first, with the most amiable face that his beard would admit of, if his smoking was offensive to Mademoiselle? which, considering that he sat directly next her, might easily have happened.

It proved otherwise; "Oh no, her husband was a great smoker."

"Ah, ma foi, can it be that Madame, so young, is indeed married ?"

"It is indeed true"-and there is a glance both of pleasure, and of sadness in the woman's eye.

The Doctor puffs quietly a moment or two; and I begin to speculate upon what that gleam of pleasure and of sadness might mean; and finally curiosity gains on speculation. "Perhaps Madame is travelling from Paris, like ourselves ?"

"Non pas; but she has been at Paris; what a charming city! those delicious Boulevards, and the shops, and the Champs Elysées, and the theatres-oh, what a dear place Paris is!"

interlarded with an occasional vraiment ! from the lady, and an occasional sacre! of the postillion; and then he very naturally, is curious to know if it is Madame's first visit to Semur?

"Mon Dieu, non !" and she sighs.

"Madame then has friends at Semur?" "Ma foi! je ne saurrais vous dire." She does not know!

This is very odd, thought I. "And who can Madame be going to visit?"

"Her father-if he is still living." "But how can she doubt, if she has lived so near as Chalons ?"

"Pardon; I have not lived at Chalons, but at Bordeaux, and Montpelier, and Pau, and along the Biscayan mountains."

"And is it long since she has seen her father?"

"Very long; ten long-long years; then they were so happy! ah, the charming country of Semur; the fine, sunny vineyards, and all so gay, and her sister, and "Madame puts her hands

right.

"She is coming from Chalons, she is going to Semur."

"Madame lives then perhaps at Se

mur?"

"Pardon, she is going for a visit." "And her husband is left alone then, the poor man!"

"Pardon, (and there is a manifest sigh,) he is not alone." And Madame re-arranges the bit of lace on each side of her bonnet, and turns half around, so as to show more fairly a very pretty brunette face, and an exceeding roguish eye.

The Doctor knocks the ashes out of his pipe.

Madame thinks it is a very pretty pipe. He hands it to her; she wonders "if it came from Londres ?" And she listens with an air of most pleased entertainment, when he tells her, that he brought it from the far away Etats Unis d'Amerique.

I, in my turn, wriggled round in my seat to have a fuller sight of her.

The Doctor played with his pipe. "He knew it would be a glad thing to meet them all!"

"Jamais, Monsieur, never, I cannot; they are gone!" and she turned her head away.

This may come to something, thought I, looking at my watch, if we have only an hour left between this and Semur. The postillion said there were three leagues.

The French country women are simpleminded, earnest, and tell a story much better, and easier than any women in the world.

The Doctor said, "she was young to have wandered so far; indeed, she must have been very young to have quitted her father's house ten years gone-by."

"Very young-very foolish, Monsieur. I see," said she, turning, "that you want to know how it was, and if you will be so good as to listen, I will tell you, Monsieur."

Of course, the Doctor was very happy to listen to so charming a story-teller; and I too, though I said nothing.

upon the road, or I would show it to you by and by. It had a large court-yard, with a high stone-arched gateway-and there were two hearts cut upon the topmost stone, and the initials of my grandfather and grandmother on either side, and all were pierced by a little dart. I dare say you have seen many such as you have wandered through the country, but now-a-days they do not make them.

Well, my mother died when I was a little girl, and my father was left with three children-my sister, little Jacques, and I. Many, and many a time we used to romp about the court-yard, and sometimes go into the fields at vineyard dressing, and pluck off the long tendrils; and I would tie them round little Jacques' head; and my sister, who was a year older than I, and whose name was Lucie, would tie them around my head. It looked very pretty to be sure, Messieurs; and I was so proud of little Jacques, and of myself too :-I wish they would come back, Messieurs,-those times! Do you know I think sometimes, that in Heaven, they will come back?

"I do not know which was prettiest Lucie or I; she was taller and had lighter hair; and mine you see, is dark, (two rows of curls hung each side of her face, jet black), I know I was never envious of her.

"I should think not," said the Doctor. "I should think there was little need of it."

"You think not Monsieur; you shall see presently.

"I have told you that my father was a small proprietaire; there was another in the town, whose lands were greater than ours, and who boasted of having been sometime connected with noble blood, and who quite looked down upon our family. But there is little of that feeling left now in the French country-and I thank God for it, Monsieur. And Jean Frére, who was a son of this proud gentleman, had none of it when we were young.

"There was no one in the village he went to see oftener than he did Lucie and I. And we talked like girls then, about who should marry Jean, and never thought of what might really happen; and our bonne used to say, when we spoke of Jean, that there were others as good as Jean in the land, and capital husbands in plenty.

And then we would laugh, and sometimes tie the hand of Jacques, to the hand of some pretty little girl, and so marry them, and never mind Jacques' pettish struggles, and the pouts of the little bride; and Jean himself, would laugh as loud as any at this play.

"But sometimes Jean's father would come when we were romping together, and take Jean away; and sometimes kiss little Jacques, and say he was a young rogue, but have never a word for us.

«So matters went on till Lucie was eighteen, and Jacques, a fine tall lad. Jean was not so rich as he was, for his father's vineyard had grown poor. Still he came to see us, and all the village said there would be a marriage some day; and some said it would be Lucie, and some said it would be I.

"And now it was I began to watch Lucie when Jean came; and to count the times he danced with Lucie, and then to count the times that he danced with me. But I did not dare to joke with Lucie about Jean, and when we were together alone, we scarce ever talked of Jean."

"Then I dare say, you were in love with him," said the Doctor.

"I did not say so," said Madame. "But he was handsomer than any of the young men we saw, and I so young, and foolish!

"You do not know how jealous I became. We had a room together, Lucie and I, and often in the middle of the night, I would steal to her bed and listen to find if she ever whispered anything in her dreams; and sometimes when I came in at evening, I would find her weeping.

"I remember I went up to her once, and put my arm softly around her neck, and asked her what it was that troubled her; and she only sobbed on. I asked her if I had offended her ;-you,' said she, ma sœur, ma mignonne,' and she laid her head upon my shoulder, and cried more than ever; and I cried too.

"So matters went on, and we noticed, though we did not speak to each other of it, that Jean came to see us more and more rarely, and looked sad when he parted with us, and did not play so often with little Jacques.

"At length-how it was, we women never knew it was said that poor Jean's father, the proud gentleman had lost all his

estate, and that he was going away to Paris. We felt very sadly; and we asked Jean, the next time he came to see us, if it was all true? He said that it was true, and that the next year they were going away, and that he should never see us again. Poor Jean!-how he squeezed my hand, as he said this; but in his other hand he held Lucie's. Lucie was more sensitive than I, and when I looked at her, I could see that the tears were coming in her eyes.

'You will be sorry when I am gone?' said Jean.

"You know we shall," said I; and I felt the tears coming too.

"A half year had gone by, and the time was approaching when Jean was to leave us. He had come at intervals to pass his evenings with us; he was always a little sad, as if some trouble was preying on his thoughts; and was always most kind to Lucie, and kinder still, I thought, to me.

"At length one day, his father, a stately old gentleman, came down and asked to see my father; and he staid with him a half hour, and the thing was so new, that the whole village said there would be a marriage. And I wandered away alone with little Jacques, and sat down under an old tree-I shall try hard to find the place -and twisted a garland for little Jacques and then tore it in pieces; and twisted another and tore that in pieces, and then eried, so that Jacques said he believed I was crazy. But I kissed him and said, 'no, Jacques,-sister is not crazy!'

"When I went home, I found Lucie sad, and Papa sober and thoughtful; but he kissed me very tenderly, and told me, as he often did, how dearly he loved me.

"The next day Jean did not come, nor the next, nor the next after. I could not bear it any longer, so I asked Papa what Jean's father had said to him; and why Jean did not come?

"He kissed me, and said that Jean wanted to take his child away from him. And I asked him, though I remember had hardly breath to do it,-what he had told him?

I

"I told him,' said Papa, that if Lucie would marry Jean, and Jean would marry Lucie, they might marry, and I would give them a father's blessing.

"I burst into tears, and my father took me in his arms; perhaps he thought I was

so sorry to lose my sister-I know not. When I had strength to go to our chamber, I threw myself into Lucie's arms and cried as if my heart would break. "She asked me what it meant? I said -'I love you Lucie !' And she said "I love you Lisette !!

"But soon I found that Jean had sent no message,-that he had not come, that all I told Lucie, of what my father had said, was new to her; and she cried afresh. And we dared say nothing of Jean.

"I fancied how it was; for Jean's father was a proud gentleman, and would never make a second request of such Bourgeois

as we.

"Soon we heard that he had gone away, and had taken Jean along with him. I longed to follow-to write him even; but, poor Lucie !-I was not certain but he might come back to claim her. Often and often I wandered up by his father's old country house, and I asked the steward's wife, how he was looking when he went away- oh,' said she, le pauvre jeune homme; he was so sad to leave his home!

"And I thought to myself bitterly, did this make all his sadness?"

"A whole year passed by and we heard nothing of him. A regiment had come into the Arrondissement, and a young officer came occasionally to see us. Now, Messieurs, I am ashamed to tell you what followed. Lucie had not forgotten Jean; and, I-God knows-had not forgotton him! But Papa said that the officer would make a good husband for me, and he told me as much himself. I did not disbelieve him; but I did not love him as I had loved Jean, and I doubted if Jean would come back, and I knew not but he would come back to marry Lucie, though I felt sure that he loved me better than Lucie.

"So, Messieurs, it happened, that I married the young officer, and became a soldier's wife, and in a month went away from my own old home.

"But that was not the worst, Messieurs; before I went, there came a letter from Paris for me, in Jean's own writing."

Madame turned her head again, and the Doctor eyed me with a very sympathetic look. Even the postillion had suffered his horses to get into a dog-trot jog, that he now made up for by a terrible thwacking, and

a pestilent shower of oaths, partly I thought to deaden his own feelings.

"The letter," said Madame, going on, told me how he had loved me, how his father had told him what my father had said; and how he had forbidden him in his pride, to make any second proposal; and how he had gone away to forget his griefs, but could not; and he spoke of a time, when he would come back and claim me, even though he should forget and leave his father.

"The whole night I cried over that letter, but never showed it to Lucie. I was glad that I was going away; but I could not love my husband.

"You do not know how sad the parting was for me; not so much to leave my father, and Lucie, and Jacques, but the old scenes where I had wandered with Jean, and where we had played together, and where he was to come back again perhaps and think as he would of me. I could not write him a letter even. I was young then, and did not know but duty to my husband would forbid it. But I left a little locket he had given me, and took out his hair, and put in place of it a lock of my own, and scratched upon the back with a needle'Jean, I loved you; it is too late; I am married; J'en pleurs! And I handed it to little Jacques, and made him promise to show it to no one, but to hand it to Jean, if he ever came again to Semur. Then I kissed my father, and my sister, and little Jacques again and again, and bid them all adieu, as well as I could for my tears; have never been in Semur since, Mes

sieurs !-"

She had stopped five minutes, when we asked her what ever became of Jean.

did not know how it all went to my soul, and how many tears her letters cost me.

"Afterward came letters in gayer temper, still full of the praises of Jean, and she wondered why I was not glad to hear so much of him, and wondered that my letters were growing so sad. Another letter came still gayer, and a postscript that cut me to the heart; the postscript was in Jacques' scrawling hand, and said that all the village believed that Jean was to marry sister Lucie. We shall be so glad' it said if you will come home to the wedding!'

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Oh, Messieurs, I had thought I had loved Lucie. I am afraid I did not. I wrote no answer; I could not. By and by came a thick letter with two little doves upon the seal. I went to my room, and barred the door, and cried over it without daring to open it. The truth was as I had feared-Jean had married Lucie. Oh, my feelings-my bitter feelings, Messieurs! Pray Heaven you may never have such !

66

My husband grew bitter at my sadness, and I disliked him more and more. Again we changed our quarters to the mountains, where the troops had been ordered, and for a very long time no letter came to me from home. I had scarce a heart to write, and spent day after day in my chamber. We were five years along the Pyrennees; you remember the high mountains about Pau, and the snowy tops that you can see from the houses; but I enjoyed nothing of it all.

By and by came a letter with a black seal, in the straggling hand of my poor father, saying that Jean and Lucie had gone over the sea to the Isle of Mauritius, and that little Jacques had sickened of a fever and was dead.

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I longed to go and see my old father; but my husband could not leave, and he was suspicious of me, and would not suffer me to travel across France alone.

"So I spent years more; only one letter coming to me in all that time; whether stopped by my husband's orders or not I do not know. At length he was ordered with his regiment to Chalons sur Marne; there were old friends of his at Chalons, with whom he is stopping now. We passed through Paris and I saw all its wonders; yet I yearned to get toward home.

At length we set off for Chalons. It

was five days before I could get my husband's leave to ride over to my own old home. I am afraid he has grown to hate

me now.

"You see that old Chateau in ruins," said she, pointing out a mossy remnant of castle, on a hillock to the left" it is only two kilometres from Semur. I have been there often with Jean and Lucie," and Madame looked earnestly, and with her whole heart in her eyes, at the tottering old ruin, which I dare say the Doctor will remember, for he asked the postillion the name and noted it in his green covered

book.

"And your father knows nothing of your

return ?"

"I have written from Chalons," resumed Madame, "but whether he be alive to read it, I do not know."

And she began now to detect the cottages, on which surely in this old country ten years would make but little difference. The roofs were covered over with that dappled moss you see in Watelet's pictures, and the high-stone court-yards were gray with damp and age.

"La Voila!" at length exclaimed Madame, clapping her hands; and in the valley into which we had just turned, and were now crick-cracking along in the crazy old cabriolet, appeared the tall spire of Semur. A brown tower or two flanked it, and there was a group of gray roofs mingled with the trees.

Madame kept her hands clasped, and was silent. She was weeping.

The Doctor smooths his beard; the postillion gives his hat a jaunty air, and crosses himself, as we pass a church by the way; and the farmeries pass us one by one; then come the paved streets, and the pigs, and the turbaned women in Sabots, and boy's eyes, all intent; and thick houses, and provincial shops.

"A nice town," says the Doctor, with his eye on a pretty shop-girl that we pass. "The same dear old town of Semur!" says our female companion. And with a crack, and a rumble, and a jolt, we are presently at the door of the inn.

"Shall we make any inquiries for her?" "Oh Mon Dieu ! J'ai trop de peur !" She is afraid to ask; she will go see; and away she starts-turns-throws back her veil-asks pardon-" we have been so kind"-Bids God bless us,-waves her hand, and disappears around an angle of the old inn.

I never saw her again.

I would have given my knapsack to have known if her old father was yet alive, or if Lucie had come back with Jean from over the sea, or to have seen her at Jacques' grave; but all was denied me.

Just in this way, the hurry-scurry of travel will call out all one's sentiment,and nourish it a little while most daintily, only to give one in the end such shock of disappointment, as makes him ten times more sour and fretful, than if he had never felt his spirit warmed.

What boots it to know of misery we cannot alleviate, or to trace out crime that we can neither punish nor prevent? Your sense of justice and of mercy rests dissatisfied, and you regret that they did not lie undisturbed. So too, I believe, there is a dramatic quality in every man's mind which makes him yearn for the finale of whatever business his passions or his affections may have made him an actor in; and when poor Madame, with her pretty face, and her dark hat trimmed up with a bit of lace, disappeared around the corner of the inn, and the lumbering old Diligence, with its four horses, with tails tied up, had dragged us out of all reach of her, and her history, I felt as nervously unquiet, as if I had heard a stage-manager announce at the end of the third act of Macbeth, that the play would not go on.

But I vowed, that if ever I came again within sight of the old steeple of Semur, I would know more of her history.

"And yet," said I to the doctor, "even so little as she has told us would make a fair sort of a story.”

"Capital!" said the Doctor, puffing a volume of smoke out of the little Diligence window.

"And what should we call it?" said I. The Doctor took his pipe out of his

fied. The Doctor clambers down, and assists her to dismount.

tobacco down with the end of his fore-finger -"Call it" said he, "THE CABRIOLET."