the chemist's boy. Gabrielle knew that her mistress had been recovering, and was most warmly interested in the success of her escape; though none but Adèle was alive to the full extent of the danger which she and the little boy would have incurred by remaining with Mademoiselle Monti; and Monsieur d'Alger's valet had promised his sister, that he would preserve entire silence, should he by any chance fall in with the fugitives, or hear any thing which could afford a clue to their movements.

But Monsieur Bertot was not to be quite so easily foiled; and he resolved to write that day, directing his letter to the post-office, to be instantly delivered to the friends of the missing lady. He knew that he could not accept of the offered reward; but he believed that the noble and wealthy family to which Lucy was reported to belong, would not lose sight of his interest, after his rendering them so important a service and, at all events, it would cause him to be talked about, and make his name more widely known.

After writing and despatching this letter, he went to visit his patient, whom he found so decidedly worse as almost to preclude any rational hope of her revovery. He told Maria, however, that she was much the same; as he feared that, by alarming her with the apprehension of Lucy's speedy death, she might feel herself compelled to write to the lady's relatives, and he had no wish to forfeit his own prior claim to the merit of having done so. But Mademoiselle Salvi could scarcely bring herself to credit fully the doctor's assertion, that he found his patient in the same state in which he had left her the day before; though it was difficult to imagine what motive he could have in deceiving her, when she spoke to him so calmly, and entreated him to tell her the exact truth, as it was of the utmost importance that she should know it. Strange to say, it had never once occurred to her that Monsieur Bertot would take any notice of Madame Monti's delirious ravings; but she had carefully kept Francisco out of his way, more from an undefined feeling that it would be safer to do so, than from the dread of any actual danger arising from his being present at the doctor's visits. She was, therefore, considerably startled when Monsieur Bertot, after parrying her anxious inquiries as well as he could, asked after the little boy, and said he should like to see him. He did not appear to observe the flush that came

and went upon Maria's cheek, as she answered, in a confused manner, that she believed he was out; but, merely replying that he hoped he should have the pleasure of being introduced to the young gentleman another day, and that he would send the lady some more medicine, he took his leave.

We must return to Mademoiselle Monti and Adèle. The former had taken good care that her letter to her brother should not reach him for many days after the proper time; or rather she had delayed sending it at all, until it should be no longer in her power to avoid despatching what she intended to call her second letter. She earnestly hoped to capture the fugitives before he should receive the intelligence of their escape; for it was very important to her viewsperhaps, now, even to her own security-that she should ascertain Lucy's real state of mind before allowing her to see her husband again, and take her own measures accordingly.

But she was beginning to despair. Eight days had passed away; and the united ingenuity of herself and Adèle, joined to the most persevering efforts on the part of those she employed, had failed in discovering the least indication of the track taken by Lucy and her son. Now and then a demon's hope possessed Mademoiselle Monti, that they would be found some day in the shape of lifeless skeletons or drowned corpses; but this was too vague and uncertain for her to reckon upon, and was contrary to the real belief with which she was impressed.

On the morning of the eighth day, however, Adèle came in from one of her perambulations, and told her mistress that it had not been altogether fruitless.

"Speak! speak!" gasped, rather than said, Francesca ; "Adèle, I implore-I command you to be quick!"

But Adèle was in a tantalizing humour, and the word "command" had not escaped her.

"Really, Mademoiselle," she returned poutingly, "you quite flurry one with your vehemence! I shall be afraid of mentioning any thing to you, if you do not command yourself better! You will be sure to betray us before you have done, if you are not more careful.”

Mademoiselle Monti swallowed her anger for the time, and even humbled herself to say, that she was sorry she had spoken impatiently to Adèle, who served her so faithfully, and begged her not to delay telling her the news.

until

"Maria Salvi has been living in the Strada about a week ago" (Francesca's eyes gleamed with delight). "But she then left it quite suddenly, saying it was uncertain when she should return, and no one knows where she is gone. I came in to tell you this, because I thought you would be so glad to hear it; and now I am going out again directly to make further inquiries."

"Bless you, Adèle !" ejaculated Mademoiselle Monti, fervently; "you are worth your weight in gold!"

"And will be some day, in some more substantial way than words, or my name is not Adèle," thought the girl.

As she was preparing to leave the room, another servant met her at the door (they were staying at the Casa Monti), and put into her hands two letters for Mademoiselle Monti. The one which really concerned the young lady most she put carelessly aside, without even looking at the address, and hastened to open the other, which was from the Marchese. But Adèle had read the direction on Monsieur Bertot's despatch; and, with a quiet smile, she waited while Francesca perused her brother's voluminous epistle. She knew that she was provoking her mistress by this delay; but she knew also that Mademoiselle Monti would not dare to scold her for it, and she was pleased to have her revenge for the hasty, imperious way in which she had been addressed that morning.

"Excellent news from my brother, Adèle," said Francesca, in as bland a tone as her irritated feelings would allow her to assume. "I will tell you what he says when you come in again; but I hope first you will have something of more importance to tell me."

"Your other letter has fallen from your lap, Mademoiselle ; let me put it in your envelope-case for you, till you are at leisure to attend to indifferent matters."

"No, thank you, Adèle! I will just look at it at once," answered Francesca, as the girl was about to do what she had proposed: "but I daresay it is of no consequence."

Adèle gave it to her with the seal upwards, so that she never looked at the direction before breaking it; and the delightful intelligence flashed upon her as a complete surprise. The effect it had upon her startled even the imperturbable Adèle. She was wild and intoxicated with the joy which really seemed to madden her; and, renouncing all attempt

at self-control, she rose from her chair and danced round the room in an ecstasy of glee, which, had her companion been a person of reading and education, might have reminded her of the dreadful dance of death, said to be performed, amid yells of exultation, by a certain race of savages around the fire that is consuming their wretched victim.

Without ceremony, Adèle possessed herself of the letter which Francesca had thrown upon the table. It is needless to say that it was from Monsieur Bertot, and the substance of it is already known to the reader.

"This explains Maria Salvi's sudden disappearance," remarked Adèle as she laid it down, intending the observation to be taken as a hint that she still expected a special fee for her exertions that morning, though their usefulness was now cancelled.

Francesca had by this time regained her composure; and, fully understanding what Adèle was aiming at, she at once placed a handsome sum of money in her hands, and bade her prepare with all possible expedition for their immediate departure for Leghorn.

CHAPTER XIX.

Lucy was to all appearance in the last agonies of death; and Maria was leaning over her, and repressing her own emotion, while she did all in her power to assuage the bitterness of that awful moment which seemed to be so rapidly approaching. Awful even to the best and holiest, and perhaps most of all to them, is the anticipation of that hour; but more especially was it so to Lucy, who, in a lucid interval, implored her friend not to allow her life to pass away from her without spiritual aid and consolation, and then as suddenly remembered, that she had become a voluntary alien from the Church of her fathers, and that she dared not receive from the hands of the English clergyman that last solemn rite, for which she longed so earnestly. Maria, zealous in the faith of her own Church, besought her to see a Romish priest; but the Marchesa at first shrank from the idea with a repugnance she could scarcely conceal from herself. was doing her utmost to overcome this feeling, and to reconcile her heart and reason to the notion of receiving entire absolution from a minister of that creed in which her husband had lived, and in which her child was to be educated, when the door was opened by the nurse.

She

She entered with little Francisco, who immediately climbed upon the bed, and threw his arms around his mother's neck. She returned his caresses as far as her failing strength would allow; and, meanwhile, the nurse whispered something to Maria, which had the effect of eliciting a faint shriek from the latter. Faint as it was, Lucy heard it, and immediately guessing that it could be no trifling or unimportant announcement that had surprised her friend into uttering it, she raised herself in bed, and insisted on knowing if any one had arrived. The silence which followed her question was in