may very reasonably require some stronger proof than the outline of my nose, that I am veritably a De Vermont.

I would rather, if it be the same to you, be spared a page or two of hackneyed jokes upon my schemes; but if you find any satisfaction in propounding them for the millionth time, laugh away!-I suppose every man as happy as myself, hears them, and bears them, with all due philosophy. ever, pr'ythee do my bidding, and then amuse yourself as much as you like.

How

TO MADEMOISELLE DE MONTALEMBERT.

Yes, my Virginie--my-sweet, magic monosyllable !Yes, my Virginie, for mine I know you are! Don't call me a presumptuous fool; I never could disguise my convictions. I am quite sure you understand my feelings, and are not angry with me.

Yes, my own, own Virginie, I am the happiest being at this moment in the universe!-I cannot sleep-indeed, I am not inclined to attempt it. Do you remember where we first met? That little meadow-I am looking upon it now as I sit and write to you, because I cannot speak, and because my heart and thoughts are so full of you, that indeed I can think of no other earthly thing.

There, under those trees, now casting their dark shadows against the sky, I saw you first-I see you there now-and that dear, dear little Therese standing by you.

Do you recollect she bade you dance? Ah, Virginie! the instant she put your hand into mine, I felt that it was for ever? Did you think so, my lovely one?

I have written to Eugene.

Who is Eugene ?

Oh! he is my great friend, and a very, a very good fellow too. I hope you will know him some day. I have written to bid him obtain for me a few little particulars respecting my fortune, as I wish to have no difficulties upon that head with your father; and then I will either present myself or write.

Believe me, sweet Virginie, I may appear to your little guardian an idle, romantic fellow, and so, perhaps, I am. I do love romance, but not as I love you. My only wish, in everything connected with you, is to do what is right, sensible, and straightforward—and all those formalities that I used to think so hateful, are now adorable to me, as the means of connecting me with you.

I shall think a notary in a wig and spectacles, more lovely than Apollo's self; M. le Maire, fat and snuffling, a delicate saffron-robed Hymen; and a pair of Normandy horses shall

be to me as the softly gliding doves of Venus, when they carry us away together!

My imagination goes far; but it is not too far, is it, my love? Ah! do not, in pity, deny what your eyes confessed last night.

One line, sweet Virginie, to tell me that you have rested, though I cannot rest. Do not deny me this trifling indulgence-the first, the only one I shall have persuaded you to grant.

"You don't show me that letter, mademoiselle," said Therese with a sigh; "I shall never see another letter of M. Victor's."

Virginie stooped forward and kissed her, for an answer. "It must be so-it is right that it should be so it is the course of nature. Yet we, who are withering away, and falling from the rising tree-we rejoice with sadness. Ah, mademoiselle! you, you will not be mine much longer!" "Dearest Therese!"

....

"I, who have had all the care of you, I shall lose you soon But Heaven be praised, therefore, my dear, dear child!" "Dear Therese, how you talk!" kissing her again.

....

"Well, but I must consult with you once more, dear Therese," smiling sweetly and affectionately upon her, "before I have quite done with you. He bids me write him one little, little line. Shall I?"

"To be sure you shall. Why should you not? Just to thank him, and to say you're well. Do, and I'll carry it." "You will! Oh! you dear, dear, good-natured thing!"

DEAR VICTOR,

I will not unsay what I am sure I never said.. -I rested charmingly last night after all my terror. I hope you will rest too.

V. DE M.

"I don't know what to say, but just tell him that. . Yet stay, give it me again."

She took her pen once more.

"I am sure I thank you a thousand times for the protection you afforded me."

"What a stupid little note!"

"Ah!" as Therese left the room, "wicked little pen, what pain I had to hold you in! I could have written whole pages of foolish things."

That evening Virginie walked no more upon the sea beach; but in the little wooded lonely valley that lay at the foot of the heights of Montalembert, three figures might be seen a young lady and gentleman, arm in arm, engaged in,

apparently, the most interesting conversation, while close behind them hobbled a little figure in a flowered tucked-up gown, scarlet handkerchief, and black quilted petticoat.

The sun was again setting before Virginie turned homeward; but the patience of Therese was inexhaustible.

"Dearest Therese, you look so tired—what ails you?" "Ails me! I have been hobbling behind you for these three good hours."

"Gracious, Therese! What are you talking of? We have scarcely been out an hour."

"Look at your

watch."

"It is six indeed!-poor, poor Therese!-Come, put your feet there, and let me get you some wine. Are you comfortable now? . . . . Nay, let me wait upon you?"

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Ay! wait upon me, wait upon me!--light hearts, light footsteps!-Ah, if Madeleine saw her now? she would call her angel: always lovely-but what is she now? But I will be down in the village to-morrow, and see after my young gentleman, for I must have no trifling."

CHAPTER VI.

VICTOR was sitting at his breakfast in a little porch before Pierre's door; he saw Therese come through the village. She passed, but took no notice whatever of him, and went to a small cottage, standing at a short distance from that which he occupied; presently she returned, and went down the lane.

Victor thought that he understood the drift of all those manœuvres very well. He surmised, that though she did not choose to compromise her young lady's reputation by openly addressing him, yet that she intended he should understand there was something to be said. He got up, made a considerable circuit, and joined Therese in the valley.

"You are quite right-that was what I wanted," said she, as soon as he overtook her.

"You have something to say to me, then? Is she well?" "To be sure she is. Why should she not? But, sir, I am come to interrogate you.'

"I am quite ready to submit to any interrogations of yours," said Victor, laughing.

"Sir-what do you intend with regard to this young lady?" "I should think what I intended was clear enough," said he.

+

"You must not go on this way long; I won't allow it."

"What do you want me to do?-to speak to her father? To be sure, I shall set about it immediately."

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"Or," said Therese, hesitating, perhaps I don't feel quite sure-perhaps it would be better-not to speak to her father."

What, in the name of Heaven, can you mean now ?” cried Victor.

"I don't exactly know how to tell you what I mean,” said she, with the appearance of considerable effort; "you are an honourable man, monsieur. Good Heavens! if you are not, what a wretch am I! Is there no corner of the earth where a husband can protect a child from her father? Carry her there."

"I dare not propose such a thing to Mademoiselle de Montalembert," said Victor, very much astonished.

"You dare not?-you are a pretty lover," contemptuously. "I thought you had been made of more daring stuff, when I carried your first letter-I'd have put it on the fire else. You dare not. Go and ask her father if you like; go-go."

"What can you mean ?"

"Go, go-ask her father; I have done with you." "Why, just now you seemed to wish me to do it."

"That was to try you to see whether you were made of honest stuff; but if you are honest, carry her away. Take her away from a dreadful, dreadful father-save her from a horrid fate."

"However dreadful her father may be," said Victor, "I at least can have nothing to fear from him. The proposals I have to make are in all respects suitable to the rank and circumstances of his daughter-and I can see no reason upon earth to fear a rejection of them. I am positive Virginie would never consent to be mine on the conditions you propose, nor do I exactly understand why I should degrade her and myself by proffering them."

He was tired of what he thought capricious tyranny on the part of the little woman, and he spoke with some irritation. She looked very much offended.

"Do as you please," said she, and walked away.

"I don't understand all this," wrote Victor to Eugene. "I can see no reason upon earth, why I should not apply to M.de Montalembert; and yet she is such a strange, shrewd, little creature, that I don't like to act altogether in defiance of her advice. I have determined what I will do. I will go to Madeleine, and endeavour to get it out of her; it is very strange that I have never thought of visiting her before."

VICTOR IN CONTINUATION.

It was nearly sunset when I wrote these last few lines, and I immediately took my hat, and sallied forth. The evening was delightful; I crossed the well-known hills at a rapid rate, and by the time I had reached the crest of the ravine, where the village of Beaucourt lies, a fine moon was casting her clear, white light upon the tufted trees, the sparkling brook, and little modest cottages and gardens.

When I came near to Madeleine's abode, I perceived that she was sitting upon a rustic bench, at the top of a long arcade of harricots, which here they form into a sort of pleached walk. Her little garden, of which every tiny bed was arranged with the most scrupulous neatness, was smelling sweetly with the mignonette and carnation which were growing there in abundance. The old woman herself was in the picturesque dress I am so fond of; her black hood looking something like a nun's veil, over her snow-white cap; her staff, and her reverend and dignified air-she is a tall, large woman-giving her an interesting and imposing appearance. I walked up to her. She took no notice of me at first, except that she fixed her eyes intently upon me.

"How are you, Madeleine ?" said I.

"You are come again, at last," was her reply, in a tone somewhat reproachful. "Your father, young man, would have been here before now, to learn whether the poor ruin was still standing, or fallen!"

"Indeed! I have been very negligent, but I heard, from Therese, that you were better, my good mother, and then-" "Ah! and then.... So it is ever! So it was before you, so it will be after you !—young hearts, young heads!— filled with their own ardent hopes, their own passionate longings-they forget the gray hairs. But, sir, your father never

forgot his duties."

My father!-you speak of my father as if you knew him well. How can you know so much of my father? We are of Auvergne, that is many a league from this."

"There was that in this country which would have drawn men farther than from Auvergne."

"And you knew my father well?"

"I did, young man. He was a noble gentleman; and I hope your heart is as like him as your smile," taking my hand in hers, and looking fondly in my face.

"But, Madeleine, if you loved my father, you should love his son a little for his sake. And now, I am come to have some serious talk with you."

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Speak on," said she; "I love to hear your voice."

"Do you know how I am situated with respect to-to