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"Father you have another history to relate to me," said Helen, interrupting him with a tone of authority, "a history more secret, and in which is concerned a jewel much more precious,-your honor. M. Bernard is here by the title of host you say, father; it remains now to inform me whether we are the recipients of his hospitality or he of ours."

At these words, pronounced with such emphasis, and followed by a most searching look, the Marquis turned pale, and sunk back in his chair.

"All is lost," thought he with a look of despair; "the enraged baroness has told her the whole.”

"In short, father," answered the unflinching daughter, crossing her arms upon the back of the chair in which her father was about fainting, "I ask you whether we are in the house of M. Bernard or he in ours ?"

Tired of deception, and convinced, besides, that his daughter had been made acquainted with the whole history of his manoeuvres, the Marquis now thought only of setting forth the truth in such a manner as would give least offence to her pride and self-respect.

"Well! faith!" cried the exasperated Marquis, "if I must tell you, I don't know myself. They have profited by my absence to make a code of infamous laws; M. de Bonaparte, who always hated me, has contrived to have inserted in it a clause on purpose to get me into trouble; and he has succeeded the vile Corsican! Some maintain that this is Bernard's property, and others affirm that it is mine; some that old Stamply gave it to me outright, others that he only restored it conditionally. It is all at loose ends, you see; all in doubt. Des Tournelles knows not what to think, and Satan himself would waste his time in trying to solve the difficulty. For the rest, it is right that you should know that it is that infernal baroness who is responsible for all this. You remember how happily we lived together in our little nook in Germany. But one day Madame de Vaubert-mark the jade-took it into her head to endeavor to restore me to my es

tates, knowing very well all the while that if she succeeded they would sooner or later fall to her son. She wrote me that my old farmer was tortured with remorse, that he begged of her to persuade me to return, and protested that he could not die in peace without restoring to me all my property. I believed her, and took pity on the troubled conscience of the honest old man. I could not bear the thought that I should be the cause of his ending his days in misery. I came back with all haste, and what did I discover? Why, that the worthy man had restored me nothing, but merely made me a present. At least, so said my enemies; I have enemies, for as Des Tournelles says, what superior person has not? Meanwhile, Bernard, whom every body supposed to be dead, comes down upon us like a Siberian storm. What then is to done? M. de Bonaparte has so skillfully managed matters that it is impossible to tell. Is the property Bernard's, or is it mine? I do not know, neither does he, nor even Des Tournelles himself. Such is the history, and so stands the question."

Helen had been brought up, as we have before said, in utter ignorance of out door affairs. She had never suspected that interest plays so important a part in human existence, which it almost entirely absorbs. Having received, touching these matters, no other instruction than that of her fatherwhose ignorance was only equalled by his complacency-the knowledge which Helen had of French laws was about equal to that which she had upon the legislation of the Japanese; but this child, so ignorant here, possessed nevertheless, a higher science, a science more certain and infallible than that of the ablest jurisconsults or the most consummate legists. In her heart and incorruptible soul she had preserved, as pure and luminous as she had received it, that sense of right and wrong which God implants as a ray of supreme intelligence in the bosom of all his creatures. She knew nothing of the laws of men; but the natural and divine law was written on her heart as upon tablets of gold, and no pestilential wind, no evil passion, had blunted its keenness, or tarnished its sacred characters. She disengaged the truth without difficulty from the clouds with which her father had sought to obscure it. She detected the

net beneath the embroidery. While the Marquis was speaking, Helen remained standing, calm, pale, and unimpassioned. When he had finished she went and leaned upon the mantlepiece, and remained for some time silent, her fingers, meanwhile, playing with the tresses of her luxuriant hair, and she herself contemplating with speechless fear the abyss into which she was about to be precipitated, as a dove mortally wounded, as she leisurely sails through the azure sky, falls bloody, and still palpitating, among the reeds of some stagnant

marsh.

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Well, am I to blame for that?" cried the impatient and confused Marquis. "The baroness has shown throughout the basest ingratitude. Me, I loved him, the old man; I delighted in him; I always found him pleasant and agreeable. But the ba

turned proudly round, about to demand of her father an explanation of the conversation which they had held together in that same chamber a few hours before; but her words died upon her lips, her bosom heaved, her countenance was suffused with a deep blush, and falling into a chair, she burst into tears. Was it only her revolted pride which troubled her? and did not her secret but hopeless love mingle its sighs with those of her offended dignity? The most pure and virgin heart is still an abyss whose depths cannot be sounded. The despair of his daughter completely unmanned the Marquis. He fell at her feet, seized her by the hand, which he covered with kisses, and wept like a child, as he was.

So, father," said she finally, without changing her attitude or turning her eyes towards the unfortunate old man, who knowing no longer what saint to invoke, strode up and down the room like a soul in My daughter! my child!" he exclaimtorment, so that old man, when life end-ed, pressing her in his arms; "be calm, ed so sadly in abandonment and solitude, indulge your old father; do not let me die had impoverished himself to enrich us! of grief at your feet. We will depart if Ah! I thank God that he inspired me you wish it. We will go and live like sawith love for that generous old man; for vages in the depths of the forest; if you but for me our benefactor would have died prefer it, we will return to our old Gerwith no friendly hand to close his eyes." many. What difference can it make with me? What do I care for fortune if you are happy. I will sell my watch and jewels to purchase flowers for my Helen. Go wherever you please; I will be content wherever you are. I told you this morning that I had only a breath of life remaining; I told you what was not true. I am as hale and hearty as ever. See what a leg! hard and plump as at twenty-five. I have killed seven wolves this winter; Bernard can't keep up with me in a hunt; and I hope to live to attend the funeral of the baroness, who is some fifteen or twenty years younger than I-as she pretends; for I know her too well now to believe half she says. Quick then, dry up these tears; a smile, a kiss, your arm in mine, and, gay Bohemians, hurrah for poverty!"

roness could not endure him. I often remonstrated-Madame la baronne, this old Stamply is a worthy man; he has done a great deal for us; we ought to treat him with kindness and attention.'-If I had listened to her I should have driven him from the house. I would not have consented to do such a thing, even at the request of the king himself."

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So," continued Helen, after a new silence, "when this young man presented himself armed with his rights, instead of promptly restoring him his property, and withdrawing as we ought to have done, we have persuaded him by humiliating importunities, to permit us to live under his roof! Of your daughter, who knew nothing of all this, you made an accomplice !" "I should have gone," cried the Marquis; "Bernard himself will testify that I was about to leave. It was the baroness who prevented me; she has deceived us all; she has ruined us."

Here, Mademoiselle de La Seigliére

"Ah! dear father, I have found you again !" exclaimed Helen with a thrill of joy. As you say, we will leave; we will remain here no longer; we have already been here too long."

"Leave!" cried the astonished old man, who now began to wish he could recal the imprudent word which he had just now suffered to escape him; "leave!" he repeated with amazement. "Why, my poor child, where under heaven shall we go. Don't you know that I am in open war

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"Yes, yes," said M. de La Seigliére, sitting down carelessly by the side of Helen, "it is very well to go where God leads us; we couldn't have a better guide. But, unfortunately, he who provides food and clothing to the birds is not so liberal towards Marquises. Let us go where God sends us, very fine sentiment, and pleasing no doubt to young imaginations; but when one has travelled all day, and at night has to go to sleep on the ground without any supper, he begins to think the route rather a rough one. If there was no body but me to suffer I would long ago have put on the sandals of the pilgrim, and taken the staff of exile. But my dear Helen, you are the one who would suffer. Have done with these childish notions. Let us talk reasonably and calmly, as two friends ought to. Let us see if there is no way of arranging this little affair to the satisfaction of all parties. For example, the proposition which I made this morning

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"Would be your disgrace and mine," coldly interrupted Helen. "What would the world say? It would say that you had sold your daughter. Poverty is no excuse for dishonor. What would Madame de Vaubert think? And what would he think -that young man upon whom I have delighted to bestow my attentions in the belief that he was poor and disinherited? While one would accuse me of treachery, the other would suspect me of having designs upon his fortune, and both would despise me. Marquis de La Seigliére, be resolute and cheerful; your rank and poverty demand it. What is there so fearful in the lot which has fallen to us? without an asylum. I will answer for Madame de Vaubert."

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"But, ventre-saint-gris !" cried the Marquis, "I tell you that between me and the baroness there is a deadly feud."

"The king will aid us,' " said Helen. "He must be good, just, and great, for he is king."

"Ah, yes, the king, to be sure," mut

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tered the Marquis. "But he doubts whe ther he is under any obligations to me. The era of great ingratitude dates from the establishment of the monarchy."

"I will go and throw myself at his feet; I will say to him-Sire—”

"He will refuse to hear you."

"Well, father," returned Helen, resolutely, "your daughter will still be left to you. I am young, and do not fear; I love you, and will take care of you.'

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"Poor child!" said the Marquis; kissing one after the other, her delicate hands. "What can these pretty fingers do? They couldn't support à canary bird. But to return to my proposition of this morning; you say that that would involve our disgrace. I pretend to a sense of honor as delicate as any one; but I do not look upon this as you do, Helen. Let the world go; it is always carping. He is a fool who cares for that. You fear that M. de Vaubert will charge you with infidelity. Upon that point, give yourself no uneasiness. The baroness is a cunning gipsy, and will never suffer her son to be involved in our ruin, you may depend upon that; and though I do not doubt the sincerity of Raoul, between you and me, he is a great noodle who suffers his mother to lead him by the nose. As for Bernard, why should he despise you? I admit that he could not reasonably pretend to the hand of a La Seigliére; but passion abjures reason, and he loves you, my daughter!"

"Does he love me?" said Helen, with a tremulous voice.

"By heavens!" exclaimed the Marquis, "he adores you."

"How do you know that, father ?" murmured Helen faintly, with a feeble effort at a smile.

"No doubt of it," thought the Marquis, suppressing a sigh of resignation, "my daughter loves the hussar."

"How do I know," cried he; "I am not so old yet as to have forgotten how these matters used to go. When he told over his battles, last winter, by the fireside, do you think the eyes of the baroness moved him to such eloquence? And from the day when you ceased to appear in the salon, he was as still as a mouse, not three words could you get from him at a time. Do you suppose that I did not then understand the cause of his silence and melan

choly? Have not I seen his countenance light up whenever you made your appearance? And when he mounted Roland at the risk of his life, think you love was not at the bottom of his bravery? I tell you he adores you; and, moreover, were he a son of France, however high in station, he could not conceal his passion."

The Marquis paused, but kept his eye on his daughter, who had listened attentively That mysterious impulse which she had before felt, but endeavored to suppress, again stirred in her heart, and there she stood, silent and pensive, forgetful that she had just riveted the chain which bound her forever to Raoul, and unconsciously abandoning herself to that insensible current which was bearing her towards the shore where chanted youth and love.

"The thing is done; she loves him," said the Marquis to himself, and in the excess of his delight began to rub his hands, when the door of the salon suddenly opened with a slam and Madame de Vaubert precipitated herself like a rocket, into the apartment, followed by Raoul, stiff and reserved.

"Monsieur le Marquis," said Raoul advancing, and freely tendering his hand, "revolutions have left me but a limited fortune, but the little I have is at your service." "Monsieur de Vaubert," said Helen, you are very generous."

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Magnanimous children!" exclaimed the baroness. Marquis you are affected, you are about weeping; why do you try to suppress such noble affections? Your knees tremble; your heart is almost bursting. Let nature speak out. Pray do not torture yourself in this way. Your arms are voluntarily opening to receiveRaoul, embrace your father," added she, quickly turning to the young baron, and pushing him into the reluctant arms of the Marquis, while she looked with intoxication upon the awkward ceremony. "And we too, my old friend, we will be reconciled," cried she, rushing into the Marquis' arms. "We will," said the Marquis mechanically.

"Baroness," said the Marquis, in an under tone, "I don't exactly see where you are coming to, but I fear you are getting us again into some of your infamous plans!"

"Ha ha ha!" laughed the baroness; "always ready with a joke."

"Come, my dear noble child," cried the baroness, stretching out both her arms towards Helen. Come, let me press you "Bernard, Helen, and you too, my old to my heart. Ah! how well did I know," | friend," continued the baroness, who had added she with the most melting tender- not yet fully executed her plan of operaness, covering her forehead and cheeks at tions, "in receiving you, all of you, again the same time with kisses, "how well did into the same affectionate regard, and the I know that between wealth and poverty same constant solicitude-if I may believe your dear soul would never hesitate! My my own heart-the manor of Vaubert will son, embrace your wife; my daughter, em- become the abode of peace, happiness, and brace your husband; you are worthy of mutual affection; we shall realize there the each other." sweetest and most enchanting dream which Suiting the action to the word, she gent-ever ascended from earth to heaven. We ly drew Helen towards Raoul, who respectfully kissed her hand.

"Do Do you see, Marquis," continued the baroness with increased tenderness; "do you see their transports? Tell me now, had you a heart of brass, had you been nursed in your infancy by a bear, could you have had a heart so unfeeling as to break such charming bonds? It is not your good name alone, which, you see, is at stake, but the happiness of these two noble creatures."

"Faith!" muttered the Marquis to himself, whose stupefaction we will not attempt to depict; "here is a pretty fix. Plague take the baroness."

shall be poor in this world's goods, it is true; but we shall be rich in the treasure of united hearts, and the spectacle of our humble, but blissful fortune, will become the envy of luxury and opulence. What can ever harm you, Marquis? Love and affection will watch over your declining years, and make you forget your misfortunes. Loved, cherished, honored, caressed, you will not feel the loss of your property, and will be astonished that you should have ever thought of regaining it at the price of your honor."

After hazarding a few objections, which Raoul, the baroness, and Helen, all united in removing, and cast about, in vain,

for some loop-hole by which to escape, feeling himself fairly caught

"Well! ventre-saint-gris! so let it be," cried the Marquis, with the gesture of a man who knows the game is lost, but means to make out a good cause. My daughter will be a baroness, and that old rogue of a Des Tournelles, will never have the satisfaction of seeing a La Seigliére espouse the son of a clown.”

It was furthermore decided at this sit

ting, (the baroness would not suffer any delay,) that the Marquis should immediately sign the deed of release to Bernard, and that the old gentleman and his daughter should, at once, retire to the castle de Vaubert, where the young couple were to be married without delay. Whereupon the baroness took the arm of the Marquis, Raoul offered his to Helen, and all four went to dine at the manor.

XIII.

BUT what has become of Bernard, while, the events which we have just described were going on at the chateau? With head and heart occupied with a single image, he has been riding leisurely along the paths which border on the Clain. He is in love; and in his free and noble nature, which had not suffered in its tone, by contact with the world, love did not long remain in the form of a vague longing, a floating dream, a mysterious suffering, but it soon became a passion, ardent, energetic, vital and profound. Bernard constituted a part of that active and turbulent generation, whose youth rolled away in the camp, and had not had time to dream and love. At the age of seven-and-twenty, that yet morning hour when the young of our listless generation have foolishly wasted their energies in idleness and dissipation, he had known only the absorbing passion for glory. It may easily be conceived, therefore, that if the germ of a serious love should fall into his heart, the seed would quickly swell and unfold itself, and then would spring up a vigorous shoot in a fecund and virgin soil. He saw Helen and loved her. And how could he have done otherwise. She was endowed with grace and beauty, was intelligent though artless, was marked with every stamp of nobility, and was free from its narrow ideas and superannuated prejudices. With all the stately royalty of the lily, she exhaled its sweet and delicate perfume; to the poetry of the past, she joined the serious instincts of the present. And this noble and chaste creature, had met him with open hand and smiling lips! She had told him of his old father, that she had stood by the side of the old man's pillow, instead of his absent son; that she had re

ceived his last adieus, and closed his dying eyes. During his life-time she had been accustomed to sit by his side at the table, and by the fire-side. At the story of his own sufferings and hardships, her beautiful eyes had been moistened with tears, and he had seen them kindle at the recital of his battles. How then could he not love her? He had loved her at first, as with a passion which he did not know, restlessly but delightfully; but when she came to absent herself from his presence, as with a passion which was without hope, silently and wildly. It was at this period, that becoming conscious of the true nature of his feelings towards Helen, while at the same time he was fully aware of his duty to himself, as a man of honor and a child of the revolution, he was struck with fear. He saw that, influenced by the charms which surrounded him, he had been beguiled into the acceptance of an equivocal position, that the public might censure him, that his honor might be compromised in the estimation of his brothers-in-arms, and, that to extricate himself from his embarrassment, he must proceed to disposses and ruin the Marquis and the daughter, whom he devoutly loved. How could he resign himself to such a course:-he, who had trembled at the thought that they might some day leave of their own accord, and who of all things the most dreaded to be left alone deserted in his castle? If he loved Helen above all things, it was not her alone that he loved. Notwithstanding the old gentleman's petulance and obstinacy, he f It himself secretly attracted towards the Marquis. He had also contracted a kind of affection for that happy and quiet domestic life, the ease, elegance and comfort of which he had

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