Years are already coming on me; let them come quickly! I beseech them to come; their coldness will strengthen my courage.

For the rest, I cannot complain of a situation, which, in a word, has deceived my most painful fears, and even surpasses my highest hopes. My work, my frequent journeys into the neighboring departments, and my taste for solitude, keep me much away from the chateau, the noisy gatherings at which I especially avoid. Perhaps I owe to the infrequency of my visits good part of the friendly reception I meet with. Mme. Laroque, especially, shows me real affection; she makes me the confident of her strange and very sincere chimeras about pov erty, about devotedness and poetical self-denial, which contrast amusingly with the manifold precautions of the chilly Creole. Sometimes she envies the gipsy women, carrying their children, dragging a wretched cart along the roads, and cooking their dinner under a hedge; sometimes it is the Sisters of Charity, and sometimes canteen-women, to whose heroic toils she aspires. Lastly, she does not cease to reproach the late M. Laroque the younger with his admirable health, which never allowed his wife to display that genius for nursing with which she felt her heart surcharged. Still, she has had the fancy, within these few days, to add to her easy chair a kind of nook, shaped like a sentry-box, to protect her from draughts. I found her the other morning triumphantly installed in this kiosk, waiting pleasantly enough for martyrdom.

I have hardly less cause to be satisfied with the other inmates of the chateau. Mlle. Marguerite, always buried like a Nubian sphinx in some unknown dream, nevertheless condescends with thoughtful kindness to repeat for me my favorite airs. She has a beautiful contralto voice, which she manages with consummate skill, but also with a negligence and coldness of manner that one would think was intentional. does sometimes accidentally let some impassioned notes escape her lips, but she immediately seems humiliated and ashamed at thus forgetting her character or her part, and hastens to return within the bounds of icy correctness.

She

A few games at piquet, which I have had the easy politeness to lose with M. Laroque, have won me the good graces of the old man, whose looks rest on me sometimes with a perfectly singular degree of attention. One would say that some dream of the past, some fanciful likeness, is half-awakened in the clouds of that wearied memory, on the bosom of which float the confused shadows of a whole century. But they would not return me the money I had lost to him! It seems that Mme. Aubry, who plays habitually with the old captain, makes no scruple whatever of accepting this restitution as a regular thing, which does not hinder her from frequently winning from the old privateer, with whom she then has noisy disputes.

This lady, whom M. Laubépin treated very gently when he described her merely as an embittered spirit, inspires me with no sympathy. Still, out of respect for the house, I compelled myself to win her goodwill, which I have accomplished by lending a friendly ear, sometimes to her wretched lamentations over her present lot, sometimes to the emphatic description of her past splendor, of her plate, her furniture, her laces and pairs of gloves.

I must own that I am in a good school for learning to despise the property I have lost. Every body here, in fact, preaches me, by their behavior and language, an eloquent sermon on the contempt of riches; first, Mme. Aubury, who may be compared to those shameless gluttons whose disgusting greediness takes away your appetite, and gives you a deep loathing for the dishes of which they boast; then the old man, who is decaying over his millions as sorrowfully as Job on his dunghill; then this excellent but romantic and used-up woman, who dreams amid her obstinate prosperity of the forbidden fruit of wretchedness; and lastly, the superb Marguerite, who wears the diadem of beauty and wealth, with which heaven has burdened her brow, as if it were a crown of thorns.

Strange girl! Almost every morning, if the weather is fine, I see her pass beneath the windows of my belfry; she salutes me with a grave bow, which sets the black feather in her hat waving, and then disappears slowly down the shaded path which crosses the ruins of the old chateau. Generally old Alain follows her at a little distance; sometimes she has no companion but the huge and faithful Mervyn, who steps out at the side of his fair mistress like a thoughtful bear. With this escort she goes the round of the whole neighboring coun try, seeking for charitable adventures. She might dispense with any protector; there is not a cottage within six leagues that does not know her, and venerate her as a good fairy. The peasants call her simply 'Madamoiselle,' when they speak of her, as if they were speaking of one of those king's daughters who adorn their legends, and whose beauty, power, and mystery she seems to them to possess.

I try, however, to explain to myself the cloud of gloomy thought which continually overshadows her brow, the haughty and defiant severity of her look, and the bitter dryness of her words. I ask myself, are these the natural features of a curiously compounded character, or the symptoms of some secret trouble, whether remorse, fear, or love, gnawing that noble heart. No matter how disinterested one may be in the case, it is impossible to help feeling a certain curiosity in the presence of so remarkable a person. Yesterday evening, while old Alain, with whom I am a favorite, was waiting on me at my lonely dinner, I said to him: 'Well, Alain, it has been a fine day; have you had a ride to-day?'

"Yes, Sir, this morning, with Madamoiselle.'

'Ah! indeed!'

'Perhaps Monsieur saw us go by?

'Possibly, Alain. Yes, I see you go by sometimes. You look well

on horseback, Alain.'

'Monsieur is too kind. Mademoiselle looks better than I do.' 'She is a very pretty young lady.'

'Oh! perfect, Sir; and inside as well as outside, like her mother. I will tell Monsieur something. Monsieur knows that this property belonged formerly to the last Count de Castennec, whom I had the honor to serve. When the Laroques bought the chateau, I confess my heart swelled a little, and I hesitated about staying in the house. I had been brought up with a respect for the nobility, and it cost me a great deal to serve people of no birth. Monsieur may have noticed that I feel a particular pleasure in discharging my duty towards him ; it is because I think Monsieur has the ways of a gentleman. Are you quite sure you are not of a noble family, Sir?'

'I fear I am, my poor Alain.'

'However, as I was going to tell Monsieur,' Alain resumed, with a graceful bow, 'I have learned in the service of these ladies that the nobility of the feelings is as good as the other kind, particularly that of M. le Comte de Castennec, who had a weakness for beating his servants. Still, sir, I say it's a pity Mademoiselle doesn't marry a gentleman of good name. Nothing more would be needed to make her perfect.'

'But it seems to me, Alain, that it depends only on herself.'

'If Monsieur refers to M. de Bévallan, it really does depend only on herself, for he asked her in marriage six months ago. Madame did not seem much opposed to the marriage, and in fact M. de Bévallan is the richest man in this neighborhood, next to the Laroques; but Mademoiselle, without giving a positive answer, wished to take time to think over it.'

'But if she loves M. de Bévallan, and can marry him when she pleases, why is she always so sad and abstracted as we see her?'

'It is a fact, Sir, that Mademoiselle is entirely changed these two or three years. Formerly she was as gay as a bird, and now one would say something is worrying her; but I may say respectfully, that I do n't think it is love for that gentleman.'

'You do n't seem too fond of M. de Bévallan yourself, my good Alain. And yet he is of a good noble family

'That does n't hinder him from being a rascal, and spending his time in seducing the country girls. And if Monsieur has eyes, he may see that he would n't mind playing the Sultan in the chateau, in default of any thing better.'

There was a pause of silence; after which Alain continued: Pity Monsieur has n't a hundred thousand a year.'

'Why so, Alain?' 'Because

said Alain, tossing his head thoughtfully.

July 25th.

In the course of the month which has just passed, I have made one friend, and, I think, two enemies. The enemies are Mlle. Marguerite, and Mlle. Hélouin. The friend is an old maid, eighty-eight years old. I fear she is not a compensation.

Mlle. Hélouin, with whom I will settle accounts first, is an ungrate ful person. My alleged wrongs to her ought rather to recommend me to her esteem; but she seems to be one of those women who are pretty common in the world, who do not count esteem in the number of the feelings which they care either to inspire or to feel. From the very beginning of my life here, a kind of similarity between the fortunes of the governess and the bailiff, the modest position we each hold in the chateau, had impelled me to form relations of affectionate kindness with Mlle. Hélouin. At all times, I have made it a point to show the interest in these poor girls, which their thankless task, and their precarious situation, at once humiliated and without a future, seem to me to bespeak for them. Mlle. Hélouin is moreover, pretty, intelligent, and accomplished; and, though she spoils it all somewhat by the nervous vivacity of her manner, feverish coquettishness, and slight pedantry, which are the usual mistakes of her situation, I had but little merit, I own, in playing the chivalrous part toward her which I had assigned myself. This part assumed the character of a kind of duty in my eyes, when I perceived, as several warnings had previously suggested to me, that a devouring lion, with the features of king Francis the First, was furtively roaming about my young protégée. This duplicity, which does credit to M. de Bévallan's boldness, is carried on under color of friendly familiarity, with a policy and coolness which easily deceive unobservant or unsuspecting eyes. Mme. Laroque and her daughter, especially, are too much strangers to the perversity of the world, and live too far from any reality to feel the shadow of suspicion. As for myself, who am greatly irritated at this insatiable eater of hearts, I took pleasure in spoiling his plans; more than once I have attracted the attention which he sought to appropriate; and I have particularly taken pains to lessen in Mlle. Hélouin's breast that feeling of neglect and isolation, which in general gives so great an advantage to the style of consolation offered her. Have I ever, in the course of this ill-advised contest, gone beyond the delicate bounds of brotherly protection? I do not think so; and the very terms of the short dialogue which has suddenly changed the character of our intercourse,

One evening last week we

seem to speak in favor of my reserve. were all taking the fresh air on the terrace. Mlle. Hélouin, to whom it happened that I had occasion to show some particular attention during the day, took my arm gently, and, picking to pieces an orangeflower with her delicate white teeth, said to me, with a little emotion in her voice: You are kind, Monsieur Maxime.'

'I try to be, Mademoiselle.'

You are a true friend.'

'Yes.'

'But what sort of a friend?'
'A true one, as you have said.'
'A friend who loves me?'
'Doubtless."

Much?"
Certainly.'

'Passionately?"

'No.'

At this monosyllable, which I pronounced very distinctly, and followed up by a firm look, Mlle. Hélouin impetuously threw away the orange-flower, and left my arm. Since that unlucky hour, I have been treated with a disdain, which I have not come by dishonestly, and I should most assuredly believe that friendship between the sexes is a delusive feeling, had I not received the very next day a kind of set-off against my mishap.

I had gone to spend the evening at the chateau; two or three families, who had come for a fortnight's visit, had gone away in the morning. I found there none but habitual guests, the curé, the collector, and Doctor Desmarets; and, lastly, General de Saint Cast and his wife, who, like the doctor, live in the adjoining small town. Mme. de Saint Cast, who appears to have brought her husband a handsome fortune, was engaged in lively conversation with Mme. Aubry when I entered. These two ladies understood each other perfectly, as usual; they were celebrating, each in her turn, like two shepherds in a pastoral poem, the incomparable advantage of riches, in language in which elegance of expression vied with elevation of thought. You are quite right,' said Mme. Aubry, there is but one thing in the world, and that is, to be rich. When I was rich, I despised with all my heart those who were not, and so I find it quite natural now that I should be despised, and I do not complain of it.'

'You are not despised for it, Madame,' returned Mme. de Saint Cast, certainly not, Madame; but it is a fact that it makes a tremendous difference whether one is rich or not. The General there knows something about it; he had positively nothing when I married him,