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Copyrighted 1881, by BEADLE AND ADAMS,

SRA Go,
Decembers 1881.

No. 121

Complete in this Number,
Price, Ten Cents.

~ VAL ER

t= ah

CHAPTER 1’
I nave titled these with nothing more than

my baptismal name. the reader finds sufficient |

in them to read to the end, he will discover the posi-
tion [aim in, after an eventful life. Ishall, however,
not trespass w
ductory remarks; but commence at once with my

birth, parentage, and education. This is necessary, |
as although the two first ant DEMIBPS, of little com- |

parative consequence, the latter is of importance,
as it will prepare the reader for
many events in my after-life. “I
may add, that much depends upon
birth and parentage; at all events
itis necessary to complete a per-
fect. picture. Let me, therefore,
begin at the inning.

Iwas born in France. My father,
who was of the ancienne noblesse of
France, by a younger branch of the
best blood, and was a most splen-
did specimen of the outward man.
was the son of an old officer, an
an officer himself in the army of
peenrere: In the conquest of Italy
he had served in the ranks, and con-
tinuing to follow Napoleon through
all his campaigns, had arrived to
the grade of captain of cavalry.
He had distinguished himself on
many occasions, was a favorite of
the Emperor's, wore the cross of
the Legion of Honor, and was con-
side in a fair way to rapid pro-
motion, when he committed a great
error. During the time that his
squadron was occupying a small
German town, situated on the river
Erbach, called Deux Ponts, he saw
my mother, fell desperately in love,
and married.. There was some ex-
cuse for him, for a more beautiful
woman than my mother I never
beheld; moreover, she was highly
talented, and a most perfect musi-
cian; of a good family, and with a
dower by no means contemptible.

The reader may say that, in
marrying such a woman, my father
could hardly be said to have com-
mitted a very great error. This is
true, the error was not in marry-
ing, ‘but in allowing his wife’s in-
fiuence over him to stop his future
advancement. He wished to leave
her with her father and mother
until the campaign was over. She
refused to be left, and he yielded
to her wishes. Now, Napoleon had
no objection to his officers being
married, but a very great dislike to
their wives accompanying the
army; and this was the fault which
my father committed, and which
lost him the favor of his general.
My mother was too beautiful a
woman not.to be noticed, and im-
mediately inquired about, and the
knowledge soon came to Napoleon’s
ears, and militated against my
father’s future advancement.

During the first year of their mar-*
riage my eldest brother, Auguste,
was born, and shortly afterward
my mother promised an increase

Kaa) Vy

to the family, which was the eccasion of great satis- |

faction to my father, who, now that he had been
married more than a year, would at times look at

2 mother, and heautifu) as she was, calculate in |

h.s mind whether the ion‘of her was indem-
nification sufficient for the loss of the brigade which
she had cost him. :
To account for my father’s satisfaction, I must
uaint the reader with circumstances which are
not very well known, As I before observed, Na-

nm his time by making many intro- |

 

MARR

 

poleon had no objection to marriage, because he re-
quired men for his army; and because he required
men, and not women, he thought very poorly of a
married couple who produced a plurality of girls.
If, on the contrary, a woman presented her husband
with six or seven boys, if he was an officer in the
army, he was certainof a pension for life. Now, as
my mother had commenced with a boy, and itis
woll known that there is eyéry, chance of a woman
continuing to produce the sex Which first makes its

eee
y

appearance, she was much complimented and con-
| gratulated by the officers when she so soon gave
signs of an increase, and they prophesied that she
would, by her fruitfulness, in a few years obtain a
pension for her husband... My father hoped so, and
thought thai if he had lost the brigade, he would be
indemnified by the pension. My mother was cer-
tain of it; and declared it was a boy.

But _ propaectes, hopes and declarations were all
| falsified and overthrown by my unfortunate appear-

VAT:

ance, The disappointment of my father was great;
but he bore it like aman. My mother was not o
disappointed, but indignant. She felt mortified,
after all her declarations, that I should have ap-
peared and disproved them. She was a woman of
violent temper, a discovery which my father made
too late. To me, as the cause of her humiliation
and disappointment, she took an aversion, which
only increased as 1 grew up, and which, as will be
hereafter shown, was the iaaieaptiog of all m:;
vicissitudes in after-life.

Surely there is an error in assert-
ing that there is no feeling so strong
as maternal love. How often do
we witness instances like mine, in
which disappointed vanity, ambi-
tion, or interest, have changed this
love into deadly hate.

My father, who felt the incon-
venience of my mother accom-
panying him on forced marches,
and who,. perhaps, being disap-
parse in his hopes of a pension,

ought that he might as well re-
cover the Fmperor’s favor, and
look for the brigade, now t ppt ong
that my mother shoul
with her two children to her
ents, This my mother, who had
avers gain the upper hand,
Bee vely refused to accede to.

lhe did, however, allow me and
my brother Auguste to be sent to
her parents’ care at Deux Ponts,
and there we remained while my
father followed the fortunes of
the ans and my wother fol-
lowed the fortunes of my father,
I have little or no recollection of
my maternal grandfather and
ndmother, I remember that I
ved with them, as I remained
there with my brother, till I was
seven years old, at which period
my paternal grandmother offered
to receive my brother and me and
take charge of our education.
This offer was accepted, and we
both went to Luneville where she
resided.

I have said that my paternal
grandmother offered to receive us,
and not my patra grandfather,
who was still alive. Such was the
case, as, could he have had his
Own way, he would not have al-
lowed us to come to Luneville,
for he had a great dislike to chil-
dren; but my grandmother had
property of her own, independent
of her husband, and she insisted
upon our coming. Very often,

ter we had been received into
her house, I would hear remon-
strance on his part relative to
the expense of keeping us, and
the reply of my _ grandmother
which’ would be, Hh bien, Mon-
sieur Chatencus, cest mon arg nt

ue je depense.” Tmust describe

fionsieur Chateneenf. As I be-

fore stated, he had been an officer

in the French army; but had now

retired on his pension, -with the

rank of Major, and decorated with

the Lerion of Honor. At the time when I first saw him
he was a tall, elegant old man, with hair as white as
silver, T heard it said, that when young, he was con-
sidered one of the bravest and handsomest officers
in the French army, He was very quiet in his man-
ners, spoke very little, and took a large guanity of
snuff. He was egotistic to excess, attending wholly
to himself and his own comforts; and it was be-
cause the noise of children interfered with his com-
fort that he disliked them so much, We saw little

 
'

_”” was not pleasant.

VALERIE.

 

 

of him and cared less. IfIcameinto his room when
he waa alone, he promised me agood whipping, I there-
_ fore avoided him as much as I could; the association

Luneville is a beautiful town in the department of
Meurthe. The castle, or rather palace, is a very splen- |
did and spacious building, in which formerly the Dukes |
of Lorraine held their court. It was afterwards inhab-
ited by King Stanislaus, who founded a military school,
a library, and an hospital. The palace was @ square
building, with a handsome facade tacing the town, and
in front of it there was a fountain. There was a large
square in the center of the palace, and behind it an ex-
tensiva garden, which was well kept up and carefully
atteniled to, One side of the palace was occupied by
the officers of the regiments quartered in Luneyille ;
the opposite side by the soldiery ; and the remainder
of the building was appropriated to the reception of old
retired officers who had been pensioned. It was in this
beautiful building that my grandfather and 3rand-
mother were established for the remainder of their
lives. Except the Tuileries, I know of no palacein France

' equal to that of Lunoville. Hore it was that, at seven
years old, I took up my quarters ; anditis from that
period that I have always dated my existence.

I have described my grandfather and my residence,
but now I must introduce my grandmother; my dear,
excellent grandmother, whom I loved so much when
she was living, and whose memory I shall
ever revere. In“person she was rather diminutiye,
but although sixty years of age, she still retained

her figure, which was remarkably pretty, and she
was as. straight as an arrow. Nover had age
pressed moro lightly upon the human frame ;- for,
strange to say, her hair was black as jet, and fell down
to her knees. It was considered a great curiosity, and
she was not a little proud of it, for there was not a

y hair to be seen. Although she had lost many of

r teeth, her skin was not wrinkled, but hada fresh-

Bess most remarkable in a person so advanced in
. Her mind was as young as her body; she was
very witty and coquettish, and the officers living in the
ace were continually in. her apartments, preferring
company to'that of younger women. Partial to
children, she would join in all our sports, and sit
down to play “ hunt the slipper’ with us and our young
companions. But with all her vivacity, she was a
strictly moral and religious woman. She could be
lenient to indiscretion and carelessness, but any de-
viation from truth and honesty, on the part of my
brother or myself, was certain to be visited with
severe punishment. She argued that there could be.
uo virtue, where there was deceit, which she con-
sidered as the hot-bed from which every vice would
spring ont spoataneously ; that truth was the basis of
all that was good and noble, and that every other
vranch of education was, comparatively speaking, of
no importance, and without truth,of uo value, She
was right. é iy

My brother and I were both sent to day-schools. The
maid Catherine always took me to school after
breakfast, aud came to fetch me home about four
o'clock in thé atternoon. Those were happy times. ,
With what joy I used to return to the palace, boundin,
into. my grandmother's apartment on the ground floor,

- sometimes to frighten her, leaping in at the window and
dropping at het feet, the old lady scolding and laughing
at the same time. My grandmother was, as I ed,
religious, but she was not a devotee. The great object
was to instill into me a love of truth, andin this she was
indetatigable. When I did wrony, it was not the fault
I had committed which caused ber concern, it was the
fear that I should deny it which worried and alarmed
her. Yo prevent this, the old lady had # curious
method—she dreamed for my benefit. If I had done
wrong, and she suspected mea, she would not accuse
me until she had madesuch inquiries as convinced her
that I was the guilty person ; and then, perhaps, the
mext morning she would say, us I stood by her
ide: “ Valerie, Ihad a dream last night,; Lcan’t get
it out of my head, I dreamt that little girl
had turyotten her promise to me, and when she went
to the store-room had eaten a large piece of the cake.”

She would fix her eyes upon me as she narrated the
events of her dream, and, as she proceeded, my face
would be covered with blushes, and my eyes cast down
in contusion ; I dared not look at her, and by the time
that she had finished, I was down on my kuees, with
my face buried in herlap. If my offense was great, I
had to say my prayers, and implore the Divine torgive-
ness, and was sent to prison, that is, locked up for a
few hours in my bed-room. Catherine, the maid, had
been many years with my grandmother, and was, toa

’ certain 6, a privileged person’; at all events, sho
considered herself warranted in giving her opinion,
and mbling as much as she pleased, and such was
invariably the case whenever I was locked up. “ Tou-

3en cette pauvre petite. It is too bad, madame,
you must let her out.” y grandmother would quietly
reply, “Catherine, you are 4 good woman, but you un-
derstand nothing about the education of children.”
Sometimes, however, she obtained the key from my
grandmother, and I was released sooner than was origin-
ally intended.

The fact is, that being put in prison was avery heavy
punishment, as it invariably took place in the evenings
after my return from school, so that I lost my play-
hewrs. There werea great many officers with their

4 véwos located in the palace, and, of course, no want of
playinates. The girls used to go to tho bosquet, which
adjoiued tlie gardens of the palace, collect flowers, and
auake a garland, which they hung on a rope stretched
across the courtyard of the palace. As the day closed

whenever I was put into prison, I had the mortification |
of witnessing all these joyous games without being per-
mitted to join in them. }

To prove the effect of my grandmother’s dreaming |
upon me, I will narrate a circumstance which occurred.
My grandfather had. a landed property about four)
tiles trom Luneville. A portion of this land was let
to a farmer, und the remainder he farmed on his own

“account, und the prouce was consumed in the house- |
keeping. From this farm we received milk, butter,
cheese, all kinds of truit, and indeed everything
which a farm produces. In that part of France
they havea method of melting down and clarifying
butter for winter use, instead of salting it. This not
only preserves it, but, to most people, makes it more
palatable ; at all events, I can answer for myself, for IL
was inordinately fond of it. There were eighteen or
twenty jars of it in the store-room, which were used up
in rotation I dared not take any out of the jars in use,
as I should be certain to be discovered ; sol went to the
last jar, and by my repeated assaults upon it, it
was nearlyempty before my grandmother discovered ,
it. As usual, she hada dream. She commenced with
counting over the number ot jars of butter; and how |
she opened such a one, and it was full; and then
the next, and it was full; but before her dream |
was half over, and she was still a long way trom
the jar which Thad despoiled, I was on my knees telling |
her the end of the dream, of my own accord, tor L could
not bear the suspense of haying allthe jars examined. |
From that time I generally made a full contession before
the dream was ended,

But when I was about nine years old I was guilty of
a very heavy offense, which I shall narrate, on account |
of the peculiar punishment which I received, and
which might be advantageously pursued by the parents
of the present day, who may happen to cast their eyes
over these memoirs. It was the custom for children |
of the officers who lived in the palace, that is, the girls, |
toclub together occasionally, that they might have a!
little fete in the garden of the palace, It was a sort
of picnic, to which every one contributed ; some would
bring cakes, some fruit; some would bring money (a
tew sous ) to purchase bon-bons, or any thir gelse which
might be agreed upon.

On those occasions, my grandmother invariably gaye
me fruit, a very liberal! allowance of apples and pears, |
trom the store-room : @ had plenty from the orchard |
of the farm. But one of the elder girls told |
ine that they had of fruit, and that I must!
bring some money. | ed my grandmother, but she
retused me; and then this girl proposed that I should
steal some from my grandfather. Iobjected; but she
ridiculed my objections, and pressed me until she over-
came my scruples, and I consented. But when I left |

and a numerous family, she having presented him with
seven more children; so that, with Auguste and me,
he had now nine children. I may as well here observe
that my mother continued toadd yearly to the family,
till she had fourteen in all, and out of these there were
seven boys; so that, had the Emperor remained on the
throne of France, my father would certainly have se-
cured the pension,

The arrival of my family was a source both of pleas-
ure and pain tome. I was most anxious to see all my
brothers and sisters, and‘my heart yearned towards
my father and mother, although I had no recollection
of them ; but I was teariul that I should be removed
from my grandmother’s care, and she was equally
alarmed at the chance of our separation. Untortunate-
ly for ne, it turned out as we had anticipated. My .
mother was anything but gracious to my grandmother,
notwithstanding the obligations she was under to her,
and yery soon took an opportunity of quarreling with
her, The cai f the quarrel was very absurd, and
proved that if was predetermined on the part of my
mother. My grandmother had some curious old carved
furniture, which my mother coveted, and requested
my grandmother to let her have it, This my yrand-
mother would not consent to, and my mother took
offense at her refusal. I and my brother were immedi-

| ately ordered home, my mother asserting that we had

been both very badly brought up; and this wasall the
thanks that my grandmother received for her kindness
to us, and detraying all our expenses fer five years.

I had not been at home more than a week when my

| father’s regiment was ordered to Nanci ; but, during

this short period,I seer hai sufficient to convince me that
I should be very miserable. My mother’s dislike tome
which I have referred to before, now assumed the char-
acter of positive hatred, and I was very ill treated. I
was employed as a servant, and as nurse to the younger
children; and hardly a day passed without my
feeling the weight of her hand. We sot off
for Nanci, and I thought my heart would break

my grandmother, promised to leave her property
to me; but this offérin my favor enraged my mother
still more; she declaredthat [should not remain ; and
my father had long succtmbed to her termagant dispo-
sition, and yielded implicit obedience to her authority.
It was lamentable to see such a fine soldier-like man
affaid even to speak before this woman; but he was
ompletely under her thralldom, and never dared to con-
tradict. - :
As soon as we were settled in the barracks at Nanci
my mother commenced her system of persecution in
downright earnest. I had to make all the beds, wash
the children, carry out the baby, and do every menial

as I quitted the a8 of my grandmother, who wept
, overine, My ae very willing to leave me with

her, after she nad obtained my promise, I wasin a sad | office for my brothers and sisters, who were encouraged
state. I knew it was wicked to steal, and the girl had , to order me about. I had very good clothes, which hat
taken care to point out to me*how wiiked it was to been provided me by my grandmother: they were al
break a promise. I did not know what to do; all/ taken away, and altered for my younger sisters; but
that evening I was in such a state of feverish ex- | what was still more mortifying, all my sisters had les-
citement, that my grandmother was quite astonished, | sons in music, dancing, and other accomplishment-,
The fact was, that I was ashamed to retract my promise, | from various masters, whose instructions I was not
and yet I trembled at the deed that I was about to do. | permitted to take advantage of, although there would

I went into my room. and got into bed. I remained |
awake; and about midnight I got up, and creeping |
softly into my grandiather’s room, I went to his clothes, |
which were on a chair, and rifled his pockets of—two

sous ! 2

Having effected my Dippos , Lretired stealthily, and’
gained my own room. What my feelings were when I
was again in bed, I cannot well deseribe—-they were
horrible—I could not shut my eyes for the remail
of the night, and the next morning I made my appear-
ance, haggard, pale, and trembling. It proved, how-
ever, that my grandfather, who wags awake, had wit-
nessed the theft in silence, and informed my grand-
mother of it. Before 1 went to school, my grandmother
called me in to her, for I had avoided her. 5h

“‘Come here, Valerie,”’ she said ; ‘I have had a dream
—a most dreadful dream—it was about a little girl,
who, in the middle of the night, crept into her grand-
father’s room ?’—— , aa

I could bear no more. I threw myself on the floor,
and, in agony, screamed out: ;

“Yes, grandmamma, and stole two sous.”’ — ;

A paroxysm of tears followed the confession, and for
more than an hour I remained on the floor, hiding my
face and sobbing. My grandmother allowed me to re-.
main there—she was very much annoyed—I had com-
mitted a crime of the first magnitude—my punishment |
was severe. I was locked up in my room for ten days ; |

 

have been no addition to the expense, ;

“Oh! my father,” cried I, “why is this ?—what have
T done ?—am not I your daughter—your eldest daugh-
ter?”

“T will speak to your mother,” replied he.

Andhe did venture to do so; but, by so doing, he
raised up such a tempest, that he was glad to drop the
subject, and apologize for an act of justice. Poor man!
he could do no more than pity me.

I well remember my feelings at that time. J felt that
I could love my mother, love her dearly, it she would
hayg allowed meto doso. [had tried to obtain her
good will, but I received nothing in return but blows,
and at last I became so alarmed when 1n her presence,
that I almost lost my reason. My ears were boxed till
T could not recollect where I was, and I became stupe-
fied with fear. All I thought of, all my anxiety, at last,
was to get out of the room where my mother was. My
terror was so great, that her voice made me tremble,
and at the sight of her I caught my breath and gasped
ftom alarm. My brother Auguste was very nearly as

much. an object of dislike to my mother as I was,

chiefly because he had been brought up by my grand-
mother, and, morever, because he would take my part.

‘The great favorite of my mother was my second
brother, Nicolas; he was a wondertul musician, could
play wpon any instrument, and the most difficult music
atsight. This talent endeared him to my mother, who

but this was the smallest portion of the punishment; | Was herself a first-rate musician. He was permitted to
every visitor that came in, I was sent for, and on my | order me about just as he pleased, andif I did not
muking my appearance, my grandmother would take | please him, to beat me without mercy, and very often —
me by the hand, and leading me.ap, would jormally | my mother would fly at me and assist him. But Au-
present me to the visitors. os guste took my part, and Nicolas received very severe
«“ Pernittez, madame (ou monsieur), que je vous pre- : chastisement from him, but this did not help mo; on
sente Mademoiselle Valerie, qui est enfermee dans sa/ the contrary, if Auguste interfered in my behalf, my
chambre pour avoir vole deux sous de son grand-| mother would pounce upon me, and | may say that I
ere.” . } | Was stunued with her blows. Auguste appealed to his
Oh! the shame, the mortification that I felt. This | father, but he ured not interfere, He was coward
would take place at least ten times a day; and each } enough to sit by and see his daughter treated in this
succeeding presentation was followed by a burst of | way without remonstrance; and, in a short time, I was

tears, as 1 was again led back to my chamber. Severe | fast
as this punishment was, the effect of it was excellent, |
I would have endured martyrdom, after what I had)
gone through, before I would have taken what was not |
my own, It was a painful, but a judicious, and most |
radical cure. ; }
For five years I remained under the care of this most
estimable woman, and, under her guidance, had become
a truthful and religious girl; and I may conscientious- ,
ly add, that I was as innocent asa Jamb—but a change
was at hand. The Emperor had been hurled trom his

 

in, the party from each house, or apartments rather,
brougit out a lantern, and having thus illuminated

the ronde, and other games, until it was bedtime. As
the window of my bed-room looked out upon the court,

| great alterations ve
our ball-room by subscription, the boys and girls danced | father’s regiment of |
‘he was now appointed to a dragoon regiment, which |

throne, and was shut upon a barren rock, and soon
made in the French army. My |
hussars had been disbanded, and |

was ordered to Lunveville, He arrived with my mother |

approaching to what my mother declared me to be
~~ ar idiot. P :

ust that my own sex will not think me a rene-

| gade when I say, that if ever there was a proof that

woman was intended by the Creator to be subject to
man, it is, that once place power in the hands of
woman, and there is not one ont of a hundred who
will not abuse it. We hear much of the rights of
woman, and their wrongs; but this is certain, that in a
family, asin a State, there can be no divided rule—no
equality. One must be master, and no family is so
badly managed, or so badly brought up, as where the
law of nature is reversed, and we contemplate that
most despicable of all lust nature—a hen-pecked hus-
band. To proceed, the consequence of my mother's
treatment was to undermine in me all the precepts of

 
my worthy grandmother. I was a slave; and a slave |
under the continual influence of fear cannot be honest. |
The fear of punishment produced deceit to avoid it.
Even my brother Auguste, from his regard and pity for
me would fall in the same error. “ Valerie,’’ he would |
say, running out to me as I was coming home with my |
littl+s brother in my arms, “ your mother will beat you

“ ou your return, You must say so and so.” This so |
and so was, of course, an untruth; and in consequence,
my fibs were so awkward, and accompanied by so much
hesitation and blushing, that I was invariably found |
out, and then punished for what I did not deserve to be;
and when my mother obtained such triumphant proof
against me, she did not fail to make the most of it
with my father, who, by degrees, began to consider that
my treatment was merited, and that I wasa bad and
deceitful child.

My only happiness was to be outin the open air, away
from my mother’s presence, and this was Only to be ob-
tained when I was ordered out with my little brother
Pierre, whom I had to carry as soon ag I had done the
household work. If Pierre was fractious my mother
would order me out of the house with him immediately.
This I knew, and I used to pinch the poor child to make
him cry, that I might gain my object, and be sent away;
#0 that to duplicity I added cruelty. Six months before
this, had any one told me that [ever would be guilty
of sucna thing, with what indignationI should have
deniedit!

Altuough my mother flattered herself that it was
only in her own domestic circle that her unnatural
conduct towards me was known, such was not the
case, 20/1 the treatment which I received from her was
the occasion of much sympathy on the part of the
officers and their wives, who were quartered in the bar-
racks. Some of them venturel to remonstrate with my
fatuer for his consenting toit ; but although he was
cower by a woman, he had no fear of men, and as he
told tuem candidly that any future interference in his
domestic concerns must be answered by thesword, no
more was said to him on the subject. Strange, that a
man should risk his life with such indifference, rather
than remedy an evil, and yet be under such thralldom
to a woman !—that one who was always distinguished
in action as the most forward and the most brave,
should be a trembling coward before an imperious
wife! But thisis a world ofsad contradictions,

There was a lady in the barracks, wife to one of the
superior officers, who was very partial to me. She had
@ daughter, a very sweet girl, who was also named Val-
erie. When Icould escape from the house, I used to be
constantly with them; and when I saw my namesake
carressing and carressed, in the arms of her mother, as
I was sitting by on a stool, the tears would run down
at the thought that such pleasure was debarred trom |
nie.

“Why do you cry, Valerie ?’”

“Oh! madame, why have I not a mother like
your Valerie? Why am Itobe beat instead of being
caressed and fondled like her? What have I done ?—
But she isnot my mother—I’m sure she cannot be—I
never will believe it.”

And such had really become my conviction, and in
consequence I never would address her by the title of
mother. This my mother perceived, and it only added
to her ill-will. Only permit any one feeling or passion
to master you—allow itto increase by never being in
the slightest degree checked, and it is horrible to what
an excess it will carry you. About this time, my
mother proved the truth of the above observation, by
saying to me as she struck me to the ground:

“T'll kill you,” cried she; and then catching her
breath, said in a low, determined tone, “Oh! I only
wish that I dared.” : :

CHAPTER Il.

One day, a short time after this, I was walking out
as usnal with my little brother Pierre in my arms; I
was (lvap in thought; in imagination I was at Luneville
wita iny dear grandmother, when my foot slipped, and
I fell. In trying to save my brother, I hurt myself
very much,and he, poor child, was unfortunately very
much hurt as well as myself.. He cried and moaned
piteously, and [did all that I could to console him, but
he was in too much pain to be comforted. I remained
out tor an hour or two, not daring to go home, but the
evening was closing in, and I returned at last. The
child, who could not yet speak, still moaned and cried,
and I told the truth as to the cause of it. My mother
flew at me, and [ received such chastisement that I
could be patient no longer, and I pushed my mother
from me; I was felled to the ground, and left there
bleeding profusely. :

Atter a tine I rose up and crawled to bed. Treflected
upon all I had suffered, and made up my mind that I
wouli no longer remain under my father’s roof. At
daybreak I dressed myself, hastened out of the barracks,
and set off tor Luneville, which was fifteen miles dis-
tant. Ihad gained about half the way when I was met
by asoldier of the seguuent who had once been our ser-
vant. I tried to avoid him, but he recognized me. I
then begged him not, to interfere with me, and told him
that I was running away to my grandmother's. Jacques,
for that was his name, replied that I was right, and that
he would say nothing about it.

“But, mademoiselle,’’ continued he, “you will be

. tired before you get to Luneville, and may have a
cance of @ conveyance if you have money to pay for

ie
He then slipped a five-franc piece into my hand, and

laff me to pursue my way. I continued my Journey,
and at last arrived at the farm belonging to my grand-
father, which I have before mentioned as being about
four miles from the town. I was afraid to go
ect_to Luneville, on account of my grandfather,who,

w, from motives of parsimony,would be unwilling

‘ve me. I told my history to the farmer’s wite,

 

her my face covered with bruises and sears,

VALERIE.

 

and entreated her to go to my grandmother's and tell
her where [ was, She put me to bed, and the next
morning set off for Luneville, and acquainted my grand-
mother with the circumstances. The old lady immedi-
ately ordered her char-a-banc and drove out for me.
There was proof positive of my mother’s cruelty, and
the good old woman shed tears over me when she had
pulled off the humble blue cotton dress which I wore
and examined my wounds and bruises.
rived at Luneville, we met with much opposition from
my grandfather, but my grandmother was resolute.

* Since you object to my receiving her in the house,”
said she, “at allevents you cannot prevent my doing
my duty towards her, and doing as I please with my
own money. I sliall therefore send her to school, and
pay her expenses.”’

As soon as new clothes could be made for me, I was
sent to tic best pension in Luneville. Shortly alterwards
my fatiersrrived; he had been dispatcued by my
mother to ree‘aim me and bring m+ back with hii;
but he found the tide too strony ap,ainst him, and my
grandmother t.reatencd to appeal to the authorities
and make an exposure; this he knew would bea serious
injury to his character, and he was therefore compelled

When we ar- |

 

to go back without me, and I remaineda year and a half |

at the pension, very happy. and improving very fast in
Oe eee and my personal appearance.
ut I was not destined to be so happy lonz.
was, that during this year andahalfo, tramynility and
happiness, the feelings created by my mother’s treat-
ment had so‘tened down,and all animosity had long been
discarded, but I was too happy to want to return home
again. At the expiration of this year and a half, my
father’s regiment was again ordered to shift their quar-
ters to a small town, the name of which I now forget;
but Luneville lay in their route. My mother had tur
some time ceased to importune my father about my
return. The fact was, that she had been so coldly
treated by the other ladies at Nanci, in consequence of
her behavior to me, that she did not think it advisable;
but now that they were about to remove, she
insisted upon my father taking me with him, prom-

ising that I should be well treated, and have the |

same instruction as my sisters: in fact, she prom-
ised everything; acknowledging to my grandmother
that she had been too hasty to me, and was very sorry
for it. Even my brother Auguste thought that she
was now sincere, and my tather, my brother, and even
my dear grandmother, persuadé®? me to consent. My
mother was now very kind a affectionate towards
me, and as I really wanted to love her, J left the pension
and accumpanied the family to their new quarters.

But this was all treachery on the part of my mother.
Regardless of my advantage, as she had shown herselt
@n every occasion, she had played her part that she
might have an opportunity of discharging an accumu-
lated debt of revenge, which had been heaped up in
consequence of tle slights she had received trom other
yore on account of her treatment of me.

ardly been settled in our new abode, before my mother
burst out with a virulence again which exceeded all
her former cruelty. But Iwas no longer tle trightened
victim that I had been; I complained to my father, and
insisted upon justice; but that was useless. My brother
Auguste now took my part in defiauce ot bis father, and
it was one scene of continual family discord. I had
made many friends, and used to remain at their houses
all day. As for doing household work, notwithstanding
her blows, I refused it.
chastising me severely, when my brother Auguste, who
was dressed in his Lussar uniform, came in and hastened
ta my assistance, interposing himself between us. My
mother’s rage wis beyond all bounds.

“Wretch!” cried she,““would you strike your mother ?”

“No,” replied he, * but I will protect my sister. You
barbarous woman, why do you not kill her at once? it
would be a kindness.”

It was after this scene that I resolved that I would
again return to Luneviile. I did not confide my inten-
tions to anyone, not even to Auguste. There wisa

reat difficulty in getting out of the {ront door without
ing perceived, and my bundle would have created
suspicion; by the bark of the house the orfly exit was
through a barred window. I was then fourteen years
old, but very slight in figure. I tried if my head would
pass through the bars, and succeeding, [soon forced
my body through, and seizing my bundle, marie all
haste to the diligence office. I found that it was about
to start for Luneville, which was more than halfa
day’s journey distant. I got in very an and the
conducteur, knowing me, thought that all was right, and
the diligence drove off. |

There were two people in the coupe with me, an offi-
cer and his wife; before we had proceeded far they
asked me where I was going; I replied, to my gran«-
mother’s at Luneville. Thinking it, however, strange
that I should be unaccompanied, they questioned un-
til they extracted the whole history from-me. The
lady wished me to come to her on a visit; but the hus-
band, more prudent, said that I was better under the
care of my grandmother.

About mid-day we stopped to change horses at an
auberge called the Louis d‘Or, about a quarter of a
mile trom Luneville. Here I alighted without offering
any explanation to the conducteur ; but, as he knew me
and my grandmother well, that was of no conse-
quence. My reason for alighting was that the dili-
gence would have put me down at -the front of the
palace, where I was certain to meet my grandfather,
who passed the major portion ot the day there, bask-
ing on one of the seats; and I was afraid to see him
until 1 had communicated with my grandmother. I
had_an uncle in the town, and I had been very inti-
mate with my cousin Marie, who was a pretty, kind.
hearted girl, and I resolved that I would go there, and
beg her to go to my grandmother. The difficulty was
how to get to the house without passing the front of
the palace, or even the bridge across the river, Atlast
T decided that I would walk down by the river side un-

We had |

One morning my mother wus |

Truc it |

|

 

 

til I was opposite to the bosquet, which adjoined the
garden of the palace, and there wait till it was low
-water, when I knew that the river could be forded, as

I had often seen others do so. ‘

When I arrived opposite to the bosquet, I sat down on
my bundle by the banks of the river for two or three
hours, watching the long, feathery weeds at the bot-
tom, which moved gently from one side to the other
with the current of the stream, As soon as it was low
water I pulled off my shoes and stockings, put them
into my bundle, and raising my petticoats, I gained
the opposite shore without difficulty. I then replaced
my shoes and stockings, crossed the bosquet, and gained
my uncle’s house. My uncle was not at home, but E-
told my story and showed my bruises to Marie, who
immediately put on her bonnet and went to ny grand-
mother. That night Iwas again installed in my own
little bed-room, and most graterully did I pray before
1 went to sleep. ‘

This time my grandmother took more decided steps.
She went to fie commandant of the town, taking
me with her, pointing o..t the treatment which I had
received, and claiming his protection: she stated that
she had educated me and brought me up, and thut sie
hadaclaim upon me. My mother’s treatment ofme was ©
so notorious, that the commandant immediately de-
cided that my grandmother had aright to detain me;
and when my father came a day or two after to take me
back he was ordered home by the commandant, with a
severe rebuke, and the assurance that Ishould not re-
turn to a futher who could permit such cruelty and
injustice,

I was now once more happy; but as I remained in
the house, wy grandfather was continually vexing my
grandmother on my account; nevertheless, I remained
there more than a year, during which I learnt a great
deal, particularly lace work and fine embroidery, at
which I became very expert. But now there was au-
other opposition raised, which was on the part of my
uncle, who joined my grandfather in ennai. the old
lady. The fact was, that when I was not there, my
grandmother was very kind and generous to my cousin
Marie, who certainly deserved it ; but now that I was
again with her, all-her presents and expenses were lay-
ished upon me, and poor Marie wis neylected. es

My uncle was not pleased at this; he joined my grand-
father, and they pointed out that I was now wore tian
fifteen, and my mother dare not beat me, and’as my.
father was continually writing for me to return,it wes
her duty not to oppose. Between the two, my poor

randmother was so annoyed and perplexed that she

ardly knew what to do. They made her miserable and
at last they worried her into consenting that I should |
return to my family, which had now removed to Col-
mar. Idid not know this. It was my grandmother's
birthday. I had worked for her a beautiful sachet in
lace and embroidery, which, with a large bouquet, I
bronght to her as a present. The old lady folded me
in her arms, and bust into tears. She then told me
that we must part, and that I must return tomy
father’s, Had adayger been thrust to my heart, Iconld
not have received more anguish. wi

“ Yos, dear Vulerie,’ coutinned she, “you must leave:
me to-norrow; I can no louger prevent it. Ihave not__
the health and spirits that Ihad. lam growing old—.
very old.”’ ;

I did not remonstrate, or try to make her alter her
decision. I knew how much she had been annoyed and |
worried for my sake, and I felt that I would bear every-
thing for hers. 1 cried bitterly. The next morning
my father made his appearance and embraced me with
great affection. He was much pleased with my personal
inprovement. IL was now fast budding into woman-
hood, altaough I had the feelings of a mere child, I.
bade farewell to my grandmother, and also tomy grand-
father, whom I never saw again, a8 he died three months
after 1 quitted Luneville.

Itrust my readers will not think that I dwell too
long upon this portion of my life, I do it because I
consider it is necessary they should know in what
manner I was brought up, and also the cause of my
leaving my family, as L afterwards did. If had stated
merely that I could not agree with my mother,
who treated me cruelly, they might have imagined
that 1 was not warranted, in a moment of irritation, in
tuking such a decided step ; but when they learn that
my persecutions were reuewed the moment that I was
again in my mother’s power, and that nothing could
conquer her inveteracy against me, neither time, nor
absence, nor submission on my part, hor remons CO
trom others, not even a regard for her own charatter,
nor the loss of her friends and acquaintances, they will
then acknowledge that I could have done no other-
wise, unless I preferred being in daily risk of my life.
On my arrival at Colmar, my motler received me
yraciously, but her politeness did not last long. Inow —
gave a new causo of offense—one that a woman, proud |
of her beauty, and jealous of its decay, does not eusily
forgive, Iwus admired and paid great attention to by
the officers—much moreattention than she received

| herself,

“M. Chatencuf,” the officers would say, “you have
begotten a daughter much handsomer than yourself.” —
My mother considered this as a polite way to avoid
saying that I was much handsomer than she was. If
she thought so, she did herself a great injustice, for T
could not be compared to what she was when she was

4

of my age. She waseventhenamostsplendid matron,

But I had youth in my favor, which is more than half —
the battle. Atall events, the remarks and attentions
of the officers aroused my mother’s spleen, and she ©
was more harsh in language than ever, although I
admit ‘that it was but seldom that she resorted to
blows. , :

I recollect that one day, when I was not supposed to
be in hearing, one of the officers said to another, “ Ma
Joi elle est jolie—elle a besoin de deux ans, et elle sera par.
Jaite.” So childish and innocent was I at that time,
that I could not imagine what they meant. :

 
 

_ wonder at it.
_ ites of the church.

VALERIE.

 

 

“Why. was I to be two years older?’ I thought ; been brought up in the same way by my grandmother, | your own support, and recollect how friencless you

and puzzled over it till I fell fast asleep. The atten-
tions of the officers, and the flattery he received trom
them on niy account, appeared to have more effect on
my father than I could have imagined. Perhaps he
telt that I was somebody to be proud of, and his vanity
gave him that courage to oppose my mother which his
paternal feelings had not roused. I recollect one in-

_ Stance particularly. There was a great ceremony to be

pertormed in the church, no less than the christening

of the two new bells, previous to their being hoisted

up in the belfry. The officers told my father that I
must be present, and on his return home he stated to
my mother his intention of taking me with him on the
toliowing day to see the ceremony.

“She can’t go—she has no clothes fit to wear,” cried
my mother.

“Why has she not, madame ?’’ replied my father,
sternly. ‘Let her have some ready tor to-morrow, and
without fail.”

My mother perceived that my father was not to be
trifled with, and therefore thought proper to acquiesce.
Pity it was that he did not ase his authority a little
more, after he had discovered that he could regain it if
he pleased.

On the following day I accompanied my father, who
was one of the officers on duty in the interior of the
church, and as he stood in advance of his men, I re-
mained at his side, and of course had a very complete
view of the whole ceremony. I was very neatly dressed,
and my father received many compliments upon my
appearance. At last the ceremony began. The church
was lined with troops to keep back the crowd, and the
procession entered the church, the bishop walking un-
der a canopy, attended by the priests, then the banners,
and pretty children, dressed as angels, tossing frankin-
cense from silver censers. The two bells were in the

. center of the church, both of them dressed in white

petticoats, which covered them completely, ornamented
with ribbons, and a garland of flowers upon the head
of each—if I may so designate their tops. The god-
mothers, dressed in white, as on baptismal ceremonies,
and the godfathers in court suits, stood on each side,
They had been selected from the elite of the families in
the town. The organ and the military band relieved
each other until the service commenced. The bishop
read the formula; the godfathers and godmothers gave
the customary security ; the holy water was sprinkled

over the bells, and thus were they regularly baptized.

One was named Eulalie and the other Lucile. It was a
very pretty ceremony, and I should have liked to have
been present at their “premiere communion"’ if it ever
took place.

My English readers may consider this as a piece of
mummery. At the timeIdid not. As agood Cutho-
lic, which I was at that time, and a pretty French-
woman, I thought that nothing could be more correct
than the decoration des belles,
ways been the custom to name bellsa—to consecrate
them, most certainly—andif we call to mind what an
important part they perform in our religion, I do not
By being consecrated, they receive the
Why, therefore, should they not
receive the same rites in baptism? But why baptize
them? Because they speak to us in many ways, and
with their loud tongues express the seelings, and make
known the duties imposed upon us. Is there cause
for the nation to rejoice, their merry notes proclaim it
from afar; in solemn tones they summon us to the
house of prayer, to the lifting of the Host,and to the
blessing of the priest; and itis their mournful notes
which announce to usthat one of our eration has
been summoned away, anil has quitted transitory
abode. Their offices are Christian offices, and there-
fore are they received into the church.

 

CHAPTER III,

“AN elder sister of my mother’s resided at Colmar,
andl od most of my time with her during our stay.
When ‘my father’s regiment was ordered to Paris, this
lady requested that I might remain with her; but my

_ Mother refused, telling her sister that she could not,

conscientiously as a mother, allow any of her daugh-
ters to quit her care for any wordly advantage. That
this was mere hypocrisy, the reader will imagine; in-
deed, it was fully proved so to bein two hours after-
way my mother telling my father that if her
sister offered to take Clara, my second sister, she
would haveconsented. The fact was, that theold lady
had promised to dower me very handsomely (for she
was rich), and my mother could not bear any. good for-
tune to come to me.

We passed through Luneville on our road to Paris,
andI saw my dear grandmother for the last time.
She requested that might be left with her, making
the same offer as she did before, of leaving me all
her property at her death; but my mother would

- not listen to any solicitation. Now as our family was

now fourteen in number, she surely might, in either of
the above instances, have well spared me, and it would

have been a relief to my father; but this is certain, she

I believe that it has al- |

would not spare me, although she never disguised her |

dislike, and would, if she had dared, have treated me as
she had formerly done. I was very anxious to stay
with my dear grandmotier. She had altered very much
since my granfather'’s death, and was eviletitly break-
ing up fast; but my mother was inexorable. We con-
tinued our route, and arrived at Paris, where we took

up our quarters in the barracks close to the Boule- |

yards.

My mother was as harsh as ever, and now recom-
menced her boxes of the ear—which during the time
we were at Colmar had but seldom been applied. In all
my troubles I never was without friends. I now mace
an acquaintance with the wife of a colonel of the regi-
ment, who joined us at Paris. She had no children.

imparted all my tronbles to her, and she used to con- | ‘ ]
She was a very religious woman, aud as I had } Valerie; but if I die, you will have to do something for
f

sole me,

| she was pleased to find piety in one so young, and be-
; Came much attached tome. She had a sister, a widow

of large fortune, who lived in the Rue St. Honore, a
| very pleasant, lively woman, but very sarcastic when
she pleased, and not caring what she said if her feeling
prompted her. I constantly met her at the colonel's
house, and she invited me to come and see her at her
own; but I knew that my mother would not permit.
me, so I did not ask. As the colonel was my father’s
superior officer, all attempts to break off my intimacy
with her, which my mother made, were unavailing,
and J passed as usual all my time in any other house
except my home.

I have now to record but two more beatings. The
reader may think that 1 have recorded enough already;
but as these were the two last, and they were pecaliar,
I must bey him to allow me so to do. The first beat-
ing was given to me for the following cause: A very
gentleman-like young officer in the regiment was very
particular in his attentions to me. I liked hiscompany,
but my thoughts had never been directed towards
marriage, tor I was too childisu and innocent. One
morning it appeared that he proposed to my father,
who immediately gave his consent, provided that I
was agreeable, and this he ventured to do without con-
sulting my mother, Perhaps he thought it a good op-
portunity to remove me from my mother’s persecution.
At all events, when he made known to her what he had
done, and requested her to sound me on the subject,
she was in no pleasant humor. When she did 60, my re-
ply was (he being a very dark-cumplexioned man, al-
hough well-featured), “Nun, maman, je ne veux pas.
Il est trop noir.”

To my astonishment, my mother flew at me, and I
received such an avalanche of boxes on the ears for this
reply, that I was glad to make my escape as fast as I
could, and locked myself up in my own reom. Now, I
really believe that Iwas almost ao single instance of a
young lady having her ears well boxed for refusing to
marry aman that she did not care for—butsuch was
my fate.

The treatment I received in this instance got wind in
the barracks, and my cause was warmly taken up by
every one. Finding myself thus supperied, I one day
ventured to refuse to doa very menial and unpleasant
office, and for this refusal I received the second beating.
It was the last certainly, but it was the most severe ;
for my mother cae up ahearth-brush, and struck
me for several minutes such a succession of severe
blows, that my face was so disfigured that I was hardly
to be recognized, my head cut open in several places,
and the blood pouring down me in every direction. At
last she left me for dead onthe floor. After a time I re-
covered my recollection, and when I did so, I sprang
away from the servants who had been supporting me,
and with my hair flying in the wind, and my face and
dress streaming with blood, I ran across the barrack-
yard to the colonel’s house, and entering the room in
which she was sitting with her sister, sank at her feet,
choking with the blood which poured out of my
mouth.

“Who is it?” exclaimed she, springing up in horror
and amazement.

“ Valerie—pauvre Valerie,’ moaned I, with my face on
the floor.

They raised me up, sent for the servants, took me into
a bed-room, and sent for the surgeon of the regiment,
who lived in the barracks, As soon as I was somewhat
recovered, I told them that it was my mother's treat-
ment; and I became so excited, that as soun as the
surgeon had left the house, I cried: f

«Never, madame, will I again enter my father’s house;
never while I live—if you do not protect me—or if no-
body else will—if you send me back again, I will throw
myself in the Seine. I swear it as I kneel.”

“What is to be done, sister?’ suid the colonel’s
wife.

“| willsee. At all events, Valerie, I will keep you
here a few days, till something can be arranged. It is
now quite dark, and you shall stay here and sleep on
this bed.”

“Or the bed of the river,” replielI; “I care not if
it were that, for I should not rise up to misery,‘ Ihave
made a vow, and I repeat, that I will never enter my
father’s house again.”” ;

“My dear Valerie,” said the colonel’s wife, in a sovth-
ing tone.

“Leave her to me, sister,” said the other, who was
busy arranging my hair, now that my wounds hal
stopped bleeding, “I will talk to her. The colonel
will be home directly, and you must receivé him.”

Madame Allarde, for that was the colonel's wife's
name, left the room. As soon as she was gone, Mad-
ame d’ Albret, her sister, said to me, “ Valerie, I fear
that what you have said you will adhere to, and you
will throw yourself into the river,”

“Yes, if 1am taken back again,’”’ replied I. ‘I hope
God will forgive me; but I feel I shall, for my mind is
overthrown, and I am not sane at times.’”’

“My poor cuild, you may go back again to your fath-
er’s house, because my sister and her husband, in their
position, cannot prevent it; but believe me, you shall
not remain there. AslongasI haveahome to offer,
you shall never want one; but you must listen tome. I
wish to serve you and to punish your unnatural moth-
er, and I will do s0; but Valerie, you must well weigh
circumstances before you decide; I say that Lcan offer
you a home, but recollect,lite is uncertain, and it it
pleases God to summon me, you will have a home no
longer.
| be able to return to your juther’s house.”

“You are very kind, madame,” replied I, ‘‘but my
resolution is formed, and I will work for my daily
bread, in any way that I can, rather than return. Put
| me but in the way of doing that, and I will forever bless

 

Ti} you.”

“You shall never work for your bread while I live,

What will you do then ?—tor you will never |

 

will be, and so young.

“Can I be more friendless than I am at home, mad-
ame?” said I, shaking my head mourntully.

“Your father deserves punishment for his want of
moral courage, as well as your mother,’’ replied Mad-
ame d’Albret. “You had better go to bed now, and
to-morrow give me your decision.”

“To-morrow will make no change, madame,”’ an-
swered I, “but I fear that there is no chance of my es-
cape. ‘lo-morrow my father will arrive forme as usual,
aud—but I have said it. You may preserve my Kfe,
madame, but how I know not ;” and I threw myself
down on the bed in despair,

 

CHAPTER IV.

ApovT an hour afterwards Madame d’Albret, who had
left me on the bed while she went down to her sister,
came up again, and spoke tome; but from weakness
occasioned by the loss of blood and from excitement, I
talked for many minutes in the most incoherent manner,
and Madame d’Albret was seriously alarmed. In the
meantime the colonel had come home, and his wile ex-
plained what had happened. She led him up to my
room just at the time that I was raving. He took the
candle, and looked at my swelled features, and said :

“TI should not have recognized the poor girl. Mort
de ma vie! but this is infamous, and Monsieur de Cha-
tencuf is a contemptible coward. I will see him to-
morrow morning.”

The colonel and his wife then left the room. By thie
time I had recovered from my paroxysm. Madame
d'Albret came tome, and putting her face close to mine,
said, ‘‘ Valerie.’’

“Yes, madame,” replied I.

“ Are you more composed now? Do you think that
you could listen to me?”

“Yes, madame, and thankfully,’”’ replied I.

“Well, then, my plan is this. I am sure that the
colonel will take you home to-morrow. Let him do
so; in the morning I will tell you how to behave. To-
morrow night you shall escape, and I will be with a
Jiacre at the corner of the street ready to receive you.
I will take you to my house, and no one, not even my
sister, shall know that you are with me. They will be-
lieve that you have thrown yourself into the Seine, and
as the regiment is ordered to Lyons, and will leave in
ten days ora fortnight, there l be no chance, it you
are concealed till their departure, of their knowing that
you are alive.”

“Thank you, thank you, madame, you know not how
happy you have made me,” replied I, pressing my hand
to my heart, which throbbed painfully with joy. ‘God
bless you, Madame d’Albret. Oh, how I shall pray for
you, kind Madame d’Albret !’’

Madame d’Albret shed tears over me after I had done
speaking, and then wishing me good-night, told me
that she would see me in the morning, and let me
know what was going on, and then give me further di-
rections formy conduct. She then left me, and I tried
to go to sleep ; but I was intoomuch pain. Oucel did
slumber, and dreamt that my mother was beating me
again. I screamed with the pain that the blows gave
me, and awoke. I slept no more that night. At day-
light I rose, and, as may be re the first thing
that I did was to look into the glass. I was territied ;
my face was swelled so that my features were hardly
distinguishable ; one eye was closed,up and the blood
had oozed out through the handkerchief which had
been tied round my head by the surgeon. I was, in-
deed, an object. The servant brought me up some
coffee, which I drank, and then remained fill’ the
colonel’s wife cume up tome. :

It was the first and only time that I ever beheld that
good woman angry. She called trom the top ot the stairs
for her husband to come up ; he did so, looked at me,
said nothing, but went down again. About half an
hour afterwards Madame d’Albret and the surgeon
came up together.
as to the effects of tlie injuries I had received, and atter
examination he replied, that although it would take
some days for the intlammation and marks of the blows
to go away, yet he did not consider that eventually I
should be in any way distigured. This guve me preat
pleasure, as I suspect it would have done an) other
pretty girlin my situation. Madame d’Albre( waited
till the surgeon was gone, and then gave me sume tur-
ther instructions, which I obeyed tothe letter. She
also brought me @ black vail, in case had net one of
my own. She then left me, saying, that tie ccioncl
had sent for my father, and that she wished to be pres-
ent at the interview. ‘

My father came, and the colonel, after stating the
treatment which I had received, loaded him with re-
proaches; told him his conduct was that of a coward,
to allow his wife to be guilty of such cruelty towards
his child. Then he sent Madame d’Albret to bring me
down; when I entered, my father started back with sur-
prise; he had answered the coionel haughtily, but when
he beheld the condition I was in, he said:

and even more ; but now do me the favor to accompany
me home. Come, Valerie, my poor child, your father
begs your pardon.”

As my father took my hand to lead me away, Madame
d’Albret. said to the colonel:

“My dear Allarde, do you not incur a heavy responsi-
Vility in allowing that girl to. go back again? You
know what she said yesterday,” Peele

‘¢ ma chere, 1 have been told by your sister, but

  

was 5%
that kinduess will remove all such ideas,
Chatenwuf, I am at your orders,.’’

I never said a word during all this interview. Ma
dame d'Albret tied the black vail round my head and
let it fall, to conceal my features, and I was led home
by my father, acconipanied by the colonel, We went

Monsieur de

The latter was interrogated by her

“Colonel, you are right ; I deserve all you have said, |

in a state of excitement, and Ihave no doubt

 

    
  
 
 
   
 
 
     
    
  
    
 
  
  
  
   
  
      
   
 
 
 
 
  

»

 
 

ae.

}
;

 

 

 

; then he went up to her.

 

 

into the room where my mother was sitting.
futher lifted the vail from my tace.

“ Madame,"’ said my tather, in asevere tone, “do you ,
see the condition to which your barbarity nas reduced
this poor girl? i have brought Monsieur Allarde here
to tell you, before him, that your conduct has been |
iujamous, and that mine has deen unpardonable in not |
having protected her from your cruelty; but I now |
tell you that you have bent the bow till it has broken, |
and your power in this house is ended torever."

My mother was so much astonished at this severe
rebuke before witnesses, that she remained with her |
moutu open, and her eyes staring. At last she gave a |
sort of chuckling laugh. |

My

“ Madame, I am in earnest,’’ continued my father,
*‘and you shall find that in tuture I command here. ‘To |
your room, madame, immediately |"

The last word was pronounced in a voice of thunder.
My mother rose, and, as she retired, burst into w pus-
mionate flood of tears. The colonel then took his leave,
saying to my father:

“ ‘Lenez-vous la.” '

My father remained a quarter of an hour with me
@onsoling me and blaming himself, promising that in
thetuture he would see me justice done to. I heard him
without reply. The tears started in my eyes at his
kind expressions, but I felt there way no security for
his adhering to al! he promised, and I trembled as I
thought s0. He lett meand went out. My mother,
who had been watching, as soon as she saw that he had
lett the house, hastened down stairs irom her room, and
«ame into the one where I was sitting alone.

‘So, mademoiselle,”’ said she, panting, and apparent-
ly striving to contain herself, “ my power in this house
is gone forever, and all through you. Ha, ha, ha!
we shall see, we shallsee. D’ye hear me, creature ?"’
continued she, with her clenched hand close to my
tace. “No, not yet,” said she, afters pause, and then
she left the room. :

If my father's kindness had somewhat staggered my
resolution, this conduct of my mothers cuntirmed it.
1 felt that she was right in what she sail, and that in a
month she would regain her sway, and drive me to des-
peration. During the whole of that day I made no re-
‘ply to anything that was said tome by my brothers and
a , who came in by stealth to see me. In tiis I
followed the advice of Madame d’Albret, and at the same
time my own feelings and inclinations. The servants
who offered me dinner, ac coaxed me to take some
Mourishment, could not get any answer trom my, aud at

one of them, who wasa kind-hearted girl, burst
out into tears, crying that mademoiselle was folle My
father did not come home to dinner; my mother re-
mained in her room till he came in the evening, and
It wanted but half an hour of
tue time that I had agreed to mvet Madame d’Albret, 1
waited that time, during which I heard sounds of high
altercation above stairs. I was quite alone, for my
mother had vets the children coming to me, and
#3 the elock struck, I dropped my vail over my tace, and
quietly walking out of the house made for the rendez-
Yous ayreed.

I found the fiacre with Madame .d’Albret waiting tor
me, sud stepping into it, I was in a few minutes safely
lodged in her splendid, comfortable apartinents, Ma-
dame d'Albret put me in a little cabinet inside of her
own room, 60 that no one, except one servant whom
#he could trust, knew of my ren the premises.
There I was left to recover from my bruises, aud regain,
ii possible, my good looks. On the following day she
Te} to the barracks, and remained with her sister
till the evening, when she returned, and came up to
me.

“ All has happened as I wished,’’ said she, as she took
off her bonnet ; “you are nowhere to be found, and
they have not the least suspicion that you are here,
‘When you were first missed, they thouwht you had re-
turned to the colonel’s, and your ‘ather did not think it
advisable to make inquiry until the next morning, when
to his surprise he learnt thut you had never been there,
‘The dismounted hussar, who was sentry during the
evening, was then examined ; and he replied, that about
Aalt-past eight o’clock,a young person, who by her
figure he presumed to be woiselle Chatenwut, had
gone out of the gates, but that she hada thick vail over

er face, and he conid not see it. When your futher and
the colonel had interrogated the man and dismissed the
man, my poor sister burst into tears aud said, ‘ Alas!
alas! then she has kept her’ word and thrown herself
inte the Seine. Oh, Monsieur Allarde, my sister said
you would incur a heavy responsibility by sending that
poor = back, and now it has proved but too
poor

ear Valerie!’ Your father and the colonel were
abmost as much distressed as my sister, and it was just
at that time that I camo in. R

“*Bister,’ cried Madame Allarde to me, ‘ Valerie has
Jeft the barracks.’

“«What!’ exclaimed I, ‘When? oh my fear was too
true!" said I, clasping my hands: and then tukiay out
my handkerchief, I covered my tace and sobbed. I tell
you, Valerie, that nothing but my affection for you
would Lave induced me to be so deceitful ; but under
‘the circumstances I hope I was justified. My assumed
grief and distress quite removed any suspicion of your
being here, and shortly afterwards the colonel. made a
sign to your futher, and they both left the barracks ; I
‘have Lo doubt they went down to the Morgue, to ascer-
itain if their fears had already been proved correct,’ ”’

“What is the Morgue, madame,” said T,

“Do you not know, my child? It is a smal building
by the side of the Seine, where all bodies which are
tound in the river, are laid out for the examination of |
the triends of those who are missing. Below the
bridges there is alarge strong net laid across, which re-
eeives all the bodies as they are swept away by the tide ;
that is, it receives many, if not most of them; but
some are never found again.”

Madam Allarde did not fail to return to the barracks

 

on 6ke next day, and found that a general excitement

VALERIE, *

 

prevailed, not only among the officers but the men. ;

My supposed suicide had been made knuwua. My father
had yisited the Morgue a second time, aud the police
had been on the search without success. My mother

dared not even show herself at the window of her ,

apartmeuts, and found herself avyoideu even by her
own children. As ior my father, he was half mad, and
never met her but tv load her with reproachea, and to
curse his own folly in having so long submitted to Ler

| imperious will.

“At all events, one good has arisen from your sup- |
posed death, Valerie,’ said Madame d’Albert, ‘* which |

is, that your father has completely resumed his wuthor-
ity, and 1 donot think will every yield it up again.”

** My poor father,’’ replied I, shedding tears, ‘ I feel
for him.’ ‘ ‘

“He is certainly to be pitied,” replied Madame
d’Albret; “but itis his own couscience which must
be his yreatest tormentor. He was seltish enough not
to feel tor you during your years of persecution, and
rather than have his own coniforts invaded by domestic
brawls tora short period, he aliowed you to be sacrificed.
But observe, Valerie, if you have still a wish to return
to your purents, it is not too late. The regiment does
not leave Paris till next Thursday.”

“Ob, no, no, no,” cried 1, ‘my mother would kill
me; don’t mention that again, madame,’ continued I,
trembling. .

“Twill not, my child; for to tell you the truth, you
would not appear in so favorable a light, if you were
now to return. You have caused much grief to my
sister and husband, and they would not receive you
with cordiality after having thus trifled with their
feelings. It would also be a victory tor your mother;
and I doubt not but that in a short time she would
again recover that power which tor the present she
hus lost. You never can be happy in your Jamily after
Wuat uas passed, andI think that what has been done
is fur the best. Your father can well spare one child
out of fourteen, having litthe moru than a long sword
for their support. Your supposed death will be the
cause of your father retaining his lawful authority,
and preventing any of the remaining children receiv-
ing such injustice as you have done; and remorse will
check, if it does not humanize, your wother, and I
trust that the latter will be the case. I lad well weighed
all this inmy mind, my dear Valerie, before I made the
proposal, and Iconsider still that tor yeur sake and
tor the sake of others,it is better that you shvuld be
the sacrifice. Nevertheless, Irepeat, consult your own
feelings, and it you repent the step which you haye
tuken, there is yet time for you to return.”

“(My dear madame, return 1 never will, unless I am
taken by force. All I feel is, that 1 should like that
my father's bitter anguish was assuaged by his knowl-
edge ot my being still in existence,”

“And so should I, Valerio, were it possible that the
cummunication could be made, and the same happy
results be arrived at; bué that cannot be, unless it
suould please Heaven to summon your mother, and
then you might safely inform your father of your ex-
intence.”

“You are right, madame.”

“Yes, I think I am, Valerie; for, after all, your
father duly deserves his severe penance, which is, to
visit the Morgue every day; but painful as is the rem-
ely, 1t is necessary tor the cure.”

“ Yes, madame,” replied I, sobbing, “all you say is
true; but still { cannot help weeping and pityiny my
poor father; not that it alters my determination, but [
cannot command my feelings,”

“ Your feelings do you honor, Valerie, and I do not
blame you for your griefs’ Do not, however, indulge,
it to excess, for that is turning a virtue imto a failing.”

There were still three days remaining previous to
the departure of the regiment for Lyons. I was sorely
distressed during this time. I pictured to myself my
futher’s remorse, and would ¢ yy have hastened to
the barracks and thrown myself into his arms; but
my mother's Image rose before me, and her lust words,
“ Wo shall see if es ra is gore forever,”’ runy in
my ears; her clenched hand was apparently close to
my tace, and then my resolution remained fixed. Tho
swelling of my features had now subsided, and I had
in some degree recovered my good looks; still my eye
and cheeks were tinged black and yellow in various
places, and the cuts in my head not quite healed,
However, I was satisfied that the surgeon of the regi-
ment was correct in his assertion that Ishould not be
= disfigured by the treatment which I had re-
ceived.

“T have news for you,” said Madame d’Albret, as she
returned from the barracks, where she had been to sea
her sister off on her journey. “ Your brother Auguste,
who you know has been away, has returned to rejoin
his regiment, but hus since obtained his rank in
another, which is stationed at Brest.”

‘Why has he done so, madame ? do you know ? have
you seen him ””"

“Yes; he was at the colonel's; he stated that he
could not remain in the regiment if his mother con-
tinued with his father; that he should never be able
after what had happened, to treat Lis mother with
common courtesy, still less with the duty of a son,
and therefore, he preferred leaving the regiment.”

“And my father, madame ?”’

“Your father allows him to act as he pleases; in-
deed, he feels the force of what your brother says, and
so does my brother-in-law, who has given his consent,
as commanding officer, to your brother’s exchange,
Auguste laments you very much, and the poor fellow
looks very ill, I think he has done right, although it
is a severe blow to your mother; but for her I have no
compassion.” :

«My mother never liked Auguste, madame,”

“No, I believe that; but what annoys her is the
cause of his leaving his: regiment, as it is open con-
demnation of her conduct.”

 

« Yes, I can understand that feeling on her part,”’ re-
yiied 1, '
ve Well, Valerie, I did not return until the regiment
was gone and the barracks cleared. You know th»
commandant always goes the last. I saw my sister
sate off, and now Lan here to tell you that you are 2.)
lunger a prisoner, but may make yourself contortal le
by roving tlurougi my apartments. But the iret
uflair which we must take in hand is your wardrcbe.
Lam rich enough to furnish you, so that shall be ® cp
to immediately. And, Valerie dear, let me now say,
once for all, what Ido not intend to repeat in woica,
but lL hope to pruve by wy actions, Look upon me as
your mother, tor 1 have not taken you away .rom your
jlamily without the resolution of supplying, as tur as I
cunnot the mother you have lost, but the mother which
in your drean.s you have tancied, Llove yuu, my child,
tor you are deserving of luve. Treat, me, theretore,
with that unlimited confidence and affection: Which
your young and pttre heart yearms to peur out.” |

“Bless you, maanme, bless you,’’ cricd 1, bursting
into tears, and burying my 1ace in her lap; “1 tee) that
now I have # mother,” , ;

CHAPTER VY. f

For several days I remained quict in the little anti-
chamber, during which Madame d’Albret had been:
busy every mvoining driving in her carriage, and order-
ing me a wardrobe; and as the varicus articles cume
in, Twasas much surprised as I wus pleased at the
taste which hud been shown, and the expense which
must have been incurred, — a

‘My dear madume.’’ cried I, as each parcel was opened, —
* these ure much too good fur me; recollect Iam but a
poor soldier's daughter.” .

“You were 80,”’ replied Madame d’Albret; “but
you forget,” continued she, kissing my forchead.
“that the poor soldier’s daughter was drowned in
the Seine, and you are new the protegee of Mac.nie
d’Albret. I have already mentioned to all my
iriends that I expect a young cousin from Gascony,
whom I have adopted, having no children o1 wy
own, Ycur own nume is noble, and you may siicly re-
tain it, as there are no want of Chatenceuts in Gascony,
and there have been former alliances between then, aud
the D'Albrets. I have no doubt that if I were to re.er
back to tamily records, that I could prove you tube a
cousin, some three hundred times removed. ‘Aud that
is quite envuyh. As oon a8 you are quite well, and*I
think in a week all vestiges of your ill-treatment will |
be eflaced, we will go wown to my chateau for « ew
months, and we will return to Paris in the season,
Has Madame Paon been here ?” :

“Yes, my dear madane, she has, and has taken my
measure for the dresses ; but don't scold me, J u.ust
cry, a little, for Tam so grate‘ul. My heart will burst
i: donot. Bless you, bless you, dear madame ; little
ge 1 think beiore 1 saw yuu, thal | should ever cry ior
oy.”? : fob
_ Madame d’Albret embraced me with much affection,
and allowed me to give vent to my feelings which I did,
bedewing her hands with my. Sook, A Week afterwerds
every Shing was ready, and we set off for the chatexu in
Brittany, traveling in Madame @’Albret’s post-charict, —
with an avant courrier, and without regard to expense,

And now Lmust make thé reader somewhat Letter
acquainted with my kind protectress. I little thought
at the time that she offered me ler protection, that she -
was a personage of such consequence; but the tact
was, that her sister having mude a very inferior match
to her own, she, out of delicacy, while the colonel and-
his wile were at Paris, avoided anything like state in
paying them a visit, und I supposed that she was much
in the same rauk and suciety as they were; but such
was not the case. as ;

Madame d’Albret had married into one of the highest
and most noble faniilies ot France. Her husbunu had
died three years atter their marriage, and, having no
children, had lett her a large revenue entirely ot her
own disposal during her lite, and wishing her to ma
ayain, had the property entailed ae her children, 1
sue had any; if not, after her death it was to gy toa
distant branch of the d’Albret family. I wasintormed
that her income amounted to 60,000 livres annum,
besides her chateau in the country, and the hotel
the Rue St. Honore, which belonged to her, although
she only occupied a portion of it. Her husband had
now been more than ten years, and Madame D'Al-
bret had not been persuaded by her numerous suitors to

marry again, She wasstill handsome, about thirty-tour — 5

years. of aye, and I hardly need say, was in the very
best society in V'aris, Such was the person who cane —
to the barracks in so unassuming & manner, whose
Pre I mit 80 bo Bei 9 as to pd ass tr x:
‘coud dw louy upun the happy days that [ passed
at the chateau, There was no want of society, aud the
reunions were charming ; and being In the country, I
was allowed to join them, having been formerly intro-
duced by Madame d’Albret to all her visitors as ber
cousin, My time was fully occupied. Madaine d'Al-
Lret, perceiving that I had great talent for ninsic, aud
a fine voice, hud procured we good misters, ond wish.
ing to prove my gratitude by attention, I was inde-
latiuable, and made so rapid @ propress, thut ne
masters were surprised. Music and embroidery, at

| which L have hefore mentioned I was very expert, were —
‘my only occupations--and on \the latter my talents

were exerted to please Madame d’Albret, by offering
her each piece as they were successively taken from
the frame. So tar irom wishing to return to Paris, I
was unhappy at the idea ot leaving the chateau, In-
Aeed, if the reader will recall what I have narrated of
my former live, he will at cuce percéive that I evuld
but be in a state of perfect happiness.

Until I was received by Madume d’Albret, I had lived
a life of persecution, and had not known kindness,
Fear was the passion which had been acted upon, and
which, I may say, had crushed both mind and body:

 
‘s

VALERIE.

 

mow all was kindness and love. Praise, which I had
never before seceived, was now lavished upon me, and
Ifelt my energies and talents roused, and developing
themselves in a way that astonished myself. I had not
known what I was, or what I was capable of, I had
had no confidence in myself, and I had bolieved myself
to be almost as incapable as my mother would have
persuaded me and everybody else. This sudden change
of treatment had a most surprising effect. In the
course of @ .ew months I had grown nearly three
inches taller, and not only my figure, but my features,
had become so improved, that, although not vain, it
was impossible for me not to believe what everyone
said, and what my glass told me, that I was very hand-
some, and that I should make a great sensation
when I was introduced at Paris. But although I
believed thia I felt no desire. I was too happy
as I was,and would not have exchanged the kind-
nese of Madame d’Albret for the t husband
that France -could produce; and when anything
‘was mentioned by ladies who visited Madame
a’Albret, to the effect, and they talked about
my future establishment, my reply invariably was
“* Je ne veux pas.”” I had always ec oe my regreta
that we should be obliged to go to is for the season,
and Madame d’Albret, who of course had no wish to
part with me so soon, and who felt that I was still
young enough to remain for some os single; made
me very happy by beso | me that she did not intend
to stay long in the capital, and that although I should
#ppear at her parties, she did not intend that I should
be much at public places. And so it proved; we went
to Paris, and the best masters were procured for me;
butIdid not go out with Madame d’Albret, except
occasionally, in her morning drives, and once or twice
to the opera and theaters. My music occupied the
major portion of my time, and having expressed a wish
to Jearn English, I had a good master; but I had an-
other resource from an intimacy having arisen between
me and Madame Paon, whom,I believe, I have before
mentioned as the first milliner in Paris.

This intimacy was brought about in the following
manner. Being yery clever with my needle, and having
® great taste for dress, I used to amuse inyself at the
chateau with inventing something new, not for myself,
but for Madame d’Albret, and very often surprised and
Pleased her by making alterations or additions to her
dresses, which were always admired, and declared to be
in the best taste. On our arrival at Paris, Madame
Paon was visited, of course, that the new fashions
might be ascertained, and she immediately remarked
and admired my little inventions, I was therefore
consulted whenever a new dress was to be made for
Madame d’Albret, and as Madame Paon was a very lady-
like and superior person, of a decayed, but good family,
we soon became very intimate. We had been at Paris
about two months, when one morning Madame Paon
observed to Madame d’Albret that, as I was learning
English, it would not be abad plan if Madame d’Albret
was todrop me at her establishment when she took
her morning airing, as she had two highly respectable
English “een in her employ,who she found were
necessary for her English customers, and that I should
learn more English by an hour’s conversation with
them than a master could supply. Madame d’Albret
agreed with her, I was pleased at the idea, and con-
sequently three or four mornings in the week were
passed at Madame Paon s.

But the reader must be introduced to the estab-
lishment of Madame Paon, or he ‘may imagine
that it was too condescending for a young lady
in my position to visit at a milliner’s. Madame Paon
was tho first milliner in Paris, and, as is generally the
case, was on the most intimate terms with all the ladies.
She made for the court, and, indeed, for every lady to
whom she could dedicate her time, as it was almost a
favor to be permitted to be one of her customers. Her
establishment was in the Rue St. Honore—I forget the
name of the hotel, but it was one of the largest,

The suite of apartments were magnificent. You
passed from one room to another, each displaying
every variety of rich and eful costume. In every
room were demoiselles, well dressed, to attend to the
customers, and everything beapoke a degree of taste
and elegance quite unparalleled. At last you arrived
at the reception-room of madame, which was spacious
and most superbly furnished. There were no men in
the establishment except in one room, called the Comp-
dir, in which were six clerks at their desks. When I
add that Madame Paon was elegant in her manners, and
handsome in her person, very tall and majestic; that
she was rich, kept ‘Several servants, a handsome car-
riage, and had a maison de campagne, to which she re-
tired every Saturday afternoon, the reader may ac-
knowledge that she was a person whom Madame
d’Albret might permit me to visit,

This intimacy soon became very great. There was
certain degree. of eclat at my being so constantly in the
house, and, moreover, as I had a decided taste for dress,
Toften brought forward some new invention which
was not only approved of, but a source of profit to Ma-
dame Paon. Everything was submitted to my judg-
ment, as Madame Paon more than once observed.
** What a first-rate modiste you would make, mademoi-
selle; but, unfortunately for the fashions, there is no
chance of your being so employed.”

At last the Paris season was nearly over, and truly
glad was I when Madame d’Albret mentioned the day
of our departure. I had very much improved in my
music and my English during our residence at Paris.
I had not been out, except to small parties, and had no
wish whatever to go out at all, I was satisfied with
Madame d’Albret’s company, and had no wish to leave
her. I may say that I was truly happy, and my coun-
tenance was radiant, and proved that I was so. My
thoughts would occasionally revert to my father and
my brother Auguste, and make me melancholy for the
time; but I felt that all was for the best, and I built
castles, in which I imagined my suddenly breaking in

upon them, throwing myself in my father’s arms, and
requesting to share the wealth and luxury with which
I fancied myself to be endowed.

I was now nearly eighteen years old. I had been
one year under the protection of Madame d’Albret, and
the old dowagers who visited usat the chateau were

incessantly pointing out to Madame d’Albret that it’

was time to look out for an establishment for me.
Madame d’Albret was, to a certain degree, of their
opinion; but she did not wish to part with me, andI
was resolute in my determination not to leave her. I
had no wish to be married; I had reflected much upon
the subject; the few married lives I had wit-
nessed were not to my taste. I had seen my kind-
hearted, amiable grandmother thwarted by a penurious
husband; I had witnessed my father under the control
of a revengeful woman; and when I beheld, as I did
every day, the peace and happiness in the establish-
ment of Madame d’Albret, as a single woman, I felt
certain that marriage was a lottery in which there
were thousands of blanks to one prize. When, there-
fore, any of Madame d'Albret’s acquaintances brought
up the subject, when they left the room I earnestly
implored Madame d’Albret not to be influenced by
their remarks, ay I had made up my mind to remain
single, and that all I asked was to remain with her and
prove my gratitude.

“T believe you, Valerie,” replied Madame d’Albret,
‘*but I should not be doing my duty if I permitted you
to act upon your own feelings. A girl like you was
not intended by Heaven to pine away in celibacy, but
to adorn the station in life in which she is placed. At
the same time I will not press the matter; but if an
advantageous offer were to be made, I shall then con-
sider it my duty to exertmy influence with you to
make you change your mind; but, at the same time, I
will never use anything more than persuasion. I am
too happy with you asacompanion to wish to part
with you, but at the same time, I should be very. self-
ish if I did not give you up when your own interest
told me that such was my duty.”

“Well, madame, I thank heaven that I have no for-
tuné, and that will, I trust, be a bar to any proposals
from the interested gentlemen of the present day.”

“That may not save you, Valerie,” replied Madame
d’Albret, laughing; “ gentlemen may be satisfied with
expectancies; nay, it is possible that one may be found
who may be satisfied with your own pretty self, and
ask no more.”

“Tratucr wink not, madame,” replied I. “You have
too good an opinion of me, and must not expect others
to view me with your partial eyes; all I can say is,
that it such a gentleman could be found, his disinter-
estedness would make me think more highly of him
than I do of the sex at a although not sufficient-
ly well to wish me to change my present condition.”’

‘Well, well; we shall see,’’ replied Madame d’Albret,
“the carriage is at the door, so bring me my bonnet and
cashmere.”’

A few weeks after our return to the chateau, a Mon-
sieur de G——, of an old family in Brittany, who had
been for the last two years in er returned to his
father’s house, and called upon e d’Albret. She
had known him from childhood, and received him most
cordially. I must describe him fully, as he played no
small part in my little drama. He was, I should think,
nearly thirty years of age, small in person, but elegant-
ly made, with a very handsome but rather effeminate
face. His address’ and manners were perfect. He was
very witty, and apparently very amiable. His deport-
ment towards our sex was certainly most fascinating—
so tender and so respectful. I certainly never had be-
fore seen so polished a man. He sang well, and played
upon several instruments ; drew, caricatured—indeed,
he did everything well tha he attempted to do; 1
hardly need say, that with such qualifications, and be-
ing so old a friend, that he was gladly welcomed by
Madame d’Albret, and became a daily visitor at the
chateau, I was soon intimate with him and partial to
his company, but nothing more; indeed, his attentions
to ed’Albret were quite as great as to me, and
there was nothing to permit anyone to suppose that he
was paying his court either to her or tome. Madame
d@’Albret thought otherwise, because we sang together,
and because he talked to me in English: and she as
well as others rallied me in consequence,

After two months had passed away, Monsieur de
G+— was supposed to be paying his attentions more
particularly to me, and I thought so myself; Madame
d’Albret certainly did, and gave him every opportunity.
He was the heir toa large property, and did not maes
money with his wife. About this time,an English y
of the name of Bathurst, who was traveling with a
niece, a little girl about fourteen years old, had accept-
ed an invitation from Monsieur de G—~’s father to
pass a week with them at their chateau, which was
about five miles from that of Madame d’Albret, and
this lady was introduced. She was apparently very
amiable, and certainly very distingue in her manners,
and we saw @ great deal of her, as she was a great fa-
yorite with Madame d’Albret.

A few weeks after the introduction of this English
lady, I was one day on the terrace alone, when I was
accosted by Monsieur de G——. _Afteraremark ortwo
upon the beauty of the autumnal flowers, he observed:

“How different are the customs of two great na-
tions, with but a few leagues of water between them.
I refer to the French and the English. You would be
surprised to see how great they are if you were ever to
go to England—in none, perhaps, more so than in the
affairs of the heart. In France we do not consult the
wishes or the teelings of the young lady; we apply to
her parents, and if the match is considered equally
advantageous, the young lady is told to prepare her-
self for changing her condition. In England the very
reverse is the case; we apply to the young lady, gain her
affections, and when certain of them, we then request
the sanction of those who are her guardians. Which

 

 

do you think is the most natural and satisfactory,
Mademoiselle de Chatenwutf ?’”’

“Ihave been brought up in France, Monsieur de
G—, and I prefer the mode of France; our parents
and our guardians are the people most able to decide
upon the propriety of a match, and I think that, until
that _— is ascertained, no affection should Le en-
gaged, as, should the marriage not be considered ad-
visable, much pain and disappointment will be pre.
vented.”’

“In some instances I grant that such may be the
case,’ replied he; “ but still, is it not treating your sex
like slaves to permit no Jove before marriage? aud ig
it agreeable for ours, that we lead to the altar a person
who may consent trom a éense of duty, without hav-
ing the least regard for her husband—nay, perhaps
feeling an aversion ?”’

“Ido not think that any kind parents would force
their child to marry a man for whom she felt an aver-
sion,"’ replied I; “ and if there is not much love before |
marriage, there niay be a great deal after; but the fact
is, it is asubject upon which I am not able, nor do I
wish, to give my opinion.”

“AS you disagree with me, Mademoiselle de Chate-
neuf,” replied he, “I fear you will not be pleased at
my courting you in the — fashion; and previous
to addressing myself to Madame d’Albret, making
known to you my sincere regard for you, and my hum-
ble hopes that I am not indifferent to you.’’

“I will answer you very plainly, Monsieur de G——:
and perhaps ‘t js as well you have taken this unusual
step, as it will sa-e you the trouble of making any ap-
plication to Madame d’Albret. Flattered as I am by
your compliment, I beg to decline the honor you pro-
pose, and now that you know my feelings, you will of
course not be so ungetierous as to make auy application
to Madame d’Albret.”’ .

“Certainly, madamoiselle,” replied ‘he, with great
pique, “ but on one condition, which is, that you will
promise me that you wil] not mention to Madame
d’Albret what has now passed between us.” )

“That I willingly promise, Monsieur de G@—., as I
may consider it as your secret.” {

“And I trust,’’ continued he, “ that you will not dis.
card me from your friendship, but receive me as be«
tore,”

“T shall always be happy to receive the friends of
Madame d’Albret,”’ replied I; “and now I wish youa
good-morning.’”’

-I went to my own room and reflected upon what had

assed, I was angry with Monsieur de G—— for what

considered the unwarrantable liberty he had taken,
the greater, as he must have known my utter depend-
ence upon Madame d’Albret, and how unlikely it was
that I would form any such engagement without her
knowledge and sanction. That I had no love for Mun-
sieur de G——~ was certain, although I was pleased wich
his company and conversation. Iwas sorry on reflec.
tion that I had given my promise not to mention what
had passed; but having made the promise, although
hastily, I resolved to adhere to it.

I took it for granted that he would gradually with-
draw himself, and that we should see little more of
him; butin this I was mistaken; he was as frequent in
his visits as before, dividing his attentions between.
Madame .d’Albret and me. his annoyed me, and I
avoided him as much as I could, and the. consequence
was, that he was oftener with Madame d’Albret than
with me. At first, when Madame d’Albret perceived
this, she appeared to be vexed, as she had evidently set
her mind upon the match, and expected daily to receiva
a formal proposal from him in my behalf; but gradual)
why Iknew not, it gave her no further concern, and
was permitted to leave the room, and do as I pleaseq
without being subjected to any remarks,

Such was the state of affairs when the Parig
season drew near. Madame Bathurst had been in,
duced to remain in Brittany, and was continually with
us. She had often asked me to come over to England
and pass a few weeks with them, and 1 had jokingly
replied that I would. One morning Madame d'Albret
said to me:

“My dear Valerie, Madame Bathurst has ain re-

uested me to allow you to go to England with her.
Now if you think that you would like to pass a short
time with her, instead of remaining at Paris durin,
the season. I really have no objection, if it woul
give you pleasure.”

“My dear madame, I was only joking when I said
80,” 5

“Well, you have made Madame Bathurst think you

were in earnest, my dear,’’ replied she; “and I
thought so too, and have this morning promised that
you shall go with her. Ithought you would perfect
yourself in English, and it would be @ good oppor.
tunity of relieving you fora short time of your con.
stant attendance upon me ; se, my dear Valerie, I ad.
vise you to go. It will amuse you anda little change
will do you good ; besides, my dear, I perceive that
the attentions of Monsieur de G—— are not ayreeable
to you, and it is as well to break it. off by a short ab-
sence.”
“J shall not dispute your wishes, madame,” replied
I, mournfully, for my heart misgave me, why I knew
not, “ but if Tdo go, it willbe to oblige you, and not
because I really wish it.”’

“« My dear Valerie, I think it will be for the best, and,
therefore you will oblige me. I have promised for you,
and I should be sorry to have to recall my promise—so
consent, my dear, and I will write to Madame Bath-
urst, that she may be prepared to receive you,”

‘ Certainly, madame,” replied I, “ your wishes will
ever be a law to me,” and sosaying, I ieft the room,
and going to my chamber, I threw myself down on the
bed, and wept bitterly, without knowing why.

About ten days after this, Madame Bathurst called
for me to take me to the qhateau of Monsieur de
G——’s father, where I was to remain till thé next
morning, when we were to post to Paris. It was with
 

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It’s surprising, everyone says, and proves the effect of
climate upon composition—quite new—an Italian story
of thrilling interest. And you have sonething new
here, { perceive,” continued she, turning to me; ‘not
only new, but beautitul—introduce me: Iam an
enthusiast in the sublime and beautiiul. Is she any
relation? No relation |—Mademviselle de Chatencuf !
what a pretty name for & novel. Ishould like to bor-
row it, and paint the original from nature. Will you
sit for your likness ?”’

That Lady R—— allowed no one to talk but herself
was evident. Madame Bathurst, who knew her well,
allowed her to run on; and I, not much yaluing the
dose of flattery so tuceremoniously bestowed upon me,
took an opportunity, when Lady R—— turned round
to whisper something to Madame Bathurst, to make
my escape from the room. The following morning,

. Madame Bathurst said to me:

“Valerie, Lady R—— was very much ploased with
your appearance when she made her visit yesterday ;
and as she told me, after you had. left the room, that
ghe wanted just such a person as yourself as a compan-
ion and amanuensis, I thought it right to say that

‘ou were looking out for something of the kind, and

hat you were remainin under my protection until
_ you could procure it. ‘e had more conversation on
the subject, and she said, before she left, that she
would write to.me on the subject. Her note had just
been putinto my hands ; you can read it. She offers you
asalary of one hundred pounds per anuum; all your
Seen id except yourdress. As far as: salary goes,
I think her terms liberal. And now, asto Lady R—,
My opinion of her is in a few words. You saw her
yesterday, and I never knew her otherwise: never
more or less rational. Sheis an oddity ; but she is
tured; and TI am told, more liberal and char-
le than many others who can afford it better, Now
you know all I can tell youatout her, and you must
Gecide for yourself. Hero is her note; you need not
me an answer fill to-morrow morning.

I mad6 one or two observations and then left the
room, The note was very kind, certainly, but it was
as flighty as her manners. J hastened to my own bed-
chamber, and sat down to reflect. I felt that I was not
exactly comfortable with Madame Bathurst, and cer-
oer rn, anxious to be independent; but, still, I
could not exactly make up my mind to accept the of-
fer of Lady R——. She was so different from those I
had been accustomed to live with. I was still deliber-
ating, when Madame Bathurst's maid came into my
room, telling me it was time to change my dress for
dinners. As she was assisting me, sho said;

“And so Miss ee are about to quit us, I
find; lam 80 80 a3 Caroline—now you. I
hoped you would sta: us, and I should soon have
Oa an expert milliner under your directions.”’

« ws o told you, Mason, that I was going to leave

ou 7 : -

* “Mrs. Bathurst told me 80, and not a quarter of an
our ago,” replied the woman. — y

“ Well,” replied I, “she told you ‘truly, Mason; such

' ‘the case;" for this information of Mason’s decided

16 upon accepting the offer of Lady R——; for Madame

Jathurst, it to mo, had eertainly decided it for

«9 by making such a premature communication to her

_ «Stvant. .
_ ‘The reader ri suppose, that when I made this dis-
cree felt little pain at the idea of parting with
7 ‘9 Bathurst; and the following morning I coolly

‘announced my intention of accepting the offer of Lad
‘B—. Madame Bathurst looked at me very hard, as if
surprised at not hearing from me any regrets at leaving
“her, and expressions of titude for all favors; but I
could not Fear what I really did not feel at the time.
ae thought that I had been wrong, 4s, to a

‘28,

{ was under obligations to her; not

t T think, had she been ever so inclined to get rid of

she could have well turned mo out of the house,

igh I had been foisted upon her iu such a way by

lame d‘Albret. Still I was under obli to

’ her, and should have expressed myself so, if it had not

, been for the communication made to me by the maid,

| Which proved that her expressions ‘to me were not
sincere. re - ‘

“Well, then,” replied Madamo Bathurst, at last, “I

yrite to Lady R—— immediately.

 
  

 

can receive you?

“Yes, mada...¢, at an hour’s notice,” replied I.

: “You really appear as if you were anxious to quit
me, mademoiselle,’’ said Madame Bathurst, biting her

lip. ; :
ae ) am,” replied I. “You informed Mason
at I was to go, previous to having my decision; and
erefore I gladly withdraw myself from the company
of those who have made up their minds to get rid of

me,”

“Tcertainly did tell Mason that there was a prospect
of your quitting me,"’ replied Madame Bathurst,
coloring up; ‘* but—however, it’s no use en! into

“an investigation of what I really said, or catechizing
my @ one thing is clear, we have been mutually
sointed with each other, and therefore it ro
is better that we should part. I believe that I am in
your debt, Mademoiselle de Chatenwuf, Have you
reckoned bow gen eee been with me?”
“T have reckoned the time that I instructed Caro-
line.”
«Miss Caroline, if you please, Mademoiselle de
Cuatencut.”
«Well, then,
it; it is five months and two weeks,” repli
from my chair.
“You may sit down, mademoiselle, while I make the
calculation,” said Madame Bathurst.
“ It ia too great an honor for a Chatencuf to sit in
your presence,” replied I, quietly, remaining on my

6, Miss Caroline, since you wish
I, rising

feet.
Madame Bathurst made no reply, but calculating

> I presume lL.
+ may Say that you are ut her commands a8 s00n as she

VALERIE.

the sum of money due to me on a sheet of note-paper,
handed it to me and begged me to see if it was correct.
“J have no doubt of it, madame,” replied I, looking
| at it, and then laying it down on the desk before her.
Madame Bathurst put the sum in bank-notes and
sovereigus down before me, and said, “ Do me the favor
to count it, and see if it is correct;’’ and then rising,
said, “ Your wishes will be complied with by my ser-
| Yants as usual, mademoiselle, as long as you remain
| under my roof. I wish you farewell.”
| The last words were accompanied with alow courtesy,
| and she then quitted the room,
I replied with a salute as formal as her own, and mor-
tified at the treatment I had received, Isat down, anda

tance, and I soon recovered myself,

This scene was, however, another proof to me of
whatI must in future expect; andit had the effect of
hardening me, and blunting my feelings. “ Miss Caro-
line !’”’ said I to myself, ‘‘ when the protegee of Madame
d’Albret, and the visitor of Madamo Bathurst, it was
Caroline, and dear Valerie, She might have allowed me
to quit her without pointing out to me, in so marked a
manner, how our relative positions haye been changed.
However, I thank you, Madame Bathurst; what obli-
gations I may have been under to you are now can-
celled, and I need not regret the weight of them as I
might havedone. Ah! Madame d’Albret, you took mo
from my home that I might not be buffeted by my mo-
ther,and now you haye abandoned me to be buffeted
by the whole world. Well, be it so, I will fight my
way, nevertheless;”” and as I left the room to pack up
my trunks, I felt my courage risé from this very at-
tempt on the part of Madame Bathurst to humiliate

me.

Tho letter of Madamo Bathurst to Lady R—— brought
the lutter to the house that afternoon. Iwas up in my
room when { was informed by the servants that she
waited below to see me. When I entered she was alone,
Madame Bathurst having gone out in her carriage, and
as soon ag. she saw me, she rushed into my arms almost
taking me by both hands, and saying how happy she
was thatshe had acquired such a treasure a8 @ friend
and companion ; wished to know whether Icould not
come with her immediately, as her carriage was at the
door, and went on for nearly ten minutes without a
check, asking filty questions, and not permitting me to
answer one, At last I was able to reply to the most
important, which was that I would be happy to come
to her on the following morning, if she would send for
me. Sheinsisted that Ishould come to breakfast, and
I acceded to her request, as Madame Bathurst, who was
not an early riser, would not be dowB at the hour men-
tioned, and I wished to leave the house without seein
her again, after our formal adieu, Having arranye
this, she appeared to be ina great hurry to bo off, and
skipped out of the room before I could ring the bell to
order the carriage.

I completed my preparations f
some dinner brought into my ow
an excuse for not joinin,
that I had a bad headache, which was true enough.
The next morning, long before Madame Bathurst was
up, I was driven to Street, Portman Square,
where Lady R—— resided. I found her ladyship in her
robe de chambre. ’

“Well,” said she, “this is delightful. My wishes are
crowned at last. I have passed a night of uncertainty,
rolling about between hopes and fears, as ple al ways
do when they have 80 much at stake. t me siiow
you your room.” .

I found a very well-furnished spartment prepared for
me, looking out upon the street. ;

“See, you have airont view,” she said, “not extensive,
but still you can rise early and moralize. You can see
London wake up. First, the drowsy policeman ; the
tired cabman, and more tired horse, after a night of
motion, seeking the stable and repose : the housemaid,
half-awake, dragging on her clothes; the kitchen-wench
washing from the steps the dirt of yesterday ; the
milkmaid’s falsetto, and the dustman’s bass; the
bakers’ boys, the early post delivery, and thus from
units to tens, and from tens to tens of thousands, and
London stirs again. There is try in that, and now
let us down, to fast, I always breakfast in my
robe de chambre; you must do the same, that is, if you
like the fashion. Where's the page Z

Lady R—— rang the bell of the sitting room, which
she called a boudoir, and a lad of fourteen, in a blue
blouse and leather belt, made his appearance. ‘

“Lionel, breaktast in a moment. Vanish, before the
ee can swin a league—bring up hot rolls and
butter.”

Yes, my lady,” replied the lad, pertly, “I'll be up
again before the chap can swim a hundred yards ;"' and
he shot out of the room in a second.

««'Phere’s virtue in that boy ; he has wit enough for
a prime minister, or a clown at Astley’s. T er him
up by a mere chance ; he is one of ny models.”

‘What her ladyship meant by models I could not
imagine, but I soon found out, The return of the lad
with breakfast put an end to her talking for the time
being. When we had finished, the page was again sum-
moned.

“ Now then, Lionel, do your spiriting gently.”

“] know,’ said the boy; ‘I’m not to smash the
cups and saucers as I did yesterday.”

The lad collected the breakfast things on a tray, with
great rapidity, and disappeared with such a sudden
turn round, that I fully anticipated he would add to
yesterday's damage before he was down the stairs.

- soon as he was gone, Lady R—— coming up to me

departure, and had
room, sending down

“ And now let me have a good look at you, and then I
shall be content for some time. Yes, I was not mistaken
you are a perfect model, and must be my future hero-
ine. Yours is just the beauty that I required. There,
that will do, now sit down and let us converse. T often
have wanted a companion. As for an amanuensis, that

 

few tears escaped, but my pride came to my assis- |

Madame Bathurst, stating |

 

is only a nominal task ; 1 write as fast as most people,
and I cannot follow my ideas, let me scribble for life,
as I may say; and as for my writing being illegible,
that’s the compositor’s concern, not mine. It's his
business to make it out, and therefore I never have
mine copied. But I wanted a beautiiul companion
and friend—I wouldn’t have an ugly one for the world ;
= would do mie as much harm-as you will do me ser-
vice.”

“Iam sure [hardly know how Iam to do you ser-
vice, Lady R——, if I do not write for you.”

“ Tdare say not ; but when I tell you thatI am more
than repaid by looking at you when I feel inclined,
you will acknowledge that you do me service ; but we
will not enter into metaphysics, or psychological ques-
tions just now, it Shall all be explained by and by.
And now'the first service Lask of you is, at once to
leap over the dull fortnight of gradual approaching,
which at last ends in intimacy ; I have ever held it ta
be a proof of the suspiciousness of our natures, and un-
worthy. You must allow me to call you Valerie at
once, and I must entreat of you to call me Sempronia.
Yournameis delightful, fit for a first-class heroine.
My real baptismal name is one that I have abjured,
and if my godfathers aud godmothers did give it to me,
I throw it back to them with contempt. hat do you
think it was?—Barbara, Barbara, indeed! ‘My
mother hada maid called Barbara,’ Shakes} says,
and such a name should be associated with brooms and
yéllow soap. Call me Sempronia from this time for-
ward, and you confer a favor on me. And now I must
write a little, so take a book and a seat on the sofa, for,
at the opening of this chapter my heroine is exactly in
that position, ‘in maiden meditation, fancy free.’

oo

CHAPTER VII.

Lapy R—— sat down before her writin, materials,
and I took my seat on the sofa, as she had requested,
and was soon occupied with my reading. I perceived

that, as she wrote, her ner continually took her
eyes off the paper, and fixed them, upon me, I pre-
sumed that she was describing me, an I'was correct
in my idea, for, in about-half an hour, she threw down
her pen, und cried.

“There, Lam indebted to you for the best. picture of
a heroine that I ever drew |) Listen.” Z

And her ladyship read to me & most panera Oe
cription of my sweet person, crouched in very high-
flown lanyvase. ‘ ‘

“T think, Lady R—,” said I, when she had
finished, “that you are more indebted to your own
imagination than to reality in drawing my portrait.”

«« Not so, not sv, my dear Valerie. , 1 may have done
you justice, but certainly not mor... There is nothiug
like having the living subject to wr.te from. It is the
same as painting or anne it only.can be true when
drawn from nature ; in fact, what is writing but paint-
ing with a pen?”

‘As she concluded her sentence, the page, Lionel,
came in with a letter on a waiter, and hearing her ob-
servation, as he handed the letter, he impudently ob-
served : '

“ Here’s somebody been pain your name on the
outside of this paper; and. as there’s sevenpence to
pay, I think it’s rather dear forsuch asmudge.”

“ You must not judge from outside appearance, Lio-
nel,” replied Lady R——; “the contents may be worth
pounds. Itisnot prepossessing, I nt, in its super-
scription, but may, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
wear @ precious jewel im its head
error of former days, Lionel, which Shakspeare has
tuken advantage of.”

“Yes, that chaprpainted with a pen at a fine rate,"’
replied the boy, as Lady R—— opened the letter and

it. esha
“You may go, Lionel,” said she, putting the letter

down.

“Tjust wanted to know, bow that you've opened
your toad, if you have found the jewel, or whether It's
a vulgar error ?’’ Ag

“It's a vulgar letter, at all évents, Lionel,’’ replied
her ladyship, “and concerns you ; itis from the shoe-
maker at Brighton, who requests me to pay him eigh-
teen shillings for a pair of boots ordered by you, and
not paid for.” ( ‘ ;

“Well, my lady, I do owe for the boots, true enough,
but it’s impossible for me always to recollect my Own
affairs, lam so busy with looking after yours.” — *

«Well, but now you are reminded of them, Lionel.
you had better give me the money, and I will send it to
him.’* t ;

At this moment Lady R—— stooped from her chair
to pick up her handkerchief. There were some sov-
ereigns lying on the desk, and the lad, ing his eye
at me, took one up, and, as Lady R—— rose up, held it

out to her in silence.
said Lady R—; “T like

“That’s right, Lionel,’
honesty.”” rin

«Yes, madame,” replied the impudent rogue, very
deriurely; “like most people who tell their own stories,
J was born of honest, but poor parents.”

“believe your parents were honest ; and now, Lio-
nel, to reward you, I shall pay for your boots, and you
may keep your sovereign.”

“Thank your ladyship,”’ replied the lad, *‘I forgot to
2 that the cook is outside for orders.”’

ady R—— rose, and went out of the room ; and Mr.
Lionel, laughing at me, put the sovereign down with
the others. .

“ Now, I call that real honesty. You saw me borrow
it, and now you see me pay it.’

“Yes: but suppose her ladyship had not given you
the sovereign, how would it have been then ?’” said I.

“J ghould have paid her very honestly,” replied he.
“ If I wished to cheat her, or rob her I might do so all
day long. She leaves her money about everywhere,
and never knows what she has; besides, if 1 wanted to

hat was & vulgar °

 

 
VALERIE.

 

 

steai, I should not do so with those bright eyes of | that in former times great people, kings and princes and
yours looking at me all the time.” | so on, always had their victuals tasted first, lest there

* You are a very saucy boy,” replied I, more amused | should be poison in them; so I taste upon that princi-
than angry. F ple, and I have been half poisoned sometimes at these

“It's all from reading, and it’s not my fault; for her | cheap parties; but I’m getting cunning, and when I
ladysip makes me read, and I never yet read any book | meet a suspicious-looking piece of pastry, I leave it
about old times in which the pages were not saucy; | for the company; but I can’t wait to talk any longer,
but [’ve no time to talk just now—my spoons are not | miss, I must give the coachman his orders.”

clean yet;” so saying, he quitted the room.

I did not know whether I ought to inform her lady-
ship of this freak of her page's: but as the money was
returned, I thought I had better say nothing for the
present. I soon found out that the lad was correct in
asserting that she was careless of her money, and
that, if he chose, he might pilfer without chance of dis-
covery; and moreover, that he really was a good and
honest lad, only full. of mischief and very impudént;
owing, however, to Lady R——'s treatment of him; for |
she rather encouraged his impudence than otherwise.
He wus certainly a very clever, witty boy,and a very
quick servant; so quick, indeed, at his work, that it
almost appeared as if he never had anything to do, and |
he had plenty of time for reading, which he was very |
fond ot.

Lady R—- returned, and resumed her writing.

“You sing, do you not? I think Mrs. Bathurst told
me that you were very harmonious. Now, Valerie, do |
; me a favor; I waot to hear a voice caroling some melo-

’ dious ditty. Ishall describe it somuch better, it Ireally |

 

| “T never asked you to talk, Mr. Lionel,’’ said I.

“No, you didn’t; but still I know you like to hear
me; you can’t deny that. Now, to use my lady’s style,
Iam to tell the coachman to puta girdle round the
park in forty minutes;” so saying, the lad vanished,
as he usually did, in a second.

The lad was certainly right when he said that I did
like to hear him talk, for he amused me so much,
that I forgave his impudence and _ familiarity,
Shortly afterwards, we went out in the carriage, and
having ¢riven two or three times round the purk, re-
turned hume to dinner. At ten o'clock, We went to
Mrs. Allwood’s party. I was introduced to a great
many literary stars, whom J lad never before heard ot ;
but the person who had attracted the most attention
was a Russian count, who had had his ears and nose
cut off by the Turks. It certainly did not add to his
beauty, however it might have to hisinterest. However,
Lionel was right. It was a very stupid party to me;
all talking at once and constantly on the move to find
fresh listeners ; it was all buzz, buzz, buzz, and I was

heard you sing. I do like reality; of course you must); glad when the carriage was annonnced. Such were the
sing without music,for my country girl cannot be | events of the first day which I passed under the roof
crossing the mead with a piano in one hand, and a pail | of Lady R—~.
of water in the other.” ; . Indeed, this first day may be taken as a sample of
“I should think not,” replied I, laughing; “but am | most others, and a month passed rapidly away. Each
not I too near?” day, however, was marked with some peculiar eccentri-
“Yes, rather; I should prefer it on the stairs, or on | city on her part ; but these diverted me. I was often
the first floor landing; but I could not be so rude as to requested to do strange things in my position as a
send you out of the room.” |model; but with all her oddities Lady R—— was a
“But 1 will go without sending,” replied I; and I; gentlewoman in manner and in feeling: and what I
did so, and having arrived at my station, I sung a little | should certainly have refused te anyone else, I did for
French refrain, which I thought would answer her | her without reluctance. I now called her Sempronia, as
ladyship’s purpose. On my return her ladyship was | she requested, and, moreover, I became very intimate
writing furiously, and did not appear to notice my en- | with Master Lionel, who would be intimate, whether or
trance. I took my seat quietly, and in about ten | no, and who, like Lady R——, was a source of great
minutes she again thréw down the peu, exclaiming: ; amusement. At times, when I was alone and com-
“TI never wrote so effective a chapter! Valerie, you | muned with mysel!, I could not help surveying my
are more precious tome than fine gold; and as Shy- | peculiar position, *I was engaged at a large salary—for
lock said of his ring, ‘I would not change. thee for a | what? to look handsome, to put myself in attitudes,
wilderness of monkeys.’ I make the quotation as | and todo nothing. ‘his was not flattering to my tal-
expressive of your value. It was so kind-hearted ot | ents (suchas I had), but still I was treated with kind-
you to comply with my wish. You don’t know an | ness and confidence ; was the companion of her lady-

author's feelings. You have no idea how our self-love
is flattered by success, and that we value a good pus-
save in our works more than anything else inexistence.
Now, you have so kindly administered’ to» my ruling
yassion Swiee in one morning, that I love you exceed-
‘ily. [dave say you think me very odd, and people
ay tiat I am so; Il may ask you to do many. odd
“iu for me, but I shall never ask you to do what a
twiy may not do, or what would be incorrect foryou to
«dy or tor -me to propose; that you may depend upon,
Valerie: and now I close my manuscript for the pres-
ent, being well satisfied with the day’s work.”
Lady R—+ rang the bell, and on Lionel making his
‘appearance, she desired him to take away her writing

~

materials, put her money into her purse—if he knew |

-where her purse was—and then asked him what were
her engagements for the evening. :
“I know. we have an engagement,"’ replied the boy ;

-“T can’t recollect it, but I shall find it in the drawing- |

He went out, and in a minute returned, ;
» “I have found it, my lady,” said he. “Here's the
ticket, ‘Mrs. Allwood at home, nine o’clock.’”’
“Mrs. Allwood, my dear Valerie, is a literary lady,
and her parties are very agreeable.” «» de h
The page looked at me from behind Lady R——'s
chair, and shook his head in dissent.
“Shall we go?’ continued Lady R—.
; “Tt you please, madame,” replied I, hice
“ Well, then, we will take a drive before’ dinner, and
| the evening atter dinner shall be dedicated to the feast
| of resson and the flow of soul, Dear me, how I have
}

inked my Rages! Imust go upstairs and wash them.”
As soon as Lady R-——- left the room, Master Lionel
aa ,

began.
‘ “ Foast of reason and flow, of soul ;-I don’t like such
{ entertainment. Give mea good supper and plenty of
champagne.” ; y
“Why, what matter can it make to you?’ said I,
laughing.
“Tt matters a good deal. TI object to literary parties,”
replied he. “In the first place, for one respectable car-
’ yiage driving up to the door, there are twenty cabs and
_ jarveys, so that the company isn't so good; and then
at parties, when there is a good supper, I yet my share
of itin the kitchen. You don’t think we are idle down
below. I have been to Mrs, All wood’s twice, and there’s
no supper, nothing but feast of reason, which remains
stairs, and they’are welcome to my share of it, As
for the drink, it’s negus and cherry-water; nothing
else, and if the flow of soul is not better than such
| stuff, they may have my share of that also. No music,
no dancing, nothing but buzz, buzz, buzz, Won't you
feel it stupid ?”’
{ “ Why, one would think you had been up stairsinstead
of down, Lionel.’’

“Of courseI am. They press all who have liveries
into the service, and I hand the cakes about rather than
kick for hours at the legs of the kitchen table. I hear
) all that’s said just as well as the company, and I’ve often
| thought I could have given a better answer than I’ve
heard some of your  literaries. When I hand the

cakes to-night, take them I point out to you; they’ll be

the best.”
{ “Why, how can you tell?”
; “Because I try them all before I come in the room.”

“You ought to be ashamed to acknowledge it.”
* All comes of reading, miss,” replied he. “I read

| ship; was introduced and taken to all the parties to

| which she was.asked, and never made to feel my de-

| pendence. Thad already imbibed a strong triendship

‘ tor Lady R——, and I was therefore content to remain.

| One morning she said to me: ;

|. “My dear Vaierie,do me the favor to tighten the

| luces of my stays.”

|. She was, as usual, writing in her dressing-gown.

| ‘‘Oh,-tighter yet; ag tight as you can draw them.

| Dhat will do nicely.” —

| “Why you can hardly breathe, Sempronia.”

| “But Ican write, my dear child, and, as I before ob-

| served, the mind and the body influence each, other,

| Iam about to write a strictly moral dialogue, and I

never could do it unless Lam strait-laced.. Now I feel

| fit for the wife of Cato and of Romeo,” ,

| Afew days afterwards she amused me still more.

| After writing about half an hour: she threw down her

pen— > t ’ 4

) . ‘tI mever-can do it; come upstairs, my dear Valerie,

jand help me off with my stays. I must be a
abandon.”

~

ments, we returned to the boudoir. | ~ oh

“ There,” she, sitting down, ‘I think I shall
manage it now; Ifeel asif Icould,” ;

“ Manage what?” inquired I.

“My dear, Tam about to write a love-scene, ver
warm and izapassioned, and I could not doit, confine
as I was. Now that Iam loose, I can give loose to the
reins of my imagination, and delineate with the arrow
of Cupid’s self. My heroine is reclining, with her hand
on her cheek; put yourself in that attitude, my dear,
deur Valerie, as if you were meditating upon, the pro-
longed absence of one dear to you. Exactly—beautiful
—true_to nature—but I forgot, a page enters—don’t
move, I'll ring the bell.” fy vi,

Lionel answered quickly, as usual,

“Here, Lionel, I want you to play the page.”

“T've no time for play, my lady; I'm page in earnest.
There’s al) the knives to clean.” $

“Never mind the knives just now. Observe, Lionel,
you are supposed to be sent a message to that. lovely
girl, who is sitting absorbed in a soft reverie, You
enter her presence unperceived, and are struck, with
her beauty; you lean against a tree in a careless but
graceful attitude, with your eyes fixed upon her lovely
teai'ures. Now lean against the door, as I have de-
scribed, and then I shall be able to write.”

scene, the more so as Lionel, just passing his fingers
through his hair, and then pulling up his shirt collar,
| took his position saying : ‘
‘‘Now, Miss Valerie, we'll see who performs best; I
think you will be sooner tired of sitting than I shall be
of looking at you.” 4
“Excellent, Lionel!—exactly the position that [
wished,’ said Lady R——, scribbling as fast as she
could; “that stare of yours is true to nature—Cymon
and Iphigenia—a pertect tableau !—don’t move, J beg;
Ionly require ten minutes,” .
I looked up at Master Lionel, gnd he made such a
imace, that I could hardly keep my countenance, and
faia not exactly feel satisfied at thus performing, as it
were, witha servant; but still, that servant was Lionel,
who was very unlike other servants. In ten minutes,
as promised, we were released, much to my satisfaction.
Lionel went off to clean his knives,and I took | upqny

 

I followed her, and having. removed these imped- |

Icould not help smiling at the absurdity of this’

Bi

| book, and really when I perceived the aeligns of Lady
R—, at what she called her success, I no longer felt
| anything like annoyance at having complied with her

wishes,
One mennieg, when. Lidy R—— had walked out,
and the page, Lionel, was in the room, I entered into
conversation with him, and asked how it was that he
had been so much better educated than were lads in
his position in general.
“That's a question that I often ask myself, Mise
Valerie,” replied he, ‘‘as they say in some sutobiogra~
hies. The first recollection I have of myself was find-
g myself walking two-and-two, in a suit of pepper-
and-salt, along with about twenty other very little
boys, at a cheap preparatory schoul, kept by the Misses
Wiggins. There I remained —nobody came to see me;
other boys talked of their papas and mamma:—I had
none to talk about; they went home at the holidays,
and brought back toys and plum-cakes; I enjoyed my
holi ‘ays alone, acraping holes in the gravel for want of-
betrer einployu. at, between my meals, and yo
not opening my nouth, or bearing the sound of my
own voice, more than three or tour Linesin tie twont, -
four hours, As I had plenty of time tor reflection dur-
ing the vacations, as I grew bigger, I began to imagine
that somehow or another I must have had a father and
mother, like the other boys, and began to make very
impertinent (as I was told) inquiries about them, e t
Misses Wiggins gave me a good wigging, as they call it,
for my unwarranted curiosity, pointing out the indeli-
cacy of entering upon such subjects; and thus was my —
mouth stopped. :
‘At last I grew up too big for the school, and was
not to be managed by two old maids, and I presume it
was through their representations that I was at last
honored by a visit from an old housekeeper, a woman er
above fifty, whom I never saw before. I ventured to
put the forbidden questions to her, and she replied that
Thad neither father nor mother; that they were both
dead, and that I was educated by the kindness of a
ureat lady, whose dependents they had been, and that
the great lady would call and see me, perhaps, or if she
did not, would send for me and do something for me.
Well, about four years ago (I was then twelve
Joumncld I Fon es but ay ee is ey am cree
an they say), I was sent for
first I was dressed in a turban ends jacket and aft
on the floor. I was told that I was to be her page, and
I liked it very much, as I did nothing but run mes-
sages and read books, which I was very fond of; and
Lady R—— took some pains with me; but as I w
bigger, so did I fall off from my high estate, and, by
Geurette descended irom the drawing-room to the
chen, a
* My snety was not renewed; at firstI had a plain :
suit and did my work under the footman; and two !
years ago, when the footman was sent away, er
be under the orders of another, I volunteered to do the
work, which I have done ever since, and now receive —

high w ané wear sugaryloat bu NOS doc, Bee
ceive.

‘ow, Miss Valerie, that’s.ll I know o area .
R—— knows more; still it

     

‘but I suspect that Lad
mae ‘be, that what the old woman told me was correct,
and that Iwas the child of one of her: fayorite
on and a enna by eee ne a th
was, tor you know how man, 78 she does.
“What is your oer dame tose a Se
“ Bodingfield, Lam told, is my name,” feplied he,
“Have you ever spoken to. Lady R—, ’ inquired I, F

“relative to your parents ?’’

“ oe gua ; but she said they, a
people, not hers (that is, her father’s, the late
net's), and that she knew no a

   

do som for me. °
be inclined talk about much,
away as soon as she had told me what I now. repeat to
you; however, I have found out something since that
a her ‘s knock;'’ 80 saying, “
van! ; w ssdta, te oO yee aru
Soon after her Iadyship’s return, Madame. Girona,
who had called upon me two peri enegeiny hy y ae See
;nouneed. I went out of the room, and when I met ad
in the d{ping-parlor, she told me that she had t y
thems iochea-deayenion i agentes apet tcmen hs!
hem er_ladyship, r went ETA
asked Lady R—— if she would like to see eS at
which pro’ she assented. When Madame. sci eS
displayed her performances, which were, v: atural :
and beautiful, her ladyship was deligh : . ‘ “ie
marant re - pens after hesoved I manne” down
stairs, and had along conversation w -warm-
hearted little friend. : % i enol aw ma ix h
“T don’t like this situation of yours, mademoiselle,” —
saidshe, “nor does my husband, NowIwasthinking, |
Mademoiselle de Chatencuf, that it woukd not bea hat ,
plan if you were to learn how to make these flowers.
I will teach you for nothing; and I will teach you what.
T never teach my pupils, which is, how to prepare the
wax aud ayreat many otuer little secrets which are
worth knowing.” ;

“T shall be very glad to learn, my dear madame,” re-
plied I; **but I can afford to pay you for your time and
trouble, and must insist upon doing 80 ; if not, I will
not be cares

Well, well, we must not quarrel about that, I
know that no one likes to be under an obligation, es- =) __
pecially one like you—but learn you must—so let us
arrange for the lessons.” Oe

I did so; and from that day until I quitted roe
R-——, I applied myself so assiduously to the art, that, Wed
with the unreserved communications of Madame Gir iy!
ynac, I became a proficient, and could al her own
performances—Madame Gironac declared that I ex —
celled her, because I had more taste—But to re

turn,
Atter I had parted with Madame Gironac, Twent ay.

 

i eS
~

VALERIE.

b

 

 

“But why should you go, Lionel? You may not find
anotier situation half so comfortable.”

“I shall not seek one. I have only stayed here with
the hope that I may find out from her ladyship who
and what my parents were, and she will not tell me. I
shall live by my wits, never fear; ‘the world’s my
oyster,’ as Shakspeare says, and I think I've wit enough
to open it.”

I had not forgotten the observations of Lady M——
relative to Lionel, and what the lad now said made me
surmise that there was some mystery, and, on exami-
nation of his countenance, there was a family likeness
to Lady R—~. I also called to mind her unwilling-
ness to enter upon the subject when I brought it up.

‘‘But, Lionel,” said I, after a pause, “ what is it that |

makes you suppose that Lady R—— conceals who were
your parents? When we last talked on the subject,
you said you had found out something—she told me
that your father was a bailiff, or steward to Sir Rich-

. o

“*Which I have proved to be false. She told me that
My father was Sir Richard’s butler; that I have also
discovered to be false; for one bo the old housekeeper,
who called upon me at school,
closeted with Lady R—— for halfan hour. When she
went away, I called a hackney-coach for her, and get-
ting behind it, went home with her to her lodgings.
When J found out where she lived, I hastened back
immediately, that I might not be missed, intending to
have made acall upon her. The next day Lady R—
gave me a letter to put into the twopenny-post; it was

rected to a Mrs. Green, to the very house where the
dhackney-coach had stopped, so I knew it was for the
old housekeeper. Instead of putting the letter in the
post, I kept it till the evening, and then took it my-
self.

“** Mra. Green,’ said I, for I found her at home with
another old woman, sitting ovir their tea, ‘I have
brought you a letter from Lady R—.’ This is about
& year ago, Miss Valerie.

“*Mercy on me,’ said she, ‘how strange that Lady
R— should send you here.’

“Not strange that she. should send a letter by a
mervant,’ said I, ‘only strange tuat I should be a ser-
vant.”

“I said this, Miss Valerie, as a random throw, just to
see what answer she would make.

“*Why, who has been telling you anything?’ said
#he, looking at me through her spectacles,

“* Ah,’ replied I, ‘ that’s what I must keep to myself,
for I’m under a promise of secrecy.’

“*Mercy on me, it couldn’t be—no, that’s impossi-
ble,’ muttered the old woman, as she opened the let-
ter and took out a bank-note, which she crumpled up
in her hand. She then commenced reading the
letter. I walked a little way from her, and stood
between her and the window. Every now and then she
held the letter up to the candle, and when the light
was strong upon it, I could read a line from where I

“stood, for I have been used to her ladyship’s writing, as

you know. One line I read was, ‘remains still at Cul-
verwood Hall;’ another .was, ‘the only person now
left in Essex.’ I also saw the words ‘secrecy’ and
‘ignorant’ at the bottom of the page. The old wo-
‘man finished the letter at last, but it took her a good
while to get through it. ;

“*Well,’ says she, ‘have you anything more to
way ?’
“«No,’ says 1; ‘you are well phia for your secrecy,
Mrs. Green.’

“* What do you mean ?’ said she.

“*Oh, I’m not quite soignorant as you suppose,’ re-
plied I.

“*Tgnorant,’ said she, confused; ‘ignorant of what?’

“*When were you last in Essex?’ said I.

“*When, why? what’s that to you, you impudent

Py

a Nay, then I’ll put another question to you. How
long is it since you were at Culverwood Hall ?’

“*Culverw Hall! What do you know about Cul-
verwood Hall? The boy’s mad, I believe; go away,
ees done your message; if you don’t, I'll tell her

hip.’

«Certainly, Mrs. Green,’ said I. ‘I wish you a
good-night.’ }

si left the room, slamming the door, but not allow-
ing the catch to fall in,.so that I held it a little ajar,
po then [ heard Mrs. Green say to the other woman:

“«* Somebody’s been with that boy; I wonder who it
an he? He’s put me in such a flurry. Well, these
things will out.’

«Yes, yes, it’s like murder,’ replied the other; ‘not
that I know what it’s all about, only I see there’s a se-
«ret—perhaps you'll tell me, Mrs. Green ?”

“+All I dare tell you is that there is a secret,’ replied
Mrs. Green, ‘and the boy has got an ee. of it, some-
how oranother. I must see my lady—no, I had better
mot,’ added she; ‘for she is so queer that she’ll swear

I’ve told him, Now there's only one besides my-

and her ladyship who knows anything, and I'll
swear that hecoula not have been with the boy, for he’s
bedridden. I’m all of a puzzle, and that’s the truth,
What a wind there is; why the boy has left the door
open. Boys never shut doors.’

‘‘Mrs. Green got up and slammed the, door to, and I
walked off ; but why I should be sent to a good school
and wear pepper-and-salt, and to be taken away to be
dnade first a page, and now a fvotman, I can’t tell ; but
you must acknowledge that there is some mystery,
after what I have told you.”

‘It certainly is strange, Lionel.” replied I, “but my
-advice is, that you remain patiently till you can find it
fm, which by leaving Lady R—— you are not likely to

“T don’t know that, Miss Valerie ; let me get down to
‘Culverwood Hall, and I think I would find out some-
thing, pare wits were given me to no purpose. But I
mes her ladyship coming up stairs ; 80 good-bye, Miss

‘alerie.”

came here, and was |

And Lionel made a hasty retreat.
Lady R—— slowly ascended the stairs, and came into
the room. Her violence had been exhausted, but she
| looked sullen and moody, and I could hardly recognize
| her; for I must do her the justice to say, that I had

| never before seen her out of temper. She sat down in ¥

| her chair, and Lasked her whether Ishould bring her
her writing materials.
| “A pretty state I am in to write,” replied she, lean-
ing her elbows on the table, and pressing her hands to
) hereyes. “ You don’t know whatarage I haye been in,
| and how I have been yenting it upon innocent people.
| Istruck that poor boy—shame on me! Alas! I was
| born with violent passions, and they have been my
curse through life. I had ho ,ed that years had some-
| Woat subdued them, but they will occasionally master
; me. What would I not give to have had your
temper, Valerie! How much unhappiness I shonld
have been spared! How much error should I have
; avoided! I was going to say, how much crime ?’’
| Lady R—— was evidently more talking to herself
| than to me when she said the last words and I there-
| fore made no reply. Asilenceof more than a quarter
of an hour followed, which was broken by Lionel com-
| ing in, and announcing the carriage of Lady M——.

‘‘That woman is the cause of all this,” said Lady
| R——; ‘‘I am sure that she is. Pray do not wait,
Valerie. Go and see her, I shall be better company
when you come back.”’

I made no reply, but left the room, and putting on
‘my bonnet, was driven to Lady M——’s. She received
me with great cordiality,and so did her daughters,
who wero in the room; but they were dismissed by
their mother, who then said, “I told you last night,
my dear Mademoiselle de Chateneuf, that I wished you
to reside with me. You may say in what capacity, and
I acknowledge that I hardly know what answer to give.
Not as governess, certainly, for I consider it an odious
position, and one that I could not offer you; indeed,
my girls do not require teaching, as they have finished
their studies ; in only one thing you could be of advan-
tage to them in that respect, which is in music and
magne. But I wish you to come as their companion,
as 1am convinced that they will gain much by your so
doing. LIwish you, therefore, to be considered by oth-
ers a8 a visitor at the house, but at the same time I
must insist, that from the advantages my girls will de-
rive from your assisting them in music and singing,
you will accept the same salary per annum which you
have from Lady R——. Do you understand me? I
wish you to remain with me, not as a model atter the
idea of Lady R——, but as a model for my girls to take
pattern by. Ishall leave it to yourself to act as you
please. Iam sure my girls like you already and will
like you better. Ido not think that I can say more,
except that I trust you will not refuse my offer.”

There was a delicacy and kindness in this proposal
on the part of Lady M—— which I felt gratefully ; but
it appeared to me, that after all it was only an excuse
to.offer me an asylum without any remuneration on my
part, and I stated my feelings on that point.

‘*Do not think so,”’ replied lady M——. “I avoided
saying so, because I would not have you styled a music-
mistress ; but on that one point alone you will more
than earn your salary, as I will prove to you, by show-
ing you the annual payments to professors for lessons;
but you will be of great value to me in other points, I
have no doubt. May I, therefore, consider it ag an affaire
arrangee ?””

After a little more conversation, I acquiesced, and
having agreed that I would come as soon as Lady
R— went to the continent, or at all events, in three
weeks, when Lady M—— quitted London, I took my
leave, and was conveyed back to Lady R—~ tn the car-
riage which had been sent for me.

: cn my return, I found Lady R—— seated where I had
eft her. .

“Well,” said she, ‘so you have had your andience ;
and I have no doubt but that you were most graciously
received, Oh! Iknow the woman; and I have been
reflecting upon it during your absence, and I have dis-
covered what she wants you for; but this she has not
mentioned, not even hinted at. She knows better ;
but,when once in her house, you will submtt to it,
rather than be again in search of a home.” ’

ot Seeds, do not know what you mean, Lady R——,”
8 ‘

* Has not Lady M—— asked you to como as a visitor,
without specifying any particular employment ?”’

“No, she has not. She has proposed my staying in
the house to give lessons to her daughters in music,
and to be their companion ; but there is nothing stated
as to a fixed residence with her.”

“Well, Valerie, I know thatI am odd; but you will
soon find out whether you havo gained by the change.”

“Lady R—-—, I really do not consider you should be
so sarcastic or unkind towardsme. I do not like to go
to France with you, for reasons which I have fully ex-
plained, at the expense of disclosing family affairs,
which Thad much rather not have mentioned. You
leave me by myself, and I must seek protection some-
where. It is kindly offered by Lad ee and in my
‘unfortunate position I have nottochoose. Bsjustand
be generous.’’

“Well, well, I will,” said Lady R—, the tears
starting in her eyes ; “‘ but you donot know how much
Iam annoyed at your leaving me. I had hoped, with
all my faults, that I had created in you a feeling of
attachment to me—God knows that Ihave tried. If you
knew all my history, Valerie, you would not be sur-
prised at my being. strange. That occurred when I was
of your age, which would have driven some people to
despair or suicide, As it is, it has alienated me from
all my relations—not that | have many. My brother,
I never see or hear from, and have noi tor years, I
have refused all his invitations to go down to see him,
and he is now offended with me; but there are causes
for it, and years cannot wipe away the memory of what
did occur.”

 

lacid |

“Tassure you, Lady R——,I have been very sensible
of your kindness to me,” replied I, “and shall aways
remember it with gratitude ; and if you think I have
no regard for you, you are mistaken; but the subject
has become painful—pray let us say no more.’

Pr Well, Valerie, be it so: perhaps it is the wisest
plan.’

To change the conversation, I said—‘Is mot your
brother the present baronet ?”

“Yes,” replied Lady R——. a

“And where does he reside ?”’ Te

“In Essex, at Culyerwood Hall, the seat of all my
misfortunes.” r

I started a little at the mention of the place, as it was
the one which the reader may remember was spoken of
by Lionel. I then turned the conversation to other
matters, and by dinner-time Lady R—— had recovered
herself, and was as amiable as ever.

From that day until Lady R—— set off for Paris,
there was not. a word said relative to Lady M——. She
was kind and polite, but not so warm and friendly as
she had been before, and in her subdued bearing to-
wards me, was more agreeable. Her time was low em-
ployed in making preparations for her tour, Lionel
was the only one who was to accompany her except her
own maid, At last she fixed the day ot her departure,
and I wrote to Lady M——,who returned an answer
that it suited her exactly,as she bol Scrat Dg the coun-
try the day after. The evening before Lady R—— was
to start, was passed very gloomily. I felt great sorrow
at our separation, more than I could have imagined;
but when you have been associated with a person who
is good-tempered and kind, you soon feel more for them
es you would suppose, until you are about to quit

em.

Lady R—— was very much dispirited, and said to me,
“Valerio, I have a presentiment that we never shal}
meet again, and yet lam anything but superstitious. 1
can truly say that you are the only person to whom I
have felt real attachment since my youth, and I feel”
more than I can describe. Somethin seas to me,
‘Do not go to France,’ aud yet something impels me
to go. Valerie, if I do come back, I trust that you will
cousider my house your home, if at any time you can-
not place yourself more to your satisfaction: I will not —
Say more,as I know that I am not exactly a lovable
Person, and my ways are odd; but do pray look upon
me as your sincere frieud, who will always be re: to
‘Serve you. Ihave to thank you fora few happy months,
ae # at is saying much, God bless you, my dear

alerie.”’ y

I was moved to tears by what Lady R—— said, and I
thanked her with a faltering voice. 2

“Come now,” said she, ‘I shall be off too early
in the morning to see you; let us take our farewell.”

Lady R—— put asmall packet into my hand, kissed
me on the forehead, and then hastened up to her own
roora. .

That people love change is certain; but still —
there is a mournfulness connected with it, even ;
in achange of residence; the packing up, the litter
attending it, the corded trunks and packages, give a
forlorn appearance to the house itself. To me it was
peculiarly distressing ; I had changed 80 often within
the last year, and had such a erie footing where-
ever I went ; I telt myself to be the sport of fortune,
and a football to the whims and caprices of others. L
was sitting in my bed-room, my trunks packed but not —
yet closed down, thinking of Lady R——’s last conver-—
sation, and very triste. The packet was lying on the
tuble before me, unopened, when I was roused bya
knock at the door, I thonght it was Lady R——’s
ee 7 I said, * ee ; ‘

© door opened, and Lionel made his ppReRERe- ee
. Is it you, Lionel? What do you want ey)

“I knew that you were up and I recollected, as we
leave before you do to-morrow, that you would have
no one to cord your luggage, so I thought I would
fama ae and do it for you to-night, Miss Valerio, if it

ready.’ y ih eT x

“Thank you, Lionel, it was very ¢ \ of you.
wil lock the trunks up, and you can ean them Dates
hs 1 Bo RONe PBs;

Lionel took out the trunks and corded them in the
Passage. When he had finished he said to me. .
* Good-bye, Miss Valerie, you will see me again very
soon,’ y ; .
“See\you very svon, Lionel! Iam afraid there is no
chance of that, for Lady R—— intends to stay abroad
for six months.” 7 % i q ie heed
“Ni iad NOS be Yny tah ot you te
Y, Lione), it would be very foolish for you to
give up such a good situation. Yu Pee’ tikee deen noe
mAgee twen canes ety it pote ' vie be
* Yes, f e. Ishould not ge that <2
another situation, but that is one Sake Tom es
going to leaye. Why should she give me twen Xo
pounds a year? I must find our why, and out: 5°49
will, as I said to yon before. She don't give mo twenty -—
pounds for my beauty, although she ht give you |
4 great deal more, and yet not pay you half h.”” os
“Well, Lionel, I think you have been here long
enough. It is too late to sit up to pay compliments.
Dare you well.” <
Ishut my door upon him gently, and then went to
bed, usual alter excitement,I slept long and ©
soundly. When Lawoke the next morning,I founl —
it was broad day, and nearly ten o’clock. I Tang
the bell and it was answered by the cook, who
toll me that she and I were the only people in ti.
house. Irose, andas I passed by my table, I perceived —
another package lying by the side otf the one which oe
Lady R—— had given me. It was addressed tome,and =
Topenedit, It contained a miniature of Lady R— _
when she was about my age, and very beautiful she #
must have been. It was labeled “ Semproniaateighteen. |
Keep it for my sake, dear Valerie, and do not open the
paper accompanying it until you have my per: ;

   
  

 

or you hear of my being no more.”

 
VALERIE,

16

 

get rid of my sugar-loaf buttons, for I hated livery,
Miss Valerie; perhaps it was pride but I could not
help it. I walked out till I came to a slop-seller’s, as
they call them at seaports, and went in; there was
nothing hanging up but seamen’s clothes, and, on re-
flection, 1 thought I could not do better than dress as
a sailor; so I told the man that I wanteda suit of
sailor’s clothes.

“*You want to go to sea, I suppose,’ said the man,
not guessing exactly right, considering that I just re-
fused to embark.’

“« However, I bargained first for a complete suit, and
then sold him my liveries, exchanging my dress in the
back parlor. I then returned to the tap, obtained my
other clothes, and as soon as the coach started, got
outside and arrived in London. I called upon you at
this house, and found that you were in the country,
aod then I resolved that I would go’ down to Culver-
wood Hall.”

“And now you must leave off, Lionel, for the
present,’’ said I, “ for I must go out with Lady M——
Come to-morrow, early, and I shall have leisure to hear
the rest of your story.” ;

The following morning Lionel returned, and resumed
his history.

“Miss Valerie, little things often give you more
trouble than greater, and I had more difficulty to find
out where Cul verwood Hall was than you may imagine.
I asked many at the inn where I put up, but no one
could tell me, and at such places I was not likely to
find any book which I could refer to. I went to the
coach-offices and asked what coaches started for Essex,
and the reply was ‘ Where did I want to go?’ and, when
I said Culverwood Hall, no one could tell me by which
coach I was to go, or which town it was near, Atlast I
did find out trom the porter of the Saracen’s Head, who
had taken in parcels with that addrexs, and who went
to the coachman who said that his coach passed within
a mile of Sir Alexander Mostyn’s, who lived there. I
neyer knew her ladyship’s maiden nume before. Itook
my place by the coach, for I had gone to the banker's
in Fleet Street, and received the money for my cheque,
and started the next morning at three o’clock.

“Twas put down ata village called Westgate, at an inn
called the Mostyn Arms. I kept to the dress of a sailor,
and when the people spoke to me on the coach, kept up
the character as well as I could, which is very easy to
do when you haye to do with people who know nothing
about it. Ishivered my timbers, and all that sort of
thing, and hitched up my trousers, as they do at the
theaters. The coachman told me that the inn was the
nearest place Icould stop at, if I wanted to go to the
hall, and taking my bundle, I got down and he drove
off. Asailor boy is a sort of curiosity in a country vil-
lage, Miss Valerie, and I had many questions put tome;
but I answered them by putting others. I said that
my friends were formerly hving at the hall in the old
baronet’s time, but that I knew little about. them, as it
was along while ago; and Iaskedif there were any of
the old servants still living at the place. The woman
who kept the inn told me that there was one, old Rob-
erts, who still lived in the village, and had been bed-rid-
den for some years. This, of course, was the person I
wante 1, and I inquired what had become of his family.
The reply was that his daughter, who had married
Greene, was somewhere in London, and his son, who
had married Kitty Wilson, of the village, had gone to
reside as gamekeeper-somewhere near Portsmouth, and
had a large family ot children.

“ ‘You're right enough,’
are a large family.’ .

“ «What, are you old Roberts's grandson ?’ exclaimed
the women. ‘ Well, we did hear that one of them,
Harry, I think, did go to sea,°

“«* Well, now, perhaps you'll tell me where I am to
find the old gentleman ?’ replied I.

««¢Come with me,’ said she, ‘he lives hard by, and
glad enough he’ll be, poor man, to have anyone to talk
with him a bit, for it’s a lonesome life he leads in bed
there.’ .

“TI followed the woman, and when about a hundred
yards from the inn, she stopped at the door of » small
house, and called to Mrs. Meshin, to ‘go up and tell
old Roberts that one of his grandsons is here.’ A
snuffy old woman made her appearance, peered at me
through her spectacles, and then stumped up a pair
of stairs which faced the door. Shortly afterwards I
was desired to come up, and did so, I found an old
man with silver hairlyingin bed, and the said Mrs.
Meshin, with her spectacles, smoothing down the bed-
clothes, and making the place tidy,

“ «What cheer, old boy?’ said I, after T. P. Cooke’s

replied I, laughing, ‘ we

style.

te What do.you say? I’m hard of hearing, rather,’
replied the old man. a

“ «How do you find yourself, sir,’ said I. i

“©Oh, pretty well for an old man ; and so you’re my

andson Harry; glad to see you. You may go, Mrs.

eshin, and shut the door; and, do you hear, don’t
listen at the keyhole.’

“The stately lady, Mrs. Meshin, growled, and then
left the room, slamming the door.

“ +Sheis very cross, grandson,’ said the old man,
‘and I see nobody but her. It’s a sad thing to be bed-
ridden in this way, and not to get outin the tresh air,
and sadder still to be tended by across old woman, who
won't tallk when I want her, and won’t hold her tongue
when I want her. I’m glad to see you, boy. I hope
you won't go away directly, as your brother Tom did.
I want somebody. to talk to me, sadly; and how do
you like being at sea?’ ;

“*T like the shore better, sir.’

‘** Ay, so all sailors say, I believe ; and yet I would
rather go to sea than lie here all day long. It’s all
owing tomy being out as I used to do, night after
night, watching for poachers. I had too little bed
then, and now I’ve toc much of it. But the sea must
be grand. As the Bible says, ‘They who go upon the

great water, they see the wonders of the deep,’’

\

 

“IT was glad to find that the old man was so perfect
in all his mental faculties, and after having listened to,
rather than replied to, observations about his son and
my supposed brothers and sisters, by which I obtained
a pretty accurate knowledge of them, I wished him
good-bye, and promised to call and haye along talk in
the morning.

“On my return to the inn, I was able to reply to all
the interrogatories which were put to me relative to
my supposed relations, thanks to the garrulity of old
Roberts, and put many questions relative to the family
residing at the hall, which were freely answered, As
the evening advanced, many people came in, and the
neise and smoking was so disagreeable to me, that I
asked for a bed, and retired. The next. morning I
repaired to old Roberts, who appeared delighted to see
me.

“*You are a good boy,’ said he, ‘to come and see a
poer bedridden old man, who has not a soul that comes
near him perhaps in a week. And now tell me what
took place during your last Ta

“«The last vessel I was on board of,’ replied I, ‘was
a packet from Dover to Calais.’

“‘«Well, that must be pleasant ; so many passen-

ers.’
er ‘Yes, sir; and who do you think I saw on board
of the packet the other day--~somebody that you
know.’ ;

“*Ay, who?’

“«Why Lady R—~,’ replied I, ‘and that young gen-
tleman- who, I heard say, lived with her as her sery-
ant.’

“«Ay! gaid the old man, ‘indeed! then she has
done justice at last. I’m glad on it, Harry, glad on it,
for it’s a relief tomy mind. I was bound to the secret,
and have kept it ; and when a man is on the brink of
the grave, he does not like to have a secret like that
upon his mind, and I’ve more than once talked to my
daughter about ’——

“«What, Aunt Green ?

«Yes, your Aunt Green ; but she would never listen
to me. We both took our oath, and she said it was
binding ; besides we were paid for it. Well, well, [
thank God, for it’s a great load off my mind,’

“*Yes, sir,’ replied I, ‘you need not keep the secret
any longer now.’

“« And how has he grown up?’ said the old man ; ‘is
he good-looking ?’

“«Very much so, sir," replied I, ‘and looks very
much like a gentleman.’ ”

1 could not help laughing at this part of Lionel’s
story, although I could not but admit the truth,
Lionel observed it, and said :

“You cannot be surprised at my giving myselfa
ood character, Miss Valerie, for, as they say in the
itchen, it’s all that a poor servant has to depend up-

on.” 1

“*Go on,” replied I.

“* He was a very fine child while he lived with us;
but he was taken away at six years old, and I have
never seen him since.’

““*Some people say that he is very like Lady R——-.’

“«Well, why should he not be? Ay! she was once
a very beautiful young person.’

«Well, grandfather, I have never heard the rights
of that story,’ said I, ‘and now that you are at liberty
to tell it, perhaps you will let me have the whole his-
tory ?” ;

“*Well,’ said the old man, ‘as there fs no longer a
secret, I do not know but that I may. Your Aunt
Green, you know, was nurse to Lady R———, and re-
mained in the family for years afterwards; for old Sir
Alexander Mostyn was confined to his room for years
with gout and other complaints, and your Aunt Green |
attended him. It was just as Sir Alexander had recoy-
ered from a very bad fit that Miss Ellen, who was Lady
R ’s sister, and years younger than she was, made
arunaway match with Colonel Dempster, a very fash-
ionable, gay young man, who had come down here to
shoot with the present baronet. Every one was much
surprised at this, for all the talk was that the match
would be with the eldest sister, Lady R-——, and not
the youngest, They went off somewhere abroad. Old
Sir Alexander was in a terrible huff about it, and was
taken ill again; and Lady k- , who was then Miss
Barbara, appeared also muci distressed at her sister's
conduct, Well, a year or more passed away, when, one
day, Miss Barbara told your Aunt Green that she
wished her to go with her on a journey, and she set off
in the evening with four post-horses, and traveled all
night till she arrived at Southampton. ‘There she
stopped at a lodging, and got out, spoke to the land-
lady, and calling my daughter out of the chaise, de-
sired her to remain below while she went up stairs.
My daughter was tired of sta;ing so long, for she re-
mained there for five hours, and Miss Barbara did not
make her appearance; but they appeared to be very
busy in the house, running up and downstairs. At
last a grave person, who appeared to be a doctor, came
into the parlor, followed by the landlady—in the ‘parlor
in which my daughter was sitting.

* «Tt's all over, Mrs. Wilson,’ said he; ‘nothing could
save her; but the child will do well, I haye no foubt?

“** What’s to be done, sir ?’”? :

““ Oh,’ replied the doctor, ‘ the lady above stairs told
me that she was her sister, so of course we must look |
to her for all future arrangements.’ ”

“ «After giving a few directions about the infant,the
doctor left the house, and soon after that Miss Barbara
came down stairs. ‘

«««T’m quite worn out, Martha,’ said she, ‘let us go
to the hotel as fast as we can. You sent away the car-
riage, of course. I would it had remained, for I shall
hardly be able to walk so far.’

««*She took her arm, and as the landlady opened ‘the
door, she said; y 4

« ««T will call to-morrow and give directions about the
infant, and everything which is necessary. I never
went through such a trying scene,’ said Miss Barbara;

 

 

‘she was an old schoolfellow of mine, who entreated me
to come to her in her distress. She diedin giving birth
to her infant, and it was, I presume, with that preserti- © ‘
ment, that she sent for me, and entreated me, on her
death-bed, to protect the unfortunate child, for she his
been cast away by her relations in consequence of her |
misconduct. You have never had the small-pox,
Martha, have you?’
“«*No, miss, she replied, ‘you know I never have.’
«¢*Wellit was having the small-pox at the same tine
that she was confined, that has caused her death, and
that was the reason why I did not send for you to come
up and assist.’
| ““* My daughter made no answer, for Miss Barbara _
| Was of a haughty temper, and she was afraid of her; _ ‘
but she did not forget that the doctor had told the a
| landlady that Miss Burbara had stated the lady to be her ae
| Sister. My daughter Ladi thought it very odd that Miss
| Barbara had not tuid her, Guring their journey, where
| she was going, and whom she was going to see, for
Miss Barbara had wrapped herself up in her cloak, and
precended to be asleep during the whole time, only |
waking up to pay the post-boys; but Miss Barbara was j ’
of a very violent temper, and had, since her sister's f
marriage, been much worse than before; indeed, some: -
said that she was a Jittle mad, aud used to walk at:
moonlights. ' > ye
«When tiey arrived at the hotel, Miss Barbara went :
to bed, and insisted upon her sleeping in the same ©
room, as she was afraid of being aloue inan hotel, My ~
daughter thought over the business as she layin ved { ‘
and at last resolved to ascertain the truth; so she g
up early the next morning, and walked to the !od ‘7
house, and when the door was opened by the 7
lady, as to come from her mistress to inquire |
how the infant was. The reply was, thatit wasdoing
well; and then a conversation took place, in which my | ‘
daughter found out.that the lady did: not die of the —
small-pox, as Miss Barbara had stated. The landlady |
asked my daughter if she would not like to come up : t
and look at the corpse. My daughter consented, as it . 4
wis what she was about to request, und when she — Be
went up, sure enough it was poor Mrs. Dempster, . es
ne Ellen that was, who had run away with the col- — aes
onel, : : > :
“«eAn’t it a pity, ma’am,’ said the landlady, ‘her
husband died only two months ago, and they say he —
was so handsome a man; indeed he must have been, - he
for here’s his picture, which the poor lady wore round |
her neck.’ ¥ } j ita x
“«When your aunt had satisfied herself, and cried
a little over the body, for she was very fond of Miss — >
Ellen, she went back to the hotel as fast as she could, - ve seal
and getting a jug of warm water from the kitchen, she — oe ory
went into Miss Barbara’s room, and had just time to
throw off her bonnet and shawl, when Miss Barbara,

| woke up, and asked who was there. oe

“««Tt's me, miss,’ replied, my daughtex, ‘I’ve just —
gone down for some warm water for you, for it’s past 3
pice o’clock, and I thought you would like to be up t
early.’ 4 a

«+ Yes, I must get up, Martha, for Lintend to re-._
turn home to-day. It’s no use waiting here. I wi
have breakfast, and then walk to the lodgings, and
give directions. You may pack up in the meantime, |
tor I suppose you do not wish to go with me.” ,

“Oh no, miss,’ replied your aunt, ‘1 am fright- fe yt
ened out of my wits at having been in the house al-~ ae
ready, now thut I know that the lady died of the small- ee
pox.” 5 : x

‘‘* Well, Miss Barbara went away after breakfast,
and remained for two or three hours, whem she re-_ ;
turned, a servant bringing the baby with her, My Ay
daughter had packed up everything, aud in half an «
hour they were on the road back, the baby with them, — ‘h
in my daughter’s arms. Now, you see, it it had not, :
been for the accidental remark of the doctor in your,
aunt’s nee she would have been completely. de- . : :
ceived by Miss Barbara, and never would have known)
whose child it was; but your aunt kept her own coun-»
sel; indeed, she was atraid to do otherwise. | id .

“*As they went home, Mis8 Barbara talked a great ~
deal to your aunt, telling her that this Mra. Beding-) ante a
field was a great iriend of hers, with whom she had; “
corresponded for years after they had left echool; that. ,
her husband had been killed in a duel a short time.
before, that he was a gambler, and @ man of very bad. ‘ene
character, nevertheless she had promised Mrs. Bed. _ -
inyfield before she died, that she would take care of) *
the child, and that she would do so. She then said,
‘Martha, I should like your mother to take c Beis
of it; do you think that she would? but it claee et BP
a secret, fur my father would be very angry with me,
and besides, there might be unpleasant a
Your aunt replied, ‘that she thought her mother
would,’ and then Miss Barbara’s proposal that your —
aunt should get out of the chaise when they s rs
to change horses at the last stage, when it was | ,
and no one could perceive it, and; walk with the .
mae until she could find some conveyance to my,

Ouse. ‘ f

“*This was done, the child was brought. to your.
grandmother, who is now in heaven, and then your. es
aunt made known to us what she had discovered, and
whose child it was. I was very angry, and if Thad |
not been laid up at the time with the rheumatiim, |

 

 

 

 

| would have gone right into Sir Alexander's room, aid

told him who the infant was; but I was overrni: ty yt

your grandmother and your aunt, who then went }

away and walked to the hall. So weagreed that wo

would say exactly what Miss Barbara said to us when

she cama over to us on the next day.’” ; nS
“Well, then, Lionel, I have to congratulate you on

| being the son of a gentleman, and the nephew of Lady

|; R—-. I wish you joy with all my heart,” said I, ex-

| tending my hand. ca

| «Thank you, Miss Valerie. Itis true that I am so,

| but proofs are still to be given; but of that here-

after,”

 

 

 
—

f
}

 

VALERIE.

17

 

 

contrary, now that we separate, it has become stronger
than ever. How little do we know of the mysteries of the
mind, as well as of the body ! We know that we are fear-
fully and wonderfully made, and that is all. That there
are influences and attractions uncontrollable and unex-
plained, I feel certain. Often have I reflected and won-
dered on this as [have lain in bed and meditated even
to madness, but have been unable to remove the vail.
{Alas, poor Lady R—,, thought I, I doubt it not, you
were madder than I thought you were]. Imagine, then,
my yrief and horror when I found that you had deter-
mined to leave me, dear Valerie. It was to me as the
sentence of death ; but I felt that I could not resist 10
was my fate, and who can oppose its decrees ? It would
indeed have pained your young and generous heart if
you knew how I suffered, and still suffer from your
desertion ; but I considered it as ajudgment on me—a
visitation upon me for the crimes of my early years,
and which I am now about to confide to you, as the
only person in whom I feel confidence, and that justice
may be done to one whom I have greatly injured. I
would not die without reparation, aud that reparation
Tintrust to you, as from my own pen I can explain that
without which, with all my good intentions towards
the party, reparation might be difficult. But I must
first make you acquainted with the cause of crime ;
gp to do this you must hear the events of my early
ife.

“My father, Sir Alexander Mostyn, had four children,
two sons and two daughters. I was the first-born, then
my two brothers and, afterwards, at aninterval, my sis-
ter; that there was a difference of eight years between
me and my sister Ellen. Our mother died in giving birth
to Ellen ; we grew up; my brothers went to Eton and
college, I remained the sole mistress of my father’s
establishment. Haughty by nature, and my position,
the power it gave me, the respect I received—and if you
will look at the miniature I enclose with this, I may.
without vanity, add, my beauty niuie me imperions aud
tyrannical. Thad many adyantayeous offers, which I
rejected, before I was twenty years of age. My power
with my father was unbounded ; his infirmities kept
him for @ long time a prisoner in his room, und my
word was law to him, as well zs to the whole house-
hold. My sister Ellen, still a child, I treated with

arsiiness—first, I believe, bécause sie promised to

val me in good looks; and secondly, because my
father showed greater affection towards her than 1
liked. She was meek in temper, and. never
complained, Time passed—I refused many offers of
marriage. I did not like to resign my position for the
authority of a husband, and I had reached my twenty-
fitth year, and my sister Ellen was a lovely girl of
seventeén, when it was fated that all should be
changed.

“A Colonel Dempster came down with my eldest
‘brother, who was a captain in the same regiment of
guards—a more prepossessing person I never beheld,
and for the first time I felt that I would with pleasure
give up being at the head of my father’s establishment

o follow the fortunes of another man. If my predilec-
tion was so strong, I had no reason to complain of want
of attention on his part. He courted me in the most
obsequious manner, the style more suited to my
haughty disposition, and I at once gaye way to the feel-
ings with which he had inspired me. I became fervent-
ly in love with him, and valued one of his smiles more
than an earthly crown. Two months passed, his orig-
inal invitation had been'for one week, and he still re-

mained. The affair was considered as arranged, not

only by myself, but by everybody else. My father,
satisfied that he was a gentleman by birth, and being
able to support himself by his own means in so expen-
sive a regiment, made no inquiries, leaving the matter
to take itsowncourse. But although two months had
passed away, and his attentions to me were unremit-
ting, Colonel Dempster had made no proposal, which I
ascribed to his awe of me, and his diffidence as to his
success, This rather pleased me than otherwise ; but
my own feelings now made me wish for the affair to ba
decided, and I gave him every opportunity that modesty
and discretion would permit. Isaw little of him dur-
ing the mornings, as he went out with his gun with
the other gentlemen ; but in the evenings he was my
constant and devoted attendant. I received many con-
gratulations from female acquaintances (friends I had
none) upon my having conquered one who was sup-
Posed to be invulnerable to the charms of our sex, and
Made no disclaimer when spoken to on the subject.
Every hour I expected the declaration to be made,
when, imagine my indignation and astonishment, at
being informed one morning when I arose, that Colonel
Dempster and my sister Ellen had disappeared, and it
was reported that they had been seen in a carriage
driving at furious speed.

“Tt was but too true. It appeared that Colonel
Dempster, who had been informed by my brother of
my temper and disposition, and who was aware that
without paying court to me, his visit would not be ex-
tended, and who had fallen in love with Ellen almost
&s soon as he saw her, had practiced this dissimulation
towards me to enable him, without my knowledge, to
gain my sister’s affections ; that his mornings were not
spent in shooting with my brother, as was supposed,
but in my sister Ellen’s company; my brother, to
whom he had acknowledged his attachment, conniving
with him to deceive me. A letter from the colonel to
nity father, ar, himself for the step he had taken,
aud requesting him to pardou his daughter, was
brought in the same morning and read by me.
foolish of him,’ said my father ; ‘what is the use of
stealing what you may have for asking. He might have

Ellen if he had spoken to me 3 but I always
thought that he was courting you, Barbara.’

“ letter, proving the truth of the report, was too
much for me. I fell down at my father’s feet in a vio-
lent fit, and was carried to my bed. The next day I was
seized with a brain fever, and it was doubtful if ever
my reason weuld return. But it did gradually, and,

‘Very

| her to take the child to her father’s, saying thatI had .

after a confinement to my room of three months, I re-
| covered both health and reason, partially, I may say,
for I doubt not but that the shock I then received has
| hada lasting effect upon me, and that it has caused me
to be the unsettled, restless, wandering thing that I
| how am, only content when in motion, and using my
| pen to create an artificial excitement. I believe must
people are a little cracked betore they begin to wrile.
| { will not assert that it is a proof of madness, but it is
| a proof that a very little more would make them mad.
| Shakespeare says, ‘ the lover, the lunatic, and the poet,
are of an imagination all compact.’ It matters little
whether it an Beene or poetry ; there is often more in-
agination and more poetry in prose than in rhyme.
But to proceed :

“T arose with but one feeling—that of revenge ; I say
but one fecling, alas! I had forgotten to mention
hatred, the parent of that revenge, I felt myself mor-
tified and humiliated, cruelly deceived and mocked,
My love for him was now turned to abhorrence, and my
sister was an aversion. I felt that I never could forgive
her. My father had not replied to the colonel’s letter ;
indeed, the gout in his hand prevented him, or he
would probably have done so long before I left my
room. Now that I was once more at his side, he said
tome: 7

“*Barbara, I think it is high time to forgive and
forget. I would have answered the colonel’s letter ‘be-
fore, but Icould not.. Now we must write and ask
them to come and pay us a visit.

“‘T sat down, and wrote the letter, not according to
his dictation, which was all kindness, but stating that
my father would never forgive him or my sister, and
requested all correspondence might cease, as it would
be useless. ‘

“*Read what you have said, Barbara.’

“Tread the letter as if it was written according to
his wishes.

“*That will do, dearest--they’ll come back fast
enough. Tlong*to have Ellen in my arms again—she
was very precious to ine, that child, for she cost the
life of your dear mother. I want to ask her why she
ran away. I really believe that it was more from fear
of your anger than of mine, Barbara.’

“I made no reply, but foliled the letter and sealed it.
As I always opened the postbag, I prevented my father
from ever receiving the many letters written by my
poor sister, imploring his forgiveness, and did all I
could to excite his anger against her. At last I found
out from her letters, that they had gone to the conti-
nent. Months passed. My poor father fretted sadly
at the silence of Ellen, and the supposed rejection of
his kind overtures. His junhappy state of mind had
evidently an effect upon his body; he grew weaker and
more querulous every day. At last a letter arrived
from Ellen, which I now blush to say gave me inex-
pressible joy. Itannounced the death of her husband
—a tritling wound on the thumb having terminated in
lock-jaw and death.

““* He is dead, then,’ thought I; ‘If I lost him, she
has no Ionger possession of him.’

‘ Alas! what a demon had taken possession of me |
The letter further said that she was coming over
directly, and that she expected to be shortly confined.
‘This letter was addressed to me, and not to my father.
‘The death of her husband did not diminish my hatred
against my sister; on the coutrary, I felt as if [had her (
now in my power, and tuat my revenge upon her was
about to be accomplished. Atter meditating upon
what course I should pursue, I determined to write to
her. I did so, stating that my father’s anger was not
to be appeased; that I had tried all I could to soften
his wrath, but in vain; that he was growing weaker
every day, and I thought her rash conduct had been
the cause of it; that I did nof think that he could last
much longer, and I would make another appeal to him
in her favor, which the death of her husband would
probably occasion to be more successful.

“In a fortnight [had a reply, in whieh my poor sis-
ter invoked blessings on my head for my supposed
kinuness, and told me that she was in England, and ex-
pected every hour to be confined ; that she was ill in
body and pees. and did not think that she could I
get over it, © begged me, by the remembrance of
our mother, wbo died giving her birth, that I would
come to her. Surely] might have forgotten my enmity
after all that the poor girl had suffered; but my heart
was steeled,

“On consideration, I now thought proper to tell my
father that Colonel Dempster was dead, and my sister
returned to. England, adding her request that I would
attend her in her confinement, and my willingness so
todo. My poor father was much shocked, an begged
mein a tremulous voice to set off immediately. I
promised so to do, but requested that he would notsay
a word to any one as to the cause of my absence until
he heard from me, as. it would occasion much talk
among the servants, and perhaps ill-natured remarks
might be made. He promised, and I departed, with a
maid who had been my nurse, and ig whose secrecy
I thought I couldrely. What my intentions were, I
can hardly say ; all I knew was, that my revenge was
not , satiated, and I woutd leave no opportunity of
wreaking it that offered.

“Ifound my sister in the very’pangs of labor, heart-
broken at the supposed resentment of my father, and
his refusal of his forgiveness. I did not alleviate her
misery by telling her the truth, which I might have
done. I was indeed a demon, or possessed by one,

“ She died giving birth to a boy. I then felt sorrow,
until I looked at the child, and saw that it was the
image of the colonel—the man who had caused me
such misery. Again my passions were roused, and I
vowed that the child should never know his father. I
made my maid believe that the lady I visited was an
old school-tellow, and never mentioned my sisters
name, at least I thought so at the time, but I after-

promised my friend on her death-bed that I would
take care of it, but that it must be asecret, or invidious
remarks would be made. I then returned to Culver-
wood Hall, dropping my nurse and the child on my
way, and reported to my fathér my sister’s death, of
course concealing that the cuild was living. Sir _
Alexander was much affected, and wept bitterly ;
indeed, from that day he rapidly declined.

“ Thad now satiated my revenge, and was sorry when ~
Thad done so, Until then I had been kept pe by ex-
citement, now all excitement was over, and I had time.
for reflection. I was miserable, and ina state of con-
stant warfare with my conscience, but in vain; the
more I reflected, the more was dissatisfied with my-
self, and would have given worlds that I could rec:
what I had done. “

“At this time Sir Richard R—— came down on a
visit. He admired me, proposed, and was accepted,
chiefly that Imight remove from the hall, than from
any other cause. I thought that new scenes and
change of place would make me forget, but I was ‘sadly
mistaken. 1 went away with my husband, and as s,on
as I was away, I was in a constant fright lest my nurse
should betray me to my father, and begged. Sir Rich-
ard to shorten his intended tour and allow me to re-’
turn to the hall, as the accounts of my father's heulth
were alarming. My husband consented, and I had not
been at the hall more than a fortnight when my fa-
ther’s death relieved me from further anxiety on that
score, :

“Another fear now possessed me;I saw by my
father’s will that he had left £5,000 to me and also to
my sister ; in case of one dying, the survivor to have
both sums ; but the same cause of alarm was in my
great aunt’s will. My greataunt had lett £10,000 to me
avd £10,000 to my sister Ellen, to be settled upon us at
our marriage, and in case of either dying without is-
sue, the survivor to belegatee. Thusintwo .
by concealing the birth of the child, I was deprivin
it of its property, and obtaining it for a That |
was ignorant of these points is certain, and untortu-
nate it was that it was so, for had I known it, I would
not have dared to conceal the birth of the child, lest I
should have been accused of having done so tor pecu-
niary considerations, and I well knew that if betrayed
by my nurse, such w ould be the accusation madeayainst
me. I would willingly, even now, have acknowledged
t..e child as my nephew, but knew not how to do

oy

80,43 my husband had possession of the money,

and I dared not confess the crime that I had becn
guilty of. If ever retribution fell upon any-
one, it fell upon me. My life was one of perfect
misery, and whenI found that my nurse and her _
futher objected to keeping the secret any longer, I
thought I should have gone distracted. I pointed out
to them the ruin they would entail upon me, and gave
my solemn promise that I would seejustice done to the
child. This satisfied them. For several years I lived

an unhappy life with my husband, until 1 was at last

relieved by his death. You may ask how it was that I
did not acknowledge the child at his death; the t
was,that I was afraid. I had put hii to school, and

was then twelve or thirteen years old. I removed him

to my own house, with the intention of so doing, and be- —

cause my nurse and her father reminded me of my
promise ; but when he was in my house,I could not
see my way, or how I could tell the story without ac-

knowledging my guilt ; and this.pride prevented. — <

“Treninined thus irresolute, every day putting off the

‘

confessicn, till the boy, from first beingallowedtore :

muin in tue drawing-room, sank down into the kitchen,

Yes, Valerie, Lionel, the page, the lacquey, is Lionel —

Dempster, my nephew. I said that I could not bear to

make the avowal, and such is the case. AtlastI satis.

fied myself that what I did was for the boy's good. —
Alas ! how easily we satisfy ourselves when it suits our
views. Ihad left him my property, I t
him, and I said, by being brought up in a humble po-

sition, he will be oured of pride,and will makea better

man. Bad reasoning, I acknowledge. j i

“ Valerie, I have lett you my executrix, for even after —
my death, I would as much as possible avoid exposure. |
I would not be the talk of the town, even for a fort-
night, and it certainly will not help Lionel, when it is
known to all the world that he has served as a fi

My solicitor knows not who my nephew is, but is Tee

ferred to you to produce him. Ina small tin box in
the closet of my bed-room, you will find all the papers
necessary for his identification, aud also the names and
residence of thé purties who have been my accomplices
in this deed ; also all the intercepted letters ofmy poor —
sister’s. You must be aware, that Lionel is not only
entitled to the property Ihave left him, but also to his —
father's property, which, in default of heirs, passed —
away to others, Cunsult with my solicitor to take such —
steps as are requisite, without inculpating me more
than is necessary ; but if required, let all be known to _

 

  

 

x
od

=

 

 

 

my shame, rather than the lad should not be put in

possession of his rights.” »
“ You will, Iam atraid, hate my memory after this sad
disclosure; but in my extenuation recall to mind how —
madly I loved, how cruelly I was deceived, Remember —
also, that if not insane, I was tittle better at the time.
Iwas so criminal ; and may it prove to you a lesson —
how difficult it is, when once you have si aside
into the path of error, ever to recover the track,
“You now know all my sufferings, all my crimes.
You now know why I have been, not without truth,
considered as a person eccentric to folly, and occasion- —
ally on the verge of madness. Forgive me and
me, for I have indeed been sufficiently punished by an
ever-torturing conscience | Barbara R——.” |

 

 

 

 

pity 4

—— a 62

CHAPTER IX.

 

 

wards found that I had not deceived her. I persuaded

I pot the papers down on the table as soon as I had
finished them, and for a long while was in
meditation. ‘ 1

 
 

- butthat proves that you have a grateful heart. 1 speak

of domestic repose, 1t again recovers its freshness for

VALERIE,

   

a

 

 

and eight at seven shillings, and they took lessons | time is valuable,” said I; ‘‘so sit down, and let me married, or going to be married, that’s certain, if I stay
twice a week. I had also a school, for which I received | hear whether you have improved since I last gave you | here till I’m twenty-five.” ‘

about five guineas per week, and the singing at the
chapel, for which I received three. In iact, I was re-
ceiving about eighteen pounds a week during the win-
ter season; but it must be confessed that I worked |
hard for it, and expended two or three pounds a week

in coach hire. Nevertheless, although I now spent | may use such language, because I insisted upon it. I \:that L returned to them with you. They try by force
more money on my appearance, and had purchased w | was so uncomfortable at home, thatI could bear it no | to make me espouse their own incorrect notions ot right
piano, before the year was over, I had paid £250 into | longer, I must speak against my father and mother— | aud wrong, and it is ono scene of daily altercation.

Mr. Selwyn’s ‘hands to take careof for me. When I |
thought of what might have still been my position, had |
it not been for the kindness of poor Lady R——; when
I reflected how I had been cast upon the world, young |
and friendless, by Madame d’Albret, and that I was now |
making money rapidly by my own exertions, and that |
at such an early age (for! was but little past twenty |
years old), had I not reason to be gratéful ? 1 was so.and |
most truly so, and, moreover, I was happy, truly happy. |
All my former mirth and vivacity, which had been |
checked during my sojournin England, returned I im- |
proved every day in good looks at least, so everybody |
told me but Mr. Selwyn; and J gained that, which toa
certain degree my fizure required, more roundness and
expansion. And this was the poor Valerie supposed to
have been drowned in the river Svine |

I forgot to say, that about three weeks after Lionel
went to Paris, L received a letter from Madame d’Al-
bret, in which she thanked me warmly for having in-
troduced the young Englishman to her, as she took. it
as a proof of my really having forgiven her what she
never should forgive herself. She still indulged the
hope that she might one day embrace me. With re-
spect to Lionel, she said that he appeared a modest,
unassuming young lad, and that it should not be her |
faultif he did not turn out an accomplished gentle- |
man ; that he had already the best fencing and music
masters, and was working very hurd at the language.
As soon as he could speak French tolerably, he was to
commence German and Italian. She had procured hima
pension in an excellent French family, and he appeared
to be very happy.

Icould not help reflecting, as I read the contents of
this letter, upon the change which had taken place in
Lionel Dempster, as soon as he found himself estab-
lishedin his rights. From an impudent, talkative
page, he at once became a modest, respectiul and silent
young man, What could have caused this change? Was
it because, when a page, he felt himself above his
condition ; and now thathe had gained aname and
fortune, that he felt himself beneath it? I decided,
when I remembered how anxious he was. toimprove
himself, that such was the case ; and I further infer-
red that it showed a noble, generous, and sensitive
mind. And I now felt very glad that I had written to
Madame d’Albret, and all my objections to seeing her
again were removed. Why so? Because I was inde-
pendent. It was my dependence that made me so
proud and Bnlorbix’ng. In fact, I waa on better terms
with the world, now that I had somewhat raised my-
relf init. Iwas oneday talking over my life with
Mr. Selwyn, and after pointing out how I had been
taken in by my ignorance and confidence ; how much
wiser I had become already from experience, and my
hopes that I should one day cease to bea dupe, he re-

lied :
me My dear Miss Valeric, do not say 80. Tohave been
a dupe is to have lived ; we are dupes when we are full
of tue hope and warmth of youth. I am an old
man; my profession has given me rus knowledge
of the world ; knowledge of the world has made me
cautious and indifferent ; but this has not added to my
happiness, although it may have saved my pocket. No,
no ; when we arrive at that point, when we warm be-
fore no affection, doubting its truth; when we havo

ained this age-bought experince, which has left our
Soarts as dry as the remainder biscuits after a long
voyage—there is no happiness in this, Valerie. Better
to be deceived and trust again. Ialmost wish that 1
could now be the dupe of 8 woman or a false friend, for
I should then feel as if I were young again.”

“But, sir,’ replied I, “your conduct is at variance
with your language; why else such kindness shown to
me, a perfect atranger, and one without claims upon

ou ?’ ;
- “ You over-rate my little attention, my dear Valerie;

of myself as when in contact with the world. You
forget that I have domestic ties to which the heart is
ever fresh. Wore it not for home and the natural affec-
tions, we men would be brutes, indeed. The heart,
when in conflict with the world, may be compared toa
plant scorched by the heat of thesun; but, in the shade

the time.”

I have ctated that, through the recommendation and
influence of a Mademoiselle Adele Chabot, I taught
music at an establishment for young ladies at Kensing-
ton. It was what is called a finishing-school. The
terms were very high, and the young ladies did not
always sit down to boiled mutton; but, from what I
learned from Adele, in other points it was not better
than schools in general; but it had a reputation, and
that, was sufficient.

One day, I was informed by Mrs, Bradshaw, the pro-
prictress of the establishment, that I was to have a
new pupil the next quarter, which was very near; and
when it did arrive, and the young lady was brought in,
who should it be but Caroline. my former companion
and pupil at Madame Bathurst’s.”’ !

‘Valerie!’ exclaimed she, rushing into my arms.

«‘ My dear Caroline, this is an unexpected pleasure,”
said I; “ but how came you here?”

“‘T will tell you some day,” replied Caroline, not
wishing to talk about her family while the teacher,
who came in with her, was present.

«“‘T hope Madame Bathurst is well?” inquired I.

“Quite well, when I saw her last,” said Caroline.

“Well, my dear, we must work, and not talk, for my

 

  

a lesson.”

The teacher then left the room, and Caroline having
run over a few bars, stopped, and said, “I never can
play till I have talked to you, Valerie. You asked me
how Icame here. At my own request ; or, if a girl

I cannot help it ; for it is impossible to be blind; they
are so strange, 80 conceited, so spoiled by prosperity,
so haughty and imperious, and so rude and uncouth
to any whom they consider beneath them, that it is
paiutul to be in their company. Servants will not re-
main a month in the house—there is nothing but ex-
change, and everything is uncomfortable. After hay-
ing lived with my Aunt Bathurst, who you will ac-
knowledge to be a lady in every respect, I really
thought I was in a Hopital de Fous. Such assumption,
such pretention, such absurdities, to all which they
wished to make mea party, Ihave had a wilderness
of governesses, but not ene would or could submit to
the humilations which they were loaded with. At last,
by rebellingin every way, I gained my point, and have
escapéd to school. I feel that I ought not to speak dis-
paraginyly of my parents ; but still I must speak the
truth to you, although I would say nothing to others ;
so do not be angery with me, Valerie.’’

“Tam more sorry that it is so, than that you should

tell me of it, Caroline ; but from what I saw during |

my short visit, I can iully give credit to all you have
said.”

“ But isit not a hur’ case, Valerie, when you cannot
respect your parents?’ replied Caroline, putting her
handkerchief to her eyes.

“Jt is, my dear ; but still, on the whole, it is per-
haps for the best. You were taken from your parents,
and were well brought up ; you return to them, and
find them many degrees below you in the scale of re-
finement, and therefore you cannot respect them,
Now, it you had never left them, you would of course
have remained down at their level, and would
have respected them, having imbibed the same opin
ions, and perceiving nothing wrong in their conduct.
Now, which of the two would you prefer, if you had
the power to choose? ”’ ;

“ Most certainly to beas I am,” replied Caroline ;
but I cannot but grieve that my parents should not
lave been like my Aunt Bathurst.”

“ fagree with you in that feeling ; but what is—is,
and we must make the best of it. You must excuse
your parents’ faults ag much as you can, since your
education will not permit you to be blind to them,
by you must treat them with respect from a sense of

uty.”

*« That I have always done,” replied Caroline; “ but
it too often happens that I have to decide between the
respect I would show to my parents, and a sense of
justice, or a love of truth opposed to it—that is the
greatest difficulty.”

“Very true,” replied I, ‘‘and in such cases you must
act according to the dictates of your own conscience.”

“Well,” replied Caroline, ‘I think I have done wisely
in getting away altogether. I have seen little of my
Aunt Bathurst since you took me to my father’s house;
for, although some advances were made towards a re-
conciliation, as soon as my aunt was told that my
father and mother had stated that I had been most im-
properly brought up by her, she was so angry at the
false accusation, that all intercourse is broken off, I
fear, forever. Oh, how Ihave longed to be with my
aunt! But, Valerie, I never heard why you left her.
Some one did say that you had gone, but why was not
known.’? ;

“Twent away, Caroline, because I was no longer of
any use in the house after you had been removed, and
I did not choose to be an incumbrance to your aunt. I
peared gaining my livelihood by my own exertions, aa

am now doing, and to which resolution on my part, I
am indebted for the pleasure of our again meeting.”

‘Ah, Valerie I never loved you so much as I did after
I had. lost you,” said Caroline,

“That is generally the case, my dear,’’ replied I;
“but now if you please, we will try this sonata. We
shall have plenty of time for talking, as we shall meet
twice a week.” ’

Caroline oe ed the sonata, and then dropping her
fingers on the keys, said, ‘‘ Now, Valerie,do you know
what was one of my wild dreams which assisted in in-
ducing me tocome here? I'll tell you. Iknow that
I shall never find a husband at my father’s house. All
well-bred people, if they once go there, do not go a
second time, and whatever may be the merits of the
daughter, they have no time to find them out, and
leave the house, with the suppositton that she, having
been educated in so bad a school, must be unworthy
of notice. Now I mean, if I can, to elope from school,
thatis if Ican find agentleman to my fancy—not to
Gretna Green, but as soon ag I am married, to go to my
Aunt Bathurst direct, and you know that once under a
husband's protection, my father and mother haye no
control over me. Will you assist my views, Valerie?
It’s the only chance I have of happiness.” ‘

‘‘A-very pretty confession for a young lady, not yet
eighteen,” replied I; ‘anda very pretty question to
put to me, who have been your governess, Caroline. I
am afraid that you must not look to me for assistance,
but consider it, as you term it at first, a wild dream.”

“Nevertheless, dreams come true sometimes,” re-
plied Caroline, laughing; “and all I require is birth
and character; you know that I must have plenty ot
money.”

“But, my dear Caroline, it is not people of birth and
character who prowl round boarding-schools in search
of heiresses.”” :

“T know that; and that was why I asked you to help
me. At all events, ll not leave this place till Iam

 

   
    
   
  
 
     
    
  
   
   
  
    
  
    
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
   
   
   
   
    
  
   
   
   
   
  
   
  
  
    
  
   
    
   
      
  
   
  
   
  
 
  
   
  
  
    
  
    
  
   
 
 
   
   
   
   
 
  
 
   
  
     
        
  
  
     
    
       
 
   
     

“Well, do not make rash resolutions; but surely,
| Caroline, you have not reason to complain of your par- }
| ents’ treatment; they are kind and affectionate towurds |
you.”

“ Indeed they are not, nor were they from the time

 

| They abuse and Jaugh at Aunt Bathurst, I believe, on
| purpose to vex me; and, having never lived with them
| from my infancy, of course, when I met them, I had
to learn to love them. Iwas willing so to do, net-
witustanding their unkindness to my aunt, whom I
love so dearly, but they would not let me; and now 1
| really believe that they. care little about me; and
would care nothing, if 1 were not their only daughter,
— you know, perlups, that both my brothers are now
dead ?””

“Lknew that one was,” replied I.

“The other, William, died last year,” replied Caro-
| line; “ his death was a release, poor fellow, as he had s
| a complaint in the spine formany years. Do you know

what I mean todo? I shall write to Aunt Bathurst to
come and see ine.” /

“Well, I think you will be right in so doing; but
will not your father and mother come to you ?”

“No, for they are very angry, and say, that until T
come tomy senses, and learn the difference between .
people who are somebodies, und people who are nobod-
| ies, they will take no notice of me; and that I may re-
| main here till I am tired; which they think I shall soon
| be, and write to come back again, The last words ofmy
| father, when he brought me here and left me, were—‘I
leave you here to come to your senses.’ He was.
white with anger; but Ido not wish to talk any more
about them.”

“And your time is up, Caroline; 80 you must go and
ee for another pupil. Miss Greave i. the
next,’ }

Shortly after my meeting with Caroline, I received a A
letter from Lionel, stating that it was his intention to .
come over to England for a fortnight, and asking “ie
whether he could execute any commissions for me im
Paris, previous to his departure. He also informed me
that he had received a very kind letter from his uncle,
the baronet, who had had several interviews with Mr.
Selwyn, and who was fully satisfied with his identity,
and acknowledged him as his nephew. This gave me .
great pleasure. I replied to his letter, sta thatr
should be most happy to see him, but that as for com- .
missions, I was to poor to give him any. Madame |
@’Albret had sent her kind souvenirs to mein Lionel’s
letter, and I returned them in my reply. Indeed, now
that I was earning a livelihood, and by my own exer-
tions, I felt that I was every day adding to my means
and future independence, a great change, I may sately
say for the better, took place in me. My pride
lessened, that is, my worst pride was superseded by a
more Honestone. I had a etrange revulsion in :
towards Madame d’Albret, Madame Bathurst, and Lady
M——, andI felt that I could oy ee them all. I was no %
longer brooding over my dependent position, fuucying, :
perhaps, insults never intended, cr irritated by real
slights. Everything was couleur de rose with me,and
that voweur was reflected upon everything.” :

“Ah, Mademoiselle Valerie,’ suid Mi ® Gironac
to me one day, “I had noidea when I first made your F
segeeinaanes that you were so witty. My hu er
and all the gentlemen say that you hove plus esprit
than any women tiey ever conversed with.” at

“ When I firat knew you, Annette, I was not ioe
now I am happy, almost too happy, and that is the
reason I am #0 gay.” r Pai Tuk

“AndI don't think you hate the men so much as
you did,” continued she. ey

“Tam ina humor to hate nobody,” re Mist Ge “a

“That is true; and, Mademo ie Valerie, you will
marry one of these duys; mind,’ continued she, putting
up her finger, “ I tell you 80.” < :

“And I tell you no,” replied I. “I think thore is
one excuse fora woman marrying, which is, when she
requires some one to support her; that is not my case,
for I thank Heaven I can ae myself." ee

«« Nous verrons,” replied Madame Gieonaes me

Caroliné did, however, find the restraint of a school
rather irksome, and wished very much to go out with
me. When the holidays arrived, and the other ig la-
dies had gone home, I spéke to Mrs. as
she was very partial to me, and knew my former rela-
tions with Caroline, she gave her consent. y af.
terwards, Mrs. Bradshaw ted an invitation topass —
three weeks with some Cente; and I then pereeed ea
that Caroline should pass the remainder of the holi-
days with me, to which Mrs, Bradshaw also consented, —
much to Caroline's delight. Madame Gironac had.made —
up 4 bed for herin my room, and we werea very merry |

party. 2 Daren ‘al
he house, Lionél —

 

 

 

4an

A few days after Caroline came to t
made his appearance. I should hardly have believed it
possible that he could have so improved in appearance
in soshort atime. He brought me avery kind letter
from Madame d’Albre!, in which she begged, as a proof
of my having forgiven her, that I would not refuse a —
few presents she had sent by Lionel. They ondoed a
beautiful and expensive, and, when Thad hadsomecon-
conversation with Lionel, I made upmy mind that I »
would not return them, which certainly I at first felt 7 |
more inclined to do than to keep them. When Lionel
took leave, promising to come to dinner, Caroline |
asked me who that gentlemanly young man was, —
I replied that it was a Mr, Lionel Dempster, the nephew
of Lady R——; but further conversation was inter-
rupted by the arrival of young Mr. Selwyn, who came
with a message from his father inviting me to Kew. J
declined ‘the invitation, on the pleaof Caroline being
with me. Mr, Selwyn remained sometime conversing
with me, and at last inquired if I should like to go to

       

       
      
      
      
    
   
  

 
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|
1
wae
j
{
|

|

 

 

the next meeting at the Horticultural Gardens, at the
TP same time offering me two tickets. As I was anxious to
see the gardens, I accepted them. Ho told me that his
’ father would call for, us, and his mother and sisters
were to be there, and, then he took leave. your own inferences and conclusions—ce m’est egal.”

i “Who is Mr. Selwyn ?’’ inquired Caroline. We had a very pleasant dinner party. Adele tried to| “1 have seen him before,’’ replied Adele, carelessly ;
I told her. | flirt with Lionel, but it wasin vain. He liad no atten- | “but I forget his name.” .
{ “Well,” said she, “I have seen two nice young men | tions to throw away, except upon me; ouce he whis-| ‘Phen I can tell you,” added Madame Bathurst ; “it
i this morning; I don’t know which I like best, but I | pered, ‘‘I should not feel strange at being seated with | is Colonel Jervis, a very fashionable man, but not a
i) think Mr. Selwyn is the more manly of the two." | others, but to be by your side Seek make me awkward, | very great favorite of mine; not that I havo anything
“T should think so, too, Caroline,” replied I; “Mr. | Old habits are strong, and every now and then I find | to accuse him of particularly, except that he is said to

the demi-toilette is to gran that at on dress,” re- 5 Hf she for era did not return the salute, which
lied Caroline, ‘‘so don’t pretend to deny it.” adame Bathurst did.

. “‘ITdeny nothing, and Ladmit nothing,” replied Adele,| “Do you know that gentleman, Mademoiselle Cha-

laughing, “except that I am a woman, and now draw | bot?” inquired Caroline. “1 thought he bowed to you,

}
j
| | - VALERIE,
|
and not to aunt.”

} Selwyn is twenty-four. years old,I believe, and Mr. |
i Dempster is younger, I think, thar you are.”

| “I did not think he was so young; but, Valerie, are
i Wwe not to go to the National Gallery ?”

i} “Yes, when Monsieur Gironac comes home to escort
us; we may as well put on our bonnets, for he will be
here in a few minutes.”

I Mrs. Bradsnaw’s,” said Caroline, “and that I met you !,
| Ishould have been moped, that is certain, if I had not;
H but now I’m so happy—that’s Monsieur Gironac’s
1 ‘k, I’m sure.”

But Caroline was wrong, for it was Mademoiselle
Chabot, of whom I have before spoken, who made her
appearance. Mademoiselle Chabot was an acquain t-
ance of Madame Girondac, and it was through my hay-
ing become intimate with her that I obtained the teach-
ing at Mrs. Bradshaw's. Adele Chabot was a very pret-

" ty person, thoroughly French, and dressed with great
taste. She was the Tesident French teacher in Mrs.
Bradshaw’s establishment; and, although twenty-tive
years old, did not look more than eighteen; she was
very amusing and rather wild, although she looked
very demure. I never thought that there was anything

| wrong in Adele, but, at the same time, I did not con-
sider that Caroline would derive any good from her

A company, as Caroline een to be held in check as it

| _ was. But, as is usually the case, the more I attempted
to check any intimacy between them, the more inti-

i -mate they became. Adele was of a good family; her

$0 father had fallen at Montmartre, when the allies en-

I tered Paris after the battle of Waterloo; but the prop-

i erty left was very small to be divided among a large

i

i

 

he 7 family, and uently Adele had first gone ont as a
i verness at Paris, and ultimately accepted the situa-
: 7 now held. She spoke English remarkably

_ Well, indeed, better than I ever heard it spoken by a

Frenchwoman; and everybody said so as well as me.
if Well, Adele, I thought you were at Brighton,"’ said

} -Oaroline.. ; :

| ‘*I was yesterday, and I am here to-day; I am come to

Ei, dine with you,” replied Adele, taking off her bonnet and
{ _ Shawl, and smoothing her hair before the glass.

*Where’s Madame Girondac ?”

‘‘Gone out to give a lesson in flower-making,”’ ré-

p :
»’ Yes, she is like the little busy bees, always on the
wing, and, as the hymn says, ‘how neat she spreads
her wax!’ and monsieur, where is he ?”” ‘
“Gone out to give a lesson, also,”’ replied I.
 . . Yes, he’s like the wind, always blowing, one hour
/ the flute, another. the Frenck horn, then the bassoon
_ or the bugle, always blowing and always shifting from
_ one point to the other; never a calm with him, for
__ When he comes Lome there’s a breeze with his wife,
_ aV'aimable, to be sure.”
fw maces weatot Caroline, “ always blowing, but never
ee ows.” .
ig . “You are witty, Mademoiselle Caroline,” said Adele,
_ “with your, paradox. Do you know that I had an ad-
venture at Brighton, and I am taken for you, by 4 very
_ fashionable young man ?”

i “How can you have been taken for me?” said Caro-

      
     
  
  
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
   
   
   
   
  

Z £
“The gentleman wished to find out who I was, and I
would uot tell him. He inquired of the ghamber-maid
of the lodging-house, and bribed her, I presume, for
» the next day she came upto my room and asked me for
} | _-nry card, that her mistress might write my name down
_» correctl: nena the book. I knew that the mistress had
| not her, as Ihad by her request, entered my own
name in the book three days before, and I was there-
fore certain that it was to find out who 1 was, for the
gentleman who followed me everywhere. I recollected
that I had a card of yours in my case, and I- gave it to
_ her very quietly, and she walked off with it. The next
day, when I wasat the library, the gentleman addressed
me by your name; I told him that it was not my name,
i Saas that he would not address me again.
When | left Brighton yesterday I discovered the cham-
_ ber-maid copying the addresses I had puton my trunks,
which was your name, at Mrs. Bradshaw's; so now I
think we shall have some fun,”

“ But, my dear Adele, you have not been prudent ;
you may ——— Caroline very much,” said I;
“recollect that men talk, and something unpleasant

_ May occur from this want of discretion on your part.’’
* “Be not afraid, Valerie; I conducted myself with
ee enon that an angel's character could not suf-

_ “Tdonot mean to hint otherwise, Adele; but still
you must acknowledge that you have done an impru-
dent thing.” — -

“Weil, I do confess it; but, Valerie, every one has
uot your discretion and good sense. At all events, if I
see or hear any more of the gentleman, I can undo it
#,viu—but that is not very ukely.”

‘“We have had two gentlemen here to-day, Adole,”
waid Caroline, “ and one dines with us,”

“Indeed ; well, I’m in demd-toilette, and must remain
*0, a I cannot go all the way back to Mrs. Bradshaw's
to dress.”

Ss.
is a very handsome young man, is he not, Va-

He
lerie?"” , ‘
“Yes,” replied I, * and of large fortune, too.”
“Well, I shall not have a fair chance, then,”’ said
Adele, “ 0 back, I cannot.”

: “*Now, Adele, you know how much more becoming

“Oh, Valerie, how fortunate it was that I came to |

myself jumping up to change your plate.”

“It's uw great pleasure to me, Lionel, to find youin
| the position you are entitled to from your birth. You
| will soon sit down with people of more consequence
| than Valerie de Chatenceuf.”’

“But never with any one that I shall esteem or re-
| spect so much, be they who they may,” replied Lionel.

During dinner, I mentioned that Mr. Selwyn had
| called and engaged Caroline and me to go to the horti-
| cultural fete.

| be a very worldly man,

| ‘*Is he of good family ?”’ inquired Adele.

| “Oh, yes, unexceptionable on that point; but it is
time for me to go. There is my party coming down the

| walk. Caroline, dear, I will call upon you to-morrow

| at three o'clock, and then we will make our arrange-

| ments,”

| Madame Bathurst then bade adieu to Mr. Selwyn and

| the rest, saying to me, “ Au revoir, Valerie.”

Shortly afterwards we agreed to leave. As Mr.

|
| “J wish Madame Gironac was going,’’ continued I, | Selwyn was returning to Kew, I would not accept the

and earn some money.” o

“Madame,’’ cried Monsieur Gironac, pretending to be |
very angry, and striking with his fist on the table, so as |
to make all the wine glasses ring, “you shall do no |
such thing. You shall not always oppose my wishes. |
You shall not stay at home and earn some money. You |
shall go out and spend money, Yes, madame, I will be |
obeyed ; you shall go to the horticultural fete, and I in-
vite Monsieur Lionel and Mademoiselle Adele to come
with us, that they may witness that Iam the master.
Yes, madame, resistance is useless. You shall goina
remise de ver, or glass coach, asround as a pumpkin ;
but you shall not go in glass slippers, like Cinderella,
because they are not pleasant to walk in. How Cinder-
ella danced in them has always been a puzzle to me,
ever since I was 4 child, and of what kind of glass they
were made.”

“ Perhaps isinglass,’’ said Lionel.

. “No, sir, not isinglass; it must have been fairy glass;
but never mind. I ask you, Madame Gironac, whether
you intend tobe an obedient wife, or intend,'to re-
sist my commands?’’

.“ Barbare,”’ replied Madame Gironac, “ am I then to
be forced to go to atete! Ah, cruel man, you’ll break
my leart ; but Isubmit to my unhappy destiny. Yes,
I will go in the renvise de ver; pity me, my good friends,
but you don’t know that man.”

“Tam satisfied with your obedience, madame, and
now I permit you to embrace me.”

Madame Gironac, who was penne A at the idea of
going to the tete, ran to her husband, and kissed him
over and over again. Adele and Lionel accepted Mon-
sieur Gironac’s invitation, and thus was the affair set-
tled in Monsieur Gironac’s queer way,

The day of the horticultural fete arrived. It was a
lovely morning, We were all dressed and the glass-
coach wag at the door, when Mr. Selwyf arrived in his
carriage, and Caroline andIsteppedin. I introduced
Caroline, who was. remarkably well dressed, and very
pretty. Mr. Selwyn had before told me that he was ac-
quainted with Madame Bathurst, having met her two
or three times, and sat by her at a dinner-party. He ap-
peared much pleased with Caroline, but could not
make out howshe wasin my company. Of course, he
asked no questions before her.

On our arrival at the gardens, we found young Mr.
Selwyn wuiting atthe entrance to take us to Mrs. Sel-
wyn and his sisters, who hadcome from their house at
Kew. About half an hour afterwards, we fell in with
Monsieur Gironac, madame, Adele, and Lionel. Mr.
Selwyn greeted Lionel warmly, introducing him to his
family; and on my presenting the Gironoc’s and Adele,
was very polite and friendly for he knew from me how
kind they had been. Adele Chabot never looked so
well; her costume was most becofhing; she had put
on her air mutine, and was admired by all that passed
us. We were all grouped together close to the band,
when,who should appear right in front of us, but Mad-
ame Bathurst. At that time Caroline was on the one arm
of Mr. Selwyn, and I on the other.

“Caroline !’? exclaimed Madame Bathurst, “ and you
here!" turning tome. ° ¢

While she remained in astonishment, Caroline ran up
and kissed her, ~ : :

“You recollect Mr. Selwyn, aunt, do you not?”

““Yes,’’ said Madame Bathurst, returning the salute
of Mr. Selwyn, “ but still I am surprised.’

“Come with me, aunt, and I will tell you all about
it.’

Caroline then walked to a seat at a little distance,
sat down, and entered into conversation with Madame
Bathurst. In a few minutes, Madame Bathurst rose,
and came up to our party, with Caroline on her arm,

She first thanked Mr. Selwyn for his kindness in
bringing her niece to the fete, and then turning to me,
said, with some emotion, as she offered her hand,
“Valerie, | hope we are triends. We have mistaken each
other.”
= I > all my resentment gone, and took her offered

and.

She then led me aside, and said, «1 must beg your
pardon, Valerie, I did not ’’——

“ Nay,” replied I, interrupting her, ‘I was too hasty
and too proud.”

“You are a good, kind-hearted girl, Valerie—but let
= Say No more about it. Now introduce me to your
friends.”

I did so. Madame Bathurst was most gracious, and |
appeared very much struck with Adele Chabot, and en-
tered into conversation with her, and certainly Adele
would not have been taken for a French teacher by her
appearance. There was something very aristocratic
about her. While they were in Converse, a very gen- |
tleman-like man raised his hat to Madame Bathurst, as

 

 

“‘she is so fond of flowers.” | offer of his carriage to take Caroline and me to London;
“ Never mind, my dear Valerie ; I will stay at home | the glass coach, round as a

pumpkin, would hold six,
and we all went away together.

I was very much pleased at thus meeting with
Madame Bathurst, and our reconciliation, and quite as
much so for Caroline's sake; for although she had at
first said that she would write to her aunt, she had put
it off continually, for reasons which she had never
expressed to me. Irather think that she feared her
aunt might prove a check on her, and I was, therefore,
very glad that they had met, as now Madame Bathurst
would’ look after her,

During the evening, I observed that Adele and Caro-
line had a long conversation sotto voce. I suspected
that the gentleman, at whose appearance she had
colored up, was the subject of it. The next day
Madame Bathurst called, and heard a detailed account
‘ot all that had passed trom Caroline and from me since
we had parted. She said, that as Caroline was put to
the schoo) by her father, of course she could not
remove her, but that she would call and see her as
often as she could, She congratulated me upon my
little independence, and trusted that we should ever
be on friendly terms, and that I would come and visit
her whenever my avocations would permit me. AB
there were still three weeks of the holidays remaining,
she proposed that we should come and pass a portion
of the time with her at a villa which she had upon the
banks of the Thames.

She said that Caroline’s father and mother were down
at Brighton, giving very gay parties. Having arranged
the time that the carriage should come for us on the
following day she kissed us both affectionately, and
went away.

The next day we were at Richmond, ina delightiwl
cottage ornee; and there we’ remained for more than
atortnight. Tomeit wasatime of much happiness,
for it was like the renewal of old times, and I was sorry
when the visit was over.

On my return, { founda pressing invitation for Caro-
line and me to go to Kew, and remain two or three
days : and as we had still time to pay the visit, it was
accepted ; but, betore we went, Adele came to see us,
and, after a little general conversation, requested that
she might speak to me in my own room,

“*Valerie,’’ said Adele, as soon as we were seated, “I
know that you think mea wild girl, and perhaps I am
so; but Iam not quite so wild as I thought myself;
for now that I am in a critical position, I come to you
for advice, and for advice ayainst my own feelings, for I
tell you frankly, that Iam very much in love—and
moreover—which you may well suppose, most anxious
tobe relieved trom the detestable position of a French
teacher in a boarding-school. I now: have the oppor-
tunity, and yet I dread toavail myself of it, and I there-
fore come to you, who are so prudent and so Bae, to
request, after you have heard what Ihave to impurt,
‘you will give me your real opinion as to what I ought
todo. You recollect I told you that a gentleman had
followed me at Brighton, and how for mere frolic I had
led him to suppose that I was Caroline Stanhope, I
certainly did not expect to see him again, but I did
three days after I came up from Brighton. The girl had
evidently copied the address on my trunk for him, and
he followed me up, and he accosted me as I was walking
home. He told me that he had never slept since he
had first seen me, and that he was honorably in love
withme. I replied that he was mistaken in supposing
that I was Caroline Stan Pr that my name was Adele
Chabot, and that now I had stated the truth to him, he
would alter his sentiments. He declared that he should
not, pressed me to allow him to call, which I refused,
and such was our first interview. Onis ®

“T did not see him again until atthe horticulteral
fete, when I was talking to Madame Bathurst. He had
told me that he was an officer‘in the army, but he did
not mention his name. You recollect what Madamo
Bathurst said about him, and who he was. Since you
have been at Richmond, he has contrived to see me
every day, and I will confess that latterly I have not
been unwilling to meet him, for every day I have been
more pleased with him. On our first meeting a{ter the
fete, I told him that he still supposed me to be Caro-
line Stanhope, and that seeing me et with Caro-
line's aunt had confirmed him in his idea; but I assured
him that I was Adele Chabot, a girl without fortune,
and not, as he supposed, a great heiress. His answer
was, that any acquaintance of Madame Bathurst’s must
be a lady, and that he had never inquired or thought
about my fortune. That my having none, would prove
the disinterestedness of his affection for me, and that he
required me and nothing more. I have seen him every
day almost since then; he has given me his name, 4nd
made proposals to me, notwithstanding my reiterated
assertions that I am Adele Chabot, and not Caroline
Stanhope. One thing is certain, that Iam very much

I thought, and passed on. Adele colored up, I observed, | attached to him, and if 1 do not marry him, I shall be

7

 

4

 
am 2

—

eee

VALERIE.

 

 

 

very miserable for along time;”’ and here Adele burst
into tears.

“But why do you grieve, Adele?” said I; “you like
him, and he offers to marry you. My advice is very
simple.—marry him.”

“Yes,”’ replied Adele, “if all was as it seems. I agree
with you that my course is clear; but, notwithstand-
ing his repeated assertions that he loves me as Adele
Chabot, Iam convinced in my own miud that he still
believes me to be Caroline Stanhope. Perhaps he thinks
that [am a romantic young lady who is determined to
be married pour ses beaux yeux alone, and conceals het
being an heiress on that account, and he tierefore hu-
mors me by pretending to believe that Iam a poor girl

without a shilling. Now, Valerie, here is my difficulty. |

If I were to marry him, as he proposes, when he comes
to find out that he has been deceiving himself, and
that Iam not the heiress, will he not be anyry, and
perhaps disgusted with me—will he not blame me in-
stead of himself, as people always do, and will he not
ill-treat me? If he did,it would break my heart. for I
love him—love him dearly. Then, on the other hand,
I may be wrong, and he may be, as he says, in love
with Adele Chabot ; so that I shall have thrown away
my chance of happiness from an erroneous idea, What
shall I do, Valerie? Do advise me."’ j

“Much will depend on the character of the man,
Adele. You have some insight into people’s characters,
what idea have you formed of his?’

“T hardly can say ; for when men profess to be in
love, they are such deceivers. Their faults are con-
cealed, and they assume virtues which they do not
possess. On my first meeting with him, I thought
that he was a proud man—perhaps I might say a vain
man—but, since I have seen more of him, I think I wa
wrong.”’ {

“No, Adele, depend upon it you were right; at that
time you were not blinded as you are now. Do you
think him a good-tempered man ?"’

“Yes, I firmly believe that he is. I made a remark
at Brighton ; a child that had its fingers very dirty ran
out to him, and, as it stumbled, printed the marks of
its fingers upon his white trousers, so that he was
obliged to return home and change them. Instead
of pushing the child away, he saved it trom falling,
saying,‘ Well, my iittle man, it’s better that Ishould
change my dress than that you should have broken
your head on the pavement,’ ”’

“Well, Adele, I agree with you that it is a proof of
great good temper.”

“Well, then, Valerie, what do you think?’

“Tthink that itis alottery ; but all marriages are
lotteri:s, with more blanks than prizes, You have
done a1 yon can to undeceive him, if he still deceives
himseif. You®an do no more. I will assume that he
does deceive himself, and that disappvintment and ir-
ritation will be the consequence of his discovery, that
you have been telling the truth. Ifhe isa vain man,
he will not like to acknowledge to the world that he
lias been his own dupe. Ifheis a good-hearted man,
le will not long continue angry ; but, Adele, much de-
pends upon yourself- You must forbear all recrimina-
tion—You must exert all your talents of pleasing to
reconcile him to his disappointment ; and, if you act
wisely, you will probably succeed. Indeed unless the
mian isa bad-hearted man, you must eventually succeed,
You best know your own powers, and must decide for
yourself,” :

“Tt is that feeling—that almost certain feeling that I
shall be able toconsole him for his disappointment,
that impels me on, Valerie, I will make Lim love me
Iam determined.”

“And when a woman is determined on that point,
she invariably succeeds in the end, Adele. Tiis is sup-

posing that he is deceiving himself, which may not be >

the case, Adele; for I do think. that you have sufficient
attractions to make a man love you for yourself alone ;
and recollect that such may be the casé in the present
instance. It may be that at first he followed you as an
heiress, and has since found out that if no‘ an heiress,
you area very charming woman, and has in conse-
quence been unable to resist your influence. However,
there is only one to whom the secrets of the heart are
known. I consider that you have acted honorably, and
it you choose to risk the hazard of the die, no vne can
attach blame to you.” ;

“Thank yon, Valerie ; you have taken a great load
off my heart. If you think I am not doing wrong, I will
risk everything.”

“ Well, Adele, let you decide how you may, [hope you |

will prosper. For my part, I would not cross the
street tor the best man that ever was created. As
friends they are all very well; as advisers, in some cases,
they are useful: but when you talk of marrying one, and
becoming his slave, that is quite another affair. What
were you and Caroline talking about so earnestly in
the corner ?”’ R

“I will confess the truth; it was of love and mar-
riage, with an episode about Mr. Clarles Selwyn, of
whom Caroline appears to have a very good opinion.”

“Well, Adele, I must go down again now. If you
wish any advice at any future time, such as it is, it is
at yourseryice, You are making ‘A Bold Stroke for a
Husband,’ that’s certain. However, the title of another
play is, ‘ All’s Well that Ends Well.’”’

“ Well, I will follow out your playing upon plays,
: vee by saying that with you, ‘Love’s Labor's

Ort, a@

*: Exactly,” replied I, “‘ because I consider it ‘Mu
Ado about’ Not ng.’’’ nae

The next day, Lionel came to bid me farewell, as he
was returning to Paris. During our sojourn at Madame
Bathurst's he had been down to see his uncle, and had
been very kindly received. I wrote to Madame d’Al-
bret, thanking her for her presents, which, valuable as
they were, I would not return after what she had said,
and confided to Lionel a box of the flowers in wax that
I was so successful in imitating, ahd which I requested
her to put on her side-table in remembrance of me. Mr.

Selwyn sent the carriage at the time appointed, and we
bay me slown to Kew, where I was as kindly received as
efore.

What Adele told me of the conversation between Caro-
line and her made me watchful, aud before our visit
was out, I had made up my mind that there was a mu-
tual feeling between her and young Mr. Selwyn, When
we were going away this was confirmed, but I took no
notice. But although I made no remark, this com-
mencement of an attachment between Caroline and
him occupied my mind during the whole of our journey
to town.

In Caroline's position, I was not decided if I would
encourage it and assist it. Charles Selwyn was a
gentleman by birth and profession, a very good-looking
and very talented young man. All his family were
amiable, and he himself remarkably kind-hearted and
well-disposed. That Caroline was not likely to return
to her father’s house, where I felt assured that she was.
very miserable, wis very evident, and that she would

 

soon weary of the monotony of a school at her age was |
also to be expected, There was, therefore, every proba-
bility that she would, if she found an opportunity, run
away, as she stated to me she would, and it was ten |
chances to one that in so doing she would make an un- |
fortunate match, either becoming the prey of some for- |
tuno-hunter, or connecting herself with some thought- |
less young man,

Could she do better than” marry Mr. Selwyn? Cer-
tainly not. That her father and mother, who thought
only of dukes and earls, would yive their consent, was
not very likely. Should I acquaint Madame Bathurst ?
That would be of little use, as she would not interfera.
Should I tell Mr. Selwyn's father? No. If a match at |
all, it must be @ runaway match, and Mr, 8:lwyn, |
senior, would never sanction anything of the kind. I
resolved, thereture, to let the atluir ripen as it might.
It would occupy Caroline, and prevent her doing a
more foolish thing, even if it were to be ultimately
broken off by unforeseen circumstances, Caroline was
as much absorbed by her own thoughts as I was dur-
ing the ride, and not a syllable was exchanged between
us till we were roused by the rattling over the stones,

“My dear Caroline, what a reverie you have been in,”
said I.

“And you, Valeric.”’

“Why, Lhave been thinking: certainly, when I can-
not have a more agreeable companion, [amuse myself
with my own thoughts.”

“Will you tell me what you have been
about?”

“Yes, Caroline, provided you will be equally con-
fiding.”

“T will, I assure you.”

“Well, then, I was thinking of a gentleman.”

“And so wasI,” replied Caroline. .

“Mine was a very handsome, clever young man.””

“And so was mine,” replied she.

“But Iam not smitten with him,” continued I.

“I cannot answer that question,” replied Caroline,
“because I do not know who you were thinking about.”

“You must answerthe set as to the gentleman
you were thinking of, Careline. Irepeat that I am not
smitten with him, and that his name is Mr, Charles
Selwyn.”

“T was also thinking of Mr. Charles Selwyn,” replied
Caroline.

‘And you are not smitten with him any more than 1
am, or he is with you?’ continued I, smiling, and
looking her full in the face.

Caroline colored and said :

“Tlike him very much trom what I have seen of
him, Valerie; but recollect, our acquaintance has been
very short.” athy

“A very proper answer, my dear Caroline, and given
with due maidenly decoriam—but here we are; and
ire is Madame Gironac nodding to us from the win-

jow.””

The next day Caroline went back to Mrs. Bradshaw's,
and I did not see her till the music-lesson of Wednes-
day afterwards, Caroline, who had been watching for
me, met me at the door.

“Oh! Valerie, I have a great deal to tell. In the
first place, the establishment is in an uproar at the
disappearance of Adele Chabot, who has removed
her clothes, and gone off without beat of drum,
One of the maids states that She has several times
seen her walking and talking with a tall gentle-
man, and Mrs. Bradshaw thinks that the reputation of
her school is ruined by Adele’s flight. She has drunk at
least two bottles of Eau-de-Cologne and water, to keep
off the hysterics, and is now wring, on the sofa, talking
in a very incoherent way. Miss Phipps says she thinks
her head is affected.’

wi sould think it was,’ replied I,‘ Well, is that
all?” 3

* All! why, Valorie, you appear to think nothing of
an elopement. All! why, isit not horrible ?”

“I do not think it very horrible, Caroline; but I am
glad. to find that you have such correct ideas on that
point, it satisfies ne that nothing would induce you to
take such a step.”

“Well,” replied Caroline, quickly, “what Thad also
to communicate is, that I have seen my father, who in-
forme me that on their return from Brighton in Octo-
ber, they expect that I will come home. He said that it
was high time that I was settled in life, and that IT
could not expect to be married if I remained at a board-
ing-school.”

“Well, and what did you say?”

“T said that I did not expect to be married, and T did
not wish it; that I thought my education was far from
complete, and that I wished to improve myself.”

“Well ?”

“Then he said that he should submit to my caprices
no longer, and that I should go back in October, as he
had decided.”

« Bell!”

thinking

 

 

‘Isaid no more, and he went away.”

Having received all this intelligence, I went up stairs
I found Mra. Bradshaw crying bitterly, and she threw
herself into my arms.

“Oh, Mademoiselle Chatenwuf!—the disgrace ?--the

Adéle

| rnin !—I shail never get over it,” exclaimed.she.

“Tsee no disgrace or ruin, Mrs. Bradshaw.

| has told me that a gentleman had proposed marriage

to her, and asked my advice.”

“Indeed,” exclaimed Mrs. Bradshaw.

bee

“Well, that alters the case; but still, why did she
leave in this strange way ?” ,

“‘Tpresume the gentleman did not thinkit right that
she should marry out of a young ladies’ establishment,

| madame ?”

“Very true; I did not think of that,’’

“ Aiter all, what is it? Your French teacher is mar-
ried—surely that will not injure your establishment.”

“No, certainly—why should it ?—but the news came
upon me so abruptly, that it quite upset me, Iwill lie
down a little, and my head will soon be better.”

Time went on; so did the school. Miss Adele, that
was, sent no wedding cake, much to the astonishment |
of the young ladies; and it was not till nearly three
weeks afterwards that I had aletter from Adele thibot,
now Mrs. Jervis. But, before I give tho letter to my read-
ers, I must state, that Mr. Selwyn, junior, had called
upon me the day befors Caroline went to school, and
had had a long conversation with her, while I went out —
to speak with Madame Gironac on business; further, —
that Mr. Selwyn, junior, called upon me a few days at-
terwards, and after alittle common-place conversation,
de anglaise, about the weather, he asked after Miss
Caroline Stunhope, and then asked many questions, As
T knew what he wished, I made to him a full statement
of her position, and the unpleasant predicament in
which she was placed. I also stated my conviction that
she was not likely to make a happy match, if her hus-
band were selected by her father and mother; and how
much [ regretted it, as she was avery amiable, kind-
hearted girl, who would make an excellent wife to any-
one deserving ofher, He thought so too, and professed
great admiration of her; and haying, as he thought,
pumped mo sufficiently, he took his leave. '

A tew days afterwards, he came upon some pretended
message from his father, and then I told him that she _
was to be removed in October, This appeared to dis-
tress him; but he did not forget to pull out of his |
pockot apiece of music, sealed up, telling me that, by
mistake, Caroline had left two pieces of music at Kew,
and had taken awayone belonging to his sister Mary; that.
he returned one, but the other was mislaid, and would
be returned as soon as it was found; and would I
oblige him so far as to Serer Miss Stanhope to send
him the piece of music belonging to his sister, if she
could lay her hand upon it? ee La

“Well, I will do your bidding, Mr. Selwyn,” replied
I; “itis a very proper messaye for s music-mist to
take; and I will also bring back your sister's music,
when Caroline gives it me, and you can call

\

here for it,
If Iam out, you can ask Madam Gironac to give it to
you.” Upon which, with many thanks and much grat-
itude for my kindness, Mr. Selwyn withdrew. =
Having wen all this known to the reader, he shall
now have the contents of Adele’s letter. tow Tat” Dae)
—— ee
OHAPTER XI. :
WE must now read Adele's letter. ; “o

“My Dear VALERIE :—The die is cast, and 1 have’
now a most difficult game to. play. I have risked
upon it, and the happiness of my fiiture lite is at stake.
But let me narrate what has passed since I made you”
my confidante, Ofcourse, you must know the day on
which 1 was missing. On that day I walked out. with
hitn, and we were in a few minutes joined by a friend”
of his, whom he introduced as Major Argat.
ceeding about one hundred yards farther we arri at
achapel, the doors of which were open, and the verger
looking out, evidently expecting somebody, =

“«My dear angel,’ said the colonel, ‘I have the —
license in my pocket ; I have reques
to attend; he is now in the chapel, and al) is ready,
friend will be a witness, and there are others in attend-
ance. You have said that you love me, trust yourself _
tome. Prove now that you are sincere, and ‘consent
at once that our hands as well as our hearts be.

united.’

“Oh! how I trembled. I could not speak. The —
words died away upon my lips. I looked at nth Tee
ploringly. Heled me gently, for my resistance was —
more in manner than in effect, and I found) fwith-
in the chapel, the verger bowing as he precede ‘us, and
the clergyman waiting at the altar. To retreat
appeared impossible; indeed I hardly ‘felt as if T
wished it, but my feelings were so excited that I burst
into tears. at the clergyman’ may have
thought of my conduct, and my bein arekeed £0 little
like abride, I know not; but the colonel handed the
license to his friend, who took it to the cl nan
while I was recovering myself. At last we wen up to

-

‘

fe

i

the altar, my head swam, and I hardly knew what wan

said, but I repeated the responses, and ] was—a wife.
When the ceremony was over, and I was attem ting te
rise from my knees, I fell, end was carried by the colo;
nel into the vestry, where T remained on a chair trem:
bling with fear, After a time, the colonel asked me if
Iwas well enough to sign my name to the marriage
register, and he put the pen in my hand; I could not
see where to sign, my eyes were swimming with tears.
The clergyman guided my hand to the place, andl |
wrote Adele Chabot. The knowledge what the effect
of this signature might possibly have upon my hus-
band quite overcame me, and I sank my head wi
upon my hands upon the table, COLO Ue Pree Bar nee ‘
“ey best ase fora glass of water, sir,” said the clergy. ye
man, leaving the vestry to call ‘ ; ‘
“the lady is fainting,” SD AA RRGEY sees
“After he went out, I heard the colonel and hig

 

the clergyman h
2 ta

 
 

 

 

ee 2
pte eo panel iancotlag tas ce NEA ti ge has aP ean epee eloae

eas

 

VALERIE,

 

 

 

friend speakiug in low tones apart. Probably they
thought that I was not in a condition to pay attention
to them—but I had too much at stake.

“*Yes,’ replied the colonel, ‘she has signed, as you
say, but she hardly knows what she is about. Depend
upon it, itis as I told yon.’

“T did not hear the major’s reply, but I did what the
colonel said.

“ ‘It’s all the better; the marriage will not be legal,
and I can bring the parents to my own terms.’

“ All doubt was now at an end, He had married me
convinced, and still convinced that I was Caroline
Stanhope, and not Adele Chabot, and he had married
me supposing that 1 was an heiress. My blood ran
cold, and in a few seconds I was senseless, and should
have fallen under the table, had they not perceived
that I was sinking, andran to my support. The arrival
of the clergyman with the water recovered me. My
husband whispered to me that it was time to go, and
that a carriage was at the door. I do not recollect how
Tleft the church; but the motion of the carriage first
roused me up, and a flood of tears came to my relief.
How strange it is, Valerie, that we should be s0_cour-
ageous and such cowards at the same time. Would

_ you believe, when I had collected myself, with a
certain knowledge that my husband had deceived him-
self—a full conviction of the danger of my position
when he fond out his mistake, and that my future
happiness was at stake—I felt glad that the deed was
done, and would not have been unmarried again for the
universe. AsI became more composed, I felt that it
was time to act. I wiped away my tears and said, as
I smiled upon my husband, who held my hand in
his, ‘I know that I have behaved very ill, and very
foolishly, but I was so taken by surprise.’

“«Do you think that 1 love you the less for show-
ing so much feeling, my dearest?’ he replied; ‘no,no,
it only makes you still more dear to me, as it con-
vineos me what a sacrifice you have made for my

Bake.”

“Now, Valerie, could there be a prettier speech, or
one $0 ap tly sincere, from a newly-married man
to his bride, and yet recollect what he said to his friend
not a quarter of an" hour ‘before, about nee my

uts in his power by the marriage not being legal?
really am inclined to believe that we have two souls,
a good and an evil one, continually striving for the
mas! ; one ror this world, and the other for the next,
and that the evil one will permit the good one to
= its influence, provided that at the same time it
its own or an equal share in the direction of us.
For instance, I believe the colonel was sincere in what
he said, and really does love me, supposing me to be
Caroline Stanhope, with the mundane advantages to be
gained by the marriage, and that these better feelings
of humanity are allowed to be exercised, and not inter-
fered with by the adverse party, whois satisfied with
its own Mammon share. But the struggle is to come
when the evil spirit finds itself defrauded of its por-
and then attempts to destroy tho influence of
He does love me now, and will continue to
love me, if disappointment shall not tear up his still
slightly-rooted affections. Now comes my task to
eherish and protect it, till it has taken firm root, and
all that woman can do shall be done, I felt that all
that I was time.

“*Where are we going?’ said I,

“About twenty mileg from London,’ replied et

, ‘after which, that is to-morrow, you shall
decide upon our future plans.’ ‘
. #4Y care not where,’ replied I; ‘with you, place is
o only do not re: me the first favor that I
request you.

; ete upon it I will not,’ replied he.
this, dearest, take me where you will, but let
months before we return or come near Lon-

must feel my reason tor re-

t with pleasure,’ replied he; ‘for three

ears yours, and yours only, We will live for
) ano’ fi

th and never let us mention anything about
prospects, but devote the three months to each

understand you,’ replied the colonel, ‘and I
promise you it shall beso. I will have no correspond-
e - 2 shall be nothing to annoy you or vex
months?’ said I, extending my hand.
oa wot said he; ‘and to tell you the truth, it
wo e

been my own feeling, had it not been

. When you strike iron, you should do it when it

ib hot, but when you have to handle it, you had better
teh is cool; you understand me, and now the
husband has adhered most religiously to his
up to the present time, as you will see by the date
of this letter, We are now visiting the lakes of Cum-
berland. Never could aspot be better situated for the
furtherance of my wishes. The calm repose and silent

- beauty of these waters must be reflected upon the mind
of any one of feeling, which the colonel certainly does
not want; and when you consider that I am_ exerting
all the art which poor woman has to please, I do hope
aud pray to heaven that I may succeed in entwining
myself round his heart before his worldly views are
destroyed by disappointment. Pray for me, dear Va-

; ser et for one who loves you dearly, and who

Ee feels the whole happiness of her Pa is at stake.
" * Yours,

“« ADELE.”

-

‘I grant

i

is

<

uf
g

i

“ So far all goes well, my dear Adele,” thought I;
“but we have yet to see the end. I will pray for you
with all my heart, for you deserve to be happy, and
“none can be more fascinating than you, when you ex-
ot yourself. What is it in women that I do not feel

makes them so mad after the other sex? In-
stinct, certainly; for reason is against it, Well, I have

 

no objection to help others to commit the folly, pro-
vided that I am not led into it myself.” Such were my
reflections as I closed the letter from Adele.

Afew days afterwards I received a note from Mr. .Sel-
wyn, junior, informing me that his father had been
made a puisne judge. What that wasId:d not know,
except that he was a judge on the bench of some kind,
He ajso stated his intention of calling upon me on the
next day,

“Yes,” thought I, “‘ to receive the music from_Caro-
line. Ofcourse she will return it to me when I give
her a lesson to-day.”

I was right in my supposition. Caroline brought me
@ piece of music with a note, saying, ‘‘Here is the
music belonging to Miss Selwyn, Valerie; will you take
an opportunity of returning it to her? Any time will
do; I presume she isin no hurry;” and Caroline col-
ored up when her eyes met mine.

To punish her I replied, “Oh, no, there can be no
hurry; I shall be down at Kew in a fortnight or three
weeks, I will take it with me then.”

“ But my note, thanking Mr. Selwyn, will be of very
long date,” replied Caroline, “and I want the other
pieces of music belonging to me which I leftat Kew.”’

“Well, Caréline, Spe cannot expect me to be carrying
your messages, and going to the chambers of a hand-
some young Chancery barrister. By-the-bye, I had a
note from him this morning, telling me that his father
is advanced tothe bench. What does that mean ?’’

“That his father was made a judge. Is that all he
said ?” replined Caroline, carelessly.

“Why, nowI think of it, he said that he would call
upon me to-morrow, so I can give him this music when
he calls.”

At this intelligence, Caroline’s face brightened up,
and shé went away. Mr. Selwyn called the next day,
and I delivered the music and the note. He infermed
me that he had now all his father’s private as well as
Chancery business, and wished to know whether he
was to consider himself my legal adviser. I replied:

“Certainly; but that he could not expect the busi-
ness of a teacher of music to be very profitable.”

“No, nor do I intend that it shall be, but it will be a
great pleasure,” replied he, very gallantly. “I hope
you have some money to put by.”

“ Yes,” replied I, “I have some, but not quite enough;
by the end of the year I hope to have £500,”

“Tam glad that you have told me, as a profitable in-
vestment may occur before that time, and I will secure
it for you.”

Heasked permission to read Caroline’s note, and
then said that he would find the other piece of
music, and leave it at Monsieur Gironac’s, in the
course of a day or two—sfter which he took his leave.
I raceived that evening a letter from Lionel, which had
a great effectupon me. In ithe stated, that at the
fencing-school he had made acquaintance with a young
officer, a Monsieur Auguste de Chatencuf,—that he had
mentioned to him that he knew a lady of his name in
England ; that the officer had asked him what the ago
of the lady might be, and he hai replied,

Strange,’ said the officer ; ‘I hada very dear sister,
who was supposed to be drowned, although the body
was never found. Can you tell me the baptismal name
of the lady you mention?’

“It then occurred to me,” continued Lionel, ‘‘ that I
might be imprudent if I answered, and I therefore said
that I did not know, but I thought you had been called
by your friends Annette.”

«Then it cannot be she,’ replied he, ‘for my sister's
name was Valerie. But she may have changed her
name—describe to me her face and figure.’

“As Lat once felt certain that you were the 7,
and was aware that the early portion of your life was
never referred to by you, I thought it advisable to put
him off the scent, until I had made this communication.
I therefore replied, ‘That (excuse me) you were very
plain, with a pug nose, and very short and fat.’

“«Then it must be somebody else,’ replied the officer.
‘You made my heart beat when you-first spoke about
her, for I loved my sister dearly, and have never ceased
to lament her loss.’

“He then talked a great. deal of you, and gave me
some history of your former life. I took the oppor-
tunity to ask whether your unnatural mother was
alive, and he said, ‘Ycs;and that your father was also
alive and well.’

“T did not dare to ask more. Havel done right or
wrong, my dear Mademoiselle Chatenceuf? If wrong, I
can easily repair the error. Your brother, for such I
presume he is, ladmire very much. He is very diffor-
ent from the officers of the French army in general,
quite subdued and very courteous, and there is a kind
spirit in all he says, which makes me like him more,
You have no idea of the feeling he showed, when he
talked about you—that is, if it is you—which I cannot
put feel almost certain that it is. One observation of
his, I think it right to wake known to you, which is,
that he told me that since your supposed death, your
father had never held up his ‘head; indeed, he said
that he had never seen him simile since.”’

The above extract from Lionel’s letter created such a
revulsion, that I was obliged to retire to my chamber
to conceal my agitated feelings from Madame Gironac,
I wept bitterly for some time. I thought of what my
poor father must have suffered, and the regrets of poor
Auguste at my supposed death; and I doubted whether
I was justified in the act I had committed, by the treat-
ment I had received from my mother. she had
caused me so much pain, wasI right in having given
80 much to others who loved me? My poor father, he
had never smiled since! Should I permit him to wear
out his days in sorrowing for my loss ?—oh, no! Ino
longer felt any animosity against others who-had ill-
treated me. Surely, I could forgive even my mother,
if not for love of her, at all events, for love of my
father and my brother

Yes, I would do so; I was now
independent of my mother and all the family. I haa!

‘nothing to fear from her; I could assist my family if
| they required it.
| Such were my first feelings—but then came doubts
}and fears. Could not my mother claimh me ? insist
upon my living with her? prevent my earning ny
| livelihood? or if I did employ myself, could she noc
take from me all my earnings? Yes, by the law of
France, I thought she could. Then, again, would she
forgive me the three years of remorse? the three years
during which she had been under the stigma of having,
| by her barbarity, caused her child to commit seli-
destruction; the three years of reproach which she
| must have experienced from my father’s clouded brow ?
| Would she ever forgive me for having obtained my in-
dependence by the very talents which she would not
allow me to cultivate? No, never, unless her heart
was changed.

After many hours of reflection, I resolved that I
would make known my existence to Auguste, and per-
mit him to acquaint my father, under a promise of
secrecy, but that I would not trust myself in France,
or allow my mother to be aware of my existence, until
I could ascertain what her power might be over me.
But before I decided upon anything, [made up my
mind that I would make a confidant, and obtain the
opinion of Judge Selwyn. By the eyening’s post I
wrote a note.to him, requesting that he would let me
know when I might have an interview.

An answer arrived thenext day, stating that Judge
Selwyn would call and take me down with him to Kew,
where I should sleep, and return to town with him on
the following morning. This suited me very well, and
as soon as the carriage was off the stones, I said that I
was now about to confide to him that portivnof my
life with which he was unacquaiuted, and ask his ad-
vice how I ought to proceed, in consequence of some
intelligence lately communicated by Lionel. I then
went into the whole detail, until I arrived at my being
taken away from the barracks by Madame d’Albret; t..e
remainder of my life he knew sufficient of,and I then
gave him Lionel’s letter to read, and when he had done
so, Lstated to him what my wishes and what my fears
were, and begged him to decide for me what was best
to be done.

“This ig an evertful history, Valerie,” said the old
gentleman. ‘I agree with you on the propriety of
making your existence known to your brother, and
also to your father, who has been suiliciently punished
for his cowardice. Whether your father wil be able
to contain his secret, I doubt very much; and from what
you have told me of your mother, I should certainly
not trust myself in France. I am not very well in-
formed of the laws of the country, but it is my impres-
sion that children are there under the control of their
parents until they are married. Go to France I there- +
fore would not, unless it were as a m
then you will be safe.
over?’

“He will come at any time, if I say I wish it.”

“Then let him come over, and invite your brother to
come with him, then you can arrange with him. I
really wish you were married, Valerie, and I wish also
that my son was married; I should like to bea grand-
father before I die.”

“ With respect to my marrying, sir, I see little chance 4
of that; I dislike the idea, and, in fact, it would be bet-
ter to be with my mother at once; for I prefer an old
tyranny to a new one.” . 7

“It does not follow, my dear Valerie; depend upon it,
there are many happy marriages. Am I a tyrant in my
own house? Does my wife appear to be aslave?”? —

“There are many happy exceptions, my dear sir,’’
replied I. “With respect to your son's marrying, I
think you need not despair of that; forit is my o vo
that he will very soon be—but this is asecret,and I must
say no more.”

“Indeed,” replied the judge. “I know of no
one, and he would hardly marry without consulting

me.

‘Yes, sir, I think that he will, and I shall advise
him to do so—as it is necessary that nothing should
be known till it is over. Trust to me, sir, thatifit
does take place, you will be quite satisfied with the
choice which he makes; but I must have your Fledes
not to say one word about it. You might “ep

The old judge fell back in his catriage in a reverie,
which lasted some little while, and the said:

“Valerie, I believe that I underatand you now. If
it is as I guess, I certainly agree with you that I will
ask no more questions, as I should for many reasons
not wish it to appear that I know anything about it.”

Soon afterwards we arrived at Kew, and after a pleas-
ant visit, on the following morning early, I returned
to town with the judge. I then wrote to Lionel, mak-
ing known to him as much as was necessary, under
pledge of secrecy, and stating my wish that he should
follow up my brother’s acquaintance, and the next time
that he came over, persuade him to accompany him ;
but that he was not to say anything to him relative to
my being his sister, on any account whatever.

Young Selwyn called the same day that I came from
Kew, with the piece of music which was missing. I j
made no remarks upon the fact, that the music might ;
have been delivered to me by his sister, because I felt ;
assured that it contained a note more musical than any
in the score; I gave it to Caroline, and a few days
afterwards, observing that she was pale and restless, I |

 

 

|
+

ed woman; ;
When does Lionel coma

obtained permis ‘ion for her to go out with me for the
day. Mr. Selwyn happened to call a few minutes afte:
our arrival at Madame Gironac’s, and that frequently
occurred for nearly two months, when the time ar-
rived that she was to be removed from the school.

The reader will, of course, perceive that I was assist-
ing this affair as much as I could. Tadmit it ; andIdid
so out of gratitude to Mr. Selwyn’s father, for his kind
ness to me. I knew Caroline to be a good girl, and well
suited to Mr. Selwyn; I knew that she must eventually
have a very large fortune; and, provided that her

 

father and mother would not be reconciled to their-

 
 

'
:

 

VALERIE,

 

 

without their assistance. I considered that I dic a!
kindness to Caroline and to Mr. Selwyn, and therefore |
did not hesitate ; besides, I had other ideas on the sub- |
ject, which eventually turned out as I expected, and |
proved that I was right.

On the last day of September Caroline slipped out,
and followed me to Madame Gironac’s; Mr. Selwyn
was ready with the license; we walked to church; the
ceremony was performed, and Mr. Selwyn took his
bride down to his father’s house at Kew. The old)
judge was somewhat prepared for the event, and re-
ceived her very graciously. Mrs. Selwyn and his sis-
ters were partial to Caroline, and followed the example
ef the judge. Nothing could pass off more quietly or |
more pleasantly. For reasons which I did not explain,
I requested Mr. Selwyn, for the present, not to make
known his marriage to Caroline’s parents, as I consid-
ered it would be attended with great and certain ad.
vantage; and he promised me that he would not only
be silent upon the subject, but that all his family
would be aay 80.

If Mrs. Bradshaw required two bottles of Eau-de-
Colugne and water to support her when she heard of
the elopement of Adele Chabot, Ileave the reader to
imagine how many sho required when an heiress
intrusted to her charge had been guilty of a similar

t.

As Caroline had not left me,I was not implicated,
and the affair was most inscrutable. She had never
been seen walking, or known to correspond with any
young man. I suggested to Mrs. Bradshaw that it was
the fear of her father removing her from her protec-
tion which had induced her to run away, and t/iat
most probably she had gone to her Aun: Bathurst's.
Upon this hint, she wrote to Mr. Stanhope, acquaint-
ing him with his daughter’s disappearan.e, and giv-

it as her opinion that she had gone to her aunt’s,
being very unwilling to return home, Mr, Stanhopo
was furious; he immediately drove to Madame Bathi-
ursat’s, whom he had not seen for a long time, and de-
manded his daughter. Madame Bathurst declared that
ashe knew nothing about her; Mr. Stanhope expressed
his disbelief, and they parted in high words.

A few days afterwards, the colonel and Adele camo
to town, the three months acceded to her wishes hay-
ing expired; and now I must relate what I did not
know till some days afterwards, when I saw Adele, and
who had the narrative from her husband.

It appeared that as soon as the colonel arrived in
Londwn, still persuaded that he had married Caroline
Stanhope, and not Adele Chabot, without stating his
intention to her, he went to Grosvenor Square, and ro-
quested to see Mr. Stanhope. This was about a fort-
night after Caroline's elopement with Mr. Selwyn. He
was admitted, and found Mr. and Mra. Stanhope in the
drawing-room. He had sent up his card, and Mr. Stan-
hope received him with great hauteur.

“ What may your pleasure be with me, sir? [looking
at the card.] Colonel Jervis, I think you call your-

Now, Colonel Jervis was 8 man well known about
town, and, in his own opinion, not to know him argued
yourself unknown ; he was therefore, not a little angry
at this reception, and being a really well-bred man,
was also much startled with the vulgarity of both

arties. ;

7 “My name, Mr. Stanhope, as you are pleased to ob-
seryo,’’ said the colonel, with hauteur, is Jervis, and
amy business with you is relative to your daughter.”

“My daughter, sir?”

“Our daughter! Why, you don’t mean to tell us
that you have run away with our daughter ?’’ screamed
Mrs. Stanhope.

“Yes, madame, such is the fact; she is now my wife,
and I trust that she is not married beneath herself.”

“A colonel! a paltry colonell—a match for my
daughter! Why, with her fortune she might have mar-
ried a duke,”’ screamed Mrs. Stanhope. “I'll never
speak to the wretch again. A colonel, indeed! I sup-
pose 8 militia-colonel. I daro 537 you are only a cap-
tain, after all. Well, take her to barracks, and to bar-
racks yourself. You may leavethe house. Notapenny
—no, not apenny do you get. Does he, Stanhope ?”

“Not one half a farthing,” replied Mr. Stanhope,
pompously. “Go,sir ; Mrs. Stanhope’s sentiments are
mine.”

ime \

The colonel, who was in a towering passion at the
treatment he received, now started up, and said, “Sir
and madame, you appear to me not to understand the
usages of good society, and I positively declare, that
had I been aware ofthe insufferable vulgarity of her

nts, nothing would have induced me to marry the
citer: I tell you this, because I care nothing for
ou. You are on thestilts at present, but I shall soon
tans you to your senses; for know, sir and madam,
although I did elope with and married your daughter,
the marriage is not legal, as she was married under a
false name, and that was her own act—not mine, You
may therefore prepare toreceive your eee back,
when I think fit to send her—disgraced and dishonored;
andthen try if youcan match her with aduke. Lleave
you to digest this piece of intormation, and now wish
you guod-morning. You have my address, when you
feel inclined to apologize, anddo me the justice which
I shall expect before a legal marriage takes place.”

So saying, the colonel left the house and it would be
difficult to say which of the three parties was in the
greatest rage.

The colonel, who had become sincerely attached to
Adele, who had well profited by the time which she
had gained, returned home in no very pleasant humor.
Throwing himself down on the sofa, he said to her in a
moody way, :

“ll be candid with you, my dear; ifI had seen your
father and mother before I married you, nothing would

 

have persuaded me to have made you my wife. When
a man marries, I consider connection and fortune to be

Heaven! that I should be allied to such people !’”’

“May I ask you, dearest, to whom you refer, ana
what is the meaning ofall this? My father and moth-
er! Why, colonel, my father was killed at the attack
ot Montmartre, and my mother died before him.”

“Then who and what are you?” cried the colonel,
jumping up ; “are you not Caroline Stanhope ?’”’

“I thank Heaven, Iam not. I have always told you
that I was Adele Chabot, and no other person. You
must admit that. My father and mother were no yul-
gar people, dearest husband, and my family is as good
as most in France. Come over with me to Paris, and
you will then see who my relatives and connections
are. Iam poor, I grant; but recollect that the revolu-
tion exiled many wealthy families, and mine amoung
the rest, although we were permitted eventually to
return to France. What can have induced you to fall
into this error, and still persist (notwithstanding my
assertions to the contrary), that Iam the daughter of
those vulgar upstarts, who are proverbial for their
want of manners, and who are not admitted into hardly
any society, rich as they are supposed to be?”

The colonel looked all amazement.

I’m sorry you are disappointed, dearest,” continued
Adele, “if you are so, Iam sorry that Iam not Caro-
line Stanhope with a large fortune; butifI do not bring
you a fortune, by economy I will save you one, «Let
me only see that you are not deprived of var usual
pleasures and luxuries, and I care not whatI do, or how
Tlive. You will find no exacting wife in me, dearest,
troubling you for expenses you cannot afford. I will
live but to please you, andifIdo not succeed, I will
die—if you wish to be rid of me.”

Adele resumed her caresses with the tears runnin
down her checks, for she loved her husband dearly, an
felt what she said.

The colonel could not resist her: he put his arms
round her and said; “Do notcry, Adele; Ibelievo you,
and moreover, I feel that I love you. Iam thankful
that Ihave not married Caroline Stanhope, for { pre-
sume she cannot be very different from her parents,
I admit that I have been deceiving myself, and that |
have deceived myself into a better little wife than I de-
serve, perhaps. I really am glad of my escape. I
would not have been connected with those peoply for
the universe. We will do as you say; we will go to
France for a short time, aud you shall introduce me to
your relations.”

Before the next morning, Adele had ed the victory.
The colonel felt that he had deceived himself, that he
might be laughed at, and that the best that could be
done was to go to Paris, and announce from thence his
marriage in the papers, He had a sufficiency to live
upon, to command luxury as well as comforts, and on

the whole he was now satisfied that a handsome and

strongly-attached*wife, who brought him no fortune,
was preferable to a marriage of mere interest. I may
as well here observe that Adele played her cards so
well, that the colonel was a happy and contented man,
She kept her promise, and he found with her manage-
ment that he had more money than a married man re-
quired, and he blessed the day in which he had mar-
ried by mistake. And now to return to the Stanhopes,

Although they were too angry at the time to pay
much heed to the colonel's parting threats, yet when
they had cooled, and had time for reflection, Mr. and
Mrs, Stanhope were much distressed at the intelligence
that their daughter was not legally married, For
some days they remained quiet ; at last they thought
it advisable to come to terms, to save their daughter's
honor. But during this delay on their part, Adele had
called upon me, and introduced her husband and
made me acquainted with all that had passed, Thoy
stated their intention of proceeding to 8 immedi-
ately, and although I knew that Adele’s relations
were of good family, yet I thought an introduc-
tion to Madame d’Albret would be of service to her.
I therefore gave ber one, and it proved most ser-
viceable ; for the colonel found himself in the first so-
ciety in Paris, and his wife was well received and much
admired. When, therefore, Mr. Stanhope made up his
mind to call upon tho colonel at the address of the
hotel where they had put up, he found they had lett,
and nobody knew where they had gone. This was a
severe blow, and Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope were in a state
of the utmost uncertainty and suspense, Now was the
time for Mr. Selwyn to come forward, and I dispatched
a note to him, requesting him to come totown. I put
him in possession of Adele's history, her marriage with
the colonvl, and all the particulars with which the
reader isacquainted; and I pointed out to him how hoe
should act when he called upon Mr. Stanhope, which I
advised him to do immediately. He followed my ad-
vice, and thus described what passed on his return:

“J sent up my card to Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope, and
was received almost as politely as the colonel. I made
no remark, but taking a chair, which was not offered
to me,I said, ‘You have my card Mr. Stanhope; I
must, in addition to my name, inform you that lama
barrister, and that my father is Judge Selwyn, who now
sits on the King’s Bench. You probably have met him
in the circles in which you visit, although you are not
acquainted with him. Your sister, Madame Vathurst,
we have the pleasure of knowing.’ \

“This introduction made them look more civil; for\

a judge was with them somebody,

“My object in coming here is to speak to you rela-
tive to your daughter.’

“*Doyou come from the colonel then?’ said Mrs.
Stanhope, sharply.

««No, madame.
colonel.’

«*Then how do you know my daughter, sir ?’

««¢T had the pleasure of meeting her at my father’s.
She stayed a short time with my family at our country
seat at Kew.’

“« Indeed!’

I have no acquaintance with the

exclaimed Mrs. Stanhove : ‘well, I had

 

 

daughter after the marriage, that Mr. Selwyn had the | the two greatest points to be obtained ; but such ani- | noidea of that. Iam sure the judge was very kind; but,
means, by his practice, of supporting her comfortably | mals as your father and motherI never beheld. Good |

sir, you know that my daughter has married very un-
tortunately ?”

“*That she has married, madame, Iam aware, but I
trust not unfortunately.’

“Why, sir, she married a colonel—a fellow who
came here and told us that it was no marriage at all!’

“‘Ttis to rectify that mistake, madame, which has
induce me tocull. The colonel, madame, did hour that
your daughter was at Mrs. Bradshaw’s establishment,
and wished to carry her off, supposing that she was a
very rich prize; but, madame, he made a slight mistuke
—instead of your daughter, he has run away ani mar-
ried the French teacher, who has not asixpence. He
has now foundout his mistake, and is off to Paris to
hide himself, from the lanyhter of town.’”’

“ This intelligence was the cause of much mirthand
glee to Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope; the latter actually cried
with delight, and I took care to join heartily the
Seereihien, As soon as it had subsided, Mrs. Stanhope
Said:

“But, Mr. Selwyn, you said that my daughter was
married, How is that?’

‘«*Why, madame, the fact is, that your daughter's
affections were engaged at the time of this elopement
of the colonel’s, and it was herintention to make known
to you that such was the case, presuming that you
would not refuse to sanction her marriage; but w
the elopement took place, and it was even reported
that she had run away, her position became very awk-
ward, and the more so, ag some people declared (as the
colonel asserted) that she was not legally married, On
consulting with the gentleman of her choice, it was ar-
ee thus: If Miss Stanhope goes back to her father's

ouse after this report that she is not legally ae
it will be supposed that the colouel, finding that he
was disappointed in his views, had returned hor dis-
honored upon her parents’ hands, and no sw wont
marriage would remove the impression. It was, there-
fore, considered advisable, both on per Pea ace
count and on her own, that she also should elope, and
thon it would be easily explained that it was some-
body else who had eloped with the eolon and that
Miss Stunhope had married in a secret way. Miss
Stanhope, therefore, was properly married in church,
before respectable witnesses, and eonducted immedi-
ately afterwards by her husband to his father’s house,
who approved of what was dons, as now uo reflection
can be made, either upon Miss Stanhope or her re-
spectable parents.’ ad

“«Well, let us all know the person to whom sho is
married.’ a

“*To myself, madame; and your daughter is new at
Judge Selwyn's, where she has been ever sinco hor
marriage, with my mother and sisters, *~ father
would have accompanied me to explain all ¢ is; but
tho fact is, that his lordship is now so much occupied |
that he could not. He will, however be happy to see
Mr. S:anhope, who ia anidlo man, either at his
house, or st his country seat. I trust, madame, as
have the honor to be your son-in-law, you will 0
mo to kiss your hand?’ S

“* Caroline may have done worse, my dear,’ the
Indy to hor husband, who was still wavo' ee eee
Selwyn may be a judgo himself,or he may be a Lord
Chancellor, recollect that. Mr. Selwyn, you are wel-
come, and I shall be most happy to see tis lordship,
and my husband shall call upon him when we know
when he will be at leisure, Oh! that colonol ;.
but he’s rightly served—a French teacher. Ha, ha,

hal’ and Mrs. Stanhope’s mirth was communicate? &. ee

her husband, who now held out his hand to me in
most patronizing manner. eae
“«Well, sir, I give you joy. I believe you haya saved |
my daughter’s character: and my dear,’ added he,
very prrpeusty. ‘we must do something for the young

people.
“*T trust, sir, I bear your forgiveness to Stetina
“*Yes, you do, Mr. Selwyn,’ said the Aisi 4
her here as soon a8 you please. Oh, that tha,
ha, ha! anditiscapital., A h teaoher | Ha, ha, hal’ ’”

being gal, and had they not }
gratified at the mistake of the enue oo

might not have gone off so pleasantly. I havo

add, that Mr. Stanhope, who appeared to obey isin Yate

in everything, called u :

view was very amicable. Mr, Stanhope,
judge stating that his son had sufficient 3° to
mediately became profuse, aud settled £2,000 per an-
num upon his daughter, during his life, with a promise
of much more eventually. Caroline was usly
received by her mother, and presented 1
splendid diamonds. The judge told me that he

part I had taken in the affair, and shook his finger

at me.

Thus ended this affair, and Madame Gironac, wh
she heard how busy I had been in the two elopements,
: :

“Ah, Valerie, you begin eA Marte se oer People. ;

You will end in finding a hus
Thave . jon i isti thi
“T have no objection in assisting other people to their —
wishes, but 1 does not follow that there ‘ore lam to
seek for myself what I do not wish,” *
- “Valerie, lam a prophetess.
some time next year. Mark my words.” . i
“TI will not forget them, and at the end of the year
we shall see who is right and who is wrong.”
After all this bustle and turmoil, there was a calm,

which lasted the whole winter. I followed w ak nar

usual avocations. I had as many pupils as I co’
tend to, and saved money fast. The winter
away, andin the spring I expected Lionel my
brother Auguste. I looked forw to seeing my
brother with great impatience ; not a day that he was

 

out of my thoughts, I was most anxious to hear ot

3 town

n the judge, and “thelr inter- 4 ‘

uite another thing, madame,” I replied; _

You will be married
eed;

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

VALERIE,

 

 

my father, my brothers, and sisters, and every particu- ;

lar connected with the family ; even my mother was an
object of interest, although not of regard, but I had tor-
given all others who had ill-treated me, and I selt tuat
{ forgave and forgot, it she would behave as a mother
towards me. I had received kind letters trom Madame
a’ Albret and Adele ; the letters of the latter were most
amusing, Madame Bathurst had called upon me sev
eral times. I was at peace with all the world and with
myself, At last I received a letter from Lionel, stating
tuat he waa coming over in a tew days; that he had
great difficulty in pursuading my brother to come with
him, as he could not afford the expense out of his own
means, and did not like to lie under such an obliyation.
At last he had been over-ruled, and was cominy with
him. ~
“Then I shall see you again, dear Auguste!’ thought
1; **you who always loved me, always protected me
and took my part, and who go lamented my supposed
death ;” and my thoughts turned to the time when he
andIwere with my grandmother in the palace, and
our early days were passed over in review. “My poor
‘grandmother, how I loved you! and how you deserved
to loved!’ And then I calculated what I might
have been, hud I been lett with my grandmother, and
_ had inherited her small property ; and, on reflection, I
decided that I was better off now thanI probably
should have been, and that all was for the best. I

_ thought of the future, and whether it was likely I ever

should marry, andI decided that I never would, but
that if lever returned tomy family, I would assist my
sisters, and try to make them happy. f
“Yea,” thought I, “marry I never will—that ia de-
eided—nothing shall ever induco me.”
My reverie was interrupted by t’e entrance of a
stranger, who, apologizing to me, stated that he had
come to seek Monsieur Gironac. ;
Ireplied that he was not at home, and probably it
would be half an hour before he returned to dinner.
“ With your leave, mademoiselle,” said he, gracerully
bowing, “I will wait till he returns. I will not, how-

ever, t upon your time, ifit is disagreeable;
perhaps the servant will accommodate me with a chuir
elsewhere ?”

T requested that he would be seated, as there was no

- fire in any other room; and he took achair, He was a

Frenchman, speaking good English; but he soon dis-
covered that I was his countrywoman, and the conver-
sation was carried on in French. He informed me that
he was the Comte de Chavannes. But I must describe
him. He was rather sinall in stature, but elegantly
niade; his features were, if anything, effeminate, but
very. handsoine; they would have been handsome
iu a woman. The effeminacy was, however, relieved by
«* pair of mustaches, soft, silky, and curling. His
ijanners were peculiarly fascinating, and his conver-
sation lively and full of point. I was much pleased
with him during the half-hour that we were together,
«during which we had kept up the conversation with
much spirit. The arrival of Monsieur Gironac put an

F end to our tete-a-lele, and having arranged his business

_ eargo, and then as traveling

with him, which was relative to some flute-music,
which the comte wished to be published, atter a few
minutes’ more conversation, he took his leave.

‘Now, there's aman thatI.would select for your
husband, Valerie,’ said Monsivur Gironac, after the
comte had left. ‘‘Is he not a very agreeable fellow?”

“Yes, he is,’ replied; “he is very entertaining and
very well bred. Who is he?”

“His history is told in tew words,” replied Monsieur
Girenac, “His father emigrated with the Bourbons;
but, unlike most of those who emigrated, he neither
_turned music-master, dancing-master, hair-dresser, nor
teacher of the French language. He had alittle money,
aud he embarked in commerce, He went as super-

artner in a house to

America, the Havana, and the West Indies; and

- after having crossed the Atlantic about twenty times

_ the English
than

in the course of the late war, he amassed a fortune of
about £40,000. At the restoration, he went to Paris,
resumed his title, which he had luid aside during his

_ commercial course, was Well received by Louis XVIII,

and made a colonc] of the Legion of Honor. He re-
turned to this country to settle his affairs, previous to
going down to Brittany, and died sudaeuly, leay-
Phe 6 young man you have just seen, who
is his only son and heir, alone on the wide world, and
with a good fortune as soon as he came of age. At
the time of his father’s death, he was still at school.
Now he is twenty-four years old, and has been for three
years in the puss-ssior of the property, which is still in
funds, He appears to like England better
, for most ot his timeis passed in Lon-
don. He is very talented, very musical, composes well,
and is altogether a most agreeable young man, and fit
for the husband of Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenceut,
Now you have the whole history; the marriage is yet to
take place.” ij

** Your last observation is correct; or rather it is not,

' for the marriage will never take place.”

“

“ Mais, que voulez-vous, mademoisellé ?”’ cried Monsieur
Gironac; ‘‘must we send for the angel Gabriel for you ?””

“No,” roo I, “he is notamarrying man, any
more than lama marrying woman. Isit not sufficient
that ladmit your count to be very agreeable ?—that
won’tcontentyou. You want me to marry aman whom
I have seen for one half-hour. Are you reasonable,
Monsieur Gironac ?””

“He has rank, wealth, good looks, talent, and pol-
isued manners; and you admit that you do not dislike
him; what would you have more ?”

* “He is not in love with me, and I am not in love
with him.”

“Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenceuf, you are une
enfant, I willnolonger trouble myself with looking
out for ahusband for you. You shall die asour old

, naid;” and Monsieur Gironac left the room, pretending
to be in a passion.
A few days after the meeting with Count de Cha-

vannes, Lionel made his appearance, My heart beat
| quick as I welcomed him.

‘He is here,’’ said he, anticipating my question; “ but
Icalled just toknow when we should come, and whether
1 wus to say anything to him before he came.”
| “No, no; tell him nothing—bring him here directly—

how long will it be before you return ?’”’

“Not half-an-hour. Iam at my old lodgings in Suf-
folk Street, so good-bye for the present;’’ aud Lionel
walked away again.

Monsieur and Madame Gironac were both out, and
would not return for an hourortwo. I thought the
half-hour would never pass; but it did at last, and
they knocked at the door. Lionel entered, followed by
my brother Auguste. 1 was surprised at his having
grown so tall and handsome.

“Madame Gironac is not at home, mademoiselle,”
said Lionel.

“No, Monsieur Lionel.”

“Allow me to present to you Monsieur Auguste de
Chatenceuf, a lieutenant in the service of his majesty,
the king of the French.”

Auguste bowed, and, as | returned the salute, looked
earnestly at me and started.

« Excuse me, mademoiselle,” said he, coming up to
me, and speakiny in a tremulous voice; ‘‘ but—yes,
you must be Valerie.”

“Yes, dear Auguste,” cried I, opening my arms.

He rushed to me, and covered me with kisses, and
then staggering to a chair, sat down and wept. So
did I, and co did Lionel, for sympathy and com-
pany.

“Why did you conceal this from me, Lionel ?”’
said he, after atime; “see how you have anwanned
me.”’

“I only obeyed orders, Auguste,” replied Lionel;
“but, now that I have executed my commission, I will
leave you together; for you must have much to pay to
each other. I will join you at dinner time,”

Lionel went out and leit us together; we renewed
our embraces, and after we were mure composed, en-
tered into explanations. I told him my history in as
few words as possible, promising to enter into details
afterwards, and then 1 inquired about the family,
Auguste replied :

“I will begin from the time of your disappearance.
No one certainly had any suspicion of Madame d’Albret
liaving spirited you away; indeed, she was, as you
know, constantly at the barracks till my father left,
and expressed her conviction that you had destroyed
yourself. The ontcry against your mother was uui-
verbal; she dared not show hersel(, and your father was_
in a state to excite compassion, Four or fee times a
day did he take his melancholy walk down to the
Morgue to ascertain if your body wes found. He be-
caine 80 melancholy, morose and irritable, that people
were a:raid lest be would destroy himself. He never
went home to your mother but there was a scene of
reproaches on his part, und defense on hers, that was
ascandal to the barracks, AJl her power over him
ceased from that time, and has ceased forever since,
and perhaps you kuow that he has retired

“ How should L know, Auguste ¥”’ ,

“Yes; he could not bear to look the other officers in
the face; he told me that he considered himself, from
his weakness and folly, to have been the murderer of
his child; that he felt himself despicable, and could
not longer remain with the regiment. As soon as the
regiment arrived at Lyons, he sentin his retirement,
and has ever since been living at Pau, in the south of
France, upon his halfspay and the other property which
lhe possesses.” t

“My poor father!’ exclaimed I, bursting into tears.
' 4 Ag for me, you know that Iobtained leave to quit
the regiment, and have ever since been in the 51st of
the line. Ihave obtained my grade of lieutenant, I
‘have seen my father but once since I parted with him
at Paris, He is much altered, and his hair is gray.”

‘Is he comifortable where he is, Auguste ¢”

“ Yes, Valerie ; I think that he did wisely ; for it was
ruinous traveling about with so many children. He is
comfortable, and, I believe, as happy as he can be. Oh,
if he did but know that you were alive, it would add ten
years to his life.’””

“He shall know it, my dear Auguste,”’ exclaimed I, as
the tears coursed down my cheeks, ‘I feel now that I
was very selfish in consenting to Madame d’Albret’s pro-
posal, but I was hardly in my seuses at the time.’”

“JT cannot wonder at your taking the step, nor can I
blame you. Your life was one of torture, and it was
torture to others to see what you underwent.” ;

“I pity my father, for weak as he was, the punish-
ment hus been too severe,”

“But you will make him
joice in his old days.”

“And now, Auguste, tell me about. Nicolas — he
never liked me, but I forgive bim—how is he ?”’

“He is, I believe, well; but he has leit his home.”

“Left home?” ‘

“You know how kind your mother was to hin—I
may say, how she doated upon him. Well, one day, he
announced his intention of going to Italy, with atriend
he had picked up, who belonged to Naples. His mother
was trantic at the idea, but he actually apse’ at her,
and behaved in a very unfeeling manner, Your mother

was cut to the heart, aid has never got over it; but,
Valerie, the children who aré spoiled by indulgence al-
ways turn out the most ee

“Have you heard of him since?’ 2

“Yes; he wrote to me, telling me that he was leading
an orchestra in some small town, and advancing rapidly
—you know his talent for music—but not one Jine has
he ever written to his mother.”

“Ah me!” sighed I, “and that is
has for her indulgence to him.
Clara.” .

“She is well married, and a
band is an employee, but I don’t exactly know what,” .

«And Sophie and Elisee ?”

happy now, and he will re-

all the return she

 

Now tell me about |

lives at Tours: her tied

‘‘Ave both well, and promise to grow up fine girls,
but not so handsome as you are, Valerie. It wes the
wonderful improvement in your person that made moe
doubt for a moment when I first saw you.”

“And dear little Pierre, that I used to pinch tlai |
might get out of the house, poor fellow ?’’

“Isa fine boy, and makes his father very melane bul)
and his mother very angry, by talking about you.

“And now, Auguste, one more question. On what
terms are my father und mother, and how does she
conduct herself?”

“ My father treats her with ceremony and politeness,
but not with affection, She has tried every meaus ta
resume her empire over him, but finds itimpoesible,
and she has now turned devotee, They sleep in separate
rooms, and he 18 very harsh and severe to her at times,
when the fitcomes on him. Indeed, Valerie, if you
sought revenge, which I know you do not do, you have
had sufficient ; for her brow is wrinkled with care and
miortiticution.’’

“But do you think she is sorry for what she has
done?”

“I regret to say Ido not. I think she is sorry for the
consequences, but that her animosity against you
would be greater than ever if she knew that you were
alive; and if you were again in her power, she would
wreak double vengeance. Many things have occurred,
to confirm me in this belief. You have overthrown her
power, which she never will forgive ; and as for her re-
ligion, I have no faith in that.’’

“Itis then asI feared, Auguste ; and if I make known
my existence to my father, it must be concealed trom
my mother.”

“Tagree with you that it will be beat; for there is
no saying to what point thé vengeance of an unnatural
mele muy be curried. But let ns quit this subject,
for the present at least ; and now tell me more abougt.
yourself,”

_ “I will—bnut there ia Lionel’s knock: so I must de-
fer it till another opportunity. Dear Auguste, give me
one more kiss, while we are alone.” :

 

CHAPTER XII.

In a few minutes after Lionel’s return, which he had
considerably postponed, until Monsieur Gironae s din-
ner-hour had all but arrived, my good host first, and
then kind, merry little madame, made their appearance,
and a little while was consurhed in introductions, ex-
clamations, admirations, and congratulations, all tinc-
tured not a little by that national vivacity, which other
folks are in the habit of calling extravagance, and which,
as my readers well know already, the good Gironacs
had by no means got rid of, even in the course of a
long sejour in the matter-of-fact metropolié of England.

Fortunately, my friends were for the most part av
Jat tothe leading circumstances of my life, so that
little explanation was needed.

And more fortunately yet, like tide and time, dinner
waits for no wan; nor have lever observed, iu all my
adventurous life, that the sympathy of the most senti
mental, the grief of the most woe-begone, or the joy of
the happiest, ever induces them to neglect tle sum-
mons ot the dinner-bell, and the calls of the responsive
appetite,

In the midst of the delight of madame, at having at
last toreceivethe brother cf cette chere Valerie, and that
my brother, too, se bel homme et brave officier, et d’une re-
semblance si parfaite a la charmante swur, dinner was
luckily announced; and the torrent-tide of madame’s
hospitality was cut short, by her husband’s declara-
tion that we were all, like himself, dying of hunger ;
and that not a word must be spoken, touching sympa-
thies or sentiments, until we had partaken of some-
thing nutritious, de quot soutenir l'epuisement des emotions
si deckirantes, :

Madaime laughed, declared that he was un barbare, un
malheureux sans grandeur del’ame, and tuking possession
of Auguste, led him away in to the dining-room ; where
though she told me afterwards that she was au comble
de desespotr at having set us down to ko everyday a
meal, we found an excellent dinner, and spent a very
pleasant hour until coffee was served ; when, with it,
not # little to my surprise, nor very much to niy de-
light, Monsieur de Chavannesa made his appearance.

There was a quizzical look on Monsieur Gironac's
face, and a roguisa twinkle in his eye, Whicli led me to
believe that what was really a matter of surprise to
me, was none to my worthy host; for theCount de
Chavannes had never visited the house before, in the
evening ; nor, from whatI had understood, was he on
terms of particular intimacy with the Girunacs,

I was foolish enough to be, at first, a little put out at
this; and having manifested sonie slight eu burrass<
ment on his first entrance, which I learned aiterwards
did not escape his eye, though he was far too well
bred to show it, I made the niattcr worre by calling my
pride to my aid, incited thereto by Madanie Gironac’s
glance aud smile at my blushing coniusion, and cer-
tainly in no respect contributed to the gayety of the
evening. Nothing, howevcr, I must admit, cuuld have
been more gentlemanly, or in better taste, than the
whole demeanor of Munsieur de Chayannes, aid I could
not help teciing this, and comparing it mentaily with
the inferior bearing ot others I had seen, even in the
midst of my fit of hauteur and frigidity.

He neither immediately withdrew himself on learning

 

 

had but just arrived, as any hali-bred person would have
done under the like circumstances, with an awkward
apology for his presence, tending only to make every
one else more awkward yet; nor made set’ speeches,
nor foolish compliments, on @ subject too important
for such trifling. ,

He did not trouble me with amy attentions, which he
erceived would be at that moment distasteful, but ex
ibited the most marked desire to cultivace the

acquaintance of Auguste, to whom he showsi
}a degree of deference, though himself somewhar

 

that my brother, whom I had not seen for many years,

 

‘

 

|
|
|

 

 
}
;
}
:

 

 

|
:

VALERIE.

27

 

the senior, as to a military man, that flattered his esprit
de corps, mingled with a sort of frank cordiality, which
except from countryman to countryman in a foreign
land, would perhaps have been a little overdone ; but,
under the actual circumstances, it could not have been
improved. :

For the short time he remained, he conversed well
and wittily; yet with a strain of fancy and teeling,
blended with his wit, which rendered it singular)
original and attractive; and perfectly succeeded,
though I know not whether he intended it or not, in
directing the attention of the company from my altered
and somewhat unamiable mood,

Among other things, I re:nember that, in the course
of conversation, while tendering some civilities to
Auguste, the use of his riding-horses, his cabriolet,
or his services in showing him some of the lions of
London, he observed that Monsieur de Chatenwuf
must not consider such an offer impertinent on his
part, since he believed, if our genealogy were properly
traced, some sort of cousinship could be established; as
more than one of the De Chavennes had inter-married
in old times with the Chatenmuls of Gascony, when
both the families, like their native provinces, had been
acting in alliance with the English Plantagenets
against the French kings of the house of Valois,

A few words were said, in connection with this, touch-
ing the singularity of the fact, that it would seem as if
England had amet to do with the associations of
the two families; but I do not think the remark was
made by De Chavannes, and whatever it was, it was
not sufficiently pointed to be in any way offensive or
annoying. s

On the whole, hurt as I was in some ¢ort by the idea
which had taken hold of me, that the Girvnacs, through
a false and indelicate idea of advancing my welfare,
were endeavoring to promote a liking between myself
and the count, I cannot deny that the evening on the
whole, was # pleasant one, and that, if at first it hal
been my impression that De Chavannes was agreeable,
entertaining, and well bred, I was now prepared to ad-
mit he had excellent taste, and delicate feelings into
the bargain.

Still I felt that I did not like him, or perhaps I should
rather say his attentions—though in tuct he had paid
me none—and was rather relieved when he made his
bow and retired.

Shortly afterwards, Auguste observed that I seemvd
dull and tired, and Madame Gironac followed suit by
saying that it was no wonder if the excitement and in-
terest created by the unexpected arrival of so dear a
brother had proved too much for my nerves,

Thereupon, atter promising to return early in the
morning, so that we might have a long talk about the
past and along consultation about the future, Lionel
and Auguste bade us good-night also; but not before
Lionel had said to me as he was taking leave:

“T think, Mademoiselle, that it will be no more than
proper that I should drive down to Kew to-morrow
morning,and wait upon Judge Selwyn, who has always
been so kind to me—have you any message for him ?”

“Oh! yes. I beg yon will tell him that Auguste has
come, and that I request he will let me know when we
may wait on him ?’”

« And the answer will be, Mademoiselle, his waiting
upon you. Is that what you desire ?”

“Tonly desire what I state—to know when and how
we may see him, for I know very little of Auguste’s
heart, if he does not wish to return thanks to one who,
except our dear friends here, has been poor Valerie's
surest confidant and protector. But you will find the
judge’s family increased since you saw him, His son
has persuaded my pretty little friend Caroline Stan-
hope to become his wife, and she is living with the
judge’s tamily at present.”

Lionel expressed his surprise and pleasure at the
news; but I thought at the moment that the pleasure
was not real, though Ihave since had reason to be-
lieve that the gravity which came over his face as he
spoke, was the gravity of thought, rather than that, as
T fancied at the time, of disappointment.

Nothing more passed worthy of record, and, after
shaking hands with Lionel, and kissing my long-lost
brother, I was left alone with the Gironacs, half-ex-
pectant of a playful scolding,

“Well, emoiselle Valerie de Chateneuf,” began
monsieur, as soon as the gentlemen had left us, ‘is it
because you have found out that you have got a hand-
some brother, that you are determined to drive all
other handsome young men au tr ?—or is it that
you wish to break the heart, especially, of this pauvre
‘Monsieur de Chavannes that you have treated us all with
an air si hautaine, si hautaine, that if you had been the
queen of France, it could not have been colder?” .

“T told you once before, Monsieur Gironac,” I re-
plied, “‘ that your Count de Chavannes does not care a
straw how I treat him, or with what air; and if he did,
Ido not. He is simply a civil, agreeable gentleman,
who looks upon me as he would upon any other young
lady whom he is glad to talk to when she is in the
humor to talk; and whom, when she is not, he leaves
to herself, as.all well-bred men do, But, I repeat, |
do not care enough about him to think for one moment
whether he is hautaine or not. And he feels just the
same about me, I am certain,”

* What brings him here, then, eh ?—where he never
vame before to-night ?—not for the beaux yeux of
madame, I believe,” with a quizzical bow to his wile,
‘‘or for the grand esprit of myself I have an eye, I tell
you, as well as other people, and I can see one petit peu.”

“f have no doubt you can, monsieur,’?I answered,
rather pettishly ; «for I suppose you asked him your-
self; andif you did so on my account, I must beg you
will omit that proof of kindness in future, for Ido not
wish to see him,’

“Oh ! Monsieur Gironac, for shame; you have made
her very angry with your ridiculous badinage—you
have made her angry, really, and I donot wonder,
Who ever heard of teasing a young lady about a gentle-

 

man she has never seen, only three times, and who has
never declared any preference ?’’

‘*Madanie,’’ replied her husband, in great wrath,
either real or simulated, ‘' vous etes wne ingrate—une—
une—words fail me, to express what I think of your
enormous and unkind ingratitude. I am homme incom-
pris, and Mademoiselle here—Mademoiselle is either une
enfant, or she does not know her own mind. Shall I
give the Comte Chavannes his conge, or shall Inot? I
shall not—for it she be une enfant, it is fit her friends
look atter her; if she does not know her own mind, it
is good she have some one who do!—voila tout. Here is
why I shall not go ry agi monsieur le Comte. Why
rather, I shall request him to dine with me to-morrow,
the next day, the day after. If he do not, I swear by
my honor, foi de Gironac,I will dine at home again
never more.

Icould not help laughing at this tirade of the kind-
hearted little man, on the strength of which he patted
me on the head, and said I was bonne enfant, if I were
not si disablement entette, and bade me yo to bed, and
sleep myself into better humor; a piece of advice
which appeared to me so judicious, that I proceeded at
once to obey it, and bidding them both a kind good-
night, betook myself to my own room to ponder rather
than to sleep. And, in truth, I felt that I had need of
reflection ; for with the return of Auguste, a tide of
feelings, which had long lain dormant rather than dead
within me, had almost overw:ielmed me; and the
hardness which had its oriyin in the bitterness of con-
scious dependence, and which had gained strength
from the pride of svlf-acquired independence, began to
thaw in my heart, and to giveway to milder and
gentler feelings.

The thoughts of home, the desire for my country,
the love for my father, who, thou, weak and almost
imbecile, had ever been kind to mvin person, tie
craving affection for my brothers an 1 my sisters, nay,
something approaching to p'ty or regret for the niother

who had proved herself but a ktepinvther towards me, | pinch when I wanted to get out of my mother’s reach ;
| and regards me very much as he would a much older

all revived in increased and reinvi,orated force,

 

But when I had finished my own story, whieb I did
not begin until I had extracted from him every particle
of information about my family—
“Well, my little Valerie,’’ he said caressingly, ax hc {
put his arm about my waist, “ you have told me cv ery
thing—all your little sorrows, and trials, and trouwbl: +
—all your little pleasures and successess—all your
little schemings and maneuverings in the lovo-uffairs uy
other people—and all about the great little fortune
which you have poe a tesatae a millionaire, ©
upon my word, with your twenty-five hundred livres de
rente—but uot one word have you told me about your
= little ee de cour. I — afraid, little sister
mine, you are er a very t cite, or
cold-hearted ; Which ie it, aacest vi eae me re
“Very cold-hearted, I believe, brother. At least,
I certainly have no affatres de ceur to relate. I cannot
pretend to say whether it is my fault or that of other
people; but certainly no one ever fell in love with
me, if it were not that odious Monsieur G—— ; and
a certainly I have never fallen in love with any one
at all.” ;

Auguste eo earnestly in my face for a moment, as
af he would havo read my heart; but I met his w
with mine quite steadily and calmly, till at!ength I
burst into a merry laugh, which I could not restrain.

‘Quite true, little sister?’ he said, at last, after my
manver had in some sort convinced him, Lyd

“Quite true, Auguste; upon my honor,’’ I replied. ed

“Well, Valerie, I suppose I must believe earnest

face, and that honest little Jangh of yours.” ‘ he
“You may just as well do ao indeed,” I replied; “for —

no one was ever in Jove with me, I assure you. And I

‘| do not think,” I added with a touch of the old Pea

“that a Chatenquf is likely to give away @ heart

is not desired.” ’ m5
“It is all very strange,” he added. “And thia Mon-

sieur Lionel Dempster ?’— baat ‘ca
“Isa little olderthan poor Pierre, whomIused to ©

By-and-by, too, I began to feel that I should be very | sister—aimost, indeed, as a mother,”

wretched after the parting with my beloved brother at
the end of so brief a rvnewal of love and intimacy ; to
be aware of what I had scarcely felt before, in the self-

confidence of the position I had won—that it ia a sad, and will make you a very good and
and lonely thing to be a sojourner in a foreign land, ' but he is no husband for me, I assure Foo He would

with no natural friends, no kind kindred, on whom to
rely in case of sickness or misfortune ; and to consider
how dark and grave a thing must be solitary old age,
and perhaps a solitary death- bei, tar from the home of
one’s youth, the friends of one 8 childhool.

Then. there urose another thought connected with
the preceding, by that extraordiuary and inexplicable
chain, which seems to run through the whole n ind of
man, linking together things apparently as fur asunder
as the poles, which have, however, in reility, a kindred
origin, That thought was, wherefore should my life be
solitary ? Why should I stand apart and alone from my
race, relying on myself only, and depriving myself, for

the sake of a perhaps imaginury independence, of all |’

the endearments of social lite, all the sweet ties of
family? : ?

Peraps the very presence of my brother had opened
my eyes tu the truth, that there is no such thing in the
world as real independence. ‘To realize that possession,
most coveted, and most unattainable, one must be a
Robinson Crusoe, aloné on his desert island—a sort of
independence which no one, I should think, would
practically desire to enjoy.

Before sleep came, I believe that I began to muse
about Monsieur de Chavannes ; but it was only to think
that I did not care in the least about him, nor lie about
me; and that, so far as he was concerned, I had seen
no cause to change my decided resolution that I would
never marry, All this was, perhaps, in reality, the best
of proofs that I did already care something about him,
and was very likely betore long to care something
more ; for some one has said, and he, by the way, no
ordinary judge of human nature, that if he desired to
win a woman’s fancy or affection, his first step would
be to make her think about hiin—even if it were to hate
him! anything before the absence of all thought, the
blank yoid of real absolute indifference. hs

Indeed, I believe it is nearly true, that a woman rare-
ly begins to think often of a man, even if it be as she
fancies in dislike, but when, however she may decefye
herself, she is on the verge of loving him,

Was such the case with me? i

At least if it were so, I was then so far trom knowin,
it, that I did not even ask myself the question. But
remember that when I fell asleep, I dreameéd that I was
standing at the altar with the Count de Chavannes,
when a band of all those who had ever wronged me—
my mother, Madame d’Albret, Madame Bathurst, the
Stanhopes, Lady M——, rushed between us, and tore
us forcibly asunder ; and I wept so loud that my sor-
row awoke me, and it was some time before I was sure
it was a dream.

Early the next morning Auguste came again to see
me; and as Monsieur Gironac was abroad, giving les-
sons on the flute and guitar, while madame either was,
or pretended to be, excessively busy with her wax-
flowers, we had the whole day to ourselves until
luncheon-time, and we profited by it so well, that be-
fore we were interrupted, we had little to learn on
either side concerning the passages of our lives, and the
adventures which both we and all our family had gone
through. Andif I had been a little inclined to be
proud of myself before, and to give their full value to
my energy and decision of character, I certainly now
stood in no small danger of being spoiled by Auguste’s

raises.

* For now, half crying at my trials and troubles—now
langhing at Lady R——’s absurdities—now bursting
into vehement invective against my enemies—he in-
sisted that I was a perfect heroine—the bravest and
most accon:plished of women, as well as the dearest of
sisters. .

I

 

“A mother, indeed; Valerie 1’ ny te
“He once told me something of the kind!, He js a
very fine young man, certainly, full of talent and spirit,
le

do much better for Sophie, or Elisee, if he ever should -
see and like either of them.” | ARR Meee
“Always busy for others, Valerie! And for your-
self—when will you think for yourself?’ wii ly ey se
“Tthink I ave thought, and done, too, for myself,
pretty well. You forget my twenty-five hundred (ores o
de rente.” by a
“But twenty-five hundred lévres de rente ave not a si
husband, Valerie.” 8 28
“Tam not so sure about that. Idaresay they would
buy one at a pinch,’’ I replied, laughing, “ at Bs: Himes He Bid
our poor country, where everyone you meet in society — =
is not a millionaire, like these cold islanders.” oe
“Ithink you bave grown almost as cold yourself, it~
tle sister, and as calculating.” f gD ae 5 tae
“To be sure I ‘have,’ I made answer, ‘and topun-
ish a ‘Monsieur Gironac swears 1 shall die a sour old
mata.’ ;

 

 

 

  

“And what do you say ?”’ F

“An old maid very likely, but not a sour one, at all ‘
events. But, hark! there is a carriage at the door—let _
me see who it is.” BE da sad

And I jumped up and running to the window, saw
the Selwyn liveries, and Lionel, en cavalier, besidesthe
carriage window. vy FORT Bits SOE

In a moment, the steps were let down; and Caroline _
speedily made her appearance, commissioned, as she
said, by her neother-in-law, to take immediate possep-
sion both of myself and Auguste, and to usdown
straightway to Kew. Her husband, she said, would =
certainly have called on Monsieur de Chateneuf,and  =—|/
the judye also, but that the gourts being all in eras
they were both so completely ran that, e aa
after dunnest they had not an hour of the twenty-four
disengage: } . , ate

Stic was commanded, moreover, she added, to invite _
Monsieur and Madame Gironac to dine at Kew on ‘o
following day. Me, moreover, and Auguste, she was
to carry down forwith in the carriage, ‘pot ae

pacuickizen posaiiiecll hatvec’ renter aaa
up as y 35 possible at you y
veagiae beautiful fora week, at leaghs" . . Sirk

“ And what do you say to all this, messieurs?”” said
I, laughingly, to my brother and Lionel; * for there ig —
much more necessity to consult yo lords of the crea-
tion, as you call yourselves, who are in
by half, and care five times as much about
toilettes ~ rs snachenmaeted women—what
you say aboutthis summary packing u taking
flight? can it be complished . oes OR. Naa

‘* It ¢s accomplished,” replied Lionel; “in so far at —
< that I haye Pippin, on my own part,and for —

onsier Auguste de Chatenceuf in the bargain, to over. _
look the preparation of his kit as well as my own, and
to bring them down in a cabriolet, while you and your
brother are rolling smoothly along in the judge's ven-
erable coach.”

‘All that is arranged, then,” said I; “and I will not
detain you above ten minutes, during which time I)
will send Madame Gironac to amuse you, and you'can ,
deliver your own message to her.’”” “tia 1

And then, without waiting for any answer, I hurrica |
up s to make my traveling toilette, and to pubup
things tor a week’s visit to my good friends,. te

In the meantime Madame Gironac, who had alway:
been a great favorite of Caroline's, had taken my place; ,
and by the merriment which I could hear going on, I San
could not doubt that, on the whole, the partyhad =
been a gainer by the exchange, 4 AA AY

Before I was quite ready to make my reappearance, =
there came @ smart double knock at the door; and
then, alter a minute or two, I could distinguish a gen- ‘

 

 

  
   
   
    
   
  
  
  

 

 

 

 
  

i
}
1
|
fi
}.
i
E

Sn rn ne

 

ee

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

_ in order to see the parks and the beauty of London,

- mo

_ were upon us, I rallie

 

VALERIE,

 

 

tleman’s footstep ascending the staircase to the dining-
room,

My own room looked towards the back of the house,
so that I had no means of secing for myself who the ,
new-comer was; and I did not choose to ask any ques-
tions of the servant-girl, who was bustling in and out
of the door with trunks and travelling-cases innumer-
able,

SoI finished my toilette with a heart that beat, I
must confess, a little faster than usual, though Ishould
certainly have been puzzled to explain why ; put onmy
hat and shawl, perhaps a little coquettishly, and went
down-stairs, half-impatient, half-embarrassed, yet |
fully persuaded in my own -mind that I had not the
least expectation of. seeing anybody in particular.

I found all the company assembled round the lunch- |
eon-table when I entered, and busily engaged with the |

2 ala Maintenon and green peas. Among those
present was Monsieur le Comte de Cheyannes whom I |
corpeinly did not expect to see.

@ rose immediately from the table as I entered, and |
advanced a step or two to meet me, with a graceful in- |
clination, and a few . well-chosen words, to the intent }
that he had called in order to invite Monsieur de Chate-
mouf to go out and take a promenade a cheval with him,

All this was said with the utmost frankness, and in |
the most unaffected manner in the world ; and assur- |
edly there was nothing either in the words, or in the |
manner in which they were uttered, which should |
have thrown me into 4 confusion of blushes and ren- |
dered me for a moment almost incapable of answering

ma.

- It must be remembered, however, that I had been
rallied very much concerning him of late by Monsieur
Gironac; and I could scarcely avoid perceiving that

this exceeding assiduity in doing the honors to Auguste ,
- could not but be attributed to some more potent cause |

than mere civility to a fellow-countryman.

I i confusion produced, tora second or two, a slight

sm assment in the count, and the blood
‘mounted highly to his forehead. Our eyes met, too, at
the same instant; and though the encounter was but
, from that time a sort of secret conscious-
ness was established bet ween us.

This scane passed in less time thanit takes to des- |
eribe it; aud, becoming aware that everyone's eyes |
instinctively, replied by a tew |

civil words of thanks, and took a place at the table, |
which had been left vacant for me, between my }
brother and Lionel Dempster. This little interruption |
at an end, the conversation returned to the course it |

 

* had taken before I came in, and there was a good deal |

of very agreeable talk, as is sure to be the case when- |
ever four or five pleasant and clever people are thrown |
together under circumstances which create a sudden |
and unexpected tamiliarity, each person desirous of |

< amusing aud rendering himself pleasant to bis com- |

 

thus:
_ the company of a long-lost and much-beloved sister.

time { raised my eyes, I wag sure to find those of Mon-

en

| -made his entree, and it was finally arranged that he and

party was made upon the spot between himself, Lionel,

4 what its poets have described it—that is to say, what

 SelwWyus were of that very rare class of people whom

earnest gaze, which, though it was instantly averted,

_« panions of an hour; but not so anxious to make an |

i sssion as to become stiff, stilted, or affected. |
onel, as I have said long ago, was remarkably |
witty and clever by nature, and had profited greatly |
by his opportunities in France; so much so, that [|
have rarely seen a young man of his age at all com-
parable tohim. The count waa likewise a person of
’ talents and breeding, with a touch of English |

ss and soundness engrafted on the stock of
vivacity; and my brotier Auguste was ayoung,
soldier, full of gay youth, high hopes, and bril-
ons, all kindled up by the excitement of
ting a toreign country, and finding himself in

   
   

Caroline Selwyn. was quick, bright, and lively;
Madsme Gironac was a perfect mine of life and vi-
vacity; and I, desirous of atoning for my folly ot the
past evening, did my best to be agreeable.
~~ [suppose I was not wholly unsuccesstul, tor every

-sieur de Chavannes riveted on my face with a deep,

even betore our glances met, showed that he was in
some sort interested either in myself or in my
words. ;

Before luncheon was finished, Monsieur Gironac

madame should join us at Kew on the following even-
ing; an.t before we set off, Caroline expressed a hope to
the Count de Chavannes that he would call upon his
friend Monsieur de Chateneuf while he was rae Sg
- the judge’s, explaining that it was impossible for .
Selwyn or the judge"to wait on him for some days,
until the courts had done sitting, when she assured
him that they would doso without fail.
He promised immediately, without a moment's hesi-
tation, thathe would do so; and I believe a riding

and Auyuste, for the second or third day.

- As soon aseverything was settled, Caroline hurried
us awsy, saying that her mother-in-law would think
she had run off; and a short agreeable drive carried us
down to the judge’s pleasant villa, where I was received
almost as‘one of the family; and Auguste, rather as an
old friend than as a stranger and a foreigner.

_ The time passed away pleasantly, for it was the
height ofthe loveliest spring weather; the situation
of tue villa on the banks of the Thames was in itself
charming; and for once the English month of May was

it is once in every hundred years.
Everyone wished to please and to be pleased, and the

you li<e the more the more you see of them—the very
rever+* of the world, in general—nothing could be
more deiightful than the week which we passed there.

From the judge I had no concealments; and regard-
ing him almostin the light of a second father, while
Auguste was prepared to love him for his.love of me,

 

we hal many long conversations and consultations con-

cerning my affairs, and the propriety of disclosing my !
existence to my tather.

‘This I was resolved upon, and both the judge and
Auguste approving, it was decided that if should be
done.

The only question, then, which remained to be dis-
posed of was, how iar my disclosure should be carried,
and whetherit would be practicable, and if practic- ,

able, safe, that Ishould return to France at present, | :

or indeed at all while in my present condition.

Auguste gave Me his opinion as he had done repeatedly |
that my mother never had laid aside, and never would ;
lay aside, her ranccur towards me; and thatshe would ,
grasp at the first opportunity of taking any vengeance |
upon me which my presence should afford her. |

He did not believe, he said, that my itatuer would be |
able long to preserve from her the secret of my being |
alive, and of my having raised myself to a -position of |
comparative affluence; nor did he feel by any means |
assured that, while laboring under the revulsion. of;
feelings which the happy tidings would work upon \
his mind, my mother would not recover her ascen- |
dancy over him,

Beyond this, he could say nothiug; for as a young
Frenchman, and more especially a young French
soldier, he knew even less about the laws gf France,
andthe rights of parents, over children, than did
Judge Selwyn; only, like the judge, he was inclined to
the opinion that I had better not trust myself within
the limits of any jurisdiction which might be called
upon to hand me over to the parental authority, until
such time as I should be completely my own mistress
as regarded them, which probably could only be af-
tected by ceasing to be my own mistress as regarded
some one else. 4

“For be assured, Valerie,’’ he added’ “that the pos-
session of your person for the purpose of annoying you,
and avenging herself on you for all the sufferings she

| undergone in consequence of your supposed suicide,

will become the darling object of her life, so sure as
she.learns that you are in the land of the living; and
the tact of your having secured to yourself a little for-
tune will not act as acheck upon her inclinations.”

Isighed deeply; for although I telt and knew the truth
of all he said, and expected that he would say it, his
words seemed to extinguish the last spark of hope’ in
my heart; and it isa bitter and painful thing in any
case tor a daughter to feel that she shall in all proba-
bility never again be permitted to see the anthors of
her Jife, or the companions and scenes of her childhood;
but itis doubly so when she feels it to be the fault ot
the wickedness or weakness of those whom she would
fain love and esteem, but cannot. ’

The good judge marked my emotion, and, laying his
hand kindly on my shoulder, said, ‘‘ You must not give
way, my dear girl; you have done all that is right and
true and honest; and the course which you have taken
has been forced upon you. To yield now, and return
home to be tortured and despoiled of the little all which
your own good sense and your own good conduct have
procured you—for, apart from good sense and good con-
duct, there is no such thing in the world as good for-
tune—would not only be positive insanity, but positive
ingratitude to the Giver of all good. My advice to
you, therefore, is to remain altogether passive, to pur-
sue the career which you have chosen, and, without

ing hitherto recorded facts and actions rather than

| feelings or principles I am conscious that I have repre-

sented myself as a somewhat harder and more worldly
person than I feel myself in truth to be.
But the hardness and the worldliness were produced,

|ifthey existed at all, by the hardness of the cireny.-

stances into which I was thrown, and the wordlin
ot the persons with whom I was brought into contact.
Adversity had hardened my character, and perhaps
in some sort my heartalso. Atleast, it had aron od
amy pride to the utniost, had set me as it were upon
the defensive, and led me to regard every stranger
with suspicion, and to lookin him for a future enemy.

Good fortune had, however, altered all this,. All b>
had been my enemies who had injured, or misrepre-
sented me, were disarmed, or subdued, or repentant.
1 had forgiven al] the world—wuas at peace with all the
world. Ihad achieved what to me was a,little com-
petence ; Iwas loved and esteemed by those whom I
could in return love and esteem, and of whose regard
I could be honestly proud. I had recovered my
brother—I still hoped to be reconciled to my perents
—and—and—why should I conceal it—I was beginning
to think it by far less improbable that I should one day
os a word, I was beginning to like, if not yet to

ove.

All these things had been by degrees effecting a
change in my thoughts and feelings. I had been
gradually thawing, and was now completely melted, so
that I felt the necessity of being alone—of giving way
—of weeping.

I went to my own chamber, threw myself on my Led,
and wept long and freely.

But these were not tears of agony such as I shed
when I first learned Madani d’Albret’s cruel conduct
towards me—nor tears of injured pride such as Madame
Bathurst had torced from me by her effort to humiliate
me in my own eyes—nor yet tears of wrathful indig-
nation such as burst from me when I detected y
M—— in her base endeavor to destroy my character.

These were tears of affection, of softness, almost of
joy. They flowed noiselessly and gently, and they
relieved me, for my heart was very full; and, when I
was relieved, I bathed my face, and arranged my hair,
and descended the staircase, almost merrily, to join
the merry company in the garden. ;

I found on my joining them, that the Count de
Chayannes had already completely gained the good
graces, not only of Caroline and her young sisters-i::-
law, but of Mr, Selwyn and the judge also.

He had come down to Kew with the particular pur-
pose of engaging my brother and Lionel tu accompany
him on the next day but one to Wormwood Scruls,
where there was to be a grand review, in honor of 8. 1wWe
foreign prince or other, of twoor three regiments of
light cavalry, with horse artillery and rockets, 1t was
torconclude with asham fight, and which he thougiit
would interest Auguste, as a military man, and esper-
ially one who had commenced his service in tho lius-
sars, though he had been subsequently transferred
into the line.

This plan had been discussed and talked over until
the ladies, having expressed a laughing desire to seo
the spectacle, it was decided that Caroline, the two
Miss Selwyns, and myself, escorted by Lionel, in
the rumble, should go down to the review in the

 

 

yourself taking any steps to disclose your present situ: } judge’s carriage, Auguste and the count accompanying

tion, to authorize your brother fully to reveal to your
father so much of it as shall appear necessary and de-
sirable to him when on the spot. I should not recom-
mend that your place of residence, or exact cir-
cumstances, should be communicated even to
him, at least for the present; and should he
desire to write to you, the letters should pass
through yourbrother’s hands, and be forwarded under
cover tome, which will prevent the gaining of intelli-
gence through the post-ofiice. The restwe must leave
to the effects of time, and of that Providence which has
been displayed so singularly in your behalf already,
and which never deserts those who believe humbly,
and endeavor sincerely to deserve Divine favor. So

this,’ he added with a smile, “is the end and sum to- {

tal of an old lawyer's counsel, and an old man’s ser-
mon.
you ; forI believe you will find it the best course, al-
though it may now hardly suit your excited feelings,
and in the meantime, let us goon the lawn and join
the ladies, who seem to have got some new metal of
attraction.”

“ Indeed, judge,” I replied, “I am quite convinced of
the wisdom of what you propose, and I thank you sin-
cerely for your adviee as for all your other goodness to-
wards me. No father could be kinder to an only daugh-
ter than you have been to me; and God will bless you
for it; but, to say the truth, I do feel very sad and
downcast just at this moment, and am not equal to the
joining that gay party. I will goup to my own room,”
Ladded, ‘for alittle while, and come down again so
soon as I can conquer this foolish weakness.”

“Do not call it foolish, Valerie,” returned the old
man witha benignant smile. ‘Nothing that is nat-
ural can be foolish—least of all, anything of natural and
kindly feeling. But do not yield to it—do not yield to
it. The feelings are good slaves, but wretchedly poor
masters. Do as you will, my dear child, but come to
us again as soon as you can. In the meautime, Mon-
sieur de Chatenwuf, let us go andsee who are these new-
comers.” ;

And with these words he turned away, leaning famil-
iarly upon my brother's arm, and left me to collect
myself, and recover from the perturbation of my feel-
ings as well and as soon as I could—which was not per-
haps the more quickly that I had easily recognized in
the new arrival the person of the Count de Cha-
vannes. r

‘I have entered perhaps more fully into the detail of
my sentiments at this period of my life, for two reasons

And now,think over what I haye said between ;

us en cavalier; and that, after the order of tho day
should be concluded, the whole party, including the
Count, should return to dinner at Kew.

On the day following, as I did not think it either
wise or correct to neglect my pupils, my chipel, or
Mrs. Bradshaw’s school, although I had sent satis‘ac-
tory reasons for taking one week’s leave of absence, we
were all to return to town; I to good Monsieur Gir-
onac’s, Auguste and Lionel to the lodgings of the lat-
ter in Suffolk Street.

Monsieur de Chavannes did not stay long after I
made my appéarance, not wishing either to be, or to
appear, de trop on a first visit; nor had he any oppor-
tunity of addressing more than a few commonplace ob-
servations to me had he desired todo so. Still I ob-
served the same peculiarity in his manner towards me,
as distinct as possible, from the sort of proud humil-
ity, half-badinage, half-earnest, which he put on in
talking with other ladies.

To me he observed a tone of serious softness, with
something of earnest deference to everything that fell
from my lips, however light or causal, for which he
seemed to watch with the utmost eagerness,

He never joked with me, though he was doing so con-
tinually with the others; not that he was in the least
degree grave or formal, much less stiff or affected; but
rather that he seemed desirious of proving to me that
he was not a mere butterfly of society, but had deeper
ideas, and higher aspirations than the every day world
around us. -

When be was going away, he, for the first time, put
out his hand to me a U'anglaise, and, as Ishook hands
with him, our eyes met once more, and I believe I
again blushed alittle; for though he dropped his gaze
instantly, and bowed low, pine off his hat, he pressed
my fingers very gently ere he let them fall, and then
turning to take his leave of the judge and Mr. Selwyn,
who had just joined as, mounted his horse—a very fine
hunter, by the way, which he sat admirably—again
bowed low, and cantered off, followed by his groom, as
well mounted as himself. ;

He was not well out of sight before, as usual, he be-
came the topie of general discussion.

‘What a charming person,’’ said Caroline; ‘‘so full
of spirit and vivacity, and_yet so evidently a man ot
mind and good feeling. Where did you pick him up,
Valerio ?”

‘He is an old friend, I told you, of Monsieur Giron-
ac’s, and was calling there by accident when we met

 

—one, because of an eventful life, this was upon the

et and since that he has been exeedingly kind
and civil to him. That is the whole I know about

whole the most eventful moment—the other, that hav, him.”

 

 

 

 
VALERIE.

 

 

und,
eaye us for a short time, and ride nearer to the spot |
where the artillery were maneuvering.

As we had several servants about us, in the first place,
and as in the second there is not the slightest danger |
of ladies being treated with incivility by an English |
crowd, unless through their own fault or indiscretion, |
ofcourse no objection was made, and our cavaliers |
galloped away, promising to return within a quarter |

of an hour. r

Scarcely were they out of sight, before I observed a |
fall, handsome, soldierly man, though in plain clothes,
vide past the carriage on a very fine horse, followed by
. groom in a plain dark frock, with a cockade in his

at.

It seemed to me, on the instant, that I had seen his
face somewhere before, and that I ought to know him;
for the features all seemed familiar, although, had it

’ been to save my life, I could not have said where I had
met him. ‘

I was torturing my memory on this head in vain—for
he was evidently an Englishman, and I had no ac-

‘quaintance with any English officer—when he rode
past a second time, and seemed to be engaged in en-

_ deavoring to decipher the arms on our carriage, and his
object appeared to bethe discovery of who J was; at
least, I could not but observe that he looked at me
trom time to time with a furtive glance from under the
brim of his hat, as if he, too, fancied that he knew or
remembered me. The same thing happened yet a third
time; and then he called his servant to his side, and I
saw the man ride up a second afterwards to Judge Sel-
wyn's footman, who was standing ata few yards’ dis-
tance from the carriage, and ask him some question,
which he answered by a word or two, when the groom
rode away.

The gentleman,on receiving the reply, nodded his
head quietly, as if he would have said, ‘I thought so,”’ |
and then he looked at me steadily till he caught my
eye. when he raised his hat, made a half-military bow, |
and trotted slowly away. |

Caroline’s quick eye caught this action inan instant, |
and, turning to me suddenly, she cried quickly :

“Ah! Valerie, who is that ? that handsome man who
bowed toyou? Where have I seen him before ?”*

“The very question which I was asking myself, Car-
oling. I am quite sure that I have seen his face, and
yet Icannot remember where. It is very strange.’’

“Very |" replied a strange, sneering voice, close to
my ear, with a slightly foreign accent. ‘‘Can you say

_ where you have seen mine, Ingrate ?”’

I turned my head as quick as lightning; for in an-

'  ewering Caroline; whosat on the side of the carriage

bext to the military spectacle, I had leaned a little in-

ward; and there, with his effeminate features actually

- livil with rage, and writhing with impotent malignity,

stool Monsieur G——, the infamous, divorced husband

ot Madame d’Albret, and the first cause of almost all
iny misfortunes.

_ Llooked at him steadily, and replied with bitter but
calm contempt :

* Perfectly well, Monsieur G——. And very little
did Lsuppose that Ishould ever see it again. I im-
aginad, sir, that you were in your proper place—the

- galleys !’’. :
‘It was wrong

 

 

doubtless, in meso to answer him—
- unfeninine, haps, and too provocative of insult ;
but the blood of my race is hot, and vehement to re-
el insult ; and when I thought of the sufferings I
ad endured, the trials I had encountered, and the
contumely which I had borne on account of that man,
_-- my every vein seemed to overflow with passion.
“Hal” he replied, grinding his teeth with rage, and
% becoming crimson from the rush of blood to his head,
i ; while he grasped my wrist hard with his hand, and
_ @#hookit furiously. “Hal to the galleys yourself—
_ Chienne! Ingrate! Perfide! Traitresse ! c’ est aux galeres
Res? 7. ai cru te rencontrer—ov, plutot a la’'——
-_- ‘What further atrocity the ruffian was about to utter,
---Tknow not, for while his odious voice was yet hissing
in my ear these atrocious epithets, before the foot-
man, who.was standing, as I have said,a few yards off
at the other side of the carriage, had time to interfere,
" - Theard the sound of a horse at full gallop, and the
- next instant, he was dragged forcibly away, and I saw
. lim quivering in the fprious grasp of the Count de
Chavannes, who had, it seems, been returning to join
- us, when the assault was committed.

To gallop to my side, to spring to the ground, to,
collar the ruffian, him from the carriage, and
lash him with his whole strength with a rough jockey-
whip till he fairly screamed for mercy, were but the

_ work ofa moment.

And I could not but marvel afterwards to think how
_ much power and neryous energy his indignant spirkt had
_ lent to his slight frame and slender limbs ; for in size,
he was by no means superior toG——, whom he,
i “nevertheless, handled almost as if he had been a child

of five years old, é
Want of breath at last, rather than want of will, com-
‘pelled him to pause in his exercise! and then turning

_ towards us with an airas composed and smiling as if

he had been merely dancing a quadrille, he took off his

hat, saying: ; :

“TI must implore your pardon, ladies, yours

more especially, Mademoiselle Valerie, for enacting

__stteh a scene in your presence. Mais c'etait ta Sort que

moi" he added, laughing, “I could not contain myself
at seeing a lady so infamously insulted.”

_ Caroline and the Misses Selwyn were so much fright-
ened by the whole fracas, that they were really unable
_ to answer, and I was for the moment so much taken by
+ surprise, that I could not find words to reply. At this
_ moment, covered with dust and blood, for the whip
had cut his face in several places, without his hat, and
with all his gay attire besmeared and rent : G—— again

-- ¢ame up towards the ee: ;
He was very pale, nay white, even to the lips; but it

 

words testified :
‘‘Monsieur le Comte de Chavannes,” he said slowly,

| « car je vous connais, et vous me connaitrez ausi, je

vous le jure; vous m’avez frappe, vous me rendrez sat-
isfaction, c’est-ce pas ?”’

“Oh ! no, no,’ I exclaimed, before he could answer, |

clasping my hands eagerly together; “ ob, no, no! not
on my account, I implore you. Monsieur le Comte—

| no life on my account—above all, not yours !’”’

He thanked me by one expressive glance, which spoke
volumes to ny heart, and perhaps read volumes in re-
turn inmy pale face and trembling lips, then turned
with, a calm smile to his late antagonist, and an-
swered him in English.

“I do not know in the least, sir, who you are, and IL
do not suppose that I ever shall know. I chastised
you five minutes since, for insulting this lady most
grossly ’——

“Lady !’’ interrupted the ruffian, with a sneer.
Lady, ‘Lady of plea ’’——

But the count went on without pausing or seeming
to hear him—‘ which I should have done at all events,
whether I had known you or not, and which I shall
most assuredly do again, should you think fit to pro-
ceed further with yourinfamies, As for satisfaction, if I
should be called upon in a proper way, I shall not re-
fuse it to any person worthy to meet me.”

“Which this person is not, sir,’’ interposed yet a
third voice; and, looking up, I recognized the officer
who had bowed to me: “ which this person is not, I as-
sure you, and my wordis wont to be sufficient,in such
cases—Lieutenant Colonel Jervis,’’—he added, with a
half-bow to me,—‘ late of his majesty’s —— light drag-
oons. This person is the notorious Monsieur G. i
who was detected cheating at ecarteat the Travelers;’
was adefaulter on the St. Leger in the St. Patrick’s
year: has been warued off every race-course in England
by the Jockey Club, besides being horse-whipped by
half the Legs in England. He can get-no gentleman to
bring you a message, sir; and if hecould, you must not
meet him.”

Gnashing his teeth with impotent rage, the detected
impostor slunk away, while the count, bowing to Col-
onel Jervis replied quietly:

“Tthank you very much, colonel. I am Monsieur
de Chevannes ; and I have no doubt what you say is
perfectly correct. No one but alow ruffian could have
behaved as this fellow did. It was,I assure you, no
small offense which caused me to strike a blow in the
presence of ladies.”

“J saw it, Monsieur le Comte,’’ answered Jervis, “I
saw it from a distance, and was coming up as fast as I
could make my horse gallop, when you anticipated me.
Then, secing that I was not wanted, I stood looking on
with intense satisfaction ; for, upon my word, I never
saw a thing better done in my life. No offense, count,
but by the way you use your hands, I think you ought
to have been an Englishman rather than a Frenchman,
which I suppose from your name—for you have no
French accent—you are’ —

“‘T was at school in England, Colonel,’ answered the
count, laughing, *‘and so learned the use of my
hands.” ;

“ That accounts forit, that accounts for it—for on
my life I never saw a fellow more handsomely horse-
whipped—and I have seen agood many too. Did you,
Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenwuf, for I believe it is
you whom I have the honor of addressing ?””

“T have been less fortunate than you, Colonel Jervis,
for I never saw any one horsewhipped before, and
sincerely hope I shall never see another.”’

** Don’t say that, my dear lady, don’t say that. 1 am
sure itis a very pretty sight, when it is well and
soundly done. Besides, it seems ungrateful to the
count.”’

“I would not be ungrateful for the world,” I
replied; ‘andi am sure the count needs no assurance
of that fact. Iam forever obliged by his prompt de-
fense of me—but it is nothing more than I should have
expected from him.’

“What, that he would fight for you, Valerie?” whis-
pered Caroline, maliciously, in a tone which, perhaps,
she did not intend to be overheard ; but ifsuch was her
meaning, she missed it, for all present. heard her dis-
tinctly.

Ireplied, however, very coolly—

“Yes, Caroline, that he would fight for me, or you,
or any lady who was aggrieved or insulted in his
presence.’”’

_ ‘ Mille graces for your good opinions!” said De
Chavannes, with a bow, and a glance that was far more
eloquent than words, ;

“A truce to compliments, if you will not think me
impertinent, count,” said the colonel ; ‘but J wish to
ask this fair lady, if she will pardon me one question ;
had you ever a friend called” ——

“ Adele Chabot!’ I interrupted him ;: ‘and T shall be
most enchanted to hear of her, or better still tosee her,
as Mrs, Jervis.’’

“You have anticipated me ; that is what Iwas about
tosay. We arrived in town last night ; and she com-
missioned me at once to make out your whereabouts
for her. The Gironacs told me that you were staying
at Kew"——

“Yes, at Judge Selwyn’s. By the way,’’ I added, a
little mischievously, I confess, “allow me to make
known to one another, Mrs, Charles Selwyn once Caro-
line Stanhope, and Colonel Jervis.”

Jervis bowed low, but his cheek and brow burned a
little, and he looked sharply at me out of the corner of
his eye ; but I preserved such a demure face, that he
did not quite know whetherI was au fait or not.

Caroline, to do her justice, behaved exceedingly well.
Her character, indeed, which had been quite unformed
before her marriage, had gained solidity, and her mind,
judgment, as well as tone, since her introduction toa
family so superior as that of the Selwyns. And she
now neither blushed nor tittered, nor, indeed, showed

his servant, they asked our permission to | was evidently not with terror but with rage, as his first | any signs of consciousness, although she gave me asly

pinch, while she was inquiring in her sweetest voice
; and serenest manner after Adele, whom she said she
| had always loved very much, and longed to see her sin-
; cerely in her new station, which she was so admir-
| ably qualified to fill. “I hear she was vastly admired
in Paris, colonel ; and no wonder, forI really think she
was the very prettiest creature I ever saw in my lite.
| You are a fortunate man, Colonel Jervis.’’
| “Tam, indeed,” said he, laughing. ‘ Adele is a very
| good little creature, and the people were so gvod-
| natured as to be very civil to herin Paris, especially
your friend Madame d’Albret, Mademoiselle de Chate-
neuf. Nothing could exceed her attention tous. We
are very much indebted to you for her acquaintance.
| By the way, Adele has no end of letters, and presents of
|} allsorts, for you fromher. When can you come and
see Adele ?”*

‘Where are you staying, Colonel Jervis ?’”

“At Thomas's Hotel, in Berkeley Square, at present,
until we can find a furnished house for theseason. In
August we ure going down to a little cottage of mine,
in the Highlands. And I believe Adele has some plan
for inducing you to come down and bear her company,
while Iam slaughtering grouse and black cock.”

| “Thanks, colonel, both to you and Adele. But I do
|not know how that will be. August is two whole
| months distant yet and one never knows what may
| happen in the course of two months. Do you know I
was half thinking of paying a visit to. France mysel!,
| when my brother, who is on a visit to me now, returns
| to join his regiment.”
| “Were you, indeed?’ asked De Chavannes, more
varnestly than the subject seemed to warrant. “I had
| not heard ot that scheme before. Is it likely to he
| carried into effect, mademoiselle ?” .

“Thardly know. As yct it is little more than a dis-
tant dream."

“But you have not yet answered my question,
Mademoiselle de Chatenewuf,” said the colonel. * You
have not yet told me when you will come and sce
Adele.’’

“Oh! pardon me, colonel. Ireturn to town to-mor-
row, and I will not lose a moment. Suppose T say at
one o’clock to-morrow, or two will be better. Caroline,
the judge was so good as to say that he would let hix
carriage take me home; I dare say it can drop me at
‘Thomas’s, can it not?”

“Certainly not, Valerie! There, don’t stare now, or
look indignant or surprised, It served you perféctly
right; what did you expect me to say? Or why do you
ask such silly questions ? Of course, it can take you
wherever you please, precisely as if it were you own.”

“Then, at two o'ciovk, I will be at Thomas’s to-mor-
row, colonel; in the meantime, pray give Adele my
best love.” ;

“T will, indeed, And now, I will intrude upon you
no longer, ladies,” he added, raising his hat. “In fact,
Lowe you many apologies for the liberty | have taken
in introducing myself. I hope you will believe that I
would not have done so under any other circumstan-
ces.”"

We bowed, and without any further remarks, he put
spurs to his horse, and cantered away.

“A very gentlemanly person,” said Caroline; ‘I think
Adele has done very well for herself.”

“You had better not"let Mr. Charles Selwyn hear
you say so, under all circumstances, or I think that
very likely the whipping we were talking about in fun,
yesterday, will become real, cara mia/’”

“Nonsense! for shame, you mischievous thing!’
said Caroline, blushing a little, but not painiully.

“Who is this Colonei Jervis?” asked the Count de
Chayannes. “Iwas a little puzzled, or rather not a
little ; for at first none of you seemed to know him
and, after a little while, you all appeared to know him
quite well. Pray explain the mystery.”

“He is a very gentlemanly person, count, as Mrs.
Selwyn justly observes, and as you can perceive, a very
handsome man. Further than that, he was colonel of
one of his majesty’s crack regiments, as they call them,
and is now on hal/-pay. He is, moreover, a man of
high fashion, and of the first standing in society. And,
last of all, which isthe secret of the whole, he is the
husband ot a yery charming little Frenchwoman, a
particular friend of Caroline’s and mine, one of the
prettiest and nicest persons on earth, with whom he
a away some six months since, ftancying her to

ar,

“ Valerie |’’ exclaimed Caroline, blushing fiery red.

“Caroline !’’ replied I, quietly.

“What were you going to say ?””

“Fancying her to bea very great heiress,’’ 1 con-
tinned ; ‘but finding her to be a far better thing, a
delightful, beautiful, and excellent wife.”

‘Happy man!" said De Chayannes, with a half-sigh.

“Why do you say so, count?” -

“To have married one for whom you vouch so
strongly. Is that any common fortune?”

“Tt is ratlfer common, count, just of late I mean,”
said Caroline, laughing. “You do not know thut
among Valerie’s other accomplishments she is the
greatest little match-maker in existence. She married
off all her friends as fast—oh! you cannot think how
tast.’’

“T hope—I mean to say I think,” he corrected himself,
not without some little contusion, “that she ig not
quite so bad as you make her out. She has not yet
made any match for herself, I believe. No, no. I
don’t believe she is quite so bad.””

“LT would not be too sure, count, were I you,” she
answered, desirous of paying me off a little for some of
the badinage with which I had treated her. “These
ladies, with so many strings to their bow ’——

It was now my time to exclaim “Caroline! and IT
did so without giving so me little emphasis of severity
to my tone; for I really thought she was going beyond
the limits of propriety, if not of persiflage; and I will

 

 
VALERIE.

 

“You are right, Valerie, andI am wrong. But
tell me, do you love him?”

“Ido, Auguste. I like him better than any man
Ihave ever seen, He is the only man of whom I
could think as a husband—and I have for some
time past been fearful of ive him—loving him,too
much, not knowing, ‘though I did believe and hope.
that he reciprocated my feelings. And now, i i
knew but a little more of his principles and char-
acter, I would not hesitate.”

“Then you need not hesitate, dearest Valerie; for,
as if to obviate this objection, he showed me, in the
most delicate manner, private letters from his old-
est and most intimate friends, and especially from
Mr. ——, a most respectable cleces tee who lives
at Hendon, by whom he was e ucated, and with
whom he has‘maintained constant intercourse and
correspondence ever since. This alone speaks very
highly in his favor;.and the terms in which he
writes to his pupil, are such as prove them both to
be men of the highest character for worth, integri-
ty, and virtue. e has proposed, moreover, that I
should ride down with him to-morrow to Hendon
to visit Mr. ——, and to hear from his own lips ye'
more of his character and conduct, that is to say, if
I can give him any hopes of ultimate success.”’

“Well, Auguste,” I replied, “‘I think with you,
that all this speaks ey highly in favor of your
friend; and I think that the best thing you can do,
is to take this ride which he proposes, and see his
tutor, In the meantime, I will drive down to Kew,
and speak with our good friend Judge Selwyn on
the subject. To-morrow evening I will see the
count, and hear whatever he desires to say to me.”

This was a very matter-of-fact way of dealing
with the affair, certainly; but what Auguste had
said was in some sort true. I was in truth rather
a matter-of-fact girl, and I never found that I suf-
fered by it in the least; for I certainly was not
either worldly or selfish, and the feelings do, as
certainly, require to be guided and controlled by
sober reason,

After coming to this conclusion,I showed Madame
d’Albret’s letter to Auguste, and we came to the de-
cision, also, that under the circumstances, Auguste
should immediately on his return communicate the
fact of my being live and in good circumstances to
my father, leaving it at his discretion whether to in-
form my mother of the facts or not, as he might
judge expedient.

At a very early hour next morning, I took a glass
coach and drove down to Kew, where I arrived,
greatly to the astonishment of the whole family.
just as they were sitting down to breakfast; and
when I stated that I had come to speak on very
urgent business with the judge, he desired mly car-
Lie. to return to town, and pro’ to carry me
back himself, so that we might kill two birds, as he
a it, with one stone—holding a consultation
in his carriage, while on his way to. court.

As soon as we got into the coach, while I was
hesitating how to open the subject, which was cer-
tainly a little awkward for a young girl, the judge
took up the discourse:

“Well, Valerie,’ he said, ‘I auppore you want to
know the result of the inquiries which you were so
unwilling that I should make about the Count de
Oeaih ia pattbetly trum, Judge, though I do net kn

“It ec’ rue, judge, thoug! 0 no’ Ow
how you ever have divined i.

“Té is lucky, at least, that I consulted my own
judgment, rather than your fancy; for otherwise I
should have had no information to give you.”’

“ But, as itis, judge?”

“Why, as it is, Mademoiselle Valerie, you maye
marry him as soon as ever he asks you, and thin:

ourself a very lucky young lady into the bargain.
ie has a character such as not one man in fifty
can produce. He is rich, liberal without being ex-
travagant, never plays, ig by no means dissipated
and in all res) is a man of honor, ability, an
character; such is what I have learned from a quar-
ter where there can be no mistake.”

I was a good deal affected for a moment or two
and was very near bursting into tears. The g
judge took my hand in his, and spoke soothingly,
and almost caressingly, bidding me confide in him
altogether, and he would advise me as if he were
my own father.

Y aia so accordingly; and while he approved high-
ly of all that I had done, and of the delicate and

tlemanly manner in which the count had acted,

e full vised me to deal frankly and directly
with “You like him, I am sure, Valerie; in-
deed, I believe I knew that before you did yourself,
and I have no doubt he will make you an admirable
husband. Tell him all, show him this letter of your
friend Madame d’Albret’s, about your mother, and
if he desires it, as I dare say he will, marry him at
once, and set out together with Auguste for France,
when his leave of absence is expired, and go direct-
ly to Paris with your husband. As a married wo-
man, your parents will have no authority of any
kind over you, and I think it is your duty to do
50.”

I ra with him at once; and when, in the even-
ing, Auguste returned with the count from a visit
to his former tutor, which had been in all respects
satisfactory, and left me alone with Monsieur de
Chavannes, everything was determined without
difficulty. ~

Love-scenes and courtships though vastly interest-
ing to the actors, are always the dullest things, in
the world to bystanders: I shall therefore proceed
at once to the end, merely stating that the count
avas all, and did all, that the most ewigeante of wo-
men could have required—that from the first to the
last he was full of delicacy, of tenderness, and
honor, and that after twelve years of a happy life
with him, I have never had cause to repent for a

 

moment that I consented to give him the hand
which he so ardently desired.

The joy of Madame Gironac can be imagined bet-
ter than described, as well as the manner in which
she bustled about my ¢rousseau and my outfit for
France, as it was determined that the judge’s plan
should be adopted to the letter, and that we should
start es St. George’s to Dover and Calais.

Never, perhaps, was a marriage more rapidly or-
ganized and completed. The law business was ex-

ited with all speed by Charles Selwyn; Madame
thurst, the Jervises, the Gironacs, and the Sel-
wyns, were alone present at the wedding, and
though we were all dear friends, there was no affec-
tation of tears or lamentable partings; for we knew
that, in Heaven’s pleasure, we should all meet again
within a few months, as, after our wedding tour was
ended, Monsieur de Chavannes pepe to take up
his abode im England, the land of his choice, as of his
education.

There was no bishop to peter the ceremony,
nor any duke to give away the bride. No long array
of liveried servants with favors in their buttons and
in their hats, no pompous paragraph in the mo:

apers to describe the beauties of the high-br

ride and the dresses of her aristocratic bridesmaids
—but two hearts were united as well as two hands,
and Heaven smiled upon the union. ;

A quick and pleasant passage carried us to Paris,
where I was received with raptures by my old
friend, Madame Paon, and with sincere satisfaction
by Madame d’Albret, who was proud to recogni
her old protegee in the new character of the Com-
tesse de Chavannes, a character which she imagined
reflected no small credit on her tuition and patron-

age.

The threatened emeute having passed over, Au-
guste easily obtained a renewal of his leave of ab-
sence, in order to visit his family at Pau, and as he
preceded us by three days, and traveled with the ut-
most diligence, he outstripped us by nearly a week,
and we found both my parents prepared to receive
us and both really happy at the prosperous tidings.

My poor mother was indeed dying; had we come
two days later, we should have been too late, for she
died in my arms on the day following our arrival,
enraptured to find herself relieved from the heinous
crime of which she had so long believed herself
guilty, and blessing me with her dying lips,

My father, who had always loved me, and who
had erred through weakness of head only, seemed
never to weary of sitting beside me, of holdi my
hand in his, and of gazing in my face. With Mon-
sieur de Chavannes’ consent. the whole of my little
earnings, amounting to nearly £3,500, was settled on
him for his life, and then on my sisters; and the in-
come arising from it, though a mere trifle in England,
in that cheap region sufficed, with what he possesse
of his own, to render his old age affluent and happy.

Thus all my trials ended: and if the beginning of
my career was painful and disastrous, the cares and
sorrows of Valerie de Chatenceuf have been more
than compensated by the happiness of Valerie de
Chavannes.

I may as well mention here, that a few years after-
wards, Lionel Dempster married my second sigter,
Elisee, a very nice and very handsome girl, and has
settled very close to the villa which the count pur-
chased on his return from France, near Windsor, on
the lovely Thames, ministering not a little b: their
company to the bliss of our happy, peaceful life.

My eldest brother, Auguste, is now a lieutenant-
colonel of the line, having greatly distinguished him-
self in Algeria; Nicholas, who never returned to
France, has acquired both renown and riches by his
musical abilities, and all the younger branches of
the family are happily provided for.

I have three sweet children, one boy and two little
girls, and the difficulties and sorrows I experienced,
owing to an evil and injudicious course of education,
have been so far of use, that they have taught me
how to b up my own children, even more to love
and honor than to obey.

Perfect happiness is not allotted to any here below;
but few and short have been the latter sorrows, and
infinite the blessings, vouchsafed by a kind vi-
dence, to the orice Pere and houseless, but now rich,
and honored, and, better than all, Joved, Valerie.

THE END.

 

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