jot Cora, the fair Give!;, let the Venus of 
Milo descend from her pedestal in all her 
magnificence— give her locks of the deepest 
jet, but let her retain for the rest all the w Idle- 
ness, and at the same time, the impai 
of marble, and you have before you this lovely 
but heartless being. 

It is unnecessary to say that these ladies 
were attired b the best of taste, and exhibit. 



ed all the elegant simplicity which character- 
izes the Parisian women of fashion. 

They now awaited the arrival only of the 
marquis and Mademoiselle Rosa and Her- 
minie. So well were his habits known to his 
guests, however, that no surprise was raani- 

d at his delay; but all amused tl 
selves in talking of his duel in the morning. 
The sanguinary reputation of Colonel Roller, 
had made him an object of universal detes- 
tation ; so dreaded was his ferocity, that the 
news of las death was received as if it were 
the tidings of universal deliverance. 

Suddenly, the noise of two carriages was 
heard. It was the marquis in his chariot, and 
his fair friends in one of their own. M. de 
Boauregard was ever careful of appearam 
and he purposely so contrived it, that their 
met dug might seem accidental, — but he 
awaited the presence of the fair sisters, in or- 
der to enable him to make the triumphal en- 
try he had determined upon. The doors were 
thrown open with great ceremony by the 
maitrc d'hotel, and the marquis appeared with 
the two fair sisters upon In 

Pardon us, gentle reader, if we trespass upon 
your patience so far, as to devote a few 
to the description of the very striking tableau 
presented by this sudden apparition of the 
master of the revels. M. dc Beauregan 
we have before mentioned, was a man of lofty 
stature and lordly presence. In the morning 
he had been attired with the greatest simplic- 
ity ; hut. on the pn sent oe sa rion, he had given 

the reins to his fantastic imagination, and b 
upon his ex] IS In a costume so 

gorgeous, that no oj ;>f a man of his un- 

ci isputed pretension- to fashion and good i 
COUld have exhibited it without exposing him. 
Bell to the imputation of foppery and extrava- 
gant 

His coat was of sky-blue, decorated with 
buttons of solid gold, chased with exquisite 
art, and adorned with the star and insignia be. 
longing to his rank ; his open vost of br< 
velvet, embroidered with silver, fat ed - ith 
studs of oriential rubies, left exposed a bo 
and frills of the most costly lace- work secu re 
rubies and pearls of still greater m: 
and of immense value; around hi-, neck was 
a cravat of snow-white muslin, fringed with 
lace ; his close-fitting pantaloons of th 
black kerseymere, seemed to merge into ; 
embellished with clock-work of silvi 
his feet, of aristocratic dimensions, v >d 

with low-quartered pumps of extreme lightness 
and brilliant polish. Cv WM _ J 

one of the sisters, Rosa mid Hermit >sed 

in the extreme of female elegance and fash; 
their ivory shoulders bare, and I 
sparkling with dazzling 
ing in her hand a bouquet ol the most co 
exotics. An involuntary murmur ol ad 
ration greeted his appearance — to which 
responded, by a start of waggish surprise. 1 
Upon tho announcement of dinner, which al- 






THE DINNER 



53 






must immediately succeeded, he led the way 
to the saloon. But a close observer would 
have perceived, that there was a degree of un- 
naturul excitement in his almost boisterous 
gayety ; a feverish Impatience accompanied his 
mirthful greeting,, and his hilarity, to one who 
could read the heart, from the occasional cx- 
* which flitted across his countenance, 
would have seemed to be lingled with some- 
og of the terrible. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

THE DINNER. 

For the sake of conv , we shall give 

report of tfi ament in dram 

form, and com h a tableau Of the 

personages p 

—A lofty saloon, through the length 

of which run-- a i richly covered with 

ami ch , which reflects the light of 

of waxen candles of various 

n the centre of the table stands an en- 

ormous vase of Dresden china, full of the most 

exqi xoticu, presented by Lord Fitz 

Herald. 

leated midway on one side 

ne table ; on nis right Is placed tho Prince 

Ca8tclli, as a stranger ; on his left, the Baron 

de Ker Ellio, as a new acquaintance ; opposite 

him, Mademoiselle Serpentine; these three 

i reserved by ord> 
M.de Beauregard,) once occupied, the remain- 
der of i k their places as suit- 
is. Rosa sat on the right 
of M. de Ker Ellio ; Herminie upon the left 

stelli ; on either side of C 
the fair Greek, was a vacant place ; but M. 
Labirinte and ML Floras, to whom these most 
as were left, had, unfortunate- 
ly, reached I ■. of the saloon at the same 
moment, and each one being too polite to take 
the ; the other, they stood bow. 
ing 0110 to another like two China inaud.i 

erving their unhappy predica- 
I them, by taking an 
arm of each and leading them to the table. 

Now, that all were seated and the process 
of dining fully commenced, M. Labirinte 

erved the noble marquis, from 
to time, cast a glance of very peculiar ex- 
pression upon Captain des Roches and him. 
self; he felt uneasy. The recollection of the 
death of Col. Koller, by the hand of the mar- 
quis, th . morning, flashed across hit 
mind ; his appetite was gone, and he most 
heartily regretted that he had accepted tin 
invitation i It ast. 

i also perceived, that some strange 
emotion was pent up within the f M. 

de Beaurecard; for, although thai man 

was outwardl) leal of a mast. 

the ceived that his knees, with 

winch he accident ill 
neath the table, trembled with convulsive vio- 



lence. The remainder of those present seem- 
ed to enjoy themselves with entire freedom. 
The conversation, by degrees, became gene- 
ral and animated ; and at this period it is, that 
we take it up. 

" What made you keep us waiting so long, 
marquis ?" asked Serpentine ; u were you 
making love to your wife ?" 1 

Marquis. My wife 1 I've not seen her 
these three days. How is my wife, M. Labi- 
rinte 1 * 

M. Labirinte, (coloring deeply.) I have 
not had the honor to see madame, the mar- 
chioness, since — {here he feigned a Jit of 
coughing, to conceal hia embarrassment) — 
wince — for several days — ahem — I — I have 
been very much occupied in the Chamber — 
(here he coughed again, and drank a glass of 
wale 

Serpentine. Ah ! is it possible I have tho 
honor of see Labirinte — M. Labirinte, 

the celebrated doctrinaire ? 

Labirinte, (flattered.) I am M. Labirinte 
hem — the deputy — but as to my celebrity 



Serpentine. Monsieur, excuse me ; I can- 
not look upon you but with the most Infinite re- 
spect — the most profound veneration, permit 
me to say. 

Marquis. Respect and veneration— on 
what account .' Come, let us know, my girl ; 
there's some mischief at the bottom of this, 
I'll engage. 

Serpentine. Is it possible, marquis, that 
i Is it possible that you are ignorant 
of the story about M. Labirinte and M. des 
Roch 

Marquis. What story ? 

Labirinte, (coloring with embarrassment, 
but still fi.it tercd.) a — mademoiselle — 
realh mademoiselle 

A Number of Voices. The story/Serpen- 
tine ; come, give us the story. 

Serpentine. Oh ! it would hardly be proper, 
m. 

Baudk So much tho better; out 

with 

Marqwis. And do n't gloss it over ; that 
Id be so much the worse. 

Labirinte, (who has now become very much 
disturbed.) Oh ! I know what mndemoiselle 
refers to, now ; but it is all a piece of pure 
invention, not a word of truth in it ; — is there, 
des Roches ? 

Des Roches, (laughing.) I do n't know about 
that ; I suspect it is founded upon truth, at 
least ; — come, Serpentine. 

Serpentine. Well, then, I'll tell you what 
has made me conceive such a prof ier- 

ation for M. Labirinte. Know, then, (assum. 
ing a tragic air and tone,) that if his country 
were to be called lo9a of that 

interesting doct. grave would, like 

of a younp ivered with gar- 

lands and flowers. Yes, and his chin should 
be draped with a snow-white mort-clotn, and 



54 



TJltRESE DUNOYKK 



bi« hearse be decorated with plumes of the 
tine unsullied hue. 

Sjuht Luce. Why, what do you mean by 
mat I Labiriutc is a man, is he not ? 

Serfem i.NL. Did I say he was not ? No ; 
but I do say, that his modesty and his igno. 
ranee of the ways of thin wicked world, arc- 
worthy of a virgin in her teens. Listen ! not 
long since, the charming simplicity which 
beams from the brow of this interesting young 
statesman, subdued the la-art of some ludy of 
high rank and great beauty, who preserves a 
mysterious incognito* Of her love, the fair 
unknown made no secret ; but how to make 
the adequate return, though well disposed, 
was a problem too difficult to be solved by 
our amiable friend. In his immaculate purity 
of heart, he had never imagined the necessity 
of acquiring the art of lore-making J his diffi- 
dence deprived him of the ability even to 
make the effort. .So what does he do but go 
to dea Roche-, tor advice, and put himself 
under his tuition — nnd u very capable instruct- 
or be selected, too, I've no doubt. (The com. 
pany all laugh, excepting Labtritite, wJu in 
nearly overcome.) 

Marquis. Capital, capita! that ; and it is 
really true, is it, dea Roche 

Skki'entx.m:. Now, do you tell US ihc name 
of the lady, Des Roches. 

Des Roches. That is impossible. M. La- 
birinte is discretion itself; he never even re- 
vealed the name to me his professor — (aside,) 
If he was not such a d — d fool, I could give a 

shrewd guess. For some days 

Saixt Luce. It is to be hoped thut, under 
sach an able guide, M. Labirinte may be- 
come as distinguished a rake as he is a states- 
man. 

De MoHTAL. And that is hoping a good 
deal; for, as a politician, M. Labirinte is the 
right arm of my friend Roupi Gobillon. 

Clarissa. Roupi Gobillon. Ah ! that is 
the fat minister, who has such a hanfr-dog 
look. 

De Montae. Well, if he has a hanging look, 
it cannot be denied that he came honestly by 
it ; he caught it of his clients whom he had 
to defend in the assizes, when he was prac- 
ticing as an advocate. 

MARQUIS. Where the devil did vou ever 
meet M. Roupi Gobillon, Clarissa ' 

rissa. Here. lie h u d requested Dor- 
ville, one of his friends, to get up tin entertain- 
ment and unite some of the stars of the bal. 
let! but when the time came, the poor man 
was 90 alarmed lest his wife should heard it, 
that ho lost all relish for his dinner. It 
nothing but—' What would my wife Bay, for 
Heavens sake ! do not let her hear of it!* (it, 

Dortille) and oh, if she only knew ! 

Major Brown. His wife is a lady of 
liigh pretensions, then ? 

Marquis. Purdieu ! I believe you— she 
nears the Cordon Blue. 
Ptoros Castelli. How, the Cordon Blue ? 



does sho belong then to some foreign order of 
nobility ? 

Marquis. My dear prince, the minister's 
lady, before her murriage, bejonged to the 
domestic order of the Scullery. 

Prince. How ! what mean you '! 

Marquis. Simply, that M. Roupi Gobillon 
when an advocate, married his cook. Never, 
thelcss, it is due to her to say, that in the 
situation in which this august couple have ac- 
cidcntly been placed, the lady of skillets and 
skewers is by p i means the most embar- 
rassed of the two. 

De Montae, (laughing.) Well — you are 
in a fair way to run my good friend to earth. 

Saint Live. It is n fine game certaiuly, 
and our game Is just served. 

Sei;i'i„\tine. I trust there is no similarity in 
the condition of t lie two. 

Marquis. Come, come ; do not be so hurd. 

How do you know, but in marrying his cook- 
maid the minister intended to be symbolical, 
and express his v.ish, that every citizen under 
his administration might have a chicken in 
his pot; as good king Henry Quartre used to 
say 1 

DrjXB KB Srrtja. Is this M Roupi Gobil- 
lon a man of any merit ? 

HaRQUIS. Of none in the world — a trick- 
ish attorney, with the air of u pedant, though m 
point of fact an ignoramus ; his sole ability a 
sort of tad in managing low political intrigues, 
in which he is much aided by what he ci 
his civil courage, which means the faculty of 
submitting to all sorts of abuse and outrage to 
gain his point — a qualification which, in my 
judgment, embraces not much, either of civil, 
ity or courage. 

Major Brown. How did such u man 
come minister ' 

Marquis. Vou had best ask M. Labirinte, 
he ia one of those who make and unm 
ministers, and he ought to be able to explain 
the process by which they are manuihctui 

if. Labirinte, (bhuhiag md embarra 
>'/.) The majority representing the opinion 
of the country. The chiefs of this major! 
ity have — of this country 

Saint Luck. Come, come, my ikm I ,a. 
birinte, you know well enough thai the mfj 

jority had nothing to do with the eh vatiou 
.M. Roupi Gobillon ; on the contrary 

M. Labirinte. 1 have the honor lossy to] 
the noble peer 

S\int Led;. We are all peer- here Mfl 

Labirinte, in presence o'l the ladies; 

so, Clarissa ? 

«• «... . _ 



Clarissa. What ! Peers of France .' 
Saint Li i r. No — peers in mirth ai 
fellowship; peers in your affection and esj 

in. my girls. But m return lo VI. K 
Gobillon, and answer the majc 
the pi b\ which he was i mini* 

was curious enough ; it occurred | 
some other deputies, of no fixed princ 
politics or anythin that the two 






THE DINNER. 



bS 



parties were so equally divided, that a dozen 
votes, one way or the other, would secure to 
cither the predominance in the councils of the 
State : so, watching well their opportunity, 
they proffered to both, in a time of need, their 
influence and voice, for an adequate compen- 
m : — they were purchased at an extrava- 
gant rate; and M. Roupi Gobillon,asthe pro- 
jector ami negotiator of the bargain and 

ivcd die blghestprice, a seal in the cabi- 
net— his dozen of coadjutors were provided 
for in eabordinate situations. 

Marquis. And thus the pettifogging at- 
torney, and bis wife the cook, came to be 

ployed to dish up matters of state ! Mon 
Dieu ! what a country ! 

RpnrnffK. It must be very pleasanj to 

you, de Montal, to hear your dear friend and 
patron, who baa offer, d yon ?o many offices, 
hi run through your estate, mad< 
io much eulogiunb 
Dl Mo mai.. Pie ' ' «•' ri collect, madem- 
oiselle, thai ML Roupi Gtobiflon of. 
.I, 1 have accepted nothing at his hands; 
and, in preserving my independence, I am 
free to laugh at him. 

Serpentina.. 1 beg your pardon, monsieur ; 
you have the right to laugh at him ; but I am 
, i,.;., i thai ' all you have. 

Clarissa. And take care my poor, dear 

tellow, that, m attempting to imitate the mar. 

, you are not, after all, reduced to accept 

thing M. Roupi Gobillon may oiler, to 

make up for the money you are throwing 

ay. 

Dk MORTAL, {irritated, but constraining 
lumse.lf.) In imitating the marquis t Well, I 
admit it— 1 have striven to imitate him, and 1 
am proud of it— I have succeeded pretty well, 
1 not, Krnuregard? 
Makmi ,,. oh! famously, no doubt, 
dear felloe ; 1 em proud of such a follower; 
only you must permit me to nay, thai you put 
rather too much alloy in your counterfeit 
.in : for instance, wis n you would play 

ad of throwing** 
hundred gold louis, you dispense oount 

I „t; and hence you rum \onrseU like 
b -.hup-keoper, rati: - Uke a mmueman. 

l)i. MoNTAL, {forcing a laugh.) \ ou are 

severe, maroui 

Clarissa. You arc right, marnmsj and 

, hal the reason that Jul* 

., thi band of 'in- dealer ni coppei 

her auntSftvagi i ahe did. 

D,, M (evidently piqued.) Coi 

uow, my child, that ia an old story. 

But tell US, de Montal, did 

Julie use to aUow yon ten loins a month to 
», ,iv yourglov 

in M ''' u 

difficulty.) \ 

Clarissa. Oh'- thai Is a calumny, a b 

., it; Julio was too 

to do that. 

a, (to Scrpt n(mc) Do you hear 

that? 



Serpi Yes, I think h very likely ■. 

de Montal ia held very cheap by the theatri- 
cal belles, now thai he has been obliged to fall 
back upon the women of fashion. 

Des Rochrs. Ah 1 now she has got upon 
the ladies of fashion ! wc shall haar some- 
thing smart now. 

IE, Right; and that puts me in 
mind of an adventure of the Duchess de Mire- 

pont 

Baudricourt. Take care, take care, Ser- 



ine j the Duchess de Mirepontis a cou- 
sin of mine. 

SERPENTINE. Ah ! I was speaking of lituo 
de Sainval's mistress. ' 

Baldku:oi;rt. Nevertheless she ismycou- 

sin, you must recollect. 

Si r. How, your cousin? 

Why, she is my uncle's 

daughter. 

;.. oh! men she is the daugh- 
i, t of Madame de Montfort. I know well 
enough the respect due to ladies of rank ; but 
I was not speaking of the daughter of your 
aunt, certainly oot of the daughter of your 
unfortunate unclo, if you choose to consider 
her so. I was only adverting to the affections 

of de Sainyal. 

Baudricourt. Very pretty, that, indeed; 
(aside) the mischievous viper 1 

Marquis, (To Bto&n de Ker Ellio). Mon- 
sieur, Upon my honor, I am afraid you will 
form a strange opinion of our Parisian so- 
ciety. . c i 

rat. Indeed, monsieur, I must freely 

confess thai I am at a loss what to think of it. 

Seri'icntine. Very complimentary, that, 

Monsieur le Breton. 1 should think you 

might say something more gallant of us than 

that. , , r 

BWBH. Then I will say, madam, that I 

thmk you very amiable. 

S A , ... And very frei », you 

U have added. A queer world, 

, y a child, th.n a disbeliever in 

the ■•xistence of virtue. 

„,,,. Faith, 1 have always 
odd mu.h better than it has credit 

for being. ... , 

Marquis. My dear prince, you will have 

to think of the world as Orpheus did of the 

city of tigers, or as Do... I uan did ot the 

lt! of women: easily overcome, U you 
only use the proper means. 

fannieotntT. Marquis, you must net be- 
lievc anything Berpentins says of the Dm 
de Mirenont. 

Marquis. My dear fellow, it what ahe 
says is not true, it must b. strange. I 

can tell yon n tory of a manted •■■ 
ch willbcai all he duch< 

Marqi ! •" 

oka 

pa do, although your friends 
were very solicitous on your account. 
frn Hlkalu. The fact is, marquis, that lor 






66 



THERESE DUNOYER 



J 



three weeks, it was the topic of universal 
conversation. I was in London, and 1 know 
that three thousand guineas were bet in one 
day, that the report was false. 

Punch Castelli. I was at Milan, and it 
was just so there. The women were in exta. 
cies. ' What ! the Marquis de Beauregardmar. 
ried !' they exclaimed ; 'then the sex is re. 
venged !' lor I must tell you. that your repu- 
cation in Italy is that of a mauvais sujet. 

Saint Lite. Marriage ! marriage ! why, it 
1 1 the lot of all good fellows at last; they d( - 
ceive, and in their turn must be deceived. 

\l.\i. ••:•: Well, my dear fellow, which 
do you think ia ihe most amusing: to deceive, 
or to be dec* ived I 

Saint Luce. Faith, 1 hardly know; there 
is a ''harm in both categories, to you men of 
fashion. 

Clarissa. A charm ! what is it, pray ? 

Saint Luck. Why, if he is deceived* he 

has a chance of displaying the most sublime 

generosity ; and we all know what a charm 

there is in deceiving others. 

Marquis. I have a problem for you to 

solve : A woman has a lover 

Clarissa. Most women have. 

Marquis. She is unfaithful 

Serpentine. Most women are. 
Marquis. Whose position is the most flat- 
tering, the first lover's or the second one's ? 

Baudricourt. That is no question at all. 
The new lover is the most complimented, of 
course. 

Maki.tis. No; the old one, by all nn ifl 
Major Rrown. How ! the discard* 

: lbqub, Ci rtainly — for observe, the 

ond is only a successor; audit is not in love 
as in nobility, where every additional quartcr- 
ing adds to the dignity of the blazonry. 
Saint Luce. Butstill he is discarded. 

De Montal. But he has been preferred, 
and thus has crossed the flower in its fresh- 
ness. 

Marquis. Ob SOW rjght this devil of 

a de Moutal makes of being discarded. How- 
ever, gentlemen — I am about to cite an < v. 
pie, and you must settle the question. 

A number of VblCBS. ilow— what is it ? 
— explain. 

MaK'.:' iv There arc a pair of us present 
in this predicament— hear the facts and then 
let us have your opinions : 

[The guests regard each oilier with inquir- 
ing looks; and the perspiration stands on 
the brow of M. Lahirinte. | 

Serpentine. Who arc the two? 

Marquis. Des Roches and M. Labi rinte. 

I >ES Roches, (struggling with concealed 
'"'.) Ha ! ha! marquis! and which 
the discarded, or the new Ic 
(aside) What can he mean ' bis stn 
pleasantries, this morning—the embarrass- 
ment of Lahirinte? 



Marquis. Alas! f 



Ruck 



or 



M 



<lCB 



YOU, my poor . 
You must tiiuiik de Montal for the 



olation he has preached to the discarded 
it behooves you to lay it to your soul ! 

Des Roches, (with feigned indifference.) 
At least, then, I should like to know the lady 
in whose favor M. Lahirinte has supplanted 
me. 

Marquis, (drawing a letter from his pock, 
et, and throwing it to des Roches.) In tho 
favor of* the lady to whom you wrote all these 
sweet things. 

Dffl Roches, (ande, upon examining the 
iftcrij'tion.) Mon Dieu ! — his wife ! — he 
knows all — we must fight ! (aloud.) I un- 
derstand, marquis. What is to be done I 

Marquis. Faith, my poor des Roches, ifl 
were in your case, I Bhould take it as philo- 
sophically as possible ! We must have ->ur 
bad luck as well as our good. 

SsRPENTtNE, (6«r.s- In a hcarti/ laugh.) 

RfOB Dieu! — if it should turn out, 'ii.n tho 
mysterious unknown was the beloved "I dea 
RocIich himself! 

Clarissa, (laughing.) You have guessed it. 
Saint Luce, (in a whisper to .Baudricourt.) 
How pale des Roches has turned ! — there is 
something serious to come yet. 

Marquis. And you, my dear M. Lahirinte, 
(throwing him a letter) do you recognize thia 
hand- writing ? 

Labirinte, (turning it over mechanical In, 
and muttering to himself in terror.) 'Tis true, 
then— one of my letters to his wife. It u all 
over with me. I am between the hummer 
and the anvil — on one side Dos Roches, on 
the other the marquis; — and this morning he 
killed that fire-eater, Roller. (aloud, and 
stain mning.) I— I— I do n't exaellv know this 
write 

Marquis. Oh ! examine it closely, my dear 

fellow ! 

Si MB. i see it all. mar. pus ;— come, 
be quick und tell us the name of this fair la. 
dy. It must be des Roches' 

Des Roches, (imploringly.) Now, marquis 
— not one word more, 1 entreat you. 

Marquis, (gayly.) What ! is not thia in- 
nocent young doctrinaire your pupil?— his suc- 
cess is yours, my dear fellow. 

Des Roches, (bring his patience) This 
is too ridiculous. I cannot submit to he 
inade a laughing-stock. Beauregard, I must 
i that you carry this joke no farther. 

Marquis, (gayly.) Why, it seems to mov 
you famously. Now, gentlemen, you are 
about to behold M. Labirinte in a new . 
acter :— hitherto he has appeared only a 
statesman ; wait till you hear thai letter read, 
and you will see the Don Juan peepim 
from beneath his mantle. 

Labirinte. 'truitiv. to aw-ar gay.) Oh. I 
and a private invest) \ — private, , 

private ! mnrqui- ; I've no i .,■ this BO 

display, (aside.) The blood frc 

ns ! — what glances he thru 

Marquis. M. Labirinte is generous, des 
Roches ; he wishes to spare the feeling* of 






THE DINNER* 



M 



his instructor ;— but I s-hall not follow his ex. 

ampl 

Labirinte, (aside.) That infernal mar- 
quia ! — ■ is exciting dea Roches against 

/.) 1 1 1 to bear U 
ilic bri M. <i»- --> Roches ; I 
e him, that if J appear to have abused 
the i which be did mi the honor 

Dl 
plim rieur. (to the mrquis.) 

lord, I entreat you— I conjure you to give 
over wy. 

Mahqot8. ily dew fellow, you are too 
by half, and (here is uothingmore 
ill-timed than this display of your susceptibil- 
ity !,. in marvellously 
die ' i • 1-abiriuie has gather, 
ed i i myrtle which you iutended 
to weav haplet. 

Di. (angrily.) Once more, mar- 

quis, enough ! 

,. my dear follow; you 
ig your 1 beg you to < 

pose yourself. 

Pes Routes, (drpping his head m confu- 
sion.) I :um at Ins mere 

.Marl; " out anu ' :r - r > ant * 

en to the term* In which the 

fu thief 

« i , . Fortuni" that 

youkn 
1 1 . ■ I. >oks as if it ought to bo 

>w. 
\1 U; , Vet, my Fortune, 

I lowd, Iktt thought I loved, M. des 

Jioches.-' 

[aside.) Dolores has decei- 
baaely, then, and for the sake of yon- 
simpleton ; and 1 — 1 must bear all this — 
1. le Marquis, you have 
I admit I am vanqui 
and my only consol 
thai 'it him how to beat me with my 

own w —now have done. 

Bravo ! dee Roches j you bear 

, ,„ in . the true feeling. But, 

, vour ! I H read on. ■ / thought I 

lot, Roches, hut I deceived myself . 

It was I' 

Bering me the first- 

H nt: all their freshness, 

to a dear real So — 

dd have thought that there 

wa Gftrence between a captn 

hor ^ rat 

but Bllt > ut - 

tend, gentlemen! and you shall have 

I the atrocious Machiavclism 
of our learned graduato of— I know not what 
college. 

Laiirinti:. (truing to appear gay.) M 
•ieur, the public man.in that caw, was merg- 
ed in i rate man; and if yon will be- 
lie', msieur, the private man, 
hereafter.thall I retire fi iiecenes. 
Marquis. We can recognize no each dis- 



tinction, between the public and the privata 
man, my worthy Solon. You cannot thus 
divest yourself of your public character. You 
are a deputy, a representative, and the very 
incarnation of your constituents ; — what you 
d i, they do, and that is what makes the posi- 
tion of our poor des Roches so much the 
worse, inasmuch as he has been, in your per. 
son, wronged by a whole electoral college. 

Serpentine. Who but the marquis would 
ever have thought of thut. So, in your opin- 
ion then, the whole constituency of M. La- 
bi rime have partaken of the good fortune 
of 

Marquis. Their representative, undoubt- 
edly ; — according to the frae theory of a rep- 
utative government. 1 'm oorrect, am I 
not, noble peer? 

Saint Luce. I must confess that I never 
heard that doctrine applied to the rights of 
man before. 

Maquis. Well, I '11 go on ; (reads,) " Oh, 
my Fur tunc '. to you I owe the reality of this 
delightful ni — yes, 1 will avow it ! 

and reproach myself without ceasing — not for 
preferring M. des Jioches to you-for I met him 
first, am! I knew you not; but for not having 
divined by intuition that you were; and that 
I was made fm A very excellent idea 

that ; — the simple laws of nature ought to 
. that there was an M. Fortune' 
Labirmw? somewhere or other. 

kpentine. It is very genteelly expressed, 
however : — is the spelling good ? 

Marquis. The spelling is good;— but w.e 
to something better. " D> n't you 
be jealous, you little wretch, if I do receive 
this insufferable des Roches as formerly. .Do 
Hon not perceive that it is only for the purpose 
of avoiding an open rupture ? Can you sup- 
pose, that since you home awakened me to tip 
n-tlities of love, that 1 can, for a moment, 
forget you for that, tnwney braggadocio 7 fthat 
term is underlined,) thai taioney braggadocw 

who, as you justly remarked, in your lastjel. 



;'> 






ter, knew no Mors than his horse I 

s Roches, (with difficulty restraining 
age.) W i i' roud ^ ♦** 

i teemed o i »'»y 

of the exercise .t is jusi poajiir 

I.I--, that I may I 

quickening your imap-'> 8 " on * 
Labirinte, (trolled.) ■ ur, ifc.vae 

j a vory fooli-h. joke I admit 

(aside.) The marquis is determined to make 

him cut my throat* 

Des Roches. Wo will adjust the matter in 

another pi" ***& T,Ka * 

am the laughing-stock of ill Paris. 

\-p.rat. of l Come, 

dea Roches: M. Ubinntc has told you 
only meant it as a joke, and admits thfcFff 
was a stupid one. 

Clarissa. P< Roches! Think*gf 

his teaching his rival to make love ! If* 1 lie* 

•'•<" 



m 






THfiRESB DUNOYER 



\i SertlNunl. Think of his !>• ipplant- 

ed by such a one as our modest little deputy. 

Des Rogues, (aside.) Cursed vipers ! they 
will spread this internal story over towu like 
wildfire. But, before I go out with the mar- 
quis, I '11 break some of tin.-, damned fool's 
bones, {aloud.) M. Labirinte, did you mite 
the letter from which M. de Beauregard has 
jubljbceu reading ' 

Labirinte, (assuming a parliamentary 
air.) Monsieur, upon ilo- subject — of that — 
that letter, I beg leave to observe, that it vu 
evidently a confidential letter — not an official 

one— and I protest 

DesRoches. Did vou write the letter? Yes 

or No? 

The Company. Des Roches! dee R-oebec I 
Hold ! don't make a fool of yourself. 

Prince Castelli. There is not the least 
occasion for a quarrel. It is all a joke of tlie 
marquis's. 

Des Roches, {furiously.) Gentlemen, upon 
questions where my honor is implicated. I 
must be the sole judge. And I now tell M. 
Labirinte, that whoever wrote that letter, is a 
fool and an Insolent puppy. 

The Cu.mia.w. Des Roches! Dei R.oohes ! 

Serfentini.. Now they warm up! That's 
good! It was getting dreadfully dull. 

Des Roches. M. Labirinte, I repeat it — 
you are an insolent puppy and a tool ! 

Labirinte, (rifting in parliamentary style.) 
Monsieur, you are not in order. The erro- 
neous epithets which you have just upplied to 
me, I cannot accept. I return them 

Des Roches, (rising, and menacing his 
opponent with his fist.) Then 1*11 apply some- 

thing that you shall acoept 

' The Company, (interposing bttween the 
parties.) Des Roches! Des Roches! be seat, 
ed ! Have you lost your senses ? This is out 

of place ! 

Labirinte, (whose eouragt rises as his 
protectors surround him.) Oh ! you need not 
thirbk to scare mi with your fists, monsieur ! 
Des a Hociif.s, (turning Kith rage to the 
marquis.) To press me to engage such an 
adversary k contemptible imbecile; to kill 
whom— L' I m ust— wiU on!y C0VM me witl - 
additiona! ridieuu '"' °\\ l man l uis! 7** J** 
geance is cruel indt ,', 

Marquis, (aside.) i k "°. w . " "' , , ' 
lofaneV (NI&.J Ridiculou. to k.l 

me as he nutst. Oh ! w'ha * * ***' \J« W 
.„ „ „„„.• ,_: " 'i des liaches.) 

-Tionsicur, let me tell you. that t - -,i 

fional representative is a matter o. "t,™? 

importance. A deputy is not a bedo. ' 

sieur! 

Des Roches. Mille tonneres ! You . ha 7® 
insulted me, and vou shall tight— or I ! ll knv W 
the reason why ? 

Labarinte, (assuming additional dignity.) 
well, monsieur, 1 will not fight ; and 1 will 
tell you why. K now, monsieur, that as a 
representative f t he people, I am no longer 




at my own disposal. I belong to them, 
sieur. I have the charge of immense agri. 
cultural, political, maritime and commewH 
interests, monsieur ! And, besides all ting, 
an eminent luminary of the law has, from the 
time of .lustin, pronounced duelling aaaV 
and barbarous cuStOD, which 

Des Rm, his. (contemptuously.) Recoil 
we are not in the Chambers, my little see 
izer ! 

Labirinte, (emphatically.) No! mon. 
sieur ! but we are in France ; and to !• raiicaj 
is due my political existence ; to her must I 
render account of it. And as my political 
existence is inseparable from my personal cjJ 
istenee — my duty to my country, and to 
constituents, obliges me to decline your 
Don, monsieur. And I do decline it! 

Des Roches, (exasperated.) Then, ni 
si. ui. I shall take the liberty oi' giving y 
personal existence a sound caning. 

The Company. Oh! des Roches! 
you arc mit of your head ! Be quiet! r 
lect! 

Lisa . i i , (very '»u<l.) I disregard yoJ 
threat-, monsieur. Faithful to my tru 
shall do my duty to my country. I ahall hatfl 
ourage to 

Sriti'F.vnvt:, (amid shunts n\ laagk^M 
The courage lo be a poltroon. Brave La- 
birinte! I call for his health with all the iion. 
0X8. Let a civic crown he decreed him, madfl 
of hare. skin. 

Hefmixie. Yes. in accordance with tffl 
old proverb — ' timid as u hare.' 

[A eonrersation ta Ins place. Des !v<K^H 
is with difficulty restrained by his neighb^k\ 
and while struggling, addresses the marq^L\ 
who alone sits unmoved, except by laaghttf 
You see, Beauregard, how this fellow 
flea me? He baa insulted me, and he quieS 
refuses me satisfaction ; nor am I 
to take it » I shall be the butt of ail N 
It is atrocious, marquis; and it is all 
doings. 

Marquis, (gayly.) Mine! mine! my del 
lioches ? < )h ! you surely cannot^B 
rious ; yon have too much good taste t| 
so in earnest. 

Des Roches. Fool that I am ! dai 
by this woman ; supplanted by ihj.-, rial 
mocked by the marquis, and unable, 
covered with ridicule, to get sati-l 
any quarter. 

Saint Luce. Marquis, one word, if 
whole affair resolves itself into one 
lion. Is the woman, who has cat 
emote, worth cutting throats abor 

All the Company. Right! rig 
is it. 

Saint Lice. It appears to me, thatU 
into view the manner in which the mar* 
has related the anecdote ; the merriment] 
Wt '»ch he has treated the subject} anfl 

thai. ,cter °^ tllc * ew ' ineB ne nas reader 
the law ,y ' 8 e P i8l l e J ^at she muat be a " 






THE DINNER. 



*& 



of very slight consideration, and wholy un- 
wordiyi .^ of a gentleman. Conse- 

quently, it only remains for des R and 

Labirinto to testify their contempt for the 
mineral. ire, by mutually abandoning 

her, and laughing at their own foolish feelings 

\ i ry correct. Saint Luce is 

Serda. She is evidently not the 
nan whom it behoves a gentle- 
a to light about. 

astelli. Such women cannot 
by desertion; they only disembarrass 

mm. 

\. In this case, the last pre- 

aily the dupe. 
Ki! i.n. I think M. Labiriutc has the 

-t reason to complain. 

Bauohicoqut, (laughing.) So do I. Des 

lies, you owe him your thanks at least, if 

m apology. Has he not sacrificed him- 

, in relieving you from this woman .' 

No matter about the means, look at the end. 

courage ; let DM 
id out till the last. An ocean of blood 

• 
(All the Cumvanv, txcept des Roche* and 
It, marquis. Who Is the 
| OS her name. \Vh:u 

I carelessly with hit tooth. 
pick.) woman I why, you will be as 

r, perhaps — and perhaps a 
ia will not. 



jilt her lover loo ? Poor thing, so he knows; 
but she intends it ab a delicate way of secur- 
ing me from the reproach of selfishness." 
The Gomtant. But her name ! her 



name 



t 



The Company. Come, the name! mar- 

• name! 
i > . aside.) Ho dares not! lam 

frightened at bis looks. 

;e. Come, marquis, we are dy- 
impatienee. Is she a woman of the 
town f 

■Ma 110.1.1-. Notyei. Just at present, she 
high rank. 

A married woman '?— a wo- 

bioo 1 
Mabquis. Pardieu! I think aha is. She 

married woman, and moves iu the 

She is b\. a of ago ; "i 

, lio licauiy — but hold, artful, cunning and 
treacherous as the devil. 

Sei. And alio has a husband ? 

md— a par. 
liculai friend of mine ; a man of gallantry. 
who nevei '1 by 

these til onvenk <i Bfi ; and 

to would Look B] .-sness of his 

wife with as mueii Indifference asl should. 
.an whom no one would Bospeet of weak. 
hi who would : such a i 

with th'' aams 
frith, \ a bin place, I doubt not 

iv prec i I think he <!■ 

•• \t». i all. the I"" is in the spring-time 

and while love is ju«t budding forth. 
Though I am her husband, what right have 
I to complain J If she jilts me, does she not 



r pkntixe. Marqui loll die if you 
do not nil me her name soon. 

vi vrquis. Well, I will tell you. Her 
name is the Marchioness 6t iregaid, for- 
merly Dolores Pablo, now my wife. 

(The greater part uf the guests started to 
their feet with surprise — the .Ma Rum kept 
>ut — emptied his glass quiet lij, and turn- 
ing to his cousin Flores % he repeated.) "Yes, 
Dolores, your cousin Dolores. You will be 
kind enough to inform the Inca — my Worthy 
father-in-law, will you not 1 (then looking 
around upon his amazed guests, he said with 
in, tdr of surprise,) why, gentlemen, what is 
the matter ? What do you stare at ? — aro 
you so much moved becnuso the inistrcs: 
that poor fellow, des Roches, has jilted him 
for M. Labirinto ? 

F.wkn DB Km: BlUO, (in un under tone, 

to the marouis.) Monsieur, I tender you my 

ices as a second. 

Marquis, (quiethi,) 1 am vciy much obli. 

god to you, baron. But what for ' The per. 

I quarrel is between .'•". des Roches and 

ML, Labirinto. I have nothing to do with it 

juat - My rights are merged in tl 

M, d(M Roches, mvcyances would say. 

Now, gentlemen, that Messieurs dos Roches 

and Labirinto know the name ofthe lady, th. y 

will be abb' to decide whether alio iff worth 

cutting each other's throats about. Were I 

m dea Roches's place, however, I should be 

contented with winging Labirinte. But come, 

lei OS take our coffee and change the .subject. 
Pour me out B cup, Cora, with your pretty 
white baud. 

The company rose and returned to the di- 
offee wa d, but me con- 

versation could not be revived — a dread and 
01 had sunk into the hearts >->( the men, 
i the womi n w (arrassed. The 

ui-i, however Biuish he suffered inwardly, 
d a gay and easy exterior, and be 
his guests retired, put them as far at their ease 
i could, by saying, " It was my purpose, 
as and gentlemen, to give youa novel i a 
mment. The chs bibited 

too well km ! "'' kept secret 

farce wdl furnish the world with gossip 
week at least. So I recomn 
to b. OS m.li icrei I as possible. 1 
The sooner it is exposed, the sooner it will 
bo over, and now. Ifyou bear any one pro 
... uu , ,,, ce rj bat I have done or shall dr 

_obliga letting mo know it at once 

Again.Irecommen a, the most extremi 

indiscretion." 
The ii. El morning a member of the houst> 
i\ten within an inch of hit* 
hie, and two days after, a captain ofCavoUera 



60 



THBRESE DtTNOYER 



fell, mortally wounded, in the Bois do Bou- 
logne. 



CHAPTER XV. 



D 



THE LKTTF.K. 

ArrxB leaving the Rocher de Canonic, the 
marquis, in order to carry out the pnrt lie hud 
decidi il i" play, exhibited himself at the oj 
and dropped in at the houses of three or four 
"I the leaders of the ton, who received com- 
pany that evening. 

As we have before observed, so generally 

was the ferocity oC Colonel Koller dreaded, 

and so universally was the marquis admired 

and beloved, that Ins reception, everywhere, 

was cordial ; and the nonchalance with which 

he treated the result of his morning** duel, 

regarded with great complacency by Ins 

mends. The marquis himself, was neither 

more nor leas agreeable and entertaining than 

I wont. Ho Btudied to exhibit the 

»am< indiHrr- rice before society to his wid 'a 

frailty, that he had done at the Rocher de 

Caucui 

About'one o'clock he returned to his house ; 
and in order to explain the real state of his 
feelings, as he experienced them, when alone, 
it will be ii ry to relate how he came to 

li,"ht Coloinl Koller, and by what mean 
was made acquainted with lus wife's infi- 
del: 

Toe evening . he had received by 

post, several letters from M. dee Rochos to 
the marchioness, and one dated that very day, 
from her to M. Labirinte. The marchio 
had, it seems, publicly reproached her maid 
with her misconduct, in the presence of her 
household ; and the woman, to revenge her- 
self, had betrayed her mistress ; — for Madame 
de Beauregard was so ignorant of human 
ture, and so incredibly impudent, ns to con- 
tinue her confidence in the wretch; and had 
not only intrusted her with the letter to M. 
Labirinte, but had even left in her posse 

a casket, containing her correspondence with 
VI. dee. Roche.-, which she had before de] 
•ted in her room lor greater safety. 

The discovery came like a thunderbolt 

upon the marquis. After remaining for two 
hours buried (n reflection, he decided upon 

Ins com 

That eveni made bis appearance at 

In- club, and u as more than usually gay. lit; 
strolled into the hilliard-room, where, among 
others, Colonel Roller was playing. 

We have already adverted to the fact, that 
the marquis, who was as brave as Cessar, but 
as amiable as brave, had often, though very 
politely, expressed his opinion to the colonel", 
that the latter's habit, of boasting of his san- 
guinary exploits, was in very bad taste. And 
what was truly singular, this atrocious mur- 
derer, whether from an involuntary respect 
tor a man whose bravery was so well estab- 
iched, or from some inexpressible caprice, 



had always submitted to his reproof with ex- 
traordinary pat I' though he did not much 
profit by the admonition. This evening, when 
the marquis entered the room, the colonel 
was about striking a ball. Seeing the mar- 
quis, he turned and saluted him, and then ex- 
claimed : 

*• Look ! marquis. I'll put that ball into thfl 
pocket, just as true as I did my own into the 
head of that young fighting-cock, the other 
morning. They say his mother has not done 
crying about him yet. I'm going to pocket 
the middle red." 

" No, you 're not," replied M. de Beaure- 
gard, carelessly. And at the moment the 
colonel was about playing, he struck him a 
smart blow upon the elbow with his cane. 

The colonel turned upon him furiously | 
his lips wero white with rage : 

" Marquis !" he exclaimed, " if that was 
intended as a jest, it was a very stupid one. 
You must explain yourself, or give mc satis- 
faction." 

" I never jest with any but my friends, man* 
hi Mir," replied the marquis, haughtily, turning 
upon his heel. 

" Then you meant to insult me !" cried the 
colonel, beside himself with rage. 

" I intended to insult you," returned the 
marquis, with perfect nonehalanc. . 

The colonel remained for a moment struck 
dumb, apparently, l»v the au.laciiy of hi 
tagonist ; then recovering himself, a Inner 
malignity spread itself over his countenance, 
and he replied : 

" That is quite enough, sir. You shall 
measure your length on the ground to-morrow 
morning. As the insulted party, I have the 
choice of weapons; — I choose pistols. I am 
also entitled to the first fire. This will suit 
me exactly, for I never killed a marquis yet ; 
though I have often had a curiosity to know 
how it would seem." 

Of course, there could be no accommoda- 
tion between two such adversaries. The 

terms of the duel were arranged upon the 

spot ; and il was agreed that the parti. -s should 
meet on the Charenton racetrack, the next 
morning. 

The marquis returned to his house, 

after pa. • ■ Boor of his apartment, in si 

lp "» "" dil ition, for a long time, hi took frou 

(he tetters which had bee,, , MI ., 
Inclosed thern carefully in an envelope, am* 
then sat down and wrote lo the man 
as follov. 






'"I'm rsday, 1 o'clock. A. M 

" Dolokivia Mia :— You arc false to me. 
The letter which you will find inclosed 
gether with my will in this envelope, 
show you that I know all. This morning 1 
meet Colonel Koller ;— he has the first fire. 
I insulted him purposelv, in order 
this advantage, for he never misses ins aim. 
I am no spy ; the knowledge of your conduct 



THE IfiTTES 



eamc to rac unexpectedly, and without my 
Reeking. 

'ii. of your maids, to whom you have 
probably gi> iuso ui' offence, sent these 

letters to me in revenge. I return them to 
you. 

"You an nardlj i md apparently 

ilnl and frank — bo free From artifice or 
deceit — that nothing short of the perusal of 
Rich a correspondence as this, could have 
convinced me thai you were not the most 
virtuous of women. I do not reproach you ; 
for I am conscious that I deserve all that has 
happened. 

"The time has come when I must explain 
the mystery of my conduct to you. 

Imong my friends, 1 have been in the 
habit of speaking of my mistresses, and 
mocking at the marriage tie — it* duties and 
its affections, I have ev< a affected to re- 
proach v..ii tor your indifference to the ad- 
■ iii iss of th< gay and dissipated men who 
surrounded you. 
" Whi a alom « ith you, however, liow dif- 
my Ian and my oonduct. 

prostrated myself at your 
I have lavished the most passi' 
sses, oiul the most tender ■ sent 

upon you. 1 bavi wanted words to express 

Ura By nll.uhiuiut, or to tell 

Doloret . how I lovi d 
"You uover adverted to my liaeona with 

lining ingenuous. 

"i character oei 

it of uiquisidveni ir whole 

u in was to equable and serene, that 

ally thought you were perfectly happy, in 

secret assurance of my lov< j and that 

you either viewed mj d infidelities as 

its, or else that you had penetrated 

my true notions, and ft U u i could afford 

anion my muuiutst hunlr mid dread of 

ridicule. I deceived myself. 

•• I u r all, you never were aware 

ol (In depth of my devotion to you, and never 
suspected i i struggle 1 maintain* 

ci al n. Perhaps, you even thought that I 

the urmH oi 

in 1 at 
iter bus] 

ed the truth ai . doubi nave 

'in -lull v faithli as as I pre- 
and all the aecret • rid 
my love, have been unable to stone for the 
i tin i tin the f the 

Id. It was Id think 

as you did of m nd I do not re- 

proach you ; but now learn the cause of all 
these apparent coutradl i in my demea- 
ns a husband ; for I would not that yon 
think worse of me, when I am gone, than 1 
deserve : 

" I am nuturally a man of an open, gener- 
ous disposition, and good sense ; it has ever 
i| aim to uppear tin cold> selfish, cyn- 
ical man of the world : 1 have affected vices, 



«i 



as others affect virtues, which they do not 
possess. In tins game, your commonplace 
hypocrites have had the advantagt ; for 

they seek the approbation of the good — I, of 
the bad alone. 

• It would only weary you, were I too 
into the detail of my I i n, by an up 

who was on.' of tin' m< 

caudal" hi. court of L nth. 

Suffico ii to say, that I was early taught to 
rail at everything pure and good ; to recognize 
no law but that of pleasure ; to hold as vulgar 
and degrading, the most sacred duties. Thus 
I acquire 1 1 the detestable habit of exaggerat- 
ing the vices i had, and affecting those I had 
not ; until my reputation equalled, in its evil 
report, that of the moat famous hero of tin- 
regency. 

" In that animal courage which enables a 
man to stake his life freely upon a point of 
etiquette or honor, I am by in. means defi- 
cient ; but the scoffs and sneers of the fashion- 
able world, the laughter and jeers of the i 
sipated set of whom 1 am, and so long have 
been the leader — these things have terrors for 
me which 1 have not the nei i 

••i' is, thai 

usband — achaj if which 

n proud, and m which I 

might have found true bapp I have 

been hurried into i r to 

show my Indifference to thai which I i 

dearly prized, and to conceal from thi 
the world thus.' t. nder emotions with \\ 
my heart was overflown 

" When I h.ft Prance for your native luud, 
Dolpree, it was with designs of the must - 
piling and sordid nature. I sought to replen-* 
ish my waning resources by forming a matri- 
monial connection with some wealthy hell 
The state of her affections, or of my own. was 
not to have been, for a mpment, taken into 
consideration ; — I intended, in short, to man \ 
where I could find the most money, and the 

love. What was tin I found 

you ; I loved von passionately; I made you 

wife, and brought you to my home, a 

poorer man. m purse, than when 1 left it. 

" Mfy i arrival in Pu- 

but i"" m il kimv. ii to you, ! any 

fUIthei deSCriptl already given 

ol it. The defence of m) conduct uch a^ 

it is, (and poor and paltry I admit it to be,) I 

laid before you: and I need not repeat it. 

Day by d i for you increased; 

with it, also Inert a f confidenc 

your truth, and the ut with which I 

tempted it ; but I had already begun to weary 

of the part I was playing — ofthi constant 
strain t which I imposed upon . and of 

the impertinence to which I, myself, by way 
of bravado, subjected you. For some time, 1 
had meditated an escape from my voluntary 
bondage, and to breathe once more, with you 
as my companion, the air of freedom and hap. 
piness. Tlxis was my plan. 



«i 



THBUHE DUNOVKR. 



3 



M I repented that, for my whole life, I had 
been living lor others, unci not lor 
For the sake of winning the Vein admiration 
of the thoughtless and the wicked, I hud sac- 
rificed all of those pleasures which were 
eable to my naturul tastes ; I had dammed 
/ 1 1 in source* of happiness, and bad ar- 
rived at the period of middle age without con. 
ferriitg uuy signal benefit upon my kind, arid 
without having secured for myself anything, 
but the reputation of a rake and a profligate. 
d to myself— 1 ' It is enough! I will abandon 
a life so fruitless and unprofitable to myself 
and others ; I will leave Pans, as a residence, 
forever. With the wife of my bosom, I will 
retire to my estates; where, with all the ap- 
pliauccs of comfort and enjoyment at hand, 
we will lead lives of usefulness and inno< 
pleasure, to the end of our days.' Such, Do- 
lores, were my Intentions) when these fatal 
l< iters were handed to me. 

•' That was a terrible moment, Dolores. 

The blow was struck home ! \i went at once 

to the heart; but among ail the mingled emo. 

which swelled within my breast, there 

was nothing of bitterness, of hatred, or even 

of anger, against you. With deep Borrow and 
anguish, there was mingled a feeling of the 
tenderest compassion, when I thought of VOU, 
Were 1 a father, anil a beloved child should 
raise its hand against me, should I be en- 
raged? No, no; but, grieved, my an 
would be tears. 'And so it was in this cast . 
Dolores ; I cursed you not — I wept — yes, 
wept! Tell that to your ties Roches and 
your Labiriute. 

" Such. I repeat it, were iny first and most 
natural reflections — the impulses of a kind 
and tender heart. But reflection soon placed 
the matter in another point of view. I began 
to appreciate my loss — you had failed me, 
and what had I left ? You had won my 
heart : you hud trampled upon it, and thrown 
it away ! You, you ; with all your virtuous 
tning and exemplary deportment by day — 
, whom I had contemplated with rapture 
as you slept the sleep of calm and child-like 
innocence by night — you were false ! But 
proaches, Dolores; I write, not to 
reproach you, but to bid you an eternal fare- 
well ! It only remains lor me to tell you wliv 

I provoked Col. Koller. 

•' 1 ought, in order to sustain the char; 1 
1 have hitherto supported, to be the first U) di- 
vulge your shame, and escape ridicule by Bi t- 
ting this example of laughing first myself — 
but 1 cannot. Life has become insupporta- 
ble to mc from this hour — what, then, shall I 
do? blow out my brains? It is me act of a 
fool — a madman ! besides, there are some 
powerful thoughts of God and hereafter which 
rush upon one's miml. when he places a pis- 
tol to his head. 

" But 1 must die, and I recoil from the task 
of becoming my own executioner; I have 
pitched upon one who will perform that office 



; liy 
j t!y 

"lir, 



re n 

rajfl 

LUgfl 



with cheerfulness and dispatch ; I have in- 
sulted Col. Koller, and we fight this morning. 

" All i surely at variance with flfl 

principles I have professed to act upon, (H 
to inculcate amb followers. According 

to the dogi the school of iihilusopj 

which i have founded, I Id be p< 

ridiculous for the Marquis, de Beaure 
either to kill, or to be killed, because his 
was unfaithful. Still, I think the plan 
not ill connived to preserve app< arancc. £■ 
I mtis t — for life is a burthen tome. Bf^^J 
such a cause openly — either by my own ha^l 
or by that of another I — I cannot. But 1 hm 
often expressed my abhorrence of this s|f 
guinary colonel. Nothing can be more ni 
ural, than that we should quarrel ; the 
is certain, and so I shall escape being la 
at after 1 am gone. 

" Adieu, then, my still dearly belove^B 
lores — you will find, 1 think, about fifty ^H 
Sand crowns at my banker's, and my CS J^ 
which I have settled upon you, will 
j on about sixty thousand ■ year. Ta 
advice ; Cdo n't think I give it out of jcal 
M a widow. You are young and 
tiful ; fond of pleasure ; prudent, but y 

olute in obtaining it; and with the fortU 

sess, I think you may live happily, 
enjoy yourself much belt, r single than 
ricd. Adien. ! once more, and forever, a 

" P. S. 'Tis odd enough, after all, 
old get myself killed for that — is it n 

This letter written, M. de Beaurega 
iped it with the other papers; seals 
packet, and superscribed it as follows: 

" This is my tettament — let it be gnsfl 
Madame de Beauregard ." 

After some other'preparations, the m^ 
laid down, and slept like Ca-sar, till 
the morning ; when he was awaken 
seconds. At eight, the parties met nt 
appointed place, where, by some extra! 
nary accident, the colonel, who had i 
deliberate aim, missed his man, 
cut off one of the curls which waved 
wind, over the temple of the marquis. 

M. de Beauregard had come to mel 
death, and lie had awniti d it with a ci 
and composure, amounting to pei 'nil I 
ence; but the danger over, his Iovq^H 
— strange as it may appear — rtturnejifl 

Was it the instinct of sell'-possessiflH 
had some new and consolatory idea fl 
hrm? — we will not undertake to say ; H 
tain it is, that the marquis, after ha<^H 
ceived the fire of his adversary, nevfl 
moment though! of firing in the air— -^T 
ly as the colonel was not one who watj 
to miss his mark the second ti 

Perhaps, when he covered In 
pistol, he did feel a momentary scnipI^B 
much as he knew that he had bei ti ihonffl 
sor ; but the reflection that this porttl 
duellist, hud himself always been 
of provoking his victims to their d« 



THE LETTER. 



t5c; 



RHined Wril to rid society of such a 
scourge. I onel dead. 

With the love of life, returned all tho mar- 
tial affectation of cynicism. His 
first study now, was, to avoid the ridicule at- 
tendant upon hi ♦ lapse from virtue, by 
In li.-i to announce it, and to 
laugh :it n, as a merry jest, ffia only dread 
was, (bat tli< event might have already ta- 
ken wind ; and that he might thence be look- 

.(I upon as one of those unhappy husbands* 
v. ho an the last to know or believe In their 
own disgrace. 

accomplish his end, he had concerted 

ihc fete at the Rocher de Cancels — with what 

wonderful address and courage he can ied out 

his purpose, w- have already related ; but the 

terrible conflict of mingled emotions which 

were raging within his bn a r, can better be 

Imagined then described. It is noi difficult to 

using the letter which the 

,,:. to his wife, whsl ■ painful 

reint me unfortunate gentlemen put upon 

his feelings, and how profound was tho 

oncealed nndet the mask of cure- 
i ice. 
But we have something still furthoi t.-add 
to ■ on. 

Undoubtedly, the af! of noncha. 

oxhibil D be 

exposed th< mod of his wife, must ap- 

as a refinement npon 
tun of ■ ■•■ he i" 

But nothing affbeta- 

In all this; the mi • in reality, still 
wife— and j certain thai 

onid for ever, exclude her from 
liionable km and as it nowforced her 

•alousy was somewhat 
liiiod, although his love was wounded, 
ilpable as his wile had been, M.dc Bean* 
.i.i.niiii' fulness of his self-complacency , 
was fain to attribute this fault rather to mor- 
tiflcation at his disdainful trtatiu- at, man to 
inherent vice, or want of principle. 1 1 is 
hopes were revived— he conceived, thai obli- 
ter to live In retirement, she w 
, i,v redoubled devotion and tender] 
aake him forget lus wrongs, and thai a 

| g, q< rous pardon would unite 
hearts more closely than eve 

M. de I ken be 

told the i in Ins I mat 

he had began to feel the a< achenge 

, and mod- | and 

that ihepr' ."'incut to a life o( calm, 

ii i, and innocent enjoynu at, had occi 
his mind when ins misconduct had rendered 
the position ol "pes alni"-i impossible. 

Ho doubted whether it was atlvi able to read 
to the marchioness the left r which he had 
written, when he supposed himseU upon tho 
of eternity. Jt was true, that with this 
lence of his unbounded affection and 
emsity, she might be touched with r« no 
and moved to repentance ; but on the other 



hand, was it wise to let her know tilt extent 
of her empil heart, even sftei she had 

i guilty of such i and deceit ' 

Ppon the whole, the marquis determined to 
reserve the decision of this question, until ho 
had seen what effect the revela ter- 

rible discovery would h ion Ins wife — 

for it must be borne to mind ui • 

ignorani of the treason of her - femuu. 

hambrc." Notwithstandin knowl- 

edge of tho world, and especially bin knowl 
edge of the sex, the marquis was yet at a ' 
in his own mind, to account for thi Ins 

wife. The serious, reserved, ~i tuple, and vir. 
> triage and deportment of the mar- 
chioness bad completely deceived him. His 
pride would not Buffer him to believe, that he 
had been deceived by the saflM m< ana which 

employed for die dishonor of husbands 
in general. rXa for some singular, 

some mysterious process, by which !ns wife 
bad been led astray. There was Dometbi 

ROOU1 ii which he WOUld UOt, and OOuld 

understand ; and he detormiie fore he 

slept, to take with him die pac, rS to 

it ol his wil i e*. 

planarion at once, even at the risk of i 

ier slumbers by hisj startling communica. 

lion. 

The bi d.ehamber ol ms at a 

con? : distance from that of tl 

occupying the rigl 

their magnificent hotel, while 

the [eft— many large sal md balta tot 

v, ning b< tween them. The moon shi 
bright tl windows ol the lofty 

rooms, through which the marquis 'ook his 

way to the couch of his bride— and nth 

was his entrance into the apartment, thai 
Dolores, who slept undly, was nol awak- 
ened ; and he stood for some moments con- 

templating her, as she lay by the light ot an v 
alabaster lamp of antique form, suspended 
from th'- ceiling. 

The bed-curtains and drapery ol 
chamber were i color and white ; the 

chair-, and C< 

wl.it. satm, embroidered with boquetsol red 

, ol ivi rat- 

ritelycsrvodj Everything was pure, and ircsli, 

milul. well arranged, and to perfect 

i j i 
•i , ladv lay with her head deej 

gun* In a pillow of down, covered with 

red with lac 
D , a\i the rich damask counti rj 
Sue of her figuri < 

thm, could be traced— «ht- 

which had alippod up, l« »» 

arm of exquisite syrom ■nd.and 

whit, as alabaster, upon which .-■ her 

lovely I'ead m i erow«black hair ap- 

peared from andoi the edge ol tei i fht-cap, 
trimmed with Valencisnnei ol tb< ncl 
fabric— from her moist vermilion lips escaped 
her gentle breath ol softest perfume ; and her 



u 



TREES SB DUN OYER*. 



J 



cheeks were sightly flushed by the kindly 
warm;! unber. 

The marquis approached the bed of his 
wife, v. ith stealthy step, and with head droop* 
lug .:* chest ; for a long time lie con. 

ilic sleeping woman with ai 
pres&jon ol mi irrow and i 

rjon. A bill* i rail* flitti d across 
.1 deep sigh Lui hu breast, and he mut- 

d : " with .such a poumenance, with oil 
that innocence and simplicity of man, who 

would suspect " 

Dolores made a slight movement, withdrew 
her left arm from under her bead, opened 
her red ■ faint cry of surprise, 

at the unexpected appearance of her hus- 
band. 

marquis gazed upon her with an ex. 
pression almosl mi nacing — 

" What 1 1 il do you want my 

marchioness, sitting up in 

The Blur quia placed iiiscaudl ht 

ar tin bed, and handed the packet of 

letters to hi- wife, without uttering a word : 

waiting wil ty to observe theefieel they 

produced. 

T)i oioness, ai first isl I, took 

the I mined th m. but 

thl m, and 

sing the clothes appeared to 

mb them with her hands. She did noi either 

turn , mge < ountenati' 

M. de Beauregard, after contcmplatm'.' her 
I while in silence. said in a faltering voice: 

««\\ [ores " 

I'hc rnarchii;' ntinui d silent, with her 



head down, and her hands apparently busj 
under ihe clothes. 
M. de Beauregard, attributing her silence 

to confusion and embarrassment, approach- 
ed hjs wife, and said, with more of sorrow 
than of anger : 

yon have deceived mc ; that was 
'£•''" 

lade no reply, 
f rzituted ui hi >iice, the mar- 

hand, and excJaime 
"C atlei '•'' 

in ing his wife's hand from un 

bedclothes, M. de B< aun gai 
thai intity of serai, 

od it. The marchioness had quickly occu- 
pied h' time in dei troyin 
'delity. 
The mai . ©founded a1 the bi 

havior. He had come, ex- 
peering tears, d - and bitter repentance: 
nc ckksa hardihood in 

crime, which only sought to destroy the j 
den. h threatened it ore, A re- 

ception ao different from that which be 
anti ' rturned alibis plans ot 

He wat at a loss how to proceed. 

h! M he exclaim l | " vour conduct 
is incredible ! Will you dare to deny the truth 




of those letters which you have destroyed? 
Think you I have no other proofs of your in. 
finny?" 

Dolorca made no reply. 

The marquis became exasperated; he stamp J 
ed violently with his foot, and exclaimed : 

•• What! not a \\ 

" I have nothing to say to you, mon 
replied the ladj posure. 

" And these letters, madam ! these letters !" 

The marchioness continued silei 

M. de Beauregard, restraining his rage at 
far as possible, went on : 

" I was at first inclined, madam, to attn. 
bute your siknee to .shame and confusion ; 
but the coolness and presence of mind w 
you have exhibited in destroying those letters, 
convince mc that I was wrong. Do not, 
therefore, attempt to play upon me further;) 
i am not to be deceived ; and now permit me;j 
to say, madam, thai the best you can do, m\ 
to expn vour regret for the injury you have. 
Inflicted upon me." 

Du\ mtinued mute and unmoved. 

For ihe Brat life, the marquis 

was bo far thrown off ; ird, as to , 

-t a woman. II 
. and cast a furious glance upon h 
; then 'tarring back, he threw birr.- 
upon B BOfa, and buried his fac : ham 

The marchione opportunifl 

while her husband was lost in emotioi 
throw on a i rapper, put her feet in her 

slippere ; and, taking a seat at the hearth 

Itir up the fire. The marquis, aroused 
from lu ii <n ties by the noise, turned his head,] 
and perci Ived his wife seated at hi . be-j 

fore the fire. II. r night-cap she had taken; 
off, and with her ivory fingers she was arrang.j 
ing the heavy masses* of her coal-black hair J 
her countenance was as calm and passionless J 
as ever. 

\&. de Beauregard was overcome — he was 
conquered by her diabolical sang froid. He | 
a chair to the fire-place, and seating] 
himself by her aide, said, with an appearance 1 
of calmness which he did not fee] : 

" Pardieu, madam ! you do not seem to re- 
lish curtain lectures. Your silence is but 
s '£ : i are righi 

disagr. . able qui Oh ! I und 

.tli ihe pre 
tble infidelity. I .how thorn 
a few pi al tei 

appearand -bin i 

areas cool and as ire rble. 

madam ieri is 

t if aroused by herhusl 
With tidings of such fearful import, W 
not have shuddered — would nol have 
overwhelmed with shame and cont 
face. But you ! — why, you s( 
as a mutter of no sort of import 

. and you are only • ighteen yean 
5J*f nn ! roman, I must i 

Well, in such a case reproaches would be 




THE DINNER. 



68 



breath thrown away; so wc will to business. 
Will yon permit me, madam, if the question 

iilld not seem too presumptuous, to ask, 
what are your plans tor the future?" 

" I do not exactly understand you, mon- 
sicr, 

" I'll vary my question, then, and endeavor 
lo suit it to your powers of comprehen 

him. Do you suppose, that after what 
has occurred, wo can live together as he 
fop- ■" 

M That is for you to deci<! u.*' 

"So," said the marquis, with a smile of 
bitter mot kei v, " you will still condescend to 
Uv4 with me upon friendly torn 

" if you wish me to, monsieur." 
" And suppose 1 do nol W ish you to, mad- 
am V cried the marqui fury. ".Suppose 

1 should choose to fain you out of doors as 

an infamous harlo' 

••oil, then E should go, monsieur!" replied 

the lady, with perfect nonchalance, as she 

ipied b En buttoning the sleeves of 

robe de chambre. 

de Beauregard was almost beside him. 

with passion ; he rose and paced the 

apartment with rapid strides, and in perfect 

until In- became comparatively cool, 

when he took his seat again, and continued 

die OOfl >n. 

" And suppose, madam, thai in the cx- 

4 Uemity of my generosity, I should be weak 

ugh to pardon you, might 1 depend upon 

your exemplary good conduct and perfect fi- 

ity for the time to eomi 

i than I ..in say, monsieur. " 
"What, madam! if I were to forget the 

past, could you not even guaranty that my 
honor would bi uc the futon 

"1 i anno! foresee • 11 occur, mon. 

»ieur." 

'• W • II, there! — frank at least ! Madam, 

receive my most uowledgments, 

r kindness En permitting me to doubt 

do you suppose that I should rest satis- 

M tu do ?" 

" You know best, whether you will or not, 

lUiilIsi, .U!\" 

" I'ardieu! you are candor itself, madam ! 

1 am only surprised, madam, that you do not 

recriminate — that you do not reproach me 

i my folly a tation, with my dissi- 

i paeon and debauchery, with the mistresses 

to whom 1 aum . and with the 

rake-, whom 1 encouraged to address | 

I could make out a strong case, my lr.dy : 
why do you not do ho I — why not carry the 
Into Afi 

rely done what you eh 

turiaur." 

" But you in lit that my conduct has 

feeling*, in,., iii';, , I i, and, in fine, d. 

y° u *<> i t your res- by infidel- 

ity?" 

" I never felt any resentment, monsieur." 



"No resentment, madam?" 

" None whatever, monsieur. ' 

The marquis was bewildered — " And so, 
madam," he continued, " your conduct, in 
this shameful business, has not been in the 
slightest degree influenced by my treaton 
of you?" 

" Not in the slightest degree, monsieur." 

" Then it was from sheer wantonness and 
lasciviousness, that you degraded yourself 
and dishonored me 

'• I shall not attempt to <elf, by 

denying the truth." 

" Your regard for the truth is highly be- 
coming, madam, and very consistent With 
your conducton the present occasion!" 

" 1 am only answering y> ms, 

monsieur." 

" I presume, then, that if my deportment 
toward yon in public, bad bean the same that 
u was in private — that is, il I had shown my. 
Bell everywhere, and at all times the most de- 
voi.fl of husbands, you would have deceived 
me just the same V* 

" I do n't know how that would have been ; 
! am as ignorant of the past as of the future, 
monsieur." 

" Very well, madam — you have a very con- 
cise and matter-of-fact way of treating the 
matter, it must bo admitted ; you waste no 
words. Pormit me to imitate your example 
in this — suppose I forbid you to receive your 
lovers at this house." 

' You have a right to do so, monsieur ; the 
hou.se is your own." 

" In a week you will depart for my estate 

1 "auphiny." 

The marquis awaited with some anxiety 
liis wife's answer to th ree. 

" 1 should prefer to remain in Paris this 
ar, monsieur," was the reply. 

" And 1, madam, prefer that you should ac- 
company me to Dauphiuy." 

"If you compel me to accompany you, I 
shall, of course, monsieur." 

And you will show yourself as dutiful 
and amiable a wife as you are at present ?" 

" Yes, monsieur." 

" With tin i.ving me, and ob- 

liging m- to ti turn to Paris ?" 

" That is my hope, monsieur." 

" And suppose that I do not choose to be 
wearied into returning ?" 

" You will be, monsieur." 

These last words were pronounced with an 
emphasis and firmties; of tone that fairlv 
startled the marquis. Tin- audacious coolness 
Of tl, founded him. Hitherto ho 

had found hot quiet, ubmisaive, re and 

silent ; but th possessed such indon 

f and resolution, he 1 
eeived. Hi lately excited and 

restrain 

"P in !" 'he e d, " I 

nil a fool to troubli 
about you, or even to consider you my \vii 






3 



66 



THERESE DBlfOYEE. 






after whai has occurred this evening at the 
Rochcr de Cancale. I gave a dinner to some 
gentlemen about town, madam, for your es- 
pecial benefit; I entertained them with the 
story oi your infamy ; I read your letter to 
Labirintc aloud to dee Roches in the presence 
of all ; I covered both of them with ridicule, 
.ind sel them upon each other like mad dogs, 
reserving to myself the punishment of the 
survivor ; and I told nil my friends to spread 
the report of your shame, and to assure all 
Paris of my perfect indifference and contempt 
for you and your paramours. My revenge is 
taken already, madam. That is the way men 
of my stamp treat women like you." 

" That is what you have done — is it .'" .said 

marchioness, without manifesting the 

notion. 

. madam, 1 have done as I tell you. 

Oh! I am not one of your romantic husbands. 

tn weep, and sigh, and come the tragic upon 

such a trilling occasion. You would haw 

hi: J me sad and broken-hearted, I suppose V 1 

" Every one puts his own estimate upon hi-; 

own honor, monsieur.'" 

" And the world, madam — how do yon 
think the world will receive you hereafter, 
madam .'"' 

" The world will do just as you do, mon- 
sieur : if you separate from me, the world 
will follow your example*' 

" You never loved me then — never ?" asked 
the marquis, sadly, changing the tenor of the 
discussion without premeditation. 
Dolores made no reply. 
" Why did you marry me then, madam 7" 
persisted the marquis. 

'• My desire to see Paris, and to move in 
fashionable society, enabled me to overlook 
the immense disparity of our ages, monsieur.'' 
It had never occurred to M. de Beauregard, 
that he was in fact live-and-twenty years his 
wile's senior; his uninterrupted career oi 
success with the sex — the undiminished ad- 
miration which he still received from the 
ranks of fashion, had prevented him from 
realizing that he was growing old. while Da 
lores was still in the spring-time of life. 
What a terrible revelation to be made to a 
man of M. do Beauregard's character — to be 
made, too, by his wife, and boldly offered us 
an excuse for her infidelity. His jculousy 
.md his self-esteem were, at one blow, wound- 
ed lo the quick. 

Nothing i more common with men of plea- 

. than to lose all consciousness of the 

'apse pi time. A man of forty imagines that 

• woman <>i twenty considers him only just 

matured. But when some sudden event oc. 

curs to force him to run over his own account, 

what pangs of envy and regret shoot through 

heart, as he finds that youth is gone, and 

day carries him farther and farther 

I Its fairy fountain. 

The strange and unheard-of maimer in 

which Dolores treated the subject, and the 



dry and cold manner in which she at •; 

all his inquiries, overthrew all tht rnanii 
plans and expectations. He found himself 
entangled in an inexplicable net. 

Could he make a serious affair <A this with 
his wife, after having publicly treated the o9 
currence with such indifference ? Could he 
sustain the part that he had assumed to aofl 
Would it be better to force the marchioneei 
to abandon Paris, and retire from the world, 
in the hope that a reformation might be 
wrought in her character ? or wa t to 

separate from hor altogether, and send her 
back to her friends. 

The last plan would doubtless have been 
the. most judicious, but tho marquis had tfl 
reasons for not adopting it. First, it v 
be too much like a common husband broken 
down with sorrow, and fretted I d in, 

(irritation. And then, secondly, he still lord 
Dolores in spite oi her conduct, and iii «rj§ 
of himself. His mi».d was too strongly^H 
ted by the harrowing events that had occurred 
to permit him to decide at once upon his phi 
After a short silence, he arose and said : 

" To-morrow, madam, you shall knowsjj 
intentions with regard to you, rusl| 

shall find yon prepared to submit to whatsit 
I think most expedient and proper." 

" I shall wait your orders, monsieur. 1 ^ 

Tiie marquis returned to his own opa 




CHAPTER X\ 

THE RESEMBLANCE . 

The scene at the Rocher de Cancale rati 
a sombre impression upon Kwen d<; 
Ellio, and increased his dislike for Paris as: 
Parisian life. Nightly, upon his return tot 
noisy hotel, in the rue MontmarUe. i 
rienced a longing for the quiet and - 
ol Ids own chateau of TreffHartlo 
he would hare returned without d<, 
for his dinner invitation at the 
Dunoyer, and some business arrang 
which remained to be concluded^! 
same gentleman. 

He had already heard from the uod Abi. 
de Kerouellan, who assured him, int.. 
great exultation, that he had found 
easiest thing in the world to form foi 
matrimonial connection with U ni 
houses in Brittany ; and that th« 
Mademoiselle Yvonne dc I 
awaited his return to . ntcr into the prclifOi 
anesfor the union of their houses and 

Tired as Ewen was of Paris, ho eongm 
lated himself on his journt ismueh » 

had entirely dispelled the \v.!d ill 
which einmi had oven I him, aj 

left him the qi , IIlt ] B 

thai he was by nature. 

It will be rec- that die baron , 

gaged to dine with his cousin, 
M. Dunoycr, soinc eight or ten days after 



THE RESEMBLANCE 



67 



scene at die Roeher de Cancale, and M. de 
Montal having apprised Kw on that it would 
n bis power to call lor him, the latter 
presented himself alone at the day and hour 
I at the portal of the banker. 
In his Bomawhat provincial anxiety not to 
, his entertaini r waiting, M. De KerEllio 
ved rather sooner than he was expected, 
rvant, who had just taken oft' his gaudy 
ry in order to set the table with more ease 
to himself, opened the door and ushered the 
baron into the saloon, whi re ho requested 
iimi to wail until he had announced his arri- 
val to the lady of the house. Then muttering 
10 himself, that lU must have risen and 

breakfasted early to be so- I for dinner 

he went in search of the long wand with a 
die at the end of it, whic used to 

light tin and candelabra*. 

me. 
In order to ind the scene which 

., in will he necessary to give some 
description of i iment ami its furniture, 

win- re it took place. 

Directly opposite the fire-plai r which 

a mantel-glass, opened the door of M. 
Dunoyer's library. The library, lighted only 
by a single lamp, was dark enough, while the 
saloon, illuminated by chandeliers and lustres, 
was resplendent with light. Bwen, leaning 
his elbow upon ihe mantelpiece, was gazing 
with an air oi vacancy in the glass. What 
his amusement, when, after a lew mo. 
menus, he saw appear upon ihe surface of the 
mirror, the perfect resemblance of the mys- 
mis portrait ol Troll Bartlog. Like Its 
fearful original, the face was of marble pale- 
ness, and stood out, U N wore, from a dark 
and Hombre bock-ground, like its prototypi ; 
countouauc i ch now present) d 

feet oval, tho noso 
ght and finely chiseled, the eyes bl 
with loo and tho snow-white 

lowed by mn if coal-black 

emblance more staking 
than that which met the gaze of the bewil- 
dered baron. 
The prodigy, however, was susceptible of 
.planat ion. Th' rose had entered 
the saloon from the library; the heavy carpet 
had returned iii.mhiiiiI to hor gentle footstep, 
and whin, arrivi d at the door, she pi 

tranger, she paused ; 
< moment, her image was reflected m (bo 
gla?s. 

turned pale — his heart ci ased to beat 
—ho believed himself under the infli 

iipcrnatural illusion ; and he held his 
in anxious oxpoi without -tirring 

iia position. 

linct, and 
,1 entirely. 

I .1 at hei had re. 

■!, into the obscurity 
u! When K wen came tohimse.lf, 

conscious that tlic person whose image was 



reflected in the gloss ought to be behind him, 
ho turned ; but no one was there. 

This strange apparition, apparently ui, 
countable HS that of the im - portrai 

TrofF Hartlog, might have astonished a man 
less superstitious thun Bwen: judge, then, 
what must its effect have been upon the 
run. 

li \. long before I .Mud:. 

Dunoyer entered the saloon, and apologized 
to their guest for their apparent rem 

ountenuna i ex- 

traordinary emotion] an wered them with an 
air oi oh abstraction, that they regarded 

Urn with surprise. 

veral guests arrived, and M. de KerEllio 

was enabled, by degrees, to overcome his em- 

baria -. in 'in. M. de Montal entered, and, 

r, Thei Iter, and Miss Hu. 

bert. 

At the sight ofThereae, .M. d( Kez Ellio's 
astonishment was unbounded. By the light 
of the lamps and eamlelabras, which gleamed 

full upon her face, the resemblance between 

tin young girl and the ma imo 

still more apparent. Even the slight natural 
mark over her left eyebrow was there, as in 
the picture of the weird ladyofTfi Jog. 

All tin- wise resolves ol the baron vanished 
on. His love for the phantom which 
hod haunted his days of solitude, returned, in 
all its violence ; and he prostrated his soul in 

abject homage at the pedi itol ofhis idol, The- 
re i . In hor he doubted not to find the qual- 

with wl i inflamed imagination had 

embellished the unknown, as well as the fea- 
tures which the artist had bestowed upon her. 
She seemed to him to be his fate — by how 
many extraordinary occun and coh 

dences had it been shadowed forth, that she 
was to exercise an omnipotenl ii Bueuce, for 
good or ill, over his destiny ! By what ex- 
travagant chanc It, that this young girl 
so exactly resembled that fearful being, who, 
a century h< the evil demon ol 
the b IlliG ' Was he menaced 
with similar un from a similar cause? 

His thoughts were losl os. 

Th ictionof mind which these strange 

reflections pi >n with hia 

natural reserve, preventi d Bwen Ercm s: bib 

itmg himself to much advantage j >o that, 

If do alb ctions of Theresa had not ol- 

i uponde Montal. thcChouan 

chief WOUld hnvi bad bttt little chance of 88- 

curing them. 

Dinner was announced. Twice M. Duuo- 
yer was oblig< '1 to n quest M. de Ker Ellio to 
OOnducI madam to the table; and, when he 
had done bo, vain were all the attempts of the 
rmi Heloi • la attraci i ntion oi' 

bei abi i oi mindi d ! I 

thoughts were fixed upon Therete. The 
DggJrl said little, but tfa b was well 

and gracefully t x pressed. Never had acoi 
Of such bewitching melody smote upon the 



66 



TnESESR HNOYEX. 



> 



ear of die lost baron. Twice or thrice, M. 
de Montal, who took a pleasure in exhibiting 
the aequin of Thercse, led her into 

cotr , was charmed with her 

I met, which -hone to great advantage, 
when contrasted with the dull and common- 
place talk of the guests who surrounded the 
table ol the banker. ' 

We have already said, that M. de Ker El- 
ho, though distingue" in his appearan 

eminently handsome : and I 
emotions under which he labored, by DO 

■ ns improved his 1 IV, On the 

other hand, t4io preoccupation of hi- mind, 
gave him an air at all times distrain and oc 
cationally 

i. ! aim closely, nn< I . 

dctc lit — his 

keen eye readily perceived the ardertl admi- 

nth which I ded Thcresc— 

the bank- r was hip I in deep 

meditation, was only disturbed when 

lances fell upon Theresc and Ewen. 

ii (v at the Rocherdu Cancale, 
was the principal topic of conversation among 
the guests, as it had been of society at large, 
for the week past. Elf. de Montal, aa the 
particular friend of the m over- 

whelmed with questions. 

'• The marqui. i« | Icher arid more guy than 
ever," he said ; " his good luck has made him 
perfectly reckless. Within a few days he has 
received news Of the death of h i r-in- 

lavv, Pablo, of 11 1*090 the mar- 

chio fortunately for him, he did not 

discord, has brought him money enough to 
plate her -in with gold. M. de Beauregard, 

i iic: in pa day of mourning in 

retirement, has goi a great 

he has also 
aenl iahment. Some twenty of the 

wildest of (.iir young men of fashion, form his 
suite, and the way ill spend the next 

fortnight, will i he provincials stare." 

ill uoi be without their Ladies in 
waiting, 1 '11 engage," remarked Madame Du. 

w Lfe, with her convent 

airs, what s ! Is it true that she ia 

not received and that they I 

lived separata since the nij loher 

de Cancale 

" Who is that talking of the Rocher de 
Cancale ?" inquired M. Dunoyer, with a ma- 
licious emphas; 

Oh! never you muid .'' , replied Madam 
Dunoyer, drugging up her shoulders. "Come, 
tell ; really sepa- 

rated from '< fe ?" 

" returned de Montal j 
" th< together ns usual. But the ef- 

fron! the mnichioness, in prt 

been very pron 
baked." 

how !" said Madame Du- 
noyer. 

M Some days since, juat before they went 



i'.d «ti 

" --'hif. 




into mourning, I chanced to be at tin. boim 

of.Mndnmt liessdeNoirmout ; Madafl 

de Beaure itered, she saluted the duct 

with all the assurance imaginable, attf 

then took her seat In ddc lioaj 

were conversing — they immediately re 

changed their position. The marchionesi 

self soon after arose, and took a seat in tfl 

i r part of the room — her neighbors ai^H 

turn, and left her vicinity. A dead eil^H 

,iii vailed for twenty minutes, which the in«, 

ehioness sat out, less iiioviil. a|g' . th« 

ml then iihor 

:., or the sh> nnuge of ^ 

nice." 

" I have thought she would, 

died with shame, 7 ' said M Dunoj 

ol she," returned de Montal 
never dies but from will lrJ 

r." 

The ilhjeet w:i-, dropped, and M. de JH 
nil. noiwitiistanding his Hation-diip. aofl 
ties of friendship which existed betweajH^ 
began to rally his cousin ; to show hi 
off before his Theresa. Ho succeed- 
object without exciting the suspicion of 
de Ker Ellio, whose wits, to use a co: 
expression, wore wool-gathering. 

Madame Dunoyer also, whose bad beam 
low breeding, were always in the fore^^H 
regardless of her obligations as 
dertook in her turn to quiz the baron— sta> 
posing that, as aVende'an, he was nece^H 
pious, she addressed to him a torrent of Ok 
impious nonsense of the old in lid 
and asked him, if the cures in J 

always choose h Q 
and whether they did not occasionally 
the privi I the confession 

M. de Ker Ellio's religious principle 
somewhat strict. He had bi 
to regard a mother of a family, surrouni 
by her offspring, as an 
aim hoi Iiia 

y the c 
nig tirade of Madame Dun<-\ 
shocked and disgusted. As soon as US 
recovered himself, he replied dry 1 

mi, I was taught by my motf^H 
respect religion and il rers, and I have 

ever found both a and m< 
verence. " 

Madame Dunoyer either did not 
not understand the intent of this reply; and 
in return, gave him a perfectly Vol tai rial 
tort. " We Parisian mothers, on the contn 
ry, teach our children to despise these fool* 
and bigots — do we not, Achille ?" 

M. Dunoyer. who vvn 
the same school. : -Don't 

i y.iir theological tea to me—; 

gard re i ting of I 

drum, to call old v fools ti 

am 1 not right, my dear count 

So proud was M. I r of the pn 

of a man of title, that he never failed to be 



T IT K RESEMBLANCE. 




Sdpon liini hi a at lull 

i knew how 
t tiie banker treated tn.- damriin r, and 
r«e would be ratbei gratiln d to see 

, assumed, as far o 
gran M.deBeaun 

>og leave to infoi 
il .1 poin 
all a i 

■ 

■d as ir was, d; 

Wb» Dun 

no 

•covered from hi 
***« the i of church and i I 

h a union, I 
'to I BtJ mn. , ,-md tranip- 

lioaerfoot bv the thi 
£ centre of tin 
tt ii : red. Thai 

^■e nobility of t!n> p; There 

aoreai ai .;, ; _ 

i duke in the realm could 

1 gHaei.\, in!,. ;" 

R bee a-prond i 



* 



69 



milted to - by pur- 

Dunoy, | i|i,. 

"■irjt, wi 

triumph. 
After 

! W it would 

'iwated Tli 
rtwn i, but wo 

witnghtcr to 

girl promptly declined; fun 
"«glanc. tfontal i 

'^jPJHo. » ith the 

liicr«!3e sung with Mich taste, feeling, and 
Wto«p . excelled oven herself, u 

mm been up-.d to appear, thai In ten or 

Jjca 

i*ut do my 1 

,1*' , ' f '' ,n " flCJ : l,y 

note she 
luT ' " ad «n>ck, 

paruoa 

d n °JJ ,d » nd 

**«■« he abai 



e wildest ocstacioa of joy, ir bt that 

ideal love was a trim 

dream-girl, whom I. 

is indeed incarn , u ld 

Then he was plunge* 

of despair b idea that > !g ht 

and that she had already i 

ceived an uufavorubl »nof hi 

:«t, that I.. , on sigi 

hinoyci , inc . 

® d ™ all ih< 

lion j t0 

known her al ller . 

fliced to raise r w 

house of the 

not control I itione; a ing that 

0088, ho 

wait 
hot cooli 

It ho wait, d in vain ; 

n. All 

sit< ment he ha C cd 

while in solitude n height. 

I by the eircm u now 

i upon a vivid 

ad without counsel, M. de Ket 

daysathia hotel, in 
r wher< 
upon any one of a hu 
proj- i. h Bitted through h 

and 

de Montal, to whom i 

,rres ,onac. 

bis chi 

advn assistant, • ; but il v ? nut qj 

,ing 

| 

g" had liromTreffllartlogto 

in bis ap 
J™ with j fei. 

Iow • he count 

*' '• 'lied Ewen, '• t : . , ; „her 

indisposed; but 1 have oaJIed averal limee 
to see you. and ; that you • of 

The count colorod " It was t. 

buntin ormandy th< 
paat," he t was r 

.it the I 

in the house ol Rff. Du~ 
I am '■ 
in, however, since it I ed roe . 

the ; 

" ( your power to do 

Afi once of some moments, Ewen re- 

plied : 



TO 



THPRHSP D IT VOTE 



M 







** You arc my kinsman, and yon offer your 
: i will mil you; and open my soul, 
. before you." 

bed at the sole m- 
, with which iWa was. said; he rehebed 
our his hand, and said 

:k withoul reserve; 1 am wholly at 
your Bsrvke, What can i do lor you '" 

■ Do not think me mad ! Litton to me 
pan 1 indyouwillbeublcio comprehend 

: ightfal, position. 
Anr-i thi war "i \ •ii«i. •■ I retired to mj 
tatr, and lived in the solitude to which 1 had 
always been accustomed, and always loved. 
After spending noma time in idle revery, my 
thoughts concentrated upon an ideal cbarac- 
if r : it Was that of a woman, whom I could 

ii'vr, in my bed-chamber was an old family 

portrait of ;i femal senting a person of 

wonderful beauty. This portrait I dwelt 

ill admiration, until this feeling DMlg. 

into love, and 1 fastened its lineaments 

a my idi al wife. In a word, I confess it, 

came in love with this picture." 

'• But, cousin, tins is a romance," interrupt. 
cl the count. 

" Yes, a romance ; n sad, though absurd, ro. 
mnu-T. if you will. Nevertheless, I did love 
this portrait, madly loved it ; my monomania 
became so serious that my old perceptor, the 
Abbe de Ki an, advised mo to quit Brit- 

tany : 1 came to Pass, the change of scene and 
associations canned me, and restored me to 
my ; in fact, I began to look upon my 

former imaginings as idle dreams — when — " 

" Go on ; you know not how this narration 
interest's m< 

Even dp Ker Elbe passed his hand across 
his brow, nn(\ continued in a low voice — 

" Until 1 saw Mademoiselle Dunoyer "' 

" Well, cousin, and th. Q ' 

"Well, and then J found that she reseiii- 

blcd, in the most extraordinary manner, the 

portrait of which I have spoken to you." He 

ed, and gave his cousin a look of agony. 

It will be recollected, that M. de Mental 
a ho possessed a portrait of this infernal wo- 
man, who had wrought such ill in the house 
of Ker ESUio. Strange, however, as was the 
revelation of his cousin, and great as was the 
uneasiness it gave him, he perfectly concealed 
bis emotion, and answered, smiling — 

" I understand you— or rather, 1 think I do. 
You are Inlovi with Mademoiselle Dunoyer: 
and is it on it of this resemblance alone, 

that you have fallen in love with a woman 
whom yon lu.\ .;en before in your 

" I am certain — that is — 1 feel well assured, 
that Mademoiselle Dunoyer possesses all tin- 
qualities of mind and heart with which I en- 
dowrd the my! tic portrait — the dream.girl of 
my imagination. I fee I that it must he so." 

" I hope bo, indeed, both for the sake of 
Mademoiselle Dunoyer. and yourself; — but 
what can 1 do for you in the matter P 






" I have twenty times been upon the point 
nf 'going to W. Dunoyer, ami asking the hand 
of In- daughtt r." 

M. 'I- Moutrd gave no sign of emotion, bad 

a k<d in return : " Well, and what inud^H 

yo[l. roil in '" 

'• The immense fortune of M. Dunoyer, ^M 
the extreme beauty of his daughter— ^H 

ii so far beyond my pretensions. I 
not yet been able to determine upon aag 
course which would not expose me to thej 
putation of cupidity or inordinate * 
Still, to such a pitch of folly dm mj | 

passion drive me, that I am on the 
doing Romething which will cause me t 
irded as the most stupid or the most | 
sumptuous of men ; for I am no i>eaiity,fl 
can assure Mademoiselle Dunoyer but anfl 
crate fortune." 

" A very respectable fortune, say, cotujfl 
" Oh ! I do not mean to disparage m; 
replied Ewen ; " but the fact is, I am 
attractive in person, nor can I oiler an 
lishmcnt which would equal her father's 
ful expectations. To hope, then, to cap 
Mademoiselle Dunoyer, would he madflfl 
but, in time, I may awaken an interest in J 

t. Now, In n i . what I propos 
is, if you think well of my project — I 
to M. Dunoyer, and explain my circu 
ces freely ; I have no interested motives g 
I shall, in advance, renounce all expeetallj 
of any portion with her; I will then nskj 
to allow me an interview with her in his 
encej this granted, I will tell her all: 
history of mis family portrait, my ideal| 
the strange resemblance, and my inexp 
hie aflection. presumptuous though it fH 
If." 
" Your project is an odd one." 
"I know it; and it may he. a very ^^M 
one — and M. Dunoyer and his daughter, if 
norant that I curry a true heart under thi* 
rough exterior, unconscious that my devotion 
alone, ought to render mc worthy of the hip- 
piness I aspire to — may refuse me. But you. 
cousin, who know M. Dunoyer. tell me 
you think he will be touched by my frank- 
ness ? Ought I to ask the hand of his dauft 
ter in person, or will yon make the reqttW 
for me I If not, I shall certainly write aim 
to-morrow, strange as it may appear. "J 

The brief, firm, and energetic manner in 
which the baron communicated his purpo*, 
convinced M. de Monta! at once that hew 
in earnest, and that no time wad to dp lost it 
fortifying his own position. The first p**' 
object to be gained was delay, and to 
that, he bestirred himself forthwith. 

We shall see, hereafter, the fatal progW* 
that the count had already made in the iilfec 
tions of Therese. Through her iinhouBoV 
love he had begun to regard himself a* tb« 
future possessor of a brilliant fortune. Tb* 
confidential communication of the baroa,* 
once exposed the danger which tluoateod 



fc* 



T H E RESEMBLANCE. 



71 



roished him with the means oi de- 
ir wan evidently in the nscen- 

dxn. \;f. , u lew moments' reflection, he 

and wnrtnly, iind with 
,,| ill. mo: i afti Ltinnutu inter- 

•• 5foiu confidence in me, my dear Ewen, 
,1. 1 accept it as a token of 
red F. will not 
it." 
Ii, 1 km-w 1 siumld Find i 

irning the p of as 

ml i\ nil • motion. 

ked my advice," continued 
it, ■• and I will withou 

i j our idi al love, the ad. 

of tin portrait, and the resemblance, 
would savor loo much of extrava- 
wid romance, to suit tho taste of such 
r-of-fact business man as M. Duuo- 
hi would take more interest in the state 
affairs and the amount of your for- 
tune 

Bui the daughter! the daughter! would 
too, be insensible to the story of my love 
omantic if you will, but none the less ar- 
ncere for that '" 
i know but little of Mademoiselle Dtmo- 
my dear cousin | bul 1 think I have seen 
enough of her tosatisfy me, that she possesses 
much of the cool positive character of her 
lath. 

•' I:- it possible ! What ! with that sweet but 
rnel a air — that tour; >ice— oh ! it 

cattoot be !" cried Ewen. 

tjthal I am but little acquainted 
with Mademoiselle Dunoycr— and it is pos- 
sible 1 may be deceived J but 08 to her fal 

e is no mistake. Listen to me: confine 
yourself to asimplc offi r of your hand, and I 
sour intercessor with M. Dnnoyer." 
Sou are too good — to I" ex- 

.en, his heart swelling with grati- 
, and then ho added in a tone of despon- 
dency— " And now, alas! my fat. Ifl to bo ir- 
..cably decided ; and what reason have 1 
hope that the decision will be favorable! 
why should such happiness be mine?" 
" Why ? That you might enjoy it, cousin, 

it | But you must not 
give way to despondency. I dare not tell you 
10 hope, but I would by no means have yon 
ilaipair. On the one hand, you arc of lofty 
age, possess a handsome fortune, and a 
good character. On the other, M- Duuoyer 
mmensely rich, and may have other views 
■ ■ni of bis daughter. I cannot 
mtiiiucd the count, with the bj 
criei liend, "thai Mademoiselle Duno- 

capable of having any other wishes 
than those of her parents. See, then, the 
good and evil chances in your case aro so 
•qpafly balanced, thai il is impossible to form 
tno h way the scale will eventually 

turn Meanwhile, there is one pioco of ad- 
vice which you must permit me to give- you, 



for I think it is of the mportanee both 

u and to Mademoi < Hi Dunoycr.*' 
"Whal 

"The eommn dOn winch you have uitii. 

ed to me. u one of the ni" t di licate and i 

fub ntial nature.'' 

•• Certainly." 

"If, then, you should unfortunateic chll 

toberejected.it would be exceedingly am 

iug, not billy tO yOU, but to Mademoiselle I 

i, to have me affair gi td for thp 

world is exceedingly ill-natured, and " 

Ewen mterrnpted the count; 
■' Make yourself i asy upon thai 
dear friend. No one living bul ) 
knows or shall know of my proposition. 1 
d not even U 11 nrj old instructor, the \h 
be de Kcrouellan, if he were here— I give jroil 
my word." 

"Another thing. You must be patient. 
U . Dunoycr is very particular in his mod' 
doing business, and be would be likely to U 
especially cautious in an affair of this kind; 
he may think it re ad to Brit- 

tany, in order to satisfy himself, as to yom 
precise position and the situation of your | 
v. All that would take time j w." 

" That is very true." 
11 Are you certain, then, that you can p.. 
control your Impatience, as to retrain from go- 
ing to M. Dunoycr yourself, and altemptm 
to finish what I have begun? because, if you 
are not, I should much prefer not to act ; for 

my position, you see ■" 

Ewen again interrupted the count. 

"I am incapable of the commission of an 

act so improper, so ungenerous- you 

my word lor it. Yon alone shall present my 

offer, and from you alone will I receive my 

be it for weal or wo. I shall not 
M. Dunoyer until he has decided my fate ; 
and it he decides against me, 1 shall h 
ithout seeing him at all." 
"That may be well enough, '' returned \l. 
dc Mental; "but there will be time enough 
to think of that, when ho has decided. 
Thank Heaven! we shall not long be kept in 
suspense. As soon as I have seen M. Du- 
noyer, I will come and tell you how he re- 
ceives your proposition ; and I mist 1 shall be 
able to make a favorable report." 

" My cousin." said Ewen, seizing both de 
Mental's bands, " from this time forth I am 
yours ; you have laid me under an everlastm? 
obligation." 

I )n the contrary, I am the obliged party ; 
for you have shown me how, by so trifling a 
sacrifice of time and exertion, I may win a 
friend." 

"I feel, but cannot express my gratitude — 
be speedy, dear cousin, be speedy.'' 

••Speedy I will be, in order to keep up 
your courage ; and hope for the b< 

Ewen shook his head with an air of despon 
dency ; a tear stood in his eye, and once more 



( 









rz 



THBRESE 



D tf N o v 



E R 






V 



< 



) 



, 



wringing the hand of M. do Monial, he retired 
abruptly, without speaking another word. 

ML de Montal watched his dejection, and 
then shrugging up his shoulders with an air 
of contempt, he thus soliloquized : 

" Oh, simpleton ! treble-refined simpleton ! 
\n<l ii is mi! that you hav> chosen, above all 
others, lor a confident. Well ! well ! well! 
my si.u beams brightly now. Unless I am 
very much mistaken, this affair, properly ma- 
naged, will help me amazingly ; — let us sec. 
The Breton, faithful to In promise, will not 
approach M. Dunoyer, but * ill wait for an 
\ycr through me ; that answer he will not 
i week or ten days at least! and by 
that time I can bring matters to such a paaa 
with T. j. i i hall have ootbin 

dread from the Vendlan — on the contrary, his 
proposal then will aid me, by bringing on the 
bob I look for. But, stay, I must write to 
Theresr. 1 must positively have an inter- 
v with her to-morrow. She will come. 
My appeal shall be put in a form which will 
be irresistible. 

" Ah ! continued M. De Montal, as he sat 
down to his writing-table, " I must answer 
.Julie too. She is sorry, and has written to 
tell me so. True, she does not yet propose 
to honor me with her hand, but she proffers 
me her eternal love. After all, that is not 
wholly to be despised — she may serve occa- 
aally for a little agreeable relaxation, even 
tor a man who is occupied with Madame Du- 
noyer." 

\I. de Montal thm indited the following 
epi tie to 'i'li. ri •'■ : 

'Imu peak with you to-mor- 

row. A terrible misfortune threatens our 
- -which is the same as saying my life. 
■ ug I shall lie above, and" pass the 
night there j to-morrow I shall expect you at 

doof. Your sister goes outat three o'clock 
with Miss Hubert, to take her daily prome- 
nade — feign a head-ache as an excuse for re- 
maining behind. Then you can come up to 
my apartment without danger. Ah, Therese, 
my strength fails me — what a fearful blow ! 
1 can no longer see for my tears—I am in 
despair.' 

" That will Jo,'" said M. de Montal, after 
perusing what he had written— a broken style 
—lull of emotion— pathos— danger to come 
—mystery and despair. That will take her 
>he will come. The last time, she would 
only venture a few steps into the antecham- 
ber; and then such was her agitation at find- 
hereeli alone with me, and she turned so 
I'-'le, that 1 feared she would faint. Fortu- 
nately, the profound respect with which I 
treated her, reassured her. She will not he. 
• Hate to-morrow, and we will see if we can 
notget her a little farther. Now for Julie. 
Another woman, another style." 

' You do not deserve, you wicked little 
devil, that I should forgive you. I ought to 
keep you a long time yet in disgrace ; but I 



am too good-natured ami kind-hearted 
will sec you j on condition, however, that jH 
do not for an instant allude to the foolish scS 
that took place between us. You veril v infl 
a fool of me, and I have laughed enuughfl 
kill myself at it. Day after to-morrow I wfl 
be in your arms.' 

This letter written, M. de Monl 
patched the one to Julie and the other to 

of Mademoiselle Duimv roe-de, 

chambre, Rosalie. 

Nothing was more simple than the man 
in which \i. ,1. Uontal obti in. .1 
his quarters at the immensi hotel, whicJ 

partly occupied by M. Dunoyer. The do 
of the court were always open, and 
had eoneluded his visit to the banker* 
instead of descending, he mounted to 
fourth floor. At other times, mulii 
heavy cloak, with spectacles on his n( 
walked boldly in as M. Bernard, the I< 
from the country, and came out the next i 
ing under the same disguise. 






CHAPTER XVII. 

A PROPOSITION. 

M. de Ker Ellio returned to his hotel 
composed in his mind than he had bee 
some days previously. If his interview 
M. de Montal had not given him posjl 
hope, it had at least afforded him the satiafl 
tion of feeling that hope was not to be s^fl 
(loin rl without a struggle. 

At the door he was met \<y a servant, wfl 
informed him that a v-aitifl 

ni the saloon to Hee him. " He came a^fl 
a quarter ut an hour since," said the dome^H 
'•and, finding you ali: iki .1 wh< u 

WOUld return; 1 mid Iniu at live, ami h. rl 
t" wait for you." 

Much surprised at this visit, inasmuch u 
he had no particular acquaintance i M P»M 
<^ c ept M. de Montal, M. de Beauregard, *■ 
M. Dunoyer, Ewen went at once to t 
he saloon; where, to his astonishment, be 
found the banker. 

A visit from the banker, in itself, was m 
ing very extraordinary ; but, when conn. 
with the errand he had just been out npoi 
certainly struck Ewen as a very odd 
dence, to say the least. 

"You will excuse my pertinacit 
ing < . monsieur, I irusi," lu-an th. 

of business; "but. having sum. thin 
portance to communicate to you, I w 
t&ni r it until to-morrow 

" Monsieur," replied Ewen; « I i -ntire. 

ly at your service, and 1 on ly regret to hai 
ask you to ascend a little higher into tm 
humble lod 

"No apologies, monsieur, I beg;— thou 
who visit travellers must expect travelled 
fare." 

" Once seated in M. dc Ker EhWa apart 






- 



A PROPOSITION, 



T3 



ruont, M. Dunoyer said, with a mixture of 
frankness and goyety, " I kuve come, my dear 
ill, to put yon in Hie way ot making a great 

4bil Of' IIHUl. , , , n 

what way?" replied bwcn, sur- 
ommunication, but very mdd- 

ut ns to its object, 
rii.- means arc very simple, ma 

nuls.itbout throe hundred 

ihousnix: i, cii' which I Bin to pay 

thorn, m of fifty thousand in a fortnight, 
the balance in throe equal payment at Int. i- 
ftia of two months." 

monsieur 5 and you will recol- 
lect that I told you 1 might want to draw for 
ile sum at mice, if I succeeded in pur- 
^■jg some landed property on terms that I 

like. _ . 

•. .',,11 did, monsieur; but allow mc— the 
,. :s t I feel in you, knoeifl me to say— that 
,uying lands, you will make a very un- 
profitable investment of your funds. 1 ho in- 
onl lands seldom exceeds two or two 
and a half per cent net; while 1 have an op- 
eration to propose to you, by winch, in lour 
vou may double your capita ; 

j aiu en ;ul , mvsrlt, and wdl associate 

you in interest wife me." 

Ewen had been brought up by his father to 
atoll every species of speculaUon, and his 
rsion to it was as s- ever. IM 

fundflin U.c hands of M.i)un„yer were the 
proceeds of a legacy which his father had rc- 
..,); bul notwithstanding all this, it struck 
him that it would be a DM «>ke ot poli- 

cy to accept the banker' . under the 

lC efl in which be was placed; so 
answered him without hesitation : 

"Monsieua, 1 did think, as I told you, of 
making another disposition ot n.y funds, bul 
I will abandon my plan, and embrace yours ; 
leas, I assure you, from the hope ot any gain 
I may make, than for the purpose ot continu- 
ing the very pleasant relations which have 

hitherto existed between US." 

M. Dunoyer was so struck with this blind 
facility, on the part of the baron, that he 
could not help exclaiming : . 

"What, my dear air! do you enter into 
■uch an operation without mforming ynureeU 
of its nature, or ascertaining what security I 

aai vou?" •„„»„, 

<• Vou told me. monsieur, that Uw invest- 
ment would be nn advantageous one. 
,-rtairilv; and lean prove it. 
"What vou assert is already proved to 
satisfaction." T 

••Faith. n ir, without con Ol 1 

may say, that "em of your way ol doing 

bwuiessarora.e; but, mon Dieultt wffl noj 
do to trust ail the world wHh such unbounded 
con; The credit and responsibility oi 

my house is well known, thank Heaven ! 

"Believe me, monsieur; I .ilicr so 

■iropla, nor so careless as I may seem | I never 
bestow ray confidence without good reason. 



"Ah, monsieur i" replied the banker, 
« You do me too much honor ; people of your 
discrimination and liberality, are truly scarce; 
most folks are so selfish, greedy, and avari- 
cious." 

" Your profession, monsieur, doubtless en- 
ables you to see more of these ignoblo quali- 
ln the characters of others, than men or- 
dinarily do." 

"Ah, you are right, monsieur] you are 
right! My position, both "as a banker, and 
lather, who has a marriageable daughtec, 
gives me innumerable opportunities of obaer. 
ving the cupidity and baseness of mankind." 
Ewen trembled with emotion, his face be- 
came purple 5 ho looked upon the ground 
and said nothing. Hia embarrassment did 
not escape the quick eye of M. Dunoyer, and 
he continued i 

" Yes, my dear friend, I have a daughter 
—no great beauty, to be sure— and she is a 
little wild— eccentric if you please— but she 
has had the best of educations, under a well- 
qualified English governess, and there ia 
more good than bad about her. I'll leave U 
to you, if there is not, M. de Ker Llho : 
come, say what you think with true Breton 
frankness.'* 

Ewen had by this time managed to recov- 
er himself, and he answered with sincerity 
and warmth : 

•' I think your daughter more man beauti- 
ful, monsieur ; I never beheld a countenance 
so touching and expressive i' 

"Now you flatter me, monsieui ! but no 
mattes, admitting that she deserves but halt 
your commendations, she must be very gen- 
teel. Now would yon believe ?— the nrst 
question asked by the young gentlemen who 
sec my daughter, is, ' How much wiU she 

have V " 

« Oh ! monsieur I" , 

"I see you are astonished ;— it disgusts 
you ; nevertheless it is the truth, I assure you. 
Now they know that I am rich, and that it 1 
do not bestow an enormous marriage portion 
upon Therese, still, when I am dead, there 
will be a vast deal of property left. Well, 
they arc not satisfied with that-no- they 
want to enjoy my hard-earned wealth i « 
once : they cannot wait ; no, it »*»*?»**• 
the marriage portion that they arc after they 
til lk,and think, and dream, of nothing else. 
Oh : M. de Ker Ellio, a man with a marriage- 
able daughter is sorely tried: lhave much to 

As an accompaniment to this father s ap- 
, M. Dunoyer heaved a deep sigh .but 
never relaxed, for a moment, the keen steal- 
thy look by which he sought to read the ct- 
foct of his paternal tirade upon M. de Kei 

"flo' improbable had it seemed, that he 

^a iuccoed in obtaining the hand ol The- 

, and so preposterous would have .been 

the idea that M. Dunoyer ihould, of h» own 






3 



74 



THERESB DWMOYBR 



' 



accord, offer him his daughter, that the baron 
never in the least comprehended the drift of 
the wily banker, but answered with perfect 
simplicity : 

"I should think, M. Dunoyer, that with 
such a daughter as Mademoiselle Thcrcse, 
you might make your own selection of a son- 
in-law." 

" I<< it possible I can be deceived?'' thought 
M. Dunoyer. " But no ; these Bretons are a 
thick-skulled race. I must tap him on the 
shoulder." The banker returned to the charge. 

" Oh ! I might make a choice, my dear M. 
de Ker Ellio ; but to tell you the truth, for all 
that, I should be very much puzzled to make 
a good choice just now. You must recollect, 
that the happiness of my daughter — wh<> is 
very dear to me — is an item of no smull im. 

gortance ; and I am resolved not to bestow 
er upon any of our city fops, rakes, or profli- 
gate*, who would lead her an unhappy life, 
and break her heart in the end. No ! the 
person I should like for a son-in-law " — here 
AT. Dunoyer expressed himself with such em- 
phasis that the baron could no longer avoid 
understanding his purpose — " the person to 
whom I could willingly resign Therese, my 
dear monsieur, must be a man of distinguished 
birth — staid, correct, virtuous, loyal ; unem- 
barrassed in his property, with an estate in 
the country, where he would choose to spend 
three-fourths of the year — visiting Paris only 
fa the winter months : for I must tell you, 
Therese detests the fashionable world, and 
delights in a country life. Strange, at her age 
to dislike Paris, is it not ? But it is true ; no- 
thing could make her happier than to spend 
as much of her time In the country as I have 
mentioned — unless it was, to spend every 
other winter there also. But talk of that to 
your young Parisian bloods, who cannot be- 
lieve it possible to exist out of Paris — bah !" 
" Is it possible, Monsieur 7" exclaimed 
Ewen ; " has Mademoiselle Therese such a 
taste for the simplicity and retirement of a 
country life 7" 

" Has she, my dear monsieur? Why, she 
is a perfect little savage— a wild-girl of the 
woods. And that is what troubles me : it is 
so difficult, y,m see, to consult such a taste in 
making a settlement for her." 

Ewen was unable to give expression to the 
deep, but glad emotion, which thrilled within 
his breast. He wanted words ; he was mute 
and confused. 

"He don't bite— he don't bite," thought 
the banker to himself. •« Well, I'll throw mv 
bait once more ; and if that does not land 
mm, then I have been deceiving myself all 
along." 

M. Dunoyer again returned to the charge. 
1 his time he raised his voice, and, assuming 
a manner at once frank, hearty, and familiar, 
he began : 

•' See here, my dear M. de Kvr Ellio \ I am 



a 



going to say something which you mav^| 
impertinent, because if is personal; butigj 
is intended to be complimentary rather thi| 
otherwise, I muBt beg you to excuse mo, Anj 
this it i8: If I were to undertake to >muM 
for myself such a man as I would like] 
husband for Therese— a husband for TA<H 
mind you— I should not go far for my mfl 
In short, I should select a man in evtjfl 
spect like yourself." 

"Is it possible? do I hear ariv 
monsieur, I dare not believe — I 
afraid to tell you, that I have dared t.. . 
— to dream of Mademoiselle Therese atj 
model of what I should best love as a wj^| 

"How — how? indeed? Whatlthat^B 
tall, pale girl 7 And so you fancy li^H 
all her wildness and eccentricity 7 WhiH 
you not tell me so at once? I km 
customary to make such a proposition thrai 
a friend ; but the devil take all custont^H 
when the happiness of two beings who^| 
made for each other ia at stake." 

" Pardon me, monsieur. Am I m invseml 
or in a dream? I can hardly b< Ik ve^H 

" Ah ■ my dear baron, there is nothing It 
be surprised at. If Therese suits you, U 
her, with all my heart. You are just the ran 
I should select for her husband. 

"But she — she, monsieur? Ah! with* 
her consent, yours would be of no avu^H 

" Listen, M. de Ker Ellio," said the bank*, 
after a moment's silence ; " with people life 
you, one may venture to show his hand freely 
1 came here purposely to sound you uptijH 
subject of this connection." 

" Is it possible ?" 

" It is true ; and you may be certain tin: 
I should not have undertaken anything of dx 
kind, without first ascertaining that it ttfl 
be agreeable to Therese." 

" Then she consents, monsieur ?— she coo 
sents?" 

"I'll guaranty her consent, monsieur; in 
she will be perfectly happy with you, my wo* 
for it. But you see, that, ignorant as 1 wu « 
your preference for her, and uncertain whetb 
I should be able to prevail with you, no fonul 
arrangement has been entered into." 

"But are you sure, monsieur, thai Abdr. 
moselle Therese will consent?" 

"Listen to me. For her whole life loot 
she has had but one dream, but one thought, 
upon which she has dwelt with unwavering 
devotion ; and that was, to live in solitude ir 
the country, out of the world, aloi 
books, her music, and her husbai 
could find one of congenial tat he Us 

romantic as the devil ; but more than alkife 
is passionately— nay, madly fond of Brittany.' 

" Is it possible 7" 

"It is true. Romantic and simpli 
that she is, during the w hole of the last/all 
she has talked of nothing but I -.s,ind 

rocks, and heaths of Brittany. You mi? 

imagine how ajnuring it was tg us, |o few 



A PROPOSITION. 



75 



her talk of rocks and heaths to the dandies 
and lions of Paris !" 

\I. usicur, 1 ' interrupted Ewen, " it Made- 
a ill agree to give me her 

(l " 

"I tell you, it is agreed upon already. 

Phen, monsieur, 1 shall owe you — I shall 

her- more than life itself. When you 

li.tr the mysterious circumstances connected 

, which even now I am 

afraid to believe in, you will acknowledge 

is an especial interposition of FroVi- 

denr. lor my good, and, I doubt not, for that 

• moiselle Therese." 

"How! what circumstances do Jon r t » er 

- « Allow me to reserve my explanation, mon- 
sieur, until you pcesanl me to your daughter : 
^E), before you and her, I will recount my 
strange story ; and 1 trust she will be able 
to appreciate the gratitude which I feel for 
the preference with which she honors me. 
; now, monsieur, to give you some idea 
f hl and surprise at what has ta- 
ken place, let me tell you, that I had but 
iust returned from the house of M. de Mon- 
tal, who was to have done me the honor to 
have made my proposals to you for the hand 
of your daughter to-morrow." 

"A singular coincidence, indeed; and, 
yvhal is still more strange, monsieur, I called 
upon the count yesterday, to ask him to break 
the affair to you on my behalf. I did not 
know that he was to return so soon from the 
country, where they told me he had gone; 
and bo, as I had some business winch 
dered it necessary for me to have an inter- 
view, I thought I would open the subject to 
you myself; and very glad 1 am that I have 

ue so." , 

Mow, mo wrd more— only one 

WO rd,u disagreeable subject of portion. 

I must make one condition, and this 1 will ad- 
here to inexorably— I shall receive no mar- 
riage portion with your daughter. My estate 
yields mem income of iifteen thousand per 
annum. This, With the proceeds ot what I 
have ,n youi hands, will enable us to live as 
well -in Brittany. I have some sixty 

thousand francs of savings in the handsel my 
agent at Rennes, which will be sufficient to 
JuVniah my old chateau in a style worthy oi 
.tress. Such is my fortune : mod- 
Eat, enough, it is true; but large enough, 
Unless I misjudge b -ratify all the wants 

1 i i i 

,. w . other way, than to le 

[icatc and refined 

lfe -I see that ; and 

,11 not oppose your wishes, my dear «.de 
Ker EUio, or rather, my dear son-in-law, U t 
may be permitted to call you so." 

" Hold ! hold ! monsieur ; you make me 
too happy. I tremble lest something— no, 
no, I cannot believe that such rapture is in 
■tore for rne !" 



44 Why, what is there so extraordinary in 
this affair? You are a good match for The- 
reae — you like her— I like you." 

44 Yes, yes, I understand : but if you only 
knew what reason I had to think my good 
fortune extraordinary 



44 Oh ! well, so much the better, then, it 
you think so. But do you know, that I per- 
ceived that you were a little taken with The- 
rese when you first saw her :»t dinner the 
other day?— a little taken, 1 say; but, mon 
Dieu! I had no idea that your passion for her 
was so intense. T 'm rather a sharp-sighted 
old fellow, you see. Now, then, to-morrow 
evening at nine, I will present you to my fam- 
ily as my future son-in-law ; and then we will 
arrange the marriage contract, and settle some 
other formalities, which, I have no doubt, we 
can agree upon without difficulty. So adieu, 
my dear Ker EUio. I had some vague hopes 
of this result when I entered this house ; but 1 
had no idea that they would be so promptly 

realized." 

44 And you really do believe, monsieur, 

that Mademoiselle Therese " 

44 Now, now, do n't ask me to say anything 
more — have some compassion on the poor 
girl's modesty, at least, you gay deceiver, 
replied M. Dunoyer, with a meaning smile ; 
44 do n't forget to-morrow evening, at nine. 

The banker departed, and left Ewen almost 
stupefied with joyous emotions, which we shall 
not undertake to describe. 

The first thing that he did, was to hurry to 
the house of M. de Mental. He had not tor- 
fcited his agreement with him, but he was 
anxious to explain to him that a most unex- 
pected circumstance had rendered his services 
unnecessary. The count was not at home ; 
and the servant informed Ewen that it was 
doubtful whether he would return that night. 
The latter left a note, requesting him to call 
at his hotel early the next morning. 

A few words, now, in explanation ot the 
banker's sudden and off-handed proposal to 
Ewen. Notwithstanding his great wealth, 
M. Dunoyer was, at times, what, in hnancial 
dialect, is termed short. The heavy opera- 
tions In which he engaged, sometimes called 
for the use of all his disposable means ; and it 
so happened, that the pma>t °* rJ?wSJ 
considerable sum due to M. de Ker BUio, 
seemed likely to embarrass him m .al- 

though he had, himself, proffered to meet die 
whole amount on demand. 

M. Dunoyer, as has already been said, ob- 
served, at the dme, the impression that The- 
produccd upon the young baron. A 
Sought struck him at once, which he »peodil> 
dismissed os absurd, but subsequently recall- 
ed, as worthy of further consideration. Be- 
fore long, that thought resolved itself mi 
very feasible project; which was, to marry 
Therese to Ewen de Ker Elho. 

This union presented many advantages to 
M. AchiUe Dunoyer. The idea of marrying 



76 



THERESE DUNOYEE 



Therese without a dowry — of getting rid of 
this child, whose presence was a constant re- 
membrancer of dishonor; and the probability 
of his retaining the management of M. do 
Kvr Eilio's funds for an indefinite period, in- 
stead of being obliged to surrender them at 
once — these things prompted him to speedy 
and decisive action. 

M Dunoyer was one of those people who, 
by dint of precept and practice, early learn to 
divide mankind into two classes — rogues and 
dnjjes ; and no sooner had he set his eyes 
upon M. de Ker Ellio, than he ranked him 
in the lutter category. 

According to M. Achille's theory, then, if 
Ewen was simply smitten with the beauty of 
Therese, he would be glad enough to many 
her, without troubling himself about her por- 
tion. In this he was correct. As to the 
character of M. dc Ker Ellio, that was th« 
last thing that the banker concerned himself 
about ; if he even thought of it, it was only 
to call to mind an old saying of his father's: 
" Such sort of people are a great deal too 
honest for their own good." 

We have seen how well M. Dunoyer sue 
ceeded with his undertaking hitherto, and 
how fully Ewen had anticipated his utmost 
expectations, upon those points which he 
deemed most important. But, unhappily, 
there were other and insurmountable ob- 
stacles to the success of the banker's projects. 
Therese Dunoyer was passionately in love 
with M. de Montal ; and already her ruin, her 
dishonor, depended solely upon a man whose 
principles even Mademoiselle Julie did not 
think good enough to induce her to marry 
trim. 

We have already dwelt sufficiently upon 
the romantic character of Mademoiselle Du- 
noyer, her ill-directed course of reading, and 
the cruelty and injustice of her parents, as 
furnishing some excuse for the errors into 
which she had fallen. Since their first inter- 
view, M. de Montal had exhibited none of 
those traits of fashionable libertinism which 
M. Dunoyer had dwelt upon with such zest. 
The count had readily perceived, that any- 
thing of that kind would only disgust The- 
rese, whose beau-ideal of perfection was the 
melancholy and romantic Rene. 

We have remarked, that M. de Montal, 
taking his cue from the discovery which he 
had made of Therese's course of reading, 
had aesuuied a, pensive and. sum ken 

ajr, which hadWdeNhdWepcr ijupwasion 
upon the poor girl, because bo' entire! 
variance with the portrait her father had 
drawn of his new friend. 

M. de Montal lacked neither policy nor 
penetration ; he soon discovered that Therese 
was a girl of noble and generous instincts, 
rather than of fixed principle ; that her ideas 
bad been inflated by her injudicious reading ; 
ttal she had become, in a measure, reckless 
from ill-treatment, and that it had been im. 



'k 



possible for her to have any confidence in, od 
respect for, her father or mother. I; 
the count had seen at a glance, what a fe^H 
influence he could obtain over this poor dfl 
left as she was entirely to herself, and "l^H 
unprotected from the snares he might aoT 
h( r. 

His aim was, first to win her affflM^ 
and then to seduce her ; and he succeed^ 
Wholly neglected by her mother, Then 
had never met a man who could c 
with M. de Montal ; and then ho sm dB 
sadly and so sweetly upon her ; he comM 
bended and assimilated so to the poetietl 
character of Rene, that it seemed as if n 
world, with new hopes and new plcosnjH 
was opened to her, and she was no lo^H 
alone in spirit. Then M. de Montal h9 
for her sake, abandoned a woman whorri^B 
whole fashionable world was mad in pi^H 
of, and spent whole days in solitude, I a 
mean lodging, that he might be near her. 
Yes; this man, so elegant and so recheVchi, 
had deserted his convenient abode and gay' 
acquaintances, that he might taste the eupremt 
happiness of being under the same roof wH 
his Therese ; and was not his love also fl 
ardent as it was honorable?. He had not 
made his proposal to the banker, because jB 
wished first to satisfy himself of her love — he 
would only marry for love, and that love must 
be as passionate as her ov 

'Tis unnecessary to say, that the man 
whom we have seen descend to such bail 
iiens, such subserviency, such low cunniin 
and such an affectation of unbounded att^H 
ment, to obtain the hand, or rather, the purss 
of the fair but frail Julie ; a man who had non 
hesitated to prostitute even the me; 1 1 
his mother to effect his unworthy dcstt^H 
in a word, that M. de Montal — whose whojfl 
life had been one tissue of fraud and diasimu. 
lution, who was capable of resorting to eva9 
artifice, or descending to any trick — couK 
meet with no difficulty in beguiling a you 
and inexperienced heart, which, sorely wo 
ed by unkindness, grasped, with avidity, 
the first offering of affection ; and was 
grateful for being permitted to love, a? ford* 
love that was lavished upon her. 

Few young girls — alas ! but few— if p| 
in the situation of poor Therese, would 
been able to have resisted the all 
which were held out to her ; espei 
those allurements wf re accompanied by 
fepions gfthe-moat hn rnMhU | yMM 

M. de Mont 

success of most men like him—.' 

so astonishing, when their i 

in all really desirable or valuable qualities, it 

taken into consideration — it must be redffl 

lected, that they have acquired the faculty of 

appearing humble, tender-hearted, sorrow^ 

but uncomplaining, and devoted, even to toe 

extent of servility. Such people please wo» 



L UMW 

ouoj 

is M 




A PROPOSITION. 



77 



men like Mademoiselle Julie, because, as we 
hive been, such women mnke use of them. 
They deceive children like Therese, because 

girls are full of pity, and always in- 
twe : ' 1 to auncr. 

.:ly, that it was by ap- 
pealing I on and generosity, that 

ic Montal made the most powerful impression 
upon the heart of Thcr* -. M. de Beaure- 
gard had foretold, preci , the result ot 
connection with the Ik or and his wile. 
Mot: id Madame 1 ioyer, for a time, 

plumed themselves gri apon their in. 

timocy with the Count de Montal ; and the 
banker actually did lend him somo two nun. 
dred louie, which tho count took a peculiar 
pleasure in expending apon his attempts 
qainfit Therese. But fi.. ling that he did not 
reap all the advant; had expected from 

utance, and that his prospect 
irele of the golden 
yout , was as remote as ever ; M. 

Dunoyer soon waxed weary of being a milch 

he called it, and began by degrees to 
the cold-shoulder to his once admired 

friend, de Montal. 

Indifferent as M. Dunoyer was to the fate 
of Therese, he would never have consented to 
her marriage with M. de Montal ; not that he 
regarded her interest or happiness m the 
slightest degree, for neither he nor Madame 
Dunoyer took the least pains to conceal their 
aversion to her ; but because he had no mind 
to bestow upon her even the smallest dowry, 
and he feared lest a poor son-in-law should 
be a charge upon him, and de Montal he knew 
was utterly bankrupt. tJ .. A 

The count was by no means disturbed by the 
obstacles which presented themselves to his 
view. On the contrary, he doubted not, that 
they would further his designs upon Therese, 
by exciting her passions until they drove her 
to her ruin. Having at length assured him- 
•elf of the unbounded attachment of his mis- 
tress, he proceeded to reveal to her the pre. 
tended secret with which ho had so long tan- 
talized her. , t- 
With a flood of tears, the count avowed to 
the young girl, that he was poor, even to the 
verge of beggary- He had (as he said) for a 
I time been depending upon the resu! 
Jwsuit, which involved his whole property. 
.je suit had gone against him, and his 
hones were for ever extinguished. It was not 
property, it was not the prospect of wretched- 
neae which appalled him. No! from all 
these he could escape by suicide— but it was 
the sore necessity of resigning his pretensions 
to the hand of Therese, which he deplored ; 
for the was rich, and his delicacy of feeling 
upon the subject of pecuniary obligation, made 
their marriage impossible. 

These s. manifested themselves rath- 

*r late in the day, it is true— but that cir- 
cumstance never occured to Mademoiselle 
Dunoyer ; on the contrary, her romantic gen- 



erosity revolted at the idea, that any consider- 
ations of vulgar interest should enter into the 
calculations of M. de Montal ; and she re- 
proached him bittorly, for even recognizing 
the existence of such a thing as wealth, ex- 
cept the wealth of love— was it her fault, she 
asked, that she was rich ? 

The interview at which this avowal waa 

made, took place in the garden de Monceau. 

Miss Hubert was indisposed, and Therese with 

her young sister had taken their daily walk, at- 

tended only by her own maid. The maid it 

will be recollected, de Montal had already 

won to his purposes, and she without difficulty 

managed to lead off Clementine, and leav» 

the count and Therese teie-a-tOtc. ,. % 

M. de Montal left the young girl sad, 

alarmed, and sorely grieved at the nature of 

his scruples ; she passed a wretched night, 

and her love for the count was augmented to> 

madness— by the dread of losing him by a 

violent death. 

Nothing is more touching, nothing, we had 
almost saTd, more sacred than the sorrow ot 
the poor but proud uncomplaining man, who 
bears up bravely against his trials and endures 
his privations with eilcnt resolution. But the 
part which M. de Montal was enacting, to ex- 
cite the pity and insure the affection of a 
young and rich girl, by exhibiting before her 
f yes the most frightful pictures of penury and 
want; by talking to her of the cold and nun. 
ger which he expected to enduce j of the rags 
in which he woufd have to be clothed, and of 
the fearful alternative of self-murder, as the 
unly means by which he could escape these 
horrors— was base and ignoble beyond all 
power of expression. 

The next day after the interview, Therese, 
hearing M. de Montal pacing the floor o. his 
little apartment, over her head, wrote the fol- 
lowing words upon a slip of paper, which she 
watched her opportunity to put beneath his 

« f must speak with you— wait for mc- my 
sister goes out at three o'clock." 

Notwithstanding, she was fully aware of the 
danger of the step she was taking, at t, hree 
o'clock Therese entered the chamber of M. 
de Montal-terrifiod, and full of anxiety 
She conjured him not to make her miserable 
for ever, but to go at once to M. Dunoyer, and 
ask her hand, assuring him that he would not 

be refused. , . 

M. de Montal was very careful, this time, 
not to alarm the blind confidence wmch 
Therese had manifested, by any act of indis. 
-retion. He soothed her as best he could, 
blamed her imprudence, and even entreated 
her to hurry back to her apartment— promis- 
ing to reflect upon what she had said. 

It was two days after this mff**'** 
M. de Ker Ellio confided to M. de Montal the 
secret of his love f ^o;and the samo 

day, Ewen received from the banker tho vol. 
untary offer of his daughter's hand. 



! 



79 



THERRSE DUNOYER. 



> 



We have seen, that after this interview with 
the baron, M. de Montal sat down and wrote 
tin; oue to Mademoiselle Julie, the 
r to Therese ; and this last letter conceived 
in the MOW that it was, and arriving at the 
critical period it did, could scarcely fail to 
have its desired effect. At three o'clock 
Therese was at his door. 

The suite of apartments occupied by M. de 
Montal in the hotel OK M. Dunoyer, consisted 
of three .small rooms — an ante-chamber, with 
» cabinet on the left, and a bed-room upon the 
right — into the latter he conducted Therese. 
Having closed the door, the count fell upon 
his knees before the young girl, and hid his 
face in his hands, without uttering a word. 
Therese, pale and trembling, sustained herself 
with difficulty, by leaning against the man- 
tel-piece — her huge black eyes swam in tears, 
her lips quivered, and her bosom palpitated 
with violence. 

After a silence of some minutes M. de 
Montal looked up — he was weeping bitterly, 
(the scoundrel possessed the art of doing so 
at will) he clasped his hands, and in a voice 
broken by sobs exclaimed : 

" Therese ! it is decided — adieu ! adieu for- 
ever !" 

M. de Montal, as we have before said, 
had a countenance which was capable of 
being modelled into almost any expression, 
and he was a perfect master of the art — when 
then, with a heart-broken and despairing look, 
he uttered those fatal words, " adieu ! adieu 
for ever !" Therese was moved to the inmost 
depths of her soul, and her passion was excited 
to such a pitch, that forgetful of her alarm, she 
exclaimed : 

" No ! no ! not for ever — I know not what 
you arc about to tell me — I know not what 
evil impends ; but this I swear — nothing, 
nothing, shall separate me from you !" 

" But, Therese, I am poor, steeped to the 
lips in poverty, and when my present resour- 
ces (already nearly exhausted,) are gone, I 
have nothing before me but the most abject 
misery and want." 

" Oh ! mon Dieu ! mon Dieu ! sobbed 
Therese. He ! he reduced to that ! Mon 
Dieu ! pity us !" 

" I admit that it is weakness — cow. 
ardice if you please. But I cannot encounter 
poverty. Think of it ! Then to be cold, 
hungry, and houseless ! And that through a 
long life, perhaps. No ; I must die ! Death 
—death is a thousand times preferable to such 
an existence." 

" But me — me ! What is to become of 
me, if you kill yourself? Oh ! can you be so 
fearfully selfish, as to desert me ? And all 
because I am rich and you poor, by unavoida. 
ble accident ? Is it for this you will throw 
away your life and my love ?" 

" Therese, it would be an act of infamy for 
me to unite my unhappy fate will* yours. A 
fatality has lain in wait for mc during my 



whole life ; and now, at the moment wh©n. ; 
perfect felicity is within my grasp, it exacts 
die fearful penalty of death ! Oh ! is it not 
horrible ?" 

" Hold ! hold ! Edward, you will drive me 
mad. Your cruel disinterested nem will ct 
me. I shall commit some frightful excessj 

" Therese — my love, be calm ! In Heavct 



ne, be calm !" 



ettfl 

luwr, 



" I will go at once to my father, a__ 
him all," exclaimed Therese, in a tone or 
desperate resolution which alarmed the ce^H 
with whose pla such an exposure wa^H 
no means consistent. 

" Beware ! Do nothing of that kind it yon 
love me." 

" Fear nothing, Edward ; I will manafl^| 
with all discretion. You have said yourefV 
that you were never happier than in thj$' 
humble retreat. Upon how small a sfifl 
could we not live, in some retired <■■ 
the country ? — upon almost nothing. W^J 
will only ask my father for a bare su 
ence. Do you object, even to that ?'' 
Mademoiselle Dunoyer, startled, at a get 
of dissatisfaction on the part of her lovL 
which she took for another evidence of the 
most insuperable disinterestedness. " WelL 
then, Edward, I will ask for nothing — noth. 
ing. I can work; I can sew; I can em- 
broider. My education has not boen at 
frivolous as you suppose. A woman always 
has some resources. And besides, Edward, 
you have talent, and you will soon find 
some way of increasing our means, although 
you do not see how at present. At all events, 
I can work for both of us. Fear noth 
love will give me strength and courage . 
ahall be under obligations to no one, and 
make up for all deficiencies, by a supcrab^^| 
ance of our affection for each other." 

" And think you, that I would condemn 
you to such a life of privation and distress? 
You ! brought up in affluence, end accm- 
tomod to luxury? Oh, never! never!" ex, 
claimed M. de Montal, frightened at the 
unbounded disinterestedness of the young 
girl. " But even if I were base enough to 
be willing so to do, it is now too late." 

" Too late ! What mean you 

" The billet I wrote you " 

" Ah, true ! You announced some nrw 
misfortune. Mon Dieu! what is it ! Tell 
me quickly." 

" Be tranquil, Thorese. I implore you, be 
calm, or I can never tell you. - " 

" I am calm— go on — go on. I will li 
quietly." 

" You have seen M. De Ker Ellio here 
"The Breton whom you laughed so much 
at?" 

" Yes. How do you like him ?" 
" What ! I l» 

" Yes. What do you think of h 
" Mon Dieu ! I never have thought of liim 
at all. You ridiculed him, and thut made me 






A PROPOSITION. 



7d 



think with regret of poor Brittany, for which 

I have always had a sort of instinctive love." 

"Bu lid you think of him person. 

ally 

What a question ! I scarcely noticed 
him ; he seemed to me rather an insignificant 
sort of person. ,But why. do you ask?" 

Vou must know that M. Do Ker Ellio, 

ray cousin, has an estate worth some twenty 

thousand francs a year in Brittany, besides a 

iarfe amount on dcposite with your father.'' 

Ill well?" 

"And M. De Ker Ellio has asked your 

My hand !" 

Yes ; to-day he made me his envoy to 

announce his wishes to your father. Do you 

under- tand ? You see, then, that all is lost, 

and I cannot profit by your generous self- 

oiion, if I would." 

What! because M. De Ker Ellio asks 

my hand ? Why, you are mad ! What mean 

you? Is it on tins account that you tell me 

that all is lost ? Ib this, then, the misfortune 

ii overhangs us?" 

•* And is this nothing?" 

" Nothing — positively nothing. If you love 

me us I love you " 

- Thereso, this language " 

" la such as I ought to use, since you will 
not use it yourself. What answer did you 
make to M. de Ker Ellio ?'» 
" I promised to do his errand to your fa- 

ther." 

" You promised that I" 

« I did. I feared that I should excite his 
suspicions if I refused." 

•• You were wrong. You should have said 
boldly, ' 1 love Thorese, and she returns my 
love— her hand belongs to me.' " 

" Therese, your excitability alarms me. 
i ailnct a recklessness which you do not 

Vnd will you make this demand ot -my 

father ?" 

■ I Imvo promised my cousin so to do, and 
I cannot avoid it without risk to your reputa. 
uon." 

" Ah ! You love not as I do. I should 
not fear the risk to my reputation. But since 
yoor word is gone forth, you must redeem it, 
wd ask my hand, then, tor this lover at first 

1 •itfrt." 

Your father is known to be so rich, The. 

m. n 

es; it in the rich banker's daughter, 

that the Breton wishes to marry, I doubt not." 

ell ; I .shall nak your hand of your fa- 

th> v cousin." 

"My father will inform me, and J shall tell 

fat I will wed no one but you." 
" Ala* ! Thereso ! Y our lather, seeing on 
the md u man, rich, economical, 

acquainted with business; on the other, an 
union unato gentleman reduced to poverty 



" Will prefer your cousin to you, undoubt* 
edly." 

" Alas ! it is but too true." 
" And I shall prefer you to your cousin—, 
which seeing that my hand is my own, is a 
matter of greater importance still." 
" But your father will persist." 
" But my resolution will be unshaken." 
" He will abuse you." 
" Let him." 

" He will shut his doors upon me." 
" Then I will come to you and say — Ed- 
ward, I am yours — your wife ; dispose of me 
as you will." 

" And if I refuse to unite .my wretched lot 
with yours." 
"If you refuse?" 
" Yes." 

" If you refuse ; that is, if you determine 
not to live in poverty, but take your own life." 
M. de Mental hung down his head and was 
ut. 
" I understand you. You will destroy your- 
self, rather than accept the devotion of a wo- 
man, who offers to share her wealth with you 
if you will, or share your poverty with you, if 
you prefer that she should do that.'' 
" Therese, you have no pity for me." 
"And you— what do you? My life, my 
heart, my soul, are all bound up in you, and 
you will kill yourself. Then I will die also." 
" Therese—" 

" I mean what I say. You know me — you 
have seen my resolution. At this Very mo- 
ment am I not here in your own bed-chamber 
at the risk of my reputation, which is dearer 
to me than life? Judge, then, what 1 will 
do, it tin man for whom I make this sacrifice 
shall basely destroy himself." 
" Basely, Therese !" 

" Yes, basely 1 for you distrust my love. 
It is impossible to describe the lofty energy 
of Therese, as she pronounced these words. 
M. de Montal allowed himself to be over- 
come — to be vanquished by her resolution, 
In a transport of love, most admirably feign- 
ed, he exclaimed — 

11 Therese, you have conquered. Oh, that 
I were worthy of such wonderful devotion ! 
but I will strive to emulate your generous 
courage— 1 will endeavor to deserve your 
love ; henceforth, come weal or wo, 1 have 
but one object, but one wish, on< and 

that is to bo united to you for e Yea, 

Thereso, I swear to you by au oath, which I 
e never broken, by the memory of my poor 
mother, happen what may, I am ydu»forev< 

"And I," cried Therese, with real rapture, 
" who know of nothing more holy, more sa- 
citfd, than my love for you, I swear by that 
never to be a Mothers." 

Her eyes brilliant with joy, she extended 

to M. de Montul, wl * them, 

and, with execrable hypocrisy, raised bis 

eyes to Heaven and pronounced these solemn 

words — 



*6 



THERESE DtJWOTER 



• 



> 



" Shade of my mother, look down from 
Heaven and bless this betrothal." 

After this, he # carried the wretched farce 
still further, by placing upon her finger the 
ring which he had formerly offered to Julia, 
and saying, with a broken voice and eyes 
running over with tears — 

" Theresc, in my poverty I have managed 
to retain one inestimable treasure — the ring 
which my dying mother gave 'me with her 
blessing; take it, Theresc, and let it be the 
pledge of my solemn faith." 

" Oh, now indeed you love me as I love 
you, else how could you part with this so sa- 
cred memento ? I will strive to deserve it. 
I accept it," said Therese, kissing the ring 
with equal respect and gratitude. " Now, 
Edward," she added, " before God and before 
your mother I am your wife." 

At this* momenf the rumbling of a carriage 
was heard, as it drove through the port- 
cochere. 

" It is my father," exclaimed the startled 
Therese. " He may Bend for me." 

" Hasten down, then, my love, quickly, and 
remembe r - " 
" That I am yours." 

" And I thine, Therese, thine for ever ; out 
give me a few days for reflection, as to what 
course we had best pursue, and in the mean- 
time say nothing to your father." 

" Fear not, my Edward, it is my duty to 
obey you now in all things." 

"To-morrow, at three o'clock, my dear 
Therese, I will tell you wha* I have resolved 
upon. Will you be here ?" 

" Will I, Edward? Yes, yes, now I can 
eome without fear or shame," said the young 
girl, displaying the ring and kissing it with 
animation. 

"Angelic girl!'' exclaimed M. de Montal, 
kneeling at her feet and covering her hands 
with kisses. 

Therese, with charming grace, bent gently 
forward, and with her lips touched lightly the 
forehead of M. do Montal ; then, in a low 
voice, she whispered— 

" This first kiss, my Edward, in the sacred 
name of your mother." 

She opened the door and disappeared. 



. 



CHAPTER XVI II. 

THE OFFER OF MARRIAGE. 

ABorr two o'clock of the day succeeding 
that of the last interview between Therese 
and De Montal, the young girl was summon- 
ed to the presence of hoi father. Accompa. 
mp.d by Miss Hubert, she accordingly went 
below 

Contrary to custom, she found Madam 
Dunoyer in her father's cabinet, and the lat- 
ter having dismissed Miss Hubert, Therese 
was left alone with her parents, whose grave 



and almost stern demeanor caused her ri 
small alarm. 

M. Dunoyer having ascertained that no one 
was within hearing, closed the door, and uk. 
ing his seat, addressed his daughter in a mm. 
ner at once authoritative and sententious?! 

" Notwithstanding you scarcely deserve ■ 
at our hands, (he began) your mother and I 
am about to give you a new mark of the inte. 
rest we take in your welfare." 

" Heaven grant she may not receive 
the same ingratitude that she has shewn for 
our other favors," observed Madame Dunoyer, 
spitefully. Something had occurred to re- 
mind her husband of the dishonor attending 
the birth of this unhappy child, and her mother 
seized the opportunity to appease the l-.mkw 
by manifesting her ill-will toward her daugli. 
ter. ♦ 

Therese was too much accustomed to such 
brutality to affect the least surprise. As wa& 
her custom, she merely looked down and wai 
silent. 

" What did I tell you ?" exclaimed Mad_ 
Dunoyer ; " look at her ; there she sits, m 
as a fish ; that is the way she receives all 
kind things that are said to or done for hu 

" The fact is, Therese," said M. Di 
•" you have a habit of making no unsw. 
you are reproved. There is nothing more i 
tensive than such an obstinate deportment. 
" Do you hear what is said to you 7** cri 
Madame Heloise ; " see the sullen thing 
her nose between her knees." 

Therese raised her head, and looked soro 
fully upon her mother. 

" Hum :" muttered tho latter ; " it takes 
to play the hypocrite." 

" You arc very severe upon mt, moii 
said Therese, in a sad tune of voice. 
" You bad better add — 'and very unjust. 
"Be calm, Heloise," .said the ban!. 
she intends any impertinence, she will i< 
it, when she knows what ;i kiiidnesj 
tend her." 

There are people— and M. Dun- 
his wife were of the number— who cm 
even confer a favor with a good grace, and 
as the progress of this interview will show. 
The banker and his lady, notwithatan 
the harshness of their commencement, really 
thought they were about to announce some- 
thing which would be very agreeable to 
daughter. The ill-humor of Madame Di 
yer might, indeed, have been partly attributed 
tu the jealousy she felt in seeing her daugh- 
ter so well provided for. 

M. Dunoyer continued with redoubled so. 
lemnity : " You arc, now, Therese, eighteen 
years of age — in a word, you are marriage, 
able." 

Tin young girl's heart beat violently ; bnt 
she collected all her strength for the encoun- 
ter. 

"Yes," continued tb< banker, "you are 
old enough to be married ; and by very greit 












AN OFFER 0? MARRIAGE 



61 




. = 



ge&dfortiiM, we have found a match for you ; 
a match beyond anything you had a right to 

" Yes — a much better match than you de- 
serve," repeated Madame Dunoyer, overflow- 
ing with pphe and jealousy. 

As soon as your banns arc published, you 
Will be :." continued M. Dunoyer; 

and now I hope you are satisfied." 
Then ho paused, and both patents expect- 
d a perfect explosion of gratitude. What 
wa* ration, when Therese remain- 

ed silent still. 

*' Look at her, Achille,'" ivied madame, at 
last. " There is gratitude for you. Did I not 
tell you she was not worthy of her good for- 
Jtunc ? But, monsieur, it is all a farce ; Bhe is 
delighted at the thought of being married ; 
only mademoiselle thinks it becoming to play 
the duchess, and ill-bred to display the satis- 
faction at imving caught a man." 

" Before I can be delighted at your infor- 
mation, my mother," replied Therese, " it is 
necessary that I should know to whom you 
propose to marry me." 

" Propose ! I propose ! did you ever hear 
the like of that, Achille T 

" You use the wrong word, There90," ob- 
served M. Dunoyer. " We do not propose 
to you to marry — we purpose to marry you. 
It is our wiil that you do marry; and that, 
because the match has been agreed upon, and 
it is too late to make any objections to it." 

"But, at least, you will let me. know the 
person you intend to marry me to, that 1 may 
judge whether he will suit- me or not ?" said 
Therese, in a firm voice. 

M. and Madame Dunoyer exchanged a 
glance of surprise, and shrugged their shout- 
ders. 

" Well, if that is not too ridiculous 1" ex- 
claimed the mother. "I presume nothing 
ahort of a love-match will suit you, made- 
moiselle ?" 

" Do not answer, Heloise," said the bankor 
— u it is enough for you to know, mademoi- 
selle, that the porson referred to will salt you 
exactly — he is young, rich, and noble." 

Vee, a baron 1 nothing lees than a ba- 
on !'* cried madume ; " and my lady sticks 
p her nose at the thought of being a lady 
aroneas." 

In a word," said M- Dunoyer, " the per- 
son in question, is M. le Baron do Kor Ellio, 
who dined with us some days since. And 
now, I hope yon will show something like 
a grateful and child.like feeling. He has 
» handsome landed estate, besides more than 
two hundn d thousand francs in my hands; 
his rents, alone, bring him in fifteen thousand 
its a year. What moro could you ask 
than this? In my opinion, it is o siu 
match. To-morrow evening I shall formally 
present to you, your future husband ; and in 
a month, you will be married." 
" But," answered Therese, whose eyes be- 



gan to fill with tears — " but M. de Ker Ellio 
knows nothing of me, nor*l of him. I have 
had no opportunity of judging of his quali- 
ties ; and how* then, can I appreciate him ? 
He is ignorant of my character ; how, then, 

can " 

" Is it possible that you have the audacity 
to dream of disputing my will?" said M. 
Dunoyer, in a low, savage tone, as he ap- 
proached his daughter. 

" Now you see — now you. boc, Achilla I 
I told you so ; she is capable of ' anything," 
ejaculated Madame Dunoyer. " Oh ! that 
girl will kill us, with her perverseness." 

" The happiness of my whole life is at 
stake, and I am determined, not to enter into 
an irrevocable engagement, of which my 
heart does not approve," replied Therese, 
bravely. 

" Do you hear her, Achille ? Was there 
ever such effrontery ?" cried madam. 

"Therese, you must be mad! Do you 
suppose, that anything you can say will pre- 
vent me from marrying you, when I hav» 
found a match, that suits my convenience 
and inclination 1 — a better one than I ever 
expected V 

11 What folly ! — what nonsense I" put in ma- 
dame ; " refuse to be a baroness, with an in- 
come of five-and-twenty thousand a year ? 
Why, who do you expect to marry, my lady ? 
a prince? One would think that you had 
sprung from the loins of Jupiter Olympus!" 

This delicate allusion lb the extraction of 
Therese, was ill-timed. The banker knit his 
brows, and threw a withering glance upon 
his helpmate 

Madame Dunoyer regretted, too late, her 
imprudence ; and fortunate it was for her, that 
in Therese, her husband had a vessel at hand 
to receive the outpourings of his wrath. 

With nostrils distended, and his livid lips 
covered with foam, he approached the young 
girl and hisiod in her ear, " It is with me then, 
that you would strive, ia it? — bo it so— but 
know you not, that I could utter one word, 
which would make you glad to hide yourself 
an hundred feet beneath the earth? Know 
you not, that I could crush you beneath my 
feet? Did you eter see me in my wrath? 
Behold !" and he seized her by both her arms 
and forced her to look him in the face — it was 
the face of a demon. 

Madame, delighted to see her husband's 
anger directed to Therese, joined him in his 
reproaches and dueats. 

" Never mind, Achille," she cried, " we'll 
bring her around ; she shall be humbled, or 
I'll know the reason why. Refuse such a 
match, indeed ! We'll see. we'll seel Now 
to begin, she shall go to her chamber, and 
there she shall stay, with nothing but bread 
to eat and water to drink, until M. de Ker 
Ellio comes — and then if she does not receive 
him as she should do, wo to her ! wo to her !" 

41 But no 1" replied M. Dunoyer, " I cannot 



83 



THERESE D Tf N O 7 E R 



brlieve it possible that she really meditates 
an open opposition ^o our will. She is not 
such a fool — she only wants to be coaxed, 
Heloise. Tell me !" he cried, turning sharply 
to Therese — " tell me, have you the audacity 
to look me in the luce, and say you will not 
obey me ?" 

" I say," replied Therese, with astonishing 
firmness — " I say that I cannot, and will not 
decide at a moment's warning, to marry a 
man I know nothing about — and I say besides, 
that abuse and bad treatment will only con- 
firm me in my resolution !" 

" Indeed ! and think you I have no resolu- 
tion, also ?" thundered M. Dunoyer. " Do 
you think, that when I have an opportunity 
of ridding myself of you, that 1 will let it pass 
unimproved ?'' 

Coarse and brutal as the banker was, he 
could not help feeling a twinge of conscience 
when he saw the desolate and heart-broken 
expression which flitted across the counte- 
nance of Therese, at this cruel speech from 
one she thought her father. But his wife, 
with a soul more base and unfeeling still, felt 
no such scruple ; and taking up the thread of 
discourse that he had left, she cried : 

" Yes ! to rid ourselves of you : Achille was 
right — that is the word, and a happy day it 
will be for us, when we are delivered from 
the presence of such a mauvais sujet as you 
are." 

Therese was cruelly wounded ; but these 
bitter words seemed to throw a new light up- 
on the affair. She determined to profit by her 
position, and at the risk of exciting the sus- 
picions of the banker, she exclaimed : 

" Mon dieu ! mon dieu ! if all you want is 
to get rid of me, what matters it to you, 
whether I marry M. de Ker Ellio, or anoth- 
er?" 

I It matters a great deal to me," replied M. 
Dunoyer. " Your marriage is a business 
transaction with me. M. de Ker Ellio has 
funds in my hands ; and these funds, he has 
agreed (upon becoming your husband,) to 
leave in my hands to use as I see fit. Now 
do you understand 7" 

" But you are entirely too good to conde- 
scend to such explanations," cried Madame 
Dunoyer ; " is it our place to give her reasons 
for what we do '.'" 

" Certainly not ; but I wish to convince her 
that this marriage must take place, not only 
because it is for her advantage, but because it 
is tor my advantage — so that she may under- 
stand, that if I were even weak enough to con- 
sult her inclinations, my own interest would 
not permit me to do so.'' 

H So, you sell me, my father, for the privi- 
lege of using this stranger's money in your 
speculations 1" cried Therese, with indigna- 
tion ; " and do you think I could embrace a 
man, who would buy me after such a fash- 
ion?" 

Begone, wretch ! begone !" thundered M. 



<« 



Dunoyer : "get you to your chamber and Nh 
main there! To-morrow, M. de Ker Ellio 
will be here ; I will come and fetch you down 
myself— and we Ml see who will have their 
way, you or I !" 

Therese, her eyes bathed in tears, scotch- 
ed out her hands in supplic toward bet 
father and mother : she would have implored 
their mercy, but such was the bitter maligni- 
ty with which they returned her look - of en- 
treaty, that she could not humble herself to 
ask for pity — she raised her head, and with 
port erect and haughty bearing, she exclaim. 
ed : " It is war, then, is it? Be it so! I 
will never prosper those who sacrifice theii 
children " 

" What audacity ! what insolence !" mut- 
tered Madame Dunoyer, to herself, " ah ! how 
that look reminds me of the most execrable of 
men." 

" You wish for war, thon, do you ?" cried 
the banker, furiously ; " take care of yourself 
— you will be broken to pieces " 

" You may break me, but you shall never 
bend me !'' replied Therese, going toward 
the door. 

" Wretch!" exclaimed the banker, "dure 
you speak thus to me ? Know, then, in one 
word that " 

"Achille! oh, Achille ! — for my sake, at 
least — not now !" cried Madame Drtno 
terrified, lest her husband in his wrath should 
betray her disgraceful secret to Therese. 

But the latter, in her grief, anger, and d 
pair, had not noticed the remark of M. Du- 
noyer. She hastened out of the room, shut- 
ting the door with violence — only anxious to 
escape from the cause and the witnesses of 
her sorrow, and to inform M. dc Montal of 
what had taken place. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

THE AVOWAL. 

Let us now return to the humble lodging* 
of M. de Ker Ellio. The time shall be 
day appointed for his presentation to M 
moiselle Dunoyer as her future husband— the 
day after the painful interview between The. 
rese and her parents, which we have tie 
bed in the lost chapter. 

Unbounded joy, like the deepest sorrow 
attended by a sort of feverish excitemem 
agitation. Ewen was not to see Th< 
evening, but his preparations were madi 
the morning. Fifty times during the day, he 
went out without any particular object, and 
returned restless and unsatisfied ; his com 
nance was full of anxiety and exojtemi 
but predominant over all, an expression of the 
most radiant joy pervaded his features. 

"Oh! how the time lags!*' s< liloquized 
Ewen ; " those cursed quarter-hours seem so 
long. How tedious it is to wait for coming 
happiness ; it is almost painful ! hours of sor. 



■ 






•THE AVftWAL. 



S3 



$aw pasa more rtpidly, I verily believe. So 
Jul notice me. She is satisfied Witt 
,88 8he was touched by the eino- 
i I could not refrain from exhibiting. Her 
,nsi ut., too. She will be my wife! 
,\ Well, 1 think our good abbe 
„« will Bay no more about my sense- 
, „s he calls them. If I had not 
ih-,1— if I had not invoked that charming 
Kttvom. I should have married some buxom 
■oni ce country damsel ; but now— it is 

Knelt' that I espouse ! Yes ! my dream-girl 
fa] the flesh, and gifted with all those rare and 
aring qualities I so much crave. Is not 
.hi. a prodigy; it is as if some beneficent 
fairy had employed herself in realizing the 
wild imaginings of one of human race." 

But we will not follow our love-stricken 
■wain in his long soliloquy, for it lasted till 

night-fall. : . 

A waiter knocked at the chamber door; 
admitted, he entered with a light, and, ad. 
-ing M. do Ker Ellio, said : 
Monsieur, there in a woman below who 
salts to speak with you '." 

" With me'!" repeated Ewen, in surprise. 
« Yes, monsieur \ ah a" for M. le Ba- 

ron de Ker Ellio, which is, 1 believe, your ad- 
dress." 

"Admit her," said the baron. 
A woman, with a black hat upon her head, 
and her person enveloped in a mantle, enter- 
ed, and saluted the baron respectfully; the 
waiter retired, and Ewen inquired : 

" What is your pleasuro with me, madam I 
" My business is o<" grave import," replied 
his visitor, handing Mm a billet. 

Ewen opened it and read tho following 

words: 

«« [n (fee iiiiuio of your honor and your loy- 
alty, monsieur, 1 conjure you to follow the 
bearer of this note, without asking her any 
questions, to the place where she will conduct 
Sou. Tmaan Du» 

The baron looked for a moment upon his 

visitor With stupid amazement, and In n said: 

'• Madam, 1 am at your service." 

He followed the mysterious messenger, who 

was no other than Rosalia, the femm^M 

ellc Dunoyer, in p» 
A liacre stood at tho door oi 
hotel, into which they mounted ; and, at 
drive of sonn h •ngth— during which, E 
underwent tip mortal agony of anxiety, sus- 
pense, and evil pi nent — they were set 
down at the door of M. Punoyer. The i 
was dark, but Ewen recognized the house. 

m i •. ; go up the gram ;iso," whis- 

pered his conductor, "but come tins way 

with mt 

The portor, at the sight of Mademoiselle 

Dunoyer's woman, permitted her companion 
to pass without question. 

en followed the young woman up the 
back staircase, till they reached tho floor upon 



which M. de Mental's apartment was situated ; 
the door of which, she opened gently, and 
then said to the baron : 
" Enter, monsieur ; mademoiselle is within. 
Ewen found himself in a room which was 
quite dark, for it was now six in the evening ; 
in the adjoining chamber, however, was a light, 
aud there he saw Mademoiselle Punoyer. 

Thcrese, pale as a corpse, and, with the ex- 
cept ion of her brilliant black eyes, almost as 
death-like, leaned against the mantel-piece ; 
the expression of her countenance curdled 
the blood in the baron's veins. 

At his first interview with the young girl, in 
comparing her with the mysterious portrait of 
Treff Hartlog, Ewen had been struck with 
the physical rather than the moral resemblance 
of her features, to that strange original ; for 
Therese, upon that occasion, had a sweet 
and modest, though somewhat sad and melan- 
choly bearing. But now, in her imperious, 
lofty, and contemptuous glance, he recognized 
the ill-omened rogard of the evil angel of his 
house ; and his superstitious feeling, once more 
aroused, mingled with the other painful emo- 
tions which agitated his mind, and gave liim 
a look at once embarrassed, wild, and haggard. 
After some moments of silence, Therese 
addressed him in a sharp and irritated tone of 
voir: 

" Po you know where you are, monsieur'" 
" In the apartment which you occupy with 
your sister, I presume, mademoiselle," replied 
the baron. 

Therese smiled bitterly. 

"You are in theapartmentofM.de Mental." 

«• In the apartment of M. de Montal ! really, 

mademoiselle, I do not comprehend " 

I tell you, monsieur — you, who would 



purchase me as you would a dumb brute of 
my fathor — that I am in the apartment of M. 
de Montal." 

" Mademoiselle!" 
Vou perceive, monsieur, that your bargain 
cannot be « uto effect. M. de Montal 

with me but an hour since." 

" But M. de Montal does not reside here !" 
cried Ewen." 

" You afl wonderfully hard of understand- 
ing, monsieur; but. I will explain: M. de 
Montal, for a long time past, has occupied 
these lodgings ; and here ho occasionally pas- 
ses whole days. When I can escape obser- 
vati. me up and keep him company ; in 

a word, M. de Montal is my lover. Do you 
still wish to marry me, monsieur ?" 

Mwen groaned aloud, and hid hi* face in his 

hands. 

" Now, monsieur," continued Therese, con- 
temptuously, " you have my secret. In sn 
hour, my father and mother will bo visible ; 
go and tell them what you have discovered." 

" Mon dieu ! mon dieu !" murmured Ewen, 
feebly. 

I am not going to appeal to your gene. 
rosity, to induce you to renounce your pre- 



«4 



VSBRKSB BTTNOYEB* 




tension to my hand, monsieur," continued 
Therese ; " but I tell you now, plainly, that 
if you persist in your hateful addresses, I will 
die 1 I sweur before God ! I will undergo a 
thousand deaths, rather than be your wife. I 
have already given you one example of my 
resolution ; judge for yourself, whether I am 
like to do what I say." 
"And it was for thif, then, that you sum- 

moned me?" 

" I sent for you, to tell you that I would be 
the wife of DO other man than M. de Montal ; 
but I fear even this will not deter you from 
persevering in your suit— my father is sq 
rich .'" 

" To be suspected of such a motive !' ex- 
claimed Ewen, in sombre despair. 

" Suspected of such u motive !" repeated 
Thcreee, with indignation ; " why not ? Has 
your conduct been that of a man of honor 
and loyalty? Indifferent whether it would 
bo agreeable to me or not ; ignorant even of 
my character, feelings, or disposition, and 
without any affection for me, (for you never 
saw me but once,) you take advantage of my 
fathers cupidity to obtain my hand by force 
— yes ! by force ; for it was not even thought 
necessary to ask my consent as a matter of 
form. I have been ordered, peremptorily and 
brutally orde»ed, to marry you ; and that order 
has been accompanied with abuse and men- 
aces, in case I dared to hesitate. You, mon- 
sieur, I look upon as either the author or 
abettor of the base treatment to which I have 
been subjected ; and I tell you plainly, I hate 
you for it." 

■ How have 1 been deceived ! Mon Dieu ! 
how have I been deceived !" 

" You arc astonished, I presume, monsieur, 
that 1 am not too happy to share your wealth, 
or, rather, to increase it by what you supposed 
I should bring you. Yes, it is the daughter 
of the opulent banker that you wish to marry, 
monsieur ; and you thought that you were 
making a great bargain by leaving your funds 
in the hands of my father, who would take 
good care of the interests of his son-in-law.*' 

" Oh ! misery — misery!" murmured Ewen; 
" what a fatality pursues me I My destiny 
must be accomplished !" 

" You hardly expected to be so thoroughly 
understood, monsieur. But I have not done 
with you yet. Shame upon you 1 — not only 
unfeeling and ungallant to a woman, you must 
break your faith and forfeit your word to your 
friend. Yes ! you promised M. dc Montal 
to await the result of an application which 
you requested him CO make to my father ; and 
meanwhile, you secretly and basely seek to 
make my hand the subject of traffic, without 
giving notice to your friend, or regarding your 
promise to him." 

"What! 17— I?" exclaimed Ewen, con- 
founded at this new accusation. 

" Yea I" continued Therese, with exulta- 
tion, " And now , contrast your conduct with 



that of de Montal, if you are capable of ap.. 
predating such chivalric probity and honor» 
Know that he, although he loved me, although 
he knew that I returned his love, was about, 
at any cost or sacrifice to himself, to urge 
your suit loyally and faithfully upon my father; 
and this, at the very moment when you had 
broken your faith to hiui ! Have you the pre- 
sumption now, monsieur, to lay claim to a 
rl that already belongs to such a man? 
If so, your vanity must be overweening, or 
your stupidity unfathomable 

As BOine excuse for this violence and injus- 
tice on the part of Therese, it must be borne 
in mind that she was still under the influence 
of that terror which M. de MontaPs threats 
of suicide had inspired ; that she was smart- 
ing under the undeserved abuse o( her parents, 
and that she attributed all her sufferings and 
all her wrongs to the coarse and heartless 
selfishness of M. de Ker Ellio, who she sup- 
posed was ready to sacrifice every generous 
emotion to the love of gain. 

The baron hung down his head in silence* 
There are circumstances under which expla- 
nation seems impossible. Ewen had fallen 
from such a height, that he had not the strength 
left to defend himself, He was literally bu- 
ried under the ruins of his hopes. Crushed, 
stunned, he was conscious of but one thing ; 
and that was the necessity of obeying The- 
rese, and withdrawing all pretensions to her 
hand. 

In his weakness, he had sunk into a chair, 
and there he sat, looking upon the ground, 
scarcely manifesting any signs of life, except 
the convulsive closing of his left hand, at in- 
tervals, as it hung over the back of the scat. 

Therese regarded him with mingled unea- 
siness and contempt. She attributed his si- 
lence to sharnc ; but it was not long before 
she experienced a re-action of the terrible en. 
ergy that had animated her ; and the refler 
that she had so exposed herself to a man, with 
whom she was wholly unacquainted, caused 
a feverish anxiety and disquiet. At length, 
she almost began to be alarmed at the sullm 
deportment of one whom she had treated so 
cruelly. 

The baron, at last, raised his head. 
strongly marked countenuuc.e wore an iwprr- 
sion of the deepest anguish ; tears stood it 
hie eyes, und his death-like paleness was rei 
dered still more sinking, by contrast with 
dark brown hair. He rose, approached 1 
rose, took her band and, lookinj 

face with a 8 w> melancholy go 

in a low tone : 

" Yes, it is the same — the same cold le 
— the same bitter smile. Mor Nader was 
right : the flowers of the tomb alone blossom 
in the black month. Oh ! fatal, fatal destiny of 
mine ! it must be accomplished — ay, and 
yours, too, poor girl ; but so sad — so sad a 
one." 

At these words, pronounced by Ewen, with 



VEWGE AMCS. 



flft 



entt of desolation and despair, which could 

i be misunderstood, Therese perceived that 

r angt i ontempt wore fast giving place 

« new and undefined sentiment. Byeome 

ible psychological phenomenon, she 

it was made conscious, that the 

M her hand within Ins own, and 

but so ly, in her fa 

real presence of that id 

I, and "!' whom de Montal was 
mtoni. \ I light, for one 

bent, broke in upon Therese, and she s 
H* truth before her. 

. istence of this vision, as fleet 

and a brilliunt as the lightning, the young 

firl • i'. r own image and that of Ewen 

^^Ht beaming forth raya of calm and holy 

^^Bn. But E wen's hand trembled with- 

wn ; the charm was broken ; the cur- 

^Ha of darkness and ignorance fell over the 

Hnc, and she awoke aa from a dream. 

lie saw before her only a coarse and 

Hah man. who, intimidated by her resolu- 

Bit sought to defend himself by base subter. 

[ Wlmt .shall wt make of this wild and fugi. 

Impression, which the mind of Therese 
i one moment, only to lose it tin: 
ever ? Was it not 000 of those iri- 
reiationa which betoken tho exist- 
»of sympathies within us, which we k, 
Wpt of? — ono of those diviner tights, which 
^■p* for an instant, dispel tho dark- 

Has which hides from each other's gazo the 
Harts formed for each other? Was it not 
He delight springing fro ROtll, 

Hwh discovered ono Bingle glimpse of 

Htt supreme happiness, which is the next 
feonicui borni away upon the wings ofdes. 
Hy» amid the clouds and the storm ? 

Htrange. as it may seem, not one gleam of 

HE i . and almost supernatural illumi- 

Kjon r J upon the mind of Thereso. 

K | . i tli an;." i "he perceived 

^H he held her hand, and withdrew it has- 

ingular transition of feeling Iiad not 
^^Eunohscrvcd by the baron — ho had per. 
Hyt nt glow as it passed across the 

^Kures of Theresa — he had experienced 

his hand — he realized, 

Si" by intuition, -joing on in the 

,U ong girl; and then ho also 

^Hl< "J all had passed 

;\y. 
^Hpnn 'd "id fully aware of hie 

lition, Ewen n ought, how 

It most readily terminate this painful 
a calm and genUe voice, he said 



• n 



vlademoisellc, shall I find your father in 
it present 

r," replied Thcroae, coldly ; 
"my mother and himself will return in hall 
•a hour. You wish, I presume, to inform 
them that I love M. de Montal, and that I am 



his. Do ao, monsieur, I expected it— I doubt- 
ed not that you would abuse my confidence 
when I bestowed it upon you." The indig- 
nation and contempt of Thereso seemed to 
have gained strength from their momentary 
relaxation. " Go, monsieur," sho continued, 
•■ 1 fear nothing — I have nothing to fear— de 
Aiontal loves me, and no human power shall 
separate me from him, or unite me to you, the 
author of all our sufferings 1 But for your in- 
terferanca — but for tho hateful bargain you 
concluded with my father, he would not have 
refused mo the hand of the man i love, and 
the only man I shall ever marry ! Curses ! 
curses on your shamoful cupidity, which has 
brought down so much wretchedness on those 
who never harmed you !" 

M. de Ker EUio might bo said to be in the 

full fruition of all the luxury of wo. There 

are some griefs so intense, that we make no 

eflbrt to escape them. Many times he had 

been upon the point of asking the young girl, 

whether do Montal had spoken to her of the 

mysterious portrait, and the secret of his ro. 

tic attachment; but the excitement of 

rese had scarcely afforded him an oppor- 

y ; and now ho asked himself, of what 

avail would it be? and waa aileo He had 

in some measure recovered himself, and was 

too proud for further parley. He left the 

room, sad, abstracted, und without uttering a 

i. Therese remained behind in extreme 

perplex i 

The baron roturned to his hotel, and wrote 
at once to M. Ounoyer, that unforeseen and 
impoi ion . Wliged him to with- 

draw his pretax] to tho hand of Made- 

moiselle Therese ; and recalled him imme- 
diately to his house. 

This done, M. de Ker EUio sat down, and 
examined his position with the frightful cool- 
naas of despair. After u long time spent in 
sorabro reflection and soliloquy, he conclud- 
ed : "I will return to my solitude ; she whom 
I love to madness, is as dead to me as the 
magic portrait which resembles her ; but my 
love will only axpil i my life — on the 

coming black month, I shall die or go mad, 
unless Mor Nader has deceived me." 

The next morning, Ewen departed for 
VnS Hartlog. 



CHAPTER XX. 

VSMBiai 

Whim Therese took the desperate step of 
writing to M. do Ker EUio, she was already 
a ruined girl. 

Tho evening after her interview with her 
parents, she was ordered to confine herself to 
her chamber ; and, for the purpose of morti- 
fying her still further, M. and Madame 
noyer mado up a party for the lhaatr 
which they took Clementine and .Mi II 



8(5 



. 



T'HBRBSR DAK <**«»'« 



bert. Therese profited by their absence to 
visit the count, who awaited her above. 

That fatal evening, M. de Montal, taking 
advantage of her feverish excitement, and 
abusing her confidence and unbounded love, 
dishonored the unhappy girl. 

If the conduct of this man had not been 
dictated by the basest cupidity and the most 
sordid calculation, it might have seemed more 
excusable, as he was on the eve of marriage 
with Therese. But the motive for this mar- 
riage was of so selfish and degrading a char- 
acter, that his crime was not even susceptible 
of that extenuation. 

The day after the departure of M. de Ker 
Ellio, (of which, by the way, M. Dunoyer was 
not yet apprised, ho having waited for him in 
vain the evening before, and not having re- 
ceivedhis note beforo he left home in the 
morning,) the very day after his departure, we 
say, Therese, permitting Miss Hubert and 
Clementine to go out without her, betook 
herself to the apartment of M. de Montal, 
according to appointment, at three o'clock. 

The count received her on his knees, with 
protestations of eternal fidelity, unbounded 
love, and melting tenderness. 

" We arc saved ! Edward, we are saved ! 
though it has cost me dear/' cried the girl, 
throwing herself into his arms, and bursting 
into tears. 

" What mean you, my Therese 7" 

" Yesterday, after you were gone, I wrote 
to M. de Ker Ellio to come and see me. Ro- 
salie took my letter, and brought him here." 

" Here ! Therese ? what do you say, here ?" 

11 Yes, in this room." 

" But why ? for what ?" 

" That I might tell the man I was already 
yours. Do you think M. de Ker Ellio will 
wish to marry me now ?" 

"And you have done this? brave, devoted 
girl !" cried M. de Montal, throwing himself 
again upon his knees before Therese : " and 
what did he say?" 

" Scarcely anything : he stammered out a 
few words of excuse, but he was overwhelm- 
ed with confusion ; for I reproached him with 
his breach of faith to you, and his base at- 
tempt to purchase me of my father." 

" You did that, my Therese ?" 

" Yes. My father, finding it for his inter- 
est that I should marry M. de Ker Ellio, 
would have been inexorable ; but if M. de 
Ker Ellio himself declines my hand, what pre. 
text can he have for refusing his consent to 
our union ? especially as he is so anxious to 
rid himself of me. Those were his very 
words, Edward — but no matter ; I am glad 
nobody ever loved me — it makes your love 
the sweeter P* 

" Angel 1 be it my task, by my tenderness, 
to make up for the sorrows of your child- 
hood. With you, I do not doubt that your 
courageous avowal has already destroyed the 
hopes of M. de Ker Ellio. He certainly waB 



guilty of a broach of faith to mc, in treating 
with your father, contrary to his prom 
and he deserves his punishmcv.it. Ami a 
my adored, as soon as we are assured of the 
withdrawal of my cousin, we will put the 
question, frankly, to your father. In the mean 
time you are mine — you are my Wife — 

there is no reason why we " 

At this moment a violent knocking was 
heard at the door of the ante-chamber. 
" I am lost !" faltered Therese. 
11 The devil !" said the count to himself. 
" This is sooner than I expected ; but never 
mind, her presence here will answer." Then, 
assuming the appearance of extreme terror, 
he cried out, " Mon Dieu ! who can it be ?" 

"Oh, I shall die ! I shall die!" exclaimed 
Therese, sustaining himself by clinging to 
her lover. " Yesterday, I braved all shame 
in order to save you from ruin ; to-day — to- 
day " 

" It is your lather's voice," said de Montal, 
who feigned to listen. 

" Mon Dieu ! have pity on me !" murmured 
Therese. " He will kill me." 

The count opened the door of the bed- 
chamber. A noise of many feet was heard 
upon the staircase, and upon the landing, 
place, which was succeeded by a violent 
rattling of the door by M. Achille Dunoyer, 
who called out : 

" Open the door, M. de Montal, open the 
door, or I will break it open." 

" And no way of escape ! none !" cried 
the count, feigning the utmost despair. 

" Edward, save me ! save me 1" cried the 
unhappy girl, falling upon her knees. 

" Messieurs !" exclaimed M. Dunoyer from 
without, " I take you all to witness, that M. 
de Montal is shut up, in this apartment, with 
Mademoiselle Therese ; he refuses to opon 
the door, and I am under the necessity of 
breaking it dow 

" Down with it, Joseph! yes, down with it ! 
Down with it, Joseph !" resounded, togi 
with laughter, and hootings, and hisses, I 
some twenty people, who seemed to be col- 
lected to witness the denouement. 

The door was shattered by a heavy blow 
from a mace. 

Therese, bewildered, and thinking death 
itself preferable to a public exposure, 
the window, and it required all the strength 
of M. de Montal to prevent her 
out of it, from that immense height, into thu 
street. 

Another blow, and the door fell with a 
hideous clatter. In the passage, and on the 
stairway, might be seen a great number ot 
people — neighbors and their domestics — at- 
tracted by the uproar, to this **ene, which 
M. Dunoyer seemed determined to make as 
public and scandalous as poseil 

"Messieurs!" cried the banker, turning 
with malignant triumph to those who stir. 
rounded him, and pointing to Therese, who, 



Id now, ji you will wait a little, you 

A fresh hurst of laughter, and shouts of de 
man responded to the words of the bank 

■P r and a smile. * u«wj« a 

■*«™«. pale as death, was seated in a fau. 

m- She held one of de Mental's hands in 

m ' .and from time to time she 1 

■jon,,, lvI «)on't leave me-don,,^ 

;: ::i:r d conunua ^ * ■ voi CO 

"»<" alo„o, was in reality perfectly 
teStii ,l «d managed the wires by 

igch h s curious combination wns produced. 
ge«; he banker had received an anonv 

■jn-u l»in that his daughter daily ken a 
Brnotment wttlt the count, who, in disguise" 
m taken lodgings in the fourth story of ,!„ 
■» in which he resided; and tlui, a very 
■• obst-ryntio,, would convince him (M. 
fcjyer) ot t| lc tr ,ah of the statement. 
Accordingly, iV!. Dunoyer, at three o'clock, 
■jrvwg the countess and his youngs 
Hhtcr go out for their daily walk, Squired 
where was J herese ? 
I-" Indisposed." was the anew 

The banker then secreted himself in the 

-!C. way, and before long had the satis! 

'-hoar the door of Therese's apart. 

"tlyupened.and to see the girl her. 

E«f» £ * M ly ° P St ? m to «"• chamber of 
■• •'«■ VIo till. He tlien summoned assist. 

■ '" , " ; ' l,| «' him to force the door. 

Ed hvTf ' "I" th u infa ? oafl 8trata ^, con. 
|rd by M. , e Montal, waa . 

■ '; hcd . ' , "jprfaed with Therese? in 

|r o lone the family of his victim to 

N»it«" his marriage, for the purpose of 
|* her reputation ; and it will soon be 
J, that .he hatred which M. Dunoyer cher- 

'thepoorgirl, e nabIedhimtosuc. 
^•manner far beyond his expectations. 

but v ' ' ! Bld * ho coun! » in a Penitent 

jet ,ra„k and confident manner, "I have 

you a g ri ,vous wrong. Your indigna. 

™ »« just, but lor your daughter's sake— » 

»»moyer interrupted him with a burst 

■J^ laughter. "Done me wrong?" 

'have done me. no wrong, nor 
' m "«"* my indignation. On the 



VENCE 1NCE. 



87 



verTgoodTn?^ ', ** "•*■» <«• * 

gSS ana? am [ dfed^S 
dehglucd at what has happened* ' fT J 

iherese was not less astonished 
I hen you pardon us, monsieur V 

Plied Mnr~ Ive nothit * ***** u, 

Cr A ix::f knols «iAS 

- , V 8 » th e affair is so public that I «. 

HKT'y Lr thi8 mor r g * - »Xm " 

letter Your cousin, M. de Ker Ellio ha! 
doubtless heard of it also, for I have his mo 
ment received a letter from him, in which h " 
-ys that sudden business has recahed 1 „„ Z 

£ ar tha , he S ob, W * "«52 

6 nonor «f mademoiselle's hand. 1U was 
too polite to assign the true reason whv In 

short , the dishonor* ■m-Kl-moiaeUcianoieed 
about tho streets." sed 

" I have committed a great crime m» f« 

tor " jjww JB 1 22M; 

displeasure ; but why-oh, why did you drive 
ge to despmr by forcing me to niujy M.™ 

" Why ? Why ? because it was for m v in 

erest that you should marry him-but. Ss 
like what has happened a thousand tii 

Sft glee. * DUn ° y " r ' m,,bing "* h; "" ; 
•'Monsieur," began the cou.u. wkh 

fou »; <,nmi , ty » "- { r ,ii8p ° 8ed «" ^« to 

you and mademoiselle, your daughter, all 

the reparation you can possibly desire. 1 am 

a man of honor and of conscience, : in d I re. 

I rclnVer^r 006 t0 ™— I" -a nie 

self.'^' Ca,i hCr Wh8t y ° U P ,ease -^ u 't your. 

"I repeat, then, to Thrrcsr, and in your 
presence I swear that she, and she alone shall 
be my wife." 

J' And I, my father, swear towed no one 

M. Dunoyer looked upon them steadily— 

ouch'l'" A g,C 1 ^"PPe'M, I- seemed 
touched, and said i„ B tender and subc 

lOIlc I 

JLI'mZ 1 tbisd,Sar l msi1 ^ Poorclul,:, 
Atti r nil they are a charming couple. Well 
well, marry if you will, you naughtv things 

ZZ"° ngehG wi?1 d0 ' and the 80oner *<*' 

« My father, your goodness overcomes me. 
il ^ ™ C the mQ 8 nitl n'e of my offence," 
banker ' ° mbracin ff d,e knees of 'he 

"Yes, now wo are indeed your children," 
exclaimed M. de Montal, putdng his hand !o 
his eyes, from which he contrived, after a 



S3 



T HE E E S E DTT N 0? E R« 




uli^ht efrrt, to Attract coma tears ; and then, 
ihat the effort of the tears might not be lost, 
he threw his arms around M. Dunoyer's neck, 
and d, "Yes, indeed we are your 

children." 

The bank- I hud only affected his emo- 

tion to dec moieelle The> 

de Montal, received the onibrace of the count 
with a hearty burst of laughter, and pressing 
him With an air of mock emotion to fads heart, 
he exclaimed : 

" How touching: and dramatic. Don't you 
think, de Montal, this is very much like one of 
the scenes in Robert Macaire? I represent 
Wormspire, and you — how well you said 
that. ' Oh yes, now we ore indeed your chil- 
dren . you're a cnpitalactor.de Montal." 

To Therese, these words of M. Dunoyer 

incomprehensible. She was started by 

the banker's sudden change from the appa- 

rent tenderness which had deceived her, to a 

.ineratonco ironical and insulting. She 
foreboded some terrible denouement to the 
Beetle, and, rising, she took her seat in silence. 
L de Montal began to be alarmed at the 
ill-timed pleasantry of M. Dunoyer, and re- 
garded him with unquiet expectation. At 
this I a rap was heard at the door of 

the bed-chamber, and Bome one of those 
without exclaimed : 

" Come, c </[. Dunoyer, you are a long 

time in there ; we are waiting for you?" this 
was succeeded by shouts of laughter. 

" The people about the house and the neigh- 
bor*, are getting impatient," observed the 
banker. 

•' Oh, what disgrace ! what disgrace !" sob- 
bed Therese, hiding her face in her hands. 

"I I have thought you would have 

come alone," observed de Montal gravely, to 
the banker, " if it were only for the sake of 
your daughter's feelings." 

" Ha, ha ! there we are — there we are, at 
la«t: M cried M. Dunoyer, with a new burst 
of sardonic laughter; and then pointing to 
Therese disdainfully, he said, "That my 
daughter? — now there is the difficulty — she 
isnot my daughter .'" 

«' Her fault— our fault, I should have said" 
— repliod the count, "is a great one ; but it 
does not authorize you to say that she is no 
longer your daughter.'' 

" I did not say she was no longer my 
daughter ; I said she was not my daughter 1" 

"Really, monriemythi distinction is too 
finely drawn i comprehension." 

" Is it indeed ? then i will endeavor to ex- 
plain it to you," replied the banker gravely, 
his countenance gleaming with a detestable 
expression of gratified vengeance. " Thus it 
is; this girl is vol my daughter: she is the 
niteroua intercourse on the part of 
my wif. .. Yes, it is susceptible of proof, that 
she • months after my return 

trom ai. absence of mora than a year. I have 
maintained her hitherto out of charitv ; to- 



day I "ball establish her incapacity la inherit 
one-third of my wealth ; and I shall turn her 
out of doors forthwith, lest she should corrupt 
my renl daughter Clementine. And now, 
my dear sir, you may marry Mademoiselle ' 
Therese, or not, just as you please ; I wash 
my hands of her. If you do marry her, 
. you will make her the most wretched 
omen; if you do not, she will di< 
want and despair, unless, indeed, she take to 
the streets like some pretty girlB in her situa- 
tion — a course of life which docs not present 
a very brilliant prospect for the future." 

" But, monsieur," stammered M. de Mon-4 
tal, " this is horrible !" 

" Horrible ! you may well say it is horrible, 
monsieur !" replied the banker in a rage. 
Horrible, indeed.' forme to have constanUy 
before my eyes, and in my house, a c 
who isnot my own — a living witness of my 
dishonor. You see I have had my tthai 
suffering from her, monsieur." 

" But I was innocent of my birth," mur. 
mured Therese, sadlv. 

"And what is that to me ? You were born, 
and it has been only through motives of policy j 
and convenience that I have supported your 
pretence so long." 

" Ah, monsieur ! how much better would it 
have been to have abandoned me at first," 
cried Therese, bursting into tears. 

" I had my reasons for not doing so. But# 
thank God ! to day the scandal your infamous 
conduct has created is so flagrant that no one 
can reproach me for turning you into the 
street — yeB, at last your mother and I shall be 
rid of you. The exposure may be rather 
pleasant at first for Heloisc, but she is willing 
to encounter it as an expiation for her crime.*' 

"My mother! will my mother desert me 
too ?" faltered Therese, perfectly overcome. 

" Ah, parbleu ! are you blind ?" cried M. 
Dunoyer. Have you notseen that your mother 
detests you worse than I do ?" 

At this last blow Therese rose up, calm 
and resigned; she extended her hand to da 
Montal, and said, " Edward, let us go." 

These two words defined the position of 
the unhappy girl. De Montal was her only 
hope — her only refuge. 

" Yes, I intend that you shall go, p said the 
banker. " Not another night do you sleep 
under my roof. Your things shall be sent 
you in the morning — but where ? at the house 
of this gentleman, I suppose ? " . 

" Yes, monsieur, to my house,* 1 said de 
Montal, as much startled at the destruction 
of his hopes as at the cruelty of the banker. 

" So bo it — mademoiselle's effects shall b« 
addressed to your house, and so you can com- 
mence house-keeping at once, my young 
bride." 

So greedy, cowardly, and selfish was the 
count at heart, that his internal emotioni 
every moment became more and more visible 
upon his pale and livid front— there M- Du 



THI ATTIC 



89 



noysr OJttld read, as if Written in staring let. 
ten 

'• Here 1 am, as poor as ever, with the ad- 
dition of a woman on my hands." 
It was by no means surprising, that one of 
^Hp men uhould be able to read the other so 
; pily for Thereae, she was so 
ins terrible revelation, that she 
■erccived no change in do Montal. Fearful, 
inniew of the young girl, that his 
vengeance would not be complete, the banker 
sought, by a further display of his penetration, 
W-< 1 the heart of his victim. 

' You seem confused and disappointed," 

he observed to the count. "Ah! by our 

lady, what would you have ? You cannot 

ex pen (o win . The game was well 

played, but it won't do. One sees that — it is 

isy matter to seduce a girl, and then that 

girl happens to bo the daughter of a rich 

| banker. Onco seduced, he thinks, ' After the 

storm blows over, her parents will be glad to 

lie. There are only two sisters, and 

tanker is worth at least three or four mil- 

; so that, one day or another, I shall come 

for eighty or u hundred thousand francs per 

innuni : meanwhile, they cannot give us less 

two or three hundred thousand to live 

ujion, besides pickings and stealings — not so 

'jad, when one is on the eve of starvation.' " 

Wonsieur ! monsieur!" cried M. de Mon. 

il, furious at this exposure of his practice, 

Eremomber that i um in my own apartment ; 

jrou are not the father of Thorese, and I will 

)t submit to your impertinence." 

44 Before you address me in that way, dear 

will trouble you to return the two hun- 

sd louis you owe me." 

M. de Montal was silent — 

"And then, after all," continued the bank. 

t, " I said nothing impetttnont io you, lwos 

srely stating a case. 1 said an interested 

arson would be apt to make such a calcula. 

Mi ; of course, I Could not have referred to 

; for you are so much tuken with the 

>euuty of this fair damsel, that ruined as you 

ive as as a wife will bo, you 

about to marry one who has not the 

[wherewithal to buy salt for her porridge." 

ome, Edward — come," said Thercse, 
bpnling disdainfully ; *' do not think for a inu- 
Bcnt that Mich abuse can make me doubt 

«ur love. (>od be thanked ! my faith in 
u gives me confidence and courage, even 
id depth of despair. Come, dear Edward, 
^■V envy us our only good — the happiness 
we shall liml in each other, even in poverty 
■I true — else, why would they endeavor to 
poison it by sowing the seeds of distrust." 

r," cried de Montal, " leave the 
^^B— Tin not your daughter, and 

you have no right to abuse her ; leave the room 
ill put you out by for- 
ty well, monsieur, 1 have no wish 
trade — but allow me one word." 
M, de Montal left Thorese in the bcd.room, 



and accompanied the banker into the ante, 
chamber. 

After a moment's silence M. Achille said to 
the count, * 4 1 owe you no ill-will, and to prove 
it, I will give you some good advice ; have 
you heard anything of M. de Beauregeard, 
within a few days ?" 

44 No, monsieur ; but why do you ask V 

" I received a letter this morning from M. 
de Saint Luce, who accompanied him on his 
hunting party, to the forest of Breteuil." 

44 Monsieur, monsieur ! and pray what is 
that to mo ?" 

44 Listen, and I will tell you. Yesterday 
evening the marquis met with a fatal accident 
while following the chase — he hns but juat 
inherited the immense fortune of his father-in. 
law. The marchioness is consequently the 
most superb match of the day, though her re- 
putation is a littlo cracked — but you do n't 
mind such things — you are young and fash- 
ionable : faith I don't know, but i think if I 
were in your place , \ should be in no great 
hurry to m-my Therese." 

And M. Dunoyercook his leave. 



CHAPTER XXI 

THE ATTIC. 

A year has elapsed, since Therese was 
driven from the house of the banker 

We will ask the reader to accompany us to 
a little lane, called the alley Foumier, situated 
near the barrier Vaurigard. 

The miry pathway, the dingy color of the 
dilapidated houses, and the ragged linen sus- 
pended on poles to dry ; all gave tokens of the 
inhabitants of this alley. It was near the close 
of the month of November — the weather was 
damp and chilly, and the sun was obscured by 
dark and misty clouds. 

The last, house in the alley was, by far, the 
meanest of the habitations with which it was 
lined; it was of the breadth ol' two windows 
in front, two stories in height, with an attic. 
The two first stories were occupied by a whole- 
sale rag and scrap merchant, who kept a re- 
ceptacle for the pickings of the chiffoniers; 
and ill-- riffSl Of filthy stuff", with which his 
depot was crammed, spread an intolerable efflu- 
via, not only over his own premises, but 
through the whole neighborhood. 

The third story of this house was occupied 
by a tinman, young, honest, and laborious. 
Pierre Ferand, by unremitting toil, was barely 
able to gain a scanty support for hi* wife and 
four small children. 

It was in the afternoon, and the windows, 
glazed for the most part with paper, scarcely 
a.liuiiK -d light enough to enable Pierre Ferand 
to continue Ids work with hammer and anvil. 

A small stove furnance (which was never 
used, except to conk theil meals,) stood empty 
in the fire-place — be iay a scanty armful 

of wood: a miserable bed with a tattered cov- 






THERESE DTTNOYER. 




erlet, stood upon the other side of the room 
near it was a Utter cot in which lay two chil- 
dren, and further on a cradle in which slept an 
infant Opposite the work-bench of Pierre 
Ferand, was a portable commode of painted 

wood. 

A woman of some thirty years ot age, poor- 
ly clad, was employed with her needle ; at her 
1. 1 1 wen seated two little girls, of the ages of 
:.nd seven, who cuddled against her knees, 
shivering with cold. 

" Are you cold, my poor children ? " said 
Augustine, the wife of Pierre Ferand. 
41 Ye-, mamma !" 

« When Louise and Justin wakes up, you 
shall lay down in your turn, in their warm 
places. It is cold! my lingers are so numb 
thnJ i can hardly hold my needle." 

in . deafened by the ringing of his h I 
met upon the tin, heard not this conversation. 
" I il walk a little and see if thai will warm 
,,!.." taUJ the wife. She approached her hus- 
band, and placed her hand upon his shoulder. 
Pierre suspended his work, for a moment. 
How miserablely cold it is, Pierre ; and so 
dark too, already ; we shall have to light a 
candle soon. Oh ! winter is such a drear sea- 
Bon !" 

" It is not the season for poor folks, that is 
certain. But your hands are as cold as ice : 
make a little fire, Augustine !" 
" Are you cold, Pierre V 
"No! my work keeps me warm, thank 
God!" 

" Then let us save oar -wood! One faggot 
has in last, us a week you know, and here it is 
only Wednesday,'! 
H But the children!" 

•• L tn going to put them tolled ; the others 
are just waking up." 

u I'm! vurself, Augustine!" 
"Oh! half-a-dozen turns about the room 
will warm me." 

*<3ood wife ! good wife, you are " 

"Well! and have I not got a good hus- 
band r 

" Ah ! wife, there are people in this world 
worse off than we." 

" Yes ! and some of them are not far off 
either.," replied Augustinw, looking up to the 
ceiling. 

" Have you had anything to say to that 
young woman, who borrowed some coals ol us 
the other day, yet >." 

"No! she thanked me v«ry politely, Nut 
hearing her child cry she went up into her attic 
imim drat, ly ; and I've seen nothing of her 
since ' 

" You ought to ask her if she wants any- 
liing !" 

" Ah ! I do n't like to — she seems to be so 
much of a lady !" 

" How comes it that she is so very poor, if 
she ip a lady?" 

«• Well, she may not be, true enough. The 
chiffoiner'8 wife, who is always on the look-out, 



etiys that two pounds of bread and one quarter 
peck measure of potatoes last her three days, 
with two sous worth of milk every morning. 
Poor dear thing, and she nursing at that." 

" Perhaps she is out of wood '." 

"Like enough; but what can we do, hus- 
band? If we only had a little mon- than w 
last us ; but we must save — save — recollect we 
have to redeem your great-coat from the pawn 
broker's yet." 

" True ! Happy arc the rich ; they 
obliged to shave so close : but what makes you 
think she is a lady I" 

" Nothing but her pretty white hands, and 
her manner of speaking — they make me think 

" But where is her husband !" 

" Gone a journey I suppose, or else he must 
be a hard-hearted brute to leave his w lie in such 
distress." 

"After all, perhaps she is not married? 
may be she is some poor girl, who has l><-u 
seduced and then abandoned : such things oitcn 
happen !" 

" True enough," replied Augustine. " ( >h ! 
those men — two or three months of pleasure, 
and then it is — good-by, you poor devil ! take 
care of yourself — go to the almshouse, or 
drown yourself, or starve, you and your child 
— take your choice, the world is before you!" 

" Such things do happen sometimes, Augus- 
tine. Only think of it, to abandon one's child. 
Well! thank God I'm clear of any such bush 
ness! But this poor woman, does she work V 

"The woman below says, that during the 
month she has been here, there has been a 
shop-woman twice to gee Madame Therese 
the euibroideress." 

" An euibroideress, is she ? Then she must 
be some young lady who, in batter times, bad 
learned to embroider for pleasure, and 
obliged to do it for a living." 

" You are right, Pierre ; that is it, 1 know. 
Oh ! is it not hard I Poor tiling ! and poftafM 
she is freezing for want of a little fire." 

"Yes; and see, it is beginning to sn 
Oh ! those attics are bitter cold." 

" Well, I don't mean it as a reprori' 
I should hate to lodge in an attic on a© 
my children. It seems to me I should r. 
part with some of my things." 

"Perhaps this poor woman has nothin 
part with. What's to be done in 
in an attic with no fire V 

"Oh! don't talk of it; you maJj 
run cold !" 

"Do you care much about redeeming mv 
overcoat this winter f 

" I. Pierre I why, yes, on your account 
You must have something decent to 
when you go out to walk of u Sunday, alt 

your week's work."' 

"Bah! There's no great fun n. ualking 
out in the winter time. If voU 

saved up to redeem it I" 

" Only eleven francs and seven sous." 







T RB ATTIC 



m 



fir 






'• name, thafa not much ; but it will keep 
ome time, and we enn share it 
with the poor yonna woman above." 

, yoa are right, Pierre. The Bon 
will make it up to us." 

y own wife. Come here and 
Byrne a kin, Augustine." 

but how shall I manage to make 
nung lady? Oh! I shall 
UB to do it ; not ih.it she is in any way 
i haughty ; on the contrary, she seems 
wi-et-spoken, and polite; but 
re is something a boat her — I don't 
liat. Oh! 1 know I shall never be 

r." 
•-11 you bow to do it, Augustine She 
its of us can go and 

of her in return. Then you will 

re ; and if she baa not " 

" Well, and if she has not?" 

s.-iy whatever comes into pour 
Sad. Bah ! bab ! you'll find enough to say." 
' You are right, Pierre ; I'll take my shovel 
[and go ; but, ah I how my heart beats!" 

you chicken-hearted thing, go 
llong; one would suppose you were going to 
'rob the woman." 

Well, I'm going; but take care of the 
children, or they will be after me." 

"Come here, young ones. I've done my 

work till the candle is lighted ; and meanwhile 

j X "11 give you a ride, and that will warm you 

nuil me too. Hup! hup ! you monkies," and 

, putting one of his little daughters on 

ich knee, began to trot them, to their grcut 

jerrimenf and deli in 

A'; rickety steps, 

the attic. The ill-cloeed door rattled 

clattered, as the keen north wind swepl 

>ii n and the door- 

iii. I the kind neighbor, alter knocking 

.pushed it gently open and efl 

;red. Ob ! wad spectacle that met h-r view. 

k\ partially wainscotted, had bin one 
idi.u of two small panes of green glass; 
ivers holes in the roof let in both li 
id snow. The whitewashed walls were 
with moisture, and the chilly, unwhole- 
ipness added bitterness to the cold. 
1 1 trunk, a single chair, a little chest of 
lowers, and a white pine table, upon which lay 
•• unfinished needle-work, and aniron skil- 
wen all ill- ibles in this cold and 

A, l>ni <\--.:i sod dean apartment. 
P'ui a bed, poorer than that of the unman, 
rm of Therese Dunoyer, 
i ajid frightfully emaciated. Her B 
^^convulsively clasped around her infant, 
■tcii ain to draw a drop of nour- 

^Hb< Iron i her exhausted breast. 

d Augustine, " I am bal 

>»' in time. The poor dear girl is dying of 

•er; her hands are like ice ! Oh! 

what « bad! mon Dieu! and nothing but a 

P»vM r her. Oh! wretched! wrer 

•d: Hera, Pierre, Pierre." 



Jim 
lei 
■I 

I 



After calling her husband, Augustine took 
the infant from the arms of its senseless mo- 
ther, and gave it breasi 

What's wanting V said Pierre, who had 
hastened to the door. 

" Run, run, my husband, and get the vine- 
gar and some tinder and wood ; the poor wo- 
man is very ill ; quick, quick."' 

Pierre hastened upon his errand. 

■ What a miracle of mercy, that I thought 
of coming up," said August r3e lf. 

" Poor little child ! no wonder you sob. I 
could cry with you. What beautiful black < 
she has, and a little mark over the li 
brow. Poor little creature! oh! how (bin ; 
how it has suffered ! and the mother almost 
frozen. But Pierre is a long time coming. 
Ah ! there he is." 

It was Pierre who had hurried up, accom- 
panied by his two little girls, one of wl 
brought the vinegar bottle. The father quickly 

kindled a lire, and then turning to his 
i id, •• Is she coming to?" 

'• She begins to," answered Auiv 
'• now run down and light our fire, and put on 
Some water to boil, and I will call you when X 
want you " 

Cn mv descended to his room ; and Augus- 
tine, seating herself upon die lied, bathed the 
temples and nostrils of Therese with \ 
The fire bunted brightly, nnd the poor girl 
slow'y revived. 

My child ! where is my child X" was her 
first exclamation. 

"There, madam, betide jroa an the b 

Therese clasped herinfiu t to her breast and 

covered it with kisses. 

"Dear little cherub ! how good it is; it only 
opens its great black c; 
ther cries nor screams. Bow do you find y< 
Hell' now, madam i Here, sniff a little more 
of the vinegar." 

" Belter, much better ; thanks to yourkind- 
idam : hut to whai e do 

I owi this risil 

•' I came, madam — I '11 tell you. madam — I 
Came— tO borrow a few coals, madam.. I 
knocked, and you did not answ r, and so I 

took the liberty of coming in." 

" Oh I thank potior my child's sake. 1 
lain down, I was so tired. But," she contin- 
ued, observing the reflection <>t the fire npao 

the heams over-head, for it was now dark; 
•• hut this fire, where did it come from 

"Pardon me. madam, - ' replied Augustine, 
much embarrassed ; "not knowing whi 
put your wood, and fearing tl child might 

cold. I " 

■ I :-u client, kind-hearted woman! you are 
yourself a mother; rein certain of it Bal [,' 
continued Therese, weeping — " 1 am so 
bausted, I can no long iy child ; ii 

must die !" 

•• Die, madam I oh, no ! — not while I am near 
you. Oo n'l be discouraged; we will be your 
friends. We are but poor work-people, to-be- 






92 



THEBESB DUMOYES. 



aure ; yet, for all that, do not be discouraged ; 
I have raised five children in spite of poverty 
and wretchedness, and in spite of the sickness 
of mv good man, who lay for a long time 
rfck and helpless ; but he did not go to the 
bank God. Why should you not 
nurse your little dauphiness too, madam I all she 
wants is a chance to live." 

Oh ! how kind, how good you are ! How 
have I merited such kindness !" 

" Do n't say a word about it, madam. True, 
you are a lady ; but we are neighbors, and 
neighbors should always be obliging. I can 
see you were not brought up to stand hardship 
and poverty like us ; but we will help you to 
take care of your baby ; it shall not die." 

Ail at once, an unueual sound was heard 
in the alley Fournier ; it was the rattling of a 
poetchaiee. 

Therese listened with eager anxiety. A 
nervous agitation shook her frame, and a gleam 
of hope • across her pallid brow. 

Footstep were soon heard ascending the 
staircase ; then the voice of Pierre, who seem- 
ed to be directing some one, called out, " This 
way, monsieur! this way!" Therese trem- 
bled with so much violence, that the frightened 
Augustine exclaimed, " Mon Dieu ! mon Dieu ! 
what ails you, madam 

The door was thrown open, and, by the light 
which Pierre carried in his hand, the tall figure 
of a gentleman was seen upon the threshold. 

Therese gave one glance, and then, hiding 
her face with her hands, cried out, " It is not 
What do I see ? M. de Ker Ellio ! 



CHAPTER XXII. 

THE INTERVIEW. 

Aftek contemplating for a few moments, 
with emotions of mingled pity and surprise, the 
wretched ic\ oca the once brilliant and 

admired daughter of affluence had taken re- 
fuge, M. de Ker Ellio said a few words, in an 
under tone, to the workman who stood beside 
him with a candle in his hand. 

Pierre handed his light to the baron, and 
left the room. Ewen stepped gently forward, 
plaaed the candle upon the table, and took a 
seat in silence. 

Therose, recollecting the cruel indignity 
with which she had treated him at their last 
interview, shuddered ; for she almost thought 
he had come to triumph over her misfortunes 
and disgrace ; but presently, when she stole 
another glance at his fixe, she perceived that 
it was wan and sorrow-stricken, and that the 
big tears trickled silently down his cheeks. 

" The little cherub will sleep now," observed 
the tinman's wife, ' if you would only put him 
to bed." She ,-d drew up a neat and 

pretty cradle, furnished with clean and warm 
clothes and a green silk covering— the only ar- 
ticle of luxury that the humble establishment 
of poor Therese could boast. 



Therese, regardless of the presence of M. de 
Ker Ellio, put her infant gently in its comfort- 
able resting-place, and covered it with care. 
Ewen, who followed her every motion with 
yes, was more and more btruck with the 
ravages that grief and suffering had made in 
the countenance he loved so well. 

When Augustine departed, the embarrass* 
ment of Therese increased. She had not seen 
M. de Ker Ellio since she had avowed to him 
her love for M. de Montal. She knew not the 
object of his return ; but, from his tears and 
the benevolent expression of his countenance, 
she doubted not that his errand was kindly, 
heart and spirit of the poor girl was bro- 
ken ; and so long had it been since even the ap- 
pearance of sympathy or regard had met her 
eye, that she was ready to bless God even for 
the coming of this mail, whom she had beend 
taught to hate. 

The Breton chieftain looked older, by ten 
years at least. His frame was emaciated ; his 
bright eyes gleamed with a feverish light I 
their dark, deep sockets ; his costume w 
that maritime order which he so often wore 
at Treff Hartlog — betokening that he had left 
his home without even tarrying to exchange 
his dr*»8s. 

He broke the silence. " Three days ago," 
he said, " I learned all. I knew that you were 
either dead or the most unhappy of women. I 
am here ; but, oh ! I had no idea of this ! — no 
idea of this !" And his tears burst forth afresh. 

Therese gave him a look of surprise, and 
asked, in a tremulous voice : " What did you 
learn three days ago, monsieur 1" 

M. de Ker Ellio started back in amazement : 
" What '." he cried, " are you ignorant of 

'•' Ignorant of what, monsieur?* 

" De Montal ! " 

" I am expecting him.'' 

" You are expecting him !" 

'• Well ! and what do you mean to say 1" 

" You are expecting him !" 

" Mon Dieu ! you terrify me !" 

" He " 

" He is dead !" shrieked Therese, stretching 
forth her hand to M. de Ker Ellio, with a fran. 
tic gesture. 

" He in not dead — no, nor in danger." 

" Then what is it you have heard 1" W] 
I the most wretched of women ? Speak, 
monsieur ! — in Heaven's nam*, speak !" 

" You must expect M. de Montal no mors." 

" Why V 

" You will never see him again " 

"Never see him agai" 

" Never Y* 
Mon Dieu, what has happened to him? 
Where is he 7 For six months I hsve heard 
nothing of him ; but I have expected him con- 
st ant r 

'• And must this last blow come from my 
hand ?"said M. de Ker Ellio to himself— " weak, 
sultering aB she is — it will k 

■ I conjure you, mon ontinued Ths- 






THE INTER 



VIEW. 



Ml liave heard. Speak 

Nothing can afflict mc more, except- 

roy child My situation cannot be 

to than it is. If I escrved 

M.de Montal again, 

r deserts the wi. 

■, but 

Thatfcpe you must renounce for ever !" 
-You would conceal it 
•w can you torture me thus." 
" He Is not dead— I swear it ; but he is lost 
you for eve i 

It to :r, 

now he can neve. your* 

- r marry me nov repeated 
ally. 
• de Ker Ellio, saw with ularm how little 
impending blow. Vuin had 
« all .mpts, to prepare her for the 

gence by distant hints and allu- 
Therese either could not, or would not 
iderstand him. 'Tis said, that an instinct of 
Lers us hard of belief, or apprc- 
we dread the most, 
rig to prolong this trying scene, I. 
said at la 

" No ! M . de Montal can never marry you ! 
Forgetful of the sacred ties which bound him 
,to you ; — forgetful of his promises, of his oaths, 
Wl yielding to his cupidity " 

" Go on !" 

" And having met with a woman of the vi- 

it character, but of unbounded wealth " 

" He is married !" 

It is impossible to describe the accent of de- 

"»wilhwhi erese ui ^ese words. 

i her bead thrown back, her hands clasped, 

her eyes fixed upon the ceiling, she sat for 

few moments at desolation. Tl< 

Idenly, the idea seemed to strike her, 1; 

a base deception. She turned wildly to M. 

Ker Kllio, end exclaimed ; 
" This is not true .' You aie deceiving me !" 
And can you believe me capable of such 

mess I" 

1 No ! it is not true ! You are deceiving 

I" 

1 And to what end, poor girl I" 

"To revenge yourself on de Montal; — or 

irhaps on me, in return for the abuse 1 once 

ed upon you ! Oh, no ! I will not believe 

on Dieu ' Mi.ii Dieu ! have pity on 

and ,oo ! it wili be, like me, a 

' ! a bastard '. — neither a name, a family, 



more dreadful to Therese on 

her own, seemed to 



93 









rv>'" she cried," it is fa . ' 1 
^^HNte ■' M. de Montal in not m 
•fl regarded her with the tenderest j. 

nee of her accusations; but 

;.ecessity of convincing her, at 

■e»«f the fatal truth ; he answered in a 

m& } sweet, but calm and firm — a voice and a 



manner, the sincerity of which Theicic could 
not distrust : 

" Upon my honor, madam, and in the name 
of God ! I assure you that M. de Montal is 
married." 

Theresa v-as convinced— she was overcome, 

no longer resisted the dreadful truth: but, 

covering her face with her hands, and uttering 

a deep groan, she sat for some moments in sad 

and solemn silence. 

When she lifted up her face, it was perfectly 
—in a feeble and broken voice, she said : 
I pray you pardon me, monsieur. I be- 
I believe you ! Go on— I can 
anything now ! I will have courage !" 
" Yes ! I will speak ! I will go on ! You 
should have courage! You should forget a 
•h so base, and arouse all your energies to 
live, if only for your child's sake." 

" Married ! married !" repeated Thereso, 
mechanically, " and to whom I" 

To the Marchioness de Beauregard, at 
Naples, two months ago." 

'* The woman whom all the world has re- 
fused to receive ! Ah ! blind and foolish thst I 
( ought to !. iiected this ! All is ex- 

plumed no.v " it was for this he left mc !" 

" The -nnection ought to 

console jrou idam ; it is nothiug but a de- 
grading bargain. The man has sold his noma 
and honor for gold." 

woman is young and beautiful," 
cried Therese, with re ; violence. 

he is dishonored, madam ; she is crushed 
under the contempt and disdain of society." 

" Tis true ! tis true !" replied Therese, hum- 
bly ; " pardon me for the warmth of this last 
flash of jealousy. But you comprehend— it is 
ys the first shock, which is the most 
painful. Wc may be resigned, but then cornea 
reflection, which is worse than de.i 

" You him, if you would regain 

your trail You despise him now — ibr- 

getfulness will come with time." 

Therese shook her head mournfully, and then 
asked ; '« How were you informed of M. dc 
Montal's marriage." 

'« Three days a^o, the Abbe de Keroue: 
paid me a visit. He had a paper in his hand, 
and he observed to mc : ' Your cousin, M. de 
iarried to the widow of the Mar- 
quis de Beaurcgnrd.' I took the journal from 
his hands, nnd there indeed was an official an- 
noune- of the fact. The ceremony took 

place in Nap] chapel of the French 

embassy. Ignorant, as 1 usually i-. ny 

solitude, of what passes in Paris, I had been 
ed that you had left your father's house 
tpany with M. de Montal. 
T 

Stan te 

had married the Marchioness de Beauregard, 
what could I infer? That you were dead, 
or basely abandoned, i left home upon the 
instant. I arrived within the hour. I went to 
your lather's house—" 



94 



THERESE D II N O Y E R 



" You saw him ?" a t 

«. 1 ^ -,.,- him: 'Monsieur,' said I, 1 is your 

, ,|,, ( |.that M. dfl Mental is married 

VI y daughter? rephed the man; 4 Lhave 

,-,. and ahe is in perfecl health, 

lhanl God. Afl tc M. de Montal, it is true 

thai be Is married ; I Hear It fan W<#"**- 

pondentin Naples; he Iras married the Mar- 

j e Beauregard. I'm very glad of 

, r h e was a fine dashing fellow, roongn 

kdfully poor; bul this match will set him 

up in again — " , „ . . „,, 

.. | ,;,- \i. Dunoyer there, Baid The- 

rese, bitterly. 

continued: w *Sft here,' addedjM.Dtt- 

I know who you are thinking of : B 
ago, about a year 1 think,de Montal cai 
a here B young woman called Tie r 
w hoi ! i" permit to pass for my daughter, 

as I had brought her up, out of chanty. The 
count ii\ol with her several months, and 1 be- 
lieve had a .laid by her. If you have any cu- 
•e her. 1 can give you her address ; 
passage Fournier— No. 17, barrier 
Vaungard. Day before yesterday, this girl 
seni to my wife to ask some assistance for her- 
self and her infant. It is the first time we 
have ever heard from her since she left here ; 
but we had nothing to give her ;— we aH have 
our own poor to take care of you know.'" 

A i these words of the banker, Theresc raised 
ho, ! heaven, and said : 

"And my mother ! my own mother, refused 
me bread ! Oh ! [asked her only for my child's 
salv 

" I snatched the address from the hand of 
M. Di and here I am," continued E wen. 

" Ai the High! of all mis misery — hut no, we 'II 
think do mom of that. Now listen to me: you 
are alone in the world, you have neither lover 
DOT husband, father nor mother ; you are aban- 
donod bv all. and were dying by the side of 
your helpless child ; — is it not so? You are an 
object of pity and compassion to the poor la- 
borers who are your neighbors, for the man 
who lighted me here, said in reply to my ques- 
tion : ' Yes, Madame Therese is here, and, if 
you come to help her, you are in good time ; 
mv wife has just found her dying with cold and 
hunger, by the side of her child ;' this is true, 
Is ii not horrible?" 
'• Horrible, indeed! but it is for my child I 
chiefly suffer." 

it is a dreadful fate for your child." 
" Ala- ' monsieur, why do you dwell upon 
this frightful picture so 1 Is it generous? I 
unjust to yon ; cruel, it maybe once, but— -" 
•■ Hut now I have come to avenge myself." 
Strange as these words may Ihey 

were pronounced In such a tone, and accom- 
panied wiili Bucn an expression of hem 
thai Therese in an an instant comprehended 
his noble and generous nature and intent. 

Oh, forgive ine '." she cried ; " my wrongs 
»ud bufferings lwve made me so suspicious ;" 



and then relapsing into her forme) depression, 
she repeated again, mechanically, " married ! 

married ! " 

«' Why cats En s man, who I wis so basely 

tyed and abandoned yon I" 
Mm my child, ro r! my child, mon- 

sieur !" and men, sinking her voice again, 
Theresc murmured: "*Tis tearful! bul yet, 
perchance, God will not abandon this Inna 
[itcle child : has he not already sent kind peu- 
|,l,. to my aid?" 

• And I. why am I h< 

" That is what I ask myself t" 

" And you cannot discov- 

" You pity the unfortunate. I suppo 

" Pity the unfortunate ! Oh, 
that is all— nothing but mere pity, nothing 
more ;" cried Ewen, with a bitter smile ; " but 
did de Montal never tell you of a certain | 

trait '• 

" A portrait ! no, but what has that to do 

with your coming ?" 

" Nothing, nothing ; perhaps you v> ill kn 
one day— but no matter, let us talk of tie 
ture. What are your resources? what do 
expect to do 1 and how have you supported 
yourself hitherto ?" 

"1 have worked, and I expect to work." 
" To work, poor girl ! you— alas ! 1 see, we 
have both suffered during the year, since wij 
met." 

• Il>, say you, monsieur ?" 
" Yes, tee ; for I too have suffered much ; as 
much, perhaps, as you." 
" But why, monsieur V 
■■ Why—you ask me why ' At th- 
dings of your misfortunes, winch I i 
did 1 not hasten to your side ? but you 
well ask, for 1 huve done nothing to chang 
opinion you had of me, when you accused 
of seeking your hand from motives of the ba- 
sest cupidity — is it not so?" 

" Monsieur, at that time I knew you i 
" I do not reproach you ; you were tin 
to think ill of inc. I was grossly calumni 
and 1 had not the power to defend 
Hut all is altered now, now you must knov. 
as 1 am ; you must give me your confide 
Yes, the time has come when you will hai 
• lb- is a loyal, honorable man, upright 
: You must trust me, to enable me to do 
for you all 1 would," said Ewen. smiling. 
" Monsieur !" said Theresa, astonished. 
" Oh ! I do not wish you to take my 
it," interrupted Ewen; "the good Abl>< 
Kerouellan will answer for me. Ye.*— you shall 
be convinced that I am not what yon 
My ancient servants, my ten leigfr 

burs, mv old aoldiei 
all, all shall bear witness for me. 'I 
say, *Ew*mi de Ker Elio is an honoruble, an 
upright man . lie has deeply euflered for th« 
gone year- sd, so that we even, his serv- 

ants, have pitied his distress ; but in all W 
troubles, to us be has been ever kind and g- 
and he lias walked worthily in the JbowepM 



THE INTERVIEW. 



95 



i is what they will say, mad - 

[111181 Iwlii'Vr." 

it*ur ; and hi n thus 

ICCOUtl! 

it your account ! — for your sake ! 
Ml know nil I have sulFercd ; and 
you may accord to ine, at 
hat I ask." 

mean you, monsieur !" 
hall know how basely de Rfon 
■ ma slandered me — when you shall know 
devotedly, and had loved you 

i your cruel treatment has 

■mi my attachment, or yourcalam- 

\\ hen you Bhall know the 

I — the sorrows that I have 

and that you! you alone, have been 

ise " 

mi will regret the pain you have in- 

il on me Then — for you are by nature 

d generous — as a compensation for all 

mffering, von will give me your hand. 

i Been (surprised, almost 

hurt. I expected that ; but I am in aim 
"Really, nr; the gettfrortty of this 

off ■ , 

'• Is surpassed by its strangeness, you would 
say?" 

•• Bxcuae up : but as a gentleman of refine- 
ment, you must be sensible that it is possible for 
oman to preserve the sentiment of self-re- 
spect, even he has fallen." 

•■ N .11 would Intimate mat 1 am ready to 

by you irtune, to obtain the object 

ami thai to seek your hand, 

what has passed, I must lack that dignity 

svhich I* a man of honor." 

•• If you at enough to forget what 

; ,;i ,-d, ,, i._;ht I to forg I have 

| cruel and Ul I VOU J but I Was deceived ; 

tad i wife of the man I loved— »• 

»ut why speak of that. J Your ofTer is as com - 
lu as it is noble and disinterested, still — " 

her. 

Look at me, madam," he said; "Iain 

[barely five-and-twenty years of age ; and yet 

tn v brow is wrinkled, and my form bowed; 

no longer please the eye ; but 

my b hall one day know, 

i it possible to brave public opin- 
•uldsay M you, ' My sister ! come with 
Bit io m.y solitary home ; your child shall be 
:ik' !' " 
■«• Ah! monsieur! had I but known you! 
Bht now . alas ! it is too late ! too later" 

I should not havejwen 
Wi i ' My aster, come, 

^H|Ol' my s^ would be fla 

world ? When I say the world, I 
^^^Hbot the fashionable world of Paris — for 
learenot ; but I mean my simple and ho 

ilboTB. 1 mean the mother ■. ivesmid 

•uiera of rny native Brittany; 
iocpar me, and with justi 11 I 

1 vrith a wuimtu not my wile, m Uw mau- 



aion where my father and my mother yielded 
op their pure ami innocent souls to God." 

" Oh ' ous, noble heart !" 

"Hence, when I offer you, my friend, my 
hand ~bm no, no! I will uoL say that!" 

"Speak! I entreat you, without reserve 
Yom kind and generous feelings are like a balm 
to my bruised and broken heart. Say on ! say 



on 



!•• 



" Well, then, I was al>out to say, that when 
I entreat you to receive my hand, it is that you 
may be to me a sister, without the fear ol m 
dal. Do you understand me? If yi one 

of those women who can love but [, too, 

am a man whom first love is his last. A9 | 
brother] 1 may continue to love you without re- 
proach ; and you can accept my offered hand 
without a blush 

"But, men Dien ! what can inspire you with 
such deep devotion ?" 

"That you shall know hereafter — when you 

nine. Meanwhile, are not your misfortunes 

sufficient to affect the hardest heart ? Is not the 

file of that little eliihl, which but now WBS 
ready to die upon your bosom " 

" Oh ! speak not of it ! speak not of it !" 

"But I must, madam; and I farther say, 
that in refusing my offer, you neglect your duty 
as a i What right have you to r- 

this child tin lion that I offer it? V 

would become of it. were you to difl tu night, 
or I to die to-morrow I" 

" For mercy's sake ! say no more | " 

" It is in the name of mercy that I speak, 
madam ; that I tell you to have iiv-rey OH your 
child — and not refuse the good fortune which is 
offered it He my id I will pro- 

tection and a name. Then, madam, you can 
mourn and lament the cruel misfon bich 

befallen you; and my tears shall mil 
with yours, for our sorrows have a common or- 
igin ; but, before yon yield yourself up to all 
the luxury of wo, MOTide, while you may, for 
the safety of your Brian! ■ fate be as hard 

as your own." 

" No! no ! Impossible — I must not think of 
it ; it would be the basest selfishness and in 
gratitude — yes, ingratitude, to accept your of- 
fer." 

"But, if you refuse it, what will you do? 
Work, I 1 1 imk you said ; but recollect, that, 
a long time, your child must depend upon 
and her wants will increase with her age ; and 

i she becomes marriageable, how will 
dispose of her { She will be poor and Dan 
less! What better fate than your own can 
expect for In 

"Oh, moil Dieu! mon Dieu !" cried The 
rese, raising I to Heaven ; sh- rack 

wiib the sad truth of Ewen's mg, and 

F.wen himself perceived it with joy. 

•• You see. then." he continued, "thai you 
must bend to cm mces." 

But There*' was not vi over. he Still 

Struggled, with a generosity almost equal to 

that wJuch prompted the uvbic o/fcr. 



THKRESR DTJNOYER 




96 

- God will not abandon rne, she replied; 
" he will give me strength and length of d 
to support and bring up my child." 

<« Strength, poor girl! your health is already 
broken down by hardship and Buffering. Your 
-once is but a breath— and this I say Jo 

without reserve, because I know tull well fliat, 
but for your child, you would gladly lay it 

down.'* i 

Therese gave him a look of sad assent, and 
he went on: "See then the folly, the inhu- 
manity of risking the welfare and the lift of 
your child upon B thingso pr.<- f^a 

owncondno ' his world of sorrow. You 

arc young and handsome f others, I know, may 
make you the offer which I now make, but upon 
what conditions? The question, if you la- . 
resolves itself into this: shall you overcome 
your reluctance to a marriage, or sacrifice the 
welfare of your child. There may be others 
whom von would prefer to me, but what guar- 
v have you for their kindness to your child? 
Wh vou for mine I you may ask. The 

word and honor of a man. who can act as lain 
willing to art toward you. I say it, without 
pride and without humiliation." 

A; omeni Pierre rapped gently at the 

door and entei iding imttor the weight 

of a ma and fdlowed by a number of 

porters loaded with necessary articles ol fur- 
niture. 

" My dear sister, I have sent this good fellow 
jo procure, at the nearest uphol- what 

will make this wretched place more tolerable 
for a day or I wo. I «1 OS go down to his apart- 

Therese regardc.l Bwen with an ah i 
ancholy reproach, bul took her sleeping infant 
in her arms, and descended with M. de Ker 
c room of Pierre Ferand. 

A Comfortable repast, brought from the near- 
est restaurant, had been placed upon the table, 
In the tinman's vacant room. A cheerful lire 
burned brightly on the hearth, and despite her 
sorrows, of earlier or of late occurrence, Therese, 
we must confess, sat down with a keen appe- 
tite for the food before her. The poor girl had 
eaten nothing since the day before. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

T1TE KAE1UTIVI. 



TnANKS to the intelligence and activity of 
the workmen, and the superintendence of M. de 
Ker Ellio, who went up from time to time to 
oversee them, in two or three hours Therese's 
miserable attic was rendered habitable. The 
holes in the roof were stopped, attains were 
placed at the windows, the walls and ceiling 
were hung with a cheap, but thick material ; 
the floor was covered with a coarse, warm car- 
pet f an excellent bed was provided and made 
up, and all the conveniences for a small house- 
hold were placed in order about the room. 
Doubtless, it would have been an easier and 



mfemode of pi 
of Therese. to have transported hei 
some respectable hotel, but Ewen tear, 
alarm the sensitive fi oi the poor girl, by 

, bold a step. She might, 

and probably wo 

But against the pro* ' her temporary BC 

commodation she could nol well object espe- 
cially as coining from one who had already an- 
Bounced l.nns.-lt'aH lur brother 

After a day of so much suffering, and ■■■ 
unexpected relief. Therese might 
posed to need repose. Ev 
tionate leave of her. and tl 
tiring her hand, said, in a voice brok. n by. 
don: "To-morrow— for you i 
I should be unpardonable not. to tru ' you 
implicit confidence— to-morrow I will tell you 
my sad story,, what I have suffered, and, s; 
I have left the house of M. Dunoycr, wh 
suffer still. Then, and not till then, can 
judge whether I ought to accept your noble and 

disinterested oili 

On i h.- morrow, Ewen found Thi "ire 

broken and depressed than when he left 
the evening before. The reaction, produce 
the intelligence of de Montal's falsehi 
■ \-ed more trying than the first shock. 
M. de Ker Ellio shook his 
have been indiscreet, I fear." h 

"'Tis true— but for my child, 1 ki 
what rash step my despair mighl -riv- 

en me." 

" You still love that man," said Ewen sa 
"Alas!" exclaimed the heart-broken gi 
11 I pay it not to reproach you ; foi 
•I as is this lov., pour jusl n." 

I love him not !— or, rather 

ue tell you my story, and tin a you wdl flj 
end the wretched inconsistency * 

inv feelings." 

" I will hear you, and then 1 will tell youw 
myself; that done, let us tb. r aj 

of your sufferings, and think of the futurejj 
think of the welfare of your child— shall m 
not , my sister l" 

With such tender, affectionate, and nspeB 
ful kindness, did Ewen utter the words my sit- 
ter, that Therese was melted even to tears. 
She took hi. 1 - hand, and replied with tenderitfM 

" Yes, my In-other. And now listen to 
long and painful confession. 

'Before I left the mansion of M ' 
craved permission to bid farewell to m\ 
and sister. This last request was 
went with M. de Montal to his lodgin 
else could 1 have gone > Amon-. friea 

and acquaintances I had, all w« e|B 

connected with, or attached 
dame Dunoyer; and not u 
have given me shelter. I 
native than to accompany thi 
already considered my husband. 

"At first, I admit, that in the selfish 1 
which I felt at being united to I tor J 

I forgot the additional expense I should osJJF 



THE NARRATIVE 





tcur, poor as hr had represented him- 
;slmeaB of M. Dunoyer and 
^Kas indifference of my mother, an 

pangs of remorse. Young, loving, 

the tuture. M. 

^K was all in all to mo, ami 1 was hap- 

ombre, deject- 
i— ami tins he auribM*.. •! 
i on my accou 

ouse, my child like de- 

Everything which be- 

> nli his 

...ua in my 

he pool attempts at display v 

■Ifi esta! 

ofty mind end' 
i<. preserve the reminiscenced of 

>ys. 

Wontal threw himself u tau- 

ond '• in his hands. 1 be- 

as he sahl ha was, overcome 

whirl. 

Oh ! had I but known that 
_jep emotion was but chagrin at ihfl 
intni' wn selfish hopes, and vex- 

,. at the ihri of my heap 

wou Ul d another hour; but I 

object of his most ardent 
,1 that i Ipeared to me the only 

toment tor him of me. 
" • Once married,' said 1 to him, ' and the be- 
ihavior of my family toward me known. We 
[Shall becorw » of interest and respect. 

Know brtunes and your capacity, 

will not hesitate to come forward 
,r assistance. Wfaej will it COBl us to 
:>. A very mod. rare appointment for you, 
with the fruit of my exertions, will lie 
will retire to some remote por- 
., oft] and you will soon find, my Ed- 

iat you will be happier even in so hum- 
a position, than you were in the. days of 
x opu Vendor." 

And what answer did he make]" inquired 

. 
• He i -plied that he was not bom to serve in 
, gub rapacity ; that he had still a 

ft, and that hi* condition was not yet 
Thai through his relations he might, 
n consulate, v. 
lucrative and honora- 
- moral character 
inquest ion, V of 

ejep, ought it best we should 

apart on marriage, and to this i 

nga in aom /■<•- 
[q „ u , be would -i" -"d aa much 

(With mi- necessary a, 

, painful as it. was 
to me only pn 
—per, and I consented to it at The 

, priii together was one of min 
tadii' We were full of plana and 

for the future. I urg Q M. de 

priety of limiting hi *ions 

aouja small post which be could with cer- 
5 



07 

tainty obtain . 1 recalled to hia recollection our 
former dreams of happiness in a humbler sphere. 
Did he l> tart] ie raillery of the world J laakedhim 
what, man of honor or high feeling would ever 
think the worse of a friend or companion, who, 
having sunk Ins patrimony by dissipation pr 
misfortune, should endeavor to earn a living, 
and retrieve his circumstance* by 1 indus- 

try I But he was inflexible. He would not, 
he said, Deduce me to such an extreme of hu- 
anoii ; and in thai posh ion, despite of my 
rem- tti es, he intrenched himself. 

i he next morning, at an early hour, he 
departed ir. search of lodgings for me; recom- 
mending to me, as he went out, to admit no 
one who mi ••In call. 1 remained alone. Af- 
ter some time i heard the door of the saloon 
adjoining th< bedroom where I was sitting, open 
quietly, [thought it was him. Ah! monsieur! 
this first proof of his treachery ought to have- 
I my eyes; but no, I was blind — blind 
with love." 
« An. I what was i) !" exclaimed Ewen. 
" A woman — young and handsome. I knew 
her not, but yet L had some indistinct recoi- 
led ion of bet features." 

A woman! and what was she doing there? 
how came. she. in the BfiloOO 

• By means of a key which she possessed. 
M. de Mutual bad not, it seems, had time to 
btt&rm beat of my arriv;> 

" And this woman 1" 

• Was Mademoiselle Julie, the actress. I 
e.nuiot describe to yon the shame and mortifi- 
cation I ' underw' n her insolenee. Tak- 

08 of her own class, she abv 
i grossly for endeavoring to deprive her 
oi her lover. SheaSBUflad me that my efforts 
would be fruitless, for she was certain of the 
on ol W de .Ylontal, who doated on her, 
and who had offered to marry her, but whose 
chavacier was such, that she had refused him." 
Vlon Dieu ! and you were subject to all 
I his insult : how much you must have suf- 
fered." 

" I suffered only from anger, for I believed 
not one word of it. This tab of Mademoi- 
selle Julie's I com idered merely a calumny too 
[on a mo uneasiness, 

had the audacity to tell me i 

she should wail Until M. de Mental's return, 

and then one or the other of us should leave 

,1,,. |. uld see who thai should be. 

remain here, I leave it this moment,* 

was the only answer I deigned to give h«r. I 

oihe sired to wait his coming. He 

already near at hand. Iran to him and 

K>|d him all. lie satisfied me in a moment. " 

" He satisfied you 

'• Yes ; lie assured me that it was Made- 
moiselle Julie, who continued to persecute him 
with her love, ever since he had .led her. 

He said that a long time since he had given 
her a key to his apartment which he had been 
unable to get back ; and this was the solution 
of the mystery. I believed him, for I wished 



93 



TIIEBESE DUNOYER 




to do so. He told me that he had found in the 
Rue de Ouest, near the Luxemburg, two apart- 
ments in a retired and tranquil mansion, which 
he had taken, and ordered them to be famish- 
ed immediately. I went there with him at 
once. Not for worlds would I have returned 
to his house. 

" The lodgings which I was to occupy until 
our marriugc were plain and cheap, but the 
house wasneut and tranquil ; the neighborhood 
was quiet, and my windows opened upon 
the grand garden of tlie Luxemburg; 1 was 
delighted with the solitude and the retirement. 
We were too poor to afford me a leinme-de- 
ehambre, but the porteress, for n trifling remu- 
neration, gave me her assistance in such little 
domestic matters as indispensably called for it. 

" For the few first nights thai I slap] alone 
in my new house, I was timid, but from this I 
soon recovered ; and our marriage was now 
only delayed until the necessary legal lormali- 
ties could be complied with. M. de Mont a I 
professed to be more impatient at our separa- 
tion than I was. 

" Then commenced a peaceful and happy 
period of enjoyment ; happy, too happy, long 
to last : hut the memory of those blissful days 
will remain with me for ever. It was my 
first desire to he no longer a burthen to M. 
de Montal, and that desire I speedily accom- 
plished. 1 commenced embroidery ; my por- 
teress found me customers, and I was soon able 
to meet my daily expenses. M. de Montal 
was with me almost every day; he was gay 
or grave as his hopes or his fears upon the sub- 
ject of the coagulate predominated; but this 
was not his only trouble — my illegitimacy, he 
said, very much complicated and retarded the 
formalities which must precede our marriage, 
which, me.st unhappily for him, created further 
delay. I believed nil r his, and did my beel to 
comfort him, thinking that his heart was even 
more fender than my own. It was indeed hard 
for me to he separated from the man of my 
choice, hut I bore the infliction with naii> ma , 
and even very much enjoyed myself in glowing 
anticipations of the future. 

" My only unhappy days were those on 
which I did not see. de Montal. I did not then 
reproach him, but I grieved for him. for I Knew 

that he must Buffer more than me. At each 

limes 1 worked with It - . . aergy, and seme* 

mes my mind was clouded with sad and me 

ancholy forebodings | hut thenexl day he would 

ome, my troubles vanished like the early 

oud, and my happiness, for the lime, was 

complete. 

" Thus passed the first month, during which 
a day but rarely passed without my seeing 
him. The next month he was sometimes ab- 
sent for two or three days together ; still I did 
not blame or reproach him. Ilis exertions to 
obtain the consulate, and the preparations tor 
our marriage, took up much of his time ; 
besides, what in some measure compensated 
for his. absence, was, that he was now more 



gay and cheerful than before. Tliis he attri- 
buted to the improvement of his prospects and 
the near approach of our marriage. I partook 
of his joy, but I by no means relaxed my ex- 
ertions, for I was determined in no event to 
leave our fate to future uncertain! 

" A bookseller and his wife — excellent peo- 
ple they were, who occupied apartments in 
house where I lodged— observing that I seldom 
went out, they offered me access to their stock 
of books. Perceiving by the selections I m 
that I understood English, the booksellei 
quired whether I thought I could translate i 
works from that language. You may judge 
<-l the joy with which I grasped at so conge- 
nial an occupation. 

" Thenceforth 1 rose with the dawn, and 
took up my embroidery which afforded me a 
moderate but certain revenue. This I 
to do in the day time, as by candle light it in- 
jured my eyes. M. de Montal, when he ca 
arrived about two o'clock. The delight of my 
existence was to receive him in an attire ol 
gam simplicity, with my hair dressed as he 
liked. After his departure I returned to my 
embroidery, and worked till dark; then I lit 
my lamp, and after a frugul repast, which 
porteress brought me, I took my pen and trans- 
lated till midnight. Ah! the long vim 
ings and hours I passed thus alone and me 
choly, but not sad nor sorrowfe 

"And did he never come to pass au evening 
with you 1 V 

" Rarely — once or twice a month, perhaps." 
"And is it thus such people neglect the 
ings God bestows upon them?"excla 
ed M. de. Ker Ellio, with a sigh. 
" M. de Montal was obliged, much ogaii 
Herniation, as he told me, to go nightly in- 
to society, in order to keep np his con 
with the men of rank and power to whose 
fluence he looked foi success in plication' 

for a consulate ; ' one is so soon forgotten 
added, 'if he is for a moment out of sight, end 
as my prospect is fair, I must follow it op, 
bear the inconvenience as best I may.' S< u 
times, however. I went out with M. de Mental ; 
we usually walked on the boulevard Mont- Par- 
nassus, and he reconducted me to my door. 
These m re my fete days, and 1 returned from 
these excursions refreshed and happy. 

"flow sweetly passed lb,- evenings after 

these prom. with him ! My to 

Beemed so light, 1 often wrote till two in 
morning. My translations ami my embrofd 
brought me in from ten to tweh 
One of my little rooms I dedicated to my lit- 
erary pursuits, and I always em 1 d it 
with flowers. M. de Montal was fond of lb 
and I bought them myself at the different 
rists, who are so numerous in dial quarter; 
Despite of this, my only extravagant 
Thereae, with a sad smile, " at the end of two 
months, I had accumulated about two hundred 
francs. With what triumph did 1 give them to 
M. de Montal— telling him with a kxe, that it 






THE NARRATIVE 



w 




■ lent of my down, ; he was 

UtPsaul I. n you could only briiiL' your- 
■ 

\*i : Think of it,' t continued, 
which you could i 
with my earning* 
>4flnth comfort, nay. with case, 
want". 1 Dot, dial ! he 

the thought of my 
i conse 
the es '.m 

to leave him 
'..r the 

Wui ired not tell him that the mo- 

way upon th mpt, 

IU hfl 

III n|' ii , fo| I was SO llli|i|iv, , 

i ihr d in any evem I 

nimii U8 

In ; ih me n< .1 m 

h ' 
Had you heard nothing from your family, 

had .sent to M. de Montal 
my linen, and some trifling 
Wei v hi ted lo ma notfa 

W de IVfontaJ a i di that I should 

• W. Dunoyer at law, for a maintenance j 
mid not beat of it," 

said Ewen, after some mo- 

ion, " I idily nil 

ir hours ol' toil and on were the 

: i ever hjM'nt, and how the memory 

though '"l«l still be dear to you." 

bli ; but bad I been rich, I 

e been leas happy: my love 

all "l happiness, increased with 

and toll ; ii had become as serious as 

lion, as sacred as duty itself. My separa- 

n M. tie Montal for s<> long n time, I 

upon as an expiation for my faults. 

a ii it it It pleased, that h 

ry. At the end of the next 

i two hundred franca more to 

money '." 

him 1 he needed it 
inn I. Ah ' little did 1 think how much 
ild mi - these little urns, not for 

hild. Afterward, indeed— 
[ afflict you in speaking of 
]y happy days I sver knew." 

no, on : let me Know all. 

then be able Id jut 

in .n. .it lor the future. Do 

.that the memory of by-gone happi- 

ot tin mi« rab 

the memory of those ila\ 

pt me from despair. Bur | must 

nt. which was at once 

id the most Bad of m> exist-s] 

well recollect on the twenty 

March— M. de Montai had not been 




me for a week— it was the hnt time hi* 
absence had been so I'm | * n . 

tered the door, and I threw myself into his arm-* 
hiiili'.l in tears. • You wesp, my Theresa, 

it is for joy yon ought to we< 
receiv.-d the con 

lundred thousand francs— i tung the 

banns of our marriage were published ; such 

uits of the long 
much diatressed you.' Nod more n 

than the, transition from sorrov whtm 

glad tidings cheer the sorrowing heart. I 
could hardly believe M. de Montal ; hut wl 
1 saw his gayer) and ipon his counte- 

• all beaming with delighi I waaccuvin- 

■\nd yet " 

"What ' i he eon i iid the pub. 

of you I'.iiuis !" 

■ Ii was an invention, a I od ! and his 

jdy, his happiness — shall 1 tejl yon, what thai 
arose front 1 be had mad* the conquest of 

.Yladnine de l!e:ninr,iul ' 

"What! did he see her then? 1 

"Daily — bui [was anticipating. Permit me 
to revert for one moment to the last gleam of 
happiness which shone upon me. That da] 

ds Montal said tome: ' Then fr, 96 nm I cele 

brats the event which secures our future prosper. 

ily. by a day of pleasure whfl 

peso. The weather is delightful j we will t.v 

u;i!k.:iiid then we will dine ii 
mini and wife, in some quiet restaurant; from 
i In -nee «v will go to the play; where, fox the 

sake of privacy, we will taken boy with bin. 

Pardon me for repeating all this aorta 
to yon, and do not wonder that this prop 
lion of M. tie M. mial jeive me real pleasure. 

wan I disappointed. Every th uied 

propitious: the day was fair, our w d«?- 

ful ; de Montal was in the best ol 
and 1 was as full of frolic and i 
child of fourteen. We returned tired and 
hungry. I mad. my toilet, while M. deMon- 
taj returned to ids lodgings for a similar pur- 
pose. He came for me. and 1 accompaj 
him toa restaurant. Our rhnnet 
and thence we went, as he proposed, to 
play, and never did I enjoy a performs] 

1 partook of his hopes, and entered 
into all his anticipations of future prosperity 
and happiness. The consulate to Lisbon 
but the atesping-atons to a brilliant diplomatic 
ine and honors were to crown 
his efforts. We returned to my lodgings, and, 
upon me, the count mentioned a dr> 

ounu ii hieh. the night befl ild have 

caused me a heartache ; but which now seemed 
to mi- almost a matter of indifference. He 
it, in order to make hin 

nli the duties of his office, it would 
cessary for him to pass ten days or a fortnight 
at the resident e of the former i ml 

bon, who resided al Melun ; but •■ would 

write to me frequently, that his absence might 
. the less tedious. So confident was I, so 
wrapped up in the anticipation of a happy 



100 



THERESE DtTNOYEK 




futurity, that nothing seemed more natural to 
me than this gross fiction ; and I acquiesced, 
without a murmur, in bis departure. What 
was ten day? I We were to be married on 
the 17th of April; for that was the day he 
had iixed ; why, I know not, unless to give an 
appearance of greater reality to the deception 
he was practicing upon mr." 

" But this consulate, and the journey to Me- 
iun, to prepare for it V 

" It was all a fiction, I tell you — a lie from 
beginning. In about four day« I received 
a letter from him ; it was very kind and affec- 
tionate ; but somehow, by accident or design, 
M. de Montal had neglected to give me his 
uddress, eo that I could not answer it. Some 
days after this, came another letter, also, con- 
ceived in the tenderest terms ; but announcing 
that M. de Montal's studies had turned out to 
be more arduous than he had expected, and 
that I must be patient." 

■ What effrontery ! But where was he all 
this time 1" 

" At Melun, as he had said ; but spending 
his days with Madame de Beauregard, who 
had an estate in the vicinity ." 

" Horrible ! But why resort to all these 
lier, 

" He was desirous to lull my suspicions, lest 
I should make such an exposure of him as 
might compromise him with Madame de Beau- 
regard. At last he returned. It was then my 
turn to meet him with a face radiant with joy. 
I was rnciente." 

"And did not even that touch the heart of 
this cruel man V 

" He partook of my joy — at least he profess- 
ed to — but he had sad news to tell me. The 
ministry was in danger of being overthrown ; 
and, in order to strengthen it, it had been 
found necessary to give his consulate to an op- 
ponent, who had greater influence than he. 
Then, in thinking of the child that was yet 
unborn, I began to dread the future, and lament- 
ed bitterly the loss of this imaginary consul- 
ship, which I supposed was to put us and it 
above the dread of poverty. 

" From tliis day, my sorrows came thick 
upon me. M. de Montal staid away a week ; 
I wrote to him once or twice, and received no 
answer. At last he made his appearance ; but 
I was struck with hi*? change of manner. He 
was cold and even surly. The time fixed for 
our marriage had long passed by j I ventured 
to remind him of it ; he asked me harshly if I 
wished to worry him : ' But our banns are pub- 
lished,' I replied. * What of that,' said he ; 
' the stain that rests upon your birth has raised 
new difficulties. I am doing all in my power 
to remove them ; and, meanwhile, I beg that 
you will not annoy me by these constant exhi- 
bitions of your impatience on the subject.' 

" This difficulty about my birth gave me 
great pain ; and more than once the frightful 
idea occurred to me : what if he were to de- 
sert me 1 some day or other the same reproach 



would be cast upon my poor child : but I soon 
comforted myself with the assurance of Ed- 
ward's loyalty and honor. Two weeks more 
passed without my seeing him, and I became 
the prey of constant inquietude. This was n<* 
all: my solicitude, and the indisposition atfen- 
dant upon my state of pregnancy, deprived ifl 
of my energy- I could not work as well u 
heretofore ; while, at the same time, the lose 
of M. de Montal's expected consulship render- 
ed exertion the more necessary. 

" Now, alas ! I found myself almost incapt- 
citated for labor. Mechanical is the work of 
translation is, it became more and more diffi- 
cult, until I executed so little, and that so poor- 
ly, that my good bookseller was obliged to 
transfer his patronage to another. I then be- 
took myself wholly to embroidery, which I 
could still execute, though with feeble and 
trembling hand. But how different were the 
results ! By laboring from twelve to fifteen 
hours a day, I could not earn one quarter of 
what I used to receive for a single evening's 
translation ; besides, I grew daily weaker and 
weaker, until at last, one cruel day, my eyes 
gave out, and I could see no more." 

" But thin is too horrible. I have suffered, 
myself; but what right have I to complain, 
when misery like this exists V 

" After the occurrence of the last scene, 
which I have described as having taken place 
between M. de Montal and myself, I saw no- 
thing of him for another fortnight. I wrote, 
but received no answer. He had prohibited 
me from coming to his house ; but, in my anxi- 
ety, I disobeyed him. His servant told me he 
was not at home — that he dined at his club, 
and would not return till late at night." 

" And was M. de Montal living in luxury, 
while you toiled day and night? And wai^H 
thus he spent the little earnings whki. 
gained so painfully? Oh ! toulless wr< 

" He said that there were expenses incum- 
bent upon his position in sociei h it was 
impossible for him to avoid. The Utile money 
I had given him, from time to time, was use- 
less to me. Well, I waited for M. de Moi 
in the street, from two o'clock till after mid- 
night. He came not ; and, wearied out, I re- 
turned to my home. 

" The next day, by dawn, I was at his door. 
The servant told me h j master had ordered 
him not to wake him until noon. I waited in 
the street till noon. At last I saw him ; but 
how can I describe his anger? — his brutality .' 
— the bitterness with which iroached me 

for pestering him with lett. ! persecuting 

him with my presence ! Persecuua -hli 

my presence !" repeated Therese, " and I had 
not seen him for fifteen day?. Annoying him 
with letters ! Was it, then, so great a crime 
to write, when I was devoured with anxiety? 
He concluded, by assuring me that, if I contin- 
ued to besiege him thus, he never would fulfill 
his promise to me." 



THE NARRATIVE 



101 




That, of course ! that, of course ! I only 

ayed that threat so long." 
^K>uld not have done so, but he feared 
shall see hereafter. In fine, for 

told me " 

•itatc, Therese. It must have been 
g atrocious." 
was; but I shall conceal nothing from you 
For the first tinv , he told me the 

and whai could • more atrocious? 
said thai, whi used to marry me, 

had supposed that h -'as addressing the 
^nair dan trh cer of M I noyer ; not a base- 
^Hirl, who was to :diated !" 

m ! go on ! Nothing that this man 
^Hkiy or do, surprises me now." 
'This base duplicity • raged me ; bnt what 
lot I was en?, ely at liis mercy — 
• was more, so was the destiny Of my 
rii was broken, and 1 
only a i earn and supplications, 

s seemed softened. He told me 
id not refuse to marry me, but it must 
i with hi. n to fix the lime — and that 
'ou Id very much depend upon ray submission 
> bis will. I was in his power, and I promis- 
3 submission ; but asked him when I might 
isil him again. Again lie flew into a violent 
sssion : ' Are you still determined to besiege 
iy door V he cried. • I will see you when my 
nience permits, and till then you must be 
tit. I will come to you the first day when 
have leisure.' I returned to my home." 
Vnd did he not inquire into your wan 
had never given him occasion to do so. 
lly own labor had supported me." 

tat. mined as he was, how could he sup- 
ort his own extravagant 
* 1 know not. When I quitted the house 

PDunoyer, he informed me that ho had 
six thousand francs remaining. M. Du- 
pyer had reproached him, in my presence, 
rith a debt of two hundred louis, which I sub- 
pc ■« -ntlyentrea- to discharge. Wheth- 

did so or not, I know not." 
Pardon me, if my detail wearies you ; but 
! promised to tell you all. After this i: 

three weeks I never saw nor heard 
\om I not again approach his 

lout I could not refrain fro: ng. I 

reproach him. I asked him for no- 
I only assured him how much I 9houId 
>yau to see him, if but for a single hour." 
A tiger's heart would have been softened ; 
did he make you no reply i 

Be. 1 wafted, day by day, in mournful 

,».ion ; but ha nime not. My sight hud 

I could no longer ply i •• My 

Iras failing; bnt not until my coonte- 

ed evident marks of disease, did I 

t I was sick, and implore him, on 

^■fent, to come to me." 

^Bd he made no answer 

^^iii ; ii wrote me that he was not to 

upon by any such pretenc* 
The wretch ! the wretch !" 



'i 



" I was sick a month. To meet my increas- 
ed expenses, I was obliged to sell my clothing, 
piece by piece, together with the few keepsakes 
I had received when considered the daughter 
of M . Dunoyer. I looked forward to ray re- 
covery with impatience, for I was pos ses s e d 
with an idea which gave me hope. 

" At last I was able to leave ray bed. The 
first time I surveyed my face in the glass, 1 was 
both shocked and pleased— pleased because I fell 
that, when M. dc Montalshouldseeme,hewould 
be convinced, that ray illness had not been 
feigned, and that my appearance would at least 
excite his compassion, if nothing more. I 
went to his house. It was now six months 
since the first and last time I had entered 
it. When I found myself at the door, I was 
so weak and faint that I could scarcely sustain 
myself ; but I took courage — I felt that it was 
impossible for him to resist the appeal that my 
wobegone appearance would make upon hi3 
sympathy. I was upon the eve of entering, 
when I heard loud voices within ; ihe door was 
thrown open with violence, and the woman, of 
whom I have already spoken, appeared." 
" Mademoiselle Julie V 
** The same. She was followed by a ser- 
vant, who was endeavoring to appease her. 
Upon seeing me, she uttered a cry of surprise. 
• You here, madam l' she exclaimed ; ' and you 
have not then been confined ?' I made no re- 
ply ; in my weak state, her violence terrified 
me. After examining me attentively for a 
moment, she continued: * Another lie! he de- 
ceived rne in this too.' Then, taking me by 
the arm, she dragged mc into the house — where 
I found his apartments completely untarnished, 
door, and we were alone togeth- 
er. I mad.' no resistance, for I was annihilated. 
' Madam,* began the woman, ' pardon me for 
ray former insolence. I knew not who you 
were— unfortunately for you. ♦ Had I known 
you, I might have undeceived you as to the 
character of this monster, before it was loo 
late. Now I can only expose the infamy of 
his conduct. He has deceived us both — for six 
months he has been unfaithful to you, with me ; 
and now he has deserted me in my turn. 
Would you know for whom t — for a widow, 
Marchioness de Beauregard. He has long 
been paying his addresses to her; he designs 
arry her, and doubtless will do to— de- 
ceiver as he is. I learned all yesterday, and 
came here to satiety myself. He is gone— left 
town last night, for no one knows where, but 
doubtless to rejoin h inoness.' 

" I need not any how fearful was the revulsion 
•line which this intelligence caused wi 
my heart. I had never suspec:ed that M. da 
Montal was capable of sacrificing me so base- 
ly, by marrying another; and that other the 
Marchioness dc Beauregard. My confidence 
in him was so unlimited— so blind ; but I am 
thankful for it. It saved me from a crime." 

" Blind indeed ; and you never thought that 
he might marry l" 



102 



THERESE DtJNOYER 



mer! T have nfepNted a liaison, but 
lit In could marry a womai 
i r." 
• But iinmensely rich/ 1 

I roi) ban I conJd /i«>t believe him Bd sor- 
didly base. Mademoiselle Julie informed mc 
farther, that M. de MontaJ had told hercoolly, 
ihar he bad purposed to marry me as the 
•laughter of a rich banker, and to that end had 
... .1 mi ; bnl that, since I bad I>* -« -1 1 repu- 
diated by ML D r dreamed of 
well a thing, and lhat he had no farther feeding 
lor mc, extent thai hews for mj 
fortune. Tins is BOt all : !>ut I cannot — no, 1 
v;aimot go on/' 
"Count e I" 
•' It dues seem to me as il the bMfWUM of 
M. de Mmtai, to some extent, was i* • ( 1 • 
upon me. I so loved that man — and even now, 
with shame I confess it, I recall with melan- 
ure the memory of that love, hut 
Ictwhut I am about tosayH-em as an expifl 

■ This woman told me further, and this time 
with furious indignation, that, three days befbroj 
Ml de Monial had come to BOT with tOMB in 
bis eyes, and told her tliat 1 was about to be 
confined. He said that his own means were ex- 
hausted by iiiv previous exactions, ami begged 
end iiim a thousand crowns, '«> save me 
and my child from actual distress; and she had 
lent him the same !" 

" Bin iliis ni.in earvic- |u» infamy to a pitch 

of refinement thai I could not have conceived 

cried M. de Ker fOllio, with symptoms of 
disgust. " There seems no possibility of f.itli- 
eOuBg the depths of Ins hypocrisy and degra- 
dation." 

" This money which he h;nl thus exacted 
from the actress, was intended to pay the ex- 
penses of his jounif . it -.1 Madame de 
Beauregard, who had left town some days bl - 
tore ; at least this woman told me so — and the 
breaking up of his establishment, conlii 
the assertion. 

"Mademoiselle Julie had learned the eve- 
ning before, and from her I teamed the fact, 
'hat, for seven- 1 months, M de \loni-al bad been 
exceedingly attentive to Madame de Beaure- 
gat"' hi as it BSBtt- 

redly is in such cases, still refused to receive 
Twice he had (bttowered her into the country : 
once to Melun. a I have already mention d 
What shall 1 say of the sflecl of this d< -i.-r, 
fore me | I was so entirely overcome, that 
Q this bad woman was moved to pity, ghe 
wished to follow M. de Mental and expose his 
baseness, and she tendered relief to me " 

" \nd even this humiliation vou were sub- 
jected to?" 

" I refused her aid and re mined toim home. 
The rest of my story, which is but a tissue ol 'soi 
rows, I will abridge. Having no longer any re- 
sources, Isold my little ftirniture and went to 
a common but decent lodging house. When the 
time of my confinement approached, overcom- 
ing my shame and repugnance, I went to the 



hospital. There I was certain at least of rei 
ing the Moeeaary assistance which I had no 
oilier means to procure. 

•' In about a fortnight, according to the i 
'"in. Iv d v> i tit my infant, then jH 

now the solitary source of all my joy and sorraS 

" ^Vhen I entered the hospital I had abona 
forty funics, to this sum I managed to make a 
small addition while convalescent. With i 
part of my means I purchased this pn 
die. my last act of extravagunce ; with th< 
mainder I furnie I this wretched gun 
B few articles of i. lispensable necessity; since 
then I have worked assiduously — but owing to 
my leeble health, and the constant care ne< 
by my infant, I have hardly been able to earn 
enough to support life, and I had no wi 
When the cold became so intense that 1 feared 
my child would pi risli, I was induced to tu 

I bad m i'er thought to take ; I wroti 
my mother- hj i answer yon yourself > 
When my kind neighbors came here 
ning I was perishing with hunger, and with 
cold. You now know mj history, down to 
die pre .in day. In spite of myself, I have 
still cherished the hope that M. de Monial 
would retur*; and toil hope, vague, flitting* 

and .in<-rrt;i in as it Wus, bus kept me 

now only i'in;iiiisl(»r me to tell you that my 

heart is broken, withered, dV m i thi 

feeling ol maternal affection. The very n 
ot love, the passion from which 1 h 
fered all, causes me to shudder in my ini 

I nasi 'ell y>u. too, diat despite the base 
imrra'imd. -i.| de Mfontal — despite his tr 
his peijiiry. Iii- L'rovelliim meanness. I 

ever recall, as the Bweetest period of 
mat when | knew him under my mother*! 
Bool ': and as the happiest, that when in my 
retreat, in the Hue d< i . 1 worked tor 
has die greater portion of my time, and spent 
the remainder in the anticipation and thr en- 
jovment of his company. 

••This is but little ere, limbic to mv spirit, I 
well know ; I ought to forget him, as the bus- 
bund of another. I should never mink of him, 
bal ! si rive to forget him in vain. 

" I Btpeat, thai, for joy or for sorrow. I ha™ 
ao longer a heart. The nJ tat is 

lefl mo is concentrated in my child. Yes, my 
heart i di ad ; or it ii even lieats. h e re- 

collection of the post— to the memory of joys 
dcp.-uied, never to return. 

" You now know all," said Tlieresc ; " and 
now you can comprehend why I refuse \ 
oiler, noble and generous as it i What can 
1 be to you :' al most, n dew 

companion. Why bind yourself for ever to 
one whose affections are frozi n 
Believe me, a heart lik. t of one 

which can respond to it in warmth and tender- 
ness. Yield not then : ing of cxagger- 
ated pity ; hereafter you will cruelly regret— 
and not alone will you regret — that you hive 
pushed your greatness of bouI to the verge of 
madness." 



THE BLACK MO'NflT. 



lo£ 



E«*m At Ker Ellio had listened to the Btory 

of admiration, BOr- 

2K)v itiiKsioii. But the courage and 

hud displayed, seemed tu 

the love he bore 



Old is witln.ni its weakness, and 
n candid in professing thai 
ese was merely fraternal; not 
dreamed of abusing the rights j 
tli the name of husband, be must ne- 
bui lie did cherish within Ins 
rei hope that Thenese, by lapse of 
, onstani soothing and ten< 
less, ami by contrast, might one day I"- brou 

tfontal.and to return the affection 
bore her, by partaking of 

lladenu ' l ,er " 

i„ her declaration, when she 
tor thai her bean was de 

,1.- othei to him than 

'l', : 0U nd ronvi tion oi n i soul, was 

,n ofseoond sight which exists 
woman alone; for she alon 
capal loving but I I'reaennng 

of thai 
while tl airofTh. 

,1 m bis heart th< 
a the same time he gua 
best he could, against eventual disappointr, 

otts thought,tha( even at the worst 
he S h. nc and o name to ihereae 

; ,,„l ;,,, child. Adhering, then, to the plan 
zed had effectually m< 

tbe heart oi the 

. : the • in rep 

ro to wh.el, Tbereae had arrived, 

*?°But your daughl 

Will become ol herl RecaU to mind your own 
tauflermu ;— will you expose hei to the « 

,;„ .liemibi lor 

K and go, ano which is oflersd herl and she 

a girl, the being of all OWfW>the most exposed 

me, tod ,.„., and to shame;— a 

o, like yourself, may find hex rum in 

, hem „ „t me same pure tu^ generous 

nu-nt, which caused yourownl FW 
pro „, n In seducing her will nak no- 

thing ; nothing bul her peace, hei happiness, and 
« honor. idling to expose 

rom child, a red, to the storms i 

.„ n t honor and loyalty you 

|tt0 ,-, as well as yoursell, » 

i | hi.i.i- 

found M difficult to combat argu- 
mch Pithivalrie huth 

: Ewen, which he bn-athed forth m 

_ry word, inspired a confi 

C0U ld noi for a moment do 
ill, her delicacy revolted at the base- 
,,r whirl, she alone was to t 

e benefit. In « -'« K« r I 

ber.ibat he should b. ul ■£• 

iad thai, ut being pemutted to consecrate his 



life to her service, he should be the happiest of 
men. He even offered to secure to her and her 
daughter, an ample independence, apart from 
him ; but this she would not accept. 

The day was spent in argument and entreaty, 
before Therese, overcome by maternal consid- 
erations, consented to his suit. Then, Ewen 
considering her his wife, removed her from her 
attic to a retired, but. comfortable hotel; and 
rewarding die kindness of the honest tinman 
;,,„', hi ff ife, with a present of the furniture he 
had purchased, and a gratuity which relieved 
them from the necessity of choosing between 
their clothing and their fuel, at once set in tram 
the formalities necessary to enable him to es- 
pouse her. _ , v 

Whet) be married her. the Baron de_ Ker 
I Ellio legally recognized the daughter ot The- 
1 rese. ae bis own i and immediately after, with 

,, f„|| of pcaOS and hope, set off tOT 

; ll ; ,,,l, ompany with his wife and 

child. 




CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE BLAfi II. 

Wi trust the. reai rgotten the 

, whose sfBicuonfcr the. young 

ofTreff llartlogwasso I touch- 

; Ann Jann, the nurse, and Les en Goch, 

the sol.her of ml Ve.ulean insurrection. 

\ year bad passed since the marriage el 

T,;, M ,|,. Ker Ellio; and from the 

n of l-es en Goch and Ann Jann. 

we shall learn something ol the course ot 

events during that period. 

ember had arrived: November, tteUack 

i //,. which, accruing ^J^iSfpS 

was so fatal to the baromaf house ol her Ell.o 
I., kin the day; butsoitack 
and dark was the weather, that it seemed like 

ev< ntii _ . i „„ 

en Goch and Ann Jam were seated, ac- 

cording to their custom, to the chimney cor- 
ners of the e chen Tta vast aparnuent 

wasunclmnr P K^Z 

Brittany, and the long, ^ w ™ d *%*?2g 

Us green panes, admitted the teeblel.gh of day. 

I upon. I,-, I car- 

ious* table* arid the t4r^,*o 

[(.walnut dresser. ^ rrnml 

, n j „n seemed borne down with sorrow. 

B vMi^.^nooMyandtaeituniaseTcr, 

paid no attention to ins wife, who had 
twice or thrice addressed ha - 

« Les en Goch, you do n't answer me, srJ 

Ann Jann, li; " 11 ' ^ TX \t 

Soulder o, her Busband who suned a the 
t()U ch; -d,d you find M. de Rector at the 

« He was gone to Roevek, lo^''"^ 
u-uig man f-hanpy fellow. 

added the old Breton, gloomily. 



104 



THERE SE DXTU OYF.n. 



" Why do you say, 'happy fellow V of one I woman is an evil one, because she causes the 



about to die ? 

" Happy fellow !" repeated the old Breton, 
with a sigh. 

" Happy ! those who live, too ! Les en Goch, 
you seem sad." 

" Sad as the black month J" 

" Ah ! this black month .' this Hack month .'" 
murmured die old nurse, mournfully. 

"Mor Nader was right," umttOied the old 
Breton to himself. " It is now two years this 
black month, since the chief quitted home to 
go to Paris. He returned in despair, and ready 
to die. One year ago, this same month, he re- 
turned hastily to Paris, to marry the white 
lady; white as the infernal portrait, which is 
the image of her. The black month is . 
again. One year, the chief has been mai i 
and his heart is sadder than ever." 

" Never," said Ann Jann. who had been at- 
tentively listening to the soliloquy of her hus- 
band— "never has my foster-son been a 
broken in spirit than now." 

"And never this cursed woman, or rathe! 
spectre, more ghastly," added foe old Breton 
4 When will she return to the hell from whence 
she came I" 

"Oh! curs.- hex not I She has lost her lit- 
tie child, and God alone knows how bitterly 
she has mourned and wept 

"The child was no child f 
• What]" 

" It was a phantom !" 

" Les en Goch V 

" The woman is not a woman ! I tell you 
they were both of them phantoms, which, in 
the Hack math, come from hell to fright man- 
kind ! Mor Nader says so, and he knows all 
things." 

" Les en Goch* why do you always bring in 
that man I lias not M. TAbbd de Kerouellan 
already curbed him from the altar— him and all 
have dealings wiih him > ' 

" The Lord also cursed Satan ; s.ill Sutan is 
Satan, nevertheless." 

" But why accuse this unhappy lady ? Does 
not the rector show her all respect and kind- 
I>oes he not spend whole days here 



trying to console her for the low of her babyf 
Ah! she is no phantom, unless il be .he phan- 
Tel oT" *" S *&* ° { ***> «»* lha\ 
nothing wicked about the poor woman. How 
kind she ,s to mothers in poverty and distress! 

m\a ' heni , and feeds ««» olothes their 

children ; though they almost break her heart 

by reminding her of he,- own lost son The 
poor hnd bread, and alms, and a shelter at the 
case, now the same as ever; and the v 
lady is good to all alik 

" The 3 ?Ju\ Sh °H k hi8 head and a ^ered: 
l he devil takes all sorts of forms." 

me foV £7° B'?™ M a P° or woman, sorrow- 

^'i Ln ^ ( i ,ha V 8 g0nc " Les e » Goch 
I tell you he takes all forms. I say this 



chief to pine away m sadness.' 
"But she seems to love hi i 
" So the grave loves the living." 
"The white / [uttshim." 

"So the fever never quits k whose 

brain it is consuming." 
" Les en Goch, you are unjust." 
" Unjust ! Was our lord, the chief, ever so 

much broken, even in his worst estate, Ann 

J a mi '?" 

"Alas ! he never was." 

'« Was he even so much so two years since, 

when, lor. the first time, he went to Paris |" 
"Alas! no." 

'I ell you this white lady is his evil angel? 
Hm ©mar evening, about night&ll, when sup- 
per was ready, J son<rht all over the castle for 
my lord and the white lady; at last 1 found 
^•■uu-.nul where, think you I \nn .Fann, 

I shudder now to teU yon— upon thi -dge 

of the parapet of the tower, which overhangs 
Cliff, whose fool is washed by the sea. The 

wind blew a hurricane ; the moon, from time 
to time, peeped out from behind the black clouds 
Which were scudding across the sky, and it was 
by her light that I saw them. The chief and 
the whiU huh, wen looking down into the 
abyss, leaning over it- aning over it— as 

if upon the eve ol phfflgfag from their giddy 
lit." 

• Ah ! wo! wo is me !" cried the old nurse, 
placing her hands over her eyes. 

" Wo ! wo ! to her if I » 

■ ' L< . i, i ;,„•!,. I,,, !, ! hugh • be calm ! There 
is that passing here which is beyond your com- 
bo. But what did you, when you saw 
tnj fosterrflon on such a fearful spot? What 
said yon ?" 

" I dated not say anything. I feared that 
'» I spoke I, might startle the chief, and cause 
h "" to lose his balance. I stood still. A sea 
fowl sailed over the town an-! filled the air with 

luswadm-s. The white lady and th. 
s, ! I,f ^id turned away. When I summon- 

ed [hem to supper, their faces were >d 

with tears." 

'Alas! ala.s! thai is too true! How < 
do they weep '" 

" V.. ii have seen them ! And at meal times 
what .strange glances they exchange. Ah! 
Ann Jann ! I tell you the whit, baa pos- 

session of our master's soul. The rector him- 
Belf nas been deceived by this phantom ; simple 
and good men always are deceived bv th* ri< 
I he white lady is an evil spirit, and will de- 
stroy tins house. Her portrait commenced the. 
work, and she will finish if. I tell yoa again, 
she has our master's soul already, and one day 
she will fly away with it : Mor Nader told me 
so." 

" Mor Nader is a fool." 

"He knows what no other man knows. lie 
is like no other man. What he prophesies, al- 
ways comes to pass." 

" Then wo ! wo ! to this house ! But why 




THE BLAfiK MONTH 









JOS 



did he not nredict for us the same fate as for 
our lord 
The old Breton made no reply. He sat for 
and silent, and then mut- 
to him; 
"If ! 11 him, would the predi- 

ccompli 
" Kill ! kill ! who, 1 Goch ?" inquired 









nurse, with looks of terror. 



" Kill nd the justice of God and man, 

how will you esco \ 

" When I kll was tah 

ut my I thought nothing of God 

nor man ; 1 it only of tlie chief whom I 

loved as my child. TV mes within the 

nyseli', gun in hand, 
iik, that rock by the sea- 
tore, wi ; Nader goes to sing his spirit- 
>ng to the letting 

. you have gone so 
out a' pity you, Lea en 

Perhaps he has done so ; for, though I have 
id this demon under my gun more than twenty 
les, something always has prevented me from 
ig. Sometimes my hand trembled, ui 
era my s-igli- cd. Go 

u yi. 

" Nor should 

become a mur> himself will punish 

Mor Nader. Bui what distresses me, is, that 

loster-son so often holds converse with this 

.is mad- 
has he not been »n the sen with the 
irretd in be forget, that two yea) 
that violent tempest trly pe: 

company 1" 

" Mor Nader says, that he ha9 read in the 
ids, that ti and the white lady shall 

rish m the Storm, during the black moi 
id Les i ig with horror. 

At i! -he door flew open, and Mor 

ider, with ei rod the castle. 

As idy said, this old man was 

■«tature, lu's long locks of silvery white- 
down on each side of his bronzed and 
rather-beaten face ; his costume was that of 
fishermen o! the Isle of Seine. A loose ca- 
of black and massy fabric, covered his 
id back and but left his brawny 

naked and exposed to the coldest wea- 
vildest storm. His countenance, 
vore a sinister and malignant ex- 
I'om lime to lime lighted up, as 
jkD's O' moments of 

fcu or madneBS came upon him. 

their bitter aversion againsi thifl 
, r , both Ann Jann and Lea en Goeh 
ry motion of respect, 
apurtm' 

bem, with sol- 
■asured stride, and glancing with his 
^Hp — whose pupils were like those of 
I of prey surrounded by a yellow iris— upon 
6* 




the ancient servitors alternately, he said, in a 
sharp and almost menacing tone : 

" The Pen Kan Guer, where is he !" 

b en Goch and Ann Jann looked upontho 
ground in silence, and made no answer. The 
old nurse armed herself with her cross. 

• ; Where Is the Pen Kan Guer? Where iar 
your master V repeated Mor Nader, in tones 
of thunc! 

"You know all things — why ask us?" re- 
! Les en Go 

" I do know !" returned Mor Nader. " He 
is in the blur th, which brings to him and 

to the white lady their day of doom '" 

" Did you hear that l" whispered Let en 
Goch to the nurse, who crossed herself de- 
voutly. 

The pilot, with his face fumed toward the 
window, which looked upon the sea, stretched 
nni bis long and sinewy arm toward the waste 
of waters, and in tones of wild and wailing 
music, he chanted the following incantation: 

"Under the fog the sea lies sleeping, 

Gently iho wind o' is is creeping: 

0I(' Hill M a bud-bound lake, 

ba billow-: no more on the white shores break. 

And the fisherman homeward wands his way. 

While his net* by the slumbering waters lay. 

But the crow of the sen, on hi.? dark-flapping whig, 

Over land and o'er oceun i ig : 

'iVeath that glassy surface of azure hue, 

nal vi-.imi oi honor hath Gladdened his view! 

Tis thoghoslly face of the drowned I ween. 
. With his visage of purple and eyes of green; 

Then higher and higher ha risea in air, 

Strnngennd wild arotbdalgl .» looks upon thero: 

The blaok rock", for the waves he no more can discern. 

Round Uie " Ruce of the Stragglers" the whirlpool doth 

ton 

His red bunuere the storm hath thrown out in the watt. 
His thunder-drum rolls; all in lightning he'sdrett. 
The winds sound- their trumpets; right onward they 

come. 
And the billows their coursers are Insh'd into foam. 
Then the sea-raven speeds to his lov'd Pen-kau-guer, 
He bath ti(Ungl of moment to speak in his ear." 

Mor Nader ceased, and the walls of the cas- 
dfl rung with (he peals of his wild and unearth- 
ly laughter. "Where is I here is he? 
where is lie V screamed the demoniac, in ear- 
piercing accents. 

Ann Jann crossed herself. 

It wai iger. a man, but a fiend, who 

came for th« soul of her master. 

" What would you say to the Pen Kan Guer V 
demanded Les en Goch, Bturdily. 

The pilot regarded him with a mysterious 
smile of sinister import, and answered, with his 
finger pointing to the sky : 

" What si. all happen, who need care. 
His destiny a written inure." 

At this moment, the door was thrown rude- 
ly open, and the collossal form of the Abbe 
de Kerouellan appeared before them. With his 
face black with rage, and his eyes flashing fire, 
he strode up to Mor N.^der, and seizing him 
with one hand by the collar, deapitn his strug- 
gles, he dragged him across the apartment. 



A 



108 



THERESE DUNOYET? 



" Yon Ule scoundrel !" he cried, 'you 

know what has been*, is, and is to eomr. do 
you? Tlien you know that I have promised 
yon u most tremendous flogging : that I am bare, 
and that your flogging is to come ; and that 
without a moment's more delay '■" 

Suiting the action '<» the word, the soldier- 
pricat let drive upon Mor tfader'a back and 



you afraid that old rogue will capsize 'he ca*» 
tie by blowing at it I It is only because yon 
encourage him. by listening to him, thai 
comes here with hi use. As for 

you Les en Goch, what is the reason you do tft 
keep a good block-thorn cudgel u> rub down 
his shoulders with, whenever he m up- 

I There is a kind in iliat 



shoulders a perfect hurricane of blows, from the , no magic nor witclu tisi ; ii a b 

butt of his riding-whip, and hurled him out of than I We Rerso Sfitmiiis; though you can 
doors, with the self-exculpatory observation : i say that too, if you have a mind t<>. 6m it doea 
*' There, da oo! thatfatheway IdtoiaW no hurt. But hereafter, do you follow my 



ample ; take my method with him, do n't he 
afraid; if there's any sin in it, I II give you 

Kwen J I i 



haee served you, when I v, i»oou !" 

Mor Nader, livid with rage, seemed for the 
moment wholly deprived ol reason ; his eyes abaolotion. Now, where 
rolled wildlv in \m head, and finding all re- Bpaak t<> him ;it om 
natance • tin, he burst forth in a deafening peal 
of maniacal laughter; when be had recovered 
himself, he lifted up his hands toward heaven, 
and muttered some unintelligible words, 
invoking curses upon the castle and its inhabi- 
tants ; then breaking a black cord, which he 



wore about bis beck, be threw the pieces upon merely said: 



I believe the Pen Kan Guer is in the oth 

part ol the castle, in the grand saloon, with 

White Lady .-"• the old Breton would 
call hi r his mistress. 

The rector hem his brows, and threw upon 
him ;i withering frown ; hut, cheeking him 




the door-sill where the abbu wa 

This magii • mony irritated In- military 
rererence again. 

" Cease your innii uses th imvyoa 

audacious bi ell or 1 *ll pat you thro 

another course of discipline," cried the abbe : 
" and now, ones for all. take your last, look at 
'his door, and never show your reprobate fade 
mside of it again. Hut I 'm provided Bga 

that already ; the otiicers of justice will have 
you by the heels io-rnorrow . and ii few ' 



m- 



" No matter now : conduct me to them 
atantly." 

Thr old Breton arose and pit 
lor up the grand ataircaae, which led to the 
state apartments of the castle. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

I LTION. 



H'iif..\ tie- Mil., ide Ke roue 1 1 ;iu em iven 

ii) prison, will teach you ettai tads, was aeatedvalone. in a vast ealoon, who 

-■ "t imposing upon my silly Book, with .lows looked upon the sea. As Moi 
pretended sorcery." riad described it , the evening was vet culm, a 



While the abbs' waa speaking, Moi had 

been busy with his mysteries ; he had thrown 
a little bag, which had been attached to the 



the approach ol tfaia Btorm waa already visible 
from afar. Th.- sun wai behind 

of heavy clouds,; the ocean waa stili. but 



cord also, upon the door-sill, and then holding waters began to ml. k and I 

in his hands a viol, he cried out ash.- retreated : the wind was hushed, b 

"This philter, priest, is mads of the sea. bnt thret cudding from th 



crow's . I the I iper's heart. 

"How? yon vagabond!" exclaimed the reo 



Ewen, wrapped in meditation, did not ob- 
serve the abbe's entrance. With his 



tor, brandishing his whip, and advancing; upon the table, his chin resting upo 

"thisisasove..,-,, remedy for witchcraft." his eyes red with tears and watel M d< 

Mor Nader seemed to throw the magic Ker Ellio looked mechanically up< 

philter upon the castle, and cried oat : jm, 



ft** To-morrow, the grave-digger will go fas 
rounds with hisbelL He will Bpread me ti- 
ding! "t death through the land." 

The ubbe himself waa struck with the sol- 
emn, and almost awful, manner in which Mor 
Nader pronounced these words: but us the 
pilot was retreating with rapid steps toward 



Th-' baron was but the .-hinlow of I 
his hollow- cheeks, his sunk, n eyi . Ii death- 
like paleness, all betrayed 
onsuming him. 

The rector regarded his former pupil for a 
While in imd then arid.' in: 

"Ewen! Ewen!" he cried in soothing tones, 



!j!k;f. a ; m;. 00 "^" 1 ! 1 ^ 1 . 1 " 1 '!! 1 ! *' il1 ! shukin -, llls " what are you thinking of, my 

The baron started, threw up abbe a 

wild and haggard look, and ih-u recovering 
himself, replied: " It will tie a bad iikdit— I was 

Les an bocb upon their knees, engaged in fer- looking upon the sea." 

Xm ) l Yv'T r ' >•.,. i t. And think iim, I presume, what u fine time 

the worthy pastor ; h would be >o take an excursion upon the bay. 



whip at him once more, and then returned to 
the kitchen. 

In that apartment* he found Ann Jann and 



•?what the devil are you about now? as I 
should have said when I was a dragroon, are 



Why, the pilot was here but a moment ago," 
said the abbe, archly. 



THE CONVERSATION. 



10? 



f 



Ewen looked down, hut made no answer. 
The abbd continued : 

• V, I got here just in time to horsewhip 

the nagicinn out of the house. Now, 

Do you forget how near .Ins 

o drowning you two ago, 

.urpose of fulfilling his own predictions! 

in ease and gayety which 

rrom feeling, replied Cheer- 

"Why.you know, father, thai I am very 

[of sailing ,v«u l ,iuu...- 1 . t -rially acrid^u- 

; since my r.miu.n.ywii'Tmdl have 

,,n.lv heen out with Mor Nader, and tfw 

,iloi has always sustained his reputation 

for skill and fidelity ; we have been to the idfl 

"' Sl llir VV1,U llin '" .• i r mu ,« 

« Bui you know that '1"- wwjcb »p 

believe that the month of November » fetal to 
ad this is that very month. Again, 

Be you m beware ol him. , 

:..,.,,„ Rmu9 ed at his eccentricitieB , 

, thefeiaUtyoi 

Wch 

smtt st believe without explanation, fikeeoine 

which pass onr comprehenao 
■• you allude to the picture whiehwas bi 
go long ago: bu. 1 am explain that i 
fectly Itwasbnl the canvas which your fa 
tore off from the panel and bntnt, but . und.-r- 
»eath that was , p. ol to PJjw 

iwelf. T rwasimperceptAleal first 

alI( | unobserved, but exposure to the a.r and 

'' i ':r;; i ; 1 ; i ; 1 ;;;; i ;;!i: sin guiarr r cmbhn,, ; of 

your wife i" this portrait—— 

"Was all the effect ot chance, my friend. 
Besides, what comparison is there between 
the two? The woman, whom this rnyatwiotw 
portrait represents, horribly tormented my an. 
or , ana brought him to an untimely end. 
, m the other hand, is, as you know, 
an angel of goodness, and makes mc the hap. 

^•'"iur wife is a model of aU that is 

kind, and sweet, and . ■huriiablc. hhe » a 
wonimioi-raregoodn^siandyetyouarenr 

rronl being the happiest oi men. You are 

'■? .i„u that is the J 

rthThaShipe I went through in the .inaur- 

,.,,,„„ keeping upon the ground, and In 

^X" ml InH tell mc that: you were as 
in oak long afterward. 

^uif'ut^r ailment isn... bodily, but 

lancholy increases daily. 
« W by, I never was very gay- 
« 1 don't want you to be gay, but cheerful. 
Again, permit me to tell you, abb* 



" Oh, you arc getting impatient with me ; 
that is the worst sign yet. But I have held 
my peace long enough. Your heart is seri- 
ously wounded. 1 must be frank with you. 
I have found out tho cause." 

" What can you mean?" 

" I know everything." 

" What do you know ?" cried Ewen, in 

alarm. 

" Fear nothing. What I have discovered, 
is as safe within my breast as the secret of 
a confessional." 

" We!'., what is it?" 

"You are dying of a hidden grief: you 
look already like a spectre. You are the 
most unhappy of men." 

"The death of our child has caused me 
great distress. Is it not natural !" 
" i cannot answer that question." 
"Why!" 
• Don't auk me." 
"What do you mean?" 
"That it is B01 the ih.uh of your child 
which causes your distress." 

" I have already confessed to you that two 

,■,,„■.■ 1 front to 1'aiH, and, after having 

seduced .Mademoiselle Dimoyer, I abandoned 

hor. Driven by iv i-r, 1 returned there last 

, married her, and bestowed my nam-: 
upon Thereso and her infant." 

« You did tell mc this, Ewen— you have 
thus explained the cause of your cruel suffer, 
ings— you attributed them to remorse !— no- 
ble, generous hearted man! this was not 
true !" 

" Abb< „, ', . 

« Not one word of it. Under the. aemb. 
.lance of a crime, you have concealed un- 
bounded magnanimity t 

"But, once more " 

" But, once more, Ewen, you have restored 
to honor an unfortunate woman, whom a 
monster had disgraced. I see that you are 
astonished at the extent ot my mtonnauou. 

" ft is strange, truly !" said Ewen, m but- 

i i rise 

" 1 suspected you, from tho first ; you are 
,„,, a man ID commit so infamous an action ; 
and then, if you had done so, what hindered 
you from atoning for it long ago; why did 
you first think of the atonement when you 
heard the news of your cousin's marriage? 
You see your story was inconsistent, every 
way? You returned here with B wile and a 
child you called your own.'' 
m Did I not always treat it as my own r 
"Were you ever deficient in kindness, 
generosity, or delicacy of feeling ? The first 
\ nnnlh after your return, your countenance 
was radiant with happiness and hope— 1 con- 
fess, that at first I was prejudiced against your 
-but my prejudice speedily yielded to 
her angelic goodness, and to the affectton she 
manifested for you, though in the latter there 
was over something peculiar. One thing, ev- 



*wO 



•JHERESE DtJNOVER 




er confirmed my suspicions. Notwithstanding 
your uniform kindness to tins infant, there 
were times, when involuntary, and almost im- 
perceptible, manifestations of disgust escaped 
you. I was convinced that there was some- 
thing within your inmost heart which revolt- 
ed at its prose Be •" 

" Abbd, abb6 ! in pity, not one word more !" 
" Ewen, my friend, do not think for a mo- 
ment," said the abbe", taking the hand of his 
former pupil with tenderness, "do not think 1 
uii about to reproach you — you have pushed 
your magnanimity to the extremest bounds ; 
no, I come to solicit you, to exact — by show- 
ing you how much J know already — your 
confidence entire ; I have for a lorij,' time 
hesitated, but lean do so no longer. In spite 
of my better reason, I am myself disqui' 
I know not why, by the approach of this 
black month — it is always stormy upon the 
coast, and that, of itself, may add to your in- 
disposition." 

" Fear nothing, my friend," replied Ewen, 
Minling; •• true, the great Physician will cause 

me to " 

'• It may be so ; but this depression — the ef- 
of which I see, and thu cause- of which 
1 am ignorant of — would it not yield more 
readily to something which would distract your 
attention I — a journey say. Listen to me ! 
leave here with yon* wife as soon ns possible ; 
a rhange of scene will benefit yon both. .Sup- 
pose you pass the w inter bo the Interior." 

"Of what would I. my friend, if, as 

you suppose, I am suffering from some hidden 
sorrow. Would it not go with me wheresoever 
I went >" 

" You grant, then, that there is some hidden 
Borren 

'' 1 gram mat my melancholy may furnish 
you with some reason to think so." 

"But why this melancholy? Mademoiselle 
Dunoyer has married you, and forgotten her in- 
famous cousin. It must be so, for she cannot 
be insensible to your goodness of soul. Still, 
'tis strange for all — she seems as sad and wo- 
begone as you " 

*' 'Tis the death of iter child, nothing else, I 
assure you. A mothers-regrets are eternal ! 
Believe me, my dearest lr*nd, you alarm your- 
self unnecessarily on our account ; we an im- 
proving. For the la^t few days Thereae has 
felt much better. Did you not meet her,a day 
or two since, on the meadows, not only cheer- 
ful, but almost gay]" 

" That very gayety affrighted me ; it was 
what induced me to speak to you to-day." 

" But, my friend " 

" I teli you that there was something I min- 
bo that gayetyl" 

" You are mistaken.? 

" 1 cannot be ! I read it in your countena nee — 
in that of your wife ! It made me treuih 

" But, indeed, abbe, you are wrong : Therese 
and I werenever more coniiding in each other 



than at that very moment. Our interchange 
of thoughts, during our long walk, had been 
complete and u our communication 

had never been more G intimate, nor 

more sweet." 

'• Unhappy man ! you cannot see yourself, 
as I do. Your words are ingenuous, and per- 
suasive enough; but, when 1 look upon you, 
the tears come into my eyes. My heart is 
ready to break ! I have a terrible present!, 
in' nt of evil! Ewen, conceal nothing from 
me, in Heaven's name !" 

" What mean you ! abbe" ? I have nothing 
to conceal !" 

" My instinct enables mo to discover the 
bitterness which is covered over by this appa- 
rent frankness, and complacency ! Your for- 
ced tranquillity alarms me. Ewen, Ew 
My dear, dear son ! I supplicate ! I entreat 
you, trust mo ! I have, hitherto, borne this in 
silence : but, to-day, you terrify me ! I w ill 
not leave you, till you satisfy int !" 

" But, how ? my best of friends ! I tell 
yon, that I have nothing to conceal — nor has 
Therese ; her grief, on the contrary, seems to 
moderate ! She loves me dearly, and I re- 
turn her love ! The loss of her child but 
binds us closer together ! We are both of us 
by nature melancholy. I, you know, was 
never gay. The health of Therese is feeble ; 
mine is poor. But we are young. We shall 
outlive all these things — everything but the 
solemn reveries which properly appertain to 
dreamers, such as we ! Believe me, my friend, 
we conceal nothing from you. And, as to the 
fatal influence of the black month," added 
Ewen, with a smile, " it is hardly in character, 
for an old free-thinker, like you, to troub 
yourself with such a superstition! Do you 
want me to remind you of your own com- 
ments upon it, some year or two ago : * Why 
should it bo more fatal than l If the 

leaves fall in autumn, do they not sprout again 
in the spring-time?' Fear nothing, my good 
old friend! We shall pass many a black 
month togother yet ; though you may have to 
reproach my wife and I again, for indulging 
in our dreams and reveries !" 

The Abbe* de Kcrouellan regarded the 
baron doubtingly ; and, at length, with eyes 
still moist, he answered him : 

" I am but too anxious to believe you— -too 
willing to trust you, my dearest Ewen. Still, 
I cannot help feeling some vague presentiment 
— the presence of Mor Nader — but, I thank 
God ! after to-morrow, I ahull have no more 
trouble, with that old scoundrel ! Oh I I had 
forgotten — within the hour, as 1 r d to 

my presbytery, a letter was put into my hands, 
from my correspondent at Renues, who says 
that yoHr father-in-law, M. Dunoyer, is em- 
barrassed. It is reported that he has suspend- 
ed payment. I know not whether this into, 
rests you !" 
I thank you, my friend, fortunately I hare 



BEAUT OPENED TO HEART. 



109 



Withdrawn my funda in time; but, in any 
•vent, it would have been of little importance." 
" What ! of little importance? More than 
a third of your estate !" 

** I meant to have said, my dear friend, thai, 
my funda being safe, it was of very little im- 
Kort me whether M. Dunoyor failed or 

not, 

•• Wi 11, my son, you have managed to re- 
' assure me a little, ami I feel somewhat easier. 
will go to Pont Croix, upon the busi- 
ness of that respectable old gentleman, to 
u 1 administered, a while ago, a little 
discipline, a la mode dragoon." 

i.l what are you going to do now ?" 
"Oh, as ho has the honor to be a protege" of 
yours, I'll tell you that to-morrow, at dinner — 
ou will give me a dinner here ?'■ 
"With the greatest of pleasuro," replied 
n, concealing hie embarrassment from 
the Rector ; " I would ask you this evening, 
butThercse is indisposed.'' 

" Well, well ; I'm getting childish. I'm 
easily alarmed and easily appeased ; I'm al- 
most satisfied already. Adieu, then, till to. 
morrow ; hut I warn you, Kwen, 1 shall re- 
turn to this subject again;" and ho held 001 
his hand affectionately. 

The baron shook it heartily; he was upon 

the point of throwing himself into tho abbess 

, anil telling him all; but he constrainod 

elf. 

The abb6 departed, and Ewen, for a long 

, paced the apartment alone. The night 

came down, and the wind began to rise. 

At six o'clock, Lcs en Goch announced 

dinner. Ewen round Therese in the aalle a 

niangtr. The repast was short and silent; 

land alter it was concluded Thcrosc and M. 

Je Kev Ellio betook themselves to tho grand 

[saloon, where the abbe" had found the baron. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

HL.AKT OrENEO TO HEART. 

Tin saloon was hung with tapestry of a 

frnibre red ; the windows opened upon the 

j, and the vast apartment was dimly lighted 

I a single shaded lamp. 

pl« wind was rising feat, and already blew 

riolence; the sound of the waves was 

„d a it upon the rocky shore; 

i in, in heavy drops, began to drum upon 

low-panee, and trough the longcor- 

i the castle sang the breeze, as it pen. 

through the walls. 

r Ellio sat before the fire, ab- 
^Kt nought, with his face hidden by 

^B his hands. Thcrese, pale and emaciat- 
tsd, gazed with an abstracted look upon the 
i glowing embers. She was motionless, and 



looked the statue of grief. After a long" si- 
lence, she addressed her husband : 

41 Will Mor Nader return, in spite of the 
threats of the abbe" V* 

Ewen raised his head, and smiled bitterly. 
" Ho will return : — we are in the black 
month." 

" lie predicted this tempest ; will it eon- 
tinue till to-morrow ?" 

" There is no doubt of it, Therese." 
Ewen rose and paced the saloon for some- 
time in silence ; he then approached his wife, 
and said : "If you wish to write to any one, 
now is the time ; there is more dignity in si- 
lenc> 

" You arc right. When I shook the hand 
of our good abb.6, 1 bade him fun. well from the 
bottom of my heart. How far is it hence to 
the point of Kergall, by the sea V 
" Two leagues." 
" And this wind is unfavorable 
" No pilot would attempt the passage with 
this wind; it would be certain destruction." 
Then, in a solemn tone, M. do Ker Ellio ad- 
ded : " Thcrese, have you not reflected 
"lhav 

" And you are resolved ?" 
" I am." 

"I am criminal in consenting." 
"Thecnn itual, t! the resolu- 

tion is. Who first suggested it, I know not ; 
but you, at least, selected the anniversary of 

our marriage, for our " 

"Deliverance, Therese. Have 1 doue 
wrung?" 

" Oh ! no ; but you — are you resolved T" 
" I trust to be so, to-morrow — only some- 
times — one thought — " 
• What is it ?» 

" Tho suicide incurs eternal torments !" 
" But we are not suicides, my dear. Mor 
Nader proposes to us an excursion by sea, 
and we accept his offer." 

" True ; and wo will leave this interesting 
question for casuists to debate. Our burthen 
is too heavy to be borne, and we must lay u 
down." t 

" Whom do we injure, Ewen i No one. ' 
" No one, Therese." 

" You gave me your hand nobly. I ac- 
cepted it for the sake of my niluut, who is 
gone. I have loved you as the kindest of 
brothers, and yet, what a life have we lived ? " 
" Wretched ! oh, wretched !" 
" Friendship will do nothing for us. To 
this hour 1 can never forget the man who 
has so basely abandoned me. And you, who 
love me with devotion so unbounded, I can- 
not love in return. This is fatal. What's to 

bo done 7" 

" That which we are about to do, There. 

» Why should we live. You cannot over- 
come your love for me. 1 cannot return it, 
and forget that man. We strivo in vain — tho 
struggle only wears us out : let us begone." 



no 



•rasRKse dttmoybb* 



After a moment's silence, Ewen said, sud- 
denly, " I should like to know what M. dc 
Montal is doing and thinking of at this mo. 
ment ; when hiB evil deeds are just upon the 
eve o( hurling two of God's creatures into 
eternity. Let us see : it is about two o'clock ; 
he should be at the opera, or at some ball 
with the abandoned creature he has marri'd 
for herwealth." And then, elevating his voice, 
exclaimed in bitter irony, " Pardon, Therese, 
we deserve our lot. You are young and 
handsome ; I am rich. Our hearts are dead. 
Suppose— as the human race is odious to us 
—instead of shunning them by a hasty death, 
we devote our youth, our hearts, our gold, and 
our energies to vengeance, and return upon 
our kind, ill for ill ?" 

" Poor Ewen !" replied Therese, smiling 
sweetly, " we were never made to piny that 
plir t_we should be but awkward hands at 
vengeance." 

■ True," replied Ewen, smiling m his turn, 
" I have not the power to be wicked— my 
heart is broken; I have lost all hope— but 
why should I conceal it at this last hour, 
Therese ? I have Imped, and hoped in you." 

" You had a right to hope, knowing your 
own worth; but tis my misfortune not to dc. 
acrve such love as yours. I confers it now 
with shame, my Ewen, that oven now, I re- 
gret the few happy hours of hope and love I 
once experienced with another." 

" And you are justifiable in so doing ; its 
. oustancy is all that redeems your love for 
such a man," replied Ewen. " Oh, what an 
unfathomable abyss is the human soul," he 
continued ; " to obtain your love— to efface 
thb memory of this butcher from your soul, 
has been my unceasing endeavor and my 
most ardent prayer. Yet, had I succeeded, I 
1 could not so much have esteemed you. 1 
could not have said, with so much desperate 
satisfaction, Therese is one who knows no 

second love." 

" And hence, look at the fatality of our 
position, Ewen : had I seen you first, I should 
doubtless have loved you to the exclusion of 

any other." 

" You would have h>ved me, Therese — 
hence the mortal nature of my malady." 

" And now, by what strange law of nature 
am 1 incapable of enjoying tho love and hap- 
piness you offer me. What is the secret of 
this cursed influence which this man — who 
has heaped upon my head so many sorrows 
— still exercises upon me. Oh, 1 know not ; 
1 can only say with you, ■ what an unfathom- 
able abyss is the human soul.' " 

" It is that you cannot love me as a lover, 
Therese." Terrible thought— fatal as destiny 
itself." 

" But, my good, my noble brother, I cannot 
love you as a lover." 

•'The difference between the kindest 
friendship and human passion is what di. 



vides us : ia this weakness, Or is it grandeur 
of soul ?» 

" 'T is both, Ewen. We are worthy, both 
of us, of making such great sacrifices — of 
contending for this superiority in generosity 
— but it is in vain. We must die, and wo 
wait with impatience for our doom" 

" But tell mc, Therese, is this indeed weak- 
ness or greatness of soul, which hurries us 
onward to despair for so slight a difference of 
sentiment ?" 

"This litde difference of sentin.- ni, which 
souls of coarser mould would disregard, is to 
us insufferable. How hearts like ours Bhould 
not unite intuitively, is inexplicable ; per- 
chance love cannot exist between two who 
so nearly resemble one another. And ah! 
fearful thought ! 1 have a revelation to make 
you of tho depravity of the female heart. 
Horrible— it is degrading ; but still I that 

the voice which ever lulls in sweetest accents 
on our car, is not the most inviting; and that 
;1 aural of unvaried kindness is by no means 
priced as it should be by those upon whom 
it in lavished. And then, t<>". tbefa is such 
a joy, such a pride in pardoning a wrung — to 
love those who cherish us, is so easy ; what 
effort, what courage do. 9 it i- quire? What 
suffering or anxiety docs it inflict or cause?" 

" You are right, Therese ; some must par- 
take of sorrow as well as of joy. If this man 
should write you to-morrow, come — — " 

Therese remained Bilent for a tew mo- 
meats, and then replied: 

" My heart died with my infant." 

" And the death of that child destroyed tho 
latest hope I cherished." 

■• What mean you, Ewen?" 

" At this sad hour, I feel a melancholy 
satisfaction in confessing all the inmost feel- 
ings of my heart. When your infant died, 
I » 

" What, Ewen ? what would you say ? ■ 

" You saw with what care 1 nursed the 
iittle child. Its last sigh was breathed with- 
in my arms." 

" I saw it." 

" Well, well— but no, it is too frightful !" 

" Go on." 

" It's death." 

"It's death?" 

Ewen remained somelimi in silence and 
embarrassment, and at last he said, with an 
air of hesitation -. 

« The life of this child was the last tie 
which bound you to dc Montal. When that 
tie was broken- 



" 



" You could not avoid hoping- 

" Alas !" 

" It was but natural, Ewen— I should re- 
joice at tho death of Madame de Montal." 

" Is there not a heavenly joy in quitting 
such a life!" cried BwaB. 

At this moment the fury of the wind re- 



hbart opened to hear 



111 



doubled, and die roar of the sea was like the 

it a hurricane, Ewen. It seems as 
would raze the castle to its foundation." 
*' Blessed be the storm, my Thereae ! ii 
betokens a fearful day to-morrow. Our voy- 
vergall will be eventful !" 

d iIp hands of Ewen within 
her own, and answered : 

ourage, my brother, our destiny will be 
mplished ; to strive with it, were vain." 
" And a strange destiny it ia," responded 
Ew. 
Their conversation ceased for the whih , 
y listened in silence to the storm. It 
k tin castle of Trcif Hartlog to iLs foun- 
dation •, the lamp and the lire shed hut a 
■ light. From timo to time, the moon 
< ni< r ing from the black clouds, which fled 
ie the wind, throw her rays into the 
glooi. irlmcnt — midnight sounded from 

parish church of the Abbe 1 de Keronellan 
Unable to overcome his anxiety on Ewen's 

. the good alil>6 was at In a devoti 
Hi prayed ne — ia B lower part of the 

castle of TreffHaftlog, the anci< m M ivitors, 
Ann Jann and Lea an Qochj prayed also for 
me soul of it master. 

It was a fearful 9ight to see two such beings 
like Ewen and Thereae, in the bloom of life, 
and surrounded with all the appliances of hap- 
pine S3, looking fearful and impending death, 
m calmly In the face. 

The tempest raged with increased violence ; 
the ram, driven by the wind, descended the 
nney, and extinguished the fire. Ewen 
and his wife sat immovable, plunged in a 
sombre revcry. Theresa was the first to break 
rhe silence. With a sad smile, she said to her 

band : 

•• How capricious is the rango of thought ! 
\V!m! think you, Ewen, was passing through 
mind ! but now " 

« What, Thereae?" 

'• 1 was thinking of one of those quiet and 
peaceful evenings which I spent alone, when 
a girl, some two years since ; some unmerited 
repn ! rom my parents, had been follow. 

ed up by a confinement to my chamber, as a 
nent. My sister, and my governess, 
bad been taken lo the play; and I, left aj 
bprne, enjov >|uict hours in reading and 

weeping over the magic pages of Chat 
Inland, and longing for a life in the ->litudes 

Brittany. Who would have believed that, 
wo short years, I shor.'.J myself be a d 

r in my much-loved Brittany : the wife of 
one as kind, as tender, as chivalric as the 
Ren6, that ' love(J » and vet unhappy— yoa,_ 
unhaopy, mournful, Bad, even to the verge of 
madness !" added Thereae, overcome by her 
emotion. 

" T ia strange, Thereae ; and yet 't is true, 

my thoughts so nearly assimilate to your 

own. Two years ago, I too, was worshipping 



the ideal i I knew you not, and yet I dream- 
' il of you. Your image was. before me. I 
said to myself: ' How improbable, that such a 
being should exist ! How much more so, that 
she should ever be mine " How wonderful 
would it hare seemed, nay, how impossible ! 
if I had been told, ' the dream-girl of your soul 
is in the flesh — she shall he yours. She will 
be by your side, and love you as a brother .'— 
and yet your soul shall be sad, sad even unto 
death.'" :J_. 

" And yet our wild imaginings are all ac- 
complished, and we are, as we are. And now, 
what is life to us ? What ties '.' what plea- 
sures 1 what interests attach us to our being 7 
I3 it the little good we do ? How often have 
you said : happy are the rich ! the good they 
do, lives after them '. The worthy abbe" de 
Kerouellan, will execute your wishes : he will 
take care of our poor — and our old servants 



>> 



"Oh! speak not of tli.-m, Therese, it un- 
man* me. 1 must forget my ingratitude to 
them, poor nurse !— "senGoch! Could 

you but know his fidelity, his courage, the 
Bgth of his attachment ! And then, my 
nurse ! after our parents, to whom do we 
owe so much, as to her, who has watched 
over our infant years? Poor couple! they 
will miss me, when I am gone ! they will 
grieve to death, when they see me no more ! 
At this sad hour, there rings upon my ear the 
wild and melancholy legends of my country, 
with which Ann Jann was accustomed to 
soothe my childhood's years ! And while you 
was far away, in your sweet and innocent 
girlhood ; I was listening to the internal repe- 
tition of in.' nurse's chant of other days." 

"My request may seem sir:tn:;e. Ewen ; 
but repeat to me, 1 pray you, thu*c word-. 
whose memory is so precious to pour heart. 
Tho wild legends of Brittany have ever had 
a charm irresistible to m> '" 

" And would you, Thereae " 

" I would have you repeal them : it will 
calm my troubled spirit." 

"Who could believe, that our last hour* 
should he thus spent I And yet, Thereae, 
what can be more appropriate, when quitting 

life, than to recall to mind the bo for- 

mer happiness ' But be indulgent to my le- 

Thereaej its charm is m its a 
pin ity of thought and diction ; it is a Breton 
chant, with little of music, and of metre. 
ig." 

Ewen, tin -ii. in a mournful voice, repeated 
the following lines, supposed to be the com- 
plainings of a girl of tender years : 

" Whilo musing by the river's side, I heard 
the sigh of the bird of death. 

" ■ Tina ! little Tina,' it whispered, 'know 
you not that you are sold — sold to tho Baron 
of Janio/. " 



112 



T H I R E S E J> TT N Y E ft . 




"'Ami, mother? tell me, mother, pray; 
am I sold to the Baron of Janioz ?' 

" ' Poor little one ! I know not : ask thy fa- 
ther, dearest.' 

" ' Am I father ? tell me, father dear — has 
the Lord de Jamoz bought thy daughter?' 

" ' Sweet child, 1 know not ; ask thy bro- 
ther, k> . 

M ' Laneick, my brother, tell me— am I sold 
to that proud lord 

" ' Yuu are ; you must at once away — this 
mt you must goto him. Your price is 
paid — fifty crowns of silver bright, and as 
many more of yellow gold.' 

" ' Dear mother, how shall I attire me? in 
my robe of red, or in the snowy white my Bis- 
ter, dear Helena, wove me ?' 

latter how,' my brother cried ; — 
' haste .' haste ! the black horse, housed in 
black, is at the door, and champs his bit in 
fury — haste ! the night approaches.' " 

Ewen paused, overcome with emotion — 
Therese was bctth- irs. Ewen eontin. 

i : 

" Tina had not left the hamlet far, when 
bhe heard the bells toll solemnly — she wept. 

"'Adieu! adieu, St. Anne!' she cried; 
' adieu ! spires of my country and my home; 
adieu !' 

" She passed the Lake of Anguish, and 
she saw a throng of the dead. 

" She saw tho dead, all dressed in white, 
in bo^ts upon the lake — their number none 
could tell. 

" Her head drooped on her breast ; her teeth 
chattered with affright. 

"When she passed the Vale of Blood, the 
dead swept after her upon her path." 

Therese trembled : she looked about he r 
in terror, and said to Ewen : " My brother ! 
my brother ! the icy moisture stands upon my 
forehead ! to-morrow, when wc have passed 
the boundary of time, perchance wc, too, 
like Tina, shall see the Lake of Anguish and 
the sheeted dead; perchance, from that bloody 
vale, the dead will follow us!" 

"How often have I thought, Therese, if 
any physical impression can be felt by the 
soul when it has left the body." 

" To-morrow, brother, to-morrow, for us, 
thisfeaifulmystf.ry will be solved — to-morrow 
wc shall know what is hidden from all the 
living. Is not this a consolation 

" I dread not death, Therese, but on your 
accoun 

Therese placed her small thin hand upon 
his lips, and said, " Go on with the story ut' 
poor Tina." 

Ewen kissed that hot and feverish hand, 
and continued : 

" The Baron of Janioz said to little Tina, 
whom he had from her brother bought : 
"« S t dowu till the repast is served.' 
" The baron sat by the fire — his counte- 



nance was black as night, his hair and bearcl 
as white as snow, his eyes were living coals. 

"'Come,' said he, 'little one, whom "I 
have coveted so long— come, beauty, come 
and see my wealth— go with me, and count 
my stores of silver and of gold.' 

" ' 1 had rather be with my mother, and 
count the chips I throw upon the lire.' 

" ' Come down into my cellar, and taste 
my eparkling wine.' 

'"1 would rather drink the water of the 
meadow with my father's horseB.' 

" ' Come with me to the shops, and buy a 
.■shawl of price' 

" ' I had rather have a gown of stuff, that 
my mother had made me.* 

" ' Come and select some garlands (or your 
hair.' 

" ' I prefer the plait of black my sister 
platted for me." 

" • Will nothing please you, little Tina ? 
Fool that I was to bay you, when naught 
will satisfy you!' 

" • Sweet birds, that fly around me,' said 
little Tina, ' hear my voice. You can revisit 
my native village — I cannot ; you are joyful 
— I am sad ; bear my love to those at home 
— to the dear mother who bore me — to the 
kind father who cherished me — to the poor 
priest who christened me — to each and all, 
my love and my farewell ; my pardon to my 
brother.' 

" Two or three months after, at an hour 
when the family of little Tina were buried 
in slumber, and dreaming at the midnight 
hour — when all was silent as the grave, with- 
in doors and without — a sweet and gentle 
little voice was heard at the door : 

" * Good father, dear mother,' it said, ' for 
the love of God, pray for my soul ! attire 
In black, for your Tina is on her 
bier.' " 

"Poor, poor Tina!" sobbed Thereee; 
" how touching is the story of her fate ! M 

" I cannot describe to you, Therese, my 
feelings ; as I recite it, I seem to hear my old 
nurse's voice, as when she lulled me to sleep 
with this sad ditty, as I used to sit upon her 
knees." 

A long silence succeeded, and the mourn- 
ful pair again were lost in revery. 

The wind roared unceasingly, and at last 
the day began to dawn. 

" Therese," said Ewen, breaking the si- 
lence at this solemn moment, " have you no 
feeling of hatred against this man who has so 
deeply wronged you?" 

" None 1 my last prayer will be for his 
happiness. Yes ; and if, as poets say, that 
heaven is a repetition of the choicest joys we 
have known on earth, then, if God receives 
me into paradise, will my I Edward be 

eternal." 

With such an appearance of fervent ainca- 



HEART OPENED TO HEART. 



113 



^Hfcd Thereat pronounce these words, that 

End's head dropped in silence and despair. 

orgive ma— forgive rac 1 dearest broth- 

l have wounded you. Ah I how can I 

i, repair the wrong?" 

"l.i us embark with Mor Nader at once!" 

n, with a sombre and desperate 

»ij. 

The first light of day began to penetrate 
nt ; from time to time snatches of 
H) ami mournful song were heard, as the 
for a moment intermitted its violence, 
voice from heaven. " Listen, 
Jen, I " cried Theresa: 

<ico of Mor Nader." 
mt mean those words?" 
ir meaning is but sad ; listen." 
And he translated the Breton improvisa- 
tion of Mor Nader : 

* Death, he rap» at the castle door, 
-j.- 1 . . ie hearts that ne'er trembled before ; 

King Death, tie stands at Uie castle gate ; 
Arc you ready within 7—1 wait, I wuit :" 

" That is his meaning, Therese." 
The voice continued : 
" Ewen, Ewen, read me those words 1" 
" They are more Bombre than before. List- 
en, Therese." 

•' A winding sheet, and of plank six Teet. 
A pillow of »traw beneuth his head. 
Four cubits of earth, in all. complete. 
b the wealth allotted to all the dead !" 

The voice continued : 
" What says he now, Ewen ?" 
u Alas ! poor woman ! hia strain is heart- 
rending to tho mother's ear !" 

" Mother of God ! on thy throne of snow. 
Look down in pity ou us here below '. 
Thy son in glory is with thee on high. 
While the mothers of earth o'er their lost ones n*h .* 

" Thus runs the song." 
" My daughter ! oh, my daughter !" groan- 
1 Therese. 

The voice continued- 
• What says be now !" cried Therese, 
whose maternal griefs were awakened anew. 
" Stilt the same mournful strain, poor mo- 
L trier 

[*Bfy loved one has left me, beyond the sky ; 

4-annot list to its fond mother's cry. , 

TheH send me denth. Mother, that henceforth I may bo 
For evermore, with mv child and with thee ! 

% Yes, death, death !" exclaimed Therese, 
Mining eagerly to the window, and looking 
Tout upon the morning. 

iwen followed his wife, to look for Mor 
Nu.l.-i At the extremity of one wing of the 
ile of Treff Hartlog, as we have already 
-ioned, stood a ruined tower, and a view 
[of this tower was commanded from the win. 
idows of the saloon. The dark clouds, then- 
ledges tinged with red, sailed rapidly through 
K air. The sun was rising behind a huge 



bank of fog, the mangin of which was em- 
purpled by his beams ; the sea, lashed into 
foam by the wind, rolled its huge breakers 
ceaselessly on the rock-bound shore. 

On the summit of tho ruined tower, his lof- 
ty form thrown into gigantic relief, his white 
locks waving in the wind, stood Mor Mader 
—the very incarnation of the spirit of the 
storm. The chief threw open a window ; 
Mor Nader, with solemn and mysterious 
mien, pointed to a little creek where danced 
a fragile bark. It was black ; and, seen from 
afar, looked strangely like a coffin. 

Then rang out a few words more of mystic 
song from the fearful being, whom the hap. 
less couple were about to invest themselves. 

" What says he, Ewen ?" cried Therese. 

" He calk us — listen." 

" No earthly bell, my departure shall toll. 
No priest o'or my body shall pray for my soul . 
But the sea, the sea " 

Therese and Ewen exchanged a look o* 
sad despair. 

Lea en Goch, who had watched and prayed, 
through the night, slept soundly in the morn- 
ing. 

Ewen and Therese passed unheard by his 
doors. 

THE BIT or TRESPASSERS. 

Dark are the tempest-driven clouds-~dark 
the tempest tossed waves, and dark the rocks 
of the bay of Trespassers, over which the 
tempest drives the sea. 

Dark is Mor Nader's fragile bark, as it rides 
upon the stormy waters — it waits for the ill- 
fated couple, as if it were their bier. 

Behind it tower the breathing clifts of 
granite — around it dash the furious waves — 
before it rages ocean in its fury — nor house, 
nor tree, nor shrub arc to be seen. A curse 
has swept over the spot, but the voice of the 
storm is up, and the sea beats in thunder upon 
the cliffs ; and, above all, rises the chant of 
Mor Nader. 

Perched upon a rock he thua apostrophizes ; 
his gloomy bark whose saila of red are flap- 
ping in the wind, and which springs with 
every billow as if it would break from its 
fastenings. 

" Black Barque, Black Barque— would you 
leave the prey you seek to bear away 1 It 
comes — wait — wait, it comes ; listen — listen. 

" From tho cold abyss the waves cry out, 
Mor Nader, we are ready. Where is Ewen 
de Ker Ellio? — where is the white lady ? 

" The sea weed, fit wreath to wind about 
the temples of the drowned, waves its long 
and slimv arms, and cries, Mor Nader, I am 
ready. Where is Ewen de Ker Ellio '—where 
is the white lady ? 

** Lifting high their thousand granite pointi, 
on which are hung the bodies of the castaway, 



114 



THERESE OTT N «*> Y ER 



the reefs cry out, Mor Nader, we arc ready. 
Where is Eweu de Ker Ellio ? — where is the 
white lady ?" 

" Sharpening their pointed beaks and their 
trenchant claws, tho sea-crows, ravenous for 
flesh, cry out, Mur Nader, we are ready. 
Where is Ewen de Ker Ellio ? — where is the 
white lady ? 

" Will you leave your prey, Black Barque ? 
Wait — wait ; it comes— it comes—" 

" Ewen dc Ker Ellio, you are lai 

" We are yet in time, good pilot." 

" Woman, you come late." 

" Good pilot, for the last time I was fain to 
kiss the earth which laid above my babe." 

u Ewen de Ker Ellio, we are in the black 
month — is your last prayer said V* 

•' Good pilot, weigh your anchor." 

•• Woman, your ancestress wrought her 
ancestor's death. You have sealed the doom 
oJ Bwen de Ker Ellio. Is your last prayer 
said ?" 

" Good pilot, set your sail." 

" We are afloat." 

" We are afloat.' 1 

" Therese, our haven is eternity !" 

•• Ewen, eternity !" 

On the morning of the anniversary of the 
marriage of Ewen and Therese, their bodies 
were found upon the shores of the domain of 
Treff Hartlog. Neither Mor Nader nor his 
bark were heard of more. His name was 



never after spoken, but with terror, by the 
fishermen and peasantry of that part of Brit. 
tany. In the eyes of this mild and simple 
people he was an incarnation of the evil one- 
he had predicted that Ewen de Ker Ellio and 
the white lady should perish in the black 
month. They had perished. 

The bodies of the last baron of Treff Hart- 
log and his wife wore buried by the ancient 
servants of his house. The dirgo was chant- 
ed, and the masses said by the good Abbe de 
Kerouellan. According to the last wish of the 
deceased lord, the bodies were interred in 
the cemetery of Treff Hartlog, one on each 
Bide of the infant of Therese. Its little frame 
reposed for ever between those whom in life 
it had separated for ever. 

On tho evening of the funeral, the fire iu 
the kitchen of Treff Hartlog was extinguish, 
ed ; darkness pervaded the vast apartment ; 
and but for the sobs which burst upon the ear, 
it might have seemed the dwelling of the dead 
rather than of the living. 

The storm was hushed, the stars shone out 
in all their glory, and at midnight the rising 
moon threw her rays through the long and 
narrow window, upon the sable-clad forms of 
Les en Goch, the soldier, and Ann Jann, the 
nursr. 

They were Bitting beside tlieii cold and 
cheerless hearth, their faces hidden, overcome 
with grief. 



THE END. 






. 



r kTat e 

IN SEARCH OF A HUSBAND. 

21 fltomtBtic ttomancc 

t> v 4t ADY CHRYSALIS 

One of the n.ort popul" WOT * ° f *2?1 thousand con« wew"": R seeks a hmband-and find. 

SsSSwssat 

PHILIP 

IN SEARCH OF A WIFE. 

01 Stqwl to "** in ft** of a ftrtart. 

BY A GENTLEMAN BUTTERFLY. ^ 

WINDSOR CASTLE. 

gin fjfetortcal Koroaucc. 

^SSjissjss^"" ' rom - noc - 

FAMILIAR 

LETTERS ON CHEMISTRY, 

-^ .vi. ITS RELATION TO 

toiU-awrthdelifhtbyejw (he|r •PphcoUon " l ,■ , hP attention of ^J" ™ very „*«.», the 






"^Bootofor the People," publish ed by J. Winchester, 30 Ann-street, New-Yor k. 

JUST PUBLISHED, 

pnMfLITK IN TKN TART8, AT TWENTY-FIV. CKNT* JACH, rOR 

•THREE DOLLARS, HANDSOMELY BOUND, 

SIR JOHN FROISSART'S 

CHKONICLES 

OF 

ENGLAND, FRANCE, SPAIN, 

AND 

THE ADJOINING COUNTRIES: 

TtfE K08T BARE. »AM»ABUL IRTEEEeTlHO AXB CtLRBRATEB WORE BVCR FUMIBBED IK M WORLD: 
BUOAKTLT WIRTED OR HirERnXE WHITE ntOU AK1> BPLEEMDLT ILLt-STRATRO WITH OVER 

ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY ENGRAVINGS, 

BBTRBSKSTIXO THE 8CENB8. COBTCKB0. EIEOEB, BATTLES. RATAL BBOAOEMBKTS ARB TOUERAKERTB 
OF THE MIDDLE AGES. ENGRAVED AT A COST OP 

ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS. 



•• nid von ever read Froissart F " No." wo* Morton', lanm " I have half a mind." said Clawhouse. 
..^V JTrixmo. inwftta ,,. cur. you that pleasure. His chapter. 

Inspire m with more enthusiasm than .tself."-OLD MoETAMTT. 

" Whoever ha» taken up the Chronicles of Froissart must have been dull indeed if ho did not find himse.l 
tmnspuiteu back to the days of Creasy aud l , oictiers. ,, -8ut Walter Scott. 

The works of Sib Jon* FrowsaET have been celebrated by poets, historians and novelists, for more 
than lour centuries. For many yean after their first publication they were circulated only through the 
B^, , and they were deemed pre*enu worthy of kings and ptinces. These manuscripts 

were frequvi.tly embellished with illustrations of a gorgeous description. 1 hey were done in bnght 
eolora on the broad margins of the parchment page.: hence Uiey huvc been aaid to bo lUtminaUd. 1 he 
edition which we present 1.0, reprint of that which appealed in London hut ihrea years since, and which u by 
for tl»e best and most W I that has ever been published. It is profuselj .lgravmgs on 

wood. «epreaentin« tcenea, customs, costumes and figures of the olden tune, executed expreatly for ui in the 

' 'ti i iaj«aA«einthi»odiUonwUlbe band perfectly morUmlEfid, End Umafcrn mb0| nt ri ytrnnd bf nil read- 
en. In quaintne* and of style, il a nlmustsciiptural. The Interest of Die story jncieaaes greatly as 
you read- it is the very romance of history. From this J 'ie most copious and abundant ever discovered, 
have the best modern novelist! and dramatists drawn their suppl.es. The nany a chivalrous and 
many a tender SOMM in Scott, and Jnmea. and their contemporaries, will be recognized in Hie vivid paces or , 

The Chronicles extend from lffl6to 1400. They comprehend every considerable n:i. b happened during 

that- , France. England. Scotland. Ireland and Flanders. Ti.. l« also a vast number of pamcu- 

law relative tothe affair (d-ll.rn.euud Avurn. ..... Germany, Italy ; even of Russia. Hungary, lur- 

iey. Africa— in short, of almost the whole known world. ... 

Froissart has ulwnvs been deemed by scholars un indispensable prc-reaulslte to the rending and right compre- 
heruion of mode I rejoice you have met with Froissnrt." wrote the poet Gray to one urine Mends, 

.. he j; B barbarous age. • * His locomotive disposition, (for then there was no other way 

of learning thing*,) his simple curiosity, his religious credulity, were much like those ol the oldGrecuin. 

From the New- York Tribune. 
These Chronic!©* have stood the test of five centuries, and. from the time they first appeared have been the 
mration of ienhts in .very country of Europe., t add J» the praises of 8 1 Palaye. «l31«rtJWEfl[ 

'•' Gray and Sir Walter Scott 7 Froissnrt-' h« Herodotus ol u barbarous age. with his wmple curiosity and 
licious credulity. " has been the delight for ages, ol all who love to rend 

" Of bold men's bloody combating and gentle ladies' tears." 

1 He hits presented a ' lure of Europe in iu boisterous spring-lime, with all its tumultuous u J«« u «ft»f 

He has given us a type both o the splendor Bod tie 
worhl. He has transmitted to posterity brilliant examples or dauntless hen-ism, ana 

I PC' ...It-. ....«., r ,, ■ . .. «»,,«*.;„ 

,othy and spirit of an eye-witness, nnd with the frankness of an ° dP™^** ^ f"^ ," 
was consistent with truth, he luu detailed the most 

•ng epochs m the prog re«s of cm. He basil. 

..hdrair. r. all that .can excii V'V'^^i.l! J^Vi?: 

in the In ,ol nobles, in the squabbles of priests, aud the amusement* ol that class wttn whom he 

i associated. 



1,1 Booh for the People;' published by J. Winchester, 30 Ann street, New- York. 



THE 

IRISH SKETCH-BOOK, 

BY MR. M. A. TITMARSH. 

WITH NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD, 
FROM THE AUTHOR'S DESIGNS. 

PRICE 37^ CENTS— THE USUAL DISCOUNT TO THE TRADE. 

We copy the lollowuig notices of this capital work from late Knglish papers. They speak truly. A better 
woik has not appeared for a long time. It will take rank with the Sketch-Book of our own Irving : 

i ichael Angelo Titmnrsh b precisely the writer who should sketch Ireland as it is. In the volumes before 
IB, he ha* cnught tho very characteristics of the clime, and his narrntive run? on amid sunMiine and tears, alter- 
nating between gay and grave, w itfa a never-fnilintf interest, which leaves one no chance, having once opened 
the book, but to read it to its very last page— ay. and to profit by it, too. 

The pencil sketches of Titmarsh are extremely clever."— [Morning Chronicle. 

•ne of the most valuable book* of travelling sketches that has bean published fa m.u.y n day -.and, ex- 
cepting ' Inglis,* it presenU the best idea of Ireland and tho bhli that we have met witli Tho render 

has set before him a graphic picture of Irish manners, character, and modes of living. . . . Taken as a 
Whole, the book is capital."— { Spectator. 

" A ramble through Ireland, in which everything is taken as it comes— character and wit are in all the draw 
iugs. We think tho book uncommonly clever, humorous, and kindly."— [Examiner. 
" Evidently the work of a man of acute observation, of warm sympathies, and excellent burner."— {Asns- 

WOTth'i .Magazine. 

"The stylo is witty, humorous, epigrammatic, and original. In addition tfl this, the author, who is a quick 
and clever draughtsman, has interspersed his volumes with many characteristic sketches, which 

lining representation! of what he witnessed ; and his emirfeot abilities as an artist have enabled lum. as far 
as print and paper will go, to present some of the most glowing description* which we have yet read a* Irish 
ery. Taking it altogether. It is a valuable and faithful record of the country."-! Atlrn. 



MARMADUKE WYVIL; 



OR, 



THE MAID'S REVENGE. 

3ln fitatoruftl Romance. 

BY H W. HERBERT, ESQ., 

AUTHOR OF " CROMWELL," " TUB RROTHERS," ETC., rTC., 



ETC. 



PRICE 37^ CENTS- THE USUAL DISCOUNT TO THE TRAP! 

„.. .ii-» .„.„.. n .i rrm»nre has met with almost unprecedented favor from the public Mannaduke 
J^jf^^S^^^A^St^ Cavaliers and Roundheads, and filled with the I 

" ^£?£ZFa^C*» ^roine. is one of the most touch*, and betutifttl » 

rtirm.g action and n I . .uwert. Alice tW. u« n ro npnminn by tail defll 

S^SSSK ££2£tt2« Z t'.e CSS are unanimous in its praUo. 

The • New Monthly M ' 1 ^' zi,,e ;'^! > of ^ owork rUe9al every . tep . and that the last volume is by far *■ 
. ,i that the power and ^^S^SSS the sympathies of the reader (to whl • be 

^t^^S^O^S^ti very far abovo those which may by many h. 
Kd to surpass then, ,„ artUtird skdl and mph»-ow« ; 
" A still hotter work than ' Oliver Cromwell, -j Athen»um. 



I 



" Booh for V* trap* ? ***** h J - WnduUr. 30 Ann *rut, Neu-York. 



THE 



MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 

21 JXtlVtl. 

BY EUGENE SUE. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY 
HENRY C. DEMHSTG. 



W. do not berate to prououuce ft* -^^--^ «'•„"? ^S ^ U^r^loS" 
It, publ.cat.oa in Pari, produced a creator «"£"*«» £22^15 ta" Proceed., the reader » iotroduced 
The novel certainly excite, the im* intaa. and .tartl. . s . ..terwi. to 1» u » p ol( . hora eter. from the 

to everyday of .cene ,fte* thenuM han,,*.,., »»££3*S ^r £ r .W wiU find i„ ua 
most degraded to the most *p.r.t.ml. J be o.to fo < omu e. a ^^^ from {he conimenre . 

of Stan" . Ibriiwi"" and »erc, a™ inctowl in lb. D»«low °t **»•» 

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

From U* Naw-York Evening Tost-Edited by Wm.C. Bryant. 
- On. Of the mostly i.tererting and thrilling work, that ha. been publ-hed in many year..* 

Fr«m the Albany Evening; Journal. 

^r^'w^^^^ 

ha. rarely .urpassed in hi. be* mood.." ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

account for the enthusiasm created by ' u « , ^^X , "^\7 > ;,;, 8 l h 0r , ^t«l in the heart of the old world, are 
nothin* in """^^ .be pace of the novehst In 

entirely new. Its character. are: sou. " "'^ £ Jg of ( , ay Ma ^ fref ,„cntod parts of the c.sy of Peru. 
the first part of h» '^MK^SSiSSS, and crime hold eternal reign, nod whore the only WD- 
,„to those fearful ami H^^J^WKJSw v.llainy and triumphaut vice. Here and there are 
bianco of enjoyment u the ££»»• « ""' »** ] higher order, which five ihe reader n bint (bat ho u amending 
scattered scenes Mdo^^ofa^MO^WgJJ . J JJ^ bo ^ fi[ml|y ^ ^ ^ Rutbor 

iu ,!,e scale of soc.ety and that beeinnii if oir u.e i « £ 8 fa a wriWr of wonder ful imnf uia - 

From the New-York Snn. 

perfect Dafuenotype view ol hie in . I . iru in *" "V™" £,, ei to Uv) en u,«ia.m wit), which each succeuive 
of misery and vice ..The -history of ^J^Sliion. are wondertully .pirited: all full of 
chapter was received by ^the w Jo^Far» mn ^ U f theori.inal » admirably preserved in this 

Kttvn ... then lani<uat:« ud l»et<»e^ua in. ^' aae ^ rf ^^ w ,, ere .j,, work w08 r.f inally published. 
WSStS^L^^ SS5 «* French novels, iu morality i. unex- 

cepiionabk." ^^ ^ New _y ork jjajiy Tribune-Edited by Horace Greeley. 

•• We have been somewhat interested by the war or the P<*U»hers ^.^^^l^^ff. 
• . c... ...... wivrnPSTKH'S is not only THE ORI(.l.\ Al. AMMIH-'AN BUI ii\<_u;mi niw* 

£*L«7oV..>w S c«*A like **« and intent of the author should read iU, cdxtton» 

From the Troy Daily Whif . 

PDMIIfflED rSV T HE HARPERS. Thefinni. the work of an elef ant "holnr. whoentenUroroorWy end 
E2S^^^™oSlS brdliunt conception, of hi. f^^t^^l^SXit^r' 
who. with dictionary in hand, digs sUipidly and mechanically into the nch mine which u opened beroro rum. 

Price One Dollar. The usual d-count to the undo. Ad ™ wmcHEOTER<a) Annttrett , N . w .York 



) 



I 



"Bocks for the People;* published by J. Winchester, 30 Ann street ;'New- York 



THE 



IRISH SKETCH-BOOK, 

f BY MR. M. A. TITMARSH. 

WITH NUMEROUS BN&HAVINQS ON WOOD, 

FROM TOE AUTHOR'S DESIGNS. 



PRICE 37% CENTS— THE USUAL DISCOUNT TO THE TRADE 



We copy the following notices of tliis capital work from late Knglish papers. Tliey speak truly- A better 
work hni not appeared for a lone time. It will tako rank with the Sketch-Book of our own Irving . 

" Michael Angelo Titmnnh h precisely the writer who should sketch Ireland as it fa, In the volumes before 
us, he has caught the very characteristic!! of the chine, and his narrative runs on amid *un-<hine and tears, alter- 
nating between gay and grave, with a never-failing interest, which leaves one no chance, having once opened 
the book, but to rend it to it* very Inst page— ay, and to profit by it, too. 

"The pencil sketches of Titmursh are extremely clever."— I Morning Chronicle. 

"One of the most valuable books of travelling sketches that has been published for many a day; and, ex- 
cepting ' Inglis,' it presents the best idea of Ireland and the Irish that we have met with The reader 

tif set before him a graphic picture of Irish manners, character, and modes of living. . . . Taken a* a 
hole, the book ii capital."— ( Spectator. 

" A ramble through Ireland, in w Inch everything is taken as it comes— character and wit are in all the draw- 
ings. We think the book uncommonly clever, humorous, and kindly."— IKxnminer. 

" K\ nlcntly the work of a man of acute observation, of warm sympathies, and excellent humer."— (Aim- 
worth's Magazine. % 

"The style is witty, humorous, epigrammatic, and original. In nddttion to this, the author, who is a quick 
and clever draughtsman, has interspersed his volumes with many elm net eristic sketches, whir* convey faithful 
and stirring representations of what he witnessed ; and his eminent abilities as an artist have enabled him, at far 
as print and paper will go, to present some of t i j • ■ Boat flowing d*aWription< which we hate yet read 
scenery. Taking it altogether, it is a valuable and faithful record of the country."— { Atins. 



MARMADUKE WYVIL; 

6 R., 

j THE MAID'S REVENGE. 

3ln £jt0toviral Hematite. 

I BY H VV. HERBERT, ESQ., 

AUTHOR OF " CROMWELL," " TUB HROTHKRS," ETC, ETC., ETC. 

PRICE 37^ CENTS — THE USUAL DISCOUNT TO THE TRADE. 

.dmirable historical romance has met with almost unprecedented favor from the public. Marmaduke 
Wrvil is a tale of the Commonwealth, abounding with Cavaliers and Roundheads and filled with the most 
stirring action and varied interest. Alice Selby. tho beroiue. is one of the most touching and beautiful portraits 
; boast Mr. Il.rhcrt has won for himself an enduring reputation by this delightful 
bark. We observe that die London literary journals, received by tho Columbia, are unanimous in its praise. 
New Monthly Magazine" for July, bays: 
• SufBM it that the power mul interest of tho work rises nt every «tcp. and that the last volume is by Al IN 
Lit stirring and effective of the three, and that in which all the sympathies of the reader (to whatever clau he 
Cr belong) are most effectually appealed to. And this is especially true in regard to those readers from whom 
^Kke Mr. Herbert can alone be supposed to look for his reward. In met, the conclodmg scenes of tin 
Kn*« to a tragic and poetical interest which placet "hern very far abovo those which may by many be 
BpNed to surpass them in artistical skdl and graphic power." 
v still belter work than ' Oliver Cromwell.' "— {Athens-urn. 

don or a man of genius."-(John Bull. , ,. ta 

^^Hfedir one of the ablest novels that the present season has produced. -ISun. 

IJEiivery clever story, the spirit of the lime is sketched in a maimer almost equal to the masterly \V ood- 
Ustoei.'"-{ Weekly Chronicle. „ .. ... . . , ,. , 

M A work of absorbing interest. It is fully equal to. if It does not actually surpaat anything of the kind that 
Ikoi appeared since the days of the Great Witard of the North."-( Sunday Times. 



I 






KBR 
ft* 

THb 
/8<J3 



"Books for the People," published by J Winchester, 30 Ann street, New-York. 



LIFE AND EXPLOITS 

OF THE 

DUKE OF WELLINGTON, 

EMBRACING, AT ONE VIEW, THE WHOLE 

MILITARY CAREER OF THIS ILLUSTRIOUS WARRIOR, 

INCLUDING A COMPLETE 

HISTORY OF THE PENINSULAR WAR, 

WITH ALL THE SPIRIT-STIRRING 

INCIDENTS AND ANECDOTES OF THAT MEMORABLE CONTEST. 

WITH MORE THAN FORTY HANDSOME ENGRA VINOS. 

This work comprises n pertecl account of a period of history, than whirl, there k none more important awl 
exciung It detail, with life-like power the mighty deed, which; were enactad ... the Peninsula, tt £M|I 
during the whole course of the Spanish Revolution. It is. in o word, the best popular history of thrD „ 
that L ever bee., issued from the pres«. It present,, in a style of ^^^^^^ZZZft 
event In the life of the Grew Captain. It is. indeed, a matter of surprise, -And it must strike every render turn 
such a muss of history can have been condensed into so small a compass. v ,„„ M j 1 „i 1 i » i-ther 

No reader of taste, who m denuooi of inform...,,,,, ,,.her for himself ur the member* of a household, whether 
old or young, lhoold fail to procure a work, from which so much can 1* gamed at so IitU* cost. 

Price % cenu ; Five copies for S1-S16 per hundred. 

LIEBIG'S ANIMAL CHEMISTRY, 

OR, 

ORGANIC CHEMISTRY, 

IN ITS APPLICATION TO PHYSIOLOGY AND PATHOLOGY. 



BY JUSTUS LIEBIG, 

PROFESSOR Or CHEMISTRY IN THR UNIVERSITY OV CRIMEN. 



This valuable work, it is admitted on all sides, marks the commencement of a new ara to #***?Z^}j*}*- 
by the profound sagacity which enabled him to erect so beautiful a structure on the foundation oi acts v.) . _h 
ofhen had ol«owed*to remain for S o long a time Utterly uselea. ha. dated the ^m'j«»n of jh. «^e 
world. His important discovery of the true source of animal heat, would aloa. immortalize him The author . 
object in .h,s work, has been to direct attention 10 the points of intersection of Chem.strr with ">r»^ •"* 
to point out those parts in which the sciences become, u it were, mixed up together. The volume contain, i a 
collection of problems, such as I y at present requires to be resolved ; and a number of conclusions. 

D according to the rules of that science, from closo observations omd long experience. 

New edition. 1'ricc 13* cents— Ten copies for $1. 

LECTURES ON MODERN HISTORY 

BY THOMAS ARNOLD, D.D., 

LATF. REGIUS PROFESSOR OF HISTORY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. 



be best introduction to the reading of History, ever offered to the public. It has bean J""**"" 1 
Ud highly commended by iW* late British Reviews and Magazine., and it has acquired a new- value in cons*- 
mience of the recent lamented death of the gifted author. The Lectures are eminently striking and ordinal, 
and remind one of the pages of Be Xeoophon, and C«*ar. They are written in a style Of «ng uia 

clearnees, and can be comprehended by all. No one can read them without being inspired wiOin nioHH 
ardent love of Historical studies. They impart a great degree of information a* all toe «rt»er.rs 

which they treat, and they delight while they improve the mind. «.«.-,«.., &. 

Our edition will be recomroendfld by an original Preface, written expressly for i by J. G. tooswELt. luq., 
talented and learned Editor of the New-York Review. 
'irm?.- Pingle copies, 121 cents— 10 copies for tl— and flB per hundred to AgenU. 






" Booh for the People," publislied by J. Winchester, 30 Ann street, New-York. 



THE 



MYSTERIES OF PARIS. 

31 Vavti. 
BY EUGENE SUE. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY 
HENRY C. DEMINO. 



W" do nor rietituto so pronounce this work to bo among the most oxtraordhiary rorouM of modern tin** 
Its publication in Paris produced a greater sensation than any other wot* ever issued in the French metropolis. 
Tlic novel certainly excites the most intense and startling interest. As' the isle proceeds, the reader is introduced 
to every diversity of scene, from the most harrowing to the most touching— to every variety of character, from tit* 
noM degraded to the most spiritual. The toeta for the horrible, and the taste for the refined, will Had fa it a 
loom of gratification, A powerful intellect is displayed in tho plot; and doomcu foresee from the commence- 
ment what is to bs) the end. The moral hearing of the work is unexceptionable. Indeed, the chief design of the 
authoi appears to be to UlmtlStsj tbfl u.-ihnppy condition of the lower classes in France, and to effect its meiic- 
rui on by means of Assort viion, which rapidly-spreading doctrine he advocates with a powerful pen. Lessens 
of chanty, forgiveness and mercy are inculcated in the most eloquent manner. 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

Fiom tlio New-York Evening Post— Edited by Wm.C. Bryant. 
" One of the mostly interesting and tlirilling works that has been publislied in many yean. 1 * 

From tho Albany Evening Journal. 

" It is a very interesting work, full of thrilling scenes and startling incidents. In its description of the k stints 
and hah.rs ot some of die ruffian* who prow) ubout I'aris, it boars a strong resemblance to portions of ' Oliver 
Twist ;' nuil with these ' shadows ' are mingled lite ' lights' of Parisian life with a truth to nature that Dickens 
has rarely surpassed in his best moods." 

From the Boston Daily Mail. 
" Altar reading only a small portion of this extraordinary work, by Winchester, of New- York; we can readily 
account for tho enthusiasm created by its nppen ranee in tho city of Paris. Though a tale of modern times, it has 
hrng in common with the stories of the ago. Its scones, though located in the heart of the old world, are 
entirely new. lis characters are such as seldom see the light and rarely figure on the page of the novelist. In 
liitt part of his work. Eugene Sue plunges from the light of day and the frequented parts of the city ofParis. 
•I i o >n tearful ami dnrk abodes, where want, folly, ami crime hold eternal reign, ami where the only sem- 
blance of enjoyment is the frightful carnival hold by successful villain* and triumphant viae. Here and there are 
scattered scenes and characters of n dlfletenl »'i<l higher order, which give the reader a hint that be is ascending 
u scale of society, and thai beginning on the lowest round of tho ladder, he will tiiiully rise, as the author 
ante*, to the brood level of high refinement and civilization. Eugene flue is a writer of wonderful imagina- 
tion— and is already well-known to fame. The present work soenis to be the crowning effort of his pen. 

From the New-York flint. 
" This attractive newel seems destined to as great popularity in this country ns it enjoys in France. It rives a 
perfect Doguerrotype view of life in Paris in all it* various lights and shades, its scones of gayety and splendor, 
of misery and vico. Tho history of literature furnishes no parallel to the enthusiasm with which each-successive 
ehaptor was received by tlw whole Parisian public, flue's descriptions are wonderfully spirited: nil full of 
mekve in their language and pictureequa truth In detail. The spirit of tho original is admirably preserved in this 
translation, which is made from the pu,;. .1 the Journal dea Debuts, whore the work was originally published. 
.'laMneoer read a more thrilling and exciting romance; unlike most French novols, its. morality is unex- 
ceptionable. Fwm tho Now- York Daily Tribune-Edited by Horace Greeley. 




Ewcar desires to catch the spirit and tntonl of the author should read this edition." 

From the Troy Daily Whig. 
r«orP*nn Nkw Worm- I'm 1 i<>*.— This translation, a* we !.. re observed, is RF.MARK- 

» K^JcBAjK "nSffix Md IS MM DPERIOR TO THAT 

ti Y Till: II A Tho first Is the work of an elegant scholar, who enters thoroughly ana 

^■aly into tho spirit of aU tho brilliant conceptions of his original: the latter that ol a mill- horse drmU'o. 
with dictionary in hand, digs stupidly an ! mechanically ink. the rich mine which u opoued before mm. 

Price Una Dollar. The usual ditcouat to the trade Address - v - 

J. WINCHESTER. 30 Ann street. New.Yc 



" Mtbtxrie 
A1J1.K I-'OIl 



\ 



ALISON FOR ONE DOLLAR! 



JUST PUBLISHED, 

AT THE NEW WOULD OFFICE, NO 30 ANN STBEET, IN 

ONE LARGE AND SPLENDID VOLUME, 

OF 512 PAGES, OCTAVO SIZE, ON NEW LONG-PRIMER TYPE, 

ALISON'S 

HISTORY OF EUROPE, 

FROM THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE 

FRENCH REVOLUTION IN 1789, 

TO THE 

RESTORATION OF THE BOURBONS IN 1815. 

ABRIDGED FOB THE USE OF THE GENERAL READER, AN OB COL LB 

A iBS, AND OTHER SEN1NAR1E3 OF LEARNING, 

BY EDWARD S. GOULD 



will embrace the mort complete, perspicuou ry of En- 

.if 1789 to 1SL5, which has eve 
•cojitod-in elegant language end clear style : u iun aece: 

" general reader than the vvrbese original. 

bTarper'i edition of Alison, thai ii ahouDds wnh gtoseerrura. These 
m et verb 
only to lai 

mirthless. In our abridged nlu.iKi, every inuukc • 
n n not right, not only with regerxi to the geoai .luce* hut 

- hoi sometimes in Um wrongest manner perverted fratn tint no' 
r example, int and ptejudielal eecount of oar wex wiiJ 

Slwllthtt .rood nmciiig th i to damp their patriotism and chill u>ir ardor 1 

- ii liniiilwoys been usual to haue Abridgeawata of very line 
: and <hat these abridgements, from their better adaptation to the mesa, have often ukaw 
rks. [nllarpe > Library are i imeaof tluskioa. 

\ ho ought to l». our friends, that the book we ihell 
llsher; and that it wi ever* fact ami lucittcmt 

detailed by in a- lull, elrci .. r a » j, neeo»- I uuisiaolioa of Uie 

reo«'' i o.iiig, learned efhjnoraB 

r letlenin to out |.r. ■nusnl Abr, di great and faulty 

wo,k >. tubbed a iwfeunpi-. 

***• ' : R a m ami singularly conoboraUvo of rJi« 

•'la-.rw.shJ n. . i. ... ''"tin., fVtr-hetf, *3fS. 

MtD f have taken all but two of U.e 16 number.- ire rem! 

*«•« DKTAliS AS OftKATt ■ I embrace* 

£•**■*? the tonal, of the human race. «, mtairt fro. are c n ,. w Ih ftdeh£ 

ForidofSBi M.that^BdwpidB.GouU Em " bad atirideafl 

"V 'oUecep*ic* 

'■'™""' A dollar ^l.iepUmtawin.iipiwpAfoo 

-oenre the volume .enrstoppo 

Vpr mi. R. M SHERMAN." 

» foregoing let i. rse.ouTOWO, Wpnrop Tti.e 

e, purchasers oi . ... k— a name dear to all lover, m i< ■■■,■■■■■ „.-,i wu«i»itriatj 
Ai»toowellkn 
a ud lira never win ■ , _ thw, ,, , . 

^ _ V ttbpintwtemiii'' '-cars iield 

"^^-fl ot mat btate. Approval from such a source i ' r-mg, and 

II ■thousand such Inton-atcd panic* us Hni ; ». 

' |J J- V K. 80 Ann street- 



'