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herself upon the altar of sacrifice, the Marquis could no longer restrain himself. Her love was so true, and her tone so affectionate, that the old man burst into tears before the astonished Helen.

"Oh! Father! What has happened? Of all the misfortunes which can await you, is there one which my love cannot solace?" cried she, throwing herself into his arms, and in her turn bursting into tears. The Marquis was touched, but not so deeply as to be drawn from his purpose; for he thought the opportunity too favorable to be neglected, and the matter too well begun not to be pursued. For a moment he was upon the point of avowing all; but shame prevented, and the fear of offending the noble pride of Helen, who would inevitably revolt at the faint glimpse of the ignoble part which she was to be made to play in this adventure. He therefore made ready again to turn the flank of truth, since he did not dare to meet it in the face. Not that this manner of proceeding was in accordance with the nature of his character; far otherwise; but the Marquis was unhinged. Madame de Vaubert had led him into a bad way, from which he could extricate himself only by cunning and address. When once strayed from the main route there is no way of returning save by cross roads or through the fields. After having assuaged the tears of his daughter, and himself recovered from the emotion which he could not help feeling, he begun by recounting with some variations, the part which he had been made to play by the baroness; for although it is to be borne in mind that his imagination was not like that of Madame de Vaubert, fertile in expedients, nevertheless, thanks to the lessons which he had recently received, the Marquis could boast some dexterity in the art of deception. He lamented the hardships and difficulties of the times; he bewailed the misfortunes of the aristocracy which he represented a new as well as original figure-as a ship tossed by the revolutionary wave. Profiting by the inexperience of Helen, who had lived entirely careless of public affairs, he painted in sombre colors, which he well knew how to exaggerate, the uncertainty of the present, and the threatening aspect of the future. He made use of all the words of the vocabulary then in use; he caused

to defile and parade before her all the spectres and phantoms which the ultra-royalist journals were daily accustomed to marshal before their subscribers. The soil was mined; the heavens were charged with tempests; the hydra of revolution had reared again its seven heads; the cry, war to the castles! went echoing through the land; the people and the bourgeoisie, like two devouring hyenas, awaited only a given signal to rush upon the defenceless noblesse, gorge themselves with their blood, and divide among them their spoils. It was by no means certain that Robespierre was dead; the rumor went that the Corsican wolf had escaped from the island of his captivity. In short, he brought into play, and promiscuously crowded together, all the frightful artillery which would be likely to terrify her young imagination. When he had exhausted his armory

"If

"Is that all, father?" said Helen, with a smile full of calmness and serenity. the soil is mined under our feet, if the heavens are threatening, if France, as you say, execrates us and wishes our destruction, why need we stay here? Let us depart and return to our dear Germany; let us go and live there as we did before; poor, unknown, and undisturbed. If they cry, war to the castles!' they must also cry peace to the cottages!' What do we want more. Happiness does not depend on wealth, and opulence is not worth a regret."

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But this was not to the purpose of the old gentleman, who, fortunately for himself, knew of a more certain route by which to arrive at her noble heart.

"My child," replied he, with a shake of the head, "these are noble sentiments; thirty years since mine were very similar. I was one of the first to give the signal of emigration; country, castle, hereditary fortune, domain of my ancestors-I abandoned all; and it cost me nothing to offer this proof of fidelity and devotion to royalty in danger. I was young then, and chivalrous. Now I am old, my daughter; the heart has outlived the body; the blood is not equal to the courage; the blade has worn out the scabbard. I am nothing but a poor old man, racked with gout and rheumatism, tortured with pains and infirmities. fact is, my daughter, that I am good for nothing. One would believe me hale and

The

vigorous, active and strong, and to see me
they would give me a half a century yet.
But they are very much deceived. Igrow
weaker and weaker every day, and am evi-
dently fast declining. Look at my shriv-
elled limbs, or rather drum-sticks!" added
he, pointing lugubriously to his round and
vigorous thigh. "And my stomach is
very much out of order. It is not to be
concealed, I am only a withered bough,
which the first breeze may carry away.
"Oh! father, father, why do you say
so?" cried Helen, throwing herself weep-
ing upon the neck of the new Sextus
Quintus.

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"Ah, my child," continued he, with a melancholy look, "whatever moral force we may have been endowed with, it is a cruel thing, at my age, to resume the winter of exile and poverty, when there can be no other hope, no other ambition here than to die in peace, and to be buried in the tomb of our ancestors."

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of Helen, with sincere affection. "Helen," he added, after a moment's silence, "thirty years ago matters were very much the same. As now, the fields were decked with verdure and flowers; the shepherds shouted to their flocks upon the hills; the larks sung merrily in the meadows, and your mother-my daughter, your beautiful and noble mother-was, like you, the delight, the angel of the whole region. But we were compelled to fly. Trust to my longer experience; the future is sombre and threatening. It is almost always the case that from a serene and limpid sky breaks the thunder of revolution. But suppose danger is yet far off; suppose that I may be permitted to die under the roof of my fathers; can I hope to die in peace, in prospect of leaving you alone, without sustenance or support, in this world of tumult and storms? When I am gone, what will become of my dear daughter? Will M. de Vaubert protect her in those fearful You are not going to die yet; you will times? Unfortunate children! The very live a long while I hope," said Helen, with position which you occupy, and the name confidence, pressing him to her bosom. which you bear, seem only to draw des"God, to whom I pray daily for you, the truction upon you; and your marriage will just and good God, will spare you to my only serve to increase the danger; you will love; He will vouchsafe to shorten my life only be to each other a source of mutual and prolong yours. As to the other dan- misfortune; each of you will have two fager which threatens, father, is it so great talities against which to contend, instead of and pressing as you seem to imagine? per- one, and you will thus consign yourselves haps you are alarmed without sufficient rea- to the fury of popular hatred. I was talkson. Why should the people hate using the other evening with the baroness of Your servants love you because you are kind to them. When I pass along the hedges, they stop their work to give me an affectionate salutation; as soon as their little children discover me, they come running up to me, with joy in their countenances; more than once, under their thatched roof, their mothers have taken my hand and carried it to their lips. The people do not hate you. You speak of a mined soil, of sinister rumors, of a threatening sky. Look around you, father; the earth is covered with verdure, and the heavens are blue and smiling; I do not hear any other cries than the song of the lark and the dis-recting two vessels momentarily in danger tant shouts of the shepherds and herdsmen. I see no other evidences of revolution than those of the advancing spring."

this matter, and in our mutual solicitude we
both questioned whether it would be pru-
dent and wise at present, at least, to con-
summate the projected union."

Helen started, and threw upon her father
the look of the frightened doe.

"And I even thought I could discover," added M. de La Seigliére, "that the baroness would not very reluctantly release me from my pledge, and be absolved from hers. Marquis,' said she to me, with that good sense which never abandoned her, would not the uniting of these two children, under the circumstances, be like di

of destruction, to relieve each other? If left alone they have each a chance for safety; but, united, their prospects are SO "My dear child, how happy for you, that much the more dismal.' Thus spoke the you perceive in this wicked world only the mother of Raoul; I must add, that it is alimages of nature and the harmonies of crea- so the opinion of the celebrated Des Tourtion!" said the Marquis, kissing the brownelles, an old friend of our family, and

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who, without ever having seen you, feels for you a lively interest. Marquis,' said that great jurist, one of the greatest intellects of the age, one day to me, 'to give your daughter to that young de Vaubert would be like taking refuge during a thunder storm under an oak in the open field; it would be inviting the lightning upon her head.'”

Father," responded the young girl, with calm dignity, "M. des Tournelles has no concern in this affair, and I can hardly recognize that Madame de Vaubert herself has the right to absolve me from my obligation to her son. M. de Vaubert and I are engaged to each other before God. I have his word; he has mine. God, before whom the pledge was made, can alone absolve us."

"Far be it from me," replied the Marquis, with earnestness, "far be it from me to advise, or consent to treachery or perjury in any form! I only fear that you exaggerate the gravity and solemnity of the engagements into which you have entered. Raoul and you are affianced-nothing more. Now, as they say in the country, betrothal and marriage are two different things. Before the sacrament has been administered, the parties may always, by mutual agreement, withdraw from their engagement without impiety or dishonor. Before marrying your mother I was affianced nine times: the first, at the age of seven months; the ninth, at thirteen years. Still, my dear Helen, I have no intention of opposing your inclinations. I consider that you are bound to young de Vaubert. You were brought up together, in exile and poverty; it may seem pleasant to you both to return there together. At your age, my dear child, there is no prospect, however sad, over which love does not spread its enchanting, but, permit me to say, deceptive light. To suffer and to love is the bliss of youth. Nevertheless, I have remarked, that, in general, these connections, formed so near the cradle, are wanting in that mysterious something which constitutes the charm of love. I do not pretend to be an expert in the matter of sentiment; but I have come to the conclusion that love diminishes in proportion to the length of the acquaintance. Our young baron is, however, a pleasant and gentlemanly person—a little cold and stiff, perhaps-and,

if you will pardon me, rather indifferent; negative in point of character; but then, he is handsome. He has not hardened his hands with toil, nor bronzed his visage in the fire and smoke of the enemy. He's handsome, and has a way of dressing his hair which has always ravished me. He's handsome-the lily with the rose."

"Monsieur de Vaubert is a sensible man, father, and a gentleman," said Helen, gravely.

"To be sure he is; no doubt of it; and a worthy young man, who has never made any talk in the world, and has never tired anybody with relations of his achievements. Ventre-saint-gris!" cried the Marquis, abruptly changing his tone, "I am sorry to say it, but it is true, our young gentlemen of the present day seem to take it for granted that great things are only to be expected from the humble. In my time, the young noblemen thought differently, thank heaven! As for myself, I have never been in battle, it is true; but, by the sword of my ancestors! when my services were wanted I was always ready; and I am still cited, at court, as one of the first and most faithful who were eager to go and protest to foreign nations against the enemies of the old monarchy. This, my daughter, this is what your father has done; and if I have not won laurels in the army of Condé, it is because I thought laurels bedewed with the blood of France were won at too great a price."

"But, father," said Helen, hesitatingly, "it is not the fault of M. de Vaubert, if he has lived till the present in inaction and obscurity; had he the heart of a lion he could not show his courage with no one to combat."

"Bah! bah!" cried the Marquis, "a soul that pants for glory will find ways enough to quench its thirst. Why, at the time of the emigration, I was upon the point of going to America to fight the Indians, and it was only because I recollected that I owed a duty to our glorious France that I chose Germany instead of America. Look at this young Bernard. He is not eight and twenty yet; but he wears the evidence of his bravery in his button-hole; he has paraded, as a conqueror, in some of the first capitals of Europe, and but just escaped death on the plains of Moscow. He was hardly twenty when the emperor

who, whatever may be said, was not a fool, | In short, by evasion after evasion, and step remarked him at the battle of Wagram. I say this, my child, not to disparage Raoul. There is no particular necessity that he should do any thing to distinguish himself. He is already a baron; and, for one of his age, a very respectable young man. We must not be too exacting."

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Father," said Helen, more and more troubled, "M. de Vaubert loves me; he has my word, and for me that is enough." "Doubtless he does love you; and I take your word for it the more readily as I have rarely seen any indications of it; concealed fires are always the most terrible. But I think that had I been in his place I should not have gone off to Paris quite so precipitately, and precisely at the time when our young hero had come to pay us a visit."

"Father!" exclaimed Helen, blushing like a rose.

"To be sure, Raoul sends you a letter once a month or so. I have read only one of them; pretty style, perfumed paper, good spelling, correct punctuation, and all that; but, I beg you to believe, my daughter, that, in our times, this was not the way we wrote to the tender object of our flame!"

"Father!" repeated Helen, beseechingly and half smiling.

At this point, judging the place sufficiently dismantled, the insidious Marquis returned to his first batteries. He showed that in these times of trial the noblesse had no hope of safety, except by forming alliances with those in lower rank. He managed his daughter as Des Tournelles had a short time before managed him. He again pictured himself, to her imagination, poor, exiled, proscribed, begging like Belisarius, and dying far from his native land. Again the tears started in the eyes of Helen. Then, by a transition skillfully effected, he came to speak of old Stamply; he was pathetic on the subject of the old farmer's probity, and regretted exceedingly that during his life he had made him so poor a return. He was successful in awakening doubts and scruples in her young heart, without, however, awakening suspicion. From father to son was only a step. He extolled Bernard, and represented him, now as a dike against the fury of the waves, now as a shelter from the beating storm.

by step, he arrived at the end towards which he had been tending and demanded plainly, though apparently by way of reflection, if, considering the present aspect of affairs and their future prospects, an alliance with the Stamplys did not promise the La Seigliéres more advantage and security than an alliance with the de Vauberts. The Marquis had proceeded thus far, when he suddenly stopped, perceiving that Helen was as pale and trembling as if he had struck her a mortal blow.

;

"Zounds!" cried the Marquis, seizing her in his arms, "I am no hangman. Do you think I am like Calchas, about to lead you to the sacrifice and immolate you upon the steps of the altar? No, no; you are no Iphigenia, and I am no Agamemnon. We are talking, reasoning together, that's all. I can see very well, how, at the first blush, a La Seigliére must naturally revolt and be indignant at the idea of such an alliance but, my child, I repeat it :-think of your own situation, of your old father; think of the devotion of M'lle de Sombreuil. This young Bernard is not of noble blood, it is true; but, in these times, who is? Twenty years from now a title will not be worth the picking up. I wish you could hear M. Des Tournelles talk on the subject. He who serves his country well has no need of ancestors, says the sublime Voltaire. Besides, such connections have always been sought and found; they are the means by which great families live and perpetuate themselves. For instance, a king of France, Charles the Simple, married his daughter Gissel to one Rollo, a mere vagabond chieftain, proving thereby that he was not so was not so simple as history would like to make him appear. And, quite recently, a soldier of fortune married a daughter of the Cæsars. Your marriage with Stamply will have a good effect in the country; people will see that we are not ungrateful; they will say that we have recognized a good precedent; and, for my part, when, hereafter, I shall meet, face to face, the soul of my old farmer, I declare that it will not be particularly disagreeable to me to be able to announce to that honest old man that his probity met with a reward in this world, and that our two families now constitute but one. And it would carry joy to the heart of the good man, for he adored

you, Helen. Didn't he sometimes call you his daughter? Faith! he may have been a prophet. Eh ?”

her father, with a half finished sentence in his mouth, gazing after her as she rushed over the green lawns of the park and hid herself among the shrubbery.

The Marquis went on in this strain for a quarter of an hour, displaying, to overcome the repugnance of his daughter, all his resources of craft, diplomacy, and adroitness, which he had learned in the school of the baroness, when Helen, by a sudden movement, sprang from his arms and flew from the room like a bird, leaving | -ventre-saint-gris !”

After she had fairly escaped from his sight:-"Perhaps," ruminated the Marquis, rubbing his forehead with a thoughtful air, "perhaps,-it may be,-my daughter loves the hussar. That she will marry him, is not so clear; but that she loves him

To be Continued.

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