PART II.

Tailpiece to Chapter VI

Headpiece to Chapter I

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he pleasant spring-time had returned once more. Far away in New France the snows that had mantled the ground for months were disappearing fast. In Old France the flowers already decked the meadows and grassy banks, the blossoms had opened, and the song-birds had begun to break the dreary silence that had reigned in the hedgerows and the woods, for in those days Old France could let the little warblers sing without at once devoting them to eke out the rustic meal. Perhaps in all the west of France there was no tract of country in which this season was more peculiarly attractive, or could present a more charming landscape, than that overlooked from the terrace of the old Chateau de Valricour. It was, however, of the class not appreciated by those who hold that there is no real beauty, properly so called, except in rugged, wild, and romantic scenery. Here were no deep ravines, no dark glens, no bold scarped rocky heights or frightful precipices. Salvator Rosa would have turned away, whilst Claude would have desired to linger long to catch some new effect of bright light gradually softening away in clear yet mellowed distance. There was no eminence that could be dignified by the name of a mountain, yet there were hills in one part of the horizon, and slight undulations in the middle ground sufficient to prevent any idea of monotony. The fields were green, the trees sufficiently abundant, and a not inconsiderable stream winding about, and sometimes losing itself for a while behind a rising ground topped by a quaint old windmill, gave to the scene variety and life. Homesteads and cottages of all sorts and sizes dotted the landscape. One or two edifices there were, moreover, of more pretentious dimensions, evidently the residences of the wealthier seigneurs, whilst in the extreme distance, flanked by large patches of woodland, the eye rested on a magnificent chateau covering many and many a rood, the princely abode of the most noble and most respected Marquis de Beaujardin.

There was one circumstance, however, connected with this landscape which, although common to all parts of France in those days, played a more than usually important part in this particular district, and yet it was one which a mere stranger looking down from the terrace would never have suspected. Few of the tenements could claim to be anything better than mere farm-houses. Yet every second building you came upon was a chateau—yes, a veritable chateau, the actual abode of some seigneur of the old noblesse of France, whose name might be like enough to call up the memory of some illustrious deed done in the old chivalric days of France. The country literally swarmed with chateaux and with nobles. Do you see yon rickety, tumble-down building, scarce big enough for a good-sized family? That is the chateau of Monsieur le Comte de Joliment, not one of your new nobles, who have become such in virtue of some one or other of the thousands of royal patent places that conferred nobility on their upstart holders as a right. No; these latter gentry have fine salaries or pensions attached to their appointments; they are comfortable enough as to means, and profess not to care about pedigree or descent, though the old nobles hold themselves aloof and look down upon them asparvenus. The Count de Joliment would probably prefer starving to giving up even for a fat pension his rights over the miserable remnants of the old family estates that he can still call his own. Did not one of his ancestors fight by the side of Charles Martel himself at the battle of Tours? You may almost read something of the kind in the aristocratic bearing of the old noble, though the most liberal old-clothes-man would scarcely like to give twenty francs for the whole of the count's wardrobe, including those clod-hopping boots, but excluding, of course, the somewhat antiquated rapier which his rank gives him the privilege of wearing. "How does he manage to live?" you ask. Well, it is not so easy to say, as incumbrances in many quarters swallow up every sou of the slender rental. But then the count being a noble, is free from all the heavy taxes that crush his poor and wretched tenants; his tailor's bills are nominal, and as he exacts to the last ounce the seigneurial rights payable in kind, and enjoys besides the lordly privilege of keeping pigeons and rabbits, he manages to hold body and soul together. He does not trouble himself about the muttered curses of the commoners against him and his class, or dream of their taking shape some day in the hideous cry of "Down with the aristocrats! A la lanterne!"

The same picture, with a slight alteration here and there, will do equally well for some of the count's neighbours, such as the Marquis de Marcy, the Sieur de Vallancelles, and even the noble Duke de Hautbois, who is perhaps the most hopelessly impoverished of those who may cross your path in the course of the day's walk that separates the Chateau de Valricour from that of Beaujardin. Yes, but then Madame la Duchesse can claim the privilege of sitting on a tabouret in the royal presence, that is to say she could if there were such a personage, but the Duke is not married, wisely considering, perhaps, that a dozen young dukes (for all his progeny would have a right to the title) might make the whole thing look ridiculous, so when he dies there will happily be one poor noble the less instead of a dozen more for the despised Third Estate of the realm to hate and scowl upon.

It must by no means be supposed, however, that there is no other side to this strange picture. There are hosts of noble families whose means enable them to maintain a proper state, and to keep up the dignity of their ancient houses; and this, be it remembered, is in truth their only calling, for as a class or body the nobles had no influence or power in the Government of the kingdom. Nay, there is yet another set, so splendidly, so magnificently wealthy that the mind, accustomed to the more measured and sober scale even of the most princely establishments of modern days, can scarcely picture to itself the boundless extravagance which marked those of the age of Louis the Fifteenth and his successor, until the Revolution swept them away. Some great nobles there were whose landed revenues were sufficient to enable them to live in almost royal state. Then there were some who, having no landed property to squander, flocked to Paris or Versailles, and sought and found favour at the profligate court of "His Most Christian Majesty" (as the kings of France were styled), no matter by what base and scandalous means. These were lavishly rewarded, and obtained large incomes from the enormous grants and pensions given to them as court favourites and personal attendants on the king, not merely by thousands but even by millions of francs. These profligates cared not what they spent so long as they could outdo this or that rival in extravagance, by having fifty more guest chambers in their chateaux, or fifty more horses in their stables. If a day of reckoning did thrust itself upon them it was but a question of asking for another pension in addition to those they already held, or of obtaining at a nominal price a grant of crown domains, to be sold again for hundreds of thousands of francs. Truly there was but one thing that could match the flaunting wastefulness of the reigning favourites at court, and that was the hard condition, the intolerable poverty, of the despised commonalty.

Nevertheless, whilst the greater part of the old nobility of France came unmistakably under one or other of these extreme descriptions, there were to be found, in the country districts, some who were free alike from such boundless extravagance and such abject poverty. Of this small and exceptional class the Marquis de Beaujardin was a striking example. His naturally calm and unexcitable temperament had been still further disciplined by early habits of self-command, first as a scholar and subsequently as a soldier. Slow to apprehend the bearings of questions, he seldom failed, if he had time for consideration and reflection, to arrive at a right conclusion, and then he could be not only just but generous. Thus he had long since arrived at a fair judgment of the state of things in France, and keeping aloof from the court and its intrigues, added as little as might be to the terrible burdens which the laws of the land and the existing state of society inevitably laid upon the poorer classes around him. Had he followed his own inclination, he would from choice have kept as small an establishment at Beaujardin as Madame de Valricour did from necessity, but the marchioness was far too frivolous and fond of the world to give up what she could fairly claim as suitable to their exalted position. This was not unreasonable, and to this, within limits, the marquis did not demur; so the establishment at Beaujardin was kept up in a style fairly befitting their rank, but without needless ostentation.

Perhaps the marchioness, with her childish silliness of character, might not have found it so easy to prevail over her husband's firmness and good sense in such a matter, had she not been supported and counselled by the Baroness de Valricour, of whom, to own the truth, the marquis always stood in awe. Nobody knew this better than the clever and strong-minded lady herself; for the last twenty years, indeed, she had decided most questions that arose at the Chateau de Beaujardin, although the marquis not unfrequently regretted this when it was too late for him to recede from an over hasty concurrence. Now, however, the great aim of the baroness' life might be accomplished. Those were days when the inclinations of the persons really most interested were held of small account in family alliances, and if Madame de Valricour could only obtain a complete ascendancy over her weak sister-in-law, the success of her plan was certain. That ascendancy she had at last achieved, and the game seemed to be in her hands.

The return of Isidore to France had of course been the great event of the autumn, and the chateau had been even more than usually thronged with visitors during the six months that succeeded his arrival. Madame de Valricour had managed matters with her accustomed dexterity, and although she had not yet brought Isidore to the point of formally avowing himself as a suitor for the hand of Clotilde, she was satisfied that all was going right, and was too wary to spoil all by precipitancy. The baroness fancied she knew Isidore better even than he knew himself, and secretly rejoiced to find his visits to Valricour become more and more frequent, and his walks in the forest with Clotilde, accompanied by Marguerite for propriety's sake, more and more prolonged. At last she thought the pear was ripe, and she took a decided step in order to bring the affair to an issue. Let us see what came of it.

Headpiece to Chapter II

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hether or not there was in that part of France a more charming view than that from the terrace of the Chateau de Valricour, there certainly was not in all France on that bright May morning a more happy pair than the two young people who sat side by side, each clasping the other's hand, in one of the pleasant trellised arbours which from either end of the terrace overlooked the pleasant scene. And yet, perhaps, those who think the beautiful in nature inconsistent with strongly marked and striking features, might consider that true happiness and prosperity, so called, could not co-exist with such intense excitement and such bewildering surprise as just then rendered Isidore and Marguerite for some minutes incapable of expressing what they felt.

"I can scarcely believe it possible. O Isidore! are you quite sure that there is no strange mistake in it all?"

"Nay, read for yourself, my darling one," he replied, once more unfolding the letter which he held in his hand, and quietly withdrawing the other to point to the words that had brought out the passionate declaration he had but just made to her.

"See here! After a few lines about my uncle Valricour, this is what my father says. You do not know him as well as I do, but you see he is not one to allow any silly notions about fortune or noble descent to stand in the way of what he believes to be right."

Marguerite took the letter, and though still trembling with excitement, managed to read as follows:

"And now, my dear son, I must allude to a very different matter. Madame de Valricour writes to me that you have lost your heart, and that although for reasons, which, she says, she quite understands, you have not made it known, she thinks it time that I should intervene. I think so too; and I do so the more willingly as I doubt not that your reticence and hesitation in this matter has arisen from a natural feeling that I might be opposed to your union with one who is not your equal in point of rank, and who will not, I fancy, bring you a sou in the way of marriage portion. Well, I will ease your mind at once. To you, and therefore to me, money can be no object. As an old soldier myself I might well be content to receive as my daughter-in-law even one who could boast of no higher title than that of a brave soldier's daughter; in any case, your wife will be the Marquise de Beaujardin, so, assuming that Madame de Valricour is correct in her supposition, I see no reason why I should go out of my way to thwart a son who has ever deserved my affection, and has proved himself likewise to be worthy of the name of a good soldier."

The letter dropped from her hands. "Isidore, Isidore! what have you done?" said she in a tone that had in it no trace of the delight he had anticipated. "O Isidore! your fond heart has blinded you. What shall I do? Isidore, you have brought ruin on your dear self, and all for me!"

Astonished and disconcerted at this unexpected outburst, Isidore would have endeavoured to calm her, but as he took her hand in his she uttered a slight cry, and on looking round he beheld Madame de Valricour standing only a few paces from them, regarding them apparently with speechless amazement.

However much the young marquis might have lost his self-possession when he and Marguerite were the only actors in the scene, the appearance of Madame de Valricour at once brought back his usual command over himself, although he certainly was somewhat puzzled at the blank expression of her face at that moment.

"I would apologise to you, my dear aunt," said he, "for allowing myself to be caught at such a very sentimental crisis, but that I know that it is to you and no one else that I owe my happiness at this moment, and——"

He stopped short, for the blank look had suddenly changed into one so fiercely angry that anything further in the way of complimentary speeches was not to be thought of, and a dead pause ensued.

"Leave us, Mademoiselle Lacroix!" cried Madame de Valricour vehemently. Marguerite hesitated, her reluctance to leave Isidore alone in so painful a dilemma, overcoming even her habitual deference to Madame de Valricour; but Isidore, who felt that he should be more free to speak or act if unembarrassed by her presence, quietly led her away from the spot. Then, after raising her hand to his lips, he returned to the baroness and addressed her thus—

"I am utterly at a loss to understand you, my aunt—you, to whom I was about to offer my warmest thanks for so kindly smoothing the way to my union with Mademoiselle Lacroix."

"I!" exclaimed the baroness, apparently forgetting her indignation for a moment in her amazement. "I! Who says this? It is false! There is some ridiculous mistake here—or rather some shameful trick. You have not dared, sir, to make the girl believe that——"

"Calm yourself, my good aunt," replied Isidore, interrupting her. "As for trick or deception, I shall not insult either you or myself by further noticing words spoken in a hasty moment. As for any mistake, you or my father must answer for that, if there is any. He tells me you have written to him on the subject, and he has expressed his approval of my choice."

"It is false, absolutely false!" exclaimed the baroness, passionately. "When—where has the marquis told you this? Show me the letter. It is a cheat which you would put both upon me and this girl. Show me the letter, I say!"

"If Madame de Valricour doubts my word," answered Isidore haughtily, "she will have to satisfy herself elsewhere. I am not in the habit of substantiating my assertions."

"I say again it is false," reiterated the incensed baroness, forgetting her usual caution. "I wrote to your father about you and Clotilde. Do you dare to tell me that he has bidden you to marry some one else? If you are not a base and unworthy trickster, then you must be the veriest idiot alive."

A single lens may not, perhaps, suffice to make an object visible, but place another in juxtaposition with it and suddenly all becomes clear and distinct. Isidore recalled the piteous words uttered by Marguerite as she dropped the letter, and the truth flashed across his mind at once.

Madame de Valricour had thrown herself into a chair as she concluded her tirade, for the collected way in which her nephew had at first listened to her, and his high and mighty air, seemed to belie any charge of duplicity at all events. But when she noticed the alarmed expression of his face, and the no less unmistakable change in his manner, she was on her feet again in a moment and was about to renew the attack, but he interrupted her.

"Pardon me, my aunt," said he, "it is worse than useless for us two to discuss this business. I am afraid I have made a mistake indeed, and one that is like enough to cause no little bitterness and trouble. Yet I do not regret it for one moment," he added, as he thought of the few loving words with which Marguerite had confessed her long-cherished affection for him. "Whatever you may think, my aunt, I have acted honestly and in good faith, and it will rest with my father to decide how all this is to end. I shall appeal to him at once. Nay, I beseech you, my good aunt," he continued, seeing the baroness about to break forth again, "let us not make things worse by useless altercation. With your permission I will relieve you of my presence, and will desire Jasmin to order our horses that I may return at once to Beaujardin."

Without giving Madame de Valricour time for any further comment, Isidore then bowed to her and withdrew.

Tailpiece to Chapter II

Headpiece to Chapter III

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sidore had scarcely quitted the terrace before he was accosted by Clotilde's maid, who begged him to come to her young mistress without delay, and he soon reached his fair cousin's boudoir. He found her trying to cheer up poor Marguerite, but not very successfully, it must be owned, for Clotilde's spirits were always of the highest, and her thoughtless raillery increased rather than allayed her friend's distress.

"Mercy on us!" she exclaimed as Isidore made his appearance. "If any one ever deserved the name of 'the knight of the rueful countenance' it is certainly my doughty cousin. Well, if men put on that dismal face when their lady-loves accept them, I shall certainly always say 'no' for their sakes, if not for my own."

"Nay, but, my dear, sweet cousin," said Isidore, "I entreat you to be serious for half an hour, or even for a few minutes, if you can. Has not Marguerite told you?"

"She has told me that you have fallen in love with her, and I suppose that mamma does not like it. I have not got further than that as yet, and I do not think that is anything so very, very awful."

"Not if that were really all, my dear cousin; but the baroness, it seems, had taken it into her head that I was in love with you. It is too absurd. Can you imagine anything so ridiculous?"

"I am infinitely obliged to you for your politeness, Monsieur de Beaujardin, in supposing it to be so very ridiculous that any one should fall in love withme. Why, there is my devoted cousin, the Duke de St. Menehould, who would make me his duchess any day, if I had but a million of livres for my dowry, to say nothing of the Sieur de Crillon, who declares he is dying for me, and would have married mo long ago, if mamma had not made up her mind that I should have my most uncivil cousin de Beaujardin. Dear me, only think, though, how dreadful it would have been if mamma had fancied I was in love with you!"

"Do, pray, be serious," replied Isidore. "Can you not see, Clotilde, that your mother is not one to be thwarted with impunity in any scheme she has formed. This affair may, if I cannot conciliate my father, prove fatal to my whole life's happiness, and, what is infinitely worse, to dear Marguerite's also."

"Isidore! Isidore!" exclaimed the latter, passionately, "do not think of me; I am only distressed and unhappy for your sake. If I can only save you from harm, I will do anything. O Isidore! I will give up everything, even your dear self, though I shall never cease to love you."

There was a pause as Isidore put his arm around her, as if to reassure her of his steadfastness, and gently kissed her forehead. Even Clotilde was subdued.

"I am afraid that you are right, and that it is a serious business after all," said she. "Mamma is ever either a good friend or a bitter enemy; but all must depend on my uncle, so do not lose a moment, my good cousin, but be off to Beaujardin at once. In the meanwhile I will do what I can to soothe mamma and comfort Marguerite. Yes, sir, although it is so very absurd to think of any one falling in love with me, I won't bear malice, but behave like a generous heroine to my odious rival here. There, off with you, and let us hear all about it as soon as you can."

The advice was obviously too sensible to be disregarded, and Isidore at once proceeded to summon his valet, Monsieur Jasmin, for the purpose of ordering the horses and packing up for the journey. In the corridor he came upon the very person he sought, and, perhaps somewhat curtly, gave him the needful directions.

News travels apace in such households, where there is often enough some scheming underling, who makes it his business to know everything about everybody. Monsieur Jasmin had long since satisfied himself that Mademoiselle Marguerite, and not Mademoiselle Clotilde, had won his young master's heart; he knew, moreover, that the baroness had set her heart on a union between the two families, and the rumour that there had been a scene between madame and the young marquis, and that Marguerite had fled to Clotilde's boudoir in tears, did not surprise him much. Nevertheless he affected to be astonished at so abrupt a departure, and, overdoing his part a little, as the most clever people sometimes do, he exclaimed—

"But, monsieur, it is impossible! Surely monsieur does not think of such a thing?"

Isidore had had to suppress much bitterness and vexation during his interview with the ladies; but little was needed to bring out his irritation pretty strongly, and Jasmin's opposition did it most effectually.

"Do as I bid you, insolence!" cried Isidore, turning angrily upon him, "and lose no time about it, unless you want me to chastise you for a meddling, impertinent cur." So saying he passed on, whilst the valet remained standing in the middle of the corridor chafing under this unexpected rebuff.

The very pink of courteous servility, aping to the utmost pitch the prevalent extravagance of courtesy, Monsieur Jasmin had ever been too adroit to bring on himself such a humiliation, and in the few months during which he had been in Isidore's service he had never even suspected his master to be capable of such rudeness even to a menial. He had not yet recovered from the shock when Madame de Valricour came sweeping along the corridor. He stepped back to allow her to pass, but instead of doing so, she stopped, and after looking steadily at him for a few moments, as if she were making up her mind about some contemplated step, she hastily desired him to attend her in the saloon. Jasmin bowed, and followed her.

When left to herself by Isidore, a few minutes' reflection had enabled the baroness to realise the exact position of affairs, and she had at once set about considering what course she would have to take if she would prevent her cherished scheme from being utterly overthrown. She knew Isidore's father well, and believed it quite possible that his affection for his son might outweigh any considerations founded on the mere absence of rank and fortune on the part of Marguerite, especially if he were once convinced that Isidore had plighted his word in the honest belief that he was acting in accordance with his father's wishes. Yes, that was the point she had to look to. She knew her own influence over the marquis, but it must be brought to bear strongly and without delay, and Isidore must, if possible, be prevented from forestalling her. All this was being weighed whilst her nephew was debating the matter with Clotilde and Marguerite. Having formed her resolution, the baroness had rung the bell, and ordered her coach to be got ready, saying that she desired to take an airing; she then hastened to equip herself for a journey. Coming upon Monsieur Jasmin, however, in the corridor a fresh thought struck her.

On reaching the saloon the lady paused awhile, and then addressed the valet thus—

"I have heard highly creditable accounts of the zeal and ability with which you discharge your duties, Monsieur Jasmin, and of your fidelity to your master."

The valet knew that this was not true; besides, even the overstrained euphuism of the day would not lead the proud Baroness de Valricour to speak thus to a mere valet—unless, indeed, she had some covert end in view. What did she want? That was the question.

Jasmin bowed, and answered with some common-place remark, expressing his obligations to madame for her good opinion.

"Monsieur de Beaujardin gives handsome wages, no doubt," was her next remark, "and you would not care to leave his service, I suppose?"

Jasmin certainly had no desire to exchange the liberalménageof Beaujardin for the scarcely disguised poverty of Valricour, but it was second nature with him to cringe and flatter: "I could not desire to quit so noble a family, except, indeed, for the service of so exalted and gracious a personage as the Baroness de Valricour."

"That is precisely what I wish, Monsieur Jasmin," was the prompt rejoinder. "To be brief, I believe Monsieur de Beaujardin allows you fifty louis a year. For special reasons I desire to engage you in my service, and I will give you double that amount."

However tempting the offer might seem, Jasmin happened to know that those who had the honour of serving Madame de Valricour were not unfrequently put to straits, from the difficulty of getting their wages paid at all, and at any other moment he would probably have declared that no amount could induce him to leave so noble a master as the young marquis; but he thought he saw clouds gathering over Isidore's head, and the little incident in the corridor was rankling in him.

"But, madame," said he, "what will be said abroad if I——"

"For the present, at least," replied the baroness, "I do not desire that it shall be known. You can still be valet to my nephew, and receive your wages from him too. Has Monsieur Jasmin never heard of such little arrangements in families where untoward circumstances have occurred to mar a good understanding?"

"Madame," said Jasmin, bowing, "I accept your offer. It is not for me to say more than that my doing so puts me under the necessity of carrying out, without question or scruple, any directions you may give me."

"Good," rejoined the baroness. "Monsieur de Beaujardin has offended, and even insulted me. I am going to the Chateau de Beaujardin, and I wish to reach it before he does."

Jasmin bowed again: "If monsieur's horse should unfortunately go lame," said he, suggestively, "I am afraid there will be nothing left in the stables for him to ride, if your ladyship takes the four horses."

"It is for you to see to that," replied the lady, sharply, for she did not relish the half sneer at the state of the Valricours' stables, nor the idea of Monsieur Jasmin's presuming upon his new position and becoming familiar. "For the rest," she added, "you will understand that I desire to be kept exactly informed of Monsieur de Beaujardin's movements and also those of——"

"Of Mademoiselle Lacroix," said Jasmin, filling up the pause.

"Yes; that is enough. Stay, here are twenty crowns on account of your wages."

With these words Madame de Valricour opened her escritoire and handed the money to Jasmin, who once more bowed low and retired. He had scarcely gone half the length of the corridor, however, before he was recalled by his new mistress. "There is one thing more," said she, as they re-entered the saloon; "it is a matter of much delicacy, but if I thought I could entirely rely on——"

Here the baroness stopped and seemed to hesitate. Jasmin, who under a show of servile obsequiousness noted every look, word, and gesture with unremitting keenness, thought that he detected in the lady's embarrassment an apprehension that she might compromise or commit herself too seriously by some communication she desired to make to him, and he hastened to remove her fears.

"Madame has the best security for my executing any task she may impose on me without any scruples on my part, as I have placed it in her power to deprive me at her pleasure of my engagement with Monsieur Isidore, as well as of that with which she has honoured me."

Perhaps Madame de Valricour had her own ideas as to who would lose most by an exposure of her schemes, nevertheless Monsieur Jasmin's little speech had its effect.

"In short, then," said she, "my nephew received yesterday a letter from the marquis, his father, concerning a family matter of interest to me. Monsieur Isidore has deeply offended me, and I do not choose to ask him to let me see the letter, but it is important that I should do so—in fact I wish to have this letter in my possession."

"The letter shall be in madame's hands before she leaves the chateau," replied the valet; and so ended this little supplementary conversation.

Monsieur Jasmin, who had hitherto considered Isidore's service rather a tame and monotonous one, had at last found occupation congenial to his taste, and he performed his task with the greatest readiness and ability. It was not until after the young marquis had twice ordered the horses to be brought round, and had been worked up into a state of impatience which would brook no further delay, that he was informed that his horse had gone dead lame. Determined not to be baffled in his purpose, and half suspecting that some trick was being put upon him—though his suspicion fell on the groom instead of the real delinquent—he expressed his intention of riding Jasmin's horse, and leaving that personage to follow on foot as he best could. This resolve might have answered had he acted upon it at once; but just as he was putting his foot in the stirrup the valet informed him that Mademoiselle Lacroix had a packet which she desired to send to the marquise. Should he go and ask her for it? The temptation to say a few more last words was too great. Isidore hastily re-entered the chateau, but only to hear from Marguerite that there must have been some mistake, as she had no commands at Beaujardin. In a towering rage Isidore once more descended the staircase, and on reaching the courtyard he would probably have carried out there and then his former threat of chastisement; but Monsieur Jasmin had taken good care to be absent, and his incensed master, anxious to lose no more time, was soon galloping away in the direction of Beaujardin.

He did not gallop far, however, for the horse he rode soon showed signs that something was amiss with him. Still Isidore urged him on, and the animal, which was of a noble breed, seemed to gather himself together, and for a time appeared to have recovered his powers, but it was of no use; they had gone just half-way when the creature suddenly broke down and could go no further. As he disengaged himself, Isidore muttered something not very complimentary to Monsieur Jasmin, for he began to suspect that the valet had something to do with his mishap. There was nothing for it, however, but to proceed on foot and endeavour to obtain another horse, if possible, at a farmhouse some distance further on. This he at last accomplished, but what with one delay and another it proved of no avail. When he reached the chateau, he learned that Madame de Valricour had arrived there nearly half an hour before him, and as he ascended the great staircase he met her coming down. She curtsied to him in the most polite manner, but there was an expression of triumph in her face which warned him to prepare for the worst.

Tailpiece to Chapter III

Headpiece to Chapter IV

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his is an impertinence, sir!" exclaimed the marquis angrily, as Isidore, without any announcement, entered the private apartment in which Madame de Valricour had just concluded her interview.

"My father," replied Isidore firmly, "there are times and circumstances which oblige us to lay aside all ceremony. At a moment like this the last thing I could desire is to offend you, but——"

"The circumstances, sir," answered the marquis, "are such as to make any want of respect on your part an additional insult, and you are mistaken if you think that you can thus presume on the forbearance I have too blindly shown towards you."

"I will not appeal either to your forbearance or your affection, sir, though I cannot forget either," answered Isidore, "because I know that you are just now unfairly prejudiced against me by Madame de Valricour."

"How dare you say this to my face, sir!" retorted the marquis with a vehemence very unusual in him. "You should know, sir, that your aunt is one who is utterly incapable of such conduct towards any person, and your ingratitude to one who has ever been most indulgent and affectionate to you makes your proceedings even more reprehensible. Begone, sir! I will not listen to you."

"Sir, I ask no favour of your kindness, but I demand it of your sense of justice that you listen to me, and do not condemn me unheard. I do not expect to be denied, merely because I am your son, a right I believe you accord even to the meanest of your servants."

For a moment or so the marquis made no reply. However blinded he might be by his anger, he could have no plausible reason for refusing this request.

"Well, sir," said he at last, "you have liberty to speak, but have a care that you make no more insinuations against your estimable aunt, and let us have no silly sentiment. We have to do with facts, and to these you will confine yourself. If you can disprove what Madame de Valricour alleges, so much the better for you, but that you cannot do. You have told her that I—yes, I—approved of your engaging yourself to this Marguerite Lacroix. Why, sir, if you had seen it in my own handwriting you would have hardly been justified in believing your own eyes, but you know, and knew, that I never wrote anything of the kind. I can scarcely command patience to speak of such an absurdity. Besides this, you have for a long time past been paying to your cousin a devotion so manifest that Madame de Valricour assures me it is the common talk, and I can share with her in her indignation at the humiliating position in which you have placed her unhappy daughter."

"Nay," rejoined Isidore, who felt almost inclined to laugh, notwithstanding his vexation, "this is really too absurd. I can not only vouch for it that Clotilde does not care for me, but that she knows I never dreamed of paying her any special attention. I can assure you that she is aware of the position in which Mademoiselle Lacroix and I stand in regard to each other, and heartily rejoices at it."

At this the marquis broke out more indignantly than ever. "What, sir! Do you dare to own this to my face? Your excellent aunt, though she could not altogether disguise her fears, evidently allowed her affection for you to deter her from accusing you of such effrontery, but it is now clear that there has been a secret understanding between you all to deceive her, and the falsification of my letter to you is a fitting climax to such behaviour."

"Falsification, sir!" retorted Isidore indignantly. "You are the only man living whom I would permit to use that word with impunity."

"I repeat the word," replied the marquis, sternly. "I cannot doubt, even if any other part of my letter could have been misunderstood, that I must have mentioned your cousin Clotilde's name in connection with this affair. To pretend the contrary is as impudent as it is absurd."

"It is a fortunate thing that I can at least prove to you that your letter not only did not mention my cousin's name, but that it left ample room for misconception," answered Isidore, feeling in his pocket for the all-important missive; "though I may add that to you alone, sir, would I condescend to attempt to clear myself of such an imputation."

The marquis started slightly, and regarded him with a look in which expectation seemed mingled with distrust. In vain, however, did Isidore search one pocket after another; the letter was not there.

"This is most annoying," said he at last; "I must have left it at Valricour."

"Of course," rejoined the marquis, sarcastically, "very unfortunate, indeed! Perhaps I can assist you in your search for the missing document, or at least as much of it as you incautiously and unwittingly left undestroyed." So saying he drew forth from a drawer in his writing-table and held out towards his son a small piece of paper. It was all burnt at the edges, and from the signature still just legible upon it, Isidore at once recognised it as a fragment of his father's letter to him. He might well be amazed and dumbfounded. A minute ago he had supposed the letter safe in his pocket, and relied on it for his justification; now a shred of it, charred and defaced, was produced against him, in mute but irrefragable proof that he had himself destroyed it to cover his own falsehood and deceit.

"I suppose, sir," said the marquis, "as you pretend to be so much astonished, that I must tell you that this little piece of paper was found in your chamber at the Chateau de Valricour. No, sir," he continued, more vehemently as Isidore attempted to speak, "I will not hear another word from lips already so basely, so vilely forsworn. Go! From this moment I disown you as my son. For the sake of others I will spare you any public degradation, and any punishment beyond the necessity of seeking your fortune henceforward as you best may, with no sympathy or aid from me beyond a small allowance which I shall cause to be remitted to you from time to time. For the rest, I have done with you."

The last words were scarcely uttered when Isidore found himself alone with his own reflections.

Tailpiece to Chapter IV

Headpiece to Chapter V

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