"No, no!" he returned passionately, and catching a ray of hope from her gentle and subdued manner, "there will be neither sorrow nor blame, if you love me. I will endure all that can arise from the fulfilment of that beautiful dream. Be mine, Beatrice, and my destiny will be happiness and honor!”

"Victor," said Beatrice, "your words are strange and dark, and I know not what terrible mystery is involved in the language you hold. Some fatal influence is at work to bewilder your perception of truth and justice. Bid the tempter depart!" she continued, rising, as she spoke, with an air of dignity and self-possession that a noble resolution could alone have inspired at such a moment. "Be yourself, Victor, as I once knew you before a delusive passion obscured your judgment, and happiness and honor will more surely be yours than if this baseless vision had been realized."

"You cast me from you, then?" said Victor, rising and folding his arms over his breast, as if to still the wild throbbings of the rebellious heart within, while his manner became as lofty as her own.

"Those harsh words are yours, not mine, Victor," said Beatrice, her eyes filling with tears as she spoke. "My feelings for you are unchanged. I would be, as I have ever been to you, a sister. You well know that all you demand farther than this, is given to another."

"Your hand I know is promised by your father," said Victor, "but your heart"

"Was won before that promise was made,” said Beatrice, blushing deeply, while the words fal

tered on her lips, "and that promise will be fulfilled with my own consent."

"Then is the bright dream indeed dispelled!" said Victor, while a mortal paleness overspread his features. "The vexed spirit is banished, and will never more haunt you. Farewell!"

He turned, and before she could reply he was gone.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CARNIVAL.

THE last day of the carnival had arrived. The mammoth ox, garlanded with flowers, preceded by a band of music, and followed by a car which might have passed for that of the goddess of reason and her satellites, judging from the group within it, had passed through every quarter of the metropolis, and had at last laid down his life literally, as other great actors do figuratively, for the amusement of the admiring crowd.

His eager followers, who had anticipated the catastrophe, as do the hungry heirs of a miser, when the hoards of gold they have watched and worshipped are about to be distributed, claimed and received their portions of his spoils the more eagerly, because this one day of riotous enjoyment was to sum up their pleasures and give them one prize against forty blanks, while with many of the bustling throng the feast was only an annual one, and its rarity enhanced their anxiety to partake of it.

The Boulevards and the Champs Elysées presented a curious spectacle in the slowly moving files of car

riages of every description, some filled with revellers in grotesque masks with noses of preposterous length, women covered with paint, patches and ribbons, children in wigs, and girls in regimentals and epaulettes, boys and girls alike disguised en pierrot, with faces plastered with flour, and in their high-pointed white caps and white dresses, looking like the ghosts of the carnival gliding about in anticipation of its speedy demise.

The maskers, who ventured on foot among the dense masses that crowded the sides of the streets, were often received with shouts of derision, and occasionally something more substantial than sugar plums found a place in the showers hurled at them by their companions in this rude pastime.

The gens d'armes, stationed at intervals along the streets, received maledictions both loud and deep, when some obstruction of the passage rendered their interference necessary, and occasionally a drawn sword was seen flashing over the heads of the multitude. Still the mighty mass moved on, and if accidents occurred, they were soon forgotten in the tumultuous excitement of the scene and the day.

The Princess V. had made every exertion to secure an earlier day than mardi gras for her fancy ball, which was to unite all that art could invent or luxury display; for this day of universal riot was one of such incessant commotion among the lower classes, as to make it particularly unsuitable for her purpose. But other fétes had claimed the precedence over hers, and she had been compelled to avail herself of the last day of the carnival for her splendid entertainment.

Couturières and modistes, plumassiers and fleurists, jewellers and embroiderers had plied their busy hands for a month past in preparing the varied and magnificent costumes which were to grace the occasion. How many pale artists were toiling daily and nightly at their sickly trade for a scanty subsistence, ill paid for their labors, or alas! too often not paid at all, while decorating the glittering robes that were to cover many an aching heart! What anxiety was suffered by the elegant hostess and her elegant guests, while preparations were in progress, on both sides, for entertaining and being entertained! What vexations and disappointments had to be endured from faithless “paroles d'honneur," or soothing exhortations to be “tranquille" under the heart-rending failure of an unfinished piece of embroidery or an incomplete costume!

All these whirlpools and quicksands had been escaped by the happy mariners who remained quietly in port, while the storm of gayety was thus raging furiously without.

The young friends of Constance, some of whom had shared in the bitterness of disappointment from faithless promises, and were compelled to content themselves with a simpler costume than the one they had fancied and ordered, secretly commended her choice in giving up the anticipated fête, and could not help admiring an example, which they had not resolution enough to follow.

The sacrifice made by Constance, in dedicating her costume to the relief of the unfortunate Antoine and his family, had lost in her eyes whatever of merit it