like glass. A moment afterward she fell back upon the pillows, and began to weep as if her heart was bursting.'

'And since then what has she said? what has she done?' asked the advocate, with painful anxiety. Have you informed Monsieur the First President of her situation? Have you sent for the physician?'

'Madame the Marchioness has forbidden us. Just now Monsieur the First President sent to tell her she must throw open her apartment and receive all the visitors: it is etiquette. Madame the Marchioness is not in a state to support such fatigue; but when Monsieur her father-inlaw says 'It must be done!' it is like a decree of parliament.'

'I will return again before evening to inquire about the Marchioness,' said the advocate; 'you have a kind and generous mistress, Genevieve; you must attend and watch over her with fidelity.'

Tears started to the eyes of the advocate as he spoke these words; and he abruptly departed, to conceal the emotion which these details had caused him. His soul was filled with tender and melancholy thoughts.

'She suffers! she weeps!' thought he; 'why could not I have preserved her at the price of my blood, from the distress and terrors of that fatal night! It cannot be the death of her husband which causes this suffering; he was but little to be regretted for his own sake. Ah! lowly as I am, and noble as he was, I feel myself more worthy of her love, than this haughty, fierce-looking Marquis! Had she indeed loved him, with what jealousy would I have been devoured! But no! neither for him, nor for any other, has her heart ever throbbed with love. Alas! last night I felt it beat with terror beneath my hand!'

As he crossed the square on his return home, the advocate perceived Marius Magis standing in the midst of a group of idlers, composed of solicitors' clerks, a few officers of the parliament, and some dozen citizens. All the party turned their eyes simultaneously toward Master Loubet, and Marius Magis, detaching himself from the crowd, approached him.

Ah!' said he, with an air of affliction, through which gleamed the mischievous satisfaction of announcing a piece of scandal; 'sad news, Master Loubet; it seems the fair Loubette did not return from the assignation she gave Captain Lansac last night, and this morning they have gone off together.

'How? what say you?' interrupted the advocate, with a look which made Marius Magis cast down his eyes; if this is one of the malicious falsehoods in which your slanderous tongue so often indulges, I will make you retract it before all the world.'

'Do me more justice, Master Loubet; I am your friend, and it is for this reason I have been looking for you these two hours to tell you what has happened it is already the town-talk.'

Proceed, for the love of God!' exclaimed the advocate, with concentrated passion; 'a friend like you can, better than any other, make known to me a calamity which brings trouble and disgrace into my family.'

'Ah! there will be no need of an inquest to verify the fact. The fair Loubette left her dwelling last evening about nightfall, and has not since been seen; her servant has been looking for her through all the

neighborhood; they even came to my house; but she can no where be found. Don't you now believe as every body else does, Master Loubet, that she has gone off with the handsome Captain Lansac ?'

The advocate folded his arms, and replied moodily, 'It may be so; I will go and find the cadet Beauregard.'

Ah! you may spare yourself that trouble. You will get no satisfaction in that quarter. He has gone off too.'

'I am much obliged to you for your information and good advice, Marius Magis,' said Master Loubet, bowing to the lawyer's clerk with stern irony.

On returning home, the advocate found Catharine waiting for him at the door of his office: she was in tears.

'Cousin' exclaimed she, with a voice broken by sobs, 'if you knew what has happened—'

She stopped suddenly, at the sight of the gloomy brow and irritated countenance of the advocate; she saw that he knew all.

'Well, Catharine,' said he, sitting down; 'go on.'

'It was Marius Magis, that messenger of ill news, who came; he wished to see you; he spoke to my aunt

'And he has told her all! And my mother has undergone this humiliation to her face?' interrupted Jaques Loubet, beside himself with passion.

'She made no reply to Marius Magis,' continued Catharine; but as soon as he left she was taken ill, and we were obliged to carry her to bed. Ah! GOD help us!'

The advocate paced the apartment with agitated steps; Catharine with clasped hands leaned against the wall and wept bitterly.

'But should this not be true!' continued she; suppose Marius Magis has spoken falsely! My poor sister! They have perhaps slandered her.'

"That is what I will soon clear up,' said Master Loubet, with a sombre and determined air. In one way or another, all this must be settled. My mother! What humiliation upon her sainted life! Happily you are here to console her, my poor angel!'

He ascended to the chamber of Mistress Loubet; the aged matron spoke only these words to him: Jaques, the bad conduct of that unhappy girl will bring my gray hairs to the grave; tell her this, if you ever see her again; she may then perhaps repent!'

There prevailed among the burghers of former times a severity of morals as inflexible as the point of honor among the high nobility. Mistress Loubet had been, during her long life, a perfect model of this virtue, from which not one of the family of Loubet had ever swerved. The public dishonor of her neice had stricken her a mortal blow. The old domestic also, who for forty years had been one of the household, was as deeply afflicted as her mistress, and took to heart the disgrace of the Loubets as much as if her own reputation had been in question. She dreaded, in advance, the remarks and observations that she knew would assail her, when she made her appearance in the neighborhood.

The advocate regarded for a moment with a bitter pang the tears of his aged parent; then kneeling beside the bed: 'I go,' said he, 'I go to

seek this unhappy girl. If possible, I will bring her back. We may then perhaps devise some means to induce her to change her course of conduct.'

'Jaques,' exclaimed Mistress Loubet, embracing her son, tell her I cannot forget that she is the sister of this angel, who is soon to be your spouse.'

At these words the advocate turned his head sadly away. The unfortunate passion, burning in the secret recesses of his heart, had usurped the place of the pure and innocent affection, from which he had formerly anticipated all the happiness of his future life. For this humble girl, so trustful in her love, he now only felt the friendship of a brother; and he trembled at the thought of the engagement, which the words of his mother recalled. Racked by these contending emotions, it seemed as if he would have welcomed some sudden catastrophe to relieve him from the mental anxiety by which he was tortured.

After this sad interview with his mother, the advocate made arrangements as if for a long absence, and departed the same day without seeing the Marchioness.

III.

AFTER this fatal festival of Saint John, the mansion of the Loubets seemed to be deserted; the windows remained closed day and night; the neighbors no longer saw the smiling face of Catharine peeping from the little balcony, between the branches of the Spanish jasmine, with whose star-like blossoms she loved to bedeck her glossy locks. The poor girl no longer left the house, so lately the abode of peaceful happiness, now sad and desolate.

The advocate did not return, and no tidings were heard from him; Mistress Loubet was evidently dying; the old domestic had sunk into a state of second childhood. Every morning she crawled with difficulty to the office to put things in their places, as had been her wont for many years, and replied to the inquiries of the advocate's clients, that Master Loubet was at court, forgetting that he had left the city many days ago.

Catharine watched over these two helpless females with pious care; her soul, consumed by bitter grief, found solace in the faithful performance of her duties; and she bore the affliction which had thus cruelly blighted her hopes of happiness, with an elevation of soul at once patient and full of faith. She offered up unceasing prayers for her unfortunate sister, and for Jaques Loubet; each morning she awoke with the hope of their return; and all the long day she sat by the bedside of Mistress Loubet, patiently watching for their arrival; then when night again came, as she drew the heavy bolts of the door through which no familiar footstep had entered, she sadly exclaimed: 'Perhaps, to-morrow! Oh! merciful GOD! grant that Jaques may not return too late!'

Meanwhile, Mistress Loubet became more and more alarmed at the continued absence of her son; she dreaded some great calamity; frequently she repeated with a heavy sigh, 'Catharine, I shall never see my son again! I shall die before his return! Who can tell whither he has gone to seek for this unhappy girl? Who can tell when he will come back?'

Exactly two weeks after the eventful festival of St. John, Mistress Loubet breathed her last.

On the night after her death, Catharine was watching alone in the office of the advocate. It was between eleven and twelve o'clock: the domestic had been in bed for some time, and profound silence reigned in the little mansion, now gloomy and desolate as the chapel of a cemetery. Catharine wept as she thought of the event which had so suddenly changed the course of her former happy life; she wept as she thought of the grief of Jaques Loubet, when he should find her alone in the place where he had so lately left her with his mother.

A light tap at the door startled the young girl from her gloomy reveries; she sprang briskly up on recognising the well-known knock of Master Loubet. It was indeed he. Catharine at first drew back, then bursting into tears, she cast herself into his arms, exclaiming:

Ah! my God! you have been ill, Jaques! How changed you are!' The advocate wept also. My good Catharine,' said he, kissing her forehead, how is my dear mother?'

She shuddered, and raising her eyes to heaven, pressed with a convulsive grasp the hands of the advocate. He at once comprehended her.

'Dead!' murmered he, sinking half lifeless into the large chair.

There was a long silence, interrupted only by deep moans, and halfstifled sobs. Catharine, on her knees beside Master Loubet, could find no words to console such an overwhelming grief. There was in the pale and emaciated countenance of the advocate a dark and sinister expression, which filled the young girl with terror. Overcome by fear, she was unable to utter the question that was struggling at her lips: at length, after a long pause, she sobbed forth:

My poor sister!'

'Marius Magis lied!' answered he, in a brief, bitter tone; she did not leave with M. de Lansac.'

'Ah!' exclaimed Catharine, with a movement of joy; I was sure it was an infamous slander! My poor sister! But yet, she is not here; no one has seen her since the night of Saint John. Alas! where can

she be ?'

The advocate arose; he cast around him a gloomy, care-worn look, and pressed his hands to his forehead, as if to collect his distracted thoughts.

'Catharine,' said he with an effort, turning toward the young girl, 'you know not all our misfortunes. I am in a terrible position; I must quit the country; my life is at stake! I set forth to-morrow

'I will go with you,' exclaimed she, eagerly.

'No, Catharine, no!- that is impossible. A fugitive, hemmed in on all sides, who knows whether I shall be able myself to escape?'

She listened to him in terror and amazement, comprehending nothing of these strange words, and not daring to hazard a question.

'Go, take some repose, Catharine; I shall remain here,' continued he; I have need of the whole night to arrange my affairs.'

At this, she threw herself at his feet, exclaiming: For heaven's sake, let me remain! Let me watch with you. Oh, Jaques! there is

something in your manner that terrifies me! Good heavens! what has happened? Why will you not tell me all? I am no longer a child: indeed, you may confide in me.'

He raised her from the ground and seated her beside him; then, in a mournful tone, 'Catharine,' said he, if you knew what pain your distress gives me, and how much I am already to be pitied I am

She hastily dried her tears, and strove to restrain her grief. calm,' said she; but her heart was overflowing; it was bursting at the thought of the approaching separation.

'Catharine,' said the advocate, in a gentle voice, after a short silence, 'speak to me of my poor mother

What a night was that! The young girl, sunk in the arm-chair, seemed completely prostrated by gloomy despair. The advocate, leaning over his desk, continued to write without intermission. Now and then a tear stole down his cheek, and he murmured, My mother! my poor mother!'

When dawn appeared, he arose, and touching the shoulder of Catharine, said to her:

'Cousin, there are some papers upon my desk which concern you: my mother's last will, which in my default, makes you her sole legatee. There are also some other papers, which the lawyers will explain to you, and the address you must put upon letters for me, that they may reach me with certainty. We must now part. Dear Catharine, may GOD make you as happy as I am miserable!'

She wept no longer; she was praying with clasped hands, kneeling by the arm-chair. The advocate kissed her forehead, saying in a broken voice:

'Poor angel! the guardian angel whom God has given to our house! you now remain there alone! Adieu! adieu !'

The advocate left the city, and soon found himself in the open country. There remained another farewell for him, and he determined to take it, though at the peril of his life. For some days past the Marchioness had been residing at the Pavilion, a charming retreat, situated about half a league from Aix, in a little valley whose vegetation was kept fresh and green by a never-failing rivulet. In this secluded spot, the murmur of the flowing stream was constantly heard; and in the gardens, along the meadows, and upon the declivities of the pine-crowned hills, the Flora of the south had scattered with profuse hand her choicest treasures.

The pavilion, hidden by a thick screen of large chestnuts, was approached by a winding path, bordered by cypresses and Spanish broom. During the whole morning, the advocate strayed among these thickets: with head bewildered, and faculties exhausted by fatigue and grief, he walked mechanically to and fro, as if impelled by some invisible hand. Toward noon he took the path which led to the pavilion.

The Marchioness was alone in a large Italian saloon, whose darkened blinds tempered the sunbeams, so that a softened light, similar to that of an alabaster lamp, pervaded the apartment; and the figures, painted in gray tints upon the walls, stood out in the dim light, like fantastic decorations. Clad in large robes of deep mourning, the Marchioness was