“Know of it!” said she, with a toss of the head;— "Well, we shall never find Mademoiselle's bracelet," getting up in a sort of hurry; "Bon jour, Monsieur."

What a stupid dolt I was! There was she departing, and not an atom of intelligence gained. But she looked so odd, and was so odd, that, to tell you the truth, I was put a little out of conceit even with her principal. I thought the whole thing so strange, and I could not but suspect that she had been sent. My dream was over I was awakened, and took Mademoiselle for a very ordinary, or extraordinary being; but not for one to my taste.

So I let the old crone bustle to the gate, and down the road; and then just as she was out of sight, between the over-arching branches of a deep lane which plunges to the bottom of that valley, on the opposite side of which rise the heights of Montalembert, I bethought myself that I would follow. So I started away, and when I had recovered her for in making the détour I had lost her among the turns and falls of the little lane, with its high banks of turf, sand, and underwood—when therefore I recovered her, I slackened my pace, and, keeping at a distance, and concealing myself as well as I could, yet without losing sight of her altogether, I followed her.

She went at a pretty quick, hobbling pace down the steep, then crossed a shallow river in the depths of the valley, by a wooden bridge, and began, with many interruptions for breath, to climb the steep path that leads through a little copse clothing the other side.

The copse terminates in the moorlands of the hills; and, the path being open on every side, I feared she would see me, so I waited till she disappeared behind the first ascent; for, as usual, the hill, or rather mountain, rose, by degrees, steep after steep; and then with a rapid pace I cleared that, and, lying down at the top of it, saw, unseen myself, my little friend working up the opposite bank, and thus followed her, till I beheld her safely travelling down the last steep forming the valley in which the Château de Montalembert lies buried, and then I lost her.

I suspected as much, certainly, and was not surprised to find that Mademoiselle belonged to this château, and that she was probably the daughter of the old misanthrope within.

So far, so good.

Being arrived, I of course determined to make a reconnoissance of the place where these strange beings resided. I found a large château, of that date when the immense castellated fortresses of the barbarous ages, which one meets with now and then in the provinces, reminding one of days of giant power and giant oppression, had given way to what we properly call a château,

-a sort of fortified country-house or rather palace. This had the usual complement of turrets, pinnacles, and high-pointed roofs-the grand façade, the gloomy, heavy entrance, the numberless windows, &c.

It stood upon a scarped bank, surrounded by a wide ditch, now neglected and filled with reeds and brushwood, and was only to be approached by the front, which gave upon the court, enclosed, as usual, by the stables and other offices, and surmounted by the seigneurial pigeon-house. On one side stood a small chapel, adorned with a cross, and by it an iron gate. This gate led into a large, formal garden, encircled and shaded by a thick shrubbery, which separated it from the brushwood of the hills.

The whole place bore rather the appearance of long neglect, than of real decay: the walls were discoloured, though not dilapidated; the large windows and the Persian blinds out of order; the garden here and there cultivated, in other places all wild and overgrown. Not a creature appeared, either about the court-yard or the stables; all was silent and forlorn-save that, in one corner of the garden, a little old man, half-doubled with age, might be seen at work with his hoe. This was the only living creature I could discern.

I descended the hill; and then, going round the shrubbery, at last found a place from whence I could look into the garden, and presently I saw my little old woman enter it, as if she were looking for some one.

She peeped and searched about, and I followed her with my eyes. At last she entered a small, green arbour, made of lilac trees closely pleached; and I crept round to the back of it.......

And you think you are going to hear what I heard but you are mistaken: so good night to you once more.

"Therese, Therese, where can you have been all this time?"

'Oh, Mademoiselle! I have been to Beaucourt to buy eggs; and Madeleine has had another attack, and is very low and poorly; and so I staid to chatter her up a little, and to make her a glass of something goodand, la! how tired I am, with this nasty hill."

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'Indeed, Therese, that was very good of you; and to-morrow I will go and see poor Madeleine myself Heigh-ho!"

"Well, Mademoiselle, that will be very good of you, too, and very good for you; for walk you must and shall. What signifies sitting in this moping old place, and saying heigh-ho! all the day long? I am sure I wish you had something better to say heigh-ho! for, than a foolish old woman!"

Another sigh.

The old woman. "Well, he certainly was a very proper man-what I call a very handsome young man. Don't you think so, Mademoiselle ?"

"He is very

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well."

Very well! is that all? But no matter-some vulgar, shuffling fellow."

"That I'll be sworn he was not," warmly.

"Oh, pshaw!-some of these country gentlefolksthese provincials-not good enough to figure in the great world; they do very well at a little wedding like that; but you should see them at Paris-then you would learn something."

"See him where I will," passionately, vulgar provincial-see him where I will!"

"he is no

"Pooh, pooh! you know nothing; whom have you to compare him with ?"

"I don't want to compare him; I don't mean to compare him. But you said he was vulgar, and ugly, and ignorant, and I don't know what besides. Oh, Therese! where were your eyes? where were your eyes ?"

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'Well, for my part, I don't know what there was about him, more than another."

"Oh fie, Therese! how can you say so? That look I don't know whether he was, as you say, exactly handsome; he may be very ugly for what I care-but that look!-oh, heavens!—that sweet, feeling, penetrating look! He a provincial! he an ignorant......! ah, Therese, Therese! you do not show your usual good taste or discernment here."

"Well, I don't know; he danced so ill, and looked so awkward—so shy, as I thought."

"Danced so ill!-why, how gracefully he moved! dance, I own, perhaps he did not, and then so shy! yes, he did look shy!-so feelingly shy!-so proudly shy!-ah, Therese!"

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Well, I am glad you liked him so much." "Liked him so much!

Did I say I liked him? I never said I liked him I never thought of liking him-only when you began to abuse him so......"

Indeed that's a very unjust speech.

"Well, for my part, I wonder where he comes from, and who he is."

"Ah! that's the thing-shall we ever, ever, see him again ?"

"Most probably not," said Therese. "If he be the fine gentleman you take him for, depend upon it he is travelling for his amusement, and is far enough off by this time."

"Most probably," with another very deep sigh. "Let us go in, for it is cold to-night, and very disagreeable here."

The sun was approaching the west, upon this loveliest of evenings, and shed his light over the garden in a flood of gold.

She went in, and the listener went home.

CHAPTER IV.

VICTOR ΤΟ LUGENE.

SHALL I go to Beaucourt, Eugene? She said-I did not tell you that, by the way, that she would go to Beaucourt, and see Madeleine-shall I go and see her again? I have not told you how she sat in that little alcove of pleached lilac trees: she was in white; her dress folded over her bosom, and her hair in golden ringlets falling round her neck and shoulders; and she sat while she talked to the old woman, her face a little raised, and those beautiful tender eyes gazing upwards so fervently! No angel, no seraph, had ever an expression more passionate, more inspired! And then, at one moment of the discourse, when the little witch made a sort of accusation against her-oh! to see the ten thousand innocent shames, that coursed each other, like flying clouds, over her countenance! Yes, most certainly I will go to Beaucourt, and try my fortune a little further.

I learned from Pierre the way to Beaucourt, and, refusing the offer of a guide, I set forwards. My way lay over bare, fantastic hills, commanding, at intervals, fine views of the ocean, spreading under a clear, blue sky, and glittering beneath the bright rays of the unclouded sun; yet it was not disagreeably hot neither a fresh breeze blew up from the water, giving the most agreeable sensations; the sheep were out upon the hills, the shepherd and his dog basking in the sun; insects busily humming all nature cheerful and glad. And who so glad as he who, with quick steps, traversed the hills, his bosom swelling with a delight as new as exquisite ? At length he ascended a steep hill, and from the summit looked down upon a little hamlet, which he had been taught to consider as Beaucourt.

Such a fairy village! It lay nestling, as it were, in