“Permit me, most gracious sir, to take these flatteries, which you so undeservedly lavish upon me, at their true value. Your noble spirit led me, often against my own will, to admire you. Well, then-I frankly confess it—you have yourself awakened in me some suspicion of this noble spirit."

"I! In the name of heaven, Pauline, do you believe me ever guilty of deception with you?"

86

I cannot say that, Prince; but well I may, that your offended pride was actively instrumental in sending back those rude Englishmen without bestowing a thought on that brave youth who spilled his blood for your insulted honor. I expected from your delicacy that you would distinguish him—that you would, perhaps, speak for him at the throne of the king-and that you would, perhaps, for his chivalrous deed, bestow upon him, at the hand of the king, that nobility he has so well deserved.... In the indulgence of your vengeance you have forgotten him."

"The book-keeper Rosier-do you mean him?"

"I mean the man who, when your name was to be disgraced, and when every Frenchman present was dumb, alone had the courage to speak, and to defy the proud Englishman-that man who is probably still suffering from the wound which he received for you, and for you alone."

"Oh, how unjustly and cruelly you condemn me," cried the prince, who felt himself guilty. "Do you know all? If you had asked me, you would have heard what steps I have already taken with the king. You would have learned that measures are already in progress, not merely for his elevation to nobility, but for bestowing on Monsieur Rosier the Cross of St. Louis-that the documents are already prepared."

Mademoiselle de Pons, fairly overreached by the prince, in her joyful surprise approached him a step nearer. "Then I have, indeed, done you injustice! It rests with me then to ask your forgiveness."

The reconciliation was made as reconciliations of this kind usually are. Their hearts approached each other nearer than ever. Soubise departed more inflamed than he had come.

But he did not forget that he had purchased the sweet delight of reconciliation by an unavoidable falsehood. It had never entered his thoughts to patronize Rosier. And if a hundred Rosiers shed their blood for a prince, of what consequence is it? Such citizen canaille must be delighted with the honor of having an opportunity to break their necks and bones for a man of such illustrious birth. But to purchase the smile of a Pauline-yes, for that, something extraordinary must be done.

The prince had easy work with Madame de Pompadour to persuade

her, that that handsome young man who had involved himself with such chivalrous spirit in a duel for her honour, was deserving of the title and rank of knighthood. It is of course understood that Rosier's merits were represented in a much more brilliant light than the simple reality. Of what consequence in such matters are a few sparkling phrases more or less?

Behold, there soon appeared a patent of nobility, and the Cross of St. Louis! The meritorious and gallant book-keeper, with his children and his children's children, becomes one of the proud knights of France. By the magic word of royalty, his birth was changed into a noble one, and his humble cradle to one of gold. Fresh-baked nobility is of little value, but a couple of gold pieces could give it the requisite antiquity in a quarter of an hour, and equal to the oldest. A heraldic magician, from the similarity of the names of Rosier' and Rosni,' soon established a direct relationship with the Duc de Sully, Baron de Rosni, the celebrated friend of Henry IV.; and the genealogical tree, whose roots were lost in the obscurity of the tenth century, put forth a rich bloom for the son of the sempstress.

"What more do you want?" said Pauline, laughing. Laughing, he replied: "Thank God, I have got the ancestors, to whom I am sorry that my pedigree will be of no use. But now I want only the children and children's children that are expressly provided for in the patent, and who, after all, will derive the most advantage from the whole affair. Heraldry cannot help me there."

11. THE VEIL.

All the world was astonished at the good fortune of the bookkeeper, who had risen from the obscurity of a poor copyist of Monsieur Larmes to the illustrious splendors of nobility-and well they might. Not that a phenomenon of that kind had been rare or unheard of—oh, no,-every day men entirely unknown were seen to rise from nothing to renown and influence; and, on the other hand, persons of distinction to vanish beneath the stroke of a minister's pen into the primitive nothingness. Then did men indeed sport, like ephemera in the sunshine, in the smiles of arbitrary royalty. Some soared on eagle's pinions, and others were precipitated with singed wings to the ground. Then were those glorious times which have disappeared since nations have unfortunately begun to think, and of the charms of which we have a delightful representation only in the court of the Sultan on the Black Sea, and in the adored Sovereign of Morocco. Then were still those times, when fortunately patriotic merit was of no worth, but on

9

the contrary true desert was only dangerous-when the dullest brains, the hollowest hearts, could rise to fortune, if they but knew how to secure patronage by a graceful baseness, by an amiable faithlessness, by powerful connexions and such means.

This it was, that awakened a natural astonishment at the giant strides of Monsieur de Rosier in the career of promotion; for neither patron nor patroness was to be seen-he was never found in the antechambers of the great-he was not even beheld among the crowd of adorers at the feet of any of the beauties of the court, for no one cast a thought upon that parentless and penniless Mademoiselle de Pons, who occupied only a subordinate position in the house of the Count d'Oron, who himself was possessed of no influence in the court.

But it did not escape the inquisitive observation of the Cardinal, that the Prince de Soubise had particularly undertaken the patronage of the Navy book-keeper. Although it was not easy to divine what could be the prince's motive for this, since Monsieur de Rosier appeared to stand in no relation to the prince, yet the book-keeper must have some value in his estimation. The Cardinal, who was ever ready to avail himself of anything that promised sooner or later to be of any advantage, cast a favorable eye upon the worthy Nicholas, and endeavored to attach him to himself.

One evening Nicholas was summoned to the Cardinal. The latter received him with his peculiar politeness. "Monsieur de Rosier, I have long been an admirer of your brilliant talents. You are destined by nature for a higher career-I am happy to be an instrument in the hands of fortune. Accept from me the appointment of Councillor of State. You will henceforth be engaged under me, as attached to my department.

Nicholas was indeed delightfully surprised. He was not wanting in assurances of gratitude and unreserved devotion. But in his heart he thought of Pauline, and that she must be the author of this new elevation.

"By no means," replied Pauline; "such things make themselves. So long as you were nothing, with all your virtues every lackey's foot would have trampled you in the dust. You have now become something, and the slaves reverentially make way for you. I should not be surprised if you at last come to be Minister, Count or Duke. You have the endowments of nature for anything as well as Cardinal de Ber nis, who was formerly a poor starved poet, glad to be in the enjoy. ment of a pension of fifteen hundred livres."

The

The best fruit of all these promotions for Nicholas, was the opportunity now afforded him of a free intercourse with Pauline. Count d'Oron invited the Councillor of State to his society. Pauline knew well how to manage that. The humble inmate who had before

scarcely attracted a moment's attention in his obscure rooms in the rear, rented now a whole wing of the same hotel, and became thus an immediate neighbor of Pauline's more modest apartments. The Count d'Oron would have had no objection to see in him a suitor of Pauline; but Nicholas and Pauline took good care not yet to exhibit in public the relation that in private subsisted between them. Pauline dreaded the jealousy of the Prince de Soubise; who, had he known how formidable and fortunate a rival he had in Nicholas, would doubtless have annihilated him. And Nicholas, on the other hand, was satisfied with his secret happiness; to be an avowed suitor of Pauline could not have increased it.

His new sphere of duty brought him into new connexions and relations. He soon learned that the art of diplomacy was not so difficult. All the necessary knowledge one might have without trouble for money from an experienced secretary. And to be an agreeable companionto play an artful intrigue-to attune one's self to every body's humor -to arouse or stimulate the passions of others, but to exhibit none one's self-to listen every where, to see every thing, yet every where to be deaf and blind-all that was soon to be learned. "How mistaken are they," thought Nicholas, "who stand down there below, and look up to the gods of the earth! Every merry perruquier has indeed as much a talent for being a diplomatist, as a pretty washerwoman has for being the favorite of a king, and mistress of a great empire!" But he only thought thus, and was already too good a diplomatist himself to tell tales out of school.

With the same faithful industry as in the Navy department, he applied himself to the discharge of his new duties, even the most laborious and tedious; among which doubtless were to be reckoned the countless diplomatic dinners and visits. He was wanting at no dinner, at no party of pleasure. The grace of his person secured him the favor of the ladies. He was a perfect statesman. From the relation of the Prince de Soubise with the house of the Count d'Oron, the family of the latter and with his daughter, her friend and companion, Paulinewas frequently drawn into the circles of the foreign ambassadors. Nicholas and Pauline saw each other always with increased pleasure. But no one perceived in these two refined diplomatic personages what they were to each other in secret. At home, in the confidential boudoir of Pauline, everything was talked over of what they had done, heard, and seen.

"And you, my charming Pauline," said Nicholas, as he pressed her beloved form to his bosom, "you are still the queen of all the beauties that are there sparkling in the gayest splendors."

"But Nicholas," answered Pauline, "did you observe yesterday the young Countess of Staremberg? None of all the ladies at the ball

equalled her in loveliness, and yet in truth she is not so remarkably handsome."

"It is true," said Nicholas, "she almost attracted my attention though by your side."

"She attracted your attention!" replied Pauline, hastily; "but did you examine closely her splendid veil? It is a true magic veil. The most perfect thing of the kind I ever saw. She excited the envy of all present. Paris contains nothing like it. Heavens, if I could have such a veil !"

Nicholas smiled and said, "I hope it is not the only one in the world. I will ask the Austrian Ambassador where the young countess has obtained that veil, and for what price. You must have one like it.”

"Ah, my dear Colas," sighed Pauline, "you little understand the value of this veil. As we were standing about the young countess, admiring it, she informed us that it was a present from the EmpressQueen! There are only three such veils in the world. The Empress wears the second; the third is probably not destined for me."

"Who knows?" said Nicholas. "That remains to be seen. Are we not omnipotent?"

"Colas!" cried Pauline, delighted, and flung her arms rapturously round his neck. "Colas, if that were possible! Colas, in this veil Pauline will cheerfully become Madame de Rosier!"

This was indeed a tempting prize. Nicholas had long ceased to be the brother. How could he have long remained uninflamed in so dangerous a vicinity to so beautiful a sister? He loved. It was his highest aspiration to conduct Pauline to the altar. Pauline was willing enough to bestow her heart upon him, but not her hand. The blood of nobility does not easily forget itself, even in a girl in love with a lowborn lover.*

THE CURRENCY AND THE TWO PARTIES.

THE great dispute between the two political parties of the country is concerning the power and policy of the General Government in relation to the currency. The Whigs contend that Congress possesses, by the Constitution, absolute control over our paper, as well as specie circulation, and that the best mode of exercising that authority, is by the creation of a national bank. The Democrats maintain that no department of the General Government is entrusted by the Constitution with the regulation of the currency, Congress having merely the right to coin money and regulate the value thereof, and of foreign coins. That the General Government has no right to create a national

* Concluded in the next number.