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\8HG 


THE    TEMPTATION; 


OR,  THE 


WATCH    TOWER    OF    KOAT-VENs 


A    ROMANTIC     TALE, 


BY 


EUGENE    SUE, 


AUTHOR    OF 


THE  WANDERING  JEW,"    "  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS,"    &c.  &c.  Ste. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  ORIGINAL  FRENCH. 


WITH  NUMEROUS  ENGRAVINGS. 


LONDON : 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS 


Chapter 

1  The  Female  Equestrian 

2  The  Tower  of  Koat  Vcu 

3  Temptation 

4  The  Duchess  d'  Almeda 

5  Surprise 

6  A  Supper 

7  Solitude 

8  The  Two  Brothers 

9  An  Interior  (1780) 

10  A  Sketch  of  the  heart 

11  1  he  Woman  without  a  Name 

12  Count  Henry  de  Yaudry 

13  An  Evening  Party 

14  Versailles 

15  Different  modes  of  Learning  a  Secret 
1G  The  Secret 

17  The  Woman  without  a  name 

18  The  Commissary 

19  Caprice 

20  The  Interview 

21  The  Lover's  Plot 

22  Three  Scenes  in  one  night 

23  The  Two  Brothers 

24  Brest  .... 

25  Recouvrance 

26  The  Reception 

27  The  Caboret 

28  The  Woman  without  a  Name 

29  Jean  Thomas 

30  Showing  how  trade  is  the  bond  of  mank 

31  Virtue. 

32  Sacrilege 

33  The  Navy  (1781 ). 

34  The  Roadstead 
33  The  Inspection 

36  The  Ruse  de  Guerre  . 

37  1  he  Caboose 

38  The  Charm.     . 

39  The  Council 

40  The  Tshettik    . 

41  Preparing  for  Battle 

42  The  Action 

43  1  he  Meeting 

44  The  Abbe  de  Cilly      . 

45  Tippoo  Saib 

46  A  Convertitc  . 

47  Expiation  .  , 


nd 


1 

2 
3 
5 
8 
11 
14 
15 
18 
21 
21 
24 
29 
30 
33 
35 
36 
38 
38 
40 
42 
43 
46 
48 
52 
55 
58 
61 
62 
63 
66 
67 
70 
72 
76 
79 
83 
84 
86 
88 
91 
98 
102 
106 
109 
113 
114 


TEMPTATION. 

BY  EUGENE  SUE. 


Towards  the  close  of  the  month  of  September, 
17S0,  a  female  on  horseback,  followed  by  a  mounted 
attendant,  were  seen  leaving  the  sea  coast,  and  pro- 
ceeding iland,  they  both  began  the  ascent  of  the 
mountain  Fal-Goet,  close  to  the  little  town  of  St. 
Kenan,  and  near  that  part  of  the  coast  of  Britany 
which  extends  opposite  the  islands  of  Ouessant, 
Molenes,  Quemenes,  and  Beniquct,  forming  the 
narrow  strait  known  as  the  Passage  du  Four. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  summit  of  the  moun- 
tain, the  female  stopped  her  palfrey  for  an  instant, 
as  if  to  enjoy  the  magnificent  spectacle  that  met 
her  view. 

For  in  the  west,  the  sun,  setting  behind  the  rocks 
of  the  island,  already  immersed  in  the  warm  va- 
pours of  the  evening,  cast  its  lengthened  and  ruddy 


reflections  upon  the  waves  that  broke  gently  on 
the  shore. 

To  the  north,  the  Chateau  of  Kervan  raised  its 
turrets — its  lofty  spires  glittering  in  the  last  rays 
of  daylight,  and  overlooking  the  immense  masses 
of  verdure,  already  in  shade,  of  the  forest  of  Ar- 
Foel-Cout. 

To  the  east  were  seen  outstretched  meadows, 
intersected  by  smiling  hedges  of  lively  hawthorn, 
by  which  all  the  fields  of  Britany  are  divided  ;  and 
the  fields  themselves,  decked  with  flowers  of  a  thou- 
sand hues,  were  encircled  by  the  mountains  of 
Arres,  whose  sides  were  covered  with  heath,  and 
interspersed  with  yews  and  pines. 

Finally,  to  the  south,  St.  Renan,  with  its  Gothic 
spire  and  turret  of  grey  stone,  was  already  shrouded 
in  the  twilight,  and  the  light  mist  that  hung  over 
the  little  rivei  Hel-Aar,  whoso  cold  and  limpid  wa- 
ters flowed  gently  at  the  bottom  of  the  valley, 

The  female,  of  whom  we  have  spoken,  was  dressed 
in  a  black  riding  habit  of  the  English  fashion,  which 
exhibited  her  tall  form  to  perfection  ;  and  when 
she  threw  back  the  veil  that  enveloped  her  beaver 
hat,  you  might  observe  a  youthful  face,  whoso  tea- 


TITE  temttation;  or, 


i  ra  beautiful  and  regular,  with  the  pale 

complexion  of  a  brunette. 

Taking  off  one  of  her  glows,  shw  pnrtocid  a  deli- 
rate  anil  deader  hand  through  Jut  black  hair, 
which  she  wore  without  powder,  and  smooth  across 
the  forehead,  and  drew  it  oTer  her  dark  eyelashes, 
n  the  impression  of  tho  too  powerful  rays 
of  the  letting  sun. 

It  is  Incredible  to  what  an  extent  tho  last  golden 
rays  of  the  sun,  spreading  orer  her  pale  and  bean* 
tiful  features,  gave  to  them  life  and  brilliancy — 
how  much  the  warm  reflections  of  its  burning  light 
harmonised  with  the  strongly  marked   character  Of 

her  figure.    You  might  hare  Imagined  it  to  be  one 
beautiful   portraits,  by  Murillo,    whose 
powerful  effect  is  never  properly  developed,  except- 
ing by  the  light  of  a  Spanish  sun. 

After  our  horsewoman  hail    looked  for  a  few  mi- 

••t  ntively  towards  the  north-west,  a  kind  of 

signal,  a  white  veil,   floated  for  an  instant  over  the 

summit  of  a  mined   tower  that  stood  uu  tho  rocks 

near  the  shore,  and  then  disappeared. 

At  the  eight  of  this  the  eyes  of  our  rider  glistened, 
a  blush  rose  on  her  forehead,  her  cheeks  reddened, 
1  her  hands  against  her  lips  as  if  to 
send  a  kiss  of  lore  ;  then,  contracting  her  dark 
brow,  she  lowered  her  veil,  struck  her  Steed  with 
the  riding  whip,  and  descended  tho  sides  of  Fal-Goet 
at  a  gallop,  and  with  frightful  rapidity. 

'•The  duchess  forgets,"  exclaimed  her  follower, 
continuing  his  course  and  endeavouring  to  keep 
closer  to  her  side.  "  La  Coronella  is  sure  footed, 
but  this  road  is  dreadful." 

These  words  were  uttered  in  pure  Castilian,  with 
the  t'>n<-  of  respectful  remonstrance  which  her  old 
ami  faithful  attendant  always  assumed. 

"  Silence,  Perez,"  replied  the  duchess,  in  the  same 
language,  urging  her  horse  at  the  same  time  to  in- 
i 

Her  old  squire  was  silent;  and  it  was  easy  to 
judge  of  the  deep  interest  he  felt  for  his  mistress, 
by  the  uneasy  watchfulness  with  which  he  followed 
every  movement  of  La  Coronella,  paying  scarcely 
any  attention  to  his  own  horse. 

But,  as  the  old  man  had  observed,  La  Coronella 
was  sure  footed ;  for  her  sire  was  an  Arabian,  and 
her  dam  one  of  tho  mares  of  Sierra,  whose  raco  is 
at  the  present  day  so  rare,  and  in  such  high  estima- 
tion. So  that,  notwithstanding  the  inequalities  of 
!,  the  quagmires,  and  the  ravines  that  inter- 
sect all  the  highways  of  Lower  Britany,  La  Coro- 
nella did  not  in  a  single  instance  stumble. 

In  the  meantime  Peres  could  not  breathe  freely 
until  he  saw  his  mistress,  who  had  reached  the  foot 
of  the  mountain,  enter  a  loi»g  avenuo  that  led  to  the 
Chateau  of  K'Tvan. 

appeared  about  fifty  years  of  ago — ho  was 
spare  in  body,  and  tanned  like  a  man  of  the  South 
. — bis  flat  and  ample  cocked  hat,  with  its 
red  cockade,  allowed  li i ■-  powdered  and  twisted  hail- 
to  !)•■  h'-en  —he  wore  a  coat  and  waistcoat  of  black 
cloth,  breeches  of  white  bather,  and  his  ample  and 
pliant  boots  reached  his  knee.  Tin-  only  mark  of 
BStlltade  about  him  was  a  coat  of  arms  engraved 
on  the  clasp  that  fastened  his  belt  ;  tin'  latter  was 
striped  with  red  and  white,  and  ornamented  with 
gold  lace;  to  this  his  hunting  knife  was  Suspended. 
Thi-  same  arms  wcro  repeated  on  the  studs  of  the 
i  bit,  and  on  the  saddle  cloth. 

An  enormous  grislj  and  shaggy-haired  grey- 
hound followed  his  horse's  steps. 

When  the  duchess  drew  near  to  the  irate  of  the 


Chateau,  Perex  dismounted,  took  off  his  hat  as  he 
passed  his  mistress,  and  went  to  warn  the  house- 
hold of  her  arrival. 

Thus,  when  she  reached  the  castle,  and  placing 
her  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  her  servitor,  sprang 
lightly  to  the  ground,  her  valets  and  footmen 
awaited  her  respectfully,  ranged  along  the  stairs 
and  galleries:  she  had  to  pass  on  her  way  to  her 
apartments. 

The  footmen  were  in  deep  mourning ;  but  large 
shoulder-knots  of  green  and  red  riband,  inter- 
spersed with  gold,  floated  from  their  left  shoulders. 

The  old  attendant  gave  the  charge  of  the  steeds 
to  the  ostler,  and  proceeded  to  the  stables  to  ascer- 
tain that  La  Coronella  was  treated  with  the  most 
careful  attention. 

As  soon  as  he  was  satisfied  that  his  favourite 
mare  wanted  nothing,  he  returned,  and  stopped 
near  the  bridge  that  separated  the  principal  court 
from  the  court-yard  of  tho  chateau. 

"God  bbss  you,  donna  Juana,"  said  the  servitor 
to  a  woman  about  his  own  age,  dressed  completely 
in  the  Spanish  style,  with  mantle,  petticoat,  and 
WUmilio  of  black  cloth. 

1  hood  day,  Perez  ;  what  news  havo  you  ?" 

"  None." 

"Always  going  to  that  rock,"  observed  Juana, 
pointing  to  the  west. 

"  Always.  The  duchess  gets  off  her  horse  be- 
hind a  lofty  cliff,  follows  a  footpath  across  the 
rocks,  disappears,  and  I  wait  for  her — one  hour — 
sometimes  two — but,  by  St.  James,  never  so  long  as 
I  did  to-day." 

"  Heaven  save  me,  Perez,  I  believe  so  too,  and 
I  was  dreadfully  uneasy  about  it ;  but  what  is  the 
use  of  all  those  rambles  on  the  sea-shoro  ?  The 
duchess  never  had  a  taste  for  them  before  the  day 
when  .  .  .  ." 

"  You  know,  Juana,"  said  the  old  man,  impa- 
tiently interrupting  his  wife,  "  that  1  hido  nothing 
from  you  ;  but  my  mistress's  secret  does  not  belong 
tome;  besides  I  am  not  acquainted  with  it.  1  have, 
it  is  true,  only  to  turn  my  head  to  discover  it;  but 
that  I  will  never  do." 

"  By  the  holy  Virgin,  I  believe  it ;  never  sinco 
we  have  been  married,  l'crez,  have  you  trusted  me 
with  a  secret,  not  even  concerning  the  late  duke." 

"Any  more  than  you  have  me  respecting  the 
duchess.  Is  not  that  the  case,  Juana?  "  added  the 
old  man.  "  So  that  let  us  now  both  be  silent,  and 
conceal  the  secrets  of  tho  house  of  Almoda  ...  if 
tho  house  of  Almeda  has  any  secrets,"  added  he 
quickly,  after  a  pause. 

And  giving  his  arm  to  Donna  Juana  ho  returned 
to  the  castle,  for  the  night  was  becoming  dark. 

"I  will  return  to  you  directly,  Perez,"  said  Ju- 
ana, having  her  husband  and  crossing  the  gal- 
lery; "  but  I  must  go  and  get  ready  the  duchess's 
bed." 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   TOWER    OF   KOAT-VEN. 

So  the  keen  bunter  follows  up  the  hare 

J  ti  heat  or  cold,  on  Bboro,oi  mountain  height ; 

Nor,  when  tls  taken,  more  ■  prise; 

And  only  hurries  after  that  which  Hies! 

Tin:  tower  of  Koat-Vcn,  which  attracted  in  so 
lively  a  manner  tho  attention  of  the  duchess  on 
the  previous  evening,  was  built,  as  wo  have  already 


THE   •WATCH    TOWER  OF   KOAT-VEPf. 


eaid,   on  the  high  rocks  on  tho  western  coast  of 
Biitany. 

The  building  having  first  answered  the  purpose 
of  'i  watch-tower,  was  afterwards  bestowed  by  the 
lieutenant  of  Britany  on  Joseph  Rumphius,  a 
learned  astronomer,  to  facilitate  the  meteorologi- 
cal and  hydrographical  experiments  on  which  he 
had  been  long  engaged  ;  and  as  Koat-Ven  was  not 
far  from  the  town  of  St.  Renan,  where  Rumphius 
resided,  he  found  a  wonderful  convenience  in  the 
possession  of  this  observatory.  Thus  it  was  that 
the  circular  rooms  of  which  it  was  composed  were 
generally  crowded  with  quadrants,  astrolabes,  clocks, 
globes,  telescopes,  and  other  instruments,  lying 
about  without  order  in  all  directions. 

But  at  the  present  time  Rumphius  was  no  longer 
an  inhabitant  of  the  tower  of  Koat-Ven,  and  all 
I  the  engines  of  science  and  astronomy  were  collected 
in  a  kind  of  turret  in  the  upper  part  of  the  build- 
ing, while  the  useful  furniture  that  occupied  the 
'  place  of  all  this  learned  apparatus,  proved  that  the 
purposes  to  which  the  tower  had  been  devoted 
had  been  suddenly  changed,  and  that  its  new  mas- 
ter, more  occupied  with  earth  than  heaven,  had  en- 
deavoured to  make  the  building  habitable. 

The  four  long  and  narrow  windows  that  looked 
out  to  the  south,  north,  east,  and  west,  and  gave 
light  to  the  large  room  occupying  the  first  floor, 
were  hung  with  long  curtains ;  in  addition  to  this 
a  few  chairs,  including  a  large  and  excellent  arm- 
chair with  a  high-back,  were  placed  round  a  great 
table  covered  with  papers  and  books  on  theology. 

It  was  the  day  after  that  on  which  the  duchess 
had  so  imprudently  ventured  to  the  summit  of 
Fal-Goet.  The  sun  looked  down  on  the  sea,  which 
a  playful  breeze  raised  into  ripples  in  its  gambols, 
and  the  belt  of  islands  and  rocks  whose  brown 
crests  intersected  the  horizon,  stretched  out  in  the 
midst  of  the  pearly  foam  that  kissed  their  base. 

Still  there  existed  an  indescribable  and  deep 
melancholy  in  the  aspect  of  the  pure  and  cloudless 
sky ;  it  caused  an  insurmountable  feeling  of  sad- 
ness to  arise,  and  you  seemed  to  wish  that  the 
white  masses  of  some  cloud  would  spread  them- 
j  selves  over  the  monotonous  blue,  as  if  you  had 
reckoned  on  the  appearance  of  this  cloud,  that  its 
form  and  contrasted  colour  might  withdraw  the 
mind  from  its  painful  reverie. 

A  sky  all  blue,  a  sky  without  masses  of  light 
and  shade,  of  sunshine  and  darkness,  alas  !  how 
sad  and  melancholy  is  such  a  sky — it  is  a  life  with- 
out joy  and  without  tears,  without  love  and  with- 
out hate. 

It  was  two  o'clock,  and  at  that  hour  all  was 
6ilent  on  the  shore,  all  was  mute  in  Koat-Ven. 
Sometimes  indeed  the  plaintive  cry  of  the  tern 
mingled  with  the  dull  and  regular  sound  of  the 
waves  as  they  fell  heavily  on  the  shore — some- 
times the  dank  wings  of  a  gull  made  the  panes 
of  the  narrow-latticed  windows  of  the  tower  trem- 
ble, or  the  kingfisher  grazed  the  diaphanous  lake 
as  it  carried  to  some  hole  in  the  wall,  the  moss 
and  seawood  which  it  stored  up  for  the  winter. 

A  white  sail,  gilded  by  the  rays  of  the  sun,  might 
be  seen  at  long  intervals  glancing  between  the 
fantastic  peaks  of  the  black  rock,  and  then  disap- 
pearing, like  the  remembrances  of  love  and  youth 
that  shine  at  times  on  a  broken  heart,  grown  old 
before  its  day. 

But  this  melancholy  silence  was  soon  inter- 
rupted, hurried  footsteps  sounded  on  the  winding 
staircase  communicating  with   the  upper  part  of 


the  building,  the  door  of  the  large  chamber  opened 
violently,  and  a  man  entered,  exclaiming,  "  It  is 
she  !  "  and  immediately  threw  himself  into  the  arm- 
chair. 

This  man  appeared  not  more  than  five-and- 
twenty  years  of  age,  his  hair  was  without  powder, 
his  nose  small  and  straight,  his  lips  thin,  and  his 
rounded  chin  was  so  smooth  and  fair,  his  com- 
plexion so  delicate,  that  many  a  woman  might 
have  envied  his  handsome  face. 

A  few  slightly  marked  wrinkles  in  the  angle  of 
his  eye,  might  perhaps  have  indicated  a  free  and 
open  nature,  if  the  deep  furrow  that  suddenly  ap- 
peared on  tho  forehead  of  tho  young  man  had  not 
impressed  his  handsome  features  with  the  appear- 
ance of  suffering  and  sorrow. 

His  dress  was  plain,  of  a  dark  colour,  and  exhi- 
bited his  elegant  form  to  advantage  ;  but  in  the 
simplicity  of  its  fashion,  it  nearly  resembled  the 
dress  of  an  ecclesiastic. 

He  rested  his  head  on  one  hand,  and  his  fea- 
tures became  more  and  more  pale,  while  he  began 
to  turn  over  the  leaves  of  an  enormous  volume 
clasped  with  copper  that  lay  open  on  the  table,  and 
read  with  deep  attention. 

His  mind  must  have  been  deeply  occupied,  for 
the  door  of  the  room  opened  without  his  appearing 
to  take  the  least  notice  of  it. 

And  the  Duchess  of  Almeda  appeared  at  that  door. 


CHAPTER  III. 

TEMPTATION. 
'JThis  is  precisely  my  situation,  and,  amidst  the  cruel 
agitation  this  contrariety  of  will  causes  me  to  endure,  I 
con<iemn  myself  much  more  than  I  ever  did  formerly 
while  I  struggle  with  my  bonds  to  endeavour  to  break 
them  ;  for  they  were  almost  reduced  to  a  thread,  hut  still 
it  was  strong  enough  to  retain  me."— Confessions  of  St 

AUGUSTIN. 

But,  here,  Adeline,  who  seemed  to  pique 
Herself  extremely  on  th'  inoculation 
Of  others  with  her  own  opinions,  stated— 
As  usual— the  same  reason  which  she  late  did.— Btbon. 

The  Duchess  stopped  an  instant  at  the  threshold 
of  the  door,  then,  untying  and  taking  off  her  riding 
hat,  placed  it  on  a  chair,  and  advanced  lightly  so 
close,  so  very  close  to  the  young  man,  that  her 
cheek  almost  touched  his,  while  he  remained  ab- 
sorbed in  his  reverie. 

Curious  to  know  what  engaged  his  attention  so 
profoundly,  she  leant  forward  and  saw  her  own 
portrait— her  portrait,  sketched  in  pencil— a  per- 
fect resemblance — ineffable  delight !  heavenly  joy  1 
and  she  also  saw  the  traces  of  recent  tears. 

Then,  as  if  from  sora.©  sudden  feeling  of  prido, 
the  beautiful  duchess  raised  her  head,  her  pale 
cheeks  became  animated,  and  an  inconceivablo 
expression  of  happiness  and  pride  lighted  up  her 
features;  perhaps  a  slight  feeling  of  contempt 
compressed  her  lips,  and  made  her  look  more 
severe,  as  she  regarded  the  effeminate  features 
and  delicate  form  of  this  young  man  ;  and  lower- 
ing her  long  dark  eyelashes  and  folding  her  arms 
on  her  bosom,  she  raised  her  noble  and  lofty  figure 
to  its  utmost  height,  the  riding-dress  she  wore 
giving  it  additional  effect. 

She  was  one  of  those  beautiful  Spanish  forms 
whose  nature  is  so  rich  and  vigorous— oh  !  what 
fiery  and  headstrong  passion  did  she  not  possess, 
what  devouring  and  implacable  jealousy,  when 
excited!— and  those  thick  and  beautiful  locks, 
those  smo  th  and  arched  eyebrows,  and  tho  light 
and  almost  imperceptible  down   that  gave   nioro 


•i-ilK   TEMriATION  J     <>];, 


brilliancy  to   the  coral  of  her   ruby  and 
lip  ! 

'.i,    Rita,    thou    hast    number, d  i i^lit-and- 
-    of    tli>'     Harannah     has 

uouslv    rounJi.il    shoulders. — 
Rita  1  pity  or   i'iinv    those   for   whoso 

love  thou  hast  come  hither,  on  horseback,  followed 

in  olj  ruined 

you,  the  duel  chief  domestics  are 

gentlemen ;  you,  the  prood  daughter  and  widow 
of  a  grandi-e  of  Spain;  you,  whoae  aaeesV 

■nendad  from  Saacho  IV.,  hud  a  claim  to  the  Spanish 

i- n>\\  n  ! 

A  movement  of  Rita  caused  the  handsome  ra- 
the tower  of  Koat-Yen    to  awaken.  M  from 
a  dream;  and.   raising   his   head,  he  peroeiTed  the 
leaning   on    the   arms   of    the  chair — the 

i  en  him  with  idolatry. 
it  i-  thee,"  said  he,  in  an  affectionate  tone, 
"  thou  art  tli. 

it    i~    I.   Henry,  I,  thy  tempter  demon," 
•   smiling,  and  kissing  his  forehead. 

mid  the  yuth,  gently  repelling 

her,  while  a  dark  cloud  spread  over  his  forehead. 

••  My  child,*'  said  the  duchess,  throwing  her 
arme  round  Henry's  neck,  "still  these  girlish 
seraph  -  ' .  I  will  convince  you,  and  quiet 

your  timid  conscience.-' 

And  Rita)  seated  on  Henry's  knee,  rested  her 
head  on  bis  shoulder. 

Then,  as  be  still  remained  pensivo  and  absorbed 
in  thought,   and   as  bis  baud   felt  like  ice  in  the 
I  palm  of  the  duel; 
i  y,"  she  said  impatiently,  "  is  it  thus  you 
greet  my  return  ?    Do  you  no  longer  love  me?" 

And    Henry    pointed    to    her   portrait.      "  Ob, 

Rita,  can    1    cease   to    love   you  ?     have    you   not 

:    my    life ;    and   this   new    existence   with 

which  you  have  endowed  me,  does  it  not  entirely 

for  thee?    To  love  you  now— is  to 

'•  You  have  no  more  regrets  then,  Henry  ?  "  said 
the  duchess,  playing  with  the  long  hair  of  her  lover. 
Bits,   yes,   when    you   are   not  here,  I  feel 
the  mo.-t   hitter  regret,   because  I  have  broken  a 
;    \ii»,   because   perhaps   I   am  about   to   re- 
nounce  the   quiet  and    holy  life  for  which   I  was 
born.    Brought  up  far  from  the  world,  my  passions, 
my  ideas,  all  slept  within  me,  Rita,  one 
thing  only,  1  loved — Heaven! — my  faith   was  for- 
ditude,  my  only  desire  was  the  cloister. 
Kita,   the  cloister.      If,    like    me,    you  bad 
but  seen   the  Abbey  of  Kandem,  its  woods  and 
I    its    lofty    rocks  !       If  you   had    beard    the 
•  .ik   and   moan   beneath    the  dark  arches 
you  would    comprehend  all    the 
dm  there  in  the  future 
I   hail  created  for  myself— a  quiet  and  peaceable 
for    my   days    would    h»TS   flowed    on    pure 
salsa,  under  the  shade  of  the  abbey,  as  the 

.     !.  through     the    dense    forest— 

-,  I  should   I  :   the  feeble 

:.    life   would  soon  ! 

nd  some  day  I  should 
nd  without  fear,— 

,;.  Mill  ell, leavour- 

■  striving  to 

the  sublime  harmony  I 
Itted  thih  world  without 

I     " 


what    intoxication,    what   pride   1   hear   tie 
!  did  you  but  know,  Henry,  how  d 
it  i>  to  Bay   to  oneself,  this  weak  and  tin 
that  folding  its  wings  at  the  least  contact  of  earn-. 

to  spread    them,   exot  pi   to  spring  towards 

llea\.  i.  !  this  soul  which  deroted  Itself  to  God  L 
now  deroted  to  me — I  have  become  its  deity.  Ho 
is  mine,  I  am  his.  For  thou  art  mine,  Henry  — mine 
re  thy  tears  and  sorrows  which  make  me  the 
happiest  of  women.  Happy  .  .  .  oh,  yes;  bud* 
lively  happy  ;  and  yet,  Henry,  how  little  do  our  cha- 
racters resemble  each  other  ...  1  have  the  hold 
unchanging  feelings  of  a  man,  while  you  have  all  the 
gentle  timidity  of  a  woman;  1  .  .  .  have  had  toovei- 
eome  your  scruples,  your  simple  terrors,  to  prove 
tO  you  that  happiness  could  be  UMt  with  even  hen 
In  low  .  .  .  Well,  Henry'  perhaps  it  is  this  striking 
contrast  between  us,  that  augments;  still  more  tin- 
violence  of  my  love— the  only  love  1  ever  felt — that 
love  that  makes  me,  proud  as  I  am,  and  ever  treat- 
ing with  scorn  the  homage  of  mankind,  feel  and  inex- 
plicable bliss  in  being  here,  a  submissive  slave  at 
thy  feet,  waiting  for  one  word  of  affection  from  thy 
lips,  asking  it  as  a  favour,  and  for  pity's  sake." 

And  the  duchess,  gently  sinking  at  Henry's  feet, 
tremblingly  clasped  her  fair  hands,  and  looked  on 
him  with  adoration. 

At  this  moment  Henry's  features  had  a  delight- 
ful expression   of  melancholy   happiness,   his  • 
wero  moist  with  tears,  and  lowering  his  head  he 
rested  his  forehead  on  that  of  Rita. 

Then  it  might  be  said  the  hot  voluptuous  breath 
of  this  impassioned  woman  had  suddenly  animated 
the  timid  youth,  and  that  lie  bail  drawn  from  tho 
lips  of  the  fair  Spaniard  the  fire  that  sparkled  in 
his  eyes  and  rushed  to  his  crimsoned  cheeks. 

"  Oh,  Rita  !  "  ho  said,  forcing  himself  to  rise, 
"  Bee,  with  what  a  charm  you  hold  mo  ....  Rita, 
with  thy  lips  you  have  imparted  a  flame  that 
intoxicates  me,  for  in  these  moments  of  madness, 
oh  1  Rita,  my  imagination  is  exalted,  and  carries 
me  with  it — my  feelings  are  endued  with  an  un- 
known acutencss.  Hark  !  how  my  heart  beats, 
my  brain  burns  with  thought !  Now  I  live — now 
the  sun  appears  more  brilliant  to  me,  the  sea  more 
beautiful,  the  flowers  smell  more  sweetly,  the 
voice  of  the  birds  is  more  full  of  love.  Now  m; 
thoughts  are  bent  on  glory  and  battle,  and  tho  re- 
collection of  my  vows  of  seclusion  and  obscurity 
appears  to  me  like  a  far  off  and  forgotten  dream. 
I  know  not  what  ardour  animates  mo  now,  what, 
power  drags  me  on ;  but  this  dress  is  hateful 
to  me,  the  sight  of  these  books  annoys  me,  this 
solitude  presses  heavily  on  me!  I  long  for  fame! 
-strife  ! — Oh,  let  me  hear  the  cry  of  the  warriors  '. 

—tho  clang  of  arms  ! — who  knows  but  I give 

inc  a  sword,   oh,    heaven!  —  glory  I  —  a   name — a 
great  name,  that  may  be  pronounced  with  envy  and 
Ct  !  " 
And  Henry's  whole  frame  underwent  aninconcciv- 
aliie  metamorphosis;  his  figure  became  erect;  his 
melancholy   and  timid   countenance   had   given  way 
before  an  extraordinary  air  of  boldness  and  intre- 
pidity: his  attitude  was  imposing  J  his  eagle  glance 
liad  a  tire  ami  boldness  the  duchess  could  not  with- 
stand;   and  for  the  first  time,  perhaps,  she  lowered 
In  fore  those  of  Henry.     How  admirable  ho 

"Ohl"   said    she,  throwing  herself  on    his   neck, 
"(ih,  Henry,  my  angel  !  how  handsome  thou  an — 

how    well    that    intrepid    look    becomes    thy    eyoS  ! 

iii-:  bow   1  love   tie-  boldness  that  shines  in  tkj 


THE  WATCH   TOWER  OF  KOAT-VEN. 


looks,  how  can  I  avoid  loving  thee,  Henry  ?    Am  I 
not  the  cause  of  this  ?     Have  not  these  ideas  of 
glory  been  given  thee  by  me? — have  they  not  come 
to  thee  along  with  thy  love  for  me  ?     The  fire  that 
exalts  thee,  didst  thou  not  obtain  it  from  my  lips  ? 
Alas ! "  she  said,  weeping,  "  I  love  thee,  O  I  love 
thee,  with  as  much  jealous  affection,  as  much  self- 
ishness and   pride,   as  a  mother  loves   her  child. 
•  And  then  did  you  but  know  with  what  eagerness  I 
Beck,  in  tho  new  feeling  I  have  raised  within  thee, 
traces  of  my  own  sensations  1     Oh,  I  seek  them  as 
a  mother  seeks  her  own  features  in  those  of  a  son 
she  adores.     So  that  you  owe  me  more  than  love, 
Henry — you  ought  to  love  me  as  a  mistress,  and  as 
a  mother.    Hark  you,  Henry,  it  would  be  honour- 
able in  thee — for  love  like  that  is  holy  and  blessed ; 
and  then  again  this  bearing  of  yours  that  delights 
me  so,  I  would  not  other  women  should  witness  it ; 
and  when  I  have  snatched  you  from  this  hateful, 
solitude  .  ,  .  you  will  promise  me,  will  you  not, 
Henry  ?  to  appear  to  all  the  world  as  the  melan- 
choly recluse  of  Koat-Ven.  .  .  for  me  alone  must 
you  reserve  that  sparkling  eye — that  bold  and  in- 
trepi  i  bearing !    But  how  foolish  I  am,"  she  ex- 
claimed, smiling  through  her  tears, — "  my  love  alone 
has  the  power  of  exalting  thee  thus,  and  you  are 
habitually  so  cold  and  taciturn  that  I  am  the  only 
woman  who  would  be  interested  in  thee.    Go,  poor 
child,  thy  paleness  and  thy  sadness  would  quickly 
drive  away  others — for  none  but  I   can  love  thy 
palo  and  melancholy  looks.     Oh  1  none  but  I,  be- 
lieve me,"  said  the  duchess,  in  that  tone  of  absolute 
conviction  that  all  women  assume  when  speaking 
to  their  lovers  of  the  charm  or  fault  which  they 
know  well  will  seduce  their  rivals. 

"  I  have  often  dreamed,  Rita,"  said  Henry, 
sadly  ..."  Yes,  I  have  dreamed  that  none  but  thou 
could  love  me ;  and  this  idea  has  sometimes  made 
mo  very  sad.  Listen,  Rita,  you  know  that  a  con- 
ventual life  is  no  longer  possible  for  me.  Thou 
and  thy  love  must  be  all  my  future  existence  .  .  . 
But  tell  me,  Rita,  should  you  change,  you,  should 
you  no  longer  love  me — you,  the  ouly  one  that  I 
can  love ! " 

"  Oh,  Henry  !  Henry !  " 

"  Think  what  my  life  would  then  be,  should  you 
change — speak! ....  That  life  you  have  made  to- 
day so  happy  and  smiling ....  that  future  of 
ambition  and  glory  thy  love  has  pointed  out  to 
me — this  factitious  existence  that  exalts  and  ani- 
mates me  I  owe  to  thee  alone  !  You  have  said  so — 
so  that  if  thou  leavest  me,  I  fall  back  into  my 
nothingness — not  into  my  former  life,  so  quiet  and 
peaceable,  but  into  one  of  frightful  regret,  of  ter- 
rible reflection,  which  may  last  for  a  lengthened 
time,  Rita !  " 

"  Listen,  Henry,"  replied  tho  duchess,  with  sin- 
gular excitement.  "I  never  had  a  dread  of  that 
kind  ;  for,  judging  of  you  by  myself,  I  said, — '  If  he 
should  deceive  me,  I  will  kill  him  '  " — then  after  a 
moment's  silence, — "Would  you  kill  me,  Henry,  if 
I  changed  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes ! "  said  Henry,  vehemently ;  "  and  why 
not?"  added  ho,  with  a  bitter  laugh,  ''you  have 
made  me  forswear  the  only  wish  of  my  life,  why 
should  you  not  make  me  a  murderer  also  ? — and 
then,  think,  should  you  be  in  another's  arms,  you 
would  laugh  scornfully  at  the  incredulous  boy  who, 
on  tho  faith  of  a  woman's  love,  had  cast  to  the 
wind  his  futuro  prospects  and  his  faith,  had  broken 
his  sacred  oaths  !  No,  no,  Rita,  you  imagined 
truly !    I  would  slay  thee ! " 


And  Henry's  features  assumed  almost  a  ferocious 
expression,  when  he  violently  seized  the  duchess 
by  the  arm,  and  fixed  his  burning  eyes  upon  her. 

"But,"  exclaimed  she,  with  indescribable  excite- 
ment, and  devouring  him  with  kisses,  "  oh,  you  will 
render  me  mad  with  pleasure — mad  with  love  for 
thee,  my  angel — angel  adored  1  the  power  I  have 
over  thee  has  something  miraculous  in  it.  I  know 
not  whether  heaven  or  bell  has  bestowed  it  on  me, 
but  it  exists  !  To  have  produced  this  effect  on  thee, 
Henry,  in  one  month — on  thee,  so  unsophisticated, 
so  timid,  so  full  of  holy  faith  ;  on  thee,  with  thy 
gentle  character,  so  full  of  fear  and  trembling — to 
have  brought  thee  to  this,  oh  love  supreme  !  "  said 
Rita,  with  overwhelming  passion,  as  if  she  felt 
herself  crushed  beneath  so  many  proofs  of  passion' 
ate  affection. 

"Oh!  it  is  true,  Rita;  and  sometimes,  like  thee, 
I  say,  and  tremble — '  Oh  !  love  supreme  ! ' " 

And  the  duchess,  erect,  imposing,  and  majestic, 
extended  hor  hand  to  Henry. 

"  Henry,  in  three  days,  here,  you  shall  know  me 
completely." 
"  What  do  you  mean,  Rita?  " 
"  In  three  days,  Henry  1  " 
*  Three  days  without  seeing  thee ! " 
"  It  is  necessary ;   but,  then,  you  can  no  longer 
doubt  me,  and  I  will  ask  but  one  word  of  thee, — a 
single  vow  to  leave  this  tower,  and  renounce  for 
ever  the  duties  imposed  on  thee." 

"  In  three  days,"  said  Henry,  pensively ;  "  in 
three  days — be  it  so ;  but  at  night,  midnight ! " 
"  At  midnight ;  wherefore  ?  " 
"  At  midnight,  Rita,  I  beseech  thee ;  for  it  seems 
to  me  that  an  oath  taken  at  night,  by  the  light  of 
the  stars,  the  murmur  of  the  sea,  has  something 
holy  in  it.  Oh  !  Rita,  a  man  must  be  doubly  infa- 
mous to  perjure  himself  at  such  an  hour." 

"At  midnight,  then,"  answered  Rita,  after  a  mo- 
ment's reflection. 

And  holding  out  her  hand  to  Henry,  who  re- 
mained abstracted,  she  moved  towards  the  door. 

And  this  unexpected,  almost  solemn  scene,  threw 
a  kind  of  restraint  and  reserve  into  the  parting  of 
the  two  lovers,  which  usually  was  so  tender. 

The  duchess  rejoined  her  attendant,  and  had  al- 
ready disappeared,  while  her  lover  still  waved  the 
white  veil  over  the  summit  of  the  tower  of  Koat- 
Ven. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  DUCHESS   ALMEDA. 

Ton  are  descended  from  lofty  barons,  my  love;  in  my 
line  is  a  mark  of  disgrace,  a  weeping  woman,  for  a  coward 
may  be  born  to  our  house. — Mad.  Sodbise. 

The  Duchess  Almeda,  a  Creole  of  the  Havannah, 
was  married  very  young  to  the  Duke  d'Almeda. 
Rita  was  opposed  to  this  union,  for  she  had  an  incli- 
nation for  a  religious  life ;  but  obliged  to  pay  her 
family,  she  yielded  to  their  wishes,  and  the  duties 
of  sincere  piety  alono  occupied  her  thoughts  up  to 
the  moment  when  she  came  to  France. 

The  Duke  d'Almeda  was  an  old  man  of  great 
talent,  but  one  who,  fascinated  like  many  of  his 
class,  by  the  false  glitter  of  the  encyclopedists,  and 
deceived  by  the  show  of  philanthropy  put  forward 
by  them,  devoted  himself  completely  to  the  promul- 
gation of  the  now  doctrines.  Partaking  of  the 
singular  hallucination  that  led  the  reason  of  agreat 
part  of  the  French  nobility  astray  in  the  specula- 
tive  regions  of  the   most   dangerous    Utopia,   he 


T1IH  TBMFTAT10M  :    <>n, 


hastened  with  all  the  pou  the  pro- 

I  •pm.ut  of  those  id«-a-.  that  In  titer 

lime  win-  to  become  so  fatal  to  nobility  and  all  its 
privil. 

The  bitter  raillery  with  which  bfl  loaded  his  wife 
on  the  subject  of  her  SUpStStfttoa,  as  he  railed  it, 
had  BO  inllnenre  upon  her  as  long  as  she  remained 
in  Spain.  The  temporal  and  spiritual  power  of  the 
clergT  wai  still  sufficiently  powerful  in  that  king- 
dom, the  faith  of  the  people  to  deeprj  seated,  that 
Rita,  plunged  in  that  piona  atmosphere, surrounded 
bj  thOM  %v  ti<>  partook  of  her  belief,  and  meeting 
everywhere  with  the  exterior  signs  of  religion,  pre- 
served the  purity  of  her  faith. 

But  when   arrived  at  Versailles  sho  had  lived  for 
some  time  in  the  midst  of  the/StM  and  delights  of  a 
,rt,  her  strong  faith  began  to  totter,  made 
giddy  by  the  dazzling  whirl  of  pleasure. 

And   in  addition  to  this,  the  religion  of  France 
was  unlike  the  religion  of  Spain  ;    it  was  no  longer 
:':y  churches  so  melancholy  and  extensive, 
with  their  shrines  glittering  with  gold  and  precious 
which,   overpowering    the    dubious    light, 
shone  in  the  midst  of  the  darkness  like  some  beam 
of  divine   origin.     No   more    was  heard    the   deep- 
toned  and  majestic  song  of  tho  monks;  no  more  was 
seen  a  population  clothed  in  black,  crouching  on 
the  ground,  on  the  cold  pavement  of  the  church,  in 
darkness  aud  silence,  and  full  of  faith,  counting  the 
of  their  rosary. 

In  Fiance  religion,  laughed  at  and  insulted  in 
spirit,  strove  to  dazzle  the  eyes  by  the  splendour  of 
monies.  The  churches  were  decorated  in 
the  most  coquetish  style,  but  they  had  partially 
been  deprived  of  those  admirable  painted  windows 
that  caused  a  mysterious  obscurity  to  reign  over  all. 
and  then  people  went  to  mass  to  see  and  be  seen; 
the  sun  darted  its  joyous  rays  through  the  lofty 
windows,  pouring  on  all  things  a  flood  of  light,  and 
shining  on  the  velvet,  gold,  and  silk,  with  which  a 
smiling  and  noisy  multitude  were  covered,  their 
magnificence  overpowering  that  of  the  altar  it- 
self; and  philosophy  already  spoke  loudly,  inter- 
rupting and  smiling  at  the  sacred  mysteries,  while 
tlii-  holy  songs  were  sung  by  the  beauties  of  the 
opera. 

Besides,  it  must  be  acknowledged  Rita's  religious 
re    rather  acquired    than    instinctive,   or 
founded  on  reason.     Endowed  with  a  lively  and  ar- 
dent imagination,  which  had  been  chiefly  exalted 
b\  the  external  pomp  of  Christianity,  by  its  imposing 
am  ceremonies,  she  felt  merely  the  poetry 
of  religion  —  she   taw  but  the  smiling   and  azure 
wave   that  played    upon  the  surface  of  its  fathom- 
in,  and  cherished  the  feeling;  intoxicated 
with  the  incense,  and  the  distant  harmony  of  the 
mnste  of  the  organ. 

i  tlii-  philosophers,  of  which  her  hus- 
band's companions  were  composed,  laid  siege  to  this 
spiritualized  faith  with  their  chilling  materialism, 
Rita  knew  not  how  to  answer.  They  spoke  i  her 
in  cipher— she  answered  in  extades.    They  opposed 

the  immutable  laws  of  physios  and  astronomy  to 
the  mil.  related;   and  whichever  way  the 

poor  woman  turned  she  met  with  nothing  but 
cold  r<  aeon  or  biting  Farcasm  ;  and  fear  made  her 
silent,  for  the  apparent  clearness  of  certain  objec- 
tions, without  entirely  convincing  her,  still   had 

.  her  faith. 
Thus  instinctively    feeling    the   ground    she    had 
age  in  her  early   faith.. 
But  it  was  now    too  late— the  stupid  and  brutal 


demon  of  the  spirit  of  analysis  had  withered  with 
its  burning  breath  those  ravishing  visions  of  heaveu 
and  light— peopled  with  angels  with  flaming  wings, 
amid  the  sounds  of  melody  without  end  1  All  had 
ranishoJL 

And  this  may  be  easily  understood:  a  man  of 
powerful  mind  and  strong  faith  may  strive  advan- 
tageously and  even  impose  his  own  convictions  on 
his  antagonists  by  drawing  them  within  the  magic 
circle  of  an  overpowering  eloquence ;  but  Rita, 
whoso  lively  and  ardent  spirit  wanted  depth,  Rita 
who  thought  perhaps,  as  I  have  said,  as  much  of  the 
poetry  of  religion  as  of  religion  itself,  could  not 
enter  the  field  against  her  adversaries. 

Tho  consequence  was  she  always  had  tho  worst  of 
the  argument,  her  self-love  became  irritated  at  al- 
ways seeing  captious  reasoning  opposed  to  her  con- 
fused assertions,  and  in  the  end  she  herself  doubted 
her  own  belief.  It  is  but  one  step  from  doubt  to 
incredulity  ;  that  step  was  taken,  and  Rita  became 
a  freethinker. 

Incredulity  necessarily  made  in  the  first  instance 
a  vivid  impression  on  an  organization  of  so  ex- 
alted a  nature  as  that  of  Rita — in  fact  from  the 
first  there  was  a  fatal  attraction,  in  striving,  as  she 
thought,  with  the  Deity  ;  for  tho  revolt  of  a  rebel  is 
not  without  a  kind  of  wild  poetry — there  is  some- 
thing daring  in  blasphemy.  But  tho  absolute  in- 
credulity of  Rita  lasted  but  a  short  time  :  indiffer- 
ence succeeded  to  it — and  at  last  the  Duchess  Al- 
meda  found  herself  without  either  hatred  or  love 
for  heaven. 

I  more  particularly  point  out  this  phase  in  Rita's 
life,  because  from  that  very  instant  her  existence 
was  completely  changed. 

For  that  imagination  of  hers,  so  lively  and  pas- 
sionate, which  up  to  this  time  had  found  sustenance 
in  the  thoughts  of  eternity,  which  open  an  endless 
career  to  ardent  minds — that  imagination,  having 
soon  exhausted  what  it  had  received  in  exchange 
for  its  ruined  belief,  was  doomed  to  be  consumed  in 
its  own  fires. 

If  the  glowing  soul  of  Rita  still  wished  to  trem- 
ble with  joy  or  sorrow,  after  falling  from  such  a 
height,  she  could  only  fly  to  love;  for  love  itself  is 
a  kind  of  creed  and  religion.  For  Rita  in  particular 
it  must  be  so — for  Rita,  who  if  sho  had  lived  with 
selfishness,  with  rage,  and  implacable  and  ferocious 
jealousy,  would  have  sacrificed  all — rank,  fortune, 
and  country. 

But  it  was  not  in  this  manner  they  loved  at  that 
time  in  France  ;  so  that  Rita,  finding  no  one  who 
appeared  worthy  of  a  passion  of  the  description  sho 
comprehended,  although  surrounded  by  admirers 
received  their  attentions  with  scorn,  remained  pun 
in  the  midst  of  corruption,  and  lived  a  discreet  life 
with  the  Duke  d'Almeda,  until  at  length  his  sud- 
den death  set  her  at  liberty. 

Rita's  sorrow  was  not  great  at  the  loss  of  the 
duke;  but  to  maintain  appearances,  she  passed  the 
time  of  mourning  at  her  country  seat.  At  the  same 
time  sho  left  the  court  without  regret,  for  tho 
arrogant  strictness  of  her  principles  had  attracted 
the  enmity  of  all ;  but  in  spite  of  the  calumnies  of 
a  few,  who  asserted  that  her  modesty  was  but  as- 
sumed, general  opinion  agreed  on  one  point, 
namely,  that  the  actions  of  the  Duchess  d'Almeda 
ompletely  pure;  but  ofa  purity  so  proud  and 
Intolerant,  that  the  most  dissolute  conduct  on  her 
part  would  have  created  fewer  enemies  than  her 
insolent  virtue. 

Wearied  out  with   their  enmity,  r.nd  haviugno- 


THE  WATCH   TOWER  OP  R.OAT-VEN. 


thing  to  keep  her  at  Versailles  or  Paris,  Rita  came 
to  reside  at  Kervan. 

Rita  since  she  had  been  in  France  had  never 
found  herself  in  such  complete  solitude;  then  it  was 
she  felt  the  loss  of  her  early  faith,  but  it  was  too 
late.  The  duchess,  vexed  and  distressed,  passed 
her  long  hours  in  the  endurance  of  an  unknown, 
painful  sensation ;  she  grew  thin,  and  tears  rolled 
down  her  cheeks ;  without  help,  without  a  refuge 
from  her  melancholy  feelings,  from  the  nervous 
excitement  that  preyed  upon  her,  thoughts  of 
suicide  were  a  hundred  times  present  to  her  mind, 
but  either  her  courage  failed,  or  some  secret  pre- 
sentiment restrained  her.  Thus  she  dragged  on  her 
life  in  misery,  up  to  the  very  moment,  when  by  a 
Singular  chance  she  became  acquainted  with  Henry. 

One  of  her  women  came  one  day  to  tell  her  that 
some  fishermen  going  into  the  ruined  tower  near 
the  sea-side,  had  found  there  a  young  man  of  ex- 
quisite beauty,  almost  dying,  and  knowing  the 
humanity  of  the  duchess,  they  had  come  to  the 
castle  for  assistance. 

This  little  history  struck  the  romantic  mind  of 
the  duchess  powerfully ;  she  made  no  reply,  but  the 
same  day  went  herself  to  the  Tower  of  Koat-Ven, 
accompanied  by  Perez.  There  for  the  first  time 
she  saw  Henry.  Affected  by  the  gentle  sadness 
that  overspread  the  handsome  features  of  the  youth, 
Rita,  with  some  emotion,  explained  the  object  of 
her  visit,  "  having  heard  that  some  attentions  would 
be  of  service  to  him,  she  had  come  to  offer  her  own 
services." 

Henry  gratefully  thanked  her,  but  added,  he 
was  in  hopes  "he  should  soon  be  no  longer  in  need 
of  them.  His  history  was  very  simple,  an  orphan, 
brought  up  by  his  uucle,  an  old  ecclesiastic,  he  had 
never  left  him  until  his  death.  Left  alone  in  the 
world,  without  fortune,  without  friends,  Henry 
had  no  other  resort  but  to  obey  a  call  he  believed 
to  be  sincere,  and  to  enter  a  cloister.  But  as  the 
decision  would  be  irrevocable,  he  wished  to  prove, 
whether  he  could  support  the  solitude,  the  fasts, 
and  the  austerities  of  a  monastic  life  ;  and  he  had 
for  some  time  occupied  this  tower. 

But  he  was  deceived  in  his  strength,  and  had 
fallen  ill ;  an  old  servant  also  who  had  attended 
him,  having  abandoned  him  because  he  was  unable 
to  pay  for  his  services,  he  should  have  died  unno- 
ticed had  it  not  been  for  the  unexpected  visit  of 
the  fishermen.  "  But,"  he  added,  "  it  signifies 
little  now ;  for  I  feel  my  life  is  ebbing,  and  soon,  a 
poor  orphan,  I  shall  seek  in  heaven  a  mother  I 
never  know  on  earth." 

His  melancholy  resignation,  his  isolated  state, 
the  sickness  by  which  the  youth  was  broken  down, 
together  with  his  ingenuous  features,  affected  the 
duchess  so  powerfully,  that  she  felt  at  first  sight, 
a  profound  pity  for  the  unfortunate  man. 

From  this  day,  a  new  existence  began  for  Rita. 
By  singular  contradiction,  this  lofty  duchess,  who 
had  resisted  so  many  great  and  splendid  offers,  felt 
an  unknown  sensation  arise  within  her  at  the  sight 
of  this  suffering  and  unhappy  youth  ;  and  after  the 
most  graceful  flattery,  the  most  distinguished  man- 
ners, and  the  most  fashionable  impertinence,  had 
been  unable  to  attract  a  single  look  from  Rita.  .  .  . 
The  melnncholy  and  pale  features  of  Henry  re- 
mained impressed  on  her  heart;  those  looks  she  had 
seen  but  once  followed  her  everywhere;  and  the 
accent  of  his  gentle  and  timid  voice  were  re-echoed 
iD  her  soul. 

Rita  was  so  delighted  with  this  love,  that  she 


made  no  attempt  to  check  it.  At  liberty,  im- 
mensely rich,  what  was  to  prevent  her  b«  iii^-* 
Henry's?  And  then,  he  being  alone,  isolated,  with- 
out relations,  would  he  not  be  hers,  hers,  only? 
would  he  not  absolutely  depend  on  her  1  would  ho 
not  possess  all  from  her?  and  would  she  not  be 
the  only  ono  to  love  him?  For  that  was  the  only 
way  in  which  she  understood  love. 

Yes,  Rita  would  have  been  jealous  at  the  death 
of  Henry's  mother  or  sister,  if  Henry  had  possessed 
a  mother  or  sister ;  for  the  love  that  Rita  felt  was 
almost  a  mad  selfishness,  so  exclusive  was  it  ! 
And  the  more  Rita  knew  of  Henry,  the  more  she 
loved  him.  She  passed  hour  after  hour  in  listen- 
ing to  the  confidence  of  his  simple  and  ingenuous 
soul — in  seeing  that  heart,  of  which  he  was  as  yet 
ignorant,  unfold  itself  by  degrees — and  feeling  the 
same  emotions  within  herself  that  she  imparted 
to  Henry;  for  she  was  equally  ignorant  of  the  feel- 
ing of  love,  so  that  it  was  a  constant  exchange  of 
delightful  details,  on  each  new  discovery  they  made 
in  their  own  hearts. 

And  then  Henry  was  so  timid,  so  bashful,  and  then, 
as  he  asked  nothing,  you  must  needs  offer  him  all. 

In  fact  the  most  frenzied,  the  most  violent,  the 
most  overbearing  love  had  taken  possession  of 
Rita.  At  her  age,  tho  development  of  a  passion 
like  this  could  not  but  be  terrible,  so  that  every 
other  consideration  gave  way  before  the  uncon- 
trollable desire  of  seeing  Henry  hers  ;  and  forget- 
ting her  rank,  her  fortune,  and  her  social  position, 
she  decided  on  offering  her  hand  to  him,  although 
he  had  acknowledged  to  her  that,  although  noble, 
he  was  descended  from  a  very  poor  Breton  family. 

"  "What  care  I  for  his  fortune  ?  "  said  Rita.  "  Is 
he  not  noble?  and  besides,  the  only  daughter  of 
a  grandee  of  Spain,  I  can  give  Henry  the  title  and 
name  of  my  father.  Yes,  I  would  have  him  hold 
all  of  me,  even  his  name — a  name  that  would  be- 
come him  so  well,  for  Henry  is  handsome,  brave, 
and  intelligent.  I  know  not  a  gentleman  equal  to 
him,  and  then  he  loves  me  so  much.  Oh  !  he  loves 
me  with  adoration,  that  I  can  well  perceive.  Oh, 
my  heart! — I  love  him  so  much,  it  could  not  be 
otherwise ;  and  has  he  not  sacrificed  all  he  could 
for  me  in  this  world,  poor  youth  ?  The  faith  he 
had  sworn  to — his  future  prospects,  so  pure  and 
calm,  towards  which  he  looked.  .  .  .  And  who 
knows,"  said  Rita,  with  terror,  "  who  knows  if  it  is 
not  truo  happiness  he  has  sacrificed  for  me  !  " 

But  the  three  days  she  had  asked  of  Henry  for 
reflection  had,  if  possible,  rendered  her  intention 
more  decided,  more  unchangeable.  Thus  on  the 
third  day,  as  soon  as  night  set  in,  sho  put  on  her 
cloak,  and  leaving  the  oratory  that  communicated 
with  the  chapel  by  means  of  a  gallery,  joined  Perez, 
who  was  in  attendance. 

Leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  attendant,  she  walked 
from  tho  chateau  to  the  sea-shore,  and  having 
reached  the  large  rock,  left  Perez  and  gained  tho 
tower. 

Henry  was  already  at  the  door  on  a  kind  of  land- 
ing pjace  at  tho  foot  of  the  stairs,  but  dressed  in 
such  a  manner  that  Rita  at  first  did  not  know  him, 
but  stopped  in  alarm. 

Henry  was  dressed  in  the  garb  of  a  monk,  and 
his  hood  being  down,  nearly   concealed  his  features. 

"Rita — Rita!"  said  lie,  in  a  gentle  voice;  and 
scarcely  had  he  pronounced  the  first  syllable  of  her 
name,  when  the  duchess,  recognizing  her  lover, 
threw  herself  into  his  arms. 

"  Henry,  why  this  dismal  dress  ?  " 


8 


the  temptation;  on, 


it   not  tbat   I   was  to  have  aaaamed  before 
I  knew  thee,  Kit?  I    1    wished  to  bfl  clothed  In  it  for 
the  last  and  only  time,  thai  I  night  make  tho  saeri- 
napleta ;  «lo  you  wish  I  should  f  " 

"  No.  no, but  come,"  said  Rita,  rushing  to  the  stairs. 

Henry  gently  held  her  bark.  ■LUten,"  he  said, 
pressing  Rita's  lips  to  his  own.  ■  I  wish  to  be 
..lone,  above,  before  you  enter.  I  wish  once  more 
to  hoar  your  footst-ps  on  tin-  stairs,  the  rustling  of 
your  gown — shall  it  be  so  ?  " 

hut  let  me  tall  you,"  returned  Rita, 
with  joyous  haste,  so  anxious  the  was  to  confide  her 
secret  to  her  lover!  "  let  me  tell  you,  Henry,  I  have 
come  to  offer  you  my  hand— my  hand— an  immense 
fortune,  a  title,  a   noble  and  glorious  title,  all  is 

thine,  thine— all  for  him  who " 

angel,"  said  Henry,  kissing  her  forehead, 
and  interrupting  her,  ''  dirertly." 

■■  V. -.  >■  bat  make  haste,  look  yon,  Henry,  I 
will  not  wait  more  than  a  minute,*'  said  the  duchess, 
with  childish  impatience. 

And  Henrydisappeareuintheshadowsof  the  tower. 

A  minute  afterwards  Rita  was  at  that  door 
which  she  well  knew,  notwithstanding  tho  ob- 
scurity. 

Mil'  opened  it,  and  uttered  a  cry  of  astonishment, 
almost  of  fear. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SURPRISE. 
I  will  possess  you  by  every  imaginablo  sacrifice,  and 
posM»s  yuu  entirely.— Diderot. 

The  surprise  of  Rita  was  extremely  natural,  for 
the  dark  chamber  of  the  Tower  of  Koat-Ven  was 
no  longer  to  be  recognised  ;  damp  walls  darkened  by 
titne  had  disappeared  behindclegantpurplc6ilk  hang- 
ings, that  made  the  room  appear  half  its  usual  size. 

And  there  was  a  profusion  of  candelabra,  gilding, 
and  mirrors  reflecting  the  flames  of  a  thousand  can- 
dles, that  threw  a  resplendent  light  over  the  circu- 
lar room. 

The  timid  and  melancholy  Henry,  changed  into  a 

bold   and    elegant  cavalier,   offered   his  hand  to  the 

to  lead  her  to  an  arm-chair  placed   near  a 

tal  le   splendidly   arranged,  loaded  with  silver-gilt 

plate,  (lowers,  and  glassc  s. 

Yea,  it  was  really  Henry.  Only  instead  of  the 
V-.t  inent  of  a  monk,  which  he  had  no  doubt  assumed 
to  conceal  his  dress,  it  was  Henry  magnificently 
attired  in  a  coat  of  blue-shot  taffety  embroidered 
with  gold,  and  a  waistcoat  of  6ilver  cloth.  It  was 
Henry,  flittering  with  the  light  of  tho  diamonds 
that  spark  h-d  beneath  his  long  lace  ruffles,  on  his 
garters,  his  shoe  buckles,  his  shoes  with  red  hoels 
of  rid  bather,  and  on  the  pommel  of  his  sword. 

It  vat  Henry,  who  wore  with  perfect  ease  and 

prare  his  lordly  dress,  decorated  with    the  orders  of 

Malta  and  St.   Louis,  and   ornamented   with    large 

•  paillettes  of  embroidered  white  satin,  shov.  ing  that 

in  the  king's  ten 

Rut,  n!.i-,  Henry's    features    no   longer  po 

D  of  ladaOOII  and  suffering  which  had 
so  much  charmed  Rita.  His  looks  now  were  lively. 
and    had   an    expression   of    triumphant   seoni  ;   his 

ahiefa  the  duchess  bad  hitherto  seen  oaat 

dOWB     and     \<iled    by    their    long    e\ela  !. 

!   with   malice  aad  gaiety;  and  the  elond 

of  whit.  ted    powder   that   cove  re. I 

r   inereau-d   the  bri^h triers  of  his   brilliant 
black 


"  I  know  not  whether  I    wake   or  dream  .  .  . 
Henry  .  .  .  ."    cried    the  duchess,    trembling    and    ! 
home  down  by  an  unconquorablo  feeling  of  fear  and   \ 

grief. 

"Madame  la  duchetsc  shall  know  all,"  said  Henry 
respectfully,  and  a  floe  ting  tho  extravagant  polite- 
ness which  at  that  time  would  only  allow  you  to 
address  a  female  in  Uh>  third  porson. 

Rita  threw  herself  in  an  arm-chair,  exclaiming, 
"  Explain  yourself;  in  the  name  of  heaven,  sir,  ox- 
plain  yourself." 

"  In  the  first  place,  madamc  la  duchene  will 
allow  mo  to  ask  her  if  she  has  over  heard  speak  of 
the  Count  do  Vaudry  ?  " 

"  Often,  sir,  at  the  time  T  was  at  Versailles." 

"  Then  madatne  la  duche/se  will  hear  perhaps 
with  astonishment  that  1  am  tho  Count  de  Vaudry." 

"  You,  sir,  you  Henry  ;  but  then — oh  heaven — 
what  does  it  mean — but  tho  Count  do  Vaudry,  a8 
they  told  me,  was  serving  in  the  navy,  and  was  ab- 
sent in  America.  It  Is  impossible — for  pity's  sake, 
Honry,  explain  this  mystery  ?  " 

It  is  true,  madamc  la  ducheste,  I  served  In  tho 
American  seas,  where  my  ship  formed  part  of  tho 
squadron  of  Admiral  Guichon  ;  but  after  two  years' 
service  I  returned  to  France.  It  is  now  about  two 
months  since." 

"  Then  what,  count,"  said  Rita,  rising  impetu- 
ously from  tho  chair,  "  what  has  been  tho  motivo 
of  this  disguise  ?  Fori  am  confused,  my  head  is 
wandering  I  Honry  !  for  pity's  sake  ;  do  not  triflo 
with  a  weak  woman  1  What  was  the  reason  of  this 
deceit  ?  what  does  it  mean  ? " 

"  If  you  will  be  seated,  duchess,"  said  Henry, 
with  inconceivable  coolness,  "  you  shall  know  all !  " 

Rita  mechanically  resumed  her  scat. 

"  Madame  la  ducheste  will  excuse  me  if  my  tale 
begins  at  rather  a  distant  period,  but  it  is  necessary 
for  tho  propor  understanding  of  what  is  to  fol- 
low. 

"  About  two  years  since,  Marshal  Richelieu, 
somewhat  of  a  relation  of  mine,  but  greatly  v.\y 
friend,  seeing  with  pain  that  the  free  and  merry 
traditions  of  the  Regency,  and  the  time  of  Louis 
XV.,  wore  beginning  to  be  forgotten,  and  lost  in  the 
torrent  of  new  ideas  by  which  we  are  carried  away, 
had  the  idea  of  founding  a  society— a  club,  as  our 
Anglomaniacs  call  it  now-a-days — the  first  condi- 
tion being  that  each  member  should  be  of  good 
family  1  Tho  marshal  reserved  tho  president's 
place  for  himself. 

"Tho  members  of  this  club  were  above  all  to 
devote  themselves  to  expose  this  modern  hypocrisy  • 
which,  instead  of  acknowledging  openly  and  freely 
as  formerly,  that  pleasure  is  its  object,  by  my  faith, 
acts  the  prude,  denies  every  thing,  and  as  a  justifi- 
cation, entrenches  itself  behind  I  know  not  what 
imaginary  laws,  natural,  fatal,  sympathetic,  irre- 
sistible, and  others,  which  I  luckily  forget;  so  that 
when  a  woman  deceives  her  husband,  oh,  it  is  no- 
thing, my  dear,  it  was  ordained  ;  or,  perhaps,  it  was 
natural,  for  among  uncivilised  nations  it  is  very 
common;  or  else,  they  were  swept  along  by  tho 
lie  current. 

-  So  that  it  is  tho  usual  plan  to  refer  everything 
to  destiny  or  nature  !  and  tho  lover  escapes  scot 
free.  All  these  matters  are  mixed  up  with  sound- 
ing words,  and  romantic,  phrases  that  deceive  no 
one;  bat  although  we  gain  In  good  breeding  it  is 
become  extremely  wearisome,  thongh  porfoctly  rc- 
tpeotabla." 

'■  1  know  not,  count " 


12  Gt  nevertheless,  madame  la  duchesse,  formerly 
all  these  matters  took  place  within  our  own  circle, 
with  drawn  curtains,  and  we  could  always  talk  of 
virtue  to  those  poor  devils,  who  really  stand  in  need 
of  it  if  they  would  be  happy.  But  now-a-days  we, 
must  have  equality  in  love  as  well  as  in  politics; 
and  every  woman,  imaginingherself  aJulia.musthave 
a  St.  Preux,  and  look  for  him  heaven  knows  where. 
But  it  matters  not;  .  .  and  because  she  chooses 
some  low-bred  man  instead  of  a  duke  or  peer,  she 
calls  it  trampling  under  foot  '  the  odious  and  moral 
prejudices  of  birth  ...  or  accomplishing  a  fusion 
of  all  ranks.'" 

"But  we  must  not  allow  such  a  profanation  to  be 
effected ;  and  we  must  demonstrate  to  women  the 
folly  and  danger  of  their  pretended  passions  for  low- 


born people,  and  by  means  of  one  of  those  excellent, 
though  perfidious  tricks  called  a  hoax,  must  causa 
the  old  system  to  flourish  again." 

The  duchess  turned  deadly  pale. 

"  I  became  a  member  of  this  precious  association 
a  short  time  before  my  departure  for  America;  and 
being  wounded  in  one  of  our  last  actions,  the  ad- 
miral imposed  upon  me  the  duty  of  conveying  his 
despatches  to  his  majesty. 

"  While  I  remained  at  Versailles,  I  heard  some 
severe  remarks  made  on  your  prudence,  madame ; 
and  between  ourselves,  you  well  deserved  them. 
What,  madame,  you  must  be  unable  to  reproach 
yourself  with  a  single  weakness  ?  and  then  you 
placed  no  bounds  to  the  professed  austerity  of  youi 
principles.     It  was  an  assumption  the  world  could 


lo 


THU  TEMPT  I 


not  decently  tolerate  ;  Cor  there  tre  two  things  thai 

■re  never  pardoned — superiority  in  man — virtue  in 
woman." 

■  on,  mi."  <iid  Rita,  coldly. 

Henry  bowed,  and  continued. 

•Tlun.  madame,  it  was  the  opinion  of  a  small 
party  that  your  prudence  was  due  to  the  discretion 
of  your  lovers;  so  that  when  they  saw  a  band 
officer  mounting  guard  at  tin-  palace,  or  ■  great  lord 
at  the  king's  levee,  malielona  tongues  pretend  thai 
the  common  observation  was,  '  The  reputation  of 
the  dnebess  is  mountin  .  the  duch- 

rirtneis  Salnting    his    majesty."       lUit    other--. 

who  had  the  beat  opportunity  ofknowlng  the  truth, 
having  fully  proved  the  purity  of  your  principles. 
Bade  a  vow  of  hatred  and  envy  so  Incurable,  that 

tiny  solicited  me,  since  I  liad  just    arrived,  and  you 
were  acquainted  with  me,  to  try  my  power  a 
your  terrible  virtue. 

"  I  must  ackno.*  .  that 

at  first  I  "hesitated,  for    I    had  only   to  remain  three  | 


recently  appointed  me  to  the  command  of  one  of 
ti  -:  here,  then,  are  future  prospects,  in  ac- 
cordance  with  your  wishes.  But  after  all;  raillery 
apart,  we  have  both  been  happy,  duchess;  youb) 
the  illusion,  and  I  by  the  pleasure  ofprodi 
Let  us  part,  then,  good   friends  ;  for  a  month's  tite- 

ight  to  have  exhausted   your  love 
mine.      Adieu!    then,   madame;   and    if  we   see   each 

other  again,  let  us  promise  to  laugh  heartily  at  this 
folly  of  our  youthful  days:  a  lolly   which  has  never- 

in  excellent  moral;  for  observe,  Rita,  after 
a  few  words,  a  few  phrases,  In  one  month  1  have  in- 

in  to  Sacrifice,  for  my  sake,  rank,  title,  and 
fortune,  believing  me,  as  you  did,  an  obscure  man. 

and  without  any  serial  position.  You  must  ac- 
knowledge that  yon  Btaked  heavily;  let  it  be  a 
Warning  BO  you  ;  and  thank  heaven  that  happily  I 
am  incapable  of  abusing  or  accepting  your  offers, 
for  I  took  the  vows  of  a  Knight  of  Malta  before  the 
death  of  my  elder  brother." 
"  Count,"  said  Rita,  pale  as  death,  after  a  moment's 


months  in  France,  and  should  be  obliged  to  saeri-  I  silence,    "your  conduct  has  been  infamous ;  ll 

tee  two   to   effect   my  purpose  ;  bii  that,   thanks  to    an  act  of  meanness  unworthy  a  gentleman.'' 


mv  indecision,  you  ran  a  great  risk  of  remaining 
virtuous  all  your  life.  "When  one  evening,  supping 
at  \l.  Bouhtae's  with  the  Prince  of  Guemenee  and 
his  mistress.  I  felt  a  strong  inclination  to  ] 
the  latter.  She  and  the  prince  refused  my  solicita- 
tions ;  but  Guemenee  said  to  me,  '  My  dear  count, 
subdue  that  proud  Spanish  beauty,  and  if  you  suc- 
ceed, Leila  is  yours  :  if  you  fail,  that  race-bo 
bought  of  Lauxun  becomes  my  property.' 

"  1  laid  tin:  wager;  and  then  1  decided,  madame, 
to  make  you  listen  to  my  suit." 

While  the  Count  do  Vaudry  was  uttering  these 
impertinences,  in  the  most  impudent  and  careless 
tone,   Rita  played   mechanically   with  one  of  the 


•'  Why     zounds,   duchess,   onr    old    marshal    has 
committed  many  such,  and  his  ducal  coronet  is  still 
firmly  fixed  on   his   head  ;  and  besides,"   said    the 
count,  proudly,  "  all   this,  madame  la 
taken  place  between  persons  of  an  equal  rank."' 

it,"  replied  Rita,  in  a  trembling  voice,  that 
gave  the  lie  to  her  assumed  calmness,  "you  have 
done  me  much  wrong  ;  but,  unfortunately  for  you, 
you  alone  know  it.  I  shall  deny  all  ;  and  as  yen 
have  already  told  me  my  reputation 
and  as  you  are  an  acknowledged  coxcomb,  con- 
sider  " 

"  But,"  said  the  count.  "  if  1  reckon  correctly,  the 
world  will,  after  all,  decide  that  a  man  overwhelmed 


knives  that  lay  on   the  table  ;  but  she  uttered  not  j  with  the  favours  of  a  pretty  woman— for  1  have  v.  it- 
a  word,  an   almost  imperceptible  motion  alone  agi- 
•  eye-brow? 


nesses  

••  Witnesses,   sir'."    said    Rita,    with 


scornful 


Madame  de  St.   Croix,  one  of  your  mo^t  deter- 
mined enemies  afforded  me  some  curious  informa- 
tion respecting  your   romantic  and  enthusiastic  cha- 
racter.    My  plan  was  soon  arranged.     An  old  tutor 
of  mine,  the    worthy  astronomer,    Rumphius,  lent 
me  this  isolated  tower  :   here  I  took  up  my  quarters, 
and,  thanks  to  the  address  of  my   messenger,  yon 
wero   soon    informed    of    the    recluse  of    Is'oat-Ven. 
The  consequence  of  my  wounds,  and  the  effects  of 
;.  id  rend  >red  my  cheeks  pale,  and  my  hair 
being  without  powder,  still  further  Increased  my 
juvenile  appearance.     These  are  all  the  physical 
ta  by  which  I  added  to  my  youthful  looks.  .  .  . 
The  sea  lu-e.  ■«,  the  light  of  the  stars,  unhappy  pre- 
lation,  inon I  melancholy,   grief,  can- 

dour, timidity,  all  lent  a  new  charm   to  my  COnver- 

.:, I.  1    the    rest,    and    I     was 

1  !      I  was  bl  ue  '"' 

Kit  i  wa  •  silent. 

■   You  also  were   happy,  madame,  and   will  be  so 

in;  for  R  was  a  pleasure  "u  yen-  part  to  have, 

by  love's  means,  effected  the  certainty  of  snatching 

me  from  my  holy    \oeation  ;   to  have-    roused    within 

me  a  proud  and  intrepid  soul;  and  to  have  placed 

ire  no-  n  future, briniant  with  fortune,  nobli 
and  glory.     Be  astl  led,  madame;  thanks   to   the 
instinct  of  your  extremely  sympathetic  soul.  I  have 

•  is  now  nearly 
8  had  the  honour  of  -  erving  in 
I  • 

modified      1  ha  re  ■  ■>:  income 


"  Witnesses,  madame  !  the  old  Chovalh  i 
has  for  the  last  month  coildemnPd  himself  to  the 
turret  of  this  tower  ;  and  by  means  of  the  door  that 
communicates  with  the  chamber,  be  has  not  lost  a 
gingle  word  of  all  our  interviews,  Guemenee 
thought  too  much  of  his  mistress  not  to  make 
sure." 

"  Oh,  Cod  !   Cod!"  cried   the  duchess  in  • 
then  rising  with  burning  cheeks  and  eye  on  fire, — 

'■  I  suppose,  count,"'  she  .-aid  to  Henry,  with  an 
air  replete  with  dignity,  "  I  suppose,  this  cruel  joke 
has  lasted  sufficiently  long  ;  you  have  forgotten  the 
Dt  that  is  due  to  a  woman,  and  a  woman  of 
my  rank  !  Sir,  I  know  not  whether  yon  are  or  are 
not  the  Oount  de  Vaudry;  all  1  know  is,  thai  I 
found  you  here  alone,  Suffering  and  unhappy;  it  ap- 
pears as  if  the  deep  compassion  I  felt  for  an  unfor- 
tunate man,  whether  really  so  or  not,  was  to  be 
punished  as  a  crime.  1  am  punished,  sir  ;  and  if 
the  love  I  felt,  in  spite  of  myself,  for  a  being  1  be- 
lieved isolated,  without  a  friend  on  the  earth,  is  also 
worthy  of  the  most  fearful  Bufferings,  I  en- 
dure them--for  I  love  you,  1 1  sry!"snid  Rita,  Bhed- 
irs  in  spite  of  herself,  "1  have  loved  you 
with  all  the  pity,  with  which  your  misfortunes  in- 
spired me,  I  have  loved  you  with  every  hope  of  mak- 
ing   >"U  the   happiest  Of   men  -loved     you. 

Oh,  how  well    I    lo\  e|  yon  1" 

Henry  wa 
And  l  can  'Hi  my  fortune,  my  hind 

my  tilJe  •   beli.  I  loved 


THE   WATCH   TOWEK  OF   KOAT-VBN. 


you  so  much  --I  still  love  von  as  much— for  I  always 

love  you  !"  murmured  Rita,  convulsively  falling  on 
her  knees.  "  I  still  love  you,  for  what  you  have  just 
said  would  have  killed  me,  but  that  you;-  voice 
pronounced  it;  arid  so  much  1  love  that  voice,  I 
did  not  die.  Believe  me,  trust  in  my  love;  and  I 
will  swear  to  you  by  heaven,  if  I  have  not  learnt 
to  doubt  in  heaven— and  Henry,  there  is  that  again, 
observe — I  no  longer  believe  in  heaven,  in  anything. 
I  have  but  thee  in  this  world  :  oh,  that  I  had  still  a 
resource  in  prayer  ;  had  I  but  one  name  to  invoke 
in  my  sufferings  ;  but  no,  no  !  nought  but  despair 
and  death !  I  did  thee  no  wrong !  I  was  about 
to  sacrifice  all  that  a  woman  of  my  rank  could 
sacrifice  !  I  was  at  thy  knees ;  still  I  am  there ! 
I  have  been  my  mistress ;  I  wished  to  be  wholly 
thine,  to  be  thy  wife.  Well,  1  wish  it  no  longer, 
Henry.  I  will  bo  what  you  wish  me — oh,  say, 
Henry — only  love  me,  love  me  !" 

And  weeping,  she  madly  kissed  Henry's  hands. 
A  tear  overflowed  his  eyelids,  and,  his  heart  break- 
ing within  him,  he  bent  over  Rita;  when  a  badly 
stifled  laugh  was  heard  behind  the  tapestry. 

Henry  alone  heard  it,  and  ashamed  of  his  emo- 
tion, he  resumed  his  sang-froid.  "  Rise,  madaiuc  la 
duehesse," he  said.  "Why,  what  is  there  so  despe- 
rate in  our  case  ?  we  have  loved  each  other  for  a 
month,  the  whim  has  passed  over.  And  I  say  to 
you,  what  perhaps  you  have  said  to  others,  silence 
and  adieu !" 

"  Believe;  it  not,  it  is  a  horrible  calumny,"  cried 
Rita,  terrified ;  "  believe  it  not,  Henry;"  and  she 
crawled  towards  him  on  her  knees. 

At  this  moment,  the  hangings  that  surrounded 
the  room  were  raised,  and  the  stupefied  duchess 
perceived  a  group  of  men  and  women,  laughing 
and  shouting,  "  Bravo,  bravo,  Count  dc  Vaudry  ! 
You  have  won  your  wager;  the  trick  is  com- 
plete," 

The  duchess  having  risen,  violently  repelled  the 
count  ;  and  endued  for  the  instant  with  supernatural 
strength,  she  rushed  towards  the  door  and  disap- 
peared, before  any  of  the  party  could  obstruct  her 
flight. 

"  Wretch,  that  I  am ;  she  will  destroy  herself!" 
cried  Henry,  going  in  pursuit  of  Rita, 

"  Kill  herself  for  that ! — nonsense  ! —  she  will 
live,"  said  the  Duke  dc  St.  Ouen,  preventing 
Henry's  leaving  the  room.  "Ladies,  assist  me," 
he  added,  addressing  half  a  dozen  beautiful  women, 
who  surrounded  the  table,  "  f  hardly  know  poor 
Vaudry  again.    What  will  the  marshal  say  V 

Tlie  lesson  has  perhaps  been  rather  too  strong  ; 
and  then,  if  I  really  was  her  first  lover!"  thought 
Henry,  in  one  of  his  fits  of  vanity,  and  remember- 
ing the  excessive  tenderness  of  Rita. 

"  Bah !  I  have  too  much  modesty,  to  take  the 
honour  to  myself;"  and,  recovering  his  gaiety,  he 
added,  "besides,  the  women  are  right;  we  are 
always  the  first,  like  kings,  the  first  of  the  Christian 
name  !  But  there  are  so  many  Henrys  the  chances 
are  much  against  me."  Then,  addressing  himself  to 
Chevalier  Lepine,  "Chevalier,  you  can  tell  Guc- 
menee  that  I  have  honourably  won  his  mistress." 

"  Oh  certainly,  you  have  won  me  fairly,"  said 
the  most  seducing  little  prize  in  the  world,  at  the 
same  time  taking  hold  of  Henry's  arm. 

"Tell  him  all  about  it  at  dinner,  Leila,"  ex- 
claimed the  chevalier  ;  "  but,  come,  to  supper,  to 
upper  !" 

"  lres  ;  to  supper  I"  thej  all  exclaimed  in  a  loud 
voice. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  8UJ 

Until  I  know  this  sure  uncertainty 

I'll  entertain  the  offered  fallacy.— Suakspla:,l. 

THEY  placed  themselves  at  supper. 

And    such   a   supper  !  —replete    with    I 
mad  with  wine,  debauchu — as  every   supper,   when, 
well  understood,  ought  to  be;  for  supper  is  to  the 
chaste  dinner  what  wit  is  to    plain  sense,  a  lover 
to  a  husband,  or  poetry  to  prose. 

And  then  we  dine  by  the  vulgar  light  of  day, 
but  at  supper — at  supper — we  must  Lave  the  rosy 
light  of  candles,  which  alone  can  adorn,  tinge,  and 
perfect  the  toilette  of  a  woman,  which  alone  inspires 
you  with  I  know  not  what  delicious  and  joyous 
intoxication. 

Aristocratic  and  adorable  light,  broken  into  jots 
of  flame,  shining  in  aigrets  of  fire,  in  sparkling 
plumes,  as  if  solely  made  to  decorate  what  you 
delight  in  ;  and  render  still  more  dark  the  shades 
by  which  they  are  surrounded. 

Instead  of  diffusing  thyself  pale  and  sad  on  all 
alike,  without  affection  or  choice,  like  the  vulgar 
light  of  day,  thou  lovest  to  sparkle  on  polished 
facettes  of  crystal ;  to  play  complacently  on  the 
changing  opal  so  dear  to  blondes ,-  or  to  dart  upon  the 
diamond  star  that  trembles  on  the  forehead  of  tho 
brunette.  How  well  dost  thou  reflect  the  intricate 
tracery  of  a  golden  arabasque,  softly  tallest  thou 
ou  the  watered  folds  of  the  drapery,  while  all  the 
rest  is  buried  in  an  amorous  middle-tint  or  the 
deepest  shadow. 

And  thus  appeared  the  large  and  hitherto  soli- 
tary chamber  of  the  Tower  of  Koat-Ven. 

Lighted  in  this  manner,  nothing,  could  be  more 
coquettish,  nothing  more  wanton,  than  those  seduc- 
tive girls  covered  with  jewellery,  interlaced  with 
the  waving  plumes  of  their  white  and  powdered 
head-dresses,  from  which  depended  garlands  of  ru- 
bies and  emeralds,  on  the  sweetest  necks  in  the 
world,  dappled  with  veins  of  purest  azure. 

Their  very  looks  might  tempt  you  to  clasp  their 
long  and  slim  waists,  made  more  slender  still  in 
appearance  by  the  amp  litude  of  their  skirts  sup- 
ported by  demi  hoops ;  well  might  you  long  to  kiss 
those  white  and  rounded  arms,  issuing  so  fresh 
from  a  mass  of  the  richest  lace,  that  came  as  low  as 
their  dimpled  elbows. 

By  heaven  !  who  would  not  hear  the  rustling  of 
those  dresses  of  thick  satin,  covered  with  flowers 
as  changeable  as  the  plumage  of  the  ring-dove — 
those  long  robes  disclosed  the  silk  stocking  with 
its  golden  clock,  and  the  tiny  high-heeled  slippers 
covered  with  brilliant  spangles. 

Let  us  conclude  with  those  insolent  streamers  of 
azure  or  scar  let  riband,  with  which  their  slender 
corsets  of  silver  gauze  were  enamelled,  and  the  qui- 
vering of  their  bare  and  beautiful  shoulders,  whose 
alabaster  was  enhanced  by  little  ebony  flies  ar- 
ranged in  the  most  killing  manner. 

And,  oh,  the  scorching  voluptuousness  of  those 
half-closed  eyes,  that  shone  so  brightly,  in  contrast 
with  their  rosy  cheeks,  rendered  still  more  provok- 
ing by  the  effects  of  wine ;  for  these  fair  damsels 
did  not  refuse  frequently  to  hide  the  lively  red  of 
their  lips  in  its  white  and  sparkling  foam. 

Then,  hey !  for  merriment — drink  deep — a  mad- 
dening orgie,  gentlemen  !  and  long  live  folly  ! 

<  »b,  no !  know  you  not  those  orgies  of  folly,  so 
maddening  and  so  lively,  those  dear  delights,  whose 
distant  remembrance  at  times  illumines  our  faded 
youth  \     Such  orgies  as  these  are  known  only  from 


12 


the  temptation;  or, 


fifteen  to  eighteen.  Yes  ;  in  such  01  _'ies  as  those 
there  is  frankness,  gaiety,  madness,  pleasure.  Who 
cares  for  the  richest  foodl  the  plates  fly  tlirough 
the  window — who  caves  for  wine  .'  crash  go  the 
bottles — who  heeds  the  prison,  th<>ugh  captured  by  the 
patrol  ?  And  as  to  women,  some  one  has  said  ;  "  All 
are  handsome  in  the  eyes  of  monks  and  school-boys." 

At  that  time  a  revel  consists  in  a  merry,  careless, 
unlaced  wench,  who  breaks  the  lamps,  assaults  the 
police,  sleeps  in  prison,  and  laughs  like  a  mad  thing, 
until  the  hour  arrives  to  begin  again. 

But  later  in  lite,  when  satiated  with  revelry :  we 
still  have  many  revels;  but  we  are  calm,  sarcastic, 
unmoved  :  we  hate  the  noise.  It  is  a  drinking  bout, 
loud  talking,  the  debauch  is  analyzed,  and  comment- 
ed on  ;  it  is  a  cold  vice,  without  excitement,  such 
as  becomes  reasonable  men,  no  longer  boys.  There 
are  girls  at  supper,  because  it  is  the  fashion,  and 
sometimes  an  amusing  folly  ;  but  little  notice  is  taken 
of  them—  they  are  as  it  were  a  luxury,  a  kind 
of  rich  and  rare  dish,  beyond  the  feast. 

This  long  digression  leads  us  t)  observe  that 
the  gaiety  of  the  present  supper  was  of  a  quiet 
nature,  at  times  dull,  dreaming,  and  political;  for 
men  of  thinking  minds  foresaw  a  dismal  future, 
and  the  rumour  of  American  independeneo  was 
the  first  lightning-flash  that  passed  across  the  me- 
nacing 6ky. 

The  parties  assembled  at  this  supper  were,  Count 
Vaudry;  Chevalier  Lepine,  a  captain  in  the  navy ; 
the  .Marquis  de  Rullecourt,  a  colonel  in  the  royal 
dragoons ;  the  Duke  de  St.  Ouen,  captain  in  the 
light  infantry;  Viscount  Monbar,  colonel  in  the 
guards ;  and  lastly,  Baron  Mallcbranche,  a  major 
of  artillery. 

The  six  ladies  were  dancers  at  the  Opera,  a  class 
of  females  then  much  in  vogue. 

"  At  least  you  cannot  deny  that  my  prize  is  a 
charming  girl."  said  Henry,  looking  at  Leila ;  "  and 
what  fools  we  are!  We  kill  ourselves  by  our  plots, 
cares,  calculations,  to  be  deceived  by  selecting  our 
mistresses  from  society,  when  we  have  wenches  as 
pretty,  who  will  deceive  us  without  any  expense 
— we  deserve  all  that  happens  to  us." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  that,"  cried  the  Chevalier 
Lepine  ;  "  women  of  the  world  only  deceive  us  to 
avenge  morality." 

■  Spite  against  the  duchess,"  said  St.  Ouen. 

"  And  why  not,  after  being  shut  up  for  a  month 
in  tho  turret  of  this  tower  ?  .  .  .  were  we  not 
obliged  to  have  our  waggons  brought  along  the 
most  horrible  roads,  to  put  this  room  in  a  proper 
state  to  receive  you  this  morning,  on  your  arrival 
from  St.  Kenan  ?  If  my  suit  had  not  been  so 
haughtily  repelled  by  the  duchess  on  a  former  occa- 
sion .  .  .  ." 

"  And  ours  also  ....  And  then  tho  pleasure  of 
being  present  at  the  defeat  of  an  enemy  brought 
us  here,"  exclaimed  the  men. 

"  I  am  the  only  one  you  do  not  pity  then  ?"  said 
Henry.  "  I,  who  have  avenged  you  ;  1  who  have  lost 
in  this  place  one  month  out  of  perhaps  two  that  I 
have  to  remain  in  France.  It  I  had  not  n.id  so 
strong  a  fancy  for  the  little  rogue  Leila— if  I  had 
not  stood  in  need  of  some  master  stroke  to  open 
my  way  to  IMBCM  in  the  world-  if  it  had  not  been 
ry  I  should  .sow,  in  order  that  I    might  reap, 

;  l.ilo'  ophet  fays " 

"  I  \rry  much  doubt, "  replied  Mallehranche, 
"  whether  your  adventure  will  make  many  '  myrtle 
blofcsoms  open,  beneath  the  sun  of  admiration, 
anions:  the  women,'  as  that  fool  Lorat  says." 


"  How  much  you  are  in  tho  wrong,  my  dea>* 
Mallehranohe !  women  always  love  us  in  propor- 
tion to  the  anxiety  we  give  them,  and  that  from 
coquetry.  Tears  become  them  so  well,  give  such 
brilliancy  to  their  eyes  ;  and  then  how  tantalizing  is 
a  fine  bosom  when  it  heaves  with  sighs  and  sobs  ! 
Believe  me,  grief  is  their  ornament  and  strength; 
besides,  a  fine  woman  who  knows  what  she  is 
about,  is  satisfied  that  nothing  is  less  enticing  than  a 
merry  look  ;  tho  eternal  smile  must  be  left  for  those 
where  only  beauty  consists  in  a  fine  set  of  teeth." 

"  He  is  quite  right,"  said  Leila,  "  There  are  some 
women  who  like  to  be  beaten.  One  of  my  friends 
has  a  particular  taste  for  that  evidence  of  love; 
and  when  her  bonnet  is  torn  to  pieces,  her  hair 
all  out  of  curl,  and  her  clothes  nearly  oft'  her  back, 
I  can  assure  you  she  is  not  a  little  vain." 

"  Havo  you  no  remorse,  you  wretch  I"  asked  Cora- 
ly,  a  beautiful  blonde,  on  whom  it  was  said  M.  do 
Bouillon  had  expended  500,000  livres. 

"  Yes,  remorse !"'  they  all  exclaimed  with  one  voice. 

"Why  the  deuce  should  I  havo  any  remorse? 
Have  I  not  sacrificed  myself,  I,  Vaudry  ?  Have  I 
not  played  my  part  better  than  Mole  himself? 
Zounds  !  do  you  take  no  account  of  that?" 

•'  But  if  she  loved  thee  ?" 

"If  she  loved  me!  well  it  must  be  one  way  or 
the  other ;  either  she  still  loves  me,  and  that  would 
be  disgraceful  in  her,  after  my  behaviour, —  such  an 
immoral  weakness  would  deserve  no  pity ;  or  she 
hates  me,  and  will  seek  revenge  ;  and  as  she  can  do 
that,  we  are  on  equal  terms.  Besides,  to  sum  up 
all,  I  endeavour  to  convince  myself  that  she  is  a 
false  and  cunning  coquette,  who  has  laughed  at 
twenty  poor  devils  as  I  have  laughed  at  her;  in  that 
case,  my  cruel  behaviour  is  only  justice." 

"  But  if  she  is  no  coquette  ?" 

"  If — if !  Well,  I  will  answer  in  my  usual  phrase ; 
of  what  consequence  is  it  to  mo  ?  What  can  she 
attempt?  To  assassinate  me  ....  I  havo  often 
braved  death  when  it  threatened  in  a  more  danger- 
ous place,  and  from  a  less  fair  hand ;  so  let  us  talk 
of  something  else.  What  about  the  opera  ?  What 
has  become  of  Guimard  I" 

"  You  must  look  to  the  list  of  benefits,"  said 
St.  Ouen. 

"What!  is  she  still  with  M.  Tarente?  How 
does  she  look  '<" 

"As  thin  as  a  6ilkworm,"  cried  Virginia.  .  .  . 
And  yet  she  ought  to  grow  fat  on  so  rich  a  leaf." 

"As  to  Sophy  Arnoux  and  the  Italians;  what 
aro  they  doing?" 

"  They  play  three  times  a  week  ;  but  they  are  all 
so  dreadfully  virtuous ;  they  live  among  each  other, 
actors  and  actresses.  They  arc  all  married ;  but 
still  Marshal  de  Lorges  has  contrived  to  carry  off 
Colomb  from  this  matrimonial  and  indecent  colon)," 
said  Leila. 

"And  Dntbef" 

"Always  in  the  fashion;  but  La  Quincy,  her 
lady"s  maid,  is  her  rival.  At  the  last  meeting  at 
Long  Champ,  she  had  such  a  splendid  set-out:  four 
magnificent  English  horses,  with  red  morocco  har- 
ness, mounted  with  silver,  and  covered  with  Rhenish 
diamonds  ;  but  I  must  acknowledge  the  lieutenant 
of  police  took  care  to  alter  that." 

"  And  Rosalie  ?" 

"  In  Germany,"  said  Leila. 

"How!"  exclaimed  Henry;  "she  has  left  that 
delightful  little  house  at  the  Thermos,  on  which  I 
expended  as  much  as  two  thousand  louis^" 

"No,  no.     I  mean  by  being  in  Germany,  that  tho 


THE    WATCH    TOWKIl    01     KOAT-VIiX. 


13 


German  ambassador,  the  Count  de  Mercy,  who  pro- 
tects her,  is  quite  mad  in  love  with  her." 

"  And  Granville?"  asked  Henry,  who  had  not  yet 
come  to  the  end  of  his  questions. 

"  Oh  !  Granville,"  replied  Leila;  "  she  has  had  a 
curious  adventure  with  a  financier,  and  the  hand- 
some Lauzun." 

"  Lauzun  ?  nonsense  !  Why  he  is  a  monk,"  said 
Virginia.    "  Certain  affairs  of  the  heart,  in  which 

he  was  a  lover " 

"  That  was  before  he  became  one  of  us,"  observed 
Leila.  "  Granville,  as  you  all  know,  was  beautiful 
as  an  angel,  and  under  the  protection  of  Mouron- 
our  man  of  money  detested  Lauzun,  and  had  a 
hundred  times  asked  Granville  to  sacrifice  the  hand- 
some duke.  Well ;  it  happened  one  day,  the  finan- 
cier being  informed  that  Lauzun  was  on  a  visit  to  his 
angel,  he  went  up  stairs  and  disturbed  their  tete-a- 
tete.  Lauzun  was  in  a  rage,  called  Mouron  a  clown, 
an  impudent  fellow,  and  an  ass;  thrust  him  into  a 
closet,  the  door  of  which  was  glazed,  put  the  key  in 
his  pocket,  and  continued  his  attentions  to  Gran- 
ville. Afterwards,  having  well  pommelled  Mouron, 
they  thrust  him  into  the  street ;  so  that  ever  since 
we  call  our  friends  Mourons." 

"  An  excellent  joke !  "  they  all  exclaimed,  with 
one  voice. 

"  But  the  best  is,"  said  Leila,  "  a  month  after- 
wards Mouron  lent  Lauznn  two  thousand  louis,  to 
proceed  on  a  voyage  to  Hungary." 

"Quite  right,   girl,"   said    Rullecourt;  "it   was 
absolutely  necessary  that  the  simpleton  should  re- 
compense the  Duke  de  Lauzun  for  having  conde- 
scended to  agree  with  him  in  taste." 
"By-the-by  !  what  of  Lauzun  and  the  Duchess  de 

S V 

"  The  same  with  regard  to  the  duchess,"  replied 
St.  Ouen,  "  as  Leila  tells  you  in  the  case  of  Gran- 
ville, at  the  Comedie  Franqaise." 
"  What's  that  ?  " 

"That  rogue  Clairval  has  taken  Lauzun 's  place." 
"  What !  "  said  Henry ;  "  do   the  women   fall  so 
low !     Actors !" 

"It's  common;  very  common.  And  as  Lauzun 
alone  was  acquainted  with  the  secrets  of  Clairval 

and  Madame  de  S ,  the  Duke  de  C and   the 

Duchess  de  G ,  her  sister,  did  all  they  could  to 

obtain  proofs  of  the  affai  •  from  Lauzun.    He  re- 
fused ;  but  M.  de  C broke  open  his  desk,  and 

there  he  found  Clairval's  letters.     The  duchess  has 
been  sent  to  a  convent. 

"  Look  at  the  difference,  girls,"  said  Henry  to 
the  ladies;  "they  never  put  you  in  a  convent  for 
matters  of  that  kind  ;  you  need  not  complain,  there- 
fore, of  your  condition." 

"Ohl  we  don't  complain  of  that;  we  only  find 
fault  with  them  for  rivalling  us.  They  spoil  our 
trade,  as  Richelieu's  mistress  said." 

"  Ah,  Richelieu !    do  you  know  what  has  hap- 
pened  to  him  ?  "  said   Rullecourt  to  Henry.    •'  He 
is  going  to  be  married." 
"On  what  account?" 

"  I  can't  tell ;  but  it  must  be  a  dreadful  act  of 
vengeance,  for  his  wife  is  confoundedly  ugly. 

"  But  what  is  more  comical  than  that,  is  thetouch- 
mg  manner  in  which  he  received  an  immense  legacv, 
left  him  by  one  of  his  old  mistresses,  who  for  that 
purpose  disinherited  ail  her  relations. 

"'Zounds!'  cried  the  old  marshal;  'if  all  my 
ancient  flames  were  to  do  the  like,  I  should  be 
richer  than  the  king.' 


"And  the  manner  in  which  he  announced  hi3 
marriage  to  his  son,"  continued  Rullecourt. 

"'My  lord  duke  de  Fronsac,'  said  Richelieu  tu 
him,  '  I  am  more  honourable  than  yon.  You  never 
mentioned  your  marriage  to  me,  but  I  have  come 
to  inform  you  of  mine.  You  have  no  children  :  but 
although  I  am  eighty  years  old,  I  calculate  upon 
one  who  shall  be  a  better  subject  than  you ;  bat  do 
not  alarm  yourself,  duke,  we  will  make  an  abbe  of 
him  .  .  .' 

"'Zounds,  marshal!'  answered  Fronsac,  'you 
can  do  better  than  that — make  him  a  cardinal,  they 
have  never  injured  the  family.'  " 

"Ah,  Richelieu!  Richelieu!"  cried  Mallebranche, 
who  had  kept  himself  sober ;  "  Richelieu,  thou  de- 
mocratic cardinal,  whither  do  you  lead  us?" 

"  To  our  ruin,  to  the  ruin  of  the  monarchy,  to 
that  of  France,"  said  Rullecourt,  slowly  filling  his 
glass. 

"  That  is  true  enough,"  observed  St.  Ouen  ;  "  he 
has  overthrown  feudalism  ;  the  courtiers  have  suc- 
ceeded the  landlords  ;  and  after  the  courtiers,  came 
— faith,  I  know  not  whom — something  horrible, 
between  a  tiger  and  an  ape — as  the  philosophers 
would  say." 

"  Ah  !  the  philosophers  !  the  fact  is  they  have  per- 
formed their  task  .  .  .  nothing  could  be  better  done," 
said  Monbar,  sipping  his  wine;  "  they  have  devoured 
the  monarchy  ...  or  nearly  so  .  .  .  but  now  the 
monster  is  so  gorged,  it  cannot  stir  ....  When  the 
boa  is  full,  it  sleeps  ...  let  them  sleep  over  their 
monarchy  .  .  .  but  at  least  leave  us  our  books." 

"What's  that?"  exclaimed  Mallebranche  ;  "the 
philosophers  destroy  the  monarchy  ? — by  heaven  ! 
gentlemen,  you  do  them  too  much  honour.  The 
encyclopedia  overthrow  the  throne  of  Charle- 
magne !  that  would  be  strange  indeed  !  Did  it  not 
expire  with  Louis  XIV.,  and  throngh  the  fault  of 
that  great  monarch  ?  What  ?  because  the  lion  in 
its  headstrong  course  dashes  itself  to  pieces  over 
a  precipice,  you  would  say  it  was  killed  by  the  : 
croaking  of  the  crows  that  hover  over  its  carcass  S 
The  philosophers  destroy  the  royalty  of  France  ! 

No,  no,  d it,  do  not  say  that ;  or  they  will  be-  ! 

lieve  it,  and  the  fools  will  be  delighted  at  playing 
the  parts  of  destroyers  of  an  empire.  The  filthv 
worm  that  rots  in  the  tomb  would  be  puffed  up  ' 
with  vanity,  and  believe  it  had  killed  the  mighty 
soldier  thrown  into  his  grave  in  his  breast-plate  of 
steel." 

" Only  observe,"  said  St.  Ouen,  "he  attacks  the  I 
philosophers  .'    I  should  say  he  has  read  their  last 
pamphlet  on  the  navy." 

"  That  again  is  shameful,  gentlemen,"  said  Rul-  I 
lecourt ;  "  and  were  they  worth  the  stick  we  should  I 
break  on  their  shoulders,  it  would  be  an  excellent 
thing  to  punish  such  vile  braggarts." 

"  It  is  infamous,"  said  Mallebranche;  "and  these 
are  Frenchmen  who  traduce  the  bravest  men— the 
wretches — Frenchmen  !  mark  you,  Frenchmen  !  . 
and  the  English  can  show  you,  written  in  French, 
in  a  French  book,  printed,  sold,  and  distributed 
throughout  Franco  . .  .  .  '  on  such  a  day  the  French 
were  cowards.'  " 

"  It  was  false,"  replied  Rullecourt ;  "  they  wore 
no  cowards,  but  brave  as  they  were,  it  was  neces- 
sary at  all  hazards  to  make  them  unpopular  .  .  . 
and  the  chief  of  the  party  held  up  his  hand,  and 
all  the  pack  gave  mouth  in  the  wished-for  tone : 
and  while  our  brave  and  noble  gentlemen  opposed 
their  bosoms  to  tho  English  cannon,  a  motlev 
group  of  cowards,  braggarts,  and  pitiful  splitters 


14 


THE    TEMPTATION;    OR, 


of  words,  crouching  on  the  straw  of  their  grana- 
ries, Insulted  with  impunity  these  brave  end  daring 
men." 

"The  pbilos]  I  Leila,   "what  an  appe- 

tite tln\ -have!  1  Supported  five  and  they  called 
me  Venus." 

"One  more  meal,  and  the;  would  hare  called 
you  Minerva,  child,"  observed  the  Dnke  of  Baint 
Onen.  "  .\1.  Voltaire,  and  he  is  a  great  philosopher, 
said  much  the  BaiM  t<>  La  Pompadour  and  La 
Dubarry,  to  gi  ,    toad  b<  fore  his  name,  and 

the  otlice  of  gentleman  in  waiting." 

" Philosphers !  three  of  them  quarrelled  about 
marrying  my  mother,"  cried  Virginia;  "but  she 
would  have  Done  of  them  .  .  .  No!  she  would 
not  descend  fro  in  her  station  ....  Why,  my 
father  was  coachman  to  the  Prince  de  Lambesc" 

"  Your    mother's   heart    was    in    the    right  place. 

Virginia;  aud  from  this  day  1  promise  hex  a  pen- 
sion of  fifty  pistoles,''  said    Rulleeourt. 

"  The    philosophers — oh  !   the    monsters  !  "   cried 
"  one  day  one  of  them   told  me  we  should 
have  no  more  opci .. 

••  No  more  operas,  I  said  to  him,  no  more  operas ! 

Why  then,  sir.  if  we  had  not  an  opera,  what  would 

i  being  a  pretty  girl '.  " 

i  ■  quite  right,"  said  Henry.    "  Suppress  the 

opera !    why   nature    would    have   all    her   pretty 

girl-   on   hand ;  she   would   be  overburdened  with 

them — do  means  of  getting  rid  of  them  :  the  opera, 

child  !  is  a  beautiful  institution  of  social  economy." 

"  We  should  be  overwhelmed  with   a  torrent  of 

.irl-,''  said  Saiut  Ouen. 

-  A  philosopher  .  .  .  ah  !  I  know,"  said  Virginia, 

'  a  philosopher  is  one  who  has  nothing   and  envies 

every  one ;  for   I   remember  an  excise  officer  who 

eame  from   Isaint  .Lazarus,  said  to  me  one  day  .  .  . 

'  A-  a  proof  that  I  am  a  philospher,  i  walk  through 

i,  and  my  trousers  are   full  of  hobs,  while 

you  ride  in   your  carriage,  and  have  your  dress  em- 

l  from  top   to  bottom  ;  that  is  an  infamous 

For  embroidery  and  coaches  were  made  for 

the  world  in  general.1 

'  Not  at  all,'  1  observed, '  mud  and  misery  were 
■lade  for  the  world  in  general ;  you  have  your  share, 
so  do  n't  grumble.'  " 

■   I   say  he   was  right,"' observed   Leila  '•  for  this, 
tupid  embroidery  they  place  round  our  gowns  is 
of  no  use  but  to  scratch  our  chins." 

At  this  sally  they  all  burst  into  a  fit  of  mad 
laughter.  Brery  one  was  merry,  drank,  and  grew 
1  int..  each  others'  arms;  became  up- 
roarious; and  finished  by  talking  English— the 
slang  of  debauchery  in  good  company,  bold  and 
unbluslungly  indecent. 

CHATTER  VII. 

SOLITI  i.i:. 
Hail,  learned  doctor  !— OotTiii.,  l-autl, 

A  >liobt  rosy  tinge  in  On  sky  foretold  the  rising 

tars  yet  shone  in  the  l 
the  tliarp  and  fresh  morning  air  gently  shook  the 
STerything  breathed   quiet  and  silence,— 

'-ph.  re  was  impregnate,)  witi,  the  aromatic 
delicate   plants,  that  surrender  the 
of  their  perfume   to  the  amorous  breezes 
of  tin'  night. 

At   tie-  i:,rt!„  f  xMvmitY  Of  the  little  tov. 

r*  an. I  wind  .i  lofty 

..ill,     projee, 

i  ■,  a    rather    lol 


extended,  flanked  here  and  there   with  clumps  of 
trees. 

This  wall,  ruinOUS  in  inaii>  part::,  WS8  covered 
with  ivy,  hind-weed,  and  pellilory,  which,  nestling 
in  the  fissures  <>f  ston,,  expanded  in  the  form  of 
nasegayB,  garlands,  and  coronets  of  various  colours. 

[f  you  pushed  ■  little  door  almost  destroyed  by 
worms.  Which  >"ii  mi  lit  see  at  an  angle  of  the 
wall,  you  Would  find  a  small  garden  covered  with 
closely  planted  trees,  tie-  walks  being  nearly  obli- 
terated. 

Hut  if,  in  spite  of  the  boughs  Of  trees  that  crossed 
i  ach  other  in  every  direction  in  this  mass  of  foliage, 
you  should  succeed  iii  passing  this  formidable  en- 
closure, the  picture  that  would  then  offer  it-elf  to 
your  sight,  would  make  \ou  ample  amends  for  your 
trouble. 

It  was  an  enchanting  scene  for  a  lover 
tnde. 

Figure  to  yourself  n  small  house  of  one  storey, 
isolated  in  the  midst  of  a  plot  of  thick  grass,  green 
to  the  very  walls,  forming  a  moderately  sized  par- 
terre, covered  with  roses,  jasmines,  and  honey- 
suckles. 

But,  twilight  having  yielded  to  day,  streams  ot 
golden-light  already  tinged  the  summits  of  the 
lofty  trees  of  this  smiling  and  quiet  garden.  As 
the  sun  attained  the  horizon,  the  petals  of  the 
flowers,  steeped  in  dew,  began  to  display  them- 
selves, and  every  blade  of  grass  shook  off  its  spark- 
ling pearl. 

And  then,  I  know  not  what  confused  and  indis- 
tinct sound  spread  through  the  air,  what  uncertain 
murmur  announced  the  wakening  of  nature;  but 
at  tlie  signal  given  by  this  deep-felt  harmony,  the 
butterflies  shook  their  variegated  wings,  myriads  of 
glittering  flies  shot  through  the  air  like  a  shower 
of  sparks,  the  birds  sang  beneath  the  foliage,  and 
the  trembling  curtain  of  transparent  vapour  that 
shrouded  the  summits  of  the  oaks  and  poplars  was 
gradually  dissipated,  while  their  green  foliage  was 
more  sharply  defined  on  the  azure  of  the  sky,  which 
became  every  instant  brighter  and  clearer. 

The  door  of  the  house  opened,  and  the  light  of  day 
inundated  a  small  ante-chamber  that  divided  tho 
habitation  into  two  parlours. 

The  person  who  opened  the  door,  was  a  man  about 
forty  years  of  age,  dressed  in  a  good  camlet  cloak  of 
a  dark  colour,  wearing  no  powder,  and  with  his  hair 
carefully  fastened  by  a  knot,  known  at  the  time  as  ;i 
frog-knot.  He  was  thin  and  stooping,  and  dreadfully 
marked  with  the  small-pox,  with  the  marks  of  which 
his  poor  face  was  terribly  seamed. 

This  man  had,  in  one  hand,  a  plate  and  a  bowl  of 
smoking  hot  thick  milk,  which  he  kept  carefully 
stirring.  He  approached  a  door  communicating 
With  the  ante-chamber,  applied  his  ear  to  the  key- 
hole, and  listened  for  an  instant — then,  hearing 
nothing,  he  retired  on  tiptoe  to  the  kitchen  Imme- 
diately opposite. 

Tim  .  or  four  times  he  went  through  the  same 
pantomime,  but  after  each  journey  his  features  had 
r  expression  of  uneasiness,  aud  his  looks  be- 
trayed an  affectionate  Impatience,  winch  he  strove, 
however,  to  moderate,  so  fearful  he  appeared  to  be 
of  making  the  least  noise. 

A  be  advance, I  for  the  fifth  time,  always  with  the 
band,  the  door  at  last  opened, 
and  he  Uttered  i'  cry  of  surprise  and  joy,  saying, 
"  HOW  late  you  are  this  morning,  brother;  I  was 
quit.'  une  i  y  here  is  your  mil!;,  brother,  take  it  at 
one  ;  it  is  nice  and  hot — brother — brother  !  " 


THE   WATCH    TOWER   OF    KOST-VEN. 


16 


But  liis  brother  heard  him  not,  but  went  towards 
the  garden,  while  the  other  brother  timidly   follow- 1 
ed  him  with  the  bowl  of  milk. 

The  brother,  to  whom  the  bowl   was  offered,  was  I 
the   learned   astronomer,  Rumphius,    at  that  time  | 
engaged  in  profound  researches  on  the  astronomy 
and  religion  of  the  Hindoos. 

lie  was  a  little  brown  man  of  an  olive  complexion 
with  a  bust  that  appeared  enormous,  when  compared 
with  its  accompanying  legs  and  arms.  Rumphius 
was  also  furnished  with  a  nose  of  great  length, 
sprinkled  with  snuff,  thick  great  eyebrows,  and  the 
awkward  est  walk  you  can  well  imagine. 

The  strings  of  his  old  velvet  breeches  were  un- 
tied ;  his  stocking, — for  he  wore  but  one — was  rolled 
in  a  spiral  manner  round  one  of  his  legs,  while  the 
other  was  entirely  naked.  In  addition  to  this,  he 
had  a  slipper  on  one  foot,  and  a  shoe  on  the  other ; 
his  shirt  was  open,  his  neck  bare,  and  one  arm  only 
had  been  passed  through  the  sleeve  of  his  grey 
ratteen  dressing-gown,  the  other  sleeve  hanging 
loose,  like  that  on  the  jacket  of  a  huzzar.  Finally, 
his  ragged  hair  escaped,  straight  and  tangled,  from 
under  an  old  damask  cap,  placed  awry  on  his  head, 
which  had  one  day  been  blue. 

Sulpice,  perceiving  by  the  abstracted  air  of  his 
brother  that  he  was  immersed  in  some  profound 
calculation,  thought  it  was  useless  merely  to  speak 
to  him  ;  so,  according  to  custom,  he  led  his  brother 
gently  towards  the  wall  of  the  house,  and  when  he 
came  against  the  obstacle  he  recovered  himself,  and 
for  an  instant  returned  to  the  earth  and  bent  a 
fixed  look  on  Sulpice ;  who  dexterously  availed  him- 
self of  the  opportunity,  and  placed  his  favourite 
bowl  of  milk  in  Rumphius  S  hand,  who  drank  it  at 
a  draught. 

'But,  through  unpardonable  want  of  thought,  poor 
Sulpice,  forgetting  the  bowl,  was  on  his  knees 
completing  the  toilette  of  one  of  his  brother's  legs, 
tying  the  knee-strings  of  his  breeches,  and  so  on. 

When  Rumphius,  having  mechanically  lowered 
his  hand  to  the  level  from  which  he  had  taken  the 
bowl,  and  meeting  with  nothing  on  which  to  rest 
it,  abandoned  it  to  its  own  weight,  and  tho  bowl 
was  broken. 

The  sound  made  Sulpice  rise. 

"Oh,  good  heavens,  brother!  why  did  you  not 
speak  to  me?"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  remonstrance; 
"  here  is  the  bowl  all  broken  to  pieces." 

"  Really,"  said  Rumphius,  with  an  air  of  aston- 
ishment, "  the  bowl  is  broken — well,  Sulpice,  such 
is  the  simple  offering  the  worshippers  of  Vishnou 
make  to  their  deity — a  simple  broken  earthen  pot, 
when  they  invoke  Nandy-Kichara,  the  king  of  the 
birds,  who  possesses  beautiful  wings  and  a  sharp 
beak,  and  feeds  on  serpents.  They  break  an  ear- 
then vessel,  when  they  have  respectively  touched 
both  their  nostrils  and  their  great  toe.  It  is  a  very 
primitive  proceeding,  Sulpice,  for  it  is  presumed 
that  this  Nandy-Kichara  is  one  of  the  seven  stars 
of  .  .  .  that  .  .  .  when  .  .  ." 

Here  the  astronomer's  voice  gradually  sank,  and 
he  no  doubt  finished  his  definition  to  himself.  For 
according  to  his  habit  of  profound  abstraction,  he 
al ways  forgot  the  party  he  was  speaking  t  > ;  and 
falling  back  on  his  own  thoughts,  pursued  with 
fresh  ardour  the  curves  of  the  satellites  and  planets 
that  were  symbolical  of  Vishnon. 

Seeing  that  the  thoughts  of  his  brother  wire  no 
longer  of  this  world,  Sulpice  made  another  attempt 
to  introduce  the  rebellious  arm  of  the  astronomer 
into  the  sleeve  of  his  dri  u— but  ii  was 


all  in   vain,  and  the  sleeve  continued  to  hang  a  la 
h  ussarde, 

Sulpice,  therefore,  contented  himself  with  pack- 
ing up,  with  a  sigh,  the  wreck  <>f  his  dear  bowl,  and 
Rumphius  buried  himself  in  the  shadows  of  one  of 
the  garden  walks,  a  little  more  worn  than  the 
oilier--;  sometimes  moving  slowly,  and  at  others 
with  hurried  footsteps. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   TWO.  BROTHERS. 

Now  ho  to  whom  all  things  are  but  as  one,  who  corapre- 
hendeth  all  things  in  that  one,  and  beholdeth  all  tiling 
in  it,  hath  his  heart  fixed,  and  a  bidet  li  in  t  he  peaooof  God. 

Thomas  a  ki:M>'is. 

RUMPHIUS  was  professor  of  mathematics  at  the 
naval  academy  at  Brest,  when  the  father  of  the 
Count  do  Vaudry  wished  to  prepare  his  son  for 
the  sea  service.  Having  heard  of  the  fame  of  the 
astronomer,  the  count  strove  to  induce  him  to 
leave  his  office  of  public,  instructor,  and  devote 
himself  to  the  education  of  Henry,  promising  him  :: 
suitable  pension  for  his  services,  sufficient  to  enable 
him  to  devote  himself  ultimately  to  his  favourite 
studies,  without  the  necessity  of  losing  his  time  at 
the  academy. 

Rumphius  accepted  his  offer,  and  brought  Henry 
sufficiently  forward  in  his  studies  to  enable  him  to 
embark  as  a  volunteer  in  1770,  under  the  orders  of 
M.  de  Sufi'ren,  and  when  M.  <le  Breugnon  went  to 
conclude  a  peace  with  the  Emperor  of  Morocco, 
Henry  was  twelve  years  of  age. 

Rumphius  having  parted  with  his  pupil,  took  pos- 
session of  his  little  house  at  St.  Renan,  from  which 
he  seldom  stirred,  except  for  the  purpose  of  making 
some  meteorological  observations  at  the  tower  of 
Koat-Ven. 

The  evening  of  the  day  on  which  the  bowl  "had 
been  so  cruelly  broken,  Sulpice,  after  having  super- 
intended the  dinner  preparations  and  prepared  tho 
frugal  repast  with  the  mist  minute  attention,  was 
waiting  for  his  brother,  for  the  dinner  hour  had 
struck  some  time  since. 

Sometimes  to  soothe  his  impatience,  he  strove  to 
improve  the  symmetrical  arrangement  of  the  dinner 
service,  gave  a  brighter  polish  to  the  glasses,  placed 
his  brother's  comfortable  arm  chair  (he  himself  had 
one  without  arms)  in  such  a  position,  that  even  the 
rays  of  the  setting  snn  should  not  incommode  him. 
He  then  went  into  the  kitchen  ;  from  the  kitchen 
to  his  seat  near  the  window  ;  and  all  Without  utter- 
ing one  word  of  complaint ;  even  stilling  the  sighs 
that  rose  at  the  fate  of  two  excellent  fried  fishes 
that  were  being  dried  upon  the  grid-iron. 

At  length  Rumphius  appeared  ;  but  with  an  air 
of  greater  absence  of  mind,  and  a  deeper  appearance 
of  fatigue  than  usual.  Sulpice  had  a  presentiment 
of  a  game  at  cross  purposes  on  tho  part  of  his  bro- 
ther. 

"  Good  evening,  brother,"  said  Sulpice,  pressing 
Rumphius*s  hand. 

"Hood  evening,  brother,-'  replied  Rumphius.  af- 
fectionately. 

"  Are  you  ready  for  dinner,  brother  '.  You  have 
been  at  "work  since  the  morning,  and  your  head 
must  be  fatigued  and  heavy  :  you  want  a  little  rest.'' 

If  RumpMua  had  concluded  his  meal  he  would 
have   found   three  subjects   to  ouaucl  on  in  these 


18 


THE    TEMPTATION;  OR, 


observations;  as  it  was.  he  took  a  note  of  thorn  in 
hil  mind,  said  nothing,  but  continued  eatinp. 

"I  broiled  these  mullets  myself,  brother."  said 
Sulpice,  timidly.  "  How  fond  our  father  used  to  be 
of  them.     Do  you  remember,  brother  r" 

Rumphius  pave  an  affirmative  nod. 

■•  How  glad  1  shall  be  if  you  enjoy  them." 

Rumphius  answered  by  holding  out  bis  plate. 
You  ought  to  have  witnessed  the  pleasure  and 
happiness  with  which  Sulpice  waited  on  his  brother, 
and  how  pleased  he  was  at  seeing  anything  revive 
his  appetite. 

•  ]>.,  vou  know,  brother."  said  Sulpice,  with  an 
air  of  pride,   Interrupting   himself  In  his  meal  to 

fetch  a  small  packet,  covered  with  blue  paper, 
which  he  unrolled  joyfully,  keeping  his  eye  fixed 
on  Rumphius—"  Do  you  know,  brother,  that  the 
.\f.rcur,-  dt  France  has  passed  some  high  econmiums 

on  vou.  and  that 

"Bah  !  all  folly,"  said  Rumphius,  gnawing  the 
back -bone  of  the  fish.     "Have  you  anything    else 

to  eat  I" 

fee,  brother;    here  is  a  buck-wheat  cake.     I 
have  kept  it  hot  because  I  know  you  are  fond  of 
1  Sulpice  rising  to  fetch  the  cake,  the  move- 
ment of  his  chair  caused  it  to  creak  along  the  floor. 

"  What  a  dreadful  noise  !"  exclaimed  Rumphius  ; 
who,  having  made  a  hearty  meal,  began  to  feel  an 
inclination  to  contradict. 

■  1  beg  your  pardon,  brother,"  said  Sulpice, 
alarmed. 

"  If  vou  were  not  so  extremly  obstinate,  we  should 
•  rvant  to  wait  on  us  ;  it  would  prevent  that 
constant  creaking  of  the  chairs  that  drives  me  out 
of  my  senses." 

'•But  brother,"  Sulpice  ventured  to  say,  "yon 
Yourself  forbad  my  having  any  one,  for  fear  your 
books,  papers,  or  instruments  should  be  touched." 

••  Tin-  fact  is,"  said  Rumphius,  "  I  want  one  thing 
to-day,  and  another  thing  to-morrow ;  I  am  a  mad 
man,  an  ass,  and  am  always  contradicting  myself. 
I  ought  to  be  confined — have  cold  water  poured  on 
my  head — exactly  so,  douches  on  my  head.  Yes, 
Yes  ;  they  ought  to  pour  cold  water  on  my  head," 
continued  Rumphius,  by  this  time  in  a  state  of 
pleasant  irritation. 

••  Nobody  said  so,  nobody  thought  so,  brother ; 
if  you  wish  we  should  have  a  servant,  we  will  have 
one  at  once.  I  was  in  the  wrong  ;  you  will  forgive 
me  my  mistake." 

This  submission  did  not  suit  the  fancy  of  Rum- 
phius ;  so,  being  beaten  at  one  point,  he  made  an 
attack  upon  another.  "  Sulpice,"  he  added,  "  you 
just  now  told  me  I  seemed  fatigued!  do  I  really 

look  unwell  -" 

Sulpice  dreaded  questions  of  this  nature  more 
than  any  other;  for  he  had  no  idea  what  answer 
Rumphius  expected. 

lie  therefore  contented  himself  with  saying, 
•'  You  looked  a  little  overcome;  but  it  is  nothing 
now  " 

"  That  is  as  much  as  to  say,"  exclaimed  Rum- 
phius, ••  that  is  as  much  as  to  say,  that  I  pretended 
to  look  fatigued,  that  I  might  be  pitied— and  what 
was  to  do  me  good  '.  Tin-  dinner,  certainly;  as 
if  you  told  me  coarsely,  that  I  only  forgot  my  fa- 
tipii":  when  eating —that  I  made  a  God  of  my  belly. 
You  may  as  well  po  on  and  say  I  pit  drunk — that 
I  kill  myself  bj  I  all  me  Tiberius,  an  epicu- 

/.  yitelltns,  Siplanapalus !" 

'•  I  n«-ver  said  anything  like  it,  brother." 

"That's  an    excellent    observation;     you    never  I 


said  so.     Ah  ! — there  needed  nothing  more.    You 
never  said  so — I  believe  you.     Had    you  said  it — 

I  should  have  treated  you  as  you  doserved — as " 

"  Rut.  as  I  did  not  say  so,  brother " 

"What!  you  contradict  me  again?  It  is  pure 
obstinacy  on  your  part,  downright  fondness  for 
argument  and  disputation.  .  .  .  'What  new  game 
is  going  to  commence  I  I  suppose,  taking  a  sup- 
position, I  can  say  to  you,  that  you  are  wrong. 
You  strangely  mistake  the  power  you  arrogate  over 
me— that  .  .  .  ." 

And  here  Rumphius,  still  founding  his  argu- 
ment on  a  supposition,  gave  free  rein  to  his  ill- 
temper,  in  the  hopes  of  raising  the  anger  or  the 
grief  of  Sulpice  ;  but  his  poor  brother,  still  confining 
his  ideas  to  the  point  of  departure,  which  he  well 
knew  was  founded  on  a  supposition,  remained  un- 
moved ;  and  when  Rumphius,  out  of  breath,  had 
finished  his  last  philippic  in  these  dreadful  words  : 
"  You  are  a  bad  brother,  a  Judas".  .  .  .  calcu- 
lating on  an  answer  that  would  give  him  fresh 
vigour. 

The  gentle  Sulpice  answered  him  smiling,  and 
with  the  greatest  coolness  possible,  "  That  is  to 
say,  you  suppose  that  I  am  a  Judas;  for  we  started 
with  a  supposition,  brother  .  .  .  and  you  know 
how  much  I  love  you." 

The  astronomer  was  silent,  and  his  anger,  which 
had  constantly  •  been  increasing  in  violence,  sud- 
denly cooled ;  the  answer  had  thrown  ice  upon  its 
flame.  He  must  begin  again,  and  this  fresh  dis- 
appointment began  to  irritate  Rumphius  once 
more,  and  he  certainly  would  have  been  suffocated 
if  he  had  not  found  some  means  of  renewing  the 
conversation  ;  and,  seeking  for  a  subject,  he  soon 
discovered  one. 

"Apropos,  Sulpice,"  said  he  to  his  brother; 
"  what  were  you  telling  me  about  the  Mercure  dt 
France  ?" 

"  Some  high  encomiums  it  has  passed  on  you,  on 
the  subject  of  Indian  astronomy." 

The  philosopher  breathed,  and  launched  out 
with  vehemence  into  along  discussion  on  the  Hin- 
doo deities,  in  w  hich  his  brother  vainly  endeavour- 
ed to  follow  him,  completely  losing  himself  among 
the  incomprehensible  names  of  Gourou,  Gocarnam, 
Pringuery,  Indra,  Pouchkanary,  &c. 

"Ah  !"  at  length  Rumphius  exclaimed,  his  blood 
boiling  within  him,  "  ah,  you  are  not  aware  that 
Grorou  means  master  or  guide ;  kings  aro  Gourous 
of  their  own  kingdoms — you  know  nothing  of  it, 
and  yet  you  think  you  may  insult  mo  with  impu- 
nity," cried  Rumphius  beside  himself,  and  overcome 
with  rage  and  indigestion. 

"  I  do  not  insult  you,  brother." 
"  I  say  you  do  insult  rac !"  cried  Rumphius  in  a 
loud  voice,  "  and  y  ou  shall  acknowledge,  that  you 
have  no  idea  what  the  true  Gourou  is — acknowledge 
it,  wretch!"  roared  out  Rumphius,  seizing  his 
brother  by  his  coat.  But  his  strength  failed  him, 
and  the  astronomer  fell,  almost  exhausted,  and 
panting  for  breath,  Into  his  brother's  arms,  who 
placid  him  in  his  arm-chair. 

His  poor  brother,  on  his  knees,  endeavoured  to 
wipo  off  the  perspiration  that  trickled  down  the 
cheeks  of  tho  sage,  who  sat  with  his  eyes  half 
closed. 

"  11'-  calm,  brother,"  said  Sulpice,  "  be  calm  ;  I 
was  in  the  wrong— yes,  yes,  I  was— it  was  I  that 
contradicted  you;  forgive  me." 

"No,  Sulpice,  it  was  I,"  said  Rumphius,  who 
had  now  gained  his  point;  "   the   heat  of  the  argu- 


ment  led  me  astray,  I  went  too  far,  hut  you  know 
when  a  quarrel  is  over  I  think  no  more  of  it.  Par- 
don me,  Sulpice,  you  are  one  of  the  best  creatures 
that  ever  descended  Mahomet's  golden  mountain,  as 
Brahma  says." 

"  How  good  you  are,  brother — but  I  ought  to  be 
too  happy  in  having  such  a  brother,  I  ought  never 
to  give  you  the  least  uneasiiv  ss,"  and  tears  came 
into  his  eyes  and  stopped  his  speech. 

"  Now  be  quiet,  Sulpice,"  said  Rumphius,  who 
felt  his  own  eyes  grow  dim,  "be  quiet,  you  make  me 
ashamed  of  myself  and  my  passion  ;"  and  the  astro- 
nomer passed  his  bony  hand  across  his  eyes. 

"  Pray,  say  no  more  about  it,  brother,"  said  Sul- 
pice ;  "  come,  now,  go  to  bed,  you  work  so  much 
that  you  will  mike  yourself  ill." 


And  Sulpice  did  not  retire  to  his  little  chamber 
until  he  had  seen  Rumphius  asleep,  nor  until  the 
words  Gourou,  Pringuery,  and  Hoetquel  were  only 
heard  at  long  intervals. 

Sulpice  was  about  to  get  into  bed,  when  several 
vigorous  blows  on  the  gate  of  the  house  echoed  through 
the  building. 

All  he  was  afraid  of  was  that  it  would  awake  his 
brother. 

He  went  down  hastily,  therefore,  and  speaking 
through  the  thick  door  of  the  anti-chamber,  ex- 
claimed, "  What  do  you  want  ? — who  is  there?-' 

"  Are  you  the  astronomer,  Rumphius  I"  said  a 
voice. 

"  I  am  his  brother,  he  is  asleep,— for  God's  sake 
speak  lower  !"  • 


II 


Tlir.    TEMPTATION  ;   OK, 


"  Give  him  the  letter  I  will  put  under  the  door, 
he  must,  if  he  wishes  to  avoid  fearful  consequencos, 
(jive  it  himself  to  the  Count  de  Vaudry  ;  mark  you, 
he  himself  must  place  it  in  the  hands  of  that  noble- 
man, who  is  inn-,  at  Paris  :  swear  this  shall  be  done." 
lid  Sulpice  trembling, 
said  the  voice,  "  it  is  from  the  Duc-hcsse 
d' Aimed*. " 

A  letter  was  then  slipped  under  the  door,  and  Sul- 
pice heard  the  stranger  retire. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

an  iNTrnion,  1780. 

(.tiious  man  is  more  unhappy  and  more  to  be 
lan  the  poorest  and  most  despised  wretch.— Mai- 

SILLON. 

</<•  Vaudry.  —  These  words  were  wiitten  in 
letters  of  gold  on  a  slab  of  black  marble,  placed  on 
the  pediment  of  one  of  the  handsomest  houses  in  the 
Ununrtiti. 

A  noble  stone  cushion,  supporting  the  coronet  of 
a  count,  was  sculptured  on  the  rich  entablature  of  a 
lofty  door  of  carved  oak. 

On  each  side  of  this  door,  which  was  framed  in 
heavy  stone  work,  was  a  railing  formed  of  golden  ar- 
rows extending  to  two  wings,  attached  to  the  principal 
building. 

This  edifice  occupied  the  extremity  of  an  immense 
court. 

The  buildings  that  were  attached  to  the  wings  of 
which  we  have  spoken,  contained  the  stables  and 
apartments  for  the  servants,  and  were  furnished  with 
back  doors,  and  concealed  on  the  side  of  the  court 
by  arcades  and  false  windows. 

The  appearance  of  the  mansion  was  in  reality  ma- 
;  its  two  long  rows  of  lofty  white  windows  with 
-mall  squares  of  glass,  contrasted  well  with  the  walls 
of  the  building  blackened  by  time  ;  a  large  circular 
flight  of  steps  of  considerable  elevation  conducted 
you  to  the  glazed  door  of  the  vestibule,  and  the  tops 
of  firs  and  chesnut  trees  that  rose  above  a  kind  of 
clock  tower  in'the  centre,  on  the  summit  of  the  build- 
ing, made  it  evident  that  a  large  garden  was  situated 
<it  the  rear  of  the  house. 

About  eight  days  had  elapsed  since  the  occurrences 
in  the  tower  of  Koat-Ven. 

Just  as  twelve  o'clock  at  noon  was  struck  by  the 
clock  of  the  mansion,  a  loud  blow  of  the  knocker 
made  the  huge  door  tremble. 

This  violent  blow  made  the  enormous  Suisse,  orpor- 

>rt  in  his  arm-chair;  he  was  a  red  faced  man, 

pimpled,  most    exquisitely  powdered,  and  wearing 

a  bag  to  his  hair;  he  was  dressed   in  a  green  liveiy 

oidered  in  every  part  with  the  colours  and  arms 

of  Vaudry  j  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  day,  this 

magnificent  livery  was  ornamented  with  embroidered 

boulder  knots,  and  a  large  belt  or  baldric,  worked 

1  ver  thread  and  emblazoned  with  coats  of  arms, 

to  which  was  suspended  a  dragoon's  sword,  crossed 

his  shoulder. 

The  porter's  son,  a  boy  of  about  fourteen  years  of 
age,  also  well  powdered,  and  dressed  like  a  postilion 
in  a  livery  of  the  same  colour,  prepared  to  open  the 
door,  while  his  father  raised  himself  on  his  legs,  put 
00  his  laced  hat,  and  seized  his  tall  halbert  with  its 
"f  red,  blue,  and  gold. 

The  knock  was  repeated  more  loudly  and  several 

"  Go,  Lorrain,  and  see  who  that  blackguard  is  who 
to  knock  in  this  manner  at 

lie  door  of  the  hotel  Vaudry,"  said  the  Swiss  with 
»n  offended  air. 


Lorrain  in  high  glee  seized  1- is  whip,  and  in  spile 
of  his  spurs  and  heavy  jack-boots  hastened   I 
who  the  rascal  was  ibuXjorgot  himself. 

The  knocking  still  continued  to  be  repeated  with 
the  greatest  ei 

Lorrain  having  half-opened  the  door,  perceived  a 
thin  little  man  in  a  prey  cloak  with  a  round  collar. 
and  wearing  a  cocked  hat  and  travelling  boots,  he 
kept  the  knocker  of  the  door  in  his  hand  and  con- 
tinued hammering  most  unmercifully,  at  the  some- 
time looking  into  the  air  as  if  he  was  following  some 
object  with  his  eyes,  but  without  discontinuir 
confounded  noise. 

"  Stop.  I  say, — have  you  escaped  out  of  some 
cage  at  the  fair  of  St.  Laurent  ?"  exclaimed  the  im- 
pudent boy,  aping  a  great  man's  lacquey,  and  cracking 
his  whip  in  the  stranger's  ears. 

"  St.  Laurent,"  said  the  little  man,  who  seemed 
only  to  have  heard  or  at  least  understood  the  last 
word  that  had  been  said  to  him,  "  St.  Laurent  I 
— no,  no — Henry  de  Vaudry — the  count — I  wish 
to  see  him,"  he  continued,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  firmament. 

"  What  shall  I  do,  father  ?  its  a  madman,"  cried 
Lorrain  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

At  this  strange  cry  the  Swiss  came  out  of  his  box, 
his  face  redder  than  his  sword  belt,  "  Hold  your 
tongue,  you  fool,  to  cry  out  in  this  manner, — don't 
you  know  that  in  a  well  ordered  mansion  you  ought 
to  be  able  to  hear  a  mouse  walk  ? — to  cry  out  in  that 
manner  outside  the  door  of  the  Hotel  de  Vaudry ! 
go  in  at  once,  you  will  be  a  disgrace  and  shame  to 
your  family  !" 

The  honest  Swiss  had  almost  forgotten  Rumphius, 
for  he  it  was,  accompanied  by  a  porter,  who  carried 
his  light  portmanteau.  Happily  the  philosopher  seized 
the  Swiss  by  his  sword  at  the  very  instsnt  he  was 
closing  the  door. 

"The  Count  de  Vaudry!"  repeated  Rumphius, 
but  in  this  instance  he  looked  at  the  man  to  whom 
he  was  speaking. 

*'  Ah  !  allow  me  the  honour  of  saluting  M.  d. 
Rumphius,"  said  the  Swiss  with  an  air  of  respectful 
remembrance ;  "  you  have  come  no  doubt,  sir,  to 
spend  a  few  days  at  the  hotel ;  although  the  count  is 
invisible  to  everybody  this  morning — I  must  not  fail 
to  announce  monsieur." 

And  the  Swiss  enjoining  the  porter  to  go  as  fast 
as  he  could  through  the  servants'  offices,  and  not 
leave  his  foot  marks  in  the  court-yard,  returned  to 
his  box  and  gave  a  long  and  loud  whistle  ;  at  tin 
sound  of  this,  the  large  glass  door  of  the  vestibule 
half-opened,  and  you  might  see  through  its  panes  the 
figures  of  five  or  six  footmen  dressed  in  the  same 
livery  as  the  Swiss,  powdered,  with  bag  wigs,  red 
breeches,  silk  stockings,  and  shoes  with  silver  buckles. 

These  men  examined  Rumphius  with  gi 
tion,  for  absorbed  in  his  contPinplations,  he  continued 
walking  about  in  various  directions  and  drawing  lines 
upon  the  sand  with  his  umbrella,  then  looking  up- 
wards he  would  suddenly  stop,  no  donbt  working 
some  equal  ion,  then  he  would  again  move  on,  and 
once   more  stand  still. 

At  this  instant  a  coach  was  rapidly  driven  through 
one  of  the  arcades  that  communicated  with  the  st 
and  had  it  not  been  for  the   reiterated   exclamations 
of    the     coachman,    Rumphius    would    have    been 
snatched  for  ever  from  his  scientific  pursuits. 

But   luckily  the  astronomer  leaped  on  one 
the  coaehman  checked  his  horses,  brought  their  paces 
to  a  walk,  and  diew  up  opposite  the  steps. 

The  horses  were  magnificent,  their  harness  black, 
the  carriage  of  a  grey  colour  but  without  armoria 


WATCH    TOWER    OF    KOAT-VIN. 


19 


bearings  or  cyphers,  the  coachman  was  out  of  livery, 
his  dress  also  was  grey,  and  a  footman  in  garments 
of  the  same  colour  stood  near  the  equipage. 

Rumphius  went  up  the  steps,  the  door  of  the  ves- 
tibule creaked  on  its  hinges,  and  preceded  by  a  foot- 
man, the  astronomer  ascended  a  splendid  staircase 
ornamented  with  gilding,  with  a  lofty  dome  over- 
head ;  it  led  to  the  smaller  apartments  of  the  building, 
for  Henry  did  not  usually  occupy  the  larger  rooms, 
that  were  devoted  to  the  reception  of  company. 

The  footman  handed  Rumphius  over  to  the  care 
of  an  old  servant,  "  The  count  will  be  delighted  to 
see  you,  sir — be  so  good  as  to  wait  here  an  instant, 
I  will  announce  your  arrival  and  get  your  room 
ready." 

And  the  astronomer  found  himself  alone   in  an 
elegant  room  of  an  oval  form,  the  furniture  and  paint- 
ing were  of  green  damask,  the  ornamental   designs 
white,  with  rich  headings,   and  the  whole  framed  in 
olden  scrolls  and  mouldings. 

The  valet  de  chambre  returned  almost  instantly, 
and  opening  the  folding  doors  announced  M.  de  Rum- 
phius. 

"  I  am  disturbing  you,  count,"  said  Rumphius, 
seeing  Henry  was  not  alone. 

"  Not  in  the  least,  not  in  the  least,  my  good  Rum- 
phius, be  seated  ;"  he  then  addressed  himself  to  a 
beautiful  fair  woman  with  dark  hair,  rather  stout, 
and  fresh  coloured,  whose  features  sparkled  with 
malice  and  pleasure.  [It  was  Leila,  the  lost  prize 
of  the  Prince  de  Guemenee,  one  of  the  guests  at 
Koat-Ven.]  . .  . .  "  My  dear,  the  carriage  is  below,  I 
shall  perhaps  request  your  company  to-morrow  to 
sup  with  Fronsan  andd'Escars;  good  bye,  my  girl." 

And  pinching  her  chin  familiarly  he  saluted  her 
with  a  waggish  look. 

Leila  smiled,  threw  her  veil  over  her  head  and 
moved  towards  the  door,  then  turning  back  she  stood 
before  Rumphius,  who  was  seated,  made  him  a  very 
low  curtsey  with  the  most  serious  air,  and  skipped 
out  at  the  door  in  two  bounds. 

The  poor  man  on  receiving  this  unexpected  salu- 
tation, suddenly  rose  and  returned  the  compliment 
with  a  most  respectful  bow,  but  as  awkward  a  one  as 
even  an  astronomer  could  well  make,  but  he  had 
hardly  got  through  the  ceremony  before  Leila  had 
disappeared. 

As  to  Henry,  he  laughed  to  such  an  excess  that 
he  rolled  from  side  to  side  in  his  golden  embroidered 
silk  robe  de  chambre. 

**  A  delicious  wench  that  is,  that  Leila,"  cried 
Henry,  still  bursting  at  intervals  into  a  laugh,  "what 
a  glorious  curtsey — and  you,  Rumphius — your  bow 
was  perfection  itself." 

'•  Faith,  count,"  said  Rumphius,  who  once  re- 
lieved from  his  day-dreams  was  not  easily  discon- 
i' -i  ted,  and  he  spoke  in  the  coolest  and  mostjinnocent 
tone  in  the  world,  "faith,  count,  1  made  the  best  bow 
I  could  to  madame, — the  lady  was  one  of  your  rela- 
tions, no  doubt  I  she  had  an  air  of  great  respecta- 
bility." 

"  Pray  be  quiet,  if  you  begin  again  I  mu? t  leave 
you,— too  much  laughter  will  do  me  no  good." 

"  Why  count,  I  saw  this  lad]  in  your  bedchamber 
— in  the  morning,  and  your  coach  waiting  her  or- 
ders." 

"  But,  old  philosopher  as  you  are,  did  you  not 
observe  that  there  were  neither  armorial  bearings  or 
liveries,  and  1  allowed  her  to  go  down  unattended, 
and  pass  by  all  the  servants  in  broad  daylight  ?" 

"  Aye,  I  see,"  said  Rumphius,  with  a  wicked 
smile,  which  he  intended  to  be  cunning  and  mali- 
ous — "  I  see.     Thus  Vishnou  allows  it ;  she  is  Ya- 


roudah-bassys  a  satellite  of  Venus — otherwise  the 
countess  by  the  left  hand." 

And  the  modest  philosopher  after  having  stam- 
mered out  these  words  blushed  deeply,  as  if  he  had 
allowed  himself  to  give  utterance  to  some  shocking 
indecency. 

"  By  the  left  hand,  .  .  exactly  so — you  arc  quite 
right — but  you  need  not  blush  for  having  said  it, 
Rumphius,  although  your  observations  were  rather 
free  and  had  a  strong  flavour  of  the  abode  of  evil ; 
zounds  !  the  left  hand,  say  you  ? — why  you  are 
becoming  quite  a  cynic  governor — by  the  left  hand !" 

"  I  am  quite  distressed,  count,"  said  Rumphius, 
confused,  and  in  a  state  of  despair  at  having  uttered 
so  indelicate  a  speech — "  I  am  quite  distressed." 

"  No,  Rumphius,  one  must  make  a  selection — 
either  continue  to  avoid  women  and  their  favours, 
as  you  have  hitherto  done  ...  at  least  you  tell  me 
so." 

"  I  make  the  same  assertion  again,  count" 

"  Or  else  boldly  say,  I  am  a  wild  debauchee,  a 
street- wanderer,  a  shameless  libertine." 

"  I  ...  I,  count,"  said  the  astronomer,  who  could 
hardly  contain  himself  for  shame.  .  .  I  ?" 

"  Don't  you  perceive,  I  was  only  joking,  I  only- 
said  it  to  tease  you,  my  good  old  friend ;  I  am 
delighted  to  see  you,  for  I  was  about  to  send  for  you 
that  I  might  thank  you  for  the  tower  of  Koat-Ven, 
which  my  people  have  put  in  perfect  order." 

"  And  the  count  took  the  observations  he  in- 
tended ?  " 

"  More  than  I  intended ;  I  was  taking  observa 
tions  for  a  whole  month." 

"  Was  the  subject  the  Virgin,  the  Twins,  the 
Ram,  or  the  Scales?"  demanded  Rumphius.  "Ah 
if  you  had  but  devoted  yourself  to  astronomy,  count, 
with  your  abilities  there  is  no  knowing  where  you 
might  have  been  carried ;  but  no,  you  would  con 
tent  yourself  with  what  certainly  raised  the  envy  of 
others,  for  I  remember  there  was  an  amplitude  . 

"  There,  there,  forget  the  amplitude,  and  listen 
to  me.  When  I  left  that  confounded  tower  I  in- 
tended to  have  gone  to  St.  Reuan,  if  I  had  found 
time.  Unfortunately  I  could  not  do  so — but  listen 
to  what  I  have  to  propose  to  you — the  king  has 
given  me  the  command  of  a  frigate — we  proceed,  I 
believe,  to  India — at  least  so  one  of  my  friends,  the 
principal  secretary  to  the  navy,  has  informed  me  in 
a  letter." 

And  Henry  opened  a  rich  secretaire,  curiously 
inlaid  with  ivory,  to  look  for  the  note. 

While  this  was  passing  Rumphius  cast  his  eye 
over  the  bedchamber  of  his  old  pupil. 

The  hangings  were  of  crimson  cloth. 

The  ceiling  might  be  almost  said  to  be  embroidered 
with  gold,  the  arabesques  crossed  each  other  in  so 
many  directions  ;  the  looking  glasses  and  the  carved 
pannels  were  framed  in  white  borders  resemblin 
palm  trees,  whose  branches  crossed  at  the  top,  and 
supported  groups  of  cupids  and  doves — all  this  was 
in  mat  gold  on  a  wrhite  ground,  and  the  effect  was 
wonderfully  rich. 

A  number  of  miniatures  hung  over  the  mantle- 
piece,  and  opposite  to  them  was  a  large  painting  by 
Le  Brim,  representing  Henry's  mother,  a  woman  of 
distinguished  beauty,  dressed  like  the  huntress 
Diana. 

The  awning  of  the  bed  and  its  fringe  were  of 
golden  tissue,  and  the  bed  itself  was  raised  on  an 
estrade  or  platform  covered  with  skins  of  lions  and 
tigers,  no  doubt  collected  by  Henry  during  his 
voyages. 

The  rest  of  the  furniture,  which  also  appeared  to 


20 


TIIK    TEMPTATION  ;    OR, 


belong  to  another  age,  w;is  according  to  the  fashion 

of  the  day,  large,  square,  and  massive,  and  orna- 
mented with  burnished  gold. 

Among  other  things  a  superb  clock  might  be 
noticed,  of  carved  ebony  of  the  most  exquisite 
workmanship,  one  of  the  chefs-d'eeuvres  of  Adrien 

Morand.  Two  little  silver  cock-;,  covered  with 
emeralds,  sang  the  quarters  of  the  hours  to  the  airs 
of  Lulli.  This  precious  piece  of  furniture  had  been 
given  to  Henry's  grandfather  by  Louis  XIV.  Then 
was  also  a  toilet  service  of  Sevres  china,  beautifully 
painted,  dazzling  the  eye  with  the  brightness  and 
variety  of  its  enamelled  colours.  All  this  bore  the 
grave  impress  of  antiquity,  proving  that  Henry  ap- 
preciated the  religion  and  poetry  of  what  reminded 
yon  of  by-gone  times.  Finally,  the  long  curtains, 
half  open,  allowed  you  to  see  the  old  trees  of  the 
garden,  whose  leaves  autumn  had  already  begun  to 
tinge  with  its  golden  hues. 

Ah!"  said  Henry,  "here  is  the  note — listen, 
if  it  depends  on  my  friend  I  shall,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, carry  out  despatches  to  America,  and  from 
thence,  unless  Admiral  Guichen  detains  me,  I  shall 
proceed  to  join  chevalier  Suffren  in  India,  for  it  is 
probable  he  will  be  placed  at  the  head  of  the  squad- 
ron in  that  part  of  the  world.  So  that  if  you  are 
still  engaged  on  Indian  astronomy,  perhaps  you 
would  like  to  accompany  me,  it  is  an  excellent  op- 
portunity, such  as  you  are  not  likely  to  meet  with 
again  .  .  .  well,  what  say  you  I" 

Rumphius  thought  he  was  dreaming,  he  could  not 
collect  his  ideas.  It  was  his  most  ardent  desire  to 
visit  India  ...  to  see  tha  cradle  of  astronomy,  and 
to  go  there  with  his  friend,  his  pupil ;  it  was  enough 
to  make  him  lose  his  senses  ;  so  that  he  was  only 
able  to  testify  his  gratitude  to  Henry  in  broken 
accents,  and  half  sentences,  unconnected  with  each 
other. 

How,  count .  .  .  see  the  Linghams  .  .  .  the  tem- 
ples of  Vishnoo .  .  .   shall  I  be  fortunate  enough  to 


from  England,  you  cannot  calculate  how  much 
trouble  I  have  had,  and  w hat  money  it  lias  cost  mc 
to  bribe  M.  Polignac's  jockey,  but  I  have  him  at 
last,  and  we  shall  see  what  Talbot  will  do  against 
my  Amadis." 

"  Afterwards  I  must  pay  my  respects  to  his  ma- 
jesty, visit  Marshal  Richelieu,  see  my  good  old 
uncle  the  Bishop  of  Surville,  and  return  here  in 
time  for  the  ballet,  for  I  have  appointed  Puj 
and  Crussol  to  meet  me  here,  that  we  may  go  to 
sup  with  Soubise.  To-morrow  morning  J  have 
breakfast  from  a  restaurateurs  with  that  oddity 
Rivarol  and  that  fool  Marmontel  ;  after  breakfast 
I  must  witness  the  taking  of  the  veil  by  that  poor 
gi  1,  Clavency  ...  all  Paris  will  be  there  to  hear  the 
music  of  Mondonville,  and  alter  that  I  must  dine  at 
Versailles  with  Prince  Montbarry  .  .  .  Thursday  I 
hunt  with  the  king  ...  I  have  twenty  horses  in  un- 
stable, and  egad  1  find  them  too  few  .  .  .  You  may 
judge  then  .  .  ." 

"  How  will  M.  le  Count  be   dressed  ?'*  said  the 
valet;   "  it  is  a  fine  day." 

"  Well  .  .  .  that  spangled  flesh-coloured  velvet . 
no,  no,  the  Lyon's  embroidery,  the  last  that   Lenor- 
mand  brought  me.'' 

"  And  what  rufiles  M.  le  Count — -English  or  Ma 
lines  lace  ?"  said  Gemcau,  with  an  important  air. 

•'  Malines — no,  I  think  for  this  race  none  at 
all  ;  I  will  be  this  morning  en  chenille,  and  a 
plain  English  green  frock  coat  will  do  very  well 
But  really,  my  poor  friend,  I  beg  your  pardon  for 
these  childish  details,  which  must  make  you  smile 
and  pity  me — but  once  at  sea,  I  will  regain  your 
esteem.  Ah,  by  the  bye,  your  apartment  is  ready, 
here  you  are  in  your  own  house — give  your  orders 
for  dinner  to  the  maitrc  d'hotel,  if  I  should  not 
happen  to  be  with  you  .  .  .  but  now  1  think  of  it, 
to  what  happy  chance  am  I  to  attribute  this  kind 
visit ;  and  your  excellent  brother,  how  is  he?" 
And   Henry,  rising,  glanced   in    the    mirror  and 


hear  the  Brahmins  pronounce  the  sacred  Djon,  with    observed — "  That  rascal  has  surpassed  himself. 


the  right  nostril  ?" 

"  Why,  zounds,  Rumphius,  what  the  devil  does  it 
signify  with  which  nostril  it  is  pronounced.  But, 
however,  you  accept  my  offer,  that  is  the  principal 
point.  I  will  let  you  know  when  we  sail,  that  you 
may  join  me  at  Brest — that's  agreed  on;  allow  me 
to  attend  to  my  toilet  .  .  ." 

"  How,  Count !    Zirouvallouven  .  . ." 

"  What  devil  of  a  name  is  that  ? — how  can  you 
pronounce  it  without  distraction — to  listen  to  you 
one  would  think  you  were  cracking  nuts  " 

"  Ah  !  count,  I  know  many  more,"  cried  Rum- 
phius, with  strange   fatuity,    I'altanaton-Soullai   and 
nni-moarty,  and  then  Karyma  and " 

"  Enough,  enough,  for  goodness  sake,  my  good 
Rumphius,  I  do  not  doubt  your  science." 

"  If  I  wished  to  go  on,"  said  Rumphius,  "  there 
are  the  infernal  regions  of  VUany-talpaty  laquila — " 

"  I  am  perfectly  satisfied  in  regard  to  your  know- 
— but  you  must  excuse  mc." 

Henry   rang  his  bell    and  his' faithful   Gcrmeau 
prepared  to  shave  and  dress  his  master,  while  two 
other    valet-  dc-chambres    brought    him    what    he 
'  i  fulfill  his  important  duties. 

"You  see,  my  good  Rumphius,"  said  the  count, 
"  I  have  so  many  things  to  do  to-day." 

"  At  the  navy  office,  count  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,  it  is  quite  enough  to  think  of 
naval  affairs  when  on  board.  No,  I  have  laid  a 
wager  with  Lauzun,  that  I  will  run  a  horse  of  my 
own  breeding  agsinst  his  Talbot,  which,  notwith- 
tanding    the    war  he  has  succeeded   in  obtaining 


my  head  was  never  dressed  so  much  to  my  fancy  as 
it  is  day." 

At  the  question  of  the  count,  Rumphius  sprung 
from  his  chair.  "  What  an  ass  I  am  .  .  that  wan- 
dering head  of  mine,  the  first  thing  forgotten  was 
the  very  object  of  my  visit,"  and  searching  in  his 
pocket  he  drew  out  the  letter  Perez  had  given  to 
his  brother. 

"  Here  is  a  letter,  a  man  brought  it  to  St.  Renan 
while  I  was  asleep,  my  brother  took  it  in,  at  eleven 
o'clock  at  night,  I  believe  ...  it  comes  from  the 
duchess  who  is  dead,  my  brother  tells  me,  I  know 
nothing  of  it  myself." 

"  How  dead  ?  what  duchess  is  dead?"  exclaimed 
Henry. 

"  Oh,  it  was  a  Spanish  duchess  who  lived  in  our 
part  of  the  country." 

"  Leave  the  room,"   said  Henry  to  the  servants 

Then  approaching  close  to  Rumphius  .  .  "  Do 
you  know  well  of  what  you  are  talking  ...  at 
least " 

"  I  am  speaking  the  truth,  count,"  observed  the 
frightened  astronomer. 

"  The  truth  .  .  .  the  truth  .  .  .  no,  that  is  impos 
sible  ...  it  is  not  so,  it  cannot  be  so,  it  is  impossi- 
ble," and  Henry  looked  with  anxiety  at  the  lata! 
letter. 

"  Dead  !"  he  exclaimed  once  more. 

"  Certainly  she  is  dead — quite  dead  .  .  .  the  proof 
count,  is  this,  there  was  a  most  superb  funeral,  much 
money  distributed  amongst  the  poor,  and  the  cure 
of  St.  Jean  tie  St.   Itenan,   one  of    my    old    friend 


distributed  it  .  .  .  and  he  received  her  last  sigh — 
she  died  of  a  violent  inflammation  of  the  lungs, 
that  was  not  properly  attended  to  .  .  .  the  disease 
was  so  rapid  they  had  not  even  time  to  fetch  a  good 
physician  .  .  one  came  at  last,  but  it  was  too  late." 

"  Oh  !  this  is  dreadful,"  exclaimed  Henry,  for 
after  all  I  am  certain  she  loved  no  one  but  me,  her 
unbounded  devotion,  her  offers,  her  despair,  all 
proved  it  to  me — and  I  have  caused  her  death,  as  a 
recompence  for  so  much  love." 

•'  Then  violently  breaking  the  seal,  he  exclaimed, 
'  yes,  it  is  from  her " 


THE    WATCH    TOWER    OF    KOAT-VEN'. 


J] 


CHAPTER  X. 

A    SKETCH    OF    THE    HEART. 

The  heart  ?  a  strong  muscle. — Bichat. 

Who  can  trace  all  the  ramifications  of  this  root  of  ini- 
quity? who  can  explain  its  many  parts  and  its  entangle- 
ments? It  strikes  me  with  horror,  I  dare  no  longer  look 
upon  it. — Confessions  op  St.  Augustiv. 

Henry  read  the  letter. 

The  characters,  at  first  distincly  written,  became 
gradually  so  ill-formed  and  confused,  that  it  -might 
be  easily  seen  the  duchess  was  dying  when  the  pen 
fell  from  her  hand. 

The  first  sentence  was  evidently  written  in  haste, 
as  if  Rita  feared  her  time  would  be  too  short. 

"  Henry,  I  have  deceived  you,  all  you  have  been 
told  respecting  me  is  true — can  you  now  forgive 
me? 

"  Yes,  I  have  had  lovers,  Henry,  and  you  are  not 
the  cause  of  my  death  ! 

"  I  wished  to  acknowledge  this  to  you,  but  was 
afraid  I  should  not  have  time ;  I  feel  myself  so  ill — 
my  poor  head  fails  me — I  have  wept  so  much  I  can 
scarcely  see. 

"You  are  innocent  of  my  death,  I  alone  am 
guilty,  Henry,  yes,  I  wish  it  to  be  so,  I,  I  alone — 
Have  no  feelings  of  remorse  ;  I  say  again,  you  are 
not  the  cause — I  have  merited  all  I  have  suffered  at 
your  hands. 

"Adieu!  adieu  !  for  my  sight  fails  me — my  hand 
becomes  rigid,  adieu,  Henry,  have  no — 

And  nothing  more — nothing,  with  the  exception 
of  a  few  illegible  marks. 

But  at  the  bottom  of  the  letter,  which  bore  the 
traces  of  many  tears,  the  following  words  were  writ- 
ten in  another  hand  : — 

"  Died  the  13th  October,  at  two  minutes  past  3  o'clock 
in  the  morning." 

"  My  dear  Rumphius,"  said  Henry,  after  a  long 
pause,  "  I  wish  to  be  alone  .  .  .   excuse  me.  .  ." 

And  he  threw  himself  in  an  arm  chair,  while  the 
astonoiuer  softly  left  the  room,  quite  overwhelmed 
all  his  pupil's  sorrow. 

The  count's  most  bitter  thought,  after  reading  the 
letter,  was  this — "  I  was  not  her  only  lover." 

Then  he  threw  the  letter  in  the  fire  with  as  much 
rage  as  if  destroying  some  rival's  billet-doux. 

He  cursed  this  letter,  althought  it  might  almost 
justify  him  in  his  own  eyes,  and  in  those  of  the 
world.  He  even  felt  vexed  that  he  was  not  in  any 
degree  the  cause  of  her  death. 

Such  was  the  impression  produced  by  the  sublime 
untruth  of  Rita,  by  which  she  had  degraded  herself 
even  from  the  tomb,  to  save  her  lover  from  remorse. 

A  nd  this  was  the  natural  consequence,  for  to  tell 
the  truth — man  has  scarcely  any  feeling  except 
for  that  which  pleases  or  deeply  wounds  his  selfish- 
ness or  vanity. 

To  say  to  him,  you  are  ridiculous — but  not  ter- 


rible, is  to  do  him  wrong,  to  doubt  his   energy,   to 
treat  him  as  a  mere  boy. 

Fc»  there  is  fear  for  crime,  and  laughter  for  folly 
— so  that  we  had  rather  be  dreaded  than  laughed  at. 

Who  would  not  rather  be  Cain  than  Jocrisse. 

"  I  have  been  a  dupe  then,"  said  Henry  to  him- 
self. 

This  conviction,  if  it  could  not  efface,  might  at 
least  weaken  the  bitterness  of  his  repentance,  for  he 
could  not  avoid  saying  to  himself  "  The  heart  of 
Rita  did  not  beat  for  me  alone ;  she  deceived  me 
when  she  said  the  contrary." 

From  thence  arose  a  strife  between  selfishness  and 
vanity. 

"  Believe  you  have  been  a  dupe,"  said  selfishness, 
"  and  you  will  sleep  tranquilly." 

"Believe  yourself  a  monster  of  perfidy,"  said 
vanity,  "and  if  you  cannot  sleep  you  will  console 
yourself  by  thinking  that  she  preferred  death,  to  the 
loss  of  your  love." 

Vanity  was  right. 

So  that  Henry  considered  Rita's  letter  as  a  last 
and  irresistable  proof  of  that  burning  and  despised 
love  that  led  the  unfortunate  duchess  to  the  tomb, 
and  spite  of  Rita's  assertion,  he  accused  himself  as 
the  fearful  cause  of  her  death. 

So  that  with  this  conviction  from  this  day  forward 
Henry  conceived  it  right  to  take  upon  himself,  him- 
self, infamous,  perjured,  almost  an  assassin,  that  me- 
lancholy scorn — that  almost  fatuitous  horroi,  which 
every  human  being  fills  with  proud  despair  when  it 
says  to  him  ....  after  necessary  preparations. 

"Well,  wretch  that  you  are,  with  your  libertine 
conduct,  your  cruel  want  of  thought  you  have  caused 
the  death  of  this  beautiful  lady  who  .  .   ." 

"  Or  else." 

'■  Oh  God !  madame,  without  imagining  it,  or 
rather  knowing  it  well,  you  have  raised  a  dreadful 
flame  .  .  .  this  poor — has  blown  out  his  brains,  and 
died  pronouncing  your  name.-' 

"  And  then — nothing  more  is  necessary  to  give  you 
the  most  envied  reputation,  not  even  leaving  to  you 
the  necessity  of  '  unclasping  the  cestus  of  Venus,"  as 
they  said  in  those  days." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

I  have  seen  love,  jealousy,  hatred,  superstition,  and  rage 
carried  among  women  to  an  extent  never  experienced  by 
man. 

It  is  particularly  in  moments  such  as  these  that  women 
surprise  us,  beautiful  as  the  seraphim  of  Klopstock,  and 
terrible  as  Milton's  Satan. 

Woman  bears  within  herself  an  organ  susceptible  of  the 
most  terrific  sp?smodic  emotions,  it  is  during  this  hysterical 
delirium  that  she  looks  back  to  past  times  and  rushes  for 
ward  into  the  future,  all  time  is  present  to  her  mind. 

Sometimes  she  has  made  me  shudder,  the  rage  of  a  wild 
beast  has  become  part  of  her  nature,  thus  have  I  seen  her, 
thus  have  I  heard  her — what  sensations  she  possessed,  what 
expressions  she  made  use  of! — Diderot. 

It  is  night. 

Nearly  opposite  the  hotel  de  Vaudry,  there  stands 
a  house  of  modest  appearance. 

On  the  third  floor,  in  a  simple  sleeping  apartment, 
a  woman  is  seated  before  a  table. 

She  is  engaged  in  reading. 

A  srrall  looking-glass  is  on  the  table. 

This  woman  is  enveloped  in  a  large  brown  cloak, 
and  has  her  features  concealed  by  a  mask  of  black 
velvet 

She  appears  in  profound  thought,  but  cannot  re- 
press at  intervals  a  deep  shudder,  that  causes  her 


THE    TEMPTATION  ;    OR, 


mask  to  tremble— she  raises  her  hand  and  presses  it 
against  her  forehead. 

Then  her  eyes  shine  vividly  through  the  ryes  of 
the  mask,  and  in  a  low  tone  she  says — "  No — no 

Then  again  she  meditates,  and  reads. 
The  book  ahf  was  reading  was   oi  a   singular  na- 
ture— "A Treatise  on  Poisons,  by  Ben  Afis,"  an 
Arabian  physician,  translated  into  Spanish  bj 

Ortez  ;  a  book  filled  with  such  horrible  knowledge 
that  the  inquisition  ordered  it  to  he  seized  and 
burnt,  and  Philip  V.  expended  more  than  a  thousand 
doubl  i  buy  up  all  the  copies  he  could  dis- 

r  the  purpose  of  destroying  them. 
Such   was   the    dreadful   book    this   woman    was 
reading. 

Alter  a  short  time  she  rose  and  opened  a  large 
lire,  from  which  she  drew  a  casket  and  placed 
it  on  the  little  table. 

Opening  this  casket  she  appeared  to  contemplate 
its  contents  with  pleasure  ;  these  consisted  of  a  vast 
quantity  of  bills  on  the  first  banking  houses  in 
Europe. 

The  sum  they  represented  was  immense. 
Then  raising  the  cape  of  her  cloak,  she  drew  from 
her  bosom  a  small  steel  chain,  strong  and  closely 
twisted,  to  which  were  suspended  without  any  arrange- 
ment, more  jewels  than  would  suffice  to  decorate  the 
diadem  of  a  king. 

So  sparkling  were  these  precious  gems,  that  when 
the  feeble  light  of  the  single  candle  by  which  the 
chamber  was  lighted  fell  on  this  mass  of  diamonds, 
rubies,  and  emeralds,  the  whole  figure  of  this  woman 
appeared  as  if  illuminated. 

You  might  have  said  it  was  a  focus  of  burning 
light,  from  which  a  thousand  dazzling  flashes  issued 
coloured  with  al!  the  hues  of  the  prism. 

Then  dropping  this  ponderous  chain,  which  now, 
I  buried  in  the  folds  of  her  brown  cloak,  merely 
shot  forth  at  times  a  few  brilliant  sparks.     This  wo- 
man said  with  a  sigh,  "  shall  I  have  enough !" 

After  a  moment's  silence  she  again  raised  her 
hand  to  her  mask,  and  attempted  to  remove  it, 
saying  in  a  low  tone,  "  If  there  were  yet  time  !" 

Hut  she  lowered  her  hand  again,  for  the  outer  door 
of  the  apartment  was  heard  to  open,  then  the  se- 
cond, and  lastly,  that  of  the  bedchamber  itself. 

A  man  entered  and  respectfully  saluted  the  fe- 
male, who  answered  by  an  inclination  of  the  bead. 

For  one  instant  the  head  of  one  of  those  enor- 
mous mountain  greyhounds,  with  long  grisly  hair 
appeared  at  the  door — but  retired  with  a  growl  on  a 
signal  made  to  him  by  I 

The  man  relieved  himself  of  his  large  cloak  and 

■ride-brimmed    bat — you   might   then  see  his  thin 

ied  and  copper-coloured  features. 

It  was   Perez,   he   was  dressed  in  black,  in    two 

months  he  had  grown  older  in  appearance  than  if  ten 

years  ha  ■  r  his  head. 

masked  female  was  Rita,  the  late  duchess  of 
. 

■  II  Perez,''  she  said. 

11,  madame,  here  is  the  list  you  required  of 
me." 

Ire  it  me,  give  it  me,"  said   Kit,    in   an   eager 
tone,  taking    at    the    same  time   the  list  from   Ik  i 
squire  .   .   .  and  she  read  it,  while  Perez   closed  the 
i  it  in  the  secret 
She  i' 

It  contained  names  and  addresses — the  bishop  of 
Surville,  Leila,  the  Chevalier  de  Lepine — she  then 
said.  .  .  . 

'  You  have  entc  red  these  houses  ?" 


"  I  soon  shall,  madame." 

"  My  dresses,  Perez,  our  disguises?" 

"  \mi  shall  have  them  to-morrow,  madams,", 
then  after  a  pause,  he  continued,  drawing  near  to 
Rita,  "  It  is  necessary  now  to  remove  this  mask, 
madam 

Rita  gave  no  answer. 

'•  Everything  must  be  completed — and  these  are 
useless  sufferings." 
Rita  was  silent 

"  What  is  done,  is  done — besides  it  will  soon  be 
too  late." 

"  'I'.  11  me,    Peres,"   said    Pita,    interrupting   him, 

"  tell  me — were  my  funeral  ceremonies  magnificent 

for  you  witnessed  them  I" 

"  .Magnificent,  madami .'' 

"  Was  there  any  suspicion,  Perez  ?" 

"  Xo,  madame,  you  know  that  after  your  women 

had  left,  who  entered  your  room  that  you  might  reward 

them    before    your    death — I    and  Juana   remained 

alone  with  you,  until  the  moment   when  the    priest 

arrived  ;  the  chamber  was  darkened — you   appeared 

dying — he  administered  the    sacrament    to   yon   and 

tli   n  left  — then  us  two,  Juana  and  I,   alone   watched 

you,  and  as  soon  as  these  last  ceremonies   had  been 

med  according  to  your  express   orders,   I    and 

Juana  alone,  lowered  your  coffin  into  the  vault  of  the 

chapel,  close  to  your  oratory,  .the  next  day  it  was  on 

the  road  to  Spain,  accompanied  by  Juana  and  your 

principal  domestics,  who  carried  it  to    the   chateau 

de  Sybsyra,  and  placed  it  in  the  family  vault." 

"  Then  there  was  no  suspicion,  Perez  I  no  one 
suspected  ?" 

"  No,  madame,  the  ignorance  of  the  medical  man 
you  sent  for  was  also  of  use — hut  you  know  all  about 
that,' madame — but  in  the  name  of  St.  James  take 
off  the  mask." 

"  Has  he  had  my  letter,  Perez  ?" 

"  Yes,  madame,  the  astronomer  took  it  to  him  ten 

days  since,  I  chose  this  man  for  the  office   because 

they  told  me  he  was  acquainted  witli  your  priest  and 

your  medical  attendant,    and   he    would  be    sure  to 

give  him  the  particulars  of  your  death." 

"  And  what  did  he  say — In' — " 

"  He  ?  oh,  for  eight  days  lw  would  see  no  one — 

but  after  all  he  could   not  have  acted   otherwise- 

his  old  valet  de  chambre  told  me,  but   by   this  time 

!«•  is  almost  restored  to  his  usual  spirits." 

Here  Rita  was  unable  to.  suppress  a  slight'excla- 
mation  of  sorrow,  and  lifted  her  hand  to  her  face. 

"  That  mask  . .  in  the  name  of  Heaven  !  yon  still 
wear  that  mask,"  cried  Perez,  "  remove  it,  madame 
.  .  it  must  be  done." 

After  a  moment's  silence,   Rita   said  to  him   in  a 
low  and  trembling  voice — "You  see   I  am  a  great 
coward,  Perez — 1  shall  die  with  shame — well,    ' 
knowledge  it,  I  dare  not !" 
"  You  dare  not  1" 

••  No,  Peres,  1  dare  not,  I  far  to  do  it." 
"Pear,   madame,    fear!   when   twenty   days  since, 
you  said  so  lira.ely  to   me — 'Perez,    I  will   avenge 

If  of  him — but  understand  me — that  the  ven 
geancc  I  long  for  should  be  complete  and  certain,  he 
must  believe  me  dead,  Perez — but  that  is  not 
enough,  no  one  must  be  able  to  recognize  me,  so 
that  he  may  see  me  lace  to  face  and  yet  not  recollect 
me — what  then  shall  I  do,  Perez?' — Oh,  you  had 
a  then,  and  seeing  you  so  bold,  so  decided — I 
told  you  of  a  secret  I  had  brought  with  me  from 
Lima  .  .  .  of  a  burning  corrosive  substance  which 
the  Indians  use  to  trace  indelible  marks  on  their 
bodies." 

"Oh,  Perez,  Perez." 


THE    WATCH    TOWER    OF    KOAT-VEN. 


2Z 


"  You  had  no  fear  either,  when  you  said  to  me — 
'I  have  sacrificed  my  name,  my  rank,  my  existence, 
I  will  sacrifice  what  remains  of  my  beauty,  which 
would  he  wasted  somewhat  later,  in  useless  tears,' — 
so  that  you  no  longer  hesitated,  and  this  mask 
covered  your  features — and  now  you  arc  afraid,  when 
nothing  remains  of  your  dazzling  beauty — fear  now, 
when  this  mask  no  longer  covers  aught  but  features 
defaced,  and  no  longer  to  be  recognized  !" 

"Oh,  yes,  it  is  that,  the  idea  of  seeing  myself 
hideous,  chills  my  soul — Yes,  I  dread  it — Oh  !  it  is 
frightful,  frightful  to  think  of  .  .  .  Perez — I  know 
it — I  am  a  coward,  it  is  shameful,  but  I  dread  it. 
When  you  was  not  present,  I  did  not  dare  to  remove 
the  mask  ! — but  now  I  will  do  so — but  my  mind  is 
reeling — I  shall  go  mad  .  .  .  mad!  Oh,  Henry  ! 
Henry!  Oh,  God!  what  have  you  caused  me 
to  do?" 

And  the  miserable  woman  rocked  her  head  in  her 
hands,  with  heart-rending  cries — but  rising  quickly, 
she  exclaimed  ..."  Now  I  think  of  it,  Perez,  are 
you  certain  of  the  efficacy  of  your  secret?  Do  you 
know  that  I  have  often  moved  my  mask?" 

;<  Again,  I  must  tell  you,  madame,  my  dear  mis- 
tress, the  pain  you  have  ielt  is  a  proof  there  is  no 
redress." 

"  Oh  !  it  is  not  true,  it  cannot  be  true,  Perez." 

"  But,  by  St.  James,  I  only  followed  your  orders  ; 
obeyed  your  will." 

"  Wretch  !  ought  you  always  to  obey  them,"  said 
the  duchess,  in  a  state  of  delirium — it  was  the  last 
lamentation  of  vanity,  in  a  young  and  beautiful 
woman,  expiring  within  her. — "  Ought  you  not  to 
have  pitied  a  poor  creature,  led  astray  by  love  and 
hatred  ?  Ought  you  not  to  have  deceived  me — have 
told  me  it  was  done,  although  it  was  not  ?  .  .  .  Oh,  I 
see  by  your  looks,  Perez,  my  good  and  faithful  ser- 
vant .  .  you  spoke  falsely,  did  you  not?  you  de- 
ceived me,  you  said  to  yourself  '  this  poor  woman 
is  mad,  let  us  have  pity  on  her,  for  her  project  is  too 
horrible' — the  awakening  from  this  dream  will  be  too 
dreadful  ....  But,  you  do  not  answer  me,  Perez 
— you  say  nothing — there  you  stand  motionless. 
Alas !  your  silence  alarms  me,  speak  wretch, 
speak,  then,"  cried  the  duchess,  seizing  hfTrlifey  the 
arm. 

"  Let  my  mistress,  let  the  duchess  pardon  me  for 
what  I  have  done  ;  but  this  scene  is  too  dreadful  for 
both  of  us.     Let  us  see  then,  madame." 

As  he  uttered  these  word's,  Perez  broke  the  strings 
that  tied  the  mask,  and  it  fell 

And  Perez,  unable  to  suppress  a  cry  of  astonish- 
ment and  fear,  concealed  his  head  in  his  hands, 
and  knelt  at  his  mistress's  feet,  to  prevent  her 
seeing  his  tears. 

For  this  man  of  iron  loved  her  with  with  a  servile 
devotion,  so  mechanical,  complete,  and  disinterested, 
that  it  resembled  the  instinct  of  a  dog  for  his  mas- 
ter ;  yes,  Perez  had  devoted  body  and  soul  to  Ilita's 
vengeance,  with  the  blind  impulse  of  a  dog  that 
rushes  at  a  wild  beast,  at  the  sound  of  his  master's 
voice. 

Rita,  remained  for  an  instant  motionless — her 
eyes  fixed — gazing  without  seeing. 

She  soon  recovered  her  senses,  and  with  one  step, 
reached  the  little  table;  seized  the  mirror,  cast  a 
rapid  glance  in  it,  and  fell  senseless  in  her  chair. 

Two  large  tears  fell  on  her  cicatrised  cheeks. 

The  unhappy  woman  could  no  longer  be  recog- 
nized ;  Perez,  was  the  only  man  in  the  world  who 
could  have  known  the  Duchess  of  Almeda,  in  these 
frightfully  disfigured  features. 

Rita   shed  many  tears,  and  only  interrupted  her 


heart-rending  sobs,  to   seize  the   mirror  with  both 
hands — look  at  herself — and  cast  it  away,  exclaim- 
ing— "  Oh  God!  oh   God!   all  is  lost,  all   is  lost 
nothing  left — all  lost — beauty,  name,  rank,  nothing 
is  left  me — nothing  .   ..." 

"  But  vengeance,  madame,"  said  Perez,  seriously 
when  her  tears  flowed  less  rapidly. 

At  that  sound  itita  raised  her  head,  and  said,  in  a 
firm  voice,  while  she  dried  her  eyes  with  her  hands. 

"  Pardon  me,  my  good  Perez — pardon  my  weak- 
ness, my  injustice;  but  1  once  possessed  beauty — 
I  was  a  woman  .  .  .  and  you  must  pardon  this  last 
look  I  have  cast  on  so  glorious  a  past,  so  full  of 
hope  .  .  .  but  now  all  is  forgotten,  and  you  shall 
see  if  I  fail  in  energy." 

Then  taking  up  the  looking-glass,  she  gazed  on 
herself  for  a  minute,  without  exhibiting  the  least 
emotion. 

"  Well,  Perez,  am  I  afraid  now  ?"  and  she  placed 
the  glass  on  the  table,  with  a  steady  hand. 

Perez  kissed  the  hem  of  her  garment. 

"  Oh  you  have  said  truly,  Perez  ;  vengeance  is 
left  to  me — hatred — wild,  free,  and  unshackled  ;  for 
I  have  not  a  single  sentiment  of  pit}-  to  restrain 
me — not  a  future  hope  that  can  make  me  change— 
my  vengeance  is  limited  to  this  world,  I  will  not  for- 
get it ;  my  hatred  binds  me  to  it  for  ever — forget 
my  vengeance !  when  every  instant  my  disfigured 
features  exclaim — '  Revenge  thyself,  he  has  deprived 
thee  of  beauty,  rank,  love,  and  honour— Revenge 
thyself,  for  now  a  poor,  vile,  nameless  creature,  you 
once  possessed  a  name  honoured  throughout  Spain 
— Revenge  thyself,  for  you  lived  an  almost  royal 
life,  and  now  thou  are  a  wretched  wanderer  ;  thy 
life  devoted  to  the  accomplishment  of  a  single  vow; 
to  feed  without  ceasing,  a  devouring  flame,  with  one 
passion  only  .  .  .  Vengeance.' " 

"But,  should  he  die,  madame;  die  before  you 
are  revenged,"  said  Perez,  suddenly,  and  in  alarm. 

"Oli!  but  he  will  not  die,  Perez,"  exclaimed 
Rita,  with  an  accent  rendered  almost  prophetic,  by 
its  tone  of  conviction — he  will  not  die — he  cannot 
die  ...  I  have  a  faith  in  my  breast,  a  certainty  of 
the  future,  that  tells  me  he  will  not  die ;  and  then 
only  consider,  Perez  ;  it  must  have  been  something 
unheard  of,  superhuman,  infernal ...  I  know  not 
what  .  .  that  has  induced  me  to  do  what  1  have  done  ; 
something  that  makes  me  certain  that  I  shall  be 
avenged — for  the  feeling  with  which  I  am  endued  is 
a  kind  of  second-sight,  a  dream  of  the  future — yes, 
yes,  1  feel  it  here — 1  shall  be  avenged  in  due  time  ; 
the  time  will  arrive,  Oh !  yes,  I  am  sure,  Perez ; 
let  heaven  or  hell  say  no  !  I  say,  still  sav,  '  yes  it 
shall.'" 

And  Perez  believed  her,  for  her  actions,  her 
words,  and  the  expression  of  her  features,  posf 
that  inexplicable  authority,  that  affects  the  consci- 
ence like  a  secret  revelation,  a  psycological  pheno- 
menon, that  reason  is  obliged  to  admit  without  the 
power  of  analyzing. 

"And  this  vengeance,  madame,  will  it  be  very 
dreadful!" 

"  Truly,  Perez,  it  will,"  said  Rita,  with  a  terrible 
smile  ;  "  this  vengeance — but  say  Terez — you  have 
heard  of  Cain,  Cain  the  accursed  ?" 

"  Yes,"    answered   Perez,    terrified   at   his    mi 
tress's  looks. 

"  Cain,  you  know,  had  a  mark   on   his  forehead 
Cain,  whom  a  sanguinary  fatality  surrounded,  with 
a  circle  of  desolation,  which  he  could  not   ovt 
because  he  was  condemned  to  remain  in  the  centre.' 

"  Go  on,"  said  Perez,  his  heart  throbbing  vio- 
lently. 


24 


THE    TEMPTATION  ;    OR, 


•■  Well! 
be  his  fate 


-He  shall  be  Cain   the  accursed — 1  will 


CHAPTER  XI  l. 

COUNT    HEMIV    VAUDRY. 

A  pood  action  is  often  performed  to  enable  us  to  do  evil 
with  impunity.— Ko<  in  root  hli>. 

I  hive  often  said  that  the  misfortunes  of  mankind  arise 
from  not  being  able  to  rest  quietly  in  a  chamber. — Pascal. 

Still,  infamous  as  I  was.  I  piqued  myself  on  my  honest 
and  correct  conduct ;  to  such  an  extent  was  1  tilled  with 
the  spirit  of  lies  and  vanity. — Saint  Aigistin. 

Muiomit,  St.  Agustin,  Pascal,  Rousseau,  M.  Ja- 
quotot,  the  heavenly  St.  Simon,  and  many  others 
5,  (lor  the  number  of  deities  and  wise  men, 
now  a-days  is  very  great)  look  upon  education  as  a 
kind  of  second  existence  bestowed  on  man. 

Provided  in  the  first  instance  with  physical  life; 

j    -  iv,  to  render  him  a  perfect   being, 

.  moral  life. 

This  idea  has  always  appeared  to  me  to  be  as  true 

lent  ;  only,  in   my  mind,  there  is  great 

difficulty  in    the   choice  of  these    intellectual   pto- 

I hough  the  number  who  pretend  to  the 

task   may   be   always  considerable  .  .  .  at    the  time 

these  events  took  place,  the  most  able  men  of  this 

iption,  were   the    Abbes,    some    among  them, 

.      or  fifteen  spiritual  children,  born 

alive,  without  mentioning  those  who  never  drew  their 

breath. 

But  this  second  nature  is  terribly  tenacious — con- 
tact with  the  world  modifies  it,  without  changing  it, 
and  we  are  sure  always  to  discover  in  the  direction  of 
ughts  and  acts  of  mature  age,  the  primitive 
traits  of  these  second  fathers,  and  truly,  sometimes 
emhlance  is  enough  to  alarm  you. 
It    i-  a  fact,  that  in  extreme   youth  the  soul,  or 
it,  or  the  heart,    in  a  state   of  fusion,  as  it 
were,  through  the  effervescence  and  tire  of  the  pas- 
.   is   plastic,  and  capable  of  receiving  impres- 
By  degrees  the  flame  becomes  weaker,  and 
oul  grows  cold  and  hard — it  is  tempered.     In 
some  cases,  this  lava  has  been  poured  into  a  sublime 
•  ous  mould  ;  but  bold  and  strongly  marked  ; 
in  other  cases,  the  matter  has  swelled,  and  bubbled 
i  little  ;  and  when  extinguished,    become  a  shape- 

This  is  not  the  preface  to  a  work  on  elementary 
Ction    for  the  use  of  those  who  wish  to  become 
c,  or  the  announcement  of  a  special  establish- 
in  a  Brutus  who  bites  his  nurse,  or  to 
correct  a  Lycurgus,  who  at  six  years  of  age,  presents 
addresses  fur  the  abolishment  of  birch  rods,  as,a  vio- 
lation of  individual  liberty,  and  the  dignity  of  man- 
kind. 

No,  this  is  simply  a  digression,  to  enable  us  to 
of  the  early  education   of  Count   Henry  de 
Vaudry,  and  thus  explain  the  apparently  loose  prin- 
ciples that  have  placed  him  in  so  false  a  position, 
eitb  respect  to  the  laic  Duchess  d'Almcda. 

Henry   Vaudry,  the     youngest   son    of  a    great 

family,  .should  have  been  an  ecclesiastic,  according 

to  the  order  of  his  birth,  and   the   exigence  of  that 

social  idea  that  binds  the  present  to  the  past 

and  the  future,  by  the  hereditary  concentration  of 


conservative    law,   that    made    the   birth-place   of  a 
family  inalienable  and  sacred — Oh,  this  was  barba 
rous  and  brutalizing! 

Formerly,  religious  and  political  institutions 
opposed  themselves  to  the  excessive  increase  of  the 
population,  so  as  to  render  less  considerable  the 
frightful  number  of  men  without  the  means  of  exist 
ence,  destined,  whatever  the  Utoputes  may  say  or  do 
to  the  contrary — to  live  here  below,  in  the  midst  of 
privation  and  misery. 

So  that  this  profoundly  moral  restraint,  affecting 
the  rich  as  well  as  the  poor,  tending  to  keep  man- 
kind in  equilibrium,  with  the  small  portion  of  hap- 
piness granted  to  humanity,  for  the  noble  purpose 
of  making  each  man's  portion  larger — Oh  !  it  was 
a  brutalizing  and  barbarous  age! 

At  the  present  time  we  build,  with  mud  and  plas 
ter,  a  dwelling  for  a  day,  we  act  like  miserly  old 
men,  who  say — "  After  I  am  gone,  of  what  moment 
is  it" — And  it  is  true,  what  does  it  signify  ! — Much, 
indeed  have  we  to  do  naw-a-days,  with  the  religion, 
and  the  recollections  of  attachment  to  our  native 
home ! 

Is  your  mother's  tomb  there — beneath  the  grass, 
in  the  meadow,  in  which  she  loved  to  seat  herself, 
and  nurse  you,  when  an  infant.  If  it  should  please 
the  engineer  to  extend  his  noisy  railroad  over  the 
blessed  spot  where  every  evening  you  breatln  S  a 
prayer;  why  the  engineer  will  not  spare  your 
mother's  bones. — "You  shall  be  paid  three  I 
tluir  value"— and  that  is  an  answer  to  everything, 
and  the  ashes  are  cast  to  the  wind. 

So  that  since  there  no  longer  exists,  in  France, 
a  single  spot,  where  the  engineer  cannot  construct 
a  canal,  a  road,  or  a  line  of  telegraphs,  the  result  is, 
it  would  be  foolish  to  build  a  house,  or  plant  a  tree, 
for  it  would  not  be  unlikely,  that  when  you  woke 
in  the  morning  you  would  find  yourself  dispossessed 
of  it. 

This  last  and  mortal  attack  on  family  ties,  mo- 
rality, and  the  religion  of  the  past  and  future,  on  the 
sacred  rights  of  property,  is  called  public  utility. 

And  thus  this  public  selfishness  that  attacks  all  to  the 
injury  of  all — this  hideous  and  destructive  idea,  that 
commerce  should  be  above  all,  that  everyone  should 
sell,  pay,  or  purchase — that  what  is  most  pure  and 
most  holy  in  the  heart  of  man,  that  the  sentiment 
that  alone  attaches  him  to  his  country,  lore  for  the 
tomb  and  the  birth-place,  can  be  indemnified  by  gold, 
and  sacrificed  to  the  vain  hope  of  an  imperceptible 
amelioration,  of  happiness  purely  material, — this — 
this  is  civilization — this  is  progress  ' 

But  this  is  not  all :  we  find  at  the  present  day  or- 
ganised beings  who  gravely  tell  you,  (this  variety  of 
our  species  are  called  political  economists,  or  phi- 
lanthropists), they  tell  you  with  an  innocent  and  deep 
satisfaction — 

"  Ah  !  sir,  what  happiness  this  is !  do  you  not  ob- 
serve, thanks  to  our  assistance,  how  the  population 
increases,  how  humanity  pullulates,  how  it  heaves 
and  moves?  it  is  a  perfect  ant-hill,  sir." 

And  thanks  to  our  immortal  revolution,  has  it  not 
relieved  us  of  a  thousand  shackles  by  which  the 
increase  of  population  was  checked  ?  has  it  not 
driven  from  their  convents  the  useless  monks  ? — 
children,  sir,  children  are  the  riches  of  the  state  ; — 
did  not  the  Emperor,  sir,  who  knew  their  value,  give 


hand,  through  the  law  establish 
right  of  succession  of  the  eldest  son  .  .  . 

ople    laid  on  a  rock,  with  iron  I  a  reward  to  women  who  had  borne  twelve  living  chil- 
nite,  the  foundations  of   a  durable  edifice  j  I  dren  t 

.   For  death  would  often  overtake!       I  believe  it;  the  emperor  loved  men  as  the  butcher 

placed;   bnt  for  their  I  loves  oxen;    so  that  to  encourage,  through   blind 

i,  and  for  their  descendants.  philanthropy,  an  unhappy  wretch  to  take  a  compan  - 

sublime  care  for  the  future,   this  moral  and  I  ion  although  unable  to  support  a  family,  is  to  say  to 


him,  "  be  the  fatner  of  children — never  mind  whether 
they  have  bread  or  not,  if  they  want  it,  death  will  re- 
lieve you  of  them."  When  it  is  too  full,  the  flood  of 
mankind  overflows  its  banks,  there  are  channels  for 
it — the  plague,  war,  small  pox,  debauchery,  prosti- 
tution,— and  then  it  finds  its  level  again,  for  it  is  the 
same  thing  not  to  increase,  as  formerly,  or  to  increase, 
as  at  the  present  day,  to  feed  the  plague  or  war — 
death  always  has  his  share. .  .  .only  now-a-days,  it  is 
true,  mankind  becomes  manure,  the  earth  is  a  gainer, 
it  becomes  richer. 

Be  »he  father  of  children  : — still  marry  in  the 
midst  of  thy  filth ;  join  your  misery  to  that  of  an- 
other, and  give  birth  to  crime, — what  signifies  it  ? 
the  gallies  or  the  guillotine  will  take  care  of  them, — 
obliging  instrument  of  death!  economical  haven  from 


the  distresses  of  the  times ! — would  they  abolish  the?  e 
it  would  be  cruel— how  many  men  would  have  no 
refuge  but  the  streets,  and  it  would  injure  the  pro- 
spects of  many  others. 

Yes,  such  are  the  unhappy  consequences  of  this 
miserable  sophistry,  that  the  prosperity  of  a  country 
being  founded  on  the  increase  of  its  population,  one 
ought  at  every  risk  to  encourage  the  re-production 
of  the  species. 

This  complete  ignorance  of  the  laws  of  nature,  this 
headstrong  blindness  that  impels  us  to  the  abyss — is 
civilization,  progress. 

So  that  this  civilization  appears  to  me  to  be  amus- 
ingly sublime,  and  especially  profitable  to  doctors, 
grave-diggers,  executioners,  builders  of  plastei 
houses,  and  modern  governments,  for  they  ruinus 


26 


THC    TEMPTATION;    OR, 


by  their  great  care.  But  then  can  we  pay  too  much 
for  progress  ?  for  it  is  a  consoling  fact  for  mankind, 
a  truth  to  draw  tears  even  from  the  eyes  of  a  philan- 
thropist, that  both  budgets  and  crimes  have  become 
in  France,  most  astonishingly  progressive. 

But  my  admiration  of  progress  has  made  me,  I  ain 
afraid,  forget  Henry. 

Henry  being  the  youngest  son,  was  to  enter  into 
orders,  but  as  he  was  noisy,  headstrong,  sensual, 
vain  and  passionate,  and  as  he  asked  the  ladies'- 
maids  the  most  impertinent  questions,  and  exhibited 
propensities  as  little  monastic  ;is  possible,  it  was 
thought  better  to  destine  him  for  the  navy,  and  make 
him  a  Knight  of  Malta. 

And  thus  they  reconciled  his  situation,  with  his 
position  as  youngest  son,  and  the  interesting  future 
of  his  poor  little  lamily  of  vices,  who  would  have 
vegetated  pale  and  shrivelled  in  the  moist  shadow  of 
a  cloister,  did  on  the  contrary  become  beautiful 
and  full  grown  gentlemen  when  breathing  the  open 
air,  they  expanded  themselves  in  the  sunshine  of 
of  many  a  country,  and  enjoyed  themselves  on  the 
azure  bosom  of  the  waters  of  every  ocean. 

The  worthy  astronomer,  Kumphius,  gave  Henry 
a  few  lessons  in  Latin  and  French,  but  more  par- 
ticularly in  mathematics,  but  at  the  age  of  twelve 
education  can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  begun,  so 
that  we  do  not  wish  to  attribute  the  origin  of  the 
irregular  passions  that  developed  themselves,  alas, 
at  too  early  an  age,  in  the  young  chevalier,  to  the 
influence  of  the  modest  sage. 

Thus,  in  1767,  near  the  end  of  April,  Henry  left 
the  chateau  of  Vaudry,  where  he  had  passed  his 
childhood.  He  left  without  the  embrace  of  a  mo- 
ther bathed  in  tears,  for  Henry  had  been  long  de- 
prived of  a  mother ;  he  left  the  chateau,  therefore, 
without  bearing  away  with  him  the  idea  that  a 
tender  voice  would  every  evening  breathe  a  prayer 
to  heaven  for  him. 

And  this  was  so  much  the  worse,  for  Henry,  to 
all  appearance,  seldom  invoked  heaven  himself,  at 
least  in  such  a  manner  as  to  be  profitable  to  his 
future  hopes,  but  if  Henry  had  not  the  tender  and 
pious  exhortations  of  his  mother,  he  had  the  last 
advice  of  his  father  the  Count  de  Vaudry,  an  old 
lieutenant  general  and  knight  of  some  order,  who 
conducted  him  to  Brest  himself,  and  confided  him 
to  the  care  of  Chevalier  Suifren,  one  of  his  most 
intimate  friends. 

"  Adieu,  chevalier,"  said  the  Count  Vaudry  to 
his  son,  "  remember  what  you  owe  to  your  king, 
your  flag,  and  your  name,  and  then  commit  as  small 
a  number  of  follies  as  possible." 

It  was  at  the  age  of  twelve  years  that  Henry  thus  | 
embarked  as  a  volunteer  on  board  the  Union  frigate, 
commanded  by  Captain  Suffren,  and  placed  under 
the  orders  of  Count  de  Blugnon,  proceeding  to 
Morocco  to  arrange  a  treaty  of  peace. 

Henry,  with  his  handsome  and  spirited  features, 
the  decided  outline  of  his  figure,  and  his  bold  look, 
much  pleased  M.  Suffren,  who  recommended  the 
boy  to  the  care  of  the  eldest  of  the  gardes  marines 
(volunteers),  whose  service  and  studies  he  w.  .  about 
to  share. 

You  may  well  imagine  that  a  party  of  twelve  or 
■ardrx  marines,  the  oldest  not  more  than 
cighttan  >fars  of  age,  and  who,  nevertheless,  had 
hundred  times  as  long  as  any  full  fjrown 
man  ....  if  life  consists  of  an  assemblage  of  emo- 
tions and  contrasts  .  .  .  you  may  well  imagine,  I 
say,  that  a  turbulent,  satirical,  rash,  merry,  mad, 
and  insolent  company,  such  as  this,  must  have  been 
au  excellent  school  for  the  development  of  a  charac- 


ter so  ardent  and  impetuous  as  that  of  Henry,  and 
he  was  not  long  before  he  made  great  progress  in 
his  imitation  of  them. 

And  this  was  a  happy  thing  for  Henry,  for  no- 
thing is  useless  to  man,  virtues  not  more  so  than 
vices,  they  merely  require  an  object,  a  direction — 
look  at  Henry — leave  him  on  land,  at  his  paternal 
chateau,  he  would  have  been  a  foolish,  capricious 
boy,  insolent,  obstinate,  impatient,  and  sensual. 

Place  him  on  board,  give  him  a  commander  to 
obey,  cast  him  into  the  midst  of  the  dangers  of  an 
adventurous  life — and  the  child  becomes  almost  & 
man,  his  vices  are  no  longer  vices,  they  are  precious 
qualities  —  obstinacy  becomes  firmness  —  passion 
courage — vanity,  a  noble  pride  of  rank — impatience, 
a  desire  to  learn. 

Henry  then  became  a  great  favourite  with  his 
companions,  only  for  a  few  days  he  was  slightly 
troubled  with  a  few  qualms  of  modesty,  or  scrupulous 
simplicity — but  he  soon  took  his  proper  station,  and 
a  month  after  his  embarkation  his  handsome  rosy 
cheeks  seldom  blushed,  so  that  on  one  occasion, 
having  left  the  vessel  witli  his  young  friend  the 
Marquis  de  la  Jaille,  they  entered  a  cafe,  and 
making  the  most  of  their  slender  voices,  called  for 
punch  and  tobacco. 

Neither  did  he  blush  when  both  of  them,  con- 
cealed under  a  gateway,  surprised  some  belated 
grisette,  and  snatched  as  many  kisses  as  their  de- 
lighed  victim  could  suffer  without  outraging  mo- 
rality. 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that  by  the  time  he  had 
served  two  months  on  board  the  frigate  he  had  been 
six  times  under  arrest  —  had  fought  two  duels — 
had  one  evening,  by  means  of  a  rope  cleverly 
extended  from  one  side  to  the  other  of  a  steep 
street,  tripped  up  and  enraged  a  party  of  honest 
citizens, for  whom  he  laid  in  wait,  while  his  Orestes, 
la  Jaille,  and  others,  pursued  them  with  shouts  of 
laughter  through  the  streets.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  Henry  could  climb  to  the  truck  of  the  main 
mast  with  as  much  agility  as  the  most  active  of  the 
boys.  Henry  knew  the  name  of  all  the  ropes — 
Henry  could  reef  a  sail  like  a  foremost  man — boxed 
the  compass  in  a  breath — and  what  was  better? 
understood  it  and  demonstrated  it  when  necessary. 

May  we  not  presume,  then,  that  after  such  a  he- 
ginning,  the  young  chevalier  Vaudry  would  make 
up  by  his  energy,  ardour,  and  courage,  for  what  he 
wanted  in  continence  and  austerity  ? 

This  prediction  was  verified ;  at  fifteen  years  Henry 
had  been  present  in  two  actions,  and  at  one  ship- 
wreck, and  proudly  did  he  exhibit  his  first  wound. 

At  sixteen  years  he  sailed  for  Malta,  there  to 
commence  his  caravanes  on  board  the  holy  vessels, 
but  still  under  the  rather  unseraphie  wings  of  the 
brave  Suffren. 

Still  later,  in  1774,  during  the  war  of  indepen- 
dance,  he  was  made  a  sub-lieutenant,  fought  like  a 
lion,  and  received  two  famous  wounds  in  his  body, 
from  a  pike,  as  he  was  boarding  Admiral  Byron's 
vessel,  during  his  celebrated  action  with  the  Count 
d'Estaing. 

Finally,  the  reason  of  his  being  made  so  young,  a 
knight  of  St.  Louis  and  lieutenant,  w  as  because  in  the 
action  of  the  17th  of  April,  1780 — being  then  the 
sailing  master  under  Count  de  Grasse,  he  disen- 
gaged the  Robust  from  a  very  dangerous  position, 
and  received,  during  the  action,  his  fourth  wound. 

But  such  is  the  influence  always  exercised  over 
others  by  real  merit,  that  all  the  officers  of  the 
squadron  applauded  the  flattering  distinctions  with 
which  the  young  count  was  recompensed,  for  Henry 


THE  WATCH    TOWER    OF    KOAT-VEN. 


17 


having  lost  his  father  and  brother,  found  himself,  in 
1779,  alone,  and  at  the  head  of  his  family. 

In  the  opinion  of  Suffren,  De  Grasse,  and  D'Es- 
tang,  Henry  promised  a  most  brilliant  career  in  the 
navy.  His  chief  fault,  they  observed,  was  that  of 
Hazarding  his  own  life  and  that  of  the  crew  by  his 
careless  temerity,  showing  a  supreme  contempt  for 
his  own  life  and  that  of  others — with  this  exception 


without  either  hating  or  despising  women,  he  con- 
sidered them  all-powerful  for  pleasure,  but  useless 
for  community  of  mind,  so  that,  physically,  he  was 
full  of  respect,  politeness,  taste,  and  kindness, — be- 
cause he  was  aman  of  the  world, — but  as  to  allowing 
his  heart  to  take  an  interest  in  his  pursuit,  he  neither 
thought  of  it  nor  had  the  power  to  do  so. 

As  far  as  he  was    concerned,  should  she  prove 


no  one  had  more  deeply  studied  his  profession — no,    faithless,  it  was   only  a  change  he  anticipated,  or  a 


one  possessed  more  of  that  indomitable  but  well 
regulated  courage,  by  which  a  good  officer  is  known. 

But,  alas !  here  am  I  in  the  position  of  a  man  who 
has  a  horse  to  barter,  a  house  to  sell,  or  a  mistress  to 
get  rid  of,  who  having  in  the  first  instance  emphati- 
cally enumerated  the  charms,  advantages,  and  hidden 
qualities  of  each  object,  finds  himself  suddenly 
brought  to  a  stand  still  by  the  terrible  word  that 
made  our  friend  the  antiquary  so  furious — that  devil 
of  a  but  of  dreadful  augury. 

Without  doubt  Henry  was  a  skilful  sailor,  brave, 
handsome,  intellectual — But  if  he  had  confessed  to 
the  vessel's  chaplain,  be  would  have  been  obliged  to 
say  to  him,  "  Father,  with  the  exception  of  treason, 
theft,  and  assassination,  I  have  committed  every 
crime." 

But  what  could  you  expect  ? — the  poor  hoy  was  so 
young  when  he  left  his  father,  he  lived,  as  we  may 
say,  the  life  of  a  full  grown  man ;  he  htfd  travelled 
through  Spain,  Italy,  Greece,  India,  the  Colonies, — 
I  know  not  where,  and  in  every  country,  thanks  to 
his  handsome  face,  his  wit,  and  his  money,  he  took 
advantage  of  the  less  scrupulous  of  the  honest  women, 
and.  of  all  those  who  made  no  pretensions  to  mo- 
desty. 

After  all  these  Turkish,  Greek,  Indian  and  Spanish 
kisses, — while  there  was  scarcely  time  for  pleasure — 
when  at  the  age  of  fifteen  one  has  braved  death  full 
twenty  times,  and  stalked  through  blood,  or  stabbed 
a  dozen  Englishmen  when  boarding  a  vessel.  See 
you  not,  he  could  not  fail  to  have  lost  a  little  of  his 
native  innocence. 

Find  out  if  you  can,  in  the  midst  of  an  agitated, 
libertine,  and  perilous  life,  like  this,  the  time  to  be 
sober,  loving  and  continent,  when  you  live  in  the 
midst  of  contrasts,  abundance  and  privation — revels 
and  battle — desires  and  satiety. 

Find  out  if  you  can,  z  time  for  those  innocent  and 
primitive  thoughts  of  love  that  arise  and  increase  in 
solitude,  one  of  those  extatic  passions  of  fifteen,  which 
perhaps  are  the  first  and  only  poetry  of  the  soul, 
charming,  timid,  discreet  love — so  very  discreet,  that 
the  loved  object  is  frequently  ignorant  of  its  exis- 
tence, for  very  often  the  lover  himself  knows  not 
which  is  the  darling  creature — love  that  leaves  no 
void,  and  is  yet  without  aim  or  result. 

Alas  !  alas !  is  it  the  same  with  love  as  with  reli- 
gion, does  it  only  burn  with  more  fervor  when  the 
divinity  is  veiled  and  wrapt  in  mystery  l 

And  then  consider,  if  Henry  had  not  the  profound 
veneration  for  women  that  is  their  due,  it  was  not 
his  fault. 

Isolated  so  young,  almost  an  orphan,  he  never 
felt  that  adoration  for  a  mother  or  sister,  that  lively 
and  holy  affection  which  in  after  years  i^ives  to  love 
I  know  not  what  perfume,  delicacy,  and  purity,  what 
sentiment  of  respect  and  thankfulness,  as  if  the  sex 
to  which  you  were  indebted  for  a  mother  or  sister 
became,  on  that  account,  sacred  and  inviolable  in  your 
eyes. 

And  then  again  consider,  in  devoting  himself  to  a 
woman  Henry  never  obeyed  the  solicitations  of  his 
feelings ;  precocious  pursuit  of  pleasure  had  destroyed 
his  future  love — that  chord  was  wanting  in  his  heart ; 


great  relief;    and  in  the  same  manner  he  regarded 
his  own  want  of  truth. 

So  that  his  conduct  to  the  duchess  appeared  to 
himself  to  be  quite  simple — for  after  all  Henry  be- 
longed to  an  age  for  which  the  duchess  was  not 
adapted, — merely  try  to  find  a  woman  like  Rita  in 
the  eighteenth  century ! 

In  the  eighteeth  century,  philo  sophism,  "  that  pure 
and  brilliant  torch  of  reason,  that  regeneration  of 
abased  humanity,"  still  infamously  strove  along  with 
the  regency,  when  this  false  philosophy  mixed  its 
leprosy  with  that  gangrene,  sending  forth  to  the  world 
its  books  of  folly,  impiety,  or  obscenity,  that,  accord- 
ing to  its  intention,  corrupted  a  state  of  society  it 
had  the  atrocity  to  reproach  with  corruption,  and  at 
a  latter  period  decimated  it  by  its  executioners. 

In  the  eighteenth  century,  when  they  bestowed  an 
apotheosis  on  Voltaire,  on  him  who  insulted  France 
in  her  purest  and  chastest  glory  !  on  him  who  rushed 
with  foaming  mouth  on  Joan  of  Arc,  as  ignoble  and 
powerless  libertines  abuse  those  they  are  unable  to 
dishonour ;  when  Diderot  wrote  for  that  age  his  filthy 
novels — Crebillon  aided  him — Vadehis  plays — Piron 
his  ode — and  Beaumarchais,  his  drama.  "When 
Helvetius,  Condorcet,  and  the  encyclopedists  lived 
splendidly  by  atheism  and  filth  ;  when  the  hideous 
passions  of  a  population,  already  devoid  of  religious 
belief,  began  to  ferment ;  when  the  best  of  kings, 
the  most  virtuous  of  queens,  were  overwhelmed  with 
calumnies  vomited  forth  by  the  philosophical  party 
in  the  language  of  Billingsgate. 

Think,  then,  of  the  condition  of  a  woman  capable 
of  taking  a  passion  in  a  serious  light,  when  we  are 
aware  of  the  scandalous  success  of  Clairval  and  Jeannot, 
and  when  the  book  of  Laclos  was  but  a  mirror  of  the 
state  of  society. 

No,  no,  in  that  unhappy  age,  in  the  midst  of  those 
terrible  saturnalia,  wild  and  fearful  as  the  agony  of 
a  madman,  every  species  of  immorality  was  common, 
every  vice  had  taken  up  its  freedom. 

But  after  all,  looking  at  this  epoch  no  longer  as  a 
moralist  but  as  a  mere  man,  it  was  truly  a  delightful 
time,  and  our  hero  being  little  of  a  moralist,  com- 
pletely reconciled  himself  to  it,  for  the  dear  count 
foreseeing  instinctively  what  must  happen,  had,  if  I 
may  so  express  myself,  laid  out  all  his  happiness  in 
an  annuity  for  life,  and  lived  day  after  day  a  life  of 
pleasure — and  this  appears  to  me  to  have  been  his 
excuse. 

What  would  you  expect  ?  after  two  years  of  hard 
fighting  Henry  arrived  at  Versailles ;  all  his  connex- 
ions were  broken,  he  had  perhaps  no  more  than  two 
or  three  months  to  pass  in  France — it  was  necessary 
he  should  get  a  name  by  some  bold  stroke,  to  perfect 
his  reputation  as  a  brave  seaman,  by  the  addition  of 
that  of  a  man  who  had  accomplished  some  original 
adventures,  and  to  speak  the  truth,  in  those  days  that 
was  a  difficult  task.  The  handsome  Lauzun  was 
successfully  romantic — the  Marquis  d'Vaudreuil  was 
noted  for  his  cool  indifference — Prince  dc  Guenemee 
for  his  luxury — Tilly  for  his  military  airs — Crussol 
for  his  wit, — and  Vaudry  truly  must  imitate  the  time 
of  the  regency,  and,  as  it  appears  to  me,  he  was  toler- 
ably successful. 


28 


IHK    TLMPTATION;    OK, 


In  other  respects  he  was  the  best  fellow  in  the 
world,  for  born  of  a  careless  and  merry  n.iturc.  Henry 
did  not  possess  a  sufficient  amount  of  real  superiority 
either  to  hate  or  adore  human  nature.  Although 
both  amiable  and  brave,  happily  for  himself  he  wanted 
that  aethe  intuitive  spirit  that  permiting  one  to  grasp 
the  world  at  a  glance,  sums  up  the  joys  and  hopes 
of  mankind  in  the  two  words — annihilation,  vanity — 
obliging  the  mind  to  cast  itself  for  ever  into  the 
abyss  of  despair. 

No;  Count  Vaudry's  ideas  were  not  so  lolly  aa  by 
one  look  to  glance  over  the  the  course  he  had  to  run. 
Instead  of  looking  ardently  at  the  horizon,  he  amused 
himself  with  every  new  prospect  that  sprung  up  by 
his  side. 

In  one  word.  Henry  was  one  of  those,  admirably 
constituted  beings  who  possess  minds  but  not  genius 
— sense,  but  not  a  soul — vices,  but  never  follies;  one 
of  those  delightful  fellows  who,  able  with  impunity 
to  possess  certain  qualities,  pursue  a  long  career  of 
love,  glory  and  pleasure,  applauded  by  all — leaving 
behind  them,  it  is  true,  a  few  newly  opened  tombs, 
a  lew  dishonoured  families,  and  a  small  number  of 
mourning  children  calling  on  their  mother. 

But  how  can  you  be  cruel  enough  to  reproach  them 
for  such  trifles?  they  are  such  seductive  faults, — 
they  are  so  elegant  in  their  cruelty,  so  nobly  prodi- 
gal, so  gaily  brave, — men  who  risk  their  lives  a  score 
of  time*  to  avenge  their  mistress  for  an  uncivil  word 
or  look  ;  withouc  doubt  they  themselves  would  with- 
out the  least  scruple,  oppress  the  soul  or  drive  into 
eternity  the  very  same  woman,  on  account  of  some 
miserable  feeling  of  vanity.  But  what  does  all  this 
prove  ? — that  the  women  were  fools  in  being  serious 
in  their  loves,  that  they  should  repay  perfidy  by  per- 
fidy and  no  one  would  die  of  it — quite  otherwise. 

Such  was  Henry ;  fighting  bravely  when  afloat, 
and  on  shore  amusing  himself  everywhere  and  with 
everything.  This  was  the  whole  existence  of  the 
count,  and  to  complete  this  character,  unassailable  by 
the  moral  punishments  of  this  life,  let  us  add  that 
most  profound  expression,  that  most  incurable  of  all 
negative  feelings,  '"  What  signifies  it  to  me  ?"  the 
most  expressive,  both  morally  and  physically,  for 
Henry  would  utter  it  with  an  accent  of  the  deepest 
conviction. 

"  What  signifies  it  to  me  if  I  were  to  die  this  in- 
stant .'  at  least  I  can  be  comforted  with  the  sweet 
consolation  of  never  having  refused  myself  anything, 
of  never  having  had  a  wish  ungratified,  for  young  as 
I  am,  and  yet  contemplating  death  while  young,  I 
habituated  myself  to  go  beyond  all  my  fantasies,  to 
live  double — fearing  I  might  not  have  time  to  live 
long  enough  :  never  imitating  the  folly  of  those 
fools  who  store  up  their  pleasures  for  some  future 
time ;  madmen  !  a  future  time !  as  if  a  premature 
death  might  not  overtake  them,  and  thus  demonstrate 
to  thtm  the  folly  of  all  human  forosight." 

This  is  a  summary  of  the  practical  and  theoretical 
morality  of  Henry,  and  if  you  add  to  ihis  long  sketch 
the  striking  points  of  his  character  when  afloat — that 
is,  his  customary  despotism  of  the  most  absolute 
rnaracter — a  will  of  iron — unexampled  courage — 
the  most  profound  contempt  for  his  own  life  and  that 
of  his  officers  or  men,  and  his  strongly  m?.rked  aris- 
tocratic pride,  you  will  have  a  tolerably  complete  idea 
of  Count  Henry  de  Vaudry. 


CHAPTER  XIII, 


an    EVENING    r  A  It  T  Y. 


For  all  things  are  seen  under  many  aspect;,  and  through 
the  course  of  many  years. 

The  scene  is  laid  in'Paris — Faubourg  St.  Germain, 
at  the  house  of  the  Countess  d'Emard. 

The  Marquis  hits  just  been  relating  m  a  very  lire!;/ 
manner  the  adeeuture  of  Henry  and  the  Duchess,  the 
particulars  about  the  tower,  the  death  of  Rita, &c. 

The  recital  has  proved  extremely  amusing — even 
interesting — tome  feu-  hare  decried  the  horrible  con- 
duct of  Vaudry,  but  sceeral  of  the  ladies  who  were  on 
a  visit  to  the  Countess,  left  in  the  hopes  of  meeting 
with  M.  de  Vaudry  at  Madame  dc  Vaudemont' s,  who 
gave  a  party  that  evening. 

Only  two  intimate  friends  remained  with  the  Coun- 
tess— the  Chevalier  dc  Berey,  and  the  Marquis  d'El- 
mout — the  Countess  is  not  young. 

Countess.  I  did  not  wish  to  say  I  expected  M. 
Vaudry  here  this  evening,  for  fear  they  should  all 
remain — and  I  had  rather  we  had  a  little  committee, 
hut  now  Chevalier  you  must  divert  us  a  little,  for 
really  this  talc  has  been  extremely  melancholy. 

Chevalier.  Then,  madame,  I  will  tell  you  a  cu- 
rious adventure  of  Lauraguais. 

Marquiss.  Lauraguais  again,  his  tricks  are  inex- 
haustable — it  is  wonderful  how  the  millions  of  M.  de 
Guimcne  increase,  the  more  he  spends  the  more  he 
has. 

Countess.  That  is  to  say  the  more  he  owes  !  poor 
prince,  with  his  almost  royal  establishment — but  let 
us  have  your  story,  Chevalier. 

Chevalier.  Some  days  since,  Lauraguais  held  a 
consultation  with  four  doctors  in  medecine,  he  re- 
ceived them  at  the  hotel  de  Brancas  ;  and  then  very 
seriously  proposed  the  question  to  them,  "  whether 
it  was  possible  to  die  of  ennui," — all  the  doctors 
answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  then  after  a  long 
preamble,  full  of  terms  of  art,  they  gave  a  written 
opinion,  with  the  best  faith  in  the  world,  "that  it  was 
morally  and  physically  passible  to  die  of  ennui."  The 
Brancas  are  most  of  them  hypocondrical  and  me- 
lancholy, and  the  doctors  believed  the  consultation 
had  reference  to  one  Lauraguais'  relations — and  they 
even  specified  in  their  certificate  that  the  only  re- 
medy for  the  disease  was,  if  it  were  known,  to  remove 
the  cause  of  the  Iowness  of  spirits  from  the  sight  of 
the  invalid. 

Countess.  Well,  go  on. 

Chevalier.  Provided  with  this  opinion,  all  in  due 
form,  Lauraguais  who  was  deeply  smitten  with 
Sophy  Arnoux,  made  a  deposition  before  the  com- 
missary of  police,  in  which  he  complained  that  his 
rival,  M.  de  Barcntin,  by  his  continued  importunities 
to  Sophia,  would  infallibly  cause  that  inimitable 
actress  to  die  of  ennui.  Lauraguais  consequently 
required  the  authority,  whose  duty  it  was  to  watch 
over  the  health  of  the  public,  to  order  the  said  Be- 
renten  to  abstain  from  visiting  Sophia  under  pain  of 
ufliring  the  penalties  awarded  to  those  who  at- 
tempted the  life  of  another. 

Countess.  Charming,  do  you  know  Chevalier  such 
an  order  as  that  is  an  excellent  prec-'dent. 

Marquis.  Certainly,  w»  can  cause  tiresome 
people  to  be  locked  up  on  account  of  the  pub- 
lic health. 

Countess.  The  fact  is  they  ought  all  to  be  placed 
beyond  the  pale  of  the  law. 

Chevalier.  Or  rather  of  society,  that  would  answer 
better. 


Countess.  From  whom  did  you  hear  this  story  ? 
Chevalier. 

Chevalier.  From  M.  de  Fronsae. 

Marquis.  A  fine  fellow  that — he  was  7ery  amusing 
the  other  evening  at  Trianon. 

A  valet  de  chambre  announces  "  The  Baron  and 
Baroness  de  Cernan." 

Countess  (to  the  Chevalier.)  Good  heavens  !  Ma- 
dame de  Cernan  with  her  husband  !  (to  the  Baroness) 
Good  evening,  my  dearest  beauty  (to  the  Baron.) 
Why  its  an  age  since  I  have  seen  you  M.  de 
Cernan. 

The  Baron  (kissing  her  hand.)  You  are  a  thousand 
times  too  good  to  notice  it,  madame,  and  I  have 
come  to  lay  myself  at  your  feet  to  claim  your  for- 
giveness. 

Baroness.  Do  not  believe  a  word  of  that  at  least, 
madame,  Monsieur  de  Cernan  did  not  come  to  pay 
you  a  visit. 

Countess.  Seeing  you  with  him,  Cecile,  I  ought 
to  have  doubted  it. 

Baroness  (in  spite  of  the  signals  of  the  Baron.) 
No!  you  have  not — he  has  come  to  see  M.  de  Vau- 
dry,  whom  you  expect,  he  tells  me. 

Baron  (smiling.)  As  Madame  de  Cernan-  wishes 
to  excuse  my  assiduities  to  her — she  makes  use  of 
this  pretext — and  I  must  be  foolish  enough  to  agree 
with  her. 

Countess.  The  pretext  is  at  least  well  chosen,  for 
the  fac  t  is,  M.  de  Vaudry,  since  that  frightful  adven- 
tur;  is  more  the  rage  than  ever.  It  is  horrible  to 
say  so,  but  such  is  the  fact.  He  is  often  here,  his 
mother  was  an  intimate  friend  of  mine,  and  I  assure 
you  he  is,  after  all,  one  of  the  most  amiable  men  of 
the  world  you  can  imagine. 

Baroness.  Still,  madame,  his  conduct  has  been  so 
odious,  that  he  appears  to  me,  on  the  contrary, 
sovereignly  hateful. 

Countess.  Yes,  my  dear  child — but  he  is  one  of 
those  men  you  hate  even  to  adoration. 

Baron.  Has  he  already  returned  into  society  ? 

Marquis.  It  is  quite  regular,  I  believe — a  seclu- 
sion of  twelve  or  fifteen  days  after  the  event  .  .  .  and 
you  can  re-appear,  that  is  the  term. 

Baroness.  Is  it  quite  true  that  the  Duchess  died 
of  despair? 

Marquis.  Complete  despair  .  . .  that  is  a  matter  of 
consequence. 

Chevalier.  Happy  Vaudry — no  one  has  such  luck 
as  him,  he  will  be  quite  the  rage. 

Countess.  Hold  your  tongue,  that  is  shocking — 
and  who  to  look  at  her  would  have  said  that  a  prude 
like  this  duchess  would  have  died  of  love ;  I  recollect 
her  extremely  well — I  supped  with  her  at  Marshal  de 
Luxembourg's — she  was  a  woman  of  a  distinguished 
air — superb  eyes — a  perfect  neck — but  too  brown, 
and  her  eyelashes  were  too  strongly  marked. 

Baron.  I  have  been  told  she  was  affectedly  haughty. 

Chevalier.  Ridiculously  so,  she  was  a  living  re- 
proach to  many  women  much  better  than  herself,  for 
between  ourselves,  it  is  easy  to  be  virtuous  if  you 
have  neither  heart  nor  soul. 

Marquis.  However  that  may  be — it  appears  to  me 
that  she  took  Vaudry's  joke  too  seriously. 

Countess.  To  speak  the  truth,  I  am  far  from  ex- 
cusing the  conduct  of  M.  de  Vaudry — but  when  I 
consider  with  what  cool  disdain,  what  insulting  irony 
the  Duchess  repulsed  the  most  simple  galantries — 
with  what  an  impertinent  air  of  superiority  she  spoke 
of  other  women — but  while  1  pity  her  I  had  rather 
it  should  have  happened  tff  her  than  any  one  else. 

Baroness.  But  then  consider  what  she  must  have 
•offered. 


Countess.  Certainly,  and  therefore  I  pity  her,  out 
I  should  have  pitied  her  much  more  had  she  been 
more  tolerant  before  her  fault ;  at  my  age,  my  dear 
child,  we  are  allowed  to  say  all  we  think — well,  I 
have  seen  the  world,  and  I  am  convinced  that  it 
is  more  difficult  to  pardon  her  superior  purity,  than 
her  errors,  for  a  very  simple  reason — because  people 
of  an  austere  life  are  usually  deficient  in  modesty  and 
good  nature. 

Chevalier.  The  Countess  is  right,  and  then  what  a 
pitiful  taste — for  before  Vaudry  made  himself 
known,  she  imagined  she  only  loved — and  in  fact 
she  did  only  love — an  unknown  man,  whose  origin 
was  equally  mysterious .  .  .  and  this  you  must  ac- 
knowledge was  almost  depravity. 

Marquis.  Or  a  fondness  for  mystery ...  a  lover  of 
this  description,  is  so  easily  concealed  .  .  .  and  yet, 
for  my  part,  I  agree  with  those  who  consider  she 
was  not  virtuous,  but  cunning — so  that  it  appears 
after  all  that  there  is  much  room  to  excuse  Vaudry. 
It  is  not  his  fault  if  the  Duchess  has  taken  it  into 
her  head  to  change  a  comedy  into  a  tragedy. 

Countess.  And  then  again,  the  reason  of  the  in- 
dulgence shown  to  M.  Vaudry,  arises  from  the  fact 
of  his  having  avenged  mankind  for  the  cruelties  of 
the  Duchess,  and  the  women  for  her  superior  virtue, 
for  after  all,  we  ought  not  to  make  ourselves  appear 
better  than  we  really  are. 

Baron.  But  nevertheless  madame,  nevertheless, 
we  must  amend  and  arrive  at  perfection  in  morality 
as  well  as  politics. 

Chevalier  (aside  to  the  Countess.)  I'll  lay  a  wager 
that  within  five  minutes  the  Baron  mentions 
America. 

Baron.  Stay — in  America  (the  Countess  hides  her 
face  behind  her  fan.)  in  America  they  improve,  and 
the  proof  of  that  is  they  rebel — they  are  subject  to 
the  mother  country — Well !  all  at  once  they  say — 
Bah  !  we  will  no  longer  be  subject  to  her,  and  they 
no  longer  are  subject  to  her — this  is  grand,  is  it 
not? 

Chevalier.  It  would  be  extremely  grand  if  they 
were  the  strongest. 

Baron.  They  will  be  sir,  they  will  be,  for  their 
cause  is  our  own. 

Countess  (laughing.)  How  Monsieur  de  Cernan — 
ours  also? 

Baron.  Certainly,  madame,  it  is  the  cause  of  the 
whole  world,  rebellion  will  triunph  because  rebellion 
is  one  of  the  most  sublime  virtues — first  of  all  it  is 
easy,  and  within  the  reach  of  every  body,  of  every 
capacity,  then  it  is  natural,  it  has  its  germ  in  every 
human  heart,  I — I  now,  for  instance,  when  a  boy  I 
rebelled  against  my  master — I  rebelled  against  my 
nurse — I  rebelled  .  .  . 

Countess.  Excuse  me  if  I  interrupt  the  course  of 
your  rebellions,  but  what  are  we — we,  the  nobility — 
rebelling  against  ? 

Baron.  Against  ourselves,  rr.adame,  against  our 
own  class — is  it  not  admirable  ? — much  superior  to 
America. 

Chevalier.  1  completely  comprehend  the  political 
and  the  insurrectional  system  of  the  baron — we  so- 
licit the  Canaille  to  have  the  goodness  to  set  fire  to 
our  houses,  and  afterwards  to  cut  our  throats,  that  is 
excellent;  but  what  comes  next? 

Baron.  Next?  why,  having  abolished  our  mon- 
strous titles  and  destroyed  our  scandalous  fortunes, 
we  shall  be  all  equal — all  brothers — I  shall  be  on  a 
level  with  my  groom — is  it  not  grand  ? 

Chevalier.  And  after  that  ? 

Baron.  Well,  after — France  will  become  an  im- 
mense garden   covered   with   fruit  and  flowers,  of 


30 


rflE    TLMPTATIOX  ;    OR, 


which  every  one  will  have  his  share — wc  shall  be 
shepherds,  these  ladies  shepherdesses — there  will  be 
virtue  enough  for  every  body — white  dresses  for  the 
unmarried,  blue  dresses  for  the  young  married  folks, 
and  wa  shall  go  in  mourning  for  our  friends — a 
golden  age — just  read  Condercet. 

Chevalier.  Well,  and  what  next  ? 

Baron.  My  dear  fellow,  what  more  would  you 
have  ?  it  would  be  a  terrestrial  pandise,  wc  should 
live  without  having  any  necessity  for  other  laws  than 
natural  law?,  eating  when  hungry,  sleeping  when 
drowsy — how  excellent  it  would  be! 

Chevalic.  But  crime,  how  would  you  repress  that  ? 

Baron.  Oh!  all  done  away  with — crime! — abo- 
lished, along  with  taxes  and  seignorial  rights — can 
there  be  crime  in  a  regenerated  state  of  society — 
living  on  vegetables  and  equality  ? 

Valet  de  Chambre  (entering.)  Monsieur  lc  Count 
de  Vaudry ! 

[A  general  movement  of  curiosity  and  admiration, 
II  try  enters  and  salutes  the  Countess. 

Countess.  Come  here  Henry,  I  wish  to  speak  to 
you — give  me  your  arm. 

[The  Countess  enters  the  boudoir  that  adjoins  the 
drawing  room,  the  doors  of  which  arc  open — visitors 
enter — they  form  themselves  in  groups — Henry  is 
superbly  dressed  in  a  coat  of  flesh-coloured  velvet, 
covered  with  gold  embroidery  and  spangles — he  ap- 
pears careless  and  easy,  which  being  anything  but 
what  was  expected,  produces  considerable  effect — the 
Baroness  Cecile  de  Cernan  is  twenty  years  of  age — 
beautiful  as  an  angel,  fill  of  fire,  but  at  times  urtipt 
in  thought,  frequently  foolish  and  half  mad — the 
Baron  dc  Cernan  is  thirty  years  old,  has  a  fair  pre- 
tention to  ability — Careless — brave — immensely  rich — 
and  deeply  smitten  with  philosophy."] 

Baron  (to  his  wife.)  Really,  madame,  what  I  am 
about  to  do  is  extremely  strange  ...  I  aw  unac- 
quainted with  M.  de  Vaudry,  and  my  request  must 
appear  very  improper  to  him. 

Baroness.  Then  do  not  make  the  request. 

Baron.  But  you  have  engaged  me  to  do  so. 

Baroness.  I  ?  not  in  the  least,  I  told  you  the 
Countess  had  been  well  known  to  M.  Vaudry's 
mother,  and  on  very  friendly  terms  with  her — and 
that  if  you  were  introduced  by  her,  your  request 
would  not  be  refused — that  was  all. 

Baron.  Would  you  then  have  the  goodness  to 
make  the  request  yourself. 

Biraness.  What  folly — you  cannot  expect  it. 

Baron.  You  are  extremely  intimate  with  Madame 
d'Emard,  you  might  easily  interest  yourself  for  me, 
a  request  is  always  less  offensive  when  it  comes 
from  a  woman — we  men  are  always  so  ridiculous 
with  our  politics  and  forms  .  .  .  Ah  !  in  America! 

Baroness.  Well,  I  consent—  but  really  I  am  too 
condescending. 

Bmron.  See — the  Countess  is  entering  the  room. 
(The  Baroness  seats  herself  near  the  Countess  and 
speaks  to  her  in  a  low  tone — the  Countess  looks  cun- 
ningly at  Cecile — the  latter  blushes,  and  the  Countess 
kisses  her  on  the  forehead.) 

Baron  (aside.)  Bravo — its  all  right — my  request 
is  in  good  train. 

Countess    (addressing   Henry,  who  is  talking  and 
lavphinc  with  the  CktvaBtr, — points  to 
to  her. )  Henry,  come  here,  I  want  to  speak  to  you — 
a   favour,   it  is  rither  bold  certainly   after 
scolding  you  so  much  just  now. 

niand  for 

s  so  gracious 

»ulcd — I 


Countess.  Even  when  the  favour  does  not  interest 
me  personally? — but  a  pretty  woman,  who  hates  you 
with  all  her  heart. 

The  Baroness  blushes — Henry  who  has  looked  at 
althily,  perceives  it,  and  answers  with  indif- 
ference. 

Henry.  Between  ourselves,  madame,  both  hatred 
and  love  begin  to  weary  mc — love  has  brought  so 
many  disagreeable  consequences  with  it  that  1  shall 
reform  myself — entirely,  and  it  is  only  to  your 
ancient  and  good  friendship  that  1  grant  your  re- 
quest. 

Baroness  (rising  with  an  air  of  vexation  and  turning 
~>me  music  books,  says,  aside.)  Impertinent  fop- 
pery— how  cool  he  is,  and  how  careless  after  his 
frightful  behaviour  to  that  poor  woman — it  is  odious. 

Baron.  Well,  madame,  how  do  we  get  on  ? 

Baroness  (impatiently.)  Good  heavens,  sir,  how 
should  I  know,  do  you  imagine  1  was  thinking 
about  it  I 

Baron.  It  is  amazingly  pleasant,  truly,  that  I, 
who  came  of  at  least  as  good  a  house  as  Vaudry,  that 
I  should  be  obliged  to  solicit . .  . 

Countess.  Yes,  my  dear  Henry,  he  is  dying  with 
the  desire  of  going  to  America,  and  if  you  can  grant 
mc  this  favour  I  shall  consider  it  a  personal  obli- 
gation. 

Henry.  With  the  greatest  pleasure,  I  see  no  in- 
convenience in  it — but  I  must  first  inform  Marshal 
de  Castries. 

Countess.  A  thousand  thanks,  my  dear  Henry, — 
you  must  yourself  inform  Madame  de  Cernan  of  the 
good  news. 

Henry  (coolly  to  Cecile).  If  I  had  been  aware  of 
the  intentions  of  M.  de  Cernan,  I  would  have  an- 
ticipated his  request,  since  this  slight  service  gives 
me  an  opportunity  of  expressing  my  devotion  to 
you. 

Baroness  (coldly).  Sir,  in  the  name  of  M.  Cernan 
I  thank  you  a  thousand  times  for  your  civility,  being 
happy,  nevertheless,  in  thinking  that  we  are  solely 
indebted  for  this  kindness  to  our  common  friend,  the 
Countess  d'Emard. 

Henry  (still  coolly).  For  the  first  time  perhaps  in 
your  life,  Madame,  you  would  be  unjust  towards  our 
excellent  friend,  in  attributing  my  ready  acquiescence 
in  your  orders  to  her  influence  alone. 

The  Baroness  salutes  him,  and  blushes  ;  Henry  for 
the  rest  of  the  evening  addresses  no  part  of  his  conver- 
sation to  Madame  de  Cernan. 

Baroness  (to  the  Countess,  when  about  to  leave  the 
room  with  the  old  Duke  of  Lermos).  Do  you  dine  to- 
moirow  at  the  Duke  de  Castries'  ? 

Countess.  No  ; — but  why  do  you  ask  mc  that  ques- 
tion, my  dear  ? 

Baroness.  Only  because  I  was  invited,  and  I  would 
have  offered  to  have  conducted  you. 

Countess  (kilting  her  forehead).  Wicked  girl !  it 
was  done  to  vex  me,  lor  T  hold  dinners  in  horror. 

Henry  (aside).  And  I  have  to  speak  to  Marshal 
Castries  concerning  M.dc  Cernan, — I  must  get  my- 
self invited  to-morrow. 

The  Baroness  leaves  without  looking  at  Henry. 

Henry  (aside).  All  goes  well : — now  then  to  rejoin 
Crussol,  and  take  him  with  me  to  sup  with  Leila. 
(He  leaves  the  room). 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

M.KSAILLES. 

I  have  raised  a  monument. 
■• ! — what  grandeur,  what  misery,  what 
'.word!     V(  lie  of 


TJ1F,    WATCH    TOWER    OF    KOAT-VHN. 


71 


those  eastern  dreams  in  which  the  fancy  revels ;  a 
beautiful  fairy  tale,thr  admiration  of  innocent  child- 
hood— a  magnificent  palace  covered  with  diamonds 
and  flowers,  and  peopled  with  Genii  with  wings  of 
flame.  Versailles ! — one  of  those  meteors  that  light 
up  the  whole  firmament.  Versailles ! — one  of  those 
gushes  of  royal  poetry  that  are  written  in  gold,  bronze 
and  porphyry ! 

In  this  gigantic  creation  everything  becomes  truly 
colossal,  and  almost  prophetic. 


cendants.  And  then  night  came  on,  dark  implacable 
night,  a  night  of  blood,  storm,  and  tempest,  which 
has  strewn  with  ruins  the  ancient  soil  nf  France. 

And  after  the  death  of  the  great  king,  Versailler, 
remained,  still  proud,  sad,  imposing,  but  abandoned, 
like  those  immense  chateux,  the  poverty  of  the  pre- 
sent day  will  not  allow  to  be  inhabited. 

For  the  regency  succeeded  this  age  of  greatness. 

The  regency !  and  what  did  the  regency  ard  its 
libertines  in  those  endless  galleries, — beneath  those 


Versailles !  at  first  a  place  of  poverty,  a  mean,  ob- 1  enormous  vaulted  roofs,  where  the  voice  of  Bossuet 
scure  hamlet,  dry,  burnt  up,  without  either  fountain  i  once  thundered?  The  regency  at  Versailles'.— a 
or  shade.  i  bitter  mockery.    The  regency  with  its  suppers,  its 

Then,  a  man  said — "  instead  of  this  desolate  vil- 1  infamous  orgies,  its  boasted  disbelief  of  every  creed ! 
lage  I,  I  myself  will  rear  a  monument  to  astonish  all ,  once  more,  could  the  regency  that  ended  in  the 
Europe.  I  will  raise  its  pomp  and  glory  to  such  a  !  corruption  of  the  whole  country  restore  Versailles 
height,  that  although  its  dazzling  splendour  may    to  life  ? 

pass  with  me,  it  shall  leave  recollections  the  pride  \  Louis  XV.,  so  great  a  king — if  he  had  been  will- 
of  future  ages :  by  the  magic  of  art  I  will  create  I  ing,  but  the  task  was  wearysome, — Louis  XV.  made 
wonders.  Nature  shall  give  me  laws  j  on  this  bare  1  a  good  attempt,  but  himself,  his  court,  his  men  of 
and  calcined  earth  a  thousand  fountains  shall  dis-  j  letters,  and  his  artists,  were  no  longer  great  enough 
tribute  their  streams  in  marble  basins,  and  the  fol-    to  fill  Versailles.     The   splendid   souvenirs  of  the 


liage  of  lofty  arcades  of  verdure  shall  wave  around 
this  monument ;  a  splendid  regal  city  shall  arise,  to 
which  kings  shall  send  to  honour  it,  for  I  would  that 


great  age  raised  this  palace  to  too  great  an  emin- 
ence, the  air  is  too  keen — the  atmosphere  of  its 
lory  too  piercing  for  their  narrow  and  corrupted 


the  name  of  Versailles,  at  present  unknown,  should  |  breaths ;  its  grandeur  crushed  them,  its  immensity 
some  day  '' weigh  heavily  in  the  balance  of  the  des-  confounded  them,  so  the  court  took  refuge  at 
tinies  of  the  world !"  !  Trianon. 

But  what  man,  what  prodigy  was  this  ?— Louis  j  There,  at  least,  everything  was  on  their  own  scale, 
XIV.     Who  was  minister? — Colbert.  j  all  was  little,   spangled,    coquettish,  painted,  rosy, 

"Who  raised  this  immense  structure  ? — Mansard,  [  powdered  and  perfumed ;  there,  was  there  a  soft  echo 
Le  Brun,  Le  Notre,  Puget.  j  for  the  slander  and  affected  voice  of  the  atheism  of 

And  everything  became  as  imposing  as  Versailles,    the  boudoir,  for  they  were  satiated  with  vice,  and  it 

If  the  King  chose  an  emblem,  it  was  the  sun ;  must  i  was  necessary  they  should  dabble  a  little  in  impiety 
the  gates  of  the  palace  be  adorned,  there  are  victories  ,  to  restore  their  appetites. 

to  be  sculptured,  and  the  eagle  of  Austria  and  the  |  In  fact,  atheism  became  rather  fashionable,  it  was 
lion  of  the  Castilles  are  chained  to  the  threshold.       j  much  relished— that  is,  at  first,— afterwards,  for  they 

Versailles  has  a  chapel, — there  Bossuet  preaches ;  j  grew  weary  of  everything,  when  they  were  satisfied, 
Versailles  has  a  theatre, — Moliere  performs  in  it.       the  remains  were  thrown  to  the  people. 

And  then  for  an  audience  there  are  Conde,  Mont-  1  After  the  reign  of  Louis  XV.,  after  the  reign  of 
morenci,  Villars,  de  Saxe,  Rochefoucault, — I  know  j  mistresses  and  favourites,  came  that  of  a  king,  an 
not  who  ;  all  that  proud  aristocracy,  still  bleeding  '  honest  man,  of  great  and  superior  virtue — the  reign 
from  the  sword  of  Richelieu,  who  decimated  them  j  of  a  young  and  intelligent  queen,  good  and  happy 
in  the  name  of  the  King  of  France.  j  who,   confident  in  her  purity,  had  no  necessity  for 

And  yet  this  proud,  rich  and  independant  nobility, ,  concealing  her  innocent  preferences, 
almost  sovereign  in  their  own  estates,  still  pressed  ■      But  although  inhabited,  Versailles  was  still  a  desert, 
round  the  steps  of  the  throne,  because  the  king  was  |      Such  perhaps  were  the  thoughts  of  Henry  Vaudry 
for  them  more  than  a  king — he  was  a  sacred  princi-  j  on  his   way  to  Versailles,   to  dine  with  Marshal 
pie,  like  honour  and  virtue.  :  Castries. 

And  Louis  XIV.  died — and  Versailles  fell  with  |      And  yet  I  do  not  imagine  that  the  thoughts  of  the 


him ! 

For  you  uttered  a  fatal  truth  for  France  and  for 
your  race,  great  king,  when  you  exclaimed,  the 
scourge  in  your  hand,  "  I  am  the  state!" 


count  could  have  been  of  so  melancholy  and  grave 
a  nature. 

Softly  cradled  in  his  goodly  coach,  drawn  by  four 
magnificent  horses,  preceded  by  his  outriders,  on  his 


Yes,  you  was  the  state ; — yes,  the  monarchy  con-  '■  road  to  the  bouse  of  the  minister,  in  the  hopes  of 
sisted  of  you  alone.  After  your  irreparable  division  j  there  meeting  the  Baroness  Cecile  de  Cernan ;  it 
with  Rome,  when,  believing  yourself  strong,  you  re-  j  must  be  acknowledged  it  is  not  probable  that  Henry 
lied  on  your  own  strength  instead  of  that  of  heaven. '  was  at  the  moment  dreaming  of  the  causes  of  the  fall 
After  substituting  a  single  ephemeral  despotic  power,   of  empires. 

for  that  sublime  trinity  of  government,  the  three  im-  The  count  was  considerably  smitten  with  Cecile — 
mortal  powers  that  alone  can  ensure  the  future  safety  for  his  passion  for  Leila  had  had  its  day.  He  en- 
of  a  government — heaven,  the  king,  the  people.  j  deavoured  to  pass  away  his  time  by  paying  sttcntion 

And  thus  your  monarchy  could  not  exist  after  j  to  the  wife  of  a  notary,  but  beginning  with  the  hus- 
your  decease,  great  king, because  from  being  divine,  \  baud  who  overloaded  him  with  flattery,  down  to  the 
as  it  was  to  the  eyes  of  all,  you  had  made  it  human,  clerks,  who  were  amused  at  the  scene,  everyone  was 
— because  you  alone  was  the  monarchy,  you,  the  j  so  prejudiced  in  his  favour,  so  desperately  easy,  th:>.t 
hero,  you  the  demi-god,  whose  very  look  produced  I  the  amiable  seduction  disgusted  him,  and  to  the 
an  age  of  prodigies.  I  regret    of  the  husband,  his  wife,  and  clerks,  he  broke 

And,  like  the  sun  you  had  taken  for  an  emblem,    off' the  connexion,  after  about  eight  day's  intimacy, 
sun  of  a  day,  you  dazzled  the  world  with  your  re-        In  this  state  of  affairs  an  intrigue  with  the  Baroness 


splendent  light,  and  in  the  evening  you  set  majestic- 
ally in  the  sombre  west.  The  last  glimmer  of  your 
twilight  still  cast  a  pale  ray  on  the  crown  of  your  des- 


Cernan  must  have  appeared  to  him  so  much  the  more 
agreeable,  from  the  fact  of  Cecile's  appearing  ex- 
tremely distant  to  him. 


Arrived  at  Versailles,  he  presented  himself  before 
Marshal  Castries,  and  mentioned  the  request  of  the 
Baron  de  Cernan. 

"  Although  his  majesty  sees  with  uneasiness  the 
infatuation  of  a  portion  of  his  nobility  for  this  cause," 
said  the  minister  to  him,  "  I  bad  rather  have  the 
baron  in  America  than  here,  so,  OTjf  dear  count,  take 
him  with  you.  But  now  I  recollect,  Madame  de 
Cernan  dines  with  me  to-day,  you  had  better  remain 
and  talk  over  her  husband's  business  with  her." 

Henry  accepted  the  invitation,  it  was  what  he  in- 
tended. The  baroness  soon  arrived  ;  never  did  she 
look  more  beautiful :  dressed  in  a  gown  of  lampns 
•3k  embroidered  with  silver,  with  whitehair-powder, 
a  nead  dresa  offrimas,  with  long  lappets  that  strayed 
over  her  lovely  neck,  while  a  stream  of  diamonds 
mounted  on  large  plates  of  black  enamel,  gave  addi- 
tional delicacy  to  her  fair  complexion.  It  was  em- 
posnible  to  imagine  a  more  delightful  or  enticing 
triscmblc. 

Henry  accosted  her  with  extreme  but  cold  polite- 
ness, and  informed  her  that  the  marshall  had  agreed 
to  the  b_ron's  request,  without  adding  a  single  word 
of  compliment. 

Ceciie  already  irritated  against  Henry,  but  without 
being  able  to  say  for  what,  was  outraged  at  this  last 
proof  of  indifference,  almost  disdain,  on  the  part  of 
the  count,  but  her  anger  reached  its  height  when 
she  found  herself  seated  at  table  by  his  side.  So, 
making  up  her  mind  not  to  answer  anything  Henry 
might  perchance  say  to  her,  she  entered  into  deep 
and  earnest  conversation  with  her  left  hand  neigh- 
bour, an  old  councillor  of  the  parliament. 

Henry,  on  his  side,  maintained  a  lively  dialogue 
with  his  neighbour,  the  beautiful  Marchioness  de 
Vaille. 

Much  need  had  the  old  councillor  to  pay  deep  at- 
tention to  every  word  of  Ceciie,  for  he  could  scarcely 
understand  anything  she  said,  the  ideas  of  Madame 
de  Cernan  were  so  eccentric  and  irrelevant.  It  was 
not  the  same  with  the  Marchioness  de  Vaille,  she  was 
quite  delighted  with  Henry,  who  never  appeared  to 
better  advantage. 

What  perhaps  may  explain  the  vain  attempts  of 
of  the  poor  councillor  to  follow  the  singular  conver- 
sation of  Ceciie  is,  that  she  was  listening  to  Henry 
while  she  answered  her  neighbour.  I 

Almost  opposite  Henry,  and  on  the  other  side  of 
the  table,  sat  an  English  officer  of  handsome  features 
and  distinguished  appearance,  but  he  seemed  ab- 
sorbed in  sadness,  was  absent,  thoughtful,  and  scarcely- 
appeared  conscious  he  was  one  of  that  magnificent 
dinner  party. 

"Do  you  know  who tha:  officer  is?"  said  Ceciie 
to  the  councillor. 

"  Yes,  madame,  it  is  Sir  George  Gordon,  a  lieu- 
tenant iu  the  English  navy,  and  a  prisoner  of  war; 
but  as  an  exchange  of  prisoners  has  just  taken  place, 
he  is  free  and  can  return  to  England  as  soon  as  he 
feels  inclined." 

"  It  is  astonishing — his  appearance  is  extremely 
E*d  for  a  liberated  prisoner." 

"  Very  sad,"  said  the  councillor,  "one  would  say 
iome  profound  grief  occupied  his  thoughts,  .what 
can  it  be?" 

"  How  !  cannot  you  guess,  sir,  with  the  knowledge 
you  possess  of  mankind  ?" 

"  No,  madame — I  need  be  a  wizard  for  that  pur- 
pose—a magician." 

"A    magician!    what  would  not  I  give  to  be  a 

magician,   a    fairy'' — observed  Ceciie.    "  to  read   a 

man's  heart,"    and   Cecils   mechanically  looked  at 

j  Henry,  then  ngain  taking  up  the  word,  she  added, 


"  to  know  for  instance  the  secret  sorrow  that  op- 
presses that  poor  Englishman — yes,  really,  1  should 
be  curious  to  know  that  secret — what  would  I  not 
give  for  it." 

"As  far  as  that  goes — without  being  a  fairy, 
madame,  it  is  easy  for  you  to  know  what  is  written 
on  the  hearts  of  all  those  who  see  you.  .you can  read 
nothing  except — '  I  love  you,'  "  answered  the  coun  ■ 
cillor  with  all  the  remaining  gallantry  of  the  age  of 
Louis  XV. 

Not  a  single  word  of  this  conversation  escaped 
Henry,  who  had  also  been  struck  by  the  melancholy 
and  absent  look  of  Sir  George. — He  had  merely 
smiled  when  Ceciie  exclaimed  she  would  give  all  the 
world  to  discover  the  secret  of  the  melancholy  pri- 
soner, and  he  easily  induced  the  Marchioness  de  la 
Vaille  to  express  the  same  wish. 

Then  raising  his  voice,  the  Count  said  neg,;gently, 
addressing  himself  to  the  Marchioness  and  Ceciie, 
"  When  I  was  young,  ladies,  I  would  have  sworn 
upon  my  soul  to  learn  the  secret  that  interests  you 
— yes,  had  I  heard  a  woman  form  such  a  wish,  I 
should  have  thought  nothing  too  extravagant  to  sa- 
tisfy her,  either  by  cunning,  strength,  or  impudence. 
I  would  have  obtained  the  secret,  and  proud  of  my 
victory — have  laid  it  at  the  feet  of  my  divinity.  But 
at  my  age,"  he  added,  looking  more  directly  at  Ce- 
ciie, "  we  are  happily  not  so  romantic  in  these 
matters,  and  we  leave  business  of  this  description  to 
the  young  people,  who  have  to  prove  their  prowess." 

"  What  nonsense,"  said  the  Marchioness.  "  The 
fact  is,  1  think  I  should  be  amazingly  flattered  at 
such  a  proof  of  devotion  to  one  of  my  caprices. . . . 
and  perhaps. . .  .in  exchange  for  his  secret,  I  might 
confide  to  him  one  of  a  more  gentle  nature." 

Ceciie  blushed  deeply,  but  said  not  a  word,  then 
turning  towards  the  councellor,  she  was  about  no 
doubt  to  set  his  wits  to  works  in  the  discovery  of  the 
meaning  of  her  unconnected  phrases,  that  might 
pass  for  riddles,  when  the  marshal's  secretary 
entered,  and  placed  some  dispatches  in  his  hands, 
which  a  courier  had  that  instant  brought. 

M.  de  Castries  asked  permission  of  the  ladies  to 
open  the  letters,  and  not  being  able  to  restrain  his 
surprise,  he  soon  afterwards  read  the  contents  aloud. 
"  It  is  an  account  of  the  glorious  action  of  the 
Iphigenia,  commanded  by  Count  de  Kersaint,  he 
found  himself  in  the  night-time,  in  the  middle  of 
Admiral  Rodney's  squadron,  but  making  sail  in  good 
time,  although  pursued  by  three  Irigates,  he  had  an 
opportunity  of  engaging  and  capturing  them  all  suc- 
cessively." 

Scarcely  had  M.  de  Castries  done  reading,  when 
recollecting  that  this  news  must  be  unpleasant  to 
Sir  George. — 

"  I  beg  pardon,  Captain,"  said  the  Marshal,  "  but 
you  see  we  are  so  proud  of  any  advantage  we  ob'.ain 
over  your  nation,  that  this  news  has  turned  the  head 
of  an  old  soldier  like  me,  and  prevented  my  an- 
nouncing the  event  with  the  consideration  due 
to  your  position — that  is  my  excuse  Sir  George, 
will  you  accept  of  it?"  said  the  minister  in  the 
mildest  tone. 

Sir  George  hesitated,  reddened,  and  looked  at  the 
Marshal  with  astonishment. 

"He  does  not  understand  what  has  been  said," 
thought  Henry,  "and  how  pale  and  melancholy  he 
looks,  every  instant  he  knits  his  brows!  Egad  I 
an  like  the  ladies,  1  should  like  to  know  what  ails 
him." 

"  Allow  me  to  communicate  these  dispaches  to 
his  majesty,"  said  the  minister,  rising  from  the 
table. 


THE   WATCH    TOT  ;  vT-VF.: 


33 


The  company  returned  to  the  drawing  room. 

Henry  offered  his  hand  to  the  Marchioness,  and 
Cecile  took  that  of  the  counsellor. 

The  Baroness  was  choking  with  vexation,  for 
Henry  had  not  addressed  a  single  word  to  her  during 
the  whole  of  the  dinner-time. 

"Do  you  know  that  English  officer?"  said  the 
Count  to  the  Duke  de  St.  Ouen,  one  of  his  guests  at 
the  tower  of  Koat-Ven,  pointing  at  the  same  time 
towards  Sir  George. 

"  Well,"  replied  St  Ouen,  "  I  met  him  at  one  of 
Genlis'  parties,  he  had  a  long  game,  and  .1  good 
player  he  is — it  is  Sir  George  Gordon." 

"  The  devil ! — I  have  often  heard  talk  of  him,  it 
was  la  Jaille  who  took  his  brig — Sir  George  it  seems 
is  a  brave  sailor,  and  fights  like  a  lion,  introduce  me 


to  him,  I  should  like  to  become  acquainted  with 
him  ?" 

"Nothing  is  easipr,"  said  St.  Ouen — and  thay 
approached  Sir  George,  who  was  looking  abstva 
through  the  window. 

"All  is  for  the  best,"  said  Il.!<,,  to  himself, 
"Madame  de  Cernan  is  piqued — let  me  discover  Si, 
George's  secret,  and  she  is  mine."  Thinking  Uius 
he  drew  near  to  the  Englishman. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

DIFFERENT  MODF.S  OF  LEARNING  A   SECfirT. 

Sfarchiom  »s.  It  is  a  dangerous  po-t,  Marquis. 
Marquis.  We  have  plenty  of  courage. — GurviiF. 

j  "  Sir  George,"  said  St.  Ouen,  '  all  vn  me  to  intra- 


THE   vr.MI'TATION  ;   OS, 


duce  to  you,  before  you  leave,  one  of  my  intimate 

friends,  Count  tie  Vaudry,  lieutenant  in  his  majesty's 
navy,  and  one  who  has  an  anxious  desire  to  become 
acquainted  with  you.'' 

Then  bowing  to  Sir  George,  he  left  him  with  the 
Count. 

Englishman,  after  making  a  profound  how  to 
Henry,  looked  at  him  with  a  cold  and  chilling  ex- 
pression of  countenance,  and  said  nothing. 

"  Zounds,  Sir  George,''  said  Henry  with  hi 
customed  ease — "  I  was  much  vexed  at  the  indiscre- 
tion of  the  Marshal,  but  the  devil's  in  it  if  you  can- 
not forgive  us  our  success,  we  experienced  a  severe 
loss  in  capturing  you,  for  my  friend  the  Marquis  de 
ille,  received  two  desperate  wounds  from  a 
battle-axe,  and  saw  three- fourths  of  his  crew 
stretched  on  the  deck,  to  enable  him  to  have  the 
glorious  pleasure  of  capturing  your  highnMs'l  brig, 
the  Triumph,  I  believe." 

"  The  Triumph,  Count,"  answered  the  imperturb- 
able Englishman." 

"  Your  coolness,  Sir  George,  shall  not  prevent  my 
declaring  that  you  are  the  hero  of  one  of  the  bravest 
feats  of  arms  performed  during  the  war." 

"  If  it  is  as  you  are  kind  enough  to  say,  Count,  I 
had  sufficient  time  to  forget  it  during  my  cap- 

t:-.;ty." 

"  But  you  are  free  now,  Sir  George — free — and 


"  What  hare  you  to  say  tome,  count?"  replied 
the  Englishman  with  his  diabolical  sangfroid. 

"  Zounds  ! — I  have  to  tell  you. ..." 

"  I    .m  listening,  sir." 

And  Henry  seeing  his  advances  thus  iejected,  could 
think  of  no  other  means  of  learning  the  secret  he 
burned  to  know,  when  suddenly  a  most  luminous 
id'ja  came  into  the  head  of  this  pupil  of  Sufi'rcn. 

"  What  1  had  to  say,"  said  Henry  briskly,  "  what 
I  have  to  say ,  sir,  is,  I  should  like  to  hear  a  few  par- 
ticulars of  the  action  with  your  brig, — but  let  us 
leave  this  gallery  and  go  into  the  gardeti." 

They  went  out,  and  found  themselves  alone  upon 
the  esplanade  in  front  of  the  new  facade  of  the 
palace. 

The  Englishman  was  completely  at  a  loss. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  continued  Henry,  delighted  at  his  idea, 
"  my  friend,  the  Marquis  de  la  Jaille,  told  me  that 
you  caused  him  to  be  fired  upon,  at  the  very  instant 
he  came  on  board  your  vessel,  without  suspicion, 
seeing  that  you  had  struck  your  colours,  and  that 
this  infamous  conduct  alone  could  have  given  you 
any  advantage." 

Sir  George's  cheeks  reddened,  his  eyes  sparkled, 
and  he  replied,  but  still  calmly — 

"  The  Marquis  de  la  Jaille  lied,  count." 

"  Lied!"  exclaimed  Henry,  "lied!— do  you  know, 
sir,  this  is  almost  a  personal  insult,  considering  my 


i  look  sad  and  care-worn,  why  the  deuce  is  '  close  intimacy  with  la  Jaille?" 


"  Count!"  said  Sir  George  proudly. 

•'  Pardon  me,  Sir  George,  if  I  speak  thus  freely 
10  you,  as  sailors  and  young  men  ought  to  converse 
with  each  other. — Frankly  then,  I  shall  be  delighted 
if  you  will  allow  me  to  call  myself  one  of  your 
i.hnds,  for  by  heaven,  captain,  I  feel  I  should  have 
infinite  satisfaction  at  finding  myself  alongside  of 
your  vessel,  with  an  equal  force,  and  a  good  breeze, 
there  to  hold  a  parley,  bravely,  broad-side  after  broad- 
side." 

"You  do  me  too  much  honour,  Count,"  said  Sir 
George,  gravely. 

"  Zounds!  do  not  call  me  Count,  call  me  a  pre- 
sumptuous fellow,  a  madman,  an  ass,  if  you  will, 
hut  do  not  have  that  chilling  air,  Sir  George. 
This  is  how  you  wrong  me,  you  a  prisoner  and  a 
stranger — as  1  see  you  distressed  at  the  time  you 
ought  to  be  happy — as  you  are  of  my  own  age, 
my  own  profession,  my  own  rank  in  life,  I  ofTer  you 
my  services  at  first  sight — I  know  it  is  rather  out  of 
the  usual  course,  but  I  offer  you  my  friendship  as  a 
true  and  loyal  gentleman,  accept  it,"  and  Henry  ex- 
tended his  hand  cordially — Sir  George  took  it  and 
said  to  him,  still  coolly,  hut  with  a  slight  emotion, 
"  I  am  sensihle  of  the  proofs  of  interest  you  have 
shown  towards  me,  Count,  no  one  could  be  more  so, 
and  I  am  grateful  for  your  kind  feelings — what 
alone  pains  me  is,  that  I  do  not  feel  myself  in  a  situa- 
tion to  avail  myself  of  them,"  he  then  bowed  pro- 
foundly to  Henry  and  left  the  room. 

"  Bah !  he  is  mad,"  said  the  count ;  "  there  is 

something  very  repelling  in  his  physiognomy,  but  he 

much  aa  he  does  Madame 

de  Cernan, —  I  must  follow  him,  for  by  heaven  !    I 

now." 

And  battening  after  Sir  George,  Henry  found  him 

to  the  gallery  of 

I  nt  when  htwta  calling  his  aervanta. 

I  II'  nry,  taking  hiin  by  the  arm, 

■  ■•  m>-  in  this  manner,  you  shall 

listen  to  olutely  necessary  I  should  have 


some  e  with  jrofi  ;    1  have  to  tel!  you  I  the  care  of  the  surgeons. 


"Take  it  as  you  understand  it,  sir, — your  ques- 
tions also  have  for  a  long  time  been  insupportable." 
"  Sir,"  said  Henry,  "  follow  me, — there  must  be 
a  superb  moonlight  in  the  avenue  of  St.  Cloud,  we 
will  call  on  Prince  Monbarrey,  who  has  a  party  to- 
night, to  obtain  seconds." 

"  I  am  at  your  orders,  count,"  said  Sir  George, 
bowing. 

And  he  followed  Henry  to  the  Prince  Monbarrey's. 
It  will  be  a  great  misfortune  if  I  cannot  get  at  his 
secret,  for  really  this  Englishman  interests  me  amaz- 
ingly,  and   I   never   felt  such  lively  symptoms  of 
friendship. 

Arrived  at  the  Prince's,  Sir  George  met  with  Lord 
Fellows,  he  gave  him  a  short  account  of  the  business, 
and  two  minutes  afterwards  two  coaches  were  on  the 
road  to  Paris. 

In  one  Lord  Fellows  and  Sir  George. 
In  the  other  Henry  and  Rullecour. 
They  stopped  near  Chenil-Neuf. 
"  Whenever  you  please,  sir,"   said  Sir  George, 
placing  himself  before  Henry  ;  and  on  a  signal  from 
their  seconds  they  crossed  their  swords. 

Henry,  who  was  a  superior  fencer,  evidently  avoided 
aiming  at  Sir  George's  life,  his  intention  being  to 
wound  him  slightly,  but  the  moment  he  rested  on  his 
parade,  after  having  avoided  the  sword  of  his  ad- 
versary, the  latter  profited  by  the  lost  time,  and  dealt 
Henry  so  severe  a  thrust  that  it  brought  him  to  the 
ground. 

"  Enough,  enough!  gentlemen,"  said  the  seconds. 
"  Oh!  yes,  enough,"  said  Sir  George  looking  at 
Henry,  who  with  one  knee  on  the  ground  rested  on 
his  sword. 

"  Ah  !  sir,  sir !"  added  Sir  George,  "  why  did  you 
give  me  such  unreasonable  provocation?  I  assure 
you  on  my  honour  that  1  felt  towards  you  a  very 
different  feeling  from  hatred." 

"  Zounds!"  exclaimed  Henry  in  a  feeble  voice, 
".aid  1  also,  and  it  was  for  that  very  reason  that ... ." 
He  fainted. 
In  four  hours  he  was  in  his  hotel  at  Paris  and  under 


CHAPTER  X 


THE    SECRET. 

The  rudeness  that  hath  appeared  in  me,   have  I  learned 
from  my  entertainment.— Twhlftii  Night. 

The  day  after  the  duel  the  Count  do  Vaudry  was  in 
bed  and  asleep,  in  the  large  red  damask  chamber  in 
which  he  had  received  the  astronomer  with  so  much 
gaiety. 

Rumphius  was  also  there,  leaning  on  his  elbow, 
while  he  read  attentively  in  a  huge  folio,  and  at  the 
same  time  kept  turning  a  spoon  round  and  round  in   *" 
a  cup  placed  close  beside  him      nnn,mip''   *™   *'"'*  ' 


the  first  time  your  reputation  as  a  brave  seaman  was 
known  to  me,  and  it  is  to  the  admiration  I  felt  for 
your  courage  and  your  brilliant  action  that  I  attri- 
bute the  peculiar  interest  you  inspired  me  with  at 
first  sight.  Without  being  much  of  a  physiognomist. 
Sir  George,  I  saw  by  your  looks  that  you  was  op- 
pressed by  some  profound  sorrow. 

"  In  the  hopes  of  your  confiding  in  me  that  which 
might  have  enabled  me  to  be  useful  to  you  by  re- 
lieving your  sufferings,  I  made  several  advances  which 
were  very  properly  repelled,  for  you  was  not  suffici- 


ently acquainted  with  me  to  make  me  a  depository 

■  of  your  secret.     I  was  obliged,  therefore,  to  attempt 
Occupied  in   tins  i      *.,         ,         ,      ,      -,,  ,f     '  ,         ...  r 

*    -    ,,  l-uiAj    „      .•      'another  plan;  by  dreadfully  calumniating  my  poor 

manner,  the  worthy  philosopher  exhibited  an  action    _.    , ,    J?   T  '.,.  •       ,  J  .,  1         j 

iueiijiu.i,  me  «uiiuj  jiuiiuauj,  ,»!  friend,   La  Jaille,  who  more  than  anyone  else  ad- 

so  like  that  of  an  automaton,  that  Vaucanson  himself,  mhes>  brave        j  found  fte  mejms  of  crossi 

m         !  "words  with  you,  with  the  full  intention  of  not  wound" 

i  A.    i  ins  you,  but  keeping  myself  merely  on  the  defensive, 
moved  the  hand,  produced  a  rotary  motion  at  the  I  Tx&./ ^  _r  lT.°  _:.,.  _f  ,. 


.,    .  i  swords  with  you,  with  the  full  intention  of  not  wound- 
The  hand  that  moved  the  spoon,  and  the  arm  that .  but\-      ;      niyself  merely  on  the  defensive, 

moved  the  hand,  produced  a  rotary  motion  at  the    j^  {rue  j-  rJth%  J^  of  ]qJ    ffl    ,ife  at  ^ 
bottom  ot   the   cup,    which   could   not  but  effect  but  j.  am  in  the  habit  of  thinking  little  of  such 


wonders, 

In  the  name  of  heaven ;  what  have  you  been 
doing,  M.  Rumphius?"  said  Grosbois,  the  old  valet 
de  chambre,  with  a  look  of  horror,  at  the  same  time 
plucking  the  philosopher  by  the  sleeve. 

"What's  the  matter  ? — stop — I  have  just  finished 
— I  only  want  to  see  what  Father  Hortius  says  about 
Brahma,  and  what  he  thinks  of  the  treatise  on  Gou- 
rou,"  said  the  astronomer,  looking  vacantly  at 
Grosbois,  and  still  moving  the  spoon  round  the  cup 
with  marvellous  regularity. 

"  But,  M.  Rumphius,"  said  the  servitor,  "  it  is  of 
no  use  your  moving  the  spoon  round  the  cup,  there 
is  nothing  to  mix — see,  you  have  spilt  all  the  medi- 
cine by  the  side  of  you,  the  marble  is  all  covered 
with  it  and  so  is  the  carpet  also ;  it  is  my  fault,  it 
always  happens  when  I  ask  you  to  do  anything. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  at  any  rate,"  said  Rumphius, 
verifying  the  fact  with  an  incredibly  serious  look, 
"  I  have  thrown  it  all  out  of  the  cup. — Ah,  well ! 
Grosbois,  there  is  a  symbol  exactly  parallel  to  this 
in  the  Veikoula, — '  The  juice  of  the  palm  tree  over- 
flowed the  basin,'  says  the  grand  ritual  of  the  Brahma, 
the  Nittia-Carma,  the  juice  of  the  palm  tree. . . ." 

"  But  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  juice  of  the 
palm  tree  here,  M.  Rumphius,  it  is  nearly  an  hour 
since  the  count  took  his  medicine, — but  it  is  all  my 
fault,  it  always  happen-  thus  when  I  leave  you 
alone." 

"  Alone !  Grosbois,  alone ! — that  is  like  the  true 
Gourou,  he  must  be  alone  to  be  worthy  of  facing 
Visnou,  and.. . ." 

At  this  moment  Henry,  waking,  interrupted  the 
astronomer's  digression. 

"  Where  am  I  ? — what  o'clock  is  it .' — is  it  day  or 
night?"  asked  Henrj'. 

"At  length  he  speaks,"  said  a  voice,  and  Sir  George 
approached  the  wounded  man. 

"  By  heaven  !  Sir  George,  a  sight  of  you  does  me 
good, — what  a  devil  of  a  heavy  hand  you  have  !  but 
after  all  I  believe  it  is  nothing." 

"  No,  count,  no,"  said  Sir  George,  "  there  is  no 
danger,  the  surgeons  have  not  had  a  minute's  un- 
easiness, it  was  only  a  violent  blow  on  jneofthe  ribs, 
so  that  you  need  not  be  alarn  cd. — Adieu!  count,  1 
wished  to  see  you  before  I  left,  but  now  I  am  satisfied 
your  life  is  out  of  danger,  farewell !" 

"  You  are  going  to  England,  then  ?"  said  Henry. 
"  To  England,"  said  Sir  George  in  a  melancholy 
tone,  and  then  repeated,  "  Yes,  to  England 


game,  but  1  am  in  the  naDit  ot  minting 
trifling  inconveniences.  Perhaps,  Sir  George,  you  will 
now  ask  me  what  connection  there  is  between  this 
duel  and  the  interest  with  which  you  have  inspired 
me.  I  will  tell  you.  In  France,  captain,  when  two 
gentlemen  have  bravely  crossed  swords  with  each 
other,  they  become  friends  for  the  rest  of  their  lives, 
and  in  a  case  of  confidence  it  is  as  good  as  an  inti- 
macy of  twenty  years. 

"  Now,  therefore,"  added  the  count  smiling,  "  now, 
since  we  have  been  acquainted  with  each  other  for 
twenty  years,  do  you  think  I  am  worthy  of  being  the 
depository  of  your  secret?  for  you  possess  one — and 
you  suffer,  I  am  sure,  because  perhaps  you  need  a 
friend  to  confide  in." 

Sir  George  was  at  first  alarmed  at  so  much  gene- 
rosity and  delicacy,  and  taking  Henry's  hand  in  his 
own,  ne  looked  at  him  with  a  softened  expression  of 
countenance,  but  was  unable  to  utter  a  word. 

'•  So,  then,  Sir  George,"  continued  Henry,  "  if 
you  can  open  your  heart  to  me  without  dishonour  or 
betraying  a  sacred  promise,  do  so  in  the  name  cf 
friendship,  for  I  should  not  have  been  so  strangely 
obstinate  in  rendering  myself  worthy  of  your  confi- 
dence, had  I  not  felt  a  secret  presentiment  that  I 
could  be  useful  to  you.  Come,  then,  is  it  a  woman 
you  wish  to  get  rid  of? — I'll  carry  her  off  for  you. 
Is  it  a  troublesome  husband  ? — I  will  keep  him  out 
of  the  way.     Is  it . .  .  ." 

j  "  So  much  generosity  shall  not  be  lost,  count," 
I  said  Sir  George,  interrupting  Henry ;  "  since  you 
wish  to  know  my  secret,  which  ought  to  die  with  me, 
you  shall  know. — I  have  played,  sir,  played  on  my 
credit,  and  lost  a  considerable  sum — four  thousand 
louis.  Lord  Gordon,  my  father,  is  governor  of  tho 
Indies,  but  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  collect  sufficient 
money  to  pay  this  debt  of  honour  before  I  leave,  for 
I  ought  to  return  to  England  with  the  least  possible 
delay,  under  penalty  of  being  considered  a  coward. 
I  went  to  M.  de  Castries  in  the  hope  of  seeing  our 
ambassador — unfortunately  he  is  not  at  Versailles  ; 
in  him  only  could  I  have  confided,  our  family  con- 
nexions would  have  allowed  me  to  do  so.  That  is  my 
secret,  sir,  and  as  I  must  pay  this  debt  and  leave, 
which  I  cannot  do,  as  I  shall  be  dishonoured  to- 
morrow— this  night  will  I  blow  out  my  brains  !  Is  ow, 
since  you  know  all,  adieu  !  and  thanks  for  the  inter- 
est you  have  exhibited,  I  shall  die  satisfied  at  being 
regretted  by  one  more  friend." 

"  By  heavens  !  I  was  sure,"  cried  Hem; 
your  confidence  would  be  good  for  some  purrose, — 


"  Leave  us,"   said  Henry  to  Rumphius  and  his  I  ;t-not  for  v0llj  at  least  for  myself." 
valet  do  chai^brc—  then  addressing  the  captain—  sir  George  looked  at  the  count 

"  Listen  tome,  Sir  George, — when  I  saw  you  for  Irnent. 


with 


3d 


1H1      lLMPTATIOX  ;    OR, 


'•'  Certainly,— but  hold,  bttwcn  intimate  friends 
we  may  speak  in  a  business-like  way;  listen,  then, 
my  dear  George, — I  have  an  income  of  fifty  thousand 
crowns,  my  steward  it  an  hornet  man,  and  this  nearly 
doubles  my  fortune ;  in  the  eonne  of  two  jean  I  am 
six  months  on  shore,  and  I  need  throw  my  money 
out  of  the  window;  I  do  not  know  bow  it  is  but  I 
always  find  myself  some  thousands  of  louis  in  ad- 
vance. Besides  in  ease  of  ncccs>it_\ ,  there  i>  an  uncle 
of  mine  the  bishop  of  Surville.  immensely  rich,  and 
■  s  complaining  I  make  his  situation  of  uncle 
a  complete  sinecure.  See  now.  Sir  George, how  yon 
can  confer  a  great  obligation  on  me, — the  public  se- 
curities in  F  coming  rather  unsafe,  I  have 
for  a  long  time  had  a  desire  to  place  some  money  in 
the  British  East  India  Company's  stock  ;  as  your 
father  is  governor  of  those  possessions,  would  you  be 
good  enough  to  let  me  have  some  shares,  and  as  they 
must  be  paid  for  in  ready  cash,  1  will  give  you  a  check 
for  a  hundred  thousand  livres,  payable  at  sight,  on 
Bourctte,  the  farmer-general,  to  whom  you  can  send 
the  shares  from  England.  If  you  would  have  the 
extreme  kindness  to  take  this  little  business  in  hand 
for  mo 

Sir  George  seemed  about  to  speak. 

"  Do  not  refuse  mc'"  said  Henry  with  emotion, 
"  may  I  not  some  day  be  a  prisoner  in  England  my- 
'•clf.' — nay,  do  not  be  selfish,  Sir  George;  do  you 
hesitate  to  render  mc  this  service  .'  On  my  honour 
I  will  not  be  ungrateful,  if  I  can  find  an  opportunity 
at  any  time  to  be  useful  to  you  in  return." 

There  was  so  much  delicacy  in  the  manner  in 
which  this  oner  was  made,  that  Sir  George  was  un- 
able to  refuse  it. 

He  threw  himself  into  Henry's  arms. 

They  understood  each  other  at  oner,  and  Sir 
George  accepted  it. 

Sir  George  departed  for  England  the  same  day. 
after  having  paid  his  debt. 

Henry  left  alone,   said,  as  he    rubbed  his  hands, 

"  I   knew   I    should   learn    his    secret and    now 

Cicilc  is  mine !" 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

fHE   WOMAS    WITHOUT    A    HAVE. 

They  are  themselves  the  cause  of  what  they  most  dread... 

Oh  !  blessed  art  thou,  raging  despair,  mad  and  head- 
strong, that,  like  Roland,  Rarest  up  lofty  pines  by 
the  roots,  rending  the  rocks  and  scattering  them 
around !  thou  who  exultest  with  ferocious  joy  at  the 
light  of  thy  breast  bleeding  beneath  thy  sharp  nails, 
blessed  art  thou!  for  in  expending  thy  strength  and 
thy  spirits,  thou  weai'st  out  thyself,  and  death  or  pros- 
tration of  strength  follows  thy  delirium. 

But  thou,  calm  and  deep  despair,  that  filterrst 
slowly,  drop  by  drop,  without  ceasing — falling  in 
leaden  tears  upon  the  heart  !  thou,  whose  every  pul- 
iation is  a  cold  and  bitter  agony, — Oh!  be  thou 
accursed ! 

•  me,  there  is  something  dreadfully 
miserable  in  this  incurable  sorrow,  but  a  hundred 
times  more  miserable  stlU,  yon  fee]  ;.t  not 

being  abh   to  envelope  the  whole  world  along  with 

.       i    the    pale   shroud    in    which    the   soul    is 
swathed. 

We  dan-  ,lf/,  repeat  the  dreadful  thoughts  that 
ariie  .  .  .  anil  li   away  in  the  mind  of    Dch 

n  suffering  and  hati:  oman  like 

of  the  d  r  the  mad  and  joy- 


ous tumult  of  a  great  city,  at  the  6ight  of  splendid 
equipages  hastening  to  some  revel.  Oh,  God  !  what 
must  not  the  poor  creature  feel.  When  at  night  the 
distant  sounds  of  a  ball  or  conceit  die  away  on  her 
car  .' 

Oh  !  it  is  dreadful  to  imagine,  that,  while  you  are 
alone,  sad  and  despairing,  in  other  places  they  laugh, 
they  sing,  they  talk  of  love — of  pleasures  past  and  to 
come. 

Truly,  in  these  dark  paroxysms  of  misanthropy 
you  might  exclaim,  "  let  the  wish  of  Ni  ro  be  applied 
to  the  whole  world" — were  it  not  that  it  would  be 
nipping  your  revenge  in  the  bud. 

Rita  still  occupied  the  small  room  opposite  the 
hotel  Yaudry. 

She  was  alone  that  evening,  Perez  having  gone  to 
the  count's  to  ask  after  Henry's  health,  for  Rita  was 
already  acquainted  with  the  issue  of  the  duel. 

"  Let  Peres  come."  she  said,  "  I  await  him  with- 
out fear — my  presentiments  never  deceive  me.— He 
die  before  my  vengeance  is  complete  ! — can  it  be  .' 
do  I  not  hear  that  inward  voice  that  says  to  me.  he 
belongs  to  thy  vengeance,  body  and  soul  ?  are  not 
these  wishes  so  strong,  so  absolute,  that  they  will, 
so  to  speak,  order  events  ? — perhaps  you  will  say,  it 
is  madness  ;  yes,  I  believe  he  cannot  die,  because  I 
wish  it,  not  because  the  time  for  his  death  has  not 
arrived,  and  in  this  conviction  consists  my  power — 
this  conviction  is  my  strength — it  supports  me,  it 
enlightens  me,  it  gives  mc  an  incredible  confidence 
in  the  future, — this  conviction,  in  fine,  gives  me  that 
immense  power  which  every  being  who  has  faith  in 
his  mission,  as  I  ...  ." 

At  this  instant  Perez  entered. 

"  By  heaven !  duchess,  he  is  saved,  his  wound  was 
of  no  account." 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  Rita,  calm  and  collected,  "  such 
must  be  the  case  ;  but,  Perez,  since  his  life  is  safe, 
we  must  now  think  about  executing  our  projects,  be- 
sides, everything  is  ready  to  ensure  our  success  ; — 
perhaps  there's  justice  above,  but  I  prefer  to  play  my 
part  here  on  earth,  it  is  more  certain — and  by  my 
hatred,  never  was  avenging  deity  more  implacable ; 
listen,  then — I  have  no  fear. 

"  If  I  had  intended  to  avenge  myself  in  a  sudden 
and  incomplete  manner,  1  would  have  killed  him; 
but  I  did  not  wish  it,  I  had  rather,  as  I  have  said, 
that  an  implacable  fatality  should  pursue  him  with- 
out ceasing,  and  surround  him  with  a  circle  of 
horror,  that  no  one  should  dare  to  break  through  it, 
or  lend  a  friendly  hand  to  the  proscribed  one.  He 
shall  live,  Perez — he  shall  live,  but  alone,  isolated, 
banished  in  the  midst  of  the  world,  for  seeing  thai 
fate  has  stricken  without  pity  all  who  have  dared  to 
approach  him.  this  wretch,  whose  love  and  friend- 
ship arc  mortal — say,  Perez,  who  will  dare  to  convey 
to  him  a  single  word  of  hope  or  consolation  ?" 

•  But  this  vengeance  is  dreadfully  horrible,  ma- 
dame." 

"  Yes,  yes,  horrible — as  horrible  as  it  is  just;  but 
tell  me,  what  would  you  think,  Perez,  if  you  were 
told — '  In  three  days  thy  friend,  thy  mistress,  and 
thy  living  relation  only,  shall  be  dead  V  dead  because 
they  loved  thee — dead  because  they  were  connected 
witii  thee — dead  because  a  fatal  influence  over  all 
that  surround  thee,  follows  thee,  and  will  for  evi  i 
follow  thee;  perhaps  you  would  laugh,  Perez — von 
would  my  they  are  the  words  of  a  lunatic — but  if, 
three  days  after  you  had  said  so,  thy  friend, thy  mr- 
.  and  thy  relative  were  dead,  would  yon  laugh 
thi  d,  P(  i 

••  w  hat  do  you  mean,  madam  I" 

"  Would  you   laugh   if  the  inexplicable  and  sud- 


THL    WATCH    TOWER   OF  KOAT-VEN. 


den  death  of  a  relative,  immensely  rich,  to  whom 
you  were  sole  heir,  were  to  let  suspicion  rest  upon 
you  ?  Would  you  laugh,  if  insinuations,  cunningly 
devised,  gave  by  degrees  a  greater  appearance  of 
truth  to  those  calumnies  ?  If,  in  fact,  well  con- 
trived appearances  should  become  sufficiently  pre- 
cise to  point  you  out  as  the  murderer,  although  you 
could  not  be  openly  accused,  and  thus  afforded  an 
opportunity  of  rebutting  the  charge  '! 

"  And  if,  by  some  inexplicable  chance,  thy  friend, 
thy  mistress,  should  die  at  the  predicted  time,  and 
that  because  they  were  connected  with  thee  ...  would 
you  laugh  ?  then  when  a  low  rumour  should  run 
through  the  world  and  point  at  you  with  terror, 
seeing  that  all  that  you  had  either  loved  or  envied 
were  dead— and  when,  thyself,  unable  to  compre- 
hend the  infernal  secret,  seeing  so  many  circum- 
stances united  against  thcewouldst  be  forced  to  ac- 
knowledge, the  judgment  of  the  world,  false  and  atro- 
cious though  it  might  be,  nevertheless,  logical, 
natural,  and  true — in  seeing  the  reprobation  and 
horror  attached  to  thy  name — in  seeing  thyself,  so 
young,  so  handsome,  so  rich,  and  covered  with  glory 
— yet,  neglected,  almost  banished  from  that  world 
that  lay  at  thy  feet !  ....  Oh  !  then,  would  you  not 
lose  your  senses  in  striving  to  unravel  the  inexpli- 
cable mystery  of  the  fate  that  crushed  thee  ?  Would 
it  not  be  a  ceaseless  punishment,  ...  a  cruel  and 
dreadful  punishment?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  cruel — but  it  is  a  dream,  madamc." 

"  No!  it  shall  not  be  a  dream.  Perez.  It  shall 
be  a  reality  for  him — but  a  reality  as  fearful  as 
the  most  horrible  dream,  that  ever  tortured  a  man 
m  the  delirium  of  a  fever.  Listen — according  to 
the  information  you  have  received,  Chevalier  de 
Lepine,  his  most  devoted  friend,  his  guest  at  the 
tower,  pays  a  visit  daily  to  Madame  Valentinois,  at 
Passy  ;  he  goes  on  horseback,  followed  by  a  single 
rider." 

"  Every  day,  madame?" 

"  You  can  obtain  an  interview  with  that  girl — 
that  Leila — she  also  was  there." 

"Yes,  madame." 

"  His  uncle,  the  Bishop  of  Surville,  is  about  to 
take  his  nephew  down  to  his  country  seat,  to  perfect 
the  cure  of  his  wound." 

"  Yes,  madame." 

*  The  Princess  de  Vaudemont  gives  a  ball  the  day 
after  to-morrow  in  her  pleasure  grounds." 

"  Yes,  madame." 

"  This  then  is  my  plot.  The  Count  de  S  .  Ger- 
maine  has  made  magic  quite  the  rage — none  of 
these  fetes  are  perfect  without  a  conjuror  to  amuse 
the  world  by  his  prophecies,  Find  out  the  prin- 
cess' steward,  tell  him  that  an  Italian  will  offer  him- 
self to  undertake  the  character." 

"  Yes,  madame." 

"  I  will  be  that  Italian — my  costume  will  be  a 
sufficient  disguise ;  the  whole  court  will  be  at  this 
fete.  lie,  who  belongs  to  the  princesses'  circle,  will 
be  there ; — I  do  not  for  an  instant  doubt  that  he  will 
apply  to  me  to  have  his  fortune  told — this  is  all  the 
fashion,  and  he  is  at  the  top  of  the  fashion — then  do 
you  see,  Perez,  I  will  say  to  him — 

"  Thy  star  is  fatal  to  all  those  you  love  or  whose 
fortune  you  envy.  In.  three  days  thy  friend,  Leila, 
and  thy  uncle,  the  bishop  of  Surville,  will  be  dead, 
thus  thy  hatred  killed  thy  brother,  thy  love  was  fata) 
to  the  duchess." 

"At  hearing  these  words  yon  may  well  imagine 
his  scornful  laugh — but  if  thou  art  devoted  to  me, 
Perez,  three  days  afterwards  my  prediction  will  be 
fulfilled." 


"  I  wait  your  orders,  madame." 

"  Well,  then,  listen; — the  chevalier  de  Lepine — 
you  know,  Perez — his  friend,  an  honourable  gentle- 
man, who  so  nobly  joined  in  the  league  against  a 
poor  woman  .  .  .  this  chevalier.  L  say,  when  he  got 
to  Passy  to  Madamc  de  Valentinois,  passes  by 
several  deep  and  silent  quarries,  he  is  almost  always 
alone." 

"  True,  madamc,"  answered  Perez,  with  a  sin- 
gular smile,  he  almost  always  leaves  unattended. 

"  Then  stroking  the  monstrous  head  of  the  large 
gray  hound  with  long  gray  hair — "  And  here  is 
Etrick  who  has  seized  more  than  one  bull  by  the 
throat ;  believe  me,  madame,  a  single  word,  a  single 
sign  from  me,  and  this  brave  dog  will  seize  the 
horse  by  the  throat,  or  the  haunches — and,  if,  at 
such  a  moment  the  horse  of  the  chevalier  should  be 
moving  along  a  dangerous  pathway,  a  steep  quarry 
for  instance  ....  there  will  be  considerable  danger, 
madamc,  and  the  death  of  the  chevalier  certain.  .  ." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  I  know  that  El  rick  is  a  brave  dog  of 
the  Sierra,"  said  Rita,  in  a  low  tone,  then,  after 
a  moment's  silence — "  But  this  girl,  Perez,  thi^ 
Leila?" 

"  She  imagines  (hat  I  am  a  very  rich  Peruvian, 
madamc ;  I  have  given  her  money,  and  have  pro- 
mised her  so  much  more,  that  she  has  agreed  to 
receive  me  to-morrow.  And  you  know,  madame, 
the  poisons  of  Jose  Ortez  arc  certain,  leave  no 
traces,  and  have  no  effect,  until  after  a  certain  time, 
which  you  may  yourself  fix,  by  increasing  or  dimin- 
ishing the  dose." 

"  Good,"  said  Rita,  in  a  pleased  tone  ;  "  and  as 
to  the  bishop  .  .  .  ."  but  she  suddenly  stopped, 
passed  her  hand  across  her  forehead,  and  trembled 
as  she  exclaimed — "  As  to  the  bishop,  oh  !  but  it  is 
horrible,  Perez,  this  girl  was  at  least  there — she — to 
witness  how  dreadfully  he  had  deceived  me — the 
chevalier  was  also  there — so  that  they  are  his  accom- 
plices; death  and  vengeance,  therefore,  be  their  lot 
— the  lot  of  both — each  in  their  turn !  But  he, 
this  poor  old  man,  what  injury  has  he  done  me  ? — 
why  should  he  be  my  victim  ?  Oh  !  how  frightful 
it  is,  dreadful  to  think  of,  Perez  !" 

And  Rita,  concealing  her  bead  witli  her  hands, 
trembled  violently  .  .  .  then  she  suddenly  raised  her 
head,  and  with  sparkling  eyes,  paced  the  room. 

"Weak-hearted  that  I  am,"  she  exclaimed,  "  T 
speak  of  pity — I  believe  in  it  ...  .  Pity!  had  they 
it  for  me,  when  abusing  the  purest  and  most  devoted 
love  they  spat  in  my  face,  they  trampled  me  under- 
foot ?  .  .  .  Pity !  had  I  pity  for  myself  when  I  made 
myself  horrible,  when  I  caused  myself  to  be  con- 
sidered dead  .'  And  I — shall  I  have  pity  for  an  old 
man,  whose  death  will  be  so  fatal  to  him — because  it 
will  be  remarked  by  all,  how  quickly,  and  at  the 
proper  moment  those  die  whose  property  he  is  heir 
to.  Thus  they  will  ask  themselves,  also,  how  his 
elder  brother  died  while  he  was  in  France ;  he .'  no, 
no  !  come  what  will,  my  vengeance  shall  hold  its 
course  ;  misfortune  fall  on  all  that  stand  in  my 
way ! 

"  So  no  more  scruples,  Perez,  no,  let  us  follow 
the  Bishop  of  Surville  to  his  country  seat — once 
there,  in  the  village,  by  means  of  gold,  you  or  1  can 
contrive  to  see  him.  and  then,  Pore/  ..." 

At  this  instant  the  door  of  the  room  was  stricken 
violently. 

They  heard  the  sound  of  the  butt  ends  of  muskets 
as  they  were  rested  on  the  ground — and  a  loud  voice 
exclaimed — "  In  Hie  King's  ;i<trac  open  !" 


THE    TEMPTATION  ;    OR* 


R   XVIII. 
I  HE       COMMISSARY. 

;  -.cellent  police  of  Lycur^us,  truly  monstrous  on 
account  of  its  creat  perfection,  is  worthy  of  the  most  par- 
ticular notice  — Moxtacoe. 

Rita'"  little  room  found  itself  t.iken  possession  of 
by  about  twenty  soldiers  of  the  watch,  and  a  sergeant 
with  his  halbert — some  of  them  pointing  to  Rita 
spoke  in  a  low  voice,  while  others  silently  pointed  to 
the  various  articles  of  furniture. 

A  roan  of  ■  mean  appearance,  fat  and  dirty,  and 
clothed  in  a  black  gown  spattered  with  mud,  was 
seated  at  a  small  table— it  was  the  commissary. 

Perez  and  Rita  were  standing  before  him. 

"  Your  names?"  said  the  man  in  black,  in  a  harsh 
voice. 

"  Perez  dc  Sibeyra,"  answered  Perez. 

"  What  are  you  ?" 

"  A  merchant." 

"Oh!  a  merchant!  that's  rather  high  sounding; 
a  pretty  merchant,  indeed ! — but  let  mc  see  your 
papers." 

"  1  have  none,  I  have  lost  them.*' 

"  I  suspected  as  much  ;"  then  addressing  himself 
to  Rita,  '•  And  you.  my  beauty — come,  come,  take 
away  your  hands,  and  don't  hide  your  pretty  face, — 
now  then,  your  name  ? — what,  will  you  not  speak?" 
said  the  msn  in  office  rudely,  and  half  raising  him- 
relf  he  tried  to  remove  the  hands  of  the  duchess,  who 
still  concealed  her  face. 

"  "Wretch !  lay  net  your  hands  on  her,  do  you  J 
bear  !"  exclaimed  Perez,  flinging  himself  on  the  I 
commissary. 

"  Seize  this  man  and  handcuff  him,"  said  the 
iattcr  coolly. 

And  they  placed  the  handcuffs  on  his  wrists. 

And  the  man  in  black  addressing  Rita — "  And 
you,  my  lady — what,  you  will  not  let  us  see  your 
face '  .  .  .  .  Bah !  you  have  good  reason  to  hide  it, 
you  arc  no  beauty  :  but  come,  your  name,  and  what 
are  you?" 

"  Rita's  cheeks  were  on  fire,  and  her  eyes  darted 
flame,  but  she  answered  not. 

"  You  persist  in  your  silence  ? — very  well,  we  shall 
tee  whether  the  dicipline  of  St.  Lazarus,  and  the  cor- 
r«ction  inflicted  on  the  obstinate,  will  have  more 
power  than  my  words.  Once  at  the  Hvpilal,  and 
you  will  decide,  my  girl." 

"  The  Hopital  .'—she— she,— Oh  !  it  is  dreadful !" 
exclaimed  Perez,  and  he  wept. 

"  Indeed,  and  why  not  for  her,  then,  as  well  as  for 
•thers  like  her  !     Oh,  indeed !  she  must  be  handled 

Ssntly,  must  she  ? — why  not  call  her  a  duchess  ? 
ome,  secure  her  hands  as  you  have  those  of  her  ac- 
complice, and  take  care  of  jour  pockets,  she's  a  dex- 
terous thief." 

"  Touch  me ! — you  dare  not,"  said  Rita,  advancing 
with  such  an  air  of  dignity  that  the  man  of  law  was 
was  for  an  instant  thunder- struck. 

Then  recovering  hiinis"lf — "  Upon  my  word,  she 
gives  herielf  the  airs  of  a  princess :  come,  Drake  an 
end  of  it — secure  her." 

Two  soldiers  approached  lie;. 

Perez  flung  hims-elf  upon  his  knees  and  said,  while 
t^ars  rolled  down  his  cheeks — "  lor  pity's  sake, 
madame,  let  them  do  it." 

Rita  grew  deadly  pale,  stretched  out  her  hands, 
and  only  said  in  a  low  and  suppressed  voice,  "  Oh ! 
Henry,  Henry  '■" 

"  But  it  Ua.t  tell  01  of  wbal  j  on  ."  said 

Pans, 


"  Vo:i  arc  curious,  then — but  if  you  are  so,  the 
nant  of  police  has  been  as  curious  as  you.  When 
you  and  your  companion  came  to  Paris,  you  were 
suspected,  and  have  been  watched  ;  you  were  con* 
stantly  going  and  coming,  gold  was  distributed  in 
every  direction,  you  were  for  ever  spyiug  into  the 
concerns  of  persons  of  the  highest  consideration,  in 
fact,  everything  that  could  declare  the  worst  inten- 
tions— so,  my  little  birds  of  St.  Lazarus,  we  have 
taken  you  to-day. — But  now  give  me  the  keys  of  this 
desk." 

"  I  have  them  not.  ' 

"  Open  this  desk,"  said  the  commissary,  "  1  must 
take  an  inventory  of  all  that  is  here,  for  I  hate  a 
strong  suspicion  that  this  honest  couple  are  receivers 
of  stolen  goods." 

The  sergeant  burst  the  lock  of  the  desk  by  a  blow 
of  his  halbert. 

And  the  commissary  opened  the  casket  that  con- 
tained the  immense  sums  Rita  had  realized  in  gold 
and  bills  on  the  bank  of  England. 

"Ah!  I  have  found  the  nest,"  he  exclaimed,  his 
eyes  beaming  with  pleasure,  "  a  manifest  robbery, — 
where  did  you  obtain  this  enormous  sum,  wretches?" 

"It  is  my  property,  I  am  a  merchant,"  said 
Perez. 

"  Aye,  aye,  your  property  ! — here,  officer,  place 
the  seals  upon  all  you  find  here,  and  upon  this  casket, 
which  I  must  carry  to  the  lieutenant  of  police ; — as 
for  these  birds,  the  cage  is  waiting  for  them — and 
perhaps  the  gallows,  for  the  devil  only  knows  where 
they  can  have  obtained  all  this  gold,  unless  some 
murder  has  been  committed." 

"  For  the  last  time,  sir,"  said  Perez,  "  I  protest, 
I  declare  in  the  lace  of  heaven,  that  this  money 
honestly  belongs  to  me;  and  besides,  if  there  be  a 
robbery,  madame  is  innocent, — this  gold  is  mine, 
mine  alone.  As  to  the  proceedings  that  have  awak- 
ened the  suspicion  of  the  authorities,  they  are  mine 
alone, — keep  me  prisoner,  but  release  the  lady." 

"  Is  there  a  coach  ready  ?"  said  the  commissary 
without  answering  Perez. 

"  Yes,  commissioner,"  said  the  sergeant. 

"  Convey  these  two  accomplices  to  a  place  of 
safety,  whilst  I  and  the  officer,  with  the  assistance  of 
two  of  your  people,  complete  the  inventory  of  all 
these  things." 

And  Rita  was  conveyed  to  the  Hopital,  and  Perez 
to  St.  Lazarus. 

This  was  extremely  cruel,  I  consider,  when  she 
was  about  to  accomplish  her  vengeance  by  so  ex- 
cellent a  plot. 

But  unfortunately,  conspirators,  lovers,  poeti,  oi 
dealers  in  vengeance,  like  Rita,  almost  always  forget 
the  simplest  and  most  common  precautions,  whilst 
they  are  straying  in  the  midst  of  their  pleasant 
schemes. 

But  such  is  the  excellent  arrangement  of  the  po- 
lice, that  they  would  attack  the  hermit  on  hia  rock 
to  ask  him  for  bis  papers,  for  there  is  an  epoch  in 
civilization  when  no  man  can  become  a  misanthrope 
without  permission  of  the  authorities. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

CAPRICE. 

A  woman  is  like  a  bird. 
Figure  to  yourself  a  boudoir  hung  with  white  satin, 
damasked  with  large  pink  flowers,  and  fringed  with 
great  pearls  set  in  a  delicate  border  of  silver.  The 
window  panes  also  tinged  with  red,  in  imitation  of 
pread  a  myaterioui  and  lovely  tone 


inn  watch  'iowr.ii  01   koat-vi;.n. 


is 


over  the  whole  of  this  delightful  apartment,  a  rosy  I  Luckily  her  servants  having  heard  the  infernal 
light,  like  the  dawn  of  a  beautiful  summer's  day.  i  noise,  ran  to  her  assistance;  they  unlaced  her  and 
This  boudoir  was  crowded  with  those  useless  for-  inundated  her  with  Hungary  water,  and  Cecile  soon 
eign  curiosities,  so  much  in  fashion  at  the  time, —  recovered  her  senses  and  became  gradually  more 
there  were  China  vases  in  green  and  gold  porcelain,  I  quiet. 

tilled  with  fresh  and  sweet  scented  flowers.  Japanned  j      One   of  her   women   remained  behind  with  the 
ware  in  red  and  black,  Japan  images  the  most  frightful   baroness,  and  then  retired,  after  giving  her,  in  the 

ii- •     - 1  -*_: ]...:.l.  .1 «...:_  i .1..  .  .       •  >-..      ,"..        °  .  .    .     — 


you  could  imagine,  and  striped  with  the  most  violently 
contrasted  colours. 

On  a  porphyry  mantlepiece  might  also  be  seen  cu- 
lious  Chinese  vases  of  painted  glass,  which  had  cost 
as  much  as  a  hundred  louis  each,  and  in  addition  to 
these,  objects  of  more  real  utility  completed  the  fur- 
niture of  this  delicious  retreat.  There  was  a  magni- 
ficent harpsichord  by  Marchand,  a  harp  by  Legris, 
which  at  that  time  Was  considered  extremely  valu- 
able. 

The  divinity  of  this  temple  (old  style)  was  softly 
extended  on  a  large  circular  couch  ...  .It  was  the 
Baroness  Cernan. 


most  mysterious  manner,  a  little  billet,  which  Cecile 
threw  into  the  fire  as  soon  as  she  saw  the  seal,  but 
she  soon  had  a  desire  to  look  at  it  again,  and  drew 
it  from  the  grate  at  the  risk  of  burning  her  fingers. 

This  letter,  although  in  the  first  instance  rejected 
with  disdain,  was  nevertheless  a  love-letter,  but  of* 
love,  although  ardent,  so  pure,  so  disinterested,  so 
full  of  extacy,  that  not  only  would  a  mother  have 
been  unoffended,  but  any  reasonable  husband  would 
have  felt  himself  highly  flattered. 

This  platonic  and  extraordinary  lover  was  never- 
theless lieutenant  colonel  of  the  Burgundian  regiment 
of  infantry,  then  in  garrison  at  Nevers.     He  cora- 


Never  did  her  pretty  features,  so  variable   and   plained  of  Cecile's  silence  for  the  last  few  days,  and 


capricious,  exhibit  so  obstinate  and  ill-tempered  an 
expression.  You  could  easily  see  that  the  feelings 
oi'  this  sensitive  lady  were  highly  wrought  up  and 
irritated. 

Dressed  in  a  simple  white  robe,  and  a  head-dress 
offrimas  with  long  lappets  she  was  perfectly  charming. 

She  was  reading  in  a  little  book,  bound  in  red 
morocco  and  gilt. 

After  a  few  minutes  she  flung  the  book  away  from 
her. 

Then  Cecile  arose,  ran  to  the  harpsichord,  and 
began  the  new  romance  of  M.  Laborcle,  which  was 
then  quite  the  rage. 

After  having  played  a  few  notes  she  shut  the  harpsi- 
chord in  a  passion,  being  unable  to  utter  a  note,  and 
her  fingers  strayed  at  random  over  the  keys,  she  tore 
up  the  music  book  and  trampled  it  under  her  feet, 
stamped  upon  it,  knocked  her  little  hand  on  the 
instrument,  and  running  to  hide  her  head  in  the 
cushions  of  the  sofa,  exclaimed,  "  How  wretched  I 
am!" 

Five  minutes  afterwards  she  screamed  with  laugh- 
ter, holding  her  little  dog,  Zerbina,  in  her  lap — one 
of  those  tiny  spaniels  with  long  silky  ears. 

Madame  de  Cernan  made  a  head-dres9  for  Zer- 
bina, with  a  pink  ribbon,  and  although  Zerbina  was 
by  nature  pettish  and  srappish,  she  allowed  it  to  be 
done  without  grumbling ;  but  suddenly  Cecile  be- 
came angry,  struck  Zerbina  with  the  back  of  her  litte 
white  hand,  threw  her  to  a  distance,  and  went  to  seat 
herself  at  a  table  covered  with  drawing  materials. 

Here  her  proceedings  assumed  a  new  form. — I 
know  not  what  design  arose  beneath  Cecile's  pencil, 
but  after  a  few  apparently  unsuccessful  attempts,  the 
paper  flew  into  the  air,  together  with  the  box  of 
crayons,  and  fell  upon  one  of  the  green  Chinese 
vases  which  it  knocked  down,  the  pieces  rolling  over 
the  magnificent  Turkey  carpet. 

When  she  saw  the  fragments  of  this  precious  vase, 
Cecile's  anger  was  at  its  height,  and  she  fell  into 
one  of  those  fits  of  mad  rage  very  much  practised  by 
pretty  and  fantastic  ladies,  or  spoilt,  children,  who 
having  in  a  fit  of  passion  broken  one  object,  follov. 
it  up  by  breaking  ten,  twenty — every  thine  that  re- 
mains, only  leaving  off  when  wearied  out; — as  the 
soldier  drunk  with  slaughter,  never  ceases  until  his 
arm  can  no  longer  strike  a  blow. 

Cecile  gave  herself  up  to  that  rather  illogical  idea, 


was  longing  to  receive  a  letter,  his  only  hope  and 
only  consolation ! 

Cecile  crumpled  the  billet  and  again  threw  It  into 
the  fire. 

"  I  am  always  unhappy,"  she  said,  '■'  here  is  M. 
St.  Cyr  who  truly  loves  me,  one  of  the  most  elegant 
and  amiable  men  I  know.  I  never  granted  him  any 
favours,  and  he  never  asked  anything ;  he  possesses 
humility  and  love  without  a  parallel. — Ah !  no,  it  is 
not  that, — in  spite  of  myself  I  must  find  something 
to  do  .  .  . ." 

At  this  instant  a  valet  do  chambre  entered—"  A 
messenger  from  the  Count  de  Vaudry  has  ju3t  brought 
this  letter  for  the  baroness,"  and  he  handed  Cecile  a 
letter. 

"  Leave  the  room,"  she  said,  taking  the  letter 
eagerly.     She  read  it,  it  was  from  Henry. 

"  At  dinner  at  Marshal  Castries',  you  said,  '  How 
I  should  like  to  know  the  cause  of  the  rcelaachoiy 
look  of  that  Englishman,  how  I  long  to  know  his 
secret.'  These  words,  of  little  importance  to  you, 
but  precious  in  my  eyes,  1  remembered.  The  secret, 
I  have  discovered  it. — when  shall  I  communicate  it 
to  you  1" 

"This,  then,  was  the  cause  of  his  duel!"  es- 
claimed  the  baroness,  '•  and  it  was  for  rne, — ior  rare 
who  thought  myself  despised  ! — Oh,  I  shall  become 
foolish  with  pride  !" 

Then  running  to  the  table,  she  wrote  in  haste  the 
following  words, — "  Without  an  instant's  delay."' — 
rang  the  bell,  and  said  to  the  servant,  "  for  M.  i: 
Vaudry." 

Scarcely  had  the  servant  gone  when  she  trembled 
at  the  rash  answer  she  had  sent  to  Henry.  This 
sensitive  and  lively  woman  having  yielded  to  the 
first  movement  of  joy,  surprise  and  pleasure,  whec 
she  recovered  her  sell-possession,  perceived  ihe  dan- 
ger of  her  conduct. 

And  she  cried  with  vexation,  and,  according  to 
custom,  concentrated  all  hor  rage  on  him  who  had 
led  her  to  act  as  she  had  done. 

For,  by  a  singular  contradiction,  perhaps,  if  she 
loved  Henry  as  a  leer,  she  hated  him  as  a  man. 

From  this  it  appears  wa  deceive  ourselves  when 
we  imagine  that  women  love  a  man  precisely  en  ac- 
count of  the  number  of  his  treacheries  to  other  women, 
they  have  too  much  of  the  esprit  de  corps  for  that. 

There  is,  I  think,  more  cuiiosity  than  lovein  their 
that  it  is  necessary  to  continue  breaking  because  you  j  behaviour,  of  injured  female  pride,  a  vain  hop 
have  broken  ;    so,  when  she  had  destroyed  all  she  I  vengeance,  or  a  confidence  in  their  own  su-periontv. 
could,  for  want  of  something  better  to  do,  she  fainted  1  that  places  them  above  the  rest  of  their  sex.     Jr. 
away.  '  givi.ig  the  traitor  power,  the;.-  know,  c  r  I 


that  she  will  not  be  deceived  like  others,  because  she   had  seated  himself  on  a  footstool  at  Cecile'a  feet 


M 


Tiir  i r:\irT\no\- ;  ok, 


diey  ax^tore  a  complete  influenoe  over  hiro,  onshich  |  reputation  whose  fatal  tctat  raised  a  dread  in  youi 
;hey  calculate  to  avenge  the  eommon  cause.  An  I  souL  1'erhaps,  I  said,  she  only  sees  a  common  love, 
admirable  devotedness.   Unfortunately,  if  the  traitor ,  in  the  burning  passion  by  which  1  am  led  on,  when 

should  be  amiable  ;  and  this  is  sometimes  the  case  ;    it  is,  in  tact,  the   tirst,  the  only  true  love  I  ever  fell 


^elf-love  is  combined  with  it.  and  the  woman,  for- 
getting the  vengeance  of  all  in  her  own  individual 
happiness,  flatters  herself  with  the  pleasing  illusion 


,  Cecile,  believe 
A  loud  burst  of  laughter  from  the  baroness  in- 
terrupted   the   amorous    speech  of  the   count,  who 


is  more  deserving  than  others,  and  one  day  she  also 
is  undeceived,  and  funis  herself  an  injured  woman. 

Cecile,  therefore,  was  in  a  stale  of  cruel  agony, 
sometimes  she  promised  herself  to  receive  Henry 
with  disdain,  and  laugh  at  his  impertinent  confi- 
dence. 

At  others  she  decided  upon  being  kind  and  con- 
descending, and  at  least  to  thank  him  for  the  chival- 
rous originality,  which  had  induced  him  to  risk  his 
life  on  account  of  a  random  word  of  hers,  but  to  ir- 
fiise  him  everything,  even  hope. 

In  the  midst  of  these-  contradictory  feelings  M.  de 
Vaudrv  was  announced. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

r  11  r.     intervi  r.  w. 

An  unforseen  event. — Moxtaigsf.. 

■  That,  then,  was  Sir  George's  secret,"  said  Cecile 
to  Henry,  who  was  seated  by  his  side,  "  the  secret 
\ou  was  not  afraid  to  tear  from  him  at  the  risk  of 
your  life — and  that  to  satisfy  a  vain  caprice,  on  mj 
account   i] 

"  Yes,  on  yours  alone,  Cecile.  Oh  !  pardon  me, 
but  allow  me  to  call  you  Cecile — madame  is  so 
distant,"  replied  Henry,  in  a  gentle  and  submissive 
tone,  seeing  the  suqjrise  of  the  baroness,  who  said 
to  him  with  a  distant  air — 

"  You  forget  yourself,  count." 

"  No,  it  was  not  forgetfulness,  it  is  a  habit  1  have  ;  dons— you  refused  to  do  so — the  case  is  simple 
acquired,  and  upon  my  word,  1  do  not  know  how  to  j  I  laugh  at  it — still  more  plain;  for  in  my  idea,  no 
avoid  it — in  the  first  place  it  is  so  pleasant,  and  then  j  man,  unless  he  is  a  simpleton,  will  be  vexed  at  what 
I  have  been  so  long  accustomed  to  it."  a    woman   is    no    longer  inclined  to,  or  no    longer 

'•  How!"  |  wishes  for.'" 

"  Certainly,  ever  since   i  fust  saw  you,  since   I        !i  And  what  is  that  then,  sir  ?"  said  the  Baroness, 


In  spite  of  these  immoderate  tits  of  laughter, 
Henry's  features  expressed  nun."  astonishment  than 
vexation,  and  he  threw   himself  on  a  sofa,  carelessly 

arranging  the  frill  of  his  shirt. 

"A  bunt  of  merriment  like  tint,  baroness,  is 
enough  to  disconcert  a  poor  lover;  but  really,  on 
my  honour,  you  are  too  severe — for  never  in  my 
life  did  I  make  a  better  harangue  of  first  love  except 
to  a  Quakeress  in  America,  and  on  another  occasion 
to  a  burgomaster's  daughter;  hut  tell  me,  pray, 
what  made  you  so  merry  V 

Cecile  laughed  still  louder,  and  said — "  Why  is 
!  it  not  extremely  amusing,  count,  tint  you,  a  man  of 
j  such  fatal  reputation — you,  the  envied  model  of  all 
;  the  court  libertines — you,  should  have  so  foolishly 
I  risked  your  life  for  the  word  of  a  woman,  who 
thought  not  of  you,  who  thinks  not  of  you,  and 
ill  think  of  you." 
••  r  assure  you,  madame,"  said  Henry,  with  all  the 
coolness  imaginable,  "  that  if  our  situation  ought  to 
he  amusing  to  any  one,  it  should  he  so  to  me." 

"You  assume  that  imperturbable  air  admirably, 
said  the  baroness,  who  began  to  be  vexed  at  Henry's 
calmness." 

"  It  is  not  assumed,  indeed,  and  I  will  shew  you 
I  why.  Let  us  reason  a  little— first,  you  say,  1  ex- 
posed my  life  ;  as  far  as  that  goes,  my  reputation,  I 
believe,  is  sufficiently  established  to  give  me  the 
right  of  requiring  no  one  to  be  astonished  at  thai,  bo 
we  will  say  no  more  on  the  subject.  Then,  I  hoped 
you  would  at  least  have  thanked  me  for  my  exer- 


have  thought  of  you.  For  at  every  instant  when 
your  remembrance  arose  to  charm  me,  when  alone 
and  buried  in  my  own  thoughts,  I  spoke  to  you,  I 
supplicated  you — do  you  imagine  I  could  say,  '  ma- 
dame V  No,  I  said,  '  Cecile.'  I  said,  '  Cecile,  do 
>ou  love  me?'  Believe,  Cecile,  in  a  strong  and 
faithful  passion.  Above  all,  Cecile,  do  not  judge 
me  by  the  trifling  proofs  I  have  given  you — without 
expecting  one  kind  look,  1  risked  my  life  for  you — 
but  what  is  there  in  that '.  For  your  love  1  would 
sacrifice  more  than  my  life — I  would  sacrifice  my 
tastes,  my  inclinations,  my  future  prospects — but, 
alas!  1  love  you  so  much.  Oh!  I  love  you  so 
much,  that  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  obey  your 
slightest  caprice;  1  love  you  so  much,  Cecile,  that  I 
defy  you  to  exact  any  thing  from  me  that  would  be 
a  sacrifice." 

"  Count!"  said  Cecile,  with  an  offended  air,  and 
drawing  back  the  hand  Henry  had  possessed  himself 
of." 

that  is  what  1  said  in  your  absence :   why, 

then,  would  you  prevent  my  saying  the  same  aloud, 

when  you  are  by  .'      II  you  did  but  know  how  I  feel 

your  coldness  ;    how  much  your  disdainful   air  op-- 

when  happy  in  your  condescending  to 

I   me,  jou  received  me  with 

freezing  civility.      J',  v.  is  then,  Cecile,  I  cursed 


impatiently, 

"  Adam,  when  he  was  alone  in  Paradise  with  our 
first  mother  ....  I  have  now  come  to  that  which  is 
so  very  amusing  in  this  scene — this  it  is — hearing 
you  the  other  day  at  M.  de  Castries'  express  a 
desire  to  know  the  Englishman's  secret  ;  I,  on  my 
side,  induced  the  Marchioness  de  Vaille,  who 
scarcely  thought  of  the  subject,  to  express  a  with  of 
the  same  kind,  so  that  a  few  days  afterwards  she 
received,  as  you  did,  the  required  note, — '  Being  at 
the  house  of  Marshal  de  Castries',  you  expressed  a 
wish,  &c.  &e.  &c.'  More  grateful  than  you,  ma- 
dame, she  promised  to  recompense  me ;  1  was 
already  entitled  to  the  gratitude  of  a  brave  man  I 
had  obliged.  So  that  you  see,  an  action  perfectly 
indifferent  to  me,  has  given  nie  the  friendship  of  an 
excellent  man,  the  hope  of  favors  from  a  most  en- 
ticing duchess,  and  the  hatred  of  a  pretty  woman. 
For  I  perceive,  madam,  that  my  sang  j'roid  has 
disconcerted  and  vexed  you.  Acknowledge  then 
that  1  have  no  reason  to  complain,  since,  in  pay- 
ment of  a  slight  wound,  already  cured,  I  have  ex- 
cited, at  the  s.imr  time,  friendship,  love,  and  hatred, 
tor  1  am  foolish  or  conscientious  enough  to  imagine 
that  you  will  do  me  the  honour  of  hating  me, 
baronei 

.    thunderstruck — she  expected  vexation 


IS  that  had   created    so    much    envy — the  j  or  anger  on    the  part  of  the   count,  but    she  found 


',  ilK   \V  l  IN  RTiVYVl  l:   OP   K"  '. 


41 


an  imperturbable  gravity,  or  cold  and  calm  raillery. 
Impression  followed  impression  rapidly  though  her 
lively  and  capricious  little  brain ;  so  that  though 
she  loved  Henry,  as  wo  know,  she  had  intended  to 
torment  him,  to  pique  him,  perhaps  also  she  calcu- 
lated on  the  embarrassment  in  which  he  would  find 
himself,  either  to  pardon  or  annoy  him  it  her  plea- 
sure, unfortunately  nothing  of  tlie  kind  took  place 
— this  unexpected  result  overthrew  all  her  beautiful 
projects,  and  as  Henry  approached  to  kiss  her  hand, 
and  take  leave — 

"Stay,  sir,"  she  said  to  him,  "stay,  J  must 
speak  to  you — stay,  it  is  my  wish." 

And  Cecile's  voice  was  broken,  and  betrayed  her 
emotion. 

"  How  happy  I  should  have  been  to  have  received 


that  order  a  short  time  back,"  said  Henry,  "  but 
now  .  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  now  ?" 

"Why  now  I  know  it  is  a  jest,  an  ill-tempered 
joke  on  your  part.  Again  you  want  to  deceive  me, 
to  bring  me  t»  your  knees,  and  turn  me  into  ridicule 
as  you  did  just  now— hut  the  lesson  you  gave  me 
was  excellent,  and  1  profit)  d  by  it." 

"  1  am  very  miserable,"  said  Cecile,  bursting 
into  tears." 

"  Any  one  but  I,  madame,  would  be  deceived  by 
these  tears,"  Baid  Henry,  with  imperturbabli 

Jroid. 

"  Uut  when  1  nil  you  1  am  miserable,  that  I  weep 
because  1  have  cause  to  weep,"  said  Cecile;  "><s, 
to  weep,  for  1  hate  myself,  1  despise  myself,  for 


TUT.    TTMrTATlON  ;    OR, 


being  so  weak  when  I  thought  I  was  so  strong — so 
very  weak,  anil  in  your  presence — weak  enough  to 
allow  you  to  see  my  tears,  and  to  guess  at  their 
pause! — it  is  dreadful !" 

••  Bravo,  haroness,  bravo!  Mademoiselle  Ran* 
court  could  not  do  it  better — but  then  there  is  no 
one  present  but  myself  to  enjoy  such  a  beautiful 
scene,  to  appreciate  this  sudden  burst  of  talent — so 
profound,  so  brilliant,"  said  Henry,  with  cool 
raillery. 

"Oh!  I  shall  go  mad,"  exclaimed  Cecile,  ex- 
asperated. "  He  says  be  knows  womankind,  and 
yet  he  cannot  distinguish  a  true  from  a  false  tear; 
he  could  not  see  that  the  laugh  was  intended  to  con- 
ceal  vexation;  that  a  woman  must  be  enduring 
tnuch  to  laugh  in  that  manner — but  the  women  you 
have  known  were,  perhaps,  excellent  actresses,  sir, 
or  are  you  so  dreadfully  and  foolishly  suspicious, 
that  t -ars  like  these  explain  nothing?"  And  she 
placed  Henry's  hand  on  her  burning  cheeks,  bathed 
in  tt  ITS.  "  Does  it  tell  you  nothing — does  it  prove 
nothing  ?  but  go,  sir,  go — you  terrify  me,  and  make 
me  pity  you." 

"  That  'go/  was  perfect,"  said  Henry,  "and  the 
idea  of  seizing  the  hand  to  make  it  feel  the  tears, 
would  have  had  a  prodigious  effect  at  the  theatre — 
unfortunately,  madame,  you  are  performing  tliis 
part  for  my  amusement  alone,  and  1  know  the  play 
beforehand." 

"  You  may  imagine  the  efiect  an  answer  like  this 
must  have  had  upon  a  woman  so  violent,  and  one  so 
impatient  of  contradiction  as  Cecile."  She  uttered 
not  a  word,  but  grew  dreadfully  pale — wiped  her 
.  and  taking  Henry's  hand  in  both  hers,  she 
trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf,  and  said  to  him  in  a  low 
and  broken  voice — 

"  M.  de  Vaudry,  I  am  about,  without  blushing, 
to  make  an  avowal  that  ought  to  cause  me  to  die 
with  shame.  From  the  day  on  which  I  first  saw 
you,  you  made  a  deep  impression  on  me !  your 
coolness  increased  it,  and  the  note  you  sent  to  me 
made  me  intoxicated  with  joy;  can  you  say  why  I 
expected  you  with  pleasure  and  sorrow?  why  I 
laughed,  and  why  1  wept  ?  it  would  explain  to  me  that 
which  I  do  not  myself  understand;  it  would  tell 
you,  in  fact,  that  in  spite  of  all— I  still  love  you — 
I  love  yon;  is  it  not  enough  to  make  this  ac- 
knowledgment to  you,  to  humble  myself  so  lowly, 
M.  de  Vaudry?  it  is  not  enough  thus  to  expiate  a 
moment  of  folly  of  delirium?  Uo  you  believe  me, 
isieur  de  Vaudry  1  ohl  say  you  do,  in  heaven's 
name.     Why  should  I  speak  lalsely  ?" 

"  Perhaps  to  gain  some  wager  you  have  laid  with 
yourself,"  replied  Henry  ;  "  perhaps,  while  thinking 
of  a  favoured  lover,  you  said  to  yourself- — ■  If  M.  de 
Vaudry  throws  himself  at  my  feet,  my  lover  will  be 


M.  de  Oman,  kissing  Cecile's  hand," — 1  am 
happy  to  see  you  look  better;  but  you  are  still 
rather  pale."  Then  bowing  to  Henry — "  I  am 
delighted  at  meeting  with  you,  count,  for  I  have  just 
arrived  from  Versailles,  and  M.  de  Castries  has  re- 
quested me  to  deliver  these  despatches  into  your 
hands,  he  told  me  they  required  instant  attention. 
Madame  de  Cernan  will  allow  it." 

"  It  is  an  order  to  be  at  my  post  with  as  little 
delay  as  possible,"  said  Henry,  "  to  leave,  if  1  can 
do  so,  within  eight  and  forty  hours,  and  proceed  to 
Brest,  there  to  wait  for  further  orders — the  order 
for  departure  is  rather  sudden,"  he  added,  exchang- 
ing a  look  with  the  baroness. 

"The  devil  '."  said  the  baron,  "and  how  am  1 
to  get  ready  in  eight  and  forty  hours?" 

"  Oli,  1  don't  imagine  we  shall  be  under  sailing 
orders  as  soon  as  1  arrive;  in  this  letter  M.  de 
Castries  only  orders  me  to  proceed  to  Brest  thus 
hastily,  that  1  may  superintend  the  equipment  ol  nvj 
frigate — a  new  experiment  is  to  be  made,  and  a 
novel  system  of  gunnery  organised." 

"  Then  1  shall  have  sufficient   time   for  prepara- 
tion," said    the   baron,  "and  you  will  not  haw  to 
wait  for  me.     But  I  must  leave  you,  madam,"  he 
observed  to  his  wife,  "  for  this,  is  the  time  for  OUT 
club  at  Condoreet's." 
Hie  bai  on  left  the  room. 
"  In  two  days  you  will  leave,"  said  Cecile. 
"  Ves,"  said  Henry,  gaily,    "  I  leave,  and   take 
your  husband  along  with  me — you  are  indebted  to  me 
on  that  account,  at  least ;  it  is  extremely  generous  on 
my  side,  for  perhaps  I  shall  be  insuring  the   happi- 
ness of  some  favoured  lover." 

While  uttering  these  words,  Henry  looking  me- 
chanically towards  the  fire  place,  and  perceived  the 
letter  of  the  platonic  colonel — to  stoop,  to  spixe  it 
and  to  read  it,  were  but  the  work  of  an  instant. 

"  Egaxl !  I  guessed  rightly.  Well,  madame,  was 
I  wrong  in  disbelieving  your  protestations?"  Baid 
Henry,  shewing  the  letter. 

"  Well,  sir,  and  what  does  that  letter  say,  sir, 
that  1  need  be  afraid  to  acknowledge?"  answered 
Cecile,  proudly, 

"  It  tells  me,  madame,  that  this  scene  has  lasted 
long  enough,  and  I  am  afraid  I  am  taking  Up  your 
time,  I  will  retire." 

"  You  shall  not  go,  sir,"  exclaimed  Cecile,  "un- 
till  you  have  learnt  all — yes,  sir,  M.  dc  St.  Cyr  paid 
attention  to  me  before  you  was  known  to  me ; 
he  has  written  frequently,  and  I  have  answered  him; 
but  he  has  never  received  any  other  proof  of  my 
affection — believe  it — but  no,  you  will  not  believe  it, 
for  you  will  not  believe  anything,  I  say,"  said  Ce- 
cile, bursting  into  tears. 

"  Yes,    Cecile,   I  will  believe   your  love,  if  you 


faithful— or  else   1    can    he  faithless  to  him  without    will  give  me  an  undoubted  proof  of  it  ...   you   say 


being  suspected— or  perhaps  .  .  .  ." 

'•  Oh,  heaven!'1  and  the  baroness,  with  an  accent 
of  grief  that  moved  the  heart  of  Henry,  for  he  had 
a  good  heart  after  all— BO  he  replied— 

"  Cecile,  you  bate  it  in  your  power  to  i 
me  of  you  love — be  mine— to  day." 

At  this  instant  a  valet  de  chambre  announced  the 


CHAPTER    W'f. 

I    II  I        LOT  I    II  '■'     FLO  T. 

i         [  love  thee  more  than  tie  can  do. 

Ithdra  -    o,j  prove  it  too  — 

Si]  Ah  I 

women  till  me  you  have  been  unwell,"    -.id 


you  love  me  .  .  .  well,  prove  it  to  me.  In  two  days 
1  leave  for  a  hazardous  warfare — perhaps  I  shall 
never  again  see  you.  At  least,  Cecile,  let  me  carry 
with  lie  the  remembranoe  of  having  once,  at  least. 
been  certain  I  was  loved — yes,  adored— because  I 
|  know  it  must  be  an  immense  sacrifice  on  your  part; 
but  then  what  immense  afl'eUion  will  it  not  prove — 
and  then  how  generous  it  will  be  to  give  so  much 
for  so  little. — To  overwhelm  a  man  with  a  load  of 
unexpected,  unheard  of  happiness.  But  alas!  lam 
asking  this  of  you,  Cecile,  without  any  hope  of 
obtaining  it;  I  I  now  that  such  a  sacrifice  is  above 
a  woman's  power,  that  since  low  reigned  on  earth, 
such  a  proof  of  love  has  never  been  given;  in  fact, 
Cei  iW,  I  ask  this  of  yon  as  an  atheist  demands  a 
miracle,  that  he  may  be  converted." 


THE  WATCH-   TOWER    01    KOiT-VEW. 


43 

wept— at  |  de  St.  Cyr  is  a  perfect  antique,  aad    J  cam 
angry  with  him,  or  wkh  my  wife  either." 

And  nigbtcame  on,  and  the  baron  drew  near  to 
the  town  of  Nevers. 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

J/itu  tcenei  daring  one  niglit. 

In  how  many  different  way,  is  lime  spent.— St.  Aigustik 

SCENE    THE    FIRST. 

Tilts  scene  occurred  at  I'aris  :  at  the  tune  the 
Baron  de  Ceman  arrived  at  Never,,— it  was  a  dark, 
cold,  and  stormy  night,  the  rain  fell  in  torrents,  and 
strong  gusts  of  wind  lashed  the  house  tops,  that  were 
streaming  with  water.  The  passengers  in  the  streets 
were  few  in  number,  and  the  sound  of  their  foot:- tops 
alone  interrupted  the  monotonous  murmur  of  the 
overflowing  water  pipes. 

At  the  extremity  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine  the 
building  then  called  the  Hdpital  was  at  that  time 
situated,  a  place  for  the  confinement  and  seclusion  of 
girls  who  had  lived  a  had  life,  and  women  charged 
with  robbery  or  other  cri 

Here  the  Duchess  d'Almeda  wa,  confined. 

On  this  dark  and  rainy  night  the  environs  of  this 
dismal  building  appeared  completely  deserted. 

A  narrow  and  winding  bye-street  extended  along 
the  foot  of  the  wall  by  which  one  of  the  court  vards 


And  he  kissed  Cecile's   Hand  ....  and 
least  L  think  he  did. 

"  Oh,  it  is  impossible,"  said  Cceilr,  hall  mad, 
and  lost  in  the  midst  of  the  thousand  contradictory 
feelings  by  which  she  was  so  violently  agitated. 
"  Besides,  the  preparations  for  M.  de  Cernans' 
voyage  will  keep  him  at  home  more  than  ever,  so 
that  you  see  it  cannot  be." 

"  A  mere  excuse,"  said  Henry. 

"  An  excuse  !  oh,  heavens !  an  excuse  !" 

"  Well,  Cetile,  if  it  be  not  an  excuse,  I  will  show 
you  how  to  reconcile  cvciy  thing,"  said  Henry, 
after  a  moment's  reflection ;  '  you  have  often  written 
to  M.  de  St.  Cyr?" 

"  I  told  you  I  had." 

"  He  has  your  letters  ?" 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  You  have  his  V 

"  Yes." 

■'  There  is  nothing  to  compromise  you  in  them  .'" 

"  No,  no  ;  stay — here  they  are,  you  may  read 
them."' 

"  Well  then,  take  these  letters,  and  when  your 
husband  returns,  throw  yourself  at  his  feet,  acknow- 
ledge the  correspondence — tell  him,  that  at  the  mo- 
ment he  is  about  to  leave  for  America,  y.ou  wish  to 
acknowledge  a  secret  that  presses  heavily  on  your 
heart ;  tell  him  you  have  been  imprudent — but  that 

you   stopped  on  the  brink  of  the  abyss  in  time  to  |  ot-  t]le  pr;son  was  cnc]oscd 

save  yourself.  As  a  proof  of  this,  give  him  the  letters  i      Iu  this  1)arrow  gtre^  a  man  envel       d  h,     ^. 
ol  M.  de  St.  Cyr,  and  ask  him  to  allow  you  to  retire  |  appea,ed  anxiously  to  wait  for  some  signal,  eontm- 

«  w  'in'"'  g  1CC  "'  A,nenCa-  !  ual|y  look"'S  attentively  al  the  top  of  the  wall,  and 

We"  •  )  listening  to  every  sound. 

-'What  a  child  you  are  !  ...  then   beg  ot  your        At  t]le  Chd  of  a         fcr  rf  m  h         fl  ^^  {q  ^^ 
husband  to  proceed,  without  delay,  to  receive  your    a  lollg  cord  WM  atlauIlcd  fej,  al  the  lont  of  t|     mM  . 

letters   from   the   hands  of  M.   ae  St.  Cyr,  and  to  the  cloak,  who,  throwing  his  cape  on  one  side,  caught 

res  ore  to  him  his  own.     I  have  no  doubt  the  baron  ho]d  of  t))e  stone  anf}       „cd  (hc  cord  '     ;  - 

will  leave  either  to  night  or  m  the  morning— that  will  latter  waS  no  doubt  held  by  some  one  on  the  other 

give  us  lour  and  twenty  hours  to  ourselves,  entirely  to  sidc  of  the  waW>  for  hfe  gJ       ,  wag  answered  fc        . 


ourselves,  Cecile ;  and  besides,  you  will  gain  by  this 
noble  acknowledgement,  the  advantage  of  inspiring 
your  husband  with  the  most  incredible  confidence 
ever  after." 

"  It  is  the  demon  that  inspires  thee  with  these 
ideas,"  said  Cecile.  "  Oh,  it  is  infamous  !  Never, 
no,  never  will  I  consent  to  that — 1  would  sooner 
die — I  would  sooner  you  should  doubt  my  love.  .  ." 

Next  morning  Baron  de  Cernan  was  on  the  road 
to  Nevers,  and  he  said  to  himself — "  Certainly,  even  j  the  wa]|  craokle  a 
in  America,  a  woman  of  such  virtue  as  this  cannot  I  When  he  heard  a  second  Btotte  fall,  Perez  firmly 
be  found— to  stop  at  the  brink  of  the  precipice— to  t  scizi>cI  the  extremity  of  the  rone  bidder  and  dun- 
have  sufficient  courage  to  make  such  a  statement  to  I  last  to  it,  and  by  its  sudden  tension  you  miffht  sup" 
But  I  must  acknowledge,  also,  that  I  am  ex-  I  posc  that  the  prisoner  had  begun  to  mount  on  the 


other  pull  at  the  cord.  Perez,  for  he  it  was,  quickly 
attached  to  this  cord  a  rope  ladder  with  thin  iron  rods 
for  steps,  again  repeated  the  signal,  and  the  ladder 
glided  over  the  wall. 

At  this  instant  the  rain  and  wind  appeared  to  re- 
double their  fury,  the  water  fell  in  sheets,  so  white, 
that  it  resembled  a  mist  in  the  midst  of  the  darkness, 
the  storm  whistled  and  howled  with  \  iolence,  and  made 
the  leafless  branches  of  the  few  trees  that  surmounted 


tremely  happy  in  having  so  conscientious  a  man  as 
M.  de  St.  Cyr  to  deal  with,  for,  truly,  1  cannot  read 
the  passage  in  his  last  letter  without  emotion." 

And  the  baron  read. 

"  No,  madame,  no;  I  ask  nothing — 1  v, ill  never 
ask  anything.  Do  I  not  possess  all — do  J  not  pos- 
sess your  affection?  I  would  rather  face  a  hundred 
deaths  than  cause  you  to  betray  your  sacred  duties 
— to  endanger,  iu  the  most  remote  degree,  your 
peace  of  mind,  and  the  honor  of  a  brave  man,  who 
deserves,  in  so  many  respects-,  to  be  happy.  Pay 
him  every  attention,  madame,  and  that  without 
hypocrisy — for  love  like  ours  never  degrades  the 
soul,  it  ennobles  it,  and  blushes  not— we  arc 
pioud  of  it,  for  there  is  nothing  but  what  is  pure 
and  irreproachable,  in  the  ethciial  sympathy  that 
elevates  two  souls  as  they  rise  above  the  material 
passions  of  this  world.' 

"  Admirable,  admirable,"  said  the  baron,  as  he 
replaced  the  letters  in  Ills  pocket  book ;  '    this  ML 


other  side  of  the  wall. 

This  climbing  continued  for  a  few  m inn! 
suddenly  the   ladder  received  a  violent  jei 
started,  and  the  greatest  portion  of  the  ladder  came 
into  his  hands, — he  uttered  a  cry  of  horror. 

You  may  well  imagine  his  terror,  by  considering 
that  the  sudden  shock  by  which  the  ladder  was  loo, 
ened,  caused  him  to  believe  that  Rita,  tooweaktri 
reach  the  (op  of  the  wall,  had  fallen,  had  wounded 
herself,  perhaps  was  killed.  Imagine  then  what  this 
devoted  man  musl  have  felt,— there,  breathless  with 
fear,  his  car  applied  to  the  wall,  whose  thickness 
separated  Rita  from  him,  —  imagine  the  dreadful 
agony  of  this  man,  crouched  upon  the  earth,  and  en- 
deavouring to  hear  through  the  mute  and  pitiless 
stones  the  cries  of  the  unfortunate  duchess — Saying 
to  himself,  "  She  is  there,  on  the  same  ground,  on 
the  same  level  as  I  am,  behind  this  wall,  win 
ness  exceeds  the  length  of  my  arm.— 1  hear  nothing, 
I  sue  nothing!"     It  was  a  dreadful  moment. 


44 


1  HI     Il.MI  I  A  I  ION  ;    OR, 


But  a  ray  ot  hope  re-animated  Pen  .\  a  stone  fell 
near  him.  and  he  nw  the  ladder  again  drawn  towards 
the  top  of  the  wall,  and  become  tightly  strutted. 

He  was  at  his  post  again. 

Five  minutes  afterwards  Rit-> ,  dressed  as  a  man, 
appeared  on  the  summit  of  the  lofty  wall,  and  cau- 
tiously descended. 

The  duchess  was  soon  Inc.  and  Peres  kneeling 
before  her,  kissed  her  hands — he  could  not  speak,  his 
emotion  was  too  strong. 

"  Perez — Perez,"  said  Rita,  "  my  good  and  trusty 
Perez !  has. 

She  grew  more  feeble,  staggered,  and  fainted. 

The  lain  still  continued,  and  the  wind  redoubled 
its  violence,  Peru  was  in  dreadful  distress  for  fear 
the  watch  going  its  rounds  should  discover  them. 
He  tried  every  possible  means  to  bring  Rita  to  her 
senses,  and  being  unsuccessful,  lc  determined  to 
to  carry  her,  and  taking  her  in  his  arms  he  proceded 
a  few  steps. 

But  the  freshness  produced  by  her  wet  garments, 
and  the  constant  beating  of  the  rain  on  her  lace,  re- 
stored the  duchess  ;  she  opened  her  eyes  and  said, 
"  where  am  I  .'" 

Perez  stopped. 

"  Give  me  a  little  time  to  recover,  Perez,"  she  said, 
"place  me  against  that  wall,  lor  1  am  very  weak  and 
dreadfully  bruized — that  fall  was  so  painful;  my  hands 
are  all  covered  with  blood,  and  my  head  also, — Oh  ! 
I  thought  I  should  never  have  risen  again.  But 
come — courage,  Perez — sec  you  not  everything  fa- 
vours me  ?  eveu  this  storm  is  of  service  to  us  ;  come, 
Perez,  hope,  courage, — I  told  you  truly  we  ought 
never  to  despair." 

And  the  miserable  woman  recovered  all  her  strength 
and  all  her  energy  by  that  fixed  and  exalting  idea, 
resting  on  the  arm  of  Perez,  bruized,  covered  with 
mud,  streaming  with  water  and  blood,  did  Rita,  con- 
ducted by  her  squire,  reach  the  rue  de  faubourg  St. 
Antoint,  for  Perez,  with  exceeding  prudence,  had 
abstained  from  seeking  a  fiacre  near  the  little  street 
of  the  Hnpiial,  for  tear  of  awakening  suspicion.  He 
expected  to  find  a  carriage  in  the  faubourg  St.  An- 
toine  where  they  were  usually  met  with,  thanks  to 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  little  dwellings  of  the  great 
lords,  which  were  nearly  all  situated  in  that  quarter, 
for  in  those  days  they  very  prudently  made  use  of 
fiaertt  to  convey  them  to  those  mysterious  abodes, 
being  able  more  easily  to  preserve  their  incognito 
in  those  modest  vehicles,  which  passed  unnoticed. 

Perez  and  the  duchess  began  to  despair  of  meet- 
ing with  a  coach,  when  they  at  length  saw  ono  at 
twenty  paces  distance,  entering  the  little  rue  de  St. 
Ma<-ccl. 

Make  haste,  madame,"  said  Perez,  "  perhapi  that 
carriage  is  empty." 

They  were  soon  within  call  of  the  coach. 

"  Stop!"  cried  Perez,  running  after  it. 

The  coachman  made  no  answer. 

"  Stop,  if  your  carriage  be  empty,"  cried  Peicz 
again,  when  he  came  up  with  it. 

At  the  sound  of  Perez's  voice  one  of  the  window.-, 
was  lowered. 

"  My  coach  is  full,"  said  the  coachman  whipping 
the  horses,  while  Perez  hung  on  at  the  bridle. 

"  We  must  sec  that,"  cried  the  duchjss,  rushing 
to  the  open  window. 

A  man  suddenly  thrust  out  his  head,  exclaiming, , 
"  Be  off,  sir,  if  you  have  any  respect  for  your  life !" 

The  unfortunate  duchess  uttered  a  dreadful  cry 
and  fell  to  the  ground. 

That  man,  it  was  Ac — it  was  HciiYy  ! — Henry  with  ■ 
a  woman  enveloped  in  her  hood. 


At  the  cry  of  the  duchess,  Peres  dropped  the  bridle 
to  render  her  assistance. 

The  coachman  whipped  his  horses,  and  Perez  could 
hear  these  words  of  Henry: — "  Take  heart,  my  dear 
angel — be  comforted  Cecile — it  is  only  a  drunken 
man." 

SCENE    THE    SECOND. 

The  boudoir  of  a  little  house,  rur  Sr.  Martin,  a  gush 
of  soft  and  invisible  light  from  the  centre  of  the 
doni'  (1  ceiling,  spread  a  mysterious  brilliancy  through 
the  delightful  room.  A  large,  clear,  and  blazing 
tire  sparkled  in  a  granite  fire  place,  wreathed  with 
gold  ;  the  well-closed  windows  were  hidden  by  thick 
satin  curtains;  the  air  was  perfumed  by  a  parterre  of 
flowers,  which  occupied  one  side  of  the  boudoir,  hung 
with  white  velvet,  covered  with  blue  and  silver  flowers. 
The  howling  of  the  storm,  only  heard  through  the 
double  windows  and  thick  draperies,  was  indistinct 
and  distant. 

Its  plaintive  murmur  completed  by  its  contrast 
the  harmony  of  this  scene  of  delight,  for  it  is  said  to 
be,  and  I  believe  it,  an  inexpressible  pleasure  to  hear 
the  wind  sigh  and  the  rain  rattle,  when  in  a  sweet 
little  room,  near  a  large  fire,  half  reclining  close  to 
the  woman  you  adore,  your  head  resting  on  herkneees, 
you  talk  of  love,  looking  forward  to  a  delicate  supper 
and  a  long  night  of  pleasure. 

And  Henry  enjoyed  this  delightful  happiness,  in 
the  little  dwelling  we  have  just  described. 

Henry,  seated  amorously  at  Cecile's  feet,  his 
hand  in  hers,  gazed  on  her  with  eyes  beaming  with 
love. 

"  How  I  still  tremble,  Henry,"  said  Madame  de 
Cerhan,  "  that  man  with  his  frightful  features." 

"  Why,  my  angel,  do  you  expect  to  find  men  who 
wander  about  the  streets  at  this  time  of  night  parti- 
cularly handsome  ?" 

"  Oh  !  do  not  joke,  Henry,  I  am  too  much 
alarmed." 

"  Alarmed  at  what,  dear  angel  ? — a  drunken  man 
stopped  our  carriage,  there  is  nothing  astonishing 
in  that, — the  man  was  very  ugly — that  again  was  very 
natural; — so  calm  thy  fears,  so  much  I  love  thee, 
yes,  I  love  thee  truly — oh,  truly!  there  is  something 
so  unexpected,  so  extraordinary  in  our  attachment, 
that  it  is  impossible  it  can  be  common  or  vulgar." 

"  Henry!  Henry!  how  often  has  this  place  heard 
vows  of  the  same  nature?" 

"  Tor  that  to  have  been  the  case,  Cecile,  it  were 
needful  you  should  have  been  here,  that  these  mirrors 
should  have  reflected  thy  sweet  eyes,  thy  rosy  mouth, 
thy  voluptuous  form  ;  but  no,  it  is  only  now  they 
have  that  felicity, — hut  stay,  I  am  jealous  of  these 
mirrors — no,  after  all,  no,  on  the  contrary  I  love 
them,  I  love  them  as  1  should  love  the  echo  that  re- 
peated the  sound  of  thy  dear  voice." 

"  In  truth,  Henry,  it  is  a  dream,"  said  Cecile,  her 
eyes  half  closed,  "  Oh  !  I  must  think  it  is  a  dream.  ' 

"  Yes,  Cecile — yes,  my  angel — it  is  a  dream,  a 
golden  dream,  believe  it  to  be  one, — and  in  after 
times  when  you  recal  this  day,  glittering  with  plea- 
sure and  love,  oh,  say  to  yourself,  '  The  pleasure  was 
too  great,  the  love  too  passionate,  its  ardour  too  en- 
ervating,— yes,  it  was  a  dream !'  But  then  do  you 
know,"  said  Henry  smiling,  "  do  you  know,  Cecile, 
it  would  be  marvellously  strange  if  so  real  a  reality 
should  be  a  dream?" 

"  Oh,  be  silent!" 

"  Well,  I  will  be  silent,  my  angel,  1  will  be  silent 
— my  kisses  shall  speak  forme.  A  long  kis.«,  that 
mounting  from  thy  beautiful  fingers  so  delicate  and 
slender,  along  thy  white  and  rounded  arm,  shall  say  ' 


the  Watch  Tower  of  koat-ve.': 


45 


better  than  I  can,  '  I  love  this  charming  hand,  this 
heavenly  arm!'  I  will  be  silent,  and  when  my  lips 
close  thy  eyelids,  will  not  the  amorous  pressure  say 
to  you  better  than  my  voice,  '  Oh !  I  love — I  love 
those  bright  eyes  that  cast  upon  mc  looks  that  kill  ?' 
I  will  be  silent. 

"  Oh  !  no,  speak,  speak,  Henry !  oh,  let  me  hear 


fresh  coloured,  a  handsome  countenance,  mi 
a  noble  and   reserved  air;   he  was  grave  and  cool  in 
his  manner,  and  full  of  dignity,  even  when  taking  a 
pinch  of  stuff'. 

It  is  midnight  of.  de  St  Cyi  had  just  had  his 
hair  put  in  paper  by  his  valet ;  he  had  di?mie:ed 
him,  and  seating  himself  near  tht:  tirr  had  taken  up 


that  voice  I  love  so  much,  thy  gentle  voice; — but  tell  j  a  small  pocket-book  of  green  satin  ornamented  with 
me,  Henry,  why  do  each  of  thy  words  vibrate  so  long  |  a  garland  of  forget-me-nots  and  immortelles;  he  drew 
in  my  heart  after  thou  hast  spoken  > — whence  comes  |  from  it  a  packet  of  letters,  spread  them  on  the  table, 
that  soft  langour  that  enervates  me  ? — why  is  it  the   and  read  them  slowly. 


same  to  me  whether  I  die  to-morrow  or  in  an  hour? 
for  never,  oh,  never  did  I  feel  such  felicity; — whence 
comes  the  pleasure  that  overcomes  me  ?  that  vague 
and  voluptuous  feeling  that  circulates  through  me, 
and  is  deliciously  concentrated  in  one  of  thy  kisses? 
Yes,  if  you  kiss  my  eyes,  it  is  a  pleasure  ;  if  you  kiss 
my  hands,  it  is  still  pleasing ;  a  pleasure  to  die,  a 
pleasure  to  make  heaven  jealous  !  Why  is  this? — 
tell  mc,  Henry." 


They  were  Cccile's  letters. 

"No  answer  to  my  two  last,"  said  M.  de  St  Cyr, 
after  having  read  over  and  over  again  his  amorous 
correspondence.  "Singular  woman — yes  smgalar, 
for  in  the  midst  of  the  general  license  that  brar^  all 
along  with  it,  she  remains  unspotted,  and,  in  my 
opinion,  she  is  superior  to  a  perfectly  virtuou> 
woman.  Afy  Cecile;  yes,  I  can  say  viy  Cecile,  as 
least  my  Cecile  resists,  strives — oh  what  pain  and 


Why?  my  Cecile,  said  Henry,  encircling  Cccile's  pleasure  are  there  not  in  the  thought  that  she  lov 
beautifui  waist  with  both  his  arms  and  resting  his  j  ine,  but  loves  virtue  more.  Jt  is  a  preference  thai 
head  on  her  bosom.  "  Why  is  this?  It  is  because  i  charms  at  the  same  time  that  it  distresses  you.  It 
you  follow  the  instinct  of  thy  heart,  that  tells  thee  |  is  now  nearly  six  months  since  she  accepted  myser- 
'  He  loves  thee,'  because  two  hearts,  that  arc  made  !  vices  and  these  letters  arc  the  only  pledge  of  love  I 
for  each  other,  always  confess  themselves  to  each  have  received — what  did  I  say — wretch  that  I  am-- 
other,  because. ..."  the  only  pledge,  and  is  not  the  sincere  affection  of  an 

Henry  did  not  conclude,  for  at  that  instant  the  j  adorable  and  adored  woman  enough.'  No  oth": 
doors  of  the  boudoir  slightly  grated  on  their  hinges  !  pledge,  what  would  I  then — infamous  man,  dis- 
and  opened  without  the  appearance  of  any  one,  dis-  ;  honour  her,  debase  her  in  her  own  eyes,  and  cause 
closed  a  small  dining  room,  the  walls  of  which  were  i  her  to  blush  in  her  husband's  presence,  expose  her 
ornamented  with  paintings  in  scarlet  and  gold.  A  j  to  the  sufferings  of  remorse  and  for  what?. .  .  .the 
large  fire  blazed  in  a  marble  chimney  piece  loaded  J  love  that  unites  us  excuses  the  censure  of  the  world, 
with  flowers  that  mingled  their  varied  colours  with  j  because  it  is  not  of  the  world — chaste  love,  I 
the  light  of  the  candles  glittering  in  crystal  can- ; and  elevated    love,   on    which    we    proudly    smile, 

because   we   have  sacrificed    to   it  every  base   and 
miserable  material  idea. .  .  .love. .  . . 

Unfortunately  this  touching  monologue  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  sound  of  a  post-chaise  stopping  at  th 


delabra 

The  table  rose  by  means  of  a  moveable  flooring 
according  to  the   custom  of  the  day,  and  two  little 
side  boards  covered  with  every  thing  that  was  neces- 
sary for  the  service  of  the  supper,  dispensed  with  the  j  door  of  the  mansion,  and  by  the  sudden  entry  of  M. 
inconvenience  of  servants.  dc  St.  Cyr's  valet  as  pale  as  death,  who  had  only 

"  I  have  to  make  a  very  painful  confession,"  said  ( time  to  say,  "M.  le  Baron  dc  Cernan,  he  is  closs 
Henry,  with  a  bashful  air,  and  at  the   same   time  :  behind  me." 


■eating  himself  close,  very  close,  to  Cecile,  "  and 
that  is,  I  have  a  most  ravenous  appetite." 

"And  I,"  said  Cecile,  more  bashfully  still,  "I 
scarcely  dare  to  say  that,  I  am  dying  of  hunger." 

"  What  happiness  this  is,  Cecile — stay,  placa 
yourself  here,  close  to  me.     By  heavens^,  love  is  a 


At  these  words  the  letters  re-entered  the  green 
I  pocket-book  as  if  by  enchantment. 

When  M.  dc  Cernan  entered  the  room  he  found 
{  M.  de  St.  Cyr  cool  and  calm,  standing  before  the 
I  tire. 

M.  de  St.  Cyr.  To  what  chance  am  I  indebted  for 


good  thing,  but  an  excellent  supper  and  love  at  the  |  a  visit  from  M.  de  Cernan. 


same  time  are  two  good  things." 

•So  they  supped,  it  must  be  acknowledged  in  the 
midst  of  bashful  looks  and  blushes,  but  still  they 
supped,  and  excellently  too.  And  we  are  obliged 
to  confess  that  by  a  cursed  and  fatal  reaction  of  the 
physical  on  the  moral  attributes,  their  eyes  became 
more  sparkling,  their  cheeks  more  rosy ;  Cccile's 
lips  glowed  with  a  more  lively  carmine,  her  teeth 
were  of  a  more  dazzling  whiteness. 

The  tinge  of  gentle  melancholy,  which  had  pre- 
sided  at   the  commencement  of  the   evening:,  was 


effaced  by  frank  and  reiterated  laughter,  so  that  when  I  here  are  your  letters. 


Baron.  Will  you  have  the  kindness,  sir,  to  desire 
your  servants  to  withdraw. 

M.  dc.  St.  Cur.  You  have  conic  though  a  dreadful 
night,  sir — the  cause  must  have  been  most  impor- 
tant. 

Baron.  Most  important,  sir — but  stay,  let  us  cut 
short  all  formalities  and  speak  frankly,  you  have 
written  to  my  wife  and  she  has  answered  your  let- 
ters.    I  know  all  about  it. 

M.  de  St.  Cyr.  .Sir! 

Baron  (allowing  a  packet).  It  is  useless  denying  if. 


the  musical  clock  announced  midnight,  Henry  ex-  I 
claimed,  "  It  is  twelve  o'clock,  Cecile  !" 

Scarcely  was  the  word  pronounced  when  the  fold- 
ing doors  of  the  boudoir  closed,  and  the  dining 
apartment  was  deserted. 


SCENE    THE    TIIIKD. 


Nearly  at  the  same  hour  and  on  the  same  night, 
another  scene  occured,  at  Nevers,  in  an  apartment 
occupied  by  M.  de  St.  Cyr. 

M.  de  St.  Cvi  was  thirty  years  of  a"r,  fair  and 


M.  dc  St.  Cyr.  I  sec  now  the  cause  of  your  visit ; 
I  am  at  your  service  whenever  you  please. 

Baron.  Listen  to  me,  sir.  Yesterday,  my  wife, 
hearing  that  I  was  about  to  proceed  to  America, 
threw  herself  at  my  feet — she  did  not  weep  ;  but  her 
downcast  eyes,  her  pale  checks,  her  agitation,  told 
mc  she  was  about  to  reveal  an  important  secret.  In 
fact,  sir,  she  told  me  all,  her  remorse,  and  her  fears. 
She  told  nie  all,  sir,  and  gave  me  your  letters  beg- 
ging I  would  proceed  at  once  and  return  them  to 
you,  claiming  a  restoration  of  her  correspondence 


•'.'   Ml  U)N  ;    Oil. 


in  the   forenoon,  and   joyfully  embraced  h^  wife, 
hmling  her  as  he  expected  pale  and  depiessed. 


so    '•  i^ger    during     my 

absence,  and  she   implored  .is  .1  favour  that   1 
place  her  in  souk  convent  while  I  remained  in  Ame- 
rica, 

ihhough  it  was 

IB  unpleasant  discovery  lor  ,1  husband*  to  make)  I 
have  beeu  greatl;.  •  by  them,  in  finding  that 

II    innocent,  and    thlt,  inst. 
abusing  your  fatal  .  yon  had,  on  the  con 

trary,  strt;  .  die  in  her  attachment   to  her 

duties,  contenting  yourself  with  ■  pure  and  disinter 
■flection  ;  with  a  man  like  you.  sir,  the  bnsi- 
•N  d  —  I  ought   to  have  come  here  to 
insult  you,  and  cut  your  throat,  or  lose  my  own  life 
-rWit  I    shall  act   differently. 

ur  letters  (Ac  throw*  them  in  the  fire).  I 
hopetii.it  you  will  honourably  make  a  sacrifice  of  the 
same  kind. 

'•■  Your  behaviour  is  so  noble,  sir, 

I  cannot  but  respond  in  the  same  manner  to  an 

•  so  flattering  and  honourable  to  inc — here  are 

Cernan's letters (Ae  throws  Hum  in  the 

Barm.  And  now,  sir,  I   thank  you  for  your  noble 
behaviour. which  I  well  appreciate,  for  men  like  you 
ining  rare. 
M,  I  We  are   friends  for  life  or  death, 

hand),  giant  me  your  friendship,    ir — 
1     d  v  orthy  of  it ;  I  hope  I  shall  show  myself  more 
worthy  still. 
(Tkt  affection.) 

•I  now,  sir,  I  must  bid  you  adieu. 
.1/.  de  St.  Ci/r.  In  this  dreadful  weather — do  not 
think  of  it,  to-morrow  will  be  time  enough. 

morrow,  to-morrow  !  and  my  wife,  my 
expecting   me;    to-morrow  I    consider  her  j  days.     You  ought  to  have  seen  how  tenderly  Sulpice 

...  to-morrow when  at  this  pre-    acted   towards    his    brother,    with  what  veneration, 

moment    she   is  distracted,  weeping,  with   dis-    scarcely  venturing  to  speak  to  him,  for  he  was  aware 
d  hair,  contemplating  the  result  of  this  meet-  1  of  the  silent  fits  of  the  astronomer,  but  watching  his 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

1  II  i;     TWO     R  R0  1  H  ER  S. 

Man  rtsei  above  the  earth  on  two  wings— simplicity  and 
Purity  .  simplicity  should  be  in  the  intention,  and  purity  in 
the  atlcction— Thomas  a'Kj 

Noi  hint,  was  changed  in  the  little  dwelling  of  St. 
Renaii,  the  quiet  and  modest  abode  of  the  two  bro- 
thers. There  was  the  same  solitude,  the  same  calm. 
Sulpice  had  returned  to  his  accustomed  domestic 
duties,  which  had  been  neglected  a  little  during  the 
absence  of  Rmnphius,  for  while  the  astromer  was 
sojourning  at  Paris,  poor  Sulpice  remained  in  an 
unusual  state  of  apathy  and  torpor. 

The  minute  details  of  the  household,  to  which  he 
gave  himself  up  with  BO  much  pleasure,  in  the  hopes 
of  being  useful  to  his  brother,  were  neglected  as  soon 
as  Rumphius  was  no  longer  concerned.  Living  upon 
fruit,  and  passing  the  greater  part  of  the  day  in  tears 
in  the  astronomer's  chamber,  the  miserable  Sulpice 
led  so  melancholy  a  life  since  his  separation  from 
Rumphius,  that,  properly  speaking,  the  fifteen  days 
ought  not  to  be  reckoned  as  part  of  his  existence, 
for,  as  we  have  said,  the  only  constant  end  of  all  Sul- 
pice's  endeavours  was  to  spare  his  brother  the  least 
inconvenience.  So,  that  this  object  being  as  it  were 
the  very  soul  of  the  good  brother,  the  soul  once  ab- 
sent, the  body  remained  inert,  and,  as  it  were,  life- 
less. 

But  then  what  transports,  what  joy  when  Rumphius 
returned  1  and  he  had  been  at  St.  Renan  now  for  two 


tng,   fancying   perhaps,   poor  creature,  that  wc  arc 
:  each  others'  throats. 

<t.Cgr.   I  comprehend  your  impatience,  ah*, 

I   hear  the  arrival  of  your  horses,  once  more,  adieu, 

..  Adieu,  M.  do  St.  Cyr.     What  I  am  about 
llant  roan  like  you  will  understand — come 
to  1'aris  to-morrow,  1  will   present   you  to  Madame 
•nan — certain  that  during  my  absence  she  can- 
tor, or  a  friend  more  worthy  of 
"rem  and  confidence. 
"  '  ijicd  look.) 

ned  on  this,  sir. 
Baron,    (embracing    him,)    All    your  conduct   is 
summed  up  in  I  Saint  Cur. 

M.  '  Hiring  him.)  You  com- 

pletely understand  me — Cernan. 
( /''  1 

"ff-) 
1  .  thank  1  to  my  honest 

and  1  iviour,  a  connexion  that  might  havt 

led   three  persons  (\itli  di  ith  or  despair, 


eyes,  he  strove  to  discover  by  his  looks  whether  tlK' 
journey  had  fatigued  him,  or  if  its  results  had  been 
satisfactory. 

You  ought  tc  have  seen  with  what  profound  plea- 
sure Sulpice  prepared  his  brother's  first  repast,  how 
promptly  it  was  served  up  ! 

But  the  most  astonishing  and  incomprehensible 
thing  was,  Rumphius  for  the  first  time  seemed  to 
notice  his  brother's  actions,  and  that  which  1 
more  extraordinary,  Rumphius,  in  contradiction  to 
his  usual  habit,  uttered  not  the  slightest  contradic- 
tion, and  passed  the  first  evening  after  his  arrival 
without  scolding  Sulpice. 

Sulpice  looking  upon  this  i|iiict  and  this  unusual 
calm  as  the  result  of  the  fatigue  of  bis  journey,  was 
not  much  alarmed  at  it,  but  the  next  day,  finding  the 
astronomer  till  in  a  good  humour,  and  not  hearing 
him  utter  one  harsh  or  unpleasant  word,  or  propound 
an  ambiguous  or  embarrassing  question,  Sulpice  im- 
agined Rumphius  was  seriously  indisposed,  and  be- 
gan to  make  himself  uneasy. 

He  made  up  his  mind,   therefore,  to  question  bit 

id,  o|   honour  and  probity,  by  which  I  brother  as  to  the  state  of  his  health,  if  on  the  third 

d,  more    firmly   drawn — compare  thi-    to    day  he  exhibited  the  same  symptom  . 


criminal   love     Well,  say  *  U,  virtue  is 

-dutiful  and  honourable,  and  this  is  a  proof  of 
it. 

\ud    M.  de  St.  Cyr  ;.!cpt  like  a  virtuous  man,  as 
■ 

;ht,  employed  in  such  various 
o'clock  in  the  morning  the  'I  1 
■ 
idently  wrapt  op,  jot  into  a  fiacre, 
tt  eleven  ■>  • 


And  we  have  now  reached  the  third  day. 

It  happened  after  the  frugal  repast  of  the  two  bro- 
ther.-, when  Rumphius  appeared  more  absorbed  than 
usual,  that  suddenly  he  awoke  from  his  reverie  and 
addressed  himself  to  Sulpice. 

"  At  length  wc  are  once  more  united,"  he  observed 
with  a  sigh. 

"  Ah  I  v -  ,  happily  united,  and  never  to  I 

it  not  so,  brother  .'"  replied  Sulpice. 
For  if  you  knew  how  miserable  I  am  away  from  you, 


TtlF.    WATCH"    TOV.TR    Of    KOAT-VIN. 


47 


— and  yet  I  should  nor.  have  been  miserable  ii'  you    tiils,  and  pronounce  the  word  Eon    a  times,  holding 

was  "ratified  with  your  journey.  Pardon  my  selfish-  j  his  breath  and  thinking  of  fire,  and  in  that  manner 
nest,  but  I  could  not  help  being  unhappy, — Oh  !  yes,  symbolically  burning  bis  body  !  Will  you  not  envy 
brother,  you  must  pardon  me,  tor  I  endured  much   me,  Sulpice?  you  cannot  comprehend  my  happiness. 


when  away  from  you,  and  should  very  soon  have 
come  to  you,  if  you  bad  insisted  on  my  remaining 
here,  by  myself. 

And  the  eyes  of  the  poor  and  good  creature  again 
filled  with  tears  at  the   mere  remembrance  of  those 
long,  melancholy,  and  dismal  days  lie   Iia  1 
alone. 

"  My  good  Sulpice,"  said  Rumpliius  much  moved, 
for  his  position  was  cruel  even  for  a  mind  dried  up 
by  analysis  like  that  of  Rumpliius. 

The  astronomer  had  promised  the  count  to  go  with 
him  to  India,  and  nothing  in  the  world  could  have 
induced  him  to  give  up  his  voyage  ;  but  in  spite  of 
bis  selfishness,  and  his  philosophical  scorn  of  the 
limited  intellect  of  Sulpice,  Rumpliius  Felt  himself 
much  affected  when  lie  was  ahout  to  explain  himself 
to  this  man  of  so  inferior  a  nature. 

And  this  fear  was  natural,  for  never  did  the  science 
of  a  Newton,  the  genius  of  a  Buonaparte,  the  power 
of  a  Louis  XIV.,  protect  a  man  from  the  feeling  of 
trouble  and  admiration,  which  the  quiet  beams  of  a 
serene  and  placid  soul  impose  on  it,  a  childish  soul, 
that  finds  such  powerful  arms  in  its  resignation,  such 
immense  superiority  in  its  simple  devotion. 

"  My  good  Sulpice,  at  length  we  are  re-united, 


I  shall  read  in  the  Talmud — penetrate  the  nr. 
symbols — understand  the  allegory,  among  others,  of 
the  giant  Banana,  the  hairs  of  whose  body  respmbled 
the  trees  of  a  mighty  forest,  and  who,  when  at  war 
with  the  gods,  fixed  a  rock  to  the  extremity  of  each 
of  these  hairs,  and  advancing  armed  in  this  manner 
into  the  midst  of  the  hostile  army,  had  but  to  shake 
himself  thus,  br-r-r,  and  by  the  violent  action  cause 
the  rocks  to  fly  to  the  right  and  left,  falling  thick  as 
hail,  and  crushing  bis  enemies  even  to  the  last  man  ! 
Hut  what  is  that  to  the  hope  of  penetrating  the  sym- 
bol of  Rama,  who  had  ten  head-;  and  three  hundred 
and  sixty-five  arms '.—only  consider,  I  shall  find  out 
these  and  a  hundred  other*.  Will  it  not  delight  you 
— will  it  not  make  you  even  tremble  with  joy  '.  The 
very  idea  of  my  voyage  will  fill  you  with  trans- 
port !" 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  brother,"  said  Sulpics 
"  True,  True,  you  are  right, — well,  then,  since  v.  e 
must  come  to  it  at  last,"  said  R.umphius  with  the 
resolution  of  despair,  "  the  Count  de  Vaudry  has 
proposed  that  I  should  accompany  him  to  India — I 
have  accepted  his  offer,  and  in  eight  days  I  rejoin 
him  at  Brest,  that  I  may  proceed  along  with  him.' 
At  this  unexpected  and  overwhelming  information 


but  let  us  think  no  more  of  that,"  said  Rumpliius  i  the  blood  of  Sulpice  was  checked  in  its  course,  he 
mechanically,  for  he  had  not  courage  to  tell  his  bro-  I  became  pale  as  death,  and  stammered  out  in  accents 
ther  the  fatal  news.  of  despair,  while  his  eyes  were  filled  with  tear:  — 

•'  Oh!  I  have  already  forgotten  my  trouble,  I  only'      "  Leave!  leave! — and  I,  brother,  I?" 
spoke  cf  it  because   I  am  so  happy,"  said  Sulpice,  j      And  he  was  on  his  knees   before  Rumphius,  and 
"  Oh,  so  very  happy ! — for  a  long  time  to  come  you  j  grasped  his  hands. 

will  not  leave  me, — is  it  not  so,  brother?  because!  "You?  well,  you,"  murmured  Rumphius,  "you 
your  patron,  the  Count  de  Vaudry,  is  about  to  embark  will  wait  here  for  my  return, — you  have  been  without 
at  Brest,  and  will  no  doubt  be  a  long  time  before  he   me  for  fifteen  days  and  you  are  not  dead." 


leturns,  and  so  it  will  be  long  before  we  are  again 
separated, — is  it  not  so,  brother?" 

"  Certainly,  Sulpice,  he  sails  for  India, — what  a 
delightful  voyage  that  must  be  !" 

"  Oh!  certainly,  a  delightful  voyage,"  replied  Snl- 
pice  with  his  usual  submission. 

'•  Such  a  voyage  as  I  should  like  to  have  taken  if 
I  were  younger  ;  but,  bah !  at  my  age  I  must  not 
think  of  it,"  said  Rumphius,  who  was  not  particularly 
adroit  at  arriving  at  his  ends  by  well  managed  tran- 
sitions. 

"  Oh!  certainly,  brother,  you  are  quite  right  not 
to  think  of  it." 

"  Oh !  1  think  no  more  of  it,  Sulpice,  I  only  say 
it  must  be  a  delightful  voyage, — only  imagine,  to  see 
with  your  own  eyes  what  the  books  have  so  imper- 
fectly taught,  to  see  the  Brahmins,  and  converse 
with  them  on  the  Nitij  Hocas,  or  the  morality  of  the 
Hindoo  religion  ;  to  witness  the  sacrifices  of  the 
Vanaprasty  Brahmins,  of  which  we  have  at  present 
such  an  imperfect  idea,  and  the  sacrifice  of  the  Ekiam, 
and  the  little  Ekiam,  and  the  great  Ekiam,  and  the 
legends  of  the  Sanscrit,  and  the  giant  enemies  of  the 
/  anaparsties. 

And  Rumphius  became  by  degrees  more  an- 
imated in  as  he  proceeded  in  his  speech,  by  de- 
grees his  ardour  for  science  awoke,  and  made  him 
less  and  less  sensible  to  the  fear  of  wounding  his 
brother's  feelings  by  informing  him  of  his  project  in 
so  unexpected  a  manner. 

•'Athngth,"  exclaimed  Rumphius  with  in 
excitement,    "  at  length   to  see  with  my  own   eyes. 
Sulpice,  to  see  and  hear  a  true  Brahmin,  a  Brahmin 
in  flesh  and  blood,  perform  the  Sandia !  to  see  him 
with  his  thumb  and  index  finget  pre       hie  two  nos- 


"  Oh!  it  is  impossible,  it  is  impossible  ! — go  alone! 
it  must  not  be,  brother,"  said  Sulpice,  his  hands 
joined. 

"  It  is  possible,  and  it  shall  be  so,  because  I  de- 
sire it.  After  all  1  have  no  need  of  you,"  said  Rum- 
phius in  a  tone  of  voice  he  intended  should  be  harsh, 
but  which  the  emotion  of  his  features  belied. 

At  these  cruel  words  Sulpice  stood  up,  calm  and 
noble  ...  he  wiped  his  tears,  and  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  said,  with  extraordinary  decision,  such  as 
you  could  not  expect  in  a  man  usually  so  submissive 
and  timid. 

"  Whether  you  wish  or  not,  if  you  go  to  India, 
brother,  I  accompany  you." 

•'  What  madness,"  said  the  Astronomer. 

"  It  ought  not  to  be  called  madness,  brother. 
Listen!"  And  the  voice  of  Sulpice  became  almost 
threatening.  "  It  is  not  madness,  it  i ■;  a  right  I 
have  acquired  by  my  devotion  to  you,  nuw  of  twenty 
years  standing — it  is  a  right  I  have  also  acquired  by 
the  promise  1  made  our  father  on  his  death-bed,  that 
1  would  never  leave  you — and  1  am  determined  to 
make  use  of  my  privilege.       Do  you  hear,  brot! 

Rumphius  was  silent,  unable  to  bear  the  imposing 
and  almost  inspired  look  of  Sulpice,  who  every  in- 
stant became  more  animated. 

••  How,  brother,  did  you  imagine  that,  knowing 
you  to  be  in  the  midst  of  the  thousand  dangers  of 
a  voyage  by  sen,  I  would  remain  hero  breathing  use- 
less prayers  for  you  .'  Did  you  believe,  that  when 
here  on  dry  land,  in  this  ■•olitude,  I  have  scarcely 
been  able  to  .  e  privation,  some  impru- 

dent act,  injuring  your  health,  oi  deranging  your 
studies.     You  imagined   I  would  let  you  be  alone, 

ads,  ar.J 


48 


TUT.   TEMPTATION  ;   OH, 


occupying  yourself  with  details  of  which  you  bare 
not  the  least  idea.  \\  ho  would  take  care  of  you. 
brother ?  who  would  lead  yon?  who  would  put  the 
t  red  into  your  hand,  and  the  wine  to  your  lips  .' 
who  would  come  during  the  night,  while  you,  half 
undressed,  was  watching  the  stars?  who  would  come 
und  protect  you  from  cold  .'  Did  you  helieve  it, 
Lrother  ?  You  thought  that,  knowing  you  buried 
in  the  midst  of  an  existence  so  new  to  you,  1  should 
leave  you  alone  !  No,  no  !  whether  you  consent  or 
not,  once  again — I  will  follow  you  !  Listen  to  me, 
brother — have  1  bound  my  life  to  yours  for  the  pur- 
pose of  seeing  the  fruit  of  twenty  years  of  brotherly 
affection  annihilated  in  an  hour  ?  1  will  follow  you — 
once  again,  whether  you  will  or  no,  I  will  follow 
you,  brother." 

This  simple,  determined,  and  noble  language  con- 
founded Rumphius — the  philosopher  was  completely 
beaten,  it  was  pitiful  to  see  him,  he  sobbed  like  a 
detected  school-boy,  and  not  knowing  how  to  answer, 
he  thought  of  asking  the  mediation  of  Henry,  and 
in  his  turn  said,  in  a  submissive  tone,  and  with 
much  emotion — 

•'  But  I  do  not  know  vhether  Count  de  Vaudry 
will  consent  to  your  following  me,  Snlpice." 

"  Whether  he  will  consent !  brother,  do  you 
doubt  it  ?  You  are  insulting  the  count ;  oh,  I  pro- 
mise  \ou  he  will  consent,  when  I  say  to  him — 
("ount,  my  brother  can  no  more  do  without  me  than 
he  can  feel  without  hands,  or  see  without  eyes, 
while  my  brother  is  thinking,  1  am  acting  for  him. 
His  labours  are  precious  to  the  country,  count ;  and 
in  order  that  he  may  devote  himself  more  entirely  to 
science  which  claims  him,  his  life  must  be  freed 
from  all  those  miserable  material  cares  that  would 
disturb  him  in  his  labours ;  who  then  could  fulfil 
these  duties  with  regard  to  him,  better  than  myself? 
who  will  dare  dispute  the  task  with  ine  ?  But, 
count,  I  only  request  that  1  may  be  with  my  bro- 
ther, that  is  all,  to  be  in  the  same  vessel  with  him, 
— the  rest  is  of  no  moment,  you  may  put  me 
among  the  sailors,  you  may  treat  me  the  same 
us  them ;  what  I  want,  count,  is  to  be  near  my 
brother,  and  you  cannot,  you  will  not,  refuse  me 
that." 

"  Well,  well  thpn,  make  it  your  business  t0  speak 
to  him,  Sulpice ;  I  will  not  meddle  with  it." 

"  Oh,  lpave  it  to  me,  brother — all  I  require  is 
you  approbation,"  said  Sulpice,  too  happy  in  the 
astronomer's  acquiescence,  and  again  becoming 
humble  and  snbmissive. 

For,  by  a  curious  psycological  phenomenon,  the 
transitory  excitement  to  which  Sulpice  was  indebted 
for  his  eloquence,  disappeared  at  once,  when  its  end 
was  gained. 

It  would  be  useless  to  endeavour  to  penetrate  the 
mysterious  cause  of  this,  let  us  content  ourselves 
then  with  saying,  that  after  this  scene,  the  good 
Sulpice  became  what  he  ever  hail  been,  calm,  patient, 
negative — and  that  Rumphius,  having  delivered 
himself  of  his  secret,  again  became  a  dreamer, 
and  scolded  and  argued,  according  to  custom,  and 
that  lite  of  the  two  brothers  went  on  much  in  the 
MM)  manner,  and  was  but  little  changed  by  the 
preparations  for  their  departure,  which  Snlpice 
made  with  his  ordinary  patience  and  care. 

Three  days  afterwards,  Rumphius  received  a  letter 
from  Paris,  to  the  following  effect: — 

"Sir, — The   count,  m)    master,   baa  <;. urged  me 
with  the  honor  of  informing  you  thai  he  will  be  at 
Brest  the  second  day  after  jrou  receive  this  letter, 
afid  he  requests  you  will  make  your  pi    p  .. 
speedily  a>  possible,  for  the  count  u. 


at  the  beginning  of  January,  at  the  latest. 

I  have  the  honour  to  be,  &c. 

Gebheac, 

Decembt  r,  1780.  Valet  de  Chambre." 

At  the  bottom  of  the  letter  tlie  following  words, 
written  in  haste,  were  in  the  hand-writing  of  Henry. 

M Hasten  i/onr  arrival  mjf  good  Rumphius,  a  devil 
of  an  adventure  obliges  me  to  leave  without  the  luut 
dehii/." 

"  A  devil  of  an  adventure,"  said  Rumphius, 
thoughtfully.  "Alt,  1  understand  it  —  it  must  be 
the  duel  with  M.  de  Cernan,  it  was  to  have  taken 
place  the  day  after  1  left  .  .  .  and  1  forgot  my  un- 
easiness !" 

"  Fight,  brother!  should  he  be  killed!" 

In  this  involuntary  exclamation  of  the  gentle  Sul . 
pice  might  he  found  the  germ  of  this  homicidal  idea, 
Should  Ju  he  killed,  my  brother  would  remain  with  me, 
and  avoid  the  dangers  into  which  he  <>  perhaps  ran* 
"'",-'■ 

Rumphius  replied — ''Wounded,  it  is  not  unlikely 
— for  the  baron  was  much  wronged." 

"  How  so,  brother?"  said  Sulpice. 

"  Oh,  for  reasons  you  cannot  understand,"  an- 
swered Rumphius,  with  a  ridiculously  mysterious 
air. 

Two  days  afterwards,  the  two  brothers  arrived  at 
Brest,  followed  by  their  slight  baggage,  and  the  little 
house  of  St.  Renan  remained  under  the  care  of  an 
aged  woman. 

Sulpice  shed,  in  secret,  a  few  tears,  which  the 
recollection  of  former  days  spent  in  that  retreat 
drew  from  him,  but  he  said  nothing  to  his  brother, 
and  even  endeavoured  to  appear  to  be  more  lively 
than  usual. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


There  are  among  them  unhappy  men  who  are  consoled  by 

no  one — these  are  jealous  husbands :  there  are  those  that  all 

the  world  hates — these  are  jealous  husbands  :    there  ar« 

i  those  that  all  the  world  despise — these  are  jealous  husbands. 

MoNTESOUItC 

i      It   is  worthy  of  notice  that  our  people  place  valour  in  the 
'■  first  rank  of  the  virtues. — Montaigne. 

In  1780,  as  in  1830,  the  life  of  a  naval  officer  at  a 
fortified  port,  has  always  been  monotonous. 

But  it  is  particularly  for  those,  who  being  stran- 
'  gers  to  the  town,  and  without  family  connexions, 
that  the  days  drag  on  so  long  and  wearisome,  for 
hut  little  variety  can  be  found  in  what  is  called 
tocitty  ;  this  society,  like  all  society  in  provincial 
towns,  being  only  amusing  to  those,  who  constantly 
living  in  their  own  circle,  are  an  fait  to  the  sem- 
piternal lies,  jokes,  and  rivalries  on  which  til  w.ts 
of  the  neighbourhood  usually  revolve.  But,  in  fact, 
it  would  all  appear  foolish  enough  to  a  poo- devil 
just  arrived  from  Versailles,  Paris,  or  Chili. — So  you 
have  to  choose  between  the  beer  and  smoke  of  the 
estaminett,  the  falsettos  of  a  paltry  theatre,  or  the 
most  complete  solitude. 

Thus  the  three  officers  of  the  frigate,  commanded 
by  Captain  Vaudry,  would  have  had  to  make  this 
embarrassing  choice,  for  they  were  perfect  strangers 
at  Brest,  if  they  had  not  hit  upon  the  notable  idea  of 
meeting  every  evening  at  the  house  of  one  or 
other  of  their  party,  and  there  getting-up  for  the 
occasion,  a  ltttle  Pans,  in  the  foggy  atmosphere  of 
Brittany. 

In  this  manner  they  lived  on  their  mutual  remi- 
niscences, communicating  to  each  other  the  letters 
they  received  from  the  court,  and  thus  renovating, 


THE    WATCH    TOYVF.H    OF  K.UAT-VEN' 


In  a  small  degree  the  happy  life  of  Paris  or  Ver- 
sailles for  which  they  sighed  so  deeply. 

These  three  intimates,  as  they  were  called,  were 
theMarquisdeMiran,the  Chevalier  de  Monval,  both 
ensigns  on  board  the  vessel,  and  the  Baron  de  Saint 
Sauveur,  garde  da  pavilion,  performing  the  duties  of 
an  officer  on  board. 

Every  evening  after  dinner  they  assembled  round 
a  blazing  fire,  before  which  an  immense  vessel  of  hot 
water  was  simmering,  intended  as  a  component  fur 
punch  and  coffee,  or  tea  (the  use  of  which  was  begin- 
ning to  become  established  among  the  aristocracy.) 

The  three  friends  held  long  conversations  on  voy- 
ages, battles,  Versailles,  Paris,  and  the  Indies,  played 
a  little,  and  read  the  letters  they  received  from  their 
numerous  correspondents.  They  had  met  this  even- 
ing at  the  Marquis  de  Milan's. 

The  Chevalier  de  Monval  had  arrived,  and  they 
waited  for  the  Baron  de  Saint- Sauveur. 


The  apartment  of  M.  de  Miran  consisted  of  three 
I  of  those  large  furnished  rooms  which  have,  in  my 
mindj  so  sad  and  singular  an  appearance. 

The  two  young  men  had  established  themselves  in 
the  least  extensive  of  these  apartments,  which  was 
called  a  salon,  but  thanks  to  an  immense  sparkling 
tire,  a  thick  carpet  and  large  curtains,  by  which  the 
windows  were  hidden  here  you  miglit  well  pass  a 
winter's  evening  reclining  on  one  of  those  three 
couches  with  which  the  room  was  furnished,  sipping 
from  time  to  time  a  glass  of  reeking  punch,  or  a  cup 
of  cttruvane  tea. 

"  What  the  devil  can  make  that  simpleton  Saint- 
Sauveur  so  late."  said  Monval,  "  I  hope  to  heaven 
he  will  not  disappoint  iw.  we  are  quite  out  of  news 
and  must  reckon  on  his  bringing  us  some." 

"  Faith,  Monval.  that  was  an  unlucky  courier  to- 
said  M.  de  Minn,  "  .u\d  to  mend  the  matter 


10 


TnE    TEMPTATION;    OH, 


we  had  to  pass  ten  hours  in  the  equipment  oi  that 
cursed  frigate." 

"  Without  reckoning  the  mortal  fatigue  of  having 
that  devil  of  a  lieutenant  at  our  heels,"  said  Monval. 

"  Oh;  confound  him,  the  Mm*  thai  hi-  is,"  re 
phed  Miran,  '"  he  is  so  proud  of  proving  he  under- 
stands his  business,  a  matter  that  no  one  disputes. 
And  then  he  is  *o  coarse  and  insolent  in  his  manners, 
luckily  for  him,  only  when  in  service,  however,  if  that 
were  not  the  case,  my  dear  feHow,  there  would  be 
blood  spilt." 

"  Bah!"  said  Monval,  "  he  is  half  mad.  We 
cu^ht  to  amuse  ourselves  with  him.  I,  for  my  part, 
am  to  submissive  in  the  performance  of  my  duties, 
that  I  make  hini  half  wild,  but,  once  out  of  the  fri- 
jste,  and  I'll  make  this  worthy  M.  Thomas  answer 
for  his  impertinence,  who  I  rather  suspect  to  be  vext 
because  he  is  only  called  Thomas,  although  he  and 
his  friend  Gedeon,  our  worthy  doctor,  are  constantly 
snarling  at  the  noblesse." 

"  Gedeon,"  said  the  Marquis  de  Miran,  "  what  a 
brute,  an  ass  that  is — butlhearSaint-Sauveur" — and 
Saint-Sauveur  entered  the  room.  He  might  have 
been  about  eighteen  years  of  age,  his  two  friends  ap- 
peared rather  older. 

"  Good  day,"  said  Saint-Sauveur,  as  he  entered ; 
"  good  day,  and  good  evening — I  have  letters." 

"  Bravo,  let  us  see  them." 

"  No!  first  of  all  give  me  my  robe-de-chambre 
Miran,  I  think,  like  M.  Jourdan,  I  shall  read  better 
in  my  robe-de-chambre." 

"  Here  then,  simpleton  that  you  are,"  said  his 
host,  throwing  him  the  garment  which  he  took  out 
of  a  clothes-press. 

Saint  Sauveur  doffed  his  blue  uniform,  bound 
v  ith  gold  lace,  a  la  Burgogne,  but  kept  on  his 
waistcoat,  his  breeches,  and  his  scarlet  stockings, 
Scarlet,  because  the  gardes  du  pavilion  belonged  to 
the  king's  service)  unclasped  his  doe-skin  belt, 
threw  his  sword  on  the  table,  put  on  his  robe  de 
I  hambre,  stretched  himself  on  one  of  the  couches, 
and,  at  last,  said  to  his  two  friends,  who  awaited 
the  completion  of  his  installation  with  intense 
curiosity, 

"My  friends,  I  have  letters  from  Paris,  and 
among  others  one  from  the  Marquis  de  La  Jaille, 
the  intimate  friend  of  our  new  commander." 

"  Excellent !  read  that  to  us." 

"  I  believe  it  is  excellent,  for  it  treats  of  a  most 
extraordinary  adventure — quite  a  romance— the 
denouement  of  which  was  lately  accomplished  by 
the  Count  de  Vaudry." 

"  Read  it,  you  confounded  babbler,"  said  liis 
companions. 

■  Well,  here  it  is;  listen  to  what  La  Jaille  says." 

"  My  dear  friend,  you  generally  complain  that 
my  letters  arc  short,  here  is  one  with  which  I 
think  you  will  not  find  the  same  fault;  I  shall  be 
prolix,  because  it  regards  one  of  my  most  intimate 
friends,  under  wkoM  orders  you  will  soon  find 
yourselves,  and  I  wish  to  omit  nothing  in  an  ad- 
venture that  envy  and  falsehood  will  rnisn-; 
in  the  case  of  my  excellent  and  worthy  friend  the 
Count  de  Vaudry.     This  is  the  atiuir. 

"I    told    you    in    my    former    letter    ti    the 

very     Dove]     hoax    Vaudry   played     off   M    the 

dis   disguise;    his  abode   in   a 

te  w.-r.  at  this  time  distinguished  u  the  blue 
•;.:rc'J  were  (MWrally  noblen, 

orvolunl 

-.,  uuxiluine,,  awl  M 

■ 


lonely  tower;  his  joke,  although  quite  innocent  in 
the  Brsl  instance,  to  the  great  regret  of  my  friend, 
I  assure  vou,  ended  in  a  very  serious  manner. 
Bat,  then,  in  our  times,  who  the  devil  would  have 
expected  to  see  a  woman  carry  matters  to  such  an 
<  Xtreme,  and  be  such  a  child  as  to  die  of  love,  what 
would  you  have  !  ii  was  a  misfortune;  but  you 
moat  acknowledge  it  was  impossible  for  Vaudry  to 
have  foreseen  it." 

"  As  you  may  well  imagine,  this  adventure  made 
Vaudry  more  the  rage  than  ever,  and  among  the 
women  it  interested,  I  will  notice  the  Baroness  de 
Cernan,  whom  you  have  seen,  1  believe,  at  the 
Princess  de  Loraine's,  where  she  remained  for 
some  months." 

"  Zounds,  I  know  her,"  said  Monval,  "  a  very 
pretty  woman,  but  a  dreadful  prude  as  they  told 
me;  and  she  also;  hah!  hah!  hah!  if  I  had  but 
known  that — " 

"  Be  quiet  then,"  said  Miran. 

Saint  Sauveur  continued — 

"  It  appears  that  a  M.  de  St  Cyr,  n  lieutenant- 
colonel  in  the  regiment  of  Burgundy,  also  paid 
attention  to  Madame  de  Cernan,  that  she  even 
received  his  letters,  but  he,  like  many  others,  had 
obtained  nothing;  in  fact,  he  is  said  to  have  been 
strictly  and  purely  platonic. 

"  And  yet,"  cried  Monval,  "you  wish  me  not  to 
have  a  supreme  contempt  for  the  infantry." 

"  Another  interruption  and  I  will  leave  off  read- 
ing," said  Saint  Sauveur,  who  then  continued — 

"  I  know  not  why,  nor  in  what  manner  Vaudry 
got  rid  of  the  husband,  and  sent  him  to  M.  St.  Cyr, 
at  Nevers,  where  the  latter  was  in  garrison;  but 
that  which  is  certain,  and  is  now  well  known  by 
all  in  Paris,  is,  that  while  the  husband  and  the 

?latonic  lover  were  saying  I  know  not  what  at 
fevers,  the  count  passed  the  night  with  the  baro- 
ness, at  his  little  residence. 

"Bravo!"  cried  Monval;  "  an  excellent  lesson 
for  the  platonist  of  the  infantry." 

"  By  some  unaccountable  chance,"  continued 
Saint  Sauveur,  "  although  the  precautions  taken  by 
the  count  and  the  baroness,  ought  to  have  buried 
the  adventure  in  the  most  profound  secrecy,  two 
anonymous  letters,  sent,  as  it  is  imagined,  by  the 
Marchioness  de  Vaille,  who  found  herself  sacrificed 
by  Henry  to  Madame  de  Cernan,  informed  M.  de 
St.  Cyr  and  M.  de  Cernan,  that  they  had  both 
been  tricked,  and  that,  during  the  husband  s  jour- 
ney to  Nevers,  the  wife  had  given  a  meeting  to 
Vaudry.  The  fact  was  proved  by  one  of  the 
women  of  the  baroness,  who  until  then  had  ap- 
peared devoted  to  her  mistress,  but  probably  cor- 
rupted by  the  wretches,  who  were  the  instru- 
ments of  all  these  horrors,  acknowledged  all  to  the 
baron. 

"  Thus  far,  my  friend,  I  have  merely  filled  the 
part  of  a  narrator,  DOW  let  me  tell  you  how  1 
became  an  actor  in  this  tragi  comedy. 

"  Three  days  since  I  received  a  note  from  Henry, 
who  begged  of  me  instantly  to  repair  to  the  hotel 
Vaudry— I  hastened  there,  and  found  him  much 
agitated — '  I  sent  for  you,'  he  said,  'because  I  have  a 
sad  affair  in  hand.  For  myself  I  cure  not,  but 
poor  Madame  de  Cernan  will  be  in  despair.  But, 
after  all,  never  mind,  I  wrote  to  you  to  beg  you 
would  be  one  of  m)  seconds,  Crussol  will  be  the 
other.  I  meet  M.  .M.  Cernan  and  St.  Cyr  this 
morning  at  the  Porte  Maiiiut.  'Two  duels  at 
once,'  i  -■'!::.  'it  is  not  a  (air  arrangement.  What 
II   the  intuit  has  L, i  ii    equal,   my  dear 


THE  WATCH  TOWER   OF  KOAT-VEN. 


51 


boy.'  said  Vaudry,  'and  the  reparation  ought  to  be 
so  also.' 

"  U'e  left,  in  his,  carriage,  Vaudry,  myself,  Crussol, 
and  the  surgeon. 

"  At  the  entrance  to  the  wood  we  met  our  ad- 
versaries, M.  de  Cernan  and  M.  M.  de  St.  Cyr,  and 
de  Maupas,  who  acted  as  seconds. 

"  We  bribed  the  guards  heavily,  who  promised 
us  silence,  and  soon  gained  a  thickly  shaded  alley. 
"  M.  de  Cernan  had  chosen  pistols,  his  exces- 
sive corpulence  rende-ing  the  small  sword  incon- 
venient. Vaudry  and  he  were  to  advance  towards 
each  other,  and  fire  when  they  thought  fit,  but 
they  were  not  to  approach  each  other  nearer  than 
ten  paces. 

"  AVe  placed  them  at  five  and  twenty  paces  ; 
Vaudry  was  cool  and  calm,  as  he  always  is." 

"  M.  de  Cernan  was  extremely  pale,  and  although 
3t  was  bitter  cold,  large  drops  of  perspiration  rolled 
down  his  forehead. 

"  About  fifteen  paces  from  Henry  the  baron  fired 
his  first  shot,  and  the  ball  grazed  Vaudry's  ear,  who 
turned  suddenly,  but  I  swear,  on  my  honour,  he 
took  no  aim  at  M.  de  Cernan. 

"  He  was  always  a  good  fellow,"  said  the  Cheva- 
lier de  Monval,  interrupting  the  reading. 

St.  Sauveur,  after  an  impatient  gesture,  con- 
tinued— 

"  When  the  two  opponents  were  ten  paces  dis- 
tant, the  baron  trembled  with  rage  to  such  an 
extent,  that  bis  pistol  shook  fearfully  in  his  hand, 
— '  You  have  not  your  usual  sang  Jroid  baron,'  said 
Henry  to  him ;  '  recover  yourself,  I  will  wait ' — 
then  addressing  himself  to  M.  deSt.  Cyr — '  If  you 
are  inclined,  sir,  I  am  at  your  orders,  for  I  have  an 
liifair  with  you  also.' 

"  This  behaviour,  so  noble,  so  unexpected,  and 
generous,  so  much  astonished  us,  that  at  first,  no 
one  answered;  but  M.  de  St.  Cyr,  thanking  Henry, 
at  the  sitme  time  for  his  delicate  behaviour,  would 
not  accept  of  the  offer  without  the  consent  of  M. 
de  Cernan.' 

"  •  And  I  oppose  it,' cried  the  baron  in  a  fury — 'the 
villain  shall  only  die  by  my  hand — once  again  1 
oppose  it — perhaps  St.  Cyr  wishes  to  kill  him  for 
ine,"  added  the  headstrong  man. 

"  'You  arc  right,  baron,  to  every  one  his  own, 
said  Henry,  tranquilly;  '  then  I  shall  wait  without 
acting.' 

"  The->e  words  appeared  to  double  the  rage  of 
the  baron,  but  at  the  same  time  made  him,  to  out- 
ward appearance,  calm;  from  an  agitated  passion 
he  fell  into  a  cool  rage,  and  his  arm  was  extended 
as  stiff  as  a  rod  of  iron,  when  he  said  to  Henry, 
with  a  frightful  smile — '  Now,  sir,  you  see  I  tremble 
no  longer;  place  yourself  there  that  I  may  slay 
you.' 

"  Henry  said  nothing,  but  saluting  me  with  his 
hand,  looked  stedfastly  at  the  baron,  his  pistol  was 
discharged,  but  it  missed  Henry,  who  fired,  as  in 
the  first  instance,  at  random. 

"  The  baron,  instead  of  appreciating  this  hon- 
ourable conduct,  flung  himself  upon  Henry  in  a 
paroxysm  of  inexpressible  rage,  and  struck  him 
on  the  face,  exclaiming — '  1 1  is  not  concluded,  re- 
member, I  leave  not  this  spot  until  you  or  I  are 
dead.' 

"  At  this  action  of  the  baron,  knowing  Henry's 
violent  temper,  I  imagined  M.  de  Cernan  was  lost; 
Vaudry  still  had  in  his  hand  his  two  pistols,  dis- 
charged it  is  true,  but  capable  still  of  being  used 
as  terrible  weapons. 


"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  astonished  I  was.  my 
friend,  at  seeing  Henry  remain  almost  calm,  only 
by  the  contraction  of  his  cheeks,  I  could  perceive 
that  he  ground  his  teeth  against  each  other. 

"  I,  Crussol,  and  M.  de  St.  Cyr  restrained  the 
barcn  reproaching  him  for  his  outrageous  beha- 
viour. 

"  'Baron,'  said  Henry  with  the  same  iangfroid, 
— '  Your  insult  changes  our  situations,  or  at  least, 
equalizes  them ;  to  finish  the  business,  I  propose 
we  take  two  pistols,  one  only  of  which  shall  he 
loaded,  place  them  against  our  breasts,  and  all  will 
be  over,  for  really  this  is  child's  play,  and  we  are 
abusing  the  complaisance  of  these  gentlemen.' 

" '  I  agree,'  said  the  baron. 

"  Our  intervention  to  prevent  such  a  project  was 
in  vain. 

"What  Henry  proposed  was  done,  each  of 
them  took  the  corner  of  a  handkerchief  between 
his  teeth  —we  gave  the  signal— one  pistol  only  was 
discharged;  it  was  Vaudry's;  the  baron  turned 
once  round,  stretched  out  his  arms,  and  fell  on  his 
side  without  uttering  a  cry — he  was  dead 

"  The  devil!"  said  Monval. 

"Confusion!"  added  Miran. 

Saint  Sauveur  continued — 

" '  I  swear  to  you,  La  Jaille,'  said  Henry  to  me, 
with  extraordinary  emotion, '  I  would  have  given 
everything  in  the  world  to  have  avoided  this  fright- 
ful necessity;  but,  twice  did  I  spare  the  life  of  the 
madman,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  suffer  myself  to  be 
killed  like  a  dog,  without  discovering  whether 
chance  might  assist  me.' 

"  '  Now  I'm  at  your  orders,  sir,  said  Henry  to  St 
Cyr. 

"  Truly,  my  friend,  it  was  a  cruel  sight  to  see 
two  men  combatting  near  a  dead  body.  After  ten 
minutes  fighting  M.  de  St.  Cyr  was  wounded  and 
disarmed— he  declared  himself  satisfied.  They 
say  he  has  left  his  regiment  and  turned  Trappist. 
The  Baroness  de  Cernan  has  retired  for  the  pre- 
sent to  a  convent. 

"  That,  my  friend,  is  the  whole  of  the  adventure, 
and  I  preferred  informing  you  of  the  minutest 
details,  to  guard  you  against  the  scandal  that  ill- 
nature  might  circulate.  You  see  it  is  impossible 
for  conduct  to  have  been  more  delicate  and  honour- 
able than  that  of  Vaudry,  and  yet  envy  has  endea- 
voured to  vilify  his  character.  But  these  odious 
manoeuvres  have  failed,  to  the  confusion  of  their 
authors.  For  I  know  not  how,  it  was  for  an  instant 
reported,  that  the  count  was  dangerously  wounded. 
Well,  the  court  and  the  town  have  been  decrying 
him,  and  there  has  been  scarcely  a  fete  at  which 
his  life  was  not  in  danger.  Yesterday  he  re. 
ceived  his  orders  from  the  king  and  the  ministry. 
His  Majesty  parted  with  him  rather  severely,  it  is 
true—  saying  to  him—'  It  is  against  the  enemies  of 
France,  sir,  we  wish  to  see  you  employ  your  valour, 
Go  sir — and  let  me  soon  hear  of  one  of  those  deeds 
of  arms  related  to  us,  for  which  you  are  so  famed. 
It  is  the  only  way  to  cause  us  to  forget  your  un- 
happy adventure,  and  restore  you  to  our  favour.' 

"  This  mercurial  need  not  astonish  you;  the 
king  is  so  austere  in  his  life,  that  Vaudry's  cou- 
duct  must  necessarily  have  appeared  to  him  moro 
blameable  than  it  really  is. 

"Adieu,  my  friend;  I  sincerely  congrntuIateHou 
in  serving  under  the  orders  of  the  count;  let  them 
say  what  they  will:  I  have  Spoken  to  trim  Concern- 

you,  aud  have  introduced  him  to  your  father, 


•  WTK'tn  ho  behaved  with  v0  much 


J  is  in  extacies   with  him,  andia  little  footstool,  covered  with  the  same  material 


him    "Ut    as  the    model   of  a   perl 
d  eman. 

Mien)  you    antin  Ij . 

Mm.-;  BDl    i  \  -I  \u  i  b. 

"The  devil!"   said    Miran;    "our  rutm 
mandant  does  not  employ  his  time  badly. ' 

'■  It  is  a  singular  affair  though,"  said  Monval, 
"  That  M.  de  Vaudry,  utter  having  dishonoured 
M.  de  Cernan,  killed  him  without  defence,  in  the 
presence  of  five  ] k  rsons,  is  much  excused  andvi  rj 


as  the  arm-chair.  A  spinning-wheel  ami  a  distaff 

were  plaood  near   to  ber,    and  showed  that  the 

pious  woman  had  just  interrupted  her  labour-.  to 

i  slion  time  to  her  holy  reading. 

Widow  Thomas   -was   about    seventy  yean  of 

ding  t.i  the  fashion  of  Brittany.  >he 
wore  a  brown  woollen  gown,  and  her  head  was 
covered  with  s  white  begum  cap,  fitting  closely, 
and  concealing  the  whole  of  her  hair. 
Her  mild  and  gentle  phjsiognomy declared  the 


exeuseable,  while,  it'  he  had  killed  him  without  I  resignation  of  her  soul;  and  the  light  tailing  upon 
witnesses,  ho  would  have  been  looked  upon  as  an  her  austere  features,  through  the  latticed  windowB, 
l — yet    nevertheless  t!ie  bet   would  have  produced  a  beautiful  Bembrant-hlce  enert 


the  same 

"Certainly,"  replied  St.  Sauveur,  "but  tint 
arises. my  dear  boy,  from  our  living  in  society,  we 
are  no: 

"But,  after  all,*'  added  Monval,  "  M.  de  Cernan 
took  the  affair  in  a  very  serious  light." 

••  listen,  then."'  said  Miran;  "  1  know  lift 
a  any  one,  but,  in  his  place,  1  should  have  dotiethe 
same,  n.'i  on  account  of  my  wife, but  for  the  scurvy 
trick  of  sending  me  to  Nevers  in  a  pouring  rain — 
while,  zounds,  there  is  always  a  proper  way  "f 
doing  things."' 

•'  But,  what  could  you  expect."  replied  Saint 
Sauveur.  "  There  is  an  attachment,  in  spite  of 
every  precaution  the  husband  finds  it  out,  and  is 
angry;  ho  kills  you,  or  is  killed  himself.  Such 
hasbeen  the  case,  is  the  case.and  will  be  SO  for  ever. 
Ybu  cannot  make  yourself  a  monk  any  the  more." 

"Zounds."  said  Miran,  "I  do  not  wish  t"  to 
justify  31.  de  Cernan  at  the  expense  of  M.  de 
Vaudry." 

"Well,  for  my  part,"  observed  Monval,  "  I  am 
more  severe,  I  say  there  w  ere  faults  on  both  sides." 

"  Aye,  but  you  are  twice  a  I'ato,"'  said  Saint 
Sauveur. 

And  the  three  friends  finished  the  evening  in 
varied  recitals  which  carried  them  far  into  the 
night. 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

KECOUVKANCE. 

If  you  have  chosen  this  garage  lit'  to  chasti 
good.'    But  you  lucre  only  done  so  perforce. 

a  f-ourtier  were  you  not  a  beggar.".  .ShakspeArk 


The  walls-  of  the  chamber,  although  bare,  were 
clean  :  and  tile  floor,  carefully  washed  and  rubbed, 
was  of  a  dazzling  whiteness.  In  addition  to  this,  at 
tli"  extremity  of  the  room,  was  one  of  those  old- 
fashioned  beds,  of  extraordinary  six* ,  with  a  cornice 
and  four  cushions,  of  gray  and  red  serge,  like  that 
nil  the  armchair.  To  conclude:  above  a  huge 
chimney,  containing  a  stove,  was  a  bad  portrait 
of  the  late  M.  Thomas,  iu  the  uniform  of  a  master 
of  canonniers;  and  below  the  picture  hung  a 
short,  straight  swm-d.with  a  large  copper  hilt,  em- 
bossed with  tw  i  anchors  and  the  royal  crown — it 
was  the  sword  of  the  deceased. 

Presently,  the  street-door  opened;  footstep! 
were  heard  on  the  staircase ;  and  the  son  of  the 
late  Jean  Thomas  entered  in  haste. 

.lean  Thomas  was  a  man  of  about  forty  years 
if  a  middling  height,  and  broad  and  square 
shoulders.  There  was  nothing  remarkable  in  his 
features,  except  a  strongly-marked  knitting  of"  his 
red  eyebrows.  His  eyes  were  of  a  dull  blue;  and 
his  ruddy  face  announced  a  vigorous  and  sanguine 
temperament. 

Jean  Thomas,  lieutenant  of  the  Sylphid  frigate, 
wore  powder,  and  was  in  the  undress  of  the  navy; 
his  coat,  waistcoat,  and  breeches,  being  blue,  bound 
with  Burgundy  lace:  white  stockiugs,  and  shoes 
with  large  buckles,  completed  his  costume. 

When   he  entered,  he  threw   his  embroidered 

hat  on  a  chair,  unbuckled  his  belt,  took  off  his  sword, 

and  approaching  his  mother,  said,  in  a  short,  quick 

I  voice — "Good  day,  mother!" 

j     "Good  day,  Jean!"  said  the  widow,  who,  with 

k  >  •hi  pride,  her  book  in  one  hand,  and  spectacles  in  the  other. 

1     set  mod  distressed  at  the  silence  which  her  son  had 

•nly  that  instant  broken. 

The  town  of  Bre-t  was  then,  and   is  still  divided       "Good  day,  Jean!"  she  replied;  "but  what  is  the 
into  two  quarters,  distinct  from  each  other,  by  the  matter  with  you?— I  can  see,  by  the  knitting  of 
canal  that  firm,  the  port,  and  traverses  the  arsenal,  your  brows,  that  you  are  in  a  bad  humour." 
Reeowonmee,  the  quarter  usually  inhabited  by  j     "Tea,  I  am;  and  I  have  aright  to  be  so.'' 
sea-faring  men  and  pilots,  is   a  mass  of  low  dingy       "Ah,  my  dear  boy!"  said  the  widow,  shaking  her 
.  narrow  streets,  and  blind  alleys.  head  sorrowfully  ;  "my  dear  boy!  you  are  always 

The  Rue  <!<  i  poutres  is  one  of  the  mosl  cm-  the  same  ;  never  content  with  the  lot  bestowed  on 
forteble  in  this  miserable  quarter.  In  the  middlejyou  by  heaven.  Have  you  not  arrived,  In  its 
of  tl  -mall  low  house  might  be  seen,  mercy,   at  a  position  in    society   unlooked  for  by 

e  shutters  of  a   lively   green,    and  whitened  people  of  our  grade?     Think  of  that.  Jean,  and 
walls,  contrasted,  by  its  exquisite  neatness,  with I thank  heaven." 
the  neighbouring  dirty  tenemi  dean  rose;  his  hands  were  clenched,  and  his  tie, 

house  belonged  to  Madame  Thomas,  widowipurple 
■I  Bf.  Thomas,  chief  of  the  riitnicni»-rs  bouraeouJ  '•  Teople  of  our  grade— our  grade  indeed — our 
and  mother  of  M.  Jean  Thomas,  captain  of  the  grade  !  [s  a  gentleman  made  otherwise  than  I  am? 
hip,  officer  of  the  bhte$,  and  lieutenant  of  the  can  his  voice,  more  than  mine,  calm  the  fury  of  the 
Sylphid  frigate,  commanded  as  we  know,  by  Count  tempest?  when  I  say  to  my  men  at  their  guns. 
Henry  de  Vaudry.  fore,  an  the  balls  less  heavy  or  do  they  move  more 

I;  "was  about  two   o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  slowlj  against  the  enemy's  ship,  than   if  a  gentle- 

ihe  widow  Thomas,  seated  in   a  huge,  old-fash-  man  had  given  the  order  ?" 
ioned  armchair,  of  gray  Gen                 ,withwide      "  Who  has  put  that  into  your  head,  my  son,  of 
w-i,    reading   the  work  of    li                ■■>.  h  u*  do  y.u  complain?    Since   by  youi    courage 
hempis,  with  great  attention,  her  feet  tv-im-  ■■,,  y„,  |,;1m  ••: ,1  :.   i.-:1    tar  above,  what  you  could 


THE   WATCH    io\vi;k   <»     KOA1    VXK. 


S3 


have  expected  ;  have  you  not  even  gentlemen  un- 
der your  orders  V 

"  Yes,  I  have;  and,  by  heavens,  they  obey  ine 
without  speaking  a  word." 

"  Well,  Jean,  what  more  would  you  wish  ?'' 

"  You  will  drive  roe  mad,  mother!  what  I  wish 
is,  that  they  should  obey  me  without  appearing 
merely  to  obey  my  rank.  What  I  wish  tor  is  quite 
another  thing  to  that  passive?,  cold,  and  insolent 
obedience,  which  tells  me  that  they  look  on  me  as 
aparveuv,  an  intruder  on  their  noble  body  !" 

"  You  talk  foolishly,  Jean,"  said  the  widow  with 
severity,  "  and  you  are  quite  right,  you  are  a  poor 
madman,  an  incurable  madman,  a  madman  devour- 
ed by  envy  and  vanity,  and  that,  my  son,  is  the  most 
miserable  folly,  for  remember  this,  Jean,  that  were 
you  to-morrow  high- admiral  of  France,  you  would 
be  none  the  less  the  son  of  Thomas,  master  of  the 
Canonniers  Bourgeois,  that  you  would  not  be  able 
to  forget,   that  your  father  sold  fish  on  the  jetty." 

"  In  the  name  of  heaven  !  in  heaven's  name!  say 
not  that  mother  ?" 

"  But  I  wish  to  say  it  to  you,"  replied  the  widowi 
with  an  imposing  air.  "  I  wish  to  recall  to  your 
remembrance  your  origin,  as  humble  as  it  is  honest; 
to  show  you  how  vain  anil  foolish  arc  those  sorrows 
that  prevent  your  enjoying  what  you  possess,  by 
envying  that  you  have  not  ;  which  the  whole 
world  cannot  bestow  on  you  a  noble  origin.'' 

"I!  I  envy  the  nobles! — I  despise  them  most 
heartily.  Nobility,  a  hollow  term,  a  stupid  pres 
judice  useful  for  the  purpose  of  imposing  on  fool- 
and  children.  Nobility  !  something  extremely 
desirable,  certainly  !  titles  obtained  by  baseness, 
prostitution,  or  infamy!" 

"Be  silent,  sir,  be  silent."  said  the  widow, 
sharply,  "go,  you  are  a  convincing  proof  that  envy 
is  the  mother  of  every  vice,  for  it  leads  you  to  in- 
gratitude ;  are  you  not  indebted,  for  the  rank  you 
now  hold,  to  one  of  the  nobility  f  Is  it  not  to  the 
goodness  of  the  late  Marquis  de  Mcnneval  to  whom 
L  was  confidential  domestic,  that  you  owe  your 
education  and  advancement  ?  Once  more,  Jean.  I 
say  be  silent,  for  I  read  sad  truths  at  the  bottom 
f  your  heart,  which  you  strive  in  vain  to  conceal, 


me  in  my  cradle,  rather  than  launching  me  into  a 
life  of  regret  and  de  pair." 

And  Jean  Thomas,  mad,  axt  ifa 
self,  paced  the  chamber  with  long  strides. 

At  these  last  cruel  words,  thi  poor  mother  stood 
erect,  calm,  and  imposing,  and  resting  one  hand  on 
the  arm-chair,  she  stretched  out  the  other  I 

the  door. 

••  Leave,  sir,    she  said  to  her  son,  "  th<   ■ 
heaven  will  fall  on  this  bouse,  for  a 
his  mother — his  mother!"— -she  repeated  in  heart- 
broken accents. 

And  a  tear  rolled  down  the  fun ■  - 
the  widow. 

It  was  unnoticed  by  Jean,  and  he  continued  to 
pace  the  chamber  in  an  agitated  manner. 

But  a  third  personage  broke  in  upon  this  sad 
and  solemn  scene. 

It  was  doctor  Gedeon,  surgeon  major  on  board 
the  Sylphid. 

A  fat  little  man,  well  powdered,  with  a  red  ai>d 
shining  face,  dressed  in  an  iron-e^ey  coat  tui  ued 
up  with  crimson  velvet,  a  waistcoat,  also  of  velvet, 
and  breeches  the  same  as  the  coat. 

Seeing  the  doctor,  the  widow  seated  herself,  and 
took  up  her  wheel,  unwilling  to  make  a  stranger 
a  witness  to  these  family  jars. 

Jean,  repressing  a  slight  movement  of  impatience, 
approached  the  doctor  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Good  day  doctor,  what  news?" 

"None,  excepting  the  arrival  of  our  monster  of 
a  commander,  he  will  be  here,  the}-  say,  to-day,  or 
to-morrow." 

This  news  seemed  to  produce  a  disagreeable 
effect  on  Jean  Thomas.  - 

"  Why  do  you  call  the  commander  a  monster' 
asked  the  widow,  without  leaving  her  wheel. 

"  I  call  him  a  monster,  first,  because  he  is  com- 
mander, and  then  again  because  he  is  a  noble,  a 
privileged  person-— an  abuse— as  the  philosophers 
say,  because  he  is  one  of  those  persons  who  sustain 
the  priesthood,  another  description  of  monsters." 

At  these  words  the  widow  rose,  put  her  wheel 
on  one  side,  and  said  to  her  son,  "  I  must  leave  you, 
Jean.  I  have  business  close  by." 

But,  mother,  I  am  going  out  with  the  doctor," 


while    they    poison    your    existence,"    said    the  |  replied  Jean, faking  up _hwjnu  ami  sword 
widow,  gazing  on  hi  r  son  with  a  sad  and  dis- 
heartened look. 

"  Ah,  well,  yes  !"  cried  Jean,  impetuously ;  "  yes, 
I  envy  them,  I  abhor  them,  I  detest  them  ;  and,  if 
anything  is  more  odious  to  me  than  another,  it  is 
the  necessity  of  being  grateful  to  one  of  these  in- 
solent nobles,  whose  only  use  is  to  humble  us,  and 
to  have  the  power  of  saying, '  look  at  that  man,  he 
is  my  creature,  he  was  in  the  mud  and  I  dragged 
him  out  of  it.' " 

"  Oh,  miserable  man,  it  is  horrible  to  hear  you 
say  so  !  It  is  the  most  detestable  pride,  the  bitter- 
est envy,  that  causes  you  to  hold  language  of  such 
black  iugratitnde  ;  but  once  more  oonsider  what 
would  have  been  your  condition,  considering  your 
origin  ?  all  your  ambition  would  have  consisted  in 
being  able  to  die,  masters,  like  your  father." 

"  Then  why  did  they  remove  me  from  that  con- 
dition. Curses  on  those  who  raised  feelings  in  me 
that  ought  to  have  slept ;  curses  on  those  who  did 
not  allow  me  to  be  confounded  with  the  rest  of  my 
olassl  as  you  call  it;  curses  on  those  who  raised  up 
me  wants  and  ideas  I   can  never  satisfy,  ana  j 


Ah !"  said  Gedeon,  approaching  the  widow  with 
a  foolish  and  insolent  laugh,  ah!  mamma  Thomas, 
we  shall  always  jangle  when  the  priests  are  in 
question.  I  attack  fanaticism  wherever  I  meet 
with  it." 

"Come  on,  Gideon,"  said  .lean,  taking  the  doc- 
tor by  the  arm.  "Good  bye,  mother,"  he  added, 
drawing  near  to  his  mother  to  embrace  her. 

But  the  widow  drew  back  with  an  offended  look, 
saying  only,  "Good  bye,  my  son." 

.lean  went  out  with  the  doctor. 

It  was  at  the  beginning  of  January,  the  air  was 
cold  and  sharp,  the  sky  was  blue,  and  the  weather 
dry. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  your  mother?"  said 
Gedeon. 

"Ah!  bah!"1  replied  Jean,  "always  the  same 
thing,  her  infatuation  for  everything  that  is  noble 
and  priestly." 

'•  What  "folly,  my  dear  boy.  why  not  tread  these 
people  under  foot  as  I  do.  What  say  you.  Jean, 
shall  we  go  along  "he  Paris  road?" 

With  all  my  heart,"  said  -lean,  who  appeared 


AAA  1U1.  11H111.'  UIUU  I'"'      •  i       •  ■  1     1U1  11V.    TV.J.  Cllll^l    »    ^       U11VI       j  ■ 

which, as  you  have  said  truly,  poison  m\  existence,    wrapt  in  thought,  and  tiny  moved  towards  the  gates 


were  it  as  great  and  glorious  as  thai  of  .lean  I'an  !  ^  of  ore  (I 
Curses  at  length  on  you,  for  not  having  sinothen  d  |      I  toctor 


i  ledeon  \va 


dull 


par 


Iv  of  the  un- 


M 


llll.    TEMPTATION;     OPt. 


bappy  charn. 

least,  p  is  .rude  and  frank  originality  of 

envy  and   bitterness  against  all  who  were  aboYC 

him. 

But  Doctor  Gedeon  was  one  of  those  little  and 
vulgar  beings  who    instinctively   eherish    I 
all   that  is  superior  to  them,    that  moroffl  and 
cowardly    enmity   by   which   the  poodle    dog   is 
characteri^. 

I  beg  pardon  for  this  common  place  simile,  but 
this  comparison  alone  could  explain  the  constant 
snarling  of  the  doctor,  at  all  exalted  above  him. 

It  was  a  fine  day,  and  our  two  pedestrians, 
having  reached  the  outer  boulevards,  met  a  suffi- 
cient number  of  people,  chiefly  sea-faring  men,  and 
soldiers.  Jean  Thomas,  who  was  dressed  in  the 
insignia  of  his  office,  cast  his  eagle  eye  in  every 
direction  to  see  that  every  soldier  and  sailor  saluted 
him  in  proper  sty!e,  of  these  salutes  Doctor  Gedeon 
appropriated  one  to  himself,  deluding  his  imagina- 
tion with  these  marks  of  subordination,  which,  in 
fact,  where  only  addressed  to  his  companion. 

Jean  Thomas,  inflexible  in  the  OSM  "f  discipline, 
was  more  than  any  one  strict  in  regard  to  the 
honours  and  prerogatives  of  his  rank. 

Two  drunken  sailors,  holding  each  other  accord- 
ing to  custom,  by  the  last  joint  of  the  little  finger, 
and  swinging  their  arms,  came  on  singing  in  a  loud 
voice,  in  the  opposite  direction  to  our  two  pedes- 
trians. 

It  was  delightful  to  view  their  good  looking  rosy 
faces  expanded  by  wine  and  merriment,  aDd  their 
broad  shoulders  heaving  with  the  chorus  of  some 
simple  Breton  song. 

Jean  Thomas  was  insensible  to  all  this,  and  when 
he  heard  and  saw  them  at  a  distance, 

a  Those  rascals  sing  well, '  said  he  to  Gedeon;  "  is 
it  possible  they  don't  see  us?" 

"  I  hope  they  do, '  said  the  doctor  consequentially, 
"  and  that  they  intend  to  salute  us." 

"  Salute  me,  you  mean,  doctor,  the  military  sa- 
lute is  not.  due  to  you— it  is  allowed— but  that  is 
all.* 

"  Why  look  you,"  said  Gedeon,  "  I  am  ranked 
as  an  officer. 

Before  he  could  say  more  the  two  sailors  were 
close  upon  them,  and  their  huge  lungs  heaved  with 
their  sonorous  voices. 

Jean  Thomas  stopped  short,  bit  his  lips,  looked 
furiously  at  the  singers,  and  waited  while  they 
passed. 

But  the  chaunters  had  their  hearts  too  full  of 
mirth  and  pleasure  to  notice  the  angry  looks  of  the 
officer,  and  the  poor  devils  passed  him  without  un- 
covering. 

"  Do  you  not  see  me.  you  blackguards,"  said 
Jean  Thomas,  striking  off  the  cap  of  one  the  dille- 
tanti.  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

'■Do  you  not  see  us,  you  blackguards?"  said 
the  doctor,  imitating  Jean  Thomas. 

'•  I  beg  your  pardon,  lieutenant,"  said  one  of  the 
sailors,  picking  up  his  cap,  "  we  did  not  see  you, 
but  it  was  all  the  same,  for  a  gust  of  wind  took  off 
my  cap  for  mo." 

it  was  a  comical  bra  a?,M  ^aid  the  other; 
,:  but  it  must  not  blow  again,  or  a  terrible  storm  will 
be  raised." 

"What  do  yon     sy?   you  rascal/'    exclaimed 
':omas,  rushing  at   the   sailor    to    strike 
hjn.  _ 

'•  I  say  that  I  will — " 


u  interrupted  him  by  a  hearty  box 

09    tl: 

At  the  first  words  of  this  quarrel,  a  circle  was 
made  round  the  two  sailors,  the  tumult  increasing, 
and  a  crowd  iBSSaahiad,  while  two  or  three  chari- 
table  M'uls  went  to  fetch  the  sergeant  of  artillery. 

At  this  instant,  a  courier,  dressed  in  green,  and 
covered  with  silver  lace,  appeared  at  the  top  of  the 
road,  which  at  this  spot  had  a  considerable  des- 
cent, that  prevented  its  whole  length  being  seen. 

The  courier  moderated  his  speed,  and  put  his 
horse  into  a  walking  pace,  as  he  passed  through 
the  crowd. 

"Ho,  ho!"  he  exclaimed,  "room  there  for  the 
equipage  of  the  Count  dc  Vaudry,  captain  of  the 
frigate." 

Soon  afterwards  the  cracking  of  the  whips  of  the 
postilions,  who  drove  a  large  beiiin  with  six  horses, 
was  heard;  followed  by  luggage  carriages,  and  two 
post-chaises,  containing  Henry's  servants  and  bug- 
gaga 

Scarcely  had  this  little  train  of  equipages 
reached  the  middle  of  the  crowd,  when  the  ser- 
geant of  artillery  arrived  with  four  soldiers,  to  ar- 
rest the  delinquent*. 

Jean  Thomas  was  more  furious  than  ever,  and 
the  doctor,  if  possible,  more  angry  still. 

Seeing  the  disturbance,  Vaudry  ordered  his  car- 
riage to  stop,  and  leaning  out  of  the  window,  asked 
the  sergeant,  what  was  the  matter. 

•'  Captain,"  said  the  scrjeant,  touching  his  hat, 
and  seeing  the  cross  of  St.  Louis,  Henry  wore; 
"  they  are  two  drunken  sailors,  who  have  insulted 
their  superior  officers. 

"  .\nd  that  is  the  business  of  no  one  but  their 
superior  "flieer,  sir,"  said  Thomas  arrogantly,  and 
turning  ••  wards  the  count ;  "  and  I  am  their  supe- 
rior officer,  first  lieutenant  of  the  Sylphid  frigate,  so 
go  on,  sir. " 

"  Then  sir,''  said  Henry,  smiling,  "  allow  me  to 
congratulate  myself  on  this  meeting,  since  it  ena- 
bles me  to  become  acquainted  with  my  lieutenant, 
whom  I  perceive  perfectly  understands  discipline. 
Sir,  I  am  commander  of  the  Sylphid,  Count  Henry 
de  Vaudry." 

Jean  Thomas  looked  displeased,  but  ho  saluted 
Henry,  and  said  coolly  to  the  serjeant,  "  See  these 
men  are  put  in  irons." 

"  Lieutenant,"  said  Ilenrv,  kindly,  "  will  you 
excuse  these  poor  devils.  When  a  condemned  man 
meets  the  carriage  of  the  king  he  is  pardoned  ;  I, 
who  am,  I  must  acknowledge,  somewhat  of  a  king 
when  afloat,  am  anxious  just  now  to  enjoy  one  of 
my  most  precious  prerogatives,  that  of  doing  an  act 
of  mercy." 

"  If  t  is  becauso  these  men  have  insulted  me, 
captain,  you  wish  to  pardon  them,  you  can  do  so, 
but  I  must  have  your  order  in  writing,"  said 
Thomas  with  bitterness. 

'•  I  give  no  orders,  I  ask  a  favour,  but  we'll  say 
no  more  about  it ;  drive  on,  postilion,"  said  Henry, 
throwing  himself  back  in  his  carriage,  and  the 
equipages  were  soon  out  of  sight. 

Ten  minutes  after  the  last  of  the  count's  train 
hnd  past,  a  post  chaise  appeared  at  the  top  of  the 
hill,  driving  in  the  same  direction. 

In  thi -*  chaise  were  Perez  and  Kita- 


THE   WATCH  XOW]  T  vr.v. 


:: 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


1HE    RtCEPTIO.V, 


Egrnont.  Well? 

Richard.  I  am  readv.  and  three  messengers  are  waiting. 

Efimotit.  Perhaps  you  think  I  have  been  too  long  !  your 
face  is  a  yard  in  length. 

Richard.  I  have  been  waiting  a  long  while  for  you,  accor- 
ding to  your  directions. 

The  day  after  the  arrival  of  the  couut  at  Brest,  the 
clock  of  the  arsenal  struck  eleven  o'clock  and  three 
quarters,  when  lieutenant  Jean  Thomas,  followed 
by  Dr.  Gedeon,  knocked  gently  at  the  door  of  one 
of  the  handsomest  houses  in  the  Place  d'  Arme3. 

The  lieutenaut  was  dressed  in  the  full  uniform 
of  the  royal  service,  a  blue  coat,  with  a  double  edg- 
ing of  gold  lace  on  the  sleeves,  scarlet  waistcoat, 
breeches,  and  stockings,  and  gold  buckles. 

The  uniform  of  the  doctor  was  plainer  ;  it  con- 
sisted of  an  iron-grey  coat,  turned  up  with  crim- 
son velvet,  with  lace  at  the  button-holes  only, 
crimson  waistcoat  and  breeches,  and  blue  stock- 
ings. 

•'  Those  rascals  of  valets  he  has  in  his  suite  hate 
not  heard  us,"  said  lieutenant  Thomas  angrily,  and 
I  nocking  a  second  time. 

"  1  hey  are  deaf  to  common  people  like  us," 
said  Gedeon,  with  a  malicious  smile,  and  again 
knocking. 

The  door  opened ;  and  the  lieutenant  disdainfully 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  at  the  sightof  four  or  five  foot- 
men, in  full  livery,  drawn  up  in  an  antechamber  of 
the  dwelling  usually  occupied  by  Count  de  Vaudry 
when  he  was  at  Brest;  his  fortune  enabling  him  to 
keep  a  house  in  each  of  the  three  ports  where  his 
duties  might  call  him. 

One  of  the  servants  opened  the  door  of  a  small 
room,  where  they  found  two  valets-de-ch  'nbre, 
dressed  in  black,  who  asked  Jean  Thomas,  if  he 
was  not  the  lieutenant  of  the  Count  de  Vaudry. 

*  I  am  lieutenant  of  the  Sylphid  frigate,"  an- 
swered Thomas,  sharply. 

At  this  anwer,  the  servant  introduced  him  and 
the  doctor  into  a  tolerably-sized  room,  telling  them, 
that  the  count,  who  was  engaged  at  present,  would 
not  keep  them  waiting  long. 

"  On  my  hononr,  he  is  worse  than  a  minister," 
said  the  lieutenant,  scornfully. 

"  These  are  the  men  who  live  upon  the  sweat  of 
the  people:— as  if  they  could  not  open  their  doors 
themselves! '  added  Gedeon. 

"  Look  here,  doctor! '  said  Thomas,  pointing  out 
the  furniture,  the  richness  of  which  exceeded 
everything  known  in  the  provinces;  "look  at  this 
luxury!— and  all  this  for  the  purpose  of  passing 
two  or  three  weeks  in  port.   It  is  very  ridiculous!" 

"It  is  infamous! — atrocious!"  replied  Gedeon. 
"Without  reckoning  seven  or  eight  rascally  flun- 
kies, he  has  the  audacity  to  support,  instead  of 
making  them  members  of  society.  Ah!  if  I  were 
king,  I  would  make  these  great  lords  find  some  trade 
for  their  valets— make  them  worthy  locksmiths 
virtuous  masons,  or  good  shoemakers,  to  work 
gratis  for  the  people,  and  s^ill  find  time  to  attend 
upon  their  masters  in  their  leisure  hours.  I  like 
the  dress  of  a  mechanic  much  better  than  the 
livery  of  a  courtier,"  cried  the  doctor,  with  a  burst 
of  philanthropy. 

The  lieutenant  did  not  appear  to  pay  the  least 
attention  to  the  doctor's  systems  of  economy  and 
philosophy;  but  he  looked  "at  his  watch  with  mali- 
eious  joy. 


"Good:  twelve  o'clock,"  he  exclaimed;  "and  1 
ordered  the  eiut  major  to  be  at  the  commandant's 
precisely  at  noon.  The  officers  are  not  here:  they 
must,  be"  placed  under  arrest.  Ab,  my  iientlenvjn! 
you  will  pay  dearly  for  your  insolent  submission." 
"  Did  you  not  inform  the  chaplain,  lieutenant?" 
said  the  doctor. 

"The  Abbe  dc  Cilby?"  certainly. 

"  Will  he  be  placed  in  arrest  also?" 

"No!  as  always  is  the  case  they  are  out  of  our 
reach." 

"  Leave  it  to  me  lieutenant,  I  will  avenge  you,'' 
said  the  doctor,  gravely,  "you  shall  see  we  will 
have  a  pood  laugh.  I  will  embarrass  him  a  little,  I 
am  an  atheist  by  ri»;ht,  lor  I  have  studied  anatomy, 
yes,  let  him  talk  his  religious  nonsense  to  me,  I 
w  11  say  to  him,  Abbe,  can  you  tell  in  what  part  of 
the  body  that  which  you  call  hope  and  chanty  are 
to  be  found— Oh!  leave  me  alone,  we  will  have  a 
good  laugh— bye  the  bye:  do  you  know  that  thief 
Tartuffe?' 

"  Not  at  all,  I  never  saw  him,  he  came  after  mj 
time,  and  they  say  he  never  goes  out." 

"  A  gouty  fellow  like  the  other,"  said  the  doctor. 

At  this  instant  the  valet  de  chambre  announced. 

"  The  Abbe  de  Cilly. ' 

"  Here  is  the  Tartuffe,"  said  Gedeon,  sneeringly, 
touching  the  lieutenant's  elbow 

But  when  the  two  comrades  saw  the  man  who 
entered,  their  features  changed  from  an  expression 
of  merry  scorn,  to  that  of  deep  astonishment. 

The  Abbe  de  Cilly  was  a  man  about  thirty  years 
of  age,  of  a  lofty  and  noble  figure,  his  face,  though 
pale°  had  in  it  a  severe  kind  of  beauty,  and  his 
black  costume  of  an  ecclesiastic,  was  of  the  most 
approved  cut. 

But  that  which  above  all  distinguished  the  man, 
was  his  penetrating  look,  the  steadiness  of  which 
was  embarrasing  at  times,  darting  like  lightning 
from  his  large  eyes,  half  veiled  by  their  long  eye- 
lashes. 

The  easy  and  unembarrassed  manner  of  tho 
abbe,  and  the  boldness  in  which  he  bore  himself, 
declared  that  he  had  not  been  confined  to  the 
society  of  a  seminary,  for  you  saw  none  of  that 
simple  timidity  in  his  actions,  that  affecting  awk- 
wardness,  possessed  by  young  priests,  who  have 
always  been  confined  to  a  holy  and  chaste  retreat. 

The  most  striking  expression  of  the  abbe's  fea- 
tures was  an  austere  and  disdainful  gravity,  and 
an  air  of  conscious  superiority  that  of  itself  over- 
powered those  who  looked  on  him. 

This  exterior,  so  opposite  to  that  with  which  Doc- 
tor Gedeon  had  invested  the  future  chaplain,  stu- 
pitied  the  two  sailors. 

The  priest  seated  himself,  without  appearing  to 
notice  them,  and  once  sealed,  he  rested  his  fore- 
head on  his  hand,  and  was  buried  in  deep  thought. 

The  doctor  touched  the  lieutenant's  elbow,  as  if 
he  wished  to  say — 

"You  are  a  bold  man,  speak." 

The  lieutenant,  overcoming  the  shock  produced 
by  the  unexpected  apparition,  said  in  a  sharp  quick 
tone, 

"  Abbe,  my  orders  were,  we  should  meet  here 
before  twelve  o'clock,  it  is  now  twenty  minutes 
past,  be  more  exact  in  future.  Do  you  hear  me, 
abbe?" 

The  abbe  did  not  move,  but  kept  his  forehead 
still  pressed  on  his  haed. 

"  Abbe,  the  lieutenant  speaks  to  yon,"    foid  the- 
doctor,  emboldened  by  a  lout;  from 'lhon: 
gently  touching  the  abbe's  sleevt. 


5< 


,m:    CBKFTATIOK;    OB 


The  latter  slowly  raised  his  head,  and  fixed  on 
the  doctor,  on.'  ofhia  steady  piarang  looks,  which 
•eeaned  as  if  it  would  penetrate  the  varj  son]  of 
hiin  .hi  whom  it  fell,  ami  laid  ia  a  calm  roioi — 
••  What  i-  it?  BT." 

u  This  gentleman  wished  you  to  observe  that  1 

say  that  1  had  given  orders  to 

meet-here  at  mid-day",    I  \n  :i -   astonished    that  you 

n.it  here,  until  twenty  minntea  past  twelve," 

-:.d  Th 

The  beginning  of  thia  speech  of  Thomas's  was 

uttered  iu  a  clear  sharp  roiee  but  as  he  concluded, 

lv  look  of  the  abbe  produced  its  usual 

.u'.vt.  ami  in  spit.-  of  his  vexation  and  confidence, 

the  lieutenant  was  obliged  to  lower  "his  eyes,  and 

uttered  his  last  words, 

••  Well,  mi-?"  said  the  abba 

"  Well,  abbe,"  said  Thomas,  recovering  himself, 
••  1  expect  it  will  not  happen  again. 

The  abbe  replied  mildly — 

"  I  was  closing  the  eye-;  of  a  dying  man,  sir. 

Then  again  resting  his  forehead  on  his  hand,  he 
relapsed  into  deep  thought. 

At  this  instant  confused  sounds  were  heard  out- 
side the  door,  and  a  valet  de  chaiubre  announced 
successively — 

'•  The  Marquis  de  Miran! " 

"  The  Chevalier  de  Monval!" 

"  The  Baron  de  Saint  Sauveur!" 

"  Faith,"  said  the  Marquis  de  Miran,  "  you  must 
txcuse  lis  lieutenant,  we  have  just  left,  the  inn 
where  we  took  leave  of  the  officers  of  the  Brilliant, 
that  puts  to  sea  along  with  the  Jusant." 

"  You  are  under  arrest,  gentlemen,  for  four-ami 
twenty  hours,  my  orders  were  for  twelve  o'clock." 

The  Marquis  de  Miran  made  a  sign  to  his  com- 
rades, and  they  all  three  saluted  the  lieutenant 
without  uttering  a  single  word,  and  instantly  be- 
gan talking  merrily  to  each  other. 

When  the  half-hour  struck,  the  lieutenant  could 
no  longer  restrain  his  impatience,  and  half-open- 
ing tin-  door  of  the  anti-chamber,  addressed  the 
valet,  haughtily — 

"  The  commander  will  not  be  visible  jlien,  to- 
day !" 

"  The  count  is  engaged,"  said  the  servant. 

The  lieutenant  closed  the  door  violently,  saying, 

"  There  he  is,  shut  up  with  some  girl,  his  tailor, 
or  his  coi ik,  while  bold  and  hearty  sailors  are  al- 
lowed to  kick  their  heels  in  an  anti-chamber,  like 
so  many  lackeys.  This  is  the  extent  to  which  he 
i  arries  the  insolence  of  rank  and  title." 

These  violent  declamations  were  interrupted  by 
the  arrival  of  the  count. 

As  soon  as  Henry  entered,  all  the  officers  rose, 
and  two  in  w -comers  were  seen  added  to  the  etat- 
major  of  the  frigate,  Rumphius  and  his  brother 
Suipicc 

Rumphius,  according  to  custom,  was  immersed 
,n  nil  calculations,  and  buried  in  an  arm-chair. 
Poor  Sulpice,  overcome  with  shame,  and  full  of 
confusion  at  finding  himself  in  such  Bocietv,  seeing 
aKo  his  brother's  abaense  of  mind,  vainly  pulled 
him  by  the  sleeve,  and  said  in  a  whisper,  "Bro- 
ther, here  is  the  count  de  Vaudry  ;  brother,  get 
up."  Hu<  nil  trouble  and  his  words  were  fruitless. 
Sulpice  then  contented  himself  by  remaining  near 
Rumphius,  while  the  officer!  formed  a  circle  round 

llemen,"  said  the  count  with  gracious  affia 

iiility,  "a  tli ad  pardons  for  having  kepi  you 

but  I   had  tome  buaincsa  to  conch 


you  may  judge  of  its  importance,  since  it  prevented 
my  having  the  honour  of  seeing  you  sooner." 

,;  It  is  true,  commandant,  we  have  waited  for 
you  half  an  hour."   said  Thomas,  drily. 

"Ah  sir!*'  said  Henry,  smiling,  "you  ought 
rather  to  pity  those  who  made  you  wait,  than 
tho>e  who  were  Kept  waiting,  i;  it  not  so?  gentle- 
men," he  added  gaily. 

-  Zounds,    commandant,"    said    Saint-Sauveur, 

'•you  are  addressing converiites,  for  we  have  this 

instant  been  placed  under  arrest  for  having  made 
you  wait." 

"  Ah,  sir,"  said  Henry,  to  the  lieutenant,  with 
an  air  of  friendly  reproach,  "  I  hope  I  shall  be 
more  fortunate  this  time  than  in  the  first  instance, 
and  that  you  will  not  refuse  me  the  pardon  of  these 
gentlemen." 

"  All  men  are  equal,  commandaut,  and  I  tee  not 
why  1  should  extend  my  indidgence  to  a  noble 
officer,  rather  than  a  poor  sailor." 

"  The  poor  sailors  are  treated  with  particular 
kindness,"  said  Saint  Sauveur,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Enough,  sir,"  said  Henry  with  cold  politeness. 
"  Be  kind  enough  to  introduce  these  gentlemen  to 
me." 

The  lieutenant  bowed,  and  began. 

'■  M.  de  Miran,  ensign  of  the  vessel." 

"  De  Miran  bowed." 

"  It  is  a  happy  presage  for  me,  M.  de  Miran," 
said  Henry,  "to  have  on  board  my  vessel  one  of 
those  officers  who  so  bravely  commenced  the  war 
by  the  immortal  combat  of  the  Belle  Poule,  and  I 
am  certain,  Monsieur  de  Miran,  the  Sylphid  will 
have  no  need  to  envy  her  glorious  rival,  and  that 
she  will  finish  the  war  as  the  Belle  Poule  commen- 
ced it." 

Miran  bowed  and  passed  on. 

M.  Monval.  ensign  of  the  vessel. 

"  We  are  old  acquaintances,  M.  de  Monval.  al- 
though we  have  never  before  seen  each  other,' 
said  Henry,  "  and  yet  I  always  could  tell  where 
you  were,  be  it  board  whatever  ship  it  might,  by 
the  manner  in  which  your  guns  were  served:  lu- 
ring the  battle  of  the  17th  of  April,  Admiral  Gui- 
chen,  whose  aide  de  camp  I  was,  said  to  me,  when 
he  pointed  out  the  fire  of  the  lower  decks  of  the 
Robuste,  which  was  so  well  supported  that  it  ap- 
peared a  continuous  stream  of  fire,  '  do  you  notice 
that  battery,  Vaudry  f  I  will  lay  a  wager  it  is  un- 
der the  command  of  Chevalier  Monval,  nobody 
can  work  the  guns  like  him.'  It  was  you  »  Was 
it  not?" 

"  "i  «s.  commandant." 

'■  I  was  certain  of  it.  So  that  with  you  on 
board,  M.  Monval.  I  shall  make  many  envious, 
but  I  cannot  avoid  telling  you,  I  shall  be  de- 
lighted at  it.  for  you  make  me  selfish,  sir." 

BfonvaJ  bowed  and  passed  on. 

"  M.  Saint  Sauveur,  garde  du  pavilion." 

"I  had  the  honour  of  seeing  your  father,  the 
Viscount  de  Saint  Sauveur,  sir,  at  Versailles,  he 
wished  to  recommend  you  to  my  notice,  but  unfor- 
tunately his  recommendations  were  useless,  for  after 
the  brilliant  part  you  took  in  the  fight  between  the 
Aigle  and  the  Sandwich,  you  already  appeared  m 
my  <\  es  as  one  of  the  most  promising  young  officers 
in  the  Navy." 

St.  Sauveur  bowed  and  passed  on. 

"Doctor  Gedeon,    surgeon-major,"     said    the 

lieutenant. 

"Doctor,"  said  Vaudry,  "I  reckon  much  on 
your    crvici  s  in  peace,  but  in  war  you  areour  pro- 


THE  Watch  TOWBB  <>!•'  KOAT-VEM. 


videnco,  reckon  upon  mo  at  all  times,  I  bog  of  you, 
for  any  thing  that  can  bo  useful  for  tho  benefit  of 
the  men." 

Doctor  Gedeon  made  an  awkward  bow,  and  was 
nearly  falling,  sword  and  all,  among  tho  legs  of  tho 
officers. 

"  M.  tho  Abbe"  do  Cilly,  chaplain,"  said  the 
lieutenant,  finally. 

At  sight  of  tho  abbe",  Henry  could  not  restrain  a 
movement  of  surprise,  for  usually  tho  office  of 
chaplain  was  filled  by  members  of  the  lower  class  of 
tho  clergy,  whose  behaviour  and  conduct  were  fre- 
quently littlo  in  harmony  with  tho  august  duties 
they  had  to  perforin  on  board. 

Henry,  by  means  of  his  knowledge  of  the 
world,  was  able  to  classify  a  man  in  an  instant,  l>y 
his  bow,  his  walk,  or  bearing,  so  that  when  he  saw 
a  chaplain  of  so  novel  a  description,  Henry  was  sur- 


prised :  and  when  he  addressed  him,  his  voice  had  a 
tone  of  respectful  consideration,  which  it  had  not 
possessed  until  that  instant. 

"  Abbey  said  Henry,  saluting  him,  "  I  huvo 
always  admired  the  sublime  self-denial  of  those 
ministers  of  religion  who  condescend  to  partake  of 
our  dangers,  and  to  dare  tin)  same  perils  as  our- 
selves, in  tho  admirable  Intention  of  soothing  our 
last  moments;  allow  me  to  assure  yon  of  my  per- 
fect respect  and  devotion  for  the  holy  mission  with 
which  yon  are  entrusted." 

The  abbe  made  a  slight  bow,  and  said  to  Henry, 
"My  time,  count,  is  uot  my  own;  will  you  span' 
me  if  I  retire  ?" 

"Once  for  all,  abbe,"  said  Henry, "  understand 
that  I  wish,  while  you  are  oa  board,  that  no  ono 
should  have  the  right  of  calling  you  to  account  i'oj-  a 
Single  instant  of  time  so  nobly  employed." 


58 


THE   TEMTTATION  J    OR. 


And  the  count  respectfully  conducted  him  to  the 

ante-chamber. 

When  Henry  again  entered  the  room,  he  saw- 
that  his  officer!  were  assembled  round  the  unhappy 
Sulpice,  who  became  pale,  red,  and  purple,  and  all 
colours  by  turns,  perspired  terrihly.  and  knew  not 
how  to  look  when  lie  saw  himself  the  object  of  the 
notice  i  t"  every  body, 

"Whatl  is  it  you.  Sulpice-"  said  Henry  to  him 
kindly — "  by  heavens,  I  did  not  see  you  ! — and  you 
also,  luimphius — Runiphius  !" 

These  words  bin,-  pronounced  in  another  voice 
than  that  of  Sulpiee,  which  appeared  no  loi 
make  an  impression  on  the  tympanum  of  the  as- 
tronomer. These  words,  I  say,  recalled  him  to  him- 
self; he  rose  and  looked  round  with  extraordinary 
in  wi  f 

■od  day.  Count :  I  was  busy  calculating  the 
approximation  of  the  curve  of  the  little  bear,  called 
by  the  Hindoos,  the  feast  of  sfaniwah— then  turn- 
mi:  towards  his  brother—"  Really,  Sulpice,  you 
must  have  been  extremely  stupid  not  to  have  in- 
formed me  of  the  presence  of  the  Count." 

"He  did  tell  you,''  said  Henry — "he  told  you. 
my  old  and  worthy  friend,  but  you  were  absorbed 
in  the  approximation." 

"  It  is  true  enough  that  sometimes  happens,'' 
said  Rnmphius,  "  for  I  am  alone  hero  among  man- 
kind, like  the  Brahmin  Kidday." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Henry,  "allow  me  to  intro- 
duce M.  Bernard  Rumphius  to  you,  one  of  the  most 
learned  of  our  astronomers,  ho  will  perform  the  Toy- 
age  along  with  us.  Now,  gentlemen,  we  are  ac- 
quainted with  each  other.  Your  lieutenant  is  the 
bravest  officer  in  the  service.  Yes,  M.  Thomas,  I 
am  acquainted  with  all  yoor  actions,  from  that  of 
the  Oerf  lugger,  by  which  you  began  your  maritime 
career,  to  that  sustained  against  the  brig  Alacrity, 
and  for  which  you  were  so  justly  rewarded  with  the 
rank  of  captain  of  the  fire-ship.  T  am  now  certain, 
gentlemen,  that  the  name  of  our  frigate  will  become 
one  of  the  glories  of  our  navy,  and  that  the  standard 
of  Franco  could  not  bo  confided  to  braver  officers. 
This  conviction  makes  mo  as  happy  as  it  does 
proud  ;  for  to  have  the  command  over  you  is  more 
than  rank — it  is  an  honour." 

"We  all  will  perform  our  duty,  commandant,  for 
by  the  law,  recompenses  and  promotion  ought  to  be 
equal,  for  all,  punishment  or  reward  to  every  man, 
according  to  his  merit,"  said  Thomas,  drily. 

"  So  I  understand  it,  sir,"  said  the  Count,  smil- 
ing, "and  to  put  it  to  the  proof,  I  now  again  beg 
you  will  pardon  these  gentlemen,  for  I  also  made 
you  wait,  and  yet  I  am  not  punished;  I  request 
there  may  bo  equality  for  all." 

"  The  commandant  well  knows  that  I  havo  no 
right  to  punish  him,  should  ho  even  keep  me  wait- 
ing at  his  door  for  six  hours  :  I  am  under  his  orders, 
as  these  gentlemen  aro  under  mine,  the  punishment 
to  which  they  arc  subjected  is  just,  and  they  must 
submit  to  it,  at  bast,  unless  the  commandant  gives 
lie  a  formal  order  to  raise  their  arrests;  in  that 
case,   I  will  execute  thatorder." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Henry  impatiently,  "since  in 
spite  of  all  you  will  have  an  order,  I  will  give  you 
one."  Then  addressing  the  young  men,  "May  I 
hope,  gentlemen,  you  will  do  me  the  honour  of  sup- 
ping  wiih  me  to-night,  Since  you  aro  no  longer 
under  arrest  '.'' 

Tin-  young  men  bowed. 

"Of  course  I  reckon  on  your  company,  sir,"  said 
Henry  to  Thomas,  who  had  b«en  previously  invited. 


"I  cannot  have  that  honour,  commandant;  I 
always  sup  with  my  mother." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  the  officers,  in  a  whis- 
per. 

"A  praiseworthy  motive,  and  I  appreciate  it, 
being  at  tho  same  time  sorry  it  will  deprive  me  of 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  one  of  our  party." 

"  And  you,  doctor  ■'' 

"  I  cannot  havo  that  honour,  commandant,' 
repeated  Jean  Thomas's  echo.   ••  I  always  sup  with 

—  with  my  clarionet  master,"  said  the  doctor  inge- 
nuously,  after  having  looked  out  for  a  probable 
excuse. 

"Good  heavens:''  said  Henry  with  a  terrified 
look, "  do  you  play  the  clarionet,  doctor  ?" 

"It  is  I  believe  allowable  for  every  human  being, 
considering  the  equality  of  mankind " 

"  To  play  tho  clarionet — an  incontestible  fact, 
doctor,  but  it  is  not  allowable  for  every  human  be- 
ing to  understand  how  to  play  :  in  that,  nature  is 
unjust,  and  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  doctor." 

"  This  evening,  then,  gentlemen." 

And  Henry,  having  dismissed  his  officers,  retired 
to  his  apartment. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  CABARET. 

"  You  retired,  Tory  suddenly,"  said  tho  innkeeper  to  Ins 
guest. 

"  And  time  it  was  when  tho  devil  seated  himself  amongst 
ns."— Sik  Walter  Scott, 

Six  days  after  the  arrival  of  Count  de  Vaudry  at 
Brest,  two  men  were  seated  quietly  opposite  to  each 
other,  in  a  modest  cabaret  in  the  Rue  de  la  Souris  at 
Recouvranco. 

The  room  was  of  a  tolerable  size,  and  furnished 
with  long  tables  and  oak  benches  being  lighted  by 
means  of  iron  lamps  attached  to  tho  wall,  ami 
warmed  from  an  immense  fireplace,  that  threw  its 
vivifying  heat  and  red  glare  almost  to  the  extremity 
of  the  chamber. 

Our  two  men  had  complacently  drawn  their  little 
table  close  to  the  chimney,  and  there,  with  their  fret 
upon  tho  handirons,  and  their  elbows  on  tho  table. 
they  appeared  to  be  in  friendly  conversation,  having 
as  a  third  party  a  largo  pewter  pot  full  of  some  kind 
of  foaming  liquor.  The  eldest  of  the  two  might 
havo  been  about  fifty  years  of  age,  but  his  strongly 
built  frame,  well-marked  features,  and  happy  and 
healthy  looks,  bespoke  a  green  old  age,  still  full  of 
ncrvo  and  strength. 

This  personage;  was  carefully  powdered,  but  wor: 
no  bag,  his  hair  being  fastened  behind  by  a  circle 
of  leather  ;  on  which  were  seen  two  cannon,  and  an 
anchor  embossed  in  copper,  and  surmounted  by  a 
royal  crown.  With  tho  exception  of  this  trifling 
warlike  symbol,  his  costume  was  perfectly  citizen- 
like.  A  coat  of  maroon-coloured  cloth,  chamois 
waistcoat,  and  grey  breeches  and  stockings.  To  this 
you  may  add  a  deep  white  cravat,  in  which  he  ever} 
now  and  then  buried  his  face,  and  nose  and  all,  so 
that  nothing  could  be  seen  at  these  times  but  his 
two  little  black  eyes,  and  rough,  pimpled  forehead, 
tho  colour  of  which  was  heightened  by  contrast  with 
his  powdered  hair. 

As  to  his  appearance, he  possessed  a  most  oracu- 
I  lar  look,  and  an  assuming  and  often  incomprehen- 


THE    WATCH    TOWER  OF   KOAT-VEN. 


09 


•able  mode  of  speaking,  for  lie  was  in  the  habit  of 

larding  liis  conversation  with  a  crowd  of  words, 
whose  meaning  lie  did  not  understand,  although  he 
himself  imagined  that  his  language  was  sublime  and 
beautiful.  Above  all  things,  this  man  was  dread- 
fully alarmed  at  appearing  like  a  sailor,  either  in 
words,  dress,  or  behaviour. 

This  personage,  called  Ivan  Kergouet,  was  a  na- 
tive of  Ploermel,  master  of  the  cannoniers  bourgeois, 
on  board  the  Sylphide.  His  companion  was  Perez ; 
Perez  was  plainly  dressed  in  grey  cloth,  but  his  thin 
and  tawny  features  still  bore  the  marks  of  his  recent 
sorrows,  and  of  the  cruel  emotions  by  which  he  had 
been  agitated. 

Master  Kergouet,  who  was  smoking  a  long  pipe, 
was  enveloped  in  such  dense  clouds  of  fume  that  he 
was  completely  concealed  behind  its  thick  veil,  and 
the  presence  of  the  connonier  bourgeois  was  only 
ascertained  by  the  words,  sententiously  pronounced, 
that  issued  from  the  cloud,  like  the  voice  of  an  in- 
visible oracle. 

"  You  are  completely  wrong  in  not  smoking,  M. 
Charles  [Perez  had  been  obliged  to  change  his 
name].  It  is  a  false,  a  too  scrupulous  delicacy,  for 
throughout  nature,  every  thing  has  received  the 
power  of  smoking,  from  the  volcano,  even  to  snow 
itself,  with  which  I  was  particularly  smitten  in  my 
last  voyage  to  the  North  Pole,  in  1768,  on  board  the 
Folic,  under  the  command  of  Captain  Kerguelen. 
So,  M.  Charles,  since  snow  smokes,  which  of  all 
other  things  seems  likely  to  do  so,  it  appears  to  me 
that  you  commit  a  gross  impropriety  in  not  imi- 
tating it. 

A  dreadful  fit  of  coughing,  that  almost  strangled 
Perez,  interrupted  the  speech  of  the  gunner. 

"  You  are  right,  M.  Kergouet,"  said  Perez,  "  but 
1  cough  because  I  am  not  accustomed  to  tobacco, 
I  shall  soon,  however,  learn  to  do  so  among  you 
sailors." 

"  I  have  already  told  you,  M.  Charles,"  said 
Kergouet,  issuing  from  his  cloud  in  a  great  rage," 
•'  that  I  am  not  a  seaman,  but  a  citizen  gunner,  do 
you  understand  me,  citizen,  citizen,  particularly 
diametrically,  citizen." 

You  may  understand  this  apostrophe  of  Master 
Kergouet,  when  you  know  that  he  was  the  true  type 
of  his  corporation,  a  corporation,  the  members  of 
which  were  horrified  at  the  idea  of  passing  for  fight- 
ing men,"not  that  they  fought  the  less  for  all  that 
but  they  were  prodigiously  particular  as  to  their 
rights  of  citizenship. 
"  I  forgot  it,  M.  Kergouet." 

"  Enough ;  but  remember  you  must  not  call  peo- 
ple sailors,  when  they  are  not  so.  There  is  nothing 
less  warlike  than  our  duties — what  is  it  we  have  to 
do  ?  We  clean  our  guns  on  board,  I  hope  this  is 
citizen-like  enough  ;  for  to  clean  a  gun  or  a  counter 
is  all  the  same  thing.  If  there  should  be  a  battle, 
what  then  ?  Because  we  place  a  ball  in  our  guns, 
on  the  top  of  so  much  powder;  in  the  same  manner 
as  a  grocer  puts  raisins  or  pepper  into  a  screw  of 
paper,  and  because  we  then  set  fire  to  it — just  as 
we  light  a  lantern — because  we  do  this,  they  want 
to  call  us  sailors,  it  is  false,  we  are  citizens,  and  our 
allowing  ourselves  to  be  present  at  a  battle,  has  no- 
thing in  it  but  what  is  perfectly  citizen-like." 

"But  when  you  board  another  vessel,  M.  Ker- 
gouet ?  " 

"  loard  a  vessel  1  board  a  vessel  1"  said  tin  gu.i- 
ner,  burying  half  his  face  in  his  cravat,  as  if  in  search 
of  an  argument,  in  which  he  was  doubtless  success- 
ful, for  he  continued  with  more  animation  than  ever 


to  assert  his  right  to  a  civil  position.     "  In  boarding 
a  vessel — well,  what  does  that  prove  ?" 

"  Listen,  a  clear  case  in  point.  Suppose  you  are 
quietly  resting  in  your  own  house,  well  !  All  on  a 
sudden  a  set  of  wretches  attempt  to  drive  you  out 
forcibly,  then  you  seize  a  sabre,  a  pike,  a  boarding 
pike,  the  first  thing  in  fact  that  comes  to  your  hand, 
and  you  fall  upon  the  villains — very  well,  boarding 
an  enemy  is  the  same  thing  ;  the  ship  is  the  house  in 
which  we  citizens  dwell,  they  wish  to  drive  us  out 
of  it,  we  have  no  inclination  to  be  driven  out;  there 
is  nothing  very  warlike  in  that,  on  the  contrary  it  is 
extremely  citizen-like,  because,  and  you  will  not 
deny  it,  every  citizen  will  protect  his  house,  besides 
when  you  find  yourself  once  on  board — " 

"  Certainly,  M.  Kergouet,"  replied  Perez.  "  But 
say,  your  commander,  Count  de  Vaudry ;  is  he  a 
good  man — a  brave  officer  ?'' 

"As  far  as  a  citizen  like  me  can  judge,  M.  Charles 
a  good  man,  no  ;  a  brave  officer,  certainly  ;  but  he  is 
confoundedly  severe  on  board.  On  one  occasion,  as 
I  am  told,  for  I  did  not  see  it  myself,  he  had  a  can- 
nonier  bourgeois  flogged  at  the  capstan,  you  under- 
stand me,  a  cannonier  bourgeois — in  defiance  of  our 
rights  and  privileges — this  of  course  produced  a  com- 
motion among  the  gunners,  sir,  and  as  the  mutineers 
advanced  against  the  commander,  he  killed  one  with 
his  own  hand,  and  wounded  two  others." 

"  And  did  the  crew  remain  neuter,  M.  Kergouet  V 
"  Certainly,  for  although  the  commander  is  as 
hard  as  a  connon  ball,  and  although  he  has  them 
flogged  and  put  into  irons  every  day,  his  crew  are 
devoted  to  him,  either  through  fear  or  affection,  I 
don't  exactly  know  which;  it  so  happened  on  this 
occasion,  they  helped  him  to  put  down  the  connonier 
bourgeois." 

"  Then  how  can  you  make  up  your  mind  to  serve 
on  board,  M.  Kergouet  ?" 

"  Why,  six-,  we  must  serve  here,  or  elsewhere 

and  then  it  is  a  good  frigate,  the  commander  is  a 
brave  man,  and  after  all,  in  war  time,  there  is  prize- 
money." 

"  What !  have  you  a  right  to  a  share  of  the  prize- 
money  ?  " 

"  Are  you  having  a  joko  with  me  ?  certainly,  and 
so  have  you  ;  as  purser  you  have  a  share  of  one 
three  hundred  and  ninety-seventh  part ;  but  this  is 
not  the  only  affair  out  of  which  you  will  get  some 
nice  pickings  ;  there  are  the  provisions." 

"  I  swear  to  you,  M.  Kergouet,  I  nover  thought 
of  making  any  thing  by  it." 

"  Why,  it  is  simple  enough,  my  dear  fellow;  look 
you,  you  find  the  head  of  the  victualling-office,  you 
say  to  him — '  Sir,  I  wish  you  to  purchase  an  interest 
in  the  victualling  department,  on  condition  of  my 
having  a  situation  as  purser  on  board  the  Sylphide.' 
The  chief  of  the  office  will  say  to  you,  '  for  ten 
thousand  livres,  you  shall  have  the  situation. 
'  Agreed,  sir,'  you  say,  and  you  are  made  at  once 
purser  on  board  of  our  frigate,  an  excellent  situa- 
tion; you  lodge  in  the  cabose,  and  are  ranked  as  a 
petty  officer.  After  a  citizen,  it  is  the  best  berth  on 
board  the  ship,  for  there  are  some  people  who  are 
so  superstitiously  fond  of  being  called  sailors." 

"  Apropos  of  superstition,  M.  Kergouet,  is  it  true 
that  the  sailors  are  still  as  deeply  plunged  as  ever 
in  gross  and  stupid  error,  as  to  believe  in  fate  and 
omens  ?  " 

At  these  words  the  gunner  buried  his  features  so 
suddenly  in  his  cravat,  that   nothing   was  to  be  seen 
ting  his  eves,  which   almost  might  be  said  to 
hate  darted  lightning. 


90 


THE   TEMPTATION;   OR, 


"  What  is  the  matter,  M.  KergOttft  I  " 

C'a\i  ntOUl  and  inarticulate  sounds,  whose  expres- 
sion, however,  was  angry  and  threatening,  were  all 
that  issued  from  the  cravat,  in  which  the  face  of  the 
respectable  gunner  was  engulphed. 

•'  But  pray  tell  me,  -M.  Kergouet,  have  I  offended 
you  i " 

""Well  then,  yes,  you  have,"  said  the  gunner,  pull- 
in  cr  down  his  cravat,  and  showing  his  features, 
purple  with  rage — "  you  have  offended  me ;  for 
what  you  call  gross  error,  1  believe  in  myself;  I  be- 
lieve in  it,  for  1  have  facts,  examples;  and  when  I 
hear  a  man  with  a  grey  beard,  who  ought  to  have  a 
little  more  wit  than  a  child,  ask  such  questions,  I 
am  excited,  1  feel  myself  excited." 

••  Hut.  M.  Kergouet,  be  calm." 

"  Be  calm  !  when  1  hear  respectable  opinions,  In 
which  I  believe,  treated  as  errors  !  Is  it  an  error 
to  consider  it  unlucky  to  sail  on  a  Friday?  Is  tho 
omen  of  the  fire  of  St.  Elmo  an  error?  Is  it  an 
error  to  believe  that  when  the  curse  of  God  is  at- 
tached to  a  man,  it  is  easy  enough  to  cause  the  whole 
crew  to  be  lost,  if  that  man  is  not  punished  for  his 
fault  in  some  exemplary  manner?  " 

"  M.  Kergouet  I  It  is  not  M.  Kergouet,"  cried 
the  gunner  in  a  rage.  "  Errors  !  well,  I,  Sir,  I,  will 
tell  you  of  what  perhaps  you  will  call  an  error,  an 
error  I  witnessed  myself.  Sir,  do  you  hear  me,  I 
witnessed  it;  listen,  but  don 't  vex  mo  with  your 
obstinate  contradiction.  It  was  during  the  voyage 
to  the  North  Pole  on  board  the  Folk,  a  beautiful 
evening  in  August,  about  77  deg.  N.  latitude,  we 
found  ourselves  overtaken,  completely  overtaken  by 
calms  in  the  middle  of  a  kind  of  basin  surrounded 
by  a  chain  of  icebergs,  all  that  my  eye  could  discover 
in  the  distance  was  filled  with  mountains  of  ice, 
which  said  to  us,  or  at  least  seemed  to  say,  '  Un- 
happy mariners,  the  ocean  has  been  long  closed  in 
this  spot.'" 

"As  there  was  not  sufficient  wind  to  move  the 
streamers  on  a  fine  lady's  head-dress,  the  com- 
mander made  up  his  mind  to  pass  the  night  in  the 
calm,  when,  about  midnight,  the  wind  got  up  and 
blew  in  gusts  :  it  snowed  dreadfully,  and  a  crackling 
souud,  six  times  louder  than  thunder,  astonished  us 
exceedingly,  for  it  warned  us  that  the  ice  was  in 
notion,  and  that  the  enormous  icebergs,  riven  by 
the  wind,  were  beginning  to  travel  as  we  say  in  our 
rivers  ;  the  fog  was  dreadful,  and  it  was  impossible 
at  the  moment,  to  devise  any  plan  to  get  out  of  this 
tun.  while  every  instant  we  ran  the  risk  of  being 
crushed  between  two  mountains  of  ice,  like  a  flea 
between  your  nails.  All  night  long  there  were 
dreadful  crashes  ;  at  each  blow  we  expected  to  be 
cngulphed  ;  happily,  towards  the  morning  the  wind 
fell,  and  at  sunrise,  wo  could  distinguish  moun- 
tains, which  at  first  appeared  as  if  leaning  against 
each  other,  like  novices  in  their  first  battle.  But 
these  mountains,  separated  by  the  wind,  formed  a 
kind  of  archipelago,  in  the  midst  of  which  was  seen 
an  open  canal,  almost  free  from  ice,  stretching  out 
tn  a  great  distance. 

The  captain  directed  our  course  towards  this 
canal,  and  wo  had  sailed  nearly  three  miles,  when 
wepereetred  beneath  one  of  those  enormous  cliffs 
of  ire  that  bounded  the  canal,  the  top  of   the  masts 

of  ft  retsel  that  went  floating — floating  along " 

Hire  the  voice  of  the  gunner  became  more  faint, 
■  area  sssumed  a  look  of  terror,  and  his  words 
Here  less  high  sounding. 

"  But,  alas,  sir,  never  had  vessel  masts  and  rigging 
like  it ;  never  were  sails  set  in  such  a  manner.     For 


some  minutes  wo  saw  this  vessel  fly  before  tho 
freshening  breeze,  when  suddenly  it  struck  against 
a  bank  of  ice,  and  stopped  short. 

"  And  our  captain,  would  you  believe  it,  sir?  had 
tin  confounded  curiosity  to  examine  it  more  closely  ! 
he  stirred  across  the  canal,  manned  the  yauel,  fixed 
upon  me  as  one  of  the  crew,  aud  off  we  started. 

"  As  we  drew  near  this  strange  craft,  1  had  not  a 
drop  of  blood  in  my  veins.  Only  imagine — its  tim- 
bers looked  as  if  they  had  been  devoured  by  time, 
or  destroyed  by  contact  with  the  ice,  no  one  was  on 
deck,  and  it  was  covered  with  snow  to  an  amazing 
height. 

"  Tho  captain  hailed  tho  crew,  several  times.  No 
one  answered." 

And  Kergouet  was  silent,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of 
giving  more  solemnity  to  his  story, 

Perez  was  singularly  interested  at  the  simplo 
manner  in  which  the  tale  was  told,  tho  mysterious 
history  also  gained  something  by  being  related  in  a 
largo  and  dismal  room,  feebly  lighted  by  the  half 
extinguished  fire,  and  tho  flickering  lights  of  tho 
lamps. 

The  shadows  of  tho  two  speakers  appeared  collo9- 
sal  as  they  stretched  out  upon  tho  floor.  Perez,  ex- 
citable, like  every  Spaniard,  could  not  avoid  partak- 
ing of  tho  species  of  terror  which  appeared  to  have 
taken  possession  of  Kergouet,  as  he  proceded  in  his 
tale. 

"No  one  answered,"  continued  Kergouet,  after  a 
tolerably  long  silence.  "  The  captain  was  about  to 
mount  the  deck,  when  I  thought  of  looking  through 
one  of  the  port-holes  into  the  cabin,  and  I  saw — I 

saw " 

Here  Kergouet  passed  his  hand  across  hispale  fore- 
head, and  wiped  away  a  few  drops  of  perspiration. 

"  Well,  what  did  you  see  ?  "  cried  Perez,  whoso 
heart  beat  in  spito  of  himself. 

"  Well ;  I  saw,  as  plainly  as  I  see  you,  a  man 
seated  before  a  little  table,  on  which  lay  a  book  aud 
pens. 

"  I  hailed  him — ship-a-hoy  1 
"Nothing — ho  answered  not,  but  remained  mo- 
tionless. 

"  Tho  captain  could  contain  himself  no  longer ; 
ho  mounted  tho  deck,  and  we  removed  the  snow  by 
which  the  entrance  to  tho  cabin  that  held  the  mo- 
tionless man  was  hidden,  who  still  made  no  an- 
swer. 

"  We  entered  tho  cabin,  ho  did  not  move,  at  length 
I  went  up  to  him ;  he  was  dead,  sir ;  a  green  moss 
covered  his  cheeks  and  forehead,  and  veiled  his  eyes. 
The  unfortunate  man  was  dead,  frozen  up  by  the 
horrid  cold  of  those  latitudes,  he  still  held  the  pen 
in  his  hand,  and  his  book  was  open  before  him.  I 
never  shall  forget  the  last  entry  he  had  made: — 

"  11th  Nov.  We  have  this  day  been  shut  up  in  the 
ice  for  seventy  days.  The  fire  went  out  yesterday, 
and  our  captain,  who  has  been  the  cause  of  all  our 
misfortunes,  because  he  is  accursed  by  Ood,  has  in 
vain  endeavoured  to  rekindle  the  fire  I  his  wife  died 

this  morning.     No  more,  no " 

"  That  is  all,  sir,"  said  Kergouet,  with  an  inde- 
finable sentiment  of  fear.  "  The  cold  had  seized  on 
tin''  unfortunate  men,  in  tho  bctwecn-decks,  wo 
saw  the  bodies  of  tho  sailors,  stiff  and  inanimate, 
hut  not  disfigured  by  death,  for  the  intense  frost  had 
presi  rred  them,  and  by  tho  side  of  the  corpse  of  a 
woman  was  the  captain  soated  on  the  floor;  ho  held 
in  one  hand  a  flint,  in  the  other  a  steel,  and  beside 
him  lay  some  tinder. 

"  As  you  may  well  believe,  there  was  but  one  cry 


THE    WATCH    TOWER   OF    KOAT-VEN. 


CI 


and  that  was,  that  tho  captain  should  remain  no 
longer  on  board  the  accursed  vessel,  so  we  returned 
at  once  to  the  Folle.  Well,  sir,  thus  you  see 
tho  effect  of  the  divine  curse  upon  a  man;  even  the 
last  chance  of  safety  failed  in  his  hands  ;  there  was 
Bteel,  a  flint,  tinder;  but  this  accursed  man  could 
not  produce  a  single  spark  ;  cursed,  cursed  I  oh, 
that  they  had  but  known  of  the  curse  before  they 
Bailed." 

"  What  had  he  done,  then  ?"  said  Perez. 

"  What  had  he  done  ?  twenty  years  since  he  was 
In  the  squadron  of  Marshal  Conflans ;  he  was  a  fated 
captain,  as  they  call  it,  no  one  would  sail  with  him 
the  crews  mutinied,  and  he  was  obliged  at  length  to; 
leave  the  royal  navy ;  his  name  was  the  Marquis  de 
Verriac,  a  good  officer,  with  this  exception." 

"This  is  very  singular,"  said  Perez,  thoughtfully; 
and  he  remained  silent  for  some  time. 

"  My  masters,"  said  the  innkeeper,  "  the  curfew 
has  rung,  and  I  must  close  my  house." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Kergouet,  paying  for  his 
liquor ;"  come  come  on,  M.  Charles,"  he  exclaimed, 
shaking  Perez  by  the  arm. 

"  I  follow  you,  M.  Kergouet,  and  I  will  see  you 
to  your  quarters." 

"  Come  along ;  well,  good  night ;  and  don't  dream 
of  the  man  with  a  green  visage ;  but  it  was  a  dread- 
ful story,  was  it  not?" 

"  Oh,  terrible,"  said  Perez.  Then  he  cordially 
shook  his  new  friend  by  the  hand,  and  said  as  he 
retired,  "  To-morrow  I  will  introduce  you  to  the 
Sylphide." 

And  Perez  went  to  look  after  Rita,  who  was  im- 
patiently awaiting  his  return. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

"There  1  again  met  with  that  fatality  which  pursued  me 
every  where  through  my  social  life."— Dcchess  de 
Dumas. 

In  a  modest  lodging  in  the  Rue  de  L'Arsenal, 
Rita,  in  the  attire  of  a  man,  waited  for  her  attendant 

Perez  soon  made  his  appearance  ;  he  had  just 
parted  with  the  cannonier  bourgeois,  and  related  the 
whole  conversation  to  the  duchess,  without  omitting 
any  thing,  not  even  the  history  of  the  ship  enclosed 
in  the  ice,  and  the  victim  of  the  anger  of  heaven. 

The  tale  particularly  attracted  tho  notice  of  the 
duchess,  who,  rising  quickly,  looked  for  the  book  of 
Jose  Ortez  on  poisons,  and  turned  it  over  eagerly. 

After  a  few  minutes  she  made  a  sign  to  Perez  to 
read  tho  passage  she  pointed  out  with  her  finger. 
This  passage  was  as  follows  : — "  And  their  features 
became  livid,  and  their  sleep  was  disturbed  by  hor- 
rible dreams,  and  they  lost  their  strength  and  gaiety, 
and  from  brave  men  they  became  cowards,  and  the 
hands  of  the  young  trembled  like  the  hands  of  age, 
and  they  grew  meagre,  and  became  like  spectres, 
and  their  wandering  eyes  rolled  in  their  orbits,  and 
they  soon  afterwards  died,  in  the  midst  of  a  horrible 
delirium.'' 

"  Yes,  by  Habb'ay  it  was  true,  brother,  for  tho 
Ileppa'ysliad  had  sprinkled  the  powder  Tshettik,* 
of  Java,  over  their  festival.    And  the  mortal  powder, 

*  The  Upas  Zinti,  called  the  Tshettik  at  Java,  is  found  in 
tho  Indian  archipelago.  This  poison  is  of  a  gummy  nature; 
like  hydrocyanic  acid,  it  produces  in  tho  animal  system 
the  phonomona  we  havo  just  described. 


when  it  fell  on  it,  changed  their  merry  feast  into  a 
funeral  repast." 

Then,  looking  at  Perez,  Rita  said  to  him,  "  The 
situation  you  hold  on  board  is  to  serve  out  their  ra- 
tions to  tho  crew,  is  it  not,  Perez?" 

"  Yes,  madame." 

"Well,  listen  to  mo.  Can  not  you,  also,  Perez, 
change  their  merry  feasts  into  funeral  repasts,  and 
make  this  crew,  now  bo  brave,  so  strong,  and  so 
young — cowardly,  weak,  and  fearful?  —  so  that  if 
they  fall  in  with  an  enemy,  they  will  refuse  to  fight 
and  thus  dishonour  him,  and  seeing  their  captain 
free  from  the  mortality  that  decimates  them,  the 
superstitious  sailors  will  imagine  him  the  cursed 
man,  who  draws  the  vengeance  of  heaven  upon 
them.  For,  according  to  your  account,  he  does  not 
partake  of  tho  provisions  of  the  crew — only  imagine 
then  the  discontent  wo  6hall  be  able  to  create, 
also,  by  relating  his  murderous  duels,  and  his  infa- 
mous seductions.  Do  you  not  already  sec  him  dis- 
honoured by  a  shameful  flight,  exposed  to  the  rage 
of  his  sailors ;  and  after  that,  I  know  not,  but  I  can 
calculate  on  his  suffering,  a  long  and  horrible  agony 
—Perez " 

"  It  is  a  mad  project,  madame,"  said  Perez,  with 
severity. 

"Mad,  Perez?" 

"  Yes,  madame,  mad ;  for  it  resembles  that  you 
formed  in  Paris,  which  so  desperate  and  cruel  a  fa- 
tality overthrew.  Mad,  because  every  project  thus 
imagined  in  the  delirium  of  a  hatred  that  would  bo 
terrible,  if  it  were  content  with  that  which  is  pos- 
sible, becomes  powerless  when  you  seek  too  much. 
— Pardon,  pardon  my  freedom,  madame ;  but  you 
know  I  am  devoted  to  your  vengeance,  body  and 
soul,  because  my  family  has  been  devoted  to  yours 
for  three  centuries — because  it  is  an  inheritance  of 
devotion,  of  which  I  felt  the  instinct  before  I  could 
reason  on  it — because  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  sepa- 
rate myself  from  your  joys  or  sorrows — because  to 
strike  you,  is  to  strike  me — because  to  insult  you  is 
to  insult  me,  for  those  who  have  resigned  themselves 
to  servitude,  have  no  other  honour  but  that  of  their 
master,  madame — and  it  is  because  I  look  upon 
your  vengeance  as  my  own,  that  I  say  to  you.  you 
behave  strangely  to  this  man ;  for,  consider,  that, 
by  wishing  to  render  your  vengeance  complete,  he 
will  perhaps  escape  you  entirely.  Besides  the  dan- 
gers and  chances  of  war  may  anticipate  your  re- 
venge, and  if  he  should  meet  with  a  glorious  death 
in  honourable  fight,  beforo  you  could  execute  your 
project,  would  you  not  afterwards  reproach  your- 
self for  having  sacrificed  so  much  to  gain  so  little 
and  then,  again,  you  would  have  no  hand  in  his 
death — would  you  not  bitterly  grieve  at  not  having 
smote  him  yourself,  and  more  than  all,  because  life 
is  everthing  to  this  man,  madame — believe  me,  ho 
is  happy." 

"  But  you  do  not  understand  me,  Perez  ;  it  is  be- 
cause I  know  that  he  will  be  unhappy.  I  wish  him 
to  live — and  while  unhappy, .  is  there  any  pleasure 
in  life?  Perez!  Suppose  "I  killed  him  to-day — he 
would  suffer  pain  for  an  instant,  and  that  would  be 
all ;  on  the  contrary,  let  me  make  his  whole  exist- 
ence miserable,  and  the  life  1  leave  him  will  be  the 
Cruel  instrument  of  his  punishment." 

"  But,  madame,  should  he  be  killed  in  battle — it 
is  a  time  of  war. 

"  It  is  impossible,  Perez,  I  hear  a  voice,  a  con- 
science, a  conviction,  that  tolls  me  he  will  not  die, 
which  tells  me,  I  shall  bo  avenged,  as  I  wish  to  be 
avenged. 


as 


THE   TEMI'TATIO- 


'•  Zounds  !  madame,  it  is  as  bad  as  breaking  your 
own  hca<l  against  the  wall,  to  build  your  vengeance 
on  so  weak  a  foundation,  when  you  have  only  to  say 
one  word,  to  Ma  this  man  dead  to-morrow,  in  an 
hour—  in  an  instant  !  " 

"  This  man  dead  !  this  man  dead  !  excellent  ven- 
geance, by  Satan  ! — why  this  man  onee  dead,  how 
should  I  pass  my  life,  I,  miserable  wretch!  And 
you  believed  1  would  blot  myself  out  of  the  world, 
descend  into  the  tomb  before  I  was  dead,  (eel,  in  the 
extreme*!  manner,  every  thing  that  is  ignominious 
and  abject,  in  a  life  of  the  greatest  infamy,  and  that, 
for  the  purpose  Of  seeing  this  man  sutler,  while  1 
was  able  to  plunge  a  dagger  into  his  heart?  Truly, 
Peres,  your  head  wanders — I  am  sorry  for  you." 

"  Oh,  enrses  on  the  day  when  I  listened  to  your 
prayers,  madame,  curses  on  the  day  on  which  you 
precipitated  yourself  for  ever  into  an  abyss  of  sor- 
row and  despair.  Curses  on  myself,  for  not  having 
killed  this  man — curses  on  myself,  for  not  having 
been  able  to  say  to  you — '  You  are  avenged,  Madame 
la  Duchesse.  Misery,  misery  upon  me,  for  your 
hatred  will  never  be  assuaged,  madame,  and  all  re- 
turn towards  the  past  is  impossible." 

"And  that  is  what  I  wished,  feeble  and  timid 
man — that  is  what  I  wished,  that  all  return  towards 
the  past  should  be  impossible,  and  so  it  is,  and  I 
bless  Satan  for  it ;  for  I  feel  a  belief  within  me, 
that  supports  a  hope  that  leads  me  on.  After  all, 
Perez,  if  this  vengeance  appears  foolish  to  you,  take 
no  part  in  it — let  the  Duchesse  d'Almedabe  dead  to 
you,  as  to  the  rest  of  the  world.  Return  to  Spain. 
You  can  live  happily  in  our  duchy,  Perez,  for  you 
will  find  in  my  last  will,  I  have  not  forgotten  your 
good  and  faithful  services.  Go,  Perez,  go,  I  shall 
part  with  you  without  anger,  for  you  have  suf- 
fered much  for  me,  and  it  was  noblo  and  excellent 
in  you,  Perez." 

"  Oh,  madame,  madame,"  said  the  Spaniard,  heart- 
broken, and  feeling  his  eyes  fill  with  tears. 

"  No,  no  !  pardon  me,  Perez,  my  good  and  faith- 
ful servitor.  No,  I  have  wronged  you  ;  you  will 
not  leave  me,  I  know — you  will  die  at  your  mis- 
tress's feet.  I  am  sure  that  your  death  will  com- 
plete a  life  of  devotion  and  sacrifices.  And  besides, 
I  cannot  make  you  comprehend,  what  I  feel  within 
me,  all  the  force  and  power  of  that  revelation,  for 
which  I  cannot  account,  but  which  exalts,  inspires 
me,  and  gives  me  the  certainty  of  success.  It  is 
foolish,  superhuman,  if  you  like,  but  it  exists.  And 
then  has  not  the  past  given  me  a  right  to  trust  in 
the  future,  for  has  it  not  always  seconded  my  ef- 
forts ?  Perez,  observe,  he  has  fought  two  duels — 
in  one  he  killed  his  antagonist,  and  he  escaped  un- 
touched in  both.  Then  again — they  arrested  bsl 
they  took  our  gold  from  us,  but  I  was  able  to  con- 
ceal my  diamonds,  and  place  them  in  your  hands. 
They  imprisoned  us — you  helped  me  to  escape,  but 
we  wen'  aide  to  leave  Paris  without  interruption, 
lias  not  all  this,  Perez,  something  marvellous  in  it  ? 
Does  it  not  all  tell  us,  that  fate  protects  anil 
Watches  over  me.  And  then  that  fait li  1  hare  with- 
in mi; — tell  me,  is  it  not  faith  such  as  this  that  makes 
great  events  and  great  men?  Is  it  not  this  faith 
that  causea  the  success  of  t  lie  tnosl  gigantic  projects '. 

And  while   a    stupid   crowd    rails   and    lanyhs  at  it, 

Perez,  those  who  are  inspired  by  this  faith,  follow 
the  mysterious  symbol  that  guides  them:  invisible 

tO  all  Others,    but   blazing  forth  for  them  alone;      ii 

was  faith  like  this,  Perez,  that  made  Colnml 

strong  when  in  the  midst  of  the  Cries  of   his  furious 

crew,  calm  and  id  to  them — 'America 


is  there.'     Who  revealed  that  to  him,  Perez?     What 

gave  him  that  incredible  confidence,  if  it  were  not 

that  deep,  internal,  and  inexplicable  voice,  I  feel — 
but  not  more  inexplicable  than  other  mysteries  of 
our  nature.  No,  believe  me,  Peres,  my  project  is 
good,  and  my  vengeance  certain ;  but  you  must 
swear  to  me,  by  the  life  of  thy  mother,  to  do  what- 
ever I  ask  you.-' 

"  Madame,  I  havo  said  all  that  a  true  servitor 
could  say  ;  since  such  is  your  belief  follow  it ;  I 
swear  to  obey  your  orders." 

"  Well,  then,  Perez,  promise  me  to  make  no  at- 
tempt upon  his  life — his  life,  unless  I  direct  you — 
agree  to  that;  promise  to  execute  all  my  orders, 
be  they  what  they  may." 

"I  swear  it,  Madame." 

"  1  still  find  you  my  loyal  squire,"  said  Rita,  and 
tbey  separated. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


JEAN    THOMAS. 


"  Oh !  it  Is  sad  and  shameful,  go  '.  yon  arc  but  a  brntc, 
and  possosssed  with  insensation,  to  imagine  1  would  quit 
my  prey.  If  I  had  to  go  barefoot  to  meet  thee  at  the  ex- 
treme boundary,  far  as  it  is,  and  bidden  as  you  might  be, 
1  would  go.  Dread  my  love,  Garue,  it  is  as  the  sea. — Al- 
fred de  Mcnel, 

The  coach  to  Lambeseleq  was  about  to  leavo 
Brest,  when  a  tall  man,  enveloped  in  a  long  sailor's 
cloak,  accompanied  by  Jean  Thomas,  placed  his 
hand  on  the  door,  exclaiming,  "  One  instant  there  ; 
you  are  in  a  great  hurry  to  start;  you  devil's  own 
coachman." 

"  Ah,  sir,  I  was  going  to  start ;  we  did  not  expect 
you,  captain,"  said  the  automedon,  touching  his  fox- 
skin  cap. 

"  Well,  here  I  am ;  wait  an  instant,"  said  the 
captain.  Then,  turning  to  Thomas,  "  It  is  under- 
stood then,  Thomas,  you  look  after  my  wife,  and 
take  care  of  the  corn." 

"  I  make  you  no  promise  of  preventing  any  thing 
occurring,  tor  I  am  no  match  for  the  cunning  and 
falsehood  of  a  woman  ;  but  what  I  know  you  shall 
know,  what  I  see  you  shall  be  told  of,  whether 
good  or  evil ;  on  the  faith  of  Thomas  I  will  hide 
nothing  from  you." 

"  That  is  agreed,  then,  Thomas  ;  if  she  behaves 
well  I'll  treat  her  rarely;  if  ill,  my  name  is  Jaoques- 
le-Rouge;  that  says  everything;  adieu,  Thomas," 
added  the  captain,  at  the  same  time  throwing  him- 
self into  the  coach,  which  moved  off  heavily. 

Jean  Thomas,  after  seeing  the  lumbering  vehicle 
depart,  bent  his  steps  towards  the  ramparts. 

As  he  crossed  the  court-yard  he  fell  in  with  Doc- 
tor Gedeon,  "  Egad,  Thomas,  I  was  looking  after 
you,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  What  for  1" 

"  To  ask  you  to  render  me  a  service." 

"  Well,  go  on." 

"  It's  a  vexing  affair  ;  Thomas,  the  monster  has 
ordered  me." 

•'  Well,  what  is  it,  what  monster?" 

"  The  commandant.'' 

"  ( lo  on." 

"  Well,  then,  the  monster  lias  ordered  me  to  pay  a 
daily  visit  to  the  frigate,  to  ascertain  the  state  of 
health  of  the  crew,  and  as  it  was  a  piece  of  folly  on 
the  part  of  this  vile  courtier,  why,  1     I 


THE  WATCH   TOWER    OF   KOAT-VEN. 


GO 


"It  was  his  order,  and  you  must  execute  it,  lie  is 
your  superior  officer,  and  you  must  obey,"  said 
Thomas,  harshly,  interrupting  the  doctor. 

"  Oh,  certainly,  so  I  do  obey  him — only  yesterday, 
by  accident, — only  consider — but  1  hardly  know  how 
to  tell  you — you  have  such  strange  notions  about 
love." 

"  Well,  go  on." 

"  Well,  then,  yesterday,  I  had  a  rendezvous  with 
a  little  bit  of  muslin  at  Rccouvrance — a  girl  who 
adores  me." 

"  You — you  old,  and  ngly  ass, — she  adore  thee  ! 
why  you  have  lost  your  senses,  or  else  you  pay  rather 
high — but  go  on.'' 

"  You  are  so  full  of  your  jokes,  Thomas,"  said  the 
doctor,  hiding  his  vexation  under  an  air  of  raillery, 
"always  something  to  laugh  about — but  it  is  not 
that.  Not  to  miss  my  appointment,  I  have  neglected 
two  visits  on  board,  and  the  monster  is  so  fond  of 
discipline,  that  perhaps  he  will  place  me  under  ar- 
rest, and  then  I  shall  not  be  able  to  keep  my  ap- 
pointment to-morrow  ;  but  if  you  would  only  just 
tell  the  commander,  that  you  ordered  me  to  go  to 
the  hospital  at  Kerlo,  three  leagues  from  hence,  to 
visit  the  sailors  who  are  to  be  sent  to  us  as  recruits, 
I  shall  not  be  punished, — and  then " 

"  Are  you  not  asking  me  to  tell  a  lie  ?" 

"  It  is  not  tolling  a  lie,  Thomas,  it  is  obliging  a 
friend." 

"  Is  it  not  a  lie,  and  that  to  enable  you  to  excuse 
one  folly,  and  give  you  an  opportunity  of  commit- 
ting others  ? — never " 

"  But,  Thomas " 

"  Never !  you  have  deserved  your  punishment, 
and  you  must  submit  to  it." 

"  But  friendship " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  friendship  is  when  in 
service." 

'•But " 

"Adieu  !" 

And  Jean  Thomas  left  the  doctor,  disappointed 
but  not  much  surprised,  for  he  had  long  known  the 
intractable  and  inflexible  character  of  the  lieute- 
nant. 

In  fact,  Jean  Thomas  was  a  man  of  severe  and 
rigid  virtue,  and  almost  fabulous  austerity  of  man- 
ners, his  probity  was  undoubted,  his  value  above  all 
proof;  but  if  his  soul  was  as  pure  as  steel,  it  was 
also  as  cold  and  hard. 

Incapable  of  weakness,  he  exposed  and  attacked, 
without  mercy,  the  faults  of  others  ;  no  human  con- 
sideration could  prevent  his  doing  his  duty,  as  he 
called  it,  and  fulfilling  his  mission,  by  pursuing 
■vice  or  wickedness  in  all  men,  and  in  every  place. 

Owing  to  his  merit  alone,  the  rank  he  held,  a  rank 
of  considerable  elevation  for  one  of  his  class,  the  only 
fault  of  Jean  Thomas  was  a  deeply  rooted  envy,  and 
a  detestable  hatred  of  all  those  who  were  superior 
to  him  by  birth.  And  yet,  had  Jean  Thomas  been 
born  a  nobleman,  his  aristocratic  pride  would  have 
been  pitiless,  and  this  he  also  proved  by  the  severity 
with  which  he  treated  his  subordinates. 

But,  after  all,  this  fault  really  injured  no  one  but 
himself;  like  an  evil  conscience  his  concentrated 
envy  devoured  him.  But  he  never  committed  himself 
in  any  part  of  his  duties,  for,  brutally  as  he  behaved 
towards  the  sailors  and  officers  under  his  orders,  he 
was  incapable  of  perpetrating  the  least  injustice; 
but  at  the  same  time,  they  never  needed  to  expect 
ths  least  favour,  if  they  failed  in  their  duty. 

Even  when  not  on  actual  service,  his  strict  and 
imperious  virtue  gave  way  before  nothing ;  neither 


expediency  nor  common  custom  were  looked  upon 
by  bim  as  an  excuse. 

Irreproachable  in  his  life,  he  wished  others  to  be 
so  also.  Looking  upon  indulgence  as  weakness,  be 
considered  those  who  tolerated  a  crime  as  accom- 
plices; he  would  have  made  no  distinction  between 
a  murderer  and  the  man  who  did  not  give  the  mur- 
derer up  to  justice. 

To  sum  up  all,  Jean  Thomas  was  the  type  of  a 
rigorously  virtuous  man,  virtuous  without  con- 
science, virtuous  to  the  very  letter,  if  1  may  use 
such  a  phrase,  as  it  alone  can  paint  with  truth  the 
intractable  virtue  of  the  lieutenant. 

Thomas  consequently  could  not  calculate  on  a 
single  friend,  if  we  except  Captain  Jacques  Lerouge, 
for  a  kind  of  similarity  of  character  had  brought 
them  together. 

Jacques  Lerouge,  captain  of  a  privateer,  com- 
menced his  maritime  career  in  the  merchant  service, 
and  thus  many  years  previously  he  became  acquaint- 
ed with  Jean  Thomas.  Without  equalling  the  lieu- 
tenant in  rigour,  Captain  Lerouge  was  a  brave 
sailor,  acting  with  scrupulous  probity  on  board  a 
privateer  in  time  of  war,  and  as  captain  of  a  mer- 
chantman during  peace. 

As  an  instance  of  this,  during  the  late  war,  Le- 
rouge commanded  a  beautiful  privateer,  a  brig  of 
twenty  guns  ;  he  gave  chase,  and  overtook  a  superb 
English  three-masted  vessel  laden  with  spice,  and 
on  her  return  from  the  Indies.  Finding  herself 
taken,  the  vessel  hoisted  a  flag  of  truce,  and  sent  an 
officer  on  board  the  brig,  to  tell  Captain  Lerouge 
that  a  neutral  vessel  coming  from  Spain,  had  brought 
word  that  peace  had  been  signed.  The  only  proof 
of  the  truth  of  this  assertion  was  the  word  of  honour 
of  the  officer,  and  with  this  Captain.  Lerouge  was 
satisfied,  and  allowing  the  English  vessel  to  proceed 
on  her  course.  The  ship  and  cargo  were  worth  a 
million,  and  she  was  taken  by  a  brother  commander 
less  scrupulous  than  Jacques  Lerouge. 

Such  was  the  only  friend  Jean  Thomas  possessed  ; 
for  in  the  royal  navy  he  could  not  reckon  a  single 
instance;  his  behaviour  was  so  austere,  his  manner 
so  taciturn,  and  his  language  so  coarse,  that  after 
the  expiratiou  of  a  week  or  ten  days,  he  found  him- 
self at  Coventry,  no  one  would  speak  to  him. 

His  connection  with  the  sailors  was  even  still 
more  unpleasant;  excessively  severe,  overlooking 
nothing,  treating  them  with  hauteur  and  brutality, 
he  was  heartily  execrated  :  but  the  influence  of  his 
bravery  and  firmness  was  so  great,  that  it  enabled 
him  to  keep  them  in  complete  subjection. 

It  was  to  this  Jean  Thomas  Lerouge  had  confided 
the  surveillance  of  his  wife. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

SHOWING  HOW  TRADE   IS  THE  BOND  OF  MANKIND. 

Valeria.  O'  my  word,  the  father's  son;  I '11  swear  'tU 
a  very  pretty  boy.— Suak-jpeare. 

It  was  shortly  after  the  Count's  arrival  at  Brest, 
he  occupied,  as  wo  know,  a  small  house  in  the  Flout 
d'  Armes;  on  the  day  of  which  we  are  speaking, 
Henry  was  engaged  with  his  upholsterer,  who  had 
to  fit  up  the  balcony  of  the  cabin  of  the  Svlphid*. 

" TWs  artist*,  a  sworn  mast,  r  of  his  corporation, 
was  called  M.  Doquin  ;  he  had  the  most  perfect  air 
of  good-nature,  intelligence,  and  honesty,  but  his 
eyes  exhibited  the  signs  of  recent  tears  :  he  might 


&4 


TUB    TKMrTATlON  ;     OK, 


have  soon  soma  fifty  yours,  and  be  now  stood  respect- 
fully  before  the  count,  toreoaivehifl  last  instruction* 

"As  to  the  Chinese  goods,"  said  Henry,  "you 
ought  to  reoeive  them  from  Paris  by  to-morrow  at 
tin'  latest,  as  well  as  the  Indian  stuffs  for  window- 
curtains.  1  Beg  you  will  bo  as  expeditious  as  posat- 
blo,  for  we  may  be  under  orders  for  sailing  every 
instant." 

"  The  count  may  rely  on  my  diligence." 

"Apropos.  I  shall  want  ■  swinging  chain  to  sus- 
pend a  vase  of  so.  nt  by  in  tin-  little  batli-ohainbor  1 
have  on  board  ;  and  do  n't  forget  to  put  some  flower- 
pots between  the  windows." 

'•  Allow  me  to  observe.   If,   he  Count,  that  the 
Bower-pota  have  boon  there  since  the  morning." 
'  Quite  right.  M.  Doqttiu  ;   but  have  you  brought 


Officers,  the  young  men  appear  very  well.  That 
abbe,  klso,  1  like  his  appearance:  he  has  all  the  man- 
ners of  a  man  accustomed  to  the  best  company,  but 
In  Mom*,  rather  proud,  and  would  hardly  recipro- 
cate my  advances  ;  and  then  there  is  something  about 
him  that  mystifies  me  completely — he  has  a  gun-shot 
wound  on  his  left  hand — it  must  bo  ft  gun-shot 
wound — I  knew  it  well  by  experience,  lint  how 
the  devil  should  an  abbe  come  by  ft  gun-shot  wound 
on  his  left  hand?  Perhaps,  indeed,  he  has  not 
always  been  an  abbe — I  should  think,  from  his 
manner,  that  was  the  case.  But  then  again,  he  does 
not  appear  above  thirty  years  of  age,  anil  at  that  age 
it  \<,  a  strange  profession,  if  he  Is  sincere.  His  ap- 
pearance is  excellent — but  why  does  ho  wear  no 
powder!    it  gives   him   a  very  singular  nlr.    Why, 


with  Mm  that  little  account  I  have  so  often  asked    however,  should  I  trouble  myself  about  it?     I  shall, 


for  I  " 

"  .Since  M.  le  Count  condescends  to  speak  ot  It, 
here  it  is;  it  amounts  to  three  thousand  two  hun- 
lr.-.l  lines  ;  but  if  1  might  deign  to  ask  a  favour  of 

M.  le  Count " 

"  Do  so,  M.  Doquin." 

"  1  am  on  the  very  brink  of  ruin,  M.  le  Count,  tho 
victim  of  I  dreadful  bankruptcy  ;  and  if,  between  this 
and  to-morrow,  1  am  unable  to  raise  ten  thousand 
livres,  I  shall  be  dishonoured  ;  and  worso  than  all, 
M.  le  Count,  I  shall  bo  obliged  to  discharge  twenty 
workmen  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  so  much  distress  and 
cold  weather,  it  is  dreadful  to  contemplato  tho  con- 
sequences." 

There  was  such  a  deep  expression  of  sorrow  in  the 
accent  of  the  poor  man  that  the  count  was  touched  ; 
for  it  was  evident  the  misfortune  was  real,  that  he 
was  an  unfortunate  honest  man,  who  would  not  cry 
out  for  help  excepting  at  the  moment  of  perishing. 
Henry  wrote  a  few  words  on  a  pleco  of  paper, 
folded  ii,  and  handed  it  to  M.  Doquin,  saying  to  him, 
••  1  lore  is  a  cheque  for  five  hundred  louis  on  M.  Gerard, 
my  banker  at  Brest ;  you  can  put  it  down  to  the  ac- 
count of  anything  you  may  supply  for  tho  future.  I 
feel  too  happy  in  obliging  a  man  like  you,  M.  Doquin." 
•'  They  did  not  deceive  me  when  they  spoke  of  your 
generosity,  M.  le  Count;  my  poor  little  child  will  be 
indebted  to  you  for  more  than  his  life — for  his 
honour;  and  my  workmen  for  their  daily  bread," 
said  the  upholsterer,  full  of  gratitude,  and  with  his 
eyes  swimming  in  tears,  throwing  himself  at  the 
same  time  on  his  knees  before  Henry,  who  could 
sc  n-cely  repress  his  laughter. 

Scarcely  had  the  upholsterer  left  the  room,  when 
the  count  could  contain  himself  no  longer. 

•  It  is  enough  to  kill  me,"  said  Henry,  bursting 
with  laughter—"  His  child  indebted  to  me  for  his 
life  !  He  has  no  notion  how  truly  he  speaks.  But 
after  all,"  said  Henry,  with  a  more  serious  air,  "  this 
rogue  perhaps  knows  all  about  it.  His  ruin,  his 
bankruptcy,  may  bo  only  a  trick  to  obtain  five  hun- 
dred louis  from  me.  Zounds  !  Madame  Doquin  is 
rather  expensivo  ;  I  could  have  for  the  same  sum 
two  opera  girls,  and  one  from  the  Italian — but  after 
all,  I  am  certain,  Madame  Doquin  is  a  very  re- 
spectable woman,  and  her  husband  is  not  without 
taste;  so  considering  all  things,  it  is  not  too  dear, 
end  certainly  my  cabin  will  be  charming;  and  Do- 

qnin  had  a  very  good  notion  when  he  placed  mirrors 

in  the  shutters,  so  that  when  they  are  closed,  they 
reflect  every  thing  in  the  place     At  all  events,  l 

must  endeavour  to  render  my  prison  as  agreeable  as 
possible:  not  that  I  am  weary  on  board  during  a 
(•ale  or  a  battle;  but  in  calm  weather  it  is  diaboli- 
cal; happily  I  have  some  resource,    1    think,  in    my 


have  plenty  of  time  to  find  out  this   living  riddle, 
when  once  we  are  on  board." 

At  this  Instant  the  faithful  Germaux  appeared  at 
a  little  secret  door,  and  said  mysteriously  to  Hear)  : 
"  M.  le  Count,  may  some  one  come  in  i ' 
"  Ah  i  "  cried  Henry,  "  she  could  not  have  arrived 
at  a  hotter  time — let  her  come  In." 

Scarcely  had  the  count  spoken,  before  the  little 
door  was  closed.  Germaux  had  disappeared,  leav- 
ing in  his  placo  a  female  enveloped  in  her  hood, 
under  which  could  bo  soon  morely  a  pair  of  large 
black  sparkling  eyes. 

"  Take  this  off,  Georgette,"  said  i  the  count,  re- 
moving tho  mantle  from  the  female,  "by  tho  by 
your  husband  has  just  been  here." 

And  seating  Georgette  on  his  knee,  he  removed  the 
cloak  that  concealed  hor  pretty,  round,  and  healthy 
face,  rather  too  large  and  highly  coloured,  it  is  true. 

"  What !  has  ho  just  left  hero  i"  said  Madame  Do- 
quin. 

"  Ah,  M.  Henry,  ho  has  not  told  you  of  his  mis- 
fortune." 

"  Yes,  yes,  ho  has  told  me  all,  and  1  know  all ; 
and  It  is  all  remedied  too;  "we'll  talk  no  more  ot 
that,  that's  over,"  said  the  count,  chafing  Georgette's 
fat  but  lather  red  hands  between  his  own. 

"Ah!  M.  Henry,  I  know  Doquin  is  far  from 
obstinate,  and  that  is  a  pleasure,  for  nil  men  are  not 
so  quiet  as  he  is.  Oh,  if  you  did  but  know  what 
has  happened  at  Recouvranee ;  it  is  enough  to  turn 
your  blood  to  think  that  people  could  be  so  wicked.', 
"Explain  yourself,  my  dear,"  said  Henry,  passing 
his  arm  rather  too  familiarly  round  tho  ample  waist 
of  Madame  Doquin. 

"  Then  this  is  it,  M.  Henry;  perhaps  you  don't 
know  Jacques  le  Rouge  ?     Now  do  listen,  Henry." 
"  I  am  listening." 

"  Well,  then,  Jaqiies  le  Rouge  is  tho  captain  of 
a  privateer,  who  made  a  great  deal  of  money  in  the 
course  of  the  last  war.  Two  years  ago  he  mar.  led 
the  daughter  of  Madame  Binan,  the  dress-maker,  as 
charming  a  little  woman  as  1  know,  fair  and  pietty 
as  a  hart.     But  alas  !  to-day — " 

"Well,"  said  Henry  Interrupting  her,  "has  Jac- 
ques le  Rouge  (the  Red)  become  Jacques  le  Jaune 
(t\\<-  i/cllow),  Jacques  le  Doquin  ;     JacquOB  le — " 

"  Bo  quiet,  M.  Henry,  how  wrong  it  is  of  you  to 
say  that  of  poor  Doquin,  one  who  respects  you  so 
much." 

"  Well,  go  on  ;  the  pretty  blonde  and  Jacques  k 
Rouge,  what  have  they  been  doing!" 

"  Well,  Madame  lo  Rouge,  who  was  a  thousand 

times  too  good  to  be  married  to  such  a  monster  as 
the  captain,  a  downright  brute,  forty  years  obi,  uglj 
stingy,  anil  then  for  manners    ah  ■" 


THE   WATCH    TOWER   OF    KOAT-VEN. 


11  Well,  but  what  has  happened  ?" 

'*  Well,  then,  M.  Henry,  that  villain  Jacques  le 
Rouge  tormented  his  wife  to  such  an  extent,  that 
the    unoi  tunate  woman — Died  on  account  of  it  ?" 

"No,  M.  Henry,  she  did  not  die  on  account  of 
it;  but  she  was  so  very  miserable  that  she  was 
obliged,  after  the  atrocious  behaviour  of  that  tiger ; 
obliged  to  take  a  lover — i  h  !  was  he  not  a  dreadful 
man!" 

"  A  monster,  he  ought  to  be  expelled  society," 
said  Henry,  with  an  admirably  serious  look. 

"  And  the  unfortunate  Madame  le  Rouge,  did  she 
meet  with  the  consolation  she  sought  after  ?" 

For  two  months  every  thing  went  on  well,  M. 
Henry  ;  but  yesterday,  it  seems,  all  was  discovered. 
The  lover  is  a  solicitor's  clerk,  a  very  handsome  lad, 


and  always  so  well  dressed  that  you  might  take  him 
for  a  secretary ;  his  name  is  Boniface  Zeblot ;  his 
father  farms  the  salt  duties." 

"  Zounds,  Madame  Doquin,  you  are  very  circum- 
stantial ;  so  many  particulars  about  M.  Boniface — 
Sabot — Cablot !  what's  his  name  ?" 

"Oh!  M.  Henry,  I  swear  I  would  rather  die 
than  be  unfaithful  to  you — don't  be  vexed  at  what  1 
said." 

"  Oh  !  as  for  that,  my  dear,"  said  Henry,  scorn- 
fully,  and  rather  piqued,  "  I  hope  you  do  not  presume 
to  imagine  that  1  am  jealous  of  you.  You  may 
take  M.  Cablot  from  Madame  le  Rouge,  if  you  feel 
inclined ;  you  are  quite  welcome  to  folks  of  that 
kind.  Only  love  me  when  we  are  together  that  is 
jail  I  require."     Then,  noticing  her  tears,  he  coati- 


M 


THE   TKMPTATIOH;    c)r;. 


nued,  "  Nay,  don't  cry,  Georgette,  but  why  did  you 
s;iy  you  was  faithful  to  me?  who  waa  talking  any 
such  nonsense  to  you?  Cone,  go  on  with  your 
story,  Jacques  le  Rouge  discovered  all,  then  ?" 

"  Yes,  M.  Henry,"  said  Georgette,  wiping  her 
ejBB,  "  that  is,  he  has  not  discovered  it,  but  one  of 
his  friends;  one  you  know  very  well,  M.  Jeau 
Thomas." 

"  My  worthy  lieutenant  ?" 

"  Yes,  M.  Henry,  and,  as  he  is  a  great  friend  of 
the  captain's,  they  are  afraid  he  will  tell  him  when 
he  comes  back." 

"  The  captain  is  not  here,  then  ? 

"  No,  M.  Henry,  he  has  gone  to  Lambeseleq  for 
five  days  ;  and  during  that  time  the  poor  woman  and 
her  lover  were  seen  outside  the  town.  Your  M. 
Jean  Thomas  played  them  this  beautiful  trick. 
And  it  is  whispered  all  over  Recouvrance,  that  he 
will  inform  Captain  le  Rouge,  who  is  expected  every 
hour.  Ah !  poor  women !  who  would  marry  after 
this!" 

A  slight  sound  was  heard  at  the  secret  door. 

"  Who  is  there?"  said  Henry. 

"  A  letter  for  the  Count,  to  be  delivered  immedi- 
ately," said  Germeau's  voice. 

"  Put  it  under  the  door." 

And  a  letter  appeared  on  the  carpet.  Henry 
opened  the  letter  and  read  : — 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte, —  An  old  servant  of  a  friend 
of  your  father,  the  late  count,  begs  in  the  name  of  all 
that  is  most  sacred,  you  will  come  to  her  to  prevent 
a  dreadful  occurrence.  It  is  a  case  of  life  and  death. 
M.  le  Comte.  The  person  who  has  taken  the  liberty 
of  making  this  request,  is  the  mother  of  your  lieu- 
tenant, the  widow  Thomas.  In  the  name  of  heaven, 
count,  come — every  minute's  delay  may  be  the 
cause  of  a  most  dreadful  event." — The  Widow 
Thomas.    Rue  des  poutres,  No.  7,  Recouvrance. 

"  What  the  devil  can  all  this  mean  ?"  said  Henry. 
"  Certainly  I  will  go,  and  without  delay.  Adieu, 
Georgette, — come  to-night — here,  quick — put  on 
your  mantle,  and  go  down  the  back  stairs." 

"  Oh,  heavens !  perhaps  it  is  concerning  poor 
Madame  Lerouge,"  said  Georgette,  terrified,  as  she 
hastily  put  on  her  cloak. 

"  It  is  on  that  account,  child,  I  must  leave  you. 
Adieu." 

Then  ringing  for  Germeau,  who  soon  made  his 
appearance. 

"  Show  madame  the  way  out,  send  for  a  chair, 
and  bring  me  my  things.     I  must  go  this  instant." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


''  Truth  never  changes : — who  is  it  has  changed,  you  or  us  ? 
Thk  ABBE  ut:  Mknnais. 

The  reader  bas  certainly  not    forgotten  the  de- 
scription <>f  the  modest  lodging  of  the  widow  Tho- 

aus  in  that  apartment  the  scene  we  are 
about  to  relate  took  place. 

The  feature*  of  the  widow,  usually  so  gentle  and 
calm,  betrayed M  extraordinary  state  of  agitation. 
Burning  te"ars  rolled  down  her  furrowed  cheeks; 
her  hands  trembled;  and  the  wheel  overturned 

.  her  side,  testified  the  violence  of  the  alterca- 
tion that  had  taken  place 

re  her,  on  her  knees,  embracing  her  with 


both  her  arms,  and  hiding  her  head  in  the  widow's 
bosom,  a  young  female  with  dishevelled  hair  utter- 
ing half  smothered  sobs,  was  bending. 

It  was  Pauline,  the  wife  of  Captain  Lerouge. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  chamber,  seated  in  I 
chair,  was  .lean  Thomas,  with  his  arms  crossed, 
affecting  an  appearance  of  ease  which  his  paleness 
falsified^ 

"  Calm  yourself,"  said  the  widow  to  the  disconso- 
late woman,  "  calm  yourself,  my  dear  child,  my  son 
is  not  cruel  enough  for  that,  believe  me.  And  be- 
sides," she  added,  in  a  whisper,  "  I  have  written  to 
the  commandant — he  is  coming,  and  he  can  easily 
prevent  his  committing  such  an  atrocity." 

"  Oh,  madame,''  said  the  miserable  woman,  lifting 
up  her  handsome  features,  bathed  in  tears, — "oh, 
madame,  my  husband  will  kill  me — he  will  kill  me 
I  am  sure." 

"  Then  your  crime  will  be  punished  as  it  ought 
to  be,"  said  Thomas  in  a  hollow  voice." 

"  Oh  God!  M.  Thomas,  why  do  you  wish  me  so 
much  harm  1  I  never  did  you  any  wrong  ;"  said 
Pauline,  in  a  supplicatory  tone. 

"  1  wish  you  no  harm.  You  have  committed  a 
crime,  and  I  must  tell  my  friend  of  it:  it  is  my 
duty,  and  I  will  do  so." 

"  How  cruel  you  are,  Thomas,"  said  the  widow. 
"  You  have  no  compassion,  if  the  sight  of  so  much 
sorrow  does  not  touch  you — if  you  are  cruel  enough 
to  deliver  up  this  poor  creature  to  her  husband's 
vengeance." 

"  Courage,  mother — courage,  mother!  this  is  ex- 
cellent from  you — you,  who  always  have  heaven's 
name  in  your  mouth,"  said  Jean  Thomas,  "  defend 
her  crime,  and  attack  a  virtuous  man  who  perforins 
his  duty!" 

"Your  duty,  Thomas — your  duty!  Is  there  no 
medium  between  the  stern  intolerance  you  proclaim, 
and  a  criminal  complicity?  Who  disputes  your 
right  to  lead  your  friend's  wife  into  a  better  train 
of  thought  J  Try,  sir;  but  do  not  cause  this  poor 
girl  to  be  assassinated,  without  allowing  her  time 
to  repent.  1  f  you  have  a  heart  in  your  breast,  this 
consideration  will  affect  you." 

'    I  never  truckle  with  my  duty,  mother." 

"  Your  mother?  Yes,  your  mother— but  she 
blushes  at  imagining  she  has  given  birth  to  so  un- 
natural a  being  as  you!" 

'•  Blush,  then,  that  your  son  is  an  honest  man; 
— blush  that  he  possesses  stern  and  unshaken  truth. 
I  am  the  grandson  of  an  itinerant  dealer  in  fish,  am 
I  not,  mother  !"  with  a  bold  and  bitter  laugh. 
"  Well,  for  a  low  bred  fellow,  for  a  worthless  ple- 
beian, virtue  is  nobility,  and  by  heaven  I  can  say, 
after  this  manner — I  am  as  noble  as  a  Montmo- 
rency. If  they  do  not  call  me  Thomas  the  gentle- 
man or  Thomas  'the  lord,  they  can  say, '  Thomas 
the  honest  man.'  It  is  a  misfortune  for  you,  mo- 
ther, but  still  it  is  so." 

"  And  I  tell  you,  it  is  not  the  love  of  virtue  that 
makes  you  act  in  this  manner,  but  a  dreadful  hatred 
you  cherish  against  every  thing,  because  you  envy 
all. — Yes,  your  rage  requires  a  victim.  It  is  be 
cause  your  pride  tortures  you.  Some  one  must 
feel  the  sufferings  you  endure,  and  virtue  answers 
as  a  pretext  \es,  I  tell  you,  you  profane  the 
word. ' 

"  .My  conscience  dictates  my  duty  to  me,  mo- 
ther," said  Thomas,  "  a  fault  has  been  committed, 
and  the  guilty  shall  be  exposed.  The  honour  and 
happiness  of  my  friend  before  all,  mother!" 

"  But,  miserable  man!  you  do  not  think  of  tb 
happiness  of  your  friend  by  acting  thus ;  for  if  he 


THE    WATCII    TOWER   OF    KOAT    VEN. 


knows  nothing  of  it,  if  he  has  confidence  ir.  his 

wife why  should   you  reveal  this   dreadful 

secret  to  him?  Go,  sir,  and  believe  that,  sufficiently 
punished  by  this  terrible  lesson,  the  poor  child  will 
return  to  her  duty — to  her  home. — I  promise  it  to 
you;  so  say  nothing,  and  the  peace  of  this  family 
will  not  be  broken — Thomas— my  son,  your  mo- 
ther beseeches  you — save  this  unhappy  woman 
from  death,  her  husband  from  crime,  and  yourself 
from  fearful  remorse." 

"You  are  joking,  mother;  remorse?  When  I 
defy  any  one,  be  he  who  he  may,  to  prove  to  me 
that  my  conduct  is  not  in  every  respect  that  of  a 
rigid  but  upright  man." 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  Thomas,"  said  Pauline,  crawling 
on  her  knees  towards  the  sailor,  "  Monsieur 
Thomas,  I  was  wrong,  I  know,  very  wrong — my 
fault  is  inexcusable;  yes,  I  am  a  wretch,  and  de- 
serve to  be  despised,  but  not  to  die.  A  little  pity, 
Monsieur  Thomas  !  Do  not  tell  him;  I  swear  by 
heaven,  by  your  mother,  that  1  will  pass  my  life — 
all  my  life,  in  repentance,  and  in  making  my  hus- 
band as  happy  as  I  can.  I  wDl  bear  every  thing 
from  him  without  complaint.  Oh,  M.  Thomas, 
pity— pity  1" 

"  No  pity  for  crime.  You  should  have  remained 
innocent,  and  spared  yourself  these  fits  of  terror; 
but  it  is  too  late,"  said  Thomas  harshly. 

"  But  M.  Thomas,  it  is  never  too  late  to  save  a 
poor  creature  from  death,"  cried  Pauline,  in  bro- 
ken-hearted tones,  and  clasping  her  hands  together, 
"  for  you  know  when  he  hears  it  he  will  kill  me." 

"  You  have  been  criminal,  and  my  friend  shall 
be  informed  of  it.  As  to  the  consequences,  that  is 
no  business  of  mine :  your  supplications  are  useless. 
Once  again — 1  will  do  my  duty." 

"  Oh  God,  there  is  nothing  left  me,  then,  but 
death!"  said  the  captain's  wife;  and  she  fell  to  the 
ground  in  a  state  of  insensibility. 

The  widow,  notwithstanding  her  great  age,  flew 
to  the  assistance  of  the  poor  woman,  and  exclaimed, 
as  she  raised  her  hands  to  heaven, — "oh,  pardon 
this  madman  !   who  has  been  the  cause  of  all  this  f" 

"  Madman,  a  virtuous  man!  Ah,  that  itru  e 
enough,  so  the  world  thinks;  but  I  am  not  one  of 
the  world,"  said  Ti.omas  bitterly. 

"  Leave,  leave  this  place,  do  you  hear  me  ?  leave 
my  horn,  sir  !"  cried  the  widow,  pointing  to  the 
door." 

"  1  am  here,  in  my  father's  house, '  said  the 
lieutenant. 

"  If  you  do  not  leave  this  instant,  I  will  call  for 
help,  unworthy  boy." 

"  Unworthy,  mother,  for  having  said  to  crime 
*  thou  art  crime  1'  Unworthy,  for  having  dune  my 
duty  as  an  honest  man !  But  really  mother,  your 
great  age  has  made  you — 

"  My  great  age  has  injured  my  reason— my 
great  age  has  made  me  foolish?  Is  that  what  you 
mean  to  say?"  cried  the  widow,  interrupting  him. 
"What,  you  insult  your  mother!  Alas,  alas!  1 
curse  you,  wretch:  on,  be  thou  cursed. ' 

At  this  instant  the  door  opened — the  Count 
entered. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

sacrii.i.m:. 
"  It  is  a  sacrilegious  act.," — Mktkbbeeb. 

The  noise  made  by  the  door  in  opening,  when  the 
Count  made  his  appearance,  brought  hack  Pauline 
to  her  senses;  for  the  unhappy  woman,  imagining 
she  heard  her  hushand,  threw  herself  at  the 
widow's  feet,  exclaiming,  "he  will  kill  me— oh 
madame— oh,  save  me  !" 

But  soon  perceiving  her  mistake,  still  kneeling, 
she  put  back  her  hair  from  her  forehead,  aud,  fix- 
ing her  look  upon  the  stranger  who  had  just  en- 
tered, instinctively  perceived  it  was  the  Count. 
Then,  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks,  she  seized 
his  hands  and  kissed  them.  "  Oh  save  me,  Count, 
for  heaven's  sake  save  me,  my  only  hope  is  in  you. ' 
And  then  she  relapsed  into  a  kind  of  convulsive 
spasm,  and  shook  in  every  limb. 

Jean  Thomas, astonished  beyond  measure,  looked 
on  his  superior  officer  with  a  stupified  air. 

'•  Monsieur  le  Comte  has  not  then  despised  the 
prayer  of  a  poor  widow,"  said  Thomas's  mother, 
respectfully  saluting  Henry. 

"No.  Madame;  and  I  shall  feel  too  happy  in 
rendering  myself  useful.  But  will  you  explain  »hat 
all  this  means  ?     How  can  I  save  this  lady  !" 

"  By  preventing  my  son  betraying  the  secret  of 
this  poor  child,  who  is  very  culpable,  for  she  forgot 
her  duty  for  an  instant,  Count,  but  she  is  repentant: 
observe  her  tears.  Oh,  it  is  enough  to  break  one  s 
heart— would  you  believe  it?  my  son  intends  to 
tell  her  husband  the  whole  story;  and  if  he  tells 
him,  what  will  become  of  her?  So  pray,  Count, 
desire  my  son  not  to  stir  in  the  business:  you  are 
his  superior  officer;  and  we  will  both  of  us  bless 
you." 

'•  Oh,  yes,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  my  life  will  not 
be  long  enough  to  prove  my  gratitude,''  said  Pauline. 

"  How  beautiful  she  is,"  thought  the  Count,  con- 
templating the  figure  of  Madame  Lorouge,  as  she 
knelt  at  his  feet.  Then,  addressing  himself  to  Jean 
Thomas,  "  I  hope,  sir—" 

"  I   hope,  sir,''  said  Thomas,  interrupting  the 
Count,  "  I  hope  you  have  sufficient  respect  : 
self  not  to  interfere  in  a  business  in  which  the 
service  is  not  concerned." 

"  I  am  here  in  the  house  of  Madame  Thomas 
sir,"  said  Henry,  bowing  to  the  widow,  "  and  no 
one  has  a  right  to  ask  niy  intentions." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Thomas  arrogantly,  '•  I  am  in 
my  own  house,  and  I  will  tell  you  mine: — My  in-  , 
tendon  is  to  disclose  all  to  Captain  Lerouge.  and 
that  without  delay.  I  am  aware,  sir,  that,  in  in  v 
situation,  a  man  of  the  court  would  be  more  tole- 
rant— or  more  weak.  But  I  am  not  a  man  of  the 
court,  I  belong  to  another  class;  I  am  ore  of  the 
people:  I  am  an  honest  man.'' 

"  You  arc  a  miserable  fellow  to  talk  thus  to  a 
gentleman,  to  a  nobleman,  who  does  honour  to  y  ur 
father's  house  by  entering  it."  cried  the  widow, 
thus  imprudently  redoubling  Thomas's  ang< . , 
"  Beg  his  pardon  this  instant,"  she  said. 

"  Mother !"  cried  Thomas,  impetuously. 

"  Let  me  intreat  you,  madame,"  said  the  count, 
in  his  usual  quiet  manner.  "  Forget,  as  I  have 
done,  all  this  gentleman  has  just  said."  Thou 
turning  to  Thomas,  "  you  treat  people  of  my  el. is*, 
sir,  with  great  sincerity,  1  have  s  hotter  opinion  of 
those  belonging  to  yours,  since  this  distinction  lias 


c? 


I  LTIOH;    OK, 


1  beea  established  by  you;  I  should  never  have  ' 
thought  of  making  it  but  because  I  know  you  to  be  \ 
a  true  and  honest  man,  I  have  ventured  to  join 
with  your  mother,  to  obtain  your  promise  of  silence 
on  this  melancholy  affair.  You  must  he  aware,  sir, 
that  it  would  be  folly  on  my  part  to  imagine  that 
my  influence  as  your  commander  could  in  any  way 
have  power  over  you;  so  let  us  forget  our  different 
rank,  and  look  upon  me  merely  as  one  hearty  fellow 
asking  a  favour  of  another. — Let  me  beg  of  you, 
M.  Thomas,  not  to  follow  up  your  intention  ;  really 
you  will  go  bw-yond  the  object  you  aim  at." 

"  Thomas  answered  not  a  word,  but  looked  at 
the  count  with  a  sardonic  smile,  and  then  pulling 
out  his  watch,  he  said — "  Twelve  o'clock,  at  that 
hour  the  coach  arrives  from  Lambeseleq,  my  friend 
will  no  doubt  come  by  it :   I  will  go  and  meet  him. 

And  he  disappeared. 

"  Mv  son!  my  son  !"  cried  the  widow,  in  a  sup- 
plicatory tone. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  cried  Pauline,  he  has  gone  to  fetch  my 
executioner. 

"  In  heaven's  name,  M.  Thomas,  you  will  not  do 
that,"  said  Henry,  running  after  his  lieutenant. 

He  was  too  late. 

The  three  actors  in  this  strange  scene  looked  at 
each  other  with  a  stupified  air. 

"Alas!  alas!  it  is  all  over  with  me!"  cried 
Pauline.     "1   shall  die,  I  shall  die." 

"  What  is  to  be  done,  count?"  said  the  widow, 
in  dreadful  perplexity. 

Henry  reflected  for  an  instant,  scarcely  concealed 

'  a  smile,  and  said  boldly  to  Madame  Lerouge, — 

"  With  the  exception  of  what  happened  yesterday, 

that  devil  of  a  lieutenant  of  mine  has  no  other  proof 

against  you." 

"  No,  count — no,  I  swear  he  has  not." 

"  Well  then,  if  your  husband  comes,  deny  it  all 
boldly  ;  and  you,  Madame  Thomas,  since  your  son 
can  only  speak  of  what  happened  yesterday,  declare 
that  yesterday,  from  break  of  day  until  the  evening, 
madame  never  quitted  you  for  a  single  instant ;  but 
you  must  maintain  it  boldly — no  weakness.  In 
that  case,  do  you  see,  my  dear  madame,"  said  the 
count,  still  smiling — "  in  that  case,  and  not  an  un- 
common one,  either,  the  husband  would  rather  be- 
lieve good  than  evil,  and  I  am  certain  your  testi- 
mony will  overthrow  that  of  the  lieutenant." 

"  But  it  would  be  uttering  a  falsehood,  count," 
said  the  widow,  gravely. 

"  You  would  sacrifice  your  neighbour's  life," 
said  the  count. 

"To  lie,"  repeated  the  widow,  with  an  expression 
of  sorrow  and  doubt,  then  casting  her  eyes  on  the 
work  of  Thomas  a  Kempis,  that  lay  open  on  the 
the  table ;  she  read  some  words  in  the  work  of  that 
celebrated  author,  which  seemed  to  have  some  mys- 
terious effect  upon  her  mind,  already  weakened  by 
grief  and  age. 

"  Heaven's  will  be  done,"  said  the  widow,  clos- 
ing the  book. 

At  this  instant,  a  noise  was  heard  behind  the 
door,  and  the  voices  of  the  lieutenant  and  another 
were  recognised. 

"It  is  my   husband,"    murmured   Pauline,  "I 

if  I  should  die.     Oh,  I  am  lost." 
"Zounds I  you  must  show  no  weakness,"  said 
Henry,  whose  heart  beat  loudly. 
The  door  opened. 

It  was  in  (act  the  captain  and  Thomas. 
The  captain  was  forty  years  of  age,  his  frame  was 
athletic,  his  brown  and  strongly  marked  featuri  I 
were  pale,  his  brows  contracted,  and  his  lins  white 


and  closely  compressed;  his  eye  was  glassy,  and 
the  calm  demeanour  he  bore  was  more  dreadful 
than  the  transports  of  rage. 

lie  advanced  with  a  firm  step  towards  Pauline, 
who  had  taken  refuge  in  the  widow's  arms. 

Touching  his  wife's  shoulder,  Jacques  Lerouge 
said  quietly, — 

"  W  bat  are  you  doing  here,  madame  ?" 

"  Captain,"  said  Henry,  the  only  one  who  re- 
tained his  self-possession,  "  I  am  Count  de  Vau- 
dry,  and  Madame  Thomas  has  imposed  upon  me 
the  task  of  explaining  why  this  lady,"  and  he 
pointed  to  Pauline,  "is  here.  M.Jean  Thomas, 
deceived  by  false  appearances,  by  which  his  imagi- 
nation has  been  led  astray,  has  perhaps  told  you 
that  yesterday,  about  two  o'ciock,  your  wife  was 
seen  out  of  the  town  in  company  with " 

"  Yes,  I  have  said  it,  and  it  is  true:  who  dares 
to  say  1  have  spoken  falsely?"  exclaimed  Thomas. 

"  I,  my  son,"  said  the  widow  slowly,  and  with  a 
sigh  ;  "for  madame  passed  the  whole  of  yesterday 
in  my  house,  from  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning 
until  nine  at  night." 

"By  heavens!  this  is  infamous,"  exclaimed 
Thomas,  almost  mad. 

The  captain  looked  steadily  at  Thomas,  without 
uttering  a  word,  at  length, — 

"  Thomas,  is  it  possible, — you — my  friend — one 
I  at  least  believed  to  be  so — that  you  have  deceived 
me?"  and  stamping  violently  on  the  ground,  he 
added,  "Yes,  wretch,  you  have  calumniated  my 
wife,  for  never,  never,  would  your  mother  utter  a 
falsehood.'* 

And  his  savage  form  appeared  to  struggle  be- 
tween doubt,  anger,  and  hope. 

"  I  never  left  this  place  the  whole  of  yesterday, 
and  know  not  why  M.  Thomas  has  believed  these 
charges  against  me,"  said  Pauline,  who  feeling  a 
ray  of  hope  arise  in  her  breast,  partially  recovered 
her  courage. 

"  Oh,  woman!  woman!"  thought  Henry,  smiling 
in  his  sleeve. 

A  momentary  silence,  impossible  to  describe, 
followed. 

At  length,  the  Captain  said  in  a  hurried  tone, 
and  scarcely  able  to  conceal  his  dreadful  state  of 
agitation, — 

"  I  cannot,  therefore,  for  an  instant,  change  with 
regard  to  you,  and  look  upon  you  as  an  infamous 
man,  as  an  alien,  no  !  that  is  impossible  ;  again  I 
say  it  is  impossible.  Tell  me  the  truth,  Thomas. 
Some  one  told  you  of  this— is  it  not  so  ?  Then  you, 
like  a  faithful  friend,  told  it  all  to  me,  but  you  saw 
nothing  yourself,  did  you,  Thomas  ?  You  saw  no- 
thing ;  and  you  thought  you  was  rendering  me  a 
service  in  telling  me  what  was  said — you  saw  no- 
thing yourself}" 

"  Yesterday,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  I, 
Thomas,  saw  your  wife  on  the  ramparts,  arm  in 
arm  with  a  young  man  dressed  in  blue.  I  saw  them 
clasp  each  other's  hands  arm  in  arm,  and  at  a 
turning  of  the  rampart,  where  they  believed  them- 
selves not  overlooked,  I  saw  them  embrace." 

"  I  saw  them,"  continued  Thomas,  without  pity. 
"  I  saw  them,  and  it  is  my  mother  speaks  falsely, 
yes,  by  heaven  !  she  lies." 

M  Vein  saw  them,  saw  them  well, '  said  Lerouge 
again,  in  broken  accents." 
"  I  saw  then.." 

•'Ah  ! "  said  the  captain,  passing  his  hands  over 

,  and  making  a  last  effort,  for  his  voice  was 

almost  inarticulate.  "  Hear  me,  '1  homos,"  he  u.ur- 


THE  WATCH  TOWER  OF  KOAT  VEN. 


69 


mured,  "  swear  to  me,  swear  to  me  on  the  honour 
of  a  sailor,  on  the  faith  of  an  honest  man,  and  by 
the  memory  of  thy  father,  that  you  saw  them,  swear 
that  to  me  and  I  will  believe  you. ' 

When  at  the  moment  Thomas  was  about  to  speak, 
the  captain  seized  his  hand,  and  said  in  an  impos- 
ing tone.  "  You  know  me  Thomas  ?  it  is  a  sen- 
tence you  are  about  to  pass,  a  sentence  of 
death." 

"Death,  understand  me  well,"  repeated  the 
captain,  his  voice  trembling  convulsively,  and  press- 
ing the  lieutenant's  arm. 

"  Sir  !"  cried  Henry,  the  widow,  and  Pauline  at 
the  same  time,  and  in  a  loud  tone,  while  they  held 
out  their  arms  to  Jean  Thomas. 

"  I  swear  by  the  faith  of  an  honest  man,  by  the 
memory  of  my  father,  by  my  honour  as  a  sailor, 
that  I  saw  them  !" 

"  It  is  nough,  vile  woman,"  said  the  captain,  in  a 
low  tone,  at  the  same  time  drawing  a  dagger  from 
beneath  his  jacket,  and  before  the  count  could  inter- 
fere to  check  his  fury,  he  sprang  like  a  tiger  upon 
his  wife,  and  seized  her  by  the  hair. 

The  point  of  the  blade  touched  Pauline's  bosom, 
and  no  human  power  could  have  saved  her  from  a 
dreadful  death. 

"  Stop  sir,"  cried  the  widow,  with  such  an  accent 
of  authority,  that  the  captain's  arm,  now  raised 
against  his  wife,  suddenly  fell. 

Then  standing  upright,  calm  and  imposing,  she 
stretched  out  her  hands  towards  the  crucifix,  and 
in  solemn  tones  again  swore  that  what  she  had 
already  said  was  true. 

"  Oh,  mother  !  mother  !"  cried  Thomas,  raising 
his  hands  to  heaven. 

"  Wretch  ! '  cried  Lerouge,  threatening  Thomas 
with  his  dagger  ;  for  the  captain  believed  the 
widow.  The  sincerity  of  the  good  woman  was  so 
well  known  at  Recouvrance,  that  no  one  in  the 
world  would  have  ever  suspected  her  capable  of  so 
sacriligeous  an  act. 

"  Poor  dupe,"  replied  Thomas,  coolly,  looking 
without  change  of  countenance  at  the  uplifted 
dagger. 

But  Lerouge,  throwing  the  weapon  on  the  ground, 
said  to  Thomas,  "  the  blood  of  a  vile  reptile  like 
thee  would  soil  my  dagger,  go,  I  despise  you,  liar." 

Then  falling  at  the  feet  of  his  wife. 

"  Pauline,  pardon  !  oh  pardon  !  I  who  love  thee 
so  much,  and  then  . .  but  no,  I  am  mad,  it  was  a 
dream  . .  a  frightful  dream,  but  thou  art  innocent, 
and  this  wretch  has  spoken  falsely.  Oh ! 
pardon!" 

And  the  savage  figure  of  the  rude  sailor,  had  an 
admirable  expression  of  grief  and  kindness.  He 
cried  like  a  child,  he  embraced  his  wife,  kissed  the 
widow's  hands,  laughed,  danced,  and  thanked  the 
count  It  was  nothing  but  a  confusion  of  uncon- 
nected words,  sobs,  and  bursts  of  joy  and  then,  as 
if  words  were  not  sufficient  to  express  what  he 
felt,  before  the  actors  in  this  strange  scene  could 
utter  a  single  word,  he  took  his  wife  in  his  arms, 
and  carried  her  off  as  if  she-  had  been  a  child. 

1  nomas  was  thunderstruck,  he  saw  nothing,  he 
heard  nothing  ;  the  unheard  of  conduct  of  his 
mother  paralyzed  all  ;iis  faculties  ;  it  was  like  a 
dream  to  him. 

At  length,  placing  his  hand  on  his  forehead,  and 
forcibly  pressing  it,  he  could  only  say  "  oh,  I  shall 
50  mad ! 

And  he  rushed  out,  with  precipitation,  without 
hat  or  sword. 


The  widow  also,  unable  to  resist  the  violent 
shock,  closed  her  eyes  and  fainted. 

The  count,  having  called  for  assistance,  placed 
widow  Thomas  in  the  hands  of  her  neighbours,  and 
left  the  house,  saying  to  himself.  "  On  the  honour 
of  a  gentleman,  all  this  is  extremely  curious,  a  de- 
votee has  perjured  herself;  an  honest  man  been 
treated  as  a  villain  ;  another  honest  man  been 
made  a  fool  of,  and  all  this  to  save  the  life  of  an 
abandoned  woman,  quite  ready  to  begin  her 
games  again  ;  by  heaven  the  life  of  man  is  a  strange 
affair.  1  must  see  whether  I  can't  have  this  Pauline, 
she  is  a  beautiful  figure,  excellent  M.  Lerouge. 
•  ••••• 

Eight  days  after  this  scene,  Widow  Thomas  was 
no  more. 

The  day  after  the  death  of  his  mother,  Jean 
Thomas  had  the  following  communicatfon  from 
Captain  Lerouge. 

I  have  just  learnt  that  your  mother  is  dead ;  this 
new  misfortune  entitles  you  to  some  pity.  I  called 
you  a  liar,  and  I  must  consider  it  was  an  insult  on 
my  part — I  am  willing  to  give  you  satisfaction. 
Choose  the  place,  the  arms,  and  the  day." 

"  Lerouge." 

Jean  Thomas  answered  as  follows  : — 
"  I  am  not  a  liar,  but  I  refuse  the  satisfaction 
you  offer  me,  because  I  swore  to  my  mother  never 
to  draw  my  sword  in  a  duel — 1  have  sworn  it,  and 
I  repeated  the  oath  before  she  died.  You  know 
me — you  know,  whether  it  be  fear  has  made  me  de- 
cline, or  whether  I  ever  broke  an  oath  I  had  taken. 

"  Thomas." 

"No!  it  is  not  through  fear  he  refuses,"  cried 
Captain  Lerouge,  as  he  read  these  words — "  it  is 
not  through  fear,  I  have  seen  him  in  battle,  but  it 
is  decidedly  unfortunate." 

Madame  Lerouge,  to  avoid  scandal,  obtained  the 
consent  of  her  excellent  husband  to  live  at  Rennes 
instead  of  Brest,  and  the  captain  having  agreed  to 
it,  established  himself  in  that  town,  along  with  his 
virtuous  wife,  as  he  called  her. 

By  a  kind  of  tacit  agreement,  the  count  and  his 
lieutenant  never  afterwards  uttered  a  word  re- 
specting this  strange  occurrence,  only  Henry,  in 
order  that  Jean  Thomas  might  be  more  at  his  ease, 
offered  to  procure  him  a  berth  on  board  some  other 
vessel.  The  lieutenant  asked  him  if  he  had  failed 
in  his  duty,  in  the  idea  of  his  superior  officers. 

Jean  Thomas  therefore  remained  on  board  as  be- 
fore the  occurrence. 

About  the  same  time,  Perez  embarked  himself  on 
board  the  Sylphid,  as  delegate  of  the  chief-officer  of 
the  victualling  department. 

Rita,  dressed  as  a  man,  was  in  his  company,  and 
passed  for  his  clerk. 

But  few  of  the  sailors  knew  of  her  presence  on 
I)       1,  for  she  embarked  atnight. 

One  evening  the  count  came  on  board,  rather 
excited,  for  he  had  just  left  sonic  pleasant  supper 
party,  in  this  mood  Henry  seeing  Rita  and  Perez 
standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  caboose,  asked  who 
they  were  ?" 

He  was  answered,  "  It  is  the  purser  and  his 
clerk,  commandant." 

The  count  after  a  disdainful  look,  descended 
into  his  sumptuous  and  gilded  cabin. 

Rita  and  Perez  went  down  also,  into  the  hold,  to 
the  dark  and  humid  retreat  allotted  to  them. 


ru 


THE    TEMrTATION;     OR, 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE     NAVY,     (1781.) 

'•  Oh,  who  can  tell,  save  he  whose  heart  hath  tried, 
And  danced  in  triumph  o'er  the  water's  wide. 
The  exulting  sense — the  pulse's  maddening  play. 
Thai  tlirilb  the  wanderer  of  that  trackless  way  t* 

BlRON. 

Women  are  thy  lot — dogs  and  horses — to  thee 
the  sword  of  war,  sparkling  and  verdant  youth,  oh, 
happy  age,  so  tree  from  care;  Strength  and  bravery! 
happy  times  !  when  life  appears  so  long,  it  is  thrown 
awav  on  any  one. 

'•  I.uve!   the  chase!  war! — noble,  though  rnerci- 

nee,     A  desolate  girl,  a  bleeding  stag,  an 

enemy   slain.     Hark,  to  the    winding  horn,  one 

f  powder,  a  fresh  horse,  a  new  sword,  and 

again  begin  ! 

Happy  Henry,  such  was  thy  life  !  Forget  Ver- 
sailles and  its  women,  t'.y  wood,  thy  dogs  and 
huntsmen.  Now  we  have  war,  Henry,  it  is  war 
time  now.  The  star  of  America  is  rising,  the  two 
worlds  are  in  flames,  the  sea  roars  from  north  to 
smith.  The  cannon  thunders— hark  !  Still  the 
old  flag  of  France  sweeps  over  the  ocean,  with  its 
crest  ox  flame  and  the  music  of  its  artillery. 

And  those  who  maintain  this  snow  white  flag 
have  hands  both  rude  and  firm.  There  is  Destaing, 
and  Mothe-Piquet,  and  Grasse,  and  Suffren,  De- 
touches,  Dessais,  high  on  the  waves,  or  deep  with- 
in the  bosom  of  the  deep;  still  they  would  have  it 
thus.  And  these,  Henry,  you  also  know  are  thy 
masters. 

Noble  masters,  of  whom  you  are  about  to  show 
yourself  a  worthy  pupil,  for  after  a  certain  time, 
we  get  weary  of  the  land.  Is  not  that  the  case? 
After  you  are  worn  out  by  excess,  that  devouring, 
feverish  restlessness,  that  makes  you  heap  feast  on 
feast,  intrigue  upon  intrigue,  and  that  enables  you 
to  enjoy  all,  to  embrace  all. 

Does  not  this  golden,  libertine,  and  sensual  life, 
found  in  the  midst  of  the  light  of  candles,  redden- 
ing on  silks,  in  the  midst  of  the  sweetest  scents, 
does  it  not  become  wearisome  after  a  time?  Do 
we  not  feel  the  imperative  necessity  of  breathing 
the  fresh  breezes  of  the  ocean?  Does  not  your 
heart  expand  when,  treading  your  frigate's  deck, 
you  sav  to  yourself,  here  my  laws  and  my  will  are 
absolute;  here  by  a  word -a  sign,  three  hundred 
men  obey  as  if  they  were  but  one;  for,  full  of  re- 
liance on  me,  they  tacitly  place  their  life  in  my 
hands,  and  say  to  me,  take  it,  and  employ  it  for  the 
glory  of  the  king  of  France? 

Does  it  not  appear  excellent  to  you,  also,  that 
you  are  answerable  for  the  glory  of  the  king  and 
of  France?  But  this  important  duty  troubles  thee 
little,  Henry;  for  you  have  sails,  and  powder,  and 
steel;  because  if  you  should  he  overpowered  by 
numbers,  you  know  that  the  loyal  ocean  always 
affords  a  retreat  in  the  depths  of  its  abysses,  to 
those  who  »ill  not  allow  their  flag  to  become  a 
trophy  to  a  conquering  enemy. 

Finally,  do  you  not   feel  a  lively  emotion— a 
ragne  anxiety  -a  burning  curiosity,  when  arriving 
.  full  of  impatience, you  run  to  the  harbour 
to  see  your  frigate  -your  Sylphid. 

I '. 1 1 1   to  see  it    in  this  manner — what  is  it?     I 
know  your  quick    and  penetrating  glance  can  per- 
ceive at  once,  and  judge  before-hand,  its  faults  and 
its  merits.     But  alas,  alas  I  to  see  a  frigate  in  port 
horse  in  its  box. 


Look  at  that  nohle  horse,  see  how  sad,  how 
melancholy,  how  dull  it  is,  its  ears  drooping,  its 
eye  dull;  for  air,  light,  and  space  are  wanting — 
space,  above  all;  in  it  consists  its  courage,  its  ar- 
dour: space,  in  that  consists  its  beauty,  its  grace 
its  power. 

But  lead  it  from  its  box,  let  the  light  pour  in 
upon  it,  let  it  see  the  sky.  the  woods,  the  fruits,  the 
burners  of  the  course,  the  endless  plain  before  it  ; 
let  him  feel  the  air  ruffle  his  glossy  mane,  and  wave 
his  undulating  tail  j  observe  him,  then,  observe  him. 
how  his  skin  glistens  with  the  golden  reflections  of 
a  pure  and  noble  blood  ;  observe  him,  he  arches  his 
neck,  his  veins  swell,  his  eye  is  lighted  up,  his  nos- 
trils expand,  his  ear  raised  erect  and  full  of  im- 
patience, he  neighs,  rears  up,  paws  the  ground, 
Champs  his  bit,  and  covers  it  with  silvery  foam. 

Then,  if  you  put  in  action  the  overpowering 
feelings  that  inspire  him,  he  runs,  he  runs,  and 
with  increasing  ardour,  full  of  fury,  he  pursues  the 
unattainable  horizon,  that  seems  to  fly  before  the 
efforts  of  the  brave  courser.  He  flies,  he  swims  in 
space  but  let  him  hear  his  master's  voice,  suddenly 
he  stops,  becomes  calm,  and  restrains  himself. 
Then  you  no  longer  see  that  impetuous  and  ener- 
vating action,  as  rapid  as  the  flight  of  an  arrow- 
launched  by  a  vigorous  bowman :  his  motions  are 
as  gentle  as  those  of  a  Canadian  cradle,  suspended 
by  the  flowery  branches  of  the  Euphorbium. 

So  it  was,  when  Henry  saw  his  frigate  in  the 
harbour,  half  hidden  by  the  lofty  walls  of  the  arse- 
nal, alone,  in  the  shade,  touched  on  every  side  by 
wood  or  stone,  and  half  concealed  by  the  huge 
tarpaulins,  that  covered  its  gaudy  colours,  mo  ion- 
less,  in  foul  and  stagnant  water,  without  a  breath 
of  air  to  unfurl  the  noble  flag  that  hung  by  the 
mast.  Henry  could  not  perceive  how  beautiful, 
how  lively,  and  how  proud  the  Sylphid  was. 

But  afterwards,  when  on  some  beautiful  day  in 
January  with  a  fresh  and  whistling  breeze  ;  she 
had  been  moved  to  the  centre  of  the  immense  road- 
stead of  Brest.  How  all  had  changed  !  How  well 
did  space  improve  the  frigate,  how  beautifully  her 
dark  rigging  was  traced  upon  the  silvery  grey  sky. 
How  free,  alert,  and  impatient  she  seemed  in  that 
sheet  of  green  waves,  that  threw  their  emerald 
tints  upon  her  copper-sheathed  sides. 

And  when,  spreading  her  white  sails,  she  stood 
on  her  course  through  the  ample  roads;  the  count, 
like  a  skilful  seaman  trying  the  sailing  qualities  of 
his  frigate,  as  the  qualities  of  a  war-horse  are  put 
to  the  proof  before  the  battle.  How  seriously  and 
pensively  uneasy  he  was  in  studying  them,  and 
calculating  their  rapidity  and  precision,  and  then 
how  he  leaped  for  joy,  how  proud  he  was  of  the 
minute  care  that  had  been  taken  in  attending  to  the 
trim  of  the  Sylphid.  when  he  found  her  so  supple 
and  pliant  in  her  timbers,  beating  well  up  against 
the  wind,  carrying  a  heavy  press  of  sail,  quick,  light, 
and  lively,  leaping  up  in  the  gale  like  a  rearing 
courser.  I  know  in  some  men's  minds  this  is  al 
most  a  fault,  but  Henry  delighted  in  faults  of  this 
description. 

And  how  he  made  her  fly  to  windward,  wear,  and 
luff  with  all  .-ails  set.  How  he  observed  their  effect 
upon  her  course  and  bearing,  that  lie  might  dis- 
cover her  qualities  for  battles,  chase,  or  retreat. 

Then,  increasing  the  speed  of  his  frigate  by  every 
known  method,  and  looking  with  pride  at  the  mark 
of  her  rapid  track  in  the  water,  he  would  steer  in 
shore  and  then,  after  almost  making  the  oldest 
sailors  turn  pale,  at  the  instant  her  bowsprit  Was 
about  to  touch  the  reck.,  thanks  to  the  quickness  o 


THE    WATCH    TOWER    OP    COAT    VEff. 


71 


the  excellent  vessel,  and  the  precision  with  which 
his  crew  worked  her,  she  would  go  upon  another 
tack  and  bravely  spurn  the  coast,  as  if  she  were 
playing  with  the  frightful  danger  she  had  braved 
Then  reefing  the  lower  sails,  and  neutralizing 
the  effect  of  the  topsails,  Henry  would  arrest  the 
impetus  of  the  Sylphid  and  allow  her  to  rock 
voluptuously  at  the  caprice  of  the  caressing  waves 
as  if  to  rest  herself  after  her  rapid  course. 

Thus,  at  times,  the  Arab  of  the  desert  boldly 
urges  his  horse  towards  the  edge  of  the  precipice  ; 
and  seeing  it  arrive  there  at  full  speed,  in  the  midst 
of  a  cloud  of  dust,  you  tremble,  but  he  playfully 
stops  his  courser  on  the  very  brink  of  the  frightful 
abyss,  and  rearing  gracefully  with  a  slight  bound 
it  regains  the  plain. 
Such  was  the  Sylphid. 

So  that  when,  at  night,  Henry  bringing  back  his 
frigate  to  her  moorings  had  learnt  all  the  good 
points  of  the  excellent  vessel  and  her  crew,  he  felt 
I  know  not  what  instinctive  foreknowledge  of  a 
glorious  future  and  noble  combats,  that  made  him 
long  with  terrible  impatience  for  the  moment  of 
leaving  the  port,  and  tempting  that  fortune  he 
imagined  would  be  so  auspicious  to  his  arms. 

In  expectation  of  this  much  desired  day  his  time 
was  occupied  in  the  exercise  of  his  crew  and  the 
performance  of  all  the  manoeuvres  of  a  real  action, 
or  in  the  completion  of  the  armament  of  his  vessel 
with  the  most  minute  care,  and  also,  according  to 
the  fAshion  of  the  day,  covering  it  profusely  with 
ornament. 

For  the  Sylphid  no  more  resembled  a  frigate  of 
the  present  day  than  the  costume  of  the  fair  sex 
of  our  times  does  that  of  their  grandmother. 

The  Sylphid  instead  of  bein«  plainly  painted  in 
black  with  a  white  stripe,  its  round  and  heavy  bows, 
without  ornament  or  gilding,  as  every  brave  and 
modest  frigate  of  our  economical  and  constitutional 
times  ought  to  be. 

The  Sylphi  d,  say,  had  a  gentlemanly  appear- 
ance which  seemed  to  tell  of  her  royal  patronage  ; 
she  possessed  a  kind  of  Louis  the  fifteenth  air,  which, 
in  my  opinion  became  her  well. 

You  ought  to  have  seen  the  magnificent  decora- 
tions of  her  glittering  poop,  gold  upon  a  white 
ground,  who?e  reflection  in  the  clear  and  blue  water, 
were  spread  out  Uke  a  mantle  of  gold  upon  an 
azure  ca  rpt. 

Then,  again  its  upper  part  was  carved  in  the 
most  exquisite  manner  with  the  representation  of 
two  Naiades,  reclining  on  sea-horses,  each  of  the 
divinities  holding  a  trident  in  one  hand,  and  with 
the  other  supporting  the  royal  arms  of  France  ;  all 
this  was  carved  in  alto-relievo,  gilt  and  inclosed  in 
a  border  of  the  leaves-of  the  acanthus. 

In  addition  to  this  there  were  five  golden  sirens, 
like  tall  and  graceful  Caryatides,  who  with  rai&i  d 
arms  and  clasping  each  other's  hands,  formed  the 
arches  and  frame  work  of  the  four  cabin  windows, 
that,  were  also  supported  upon  a  golden  and  sculp- 
tured basement,  where  Fritons,  in  trow  sers,  were 
Struggling  with  Naiades  in  hoops,  in  the  midst  of 
a  crowd  of  dolphins  and  other  monsters  sporting  in 
the  foam. 

What  shall  we  say  also  of  those  splendid 
bouteilles  resting  upon  eagles  with  expanding  wings, 
grasping  thunder-bolts,  and  crowned  by  two  figures 
of  fame  with  their  long  trumpets. 

And  the  glittering  gunwale,  so  beautifully  ear- 
edthat  e  ncircled  the  vessel  like  a  golden  scarf, 
adinet     at  the   bows  to  support    a  graceful  Syl- 


phid,   also  gilt,  and  clearly    from    the  chisel   of 
Lemoine. 

I  well  know  that  all  this  splendour,  that  all  these 
earrings  had  not  a  very  bold  or  warrior  like  ap- 
pearance, but,  nevertheless,  it  was  a  delightful  ihinjr 
to  look  upon  this  beautiful  frigate,  so  elegantly 
attired  in  white  and  gold,  as  proud  and  superb  as 
a  duchess,  its  glittering  poop  answering  for  a 
diadem. 

I  know  also  well  enough,  there  was  nothing 
very  dreadful  in  her  appearance;  1  know  it  might 
have  been  mistaken  for  a  coquettish,  voluptuous 
gondola,  fond  of  admiring  herself  in  a  river  wi  h 
flowery  banks,  rather  than  a  rude  engine  of  war, 
doomed  to  brave  the  tempest. 

For  how  could  you  ever  imagine,  that  the 
mouth  of  a  cannon  could  gape  in  the  midst  of  those 
ornaments,  those  nymphs  and  golden  syrens,  en- 
twined together  in  so  playful  manner. 

But  there  were  cannon  on  board  the  Sylphid, 
and  many  of  them  too:  who  however  would  have 
thought  that  in  the  midst  of  their  bronzed  mould- 
dings,  worked  with  so  much  taste  and  beauty,  that 
their  Gorgon  mouths,  so  grotesquely  formed, 
flame  and  iron  would  issue!  Iron  to  slay,  and  fire 
to  burn! 

Yet,  still  such  was  the  case — The  Sylphid  could 
blaze  away  when  necessary,  and  sometimes  more 
than  was  necessary;  she  could  keep  up  an  infernal 
fire— as  well-maintained  a  fire  as  the  dingiest  and 
most  sober-looking  frigate  of  the  present  day. 

And  her  officers,  so  delicate,  so  voluptuous,  so 
bespangled,  how  often  with  their  white  hands,  half 
hidden  in  diamonds  and  lace,  have  they  not  given 
the  signal  for  a  sanguinary  conflict,  a  deadlyr  battle, 
and  yet  were  afraid  of  one  thing  alone;  the  dis- 
arrangement of  their  powdered  wigs.  For  these 
gentlemen  went  into  battle  as  they  would  to  a  ball, 
they  dressed  themselves  for  the  occasion,  they 
poured  their  broadsides  into  the  enemy  with  bo 
much  coquettry,  and  boarded  sword  in  hand  so 
gracefully,  and  in  such  good  taste. 

But,  in  fact,  when  they  drew  their  blue  swords 
from  the  embroidered  velvet  scabbard,  the  English 
discovered  that  their  temper  was  as  good,  as  if  they 
had  been  drawn  from  a  villainous  iron  sheath.  And 
believe  me,  in  the  day  of  battle,  or  the  tempestuous 
night,  their  red  heeled  shoes  trod  as  firmlvjon 
the  splendid  decks  of  the  Sceptye  or  the  Royal 
Louis,  as  at  a  later  day,  the  wooden  shoes  trod  the 
filthy  boards  of  the  Droit  de  V Homme  or  the  ffum 
Calotte. 

Such  was  the  Sylphid,  and  now  you  are  ac- 
quainted with  her  and  her  officers,  both  as  to  their 
physical  and  moral  attributes. 

As  to  the  sailors,  they  were  much  the  same  as 
those  of  the  present  day.  For  there  as  in  other 
cases,  the  more  the  social  scale  is  elevated,  the 
more  its  salient  angles  are  eflaced  The  officers  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  living  part  of  their  time  mi 
shore,  brought  on  board  with  them  the  customs 
and  habits,  and  the  characters  of  their  age.  It  is 
the  same  with  the  sailors  of  the  present  daw 

"But  in  the  case  of  the  common  men — the  true 
sailors,  who  are  seldom  on  shore,  they  are  much 

the  same  now  ns  formerly.      In  the  eighteenth  een- 
tury.  as   in   the  sixteenth;   in  tin- nineteenth,  as  in 
the  eighteenth:   for  the  revolutions  that  ha\ 
thrown  nations,  and  society  itself,  lost  their  force 
as  they  reached  the  ocean. 

Alas!   on   shore,  idle  news.  envy,  riches,  miserv, 

and  knowledge,  so  soon  change  ■  race:   traditions 

are  forgotten,  temples  crumble  in  the  dust,  the  earth 


THE    TKMTPATIOJf;     OR, 


takes  a  thousand  aspects  by  turns.  Civilization  is 
at  hand.  constantly  casting  to  the  wind  the  belief 
and  all  that  remains  of  olden  times,  to  deposit  in 
their  place  the  lively  germs  of  a  new  state  of  soci- 
ety, which  grows  up  that  it  may  die  in  its  turn. 
Civilization,  that  ardent  and  implacable  enemy  of 
nationality! 

Thus  different  ages  have  been  obliged  to  form 
mankind  after  their  own  type,  and  place  a  new 
mark  on  the  forehead  <  4  each  generation.  Hut  the 
fraction  of  men  who  live  upon  the  ocean,  long  re- 
main free  and  independent  of  the  peculiar  marl;  of 
the  age.  The  light  of  devouring  civilization  is 
■lightly  cast  upon  the  rude  exterior  of  these  simple 
men;  but  it  cannot  penetrate  beyond  the  hark. 

For  has  not  the  ocean  been  the  ocean  even  from 
the  creation! 

Always  the  same,  with  its  boundless  horizon,  its 
lonely  waves,  and  its  religious  silence,  which  cause 
a  man  to  meditate! 

Thus  the  men  of  the  same  element  preserve  their 
original  physiognomy — the  prominent  parts  of  their 
character;  the  effect  of  the  constant  contemplation 
of  this  primitive  form  of  nature,  and  the  dreadful 
battles  they  are  constantly  waging  with  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXIY. 


THE    ROADBTEAD. 


"  Alpbonso,  welcome,  for  fhy  presence,  and  for  the  good 
news  thou  bringest." — Schilleb. 

Thb  roadstead  of  Brest,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
month  of  January,  1781,  offered  an  imposing  spec- 
tacle, for  twenty  ships  of  the  line  were  riding  there, 
nine  frigates,  and  a  vast  number  of  small  craft. 

Surely  there  is  nothing  more  magnificent  than 
these  vessels,  with  their  lofty  sides,  their  ponderous 
mass*  of  wood  and  iron,  resting  heavily  on  the 
waters  with  their  wide  and  heavy  stern,  their  enor- 
mous masts,  and  triple  range  of  heavy  guns. 

And  in  the  morning,  when  these  huge  vessels 
hang  out  their  sails  to  dry,  you  should  see  them 
majestically  unroll  their  immense  canvass,  and  ex- 
pand it  a»  a  gull  expands  its  wings,  wet  with  dew, 
to  the  first  rays  of  the  sun. 

And  then,  what  a  contrast  between  these  gigan- 
tic vessels,  and  those  lively  frigates,  tall  corvettes, 
and  slender  brigs;  those  luggers  and  cutters,  that 
softly  cradle  themselves  in  the  shadow  of  the  float- 
ing citadels,  like  the  young  kingfisher  flitting  round 
its  mother's  nest 

What  numberless  craft  of  every  kind,  coming, 
and  going,  and  .sailing,  in  every  direction. 

See,  here  comes  a  yawl,  splendidly  gilt  the  royal 
standard  at  her  stern,  its  field  embroidered  with 
fleur-de-lis.  She  flies  through  the  water,  urged  on 
by  twelve  rowers  with  scarlet  belts  ;  the  coxwain 
is  decorated  with  a  silver  chain;  it  is  the  adini- 
ral'h  yawl. 

I  lure,  slowly  advances  a  long  sloop,  its  deck  en- 
cumbered with  fruit  and  verdure.  You  might 
say  it  was  one  of  the  floating  islands  of  some 
American  river  sailing  along,  covered  with  flowers 
and  climbing  plants.  This  boat— a  precious  pains- 
taker— is  returning  to  the  ve.se]  with  the  day's 
provisions  anil  the  Culinary  apparatus  of  ih 

Sometimes  yon  may  see  a  Plougastol  boat,  with 
her  large,  square  sail,  manned  by  long-haired 
arfon,whoso  picturesque  costume  puts  yon  in  mind 


of  the  Greeks  of  the  Archipelago.  This  boat  eon- 
tains  some  score  of  women  from  Chateaulin  or 
Ptouineck,  retaining  to  the  town,  with  healthy  and 
smiling  faces,  reddened  by  the  sharp  air,  well 
wrapped  up  in  their  brown  mantles,  and  ex- 
changing in  their  own  pafeu  a  few  merry  words 
with  the  sailors  of  the  ships  of  war,  as  their 
boat  passed  by. 

Further  off  the  clanking  of  chains  is  heard, 
mingh  d  with  the  fall  of  oars,  announcing  the  ap- 
proach of  a  gang  of  galley  slaves  in  their  red 
dresses.  They  are,  with  great  labour,  towing  a 
vessel  out  of  port;  some  singing  vulgar  songs, 
others  blaspheming,  or  writhing  beneath  the  lash 
of  their  task-masters:  looking  at  their  debased 
and  haggard  features,  and  hearing  their  cries  of 
rage  and  ferocious  joy,  you  shudder,  as  if  you  saw 
a  boatload  of  the  condemned,  in  the  Inferno  of 
Dante. 

To  complete  this  varied  spectacle,  you  must  add 
thousands  of  small  boats,  moving  in  every  direction, 
some  bearing  noblemen,  officers  in  the  king's  ser- 
vice, others  elegantly  dressed  ladies;  and  then 
there  is  the  rolling  of  drums,  the  noise  of  musketry 
the  sound  of  whistles,  the  creaking  of  ropes,  and 
the  rude  harmony  of  warlike  preparation;  and  the, 
colours  of  a  thousand  flags — white,  green,  yellow 
red,  standing  out  against  the  blue  sky,  like  so 
many  aeriai  prisoners. 

Last  of  all,  the  imposing  murmur  and  grandeur 
of  the  waves  bounding  upon  the  shore,  whose  so- 
norous and  continued  noise  is  heard  above  every 
other,  and  unites  them  all  into  one,  as  grand  and 
imposing  as  its  own. 

In  the  midst  of  this  forest  of  masts— this  cloud 
of  sails,  let  us  look  for  the  Sylphid. 

There  9he  is,  always  elegant  sparkling;  there 
she  is  heaving  on  the  wave,  near  two  huge  seventy- 
fours,  with  black  sides  and  white  streaks;  there, 
there  she  heaves,  like  the  Dorado,  with  its  gold 
and  azure  scales,  between  two  immense  whales, 
with  their  dark  brown  backs. 

On  this  day,  the  6th  of  January,  1781,  Count  de 
Vaudry  had  gone  on  shore  to  receive  his  orders 
from  Marshal  de  Castries,  who  had  recently  ar- 
rived at  Brest 

Lieutenant  Jean-Thomas  commanded  the  fri- 
gate in  the  absence  of  Henry,  and  was  walking  aft 
with  his  intimate  friend  Dr.  Gedeon,  thundering 
forth,  according  to  his  custom,  against  everything 
that  was  noble,  priestly,  or  privileged.  Baron  de 
Saint  Sauveur  had  accompanied  Henry  on  shore, 
Morval  was  on  deck,  and  Miran  asleep  in  his 
berth. 

In  the  forepart  of  the  vessel,  several  of  the 
petty  officers  and  sailors  were  talking  in  a  low 
tone,  but  the  most  animated  manner,  for  they  ex- 
pected to  get  ready  for  sea  from  day  to  day. 

Master  Kergouet,  the  canonnier  bourgois, 
whom  the  reader,  perhaps,  has  not  yet  forgotten, 
seated  on  a  bundie  of  spars,  was  chatting  with  the 
master,  a  little  man,  called  Frank,  full  of  life,  thick- 
set, and  fresh  coloured,  dressed  in  a  blue  jacket 
with  a  gold  laced  collar,  slighty  powdered,  and 
wearing  immense  ear -rings. 

A  tall  lad  of  about  eighteen  years  of  age,  square 
built  and  robust,  but  as  fair  as  a  girl,  was  standing 
motionless  before  Master  Frank,  with  a  contrite 
expression  of  countenance  and  downcast  eyes. 
Notwithstanding  the  cold  weather,  this  sailor  had 
nothing  on  but  a  pair  of  pantaloons  and  a  worsted 

shirt  Striped  with  blue,   which  Bet  off  to  advantage 
his  athletic  form.      lie   held   his  cap  in    his  hand. 


THE   "WATCH   TOWER  OF    KOAT-V1.N. 


and  -kept  turning  it  round  and  round  incessantly, 
in  a  confused  and  embarrassed  manner. 

This  sailor  was  Daniel,  nephew  of  Master  Frank, 
a  real  Breton,  and  that  says  all — an  Abrcvack 
boy. 

"Answer  me,  why  don't  you  speak!  hoist  sail, 
you  lubber,  and  don't  look  so  like  a  fool,"  said 
Master  Frank  with  his  usual  vivacity  shaking  his 
nephew  by  one  of  bis  shirt  sleeves. 

"You  only  make  him  more  obstinate,  Master 
Frank,"  observed  the  canonnier  bourgois,  "leave 
him  alone." 

*  What  is  this  fresh  quarrel  ahout?"  said  the 
uncle  to  his  nephew,  whose  gentle,  timid,  and 
quiet  look  seemed  to  deny  the  accusation. 

"  Come,  come,  speak  out,  my  boy,"  said  the  gun- 
ner; "the  fact  is,  you  have  given  Losophe  a  multi- 


10 


plicity  of  fisticuffs  :  what  was  it  for,  Daniel,  what 
was  it  for?" 

Master  Kerg — " 

"  I  am  not  master,  I  have  told  you  that  fre- 
quently, Daniel;  I  am,  in  citizen-phrase,  M.  Ker- 
gouet,"  said  the  gunner,  who  more  than  ever  laid 
claim  to  a  civil  position. 

"Well,  M.  Kergouet,"  said  the  sailor,  in  a  trem- 
ulous voice,  "it  was  because  Losophe  took  my 
rosary,  ami  tin!  it  to  his  dog's  tail,  which  he  has 
most  horribly  called  St.  Medard;"  ami  Daniel 
crossed  himself  at  the  mere  recollection  of  the 
profanation 

"Baptise  a  dog  St.  Medard!  that  was  hardly 
right,"  said  M.  ELergOuet,  in  a  tone  of  disapproba- 
tion. 

"  If  that  is  the  ease,"  added  Master  Frank,  -you 


74 


TITE   TEMPTATION;    OR, 


were  in  the  right;  fur  that  Losophe  is  a  rascal, 
who  does  mischief  wherever  he  can.  And  you 
were  quite  right  in  thrashing  him,  Daniel." 

"  If  what  you  say  is  correct,  Daniel."  said  M. 
Kergouet,  "  your  biows  were  well  bestowed,  my 
boy." 

"  As  to  that,  you  know  I  never  toll  a  lie,  Mon- 
sieur Kergouet,"  said  Daniel.  By  our  Lady  of 
Recouvrance,  that  rosary  belonged  to  mv  pool 
dead  mother,  and  was  bo  holy  that  it  saved  me 
from  half  the  blow  of  an  axe.  when  we  boarded 
the  black  cutter;  you  recollect  that,  under  So 
that  when  I  saw  my  blessed  rosary  tied  in  that 
manner  to  a  dog's  tail,  I  said  to  Losophe,  as 
I  held  him  fast  between  my  knees :  '  Look  you, 
Losophe,  you  shall  have  as  many  punches  as  there 
are  beads  in  my  rosary;'  and  so  I  counted  my 
paters  and  my  arcs  with  my  fist  upon  Losophe S 
hide;  that  was  all,  uncle,'-  added  Losophe,  turning 
as  red  as  a  cherry. 

"Very  well,''  said  Frank;  "as  it  was  on  ac- 
count of  religion,  and  my  sister's  rosary,"  and 
Frank  took  off  his  varnished  hat,  "  you  wire 
right;  but  don't  repeat  it,  or  if  you  do,  let  it  be  a 
little  at  a  time,  and  often,  for  you  have  half  killed 
him." 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  M.  Kergouet,  "  that  Losophe 
may  brag  of  having  been  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
in  the  skin  of  a  man  who  was  learning  a  new 
dance,  and  that  was  too  long,  for — " 

But  the  noise  of  a  violin,  horribly  out  of  tune, 
that  no  doubt  was  attempting  to  execute  the  air, 

"  All  among  the  French  guards, 
My  lover  true " 

interrupted  the  gunner,  "  Was  I  wrong  in  pitying 
that  animal  Losophe?  Hark!  he  is  still  making 
bad  music  on  his  violin  although  you  forbad  him, 
my  dear  Frank." 

'•  Be  silent  there,  or  I'll  come  down  to  you ; 
take  care  of  your  neck  if  you  begin  again,  Lo- 
sophe," cried  Master  Frank,  stooping  at  the  open- 
ing of  a  small  hatchway,  at  the  foot  of  the  mizen- 
mast 

But  the  confounded  violin,  as  if  it  would  not 
give  up  without  opposing  an  obstinate  resistance  to 
the  brutal  order,  the  violin,  I  say,  still  continued 
the  air  by  snatches,  and  then  luckily  it  was  silent; 
for  a  loud  oath  proved  that  Master  Frank  was 
about  to  descend. 

Then  the  barking  of  a  dog  commenced  from  the 
same  quarter  as  the  violin,  and  seemed  to  protest, 
in  another  manner,  against  the  tyranny  of  this 
in- w  order. 

"  What!  they  will  not  be  quiet,  neither  that  ras- 
cal nor  his  confounded  dog?'  cried  Frank;  "you 
might  quarter  them  before  the  vermin  would  go 
without  the  last  word,"  added  the  master,  who 
ed  to  be  addressing  himself  indifferently  to 
the  biped  and  quadruped,  to  the  philosopher  and 
his  d 

Losophe,  who  scraped  his  violin  so  well,  and 
whose  dog  protested  with  so  much  energj 
(he  despotic  orders  of  the  master— Losophe  was 
born  at  Paris,  and  called  Pierre  Landry;  he  had 
been  a  hair-dresser,  a  lacquey,  a  printer,  soldier, 
■hoe-maker,  and  weaver;  and  a-,  BtBOngBt  his  other 
acquirements,  his  skill  in  handling  the  needle, 
whether  in  leather,  linen,  or  cloth,  was  very  re- 
markable, he  »;^  employed  on  board,  for  the 
two  years  during  which  he  had  been  in  the  service, 
as  an  assistant  sail-maker.    In  his  leisure  moments 


Losophe  dressed  hair,  shaved,  and  gave  lessons  in 
dancing,  singing,  polite  behaviour,  philosophy, 
magic,  or  atheism,  according  to  the  taste  of  his- 
scholars.  The  name  by  which  he  was  called  was 
bestowed  on  him  by  the  sailors;  it  was  an  abbrevi- 
ation of  riiilosophe  (philosopher). 

The  unbridled  independence  of  his  religious  and 
political  opinions  acquired  for  him  the  name  of 
philosopher,  which  he  bore  on  board  the  Sylphid, 
where  he  was  a  favourite  of  the  sailors  on  account 
of  his  abilities,  his  gossip,  his  lies,  and  his  comical 
tales;  but  on  the  other  hand,  Losophe  was  gene- 
rally disliked  by  the  petty  officers  on  account  of 
his  insolence,  his  insubordination,  bis  violin,  and 
his  dog. 

A  dog  and  a  violin  appear  at  first  sight  rather 
out  of  place  on  board  so  well  ordered  a  vessel  as  a 
king's  frigate  at  that  time  of  day;  but  as  to  the 
dog,  thus  it  was: — People  purchas*  impunity  for 
the  future,  for  a  host  of  faults,  by  some  good  action 
often  accidentally  performed.  The  dog,  on  one 
occasion,  brought  a  child  out  of  the  water,  who 
had  fallen  ovei  board  from  a  small  boat.  From 
that  day  St.  Medard  was  a  privileged  dog  on  board 
the  Sylphid;  and  notwithstanding  his  excessive 
severity,  Jean  Thomas  himself  yielded  to  the 
entreaties  of  the  crew,  who  had  asked  for  the 
admission  of  this  philanthropic  and  canonized  ani- 
mal. 

As  to  the  violin,  it  is  explained  in  this  manner. 
Losophe,  as  we  have  already  said,  dealt  in  magic, 
was  an  atheist,  a  philosopher,  and  a  hair-dresser; 
he  was  also  a  dancing-master;  so  that  the  kit, 
which  was  necessary  in  his  last  profession,  could 
not  be  well  dispensed  with;  for  at  that  time,  as  at 
the  present,  they  encouraged  all  kinds  of  amuse- 
ments to  keep  up  the  spirits  of  the  sailors  during  a 
long  cruize.  But,  excepting  at  the  time  set  apart 
for  the  purpose,  the  use  of  the  instrument  was 
strictly  forbidden  to  the  professor. 

Such  is  the  history  of  Losophe's  dog  and  violin. 

As  to  Losophe  himself,  if  we  may  be  allowed  to 
separate  him  from  his  violin  and  dog,  he  was  just 
entering  the  twenty-fifth  year  of  his  age;  his  figure 
was  like  a  weazel,  and  his  small  yellow  eyes 
sparkled  with  cunning  and  malice.  He  was  thin, 
weak,  and  nervous,  but  light  and  active,  fall  of 
mockery,  impertinent,  but  tolerably  courageous; 
in  fact,  to  sum  up  all,  his  agility  contrasted  strange- 
ly with  the  good  and  simple  Breton  sailors,  square 
built,  vigorous,  and  strong  limbed.  He  looked  like 
a  fox  in  the  midst  of  a  number  of  bull-dogs. 

This  digression  has  made  us  rather  forgetful  of 
the  other  personages  who  are  walking  at  the  after 
part  of  the  vessel;  that  is  to  say,  the  lieutenant 
and  the  doctor.  Instead  of  elevating  their  minds 
to  the  loftiest  moral  and  political  speculations,  our 
two  friends  were  attentively  considering  a  corre- 
spondence by  signals,  which  had  for  some  time 
been  passing  between  the  telegraph  on  the  tower 
of  Brest  and  a  watch-tower  on  the  coast,  forming 
the  north-west  part  of  Berthaume. 

"They  are  sgnalising  some  ship  of  war  in  the 
offing,"  said  the  lieutenant;  "but  listen— listen, 
doctor!   a  gun,  it  is  a  gun!" 

In  fact,  a  dull  and  distant  rumbling  sound  in 
the  distance  was  repeated  regularly  by  the  echos 
of  the  harbour. 

"  I'll  lay  a  wager  it  is  the  Minerva  returning 
from  her  cruize,"  cried  Jean  Thomas,  listening 
attentively. 

"  The  Minerva,  the  frigate  commanded  by  the 
Chevalier  de  Griiuonard?"  asked  the  doctor. 


THE    WATCH   TOWER   OF   KOAT-VEN. 


75     1 


*  Yes,  yes!  but  listen!  silence  there,  forward," 
cried  Thomas  in  a  loud  voice. 

And  the  forecastle  was  profoundly  silent. 

Although  incidents  of  this  nature  had  been  com- 
mon enough  ever  since  the  commencement  of  the 
war;  and  many  actions  had  been  fought  almost 
within  sight  of  the  port,  the  whole  of  the  Syl- 
phid's  crew  were  as  attentive  as  their  officers,  and 
the  sailors  only  communicated  their  fears  and 
hopes  to  each  other  in  whispers. 

Master  Kergouet  and  Master  Frank,  taking 
advantage  of  the  prerogative  ot  their  rank,  drew 
as  near  as  possible  to  the  after  part  of  the  vessel, 
where  the  lieutenant,  Monval,  and  the  doctor  were 
in  company. 

The  firing  still  continued,  and  appeared  to  be- 
come louder  and  better  supported  as  it  approached 
the  coast. 

"  If  we  had  but  been  ready  to-day,  as  we  might 
have  been,"  said  Monval,  we  might  have  had  this 
good  luck ;  we  might  have  entered  into  action  di- 
rectly after  leaving  the  port,  without  the  least  trou- 
ble in  the  world ;  how  pleasant  that  would  have 
been!" 

"  If  it  is  pleasant  to  have  to  fight  an  enemy  of 
much  superior  force,"  said  the  lieutenant,  seriously; 
"  for  according  to  all  appearance,  it  is  the  Minerva 
closely  engaged  with  an  enemy  of  imposing  force." 

"  It  is  different,"  answered  Monval,  disdainfully, 
<:  if  it  is  not  pleasant  still  it  is  glorious;  but  I  don't 
weigh  my  words." 

Jean  Thomas  repressed  a  movement  of  anger, 
and  answered  ironically,  "  This  ambition  belongs 
to  your  age,  sir,  and  it  does  you  honour;  but  this 
beautiful  ardour  generally  leads  to  defeat,  and  the 
sacrifice  both  of  men  and  ships.  So  that,  in  my 
opinion,  it  is  a  bad  method  of  serving  one's  coun- 
try; it  is  acting  like  a  child  or  a  madman,  and  not 
like  a  man.  Excuse  me,  sir,  for  speaking  thus 
freely  to  you,  but  it  is  my  custom.  I  am  rude, 
they  say." 

Monval  was  about  to  reply  sharply,  when  the 
lieutenant  suddenly  interrupted  him  by  exclaiming, 

"  Listen,  listen!  the  chase  approaches  the  coast; 
and  if  I  am  not  deceived,  the  action  is  taking  place 
to  the  windward  of  Ouessant." 

"  That  is  very  probable,''  said  Monval,  forget- 
ting the  angry  discussion  he  just  held  with  the 
lieutenant,  to  consult  the  vane,  which  indicated  a 
strong  breeze  from  the  north-west,  "  we  hear  the 
guns  as  if  we  were  close  by." 

In  fact  the  noise  of  the  artillery  was  very  dis- 
tincly  heard. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  that,  Master  Kergouet?'' 
demanded  Monval  of  the  canonnier  bourgeois,  who 
not  being  able  to  exact  from  his  superiors  the  civil 
appellation  he  so  pitilessly  required  of  his  inferiors, 
answered  with  an  appearance  of  vexation,  but  at 
the  same  time  taking  off  his  hat, 

"  I  think,  sir,  it  is  some  poor  frigate  chased  by  a 
superior  force — for,  stay— stay — that  was  her 
broadside,  did  you  hear  it?  And  now  hold— one 
—  two  other  broadsides,  at  a  greater  distance,  but 
much  more  prolonged — they  are  those  of  the  ene- 
my who  has  the  wind,  and  that  is  why  we  hear 
them  so  plainly;  and  if  I  am  not  deceived,  the  fri- 
gate is  engaged  with  two  vessels." 

"  The  poor  frigate,"  said  Master  Frank,  "  if  she 
could  only  sail  close  to  the  wind,  and  run  to  the 
north  of  Ouessant,  double  Point  Corbcaux,  and 
enter  the  Passage  des  du  Four,  and  then  beat  up 
under  her  top-sails,  she  would  be  saved.  For  if  it 
bo  the  Minerva,  old  Karadek  is  her  pilot,  and  he 


could  steer  with  his  eyes  shut  through  the  Glenans, 
or  in  the  bay  of  the  Trepageis." 

"  You  are  right,  Master  Frank,"  answered  Mon- 
val; but  it  is  devilish  inconvenient  to  take  sound- 
ings while  you  are  firing  broadsides;  and  I  had 
rather  have  to  do  with  eighty  long  guns  on  the 
wafer,  than  with  those  cowardly  black  rocks  that 
hide  themselves  deceitfully  under  the  waves,  like 
sharks  waiting  for  their  prey;  so  that  it  is  only  in 
the  very  last  extremity  I  would  attempt  so  danger- 
ous a  passage." 

"Still,  sir,"  said  Master  Kergouet,  "if  you  will 
allow  me,  I  will  confirm  the  advice  of  my  colleague, 
Master  Frank." 

"  Confirm,  Master  Kergouet,  confirm,"  said 
Monval,  smiling. 

"  Well,  then,  sir,  although  I  am  not  a  sworn 
pilot,"  here  the  master  took  off  his  hat,  "  during 
the  war  of  '71,  I  moored  the  brig  Ruby  under 
Belle-isle,  passing  through  the  channel  of  the 
islands  of  Houac  and  Hedic;  we  could  congratu- 
late ourselves  upon  being  put  upon  our  mettle 
by  the  Charleston,  a  sixty-four,  that  kept  up  an 
infernal  fire  upon  us;  but  when  she  saw  us  enter 
this  passage,  she  suddenly  altered  her  course,  b" ik- 
ing as  foolish  as  a  cat  when  she  sees  a  dabchick 
dive,  after  having  sent  after  us  a  volley  by  way  of 
adieu,  their  shot  scarcely  reaching  our  track,  and 
that  was  all.  So  that  since  this  occurrence,  I  never 
would  allow  anything  disobliging  to  be  said  of 
sunken  rocks." 

"  But  see,  the  telegraph  is  still  at  work,"  said 
the  doctor,  interrupting  Kergouet,  "  perhaps  they 
can  perceive  what  is  going  on  at  sea,  and  are  sig- 
nalling the  port  the  chances  of  the  action." 

At  this  instant  the  guard  on  duty  exclaimed, — 
"  The  commandant's  boat!" 

In  fact,  occupied  as  they  had  been  by  the  tele- 
graph and  its  signals,  they  did  not  perceive  the 
boat  until  it  was  within  two  cables'  length  of  the 
vessel. 

"The  devil!  there  is  something  in  the  wind," 
said  Monval ;  "  the  commandant  is  in  great  haste,  I 
never  saw  the  men  row  in  this  manner  before; 
they  generally  balance  their  oars  so  gracefully  in 
the  air;  they  are  rowing  hand  over  hand  like  men 
in  the  merchant  service." 

"  Now,  then,  we  have  our  compliment,"  said  the 
doctor,  "  for  the  commandant  brings  with  him  M. 
de  St.  Sauveur,  the  abbe,  and  the  astronomer,  and 
his  shadow,  sometimes  called  his  brother." 

The  boat  approached  the  starboard  side  of  the 
vessel,  and  before  they  had  time  to  throw  over  the 
man-lines.  Henry  sprang  lightly  on  board  the  ves- 
sel, exclaiming,  "  Get  under  weigh,  gentlemen, 
get  under  weigh;  they  have  signalled  a  French 
frigate  maintaining  an  action  against  two  English 
frigates.  To  sea,  gentlemen,  the  marshal  has  also 
given  orders  to  the  Vengeur  and  Tonnant  to  get 
ready.  Come,  come,  make  haste,  or  we  shall  be 
too  late;  see!  the  commander  of  the  Tonnant  is 
already  mustering  all  his  hands." 

This  he  said  as  he  mounted  the  ladder,  with 
great  energy  and  excitement;  but  the  instant  he 
put  his  foot  on  board.  Henry  recovered  the  quiet 
demeanour  that  befitted  his  station. 

"  My  speaking  trumpet,"  he  said  to  the  helms- 
man, who  went  below  deck  to  geek  it. 

Then  addressing  himself  to  the  lieutenant, 
"The  breeze  is  good,  and  we  have   the  ebb  in 
our  favour,  let  a  large  knot  be  made  on  the  cable, 
passing  a  hawser  from  starboard  to  larboard,  and 


n 


THE   TEMPTATION;    OR, 


make  it  fast,  and  ire  will  cut  our  cables,  for  time 
presses. 

'Cut  OWf  c:ililos,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "and 
irhere  shall  m  find  others,  commandant." 

"  The  English  are  always  well  provided,"  said 
Henry,  gaily, 

J.an  Thomas  proceeded  to  execute  these  orders, 
and  Henry  having  received  his  speaking  trumpet, 
mounted  the  quarter  deck.  ML  de  Miran  was  his 
attendant  offleer. 

At  the  boatswain's  whistle  every  one  took  his 
post,  and  not  another  word  was.  heard. 

"  Commandant,  the  hawser  is  passed  nnd  made 
fast  to  the  capstan,"  said  St.  Sauveur,  to  Henry. 

"Prepare  to  hoist  the  jib,  and  unfurl  the  top- 
sails," cried  Henry,  in  a  loud  voice. 

Then  seeing  the  frigate  had  sufficiently  caught 
the  wind,  "  Hoist  the  top-gallant-sail,  and  cut  the 
cable— cut" 

And  the  blow  of  the  axe  produced  a  dull  sound. 

"  Cut  the  hawser — cut  it!"  cried  Henry,  with  a 
sonorous  voice,  whose  tone  proved  with  what  joy 
he  gave  the  order. 

A  second  blow  of  the  axe  was  heard. 

And  then  the  Sylphid,  being  no  longer  restrain- 
ed, bent  lightly  before  the  breeze,  sailed  close  to 
the  wind,  and  made  a  tack  towards  the  rock  Min- 
gan.  on  her  way  out  of  the  roads. 

This  manoeuvre  had  been  executed  so  well  and 
so  quickly,  that  the  Tonnant  still  swung  at  her 
anchors  when  the  Sylphid  was  near  the  pass. 

On  this  the  ship,  as  if  piqued  at  the  alacrity 
with  which  the  frigate  had  executed  the  marshal's 
orders,  made  a  signal  for  her  to  bring  to,  and  wait 
for  her;  for  the  commander  of  that  vessel  being 
the  oldest  captain  belonging  to  the  three  ships, 
carried  the  broad  pendant  at  the  mast  head. 

"  The  Tonnant  makes  a  signal  to  bring  to,"  said 
Mirvan  to  Henry,  whose  back  was  turned  as  if  he 
did  not  wish  to  notice  the  signal. 

But  it  was  necessary  he  should  take  notice  of  it, 
and  he  submitted,  although  with  a  bad  grace. 

"  Do  we  want  the  help  of  these  two  large  ves- 
sels? '  said  the  Count;  "really  two  ships  of  the 
line  and  a  frigate  are  rather  too  much  to  equalise 
the  party,  as  the  marshal  says." 

While  the  frigate  remained  stationary,  Henry 
cast  a  rapid  glance  at  the  appearance  of  his  crew, 
who  must  needs  be  astonished  at  this  sudden  de- 
parture. 

He  found  his  sailors  calm  and  cool,  as  usual; 
merely  read  a  slight  appearance  of  curiosity  in 
their  careless  countenances. 

Henry  augured  well  at  this  self  denial;  and  ex- 
claimed with  great  joy,  as  soon  as  he  saw  the 
Tonnant,  now  under  weigh,  give  the  signal  to 
chase, 

"  At  last  we  are  allowed  to  get  a  head  of  these 
slow  sailers,  that's  lucky." 

Then  hoisting  the  standing  jib,  and  bracing  up 
the  main-top-sail,  he  again  put  the  Sylphid  on  her 
course. 

'•  Clear  the  decks  for  action,''  cried  the  Count, 
addressing  the  crew;  '  now,  my  boys,  bid  adieu  to 
France;  after  the  English!  and  long  live  the 
king!" 

"  Long  live  the  king!"  cried  the  crew,  lustily. 

r  the  frigate  through  the  channel,  sir," 
said  Henry,  giving  the  speaking  trumpet  to  the 
lieutenant,  "  1  must  pay  a  visit  to  the  guns  and  the 
forecastle." 

"Cut  the  cables,  a  mad-brained  fopl"  sail  the 
lieutenant,  as  soon  as  the  Count  was  out  of  hearing. 


Then  he  added,  with  eoucentrated  spite,  speak- 
ing to  himself,  "And  yet  it  must  be  acknowledged 
he  has  got  us  under  weigh  cleverly;  the  tone  of 
command  of  this  puppy  is  a  proof  lie  has  had  much 

Eractice.     Curses  upon  him.  he  receives  all,  does 
e? 

"  And  yet  I  have  as  much  courage  and  science 
as  he  has;  but  I  remain  in  obscurity.  But  then 
he  is  Count  de  Vaudry— Monsieur  le'Comte!'  re- 
peated the  lieutenant,  with  bitter  irony,  "  Monsieur 
le  Cointe!  while  I,  I  am  Jean  Thomas,  an  officer 
of  the  blues!  Jean  Thomas,  the  grandson  of  an 
itinerant  dealer  in  fish  at  the  port.  They  despise 
me— confusion!  Should  he  despise  me!  but  he  is 
polite  to  me;  but  then,  what  politeness!  I  should 
prefer  insolence;  we  kill  or  are  killed  for  insolence, 
death  and  furies!  I  shsll  become  mad  on  board 
this  cursed  ship!  Oh,  this  Count!  this  Count! 
But  I  shall  see  him  in  action;  my  hope  lies  all  in 
that. 

"But  what  am  I  thinking  of  ?  I  must  be  lucky 
to  see  that;  and  when  did  Jean  Thomas  ever  have 
any  good  fortune?  If  1  do  a  good  action,  it  is 
turned  against  me:  if  I  denounce  a  crime  to  a 
friend;  if  I  tell  him  his  wife  deceives  him,  and  that 
I  have  seen  it— there  is  my  mother  to  tell  the  first 
lie  she  perhaps  ever  told  in  her  life,  and  I,  I  am 
considered  a  perjurer  and  a  fool;  and  I  am  cursed 
by  my  mother,  who  soon  afterwards  dies.  And 
shall  I  love  the  world?  Shall  I  smile  upon  gentle- 
men, and  close  my  eyes  to  the  weaknesses  of 
others?  No,  no,  every  one  has  his  right,  come 
what  will,  by  acting  in  this  manner  I  possess  a 
conscience;  and,  by  heaven,  of  what  use  is  con- 
science, if  it  has  no  power  to  remain  implacable 
against  those  who  fail  in  their  duties? — so— what 
would  1  not  give  for  this  gentleman  commander  to 
lose  his  wits  in  the  action.  Very  often  these  offi- 
cers, so  good  in  working  a  vessel,  so  calm,  so  tran- 
quil, turn  pale  at  the  noise  of  the  guns.  But,  no, 
perhaps  this  Count  is  brave.  And  after  all,  should 
he  be  so,  what  would  that  prove?  He  does  but 
his  duty,  true;  but  I  shall  not  have  the  right  to 
despise  him ;  and  how  much  I  should  like  to  de- 
spise him !  to  pay  him  in  his  own  coin ;  for  I  know- 
he  inwardly  despises  me,  not  me  myself,  but  my 
birth.  Despise  me,  the  ass!  as  if  all  men  were 
not  equal,  noble  and  ignoble.  As  if  a  man  had  the 
right  to  despise  another  because  he  has  an  armorial 
bearing  or  a  grade  the  more,"  said  Jean  Thomas, 
in  a  passion;  then  perceiving  that  the  sails  were 
hardly  filled,  "  Luff  then,  you  lubber,"  he  said  to 
the  man  at  the  helm,  giving  him  a  push  with  his 
usual  rudeness. 

The  helmsman  obeyed  his  orders  with  alacrity, 
saying  to  himself,  "  Ah!  here  is  another  de  lieute- 
nant, brought  up  in  the  same  manner  as  our  last 
brute." 


CHAPTER.  XXXV. 

THE   INSPECTION. 

•  This  18  the  decisive  hour."— Schillkb 

We  know  that  the  two  ships  that  left  Brest,  for 
the  assistance  <>f  the  Minerva,  were  the  Vengenr, 
a  seventy-four,  and  the  Tonnant  a  sixty-four,  the 
latter  carrying  the  broad  pendant,  because  it  had 

on  board  the  elder  captain  of  the  two  ve.v  ■ 

'lie-  Sylphid  had  received  orders  to  cha.se,  and 


THE   WATCH    TOWER   OF   KOAT-VEN. 


77 


to  lead  the  little  squadron,  for  the  cannonade  on 
the  coast  was  still  well  supported. 

While  Plenry  was  inspecting  the  guns  and  the 
manoeuvres  of  the  crew  they  were  waiting  to  receive 
him  in  the  battery,  commanded  by  M.  de  Monval, 

The  master  of  the  canonniers  bourgeois  was 
haranguing  his  men  with  his  accustomed  assump- 
tion. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  to  them,  with  his  usual 
pretensions  to  a  civil  capacity,  "  it  seems  we  shall 
have  some  business  to  do  in  our  shop,  for  our 
battery  is  a  shop  to  us,  as  much  as  a  draper's  shop 
is  his  shop,  'tis  exactly  the  same  thing,  and  let  us 
behave  ourselves  like  good  shopmen,  as  we  are. 
u  Now,  Monsieur  Rapin,"  he  said  to  his  second  in 
command,  who  had  no  share  of  the  citizen  ambition 
of  his  superior,  thinking  himself  as  much  a  fighting 
man,  and  as  much  a  sailor  as  any  one  else,  "  you 
Monsieur  Rapin,  will  watch  over  the  transport  of 
the  powder,  look  carefully  after  the  cartridge  bags, 
and  see  there  is  no  spark  left  in  them." 

"  As  to  you,  gentlemen,"  addressing  the  rest  of 
the  gunners,  I  beg  that  for  your  own  individual 
interests,  you  will  each  of  you,  from  time  to  time, 
refresh  the  interior  of  your  guns  with  a  wet  sponge, 
for  the  throat  of  a  cannon  long  in  use  is  like  the 
throat  of  a  man,  it  gets  dry  by  two  much  talking, 
but  the  cannon  is  very  inconsiderate,  inasmuch 
as  when  its  throat  is  heated,  it  speaks  before  its 
turn,  which  is  extremely  unpleasant  for  those  who 
hold  the  rammer.  I  have  no  necessity  to  tell  you, 
that,  if  the  first  man  should  be  killed,  the  first  on 
the  right  takes  his  place,  and  that  he  is  replaced 
by  the  first  on  the  left  and  so  on.  But  it  may  be 
all  done  in  a  citizen-like  manner,  quietly,  as  in  any 
other  shop,  in  a  grocer's  shop  for  instance,  for  it  is 
all  the  same,  suppose  the  first  shopman  leaves  the 
counter,  well!  the  second  takes  his  place,  and  so 
on  for  the  rest,  for  1  again  tell  you  it  is  exactly 
the  same  thing.  For  example,  if,  as  in  the  action 
of  the  Redoubtable,  some  rascally  discharge  of 
small  shot  should  carry  off  all  the  men  from  one 
gun,  then  you  must  take  a  man  from  each  of  the 
guns  not  in  action.  If  you  are  only  fighting  one 
side  of  the  ship,  you  may  thus  fit  up  the  dismantled 
piece,  but  it  must  be  all  done  quietly,  for  af  er  all 
we  are  only  citizens  and  cannot  enforce  that  prin- 
ciple too  much. ' 

"  If  as  citizens,"  hazarded  counter  master 
Rapin,  "  if  as  citizens  we  have  our  hands  carried 
away  by  the  cannon  balls,  and  a  head  broken  by 
the  blow  of  a  battle  axe,  it  is  my  opinion  that  these 
matters  are  not  very  citizen-like." 

"  My  dear  friend"  replied  Master  Kergouet,  "  I 
toll  you,  but  with  all  the  politeness  that  ought  to 
exist  between  canonniers  bourgois,  that  you  are  an 
ass,  and  a  brute.  What  do  crushed  hands  and 
broken  heads  signify?  Cannot  a  trader,  a  member 
of  the  corporation  of  tanners,  of  Romorantin  for 
instance,  break  a  leg  by  a  fall?  ha\e  his  head  frac- 
tured by  a  tile?  is  there  any  thing  warlike  in  that? 
once  for  all,  is  he  any  the  less  a  citizen,  because 
he  is  a  1  g  or  a  head  the  less?" 

'  But."  said  M.  Rapin.  "  but,  M.  Kergouet,  you 
are  talking  nonsense;    sacre  dieu!   it   is   not    the 
thing,  for. . .   " 

"  What  you  \\ish  to  put  me  in  a  passion,  hive 
dness  to  he  silent  and  attend  to   the   trans- 
port  'it'  the  powder,  without  saying  a  word,  as 
a   workman   does   when   ordered   l>\  his  Byndic," 
il   Master  Kergouet,  in  a  severe  tone. 
this  instant  the  steersman  came  to  say   that 
the  commander  was  making  his  inspection. 


Monval,  who  commanded  the  artillery  also  made 
his  appearance,  and  soon  afterwards  Henry,  fol- 
ic; wed  by  Saint  Sauveur,  de  Miran  and  the  cap- 
tain's clerk. 

The  men  remained  motionless  and  silent  at  their 
guns.  Monval  approached  Henry  hat  in  hand  and 
appeared  to  wait  his  orders. 

The  Counts  features  were  unruffled,  but  his 
eyes  sparkled,  and  a  slight  colour  animated  his 
usually  pale  cheeks,  his  whole  appearance  expressed 
a  depth  of  joy,  and  a  constrained  excitement,  visible 
in  spite  of  the  power  he  experienced  over  his 
feelings. 

The  Count  advanced,  splendidly  attired  in  a 
superbly  embroidered  uniform,  covered  with  mag- 
nificent lace,  the  lower  part  of  his  dress  being  of 
the  most  elegant  fashion,  white  silk  stockings, 
shining  black  shoes,  with  red  heels,  and  golden 
buckles ;  well  powdered  with  sweet  scented  powder 
his  embroidered  hat  under  his  arm,  his  right  hand 
in  the  pocket  of  his  scarlet  and  gold  waistcoat 
which  partially  concealed  a  portion  of  the  rich  hilt 
of  his  sword,  and  its  blue  velvet  scabbard. 

He  walked  round  the  battery  without  uttering  a 
syllable,  but  his  penetrating  glance,  after  having 
carefully  examined  each  gun,  and  noticed  every- 
thing in  detail  was  turned  upon  the  faces  of  the 
gunners,  which  he  examined  with  the  same  fixed 
attention. 

"  Sarprejeul"  said  the  second  master,  Rapin, 
opening  his  large  nostrils,  and  inhaling  the  per- 
fume Henry  left  behind  him,  "  Surprejeu !  if  the 
commandant  would  be  good  fellow  enough  only  to 
place  himself  for  one  hour  a  day  in  the  steerage  it 
would  become  as  sweet  as  a  nut. 

Henry  continued  his  inspection: 

"What  makes  you  so  pale?"  he  said  sharply  to 
the  second  man  on  the  left  of  the  third  gun  em  the 
larboard  side,  who  was  partly  resting  himself  on 
his  gun. 

"  Commandant,"  said  the  man  without  being 
disconcerted.  "  I  have  just  recovered  from  a  fit  of 
sickness." 

"  What  sickness?" 

"  This,  commandant."  and  he  opened  his  jacket 
and  shirt,  and  showed  Henry  a  large  and  deep 
wound  scarcely  healed. 

"  Why  did  \ou  not  remain  in  the  hospital?" 

"Because  the  principal  surgeon  told  me  that 
nothing  but  exercise  would  cure  me,  commandant, 
on  that  account  I  chose  that  of  the  guns,  because 
I  was  used  to  it,  and  besides  it  will  give  me  the 
chance  of  having  a  brush  with  the  English." 

"  You  are  not  strong  enough." 

"  Oh  yes!  commandant,  and  the  surgeon  told  me 
nothing  but  that  would  cure  me." 

"  Your  name?" 

"  Lucas,  commandant." 

And  Henry,  after  having  looked  long  at  the  gun- 
ner, clapped  him  lightly  on  the  shoulder.  v\  ith  an 
approving  air,  continued  his  round  and  having 
completed  the  circuit  of  the  battery  said  in  a  loud 
and  Hrm  voice, 

"Your  guns  are  in  good  order,  my  boys,  but  when 
you  fire  on  the  English  it  will  be  superb,  and  I 
nope  you  will  give  them  a  taste  of  it  presently.1 

Then  addressing  Monval,  "  kbove  all,  sir.  do  Dot 
lire  u  itbout  orders,  and  if,  as  I  hope,*  B  PngagC  tin  m 

at  pistol-shot  distance,  bleed  the  cartridges,  the  ball 

will  he   heavier  and  have   great  r    effect    upon    the 

timbers.'1 

I  hen   addressing    I  imself  to  Master   Kergouet, 
"  1  hope,  master,  you  have  not    taken    on   board 


N 


THE    TEMPTATION  ;     OH, 


any  of  that  rascally  ammunition  of  nails  ami  pieces 
of  broken  iron,  which  makes  the  wounds  it  inflicts 
incurable?" 

-  Fes  commandant,  one  fourth  part  of  that  kind-' 
said  the  master. 

••  Well  sir,"  said  ITenry  to  Monval,  "  I  never 
wish  it  to  be  used  on  board  my  raesel,  except  in 
the  last  extremity,  this  kind  of  shot  is  no  better 
than  any  other  during  the  battle,  but  it  leaves  such 
horrible  wounds  afterwards.  It  is  quite  necessary 
to  kill  as  many  as  you  can  during  the  action,  but 
to  calculate  on  the  wounds  you  can  inllict  and 
purposely  to  render  them  incurable,  is  a  speculation 
or  rather  an  act  of  cowardice  I  have  never  allowed, 
you  understand  me,  M.  de  Monval?" 

"  Your  orders  shall  be  obeyed,  commandant.'' 

Scarcely  had  Henry  uttered  these  words  than 
he  heard  a  great  noise  below.  The  count  who  had 
to  finish  his  inspection  in  that  part  of  the  vessel 
moved  hastily  in  that  direction,  and  as  he  approach- 
ed the  main  hatchway,  for  the  purpose  of  going 
down  the  companion,  he  was  almost  thrown  down 
by  a  man,  who  in  his  endeavours  to  escape  was 
climbing  the  ladder  with  precipitation,  it  was  Rum- 
phius. 

"Why,  what  the  devil  do  you  do  here,  governor?" 
said  Henry  half  smiling,  and  half  in  anger,  '•  where 
are  you  running?  instead  of  remaining  quietly  in 
the  hold,  as  I  advised  your  brother,  this  is  not 
your  place,  my  worthy  philosopher,  you'd  find  it 
very  difficult  to  measure  the  curve  of  the  war 
planets  that  will  be  soon  pouring  from  this 
battery." 

Rumphius's  body  was  half  out  of  the  hatchway 
and  behind  him  might  have  been  seen  the  face  of 
poor  Sulpice,  who  was  doing  his  best  to  keep  back 
the  astronomer  by  the  sleeve  of  his  go«  n. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  count,"  said  the  sage,  with 
his  usual  sang  froid,  we  shall  soon,  it  appears,  find 
ourselves  in  the  midst  of  a  battle  in  which  men 
will  fall  as  thick  as  the  grains  of  maize  when 
shaken  by  the  spirit  of  Naraca,  as  Patatasays. 
And  for  a  long  while  I  have  been  desirous  to  find 
out  some  methcd  of  measuring  the  rate  of  the  dis- 
placement of  the  air  occasioned  by  the  discharge  of 
artillery.  This,  then,  is  what  I  intend  to  do,  I  will 
seat  myself  quietly  in  the  shrouds  during  the  firing, 
and  then  I  will  seriously  employ  myself  in  taking 
observations." 

You  should  have  seen  Sulpice's  face  during 
this  simple  avowal. 

"  Why  you  are  mad,  governor,"  said  Henry, 
unable  to  resist  a  fit  of  laughter,  "  but  w  hat  of  the 
balls?" 

'The  balls  — the  balls  —  the  balls!"  said  the 
astronomer,  in  three  different  intonations  of  voice, 
and  with  a  look  of  the  greatest  astonishment 

"  Yes,'  said  Henry,  "  will  the  balls  alter  their 
course  to  allow  you  to  take  your  observations  at 
your  ease?" 

Why  that  is  true,  I  never  thought  of  the  balls. 
u  said  Rumphius  coolly,"  then  be  added,  as  be  made 
another  attempt  to  get  up  the  ladder,  "Bah!  bah! 
Yatna  the  spirit  of  war,  will  respect  an  admirer  of 
Vishnou,  and . . . ." 

'  Not  in  tin-  least,  my  dear  philosopher,  he  you 
cell  Yams  lias  i  believe  very  little  influence  over 
the  direction  of  the  cannon  balls  of  His  Britannic 
Majesty's  squadron,  10  have  the  goodness  to  go 

back  to  your  posl  below." 

And  pushing  dim  gently,  Henry  made  the  sage 

i    backwards  until   he  reached   the  hold,  7n 


spite  of  the  supplications  the  astronomer  renewed 
at  every  step  he  was  obliged  to  abandon. 

Then,  again  recommending  him  to  the  care  of 
Sulpice,  Henry  proceeded  to  the  surgeon's  quarters, 
t<>  be  satisfied  every  thing  was  in  readiness  for  the 
reception  of  the  wounded. 

And  there  doctor  Gedeon  with  his  sleeves  tucked 
up  above  his  elbows  »;i>  arranging  his  frightful  in- 
struments with  the  greatest  coolness  possible,  and 
abusing  his  assistants  because  they  were  not  quick 
enough. 

•'  Well  doctor,"  said  the  count  to  Gedeon,  "  every 
thing  ready — nothing  wanting?" 

"  Nothing  whatever,  Monsieur  le  Commandant." 

"  I  have  no  necessity  to  recommend  you  to  take 
the  greatest  Care  of  the  wounded.  As  to  those  who 
come  down  without  being  wounded,  if  such  a  case 
should  occur,  which  1  have  no  reason  to  expect,  let 
the  captain  at  arms  be  acquainted  with  it,  and  they 
shall  be  shot  on  the  spot." 

"All  men  are  equal,  commandant— have  the 
same  claim  upon  my  attention,  and  I  would  equally 
cut  oft*  the  arm  of — " 

"  Sir,"  said  Henry  impatiently,  "I  excuse  your 
observations.  When  I  give  orders  they  are  ex- 
ecuted in  silence." 

Then,  turning  towards  the  chaplain,  who,  resting 
against  the  vessel's  side,  examined  the  frightful 
preparations  with  a  disdainful  and  melancholy  air, 
"  a  thousand  pardons,  I  had  not  the  honour  of  see- 
ing you,  chaplain,"  said  the  count  to  the  abbe  de 
Cilly,  whose  pale  face,  framed,  as  it  were,  in  his 
black  dress,  was  scarcely  visible  in  the  darkness  of 
the  cockpit. 

The  abbe  slightly  bent  his  head,  but  made  no 
answer.  Henry  wished  to  address  him;  but  he, 
always  at  his  ease,  so  fluent  of  speech,  could  not 
find  a  single  word,  and  remained  silent. 

In  fact,  even  for  Henry,  who  was  above  all  fear, 
there  was  something  so  singular  in  the  aspect  of 
this  silent  and  gloomy  priest,  whose  very  presence 
in  this  spot  was  eloquent;  that,  .seeing  him  so  near 
the  horrible  apparatus  of  the  doctor,  you  could  not 
avoid  imagining  he  was  there  to  attend  upon  'hose 
whom  no  earthly  attention  could  save. 

But  so  it  happened,  that  Henry,  vexed  with  him- 
self at  being  unable  to  say  any  thing  to  the  abbe, 
made  him  a  cold  bow  and  re-mounted  the  ladder, 
again  recommending  Sulpice  to  watch  over  his  bro- 
ther, who  exclaimed  as  the  count  passed  him — 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte,  only  let  me  be  upon  deck 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  but  let  it  be  when  the  de- 
tonation and  vibration  of  the  air  is  at  its  height." 

Henry  did  not  hear  him,  and  was  already  on  the 
gun-deck. 

When  he  reached  the  battery  he  gave  his  last 
directions  to  Monval,  and  went  on  deck. 

At  the  moment  lie  appeared  the  Sylphid  WSS 
doubling  Point  St.  Matthew,  and  the  two  vessels 
were  tacking  still  in  the  Froise. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  he  to  Thomas,  "  where  is  this 
firing?* 

'  We  hear  it  less,  commandant,  and  they  have 
made  no  signal.  Probably  the  action  is  taking 
place  to  the  windward  of  Ouessant,  and  the  land 
conceals  it  from  us." 

H  Run  on  the  same  tack,  sir,  and,  since  we  can 
carry  no  more  canvass,  let  the  sails  be  wetted,  that 
perhaps  will  give  us  one  or  two  knots  more." 

"The   fire  engine  is  not   ready,  commandant-" 

"Why  not.  sir?  1  expect  that  every  thin  g  on 
board  shall  be  ready  at  all  times.  ' 

"It  shall  be  got  ready,  commandant." 


THE   WATCH   TOWER   OP  KOAT-VEW. 


:■> 


And  the  lieutenant,  suppressing  a  sign  of  im- 
patience, proceeded  to  execute  the  orders  of  the. 
commander. 

The  horizon  began  to  open.  To  the  right  of 
the  Sylphid  might  oe  seen  the  highlands  of  Oues- 
sant,  and  the  coast  of  Abrevack  bristled  with  break- 
ers ;  to  the  left  the  ocean  was  seen  in  the  distance, 
in  all  its  immensity. 

The  Sylphid  kept  on  her  course  admirably,  and 
in  her  wake  the  two  ships,  that  were  slower  sailers, 
extended  their  mass  of  canvass  and  timber. 
"  The  engine  is  ready,  commandant." 
"  Let  it  play,"  said  Henry 
At  the  same  instant  three  jets  of  water  were  di- 
rected against  the  surface  of  the  sails,  presented 
to  the  wind,  for  the  purpose  of  closing  the  meshes 
of  the  cloth,  and  thus  preventing  the  passage  of  the 
air. 

"  Let  the  topmast  men  come  down,  sir,''  said  the 
commander,  "  the  air  is  cold,  and  it  is  useless  to  ex- 
pose the  health  of  the  men  unnecessarily.'* 

"  He'll  roll  them  up  in  cotton  next,"  murmured 
the  lieutenant,  causing  the  order  to  be  executed. 

"  All  hands  from  the  rigging, "  shouted  the 
boatswain. 

The  order  was  scarcely  given  before  the  sailors 
descended  from  the  shrouds  by  means  of  the  guy 
ropes." 

"  There  is  still  some  one  in  the  mizen  shrouds," 
said  Henry,  whose  eye  nothing  escaped. 

"  I'll  lay  a  wager,"  said  the  boatswain,  "  it's  that 
cursed  Losophe;"  then,  whistling  gently,  he  cried 
out,  "yo-ho  there,  in  the  mizen  shrouds.'- 

At  the  sound  of  the  boatswain's  whistle  two 
heads  appeared  above  the  stancheons  of  the 
shrouds,  and  leant  over. 

The  two  heads  belonged  to  Losophe  and  his 
dog. 

"  Why  do  both  of  you  remain  there,  when  I 
piped  all  hands  from  the  rigging?" 

"Master  Frank,  we  are  making  a  clue  to  the 
bolt  rope  of  a  bonnet,"  said  Losophe,  and,  as  if  to 
support  his  assertion,  the  dog  gave  a  short  bark. 

"  What  is  that?"  said  Henry.  "  is  there  a  dog 
here?" 

"  Commandant,  it  is  the  dog  I  spoke  to  you 
about;  the  crew  set  great  store  by  him,  and  I 
thought — " 

"  Well — so  be  it — but  the  engine,  sir,  the  engine." 
"  Let  the  engine  play."  said  the  lieutenant,  and 
they  played,  principally  in  the  direction  of  the 
mizen-mast;  for  the  sailors  were  delighted  at  play- 
ing a  trick  with  Losophe :  at  the  head  of  these  mad- 
brained  pumpers  Daniel  was  found. 

Losophe  received  the  aspersion  with  stoical  in- 
difference, sa)Ting  to  his  dog,  who  had  his  share  of 
it,  "  You  only  wanted  to  be  baptized,  St.  Medard, 
now  you  may  bite  the  priests  themselves." 

To  this  St.  Medard  answered  by  shaking  his 
tail  with  an  air  of  intelligence. 

"  The  engines  had  scarcely  ceased  to  play,  when 
the  Sylphid  began  to  make  more  way,  stood  up  for 
the  wind,  and  wore  on  her  tack,  so  as  to  double  the 
isle. 

But  the  scene  of  action  was  still  hidden  from  the 
Sylphid,  and  the  two  vessels  in  her  wake. 


CHAPTER  XXXVL 


THE     RC8E   DE   GUERRE. 


"Joan,  Yes,  you  are  light;  this  white  banner  is  propitious  to 
the  fhendi  of  Kroner,  and  bring:  disaster  ui>.,i,  h-r 
enemies." — Schillmi. 

Oh,  if,  on  a  beautiful  summer  evening,  under  the 
enchanting  sky  of  Zante  or  Cephalonia,  when  a 
gentle  breeze  scarcely  ripples  the  surface  of  the 
sea,  bringing  with  it  the  perfume  of  the  orange- 
trees  on  the  shore,  — then,  when  the  burning  sun 
sheds,  as  if  with  regret,  its  last  golden  rays,  "oh,  if 
you  have  sought  the  delicious  freshness  of  the 
calm  and  limpid  waters  of  the  Levant,  have  you 
not  seen  a  small  and  graceful  fish  sparkle  like  ru- 
bies, empurpled  with  a  violet  red,  whose  sombre 
splendour  is  enhanced  by  its  brilliant  scales  and  ir- 
rediscent  fins? 

Admiring  its  grace  and  beauty,  have  you  not 
taken  it  for  some  good  genius  of  the  waves,  for 
some  gentle  aerial-spirit,  who  has  clothed  himself 
in  this  attire  to  pass  unknown  through  the  trans- 
parent depths  of  the  sea.  and  to  gambol  amidst 
the  beautiful  green  algee,  that  enlace  the  petrified 
branches  of  the  red  coral  like  emerald  garlands. 

Then,  enchanted  with  this  ocean  jewel,  you  have 
approached  to  seize  it.  But  he— is  it  not  so? — 
happy  aQd  foolish,  sometimes  remaining  motion- 
ess,  allows  himself  to  be  approached;  then  dives. 
as  he  flies,  and  then  returns ;  and  at  length  escapes 
leaving  behind  it  a  thousand  circles  of  silver,  and 
thus  seduces  you  into  pursuit. 

But  when,  delighted,  you  at  lenath  imagine  you 
are  in  possession  of  it,  have  you  not  seen,  in  the 
track  of  this  charming  fish,—  have  you  not  seen  the 
two  round  eyes  of  a  gigantic  white  shark  glisten, 
with  its  black  and  rough  skin,  beating  the  water 
with  its  enormous  tail,  opening  its  frightful  throat, 
and  rapidly  moving  towards  you,  guided  hv  that 
actractive  pilot,  who  always  precedes  it,  and  thus 
charitably  guides  it  to  its  prey? 

Then—  is  it  not  so? — collecting  all  your  strength, 
to  avoid  the  sharp  teeth  of  your  enemy,  you  gain 
the  hospitable  shore,  if  you  have  the  power. 

Well,  thus  the  dangerous  and  seductive  pilot, 
the  Sylphid — as  lively,  as  graceful,  as  golden,  and 
equally  deceitful — guided  and  preceded  the.  pon- 
derous and  dreadful  ships  of  war,  that,  hidden  by 
the  highlands  of  the  south  of  Ouessant,  were  float- 
ing in  the  wake  of  the  frigate. 

At  this  moment,  the  firing,  that  still  continued, 
became  weaker  by  degrees,  and  soon  ceased  en- 
tirely. From  this  it  might  have  been  imagined 
that  the  vessel  attacked  had  been  taken,  or  that 
having  boldly  attempted  the  Passage  du  Four, 
it  had  thus  escaped  the  enemy. 

Henry  made  no  doubt  the  latter  was  the  case, 
when  he  perceived  the  watch-tower  of  Ouossant 
signalling  the  Tonnant — when  he  saw,  to  the  wind 

ward  of  the  island,  the  two  frigates  of  the  enemy 

pursuing  and  engaged  with  a  French  frigate,  which 
had  taken  shelter  in  the  Passage  du  Four,  whan 
they  did  not  dare  to  follow  it. 

The  Tonnant  made  a  signal  to  the  Sylphid  to 
double  Point  Porclas.  which  concealed  the  French 
ships  of  the  line,  and  to  approach  the  enemy  alone, 
as  if  for  the  purpose  of  reconnoitering,  then  to  sail 
off,  manoeuvring  in  such  a  manner  as  to  load  the 
English  frigates  close  to  the  point,  and  almost 
within  range  of  the  two  ships,  who  then  making 


so 


THE    TEMPTATION;    OR, 


their  appearance,  would  easily  take  possession  of 
the  enemy. 

"A  cowardly  duty  this,"  said  Henry,  displeased, 
"  to  serve  as  a  bait  for  these  two  poor  frigates,  to 
lead  them  traitorously  into  a  snare,  and  cause  them 
to  be  taken  without  firing  a  shot.  By  heaven!  it  is 
like  the  trick  of  an  ignoble  merchantman,  and  not 
of  a  noble  frigate.  The  seaman  who  commands 
that  ship,"  added  he.  pointing  to  the  Tonnant,  "is 
he  not  aware  of  it!  I  would  rather  a  hundred 
times,  a  die,  attack  these  two  vessels,  than  act  in 
tiiis  manner.'' 

But,  M  above  all  things,  Henry  obeyed  the  orders 
of  his  superiors  with  passive  obedience;  he  hoisted 
all  sail,  and  executed  the  task  allotted  to  him,  while 
the  two  men  of  war,  hidden  by  the  land,  awaited 
the  easy  prey  the  count  was  leading  to  them. 

Then  the  Sylphid,  beautiful  and  decorated, 
doubling  point  Porclas,  advanced  alone  into  the 
ocean,  with  the  bashful  and  timid  air  of  a  young 
bride  who  ventures  trembling  into  a  party,  and 
seeks  on  all  sides  for  the  face  of  a  friend. 

The  English  vessels  soon  perceived  the  French 
frigate,  and  confiding  in  their  superior  force  thus 
allowed  her  to  approach  them. 

And  the  Sylphid,  still  tacking  to  windward, 
also  approached  the  enemy,  and  soon  found  her- 
self within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  them. 

Then,  as  if  undecided,  she  reefed  her  sails  by 
degrees. 

The  English  making  all  sail,  when  within  gun- 
shot hoisted  the  British  flag,  and  fired  two  cannon 
the  balls  of  one  of  which  fell  within  a  few  fathoms  of 
the  frigate. 

Then,  as  if  she  only  then  discovered  her  danger, 
the  Sylphid  suddenly  tacked,  hoisted  all  sail  and 
stood  away  towards  the  fatal  point,  behind  which 
the  two  ships  lurked  like  sharks. 

The  English  frigates  following  the  example  of 
the  Sylphid,  and  followed  close  in  her  wake  endea 
vouring    to    place  her  between   two   fires,     and 
prevent  her  reaching  the  port. 

But  alas!  alas!  scarcely  had  the  poor  English 
doubled  the  cursed  Point  Porclas  than  the  Sylphid 
passed  them,  running  before  the  wind,  hoisted  the 
royal  flag  of  France,  and  fired  a  broadside,  when 
the  two  ships  of  war  appeared  under  all  sail,  so 
that  finding  themselves  thus  entrapped,  without  any 
hope  of  escape,  the  two  English  ships  were  obliged 
Xo  strike  their  flag  and  surrender,  after  a  slight 
resistance,  which  they  could  not  avoid  making  to 
save  appearances. 

It  was  then  ascertained  that  the  French  vessel 
the  English  had  attacked,  was  in  fact  the  Minerva 
frigate. 

After  this  unexpected  affair  had  come  to  so  happy 
n  conclusion,  the  captain  of  the  Tonnant,  made  a 
signal  for  Henry  to  come  on  board  to  receive  the 
orders  he  had  to  communicate  to  him  on  the  part 
of  M.  Castries. 

The  Sylphid  brought  to,  and  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  afterwards  Henry  was  on  board  the  Tonnant. 

"  Bravo,  M.  de  Vaudry,"  said  the  commander  of 
the  vessel  to  him,  "  no  one  could  have  played  the 
part  better." 

"Still  Marquis,"  said  Henry  with  an  air  of  dis- 
pleasure, "it  is  a  species  of  glory  I  would  willingly 
relinquish  to  any  one.  I  am  not  extremely  scru- 
pulous, but  really  1  shall  reproach  myself  with  the 
action  for  the  rest  of  my  life." 

"  Why  you  are  mad,"  said  the  marquis  it  was  a 
tair  action;  the  English  fought  the  Minerva  of 
fwenty-four  guns  with  two  thirty  six,  gun  frigates; 


upon  my  honour  I  am  less  scrupulous  than  you, 
and  I  am  delighted  my  dear  count." 

So  saying  he  took  Harry  by  the  arm  and  led 
him  into  the  cabin. 

••  The  Marshal  de  Castries  has  given  me  some 
despatches  for  you,  count,"  he  said  to  him ;  "  hero 
they  an-,  and  in  addition  you  are  ordered  not  to 
open  them  until  you  reach  the  Azores,  when  you 
will  find  instructions  for  your  future  proceedings. 
The  Marshal,  who  knows  you  well,  has  also  begged 
that  I  will  request  you  to  avoid  an  action  when  it 
is  too  unequal ;  for  the  despatches  you  carry  out  to 
New  England  arc  of  the  greatest  importance  and 
expected  impatiently  by  the  Chevalier  des  Touches. 
Adieu,  M.  de  Vaudry,  I  wish  you  every  success; 
you  are  more  fortunate  than  I  am,  for  we  are  obliged 
to  return  into  Brest,"  Then  he  added  in  Henry's 
ear,  in  a  confidential  tone,  "  But  perhaps  we  shall 
see  each  other  again." 

"  How  so,  Marquis?"  said  Henry. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  say  more,"  added  the  commander 
of  the  vessel,  with  a  mysterious  look. 

Then  re-conducting  Henry  on  deck  he  shook  him 
cordially  by  the  hand,  and  the  count  entered  his 
boat  amid  the  congratulations  of  the  officers  of  the 
Tonnant,  who  could  not  help  admiring  the  speed, 
elegance,  and  beautiful  sailing  qualities  of  the 
frigate. 

"  Again  farewell,  gentlemen,"  said  Henry,  to  the 
officers  who  were  leaning  over  the  bulwarks  of  the 
vessel,  "  a  thousand  remembrances  to  my  friends  in 
France." 

And  rowing  towards  his  frigate  he  was  soon  on 
board,  not  without  casting  a  look  of  pride  upon  his 
Sylphid,  as  she  gracefully  swang  under  her  top- 
sails. 

"  Once  on  board,  the  count  gave  orders  to  put 
out  to  sea;  and  taking  advantage  of  the  breeze 
which  had  shifted  from  the  north-west  to  north- 
east, he  commenced  his  course  by  taking  a  large 
offing  in  the  west-south-west,  after  having  ordered 
the  powder  room  to  be  closed,  and  the  preparations 
for  combat  suspended  until  further  orders. 

"  Well,  master  Frank,"  said  M.  Kergouet,  leaving 
his  battery  in  vexation,  "what  do  you  think  of 
this?  Was  it  worth  the  trouble  of  getting  our  guns 
ready,  to  offer  fire  to  the  poor  cannon,  and  to  leave 
their  appetite  unsatisfied,  by  allowing  them  merely 
one  useless  volley,  which  had  more  the  appearance 
of  a  childish  salute  than  a  discharge  of  shot  *  Once 
again  I  ask  you,  father  Frank,  what  do  you  say  to 
this!  In  a  well  regulated  shop  it  never  happens  in 
this  manner;  if  the  master  says  to  his  clerks  '  it  is 
a  holiday  to  day,  well— it  is  a  holiday;  but  here — 
here — well  what  do  you  say  to  it,  master  Frank !" 

"  I  say,  Master  Kergouet,  I  am  not  one  of 
those  who  like  to  see  the  vessel  on  board  of  which 
he  serves  used  as  a  bait  for  the  enemy,  that  ahe 
may  be  taken  by  others,  and  I  am  not  pleased  at 
being  used  like  the  carrion  or  the  maggot  they 
place  at  the  end  of  a  line  to  catch  a  whiting." 

"  Don't  talk  of  the  maggot  it  is  too  disgusting, 
but  I  accept  the  comparison  of  the  carrion,  it  is 
more  delicate." 

"  Delicate  or  not,  if  I  am  not  deceived  the  com- 
mander is  no  more  pleased  than  we  are  with  the 
the  task  they  have  imposed  upon  him,  to  begin  the 
campaign  with,  for  he  looks  like  a  leopard  who  has 
as  many  teeth  as  hairs,  as  tin;  saying  is.  I  knew 
(iiroux,  who  is  dead  now,  he  was  master  on  board 
the  Robust  where  the  commandant  served,  who,  as 
he  tells  me  was  a  complete  hare  ,who. 

"  He  could  not  have  been  a  leopard  then,  if  he 


THE    WATCH    TOWER    OF    k'OAT-VEK. 


61 


was  a  hare,''  said  Master  Kergouet  with  an  ironical 
air. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  joker,  because  you 
speak  like  a  book,"  said  Master  Frank  with  a 
sneer.  "  Hare  or  not,  he  is  a  sailor,  and,  like  a 
sailor  he  hates  being  made  a  maggot." 

'•  Maggot  again,  Master  Frank,  it  is  revolting; 
but  stop,  putting  the  maggot  on  one  side  and  with- 
out imagining  I  am  superstitious,  it  i9  wearysome 
for  reasonable  people  who  believe  in  prognostica- 
tion to... ." 

"  Ah,  now  you  are  going  to  begin  your  nonsense;" 
said  Frank  interrupting  him;  "  slop.  Master  Ker- 
gouet, it  is  you  who  hare  made  such  a  fool  of  my 
nephew  Daniel  by  your  palaver  about  good  and  bail 
omens,  and  your  nonsense  about,  the  fire  of  St. 
Elmo,  you  have  made  him  tremble,  but  you  can't, 
bite  me;  my  skin  is  rather  too  hard,  my  old 
caj  man.'' 

And,  slapping  the  master  familiarly  on  the 
shoulder,  he  went  below. 

"  Can't  bite  me—  cas't  bite  me,"  repeated  Mon- 


sieur Kergouet,  with  a  disappointed  air,  "it  is 
your  skin  is  in  fault,  you  simpleton!  your  skin  is 
too  hard,  you  savage!  for  presages,  why  they  are 
like  the  barometer;  they  foretel  good  and  evil,  so 
I  tell  our  purser,  of  that  Spaniard  who  is  always 
as  melancholy  as  death,  and  never  seen,  but  for 
ever  shut  up  in  the  caboose.  Ah!  that  man  does 
not  belong  co  the  posterity  of  Adam,  a  child  can 
see  that  ;"  added  tin'  eanonnier  bourgois,  turning 
round  to  take  a  last  look  at  his  battery,  which  be 
so  ingeniously  called  his  shop. 

It  was  by  this  time  about  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon.  The  January  sun  shone  m  the  pure 
sky,  and  slowly  sunk  to  the  horizon,  tinging  it 
with  a  bright  anil  burning  red. 

The  Sylphid  floated  gracefully  on  this  magnifi- 
cent sea,  leaving  behind  her  on  her  left,  the  high 
lands  of  Brittany,  which  the  last  rays  of  tin'  sun 
covered  with  a  golden  tint. 

All  cj-es  were  directed  towards  the  shore,  when 
every  one  left  a  recollection  or  a  regret. 

For  a  departure  like  this  has  always  something 


II 


82 


THE    TEMrTATION;    OR, 


solemn  in  it;  in  a  time  of  war  particularly,  when 
yon  quit  your  country,  its  affections  and  habits, 
for  an  uncertain  future,  as  hidden  as  the  ocean 
when  covered  with  ■  I 

This  serious  and  profound  Bensation  « 
not  the  courage,  but  it  plunges  the  least  sensitive 
man  into  a  kind  of  dull  and  melancholy  reverie. 

On  this  aoconnl  the  t'n--t  day  of  departure  is 
usually  a  sad  one  on  board,  especially  when  yon 
see  tli  ■  smiling  like  a  friend,  who  bids 

you  farewell. 

( >r,  angry  as  a  creditor,  who  dings  to  the  shore 
and  :iT-s  his  debtor  depart. 

Or,  happy  as  the  debtor,  who  sees  bis  creditor 

( >r,  in  tears,  like  a  young  c;irl,  who  has  merely 
illeetion  of  a  fault,  gentle  and  cruel,  like. . 
all  the  faults  of  a  girl. 

Or. . .  .but  this  would  be  the  history  rS  the  lm- 
man  heart,  the  history  of  that  wonderful  prism, 
which  colours  the  same  earth  in  so  many  various 

But  once  at  sea,  well  out  at  sea,  as  soon  as  wc 
no  longer  Bee  anything  except  the  earth  and 
then  we  give  ourselves  up  entirely  to  this  new  life, 
and  its  chances,  its  perils,  and  the  emotions  that 
antly  rising,  and  absorbing  you  entirely, 
an  opportunity  for  recollection. 
liia  frivolous  character,  the 
count  did  not  escape  these  feelings;  so  that  after 
having  given  his  sailing  orders  to  the  lieutenant, 
he  retired  i  i  his  cabin,  and  t!i>  re  leaning  on  the 
blur  velvet  cushion,  that  surrounded  tbe  gilded 
window,  he  east  a  long  look  npon  the  coast  of  that 
France  where  ho  ha  I  pa  scd  so  many  happy  mo- 
ments, when  Monval  entered,  after  having  been 
announced  by  Henrys  valet  de  chambre,  and  said 
to  him, 

amandant,  the  look-out  an  the  coast  asks 
for  our  number. 

'•  Well,  give  it  to  him,  sir,"  said  Henry 
at  being  disturbed  at  this  moment;   '•  what  is  the 
name  of  this  curious  look-out?'' 

It  is  one  recently  established  at  the  tower  of 
Koat-Ven,  commandant;  stay,  you  can  see  ii  IV.  m 
this  place." 

ir  would  be  difficult  to  describe  the  effect  that 

nam<\  pronounced  at  such  a  lime,  at  such  an  hour. 

had  upon  Henry;    be  Unit  his  brows,  bowed  to  the 

officer  as  if  be  wished  him  to  retire,  and  began  to 

the  cabin  wi  h  ri  les. 

The  cabin,  that  bore  evidence  of  the'  taste  of  M. 
Doquin,  formed  an  oblong  square,  the  walls  of 
which  were  hidden  by  thick  blue  embroidered 
satin,  framed  in  rods  of  ■  Id;  a  maguificent  Tur- 
key carpet  covered  the  flooring,  and  two  wide  and 

aopies  of  ^ilt  wood  exten  led  along  its 

length  on  each  side  of  the  centre  door,  which  was 

covered  with  satin  of  the  same  colour. 

In  front  of  these  canopies,  and  on  the  longest 

-.;•!■  s  of  tiie   room,  the  four  windows  of  the  poop 

with  their  velvet  cushion;,  and    ' 
gracefully  flung  over  cornices,  and  retained  in  their 
places  by  brilliant  strings  of  acorns  and  golden 
Fringe. 

li  end  of  this  cabin  was  a  glass  'I 
of  which  communicated  with  a  dressing  room,  and 

the  other  with  a  both. 

The  door  of  the  principal  entrance,  which  we 
have  said  was  concealed  by  a  Eal    •  door, 
into  the  dining  apartment,   and  to    the    left    was 
Henry's  bedchamber,  equal  in  all  respect;  to    the 
most  elegant  boudoir. 


Finally  there  was  an  ante-room,  in  front  of  the 

dining  room,  where  bis  moitre  d  hotel  and  valets 
rem  tuned. 

At  the  door  of  the  room,  on  the  "tin  deck,  two 
:..  armed  with  pikes,  mounted  guard;  and 
others,  seated  on  benches,  awaited  any  orders 
Henry  might  have  to  send. 

In  the  cabin,  beneath  each  of  the  canopies,  a 

transparent  compass  v. :.-,  suspended  to  the  ceiling, 

t  whether  Boated  or  lying,  the  commander 

could  always  tell    the  direction  in  which  the  ship 

was  sailing. 

And  then,  on  shelves  placed  between  the  win- 
dows, and  curiously  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl, 
ivory,  ami  silver,  was  Henry's  rich  collection  of 

charts  and  nautical  instruments,  and  a  small  as< 
sortment  of  licentious  books  or  fashionable  ro- 
mances, together  with  all  the  known  works  on 
naval  strategy  and  tactics,  French,  English,  or 
Spanish.  Eor  Henry  bad  also  a  practical  know- 
of  the  two  last  languages,  having  remained 
a  considerable  time  in  the  various  posst  sions  of 
the  lwo(  ountries. 

Finally,  within  each  window  liter."  was  a  small 
carved  mahogany  box,  containing  the  rarest  flow- 
ers, which  the  faithful  Gerineau  attended  to  with 
great  care;  then  beneath  the  tables,  that  were 
buna;  to  the  ceiling  by  gilded  chains,  shone  the 
most  choice  Sevres  porcelain  and  Bohemian  glass, 
with  spoons  of  silver  gilt. 

I  had  almost  forgotten  the  Chinese  stoves,  cov- 
ered with  cardinals  of  dazzling  scarlet  plumage, 
silver,  and  azure;  these  birds  appeared  as  if  alive, 
and  suspended  to  the  balmy  petals  of  the  flowers 
with  which  all  the  windows  were  enamelled. 

The  rooms  of  all  vessels  of  war,  although  suffi- 
ciently ornamented,  were  far  from  being  equal  to 
these,  in  sumptuous  elegance.  But  Henry,  thanks 
to  bis  large  fortune,  was  able  to  display  in  ibis 
small  space  a  luxury  replete  with  taste  and  ele- 
gance. 

1  eoning,  then,  against  one  of  the  windows  of 
this  splendid  cabin,  M.  de  Yaudrv,  weary  of  his 
agitated  walk,  contemplated  the  Tower  of  Koat- 
Ven,  which  was  still  visible  on  the  coast,  in  spite 
of  the  increasing  shadows  of  night. 

And  it  con  bo  truly  said,  that  Henry  at  the 
sight  of  this  tower,  which  recalled  nlyto 

his  mind  bis  adventure  with  the  duchess,  could 
not  avoid  thoughts  which,  if  they  were  not  bitter, 
were,  at  least,  melancholy;  but  a  melancholy  soft 
and  full  of  charms,  thai  made  him  deliciously  sad. 

For,  as  we  have  already  said,  a  man  never  suf- 
fers very  cruel  tortures  at  the  idea  that  throuj  b 
his  inconstancy  and  scorn  he  has  caused  a  woman 
to  die  of  sorrow. 

Such  cruel  tortures  rather  affect  him  who 
lieves,  that  the  forsaken  one  consoles  herself  for 

his  inc  and  disdain  by  living  happily  a 

long  and  merry  life. 

But   what    i    have    said   of   men    applies  more 

strongly  to  women;   for,  what  they  most  execrate, 

faithless  lover,  is  one  who  finds  consolation. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  sun  bad  Ion;;'  descended 
th  the  horizon,  and  the  count  was  still  look- 
ing in  the  din  eiioii  of  the  coast  of  France. 

But  Henry  was  nol  lb  only  one  to  whom  the 
Tower  i.l'  M-,  >[-\Yu  hail  been  the  cause  of  thought 
and  remembrance. 

There  was  Uumphius,  who  had  pa-  ed  many 
nights  on  its  platform  watching  the  stars. 

There  was  also  Sulpice,   the  good   Bulpice,  who 


THE   WATCH    TOW'EU   OF   KOAT-VEK. 


had  also  passed  many  nights  in  watching  his  bro- 
ther. 

And  there  was  Rita  and  her  attendant. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE    CABOOSE. 

"These  surprises  in  the  midst  of  sorrow,  these  short  enjoy- 
ments of  illusion,  assist  me,  to  a  certain  extent,  in  shifting 
misfortune  from  one  shoulder  to  another."— Tin:  Uakon  db 
Haussez. 

They  give  the  name  of  caboose  to  that  part  of  the 
false  deck  which  is  closed  in  above  the  first  plane 
of  the  hold,  and  under  the  forward  hatchway. 

It  is  here  that  the  rations  of  the  crew  arc  given 
out,  and  here  the  purser  usually  lodges. 

The  caboose,  a  dismal,  dirty  place,  rendered  in- 
fectious by  the  exhalations  of  the  provisions  it 
contains,  a  suffocating  spot,  where  the  air  and 
light  of  the  day  never  reach;  a  narrow  and  humid 
prison,  whose  walls  are  always  beaten  by  the 
waves  that  break  against  the  prow. 

This  was  the  place  Rita  and  Perez  had  inhabited 
for  the  last  six  days,  in  a  small  low  chamber  about 
eight  feet  in  length. 

The  duchess  was  stretched  out  upon  a  cot,  in 
man's  attire. 

Perez,  seated  at  her  head,  appeared  to  ho  attend- 
ing to  her;  for  through  the  loophole  of  this  cavern 
the  unfortunate  duchess  had  seen,  as  well  as  Hen- 
ry, and  at  the  same  instant  as  Henry,  the  Tower 
of  Koat-Von,  which  standing  out  white  against  a 
sky  darkened  by  the  approach  of  night,  appeared 
like  a  spectre  in  its  shroud. 

"I  feel  myself  better,  Perez,"  said  the  duchess, 
"  better;  but  I  could  not  resist  the  dreadful  emotion 
I  felt  at  the  sight  of  that  cursed  tower.  Oh,  Pe- 
rez! who  could  have  told  me,  six  months  since, 
when  I  went  there  so  happy,  my  soul  so  full  of 
joy,  to  console  a  being  I  imagined  to  be  suffering 
and  isolated;  when  I  dreamt  of  such  a  happy  fu- 
ture, when  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  thought  I 
really  lived?  Oh,  Perez!  who  could  have  told  me, 
that  this  day  I  should  again  see  the  same  place, 
but  forgotten,  faded,  hideous;  sailing  unknown  on 
the  same  sea,  as  that  over  which  he  and  I  have 
both  cast  our  eyes,  talking  of  love;  over  this  sea 
that  now  appears  so  beautiful  and  grand,  to  whose 
murmurs  we  listened  while  we  suspended  our 
kisses?  Oh!  how  dreadful  it  is  to  think  of,  Percy.! 
Why  do  I  not  go  mad?     Oh!  should  I  go  mad!" 

Then  the  duchess  was  silent,  and  a<rain  betran  in 
convulsive  accents. 

"Alas!  what  I  suffer— I  feel  suffocated!  Oh, 
God!  how  infectious  and  heavy  is  the  air  I  breathe 
here!"  And  she  added,  with  an  accent  of  heart- 
rending sorrow:  "  Oh,  my  chateau  of  Kervan,  my 
green  meadows,  my  shady  walks!  Oh,  Madrid  and 
its  Prado;  its  beautiful  summer  night!  Oh,  my 
almost  royal  existence — my  lands — my  palace — 
where  are  you?  Put  what  do  I  say?  why  these 
regrets?  after  all,  is  ic  not  still  all  mine?  Am  I 
not  still  the  Duchess  of  Almeda,  working  out  a 
sterile  vengeance?  I  could  have  this  man  slain  In- 
one  of  my  lacqueys,  and  then  it  would  be  over. 
I  should  recover  my  rank,  my  titles,  no  more 
should  I  go  to  prison  with  common  girls;  I  should 
not  be  scourged,  nor  dragged  through  the  mud  by 
the  soldiers;  1  should  not  be  shut  up  in  a  vessel 
with  sailors;    I  should  see  the  sun,  the  trees;  I 


should  posse,*  my  house  as  formerly,  my  gentle- 
men and  gentlewomen;  because,  after  all,  I  am 
Btill  tlic  Duchi  of  Almi  -cried  Rita,  in  the 
excitement  of  delirium.  For  the  new  emotion 
with  which  she  was  overcome,  sorrow,  hatred,  and 
suffering,  had  overthrown  her  r 

"  Madame  In  Duchesse  d'  Almeda  is  dead,  ma- 
dame,  dead— do  you  hear?"  s:iid  Perez,  in  a  low, 
hollow  tone,  with  the  sang  froid  that  usually  cha- 
racterised him. 

His  well-known  voice  recalled  the  wandering 
thoughts  of  Rita,  and  pressing  her  attenuated 
hands  on  her  forehead:  "Oh,  pardon,  Perez!  I 
was  wandering;  I  was  regretting  the  past;  but 
after  all,  after  all  I  have  suffered,  it  may  well  be 
allowed  in  a  poor  woman,  may  it  not?  But  see 
you  not,  to  judge  by  my  sorrow,"  she  added,  with 
a  bitter  laugh,  '■  see  you  not,  what  an  excellent 
inspiration  it  was  to  cause  myself  to  become  dead, 
and  disfigured — as  a  duchess  and  beautiful,  ob 
serve,  I  could  not  have  borne  the  frightful  tortures 
I  hare  endured.  At  the  first  trial  I  .should,  like  a 
coward,  have  abandoned  nvy  vengeance;  I  should 
merely  have  killed  him;  while  the  more  I  suffer, 
the  more  I  endure,  and  the  less  can  I  make  up  my 
mind  to  kill  him— kill  him! -kill  him!—  Wha*t 
would  that  be  to  what  I  have  endured?  And  then 
again,  there  is  always  time  for  that.  No,  no,  he 
must,  in  the  first  place,  be  dishonoured,  betrayed, 
tortured;  and  the  poison,  we  mixed  with  their 
food,  will  bring  that  about.  Oh,  I  am  certain  of 
it!— stay,  Perez!"  said  the  duchess,  opening  the 
book  of  Jose  Ortez,  and  pointing  out  these  lines 
to  Perez,  "  read  this :" 

"And  their  features  became  livid,  and  their 
sleep  was  disturbed  by  horrible  dreams,  and  they 
lost  their  strength  and  gaiety,  and  from  brave  men 
they  became  cowards;  and  the  hands  of  the  young 
trembled  like  the  hands  of  age,  and  they  became 
meagre  and  looked  like  spectres,  and  their  wan- 
dering ej-es  rolled  in  their  orbits,  and  they  died  in 
the  midst  of  a  horrible  delirium." 

Then,  violently  closing  the  book,  "  Tell  me, 
Perez,  when  these  unfortunate  men  shall  find 
themselves  thus  attacked,  and  that  he  a 
exempt,  what  vengeance  will  they  not  take?  What 
frightfully  superstitious  ideas  will  not  arise  in  their 
rude  minds?  And  then,  sec  you,  Perez,  now.  it  is 
not  my  slighted  love  alone  I  have  to  avenge,  it  is 
not  this  man  that  I  regret;  it  is,  besides,  my  name, 
my  fortune,  my  sumptuous  life,  my  comforts,  in 
fact,  of  which  I  know  all  the  value,  from  the 
misery  and  ignominy  I  now  endure.  It  is  horri- 
ble, it  is  weak  to  acknowledge  it;  but  so  it  is:  I 
presumed  too  much  on  my  strength,  1  had  not  suf 
ficient  purity  for  a  vengeance  of  this  description, 
or  rather  he  is  not  worthy  of  it — he—  so  much 
i\\  tor  him  alone  docs  him  too  much  honour. 
Merely  to  regret  him,  and  to  reckon  this  life  of 
dirt  and  filth  to  which  I  have  led  myself  as  no- 
thing; no,  no,  all  that,  Perez,  all  that  is  now  as 
powerful,  perhaps  more  so,  in  exciting  my  rage, 
as  his  infamous  deceit  The  brook  has  become  a 
torrent,  Perez,  a  torrent  that  drags  all  into  its 
stream.  For  I  care  little  for  the  means,  so  that 
my  vengeance  is  terrible.  Terrible,  because  1  have 
felt  and  endured  all,  all.  Peres,  the  weight  of 
chains,  the  mud  they  threw  in  my  face,  the  blows 
they  inflicted  on  me,  on  me,  Peres.  .  . .  thy  mistress 
— me.  Oh,  hell!  oh,  curses!  but  i:  was  an  ineffa- 
ble enjoyment  compared  to  what  1  am  preparing 
for  him."  I  could  tear  out  this  man's  heart  to  de- 
vour it  all  blooding.''    And  Rita  half  raised  her- 


f 


M 


THE    TEMPTATION;    OT!, 


mi'l  straightened  her  arms,  it  was  dreadful  to  |     Tlie  dismal  looks  of  Perez,  the  perfect  solitude 

-  rolled  in  their  orbits. ..  .ami  she    in  which  he  had  lived  since  he  had  been  on  board, 

trembled  in  all  her  hi  his  foreign  accent,  and   hi.^  melancholy  looking 

At  :hi>  instant  a  bell  a  landed  ;  it  was  the  bell    dress,  had  made  a  great  impression  on  the  sailors' 

for  evening  pray  minds,  who,  in  their  moments  of  leisure,  always 

"What  is  that.   1 '.  r.  . ':'    -aid  Rita,  the  sound    amused  themselves  with  the  most  trifling  matters, 

bringing  back  her  reeoUecti  and  magnified  their  importance  with  their  usual 

M  it  is  the  hour  fur  prayer,  madame,  for  these   exaggeration;  and,  in  addition  to  this,  his  rude 

men  pray."  maimer  had  not  assisted  in  conciliating  the  good 

"  Well,  then,  1  also  will  pray,"  cried  the  duchess,    feelings  of  the  men,  who.  according  to  their  custom 

"hat  I   will  pray  to  Satan,   the  deity  of  evil,    of  giving  men  nicknames,  had,  at    Losophe's  sug- 

Satan,  thou  alone  art  the  chief  ruler  of  this  infa-    gestion,  baptised  him  Grand  Gibet,  on  account  of 

mous  world!   Satan,  to  thee  am  I  devoted;  thee  I    his  sad  and  austere  countenance, 

intreat;  abandon  me  not! '  Losophe*  had  no  other  cau3e  for  hating  Peres, 

And  Rita  became  insensible.  excepting  that  he  had  been  surprised  by  theSpan- 

•■  Calm  yourself,  madame,  calm  yourself !''  said    iard,  on  one  occasion,  when  he  was  endeavouring 

Peres,  "  I  hear  some  one."  to  steal  sonic  of  the  pro\  isions  from  the  caboose. 

And   Peres,  Beuung  a  lanthorn,  rushed  to  the       Besides,  there  was  more  fear  than  wickedness  of 
door  and  opened  it -lint  he  saw  nothing.  intention  in  Losophe's  behaviour  towards  Peres. 

Ad  was  silent  in  the  darkni  But,  I  know  not  by  what  fatality  Daniel  observed 

When  he  returned  to  Rita,  he  found  her  over-    to  Losophe,  on  one  occasion,  that  Grand~Gibet  was 
come  with  a  deep  prostration  of  strength,  which    never  present  at  morning  or  evening  prayers,  and 
had  succeeded  her  violent  rage,  and  rendered  the    that  all  the  crew  said  the  same. 
feelings  of  the  unfortunate  woman  rather  more       This  was  like  a  ray  of  light  for  Losophe,  who, 
calm.  speculating  on  the  credulity  and  simplicity  of  the 

unfortunate  Breton,  began  by  telling  him  the  most 
|  ridiculous  and  terrible  talcs  about  Perez,  and  prov- 
ing to  him,  by  a  multitude  of  arguments,  each  more 
stupid  than  the  preceding,  that  Grand  (Jibct  was  a 
supernatural  being,   who  must   bo  connected  with 
the  devil,  because  he  was  never  present  at  prayers, 
ami  that  he  had  the  power,  if  he  willed  it,  of  en- 
(       »_   riching  you,  or  injuring  you,  of  making  you  high- 
admiral,  emperor,  or  1  know   not  what;  in  fact, 
confusing  poor    Daniel  by  all  manner  of  tales,  he 
A  r  the  very  instant  the  duchess  invoked  Satan,  a    concluded  by  declaring  that,  by  means  of  a  charm 
slight  noise  was  heard,  as  we  are  aware.  he,  Losophe,  possessed,  as  one  initiated   in  the  sc- 
Although  Perez  saw  nothing  in  the  darkness,   crets*  of  magic,  he  could  enable  the  Breton  to  be 
two  men  were  nevertheless  hidden,   and  heard  all,  i  witness  to  the  interviews  of  Grand  Gibet  with  the 
but  without  understanding  anything,  it  is  true,  for  I  devil,  and  could,  perhaps,  even  make  him  partici- 
Rita  and  her  attendant  always  conversed  in  Span-  |  pate  in  his  power. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 


IHL   CnAKH. 


ike  tl:<>  foot  of  a  fro 
Lb  1'kti  i  Albert. 


and  three  swallows' 


idi;  but  a  single  word  had  been  noticed  by  the  two 
carious  listeners— that  word  was  •■  Satan." 

The  two  listener.,  were  Daniel  and  Losophe. 

It  will  be  remembered,  perhaps,  that  at  the  con- 
clusion of  some  affair  about  a  rosary,  Daniel  had 
though  tit  to  hurt  Losophe's  feelings  by  adminis- 
tering a  multiplicity  of  fisticuffs,  as  Master  Ker- 
gouet  said. 

And  Losophe,  as  full  of  rancour  as  a  poet,  was 

determined  to  be  revenged  on  Daniel,  and.  that  he 

!  in  his  intention,  the  lirst  thing  he  did 

forget  the  blows  so  liberally  bestowed  by 

the  Breton,  and  by  cunning  and  hypocrisy  he  had 

ed  in  creeping  a  good  way  into  his  con- 

fidi  nee. 

We  also  know  that  Daniel  was  one  of  the  blind- 
est and  most  intrepid  1  Sb  ners  to  M.  Kercouct, 
when  that  admirable  oiiionuier  bourgois    told    bis 

terrible  talcs,  of  which,  the  flying  Dutchman,  the 


Such  was  Losophe's  plan,  and  what  seemed 
must  necessarily  facilitate  its  execution  was  the 
following  fact:  — 

Rita  had  come  on  board  at  night  and  scarcely 
any  one,  with  the  exception  of  the  lieutenant  and 
the  cl<  rk  who  had  entered  her  as  purser's  assist- 
ant,—scarcely  any  one,  I  say,  knew  that  Peres  bad 
a  companion. 

But  Losophe,  who  was  always  skulking  about 
the  caboose  for  the  purpose  of  stealing  wine  or 
eau-de-vie,  according  to  custom,  had  often  heard 
the  imprecations  or  sobs  of  the  duchess,  su  that  lie 
made  up  his  mind  to  cause  the  mysterious  com- 
panion of  Peres  to  be  taken  for  Grand  Gibct's 
familiar' spirit,  and  thus  to  amuse  himself  with  the 
confiding  Breton,  making  him  pay,  at  the  sanst 
time,  very  dearly  for  the  charm  he  had  promised 
him. 

In  fact,  Losophe  brought  Daniel  three  or  four 


fire  of  the  devil,  or  the  condemned  pilot,  were  times  to  the  door  of  Perez's  berth,  and  the  novice, 

always  the  heros.  hearing    the    Voice   that    answered  the  Spaniard  in 

So  that,  thanks  to  a  combination  of  idea-,  com-    an  unknown  tongue,  a etimes  filled  with  rage,  at 

mon  enough  amongst  ardent  and  narrow-minded  others  with  indignation,  firmly  believed  that  Grand 
men,  Daniel,  notwithstanding  bis  religious  belief,  I  Gibet  had  a  familiar  demon,  and  fell  easily  into 

dreamt  of  nothing  but  fate,  magic,  demons,  and  every  trap  Losophe  thought  lit  to  set  for  him. 

men  devoted  t-i  good  or  evil  genu.  This  time  matters  appeared  much  worse,  when 

Not    one  of  these   dispositions  of  his   mind   es  Daniel  heard  distinctly  the  name  of  Satan. 

caped  the  notice  of  L  sophc,  who,  without  having  "Well,"  said  Losophe  to  bim,"you  see,  [did 

.■my  definite  intention,  always  encouraged  them,  not  tell  you  a  lie,  they  are  speaking  in  the  language 

imagining,  perhaps,  that  he  might  turn  them  to  his  of  the  Sabbat,  which  neither  you  nor  I  understand, 

profit  or  revenge,  when  a  very  common  accident  but  Grand  Gibet  called  on  Satan  in  a  Jtpud  voice,.  I 


gave  him  the  hope  of  satisfying  both 


I  hope  that  is  clear,  he  repeated  it  often  enough— 


THE    WATCII    TOWER    OF    KOAT  VEN. 


85 


Satan,  Satan,  Satan.     If  he  be  nut  a  sorcerer,  yon  ' 
are  one,  Daniel.'" 

"Certainly,  he  said,  Satan,''  replied   the  .simple 
Breton,  crossing  himself,  with  a  terrified  air.  "  He  | 
said   so,  but  what  can  this  beggar   Grand  Gibet 
want  with  the  devil  on  board?" 

"  You  see  very  well,  my  dear  boy,"  answered 
Losophe,  "  that  is  his  secret,  and  I,  who  am  at 
present  only  what  you  may  call  lieutenant  of  ma- 
gic— and  I  am  not  one  of  that  isind  to  say  1  know  j 
when  I  do  not  know;  for  of  all  things  you  ought 
not  to  deceive  a  friend — a  true  friend,  like  you, 
Daniel." 

"Are  there  lieutenants,  then,  in  magic,  as  well 
as  in  the  sea  service,  Losophe?"  said  Daniel,  much 
interested." 

"  All  the  same  grades,  my  dear  boy,  but  every 
thing  is  always  done  fairly  in  magic-  If  you  are 
'good  magician,' well,  your  next  rank  is  'better 
magician;'  as  if  you  were  to  say,  lieutenant  in  the 
art,  if  you  are  '  better  magician,'  you  are  next 
'very  good  magician;'  which  is  the  same  as  the 
captain  of  a  sloop.  Then  again,  if  you  are 'very 
good  magician,'  your  next  grade  is  'famous  ma- 
gician,' and  so  on.'' 

"You  are  'belter  magician,'  then,  Losophe?" 

'•  For  these  seven  years,  ihroe  months,  and  one 
day.  But  the  Count  St.  Germain,  who  is 'most 
excellent  magician,'  as  if  you  were  to  say  Admiral 
in  the  art,  has  'promised  to  make  me  '  very  good,' 
the  first  vacancy  that  occurs." 

"  But  what  is  it  to  be  '  better  magician?'  "  asked 
Daniel  with  great  curiosity. 

"Oh,  my  dear  fellow,  its  simple  enough!  what 
is  it  to  be,  Daniel.'  why  to  be,  Daniel,  is  it  not  ? 
well,  it  is  all  the  same  thing." 

"  That's  true,"  said  the  Breton,  much  enlightened 
by  this  lucid  definition, 

'•But  tell  me,  Losophe,  what  would  be  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  charm  you  told  me  I  should  have 
for  a  certain  sum  !" 

"First,  it  will  enable  you  to  see  the  devil;  and 
if  it  were  only  on  that  account,  it  is  a  pleasant 
thing  to  be  able  to  mention  it  in  company,  or  to 
the  young  ladies,  who,  according  to  your  physiog- 
nomy, you  must  be  in  the  habit  of  visiting.  So 
much  for  the  pleasure  of  the  thing;  for  as  the  wise 
man  says,  defile  dnrci.  As  to  the  use  of  it;  when 
you  once  know  what  the  devil  is  like,  why  you 
may  defy  him." 

'•  Ought  I  to  defy  Grand  Gibet  also,  Losophe  V 

"  I  think  so;  for  look  you,  this  Grand  Gibe'  is 
perhaps  worse  than  the  devil;  i'or  after  all,  in  the 
case  of  the  devil,  it  is  natural  for  him  to  be  a  devil, 
he  could  not  be  otherwise;  but  in  Grand  Gibet  it  is 
sheer  wickedness,  do  you  see,  downright  villany. 
So  with  my  charm — should  Grand  Gibet  be  a  fated 
man,  or  cousin,  to  the  flying  Dutchman,  you  would 
know  it  at  once.  And  knowing  it,  you  must  take 
care  never  to  bo  without  your  rosary  in  your 
pocket,  and  then  he  will  not  be  able  to  injure  you." 

The  word  rosary  recalled  his  old  grievances  to  the 
novice,  and  be  exclaimed,  "  Then  why  did  you  tie 
mine  to  your  dog's  tail,  you  rascal  !" 

"  I'or  the  sake  of  the  charm,"  said  Losophe 
gravely,  '•  on  account  of  the  charm,  which  I  knew 
you  would  ask  me  for.  Asa  lieutenant  magician  1 
can  always  foresee  what  charms  will  be  demanded 
of  me." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  make  this  charm  with, 
Losophe? ' 

"  To  make  my  charm,  Daniel,"  said  Losophe  with 
a  thoughtful  air,  telling  oil'  on  his  lingers  the  ingre- 


dients necessary  to  perfect  the  wonderful  operation, 
"  to  make  my  charm,  first  I  want  a  black  fowl,  but 
it  must  be  as  black  as  jet,  that  is  essential;  then 
five  leaves  out  of  a  mass  booh — a  Dutch  ch<  i  e  — 
a  six  livre  crown  piece  — three  ends  of  wire— a 
piece  of  twenty-Jour  sols — seven,  you  hear  me 
well  —  seven  measures  of  eau  de  vie,  another 
crown  of  six  livres,  but  it  must  be  marked  with  the 
cow,  a  pair  of  worsted  stockings,  and  a  piece  of 
beef  lor  St.  Medard,  but  it  must  not  be  too  lean, 
and  there  must  lie  no  bone  in  it." 

'•  Has  St.  Medard,  then,  any  thing  to  do  with  the 
charm?" 

'•  What  do  you  mean;  any  thing  to  do  with  the 
charm!  did  not  I  baptize  him  for  the  express  pur- 
pose ?  Did  I  not  tell  j-ou  it  was  on  that  account 
I  took  your  rosary,  when  you  behaved  so  unjustly 
towards  me  with  those  heavy  blows  on  the  back 
with  your  fist?  Not  that  I  reproach  you  in  the 
least  on  that  account,  dear  Daniel,  on  the  contrary 
I  was  much  flattered,  because  when  1  foresaw  that 
you  would  become  my  friend,  it  told  me  that  I 
should  have  a  very  powerful  friend." 

"You  would  have  discovered  it,  Losophe,  with- 
out that.  But,  Losophe,  is  a  fowl  absolutely  ne- 
cessary for  your  charm?" 

"  Must  have  a  fowl,  and  a  black  fowl  too,  Daniel," 

"  As  to  a  fowl,"  said  Daniel,  scratching  his  head, 
"  that's  a  difficult  thing  to  get  at ;  and  yet  there  are 
plenty  of  fowls  in  the  commandant's  coups  —but  it 
is  very  wrong  to  steal,  Losophe — very  wrong." 

"  But  it  is  not  stealing,  my  dear  boy,  it  is  for  a 
charm;  and  when  it  is  for  a  charm,  religion  allows 
you  to  do  it;  indeed,  religion  can  oblige  you  to  do 
it." 

"Do  you  think  so,  Losophe?  But  then  I  have 
only  seen  white  fowls  in  the  coop,  and  you  want  a 
black  one,  as  black  as  jet,  you  say." 

"  Ah,  you  beggar  of  a  Breton,  how  thick  your 
head  is,"  said  Losophe,  quickly,  "  I  wanted  a  black 
fowl  no  doubt,  but  in  case  there  were  none  but  black, 
then  there  would  be  no  white  fowls,  then  a  black 
fowd  would  be  indispensible,  so  would  a  white  one 
be  when  there  arc  none  but  white:  so  that  you  see 
very  well,  that,  on  the  contrary,  a  black  fowl  would 
be  worth  nothing  at  all— a  black  fowl  would  he 
dreadful,  it  would  spoil  the  charm  — it  is  absolutely 
necessary  it  should  be  white.  Oh,  what  a  thick 
head  you  have!  It  is  a  white  fowl,  I  tell  you,  a 
white  fowl,  and  the  whiter  it  is  the  better." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  wring  the  neck  of  a  white 
one,  so  much  the  worse." 

"That's  right;  but  you  must  take  care  to  put 
the  head  and  feet  in  your  hammock." 

"  In  my  hammock !  is  that  to  assist  the  charm, 
i  Losophe?" 

'•  Yes,  a  part  of  the  charm;  but  as  you  are  a 
good  fellow,  I  will  explain  that  to  you:  the  claws 
of  the  fowl,  you  see,  Daniel,  an  intended  to  make 
the  devil  walk  before  you,  and  the  head  i  -  to  enable 
you  to  see  him;  it  is  for  the  same  purpose  as  the 
cheese,  to  attract  him  by  its  sweet  smell,  the  eau 
de  vie  is  to  surround   him  with    (lames,  the  worst)  d 

stockings  are  to  enable  me  to  walk  in  the  flames 

without  burning  my  legs,  the  ends  of  wire  are  to 
tie  him  with,  and  the  leaves  out  of  the  mass  b  oil 
to  make  him  speak.  I  tell  this  to  yon,  Daniel,  be- 
cause you  are  a  friend,  but  you  must  not  mention 
it  to  any  one  else." 

"  And  the  two  six  livres  crowns,  and  the  twenty- 
four  sol  pieces,'  said  Daniel,  "what  effect  have 
they  on  the  devil,  Losophe?" 


Bfl 


TBI    l  !  Ml  i  ITIOK)    <>i:. 


bribe  him  by 
means  of  boH-m 

•  But  St  Medard,  Losophe,  what  has  he  to  do 
with  t!u>  devil  with  his  pi  ,  not  too  lean 

and  w ithoal  any  l> 

•A!i  you  are  very  selfish,  Daniel  I  Ought  not 
strengthen  himself  beforehand  to 
defend  me  in  ease  the  uevil  roars;  for  he  has  been 
known  to  roar  Bometim 

•■II  i  S:.  '.-  '  -i  .:•  power  i'vcr  the  devil, 
ie?" 

•II.  he  any  power!  Ibelieve  he  has,  since 
your  rosary  n  is  tii  1  to  his  tail;  he  nearly  has  o 
grade  equal  to  that  of  a  singing  boy,  and  he  is 
more  able  to  bother  the  devil  because  the  devil  will 
have  no  suspicion  of  a  dog'.*' 

It  would  hare  been  impossible  to  answer  inn 
:  rlv  manner,  or  with  more  precision  or 
clearness,  Daniel's  cunning  and  embarrasing 
questions;  who,  certain  now  that  he  had  made  a 
good  bargain,  took  out  two  six-livre  crowns  and  a 
three-livre  piece  from  a  long  leather  purse  he  car- 
ried next  his  skin,  and  gave  them  t  >  Losophe,  ask- 
ing him  fur  change  out  of  his  three  livre-p 

"Do  '(  men  n  it,"  said  Losophe,  in  the  most 
disinterest  d  manner,  shaking  Daniel  by  the  hand, 
and  putting  the  fifteen  livrea  in  his  pocket,  don't 
:  it  Daniel, if  the  charm  succeeds  you  know 
well,  1  siuli  not  be  stingy  enough  to  say  a  word 
to  yon  about  it;  once  more,  Daniel,  don't  talk  of 
the  change^  unless  you  wish  to  rex  me." 

The  novice,  convinced  by  Losophc's  generosity, 

busied  himself  in  collecting  the  things  that  were 

:v  for  the  accomplishment  of  the  charm. 

.\s  for  the  cheese  and  theeau  de  vie,  he  said,  "I 
will  save  them  out  of  my  rations;  I  can  find  the 
bits  of  wire  any  where;  I  have  a  mass  book  that 
belonged  to  my  poor  mother,  which  lean  tread; 
for  the  worst)  d  stockings,  1  have  a  pairmy  cousin 
[rone  bought  for  me  at  the  Pardon  of  Plougastel; 
for  the  beef.  St.  Medard  shall  have  my  ration  this 
evening.     But  you  promise  me  that  with  all  this — " 

"With  this,  said  Losophe,  "when  you  have 
piven  me  all  these  things,  and  I  have  completed 
the  charm,  that  you  shall  see  the  devil,  and  when 
you  have  truce  seen  him,  as  I  have  told  you,  you 
may  defy  him,  and  if  you  defy  him  he  can  do  no- 
thing to  you.  unless  indeed,  it  be  to  load  you  with 
money,  and  confer  rank  and  honour— perhaps  king- 
doms upon  you, — or  ev»  u  make  you  a  Roman  cin- 
peror;  but  you  had  bitter  not  calculate  on  being 
made  a  Roman  emperor,  for  that  does  not  often 
occur.'1 

"But  if  I  don't  ■'  ■■  the  devil,  Losophe?'' 

"If  you  iio  not  see  him.  it  will  bo  because  the 

charm  li  tbefowl  was  not  of  a  suf- 

ficiently brilliant  white;  then  it  must  be  done  over 
a^ain — you  must  alvt  a;,  s  repeat  it  until  it  succeeds.1 

'■  Quite  right,  Losophe,  and  for  my  part,  1  -hall 
continue  to  thwack  you  well  until  it  does  succeed,1' 
added  Daniel  in  a  gentle  voice,  showing  at  the  same 
his  mutt,  n  fist. 

'•  V'  rv  will,  I  will  allow  you  to  do  it,  Daniel," 
said  Losophe  calmly,  "indeed  I  will  insist  on  your 
doing  it,  if  the  charm  mils;  yea,  Daniel,  I  will  even 
make  you  sign  a  paper  to  oblige  yourself  to  break 
my  back  ami  pummel  me  with  your  fist,  if  the 
(•harm  di  es  not  bucci  ed.  So  that  you  see  I  don't 
wish  t"  di  ceive  y  u." 

What  an  nrer  could  be  made  to  such  a  proof  of 
cand  in.  .  ft  rther 

. 

the  charm,  Losophe? ' 


•'  Not  at  all,  my  dear  boy,  not  at  all.  1  can't  en- 
able you  to  see  it,  fori*  1  did  it  before  you.  ymi 
would  not  i"  r  a  magician  to 

be  able  to  Bee  it.  although  one  of  the  low  er  order, 

still  \  on  must  be  one  " 

"  And  what  is  the  lowest  rank?" 

'•The  rank  of  foremast-man  in  magic,  Daniel.'' 

"  Indeed,  I.esophe!" 

"  It  is  easily  understood,  my  dear  boy,  for  since 
the  highest  rank  is  'most  excellent  magician,'  tli" 
lowest  must  needs  be  *  wretched  magician,1  '  said 
Losophe,  without  changing  countenance. 

"  Hut  can't  I  be  '  wretched  magician,1 "  said  the 
ambitious  Daniel. 

"  Oh,  very  well,  when  you  have  caused  a  charm 
to  be  worked  you  can,  an  1  indeed  you  owe  it  to 
yourself  and  your  respectable  family;  but  it  will 
cost  you  a  vast  deal."' 

At  this  moment  the  dialogue  was  interrupted  by 
the  1)  •!!  ringing  for  prayers. 

'  IVavi  re,  prayers.''  said  Daniel  springing  up 
the  ladder. 

'   Wait  for  mo,"  cried  Losophe. 

Then,  seeing  Daniel  mounting  the  ladder,  "Oh, 
the  cursed  Breton,  I'll  avenge  myself  for  your 
Won  ,"  -aid  Losophe,  '  at  any  rate  it  is  as  gO0d  as 
fifteen  livres,  and  enough  to  give  me  ami  St.  Me- 
dard a  hearty  meal.  Oh,  you  beggarly  Bretonl 
Ah,"  added  Losophe,  as  lie  went  tojointhe  crevi 
at  evening  prayers,  "  Ah,  you  beggar  of  a  Breton, 
you  are  sale  to  have  your  hide  well  flayed,  even 
if  you  escape  with  your  life. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


THE    COUNCIL. 


••  Ymi  ore  a  being  full  of  artifices 

i  lb.  <i'"l !  oh  God  !  what  ahull  I  do  lioi  '  >uj  iu  '.''■ 

BUQKS. 

Tun  crew  of  the  Sylphid  for  eight  days  after  it 
had   left   Brest,  had  a  pleasant  voyage,  for  the 

breeze  from  the  north  west  still  continued  iavoura- 
ble  for  them. 

Although  they  were  not  far  off  the  latitudes 
where  the  English  cruisers  consulted,  they  had 
not  a^  yet  seen  a  single  ship  of  the  enemy. 

l)ut,  alas!  better  would  it  have  been  for  the  fri- 
gate to  have  fallen  in  with  two  ships  of  the  line, 
and  seen  herself  surrouiufil  by  fire  and  sv.onl,  or 
to  have  !;.  i  n  swallowed  up  by  the  sea,  than  to  en- 
dure that  icy  and  funereal  calm  thai,  made  her  re- 
u  immense  sepulchre. 

For  Pert  /.had  executed  the  designs  ofliita. 

A  tolerably  strong  dose  ofTshetnek  having  beet. 
mixed  with  the  flour  and  bread  of  the  en  w,  and 
with  the  wine  andean  de  vie  they  drank,  it  wm 
not  long  before  frigb  ful  symptoms  manifested 
themselves. 

So  that  on  the  morning  of  the  eighth  doy.Henry 

summoned  a  council,  consisting  of  the  lieutenant, 
the  doctor,  and  the  abbe. 

Henry,  whose  looks  were  in  general  so  lively 
and  happy,  now  betrayed  a  feeling  of  deep  v<  xa- 
liiin  and  sorrow. 

The  lieutenant  and  the  doctor  seemed  much  ab- 
sorbed, lhe  abbe  alone  maintained  his  calmness, 
usual  self-] 

When  i  a  li  had  taken  his  place,  "  Gentlemen," 
said  Henry,  "  fov  the  last  three  days  in  particular, 
a  Strang  has  attacked  the  crew;  what  is 


I 


THE    WATCH   TOWER    OF   KOAT-VEN. 


BJ 


your  opinion  of  the  subject,  doctor?  and  wh  it  ad- 
ditional observations  have  you  made  on  this  now 
disease?'' 

"  I  think,  commandant,"  said  doctor  Gedeon,  who 
appeared,  in  the  serious  circumstances  of  the  case, 
to  have  forgotten  his  politics  and  philosophy,  "  I 
think  I  see  the  effects  of  some  disease  I  cannot 
explain,  nor  can  I  understand  the  en  use.  The 
symptoms  I  have  observed  in  this  disease  are,  that 
it  begins  by  an  exhibition  of  great  weakness,  head' 
aches  and  vertigo,  the  next  day  a  general  prostra- 
tion of  strength  takes  place,  loss  of  appetite,  and  a 
burning  thirst,  the  day  after  extreme  weakness,  and 
a  sleep  disturbed  by  horrible  dreams.  It  is  the 
same  to  day,  but  the  symptoms  are  more  severe; 
this  is  the  state  at  which  we  have  arrived,  Count. 
But  what  I  am  fearful  of  is,  that  the  disease  will 
became  worse,  for  the  men  are  in  such  a  depressed 
state  they  can  scarcely  be  induced  to  take  any  nou- 
rishment, and  what  is  extremely  singular  is  the 
fact,  that  all  the  healthy  sailors  have  been  attacked 
by  the  disease,  while  five  or  six  who  are  on  the 
sick  list,  and  kept  upon  low  diet,  have  been  exempt 
from  it." 

"  It  cannot  be  the  badness  of  the  water  that  has 
occasioned  it?"'  asked  the  commandant. 

"We  have  scarcely  been  at  sea  eight  days,  and 
it  ought  to  be  perfectly  sweet." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  doctor,  "  the  water  is 
good  and  clear;  you  also  saw,  commandant,  when 
we  paid  a  visit  to  the  caboose,  that  the  provisions 
were  excellent,  and  that  the  purser,  the  Spaniard, 
neglected  nothing  to  keep  the  false  deck  aired,  and 
tool:  every  imaginable  care  to  prevent  the  provi- 
sions being  spoiled;  I  must  again  repeat,  com- 
mandant, that  I  am  completely  at  a  loss." 

"  And  yon,  lieutenant,  what  have  you  observed 
as  to  the  condition  of  the  crew?" 

"  We  can  scarcely,  commandant,  find  sufficient 
hands  to  work  the  frigate  under  the  small  press  of 
sail  we  cany.  They  are  completely  enervated, 
without  courage  or  strength,  and  even  the  bonds  of 
discipline  are  relaxed." 

"And  I  am  told  also  by  the  watch  that  a  kind 
of  inexplicable  feeling  of  irritation  exists,  the  object 
of  which  I  cannot  comprehend,  but  particularly 
among  a  certain  number  of  the  sailors,  who  have 
nightly  meetings,  though  I  cannot  discover  where 
or  for  what  object,  fin-  menaces  and  imprecations 
are  often  heard,  and  I  have  given  orders  to  some 
of  the  picked  top-mast  men  to  be  always  prepared, 
in  spite  of  their  malady,  in  case  the  discontented 
men  should  make  any  attempt  against  their 
officers." 

,:  And  you,  chaplain,  can  you  give  any  farther 
information  or  any  advice  in  the  matter?"' 

"All  I  know  has  been  confided  to  me  under  the 
seal  of  confession,  Count,  and  I  am  not  permitted 
to  divulge  it,"  said  the  Abbe. 

'•  Zounds,  sir,"  cried  the  lieutenant,  <:  this  is  not 
a  time  for  hypocrisy  atul  mummery,  the  welfare  of 
us  all  is  at  stake,  and — " 
|  "As  to  advice,''  continued  tin,'  Abbe,  without 
noticing  the  interruption  of  the  lieutenant,*  as  to 
advice,  Count,  if  the  unhappy  condition  of  the  crew 
arises  from  any  physical  cause,  that  is  the  business 
of  the  medical  man;  if  the  state  of  discipline  of  the 
crew  is  at  fault,  you  must  rectify  it  by  the  influence 
you  ought  to  possess  over  the  minds  of  the  men. 
I  also,  commandant,  will  use  my  besf  end 
in  the  unhappy  situation  of  the  men,  to  encourage 
their  hope  and  resignation  by  the  words  of  the 
holy  Scriptures." 


"  And  I,  commandant,"  cried  doctor  Gcdeon,  de- 
lighted at  finding  an  opportunity  of  mortifying  the 
Abbe,  who  never  spoke  to  him,  "  I  declare  that  I 
will  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  the  sick  if  the 
Abbe  takes  upon  himself  the  ta>k  of  fright* 
them  by  his  nonsense  and  folly  about  religion.  As 
long  as  they  are  alive  they  belong  to  me,  once  dead, 
lie  may  do  as  he  likes—" 

'■  Silence,  sir,"  said  Henry,  in  an  angry  tone,  in- 
terrupting the  doctor,  whose  mad  langu 
produced  no  effect  on  the  Abbe,  "  silence,' 
ued  the  count, "  what  you  have  said  is  extremely  im- 
proper, the  Abbe  imposes  his  counsel  on  no  one, 
those  who  seek  his  assistance  are  too  happy  to  ob- 
tain it;  you,  attend  to  the  health  of  the  sick  sailors, 
for  that  is  your  duty  here,  you  understand  me,  sir; 
if  you  attack-,  in  my  presence,  and  with  so  much 
impropriety,  so  serious  and  elevated  a  character 
as  that  of  the  chaplain.  I  shall  be  obliged  to  punish 
you,  sir,  and  that  severely." 

"  It  appears  to  me,  commandant,"  said  Jean 
Thomas,  •'  that  a  discussion  of  this  kind  has  nothing 
to  do  \\  ith  discipline,  and  that  if  the  chaplain  is  not 
satisfied,  he  may — " 

"  It  appears  to  you  in  a  very  wrong  light,  sir,' 
said  Henry,  interrupting  the  lieutenant,  "  and  once 
for  all  understand,  that  I  never  permit  any  person 
on  board  to  be  bold  enough  to  make  the  ! 
mark  on  what  I  say  or  what  I  do.  I  have  before 
now,  M.  Thomas  perceived  signs  of  discontent  on 
your  part,  that  were  only  puerile,  but  now,  in  the 
unhappy  situation  in  which  we  find  ourselves,  the 
least  mark  of  insubordination  becomes  a  dangerous 
example,  so  that  I  expect  to  be  passu  e!y  obeyed 
—  obeyed  in  everything,  and  for  any  purpose — 
obeyed  without  a  word  and  without  hesitation; 
otherwise,  sir,  you  will  find  me  rather  harsh  and 
severe." 

"  1  know  the  commandant  has  the  power  of  pla- 
cing me  under  arrest,"  said  Thomas,  ironically, 
"under  arrest,  although  !  am  forty  years  of  age; 
unfortunately  at  thirty  punishment  has  little  effect 
on  a  boy  of  that  age! ' 

Henry  cojolly  answered: — 

"When  a  boy  of  thirty  changes  not,  do  you 
know  what  it  is  the  duty  of  a  commander  who  is 
not  obeyed,  to  do,  M.  Thomas— obeyed  on  the 
minute  — the  second— do  you  know?" 

"  That  depends,"  said  Thomas  in  an  insolent 
tone. 

"  That  depends,  in  fact,  on  the  disposition  of  a 
man;  and  according  to  mine,  sir,  at  the  least 
symptom  of  want  of  discipline  on  your  part,  I 
would  blow  your  brains  out." 

"  Zounds,  commandant,  that  is  to  be  >  •.  a!"  ex- 
claimed .Tear.  Thomas,  rising  in  a  passion;  carried, 
in  spite  of  hi;  I  the  limits 

ce,  which   1  shibited   t  ■ 

superior,  be  he  who  lie  might;  but  he  also  •, 
of  the  general  feeling  of  suffering  and  di 
from  which  the  Count  alone   appeared  to  be  ex- 

"Be  seated,  sir,"  said  Henry,  with  the  ■ 
coolness  in  the  world,  "  the  council  ;. 

Then  addressing  the  d  the  chaplain, 

who  had  rem:.!M.  d  unmoved  during  this 
unmoved  as  if  they  formed  no  part  of  it,  l!" 
continued: 

'•  Continue,  gentlemen,  to  bestow  your  care  and 
watchfulness  upon  the  crew;  give  me  notice  of  the 
most  trilling  occurrences;  and  above  all.  gentlemen, 
pray  endeavour  to  restore  four  sailors. 

1  have  ordered  my  maitre  d  hotel  to]  lace  my  cellar 


88 


THE    TEMPTATION  ;    On, 


and  stores  at  your  disposition  for  the faene8t  of  the  I  weakness,  and  neither  the  violin  of  the  daneine 

:V\   ;.  a      i'"""    !  !n'.'  \"r  '•'!'■ -v"u  '.".  ^eaTO™.to    l!,;Kt,'r-  ««>r  the  yelping  of  St.  Medard  were  heard, 

to  irritate  the  delicate  ik'ims  of  tlio  canonnier 


relievo  ns  from  our  fatal  position.    Gentlemen,  the 

council  is  at  an  end.'' 
Tiny    : 

••  A  thousand  pardons  for  the  doctor's  outbreak," 
said  tlic  Count  to  the  Abbe  who  rose  to  salute 
him. 

••  The  Count  is  too  good,"  said  the  Abbe,  "  but 
I  did  not  understand  him;  it  is  a  language  1  do  not 
speak." 


bourgou. 

Itumphins  and  Sulpice,  boarding  at  the  com- 
mandant's table,  had  escaped  the  general  infection, 
ol  which  the  astronomer  was  unaware,  absorbed 

:i-  he  «;h  i;i  his  calcul  itions  ami  meditations. 

Sulpice,  when  ho  thought  his  services  were  not 
needed  by  his  brother,  placed  himself  at  the  dis- 
position of  the  doctor,  begging  of  him  as  a  favour 
And  he  left,  followed  by  the  doctor,  who  observed:    to  he  allowed  toaitend  to  the  sick,  a  task  of  which 
"Ah,  perhaps  he  .speaks  Turkish."  i  he  acquitted  himself  « ith  all  the  angelic  kindness 

Ine  lieutenant  was  about  to  retire,  when  the    for  which  he  was  celebrated. 
fount  said  to  him:  Going  from  one  to  iheother,  encouraging   ex- 

"  You  are  under  arrest  for  fifteen  days,  sir."  horting,  and  raising  the  spirits  of  the  most  timid 

rhomas  made  a  movement,  which  he  instantly    in  which   he  was   sometimes   successful,   Sulpice 
>.l  through   his   involuntary  respect   for    ended  in  being  adored  by  the  crew,  who  gave  him 
discipline;  hut  a  tear  of  t eentrated  anguish  and    the  surname  of  Bon  Jesus,  in  the  same  manner  as 


humiliation  glistened  in  his  eve, 

Henry  noticed  it.  and  said  to  Jean  Thomas  as 
ho  conducted  him  to  the  door  of  the  cabin 


they  had  named  Perez  Grand GibcL 

The   most  singular  thing  was  the  contrast  be- 
tween this  Christian  and  pious  appellation  and  the 


•■  When  any  one  ol  my  officers,  M.  Thomas,  be-  oaths  and  blasphemous  sayings  that  accompanied 

heves  hmiseli  i-njustly  punished,  I  never  admit,  it  it,  as  an  evidence  of  the  energetic  admiration  and 

is   true,  ,.f  any  objection  being  made  as  long  as  he  gratitude  of  the  sailors. 

ml;  but  when  our  cruize  is  over,  I  always        But,   alas!  in  spite  of  all  his  care  and  attention 

place  my  epaulettes  m   my  pocket,  in  order  thai  1  the  health  of  the  crew  became  weaker  every  day' 

may  give  satisfaction  for  any  wrong  1  may  have  and  the  duchess  had  nearly  completed   her   ren- 

involiintarily  committed."  eeance. 


"  I  thank  you  for  your  off.  r,  commandant,  but  I 
took  an  oath  before  my  mother  never  to  draw  my 
sword  in  satisfaction  of  por.-onal  revenge.  You 
have  placed  mo  under  ai rest— it  is  in  your  power 
to  d. i  so,  and  I  will  endure  the  punishment j  be- 
ranse  it  is  my  duty  to  do  sa"  And  he  bowed  to 
the  commandant  and  left  the  cabin. 


CHAPTER  XL. 


THE  tshett:k. 


"  A.l^autiful  science,  upon  my  word."— Srn: li.fr. 

AVr.  have  already  said  that  since  Perez  had  im- 
plicitly followed  the  direction  of  Rita,  the  unfortu- 
nate crew  of  the  Sylphid  could  no  longer  be 
lized. 

It  was  no  longer  the  merry  song,  shouts  and 
bla  [ h<  my,  which  the  presence  ol'  the  officers 
scarcely  retrained;  no  more  long  yarns,  spun  in 
the  forecastle,  or  the  jocular  tales  of  which  Losophe 
uas  the  llonier.  Tie-  tale-tellers  were  silent,  as 
>  :it  the  approach  of  a  storm. 

The     •  ■:•>••:'  radiant   and    open,  were 

now  wan  umliRfle;  those  vigorous  limbs  were  as 
'('ley  were  maimed  ;  no  more  merri- 
ment. Tbf*unl'ortunate  sailors  se  med  isolated 
within  their  narrow  bound-,  and  looked  threaten- 
ing and  distrustful. 

Scam  ly  could  all  the  energy,  threats,  or  promi- 
se, of  the  commander  and  his  officers  force  the  men 
to  execute  the  manoeuvres  of  the  vessel,  which  had 
been  made  as  simple  as  possible.  The  masters  thcru- 
Belves,  lost  their  authority  day  by  day,  and  sh,nved 
much   had  physical 

weakness  worked  upon  their  minds.  Master  Frank, 
always  lively  and  overflowing,  appeared  dull;  and 

Master  Kergouet  a.:  wed  himself  with  impunity 
to  be   looked   upon  as  a  sea  faring  man    by  every 

holy. 

Losophe  and  li     log  partook  of  the  universal 


geance. 

About  two  hours  after  the  council  was  dissolved, 
the  wind,  that  hitherto  had  blown  briskly  from  the 
north-east,  began  to  sink  by  degrees,  and,  at  the 
end  of  an  hour,  there  was  a  perfect  calm. 

The  clear  horizon  grew  cloudy  in  the  wet.  and 
when  the  sun  set,  it  disappeared  behind  a  laj#e 
wall  of  thick  clouds,  of  a  blueish  black  tint,  tinged 
here  and  there  with  a  reflection  of  fiery  red;  in 
other  respects  it  was  a  perfect  calm;  not  the  hast 
breath  of  air  swelled  the  sails;  there  was  but  little 
sea,  and  the  frigate  scarcely  rolled. 

All  hands  were  piped  below,  and  the  chaplain 
mounted  the  deck  to  repeat  the  evening  prayers. 

The  commandant  ami  the  officers  appeared  in 
uniform  on  the  quarter  deck,  and  the  boatswain's 
whistle  was  heard  ns  a  signal  for  the  pious 
exercise. 

The  sailors  came  on  deck,  some  scarcely  able  to 
support  themselves,  while  the  strongest  assisted 
the  weaker. 

The  prayers  were  listened  to  with  the  most  serious 
attention,  for  the  strange  disease  that  had  smitten 
the  crew  for  the  last  few  days  had  directed  their 
minds,  if  not  religious,  at  least  superstitious,  to  se- 
rious and  melancholy  thoughts. 

Among  the  more  devout,  Daniel,  and  five  or  six 
of  his  country  men,  natives,  like  himself,  of  Abrcvaek, 
were  noticed,  who,  since  the  commencement  of  the 
epidemic,  never  quitted  each  other;  thus  forminga 
little  society  firmky  united  in  the  midst  of  the  ge- 
neral distrust,  which  appeared  to  be  oneof  the  cha 
ractcristies  of  this  strange  malady 

Master  Kergouet  frequently  associated  with  this 
club,  which  held  its  meetings  at  night  on  the  false 
deck,  and  it  was  through  their  connection  with  the 
master  that  Daniel  and  his  friends  enjoyed  a  kind 
of  tacit  protection,  by  which  they  were  enabled  to 
ass  mble  without  being  disturbed;  for  the  master 
gave  them  notice  of  the  lieutenant's  movements. 

The  reason  of  this  partiality  of  the  canonnier 
bourgois  for  Daniel  and  his  friends  was  simple 
enough:  Master  Kergouet,  professing  a  complete 
belief  in  all  past,  present,  and  future  superstitions, 
experienced  an  unheard  of  pleasure  in  meeting,  in 


THE    WATCH    TOWER    OF    KOA'I-VrV. 


*9 


Daniel  and  his  friends,  formed  an  auditory,  excel- 
lently disposed  to  listen  and  bo  convinced.  So 
that  the  canonnier  sometimes  meeting  his  prose- 
lytes, assisted,  by  his  dreadful  stories,  in  inflaming 
still  further  their  narrow  and  credulous  minds. 

After  prayers  the  sailors,  sad  and  melancholy, 
descended  to  the  gun  deck,  to  sling  their  hammocks. 

Half  the  crew  remained  on  deck,  where  Henry 
had  caused  tents  to  be  erected  to  render  the  watch 
less  fatiguing,  although  it  had  been  abridged  one  j 
half. 

The  lieutenant  was  on  deck  with  Saint  Saureur. 

Henry,  dreadfully  dispirited  at   tin-  weakness  of  i 
his  crew,  had  retired  to  his  cabin,  and  (here,  lean- 
ing against  the  windows,  he  watched  ihe  setting 
sun,  which  appeared  to  make  him  uneasy  as  to  the  • 
night. 

In  fact,  the  sun,  having  now  completed  his 
course,  merely  cast  a  reddish  reflection,  and  its  ' 
last  rays  scarcely  tinged  the  contour  of  the  large 
and  sombre  clouds  that  each  minute  increased  in 
height,  and  by  degrees  tilled  the  deep  curve  of  the 
horizon.  I 


It  was  still  a  deadcalm. 

Henry  foresaw  that  the  wind  was  about  to 
spring  up  in  the  west,  but  that  a  considerable  time 
would  elapse  before  the  breeze  and  the  gale  would 
set  in.  lie  remained,  therefore,  still  gazing  on  tho 
sky  without  noticing  it;  thinking  on  the  fatality 
tic  seemed  to  press  upon  his  crew,  and  above  all, 
afraid  of  meeting  some  ship  of  war,  that  would 
oblige  him  to  have  recourse  to  a  shameful  ti  ; 
or  he  e.uilcr  ihe  necessity  of  blowing  up  his  frigate, 
for  Henry  would  not  have  hesitated  an  instant, 
resolved  to  avoid  the  least  humiliation  of  the  king's 
flag. 

The  Abbe  was  walking  on  deck;  and  the  lieu- 
tenant, on  the  quarter-deck,  also  noticed  tin-  wea 
thrr  with  uneasiness. 

But  a  curious  Bcene  was  taking  place  at  the 
same  time  in  the  cal 

Formerly,  as  at  the  present  time,  there  was  B 
circular  gallery,  a  kind  of  corridor  on  the  false 
deck  of  a  vessel,  that  surrounded  the  interior  of 
the  ship,  leaving  an  empty  space  between  the  sid.-s 

of  the  vessel,  forming  a  receptacle  for  the  bags 


12 


90 


fllK   TEMPTATION;    OR, 


"1 


;.nJ  other  properly  oi'  the  crew.  Thi.-  gallery  was 
intended  i"  facilitate  the  movements  of  the  caulk- 
ers Mil  carpenters  daring  an  action,  to  enable 
them  the  more  readily  to  stop  the  1 

the  ship's  timbers. 

It  was  in  this  obscure  retreat,  Daniel  anil  his 
pays  held  their  nocturnal  meetings. 

On  this  evening  none  of  Daniel's  countrymen 
found  themselves  on  the  watch;  and  after  prayers 
they  had  met  to  the  number  of  six. 

As  they  could  not  place  themselves  two  abreast 
in  the  narrow  gallery  where  tiny  had  assembled, 
they  were  seated  in  tile,  one  behind  the  other,  and 
Daniel  alone,  in  his  quality  of  orator,  was  placed 
facing  his  auditory,  that  he  might  have  a  good  view 
cf  them. 

This  obscure  corridor  was  only  lighted  by  the 
reddish  reflection  of  a  lamp  that  burnt  in  the  cock- 
pit. 

Daniel's  features,  generally  happy  and  open, 
bore  a  dull  and  sorrowful  expression.  lie  appeared 
particularly  thoughtful;  his  cheeks  were  furrowed 
as  much  in  consequence  of  the  disease  as  through 
tlie  tales  of  Losophe,  which  had  made  a  lively  un- 
it on  his  ardent  and  superstitious  imagina- 
tion. 

Believing,  and  firmly  too,  in  these  visions  and 
supernatural  tales,  Daniel  found  himself  in  a  state 
of  the  most  perfect  halucinatJon,  which  the  singular 
events  that  had  taken  place  on  board  had  considera- 
bly increased.  In  this  manner  his  quick  short  mode 
of  speaking,  his  distracted  look,  and  religious  de- 
portment, had  made  him  a  kind  of  prophet  on  the 
lower  deck.  His  influence  was,  nevertheless,  di- 
rect and  powerful,  particularly  on  the  six  sailors 
who  were  his  countrymen,  and  being  almost  always 
in  his  company,  since  the  appearance  of  the  epi- 
demic, they  almost  mechanically  partook  of  his 
fears,  superstitions,  doubts,  and  projects,  and 
waited  only  for  a  word,  or  a  mere  sign  from  him, 
blindly  to  execute  his  orders;  for  in  difficult  cir- 
cumstances, the  most  stupid,  as  well  as  the  most 
reasonable  man,  who  will  but  imagine  any  thing, 
will  always  find  hands  to  execute  it. 

It  was  in  Low-Breton  patois  that  Daniel  delivered 
the  following  words: — 

"Sailors,  my  fine  lads,  my  countrymen;  let  us 
first  pray  to  our  holy  Lady,  of  Kecouvrance  to  in- 
tercede for  us,  and  to  enlighten  us." 

And  then,  after  a  short  silence,  Daniel  continued : 

"  Sailors,  my  fine  lads,  my  countrymen;  for  the 
first  month  after  we  placed  our  baggage  on  board, 
were  we  not  as  happy  as  a  lugger  in  a  calm,  when 
-iie  feels  the  breeze  rising?" 

"  True;"  replied  the  auditory,  in  a  low  voice. 

'■  Were  we  not  strong,  and  bold — bold  enough 
grate  our  vessel  with  an  English  garland, 
which  we  could  have  made  by  tying  them  together 
by  their    arms  alone,  that  would   have    an 
the  purpose  of  cords?" 

"  That  is  true;"  said  his  hearers. 

"  Were  we  not  such   eaters,  that  we  could  have 
put  the  cook  in  his   cauldron  to   thicken    tl 
with?" 

'•  True;"  replied  they. 

"And  now  what  are  we, my  Bailors?  hungerless 
and  weak." 

'  It .,  true,  its  true,  Daniel,"  exclaimed  his  he  art  r  . 

"Well,  mj  sailors,  do  you  know  why  we  arc 
thus?  It  is  fate;  we  are  on  board  a  fated  ship. 
That's  clear  enough— why?  because  if  that  were 
not  the  case,  we  should  not  have  been  taken  rick 
as  we  were— all  of  u  .  my  countrymen,  all  of  us. 


Is  not  this  right?  Can  it  be  any  thing  except  a 
fate,  that,  in  one  day,  could  change  a  crew  of  one 
fellows  into  a  crew  Ox  cowards?  Once  again  I  sa}' 
it  is  a  spell;  it  e  in  be  nothing  else  but.  a  spell.'' 

"Yes,  yes;  that's  well  known.  Besides,  master 
Kergouet  has  told  us  the  name,"  repeated  the  whole 
chorus. 

Well,"  my  countrymen,  if  it  must  be  brought  to  a 
olOM;  it  must  be  put  an  end  to  while  we  have 
Btr<  Dgth,  because,  to-morrow,  perhaps,  we  shall  be 
dead;  and  the  worst  cf  it  is,  that  when  a  man  die- 
on  board  a  fated  ship,  he  is  d  .  .  d,"  said  Daniel, 
crossing  himself. 

"  1). . .  .d."  said  the  sailors,  imitating  him 

"D..  ..d,"  continued  Daniel,  "like  u  i\i^  » 
r  Kergouet,  who  is  a  learned  man,  has  told 
me  so;  so  that  this  should  not  be  the  case,  my 
boys.  There  is  but  one  thing  to  be  done;  that  is 
to  get  rid  of  the  man  who  casts  the  spell,  but  that 
is  not  enough,  as  it  is  always  the  devil  himself,  or 
one  of  his  imps,  a  new  recruit,  as  it  were,  in  his 
crew;  we  must  not  fail  to  put  a  rosary  that  has 
been  consecrated  round  his  neck,  that  will  drag 
him  without  fail  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  on  ac- 
count of  the  burden  religion  is  to  him ; — because 
you  see  he  has  a  great  distaste  for  it,  as  Losophe 
has  told  me,  and  he  knows  it  well.  Without 
that  it  would  be  useless  to  cast  him  into  the  water 
for  the  more  you  throw  him  in,  the  more  ho  would 
rise  again.  Whereas,  if  he  has  a  consecrated  rosary 
round  his  neck,  and  a  couple  of  cannon  balls  ram- 
med into  his  claws,  there  is  no  fear  of  his  rising 
again.'' 

"  But  Daniel,  since  you  put  a  rosary  round  the 
devil's  neck  to  make  him  sink,  what's  the  use  of 
the  cannon  balls?''  said  one  of  the  sailors. 

"  You  animal !"  said  Daniel,  "  because  the  rosary 
makes  him  like  you  or  me,  and  the  cannon  balls 
are  quite  necessary,  because  without  them,  he 
would  rise  again,  like  you  or  I;  Losophe  told  me 
that  also." 

"  That's  true,"  said  the  hearers. 

"  At  length,"  said  Daniel,  with  frightful  energy, 
'  will  you  go  on,  or  remain  as  you  are?  Will  you 
die— yes  or  no.  Or  will  you  have  the  power  of 
saying,  'we  have  saved  our  comrades,  and  the 
brave  commander  we  adore?' "' 

"  Yes,  yes,  we  w  ill;"  cried  the  six  Bretons. 

"  Well,  then,  this  is  what  must  be  clone:  Lo- 
sophe, who  is  lieutenant  in  magic,  has  already 
gone  through  the  farce  of  a  charm,  which  has  not 
taken,  because  the  fowl  was  not  white  enough:  but 
I  thrashed  him  so,  in  a  friendly  way,  that  I  have 
damaged  one  of  his  eyes;  and -he  has  looked  over 
the  matter  again,  and  made  me  a  second  charm 
with  a  grey  fowl,  and  that  succeeded;  so  that  I 
Baw,  through  a  hole,  as  plain  as  I  see  you — " 

'•  What— what,  Daniel  !"  said  the  sailors. 

"  The  devil.'' 

"The  devil!  how  so,  Daniel — the  devil?" 

"In  'Grand  ( i  ibet's'  berth,  through  a  hole  I  made 
in  the  door  Of  the  caboose." 

"  In  '  Grand  Gibct's'  berth!"  repeated  the  audi- 
tors in  great  terror,  and  turning  involuntarily  to- 
wards the  door  of  the  caboose  where  Ferez  and 
Rita  lodged. 

"In  Grand  Gibet's  berth,"'  replied  Daniel,  "I 
saw  a  real  monster,  in  a  black  cloak  that  hid  his 
claws,  and  u  cap  to  conceal  his  horns.  The  wretch 
was  talking  to  Grand  Gibet  as  if  nothing  was  the 
matter,  but  in  a  patois  that  smelt  so  strong  of  sul- 
phur that  I  was  nearly  choked;  and  I  should  have 
thought  it  was  Losophe  burning  matches,  if  it  had 


THE   WATCH    TOWElt   0] 


'1 


not  been  the  devil:  the  smell  of  his  patois  must 
have  been  confoundedly  strong." 

At  this  instant,  a  slight  sound  was  heard,  and 
one  of  the  men  posted  as  a  vidette  announced  the 
arrival  of  M.  Kergouet. 

"My  boys,"  said  he  to  the  sailors.  "  we  must  go 
to  work  :  the  weather  is  getting  bud,  and  every 
instant  we  may  expect  a  strong  breeze  from  the 
west;  all  hands  will  be  called  on  deck,  and  yon 
must  be  ready.'' 

"We  will  go,  M.  Eergonet,"  said  Daniel;  "but 
as  you  are  so  learned,  tell  us  what  you  saw  in 
India,  on  board  the  Belle  Jeanne  brig,  \ou  know.'' 

"  Well,  my  boys,"  said  the  master,  who  could 
not  resist  the  pleasure  of  telling  a  tale,  "  the  brig 
Belle  Jeanne  had  a  sepoy  on  board,  who  perhaps 
for  the^fmrpose  of  punishing  his  wife,  had  adminis- 
tered to  her  such  deadly  poisons  that  she  died  of 
them,  saying  to  him  simply,  '  You  are  a  wretch  ; 
you  will  have  no  luck.'  Since  that  time,  my  boys, 
the  sepoy  I  have  told  you  of  enlisted  as  a  sailor  on 
board  the  Belle  Jeanne,  and  from  that  time,  a  day 
never  passed  that  the  Belle  Jeanne  had  not  the 
pleasure  of  a  strong  breeze  and  a  hurricane;  so  that 
one  day  the  sepoy,  who,  notwithstanding  all,  was 
not  a  bad  sailor,  was  carried  off  the  main-yard  by 
a  quail.  Well,  after  this  tempest,  the  Belle  Jeanne 
had  thes  finest  weather,  because  the  sepoy  was 
an  unlucky  man,  and  he  threw  his  ill  luck  over  the 
vessel  by  his  presence;  so  that  having  once  got  rid 
of  him,  nothing  more  happened.  It  is  all  quite 
simple,  my  boys,"  added  M.  Kergouet,  in  a  serious 
tone.  "But  above  all,  my  lads,  remember  you 
must  never  punish  men  as  fated,  unless  you  are 
certain  that  they  are  so;  because,  if  you  are  de- 
ceived, he  who  finds  himself  in  the  shark's  stomach, 
without  deserving  to  be  there,  will  have  the  privi- 
lege of  being  discontented  at  it,  and  much  the  more 
so  from  being  obliged  to  remain  there." 

"  But,"  said  Daniel,  silencing  his  auditory  by  a 
look,  "how  do  j*ou  know  a  fated  man,  master 
Kergouet?" 

"  He  is  known,"  said  the  master,  sententiously, 
"he  can  be  known,  because  he  has  cast  a  spell; 
and  when  a  man  has  cast  a  spell,  he  is  a  fated 
man." 

As  to  the  matter  of  reasoning,  the  master  evi- 
dently belonged  to  Losophc's  school — the  conse- 
quential school  of  logic,  it  might  be  called;  so  that 
its  lucid  nature  particularly  struck  Daniel  and  his 
hearers. 

"  But  in  our  case,"  continued  the  Breton,  in  our 
case,  who  do  you  think  has  cast  the  spell? — for 
there  is  a  spell,  is  there  not,  master?" 

"  As  for  a  spell— that  there  is  one,  is  an  incon- 
trovertible fact,"  said  the  gunner ;  "  for  everybody 
is  suffering  under  it.  I  feel  it  myself,  as  if  I  had 
not  a  bone  in  my  skin  ;  but  as  to  the  fated  man,  I 
am  not  yet  resolved  ;  for  it  is  a  very  delicate  affair 
to  send  a  man  overboard  to  be  washed  in  the  great 

tankard.   Still,  there  must  be  some  one.   But " 

and  he  was  interrupted  by  the  sudden  rolling  of 
the  vessel.  "  Stop,  my  boys  ;"  this  is  a  bad  day 
to  talk  of  these  matters.  Stay!  do  you  hear?  the 
vessel  is  gunwale  under ;  the  breeze  is  rising.  Up! 
up!  my  boys:  I  must  go  to  my  shop." 

And  Master  Kergouet  hurried  off  to  his  battery. 

"  Well,  my  lads,"  cried  Daniel,  "you  have  heard 
the  master  says  there  is  a  spell  upon  us;  and  yon 
know  a  fated  man,  by  his  having  a  spell  over  bun. 
Well,  there  is  a  spell  here,  I  hope;  and  who  is  it,  if  it 
be  not  Grand  Gibet?  because  he  is  friendly  with  the 
devil,  for  they  are  messmates.      And  now  a  storm 


has  arisen  to  make  an  end  of  us;  it  is  the  mo;: 

troke;  perhaps  it  is  our  last  bout  if  we  do 
not  make  an  end  of  the  beggar.     I 
finish  it,  my  bovs,'  ./led  Daniel,  alm< 
ri  in,  at  the  same  time,  and  takii  e  •  in 

one  hand  and  a  bundle  of  cord  in  the  other,  which 
he  had  hitherto  concealed  under  his  jacket.  "I  Iver- 
board  with  Grand  Gibet! '  he  exclaimed*  "up,  my 
boys,  up,  now  i;  the  time!"  and  they  all  . 

And  Daniel,  maddened  by  superstition,  sick 
fear,  and  the  noise  of  the  tempest  that  begai 
roar,  shook  his  fist  at  the  door  of  the  cabin,  that 
was  visible  at  the  end  of  the  gallery. 

Nothing  is  so  electric  in  its  effects  as  fear,  rage, 
and  superstition.  The  wretched  sailors,  always 
seeking  for  a  supernatural  explanation  for  every- 
thing; irritated,  also,  by  pain  and  an  inexplicable 
disease;  and  firmly  convinced,  that  the  sacrifice  of 
tiie  scapegoat  would  put  an  end  to  their  sul 
had  no  hesitation  in  doing  all  the  fanatic  Daniel 
advised  them. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  they  all  exclaimed,  with  concen- 
trated rage;    '■  overboard  with  Grand  Gibet!" 

"  Silence,  my  boys,  silence!"  cried  Daniel,  raising 
his  hand  authoritivcly;  "silence!— do  you  hear 
the  storm  ?  It  is  the  voice  of  heaven :  perhaps  what 
we  arc  about  to  do  is  wrong." 

He  added,  kneeling  down,  with  a  feeling  of  in- 
describable terror,  which  he  felt  struggling  in  his 
breast,  with  his  rage  against  Grand  Gibet! 

And  all  the  sailors  who  appeared  only  to  think 
and  act  by  Daniel's  will,  were  silent,  terrified  like 
him;  and  falling  on  their  knees,  they  also  looked 
round  in  terror. 

In  fact,  all  the  timbers  of  the  Sylphid  creaked ; 
and  the  whistling  of  the  wind,  as  it  howled  through 
the  rigging,  was  heard  even  in  the  false- deck. 
But  the  dismal  sound  continuing,  seemed  to  in- 
crease the  fear  or  rage  of  Daniel,  who  exclaimed, 
with  inconceiveablerageandinan  exasperated  tone, 
"  No,  no;  on  the  contrary,  heaven  wills  it,  heaven 
commands  it.  This  is  what  we  must  do ;  we  must 
enter  Grand  Gibet's  berth, seize  on  him,  strap  liiiu 
up  well,  put  my  rosary  round  his  neck,  and  then  to 
the  sea  with  him." 

"  To  the  sea!  to  the  sea !"  they  exclaimed. 

"  Follow  me,  then,"  said  Daniel. 

And  feeling  their  way  in  the  dark  with  their 
backs  against  the  side  of  the  vessel,  the  six  misera- 
ble men,  leading  each  other  by  the  hand,  silently 
directed  their  steps  towards  that  part  of  the  vessel 
that  was  occupied  by  Perez. 

Having  reached    the    door  of  the  caho 
again  applied  his  eye  to  the  hole  he  had  made. 

And  the  sight  he  saw  there,  and  pointed  out  to 
the  sailors,  was  sufficient  to  increase  the  supersti- 
tious terror  of  the  miserable  men. 

The  faint  light  of  a  lamp,  inclosed  in  a  glu-s 
globe,  alone  illumined  the  scene  that  was  taking 
place  in  the  caboose. 

Perez,  with  his  face  bathed  in  tears,  was  on  his 
knees  before  the  duchess,  who  was  dressed  in  a 
kind  of  morning  gown,  or  robc-dc-chambro,  of 
black  cloth 

Standing  upright,  her  pale  and  cicatrised  face 
scarcely  concealed  by  a  large  black  cap,  Rita  mul 
her  right  hand  placed  on  Jose  Ortez'  book,  that 
lay  open  on  the  table. 

It  was  truly,  a  frightful  thing  to  look  on-,  some- 
thing resembling  a  fantastic  illusion;  that  pale  face 
of  Rita,  who,  standing  erect  and  motionless  in  her 
long  black  robe,  seemed  as  if  she  were  ... 
spell  upon  Perez,  kneeling  at  her  feet. 


92 


Tin:   rBHFTATIOK;   on. 


The  duchess  spoke,  but  in  Spanish. 

"  AW-11,  too  see,  Peres,  all  has  succeeded;  our 
vengeance  is  nearly  :n-<-i >mplisliotl,  the  last  Btroke 
alone  is  wanting,  aud  that  is,  to  denounce  him  to 
the  crew  as  the  cause  of  these  dreadful  misfortunes; 
the  opportunity  i>  excellent.  Up  t.>  tbi 
moment  I  have  partaken  of  your  scruples;  the  men 
were  not  sufficiently  serious,  but  n<>\v,  in  a  time 
like  this,  do  you  stiil  refuse?  in  the  raids!  of  1 1» i— 
howling  stum,  that  will  '■"  come  horrible— horrible 
Peres— by  Satan — " 

"By  Satan,  did  you  heai  ?  cross  yourselves,  and 
go  forward;*1  said  Daniel,  almost  maddened  by  this 
strange  sot  ne. 

Aim  with  one  blowof  his  sturdy  shoulder  he 
bunt  open  the  door  of  the  caboose. 

The  noise  made  by  the  frigate's  timbers  a>  she 
yielded  to  the  rage  of  the  storm,  had  prevented  Pe- 
res suspecting  the  pre-  nee  of  Daniel  and  his  com- 
panions, but,  seeing  the  door  fall,  and  observing  the 
sinister  faces  that  tumultuously  presented  them- 
■  lvi  -.lie  rushed  forwards  :■>  meel  them,  exclaiming 
'•  Villains,  what  is  it  yon  want?  ' 

*  Bind  Grand  Gitx  t"  fast,"  said  Daniel  to  four  of 

ml  we  three  will  make  the  Other 
safe,"  cried  the  Breton,  rushing  upon  Rita,  "  you 
limb  of  the  devil,  Beelzebub,  you  shall  not  escape 
us,  by  our  Lady!"  roared  Daniel,  as  he  threw  his 
iver  Rite's  neck;  while  two  of  his  country- 
men pinioned  and  gagged  her,  and  the  four  others 
did  the  same  to  Perez,  who  was  unable  to  otter  any 
resistance. 

All  this  was  done  with  the  rapidity  of  thought, 
and  the  two  victims  were  bound  fast,  and  lying  on 
the  deck  without  the  power  of  making  the  least  re- 
sistance, or  uttering  the  faintest  cry. 

The  tcmpesl  was  terrible,  and  in  the  midst  of 
their  danger,  the  absence  of  the  six  sailors  was  no 
doubt  unnoticed. 

'•  Wail  for  ine,-'  said  Daniel;  and  he  left  the 
deck  precipitately. 

The  faces  of  the  six  sailors  were  as  pale  as  death, 
the  perspiration  rolled  down  their  foreheads,  and 
the  hair  stood  upright  on  their  heads. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  indefinable  fear,  and 
after  crossing  themselves  frequently,  that  they 
pointed  to  Peres  and  Rita,  who,  lying  on  the  deck, 
r-t ill  tilled  these  madmen  with  the  >-pe<  ies  of  terror 
the  tiger  inspires  when  caught  in  the  toils. 

In  an  instant  Daniel  returned  wilh  a  large  tar- 
paulin and  two  cannon  balls,  which  he  had  taken 
from  the  gun  deck. 

"It  is  a  stiff  breeze,  my  boys,"  said  ho,  '■  over- 
board, i»v(  rboard  with  the  sorcerer,  we  have  plenty 
of  time.'' 

Hearing  these  words.  Perez  and  Rita  opened 
their  eyes  i:i  terror;  for  neither  word  nor  gesture 
were  possible  to  them. 

•  Demons  of  infamy,  sorcerers  of  ill  luck,"  said 
Daniel  in  a  furious  rage,  enveloping  Peres  ami 
Rita  in  the  immense  tarpanhn,  a,  if  it  hid  been  a 
winding  -heet.  ■•  ah,  you  limbs  of  the  devil,  yon  will 
throw  a  spell  over  poor  sailors— but  you  did  not 
calculate  on  my  rosary — Losophe  told  me  that!" 

"Now  my  boys,"  he  added,  "  tie  all  tight;  roll 
up  their  beads  above  here,  and  place  the  cannon 
balls  at  tlei:-  feet,  and  then  carry  Ihem  up  through 
the  little  hatchway.'1 

All  tins  was  done. 

They  reached  the  gun  deck,  which  was  deserted; 
tor  all  the  sailors  were  on  the  maiudeck.  handling 
the  ropes. 


Daniel  opened  a  port  to  the  windward,  in  spite 
of  the  danger. 

The  four  men  who  cariied  tin-  (rightful  burden, 
that  was  agitated  by  violent  struggles,  and  placed  it 
on  the  port-hole,  one  half  out  the  ship  and  one  half 
w  ithin. 

•■  To  your  knees,"  said  Daniel,  taking  oft"  his 
cap.  and  saying,  "we  return  thanks  to  you,  our 
Lady  of  Reconvrance,  i'^r  having  delivered  us  from 
fate  and  from  sorcerers.'' 

Then  they  ero-sed  themselves  and  rose. 

"Nowl*'  cried  Daniel,  "  overboard  with  them, 
now!" 

And  the  niadinrn  threw  their  burden  over;  and 
it  disappeared  in  the  midst  of  the  fury  of  the  waves. 

And  this  waa  the  end  of  Perez  and  Rita — of  the 
duchess  of  Almeda,  and  her  faithful  sipiire.^ 


At  the  same  instant  a  monstrous  wave  rudiod 
through  the  open  port,  on  to  the  gun  deck,  and 
partially  inundated  it. 

"That  was  Satan  bidding  us  farewell."  cried 
Daniel,  closing  the  port;  ••  now  then  on  deck,  bat 
lie   silent,  and  the  ship  i>  saved." 

When  they  came  on  deek  they  found  the  crew 
dull  and  sad;  for  though  they  ought  to  sail  under 
reefed  topsails,  the  men  were  so  weak  that  Henry 
ordered  them  to  let  the  ship  run  before  the  wind. 

The  Count,  standing  on  the  quarter  deck,  jra\e 
his  orders  calmly,  and  his  features  brightened  up 
by  the  binnacle  lamp,  displayed  not  the  least. 
emotion. 

As  short  in  duration,  and  as  variable  as  the 
w  inds  of  the-.-  -i  ,i-  usually  are,  the  gale  soon  dimin- 
ished in  violence,  and  then  ceased.  A  heavy  rolling 
of  the  sea  was  all  that  remained  of  the  tempest, 
and  two  hours  afterwards,  the  wind  shifting  to  the 
north,  the  Sylphid  was  again  on  her  voyage. 

'•  I  cannot  tell,"  said  Henry  to  Monvol,  as  he  left 
the  dick  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  wind  hushed,  "  I 
cannot  tell  why  the  sudden  lulling  of  this  gale 
seems  a  happy  augury;  it  is  foolish  if  you  will,  but 
something  seems  to  tell  me  that  our  misfortunes 
are  at  an  end,  and  that  we  shall  soon  find  these 
winds  have  had  a  beneficial  influence  on  the  health 
of  our  crew,  in  fact,  1  feel  myself  much  less  dc- 
pr<  ssed  than  usual." 

"I  sincerely  take  part  in  your  wishes,"'  said  the 
officer. 

"  Zounds!''  Said  Henry.  Beeinghis  maitre  d'botel 
make  his  appearance, " do  better;  «ome  and  take  a 
share  of  my  supper  for  1  f<  el  a  devil  of  an  appetite, 
having  escaped,  I  know  not  how,  this  confounded 
epidemic;  you  shall  pass  your  opinion  on  the  talents 

of  my  new  cook;  he  belonged  to  M.  do  'ievres." 

And  Monval.  accepting  the  count's  invitation, 
went  below  along  with  him. 

De  Miran  remained  OS  the  watch. 

Next  morning  at  eight  o'clock,  when  the  pro- 
visions were  to  be  distributed  to  the  crew,  the 
sailors  went  to  the  caboose  for  their  rations. 

They  waited  in  vain  for  '('rand  Gibet.' 

As  he  did  not  make  his  appearence,  they  can: 
fully  sought  him  in  every  direction — but  their 
search  was  necessarily  in  vain. 

They  then  imagined,  and  with  much  probability, 
that  he  had  fallen  overboard  by  Occident  during 
the  storm,  but  that  the  darkness  and  the  noise  of 
the  wind  had  prevented  their  seeing  bun,  or  hearing 
his  cries. 

He  wa    not  much  regretted  onboard  the  Sylphid. 


— -- 


3IIX    WATCH    TOWER    OF    KoAT-VEN. 


93 


and  his  clerk  was  not  even  mentioned,  for  scarcely 
any  one  knew  of  his  existence;  those  who  had  seen 
him  before  they  left  Brest  imagining  he  had  re- 
mained on  shore,  as  they  put  to  sea  in  so  much 
haste. 

Daniel  and  his  countrymen  maintained  the  most 
profound  silence  on  the  event,  and  were  not  even 
tempted  to  think  of  it  until  they  saw  the  crew  re- 
cover their  strength  and  health,  for  after  the  disap- 
pearance of  Perez  and  Rita,  the  provisions  of  the 
sailors  being  no  longer  poisoned,  the  frightful 
symptoms  which  had  exhibited  themselves  ceased 
at  once. 

This  salutary  change  in  the  strength  and  feelings 
of  his  crew  filled  Henry  with  joy,  and  inspired  him 
with  an  ardent  desire  to  meet  the  enemy. 

A  quarter-master  was  placed  in  Perez'  situation, 
whose  death  was  recorded,  in  the  following  words, 
in  the  ship's  log: — 

"  15th  Feb.  1781.— Charles  Dales,  a  Spaniard, 
placed  on  board  by  the  chief  of  the  victualling  de- 
partment for  the  distribution  of  the  ship's  provi- 
sions, not  being  found  in  the  caboose,  nor  in  any 
Other  part  of  the  vessel,  it  is  believed  that  the  said 
Charles  Dales  was  washed  overboard  in  a  gale 
of  wind  the  ship  encountered  during  the  night, 
without  any  suspicion  arising  of  the  unfortunate 
occurrence.  In  witness  of  which,  the  clerk,  the 
commandant,  and  the  lieutenant,  have  signed,  &c" 

Thus  died  Perez  de  Sibeyra:  thus  died  the 
Duchess  of  Almeda. 

Poor  duchess!  of  so  high  an  origin;  fallenso  low. 

Poor  Rita!  whose  life  had  been  so  splendid,  so 
sumptuous;  who,  before  she  became  acquainted 
with  the  count,  rivalled,  by  her  rank  and  riches,  the 
greatest  families  of  Prance.  To  end  her  days 
thus,  after  havinjj  spent  months  in  a  bitter,  in- 
famous, and  miserable  life;  to  end  thus;  suffocated, 
drowned,  without  being  able  to  utter  a  syllable; 
Without  being  able  to  say  to  her  murderers,  "  Tell 
him  I  was  here;  let  him,  at  least,  tremble  in  learn- 
ing that,  lying  at  his  feet,  in  his  own  ship,  he  had 
an  implacab'e  enemy,  who  could  have  slain  him, 
but  who  did  not  slay  him,  because  it  would  have 
been  a  single  death  only,  and  she  wished  to  make 
him  die  in  the  midst  of  a  thousand  torments — a 
thousand  deaths. 

"  If  he  has  escaped  this  terrible  danger,  let  him 
know,  at  least,  that  he  ran  that  danger,  for  some- 
times a  man  dies  from  the  contemplation  of  the 
dreadful  peril  he  has  escaped.  Let  him,  above  nil 
things,  well  understand  that  what  sustained  my 
life  was  the  most  incurable  and  deepest  hatred; 
that  it  was  no  longer  bis  despicable  love  I  regretted 
with  tears  of  blood,  but  my  title,  my  name,  my 
fortune,  let  him  know  that,  at  least;  let  him 
know — " 

No,  duchess,  no ;  the  Count  de  Vaudry  will  know 
nothing  of  that;  be  will  never  know  it.  If,  in  his 
hours  of  idleness,  he  thinks  of  you,  his  thoughts 
will  be  sweet  and  flattering,  for  they  will  recall  to 
his  memory  an  angel  of  love  and  devotedncss,  who 
died  with  the  name  of  Henry  on  her  lips.  An 
adorable  woman,  who  preferred  death  to  living 
without  the  love  of  him  who  had,  nevertheless,  so 
dreadfully  deceived  her. 

If  he  thinks  of  you,  it  will  be  to  recall  to  his 
memory  the  pleasures  he  shared  with  you  former!)  : 
lo  remember,  and  tell  his  companions  in  del,  uci 
cry,  "That  ho  possessed  among  his  mistresses,  a 
Spanish  duchess,  whose  teeth  were  magnificent, 
form  divine,  and  hair  superb;  but  that  this  incom- 


parable woman  died  of  despair,  because  he  neg- 
lected her." 

In  one  word,  your  image  will  never  appear  to  his 
imagination  otherwise  than  smiling,  voluptuous, 
golden,  clothed  in  black  drapery,  by  way  of  con- 
tract. 

No,  madame,  no;  the  count  will  never  know  how 
much  you  hated  him;  he  will  not  die  in  the  midst 
of  a  thousand  torments,  as  you  w  ishcl. 

It  is  you  who  died  a  thousand  deaths,  it  is  yon 
who  renounced  beauty- rank— fortune,  it  is  you 
the  police  chained  with  public  girls  and  thievi  t ;  it 
is  you  a  jailer  flogged — you  duchess —  you,  so 
chaste  and  pure — you,  who  committed  but  one- 
fault,  a  sublime  fault— for  the  love  of  awoman  is 
noble  and  religious—  who,  possessed  of  all  human 
prosperity,  left  it  for  a  being  she  imagined  obscure, 
pious,  suffering,  and  resigned!  Such  was  your 
love  for  poor  Henry,  of  the  Tower  of  Koat  Yen; 
it  was  almost  that  of  a  mother  for  her  child— that 
of  the  Creator  for  his  creatures. 

And  then  you  wished  to  consecrate  that  love 
by  the  laws — you  w  ished  to  make  your  union  holy 
—inviolable—  eternal ;  to  settle  the  treasures  of  the 
world  and  of  your  heart  upon  him,  whose  whole 
possessions  you  believed  to  be  a  good  heart. 

Well;  in  spite  of  this— in  consequence  of  this, 
you  died;  I  tell  you,  a  frightful  death;  and  the 
bitter  despair— the  poignant  hate — the  moral  and 
physical  tortures  you  endured,  exceed  the  limits  of 
probability.  You  suffered  the  most  dreadful  de- 
ceptions, the  deception  of  love— the  deception  of 
vengeance,  for  you  relied  on  your  vengeance,  as 
yourelied  on  your  lover  with  one  of  those  deeply 
rooted  faiths  which  are  almost  equal  to  revelations. 
Well;  this  faith  deceived  you;  constantly,  and  at 
all  times;  your  plans,  conceived  in  the  madness  of 
hatred,  you  found  overthrown  by  the  most  trifling 
chances:  the  neglect  of  a  passport,  the  stupid  ere 
dulity  of  a  sailor.  You  died  a  frightful  and  un- 
known death,  and  no  one  pitied  you;  for  no  one 
knew  what  the  duchess  of  Almeda  suffered,  before 
and  after  her  death. 

As  to  your  death  to  the  world— your  death  as 
a  lady  of  rank,  it  was  sneered  at,  insulted,  calum- 
niated, and  long  since  not  spoken  of. 

Your  death!  it  was  a  satisfaction  for  the  self- 
love  of  those  you  hated,  or  those  who  envied  you. 
Your  death!  it  answered  the  purpose  of  filling 
up  the  conversation  of  Henry,  during  his  new 
amour  with  Madame  de  Cernan.  It  secured  him 
the  friendship  of  sir  George,  and  that  famous  duel, 
in  which  he  killed  M.  de  Cernan  so  honourably, 
and  wounded  M.  de  Saint-Cyr. 

Your  death!  it  made  the  Count  the  most  cele- 
brated man  of  the  day;  without  calculating  what 
an  excellent  subject' it  was  for  his  melancholy, 
when  be  was  weary  of  pleasure,  or  on  a  dismal 
day;  so  that  M.  de"  Vaudry  was  indebted  to  you 
for  an  additional  pleasure,  and  a  new  amusement 
And  that  which  is  still  more  dreadful  to  con- 
template is,  that  you  have  suffered  so  much  from  a 
heartless  man,  and  nothing  more  tor  a  handsome, 
lively  man  enough;  well  born,  brave,  and  rich,  it  is 
true,"  but  without  genius  or  high  spirit— in  one 
word,  for  one  of  those  charming  men,  one  of  those 
gilded,  but  insipid  fruits  that  are  grown  andra 
the  pale  sun  of  a  court. 

Oh,  it  is  horrible— horrible  above  all  tlrngs. 
for  you,  Pita,  I  imagine;  but  such  is  almost  always 
thecase  when  passion  and  selfishness  are  con- 
cerned; or  when  a  woman  omits  to  seek  tor  the 


\)i 


THE    TEMlTATlOX;    OR, 


consolation  of  misfortune  in  a  religion  lull  of  hope  | 
and  resignation. 

It  also  arises  from  that  inscrutable   providence  i 
that  generally  protects  men  like  the  Count     Yes,  | 
they  always  care  whal  iscallen  /«cA-,  and  then,  in 
this  grand  game  of  humanity,  they  are  always  sna- 
il.   They  cheat,  but  they  winj  it  is  dreadful, 
but  they  enjoy  it;  it  n  not  justice,  but  it  is  a  fact — 
it.  and  I  will  bring  you  instances:  I.ueullus,  | 
Alcibiades,  Falkland,  Rochester,  the  Regent,  Buck- 
ingham. Louis  XV..  Grammont,  Lansun,  Biche- 
■ul  a  thousand  others. 

honourable  men  must,  during 
their  lone;  career  of  debauchery,  pleasure,  and  dis- 
sipation, have  created  much  hatred,  and  been  the 
:  much  jealousy.  Bui  whal  was  the  conse- 
quence? nothing.  For  a  long  time  they  lived  a 
voluptuous  life,  and  then— died. 

But  when  they  awaks  aoais!  I 

Once  mere.  Rita  is  dead,  dead!  Her  joys  and 
her  sorrows  have  been  of  as  much  service  to  the 
Count  as  possible;  of  what  use,  then,  has  her  life 
been  for  the  future? 

And  when  I  say  the  Count  and  Rita,  I  speak  of 
'  selfishness'  and  '  self-denial' — of  the  'strong'  and 
the  '  weak,'  the  '  good'  and  the  '  wicked.' 

For  in  the  eyes  of  some  beings,  who  are  ad- 
mirably gifted  or  predestined,  who  represent  the 
-  of  mankind,  whether  it  be  the  orange 
Frederick  crushed  so  easily  after  he  had  sucked 
out  the  juice,  or  that  complacent  and  easy  prize, 
adily  obtained  at  all  times  by  clever  selfish- 
ness. 

Oh,  selfishness!  that  sparkling  centre,  cold  and 
hard  as  adamant,  that  magnetic  pole  towards  which 
all  devoted  beings  are  attracted,  perhaps  by  the  in- 
visible power  of  the  laws  of  contrarieties. 

For  truly  it  is  a  strange  thing  to  observe,  that 
every  organized  being  possesses  an  instinct  that 
leads  him  to  evil,  whether  as  an  agent  or  a  sufferer, 
and  that  says  to  him, '  if  you  arc  not  an  executioner, 
you  must  be  a  victim.' 

Stay— observe  on  a  beautiful  summer's  evening, 
when  the  breeze  is  gentle,  and  the  old  oaks  trem- 
ble amorously  beneath  its  breath,  when  every 
flower,  sending  forth  its  perfume,  opens  its  dew- 
besprinkled  blossom,  when  every  leaf,  and  every 
blade  of  grass,  offers  a  fresh  and  balmy  asylum  to 
the  sound  of  the  waving  trees,  and  gives  birth  to 
the  silent  voice  of  night. 

Then  say,  dwells  not  perfect  happiness  and  joy 
within  the  petals  of  a  rose  or  the  corolla  of  a  dah- 
lia? Then,  what  endless  games  arc  there  not  on  the 
disk  of  a  '  queen  margaretr"  what  loving  strife  in 
■fan  orange  lily  ! 

Well,  introduce  a  golden  lamp  into  this  scene  of 
pleasure,  and  let  it  suddenly  display  its  dazzling 
light. 

Why  does  each  butterfly,  each  insect,  on  the  in- 
stant leave  its  flower,  its  honey,  and  perfume,  for 
the  false  glare  of  that  fetid  and  mortal  light? 

See:  one  of  them  approaches  it;  retreats,  returns 
again;  again  it  flies  away;  but  the  flame  is  Mcalm, 
beautiful  SO  dazzling,  it  resists  no  lunger,  but 
dashes  into  it,  and  dies  in  the  midst  of  frightful  tor- 
tures, mutilated  and  scorched.  Jfyriads  die  like 
it,  suffer  like  it,  disappear  like  it. 

And  the  flame  will  lie  oof  less  pure,  not  less 
bright;  it  will  still  remain  fatal,  yet  :.t tractive. 

So  it  is  with  tin;  false  and  litter  of 

the  selfish  man— the  coxcomb— the  libertine; 

itb  th levoti  !   beings  whi 

fascinated  by  a  d<  ceitful  an  :  :..,-. 


Why  is  this  the  case?  Why  does  the  pure 
and  sensitive  seal  always  feel  itself  irresistibly 
attracted  towards  the  wicked  one? 

Why  does  the  bird  cast  itself  into  the  jaws  of 
the  basilisk  ! 

Why,  in  line,  will  the  dismal  symbol  of  the 
tempter  serpent  and  the  forbidden  fruit  be  still  true 
— true  to  the  end  of  the  world? 

For  there  are  three  or  four  dreadful  truths  like    I 
this  that  Bum  up  the  moral  history  of  the  human 
species,  and  serve  as  the  eternal  centres  on  which 
their  sad  pas- ions  revolve. 

Once  again,  why  this  undisputed  success  of  the 
selfish  man.  the  coxcomb,  and  the  libertine,  all  mon- 
strous varieties  of  the  same  species? 

False  and  vile  beings,  stupid  and  vulgar,  you 
appear,  in  comparison  with  the  man  who  possesses 
genius,  and  a  good  heart,  like  the  light  of  a  lamp 
by  the  side  of  the  sun.  Like  the  factitious  light, 
that  burns  but  vivifies  not,  to  the  dazzling  rays  of 
that  st:ir  which  fills  the  whole  world  with  life. 

Itis  true— a  hundred  times  true — who  can  deny 
it?  the  coxcomb  is  a  wretch  compared  to  the  man 
of  genius:  the  light  of  a  lamp  is  paltry  compared 
to  the  magnificence  of  the  sun. 

But  then,  how  many  are  there  who  content 
themselves  with  the  sun's  light?  How  many  arc 
there  who  love  to  meditate  in  the  shade,  and  who, 
comprehending  the  mysteries  of  night,  listen  with 
delight  to  the  voice  of  solitude? 

How  many  are  they,  who  content  themselves 
with  the  love  of  a  pure  and  elevated  soul;  who  de- 
light in  contemplating  their  reveries,  and  feel  an 
ineffable  joy  in  listening  in  silence  to  the  aspirations 
of  a  noble  heart  ? 

Alas!  the  number  of  these  men  is  small,  almost 
all  mankind  prefer  the  fact  it  ions  glare  of  the  chande- 
lier to  the  shadows  of  a  beautiful  night — the  dull 
chatter  of  a  fool  to  the  deep  and  silent  meditation 
of  genius.  This,  I  think,  is  a  sufficient  explanation 
of  the  extravagant  value  set  upon  the  candle,  and 
the  '  ladies'  man.' 

Well;  the  Count  was  a  man  of  this  description; 
he  was  impudent,  selfish,  and  a  coxcomb,  and,  as 
such,  he  had  a  right  to  the  most  undeserved  good 
fortune. 

Rita,  loving  and  devoted  Rita,  whose  heart  was 
noble  and  great,  must— ought  almost  to  have  died 
as  she  did,  if  we  arc  to  put  faith  in  the  laws  of  the 
experience  of  what  may  be  called  '  social  li 
To  die;  die  after  such  horrible  agony,  while  on  die 
very  boards  that  separate  her  from  him :  the  ( Jount, 
who,  full  of  life,  gay,  careless,  and  vain,  thinks  no 
morcofher  than  if  she  had  never  existed.  The  Count 
struts  upon  his  red-heeled  boots,  dreaming  of  I 
knowr  not  what  confused  future,  in  which  beautiful 
female  forms  are  painted,  here  and  there,  resting 
upon  noble  trophies  of  war. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THErARINO   FoK   WATTLE. 

"  Quick,  fetch  me  my  nil  tout  and  my  blue  breeches." 
A.  ve  Mvsset. 

Kk;iit  days  after  the  death  of  Rita,  the  Sylphid 
found  herself  to  the  windward  of  the  Azores,  her 
crew  had  recovered  their  strength,  the  health  of 
the  brave   •  aili  rs   wa  i  again  i  !   if  by 

chance  they  spoke  of  the   strange  mnlndy  front 


THE    WATCH    TOWER   OF    KOAT-VEN. 


which  they  had  escaped,  it  was  to  laugh  at  their 
past  sufferings,  and  thank  Sulpicc,  the  Bon-Jt  nis, 
whom  they  had  made  their  guardian  angel  without 
knowing  why. 

For  in  the  ideas  of  sailors,  there  is  always  some 
supernatural  cause  both  for  good  and  evil — a  visible 
and  palpable  symbol,  the  cause  of  success  and  de- 
feat. Thus,  in  their  eyes,  the  Bon  Jesus  had  saved 
the  ship,  in  the  same  manner  as  '  Grand  Gibet' 
would  have  caused  its  destruction. 

We  have  said  that  the  Sylphid  was  sailing  to  the 
windward  of  the  Azores,  and,  in  time  of  war,  these 
latitudes  were  admirably  situated  for  those  lucky 
meetings,  which  generally  ended  in  the  loss  or  cap- 
ture of  one  of  the  actors  at  the  meeting;  for,  in 
one  word,  this  spot  was  a  kind  of '  chalk  farm,'  for 
these  maritime  duels,  single  and  sanguinary  com- 
bats, of  which  the  ocean  and  heaven  were  the  only 
witnesses. 

It  was  about  eight  in  the  morning,  a  fresh  and 
delightful  breeze  was  blowing  from  the  north- east, 
the  beautiful  clear  sky  reflected  its  azure  blue  from 
a  magnificent  sea,  and  the  light  mist,  that  in  the 
first  instance  had  concealed  it,  had  just  been  dis- 
persed by  the  rays  of  the  sun.     The  ocean  at  this  I 
time  resembled  a  circular  sheet  of  water,  of  which 
the  Sylphid  occupied  the  centre,  so  that,  from  the 
deck  of  the  frigate,  in  whichever  direction  the  eye  ' 
was  turned  it  saw  in  the  horizon  the  undulating  I 
line  of  the  waves,  whose  green  tint  was  strongly 
divided  from'  the  blue  sky. 

For  nearly  two  days,  after  the  Count  had  been 
in  the  neigbourhoud  of  this  rendezvous  for  cruizers  | 
(the  Azores  formed  the  point  of  intersection  of  the 
different  routes  of  navigators),  the  Count,  I  say, 
redoubled  his  watchfulness  and  activity;  the  vessel, 
cleared  for  battle,  was  ready  for  any  event,  the 
matches  smoked,  the  grappling  irons  and  boarding 
tackle  were  on  deck,  the  shrouds  filled  with  arms, 
and  bundles  of  axes  and  pikes  glistened  in  various 
parts  of  the  deck  and  battery. 

Jean  Thomas,  provided  with  an  excellent  teles- 
cope, had,  since  day  break,  been  walking  on  the 
deck,  and  every  minute  sweeping  the  horizon  with 
his  glass. 

A  sailor  came  to  inform  him  that  the  command- 
ant expected  him  in  his  bed-chamber. 

Leaving  the  telescope  impatiently,  the  lieutenant 
left  the  deck;  after  desiring  Miran  to  observe  the 
windward,  and  to  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  the  men 
on  the  look  out. 

When  he  had  entered  the  chamber  of  his  superior 
officer,  Jean  Thomas  found  him  carelessly  reclining 
in  an  arm  chair,  and  dressed  in  a  magnificent 
morning  gown  of  blue  silk,  embroidered  with  silver 
flowers. 

The  faithful  Germeau,  who  had  just  completed 
the  Count's  toilet,  held  in  his  hand  the  swan-down 
puff  white  with  poudre  a  la  marcchale,  while  two 
other  valet  de  chambres  were  in  attendance,  to 
supply  him  with  the  object  necessary  for  his 
important  functions. 

"  Zounds,  Germeau,"  said  Henry,  in  a  very  ill 
humour,  "  Germeau,  how  negligent  you  are,  see 
what  a  state  my  head  is  in!  Here  is  one  curl 
covers  my  left  ear,  while  the  other  scarcely  reaches 
my  temples.  \\  hat  are  you  thinking  of  ?  And 
from  one  instant  to  another  I  am  expecting  to  meet 
the  enemy.  Why,  you  simpleton,  what  do  I  look 
like?  A  pretty  notion  you  will  give  these  English 
of  the  accomplishments  of  a  French  valet  dc  cham- 
bre!  Really,  Germeau,  you  have  not  a  shadow  of 
national  spirit,  and  you  scarcely  take  any  interest 


in  your  master's  success  (but  perceiving  Jean 
Thomas):  "Ah!  it  is  yon,  sir;'  said  the  Count ; 
"a  thousand  pardons!'!,  had  not  the  honour  of 
seeing  you." 

"  I  have  come  according  to  your  orJiv 
mandant." 

"Good;  now  I  am  at  your  service;  but  that 
rascal  Germeau  has  dressed  my  hair  villainously; 
only  look,  is  it  not  hideous  in  this  way,  lieutenant  i" 
said  Henry,  turning  towards  Jean  Thomas 

I  do  not  understand  these  matters,"  said  Thomas 
coldty,  "  I  am  not  aware  that  this  knowledge  has 
ought  to  do  with  a  sailor." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  answered  Henry,  turning 
round  again,  "you  do  not  approve  of  these  useless 
matters.  Every  oue  according  to  his  taste;  M.  de 
Buffon  could  not  write  without  lace  ruffles,  and  1 
cannot  fight  unless  I  am  dressed  as  if  I  were  going 
to  court.     Now  go  on,  Germeau." 

"  May  1  take  the  liberty  of  observing  to  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte,"  said  the  valet  de  chambre  respect- 
fully, "  that  he  turns  so  frequently  to  look  through 
the  window,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  dress  him 
as  I  wish.'' 

"There,  I  will  be  quiet,  my  old  servitor.  Well' 
M.  Thomas,  what  is  there  now  this  morning? 
shall  we  be  more  fortunate  than  we  were  yesterday  ? 
for,  by  heavens!  we  have  had  nothing  but  ill  luck 
for  the  last  two  days  in  these  seas;  we  have  not 
met  with  a  single  ship  of  war — it  is  dreadful!" 

"  The  men  on  the  look  out  have  noticed  nothing 
up  to  the  present  moment,  commandant;  but  ac- 
cording to  your  orders  every  thing  is  cleared  ft  or 
action," 

"  Quite  right,  sir ;  let  every  tiling  remain  as  at 
present,  the  matches  lighted,  the  guns  shotted,  the 
ports  open.'  Then,  stopping  short,  the  Count 
said  impatiently  to  Germeau,  "  bring  this  curl 
lower  dowu — lower  still;  you  will  kill  me  with 
vexation;  3011  miserable  Germeau." 

"Are  we  still  to  cany  our  top  gallant  sails,  com- 
mandant?" said  Jean  Thomas,  scarcely  able  to 
conceal  his  anger. 

"  No  sir,  no;  let  them  be  reefed;  I  am  not  fond 
of  lofty  sails,  they  are  seen  at  too  great  a  distance, 
they  are  quite  sufficient  to  alarm  the  enemy,  and 
sometimes  to  excite  a  curiosity  ex'remely  inconve- 
nient for  those  who  are  the  object  of  it.  But. 
zounds!  Germeau,  you  have  got  my  bag  too  high." 

"Commandant,  commandant,  two  sails!'  cried 
Saint  Sauveur,  entering  the  Count's  chamber  with 
precipitation,  for  the  young  man  was  unable  to  con- 
tain the  joy  the  certainty  of  an  approaching  conflict 
gave  him. 

"Good  heavens,  sir,"  said  Henry  calmly,  "is 
there  any  necessity  for  crying  out  so  load,  and  ma- 
king such  a  noise  to  inform  me  of  it?  What  ships 
are  they?" 

"  Commandant,"' said  Saint  Sauveur,  ran 
fused,  "the  man  at  the  mizen  top  has  jnst  given 
the  word;  he  thinks  it  is  a  schooner  and  a  cutter." 

"  A  schooner  and  a  cutter,  paltry  enough,'  said 
the  Count  with  a  disdainful  air,  "  unless,  indeed, 
they  are  in  company  with  some  larger  vessel,  for 
small  ships  seldom  venture  into  these  seas  alone. 
Well,  you  have  got  that  curl  in  its  place  at  last!" 
cried  Henry  complacently,  finishing  the  ttnnge- 
ment  of  the  frizzled  hair  on  his  forehead  by  means 
of  little  knife  with  a  gold  blade  and  mother-of  pearl 
handle,  which  served  to  remove  the  powder. 

He  then  gave  orders  to  Jean  Thomas  to  recon- 
noitre the  vessels  and  bring  him  an  account  of 
them. 


96 


I  MIC     II'MI'I  \TIoN;     OB, 


' 


The  lieutenant  sainted  liim,  and  treat  on  dock. 
follownd  l>y  de  Minn, 

•■  (in-imaii,"  said  Henry,  looking  at  himself  in 
a  most  magnificent  mirror,  ■•  bring  me  my  em- 
broidered uniform,  my  satin  shoulder  knots,  and 
my  diamond  cross,  for,  thank  heaven!  this  is  the 
time  or  never  to  bo  in  full  dress,  ami  to  show  the 
Knglish  that  we  possess  a  little  of  the  Versailles' 
taste.'' 

As  soon  as  the  Count  had  put  on  his  splendid 
suit,  Saint  Sauveur  entered,  but  this    time  less 

"Commandant,  the  lieutenant  informs  you,  that 
in  addition  to  the  schooner  and  cutter,  there  is  a 
sloop  and  a  frigate." 

••That  is  excellent;  [guessed  as  much;  I  am 
delighted  to  hear  of  the  frigate,  for  if  it  is  a  glorious 
thing  to  harpoon  a  shark,  it  is  a  pity  to  throw  your 
net  over  a  Hying;  tish.  And  these  vessels  are  to  the 
windward,  sir? '  s;iid  the  Count,  adjusting  his  cross 
of  St.  Louis,  enriched  with  precious  stones,  and 
taking  particular  care  that  his  blue  coat  should  not 
conceal  the  rich,  old  embroidery  of  his  scarlel 
waistcoat. 

•■  Fes,  commandant,  the  ships  ore  to  the  wind- 
ward," .said  Saint  Sauveur. 

'  That  is  still  excellent;  let  them  say  what  they 
will,  I  am  better  pleased  to  engage  with  the  wind 
before  us,  the  gnus  arc  more  pleasantly  served, 
and.  in  a  breeze,  the  inclination  of  the  vessel  does 
not  interfere  with  the  working  of  the  battery}" 
then,  addressing  Germeau,  "give  me  my  watch 

with  the  pearl  chain,  and  my  snuff  box,  hut  let  it 
be  filled  with  Spanish  snuff,  for  the  English  are 
not  in  the  habit  of  taking  it,  and  if  I  am  lucky 
enough  to  board  one  of  these  gentlemen,  1  ought 
to  be  able,  after  the  action,  to  offer  them  something 
they  will  relish,  for  we  shall  hoard  them,  M.  de 
Saint  Sam.  ur,"  said  the  Count,  turning  briskly 
towards  the  volunteer,  '-for  we  will  board  them, 
sabre  and  pistol  in  hand,  I  am  sure  of  it;  and  to 
see  that  I  am  not  deceived,  tell  the  lieutenant  to 
place  the  men  at  their  guns,  to  shake  out  the  top 
gallant  sails  and  sky  scrapers,  and  to  hear  up  to- 
wards the  enemy.     1  will  be  up  in  an  instant. ' 

Saint  Sauveur  saluted  him,  and  left  the  chamber 
almost  overcome  by  the  strange  calmness  his  su- 
perior officer  maintained,  under  such  circumstances. 

"  Don"t  you  think,  Germeau,"  asked  the  count. 
"  that  the  skirts  of  this  coat  hang  too  stiffly?" 

The  valet  do  chambre  examined  it  seriously, 
and  after  a  few  moments'  silence,  "  The  count  is 
quite  right,  the  count  must  not  wear  this  coat. 
Luckily,  I  had  the  precaution  to  get  Lenormaud 
to  make  three  full-dress  coats,  Monsieur  lc  Count."' 

"Well,  make  haste,  and  come  into  the  cabin;  1 
must  get  a  few  arms  that  I  may  be  ready  for 
hoarding." 

The  count  having  cast  ;i  long  look  upon  the 
rich  armoury  that  ornamented  his  cabin,  first 
placed  on  one  side  an  excellent  pair  of  English 
double-barrelled  pistols,  and  after  trying  the  locks, 
he  carefully  examined  and  loaded  them.  lie  then 
took  a  sword,  the  blade  of  which  was  somewhat 
Curved;  it  was  short,  but  very  wide,  and  the  solid 
and  beautifully  engraved  hilt  and  guard  defended 
the  hand,  and  almost  the  whole  of  the  forearm, 
lie  bent  its  gray  and  matted  Damask  blade,  and 
examined  the  point  and  edge:   a  superb  Turkish 

dagger,  with  a    conical  blade,  m  also  submitted  to 

the  same  pr  >>!',  and  added  to  his  other  weapons. 

Germeau  soon  returned  with  another  coat,  the 
fashion  of  which  n  .    most  exquisite. 


"  Ah.  let  me  see  it! '  .-aid  the  count,  looking  at 
b  when  i'!i-"  Yes,  this  is  fit  to  be  seen  in;  and 
now,  Germeau,  my  hat  with  the  white  feathers 
and  my  speaking-trumpet,  and  give  this  frightful 
heap  of  arm-  to  one  of  the  men  that  ho  may  place 
them  on  my  seat  on  the  quarter-deck,"  he  added, 
lifting  with  some  difficulty  the  heavy  leather  belt 
that  supported  the  sabre,  pistols,  and  dagger. 

Then  Henry  negligently  fastened  on  his  golden- 
hilted  sword,  whose  white  satin  scabbard  was 
formed  of  a  mere  strip  of  whalebone,  sufficient  for 
one  of  these  semblances  of  swords,  called  at  that 
lime,  pens,  on  account,  no  doubt,  <'i'  their  extreme 
lightness, 

•■  Ah!"  observed  the  count,  once  more,  "  I  had 
forgotten,  I  had  rather  you  gave  me  the  box  Ad- 
miral Byron  sent  me,  it  will  be  in  better  taste  in 
case  I  have  to  offer  snuff  to  the  English." 

And  he  cast  a  last  self-satisfied  look  on  his 
dress,  plucking  at  the  same  time  a  beautiful  rose 
from  the  box  of  flowers,  which  he  placed  in  his 
mouth.  (This  answered  the  same  purpose  as 
Marshal  s.ixe's  pellet  of  wool,  and  Coligny's  tooth- 
pick) ami  the  n  went  upon  deck. 

When  he  made  his  appearance  the  gunners  were 
at  their  posts,  the  boys  in  the  topsail  yards,  the 
sailors  in  all  the  shrouds,  and  the  lieutenant  on  the 
quarter  deck. 

At  the  sight  of  the  count,  the  young  and  lively 
captain,  so  handsome,  and  so  elegantly  adorned 
with  gold  and  diamonds,  azure  and  scarlet,  at  the 
sight  of  this  great  lord,  who  appeared  on  deck 
with  his  usual  grace  and  ease,  the  sailors  could  not 
avoid  giving  utterance  to  a  feeling  marly  resem- 
bling admiration. 

For  men  arc  deceived  if  they  imagine  that  phy- 
sical advantages  like  his,  when  decked  out  in  all 
the  splendour  of  well-directed  magnificence  do  not 

produce  a  great  effect  on  the  excitable  bnt  simple 

imagination  of  the  sailors. 

Living  themselves  by  opposition,  they  are  par- 
ticularly and  instinctively  sensible  to  the  poetry  of 
contrasts.  So  that  this  extreme  dress,  on  boa.td  a 
ship,  this  drawing-room  toilet  in  the  midst  of  the 
ocean,  must  necessarily  have  a  great  effect.  And 
then  these  men,  so  plainly  and  carelessly  clothed, 
felt  a  kind  of  pride  in  seeing  the  man  who  com- 
manded them  splendidly  dressed.  For  after  all, 
their  captain  had  decked  himself  out  in  this  man- 
ner to  enter  into  action;  and  then  again,  if  they 
submitted  to  their  commandant,  he  also  depended 
on  their  courage.  His  self-possession  depended 
on  theirs,  his  renown  on  their  blind  obedience;  in 
one  word,  they  were  as  necessary  to  him  as  he 
was  to  them.  So  that  they  were  proud  of  him, 
proud  of  his  splendour,  and  proud  of  his  elegance, 
in  the  same  manner  as  they  were  proud  of  'he 
Sylphid,  her  beauty,  and  splendid  decorations. 

Again,  I  repeat,  a  feeling  of  pride  and  admira- 
tion spread  itself  over  their  hearty  and  rude  fea- 
tures at  sight  of  the  count. 

And  really  there  was  so  much  calmness  and 
assurance  in  the  handsome  face  of  the  count,  there 
was  such  an  expression  of  firmness  and  decision  in 
the  outline  of  his  mouth,  -which  played  with  the 
flower,  so  much  careless  intrepidity  in  his  bright 
black  eyes,  that  the  infatuation  of  the  brave  sailors 
may  be  easily  understood,  especially  when  they 
made  a  comparison  between  the  exterior  of  their 
lieutenant  and  that  of  the  count. 

In  fact,  Jean  Thomas  was  in  everything  a  per- 
fect contrast  to  that  brilliant  personification  of  the 
aristocracy  of  the  day.    J I  is.  short,  thick-set  figure,    j 


his  every- day  features,  his  ragged  hair,  and  dress 
which  through  a  kind  of  cynical  fatuity,  was  al- 
ways old  and  worn,  completed  a  vulgar  and  almost 
repulsive  aspect;  and  thus  made  up  the  comple- 
ment of  the  motives  through  which  Jean  Thomas 
was  execrated  by  the  crew,  who  found  a  perfect 
accordance  between  the  physical  and  moral  attri- 
butes of  the  man,  and  the  most  intimate  connexion 
between  his  slovenly  habits  and  rude  manners. 

As  to  the  young  officers,  although  particularly 
neat  in  their  dress,  they  did  not  approach  the  ele- 
gance and  good  taste  of  their  commander. 

When  he  reached  the  quarter-deck  the  count 
leaped  lightly  to  his  accustomed  station,  and  from 
thence  he  for  some  time  examined  with  his  teles- 
cope, and  silently,  the  manoeuvres  and  position  of 
the  enemy,  who  were  now  nearly  visible  to  the 
naked  eye. 

"  A  thousand  devils,"  said  Master  Frank,  pool- 
ing in  astonishment  at  the  count's  dress.  "  Ah! 
there's  a  commandant,  as  you  may  say,  braced  up, 
braced  up  to  the  nines;   on  the  faith  of  a  man,  I 


shall  burst  at  the  sight  of  the  gold  and  jewels  ho 
wears  on  his  breast.  It  makes  one  proud  to  be 
commanded  by  such  a  captain,  whose  very  fleas 
will  not  be  able  to  jump  or  even  cut  a  caper  with- 
out getting  their  claws  entangled  in  that  confound- 
ed fine  gold  lace,  or  among  the  sparkling  of  the 
diamonds  that  blind  you  like  the  sun's  light." 

"  In  the  first  place,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  can- 
onnier  bourgois,  who  was  examining  the  tackle  of 
the  guns,  "  my  dear  Frank,  if  you  were  the  least 
acquainted  with  good  society,  you  would  know 
that  a  commandant  has  no  fleas,  so  your  insect 
comparison  is  defective,  Master  Frank,"  added  the 
gunner,  with  a  vain  smile  at  his  own  pleasr.ntrv. 

"Oh,  Master  Kergouet!"  replied  Frank,  with 
great  simplicity,  "  you  see  I  said  tleas  because  1 
have  fleas  myself,  that's  all." 

"  Zounds!  I  know  that  well,"  said  the  canonnier 
bourgois,  with  a  look  of  melancholy  recrimination, 
"but  forget  these  ridiculous  insects,  my  friend 
Frank,"  continued  the  gunner,  more  calmly;  "but 
SWy,  see  how  we  are  drawing  near  to  the  enemy. 


13 


93 


TIIE   TEMPTATION;    OR, 


Ah,  ah!  Master  Frank,  I  think  I  shall  have  some 
business  in  my  shop,  the  customers  are  coming. 
I  call  the  frigate,  the  cutter,  the  schooner,  and  the 
sloop,  customers,  Master  Frank;  I  call  thorn  cus- 
tomers because  they  are  coming  to  my  shop  for  a 
quantity  of  cannon  balls,  with  which  I  shall  serve 
them,  and  wholesale  too." 

And  the  canonnier  went  down  to  his  battery. 

But  Frank  seized  him  by  the  tail  of  his  maroon 
coloured  coat  as  he  was  disappearing  through  the 
little  hatchway,  and  exclaimed,  "  What  Kcrgouet, 
is  that  the  way  you  leave  an  old  messmate?  you 
ought  not  to  leave  mo  so  when  we  may  perhaps 
soon  go  to  Davy  Jones ;  one  shake  of  your  fist, 
one  hearty  shake,  at  least. 

"  You  are  right,  Frank,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the 
gunner,  again  mounting  the  ladder,  to  give  a 
friendly  shake  to  the  horny  hand  of  the  boatswain. 

And  then  the  gunner  went  down  to  his  shop,  as 
he  always  called  his  battery. 

At  this  instant  the  four  ships  of  war  were  visible 
to  the  naked  eye. 

Henry  put  up  his  telescope,  took  the  rose  from 
his  mouth,  and  exclaimed  in  a  loud  voice  to  his 
crew,  at  the  same  time  pointing  to  the  enemy  with 
the  corner  of  his  hat  with  its  border  of  white  fea- 
thers : 

"  Let  us  make  haste  to  take  possession  of  these 
four  English  vessels,  for  they  are  expecting  us  in 
America;  and  once  there,  besides  your  share  of 
the  prize-money,  I  promise  you  a  hundred  louis  to 
to  drink  the  king's  health.  Long  live  the  king! 
my  boys,  long  live  the  king!" 

"  Long  live  the  king!"  cried  the  crew,  in  a  state 
of  excitement;  for  the  few  words  he  had  uttered 
had  produced  the  best  effect,  the  assurance  with 
which  the  count  considered  the  ships  he  was 
about  to  engage  as  already  captured,  proved  the 
confidence  he  placed  in  his  crew,  and  this  pre- 
sumption brought  into  play  the  most  powerful  mo- 
tive of  action  tor  man  in  general  but  above  all  for 
a  sailor — vanity. 

Then  addressing  himself  to  the  lieutenant,  "  Go 
forward,  sir,  and  pray  listen  attentively  to  my 
most  trifling  orders,"  said  Henry. 

Jean  Thomas  saluted,  and  went  to  his  post. 

"  M.  de  Miran,  you  attend  to  the  working  the 
vessel;  M.  de  Sauveur,  will  you  be  good  enough 
to  ask  M.  de  Monval,  to  whom  you  are  second  in 
command,  if  every  thing  is  ready  in  the  battery." 

"The  men  are  at  their  guns,  commandant," 
said  Saint  Sauveur  when  he  returned. 

Henry  then  erecting  his  noble  form,  with  glis- 
tening eye,  and  glowing  cheeks,  exclaimed,  as  he 
addressed  his  officers,  "  Now,  gentlemen,  remem- 
ber the  glory  of  France,  behave  like  gentlemen, 
and  long  live  the  king!" 

"Long  live  the  king!"  exclaimed  the  officers. 

"  Now,  M.  de  Miran,  let  the  large  white  flag  be 
hoisted,  and  fire  one  gun,  that  it  may  declare  both 
aloud  and  far  off,  France,  and  we  shall  see  what- 
answer  these  strangers  will  return." 

And  at  the  same  instant  an  immense  white  flag 
glided  majestically  to  the  mast-head. 

"  Hats  off,  gentlemen,"  6aid  Henry,  gravely, 
and  uncovering  himself;  "and  you  drummers, 
beat  to  arms." 

The  drums  rolled,  the  officers  and  sailors  un- 
i.wred  themselves  with  a  holy  respect  for  the 
royal  symbol  as  it  slowly  rose. 

The  instant  the  standard  was  fixed  the  sound  of 
a  cannon  rolled  over  the  surface  of  the  ocean. 

Scarcely  was   the  echo  returned  when  the  four 


vessels  hoisted  the  English  flag,  and  also  fired  a 
shot. 

"Ah!  these  gentlemen  understand  good  beha- 
viour," said  Henry,  perceiving  the  action  of  the 
enemy;  "they  return  our  politeness;  they  have 
given  themselves  a  name,  and  cry,  'England.'  M 
do  Miran,  bear  down  upon  them." 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE  ACTION. 
•'  Doris  has  conquered  Fiesohi." — Schiller. 

I  have  observed  on  board  our  navy,  that  the 
last  moments  which  precede  a  naval  action,  are 
always  remarkable  fur  the  silence  maintained  by 
the  crew,  and  by  the  singular  expression  of  anx- 
ious curiosity,  or  reflection,  imprinted  on  their 
countenances. 

In  fact,  the  nearer  the  decisive  moment  ap- 
proaches, the  more  serious  the  thoughts  of  the 
men  become. 

The  noble  excitement  of  the  certainty  of  an 
action  causes  shouts  of  joy  to  be  heard,  and  to 
overflow,  an  hour  before  the  action.  But  when, 
ten  minutes  only  have  to  elapse  before  the  com- 
mencement of  the  engagement,  the  instinct  of  self- 
preservation  obtains  the  upper  hand  in  almost  all 
constitutions.  A  man  does  not  tremble;  on  the 
contrary,  he  reflects,  and  calmly  calculates  the 
bearing  of  all  the  chances  he  is  about  to  risk,  and 
in  such  an  hour,  the  bravest  men,  I  hope,  may  be 
allowed  to  perceive,  it  is  a  question  of  life  or  death 
for  them  which  the  cannon  must  decide. 

And  in  my  opinion  this  quiet  struggle  between 
the  courage  of  reason,  and  the  conservative  desire 
of  our  nature,  is  of  all  valour  the  most  beautiful, 
and  eminently  distinguishes  our  nation;  and  the 
certain  proof  of  this  is,  they  never  make  our  sail- 
ors half  drunk  before  the  action.  They  fight  with 
all  their  faculties  about  them,  and  look  firmly  at 
all  the  dangers  they  are  about  to  confront. 

Among  other  nations,  on  the  contrary,  as  if  for 
the  purpose  of  concealing  the  danger,  perhaps, 
they  treat  their  crews  in  such  a  manner  as  to  fill 
them  with  a  kind  of  blind  and  suddenly  roused 
rashness;  but  they  cause  them  to  lose  that  which 
is  of  more  Talue,  particularly  in  a  naval  action, 
judgment  and  self-possession,  qualities  indispen- 
sable when  fighting  not  only  men,  but  fire,  water, 
the  winds  and  rocks. 

If  soldiers  are  drunk  when  fighting  on  dry  land 
the  danger  is  less;  their  object  is  to  penetrate  the 
masses,  they  rush  forward  head  foremost,  are 
either  stopped  or  pass  through ;  they  move  ahead 
or  fall;  at  any  rate,  their  footing  is  firm.  On 
board,  on  the  contrary,  a  single  rope  imprudently 
let  go,  or  a  false  direction  given  to  the  helm,  may 
jeopardize  the  safety  of  the  ship's  crew;  so  that 
the  indispensable  necessity  of  temperance  is  evi- 
dent. 

This  solemn  silence,  this  imposing  precursor  to 
battle,  reigned  on  board  the  Sylphid,  while  they 
were  passing  over  the  short  distance  that  separated 
them  from  the  enemy.  The  English  still  held  the 
wind,  and  the  cutter  served  as  an  advanced  guard 
to  the  small  squadron.  The  frigate  and  the  sloop 
formed  the  centre,  and  the  schooner  was  in  the 
rear,  u  a  kind  of  corps  de  reserve. 

The  battery  of  the   Sylphid  had  a  magnificent 


THE    WATCH    TOWER   OF    KOAT    VEN. 


99 

"yes,  dealers  in  blows  with  a  battle-axe,  dealers  in 
shot,  dealers  in  red  hot  balls." 

"And  then,  my  boys,"  said  Master  Kergouet, 
"  luck  is  on  our  aide,  good  omens " 

"  Enough,  enough,  master,"  observed  Monval, 
interrupting  the  gunner.  "As  to  good  omens, 
my  lads,  that  which  foretells  the  capture  of  a  ves- 
sel is  a  good  broadside  in  the  hull,  or  among  the 
rigging;  a  good  aim  is  equal  to  a  prophecy.  But 
now  silence  among  you  all." 

"  The  officer  is  right,"  said  Lucas  to  a  mess- 
mate, "our  omens  are  made  by  ourselves;  it  is  the 
safest  plan,  it  is. the  same  as  when  Losophe  asked 
Gibard  for  the  sake  of  teasing  him,  '  who  tied  your 
tail,  Gibard?'  And  Gibard,  who  is  quick  enough, 
took  him  aback  by  answering,  '  Who  tied  my  tail? 
I  tied  it  myself,  Losophe.' " 

Unfortunately  Lucas  was  cut  short  in  his  tale 
by  the  speaking-trumpet  that  communicated  be- 
tween the  deck  to  the  battery  and  enabled  them  to 
hear  the  orders  of  the  count. 

"  Gunners,  down  on  your  faces,  let  every  man 
lie  in  the  direction  of  the  guns,  and  above  all  don't 
fire  without  orders." 

Monval  repeated  the  order,  and  the  gunners  laid 
themselves  down  by  the  side  of  their  pieces. 

Master  Kergouet  and  Monval  alone  remained 
standing,  but  sheltered  behind  the  capstan. 

The  position  in  which  the  gunners  were  ordered 
to  remain,  clearly  proved  that  the  enemy's  broad- 
side might  be  expected  every  intant  to  take  effect 
on  the  battery,  but  that  the  commandant,  not 
intending  as  yet  to  open  fire,  wished  not  to  expose 
the  lives  of  his  crew. 

"  Gentlemen,''  said  Master  Kergouet,  "  now  you 
are  lying  down,  don't  go  to  sleep,  or,  at  least,  don't 
snore  louder  than  the  cannon." 

"  We  can't  make  sure  of  that,"  said  Rapin ;  "  for 
after  the  first  volley,  some  of  us  may  sleep  sound 
enough." 

At  this  instant,  the  line  of  water  seen  through  the 
portholes,  was  hidden  by  the  English  frigate.  A 
bright  strean  of  fire  tinged  the  surface  of  the  waves, 
and  the  loud  roar  of  the  artillery  was  heard,  while 
several  cannon-balls  entered  the  battery  of  the  Syl- 
phid,  and  others,  lodging  in  the  timbers  of  the  ves- 
sel, made  the  sides  of  the  ship  tremble. 

"Let  the  gunners  still  remain  as  they  were." 

After  recovering  from  the  stunning  sensation  of 
the  broadside,  the  men  movedtheir  heads  in  various 
directions,  to  ascertain  what  mischief  had  been  done; 
and  Kergouet  observed  to  Monval, 

"  Not  much  harm  done,  I  think  —a  few  splinters, 
but  see,  see  that  poor  devil  who  has  left  his  post; 
and  another  is  rollinsr,  and  dancing  as  if  he  were 
mad." 

"  It  is  one  of  the  sleepers  I  spoke  of  just  now,  M. 
Kergouet,''  said  Eapin ;  "  he  has  rather  an  unplea- 
sant dream.  But  see,  it  is  all  over  with  him  ;  he 
has  died  like  a  dog,  and  without  the  aid  of  his 
priest." 

"  What,  ho!  the  chair,"  cried  Master  Kergouet.'' 

"  It  is  engaged,"  exclaimed  a  weak  voice,  and  at 
the  same  instant  it  descended  with  Losophe.  who 
was  wounded,  and  holding  St.  Medard  in  his  arms. 

"  Stop,  Losophe,"  said  Master  Kergouet*  catching 
at  the  chair,  and  drawing  it  ou  to  the  gun-deck; 
"will  you  have  the  civility  to  take  poor  Peter  with 
you;  it  will  save  a  journey,  St.  Medard  and  yon 
will  have  company.' 

"At  your  service.  Blaster  Keigoaei;  come,  mere, 
St.  Medard,  and  make  room  for  the  geutlciuan:" 


appearance;  the  captain  of  every  gun,  and  the  men 
who  loaded  them  were  standing  erect,  silent,  and 
motionless,  near  their  pieces.  The  matches  were 
here  and  there  smoking  in  barrels  filled  with  wa- 
ter; the  men  whose  duty  it  was  to  serve  the  guns 
stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  powder-room,  with 
their  cartridge  bags.  All  the  hatchways  below, 
and  those  of  the  battery,  were  closed,  except  those 
in  the  centre,  which  served  as  a  communication 
between  the  hold,  the  battery,  and  the  deck;  for 
the  large  square  opening  that  passed  perpendicu- 
larly through  the  different  stages  of  the  ship, 
opened  on  the  deck,  and  ended  in  the  hold.  In 
this  open  space  a  chair  was  slung,  and  raised  or 
lowered  by  means  of  a  running  tackle,  whether  it 
brought  up  the  wounded,  or  let  them  down  to  the 
cockpit,  w-here,  in  greater  security,  they  were  con- 
fided to  the  temporal  cares  of  Doctor  Gedeon,  or 
the  spiritual  attentions  of  the  chaplain. 

Monval,  who  commanded  in  the  battery,  was 
standing  near  the  capstan,  resting  on  his  naked 
sword,  with  which  he  used  to  give  his  orders  to 
fire;  for,  during  the  engagement,  it  became  impos- 
sible to  be  understood  except  by  signs. 

Kergouet  was  near  Monval.  Like  the  count, 
the  canonnier  bourgois  was  also  unable  to  fight 
unless  full  dressed;  so  that,  after  having  been 
shaved,  powdered,  and  pomatumed  by  Losophe, 
the  worthy  master  had  dressed  himself  in  an  ele- 
gant maroon  coloured  coat  with  steel  buttons, 
which  formed  a  delightful  opposition  to  his  white 
waistcoat,  embroidered  with  a  wreath  of  vine 
leaves.  To  this  you  must  add  his  chamois  leather 
breeches,  gray  China  silk  stockings,  a  batiste  col- 
lar and  frill,  and  long  ruffles,  which  were  turned 
up,  so  that  he  might  be  more  at  his  ease.  Add  to 
these  a  huge  cocked  hat,  and  you  have  a  full  de- 
scription of  the  canonnier  bourgois. 

In  one  word,  you  might  have  imagined  the  gal- 
lant man  was  one  of  the  most  inoffensive  and 
modest  of  the  citizens  of  the  Rue  Saint  Denis,  had 
it  not  been  for  a  pair  of  double-barrelled  pistols, 
and  a  large  and  shining  boarding  sword  without  a 
scabbard,  which  he  carried  in  his  leather  belt. 

I  have  not  mentioned  the  battle-axe  he  bore 
in  his  hand  for  the  sake  of  appearances,  as  he 
might  have  carried  his  cane  or  umbrella. 

Approaching  the  ensign,  and  saluting  him  re- 
spectfully, Master  Kergouet  said  to  him,  "  Will 
you  allow  me,  M.  de  Monval,  just  to  say  a  few 
words  to  these  boys?  They  know  me  well,  and 
perhaps,  before  the  affair  it  will  do  no  harm." 

"  Do  so,"  said  Monval. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  master,  "  by  permission 
of  our  officer  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  question. 
We  have  an  account  to  settle  with  four  ships,  have 
we  not?  but  you  must  not  imagine  on  that  account 
there  are  four  against  one,  and  I'll  tell  you  why — 
a  canonnier  bourgois  is  equal  to  four  soldiers,  is 
not  that  the  case,  gentlemen?'' 

"Yes,  yes,  master,"  said  the  gunners,  delighted 
at  breaking  the  silence  that  pressed  so  heavily  on 
them,  particularly  at  that  instant. 

The  master  continued:  "  Four  six-livre  crowns 
are  not  more  than  equal  to  a  louis?" 

"  No,  no,  master,"  said  the  sailors. 

"  Well,  then,  gentlemen,  my  dear  boys,  look 
through  the  port  and  you  will  see  a  schooner,  a 
sloop,  a  cutter,  and  an  English  frigate.  That  is 
just  the  right  change  for  one  French  frigate  like 
the  Sylphid.  And  we  dealers  all  know  that  large 
pieces  of  money  are  better  than  small  change." 

"  Dealers,"  murmured  the  second  master,  Rapin, 


too 


THE   TEMPTATION;   OK, 


and  the  dead  man,  the  dog,  and  the  living,  de- 
scended into  the  depths  of  the  hold! 

Silence  again  :  ■  ion  of  the  battery  ;  but 

■  dreadful  rattling  noise,  succeeded  by  the  voice  of 
Henry,  rising  above  the  tumult,  was  hoard:  "Stand 
by  to  wear!"  and  the  loud  voice  of  Jean  Thomas 
repeated  the  orders.  The  manoeuvre  was  scarcely 
executed  when  the  speaking  trumpet  gave  Tent  to 
the  words:  "  Fire  from  the  starboard  side!" 

"To  your  guns,  my  boys;  at  her  hull ;  fire!" 
repeated  MoDTaL  The  broadside  was  discharged, 
and  the  timbers  of  the  Sylphid  trembled. 

The  action  continued  to  be  maintained  with  fury 
on  both  sides. 

But  in  the  midst  of  the  dreadful  tumult,  th,  chair, 
instead  of  returning  empty  from  the  hold,  as  it 
usually  did,  re-appeared  with  Rumphius,  calm  as 
usual,  with  a  thermometer  in  his  hand,  and  a  syphon 
between  his  teeth,  clinging  in  the  best  manner  he 
could  to  the  tackle  of  the  chair.  The  unfortunate 
astronomer,  finding  the  means  of  escaping  the 
watchfulness  of  Sulpice,  had  flung  himself  unper- 
ceived  into  the  empty  chair.  Having  reached  the 
deck,  he  coolly  took  refuge  among  the  sails  and  the 
cordage  of  the  bowsprit. 

On  deck,  in  the  midst  of  the  confused  sounds  of 
the  battle,  the  discharge  of  musketry  and  cannon- 
ades, and  the  thick  and  yellow  smoke  by  which 
every  thing  was  enveloped,  the  brilliant  sun  of  the 
Azores  appeared  like  a  blood-red  globe  shorn  of 
its  rays. 

Henry  stood  on  the  quarter  deck,  holding  by  the 
mizen  shrouds  with  one  hand,  and  pointing  with 
the  other  to  a  broken  rope,  but  still  calm,  although 
his  cheeks  were  slightly  coloured  by  the  ardour  of 
the  contest. 

At  this  instant  the  master  carpenter  appeared  on 
deck;  his  face  was  pale,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to 
conceal  his  emotion,  as  he  whispered  a  few  words 
in  Henry's  ear. 

The  features  of  the  Count  remained  unchanged, 
with  the  exception  of  a  slight  knitting  of  his  brow, 
and  he  called  to  Jean  Thomas,  who,  after  hearing 
a  few  w  ords  from  his  commander,  went  below  with 
the  carpenter. 

The  Sylphid  had  received  two  balls  beneath  low- 
water  mark,  and  the  pumps  were  unable  to  keep 
the  leaks  under.  But  the  Count  still  maintained 
his  self-possession.  "Well,  sir,"  he  said  to  M. 
Miran,  touching  his  embroidered  hat,  "  these  En- 
glish fight  well,  and  I  have  been  making  some  ob- 
servations on  their  method  of  working  their  ships, 
which  I  think  I  can  take  a  lesson  from.  But  this 
accursed  powder  spoils  all  my  lace,  it  is  as  bad  as 
a  blacksmith's  forge.'' 

"  You  seem  to  forget,"  said  Miran,  "  that  your 
silk  stockings  are  covered  with  blood." 

"  Ah,  it  was  that  devil  of  a  helmsman  who 
touched  me  as  he  fell!  For  we  are  losing  a  great 
many  hands,  sir,  a  great  many." 

But  the  Count  was  unable  to  conceal  his  impa- 
tience at  the  delay  of  the  lieutenant;  the  latter 
however  soon  reappeared,  and  approaching  Henry, 
said  to  him,  "  it  i>  st<  ]  ]  ed,  <  <  mmandant  i" 

"  That  is  well,  sir,  now  go  forward." 

Again  the  action  appeared  to  hive  redoubled  in 
fury,  when  the  chair  for  the  (round  <l  once  more 
g  in  il  Sulpice,  pale,  distracted,  and 
with  his  hair  in  disorder.  Not  being  able  I 
his  brother,  be  exclaimed,  "where  is  my  brother? 
in  heaven's  name,  where  is  my  brother?" 

Hut  the  Count,  whose  attention  was  directed  to 
the  movements  of  the  enemy,  repulsed  him  rudely, 


and  at  the  same  time  thrusting  the  man  at  the  helm 
from  his  place,  he  BOised  \\\)on  the  wheel,  and 
boldly  and  skilfully  brought  the  Sylphid  as  elose  to 
the  wind  as  possible,  giving  orders  to  the  crew  to 
spread  every  inch  of  canvass;  the  crew  obeyed  the 
orders  of  the  Count  with  alacrity,  and  he  was  thus 
enabled  to  avoid  a  movement  or  the  enemy's  ship, 
by  which  they  would  have  been  able  to  pour 
their  shot  into  his  stern.  It  now  became  Henry's 
turn  to  avail  himself  of  the  advantage  he  had  gained 
by  this  manoeuvre. 

"  Now  then,  M.  de  Miran, "  he  exclaimed,  "  we 
will  bear  down  upon  them,  and  the  instant  1  give 
my  order  to  wear,  open  your  broadside,  fire  from 
the  shrouds,  and  the  tops,  and  this  insolent  frigate 
shall  pay  dearly  for  her  temerity — now,  stand  by 
to  wear!" 

Every  man  took  his  place,  and,  at  the  word  of 
command,  all  the  sails  expanded  their  canvass 
wings,  all  but  the  jib  sails,  with  the  working  of 
which  Jean  Thomas  was  entrusted. 

"  Bun  forward,  de  Mirar.,  and  if  the  manoeuvre 
is  not  executed  on  the  instant,  cut  him  down  like 
a  dog." 

At  the  very  instant  de  Miran  rushed  forward, 
the  sails  rose,  the  frigate  wore,  and  the  combat 
again  became  more  fierce. 

The  reader  must  be  reminded  that  Rumphius 
after  he  had  escaped  from  his  brother's  custody, 
had  succeeded  in  reaching  the  deck,  and  concealed 
himself  among  the  sails  of  the  bowsprit,  the  latter, 
forming,  as  he  imagined,  an  admirable  place  for 
his  observations,  and  there,  notwithstanding  the 
noise  and  danger  of  the  action,  he  very  coolly 
employed  himself  in  his  calculations. 

Sulpice  had  also  reached  the  deck,  and  ascertained 
from  one  of  the  sailors  the  hiding-place  of  his  bro- 
ther. Looking  in  the  direction  the  sailor  indicated, 
he  perceived  the  phibsopher  very  quietly  scribbling 
a  number  of  geometrical  and  mathematical  figures 
on  a  piece  of  paper. 

Lieutenant  Jean  Thomas,  in  his  usual  brutal 
manner,  asked  Sulpice  what  business  he  had  on 
deck,  bidding  him  go  into  the  hold,  where  he  had 
been  directed  to  remain. 

"  I  will  not  go  down  without  my  brother;"  re- 
plied Sulpice,  resolutely 

"  I  know  nothing  about  your  brother,  I  only 
know  that  every  passenger  ought  to  be  in  the  hold 
just  now.  So  go  down;  you  arc  in  our  way," 
cried  Thomas,  thrusting  back  Sulpice. 

Sulpice,  however,  would  not  yield,  but  con- 
tinued to  call  on  Rumphius,  "  brother,  brother,  come 
down—in  the  name  of  heaven,  come  down,  brother !" 

Rumphius,  hidden  by  the  sails,  and  absorbed  in 
bis  calculations,  could  not  hear  the  voice  of  Sulpice, 
in  the  midst  of  the  creaking  of  the  blocks,  for  the 
Count  had  that  instant  given  orders  to  wear. 

To  execute  these  orders,  it  was  necessary  to 
hoist  the  triangular  sails  behind  which  Rumphius 
was  concealed,  and  unless  this  manoeuvre  was  exe- 
cuted quickly  it  might  have  occasioned  the  loss  of 
the  Sylphid. 

"Once  again,  will  you  leave  the  deck,  you 
wretched  fool!"  cried  Jean  Thomas, "  you  interfere 
villi  my  obedii  nee  to  orders,  and  if  1  fail,  my  life 
is  at  stake,"  and  ho  seized  Sulpice  by  the  collar. 

"  No,  no;  I  will  not  leave  this  place  without  my 
brother;"  and  with  supernatural  force  he  repulsed 
the  lieutenant  and  rushed  to  the  bowsprit,  calling 
out  loudly  to  Rumphius,  and  clinging  to  the  ropes 
by  which  di"  sails  were  moved,  declaring  ho  would 
not  move  without  his  brother. 


THE    WATCH   TOWER   OF   KOAT-VEN. 


101 


It  was  at  this  instant  the  commandant  ordered 
the  manoeuvre  to  be  executed,  but  as  long  as  Sul- 
pice  clun£  to  the  ropes,  it  was  impossible, 

Jean  Thomas,  dreadfully  exasperated,  seized  an 
axe,  that  always  lay  near  the  spot,  and  threaten- 
ing Sulpice,  exclaimed,  "  If  you  value  your  life, 
come  from  that  place.'' 

"  I  must  remain  near  my  brother,"  answered 
Sulpice,  with  unflinching  countenance,  and  a  look 
of  the  most  intrepid  resignation. 

Just  then  Henry  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  dreadful 
anger: — 

"Haul  up  the  jib,  sir,  you  are  hindering  the 
ship  from  wearing!" 

His  situation  was  teirrble,  the  safety  of  the  frigate 
was  at  stake,  the  success  of  the  action  and  his  own 
life.  Jean  Thomas  hesitated  not,  but  with  one 
blow  of  the  hatchet  he  brought  down  Sulpice. 

The  unfortunate  man  extended  his  arms,  let  go 
the  ropes,  and  could  only  utter  these  words: — 
"  Brother — pardon — "  and  he  fell  into  the  sea. 

But  the  frigate  veered. 

All  this  took  place  in  less  time  than  we  have 
taken  to  write  it.  Dreadful  as  the  fate  of  Sulpice 
was,  the  sailors  had  no  time  to  pity  him,  for  the 
fire  was  opened  from  every  quarter  at  the  same  in- 
stant, and  the  excitement  of  the1  battle  prevented 
their  thinking  of  what  had  taken  place. 

The  Sylphid's  broadside  swept  the  enemy's  deck 
from  stem  to  stern,  shattered  their  main  top-mast, 
and  cut  their  rigging  to  pieces. 

By  this  manoeuvre  the  Count  had  separated  the 
English  frigate  from  the  schooner;  the  former  was 
too  much  disabled  to  re  commence  the  action  at  the 
instant,  and  Henry  at  once  chased  the  schooner, 
and,  in  spite  of  her  rapid  sailing  qualities,  soon 
gained  upon  her,  and  bearing  down  with  all  sails 
set,  struck  her  a-mid-ships,  and  received  also  a  vio- 
lent shock  herself,  but  the  frail  schooner,  overcome 
by  the  concussion,  disappeared  without  time  being 
allowed  to  save  a  single  man. 

But,  just  at  that  moment,  one  of  the  men  on  the 
look  out  exclaimed,  "  two  ships  of  war  to  the  wind- 
ward!" 

This  announcement  changed  the  direction  of  the 
ideas  of  all,  and  every  face  was  turned  towards  the 
mast  head. 

"  How  man}'  guns?"  said  Henry. 

"  I  think  they  are  two  men  of  war." 

"  I  must  ascertain  that,"  said  Henry;  and  throw- 
ing his  hat  and  coat  on  the  deck  by  the  side  of  his 
arms,  he  reached  the  mast  head  with  the  agililty 
of  a  boy,  and  glided  down  the  shrouds  again  with 
frightful  rapidity. 

"  M.  de  Miran,"  he  exclaimed,  putting  on  his 
coat  hastily,  "  hoist  all  the  canvass  we  can  carry, 
and  make  sail,  it  would  be  folly  to  think  of  holding 
out  against  the  two  sixty -fours  that  are  coming  up. 
I  know  them  to  be  English  by  the  cut  of  their 
top  sails. 

The  battle  once  over,  in  the  cock-pit,  and  there 
alone,  we  have  a  clear  exposition  of  how  much  it 
has  cost.  During  the  action  honour  and  vanity 
have  maintained  the  spirits  of  the  men;  but,  alas! 
when  it  is  all  over,  Achilles  feels  his  heel,  the  demi- 
god is  in  the  cock- pit — the  vulgar,  hideous,  prosaic 
abode  of  glory.  There  might  be  seen  the  dreadful 
apparatus  of  the  doctor;  on  one  side  the  wounded 
sailors  waiting  for  their  turns,  on  another  the  doc- 
tor, busily  engaged  in  his  cruel,  and  yet  mciviful 
occupation;  while,  on  the  starboard  side,  a  Huge 
tarpaulin  exhibits  its  formless  mass,  this,  for  the 
instant,  forms  the  receptacle  for  the  dead.    Near  to 


this,  before  a  small  crucifix,  the  chaplain  on  his 
knees  prays  for  the  departed  souls. 

Losophe  wounded,  waiting  for  the  doctor's  as- 
sistance, was  carefully  noticing  doctor  Gedeon  as 
he  amputated  the  left  arm  of  an  unfortunate  sailor, 
at  length  he  exclaimed,  "he  may  be  sure  of  being 
free  from  the  cramp  in  the  elbow  when  he  lies  on 
his  left  side." 

The  doctor  then,  turning  to  the  speaker,  observed, 
"Now,  then,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

"  Major,"  replied  Losophe, showing  his  leg, "  St 
Medard  and  I  have  both  been  wounded  with  a  bi 
caien ;  see  the  poor  creature  has  had  half  his  car 
carried  away;  we  were  up  in  the  tops  splicing  a 
rope,  and  St.  Medard  was  barking  furiously  at  the 
enemy." 

"  Do  you  think,  you  animal,"  said  Gedeon, "  that 
I  am  going  to  attend  to  your  dog?— but  stop — stop, 
what  are  you  frightened  at?  where  the  devil  are 
you  going,  hobbling  in  that  manner,  with  your  dog, 
before  you  have  had  your  wound  dressed?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,  major,"  observed  Daniel,  who 
had  been  wounded  in  the  head  with  a  splinter, 
"  he  is  afraid  I  shall  give  him  his  allowance,  the 
beggar  that  he  is.  Only  think  major;  before  the 
battle  that  rascal  Losophe  offered  to  procure  a  lit- 
tle matter  of  magic  for  me,  for,  which  I  paid  him 
three  crowns,  by  means  of  which  I  should  run  no 
risk  of  being  wounded.  But  sacre  dieu  !''  he  ex- 
claimed, interrupting  himself,  "you  are  splitting 
my  head,  doctor!"  and  he  raised  his  hands  to  his 
head. 

"Take  your  hands  away,  you  booby!  or  some 
one  shall  hold  you." 

"  Yes,  major;  but  you  pinched  my  brain,  and 
they  say  I  am  very  tender  in  the  brain." 

"  How  can  you  talk  such  nonsense?  But  go  on 
with  your  tale  it  will  distract  your  attention." 

"  Well,  major,  as  Losophe  did  a  job  in  magic  for 
me  on  one  occasion  that  was  very  successful,  I  was 
not  suspicious,  and  paid  him;  as  soon  as  he  had 
done,  he  made  me  swallow  something  as  black  as 
ink,  but  such  dreadful  stuff,  it  made  me  so  sick  I 
could  not  finish  the  phial.  '  That  is  excellent, 
Daniel,'  the  rascal  said  to  me, '  the  worse  it  makes 
you,  the  safer  you  will  be.'  I  believed  him.  and 
ran  bare-headed  into  the  fire,  and  the  first  thing 
I  received  was  a  blow  on  the  head,  although 
the  rascal  swore  to  me,  on  the  faith  of  a  lieutenant 
magician,  that  if  I  placed  myself  before  the  mouth 
of  a  cannon  the  gu  a  would  burst  sooner  than  injure 
me." 

"  Get  away  with  yon,  you're  an  ass— there,  your 
wound  is  dressed,  be  off,  for  here  comes  the  lieu- 
tenant, and  he  wants  my  assistance." 

"  Thank  you,  major,"  said  Daniel ;  then  addres- 
sing a  group  of  sailors,  "  have  any  of  you  seen  Lo- 
sophe?" 

"Yes,  he  has  just  gone  through  the  little 
hatchway." 

"Has  he?  then  I'll  serve  him  out,  the  impostor." 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor  to  the  lieutenant, "  what's 
the  matter  with  you,  Jean?" 

"  I  don't  know,  it  is  here,  in  the  arm,  a  ball,  I 
believe;"  and  the  doctor,  after  examining  the 
wound,  exclaimed  "yes,  it  is  a  ball,  a  little  bullet, 
it  has  not  been  very  mischievous,  however,  it  has 
stopped  at  the  '  biceps,'  I'll  soon  remove  it,  and 
then  3-ou  may  go  upon  deck  again.  But  the  com- 
mandant—the master,  is  not  he  wounded  '■  ' 

"  No;  still  Monsieur  le  Comtc,  even  in  the  case 
of  bullets,  the  insolent  coxcomb  stood  erect  on  his 
quarter  deck,  in  the  midst  of  the  fire,  in  the  most 


iin.    .  >N;  OR, 


perilous  part  of  the  ship,  but  nothing— nothing 
led." 

••  It  was  all   move  chance:   I  was  the 

courage  of  vanity,  all  eves  were  upon  him— that's 
all,  he  \v;ls  go  id  Mainan  enough  tor  that" 

••  Y"U  are  wrong— blood  ami  thunder!  I  tell  you 

he  is  a  good  seaman,  and  a  g 1  offioer,  although 

he  is  ■  Count  and  a  coxcomb." 

But  the  rolling  of  the  drum  announced  the  \isit 
of  the  commander,  and  Henry,  having  seen  the 
w.mndcd  pitied  their  sufferings,  promised  pensions 
and  favours,  and  recommendations  to  the  king,  and 
then  returned  to  his  cabin. 

"  Open  the  windows,  Gcrnicau,  and  bring  me 
that  b'»x  of  flowers  and  pour  out  a  bottle  of  limi- 
tary water.  I  cannot  get  rid  of  that  dreadful  smell, 
I  had  rather  light  ten  hours  than  endure  it  for  ten 
minutes.  How  they  can  exist  in  the  midst  of  it 
leant  imagine.  Then,  looking  at  the  list  of  the 
wounded,  he  observed,  "  Ah,  eleven  amputations  1 
that  is  very  inconvenient,  men  in  that  condition 
are  of  uo  use  on  board,  they  are  always  in  the  way." 
Then  crushing  the  paper  in  his  hand,  he  had  a  bath 
of  rose  water,  made  an  excellent  dinner,  and, 
stretching  himself  od  the  sofa,  he  slept,  and 
enjoyed  the  most  pleasant  dreams. 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 

THE    MEETING. 
"  Who  would  have  thought  il  ? — AMOK. 

The  crew  of  the  Sylphid  having  repaired  the 
damage  they  had  received  from  the  enemy's  shot, 
she  was  now  under  easy  sail  for  her  destination; 
for  Henry,  having  in  the  first  instance  carried  all 
the  canvass  he  could,  had  succeeded  in  distancing 
the  men  of  war. 

It  was  night;  and  all  but  the  watch  were  asleep, 
all  with  the  exception  of  Losopheand  his  dog,  and 
the  Breton  Daniel.  St.  Medard  and  his  master 
had  for  some  time  been  endeavouring  to  avoid 
Daniel,  who,  after  a  variety  of  dodging  movements 
on  the  part  of  Losophe,  at  length  succeeded  in  fix- 
ing him  in  a  corner,  from  which  he  was  unable  to 
escape. 

,  you  rascal,  I  have  you  at  last!" 

"  No,  I  have  hold  of  you,"  said  Losophe,  taking 
•  his  dupe  by  the  collar,  '■  I  have  been  looking  after 
you  for  this  hour.'' 

"Looking  after  me:"  said  Daniel,  confounded 
by  his  impudence. 

"  Yes,  looking  after  you.  Oh,  you  are  a  bold 
animal,  Daniel,  a  bold  animal!" 

"  This  is  rather  too  much;"  said  Daniel,  "after 
selling  me  a  filthy  bottle  of  stuff  for  three  crowns 
to  save  me  from  the  shot,  when  the  first  thing  that 
happened  was  my  receiving  a  wound!" 

"  Daniel,  you  are  a  sad  dog,  you'll  come  to  a  bud 
end ;  now  answer  me,  did  you  drink  all  thee 
of  the  bottle?" 

I  did  not  drink  all— no,  by  St.  Peter,  you 
may  cut  me  to  pieces  before  I'll  take  an  ither  dn  ip." 
did  not  drink  it  all,  and  yet  you  expected 
the  charm  to  operate;  and  you  have  exposed  me 
to  the  risk  of  Being  punished  by  our  'most  excel- 
lent magician,  St.  Germain,  xouhave  deceived 
i,  Daniel.'' 

but!    n  i!  .wed  n  greal  partof  the  filthy 
.1  yet  I  was  wounded. ' 


'  Why,  ymi  animal,  for  that  is  the  only  name  I 
can  call  you  by,  what  is  your  wound,  after  all!'' 
a  mere  scratch;  I  was  in  the  tups  at  the  time, 
and  I  saw  what  wounded  you  ;  enough  to  have 
crushed  you.  It  was  six  ml  hot  balls  chained  to- 
gether; and  yet  y>>u  only  received  a  scratch;  how 
would  it  have  been  had  you  iaken  the  whole  of  the 
mixture?  Instead  of  wounding  yon,  the  .six  lulls 
would  have  merely  tickled  your  head,  as  they  tickle 
a  parrot's  poll ;  they  would  have  changed  into  a 
coronet  of  roses,  but  you  preferred  having  a  scratch 
on  your  forehead.     Well,  every  one  to  his  taste." 

"I  had  rather  have  been  crowned  with  flowers, 
Losophe,  on  my  sacred  word  of  honour  I  had." 

"  Ah,  well,  every  one  to  his  taste,  as  I  said  be- 
fore. But  you  have  made  me  run  the  risk  of  be- 
ing punished  by  the  '  most  excellent  magician,'  for 
I  informed  him  through  the  air  that  I  had  made  a 
charm  to  prevent  your  being  wounded,  and  now 
you  are  wounded  1  shall  be  punished,  when  it  was 
all  your  own  fault,  you  ass  —  you  brute — you 
animal! ' 

Daniel  began  to  tremble,  and  imagine  he  had 
wronged  Losophe, — "  Zounds,  Losophe,  I  did'nt 
believe — ' 

"  You  did  not  believe,  indeed!  -  Can  you  read?" 

"  You  know  I  cannot,  Losophe." 

"  Well,  then,  read  this,"  and  Losophe  drew  forth 
a  large  sheet  of  paper  covered  with  figures  and 
hieroglyphics,  which  he  had  stolen  from  JRumphius. 
"  Well,  have  you  read  it !  No  ?  well,  I'll  read  it 
for  you. — •  Every  man  who  only  half  performs  the 
conditions  of  a  spell,  given  to  him  by  a  magician, 
shall  be  punished  by  being  transformed  into  a  sea 
bear,  and  by  having  a  d. .  ..hie  pain  in  the  bow- 
ells  for  seven  hundred  thousand  and  nine  years.' 

Daniel  shuddered,  and  crossed  himself. 

" '  Unless  he  gives  two  six-livre  crowns,  to  pur- 
chase refreshment  for  the  green  dragon  with  the 
red  tongue,  that  would  otherwise  have  bitten  the 
magician.' " 

And  Losophe  gravely  closed  the  book. 

The  Breton  was  much  moved,  but  he  managed 
to  stammer  out,  "  Bah !  it  is  all  the  same  thing ;  if 
I  am  to  be  punished,  let  it  be  in  a  lump,  and  1 11 
begin  by  lathering  you,  Losophe." 

And  he  levelled  his  fist  at  Losophe,  who  calmly 
observed,  "  I  could  pulverize  you  with  a  puff  of  my 
breath,  but  1.  had  rather  be  beaten  by  yon,  for 
every  blow  I  receive  will  be  ten  millions  of  hund- 
dreds  of  billions  of  a  pain  in  the  bowels  for  you." 

This  menace  had  the  desired  effect,  and  L<  >s<  iphe 
was  about  to  proceed,  when  a  strong  smell  of  burn- 
ing filled  the  false  deck,  taking  advantage  of  this 
Losophe  observed,  "do  you  observe;  you  had 
scarcely  raised  your  hand  against  me,  when  the 
devil  himself  makes  his  appearance,  to  defend  me, 
and  carry  you  off. . .  .do  you  smell  the  sulphur?  ' 

"  Mercy— mercy,  Losophe!"  said  Daniel  falling 
on  his  knees. 

But  the  whole  vessel  was  soon  in  commotion, 
and  Henry,  having  hastily  dressed  himself,  ap- 
peared on  the  quarter  deck,  and  gave  his  orders  in 
a  firm  tone. 

"  Every  man  to  his  post ;  and  you,  M.  do  Miran, 
let  the  vessel  be  brought  too,  and  close  the  hatch- 
ways to  prevent  a  draught  of  air,  and  let  the 
wounded  be  carried  to  the  gun  deck,  if  the  fire  is 
not  got  under ;  and  as  for  you,  Master  Frank, 
!•,  the  fire  i  ugine,  and  let  it  be  worked." 

The  fire  was  completely  unexpected,  and  rrery 
I  'ii  by  surprise. 

"  The  fire  is  gaining  on  us,  commandant,"  said 


THE    WATCH    TOWER  OF    KOAT-VEX. 


the  lieutenant,  in  a  whisper,  as  lie  issued  from  tl:e 
after  hatchway. 

"  Where  is  the  seat  of  the  fire?"  said  Henry. 
"In   the  after  part  of   the  vessel,"  said   Jean 
Thomas,  immediately  over  the  powder  magazine; 
M.  Kergouet,  the  master  gunner,  has  risked  his 
life  by  going  down  to  the  spot." 

"  Tell  him  to  drown  the  powder,  as  soon  as  he 
sees  the  seams  of  the  deck  begin  to  open  ;  and  let 
the  rest  of  us  do  all  we  can  to  save  the  ship." 

But  in  spite  of  all  their  exertions,  the  fire  gained 
ground ;  and  soon  a  column  of  flame  rose  from  one 
of  the  open  ports,  and  lighted  up  the  rigging,  the 
masts,  and  every  object  on  deck,  while  the  tops  of 
the  waves  were  tinged  with  its  ruddy  light. 

The  sailors,  alarmed,  endeavoured  to  get  the  boat 
ready;  but  Henry  being  acquainted  with  this  by 
Master  Frank,  exclaimed,  "  Let  no  one  speak  of 
embarking  without  my  orders." 

"They  will  not  speak  of  it;  they  will  do  it," 
cried  a  voice. 

"  And  who  will  do  it?"  said  Henry,  coolly. 

"  I,"  said  the  same  voice. 

And  Henry  approached  the  sailor,  who  was  en- 
gaged in  releasing  one  of  the  boats  of  its  tackle. 
"  Ah,  it  is  you,"  said  Henry,  quietly  cocking  a 
pistol. 

"  Yes;  I  had  rather  be  on  the  water,  than  roast- 
ing here." 

At  these  words,  the  Count  placed  the  pistol  to 
his  ear,  and  blew  out  his  brains :  "  That  is  the  pu- 
nishment of  a  mutineer;  who  wishes  to  imitate 
him?"  But  this  energetic  act  had  silenced  the  rest. 

"A  ship  to  windward!"  cried  the  look-out,  from 
the  masthead.  "  Curse  on  it!"  exclaimed  Henry ; 
perhaps  it  is  an  English  vessel:  the  light  of  the  fire 
has  betrayed  us." 

"  Ship  ahoy!  your  vessel's  on  fire:  do  you  want 
boats  or  any  other  assistance  i"  said  a  voice  from 
the  unknown  craft. 

"  Confusion !  it  is  an  English  frigate,"  said 
Thomas. 

"  She  has  kindly  offered  us  assistance,"  said  the 
Count;  "  accept  it  at  once,  and  we  shall  see  after- 
terwards."  Then,  taking  his  speaking-trumpet, 
Henry  answered  the  English  vessel,  "  We  are 
French ;  our  ship  is  on  fire ;  send  us  your  engine ; 
and  I,  the  commander  of  this  frigate,  request  a 
truce,  until  our  fire  is  got  under." 

"  It  is  equitable,"  said  a  voice,  that  mado  Henry 
start. 

The  English  engine  was  soon  alongside,  and 
being  directed  by  Master  Frank,  it  was  not  long 
before  the  English  sailors  were  enabled  to  extin- 
guish the  flames. 

When  the  danger  was  over,  Henry  said  to  the 
chief  officer  of  the  party  who  had  come  to  his  as- 
sistance, "  May  I  ask,  sir,  to  what  generous  com- 
mander I  am  indebted  for  this  assistance,  what  is 
the  name  of  your  vessel?" 

"  Our  commodore  is  the  Honourable  Sir  George 
Gordon,  and  our  frigate  is  called  the  Lively,"  an- 
swered the  officer,  in  French. 

"  Sir  George,  the  son  of  Lord  Gordon,  govenor- 
general  of  India?" 

"  Yes,  Captain,"  replied  the  English  officer. 

"Well,  then,  sir,"  said  Henry,  "tell  Sir  George, 
that  Count  de  Vaudry,  one  of  his  most  devoted 
friends,  will  pay  him  a  visit  to-morrow  by  day- 
break ;  and  also  inform  him,  that  I  shall  remain 
within  range  of  the  guns  of  his  frigate,  and  that  I 
shall  not  leave,  unless  driven  off  by  the  weather." 

"  Good  day,  my  dear  count,"  said  the  voice  of 


103 

Sir  George,  as  soon  as  he  had  received  Henry's 
message ;  I  am  delighted  at  having  rendered  you 
this  .slight  service,  f  shall  remain  all  night  in  the 
west- south  west,  under  half-reefed  top-saiis. 

" To-morrow,  then, my  dear  < ieorge,  said  Henry. 

Henry  did  not  forget  the  invitation  of  his  old 
friend,  and  in  the  morning  he  departed  for  the 
English  ship,  accompanied  by  De  Miran,  and  much 
to  the  astonishment  of  Jean  Thomas.  Before  he 
left,  however,  he  took  out  his  sealed  ord< 
were  to  be  opened  in  the  latitude  of  the  Azores. 
After  removing  theenveiopes,  he  found  two  packets, 
on  one  of  which  was  written,  "  This  packet  to  be 
opened  first."  On  opening  it,  it  contained  orders 
to  burn  the  despatches  addressed  to  the  Chevalier 
Destouches,  and  to  cruize  near  the  Azores  for  one 
month,  and  then  to  sail  for  Cape  Yercl,  and  there 
open  the  second  packet.  Eut  at  the  bottom  of  the 
despatch,  he  found  an  intimation,  in  the  hand- 
writing of  the  Marshal,  that  he  would  meet  with 
Suffren  off  the  African  coast,  and  proceed  with  him 
to  India. 

When  Henry  and  De  Miran  reached  the  deck  of 
the  Lively,  they  found  Sir  George  surrounded  by 
his  officers ;  and  all  were  soon  engaged  in  deep  and 
interesting  conversation,  on  the  chances  of  the  war, 
the  merits  of  their  two  vessels,  and  other  equally 
interesting  subjects. 

"  A  thousand  pardons,  gentlemen,"  said  Henry, 
at  length,  "if  I  carry  off  Sir  George  for  an  in- 
stant;" and  they  both  retired  into  the  cabin. 

"  Now  we  are  alone,  Henry,"  said  Sir  George, 
"  allow  me  to  thank  you,  and  to  clasp  your  hand 
once  more,  and  express  the  happiness  I  feel  at  once 
again  meeting  with  you." 

"  And  let  me,"  observed  Henry,  "  also  express 
my  gratification.  I  have  but  one  thing  to  com- 
plain of,  and  that  is,  the  haste  you  were  in  to  send 
me  back  those  few  thousand  louis." 

"  Say  no  more  about  it,"  said  Sir  George;  "I 
almost  regret  it  ever  took  place.  May  we  not, 
perhaps,  within  an  hour,  Henry,  be  in  deadly  con- 
flict." 

"  Well,  that  is  what  delights  me,"  said  Henry; 
"for,  between  us.  it  will  not  bo  so  murderous  a  con- 
flict, as  it  might  be  under  other  circumstances, — it 
will  be  more  like  a  trial  of  skill—  it  will  be  the  Syl- 
phid  competing  with  the  Lively." 

"  Well,  but  if  we  board  each  other?" 

'■  If  we  board,  let  us  swear,  on  the  honour  of 
gentlemen,  never  to  raise  our  swords  against  each 
other :  it  can  make  no  difference  in  the  issue  of  the 
combat." 

"  Agreed,"  said  Sir  George;  "  but  with  this  ex- 
ception only — it  must  be  a  mortal  struggle,  without 
truce  or  rest." 

"  I  am  willing,  my  dear  George," 

But  suddenly  Henry,  striking  his  foot  on  the 
floor,  exclaimed,  in  a  state  of  the  highest  excite  • 
ment,  "  Curses  upon  it!  1  forgot  the  powder— the 
powder!" 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  said  Sir  George,  much 
excited. 

"I  mean,"  replied  the  count,  looking  at  his  friend 
with  an  expression  of  wild  despair,  "  I  moan,  that 
I  am  the  most  wretched  of  mankind.'' 

"  Explain  yourself,"  said  George. 

"  Well,  then,"  observed  Henry,  "  during  the  lire, 
I  caused  the  powder  to  be  wetted.  I  ha\e  not  a 
grain  left —  not  enough  to  prime  my  pistol" 

"Thank  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Sir  George;  "I 
can  now  partly  make  amends  to  you  for  your  kind- 
ness. ' 


104 


THE    TEMPi-AflOXj    OB, 


And  ringing  his  bell,  he  desired  his  servant  to  tell 
the  lieutenant  to  come  to  him. 

"  You  cannot  guess  what  I  mean?'' 
"No,  on  my  honour." 

"  Henry,  I  will  divide  my  powder  with  you  " 
"  Oh,    Sir   George,   how   noble   and 
this  is!" 

The  lieutenant  entered. 

"  Go  to  the  powder  magazine,  sir,  and  see  the 
powder  divided  into  two  equal  portions." 
■■  Fee,  captain,"  said  the  officer. 
"Send  one   half  on   board   the  frigate  in   our 
offing." 

"  Sir?''  said  the  lieutenant,  imagining  he  had  not 
correctly  heard  the  orders. 

"  My  orders,  sir,  are,  that  one-half  the  powder 
be  taken  on  board  yonder  frigate.'' 

The  officer,  thunderstruck,  bowed  and  left  the 
cabin,  believing  peace  had  been  signed  between 
France  and  England. 

The  lieutenant  had  scarcely  left  the  room,  fl  hen 
Henry  again  expressed  his  thanks  to  Sir  George. 

"  -My  dear  friend,"  said  the  latter,  "  is  it  not  the 
same  thing? — powder  or  money,  you  saved  my  ho- 
nour, as  I  now  save  yours." 

"  How  can  I  ever  repay  you  for  this?" 
"If  you  imagine  you  owe  me  anything,  I  will 
tell  you  how.  I  know  you  well.  Henry,  and  I 
dare  explain  myself.  When  I  was  in  India,  at 
Pondicherry,  I  became  acquainted  with  a  young 
girl,  to  whom  I  was  to  be  united  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  war.  It  is  possible  1  may  not  survive  the 
approaching  action ;  in  case  I  fall,  piomise  me, 
Henry,  to  deliver  a  packet  of  letters  I  shall  leave 
behind  me,  and  a  portrait,  to  this  young  girl,  by 
your  own  hands  ;  for  as  you  go  to  India,  I  have 
no  doubt  you  will  land  at  Pondicherry." 

"  If  I  go  to  Pondicherry,  I  swear  to  do  as  you 
wish." 

"You  will  find  the  letters  hero  in  my  waistcoat." 
"You  will  deliver  them  yourself,  George;  and 
when  I  pay  a  visit  to  London.  I  shall  have  the  ho- 
nour of  an  introduction  to  Lady  Gordon." 

The  two  friendjy  enemies  were  interrupted  by  the 
lieutenant  of  the  Lively,  who  came  to  inform  the 
captain  that  he  had  executed  his  orders. 

An  hour  afterwards,  Henry  departed  for  his  own 
vessel. 

Ten  minutes  had  not  elapsed,  after  he  reached 
his  own  deck,  before  the  two  frigates  were  at  gun 
shot  distance  from  each  other. 

Then  a  flash  of  flame  illuminated  the  dark  sides 
of  the  Lively  — the  action  had  commenced,  and  a 
similar  streak  of  light  »as  Keen  on  the  hull  of  the 
Sylphid.  Broadside  followed  broadside,  until,  at 
length,  the  lofty  masts  of  the  Livelv  «ere  seen  to 
totter,  and  then  fall  by  the  board,  bringing  with  it 
the  ample  white  sails.  The  Sylphid,  taking  advan- 
tage of  this  misfortune,  succeeded  in  pouring  a 
broadside  into  the  bows  of  the  Lively,  that  swept 
her  from  stem  to  stern;  but  the  latter  vessel, 
after  repairing  the  damage  she  had  sustained, 
bore  down  upon  the  French  frigate  as  if  with  the 
intention  of  boarding.  The  offer  was  accepted  by 
Henry;  and  after  the  exchange  of  a  last  bioadside, 
th»  f^ra  plin^-irons  were  thrown,  and  the  vessels 
lashed  together  yard-arm  to  yard  arm. 

Tin-  musketry  was  for  an  instant  beard,  and  then 
amournful  silt  led,  interrupted  only  by  the 

clash  of  sabres  and  ml.  it  weapons,— for  the  Bword, 
tip  dagger,  the  axe   and  the  pike,  are  at  nork. 

But  tin-  bird  s-eye  view  of  a  combat  of  this  descrip- 
tion discloses  none  of  these  details,  nothing  is  seen 


but  two  noble  and  beautiful  vessels,  gilded  by  the 
rays  of  the  sun,  in  the  midst  of  a  calm  and  trans- 
parent sea,  beneath  a  beautiful  sky,  close  to  each 
other,  like  two  swans  on  the  surface  of  a  purbng 
stream. 

But  on  the  deck  of  the  vessel  itself,  what  is  really 
going  on?  Imagine  that  each  vessel  has  a  crew 
of  three  hundred  men,  and  that  these  six  hundred 
nun  are  murdering  each  other,  with  cold  steel, 
within  a  space  of  one  hnudred  and  twenty  pace3  in 
length,  and  thirty  in  width,  and  that  this  space  is 
still  further  contracted  by  capstans,  cordage,  and 
the  bodies  of  the  slain. 

At  the  end  of  twenty  minutes  the  red  flag  was 
hauled  down,  and  the  white  standard  of  France 
hoisted  at  the  mast  head  of  the  English  frigate: 
the  Lively  was  the  prize  of  the  Sylphid,  and,  before 
long,  both  the  vessels,  having  repaired  the  damage, 
were  under  sail  in  company,  like  two  old  friends. 

The  splendid  cabin  of  Henry  ha  1  been  much  in- 
jured  by  the  shot:  the  gilding  destroyed  or  black- 
ened, the  beautiful  mirrors  broken,  and  everything 
thrown  into  the  utmost  disorder. 

Seated  on  a  cannon  was  the  Count  do  Vaudry, 
without  coat  or  waistcoat,  his  shirt  covered  with 
blood.  The  faith  fid  Germeau  supported  him  in 
his  arms,  and  Doctor  Gedeon  was  busily  employed 
introducing  a  steel  probe  into  a  wound  a  little  below 
the  right  clavicle. 

A  group  of  curious  listeners  surrounded  the  door 
of  the  cabin.  Doctor  Gedeon,  full  of  importance, 
after  he  had  withdrawn  the  probe,  applied  his  ear 
to  the  wound.  After  a  moment's  silence  he  with- 
drew  it,  then  listened  again,  and  at  length  ob- 
served, "  the  wound  is  not  deep,  there  is  no  danger, 
count." 

It  would  be  difficult  to  describe  the  effect  pro- 
duced by  these  few  words.  Cries  of  joy,  and  loud 
shouts  were  heard  through  every  part  of  the 
vessel. 

"  Monsieur  de  Monval,"  said  Henry,  after  he 
had  heard  the  doctor's  opinion,  "  tell  the  lieutenant 
that,  while  my-  cabin  is  being  put  in  order,  I  will 
go  on  board  the  prize." 

"  Will  the  exertion  do  the  count  any  harm  1"  said 
Germeau,  timidly. 

"  Not  the  least,"  said  doctor  Gedeon,  "  and  if  the 
count  will  allow  me,  I  will  accompany  him;  for  I 
wish  to  see  my  friend  Jean  Thomas,  who  has  been 
slightly  wounded  by  that  wild  animal  the  English 
commodore." 

"In  heaven's  name,  be  silent,  sir!"  said  Henry 
violently,  "do  not  remind  me  of  the  dreadful  scene 
— poor  George!"  added  the  count, speaking  to  him- 
self, "poor  and  bra\e  George!  When  I  went  to 
him,  how  sadly  he  said: — 

" '  I  spoke  the  truth  when  I  said  that  I  should 
be  unfortunate,  my  dear  count,  but  you  will  testily 
that  I  defended  my  poor  frigate  to  the  last,  did  I 
not?  Adieu!  count,  our  fate  is  singular  ;  do  not 
forget  your  promise. — Stay,  here  are  the  letters 
and  the  portrait.' 

"And  then  he  uttered  these  words — which  I 
cannot  comprehend,  '  /  merited  my  fate,  for  I  have 
hem  perjured.'  What  could  he  mean  by  that?" 
milled  the  count;  then,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
he  exclaimed: — 

"  Curses  upon  it,  to  lose  a  man  like  this!  it  is 
enough  to  drive  a  man  mad  1" 

N  hen  the  count  reached  the  deck,  he  turned  to- 
wards the  boal  wain,  who  was  standing  by,  hat  in 
hand, and  said,  "How  is  Master  Kergouet !" 
"  Going  on  very  well,  commandant,  his  right 


THE    WATCH    TOWER    OF    KOAT-VEN 


105 


hand  is  a  little  injured,  however,  for  he  has  lost  his 
thumb,  and  at  least  three  of  his  fingers,  by«a  dis- 
charge of  grape  shot ;  and  he  is  waiting  now  for 
the  doctor.1' 

"  Well,  doctor,  I  think  this  poor  devil's  wound 
is  of  more  importance  than  that  of  the  lieutenant, 
suppose  you  take  him  first." 

"  I  was  about  to  propose  that  to  you,  command- 
ant ;  where  is  the  master  gunner  ?"  said  Gedeon  to 
Frank. 

"  This  way,  doctor,  in  his  own  berth." 

The  worthy  master,  although  reclining  on  his 
cot,  was  carefully  powdered,  according  to  custom, 
and  Losophe  had  just  finished  shaving  him. 

At  the  foot  of  the  bed  stood  Daniel,  holding  a 
large  bottle  and  a  glass,  and  about  to  pour  out  for 
the  master. 

"  Zounds,  Losophe  !  your  razor  bites  confound- 
edly,'' said  the  canonnier  bourgois. 

''  As  for  that,  it  is  very  likely  that  it  biles,"  said 
Losophe ;  "for  it  is  not  without  teeth  ;  it's  a_Coni: 
plctc  saw." 


"  And  very  pleasant,  no  doubt,  for  jour  cus- 
tomers, you  animal !"  cried  the  gunner,  in  a  pas- 
sion. But  seeing  Gedeon,  '"All,  the  doctor !  I 
have  the  honour  to  salute  you."  cried  Kergouet, 
bowing  very  low. 

"  Well,"  said  Gedeon,'' what'sthematter here?' 

"Oh,  nothing,"  said  Kergouet.  holding  up  his 
arm  covered  with  a  large  plaster.  "  It  happened 
near  the  end  of  the  affair  ;  all  the  men  at  the  gun 
had  been  demolished,  and  I  was  about  to  load  it 
myself,  when  a  cursed  shot  snapped  nt  me;  but  I 
have  only  lo8t  four  fingers,  and  I  don't  consider 
that  much,  they  are  under  process  of  cure  already." 

••  What  the  devil  have  you  been  putting  to  it  '.'' 
said  Gedeon,  horror-struck,  and  touching  with  the 
points  of  his  scissors,  the  mass  of  well-tarred  tow 
by  which  tlie  wound  was  concealed." 

When  this  question  was  asked,  Losophe  sud- 
denly escaped  on  tiptoe,  putting  his  razor  nt  the 
same  time  in  liis  pocket. 

"What  have  I  pul  ou  the  wound?"  said  the 
gunner 


14 


106 


mi:   TBMFTATIOK;    OR, 


"  Yes,  this  mass  of  tilth  I  see  here,"  said  the 
doojOT,  impatient ly. 

••  Monsieur  Le  a  ictor,  spt  airing  respectfully,  i:  i< 
a  very  excellent  thing,  ■  very  simple  remedy,  pre- 1 
pared  at  Lima,  under  the  influence  <  f  Saturn 
the  Bouthera  oroea>     It  contains  the  tail  of  i  lion'a 
whelp,  the  eyes  of  a  see   swallow,  the  tooth  of  a 
she-tiger,  and  the  fat  of  an  elephant ' 
"And  who  gave  yon  this  beautiful  receipt?" 
K  It  was  not  given  me  for  nothing,  doctor;  Lo- 
sophe  haa  been  kind  enough  to  impart  it  to  me;  he 
had  it  from  a  cacique's  niece.  ■  lady  he  was  bo* 
quainted  with  in  the  south;  and  it  even  appears, 
thai  the  cacique  never  gave  this  remedy  to  any 
but  his  relations  or  his  most  intimate  friends,  and 
do  one  else  is  acquainted  with  it." 

"And  at  your  age,  Master  Kergouet,  do  you 
believe  such  nonsense?" 

"lam  not  a  child,  doctor,"  said  the  gunner, 
with  vexation;  ''  I  can  distinguish  a  quack  medi- 
cine from  a  natural  remedy  like  this." 

And  the  gunner  said  in  his  sleeve,  "Ah!  he  is 
rather  jealous  on  the  subject:  two  of  a  trade, 
that's  it" 

"Just  as  you  like,"  said  Gedeon;  "but  after 
you  are  once  under  my  hands,  if  I  find  any  of  this 
rubbish  on  it  again,  you  may  be  attended  by  whom 
you  will.'' 

And  the  doctor  began  to  dress  the  master's 
wound. 

At  this  instant  second  master,  Eapin,  entered  in 
haste,  cap  in  hand,  and  his  face  covered  with 
smiles. 

"  Well,  Master  Kergouet,,"  he  said,  as  he  ap- 
proached the  gunner,  and  shook  his  hand  triumph- 
antly, "  Well,  master,  it  seems  you  have  had  your 
hand  crushed,  it  is  your  fourth  wound,  I  think;  is 
that  very  citizen-like,  eh?  what  is  there  like  a 
dealer  in  that,  eh?" 

"  He  is  very  grand  with  his  ehs"  cried  Master 
Kergouet;  then  after  coolly  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders, and  looking  at  Gedeon,  he  said  "  I  hope, 
doctor,  you  will  acknowledge,  that  it  is  impossible 
to  meet  in  the  vilest  poultry  yard,  with  a  greater 
goose  than  this.  But  to  the  fact:  look  you,  Eapin, 
there  ought  to  be  some  respect  shown  to  each 
other  among  citizens,  and  I  wish  to  answer  you 
and  convince  you  for  your  own  good,  that  you  are 
a  brute  beast.  Listen  to  me  then,  Kapin,  my  dear 
friend, —  I  have  an  intimate  friend  at  Brest,  M. 
Joliot,  a  grocer  and  dealer  in  chocolate.  M.  Joliot 
is  far  from  being  a  fighting  man,  and  above  all,  a 
gunner,  for  he  is  in  the  habit  of  observing,  when 
speaking  of  the  imprudent  loading  of  firo-aras, 
that  he  could  not  be  comfortable  when  in  a  boat,  if 
he  knew  there  was  even  an  unloaded  musket  at 
the  bottom  of  the  water,  because  there  is  no  know- 
what  might  happen.  So  you  cannot  say, 
in,  that  my  friend  Joliot  is  either  a  fighting 
r  a  gunner,  can  you?" 
'■  ( ''  rtainly  not,  master,  a  grocer,  nothing  but  a 
grocer.'' 

'■Well,   Rapin,   very  well;    and  yet  one  day, 
while   grinding   his  cocoa,   he  crushed   his   haiid 
under  the  roller,  and   lost   three  fingers  in  an  in- 
stant;   well,  that   does  not   make   him    a  gunner, 
i: '!   or  a  fighting  man  either?   answer  that,  if 
n." 
"  Y'  u  are  extremely  civil,  Master  Kergout,"  said 

:  but  yon  argue  like  a  hedge] 
'•A  hedgehog,"  cried  Kergouet." 
•'  fee,  said  Kapin,  coolly,  '*  and  a  hedgehog  that 
has  drunk  too  much." 


"Ah.  that  is  the  case,  is  it?  well,  do  me  the 
is  to  superintend  the  cleaning  of  your  guns, 
be  battery  put  in  order,  instead  of  stand- 
ing here  talking  nonsense, "  replied  Kergouet,  who, 
finding  he  had  the  worst  of  the  argument,  was 
anxious  to  cut  the  discussion  short 

The  damage  done  to  the  two  frigates  having 
bet  n  repaired,  the  two  vessels  continued  their 
cruise  oft  the  Azores,  under  the  command  of  the 
Count  de  Vaudry. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


THE    ABBE    DE    CIL1.Y. 


"Despair  Itself  becomes  n  kind  of  asylum  under  which  a 
man  may  stat  himself  and  find  repose" 

The  Abbe  de  Cilly,  who  had  devoted  himself  to 
the  duties  of  chaplain  on  board  the  Sylphid,  was 
descended  from  an  ancient  and  noble  house,  and 
had  only  embraced  the  ecclesiastical  profession 
about  two  years  previously.  He  had  passed  the 
greater  past  of  his  youth  in  the  centre  of  the  Vos- 
ges,  on  the  estate  of  his  father,  who  having  passed 
the  earlier  part  of  his  life  in  the  midst  of  the 
gaieties  of  the  court,  during  the  regency  and  the 
reign  of  Louis  XV.,  retired  from  the  world  while 
still  j'oung;  and  marrying  the  daughter  of  one  of 
his  neighbours,  passed  the  remainder  of  his  life  on 
his  hereditary  estates;  here,  shortly  after  his  mar- 
riage, he  lost  his  wife,  who  left  behind  her,  young 
Arthur  de  Cilly,  her  only  child,  the  present  Abbe. 
The  Baron  de  Cilly  thus  left  to  the  entire  super- 
intendence of  his  only  son,  determined  that  none 
but  himself  should  interfere  with  the  education  of 
young  Arthur;  and  being  a  man  of  considerable 
acquirements,  the  mind  of  the  boy  was  rapidly 
developed.  In  fact,  Arthur  being,  from  his  earliest 
years,  familiarized  with  the  most  abstract  studies, 
and  endowed  with  an  ardent  imagination,  still 
more  exalted  by  solitude,  before  he  had  attained 
the  age  of  twenty,  had  nearly  made  himself  mas- 
ter of  the  whole  circle  of  knowledge  his  father  was 
able  to  impart  to  him;  but  in  addition  to  these 
solid  acquirements,  Arthur  possessed  an  obsti- 
nately analytical  spirit;  and  it  was  not  long  before 
the  inconvenience  of  this  penchant  was  felt  by  his 
less  talented  father. 

For  the  latter  had  early  introduced  him  into 
worldly  knowledge  of  every  description;  and  he 
began,  when  he  saw  the  arddii*  imagination  of  his 
son,  to  regret  the  lessons  he  had  given,  and  endea- 
voured, but,  alas!  too  late,  to  retrace  his  steps. 
The  consequence  of  this  state  of  affairs,  was  fre- 
quent disputes  and  much  angry  argument  between 
the  baron  and  his  son ;  and  M.  de  Cilly  listened  to 
Arthur  with  that  species  of  terror  and  surprise 
with  which  a  man  might  look  at  an  acorn  he  had 
planted,  if  it  were  to  grow  before  his  eyes,  and 
become  an  oak  i:.  the  space  of  a  second. 

Tho  fci  ling  thus  engendered  in  the  breast  of  the 
young  mm,  which  told  him,  "your  intellect  is 
BUperSbl  lo  that  of  your  father's,"  poisoned  alibis 
days,  fur  lie  really  rfoated  on  his  parent. 

ihis  con  taut  feeling  of  depression  at  the  failure 
."  h  .  schemes,  soon  injured  the  health  of  the 
Qdl  .1  ;  and  he  shortly  afterwards  died,  and  left  his 
youthful  heir  a  prey  to  the  compunctions 
science,  and  without  the  most  remote  belief  di 
revealed  religion.      As  a  relief  to  hi:    distracted 


THE    WATCH    TOWER    OF    KOAT-VKN. 


107 


thoughts,  he  sought  for  new  sensations  in  the  dan- 
gers of  an  adventurous  life;  and  entering  die  army 
under  an  assumed  name,  distinguished  himself 
so  much  in  his  new  career,  that  he  was  made  an 
officer  on  the  field  of  battle;  but  in  the  morning 
he  left  his  post,  disgusted  at  the  horrors  and  cruel- 
ties of  war,  and  not  long  afterwards  entered 
orders,  and  instructed  others  in  a  faith  in  which 
he  himself  had  no  belief. 

Such  was  the  Abbe  de  Cilly,  who,  about  fifteen 
days  after  the  action  with  the  Lively,  and  the 
death  of  Sir  George,  found  himself  in  company 
with  Henry,  now  nearly  cured  of  his  wound. 
The  two  frigates  were  still  cruizing  off  the  Azores, 
and  Henry,  having  no  mental  resources,  found  his 
time  pass  heavily  during  the  monotony  of  a  cruize; 
to  relieve  himself,  to  a  certain  extent,  from  the  va- 
pours, he  had  sent  for  the  chaplain,  not,  as  he  as- 
sured the  abbe,  exactly  for  the  purpose  of  conies 
sion,  but  to  speak  to  him  of  the  singular  state  in 
which  his  mind  had  been  for  some  time  past. 

He  then  very  candidly  entered  into  an  account 
of  his  cruelty  to  Rita,  and  the  numerous  other 
acts  of  his  dissipated  life,  and  he  continued,  "Hy- 
pocrisy apart,  abbe,  I  am  sometimes  terrified  at 
my  conduct." 

It  would  be  useless  to  weary  the  reader  with  the 
long  and  tedious  conversation  that  ensued  between 
the  count  and  the  abbe,  in  which  the  former,  while 
accusing  himself  of  the  various  crimes  with  which 
his  life  had  been  checquered,  at  the  same  time 
could  not  avoid  an  expression  of  vanit}'  at  the 
situation  in  which  he  imagined  his  constant  suc- 
cess, and  apparent  appreciation  by  the  world,  had 
placed  him  above  the  other  libertines  of  the  age; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  shrewd  and  unbe- 
lieving abbe  harrowed  up  his  feelings  by  his  ironi- 
cal observations.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that,  as  the 
abbe  had  assured  him  at  the  beginning  of  their 
interview,  they  parted  dissatisfied  with  the  result 
of  their  meeting,  the  abbe  perfectly  convinced  of 
the  hollowness  of  the  heart  of  t  e  count,  and  the 
latter  unable  to  fathom  the  character  of  that  "de- 
vil of  an  abbe." 

But  let  us  shift  the  scene  to  India.  It  was  on 
a  beautiful,  pure,  and  transparent  starlight  night,  a 
squadron  of  eight  ships  of  the  line  and  three  frigates 
silently  glided  along  the  waters  of  the  narrow 
strait  that  separates  the  island  of  Ceylon  from  the 
mainland  of  the  Carnatic  or  Coromandel.  To  all 
appearance  the  greater  number  of  these 
had  lately  been  engaged  in  a  murderous  conflict; 
in  fact,  they  had  just  returned  from  the  battle  of 
Negapatnam,  in  which  the  English  admiral, 
Hughes  was  beaten. 

In  the  cabin  of  the  Ajax,  which  carried  the  ad- 
miral's flag,  a  man  about  forty- five  years  of  age 
might  have  been  seen  in  a  reclining  attitude,  qui- 
etly smoking  a  houkah;  he  was  mil  and  muscular, 
and  clothed  in  a  plain  calico  dress.  In  the  same 
cabin  a  young  officer,  in  the  full  dress  of  a  lieu  ten 
ant,  was  seated  at  a  small  table,  covered  with  papers 
and  writing  materials.  The  man  with  the  houkah 
was  M.  le  Bailli  dc  Suffren  dc  Saint-Tropez,  rear 
admiral  and  commander  of  the  fleet  of  the  king  of 
the  French  in  the  Indian  seas.  The  youn 
was  the  nephew  of  the  admiral,  the  Chevalier  do 
Pirrevert,  captain  of  the  Bellona. 

After  writing  a  portion  of  a  despatch  at  the  dic- 
tation of  the  admiral,  the  lieutenant  observed:— 
'•'  Admiral,  you  told  me  I  was  to  remind  you  of  the 
Count  de  Vaudry." 

"You  arc  right— Iliad  forgotten  it— forgotten 


my  intrepid  pupil,  Henry  de  \  !     write,  'I 

cannot  i  despatch,  Marshal,  with 

.  recommending  to  your  notice  thi 
Henry   de   Vaudry,   commandant  of   the 
Sylphid,  who,  according  to  your  instruct] 
in  with  me  off  Cape  Verd,  bringing  with  him  the 
beaut  fid  English  frigate,  the  Lively.     1  ha 
this  vessel  with  the  sick  to  the  Isle  i 
"It  wants  but  your  signature,  Admiral." 
'•Confound  this  wound,"  sail  the  admiral,  "it 
prevents  my  using  my  hand;"  and  I 
despatch,  as  well  as  he  could,  with  his  left  band. 
"  To-night,"  he  continued,  «■  I  intend  to  cast  anchor 
at  Gondolar,   to  have  an  official  interview  with 
Hyder  All;  he  is  our  ally,  and  plays  the  devil  with 
lish,  although,  more  for  his  own  .satisfaction 
urs.     If  I  land  at  Gondolar,  I  shall  stay.  I 
suppose,  with  my  old  friend,  M.  Horn  Praedt,  to 
whom  I  believe  Vaudry  has  a  number  of  p 
deliver,  belonging  to  that  brave  English 
who  died  while  defending  his  frigate  so  valiantly." 
The  lieutenant  lift  the  cabin,  leaving  the  admi- 
ral busily  engaged  in  preparing  fur  his  interview 
with  Ilycler  Ali. 

M.  Horn  Praedt  was  a  rich  merchant  of  Gondo- 
lar, and  having  remitted  vast  sums  of  money  to  be 
invested  in  the  principal  banks  of  Europe,  or  to 
purchase  magnificent  estates  in  Holland,  his  native 
country,  intended,  in  the  following  year,  to  take 
his  departure  from  the  East.  His  house  was  one 
of  the  most  extensive  and  elegant  palaces  of  that 
luxurious  country,  and  furnished  with  the  utmost 
extravagance.  On  this  occasion  the  owner,  aware 
of  the  intended  visit  of  the  French  admiral,  had 
summoned  his  household  about  him  to  give  direc- 
tions for  the  reception  of  his  guest,  with  thi 
est  demonstration  of  respect;  and  after  partaking 
of  the  comforts  of  a  bath,  M.  Horn  Praedt,  his 
short  and  corpulent  form  enveloped  in  I 
dress  of  white  cotton,  caused  himself  to  1 
into  the  dining-room  in  a  great  arm  chair  anon 
wheels,  there  to  partake  of  a  banquet  prepared 
with  the  most  expensive  dainties  of  the  country. 

But  in  the  midst  of  all  his  caprice  and  idleness, 
the  object  most  beloved  by  M.  HornPra 
his  daughter  Ina,  the  only  offspring  of  his  mar- 
Mi  a,  French  woman  of  goo:!  family  he  had 
married   at    Madras,    and    who    died    when    his 
daughter  was  but  five  years  of  age.     The 
adored   his  daughter;    and  as   he  was  ox; 
logical,  he  argued,  "when  we  love  people  we  try- 
to  make  them  h  tppy;   I  must,  therefore,  make  my 
daughter  happy;    but  then,  how  am  I  to  make  her 
At  this  juncture,   no  doubt,  the  nabob 
took  a  Ion;;-  pull  at  his  golden-bowled  hou- 

!  ked  himself  another  deeply  phi:, 
ion.     '•  What  is  happiness?"  to  which  he 
necessarily  answered,  "Ha]  s  that  which 

makes  you  happy." 

And  as  that  which  rendered  him  happy  was  the 
rfect  independence,  and  the  most  voluptu- 
ous idleness,  together  with  the  most  complete  fa- 
cility of  satisfying  his  numerous  caprices,  he  made 
it  a  rule  never  to  contradict  his  daughter  in  any 
thing,  and  to  leave  her  at  complete  Liberty. 

Hat  let  us  pay  a  visit  to  his  beloved  daughter. 
At  the  distance  of  about  a  mile  from  the  dwelling 
of  M.  Horn  Praedt,  hut  within  the  circumference 
of  his  immense  park,  an  octagonal  pavilion  was 
reared;  it  was  one  storey  in  height,  and  the  walls 
were  covered  with  •■..  rcelain  ofthemost 

dazzling  whiteness.   This  pavilion  was  embowered, 
and  almost  bidden  by  a  grove  i 


if 


To  this  request  the  good  man  replied— "As  this 
■  my  da  i  bter  alone,  count,   you  must 
Isto  see  her— 1  never  med 
in  her  affairs." 

.  the  eount  announcing  himself  as  the 
muslin,  on  which  the  most  ,  bearer  of  a  letter  from  Sir  George,  opened  every 
iced  with  the  g*y  and    door  to  him,  and  be  obtained  an  interview  with  the 
fair  lua. 


shini  ostru- 

n»  ":~  of  tl  and  a  library  of 

iUy  bound  books,  formed  a  portion  of  the 
contents  of  the  pavilion, together  with  a  lew  choice 
painti 

.  clothed  in  white  muslin, 

ded  upon  their  mistress,  who  ai  this  instant 

i  moving  her  siesta  on  a  couch,  beneath  a  cur- 

ired  silk.    "  My  mistress  does  not 

one  of  her  attendants. 

Badjy,  no,"  said  [na,  throwing  aside  the 

light  curtain,  and  rising  from  her  couch,  "  1  have 

uning,    and  I  cannot   understand     my 

dream." 

Iua  was  about  eighteen  years  of  ago,  and  her 
cheeks,  whose  colour  was  heightened  by  her  dis- 
turbed sli  ep,  were  of  a  rosy  line,  her  complexion 
being  of  the  most  dazzling  whiteness,  with  the 
whim  of  a  spoilt  child  she  dressed  herself  in  the 
a  fashion,  and  the  picturesque  costume,  modi- 


Henry,  without  any  previous  observations,  pre- 
sented the  letters  announcing  the  death  (f  Sir 
George,  with  cool  politeness,  rhe  poor  girl  hastily 
broke  the  Beal,  ami  ascertaining  the  dreadful  new"--, 
she  fainted  away. 

In  the  first  instance,  the  abrupt  manner  in  which 
the  cunt  had  announced  the  fatal  news,  roused  the 
anger  of  the  fair  Creole.  But  Henry,  with  his 
usual  judgment  on  die  characters  of  women,  had 
boldly  resolved  that  one  of  the  best  means  of  ob- 
taining their  affections  wa8  to  produce  a  strong 
impression  in  the  first  instance,  whether  of  love  or 
hate. 

The  count  was  not  deceived,  and,  after  consider- 
able time  had  elapsed,  he  learnt,  by  a  secret  emis- 
sary, through  the  means  of  a  negress,  that  Ina's 
hatred  had  given  way  to  curiosity,  and  she  had  ob- 
served to  her  favourite  slave,  that  "  If  the  count 
were  to  ask  for  an  audience,  she  might  grant   it, 


tied  by  her  exquisite  taste  to  advantage    that  she  might  have  the  sad  pleasure  of  Speaking 


on  her  delicate  figure;  her  arms  were  bare,  white, 

polished,  but.  alas!   partially  concealed  by   pearl 

bracelets,     lipr  legs  also  were  uncovered. 

ing  to  the  costume  of  the  country,  and  so  graceful, 

;  "fully  rounded,  that  you  could  almost  curse 

the  slender  rings  of  gold  and  pearls  that  encircled 

ad  then  her  feet,  so  white,  with  veins  so 

blue,  and  polished  oval  nails,  tinted  by  the  purple 

mplete  her  description,  long  black  hair 

ned  round  her  head,  almost  in  the  Grecian 

fashion. 

But  Inn,  although  a  spoilt  child,  had   too  much 
f  nature  to  yield  to  the  seductions  of  her 
situation,  and  prided  herself  in  avoiding  idleness, 
and  improving  her  know  I 

sir  George,  who    frequently  accompanied  his 
brother  officers  in  their  visits  to  the  nabob,  bad 
particularly  attracted  her  attention  by  his  ■ 
and  his  gentle,  serious,  and   measured,  voice,  for 
which  the  most  distinguish)  d  of  the  English  aris- 
tocracy are  so  peculiarly  characterized,  and  then 
!  but  twelve  years  of  age  when  she  first  bc- 
acquainted  with  him. 
•  .3  uneasy  at  not  ha-,  ing  lately  heard  from 
r:  not  that   she  feared  his  death,  such  a 
too  dreadful  to  enter  into  her  mind, 
nxious  to  learn  how  soon  she  might 
again   to  see  the  lover  of  her  earlii 
Her  dream  di  r  also,  and  turning  to  the 

he  said,  "  Badjy,  1  wish  to  consult  old  Ma- 
hohe  respecting  mj  ,  ]  htfor." 

Henry,  who  by  this  time  had  arrived  at  (Jon- 
as introduced  to  M.  Horn-Praedt,  and  paid 
.  n  ithout,  however  delivering  the 
with  which   he  was  entrusted,  for  he  re- 
marked '  it  was  always  b  to  hear   bad 
hi  i  desire  al  0  W  '  (laughter,  in 
.   but  in  this  be  was  disappointed, 
for  I  na  did  not  make  her  appeal  i  hstand- 

avoura  the  count  had  made  I 
:  means  her  slaves 

At  length  I  I  father,   that  he  had 

from  sir  Ge<  rge,  which  hewished  to  place 

i  ina. 


of  the  dear  deceased ; '  and  one  morning  he  received 
a  note,  begging  he  would  repair  to  M.  Horn- 
Preadt's,  that  madamoiselle  IIorn-Fraedt  might 
return  him  thanks.  &c. 

But  the  designs  of  Henry,  whatever  they 
be,   with   regard   to    the    fair  Creole,  pr. 
slowly,  when  an  incident  occurred  which  suddenly 
removed  ever}'  obstacle  to  his  success. 

Our  readers  will  remember,  that  Sir  George,  du- 
ring his  last  interview  with  Henry,  had  declared 
that  he  deserved  his  fate  because  he  had  perjured 
himi  i  If.  These  mysterious  words  were  at  length 
explained:  Sir  George  was  strongly  addicted  to 
the  vice  of  gambling;  Ina  had  obtained  a  written 
promise  from  him,  duly  signed  and  sealed,  that  he 
would  never  more  indulge  in  play,  under  the  pen- 
alty of  being  considered  a  perjured  man.  The 
count,  having  !   this  fact,  succeeded  in 

causing  an  account  of  the  duel  between  himself 
and  Sir  George  to  come  to  the  ears  of  Ina,  and  by 
this  means  the  perjury  of  her  English  lover  became 
apparent 

From   this  time  forward  the  recollection  of  the 
I  I  gradually  to  be  effaced  from 

!"■:■  mind,  and  Henry,  in  consequence  perhaps  of 
the  immense  fortune  of  her  father,  and  the  wish 
(hat  his  name  might  not  be  lost  to  p  sterity,  bad 
determined  upon  marrying  Ina.  But  to  drive 
from  her  mind  every  trace  of  love  for  the  English 
.  the  count  appeared  anxious,  ye\  at  tic 
same  time  unwilling  to  solicit  her  hand,  although 
he  expressed  the  most  'ardent  love;  lie  sighed  and 
'..  and  at  length  declared  in  a  state  of  des- 
pair, that "  seeing  so  man)  charms  in  a  woman, 
who  had  so  far  forgotten  herself  as  to  become  the 
mistress  of  Sir  G<  orge — " 

[na  interrupted  him,  filled  with  race  and  as- 
tonishment, "from  whence  did  he  obtain  that  in- 
formation?" 

"  From  SirGeorge  himself;  who,"  he  said,  "be- 
ing  somewhat  of   a    COXCOmb,  bad    given    Iran    to 
nd  that — " 

Horror  stricken  at  the   supposed   perfidy  r>l   Sir 

'■■  tears, 


THE    WATCH    TOWER   OF    KOAT-VKN. 


mingled  with  reproaches,  and  protestations  of  the 
fals  hood  of  the  charge. 

The  count  had  by  this  time  wrought  up  the  feel- 
ings of  the  beautiful  Ina  to  the  state  he  intended, 
and  with  the  coolest  impudence  he  addressed  her, 
— "  Mademoiselle,  I  have  too  much  reliance  on 
your  truth,  and  your  love,  to  exact  an  oath,  to  hu- 
miliate you,  for  the  purpose  of  justifying  yourself. 
I  offer  you  my  name,  certain  you  will  not  accept  it 
if  you  are  not  worthy  of  it. ' 

The  pure  and  delicate  mind  of  Ina  felt  no  sus- 
picion of  ihe  deceit  of  the  count,  and  no  insult  at 
his  effrontery,  and  shortly  after  his  strange  propo- 
sal of  marriage  the  ceremony  was  celebrated  at  the 
Isle  of  France. 

Six  weeks  after  his  marriage,  the  count  wrote 
thus  to  one  of  his  intimate  friends. 

"  At  length,  for  six  weeks,  I  have  been  married; 
knowing  my  character,  I  need  not  tell  you  I  do  not 
love  my  wife  like  a  Celadon.  But  I  make  myself 
agreeable,  and  I  love  her  almost  as  much  as  I  ever 
did  any  of  my  mistresses.  Hove  heron  account  of 
the  position  it  gives  me  in  society.  She  is  des- 
cended from  a  very  good  family  of  Languedoc; 
her  mother  was  a  St.  Perry,  her  father  belongs  to 
the  Horn-Praedts  of  Holland,  one  of  whom  was  a 
commodore  under  admiral  Ruyter.  So  that  her 
birth  and  connections  are  good;  and  in  addition  to 
this,  her  father  bestowed  on  us  eight  millions  of 
francs  at  our  marriage,  and  the  remainder  of  his 
fortune  will  become  ours  at  his  death.  Add  to 
this  my  own  income  of  fifty  thousand  crowns,  and 
there  is  enough  to  support  life,  so  that  the  more 
I  reflect,  the  more  I  think  I  have  done  right." 


CHAPTER  LXV. 


TIPPOO  SAIB. 


'•  And  the  tiger,  lj  ingdown  on  his  back,  patiently  endured 
the  bites  of  his  young  ones."  — Buffon'. 

Our  scene  is  laid  on  the  sea-shore  of  the  Isle  of 
France;  a  thick  wood  descends  within  a  short  dis- 
tance of  the  water.  The  setting  sun  still  cast  its 
level  rays  upon  the  earth,  lengthening  the  shadows 
of  the  lofty  palms,  and  tinging  the  summits  of  the 
distant  hills  with  its  ruddy  beams.  Two  men,  en- 
veloped in  large  cloaks,  were  seen  to  cross  the  sands 
and  approach  the  wood  with  stealthy  pace.  The 
man  who  appeared  to  lead  the  way  was  a  swarthy 
Asiatic,  his  companion,  our  old  friend  lieutenant 
Thomas. 

"This  way,  this  way!"  cried  the  Asiatic,  whose 
name  was  Craeb. 

"  Shall  we  never  reach  that  cursed  wood?"  said 
his  companion. 

"  Curse  it  not,  we  are  close  on  its  borders;  but 
let  us  rest  a  while,  and  tell  me  who  you  are,  I  have 
promised  to  effect  your  escape  from  the  island,  and 
land  you  in  my  proa  on  the  coast  of  Coromandel, 
but  who  are  you?" 

"What  signifies— I  wish  to  leave  the  island;  I 
have  promised  you  fifty  louis,  here,  take  them  in 
advance." 

"  But  who  are  you— of  whom  do  I  take  the 
money?''  said  Craeb. 

"First,  then,  who  are  you?" 

"  I  will  give  you  a  proof  of  my  confidence,"  said 
the  Asiatic,  "I  am  Craeb  the  smuggler,  Craeb  the 
pirate,  Craeb  the  assassin,  and  I  am  making  my  es- 
cape after  having  killed  a  rival." 


"  Yes,  and  who  are  J 

"Jean  'Ihomas,  the  honest  man." 

"That's  str  Craeb,  "  the  honest  man 

and  the  assassin  fly  together! ' 

"  1  >o  men  abhor  you,  brother  Craeb?'1 

"  They  execrate  me." 

"  I  also  am  hated;"  observed  Thomas,  '  Why  do 
they  execrate  you  (" 

"  On  account  of  my  crimes. — And  you —  ' 

"  On  account  of  my  virtues." 

"  Strange  enough,"  said  Craeb.  "  I  am  hated  for 
nry  crimes,  you,  for  your  virtues  1  but  tell  me,  bro- 
ther honest  man,  for  what  good  action  you 
dearouring  to  escape  in  company  with  a  murderer?1 

"Up  to  the  present  time,  brother  Craeb,  [  have 
been  hated  and  laughed  at,  but  not  openly;  but 
now  in  broad  day-light  th*y  write  upon  my  fore- 
head cowardice  I  infamy!     For,  you  see,  I 
officer  in  the  French  navy — " 

"  Oh!"  said  Craeb,  "  you  are  condemned  to  death 
for  having  saved  the  life  of  your  admiral,  or  gained 
a  victory !" 

"  Worse  than  that,  Craeb,  1  am  driven  out  with 
infamy  because  I  would  not  assassinate  a  lad  of 
eighteen!" 

"  Strange."  said  Craeb,  "  we  both  fly  from  the 
face  of  our  fellow-men;  I  for  murdering;  you,  for 
refusing  to  murder!" 

"  And  besides,  brother  assassin,"  observed  Tho- 
mas, "  it  is  better  to  be  hated  than  despised,  there 
you  have  the  advantage  of  me,  and  yet  I  could 
have  accepted  the  challenge  and  killed  the  boy,  as 
easily  as  I  break  this  twig." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Craeb,  "starting  back,  "  a 
king's  officer,  and  refuse  a  challenge!" 

"  Listen  to  me,  brother  Craeb,  I  am  not  quite  a 
coward — I  have  received  five  wounds,  and  all  in 
front:  in  the  midst  of  the  tempest,  while  others  ut- 
tered cries  of  anguish,  I  was  silent." 

'•  But  this  duel,"  said  Craeb. 

"  A  young  Creole,  eighteen  years  of  age,  was 
cruelly  beating  an  old  negro,  I  cried  out  against 
his  cruelty,  and  the  boy  struck  me." 

"  Struck  you!  you,  a  king's  officer!" 

"  1  swore,  before  my  dying  mother,  never  to  fight 
a  duel,  and  I  always  keep  my  word." 

"Away,  you  coward!    seek   for   another  guide. 
Here,   take  your  gold!"   exclaimed  the   i 
scornfully,    and   flinging  down  the  purse,   he  de- 
parted. 

"  At  this  action  of  the  assassin,  Thomas  burst 
into  a  fit  of  horrible  laughter — "despised  by  him! 
despised  by  the  assassin  Craeb!" 


After  the  peace  of  1782,  Doctor  Gedo  n  left  the 
sea  service,  and  established  himsi  If  as  surgeon,  in 
the  first  instance,  at  the  Isle  of  Franco,  and  after- 
wards at  Seringapatam.  During  1790-1-2,  his  po- 
litical influence  over  the  French  who  dwelt  in  that 
(own,  obtained  for  him  the  presidency  of  the  Jaco- 
bin club  which  existed  in  that  city.  The  doctor 
had  left  off  wearing  powder;  his  forehead  hail 
grown  bald,  and  his  grey  hair  floated  over  his 
shoulders,  xvhilo  his  who1*'  appearance  still  bore 
evidence  of  self-sullieieney  and  good  nature. 
A  tri-coloured  flag  floated  over  the  principal  win- 
dow of  his  dwelling,  the  stall  being  surmount;  d  by 
a  cap  of  liberty  and  he  was  busily  engaged  prepa- 
ring iorthe  reception  of  a  visitor;  his  old  friend 
Jean  Thomas,  at  that  time  representative  of  the 


110 


■ .    OR, 


1 


!  France,  and  an  envoj  I 

pernor  of  thai  island  to  the  court  of  Tippoo 
/ho  had  succeeded  his  lather  Hyder-Au  in 
i'Iu'  worthy  doctor  was  also  prep; 
address  for  the  saltan,  who  was  designat 
■en,  and  honorary  member  of  the  society 
bins  ami  friends  of  liberty;1    but,  in  spite  of  all  his 
.■■ins,  he  found  time  to  describe  his  old 
friend  Thomas  to  bis  favourite  slave  Malic,  who 
received  the  information  with  all  the  imperturbable 
coolness  for  which  the  Indian  character  is  noted 

ttua  friend  of  mine.  Thomas,  a 
devil  of  S  fellow,  1  shall  find  him  much  older — 
much  changed,  forit  is  eleven  years  since  we  have 

h  other;   but  there  will  he  no  alteration  in 
his  character;  I   am  sine  you  will  see,  M  he,  in 
id  Thomas,  a  lion  let  loose  against  kings, 
a  man  forions  against  the  aristocrats  and  luxurious 
expenses;  he  is  as  we  s.ty  in  Europe,  a  true  Bans- 
It  must  be  acknowledged,  however,  that 
my  dear  friend  is  not  particul  irly  neat  in  his  dress. 
But  he  is  a  rigourist,  a  rude  fellow,  and  attached  to 
isea;  only  think  of  that  duel  he  refused 
two  or  three  years   back,  through   which   he   was 
obliged  to  leave  the  service— a  devil  of  a  fellow,  ;i 
glorious  Brutus  he  would  make.     I  shall  be  glad  of 
his  company  to  the  sultan,  not  that  I  am  afraid  of 
the  sultan,  no,  1  am  not  afraid." 

'•  You  must  take  care  of  the  tiger,  master,  he  has 
claws  and  teeth.  ' 

"  What!  are  not  all  men  equal?  shall  the  presi- 
dent of  the  jacobin  club  fear  the  man  you  call  the 
t  ger?  And  besides,  sultans  and  kings  always 
make  a  present  of  superb  snuff-boxes  on  these  oc- 
casions, mid  then — " 

At  this  instant  an  elegant  palanquin  appeared  at 
the  door,  born-  by  peons  in  livery,  and  Jean  Tho- 
mas  leapt  out  of  its  soft  couch.  Gedeon  was  thun- 
derstruck; he  could  not  comprehend  the  change 
which  had  taken  place  in  the  appearance  of  his 
friend;  hisdr  I  mger  mean  and  neglected, 

but  neat  and  glittering,  as  if  intended  fen-  a  birth- 
day. Tri-coloured  ribands  streamed  from  his  hat, 
and  a  large  belt,  also  tri-coloured,  supported  a 
magnificent  Babre  and  rested  on  a  pair  of  white  sa- 
tin pantaloons  and  black  and  shining  boots,  while 
the  delicate  white  of  the  collar  of  his  shirt  set  oft' 
the  tawny  and  proud  features  of  the 
oew  representative  of  the  people. 

The  fact  is,  Jean  Thomas  no  sooner  learnt  that 
oration  had  thrown  open  honours  and  dig- 
i  all,  than  he  understood  his  own  disposi- 
tion, and  discovered  that  his  violent  hatred  of  pri- 
•  as  nothing  less  than  his  measureless  envy 
privileged.     So  he  retrieved  his  lost  charac- 
ter by  picking  several  quarrels,  in  which  he  either 
woundi  i  i  men.  for,  although  the  grand- 

son of  the  dealer  in  fish  had  been  able  to  sacrifice 
his  rank  and  quiet  to  the  promise  he  had  made 
Ids  mother,  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  sa- 
ciiiiee  his  ambition. 

The  day  after  the  meeting  of  the  two  friends, 
Doctor  lied  on  and  .lean  Thomas  wen  to  be  pre- 
sented to  the  sultan. 

plendid  gallery,  in  the  sumptuous 
Tippoo  Saib,  might 

•  near  a  curtain  of  Persian 

stuff,  worked  with  silver  and  green  silk ;  their  lot  ks 

■id    and,  while   their    thill 

white  gs  ly  with  the  dark  co- 

lour of  their  skin,  their  imperturbable    looks  gave 

them  tii' 

sonage,  dressed  i;.  I 


breandala  trith  a  long  blade,  suspended  i 

from  his  belt.     He  was  leaning  on  his  elbows  at  a  i 
window,  and   appeared  to  contemplate  the 

sublime  scenery  before  him.     '1  his  was,  in  fact,  our    . 
old  friend  t'r.uli  | i  .  who  for  the  last  nine 

years  had  held  a  confidential  situation  in  the  hoi 

hold  of  Tippoo  Sail).      As  he  enjoyed  the  pi 
he  hammed  a  verse  of  a  Malay  song. 

At  the  end  of  a.  lew  seconds  the  curtain  near 
which  the  two  soldiers  wire  placed  was  withdrawn, 

and  a  man  about   sixty   years  of  age,  with  a  white 

bear.!  and  smiling  countenance,  appeared,  moving 
backwards  and  repeating  a  number  of  salaams. 

e  the  appearance   of  this   personage,    the 
Malay  had  raised  himself  from  his  leaning  attitude 

and  stood  erect  and  motionless.  The  old  man, 
who  was  splendidly  dri  '..  had  scarcely  returned 
the  respectful  salutations  of  Craeb,  when  suddenly 
a  short  harsh,  and  guttural  whistle  was  heard  be- 
hind the  curtain,  and  repeated  three  times. 

I  his  sound  must  have  had  some  peculiar  signifi- 
cation, for  it  produced  a  terrible  effect  on  the  man 
with  the  white  beard,  he  drew  buck  as  if  he  had 
been  bitten  by  a  serpent,  his  face  assumed  an  ash)' 
hue.  and  his  eyes  glared  wildly  uith  terror,  while, 
as  if  with  the  instinct  of  self-defence,  he  raised  his 
hands  to  his  throat. 

But  he  had  scarcely  time  to  perform  this  action, 
before  the  two  negros  had,  with  the  utmost  gravtiy, 
seized  his  arms  and  twisted  them  behind  his  back', 
while  they  twined  their  legs  round  his  and  held 
them  motionless.  His  horrible  astonishment  was 
toogreat  to  allow  him  to  Utter  a  word,  his  teeth 
chattered,  but  he  was  unable  to  give  vent  to  an 
articulate  sound. 

'I  lien  Craeb  approached  the  old  man,  and  intro- 
ducing his  hand  into  his  mouth,  twisted  his  tongue 
to  prevent  his  cries,  while  with  his  right  hand  he 
quietly  drew  forth  his  dagger,  with  a  blade  as  thin 
and  round  as  the  barrel  of  a  quill,  and  sharp  as  a 
needle.  At  a  sign  he  made,  the  two  soldiers  opened 
the  dress  of  the  sufferer,  and  pressed  forcibly  on 
his  loins,  and  Craeb,  choosing  the  spot,  thrust  in 
.  r  with  so  much  precision,  that  the  old 
man  died  without  u  struggle,  and  not  a  drop  of 
blood  appeared  from  the  wound.  His  clothes  were 
then  re-adjusted,  and  Craeb,  leaving  his  victim  in 
the  arms  of  the  soldiers,  knelt  before  the  curtain, 
and  gave  three  light  blows  on  the  door,  to  announce 
the  successful  termination  of  the  affair. 

"  To  the  dogs  with  the  traitor,"  cried  a  bars] 
voice  from  the  mysterious  chamber,  and  the  two 
soldiers  carried  the  body  of  the  old  man  to  a  door 
at  the  other  extremity  of  the  gallery,  through  the 
opening  of  which  a  crowd  of  sircars,  and  other  of- 
ficers, might  be  seen  awaiting  their  audience,  among 
them  the  corpse  was  thrown  with  the  same  cry,  "to 
the  dogS  with  the  traitor." 

The  two  soldiers  then  resumed  their  stations,  and 

Craeb,  again  retiring  to  his  favourite  window,  re- 
commenced his  plaintive  ditty. 

'I  he  unfortunate  man  who  thus  lost  his  life  was 
Mahommed-Osniar-Khan,  formerly  an  ambassador 
from  the  sultan  at.  the  court  of  Trance,  and  his 
crime  appears  to  have  been  the  constant  praise  In' 
i  on  all  he  had  witnessed  at  the  court  of 
s,  by  which  the  vanity  and  sclflovo  of  the 
tyrant  Tippoo  had  been  roused. 

Another  man  soon  entered  the  fatal  gallery,  and 
by  bis  haughty  bearing  appeared  to  be  a  f 
at  court,  hi'  was  about,  forty  year   of  agej  tall,  ro- 
bust, ami  extr<  mely  corpulent,     t  raeb  approached 
in,  and  kneeling  before  it,  said — "Shaikl!" 


THE    WATCH    TOWER   UI     KOAT-VEN. 


Ill 


"  Let  him  enter,  the  bear  may  enter,  the  tiger 
allows  him,"  said  the  silvery  voice  of  a  child,  with 
a  burst  of  laughter. 

The  fat  man  involuntarily  knit  his  brow,  but  he 
repressed  his  look  of  discontent,  and  made  a  sign 
to  Craeb  to  announce  him  again. 

Craeb,  kneeling  again,  said,  "  Shaikl!" 

"  Did  you  not  hear  my  son's  order,  you  cursed 
dog?"  cried  a  harsh  and  angry  voice.  Craeb  grew 
deadly  pale,  afraid  he  should  hear  his  master's 
whistle — but  the  sultan  did  not  whistle. 

The  child's  voice  again  exclaimed.  "  Eear  Sha- 
ikl," with  another  burst  of  laughter. 

And  Shaikl,  the  bear,  lifted  the  curtain,  and  en- 
tered the  audience  chamber  of  Tippoo  Saib. 

The  sultan  was  seated  on  a  large  sofa  of  green 
silk,  resting  upon  six  steps  of  silver,  and  supported 
on  either  side  by  a  silver  tiger  as  large  as  lite,  the 
eyes  being  formed  of  topazes  and  rubies;  over 
head  was  a  bird  of  paradise  of  colossal  size,  formed 
of  massive  gold,  and  adorned  with  precious  stones. 
Near  one  corner  of  this  throne  a  child  about  five 
years  of  age  was  seen,  almost  buried  in  the  soft 
cushions,  this  child  was  Abdul,  the  youngest  of  the 
three  sons  of  Tippoo  Saib,  and  the  object  of  his 
fondest  adoration. 

The  spoilt  child  had,  in  his  play,  flung  a  small 
dagger  underneath  a  massive  silver  coffer,  in  such 
a  situation  that  it  could  not  be  easily  reached;  in 
vain  had  his  father,  stretched  out  at  length,  made 
incredible  exertions  to  reach  it  and  he  was  about 
to  give  up  the  task,  when  the  impatient  cry  of  the 
child,  "I  will  have  it!"  induced  him  to  continue 
his  exertions,  till  at  length,  much  to  the  joy  of 
Abdul,  the  tiger  recovered  the  dagger. 

"  Well,  Shaild,"  said  Tippoo  to  his  favourite, 
"  are  we  to  pay  a  visit  to  my  eagles  to  day  ?  ' 

"  Is  your  highness  incbned  to  forget  that  it  will 
soon  be  the  hour  when  the  two  Erenchmen  were  to 
prostrate  themselves  before  you?'" 

"  True,  Shaikl,  I  had  forgotten,  and  I  impatiently 
expect  the  answer  of  the  sircar  of  the  I\l  auritius 
I  have  asked  him  to  provide  me  with  several  good 
European  officers;  but  have  these  two  Frenchmen 
come  together,  and  with  a  numerous  retinue?" 

"  Your  highness  will  give  his  orders  on  that 
subject." 

"  Well,  I  will  receive  the  two  Erenchmen  as  I 
receive  others,  I  mean  singly,  and  you  will  not 
even  allow  their  followers  to  enter  the  palace.  I 
fear  these  traitors,  Shaikl,  so  that,  you  understand 
me,  let  them  be  separated  as  soon  as  they  have 
crossed  the  threshhold."  And  the  suspicious  ty- 
rant added. — 

"  Let  their  clothes  be  searched  before  they  are 
introduced  to  me;  and,  Shaikl,  you  will  remain, 
and  tell  Craeb  to  be  ready  with  his  two  red-tur- 
baned  companions  to  answer  the  slightest  signal. 
Now  let  my  houkab  be  brought  in,  Shaikl,  and  go 
and  give  orders  concerning  these  men." 

When  the  favourite  had  left,  Tippoo  Saib  rose, 
and  took  down  a  Turkish  pistol,  and  having  ex- 
amined the  priming  he  placed  it  beneath  one  of 
the  cushions,  and  laid  by  its  side  a  large  and  long 
dirk,  with  an  extremely  sharp  point,  and  poisoned, 
and  then  flung  himsell  carelessly  on  the  sofa. 

Two  negroes  brought  him  his  houkah,  with  its 
golden  bowl,  and  placing  the  amber  end  in  his 
mouth,  he  began  to  smoke. 

Thenegros  retired,  and  Shaikl,  having  returned, 
was  soon  followed  by  the  unfortunate  doctor — but 
alone!! 

Poor  Gelcon's  plans  were  considerably  deranged 


by  his  separation  from  Jean  'Ihomas,  on  who^c 
cool  determination  he  much  relied  to  support  him 
during  his  interview  with  the  'tiger,'-  and  as  he 
entered  the  palace  he  clearly  distinguished  a  dead 

body  borne  out  by  two  purias,  a  circumstance  that 
by  no  means  added  to  his  resolution. 

The  sultan,  as  soon  as  doctor  Gedeon  made  his 
appearance,  gazed  on  him  with  the  sU  adj  and  un- 
winking look  for  which  he  was  noted;  as  to  the 
favourite,  he  appeared  completely  absorbed  in  at- 
tending to  his  master's  houkah,  but,  nevei 
he  kept  his  eye  steadily  fixed  on  the  unfortunate 
doctor. 

Tippoo,  wearied  by  the  reiterated  salaams  of  ibe 
doctor,  was  the  first  to  break  silence —  "  Well, 
what  is  your  business?" 

1  he  president  of  the  Jacobin  club,  assuming  the 
courage  of  despair,  began  to  read  the  address  lie 
had  prepared;  his  humhle  manner,  and  tremulous 
voice  contrasting  strangely  with  the  pompous  lan- 
guage of  the  writing. 

"Liberty,  equality,  fir  death!  Eternal  and 
mortal  hatred  to  kings,  tyrants,  despots,  and 
aristocrats — 

"  What  is  your  business?''  repeated  the  sultan, 
who  scarcely  understood  a  word  the  doctor  uttered. 
But  the  latter,  gathering  courage  as  he  proceeded, 
made  two  steps  in  advance,  and  offered  the  emblem 
of  republicanism  to  Tippoo  Saib,  and  then  contin- 
ued his  address,  in  which  the  words  tyrant,  despot, 
equality,  and  liberty,  were  so  often  repeated,  that 
at  length  his  highness,  thrusting  back  the  republi- 
can emblem  with  the  end  of  his  pipe,  exclaimed — 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  despot,  you  dog?'' 

"I  mean  by  despot,"  said  Gedeon  in  a  shrill 
voice,  and  nothing  abashed,  "  1  mean  by  despot,  a 
tiger,  thirsting  for  blood,  who  quenches  his  thirst 
in  the  tears  of  his  subjects,  devours  their  flesh,  and 
drinks  their  heart's  blood  as  a  dainty,  and — " 

"  But,"  said  the  sultan,  who,  tyrant  as  he  was, 
still  enjoyed  a  laugh,  "  what  does  your  society  wish 
to  do  with  despots?" 

"  In  the  name  of  libcrtj'  and  equality,  death  to 
tyrants!"  said  Gedeon,  in  a  state  of  excitement. 

"  Why,  then,  you  dog.  you  come  to  seek  my 
death!  lor  I  am  a  despot,  and  so  was  my  father 
before  me,  and  so  my  son  Abdul  will  be."' 

"  The  proof  that  your  highness  is  not  a  despot,  is 
that  your  subjects  have  bestowed  on  you  the  glo- 
rious name  of  Koodaband  (the  gift  of  heaven  .  and 
that  I  come  to  lay  the  name  of  citizen  at  your 
feet." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  citizen?" 

"Citizen  means  patriot;"  said  Gedeon,  gaining 
fresh  courage. 

"  And  patriot?" 

"  Patriot,  sublime  sultan,  a  friend  of  nature,  he 
is  greater  than  a  king,  he  wears  a  red  cap,  is  a 
sans-culotte,  and  wishes  for  universal  liberty,  and 
destruction  to  priests,  tyrants,  and  aristocrats." 

"And  what  do  you  mean   by  a  tyrant 
Tippoo,  who  happened  to  be  in  an  unusually  gentle 
mood. 

"  A  tyrant,  magnanimous  sultan,  is  always  a 
kin^,  and  a  king  is  always  a  tyrant." 

"Why,  you  dog  of  the  world,  1  then  am  a  ty 
rant!"  said  the  sultan,  laughing,  "  ask   Shaikl  if  I 
cannot,  by  a  mere  sign,   have  all  my  wisl, 
tied!     Yes.  you  dog  of  the  world,  and,  if  I  wished, 
could   order  you  to  l088  your  head  this   instant- 
would  that  satisfy  you?" 

"Sublime  Koodaband,  lam  sure  you  areinca- 


112 


TUB    :  .  ••:  ;    OR, 


pr.ble  of  any  thing  so  monstrous I"  and  the  citizen 
thought  of  the  dead  body. 

•■  Why  you  wretched  madman,  shall  you  with 
impunity  offer  me  the  title  of  citizen,  that  I  may 
kill  tyrants  and  despots,  and  I  -tyrant 

and  despot?"  then  turning  to  Bhaikl,  "letthisdog, 
himself  with  as,  be  well 
whipped,  then  let  his  head  be  shared  on  one  side, 
and.  dressed  in  a  yellow  garment,  let  him  ride 
three  times  ronnd  the  city  on  the  back  of  a  hog. 
I  have  said  it." 

And  Qedeon,  thunderstruck,  was  handed  from 

the  other,   until   the    sentenee    was    duly 
ted. 

'•  This  madman  has  not  been  very  amusing, 
Shaikl,''  said  Tippoo,  "  Now  let  the  envoy  from  the 
governor  of  the  Isle  of  France  be  introduced;"  and 
Jean  Thomas  was  led  in  by  another  door. 

Jean  Thomas,  with  an  intrepid  look,  saluted 
Tippoo  Saib  after  the  military  I  I  handed 

him  the  despatches  from  the  governor  of  the  Isle 
of  France,  and  while  Tippoo  Saib  read  them  he 
baked  around  him  boldly,  but  respectfully,  and 
the  sultan,  on  the  other  hand  watched  the  counte- 
f  the  ex-lieutenant,  with  whose  bearing  he 
-ed. 

"  The  sircar  of  the  Island  of  the  Mauritius  has 
sent  you  to  me,  no  doubt,  in  the  name  of  the  king 
of  France? ' 

"The  king  of  France  is  dead;''  said  Thomas 
gravely. 

'•Truly  but  the  king  never  dies!  there  is  always 
a  king  in  France?' 

"  1  hen  is,  at  present,  no  king  in  France,"  said 
Thomas. 

"No  king  in  France!     In  the  name   of  what 
jn  do  yon  come,  then?" 

"  In  the  name  of  the  sovereign  that  has  replaced 
the  king  of  France— the  people." 

"  And  what  has  this  people  done  to  the  king  of 
France?" 

" 'I  he  people  condemned  the  king  of  France 
to  d.ath,  and  the  people  now  is  the  only  sovereign." 

'•  And  the  queen .'"   said  Tippoo  Saib. 

"  The  axe  of  the  executioner  is  blind— it  strikes 
all  who  injure  the  people. ' 

"  At  Mysore,  Frank,  the  executioner's  sword 
never  t>  inches  the  neck  of  a  woman.  But  after  all, 
I  like  this  people,  Shaikl,  and,  although  ferocious 
enough,  he  puts  me  in  mind  of  my  glorious  father 
Hyder-Ali.  Well,  Frank,  your  new  sovereign  is  a 
usurper,  like  my  glorious  father,  and  I  feel  an  in- 
clination towards  him,  because  he  is  a  usurper." 

"The  people,"  said  Jean  i  hoinas,  "has  not 
usurped  the  throne,  but  taken  that  which  belonged 
to  it  by  the  law  of  nature." 

"  Ah,  that  is  what  my  glorious  father  said  to  the 
rajah  of  .Mysore;  and  I  see  with  pride  and  joy  that 
your  people  govern  FVance  as  I  govern  Mysore. 
As  for  you,  Frank,  are  you  devoted  to  your  peo- 
ple !  do  you  hue  your  sovereign  V 

"  I  am  devoted  to  the  people  for  life  or  death — 
body  and  soul — heart  and  blond." 

"  Devoted  under  all  circumstances — letits  orders 
be  what  they  may  f' 

"  Under  all  circumstances." 

■cure  its  favour,  would   you  do  all  it  is  in 

man  to  do? — If  the  i pie  said  to 

you  —  kill?" 
"  I  would  kill." 
'•  Your  f'r. 

■  could   not  be  my 
friend,  I  woull  l.i 


•■  Your  mother?" 

v  mother,  she  is  dea  1." 
'•  If  you  had  a  son,  would  you  sacrifice  him  for 

'•  BrutUS  did  BO,  I  would  do  it." 

The  sultan,  unable  to  repress  a  movement  of 
terror,  observed  aside,  "  he  would  kill  his  son!! 
He  is  a  blind  hyena,  to  be  let  loose  on  its  prey,  who 
thinks  only  of  the  blood  with  which  it  is  intoxioa 
ted;  be  is  precisely  suchaman  as  1  want.  Frank," 
he  observed,  turning  to  Thomas,  "  I  shall  soon  be 
at  war  with  the  English,  I  want  a  man  as  hard  as 
iron,  and  as  pure  a->  fire,  to  execute  my  orders  — let 
them  bewh.t  they  may.  I  want  a  man  entirely 
devoted  to  me,  and  who  understands  the  warfare 
ofthe  Europeans — will  yon  be  that  man  !" 

•■  \!;t ,n  mimous  sultan,"  said  Thomas." 

"  Why  hesitate  — master  for  master— the  people 
or  Tippoo  Saib  !  And  perhaps  1  may  be  able  to 
reward  you  far  more  magnificently  man  your  pres- 
ent master;  your  governor  says  you  have 
naval  captain,  you  shall  be  the  commander  of  my 
fleet  —what  you  En  ll   admiral.      Your 

property  at  the  Mauritius  shall  be  protected,  you 
shall  have  three  thousand  rupees  a  month,  and  re- 
ceive  the  title  of  Bellawh." 

"  Does  that  title  make  a  man  noble!"  exclaimed 
Thomas  in  delight.  , 

"It  renders  noble,  the  past,  the  present,  and  the 
future." 

"In  Europe,  also  1" 

"  .My  ambassador  was  equal  to  any  of  the  lords 
of  France.     Do  you  accept  my  offer  J" 

"  If  the  governor  of  the  island  grants  me  per- 
mission." 

And  the  sultan  placed  a  splendid  collar  of  pre- 
cious stones  round  the  neck  of  Jean  1  hoop 
taking  the  sapphire  from  his  turban,  also  presented 
it  to  him.  In  the  mean  time,  Shaikl,  who  had 
been  hitherto  able  to  conceal  his  jealousy,  made  an 
angry  movement, — '•  Are  you  afraid  of  losing  my 
favours,  my  poor  Shaikl  ?"  said  the  sultan. 

Shaikl  prostrated  himself,  and  exclaimed,  "  Mag- 
nanimous and  victorious  sovereign,  I  could  not 
exist  without  them." 

"  You  shall  have  your  wish,"  observed  the  sultan, 
whistling  at  the  same  time  for  Craeb,  "  for  they 
are  withdrawn  from  you;"  Craeb  instantly  entered 
and  bore  out  Shaikl,  Thomas  remaining  unmoved 
during  the  scene,  for  he  did  not  understand  the 
meaning  of  the  three  whistles. 

The  sultan  then  rose,  and  addressed  Jean  Tho- 
mas;— "My  noble  Bellawh,  you— you  are  mine, 
but  under  the  protection  of  my  oath  to  France  and 
her  sovereign.  I  will  shortly  send  you  my  orders." 
And  the  sultan  left  the  apnrtment, 

Thomas,  filled  with  pride  at  his  unexpected  ele- 
vation, exclaimed,  as  he  paced  the  room,  "Com 
mander  of  the  fleet!  first  lord  at  the  court  of 
Mysore,  and  my  ancestors  ennobled  also;  courage, 
courage  !  grandson  of  Thomas,  the  dealer  in  fish! 
Yem  have  washed  off  your  original  taint.  Tippoo 
Saib  is  a  magnificent  man,  and  who  knows  what  I 
may  not  beco 

But  when  Thomas  entered  the  gallery,  he  found 
himself  I  with  CracD,  who  was  singing, 

as  usual,  and,  at  the  same  time,  wiping  tie 
with  which  he  had  just  made'  an  end  of  Shaikh 

But  seeing  his  old  acquaintance,   In    suddenly 
weapon,  and  exclaimed,  "What!  my 
r  Thomas,  the  honest  man!'' 

"  who  are  ofu  ed, "  I  am 

not  acquainted  \ 


THE    WATCH    TOWKR    OF  KOAT VEN. 


113 


"What!  not  know  Craeb?  Not  recollect  Craeb, 
the  assassin?  This  turban  disguises  me;  but  it  is 
Craeb,  brother — still  an  assassin,  as  he  was  in  the 
Isle  of  France,  but,  by  my  turban,  I  never  was  so 

busy  as  1  have  been  to  day— but  you,  brother,  are 
you  still  Thomas,  the  honest  man?  ' 

To  this  question  of  the  assassin,  Thomas  made 
no  answer. 

"Ah!"  continued  Craeb,  "I  understand;  you 
remember  the  word  '  coward,'  but  I  forget  it  all; 
for  as  I  only  kill  now  for  the  sake  of  money,  I  am 
not  much  better  than  you.  You  are  still  Thomas, 
the  honest  man,  I  suppose;  the  man  who  keeps 
the  oath  he  swore  to  his  mother  and  risks  his 
honour.'' 

"  No!  no  !"  exclaimed  Thomas,  in  a  rage;  "  no! 
leave  me,  you  accursed  murderer!" 

'■  11a  !  ha!  ha!  what,  are  you  no  longer,  my 
brother,  the  honest  man?'' 

At  this  instant,  an  officer  entered  and  invested 
Thomas  with  a  magnificent  sword,  at  the  same 
time,  saluting  him  by  the  title  of  "first  Sircar  of 
the  sea"  "  What,"  continued  Craeb,  "  arc  you  the 
favourite  of  the  sultan?  You  have  the  situation 
of  poor  Shaikl,  I  have  just...."  and  he  moved 
his  dagger  significantly. 

'•  What  man  what  are  you  speaking  of  ?"  said 
Thomas. 

"  I  mean,''  continued  Craeb,  "  that  in  obedience 
to  your  master  and  mine,  I  have  just  killed  that  fat 
man  in  the  green  turban;  and  it  appears  to  me 
that  his  death  was  in  consequence  of"  your  eleva- 
tion." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Thomas,  drawing  back  with 
horror.  "  You  killed  this  man  here — just  now — on 
this  spot  ?" 

"  Yes  ;"  said  Craeb,  quietly ;  "  this  very  instant 
— here,  just  where  you  are  standing— but  go  on. ' 

"Oh!  this  is  strange!"  exclaimed  Thomas; 
"  and  I  am  in  this  man's  service." 

"  Strange  ?"  cried  Craeb,  with  a  loud  laugh, 
"  still  strange,  brother,  the  honest  man ;  formerly 
j  )U  would  not  kill,  you  fled  from  men  who  insulted 
you :  but  now  you  cause  men  to  be  slain,  and  you 
sell  }rour  soul  to  the  devil  or  to  Tippoo,  for  it  is  all 
the  same.  You  have  curried  favour,  like  your 
brother  Craeb,  the  assassin.  It  is  singular  the 
same  fate  always  brings  us  together,  proscribed  or 
favourite,  always;  proud  or  degraded,  it  is  the 
same,  and  1  ^ay  to  you  now,  as  before,  fate  is  a 
juggler-— now,  brother,  I  esteem  you;  but  this  is 
the  last  word  from  the  sepoy  to  the  great  lord." 

Craeb  was  leaving  the  gallery,  when  Thomas 
bitterly  exclaimed,  "  Now  then,  I  am  esteemed  by 
Craeb  the  assassin,  as  I  was  formerly  despised  by 
Craeb  the  assassin  ! — It  is  just."  After  a  short 
silence,  he  continued:  "  Bah!  after  all,  it  is  foolish 
in  me  to  think  of  such  matters,  when  fate  is  so  fa- 
vourable to  me."  Then  taking  a  jewel  from  his 
sabre,  he  flung  it  proudly  to  Craeb,  at  the  same 
time  saying  to  him,  "  Here,  sepo}',  arrack  and  the 
Bayaderes  for  ever,  there  is  something  to  drink 
the  health  of  the  noble  Sircar  of  the  empire  of 
Mysore." 

Craeb  took  the  jewel,  saying,  "By  my  faith, 
noble  lord,  I  will  drink  my  share  of  the  price  of 
your  soul— strange,  still  strange!"  and  Thorn  S 
left  the  room  without  answering  him. 


CHAPTEB  XLVL 


A    CoXVERTITE. 


■  1 801,  Count  Henry  de  Vandry 
was  fifty-six  years  withstanding 
his  time  of  life,  his  ta  le  for  pleasure  and  dissipa- 
tion still  remained  unchanged,  and  although  he 
had  been  married  eight-and-twenty  years, 
tensions  to  success  among  the  ladies  were 

'it,  as  to  render  him  ridiculous  in  : 
of  bis  friends,  and  a  gieat  source  of  amuse 
his  enemies. 

From  thirty  to  thirty-six  years  of  i 
count  had  been  admired  by  the  ladies  for  his  actual 
accomplishments,  but  from  thirty-six  to  forty  they 
excused  their  partiality  for  him  on  account  of  his 
having  been  so  much  the  vogue  at  the  court  of 
Versailles  ;  from  forty  to  forty-five,  a  few  young 
wnin  n,  of  little  pretentions,  but  much  foresight, 
attached  themselves  to  the  count  for  the  sake  of 
bringing  them  elves  into  notice,  but  quitted  him  as 
soon  as  their  object  had  been  accomplished.  From 
forty-five  to  fifty  his  favourites  were  young  inex- 
perienced girls,  who  had  just  left  boardint;- 
But  alas!  from  fifty  to  fifty -six  years  he  became 
merely  a  pleasant  companion,  and  neither  husband 
nor  lover  was  any  longer  jealous.  At  length,  how  • 
ever,  the  vanity  of  the  count  received  a  severe 
lesson. 

A  certain  baroness,  the  better  to  conceal  her 
predeliction  for  another  lover,  paid  great  atten- 
tion to  the  count,  and  that  to  so  great  an  ex- 
tent, that  a  dueLtook  place  between  her  husband 
and  her  admirer;  and  he  became,  in  the  end,  the 
laughing  stock  of  the  court.  On  this  he  deter- 
mined to  retire  from  fashionable  life, 

If  we  cast  a  glance  over  the  life  of  the  count, 
we  cannot  have  avoided  noticing  that  self  was 
always  uppermost;  whether  in  the  case  of  plea- 
sure or  giory,  everything  was  sacrificed  to  self; 
and  finding  now  his  earthly  enjoyments  fail,  he 
still  looked  forward  to  secure,  at  any  price,  his 
future  welfare;  and  that  he  might  obtain  this  I 
prize,  he,  no  doubt,  thought  of  the  happiness  and 
affection  of  his  family  ? 

No;  as  in  every  other  case,  he  would  even  sacri- 
fice them  without  hesitation,  to  secure  his  own 
salvation.  But  it  was  not  the  hope  of  happiness 
in  the  other  world  that  biassed  his  mind  ;  it  w  as 
the  fear  of  punishment. 

Such  was  the  Count  de  Yaudry—  a  man  utterly 
selfish.     Turning  next  to  his  old  lieutenant.  Jean 
I  Thomas,  we  find  the  passion  of  vanity  as  fully  de- 
\  eloped. 

Having  returned  from  India,  he  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  Emperor  Napoleon,  and  as  a 
man's  character,  perhaps,  can  be  better  developed 
by  his  own  confidential  communication  to  a  friend 
thai]  by  any  description,  we  subjoin  a  portion  of  a 
private  and  confidential  letter  of  *'  Chevalier 
Jean  Thomas,  Prefect  of  the  department  of ... ., 
to  Baron  Blumart,  private  secretary,  &c.  &c. 

" I  have  already  addressed  two  Inters  to  you, 
m)-  dear  Blumart,  which  have  both  remained  un- 
answered, and  really  it  is  too  bad,  for  what  I  wish 
you  to  ask  of  the  minister  is  decidedly  no  favour. 
I  think  I  am  fully  entitled  to  the  title  . 
after  all  the  trouble  1  have  given  myself  in  the 
affair   of   the  conscription,    an  i  og  the 

result  of  my  efforts,  by  which  I  obtained,  for  his 
the  emperor  and  king,  three  hundn 

■  w\. 


114 


Till:   TEMPTATION;   (HI, 


'•  It  really  almost  makes  me  sorry  I  quil 
army  for  the  civil  service,  but  you  know  it  was  the 
r  himself  induced  me  to  enter  into  my  new 
l  think    1  even   now   hear  his  majesty 
■peak.—'  Vi'ii  served  under  my  orders  in  1 
•Yea,  sire.'—-  Yon  bad  then  just  returned  from 
-•  You  had  been  in  the  Ben  u  e 
of  Tippoo  Saib?'  'Yes,  Bire.'— •  Long?'  'Until  his 
death.  Eire.1    '  He  was  a  man  who  would  have  his 
own  will — Ti]  lid  his  majesty,  speaking 

to  himself,  then  he  added,  '  He  held  you  in  con- 
siderable esteem?'  '  I  will  hare  the  honour  of  lay- 
er majesty  the  firmans  in  the  sultan's 
own  hand  writing.'— 'Do  so;   Bend  them  to  me, 

ad  marshal  will  introduc 
I  returned,  as  you  know,  my  dear  Blumart,  and 
his  majesty,  theemperorand  king,  said  to  m< 
he  returned  my  paper,  '1  have  readthi 
are  a  bar  of  iron,  1  like  that,  I  will  make  trial  of 
you;  you  shall  be  prefect  <'(  the  departn 
......    I  have  already  sent  three  prefects  there, 

who  have  been  unable  to  return  me  the  fourth  of 
ing  at     Lei  me  see  how  you  will  succeed 
ii  fhis,  your  first  attempt' 

■•  i !,.'.  afterwards  my  department  was 

regulated  like  a  battallion  of  sepoys. 

he  bye  I  have  a  lertained  that  the  con- 
ceited lands  of  the  Count  de  Vaudry  have  been 
restored  to  him  by  the  emperor  because  the  count, 
the  richest  man  in  Holland,  has  accepted  an  hono- 
,-  at  the  court  of  his  majesty  king  Louis. 
I  am  almost  Borry  for  it,  for  the  property,  I 
my  neighbourhood,  would  hat  weD 

but  however,  private  interest  must  give  way  to  the 

L. . I  open  my  letter  to  Bay  yohr 

despatches  have  arrived:  how  wrong  I  was  in  ac- 

,i.     At  length   then  I  am  a  baron!  and 

s  by  which  the  honour  is  conferred  on  me 

ten  iii  the  most  flattering  terms,  everything 

is  perfect;    I  admire  the  arms;  do  you  think  if  I 

wire  to  have  them  sculptured  over  the  door  of  the 

are  they  would  have  a  good  effect?— all  the 

of  the  old  nobility  are  ornamented  in  this 

'■  If  you  meet  with  an  opportunity,  my  dear 
Blumart  return  the  minister  thanks  on  my  ac- 
count, and  remind  him  that  I  was  the  first  to  get 
rid  of  the  absurd  practise  of  excusing  the  blind 
ami  lame.  One  eye  is  quite  enough  for  taking 
aim  at  the  masses.  As  to  the  bandy-legged  men, 
I  always  congratulate  myself  for  the  idea  of  bi- 
ting them  in  the  navy,  there  is  more 
climbing  than  walking  in  that  service,  and  they 
can  clil  ttly  to  the  r 

•■  Be  satisfied  of  this,  my  dear  baron,  there  is 
always  something  to  be  got  out  of  a  man:    if  you 

ever  | essed  slaves  you  would  have  found  that 

out.  They  are  something  like  the  lame  men;  these 
live  to  the  age  of  a  hundred  years,  and 
they  are   as   strong    as    Turks;    and   then  again, 
during  an  unlucky  •  when  the 

I,  a  few  lame  men  in  each  com- 
pany will  excite  the  merriment  of  the  1 
when  a  soldier  laughs  he  forgets  his  troubles;  and 
.  ii  w(  re  only  for  the  sake  of  vanity,  these 
bandy-legged  fellows  will  fight  like  lions;  besides, 
you  may  tell  them  the  Marshal  de  Luxembourg 
was  the  same  as  they  are.  Accept  the  assurance  of 
in V  dei  pest  gratitude. 

pects  to 

tent. . . . 


On  the  5th  of  January,  1812,  the  Marchioness 
de  Bellow,  then  at  Naples,  received  the  following 
letter  from  the  Countess  de  Vaudry:— 

'■  l'.iv  me.  my  dear  friend,  my  head  is  wandring; 
I  have  just  beard  a  most  dreadful  determination  of 
M.  Vaudrj  b;  it  alarms  me  beyond  anything  as  to 
the  future  fate  of  my  poor  .Mary.  1  have  long 
since,  my  dear  friend,  told  you  of  the  incredible 
nit  has  taken  place  in  the  habits  of  M.  do 
Vaudry.  You  knon  that  after  the  ridiculous  and 
unfortunate  affair  in  which  lie  might  have  lost  his 
life,  when  lie  became  the  laUghing-StOck  of  the 
court,  he  left  the  Hague,  and  established  himself 
here,  mar  Utrecht  accompanied  by  a  chaplain, 
recommended  to  him  by  Chevalier  de  Volsky. 

'•  As  soon  as  we  too';  possession  of  this  estate, 
M.  de  Van  Iry  informed  me  of  his  new  intentions. 
Wishing  to  devote4ns  attention  to  his  future  wel- 
fare, he  formally  recommended  me  to  receive  no 
company,  that  he  might  not,  he  said,  be  disturbed 
in  his  pious  exerc 

Although  all  this  was  extremely  sudden,  and 
arose,  p  rhaps,  more  from  vexation  than  convic- 
tion. 1  must  acknowledge  to  you,  my  dear  friend, 
that  his  conversion,  in  the  first  instance,  delighted 
me,  for  1  knew  better  than  any  one  the  consolation 
one  might  expect  to  receive  from  heaven." 

,  mv  friend,  it  was  but  a  bitter  illusion  I 
M.  de  Vaudry  rises  at  nine  o'clock,  hears  mass  in 
the  chapel,  then  breakfasts  in  his  own  room,  and,  at 
dinner,  he  makes  his  appearance,  bows  to  me,  gives 
his  daughter  one  kiss,  and  then  goes  to  conf 
listens  to  a  lecture  from  his  chaplain,  and  at  eight 
o'clock  retires  to  rest." 


CHAPTER   XLVII. 


EXPIATION. 


Five  more  years  had  passed  over  the  heads  of  the 
actors  in  our  tale,  and  tM.  de  Vaudry,  unlike  the 
gay  and  gallant  Henry  we  have  so  often  described, 
was  seated  at  a  table  in  his  oratory,  busily  engaged 
perusing  a  number  of  letters.  From  time  to  time 
exclamations  of  surprise  and  joy  escape  from  his 
lips. 

"  So  unexpected,  so  beyond  all  hopes,"  he  said 
alou  i,  "such  an  alliance,  a  sovereign  house  1  what 
honour  will  it  not  reileet  upon  my  name!  It  is 
true  the  conditions  proposed  by  the  prince  of  Ars- 
berg  are  enormous,  three  hundred  thorns  ml  livreS 
a  year  to  be  settled  on  my  son  at  his  marriage, 
and  this,  added  to  the  fortune  of  the  young  princess, 
will  be  only  sufficient  to  enable  them  to  maintain  a 
prop.r  state.  But  1  must  endeavour  to  obtain  the 
consent  of  my  wife  and  daughter,  with  regard  to 
Mary's  destination.'' 

The  count  then  rang  the  bell,  and  desired  tnat 
his  daughter  might  be  informed  he  wished  to 
sjieak  to  her. 

"  i  cannot   see  how  my  daughter   can  refuse  to 
make  the  sacrifice,  it  is  for  the  benefit  of  myself 
and  her  brother.     But  still,  that  1  may  be 
of  her  consent,   I  will  act  as  my  chaplain  advised 
me." 

At  this  instant  .Mary  i  i&le  and  trem- 

bling, her  heart  beatinu  violei  tly.forit  was  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  I. ad  ever  been  thus  alone  with 

ilier. 

"Come  here,  Mary,  and  Beat  yourself  by  me,  I 

wish  ;  .•'.'•'   '•" 


THE    WATCH    TOWER   OF    KOAT    YES. 


115 


Mary  de  Vaudry,  now  seventeen  years  of  age, 
obeyed  her  father's  orders,  and  timidly  seated 
herself  near  him.  After  a  few  minutes  silence,  the 
count,  addressing  her,  said:  "Tell  me,  Mary,  if  to 
day  it  should  be  in  your  power  to  save  your  fa 
ther's  life,  and  to — '' 

"Father!"  exclaimed  Mary,  at  the  same  time 
flinging  her  arms  round  his  neck. 

"  Be  patient,  my  dear  Mary,  and  allow  me  to 
conclude;  if  it  should  be  in  your  power  to-day 
to  save  my  life  by  devoting  the  remainder  of  your 
days  to  trouble  and  sorrow,  would  you  do  so?" 

"  You  never  doubted  I  would,  father." 

"  Then  without  hesitation  you  would  sacrifice 
yourself  for  me?" 

"  I  have  said  so,  father,  if  you  wish  for  an  oath—" 

"Mary,  you  can  do  much  more  than  save  the 
few  days  I  have  still  left  to  dwell  on  this  earth — 
you  can  assist  in  rendering  me  happy  to  all 
eternity." 

"  In  my  youth,  Mary,  I  was  a  great  sinner,  but 
at  length  1  repented  of  my  sins,  and,  for  the  last 
eight  years,  I  have  endeavoured  to  expiate  the  er- 
rors of  my  former  life;  but.  if  heaven  hears  my 
prayers,  how  much  more  will  it  listen  to  those  that 
arise  from  your  pure  and  innocent  heart.'' 

"Then  I  and  my  mother  will  pray  for  you 
daily." 

"  But  how  much  more  efficacious  would  your 
prayers  be,  if  they  issued  from  some  holy  retreat?" 

"  I  understand  you,  father,"  said  Mary,  turning 
deadly  pale,  "  but  to  leave  my  mother — oh,  God! 
to  leave  my  mother! ' 

"  Listen  to  me,  Mary,  if  the  pious  reasons  1  have 
given  you  are  not  sufficient,  there  is  another,  of  a 
less  elevated  character,  which  may  assist  in  per- 
suading you.  that  what  you  look  upon  as  a  sacri 
fice  will  also  have  the  effect  of  establishing  the  fu- 
ture welfare  of  your  brother." 

"  I  am  listening,  father." 

"  Here  is  a  letter  from  one  of  my  most  devoted 
friends,  and  he  proposes  for  my  son,  the  inheritor 
of  mv  name,  for  him  who  can  alone  transmit  it  to 
posterity,  he  proposes  a  most  unhoped-for  alliance 
for  your  brother — the  princess  of  Arsberg.  whose 
uncle  is  allied  to  the  house  of  Austria;  but  I  am 
obliged  to  settle  on  him  an  income  of  three  hun- 
dred thousand  livres,  preserving  for  you  a  life  an- 
nuity of  twelve  thousand  livres." 

"I  know,  father,  ihat  without  riches  or  beauty 
T  shall  never  find  an  appropriate  match.  I  cheer- 
fully consent  to  what  you  propose  for  my  brother, 
but  for  mercy's  sake  do  not  force  me  to  leave  my 
mother!" 

"  Do  you  hesitate,  after  having  sworn?" 

"  But  father,  "  said  Mary,  falling  on  her  knees, 
"  to  leave  her  alone — who  will  take  my  place  near 
her? — oh,  no  one,  no  one!" 

"  And  who  will  supply  your  place  at  the  foot  of 
the  altar?  who  will  pray  to  insure  the  salvation  of 
your  father's  soul  -  perjured  and  unnatural  chiid  — 
no  one." 

"  God  never  wishes  I  should  cause  my  mother 
to  die  of  grief.'' 

"  Eather  let  me  risk  my  eternal  happiness.  Un- 
happy father!  you  thought  that  your  daughter's 
oath  was  sacred!" 

"  No,  no!  I  swear— but  oh,  pray  for  my  mother! 
she  will  be  very  miserable!" 

At  this  instant  Madame  de  Vaudry  suddenly 
opened  the  door  of  the  oratory,  pale  and  agitated, 
Mary  rushed  into  her  arms,  exclaiming  "  Qh 
mother,  mother!" 


"  My  child."  said  the  count,  "  I  have  to  speak  to 
Madame  Vaudry  on  particular  business,  wait  for 
me  without,  in  "tin-  library. —  Remeu 

"  I  have  promised  you,  father,"  said  Mary,  and 
she  left  the  room. 

"  I  trust,  madame,"  said  the  count,  "  you  have 
not  so  far  forgotten  yourself  as  to  listen  to  a  secret 
that  concerns  my  daughter  and  me  alone?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  have  so  far  forgotten  myself  Un- 
derstanding that  for  the  first  time  in  your  life  you 
asked  for  an  interview  with  my  daughter,  I  wished 
to  know  what  was  your  purpose;  I  came  alas  too 
late,  but  I  do  know  it " 

"  You  know,  then"  said  the  count,  calmly,  "  that 
my  daughter  has  sworn  to  enter  a  convent,  to  en- 
sure my  salvation  and  the  welfare  of  my  son.  I  do 
not  deny  I  have  been  a  great  sinner,  madame, ' 
then  coolly  and  sententiously  continuing,  "  When 
first  I  saw  you  in  India,  madame,  it  was  at  Gon- 
dola'.-, I  think;  I  brought  you  news  of  the  dea'h 
of  a  certain  English  captain,  isir  George  Gurd  in. 
1  have  much  to  regret,  madam,  but  I  have  re- 
pented of  my  sins — I  must  also  acknowledge  with 
sha:i, e  that  it  was  cupidity  rather  than  what  they 
call  love  induced  me  to  seek  your  hand." 

•'  I  pardon  you,  sir,"  said  the  countess,  "it  is 
long  since  I  learnt  that." 

"  I  return  thanks  to  you  madame,  and  to  heaven 
for  that.  But  I  must  acknowledge  also,  that, 
seeing  your  attachment  to  Sir  George,  when  you 
told  me  he  had  sworn  not  to  play,  I  was  delighted 
at  having  it  in  my  power  to  prove  that  he  had  for- 
sworn himself.  But  I  have  still  further  to  crave  your 
forgiveness;  1  have  been,  alas!  an  unworthy  ca- 
lumniator.'" 

"What  is  it  you  mean,  sir?"  said  the  countess, 
growing  pale  with  terror 

"  Perceiving  that  his  failing  to  keep  his  promise 
was  not  sufficient  to  cause  you  to  forget  him,  it 
came  into  my  mind  to  tell  you  that  Sir  George 
had  calumniated  you  in  my  presence,  by  saying 
that  you  had  been — his  mistress.  I  acknowledge 
that  1  uttered  a  most  wicked  lie." 

"  And  I  could  believe  this  of  you,  George'"  ex- 
claimed the  countess;  '•  alas!  I  have  been  properly 
punished." 

And  the  count  fell  on  his  knees  before  his  cru- 
cifix, "  I  thank  Heaven  I  have  had  sufficient 
strength  to  confess  my  faults, — my  conscience  now 
is  clear," 

"  My  child,  my  child,"  said  the  countess, "  have 
you  considered  well  that  you  leave  the  world  for 
ever!" 

"  It  is  not  the  world,"  returned  Mary,  "  that  I 
leave — it  is  you,  mother." 

•'  Then  be  comforted,  Mary,  you  are  worthy  of 
me,  and  we  will  not  be  separated.  I  have  just  U>  n 
talking  with  M.  tie  Vaudry,  child,  and  I  am  of  his 
opinion,  that,  with  your  tastes  and  character,  se- 
will  be  the  best.  And  as  the  whole  of  the 
time  of  M.  de  Vaudry  is  occupied  in  the  insurance 
of  his  salvation,  he  has  scarcely  leisure  to  devote 
even  a  few  minutes  each  day  to  worldly  matters, 
he  has  consented  that  I  shall  be  your  companion 
in  the  convent  during  your  noviciate.  1  do  not 
forget  the  promise  I  made  you,  sir.  Thank  hi  aven. 
your  health  is  now  excellent;  but,  should  vou  be 
afflicted  with  illness,  that  instant  will  1  be  at  your 
side.''     And  the  countess  and  Mary  left  the  room. 

"  She  forgives  me  still!  I  expected  this  dlSSr 
greeable  scene;  but  my  chaplain  told  me  he  could 
give  me  more  perfect  absolution  if  I  confessed  mv 
sins  to  those  I  had  injured;  so  that  Inou  feel  free, 


116 


THE    TEMPTATION 


as  if  I  had  paid  u  debt — Sin'  has  promised,  should 
I  be  ill,  to  visit  me,  After  all,  I  -h  ill  merely  miss 
her  at  the  dinner  hoar;  it  mu  :i  toil  to  me,  and  I 
had  rather  dine  alone."  And  the  count,  reclining 
in  his  arm  chair,  murmured  to  himself,  in  broken 
words,  ••  in  courureoualy  making  this  acknowledge- 
ment, I  have  followed  the  advice  of  the  Eoly 
Scriptures,  and  I  feel  a  beatitude— a  hope  thai  I 
am  one  of  the  elect  My  daughter  will  pray  for 
me,  and  then — my  house  will  be  allied — with  a 
Borereign  house  -"  and  he  fell  asleep. 


Five  years  had  elapsed  since  the  occurrences  we 
have  just  related;  the  countess  de  Vaudry  and  her 
daughter  had  retired  to  a  convent,  and  the  young 
[dry's  alliance  with  the  noble  Austrian 
house  had  perfected  the  ambitious  schemes  of  his 
father. 

Meantime  the  termination  of  the  career  of  the 
count  himself  was  fast  drawing  to  a  close.  Duval, 
his  confidential  domestic,  was  anxiously  waiting 
the  arrival  of  the  medical  man,  in  the  court-yard 
of  the  chateau.  At  last,  the  long-looked  for  doc- 
tor made  his  appearance. 

"  Well,  Duval'"  he  exclaimed,  "how  fares  the 
count?'' 

"  The  day  before  yesterday,"  said  Duva!,  "  the 
count  rose  in  as  good  health  as  usual;  he  heard 
mass,  breakfasted,  rode  out  for  three  hours,  and 
afterwards  dined." 

"With  an  appetite?'' 

"  As  usual,  with  a  greit  appetite;  he  ate  even, 
perhaps,  to  excess,  and  that  of  a  dish  to  which  he 
was  extremely  partial,  a  fowl  dressed  with  lamb's 
marrow,  and  truffles,  and  a  pure  of  Lorraine 
shrimps;  he  was  helped  twice  to  it,  as  I  am  in- 
formed." 

•'And  you  attribute  his  disorder  to  this,  Duval?" 

"Not  exactly;  he  had  some  fruit  also;  but  his 
valet  de  chambre  was  imprudent  enough  to  bring 
him  a  letter,  just  delivered  by  a  courier,  and  the 
reading  of  this  letter,  I  think,  affected  him." 

"  Did  this  letter  contain  any  ill  news?" 

"On  the  contrary;  it  announced  the  birth  of  a 
grandson,  and  the  sudden  joy,  no  doubt  affected 
his  digestion." 

"  This  affair  at  his  age  is  a  serious  matter;  but 
go  and  inform  him.  Duval,  of  my  arrival." 

"Ah,  my  dear  doctor,"  said  the  count,  as  he 
entered;  "the  Viscountess  de  Vaudry  is  put  to 
bed  of  a  son;  thank  heaven,  my  name  will  be 
handed  down  to  posterity." 

"  I  am  happy  to  hear  it,  count;  but  how  do  you 
feel  yourself  to-day?" 

"A  little  weak,  doctor,  but  in  no  pain.  I  felt 
my  pulse'  while  I  was  at  confession,  but  I  could 
hardly  fee!  it  beat" 

"  You  performed  that  religious  duty  so  lately  as 
yesterday?" 

"  Certainly,  every  day;  ought  we  not  to  bo  pre- 
pared for  every  event?    for  supposing  my  illness 


had  been  a  serious  one  instead  of  the  slight  attack, 
I  feel,  I  should  have  been  unprepared.  I  am  now 
certain  of  my  salvation  in  the  other  world,  is  it  not 
so,  chaplain?" 

"  The  life  of  the  count,"  said  the  chaplain,  "has 
been  so  exemplary,  his  repentance  so  deep  and 
humble,  and  the  prayers  of  Mademoiselle  de  Vau- 
dry must  needs  be  so  efficacious,  that  the  count 
may  be  certain  of  his  safety." 

"  You  see,  doctor,"  said  the  count,  "certain,  I 
am  certain." 

Not  long  after  his  interview  with  the  doctor,  the 
abbe,  now  the  cardinal  de  Cilly,  was  announced: 
on   the  appearance  of  the  doctor,  who   informed 
him  the  count  would  bo  ready  to  receive  him  on 
the  instant,  the  cardinal  asked, 
"  How  does  he  find  himself,  sir?" 
"  My  lord,  he  has  but  an  hour  to  live;  his  weak- 
ness increases  every  minute;    happily  he  is   in  no 
pain,  and  is  perfectly  unconscious  of  his  danger." 
"  And  as  to  his  mind,  sir?  ' 
"It  is  much  weakened,  my  lord;    when  I  first 
entered  he  was  lucid  enough,  but  now  M.  de  Vau- 
dry speaks  less,  and  his  ideas  appear  confused.'* 

Winn  the  cardinal  entered  the'  count's  chamber, 
he  requested  him  to  desire  all  his  attendants  to 
retire. 

"  Let  them  leave,"  said  the  count,  "  I  wish  to 
receive  his  highness's  absolution." 

"  Where  are  your  wife  and  daughter,  sir?"  said 
the  cardinal. 

"  They  pray  for  me,  my  lord;  they  have  both 
retired  to  a  convent— but  your  blessing,  cardinal — 
I  "  ' 

"  Madame  de  Vaudry,"  said  the  cardinal,  inter- 
rupting him,  "  is  dead,  sir." 

"  Dead,  oh  God!  she  will  pray  for  me,  then,  in 
heaven." 

"  Your  daughter  is  dying,  sir.'' 
"  God  will  bless  her,"  said  the  count,  growing 
gradually  weaker;  "She  prayed  for  her  father, 
and  has  ensured  my  everlasting  salvation,  and 
enabled  me  to  render  my  house  illustrious— my 
daughter,  I     .     .     ." 

"  Everlasting  salvation  for  you!"  cried  the  car- 
dinal, in  a  voice  of  thunder,  "for  you,  you! — 
think  of  those  you  have  sacrificed — " 

But  the  count  was  by  this  time  delirious,  and 
exclaimed  feebly,  "  I  go  to  heaven — my  daughter 
has  ensured  my  fate — to  heaven — my  son— a  sove- 
reign house — heaven." 

"lie  dies,"  cried  the  cardinal,  "this  man  dies, 
without  fear,  without  remorse;  oh.  it  is  horrible! ' 
"  I — go— paradise!"  and  the  count  expired. 
The  cardinal  remained  for  a  time  stupified,  and 
then  in  a  solemn  voice  exclaimed,  "Alter  the  in- 
famous life  of  this  man,  who  dares  to  doubt  the 
logical  existence  of  a  just  and  retributive  deity,  a 
deity  who  punishes  the  wicked  in  ano'.her  world? 
Who  dares  to  doubt  that  our  sojourn  in  this  world 
is  but  a  passage  from  nothingness  to  eternity?" 


.  ;  I>    Bt     JOHN    WORTH  AM,  31''.,    STRAND. 


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