im/A. ^WRANGUfJ^ ^«i-LAiirW/(> ^ur-LAiirw/)^ .^v\t•uNlv^KVA "^(TAavian^^ ^lUSANtflfX^ o OJO^ ^^OJIIVJJO^ '^XilJONVSOV"^'^ IFOff/ij^ ^OFCAllFOff^ AWtUNIVERS/A ■# "^^JAUvaan^s^^ an VERS"/^ ^lOSANCflfJV. ^lOSANCflfJ;^ ft: .^^ S. ?n o _ _ _ U . Ob &Aavaan# lARYQr ^ ^iSfOjnvDjo'^ ^OFCAUFOff^ ^(?AHvaan# ^lOSANCUfj;^ JUST PUBLISHED. AUEKBACH'S ON THE HEIGHTS. Translated by S. A. Steux. ]2mo, Library edition, $3.00; the .same, two vols., I'Jmo, Leisure Hour Series, ^1.25 per volume. TAINE'S NOTES ON PARIS. The Liir and OrrxroNS of M. Fkicdkuic Thomas Gi:.\indoi{GK, Doctor of Philosophy at the University of .Jena, special partner in the house of Graindorge & Co. (oils and salt pork), Cincinnati, Ohio. Col- lected and published by II. Taine, executor. Tr nslated by J. A. Stevkns. Large 12mo (uniform with the recent editions of Taine's "Italy." " England," etc.) |2.50. " One of il. Taiiie"s brightest works. . . . The suppo>!itious observations of one M. Thomas (Jniindortre, . . . who, havinpr amassed .a fortune . . . in America, returns to his native France, and jots down with a free' pen [andj delicious wit what he sees. This outside view of their city greatly amused the readers of f.o Vie i'arisieiuie." — V. J-. Tribune. \ very clever work."" — Xalioii. 1 !ie book is bright, and has a great deal tbat is interesting and impressive.'" — 2i(j,sliin Advertiser. '• Will prove a very pleasant companion."' — A'. J". World. '• One of the most powerful and sug2cstive portraitures of French cliaracter and life, as it is exhibited in the gay metroi)olis. . 'J'aiiio has the art of giving in a few off-hand touches, a picture of jiorsona or places, which, with less skilfiii writers would re(iHire gi-eat elaboration.'" — lUn^Um Globe. '■ There are books which invite and faRut it was impossible for Mr. Sinclair to mistake the reality of the feeling she struggled to put into words. But it was not alone her gratitude she had to confess. There was something else to be told. Cattie was worse than poor; she was penniless, and Cattie Avanted to make herself independent by her own exertions. "Nonsense, my dear! I should as soon have ex- pected such a declaration from Bessie or May." "But I am not your real child," replied Cattie, her lips quivering as she said this. " Is it a good feeling that dictated those words ? " he asked. " I am not good. I do n't think I was intended to be good." "ITush! child." She seized his hand, held it against her cold lijis for an instant. I 8 WITHIN AN ACE. " But you are an angel ! I am grateful to you. Indeed, indeed, I do love you; but hate is stronger than love with me." "Poor little soidl" ejaculated Mr. Sinclair. "I cannot he happy here any longer," went on Cattie, hurriedly. " It will only get worse and worse." "It has been said, and said truly, Cattie, that we may change our skies, but we always carry our- selves about with us. You will never, my poor child, have less cause for suffering than yt»u liave here." " I do n't say I shall be happier, but I shall be better. I am growing wicked, dear Dar (the name she had invented for Mr. Sinclair). I do n't think uncle Dan meant to do so much harm, but he has been a spirit of evil to me; he tempts me. No; I must go away." " Is it possible that an old man's crabbedness, or his ])artiality fected the French stranger. Tottie described the scene of liis arrival in her diary, thus; — • " My lord fell like a bomb among us. Miss Toyn- bee was so horridly put out because she had on her No. 3 turban — the frightfullest of the three — that she forgot all her French. Bessie muttered, 'ISTo fish.' May blushed, and was perfectly angelic. The darling Cattie first looked savage and ugly, then smiled, whicli makes her pretty enough. My frock was torn, so I hid behind la Toynl)ee, and my lord did n't see me; indeed, he took no notice of me after 26 WITHIN AN ACE. papa liad oldiged liim to see me, l)y iutroduclno' mc, as lie always does, as the last Lut not the least, of his family. "My lord is n't handsome, but he is n't bad-look- ing, considering lie is a Frenchman. His hands are so brown, I thought he was eating his dinner in brown gloves." Tottie was an unconscious plagiarist in making this last observation. The fact suggested the com- parisou quite naturally. It is next to impossible that any individual should produce the same impression on a group of persons. The three elder girls gathered together in Miss Sin- clair's room before going to bed, to talk over the visitor. " Well, what do you think of him ? " asked Cattie, the initiator on all such occasions. " He is plain, but gentlemanly," said Bessie, " dif- ferent from what I expected. He does not smell of cigars, and he is not impudent." "He is very polite and good-natured," said May. "I liked his manner to papa and T . I do n't think him ugly." "His eyes are not bad; his nose may pass; his mcuith isn't stupid; and his boots, they are deli- cious! " said Cattie. "I expected him to c^at with his kiiif<'," said l>es- THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 2/ sie, " but the only peculiarity I remarked was the quantity of bread he took." " Half-a-dozen pieces at once, like old Mother Mc- Calluni with the macaroons. I wonder what he thinks of us?" — this was from Cattie. "Nothing at all, probably; we must seem mere doAvdies to a man accustomed to the beauties of Paris." " It 's exactly the contrast that will make him ob- serve us," replied Cattie. " I cauglit him inspecting T 's turban." " You observed him pretty closely, it seems," re- torted Bessie, bridling. " Yes, I did, dear old propriety, just as I should some newly-imported animal iu the Zoological Gar- dens. In general, I can read off people at first siglit." "Say that you think you can," interrupted Bessie. "But he ])uzzles me," w^ent on C-attie. "lie is like an exercise in a foreign tongue, and 1 want a key to help me to construe it." " I do n't see any necessity for your understand- ing M. de Jenyay," said Bessie, wi'athfuUy. "Necessity! " repeated Cattie, "no, but I, for one, always prefer to learn that for which there is no ne- cessity." " Do n't talk any more about him, at all events." 28 WITIIIX AX ACE. " Do you not know I am n woman ? "When I think I must speak." " Such stuff! " said Bessie. "It 's Shakespeare's, not mine, old hady." Plere Tottie made her appearance, half undressed. " I can hear all you are saying, and I have just come to tell you that I could understand my lord's eyes, though Cattie could n't. They said as plain as l>lain could be, that he thought May divine." "Nonsensical child," laughed May. Who has not had to Avoiider over those unthought- of accidents which bring peo2)le from the four cor- ners of the eartli to work out the problems of each other's lives ? If Cattie, — as she and May went along the pas- sage their arms intertwined, — if Cattie had spoken she Avould have uttered two words, and they would have been " I wonder." She had, so to speak, a sen- sation as of expectation,, akin to that we feel when, for the first time, we Avait the rising of the curtain at a theatre. The unknown tickled the imagina- tion, of which she had no lack. May spoke ; and she said : " Oh, Cattie, how shall I manage to speak French ? " "Never mind making mistakes; Avhen people come to England they must expect to hear English spoken." THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 29 " But one would wish to be kind to a stranger." " The kindest thing you can do in this case, is to give ICnglish lessons. Gute nacht, meine liebste/^^ and Cattie closed her door. The prettiest sight imaginable met the French- man's eyes next morning when he looked out of the green room window. At the further end of the lawn two girls were down on their knees filling a root basket with flowers. He watched them, speculating on the difference of character to be imjilied from their gestures. The taller clearly Avas the one AV'ho governed; he could perceive that she it was who de- cided all points. Both charming; the shorter, the one who did as she was bid, decidedly enlisted his manly sympathies in her favor. Will any man deny til at the admiration he is forced to give to her who can do, is not more than counterbalanced by the tenderness he willhigly accords to her who humbly pleads her inability ? Is it not true that talent in women is oftener repulsive than attractive ? Fe- male talent has to earn its pardon l)y vicing with the violet. Everybody loved May Sinclair; she had no pre- tentions to cleverness of any kind, but with her pa- tience and gentleness and readiness to serve, carried about with her an atmosphere of pleasantness. She was n direct contrast to Cattie, who, with her bright- 30 WITHIN AN ACE. iiess, her vivacity, her eager questioning spirit, troub- led you. 8he had heard herself called " a painful girl." Uncle Dan's favorite epithet for her was, "a rocket" — fire and fury ending in smoke. No one of those who criticized her ever thought of making the observation, that she must have some nobleness of spirit to know that a constant compari- son to her disadvantage was made, and yet that she never pained nor depreciated May by word or deed; ne\'ertheless, this general disapjDrobation had had its effect, and Cattie was somewhat reckless. She had come to say, " Since no one believes I have any good in me, I shall at least prove I am clever." This state of feeling fostered a craving for publicity, the seed of which had long ago been sown: a craving which more or less attends all talent. "I would rather be Grisi or Patti, than Queen of England," said Cattie, and she meant it. To retiirn to the Frenchman. He continued his watch, amused to see how easily the girls Avere start- led; the flight of a bird, the fall of a leaf, and they were on their feet; and after every alert the tinkle of tlieir low laughter fell on his ear most musically. " Tliis Scotch lawyer has nothing to envy the noblest of us all," thought the Count, Tottie now came rushing across the lawn with an armful of puppies, which the next instant were roll- THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 3 I ing like so many black and white halls on the grass. De Jen5ay guessed from a certain jjantomime that the elder Avere remonstrating with the younger on the disarray of her dress, wliich undoubtedly left much to be desired; he was sure they alluded to the possibility of his seeing her, for Tottie turned and looked straight at his windows, then shaking her head with a motion as wild as that of a colt, gath- ered up her pujjpies and pranced off again. The Count's further ol)servations were brought to an end by his valet bringing in hot water, and an account of the arrangenients below stairs. To liear M. Coiir, you might have supposed he and his mas- ter were visiting some other planet; everything he saw and heard was judged through distorting spec- tacles. It was from Cour that M. de Jenyay learned the ages of the young ladies, and that tlie tall Mees was not even a relation of the family. How had Cour managed to gather this informa- tion ? Miss Toynl)ee, to be sure, had said the lady's maid possessed a little French, having been abroad some fifteen years since. But Beatson's French went no further tlian, " Commang vous portez vous?" with the sup})lement of "heizzes wasser," which was good Scotch to the valet. . The loud ringing of a bell, evidently a summons of some kind, was followed by the appearance of 32 WITHIN AN ACE. ]\I]-. Sinclair liirasclf at de Jeiifay's door. The host came to inquire if the guest would like to join in the family worship, which had been omitted the even- ing before from the desii'e not to take any one of a different persuasion by surprise. De Jen9ay ex- pressed his readiness to conform to all the customs of the house. He said, " I have inherited my form of belief as I have my name, but I have a great re- spect for Protestantism. Some of the most admira- ble women I have known have been Protestants." Mr. Sinclair, not considering the staircase a suita- ])le place for religious discussion, led the way in silence to the dining-room. The ladies were seated at the upper end, each with a book in her hand. At some distance sat uncle Dan, alone. Mr. Sinclair gave the Count a chair by Tottie, and then took his own place at a small table, on which lay an open Bible. As soon as he was seateoinpous ceremony had ever done. It was altogether strange and singularly pleasant. The prayers over, the ladies gave their guest their morning greeting, Bessie hoping he had slept well. At breakfast, — a real Scotch breakfast, which ex- ))lained to de Jengay why Scotland was called the land of cakes, — he could better judge of the appear- ance of tlie family party, into wliich Fate, under the shape of Mrs. Patterson, had plunged him. Tottie's annoimcement of the night before had T)een premature. De Jengay had not been struck with admiration for May, or any of the young ladies. He had not come thither to seek a wife, and only with such an idea would girls have interested him. In fact, it Avas a principle with him, as with most commc ilfaat Frenchmen, never to pay any attention to the unmarried, unless with a decided view to mat- I'imony. But he was beginning to feel the influence of his stin-oundings — what Taine calls, '■'• V Influence, da milieu.'''' Everything pleased his taste; the very clieerfulncss of the young and lovely girls was sub- dued. Bessie inspired liim indeed -with the respect he would have thought due to her mother. She was so calm, so polite, she spoke so steadily to the point, that she awed him, as she did every otlier man. 3 34 WITHIN AN ACE. Not one of the single men who hal»itnally visitecl at Mayfield, ever thought of Miss Sinclair and love to- gether. All the old man-ied men, however, swore by Bessie, In taking upon her the position of lady of the house, she had adopted a manner thoroughly fitted to the part. She had even exaggerated the requisite propriety; her reception bow, her measured A^oice, the severity of her eye, kept wooers aloof, and yet in the secret of her heart, Bessie Avould have wished to be sought and won; but not for the best man in broad Scotland would she have given a fa- voring glance until the cabalistic words had been spoken. The Count's attention was divided between May and Cattie. The first, with her brown pensive eyes, her singularly clear complexion, realized his precon- ception of a fair English girl. She was not shy, for she met his glance unshrinkingly as a child might have done. May was reserved, not shy. The tall, pale girl, with the long bright curls, was she pretty, or not? No — yes — and then no, and yes, again. The face had its defects — the deep set blue eyes were not large; but the lashes were long and dark — the eyebrows, too, were marked — the nose and mouth were not in any way remarkable, but the smile was of all beauty — when Cattie smiled she became beautiful. If the features were defect- THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 35 ivc, the figure was faultless, and then Cattie was graceful, and is not grace even more attractive than heauty. Tottie described Cattie perfectly, in say- ing that she w^as lovely, and ugly, ten times in a day. Miss Tottie herself promised to be the handsomest of the sisters, but just now her face seemed all eyes. The conversation was carried on in a hotch-potch of English and French. Mr. Sinclair had an almost irreproachable accent, but made sad Avork with the genders. Bessie spoke correctly, but with decided Scotch intonations; May spoke not at all; Cattie with facility but incorrectly. As for Miss Toynbee, you would have said she had learned her jjhrases by heart that inorning; they were redolent of Madame do Sevigne's letters, and she laid traps to bring in her witticisms. Tottie had been unusually quiet. All at once she burst fortli, addressing herself to de Jenyay: "Monsieur, what did the spider do, when it came out of the ark ? " "Mademoiselle!" "Shall I tell you, it took a fly and went home." De Jen9ay spoke English as most Frenchmen do, and his attempts to come to an understanding of Tottie's qiiestion and answer caused that propounder of riddles to swallow her tea the Avrong way, and to be ignominiously sent out of the room. 36 WITHIN AN ACE. As for uncle Dan he looked aiul behaved like a f^urly mastiif. Every time de Jenyay's eyes turned in the direction of May, uncle Dan uttered some- thing between a snarl and a growl. Mr. Sinclair gave his guest tlie option of going with him to see Edinburgh, or of riding with the ladies. The Count at once chose the latter alternative. " I leave you in good hands," said Mr. Sinclair, add- ing, "Cattie — take care of Queen Mab's shoulder; no leaping to-day." The young girls accompanied the father to the front gate giving him sundry pattings and kisses. Miss Sinclair then turned to de Jcn5ay and said, " Luncheon will be on the table at half-past one, and the horses at the door at three. Perhaps you would like to go to the library. My uncle ^\all be so good as to show you the way." M. de Jen9ay considered the suggestion as tanta- mount to a command, and followed his surly con- ductor with a temper somewhat ruffled. "You should n't have been in such a huri-y, Bessie," said Cattie. " The Count would n't have eaten us up, had you let him stay with us." "Men have no business in the drawing-room of a morning, and I shall take care to avoid having to re]»roach myself with any ilirtations." THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 37 "No one would ever sus2:)ect you of sucli an im- l)ropriety," retorted Cattie. " It is not for myself I speak." " For May then — or for me. I do n't see that to take pleasure in a person's society must necessarily be flirting. I should have enjoyed asking this gen- tleman questions about France." " You can do so when my father is present. It is impossible for young women to be too prudent; we must not only be really free of blame, but appear to be so." "Oh! Bessie, Bessie, with your ideas, we should go through life without any enjoyment." "I can conceive no enjoyment coupled with an ap})earance of wrong doing." " You are resolved on walking with hard peas in your shoes. I mean to boil mine; " and Cattie saun- tered out of the room. " Do you think I was wrong, May ? " asked Bessie. "I never think you wrong, dear; but poor M. de Jenyay did look very like a child sent away in disgrace." Here they caught the sound of Cattle's voice ringing tlirough the house, " And there 's nobody coming to woo-oo-oo — " Such a cadence as she made on that last syllable! May said, " It vexes me to see that you and Cattie 38 WITHIN AN ACE. are not such good frieuds as you used to be. Why is it ? " "I disapprove of many of Cattie's ways. She does not sufficiently remember that she is not our father's daughter. I cannot bear to see her behav- ing to him as if. she were so." May looked puzzled and distressed. Miss Sinclair suddenly changed the conversation by expressing her regret that she had not bid her father remember the fish — it might be a maigre day, for what any one knew, and what was then to be done with the Frenchman; and with a heightened color, the only sign of vexation she ever gave. Miss Sinclair took her way to the kitchen. In the meantime uncle Dan had led the Count to the library, a room quite forty feet long, all the side walls covered with books — a painted window at the north end, to the south a glass door opening on a lawn, surrounded by a high hedge of bush. Uncle Dan unlocked the book-cases, pointed to the library ladder, showed M. de Jen^ay that there were pens, ink and paper on the table, and then said, " I will leave you to write and read in peace." " It appears I am to be a prisoner here for soine hours," thought the Frenchman. " I wonder if smoking be allowed. I wish I had asked the ci'oss old man." THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 39 After tal;iiig a cursory view of the books, de Jen- yay sat down to write to his mother. One page of liis pu])er was filled with imprecations against the j)assage across the Channel, the second and last was as little explicit as possible about the Sinclair family. There was no habit of confidence, we know, between mother and son. Mrs. Patterson would not have exaggerated had she written, instead of that they differed on most points, that they differed on alL Oiie of the Count's griefs against his mother was the marriage of his only sister. The doAvager had lis- tened to no argument on the subject, and had given her })retty elegant young daughter to a Brittany boor, sim])ly because he was the bearer of a great name. The ]Mar(pus de Treveguen liad, indeed, every one of the defects of his class, besides those nature had specially bestowed on him. His intelligence was imbedded in«Qll the superstitions of Papistry. * lie was stupid, ignorant, and ill-looking. He drank as the Britons do, of whom Madame de Sevigne wrote, " as much wine goes into their bod- ies as water itnder their bridges;" but he was the Marquis de Treveguen. Armand de Jeneay paid one visit, and l)ut y. But even my experience shows me that we are the slaves of circumstances. Shake- speare supports my opinion." " That is being a fatalist, is it not ? My meaning is, that our characters make the events of our lives." "Then I am sure my life will be a strange med ley," said Cattie. AN ENTHUSIAST FOR MATRIMONY. 5 I "We have not heard what Miss Sinclair thinks on tlie matter," said de Jen9ay. " I believe in free-will," said May, in a low voice. " And election," muttered Cattle, with a dry laugh. That evening Mrs. Johnson siirpassed herself Bessie and May had lectured their father on the ne- cessity of keeping Aunt Polly in order. They were very really alarmed at what she might say to the stranger; for never in their memory had she failed to put them out of countenance wdien any unmarried man was present. During dinner, Mr. Sinclair, oft- 1 lines admonished by the beseeching looks of his elder daughters, had stopped the unconscious lady as slie was nearing the perilous topic of marriage. Yes; though the conversation might be distant as the poles from that subject, she found the way to bring it to that equator of her imagination. As soon as the ladies were alone in the drawing-room, she began her catechism. "Well, girls, do you approve of your visitor? — a fine, handsome man, that 's my opinion, and I do n't care who hears it, my dears." Tliere was a wonderful unanimity in the answer Mrs. Johnson got from Bessie, May, and Cattie — • "No; he was not in the very least handsome." " I think him a perfect darling," said Tottie. "You should not speak so, even when Ave are alone," said Miss Sinclair, aghast. 52 WITHIN AN ACE. " Why not ? " asked Tottie. " Keep your thoughts, at least such thoughts, to yourself," said Cattie. " You are too old to go on in that way." " I am sure you girls are enougli to puzzle Solo- mon liimself. You are very Avell, hut you are not such Venuses as to luive any riglit to Apollos," " Venus was not in any way attached to Apollo, Mrs. Johnson," ohserved Cattie. " My dear, of course I know Vulcan was lier hus- band, and that 's a broad hint that beauty on one side is enough," "When is love deformed, Aunt T'olly?" cried out Tottie. "I'll tell you: when it is all on one side." " Hut this young man is good looking — a trifle brownish; but that 's to 1)e expected. 1 Jiever.saw a better-made coat on a man's back, and he is modest; l)ut that 's perhai)s owing to his ignoi'ance of our tongue. Frenclnnen are not famed for modesty." "One of themselves said they were a happy com- bination of monkey and tiger," said Cattie. "How you do -set u])on the poor fellow," ex- claimed Tottie. "It just makes me mad." "Ixeally I di> iTt kimw what to make of you young girls; not the least like girls in my time." " Did they make offers of marriage ? " asked Cat- tie. AN ENTHUSIAST FOR MATRIMONY. 53 "No, my dear; T)ut tlioy didn't take pleasure in preventing their being made. It 's a downriglit Avonder to every one who knows ns, tliat here you all are, withering on the virgin stalk." Miss Toynbee said, — "That comparison only suits me, Mrs. Johnson." " Well, ma'am, I dare say you have your regrets for opportunities throAvn away; beauties, young la- dies, are apt to sit out their.market." Cattie put up her lip in disdain, saying, — " How^ I (hi hate hearing people talk as if the sole end and aim of a woman's lieing was to be married." "And pray for what otlier reason do you think she was created ? " asked Mrs. Johnson. " It 's too disgusting ! " exclaimed Cattie. " May, come and play a duet." They had scarcely begun before M. de Jenjay came into the room. Cattie played extremely well, and de Jengay listened Avith the ears of a connois- seur. He made some remarks which led Cattie to say,— "I am sure you play yourself, or perhaps you sing — that would be delightful; we have such loads of duets and trios." He said, — " But I can only sing French." She turned to the music-stand to seek for some- thing of Auber, Avheu up came Mrs. Johnson. 54 WITHIN AN ACE. " Ah ! so you are fond of music, Mooseer ? What 's your oi^inion of these young ladies' phiying v May wants physical force, and Cattie has n't soft- ness enough — splash-dash I say; but I am going to refer a matter in dispute to you — you will be a good judge, being, I may say, out of the question. Xow, do n't you think vrith me that girls ought to mar- ry?" " I can conscientiously agree with you, ^Madame," said de Jen9ay, laughing heartily. " Well, of course it 's stupid to be so particular, so difficult to please. Xo man has been perfection since Adam, and if girls are to wait till they find another like our first father, there must be an end of the world, as a fi-iend of mine said, if there were only her and fish." "Will you look at those duets, M. de Jen9ay?" inlerrupted Cattie. . " Just let me finish what I liave to say, my clear. I am told that in your country, Mooseer, papas and mammas pair off the young people at the proper time, and it 's my private idea that it answers just as well as our national custom of long courtship. How much did Jacob know of Eacliel after twice seven years of love-making ? " "The patriarch ought to have been higldy flat- tered by the lady's patience and constancy. I don't AN ENTHUSIAST FOR MATRIMONY. 55 believe the case could be paralleled," said de Jen- S'ay. Tlic two girls left the piano, aud with theii- rle- jtarturc al] the Count's interest in the conversation vanished. "Ah! it's a great pity. Youth makes itself wings. Bessie was really a handsome creature some seven years ago. I never thought we should have kept her so long," "It must he the effect of her own choice, Ma- dame." "Well, yes; but lolin can't slie find some one to suit her ? I did u't like doctors or lawyers myself, I preferred Art, Well, sir, I had just to put up T\ ith farming, and I 'm none the worse," Mr, Sinclair was here sent to the rescue; he car- rietl off his sister for a game of chess with uncle Dan, and then Cattie and May came back to the piano; and they tried over first a duet from "ie Ghalet^'' and then they found that charming one from " Les Voitures Renversees^^'' to the air of " Ait clair de la lune.'''' The moment Cattie found that de Jenyay could teach her something, her manner changed, and he beheld her in one of her bewitching moods. They practiced the duet so long that at last ]Mr. Sinclair begged for a truce, and then the rest of the evening 56 WITHIN AN ACE. passed as evenings usnally do in families such as that of the Sinchiirs, in looking over books, photo- graphs, in 2)leasant desultory chat about pictures, music, and literature, with a little seasoning of pf)li- tics. Cattie was very grand on this last topic, very indignant at the want of liberty of the press in France. Might people have a ball without asking leave of the police ? and then never to be sure that one's letters were not opened, and to have Punch stopped! It was enough to prevent the English living in France. "They come, notwithstanding," said de Jen9ay. "You hear as much English in Pai'is as French. Some day I hope you will all come and see if Ave arc not better than our reputation." It was one of those pleasant evenings which are only possible Avhen no strong feelings are in play. All was subdued : lights, voices, laughter. Sud- denly the charm was broken; uncle Dan knocked over the chess-board,' and left tlie room in a huff. " I'm sure I do n't know how 1 won," said Mis. Johnson, in dismay; "but wliat's done is done, and there 's no help for it. Well, Mooseer, I hope you are pleased with our domestic circle ? " Before de Jenyay could reply, Cattie had ex- claimed, " very tea-trayish." " Tea-tray ish!" rei)eated the Count. AN ENTHUSIAST FOR MATRIMONY. 57 "It 's what the tea-things are put on," exphained Tottie. De Jen^ay looked more than ever puzzled, but he understood that Cattle had uttered some sar- casm. "I moan that onr domestic cirfle has nothing particularly artistic or supernaturally delightful," explained Cattle in French, and speaking in a low voice. " All over the world," said de Jen9ay, addressing himself to Mrs. Johnson, "the virtues and happiness of English homes are celebrated." "Very nicely said," whispered Cattie; but Mrs. Johnson, with true Scotch aptitude for argument, went on, — "Oh! I am not for saying, Mooseer de Jen9ay, tliat there 's no such thing as ludiappiness or short- comings among us; but as a rule, why I believe we may claim the advantage over other nations." "We do not shine in modesty, I tliink," said Mr. Sinclair. " It 's your own novels, sir, give us such a dread- ful, idea of your morals. 'Deed, they're far from good reading. For instance, that what 's-his-name — a fellow Avho i)ushes another — a ne'er-do-weel — out of his house with his stomach — David, is it ? — ■ No! — lions — Daniel ? I told Mr. Johnson the story, 58 WITHIN AX ACE. and lie said I miglit Itave boon better employed than reading such ti-ash. And then tliat peeping tlirougli a key-liole at a girl saying her prayers: it frightens one against traveling in France." "I 'ni afraid yonr stndies, Madame, will have left no hope of your believing any good of France or the Fi-ench." " I am not so sure of that," returned the lady, her head on one side, with an attempt at a coquettish air, quite comical. On this there was a general rise of all the girls — they kissed the father of the familj^, and shook hands in a kindly manner with the stranger. This night there was no meeting for any confiden- tial chat. Each young lady retired in a matter-of- fact way to her respective room. Cattie sat down at her ojjen window; her eyes were fixed on the calm heaven above, but her thoughts never went so higli — no, though there streamed down upon her a pure ray from the brightest of planets. Memory was taking Cattie back some half-dozen years. We have periods of forgetfulness of the past — it actually seems obliterated; but memory has its lumber-room, where all which we are not using is put aside, and, one day or other, volunta- rily or invohuitarily, we go thither. Cattie was do- ing so involuntarily. She was recalling lier child- AN ENTHUSIAST FOR MATRIMONY. 59 hood passed in all the splendor of a civilian in high place in India. Then came the death of her father, and the poverty of lier mother, with not a penny, save her widow's pension — downright poverty com- p;ired witli the income of her hushaiid's post. How well Cattie remembered all that poor mother's lamentations over the past, her terrors for the fu- ture of her daughter! How they had wandered from place to place on the Continent in search of cheapness and luxury! Pier mother's deplorings as to her darling's want of beauty, sounded again in her ears, "You must go to India, my child,'' said ]Mrs. Leighton; "you'll never find a husband any- where else, my unlucky child. And oh! Cattie, never forget your poor mother's words — better never marry at all, than a man without property. See what has been the consequence of my trusting to a man's life for an income!" When Cattie was sixteen she and her mother were living at Bourges, and ]Mi;s. Leighton, who was not troubled with any religious qualms, sent Cattie as a day-scholar to the convent. The music- master, who Avas proud of his pupil, one day pro- posed that she should sing the '^ A(/7ms Dei" of the mass he had composed in honor of the Bishop's anmial visit. There was a little doubt whether it would be admissible, considering that Miss Leigh- 60 WITHIN AN ACE. ton was a Protestant, but tlio glory and advantage tliat such singing would bring to the convent- school, conquered the Lady Superior's scruples. Cattle's voice on that occasion was tlie topic of conversation in ]5ourges for a month — and this ad- miration turned Mrs. Leighton's thoughts in a new direction. "Dear child," said the loving weak woman, "if you have not a pretty face, you have an angel's voice. What a sensation you have made; all the great ladies have been complimenting me, and beg- ging for the honor of our acquaintance. I '11 tell you what, Cattie, you shall go on the stage; though you have n't beauty, your figure promises well — you have nice hands, and feet. Men go mad for a fashionable actress or singer. I won't hear of your going to India; and if anything happens to me, drown yourself rather than be a governess. Oh! my darling, perhaps I may live to see a coronet on your dear little head!" It seemed to Cattie, now sitting in the I'ays of that lovely planet, as though her mother's voice was in her ear: "I should be satisfied if I could, see a coronet on that dear little head." She felt as though warm kisses were on her curls. She held out her arms whispering, — "Mamma, mamma!" She had adored that soft simpleton, who liad never AN ENTHUSIAST FOR MATRIMONY. 6l once had a rational idea of life, who had always chosen the accessory instead of the principal. It was the little daily spoilings, the gentle yielding that endeared the weak mother to the gifted high- tempered daughter. They became, as it were, joint conspirators. Cattie labored hard in her vocation. She had the true artist's temperament, ardent, easily excited, easily dei)ressed, ambitious, gi'eedy of praise, pas- sionate rather than tender. All her professoi'S pre- dicted a future of glory for her. If at sixteen, her mother had said truly that Cattie was not pretty, at eighteen it would have been difficult to deny that she might claim to possess beauty — not beauty as tlie ancients understood it, but such as the moderns best like and appreciate — a sometliing capricious, mobile, strange; the refined i-esidt of the working of the miud on plastic features. The mother and daughter had gone to Inter- lachen for a holiday. They were full of hope; Cat- tie persuaded that iu her slender throat she held fame and fortune, and what Cattie believed was gos- pel for her mother. The Sinclairs were also at Tnterlachen tliat year, and often met the mother and daughter in their various excursion's. At watering-places i)e()ple the least given to gos?;ip begin to speculate about their 62 WITHIN AN ACE. neighbors, and to watch tlieir proceedings. The Sinclairs made no exception to the rule; they had names for those they habitually saw. There were the Doves, and the SpaiTows, and the Jays, and Ma- dame Giraffe, and Monsieur Grayboots. Cattie and her mother they called Hen and Chick. "Poor things!" said Mr. Sinclair one day, when his daughters had drawn his attention to the j)air. " They seem very comfortable ! " replied Bessie. " I pitied them because when I see two people so all in all to one another, I think of the uncertainty of life," was the grave rej(Hnder. Not many days later May observed, " Hen and Chick must begone. I have not seen them for a week." That very evening the l)ells tolled for Mrs. Leighton. Then some ladies who were in the same Pension, came and lamented to the Sinclairs the sit- uation of the i)oor girl, who seemed to have no fi'iends, and to be left quite to herself. They could not tliink what was to come of her. She was very Jiaughty and reserved, and repelled all their ad- vances. Even the English chaplain could obtain no further confidence from her than that she was Avait- ing for letters. Miss Leighton became the object of public inter- est. We talk and write much of the seltishness, and AN ENTHUSIAST FOR MATRIMONY. 63 ■\vnrl(lliness, uiid snobhishiicss of ninnkind, but who lias not examples to cite of benevolence, disinterest- edness, and charity? Mr. Pitt, who is an authority, said he had fou}id men better than theii* reputation. Many hearts in Interlachen were sore for the friend- less orphan girl — none more so than those of the Sinclair family. One evening Mr. Sinclair went out for his usual solitary walk by the lake: a night such as this, on which Cattie sits at her window thinking of the past, — a gentle air making the leaves whis})er, a dusty multitude of stars, with one planet outshining all the rest, disturbing, exciting, as the fixed glance of a brilliant eye, whose meaning Ave cannot reach. Mr. Sinclair, as was his wont when alone, was re- peating aloud some favonte verses, when he came upon a lady in black, whom he at once recognized to be Miss Leighton. He lifted liis hat, and passed on. But he turned to look after her, and saw that .she had. seated herself .on the bank, and so close to the lake tliat her feet were almost in the water. An impulse made him retrace his steps. He said, " Pray do n't be alarmed by my speak- ing to you; but it is too late for you to be here alone." "I am not afraid," she answered. "That is because you are ignorant of the risks vou run." 64 WITHIN AN ACE. " I am not such a baby as you think." "Is it not like a child to court danger? I have daughters of my own, as okl or okler than you, and I should not allow them to take solitary walks at this hour." " I am alone in the woi'ld, and must learn to take care of myself." " Do you ol)ject to having some conversation Avith me? My name is Sinclair," "I know who you are; you are the father of the young lady with that funny little dog." He smiled to himself at this speech, from the girl who had asserted her 2:)ower to take care of hei'self. lie sat down by her. " At your age you ought to be with friends." " But if I have n't any ? not an uncle or aunt in the world. Some distant cousins — stupid, disagree- able peo^jle, who write me sermonizing letters, and advise me to do what I never will. I would rather throw myself into this lake." "A summary and Avieked proceeding." "I am not a bit afraid of dying, not a bit. I saAV my mother die, — " Here the steady voice suddenly broke into a j)]ainti\(' quiver, the girl pressed her hands hard to- gether, and her head Avent down on her breast. It Avas evident she Avas fighting against a burst of tears. AN ENTHUSIAST FOR MATRIMONY. 65 Mr. Sincluir was a tonder-liearted man. lie could not find courage to speak at that instant to the or- plian. At kxst he said, conscious that it would not do for hini to be seen sitting at that hour by the side of the poor girl, — " Will you let me take you home ? I do not like to leave you here." She got up and walked in silence by his side to the Pension. She held out her hand to him, when he bade her "good night." The next day, Mr. Sinclair took his eldest daugh- ter and Miss Toynbee to call on Miss Leighton, and invite her to spend the day with them. She inter- ested them all, even Bessie. Never had they before met with such a strange combination of child and woman as in this friendless young thing. And then her singing — they could never hear enough of it, and thus, day after day, Cattie went to the Sinclairs. The more he saw of her, the more her deserted state weighed on Mr. Sinclair's mind. The Scotch with all that appearance of shrewdness and caution which has gained for them the epithet "canny," have an enthusiasm in their nature, which ofttimes leads a Scot to do what his English brother would call a foolish proceeding. The more Mr. Sinclair pondered as to the future; of this waif and stray thrown in his path, the more it seemed to him that 5 66 WITHIN AN ACE. the only possible arrangement was to take her with them when they left Interlachen. He pleaded the cause of the fatherless with his eldest daughter, and so far gained it, that Bessie agreed to Miss Leigh- ton being invited to stay with them until she had decided on her future plans. " lleally, and really, you will take me with you ! " cried Cattie in a rapture of gratitude, kissing Mr. Sinclair's hand; "but," with sudden recollection, "I do n't know if I have money enough for the jour- ney;" and she gave her little purse to Mr. Sinclair. " You are our visitor from this moment," he said, returning the purse. Cattie was silent ; but her change of color showed how agitated she was. " How can I ever repay you ? " she whispered. " Be a good girl." " Indeed I will try." Six years had gone by since that day, and till Avithin the last few months there had been perfect harmony among the girls. Uncle Dan, indeed, had been the only one of the family who had not long since become reconciled to Cattle's adoption. We know, and with what nonsuccess, she had at twenty- one proposed to follow out her mother's projects for her. To Miss Toynbee alone had Cattie confided the anxiety that had taken hold of her. AN ENTHUSIAST FOR MATRIMONY. 6/ " I see it coming, T.," she often said, " I sliall have to go away." It was at this epoch that Count Armand de Jen- 9ay came to Mayfiekl. To-night as Cattie sat at her window recalling the past, her thoughts fell into the dark hereafter, and a mysterious eclio reached her. CHAPTER IV. UNCLE DAN" SETS HIS TIJAP. TeN" days went by, and still the Count Avas at Mayfield. Bessie wondered why he did not go. Almost every one w^ho came to the house asked when he was going. She surmised that people were "beginning to talk" and "to conjecture," and the surmise was gall and wormwood to her. It brought back the wretched feelings she had had when kind friends had made such minute and suggestive inqui- ries about Miss Toynbee, and three years later, she had again been vexed by hints and insinuations as to Cattie; and now, after a period of truce from any similar annoyances, here this Frenchman was going to give her no end of worry. What could lie be staying for ? They had had two state dinners, lie had seen every one and everything worth seeing in Edinburgh; they had had a pic-nic to Hawthorn- dean, which had given her toothache and earache, they had been to Abbotsford and to Melrose; what could he mean by staying there ? UNCLE DAN SETS HIS TRAP. 69 What a ten days it had been to her ! Not one of those who saw her could imagine how painful had been her task. Remaining in the drawing-room when she was wanted elsewhere, because she would not leave Cattie or May with that man. A down- right martyrdom it was, to have the consciousness that she was playing the part of a bore, and at the same time to be pretty certain she was not doing much good. One girl after tlie other gave her cause of uneasiness; yes, even that mere child, Tottie. The "mere child" had come one morning into Bessie's room in a* rage to complain of May — May, of all the girls in the world ! — accusing her of having gone out without waiting till Tottie was dressed ! " And I saw her," wound up the angry complainant, " I saw her walking with the Count up tlie avenue; I did with my own eyes." IJesisie, with wonderful commaiid of herself, said, " "Well, run after them;" and Tottie had done so, with a boot on one foot and a shoe on the other. Bessie was cruelly uncomfortable. She had no fault to find with the visitor. She could not hon- estly, and she was always honest. in her judgments, accuse him of flirting Avith the girls. In truth, Tot- tie had the greatest share of his attention; it was Tottie who made him read English, who corrected his pronunciation, and who was always ready to 70 WITHIN AN ACE. help him out of any difficulties. 'Nov was there anything to blame in Cattle's or May's manner. A horrible suspicion sometimes crossed her mind as to her beloved sister. She would have given much to have whispered a word of counsel to May, to have pointed out to her the snares and pitfalls into which an unwise attachment might lead her. But there was something in May which closed Bessie's lips. It would have been like insulting the purity of an angel; was it possible that such a delicate, white, ethereal being, the j^ersonification of Bessie's idea of a saint, could love, and love a Frenchman, dark enough into the bargain for the spirit of evil ! Bes- sie would decide that it was impossible until she again saw May in the presence of the Count. " Cattie ? Oh ! as to Cattle, it would be only natural ! " and Bessie saw no objection to such a match — only there must be the strictest propriety in all the previous proceedings. Bessie would allow no girl considered a member of the family to com- promise herself. She had watched Cattie narrowly, but had discovered in her none of the symptoms her woman's instinct had apprehended in May. If Cattie smiled sweetly or listened with captivating attention to the Count one hour, the next she mani- fested such indifference, or answered him so mock- ingly, that Bessie was puzzled. Besides, Cattie UNCLE DAN SETS HIS TRAP. 7 1 would liave nothing to do with M. de Jen9ay's mu- sic, avoided singing with him, and slighted his sketches. " You would have a better chance of happiness," said JMr, Sinclair one day to her, when she had been ridiculing the Count's talents, "if you were less fas- tidious or as good-natured as M. de Jen9ay." " I allow he is too good-natured, he praises every one's singing and playing." " Ah ! I understand, you would have him only alive to your superior merits," said uncle Dan. " I do not care for the admiration of a universal admirer," retorted Cattie. In a letter that Miss Leighton wrote at this time to one of her girl friends, she spoke thus of M. de Jcncay : "I can assure you, dear Minnie, he is not in the least dangerous to my peace; I almost wish he were. I want to feel that wonderful feeling which is said to take all self out of one: M. de Jen- jay will never teach me this. lie is rather good- looking, tall enough, and thin enough; he is well bred, comes in and goes out of a room better than any man I ever saw. I try in vain to find out what 's the secret of the manojuvre. He understands some- thing of music and painting. I do n't think him a fool; but as to his inspiring what you are pleased to style a profound eternal attachment — never, never, 72 WITHIN AN ACE. never ! It 's not in him to do it my dear. In tlie meanwhile I am improving my French, and amusing myself at the same time. Poor JBessie is in a fever to get rid of this Gaul. Query, is he a Gaul, or a Frank ? I must ask him." There had been one singular change during these ten days. Uncle Dan, who had received the French- man with a snarl and a growl, now often sought his comjiany; they had occasional tete-a-tete walks, when the Count smoked his after-dinner cigar. What could be the point of union between these two? If any one had divined the principal subject uncle Dan chose for his conversation, the topics he always managed to intertwine with Avhatever else they spoke about, the puzzle would have been greater. Uncle Dan was making use of the cunning of the serpent, setting aside the guilelessness of the dove. No one could have suspected him of possessing such powers of pathos, as he displayed in relating Cattle's story; neither could any one have believed that he had such a just appreciation of her talents. Uncle Dan Avent so far against his conscience as to blame his brother for having prevented Miss Leighton from profiting by her voice, to secure to herself an independence. " But in your country," had replied de Jeu^-ay, UNCLE DAN SETS HIS TRAP, 73 " there can be no clonl>t of so attractive a person marrying. You English do not stipulate for a dowry; you follow the dictates of your heart." "Well," said uncle Dan, closing his eyes and quivering his eyelids — a way he had when he had no mind that his thoughts should be investigated — " Well, to a certain extent you judge us rightly. If we love a woman, we try our best to get her to marry us, whether she has money or not; biit Miss Leighton is not one who will be easily pleased. I believe she would far rather work for her bread than marry from interested motives ; and feeling her pov- erty, she will put a strict guard on any demonstra- tion of partiality, lest, you understand, she might be suspected of trying to make a good match." There is, perhaps, nothing more alarming in the intercourse of man with man than the facility with which false impressions can be conveyed. That was M'hat uncle Dan did during the latter part of the Count's visit. One morning Miss Sinclair was told by the de- mure parlor-maid that the French gentleman was going away on the Friday. This was on a Wednes- day. Moved by her secret uneasiness, Bessie went at once to May's I'oom, and imparted the informa- tion, taking care to be looking out of the window as she did so. A momentary silence was broken by 74 WITHIN AN ACE. May's exclaiming, " How tiresome tliis hair is ! " Bessie, turning round, saw May striving to fasten her plaits, "Let me do it for you, dear." " jSTo, thanks." And then May added, with a cer- tain sharpness of tone, " It will be a gi'eat relief to you." "What, dear?" " The Count's going. You have looked the pic- ture of misery ever since he came." Could this be May speaking ? Bessie answered, " I confess I am not sorry. It 's awkward having a young man who is no relation staying so long in a house full of girls: and then, his being a Roman Catholic ! Altogether, I am thankful. The excitement was getting too much for me; and we all want sea-bathing," Bessie saw two small hands trembling. "Let me finish your hair. May, or you will be too late for prayers." May yielded, and as the elder sister touched the fingers of the younger, she felt they were cold as ice. Perhaps, but for the incident of this hair-dress- ing, Bessie might have gone on to Cattie, and told her of the Count's intended departure; but before May's plaits were all arranged the bell for prayers runfj. UNCLE DAN SETS HIS TRAP. 75 At breakfast, de Jen9ay, addressing himself to Bessie, said that he had at last found sufficient cour- age to tear himself from the charming society of Mayfield. " II me coute heaucoup^ de nCen aller^'' he added in French, and he glanced round the table as if to make all there present fe'el they had a share in his regrets. Uncle Dan looked at Cattie, and what with his stare and the surprise, she colored, and aAvare that her flush might be observed made tlie flush deepen. M. de Jen9ay went on with his little speech — tried it in English, broke down, and had to finish it in French. " It would be selfish in us to press you to prolong your stay here, when Stranraer opens its hospitable gates to you;" and then Mr. Sinclair launched into a long description of the shooting of grouse and blackcock, " I believe I shall be able to procure you some deer-stalking." The Count spoke his thanks as concisely as a Briton could have done. Miss Toynbee said, " Ah, M. le Comte, you are just leaving us, when you were beginning to improve in your English." " I shall forget never the kindness, the happiness, of this A'isit — my gratitude shall be everlasting." 76 WITHIN AN ACE. The expression of his face confirmed his words. "Ah, dear, dear !" went on the governess, "you liave forgotten what I explained to you about the sludl and the wv7/." " But I shall and will never forget my kind teach- er," and he kissed Miss Toynbee's hand. She reddened a little, and with an attempt to laugh, said, — " It does n't matter with me, but you must not kiss ladies' hands in this country." " It is so natural — it expresses my feelings of re- spect better than your shake hands. That is good between men; to kiss a woman's hand is an act of homage." " But you must not do it, except to old ladies, who are great ladies also ; never to a governess, old or young." " As a rule, I shall obey, but I will make excep- tions." This morning was unaccountably like the first one of tlie Count's visit. The intimacy that had grown up during tlie intervening time had vanished, tliere was no pleasant morning chat to discuss the plans for the afternoon or evening. That was all at an end. jNFr. Sinclair asked, as he had asked a fortnight ago, if de Jenyay preferred a ride, or if he had any business to do in Edinburgh; and de Jen9ay an- UNCLE DAN SETS HIS TRAP, 7/ swcrcci as he liad clone before, clioosiiig tlie ride with the ladies. " It would give me pleasure to go the same road as that of our first ride," he said to May and Cattie. The former smiled, and said, "Oh! yes;" the latter laughed, saying, " Quite sentimental." De Jen9ay did not need Bessie's invitation to-day to go to the library, he took his way thither of his own accord. He felt a desire to be alone with his thoughts; he had not expected to regret so much as he did leaving Mayfield. He had long since made up his mind that tender emotions were things dead and buried for liim. But liearts have their winter, and rebloom again in spring. As soon as he had left the dining-room Miss Toynbee exclaimed, " That man is a thorough gen- tleman." " A bit of a humbug," was the short rejoinder from Cattie. " It was a kind heart dictated his compliment," persisted Miss Toynbee; "it was addressed to the oldest, the poorest, the plainest, the only dependent of the company." "What makes you speak of yourself in that way?" said Cattie crossly; "it's not true; I am more dependent than you: but you only do so to en- hance that person." 78 WITHIN AN ACE. " You are a strange girl. I am afraid you have no heart." Cattie let the subject drop. Mrs. Johnson dropped in before lunch, and was told the news. "I ho2ie none of you are likely to have broken hearts," said the good lady. "At your age I am of opinion I should not have been over glad to see him go. A pleasant manner is a grand conjurer." "I am broken hearted, aunt Polly, if that will satisfy you," said Tottie. "I am not laughing; I mean what I say. I never did like anybody so much." "You are too old to talk such nonsense," said Bessie. "Take my advice, Tottie, and do n't you be an old maid," said Mrs. Johnson. "I don't mean to, aunt Polly;" and Tottie be- gan singing, " ' I won't be a nun, I won't be a nun ' " " And what does Miss Cattie say to his going ? " asked aunt Polly in a confidential whisper, adding, — " I fancied she was just a wee bit touched. What a capital match it would be for her." Bessie's answer was not to the point; her dislike of the subject, and her own private fears, made her observe, "I wish to Heaven he had never come! " Auut Polly at once surmised that there was some* UNCLE DAN SETS HIS TRAP. 79 thing to tell; and to her the belief in a love affair at Mayfield was a real consolation. Never had she had a suspicion of anything of the sort before. " Not May, I hope, my dear ? " she said Jesuitic- ally. Bessie answered hastily, "No, indeed!" Uncle Dan was wliat we are accustomed to call " an estimable person." lie gave to the poor, never got into debt, was precise in his religious duties, praised for his attachment to his family. It is very common, even among those who diligently read the Gospels, to take for their motto, " Charity begins at home," and this was uncle Dan's device. He dis- liked the stranger within his brother's gates. She was an alien to his blood — an alien to his religion. He wished they were well rid of hei' — but by fair means; he would do her no wrong. So he said to himself. In what he had been seeking to do he thoroughly persuaded himself he had her advantage as much in view as that of those belonging to him. When man or woman is beset by temptation, argu- ments in favor of it, and opportunities for yielding to it, never fail. Uncle Dan went out after breakfast to sun him- self in tlie long green walk, which on one side was bounded by the beech hedge of the library enclos- ure. It was there aunt Polly found him, looking 80 WITHIN AN ACE. more tliau usually cross. Eveu Avlien she bade him good morning his hands remained doggedly crossed behind his back. " It 's real bonnie here," began the good-tempered woman. " What with the cows so peaceable in yon green park, and the smell of the herbs, and the pleasant breeze, it 's just another garden of Eden; but there 's no keeping vexations out of this one any more than the serpent out of the other." " What 's the woman driving at," growled uncle Dan. " Ba, brother, it 's just about Mooseer de Jen^ay." Uncle Dan walked some steps hastily forward, then facing round on his sister, he said in a deliber- ate, raised voice, — " I have had my doubts, but Miss Leighton has a brave spirit. She '11 not let the Frenchman see she cares whether he goes or stays. She 'd eat her heart out before she would let him guess he 'd won it." " Well, there 's alwaj^s a fair side to every black, and I am thankful to tlie Lord it 's Miss Cattie, and none of the other poor lambs." She sniffed the air, then whispered, " Sure as death the Count 's behind yon' liedge. I smell his tobacco. It 's to be hoped he's not heard us — it wouldn't be fair to the poor lass." Uncle Dan's hopes ran in the other direction. UNCLE DAN SETS HIS TRAP. 8 I Uncle Dan believed in Shakesiieare's knowledge of luinian nature, and trusted that de Jen9ay liad heard all he intended him to hear. Had he done Avhat he did from any kindly motive, he might have been pardoned for thus striving to drift two individuals togethei*, whom he had no reason for thinking had any preference for one another. Self, aneen averted, that she bore her isolation with the perfect equa- nimity which excellent people evince under the trials of their neighbors. At lunch Tottie declared that the house was like a tomb, and wondered where the Count Avas. At dinner the same young lady propounded the ques- tion to her fatlier, whether they were ever likely to see the Count again. "Possibly; we generally clo meet peo])le over and over again," was the answer. In the evening Mr. Sinclair observed that it was time to make preparations for their annual ti'ip to the sea-side. Where should they go ? To Broughty Ferry, or to St, Andrews ? "Oh! dear Dar, let us go to Skye," said Cat tie. "A capital thought," returned Mr. Sinclair; "it will tighten up our nerves to get rid of civilized so- ciety for a time." " It will be very inconvenient, sir," remonstrated Bessie. " We shall have to depend on the steamers for meat and poultry and vegetables." "We shall be able to get oatcakes and gulls' eggs if we arc hard driven for food," said Cattic. 92 WITIIIX AN ACE. "I have a great dislike to trying experiments," said Miss Sinclair. "I have always remarked that those who are the first to run the risk of disagreea- bles, ai*e the most discontented when they arrive." " Why did yon put Skye in our heads, Cattie ? " said Mr. Sinclair. " If we go, you must undertake to bear the brunt of the ill-humor of the whole party." " I shall do whatever you desire me to do," said Cattie. "Then get a Bradshaw and find out the route for us." It was settled that they were to go to Skye. Mrs. Johnson of course came to Avish them good-bye, and of course was inquisitive as to the Count's last words: what had he said and done when he took leave ? "Thanked papa, and shook hands with all of us," answered Miss Sinclair. "As we are alone, my dear," went on aunt Polly, " I may say I am astonished. He gave me the idea of thinking of one of you. However, I am not sorry that things are as they are. I have been hearing horrible stories about the French. ]\Irs. Fraser Low- sands told me her mother knew a Frenchman who afterwards poisoned his wife to marry another woman. Not at all a nice proceeding, as she said." TWO IN UNCLE DAN S TRAP. 93 k To Skyc tliey went, and it all occurred as Miss B-iiiclair had predicted. It was sujDremely difficult to provide for the daily wants of so large a party; and then no one was in sjiirits, or even sociable, Cattie took long solitary scrambling walks: sat on the sea-shore, listening to the sharp melancholy cry of sea-birds. She would sit for hours throwing stones into the sea. Could Bessie have read Cattle's thoughts during those solitary hours, she would have been less harsh in her judgment of her father's adopted child. Cattie suffered in secret from jMiss Sinclair's in- creasing coolness towards her. But Avhere could she go? She had no friends. What could she do ? If she exerted her talents in the way congenial to her tastes, she must pain and offend Mr. Sinclair, and voluntarily she would do neither. And she dared not go out as a governess. She was inwardlj^ con- vinced that she could never succeed in that way, and yet to remain where she was, unwelcome if not an object of suspicion — it was very hard. A vague uneasiness weighed on her; she thrilled with sudden fears, and singular forebodings. " I wish I were good and yielding as May," she would think, as she sat flinging pebbles and listening to the sea-gull's cry. " I wish I were some one else. I wish I could get rid of that terrible longing: I scarcely know for 94 WITHIN AN ACE. what. I shall go tuiubliug about in space, and nevev find a resting-place." Often she thought of de Jen^ay, of the look she had seen in his eyes after her foolish escapade. Did she regret his departure? Sometimes she fancied she did. Did she wish to see him again ? That query Avas not so easy to answer. Even in the in- nermost recesses of her mind, it remained without a distinct reply. One day she came to the conclusion that she had no heart, and that what she wanted was a companion for her mind. Yes, that was it; intel- lectual life was her ideal; some one to reason with, to wlioui to pour out her thoughts; some one who Avould analyze and discuss all great subjects with her. Study was a refuge and a defense; Art a hope — far above all other earthly enjoyments — the noblest use of life. Why did circumstances tie her wings ? May Avas no gayer than Cattle. She employed herself painting the shells and sea-weed Tottie brought her. Miss Toynbee devoted herself entirely to her pen. She enjoyed the change, and so did Mr. Sinclair; they were the only ones who did so, fo uncle Dan was clearly moping. One morning at breakfast, there was a transient excitement. Mr. Sinclair received a letter from the Count; the handwriting was unmistakable: French and EniiTish hauduiiting differ as nuich as otlier TWO IN UNCLE DAN S TRAP. 95 .French and Englisli tilings. Mr. Sinclair read the h-tter through, then threw it across the table to Bes- sie., She read it in her turn, refolded it, and re- turjied it m silence to her father. Provoking Bes- sie! But Mr. Sinclair liked no mysteries iu his home, and he said, laying it before Cattie, " Yon and May, and Miss Toynbee above all, ought to have the ben- efit of such neatly-turned compliments, as much ad- dressed to you all as to me." De Jen§ay wrote a pleasant, lively letter, describ- ing first the sporting life at B Lodge, and at- tributing the attention shown to him as the result of friendship for Mr. Sinclair. The only dra^\'back was the absence of that delightful female society which was the charm of Mayfield. There followed a request to present his hormnages resjyectueux d ces demoiselles, and an assurance of most affectionate and distinguished regard for Mr. Sinclair. A P.S. mentioned that the writer was returning to France in ten days. " When you write, sir," said Miss Toynbee, " I beg you will offer M. de Jen^ay my kind remem- brances. He is the only man I ever knew who re- minded me of Sir Charles Grandison." "The greatest bore ever made a hero of," said Cattie. " I mean Sir Charles Grandison," she added. 96 WITHIN AN ACE. " I do n't see any necessity for my writing," said Mr. Sinclair; "if I do, he will write again, and it will go on forever. I had better let the corresiXz-nd- ence die at once." "Letter-writing is only pleasant when there are interests in common," observed Bessie. " Why do you hate the Count so much ?" asked Tottie. " I am sure he never did any one any liarni. lie was as kind as kind could be, even to Cattie, who was always rude to him." Cattie said, "You should not make wholesale ac- cusations, Tottie;" and as she spoke a furious blush covered her face. She went out of the room with the comfortable conviction that every one, even uncle Dan, had remarked her change of color. Time goes on, as we all know, whether we are dull or gay, hopeful or desponding, the measure of its pace is in ourselves. Mr. Sinclair's six weeks' holidays were over, and he must return to work. As they all stood together on tlie deck of the steamer taking them to Oban, he said, "Why should n't we take a trip to Norway next year ? " Next year ! Fathei'S of girls never seem to antic- i]>atp any change in their family party. They see marriages taking place all round them, and they live without fear that the same accident or incident may happen to derange their course of existence. AMio ever met a match-making father? TWO IN UNCLE DAN S TRAP. 97 "By tliG lord TTarry, here 's the Count turned up f^ again ! " exchiimed Mr. Sinclair, as he looked over his letters on arriving at Mayfield. " Postmark shows he is in France." He read all his other cor- respondence fir,st before he opened de Jenjay's let- ter. There were two enclosures; he read a few lines from one, then slipped it back into the envelope without any remark; even Miss Sinclair felt curious. " What do you think it 's aljout ? " asked Tottie, when Mr. Sinclair had left the room. " Business, which does not concern us," said Miss Sinclair; but she was not frank in saying so. By-and-by Bcatson appeared to beg Miss Leigh- ton to go to the library. " Goodness gracious me ! " cried Tottie, her eyes almost out of her head. Cattie found Mr. Sinclair pacing uj) and down the library, looking xq.vj gi-ave. "Sit down, my dear;" and he placed lier in his own armchair close by the fire. He felt that her hands were cold as ice. He now heightened, now lowered the gas. At last he sat down by Cattie, and said, " I'robably you will not be so surprised by the letter I have re- ceived from M. de Jcnyay, as I am." Cattie was shaking^.from head to foot; she stead- ied herself by holding the arms of her chair. Had 7 98 WITHIN AN ACE. she been able to speak, she would have replied, l^o, she was not surprised; she had felt sure it would come; it had been revealed to her, how she could not explain. Mr. Sinclair went on : " One of my letters is from the Count's mother. Acting in accordance with the customs of her country, she writes to me asking you in marriage for her son. lie has also written; both letters are couched in the handsomest terms. It seems that the Count conceived a serious attachment for you during his visit." " He has been in no hurry to make it known," said Cattie, in a husky tone of voice. "I do not think the worse of him for that; it was right to take time for reflection. Marriage is a se- I'ious affaii", Cattie; and a man of two-and-thii"ty considers it such. Besides, de Jen9ay meets your reproach by saying, his delay was occasioned by his motlier's absence from La Gonesse, and he had her consent to obtain before he could explain his senti- ments. Another national custom, and a i>raise- Avortliy one." " Do they know that I am penniless ? " " I understand from both letters tliat they look for no fortune." " How does he know I have none ? " " Wliy meet a proposal that honors you, in so TWO IN UNCLE DAN'S TRAP. 99 captious a spirit ? Read what Madame de Jenyay and lier son write, and judge for yourself of the spirit in wliicli they wrote." Cattie took the letters. " Must I give an answer at once ? " " Not at all," he said, eagerly. " Take time for reflection, Cattie; and remember that as long as I live you have a home and a father." Cattie ran out of the room upstairs, and locking her door, threw herself on her bed in a convulsion of tears. "He wants to be rid of me." She had not marked the emphasis he put on the words, " As long as I live you have a home." Cattle's fate had lately been weighing on Mr. Sinclair's mind. He was aware of the discomfort gaining ground in his household. That the poor girl had been a bone of contention with outside con- nections had not much troubled him, but when dis- sension took her place by his own hearth, the cause of it became a serious anxiety. Could he have ren- dered this child of adoption independent, the cure of the evil would have been in his power. But neither during his life nor at his death did he consider that he had a right to lessen the moderate portions of his daughters. Sooner or later. Cattle's high spirit would take the alarm, and he shrunk more than ever from one wlio was as a daughter to him, going out lOO WITHIN AN ACE. into the world to gain her daily bread. He knew how she would do this, and thought with horror of the temptations that would assail her. Just as these considerations were })ressing more and more heavily on him, came tliis proposal of marriage, offering every advantage of fortune and rank, placing Cattie at once in the situation most suited to her tastes. True, he shoidd disapprove of one of liis daugh- ters marrying a Roman Catholic: but Cattie was not his daughter — not a Presbyterian; and with all his goodness and tolerance, Mr. Sinclair looked upon Episcopalians as pretty much on a par with Papists. If she could love M. de Jen9ay, it really would be a most happy issue from the dilemma of her situation. She would have all of which she now had nothing — ' family, fortune, position. " God forgive me if I err in wishing this ! " he exclaimed, as she left him. "Where's Cattie?" said Mr. Sinclair, when he Avent back to the dra^\^ng-room. " I thought she was with you," answered Bessie. At tea-time, Tottie was sent to call Cattie. Witli- out opening the door, Cattie answered that she would be down directly. Slie bathed her face, and went to the drawing- room, intending to slunv lierself calm and collected; but the moment slie saw the familiar forms gathered TWO IN UNCLE DAN S TRAP. lOI in a cheery circle round the table, then she shivered from head to foot. "I am turned out," passed through her mind. Bessie it was who said, " Tottie, go and fetch a shawl;" and Bessie it was who wrajjped it round •Cattle's shoulders. What was the moving spring of Bessie's unwonted kindness ? Did any one ever pain another, and keep his own soul untroubled ? Cattle feeling Bessie's arms around her, looked up with pathetic eyes, and said, " Kiss me." And Bes- sie did so. That tender action of Bessie's, and her kiss, decided Cattle's destiny. She said in her heart, "Dear old propriety, I will make you happy." Then she took u]) the book nearest to her, and shaded her face with her hand. She had no idea that it was the German grammar she was pretending to read. Uncle Dan watched May eagerly. There was nothing strange in her proceedings. She remem- bered, as usual, who took cream and who did not, and the number of lumps to put into the several cups; and afterwards played chess with him. Even Tottie was glad when l)edtime came. Next morning, Beatson t|ie demure carried a note from Miss Leighton to Mr. . Sinclair. It contained only these lines : — I02 WITHIN AN ACE. "Dear Mr. Sinclair, — " Please to write and say I accept M. de Jen9ay's offer. "Your grateful orphan, " Cattie." After sending this note, she went to Miss Sin- clair's room. " I have come to tell you tliat I have accepted M. de Jen§ay. Do n't wish me joy. It 's too stuj)id to congratulate a girl because she has decided to tie herself to a man who may make her wretched. How pleased your aunt Johnson will be. She '11 think of the ' nice proceeding ' of the Frenchman who pois- oned his wife. Tell May and the rest, will you ? Away ran Cattie. Going down stairs she met uncle Dan. "Are you not breaking your heart?" she asked. " About what ? " and his tone was that of alarm. "Why, you are soon to lose me; the whetstone for }'our satire, the target for your arrows of scorn." On she went. The next person she came upon was Miss Toynbee. "Guess what 's the next absurd thing I am go- ing to do? I am going to marry and be mar- ried." " And to my Sir Charles Grandison ! " exclaimed tlie good T. ra]jtui-ouslv. TWO IN UNCLE DAN S TRAP. I03 " If you say a word in his praise or about my liappiuess, I won't have him. The letter is not gone yet." It was an understood thing tliat the subject was not to be discussed. Little by little, however, a change came over Cattle's mood. Of all observers of the phases of an engagement, a young girl of fifteen or sixteen is tlie one Avho draws the most ingenious conclusions from what escapes her elders. " Cattle has not asked Miss Toynbee to help her witli lier letter to the Count to-day," said Tottie; " and she did when she answered the two first." It was Tottie who made it known to the others that Cattle knew the days when her French letters would arri\-e, and was always down very early on tliat morning, and Tottie knew that Cattle carried them about in her pocket. " Slie 's not so cankered as she was. She won't say so; but I am sure slie is desperate fond of lier Count." "Don't be so coarse," said Miss Sinclair; "it 's very wrong to be occupying your mind Avitli such things." " Why more wrong for me than for the rest of you? Besides, it is quite right to love tlie person you marry; and I hope I shall be married before I am twenty; that I do." 104 WITHIN AN ACE. Every one in the house, even to the boy who cleaned the boots, was taken up about the engage- ment. Tlie greatest interest was shown in carrying the letters to Miss Leighton. Even Beatson went about Avith furtive smiles. As Mrs. Johnson said, — " The reproach (meaning single blessedness) was ta- ken from the house, and one marriage makes many," concluded aunt Polly, joyfully. "A nobleman be a nobleman, whether he be a furrin or a home one; and Miss Cattle will have to be called 'My lady' when she comes to visit us," That was what Beatson said; and they all rejoiced over the glory that had fallen on the family they were in. CHAPTER YJ. "CHAXGING OLD LAMPS FOR NEW." Miss Leightox liad been tvansformed into Ma- dame la Conitcsse Armand de Jenyay. Weddings, as a rule, are great trials to all concerned in them. Let us Le satisfied with a very few particulars about this one. Everything was conducted vnth the greatest propriety. Aunt Polly, who A\-as present on the occasion, and with a radiant face, you may be sure, was never tired of describing how well ]3es- sie had managed, "though, poor thing, she had had no experience of such doings." Another topic of unfailing interest with the good lady was the bride- groom's behavior. "He had brought his cousin the Prince, and the Duke his godfather with him; and yet he was not a bit cold or upsetting. Most de- lightful! .Vnd when he put the ri^ig on her finger, he laid his hand on hers so tenderly, it brouglit the tears to my eyes." Aunt Polly's description always had the same effect on her. Felicitations and presents had flowed in in an al- I06 WITHIN AN ACE. most unceasing stream during the last week. As- tonishing to Cattle herself how many friends she had; and then, what was she to do with all those caiTiage-bags and handkerchief sachels, etc. Another question puzzled aunt Polly and others. Was the bride to be called Comtesse (it was comical to hear the nasal sounds supposed to be the right thing) or Countess ? "Countess," decided Miss Toynbee. "People say Baroness Rothschild in England." May and Tottie were the bridesmaids. The last drew off the bride's glove, for May trembled so much she could not. Cattle had begged not to be present at the break- fast. She said she could not stand being speechified al^out, and having her health di-ank. Hei' pale face showed that she was not fit for what she called " the festive scene." She was Cattie to the last, keeping down all that was tender and lovable in herself. As the carriage drove off, Mr. Sinclair, returning to the drawing-room, said, — "Xow, aunt Polly, not a word about marriages for the next ten years." Uncle Dan Avas the only absentee of the family, lie liad gone away some days befoi-e; but he and Cattie had shaken hands amicably. The Count and Countess liad gone to liome. "CHANGING OLD LAMPS FOR NEW." I07 When de Jen9ay reminded Cattie of her wish to visit Italy, she answered, — "Circumstances brought me. My theory is proved. Do you yield ? " Of course he did. Tlie bride wrote home, as she still continued to call Mayfield, in raptures witli all she was seeing and doing. She was beginning to ' speak Italian with facility. She was taking lessons in oils from one of the first artists of the French School. She had also a great singing-master. She wrote of rides in the Campagna, of blue horizons, purple domes, of buffaloes, of arches, columns, the Pope and the car- dinals, her mother-in-law's good friends, and of the Easter ceremonies. "How thoroughly happy she seems," said Miss Toynbee. " Slie says precious little of him who gives her all these pleasures," said uncle Dan. " Her happiness is the best proof of their being comfortable together," said Mr. Sinclair. And now we must take leave of Mayfield. Goethe says something to this effect, that "Absence does not blot out our friends — it only makes their lines fainter." Mayfield and its inmates were al- ways dear to Cattle's heart; but they no longer formed part of her daily life. We shall hear of them, perhaps see them, occasionally; but it is Cat- tif's liistory that is to be told. I08 " WITHIN AN ACE. To the west, it was all amber and i)urple; in the east, rosy clouds flecked the delicate opal hues of the sky. Birds were singing, flowers scenting the air, the earth seemed decked for a fete, as ISIonsieur and Madame de Jen9ay came in sight of the Cha- teau de la Gonesse. The two sharp-pointed turrets, and the steep gray roof had been visible for some time — almost ever since they had left the railway terminus at St. Blaize. Round a sharp corner, up a trying bit of hill, and then the spirited little black horses dashed under an archway into a large court. Facing the archway was the Chateau, and opposite to that again v/ei-e the stal)les and other outbuild- ings. About the whole there was an immistakable air of antiquity. A diminutive female figure, dressed in some dark material, her skirt very short, showing a pair of small thick leather boots, a black satin cape on her shoulders, a capote on her head, was standing on the perron. " My mother," said the Count. "Good heavens! What a specimen of the old noblesse," thought Cattie. The little old lady i-an nimbly down the flight of stcjts, and lierself opened the carriage door. A pair of the brightest and most laughing blue eyes looked eagerly at Cattie. "CHANGING OLD LAMPS FOR NEW." IO9 " J^ite, ma belle, que je votes emhrasse,'''' and the Dowager stood on tiptoes and kissed her son's wife. They went up tlie -steps into a broad corridor, which traversed the house, a glass door opposite the front door giving egress into the flower-garden. " There, tliere — we w^on't stop to look at anything. Come to the salon. I am dying to see you without your bonnet," continued the vivacious lady. They went up a wide stone staircase, witli quaintly carved balustrades, passed through a similar corridor to the one below, and then into the drawing-room. Cattle could not restrain an exclamation of de- light. "Oil! what a pretty room." "Never mind the room. I want to see your face." Cattle took off her bonnet, and stood blushing and smiling to 1)e looked at. " I am satisfied," said the Dowager. " Armand did not tell me a fib." " Does he ever ? " "Men all do, when they talk to or of women. Dieu! how I have heard them deny that they thought a woman handsome to their wives. I never believe a word they say, unless my own eyes or ears back them up. I did not give Armand credit for such good taste. I never considered him particular in his admirations. I shall adore you." no WITHIN AN ACE. What a speech to make to a three months wife, and that wife Cattiel A sigh made both hadies turn round. "Ah! " Avent on the ])owager. "I forgot to pre- sent my niece to you, ]\Idlle. de Kerouanne." YoLande de Kerouanne came forward : an immense woman; she was tall as a Cent Garde, and with shoulders to n:iatch: black-liaired, Idack-eyed, brown- skinned, and with a faixious moustache. Add to this a loud clear voice. Madame her aunt had nick- named her " /r<, G&tnte.'''' " Do n't l)e frightened," said the Dowager. " She is as harmless as a dove." Ko; no one could be afraid of Yolande who had once looked into her eyes. They were as pure and innocent as those of a little chihl, '\\ ith tlie honest fond look of some great stupid spaniel. "Isn't she delightful, Yolande?" "Perfectly," returned Yolande, with an emphasis that was touching and absurd, " Slie means Avhat she says," continued the old lady, glancing up at the great tall woman patroniz- ingly. " I never caught our Geante saying Avhat she did not mean, though she has lived all her life with me. However, to-day we are both of one mind. And now let me show you your apartment." Opening a door at the further end of the corridor, " CHANGING OLD LAMPS FOR NEW. I I I she ushered her danghtcr-in-law into a spacious room, Avith windows looking over tlie flower-garden into wliat in Enghind we shonld call the home park, and through which a bustling little river cut its way. *' I have prepared this for you," said the old lady; " but you can make your own choice, for I am only going to stay here long enough to introduce you to the right people. I cannot trust Armand. He would launch you into the burgeois set. Do n't let him. I was terrified he would marry into it." " But I am not noble," said Cattie, flushing, and drawing herself up in a stately way that would have become a queen. "Xo; but you are a foreigner, ma belle, and have no relations. Do you see the difference ? " Cattie did not at all approve of this reason for waiving objections to her ; but the Dowager intimi- dated her. Emerson's explanation of this unwonted sensation in the young Countess would be that the Dowager, having the moi'e poweifid pulse and the better digestion, must, therefore, infallibly govern the other. " Must you go ? " asked Cattie, to cover her dis- comfiture. "Thank you, my dear little one. You are amia- ble, but not sincere. You would not wish me to 112 WITHIN AN ACE. stay; and you are right. We are as different inside as outside. You are fashioned for to-day, and I for yesterday. Besides, traveling keeps us young. When I ara in some strange place, all new around ine, I forget my years. My going is settled. I tell you so at once, that Ave may spend a few days hap- l)ily together. Armand's marriage gives me my freedom. Xow then, I leave you to rest;" and the Dowager, kissing Cattle's cheek, tripped away like a girl of sixteen. In the evening, Cattie must sing. Armand had told her that his mother was a judge of music, and also an epicure. She must have the best or none. The young ^viie saw that he was anxious as to the effect of her singing by the way he asked her if she thought she could manage the finale of the Sonnam- hula, or '•'• Regnava qual silenzio.'''' " I shall not be able to sing anything if you talk so much about it. I am beginning to feel quite fractious." The husband-lover did as so many of them do Avhen they try to soothe a woman out of humor, slie can scarcely tell Avhy. Cattie did not, in conse- quence, look half so pretty Avhen she went down to dinner as on arriving. But her mother-in-law Avas so A'ivacious, and told so many good stories, that she soon brought back the young Countess's smiles. " CHANGING OLD LAMPS FOR NEW. I 13 , "Armancl made you cross before dinner," whis- pered the Dowager. " I saAv it in your face. Avoid tcte-a-tetes Avith your husband. They are peiilous between married peojjle. What can they liave to say to one another, excei)t about money ? Now go to sleep on the sofa for lialf an hour, and then you shall wake up and sing to me. I love music," con- cluded the speaker, as if she loved nothing else. " Open the piano and light the candles," said the old lady, as her sou came into the salon. Cattie sat down to the piano, and away rushed her linn little lingers from bass to treble and back, her diamond rings flashing to the sound. The mother-in-law settled herself in her armchair like one satisfied. Cattie divined what would be best to sing. She chose one of Gordigiani's popular airs: " Santis- siina Vergine.''^ It looks so easy ou the miusic-desk — not a trill, not a roulade — and yet what a triumph of art it may be made. What grace, what exquisite grace and art- istic simplicity in the young Countess's rendering of it, and the perfect pronunciation of each syllable. Even with a less wonderful voice such singing must have been a treat. AYhen the last note had died away tlic Dowager opened her eyes. She said only one word, "Deli- 8 114 WITHIN AN ACE. cious ! " and then again buried herself in her cliair, adding, " More, more, ma cherie.'''' Cattie sang, " Yoi che sapete?'' "Not another note to-night," exclaimed the elder Madame de Jenyny, "not another; ray whole soul is steeped in harmony. If anything could keep me here, it would be that delicious voice, that talent. But I must go; it would never do." She spoke as one does when speaking to oneself. Then to Cattie: " When you sing I am sure you are cold in the back. I should have been glad to see you as well as hear you, but I dared only take one glance, for there, just as I expected, was that stupid Yolande, making a fool of herself as usual." Cattle's looks of surjn-ise made the Dowager add : "She cannot help her.self, poor soul; but take my advice, whenever you are going to sing to any one, first send her out of the room. She would caricature an angel. If you raise your eyes, so will she; if you round your elbows, so -will she. If she goes to a play, we never dare to let her sit in the front of a box." Yolande listened to all this quite unconcernedly; but when Countess Armand turned and smiled to her, the Geante's Juno eyes met Cattle's ^ath a pas- sionate look almost embarrassing. "Shall I like this place? Will it ever feel like "CHANGING OLD LAMPS FOR NEW." II5 liome? What two stranare women ! Are all Frencli- women odd? I sliall not he sorry when the old lady goes. She reminds me of uncle Dan, Her son, her only son, and yet she does not love him! Why?" Tliese were some of the thouohts floatino; through Cattle's mind that evening. Her spirits sank. She had become accustomed to her set at Rome, almost all English, and she felt now for the first time that she had left her " own people." Armand found her crying in her dressing-room. He knelt down before her, kissing her hands, im- ploring her to tell him what ailed her. He had for the last eight weeks been doing his very best to spoil her. Of all her numerous admirers he liad been the chief, her most devoted slave. This ado- ration did not much touch her. She let him adore her with a complacency that said plainly, "I hope you are satisfied." The sharp Dowager said before she left : * "I admire these Englishwomen; their calm is in- comparable. Here is this daughter of mine. Her husband comes or goes'; she is equally placid. She sits serene as a goddess to be adored. Now our young wives, with their French impetuosity, make such a fuss; they are in fits if they lose sight of their husbands. Kot those in Paris," she added, correct- Il6 WITHIN AN ACE. ing herself. " My beauty," addressing Cattie, " you remind me of a glacier." " In England I was accused of being too expan- sive, too warm." "Madame Lafond cannot understand how you can let Armand out of your sight. When she mar- ried, she loudly wished that there had only been one chair in her house." "Why?" asked Cattie. " Why ? Because then she and her husband must have always sat on the same cliair." Cattie }>ut ujt licr lij) for all answer. Let us return to the day after Count and Countess Armand's arrival at La Gonesse. After the cup of early coffee, the husband and wife strolled out of door before the dew was off the flowers, of a tliousand hues, that filled the garden with their perfume. The tojjs of a line of distant liills were touclied by the golden light of the morn- ing sun. Tlie murmur of the awakening village, low, yet distinct, met tlieir ears. Arm in arm tliey passed througli the gate leading into the pai-k. "What a charming place for a croquet-ground! " exclaimed Cattie. "I suppose there are neighbors, are there not?" "A good many at St. Blaize; but my mother visits only one or two families." "CHANGING OLD LAMPS FOR NEW." I17 "But we are going to cliange all tliat. You are of the new school, you know, and I am une petite ga- iivine^'' and Cattle looked archly at him; and he drew her arm further within his. "You must order a mowing machine, like the one at Mayfield, and in a few weeks tliis grass will he perfect for playing. I am sure croquet parties would be popular directly." "You Avill haVe to teach the game." ■ "That's easily done. I shall take two or three in hand, and then they can teach two or three more. It's such an easy Avay of entertaining." "I am afraid the Prefet, and the Maire, and the Conservateur des Forets can't be turned into croquet players." "Do u't throw^ cold water on my plans, or I shall begin to hate the place at once." "Ko, no. You must learn to love the old house." "Then the first thing to do is to get the mowing- machine." While thus talking they had been going up a rising ground. • Arrived at the summit he bade her look aroixnd. Far, far to right and left, on towards the blue mountains hemming in the valley, now bathed in sunshine, the land called him lord, ^larked by the great mass of chestnuts w%as the site of tlio Chateau de Jcn^ay, destroyed in the great rovolu- I I 8 WITHIN AN ACE. tion, only a yard of wall and some heaps of ruLbisli j'emaining to show wliere the great pile of building- ])ad stood. "La Gonesse," explained the Count, "had for- merly been the residence of some cadet of tlie family." "It has a delightful old look. I shall send a sketch of it to Mayfield, and if I can only find two or three pleasant families, with plenty of young people, I shall be sure to like it — at least during the summer months. It must be dismal in winter." " I never found it so." "Oh! but you promised I should go to Paris al- ways at Christmas." "If you wish it, certainly. You must try and be happy, Cattie," he said, with a little sigh. "I think I shall manage it, as long as you are so good-natured. Do you know what I like best in the world?" and she clasped his arm with her two hands, and looked into his face with one of her en- chanting smiles. "What, mavherie?'' "My own Avay — always my own .^\'ay; give me that, I ask for notliing more, and I shall be h:i])py." " Then be liappy," and he stooped and kissed her rosy lips. She let him do it, and that was all. She Avas not oidy a pretty woman, she was something ''CHANGING OLD LAMPS FOR NEW." I 19 more; she was very attractive; perhaps, indeed, it was more manner, voice, and a certain artistic grace ■ — half natnral, half acqnired — which brought her so much admiration. She had entered completely into the heart of her husl)and; nothing would ever up- root her hold. He had wooed and won her, believ- ing she would give him what he had never known — a home. So clever, so gifted, she would surely not find pleasure in frivolous amusements. Besides, and above all, he believed that she had giv-en him her heart as a free gift; and, to a generous nature, this was one of the strongest claims on her affections. After the midday breakfast, the Dowager prom- enaded her daughter-in-law up and down the corri- dors, telling her the names of each of the portraits. "This lady with the high-powdered head, bold eyes, double chin, and fully-displayed bust, was a Noailles; the thin dark man opposite was her hus- band." " He is like Armand," said Cattie. " Yes, they have both long noses. The chronicles of those days say she used him as a mere '• 2Mrte respect.^ " A de Rohan had a rose in her stomacher, and an ai)i)le in her hand; a beauty of the reign of Louis XV, " That's her husband," said the Dowager, jiointing to a half-length of a man in a periwig and I20 WITHIN AN ACE. flowered waistcoat, with a false air of a shepherd about him. There was a de Coigny, and a INIont- morency, and one or two of lesser note. "These half-dozen are all that are left us," con- tinued the old lady; "the rest were burned by those bngands whom your husband considers the saviors and benefactors of France. You English are a strong great nation, because you know how to value and respect your aristocracy." "The English aristocracy know hoAv to respect the rights of all other classes," began Armand. "Ah! well. I have heard your arguments on the subject a thousand times, and they have failed to convince, rnonjiU^'' interrupted the Dowager. Among other marks of her Ijelonging to the old regime, Madame chose to pronounce the word 'y?/.s" without sounding the s. Armand said no more. Cattie, with all her British disdain of foreigners, had her vanity agreeably tickled by finding she now belonged to a family allied to all the greatest names of France. Her mother-in-law was niece to a prin- cess the grandmother of a reigning king, and god- daughter of an Austrian archduchess. She felt her- self just then a lucky woman. A coronet of real metal, so coveted for her by her poor mother, was on her head. She had, in fact, gained the rich "CHANGING OLD I,AMPS FOR NEW. 121 prizes of the world, through the love of a good man. Yes, Armand was good; and it would be her own fault if she were not a happy woman. Unfortunate- ly, Armand Iiad made such a divinity of her that she had got the notion he was her inferior in talent. She considered herself the cleverer of the two, and with women of Cattle's stamp, in order to have their love, it is necessary they should be convinced of a man's intellectual superioi-ity. Madame Armand de- ified talent; high culture was sure to sway her. She overlooked the force of character altogether; did not know, poor inexperienced girl, that it is energy, j)erseverance, large-heartcdness, which must rule the world, and not the being either a fii'st-rate artist or a first-rate scholar. She had yet to learn that the moral qualities are the governing ones. With all her real gifts and higher pretensions, she had not escaped the inheritance of some of Iier mother's silli- ness. Antecedents always do exert their sway in our lives. Grandparents and j)arents help to shape out the fate of their descendants. Yesterday brings forth to-morrow. In the afternoon they walked doAvn to the village. All the folks turned out to have a look at the new " Comtesse." The men were a hardy set of fellows, the women as a rule were ugly, in si)ite of bright eyes. Scarcely one over thirty liad a front tooth 122 WITHIN AN ACE. remaining. So general was the want, you miglit have supposed it a national fashion; their foreheads, too, were furrowed like those of Rembrandt's old women. The cottages \vere not so clean as those of an English village, nor had they trim gardens; but there were flowers in most windows. Cocks and hens, and white-haired, dark-skinned children were everywhere; pigeons, so tame you almost stepped on them before they would move, hopped about side by side with dangerous yellow-haired dogs. It hap- pened to be dry, but you coidd see where j^uddles had been, and would be again, close up to the house doors. When the young Countess drew a comparison not to the advantage of France, the Dowager ex- claimed, — " I am glad to hear you say this. Man fils pre- tends that what he calls the emancipation of the peasant, and their being all the proj^rietors of a mor- sel (the breadth of your bonnet string) of the soil, is a benefit — a safeguard." "Yes; men who have a share in a concern do their best to keep that concern safe," said Armand. "Ta-ta-ta ! You and your like have let loose the demon of democracy; it is wandering up and down Europe, and one of these days Jacques and Martin "CHANGING OLD LAMPS FOR NEW." I23 will come and tell yon thej^ have a better right to your land than you have, and if you do n't agree. . Well, well, please God I may be safe in any other purgatory than France will then be ! " " For one man to possess all, and another nothing cannot be justified." " l^oiis etes un ane, man fil (fils)," and the old blue eyes sj^arkled ferociously for an instant. 3IdUe. de Kerouanne luckily at this instant came out of one of the cottages. " I have been seeing old Aglae. She wants to see my cousin's wife." Turning to Cattle, she added, " Aglae remembers the burning of the great castle, and all about those times. You must not be afraid of her." " I am not easily frightened," said Cattie, with a significant smile to her husband. " But she is terrible," whispered the Giantess. - " Then I must see her," said Cattie. They all went into the cottage, and Cattie went up and offered her hand to tlie old woman. Standing by one another Avhat a contrast they presented. It was a painful one. How realize that the snowy elegant throat of the one could ever be- come that hideous roll of skin and bone and ten- dons of the other ? "This is the young Countess," said Yolande to 124 WITHIN AX ACE. Aglae, who was standing leaning on two strong sticks. " Wliere's the beautiful lady j^ou told me about? I do n't see her," she wheezed out. "Don't be naughty," warned Yolande, "or I'll not send you Avdiite bread to-morrow." "liu, hu ! so this is the German Jewwoman?" — here an oath, "I have no bed to lie on, madame; nothing but rags. Send me one." "You have a good bed, you old storyteller," said Yolande. " Not so white and soft as hers. I saw the burn- ing, young citizen. Very good. My three sons, little, but devils, helped. "Will you send me a good soft bed?" — this request always in a whining tone. "And so you don't pray to the Virgin?" — here another oath — " you '11 burn ! I have seen the fire." Aglae crossed herself, and muttered something that sounded like a prayer. " Come away," said Arraand, taking his wife's arm. "I will send you a bed," said Cattie, "if you promise never to call me a German Jew again." "A good bed; soft as yours? — eh?" and here such a friglitful expression, which Cattie did not understand, that Armand hurried her out. The old woman spit after them; but the cry "A good bed, a soft bed," was heard in the road. "CHANGING OLD LAMPS FOR NEW. I25 "I had no idea there was yet in France such a strong prejudice against Protestants," said Cattie, looking quite pale. "A relic of the old days my mother so lauds. Let me warn you against always agreeing to what Yolande proposes. She. is as good as bread, and a real providence to the poor, but she blunders hor- ribly." "Does she always live here?" " Yes — that is, she always has lived here since the death of her father and mother." He added after a little pause, "I hope yuu won't find her in the way; she has no pretensions of any kind, 1 may say she is every one's servant — and my niotlier counts on her remaining with us." Her own forlorn situation when Mr. Sinclair took lier to his home came back to Cattle's memory, and made her say with warmth, " If my wishes have any- thing to do with her going or staying, I wish her to stay. I know what it is to be thrown loose on the world." "Thank you, my best: what a hapi)iness for a man to have a wife like you." " Blindness I see is a blessing sometimes," said Cattie. " I never wish to see better than at this instant," was the answer; "you are adorable." 126 WITHIN AN ACE. " And you — absurd." So saying she let go his arm and ran back to the side of her mother-in-haw. Countess Annand smiled so pleasantly all that evening to Yolande, sitting on a footstool at the Giantess's knees, admiring the fancy work those Brobdignag fingers were busy with, that from a worshiper, Yolande became a l)ond-slave — Cattle's slave for good or for evil, as Cattle should choose. True friend — yet false friend, if to guide to the right and warn from the wi'ong be the test of friend- ship. It would take many pages to describe Yolande's strange loves and self-martyrdoms. Once, when she was yet a mere girl, she had adored (for her attach- ments were always adorations) a creature not worthy to kiss her shoe-tie. She found out his fancy for her demoiselle de couqjagne, a pretty little empty-headed creature. The man was thought to be consumptive; and Yolande would walk a league in the coldest morning of winter to get asses' milk, and then make Mademoiselle Julie offer it as though she had fetched it. Yolande was rich, though Armand de Jenyay luid forgotten to say so to Cattie, and Yolande had given a dot to her rival, and thanked God she could make the man she loved happy in his own way. The Dowager had tried more than once to marry her niece, but Yolande was romantic and wanted to "CHANGING OLD LAMPS FOR NEW." 12/ be married for love. Iler aunt made a butt of her; but she liked her as well as she could like any woman. Children and animals were found of la Geante ,' she was the physician and nurse of all the ailing babies, chickens and puppies in La Gonesse. The only bad propensity discoverable in that big woman was in her conduct to flowers. No sooner did she see them growing luxuriantly, than she attacked them — they must be decimated, or rather doubly decimated, that, as she explained, a small remnant might flourish. The gardeners complained in vain, and in vain the Dowager remonstrated — Armand pleaded, Yolande promised, but the passion for ex- termination was too strong; and her ruthless root- ings-up and cuttings-down went on, Avhenever the opportunity offered. CHAPTER VIL A LEGITIMIST DOWAGEE. The next day Count and Conntess Armand were to accompany the Dowager in a round of calls: the custom being- in France that the last comer makes llie first visit. On going the next morning into the bright little breakfast-room, papered with fabulous birds flying among equally fabulous trees, Cattle found the old lady in earnest converse with a short, stout, high-colored young man, dressed in a priest's soutane. " Monsieur le Cure, my dear." Cattle had a nervous dread that he would say — "Ugh, ugh! you heretic!" but Monsieur le Cure made her a low bow, glancing shyly at her, his cheeks flaming redder as he did so, and his large ears seeming to grow larger and more purple every moment. " Madame Armand," as she was getting accustomed to hear herself called, was not yet at her ease in receiving people without a hand-shaking, so she made a droll little bow and sat down hastily. A LEGITIMIST DOWAGER. I 29 Tlie Cure cleared his throat and took out his brown clieeked pocket-handkerchief and made a solemn trumpet-like sound in it, his black eyes looking at the new lady of the chateau over the friendly pro- tection of the calico. Discovering that she was as much embarrassed as himself, he ventured on offer- ing her a welcome, and to ask questions which could at that moment have but one allowable answer. Did she like the country? and was not the chateau mag- nificent ? Jolly little Cure, poor as Goldsmith's parish priest, and yet with always something to bestow on those who asked. When Armand came in he welcomed the visitor wai'mly, saying: "I must put my wife under your protection; old Aglae was very rude to her last evening. You must make the people understand that Protestants are placed by the Emperor on the same footing as Roman Catholics." The Cure got purpler than ever, his eyes glowed like live coals. " They are so many pigs, Monsieur le Comte; I will frighten them, I will frighten them; I will tell them M. le Comte will not employ any of them." "No, no," said Cattie, "pray do not punish them only for showing they believe what they have been taught. I hope they Avill find out in time that I am 9 I30 WITHIN AN ACE. a Christian, though not Avorsliijjing in all ways as they do." " Madame la Comtesse is as good as she is Avise," returned tlie Cure, who thought she was the very image of the Ste. Catherine in his church. Xowhere before had he seen that bright soft hair, except in that painting. The Cure and tlie Dowager had a long tete-a-tete after breakfast was over, and it was then that Cattle asked her husband where she was to go to church, " For if I go with you," she added, " it will be sup- posed I am of no religion." "There is a Protestant temple in St. Blaize, the pastor of wliich bears a high character; I will show it you to-day: it is quite within a drive." At three o'clock the Dowager, the Monsieur and Madame Armand, set off in the landau with four horses, d la Dauraont, postilions in maroon velvet jackets with silver bindings and tassels, two men seated behind witli great coats symmetrically folded, and hanging over the back of the rumble. The vil- lage children, and the village dogs, rushed out to see the grand folks go by, the postilions restraining their horses to a dignified trot. Cattle, it must be confessed, enjoyed the grandeur of her position; it was, indeed, the realization of many a waking di-eam. She smiled graciously ou A LEGITIMIST DOWAGER. 131 her admiring husband. As he sat l^efore her, sun- ning himself in lier eyes, he looked ten years younger than he had done when he arrived at Mayfield. His mother watehed him with a half-sarcastic, half -sad ex])ression on her face. "What a witch nature is! " she ejaculated, half al()U(h Clattie tui-iied round, " Nothing, my dear; I was merely speculating as to the properties and effects of matter. Men are all born materialists." '■' We are bad enough, but not so bad as you make us out, mother," said Armand, with a good deal of pleading in his look. Why should she, his own mother, throw a shade on this happy hour. He had early in his marriage come to doubt the truth of the words uncle Dan had taken care he should over- hear, but by that time, he had come to love his wife with all his large heart; he felt that she could make his happiness, if she woidd, and Love himself was teaching him how to win his cause. He shrunk more than ever from any of the Dowager's coarse detinitions. She either did not see or did not choose to heed her son's mute appeal. "Pascal defines man as neither angel nor beast; for i.iy part, I have always found even the finest gentleman with more of the latter than the former in his composition, and if you want to rule them, women must remember that." 132 WITHIN AN ACE. The smiles faded out of Cattle's eyes, and her voice was cold, even stern, as she said: "I, at all events, shall never try any other persuasions than those of reason." "Then I promise you, that you Mill never suc- ceed; — but here we are at the Prefecture." Though the Prefet was not himself noble, Ma- dame, his wife, had been a Mademoiselle de Belle- ville. Those two little letters " de " preserved Ma- dame Lionard nee de Belleville from being over- looked by Madame de Jen9ay, nee half a hundred times a de. It happened to be one of the reception days at the Prefecture, Avhen every one who was not a retail shopkeeper had a right to present himself in that yellow damask salon, with a hideous full-length of the Emperor on one side of the folding-doors, and a still more excruciating likeness of the Empress on the other. Madame Lionard, on these open days, took her seat on the yellow damask sofa, near the chimney- jHcce, at one o'clock of the afternoon. The room, with that stiff, unsocial look Avhich belongs to offi- cial rooms, was more than half full when the de Jen- 9ays entered. It had been supposed possible that the new Countess might come, and the ladies of the toAvn mustered strong, in the hope of gratifying their curiosity. A LEGITIMIST DOWAGER- 1 33 Madame Lioiiartl, a thin dark-skinned Avoman, dressed in a dazzlingly white embroidered muslin, came forward half the breadth of the room to meet the " La Gonesse family," as they were usually called in St. Blaize, Madame Lionard was a plain woman, decidedly plain; but she appeared uncon- scious of so disagreeable a fact. She dressed just as the prettiest women did, and made you soon forget that she was not pretty. There never could be any dearth of conversation where the old Comtesse de Jen9ay was. She intro- duced her daughter-in-law, and laughed and talked as if no one had been present but herself and Ma- dame Lionard. She really thought nothing about the other visitors, and showed that she did not. Slie did not stare, nor whisper. One might almost de- scribe her manner as politely rude. Cattie wondered how the ladies could sit on so unmoved; but they had an end in view. They were mastering every feature of Cattle's countenance, and every detail of her dress. They bottled up their wrath against that stupid Ma- dame Lionard, who ought to know that the sofa she sat on, and every table and chair in the room was bought with tlie money of their husbands, sons, ajid brothers. The Prefecture, and all in it, Avas more theirs by right than hers. At last, having satisfied their curiosity, the ncg- 134 WITHIN AN ACE. lected dames rose, curtsied. Mtidame Lionard rose, curtsied, took some steps in the direction of the folding-doors, and tlieu returned to her corner of the sofa. " Who are they ? " asked the Dowager. " They are excellent persons," replied the Pref et's wife evasively and prudently. " But oh, nion Dietc ! they expect me to find them in conversation as well as in balls." Rumor said that the Lionards provided the one as little as the other. Then Madame Lionard turned to talk to Cattie. " Had Madame Armand ever been in France be- fore ? How well she spoke French — with an accent certainly; but not that dreadful British accent — a pretty way qvtite her own. Madame de Jengay had spoken of her musical talents — how Madame Lionard regretted the great salon was so bad for music. It was just as if one were singing into a feather-bed. Would she like to see what a prefecture was ? All the hideous furniture belonged to it. .Did n't it seem as if those two great pictures were about to fall and crush you ? And such a hole for a public build- ing." And so they proceeded from room to room, al- ways finding fault with what seemed to Cattie very pretty and comfortable. A LEGITIMIST DOWAGER. 135 " She can bear no place but Paris," whispered the Dowager; " and this is only a third-class pi-efectnre." M. le Prefet came to satisfy his curiosity about Madame Armand de Jen9ay. By the law of con- ti-ast, he ought to have been fat — the law of sympa- thy made him as thin as IMadame, as courtly man- nered, [)rosy, and addicted to explanatory speeches. jNIonsieur and Madame were always spoken of as a model coui)le. Excellent menage — nothing, so gossip said, pleased the Prefet so well as when Ma- dame interrupted him in his duties. They called one another '■'■hon ami,'''' and '■'■bonne amie^'' often hipsed into tlie affectionate tit and tol, and when separated wrote sixteen pages a day to one another. It is a fact — and now who can say that French marriages do not turn out well ? " Sans ad'ieu^'' said Madame Lionard, aecompanj'- ing the de Jenpays, not only quite to the door, but quite to the end of the long corridor leading to tlie great staircase. The Prefet himself put the ladies into their carriage. Armand now gave orders where next they should drive. " Having been to the prefecture," he said, " we must leave cards on all the other functionaries." " You need not know them for all that," said his mother, turning to Cattle. " I do n't, and never will." 136 WITHIN AN ACE. A whole packet of cnrds were left on the Judgx'S, the Treasurer-General, the Prociireur-Iraperial, the heads of all possible offices, on inspectors and direc- tors of every possible department — in short, not one of that army of officials, the strength of the Govern- ment, the weakness of the budget, were overlooked. "I wash my hands of all this," said the Dowager; " the consequences be on your head, Armand. The next thing I shall hear is that you are Mayor of your village." " And why not ? The nation has chosen its chief, and it 's my faith that the nation has a right to choose who shall govern; besides, why should I re- fuse to do the good which the chance of birth has put in my power ? " "You are " the Dowager stopped to find a word to express her indignation. — " You are a red! a socialist!" The Count did as he mostly did, when his mother was angry, he remained silent. With Cattie, the Dowager was charming during the few days they remained together. But she took no 2:)ains to hide her want of affection for her son. She went so far as to say one day, — " It 's a puzzle to me, what a charming gifted creature like you could see to love in Armand ? " Cattie winced — she answered coldlv. "Tf I had A LEGITI?»IIST DOWAGER. I 37 not esteemed M. cle Jen9ay, I should not have married him." "Esteem! my dear, do n't be ashamed. I am aware that the cleverest woman sometimes adores a great imbecile." " You do n't know the truth," burst from Cattle's lips, and there she stopped. "Poor Armand!" laughed the Dowager, and kissed her daughter-in-law. All that evening Cattle was dreadfully cross to her husband. She made him play the part of a child sent to Coventry — she talked to the Dowager — to Yolande quite pleasantly, but never replied to one of his remarks — kicked away the footstool he placed for her feet — when he closed a window on seeing her shiver, begged it might be opened again, in short was as disagreeable as bad temper could make a woman. And wliat irritated her more than all, Avas that she could not have given any reason for her crossness. How could she say to any crea- ture that she was angry, because accused of linving married her husband for love. At tliat instant, she believed she detested him. When Armand asked her in what way he had vexed her, she answered, "I hate exjilanntions." In a few days the Dowager went away, and all the people on whom the Coimt and Countess Ar- 138 WITHIN AN ACE. mancl had left cards, came to the chiiteau. In the excitement of playing her new part, Cattie forgot her ill humor, and became again smiling and charm- ing. Every one was enchanted with the grace and affability of the new Chatelaine. "Who could have thought ' tine Anglaise ' could be so affable — so cordial? so well dressed!" To be sure scarcely any of Cattle's visitors had ever seen Englishwomen, save in the chance encounters of a railway carriage, at a table d'hot(?, or an exhibition. Now, those are just the places in which female England shines to least advantage, laying aside, in general, as they don their traveling costume, their good taste in dress, and their pleasant home manners. It was not therefore quite due to national prejudices 'that the visitors to the chateau persisted in believing that this '■'■ aimahle Comtesse,'''' could not be of unmixed English blood. Old and young, the gay, the worldlj', the grave man of Ijooks, the young poet, the wise and the simple alike sought her society. So great indeed was her popularity, that she ought to have asked herself what stupidity she had been guilty of to jno- duce such an effect. Even the Pasteur and the Cure met amicably in her salon. The little Cure was even troubled in conscience by the degree of his goodwill and respect A LEGITIMIST DOWAGER. I 39 for her. How coiikl he lielp it, when she had pro- vided him witli rich new vestments — wlien slie made him always welcome — and was always putting money into his purse for the poor. Many a prayer lie of- fered up for this good and l)eloved heretic — " Quelle hontte Cuiie^'' he woidd ejaculate — and ]>rigitte, liis Reverence's cross and devoted cook allowed that "Madame was not naughty, though she had been told she was not propei'ly married. None of the English could be, more the pity for them." "i'«f?o- rahle femme^'' was the chorus of town and country; and Cattie, far from seeking for faults in herself, enjoyed the homage she received, and the incense continually burned before her. And Monsieur de Jen^-ay? Oh! he headed the adorers and did his utmost to spoil his wife. What, though she was sometimes capricious, as little to be depended on in private life, as an April day! She Avas his own — she was happy. Was that not an ample return for all he could do for her? "When she was older, or a mother, all these girlishnesses would disappear. He knew that the warp was ex- cellent — that there was the making of a good woman in her. One day she would give him the happy home he coveted. Xothing that Cattie desired, but he agreed to — she had her studio, in which she miffht shut herself 140 WITHIN AN ACE. lip for hours, cither paintmg or practicing. She did what she pleased, and only what she pleased. In general, snch a regime spoils what is good, but the effect was different on Cattle. Her heart softened and warmed; she grew daily more and more attached to her husband. She often even went in search of hiin when she had not seen him for some hours. She began to take an interest in his plans. He was building what was intended to be a paper manufactory. As long as his mother had lived at La Goncsse, she had opposed this wish of his. She insisted on the old plan of almsgiving and dependence, and he on the advantages of indepen- dence gained by work. He had now embarked a considerable sum in this undertaking, and he was grateful to Cattle for the sympathy and approval she bestowed on it. He admired her also for her kind- ness to Yolande, whom the Dowager had chosen to consider a fixture at La Gonesse. Tlie heaven of the chateau was without a cloud, Cattie, even Cattle, asked herself how she had de- served so happy a fate. In all her letters to jMayfield there was a continual mention of her husband's name. "Thank God!" woidd Mr. Sinclair sometimes say after receiving one, — an exclamation that showed he had had some anxiety. A LEGITIMIST DOWAGER. I4I " Cattie a domestic woman! I never couTd Lave believed it," said Miss Sinclair, " Cattie could be anything she wished," observed Miss Toynbee. "And what woman but must learn to love my Count." CHAPTER VIII. A STAB IN THE DARK. All of a sudden tlie clear suiunier of their con- tent darkened. Cattie had met her liusband at the midday break- fast with a face brimful of mirth and mischief. " Guess, guess, who is going to be married. But you never can. It is Bessie the proper ! Bessie the wise ! " "Miss Sinclair ! lam very glad; she will make an excellent wife." "Oh, Arniand, how can you be so stu]iid? Don't you see the absurdity ? " "No; what is it?" "Not I3essie being made love to ! silling l>olt up- right on her chair, dreading every instant that she may be listening to or doing something derogatory to woman's dignity ! I wonder if she has allowed the beloved object to ^yress his lips to hers?'' "Probably he has not waited for pei-mission;" and Armand bent down to kiss her, but Cattie with a A STAB IN THE DARK. 1 43 quick movement turned her head so that it was tlie ribbon round lier hair, and nut her clieek, tliat met liis lips. " Be quiet and listen to my news. Bessie is going to marry very well — one of the law lords. He is not in his first youth, to be sure; but his only child is married, for he is a widower. Tottie says, 'He seems very fond of Bessie; but he has gray hair.'" "And Miss May?" "Oh, Miss May is very well," said Cattie, sharply. "She must marry soon. She is so good and so pretty," said the Count. " I wonder you did not choose her instead of me." "But she might not have chosen me," and he laughed. " How did you venture to think I would take you ? 1 was within an ace of saying no." "Really?" "Yes, really. Why should you doubt it?" Yolande coming in put a stop to tlie conversation. She had had a letter from the Dowager, Avho, by way of varying her pleasures, had gone Avith some friends to St. Petersburgh, Avhere, as she said, she was not deafened by the cry about liberty. All at once Monsieur de Jeugay was sensible of a change in liis wife's ixianner. Her eyes never met his but with a glance that pierced like cold steel. 144 WITHIN AN ACE. She repulsed his attentions, not roughly, hut with a quiet decision difficult to contend with. When they were alone, either she took up a book or went to the piano; when they rode or drove, she never sj)oke to him but on subjects relating to the house, or about some social necessity. At first he thought this merely a new caprice, a falling back, the cause of which she would soon confess, and be the first to smile at. But as days wore on, and this coldness and evi- dent avoidance of him continued, he asked her what was the matter. She asked, "What do you mean?" in a tone of contempt that no husband, be he lover or not, could hear unmoved. " If I have done anything to displease you, or left anything undone that you wished, tell me." " I have no complaint to make." "Then it is I who have a right to complain if you behave as you do Avithout a cause." She was silent. He sat down by her. "Come, Cattie, let us be friends again. I will not tease you with questions. You know that the most earnest desire of my heart is to make you hap- py. I am wretched when I see you vexed;" and he would have taken her hand. She flung from him, saying, " You are thoroughly A STAB IN THE DARK. I45 disagreeable to me." The words she used were: " Vous iTi'eies entiere'inent antipatliiquey His whole face changed — decomposed, I shoidd say: every Ime so deepened as to give him a look of age. He turned away that she should not see the tears that clouded his sight. Here was the explanation she Avould not give: Madame Regnier, one of the ladies of St. Blaize whom Cattie liked best, had brought her two young daughters to La Gonesse to spend the afternoon, the very afternoon of the morni)ig when Cattie had lieard of Bessie Sinclair's intended marriage. When Madame Armand had gone to the croquet- groniid with Leonie and Emma she was already ruffled. She had forgotten the cause, but the effect was there; but by the time the game of croquet had been played, she was quite her happy gay self again. They had set down to rest in a summer-house, the walls and roof of which were of the hornbeam. Such a retreat is called a '■'•salle de verdure^'' in France. The two young girls were never tired of asking questions about England and the English; and they were so droll in their suppositions and prejudices that Cattie encouraged them to talk. This after- noon thej^ were very eloquent; they had been read- 10 146 WITHIN AN ACE. iiig English history with their professor, and how it had made their blood boil; such treachery, always such treachery. And why did Macaulay not men- tion Jean d 'Arc ? Their professor, Avho knew the English language, said she was not named; it was very unjust. When their writers wrote of the bat- tle of Waterloo, they always named the English General. But dear, dear Madame Arraand must not be angry with them; for tliough they hated the English they adored her, and then she was now half French, "No, no; lam altogether English." "That could not be. She must be French as she was a Frenchman's wife." "I should not wonder but that you both married Englishmen; people constantly do what they say they never will do," "I would rather die than marry any man but of my own country," said both girls. And then they went on to speak as English girls only do to bo- som friends of their own age. They talked openly of their '■'■petit marl " in expectation. Mamma would nut allow them to marry for three years; but they had had a 2)roposal as well as Mathilde Lebas, only the gentleman had not made it for one of them in j)articular; he had asked ]>apa for one of liis daugh- ters. The}' had Ijolh seen their ideal; but oh, mal- A STAB IN THE DARK. I47 lieur ! lie w:is niamed and had tlirec little eliildien, dear Madame. " He would not have suited thee," said Leonie. " No, nor thee," retorted Emma. "What had Madame thought of M. de Jenyay the first time she saw him ? " "That he was like all the pictures ol' Frenchmen I had seen." "]>ut you liked liim directly?" "I neither liked nor disliked him," re[>lied Catlie, laughing at the way she was being cross-examined. " Ah, you will not confide in us, but we know how you loved him; and it makes us shudder to think it" M. de Jenyay had not overheard some old gentle- man say you loved him he would have gone away." "And what was the end of my mother-in-law's story?" said Cattie, smiling and patting Leonie's shoulder. " Oh, she said that when she heard that he was determined to marry you, whetlier she gave her con- sent or not, well ! as she wanted him married, she agreed." " It sounded like a novel," put in the less chatty Emma. "It is a pure invention, my dear children; not a word of truth in it," said Cattie, in a voice matle calm by strong determination. 148 WITHIN AN ACE. The girls did not look convinced. " Perhaps Monsieur Armand did not tell you wliat he had heard." "He would had it l)een true. You must not be- lieve all you hear, and I hope if you have an ojipor- tunity you will say that Madame de Jen9ay did not know what she was talking about. She was ro- mancing." " You are not angry, dear Madame ? " "No, dear little ones. Shall I tell you a secret — a true secret? 1 have been jdanning something." "A ball?" "No; it is something else besides a l)all." " Pray, pray ! " " Charades, or perhaps a play." Cattie had at first si)oken merely to say something that should divert the attention of the two girls from the to2)ic of her marriage. She spoke at ran- dom, her heart full to bursting of anger, scorn, and a wild desire for vengeance. No accusation does so madden a proud delicate-minded young woman as that of loving unsought; and to be told })oint blank that site, Cattie, had been married because de Jen- 9ay knew that she loved him! She was frightened herself at the furious passion which sent the blood in such hot torrents to her liead. And yet she forced lierself to talk of her intended party till the Reg- A STAB IN THE DARK. 1 49 niers went. Five minutes more of that struggle and she must have lost consciousness. She rushed to the solitude she so much needed. There must be some foundation for the si ory those children had told. She recollected several hints of the Dowager which had puzzled and surprised her, and Armand's incredulity of tone and look only that very morning when she said that she had been within an ace of refusing him. Yes, there was something in the background — some cruel lie, of which she was ignorant. The old gentleman could be no other than uncle Dan; he had laid a trap into which she and Armand had both fallen. But why should uncle Dan have wished to bring about her marriage ? To scheme and deceive, merely to get rid of her. It was monstrous, but she would not bear the imputa- tion. She would expose the falsehood, make Ar- mand know that she had not loved him, had not even liked him. Stupid, stupid fools that they botli were! She covered her face, blinded by a sudden light. Tliere was no shutting out the conviction that the very front of de Jenjay's offense — if offense it was — had its rise in the goodness and gratitude of a manly heax't. lie had done her no wrong. The more clearly she perceived that she, and not Armand, had been to blame, that she had sinned against herself, not he against her, the more did her ISO WITHIN AN ACE. heart shut him out. What right had lie to ask her to marry him for any other reason than because he loved her? No, it was not from goodness or gener- osity, pah! but from vanity — sheer vanity. Had he not wit enough to guess that, sooner or later, she Avould discover the deception, and resent it ? He had destroyed her chance of happiness. He had de- stroyed her faith in human beings. Had she not accepted his lies as truths ? She had been proud of inspiring such a love, and all the while, the people about her had been pointing at her, as married out of pity! What a flame of fury, what a stab of mor- tification, the thought gave. There exists in these frightful moral struggles the lawlessness of mad- ness. It was this which made this poor Cattie thank God, in the blindness of her passion, that she had a right to hate and scorn her husband, as a cowardly braggart. She thanked God that he did love her. Yes, she knew he did now, whatever he had done before her marriage. She held his punishment and her revenge. The inevitable moment of reaction came Avhich, through the weakness of the body, saves the spirit. The demon that had been rending her departed, and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. She awoke calmed indeed, but unforgiving. Wounds to self-love arc the hardest to heal. She A STAB IN THE DARK. I 5 I determined on her course. She would keep strictly ■\vithin the letter of the law; he should have no legal ground of complaint. IsTot a qualm of self-reproach made her hesitate. She had told him no false- hoods; he had never brought her to say "she loved him." Till now she had certainly felt esteem — a sort of gratitude — but he had wiped away all that by his boasting. Nor could she accuse herself of marrying for rank or money. No. She had married because she had felt herself becoming a weight to her benefactor, because Bessie viewed her with dis- trust, and that keen courage had lost its edge which once would have bid her to conquer independence by her own exertions. Oh! why had Mr. Sinclair prevented her! Poor Cattie! Every one was to blame but hei'- self. It was an awful course she was chalking out for hei*self. To live without hope, without confi- dence, to have all the appearances of happiness, none of the reality, voluntarily to do this could only be the act of a mind jangled and out of tune. Once — it was after she had told Armand that he was insupportable to liei* — she had had a fit of remorse, and it had led her to catechize Mdlle. de Kerouamie about what had passed between the mother and son as to his marriage. The unsuspect- ing Yolande answered every question with a fatal precision. 152 WITHIN AN ACE. Madame de Jeucay bad opposed Armand, and lie had declared that he would propose for the English yonng lady. He liad suffered enough to know the value of affection, and, therefore, he should marry Miss Leighton, with or without his mother's consent. " And so she yielded ? " "Ah! yes. She tired of the place and of quar- reling, and then it was she said a good thing you were a foreigner, there would be no trouble as to your family; and she did not want the name to die out." " Strange he did not marry earlier." "There was some story my aunt did not tell me, T)ut I think Armand was very fond of somebody he could not marry; but that was long ago." "So they took me as o, 2>is-aller f'' "It is not often that men can marry tlicir first love," said Yolande, " you can understand that as they can never talk much with young ladies; it's a very good custom in your country, to give more liberty to girls, — that was how you learned to love Armand." Cattie bit her lip. "In my country, as here, women man-y for other reasons than love, — we are no better than our neighbors, Yolande." "Oh, yes! I see that you are, you are perfection; do n't be angry Avith me for saying so; I feel it, and A STAB IN THE DARK. I 53 I believe all your countrywomen must be cleverer nnd better and lovelier than we are." The great honest eyes attested every word that Yolande spoke. Cattie stood up, and resting her two hands on the shoulders of the seated giantess, said, "T do be- lieve in your love, Yolande, just as I do in Diana's" — the dog lying at her feet. " You are luckily not clever enough to play a part." To the outer world, Madame Armand remained the same adorable woman it had dubbed lier. The surface was in direct contradiction to what was l>elow. Above not a ripple, below a tempest. Apparently domestic peace and confidence, in reality absence of either, — a void. Madame Armand talked, laughed, was more sparkling than ever, })er]ia}is her pi(iuancy was occasionally a little over sharp, her wit a little cruel; taking revenge on her heart. For each day Cattie had her project, — dinnervS, pic-nics, soirees, croquet parties. She was never at home without guests. With marvelous persistency, she maintained the distance she chose between her husband and herself, and that, without even once shocking or rebelling against social laws; Armand, and he alone, knew what a mere simulacrum of a wife he had. The marl)le before the miracle, was not colder to Pygmalion than Cattie to him. 154 . WITHIN AN ACE. Armand would have found it difficult to describe the sentiments agitating him. He knew that he suffered horril)ly, for Cattie had taken possession of his whole being. It seemed somehow or other that ill usage, far from weakening love, has the effect of deepening it. Do Jencay wondered within himself that such a character as Cattle's did not chill his affection, wondered as so many have done and will do, that a love so tender and true could fail to meet a just reti;rn. But it is not sufficient to offer a treasure, one must be accepted. Nor was it one of those situations where advice could be asked. How lay bare, to even the most friendly eye, a suffering like this ? and in fact, what redress had a maji of delicacy, of feeling, in such a case ? Add to this, that he had no clue to the mj'stery of Cattle's present conduct. He felt like one in a labyrinth aAvare of the horror of his position, and at the same time liopeless of overcoming it. One day on returning from overlooking the builders, lie heard peals of laughter proceeding from the great salon. He went thither and found his wife at the piano, and a certain Monsieur Douai standing 1)y her side. As he entered Cattie sung Avith cm- 2)hasis: — "• AiiJonrd''Iiui iious diroDd^je falinc,'''' ]M. Dunai rej)li('d: " Av.*//.'? le dirons encore de- main.'''' A STAB IN THE DARK. 155 They were practicing a duet, that was clear. Cattie turned all sorts of colors at sight of lier husband; hut recovering her presence of mind, she said, quoting: " iYe lui parlons pas, il devineralt raon secret.'''' De Jenyay glanced round, and seeing Yolande working in a corner, he left the room without a word. In the evening, he asked, with evident dis- pleasure, the explanation of the scene of the morn- ing. "It needs none. We are getting up the 'Rendez- vous Tjourgeois,'" answered Cattie, without lifting up her eyes from the book she was pi-etending to be engrossed with. "You should have consulted me before deciding to do so." " Why ?" and she looked at him, her eyes flashing fire on him. "It might be disagreeable to me." "I did right, then, not to have any previous dis- cussion, as I mean to act it." "I hope not against my expressed wish to the contrary." "You had better go through town and country and publish, that because IMadame de Jencay wishes to act a play, Monsieur de Jenpay forbids it." " I should be glad, Cattie, if you would remember 156 WITHIN AN ACE. "Do you tliink I ever foi-gx-t that fact? On the contrary, it is always before my eyes; I cannot shut it out do what I will." She spoke quietly, with no raising of her voice, and her eyes again fixed on lier book. " You are willfully ruining your happiness and mine, Cattie." "Not mine," she said, pointedly. "In the name of heaven, what have I done; or what has hai)pcned to cause this change in you ? " "You are seeking to force a quarrel on me, but you shall not succeed;" and she went to the piano, and began practicing some of the songs of the Vau- deville. How sweet her voice; how arch, how tender, her singing; how every note thrilled to his heart ! What a jiei-fect type of lovely, gentle Avomankind she looked ! Could any chance specta- tor having a glimpse of that salon imagine that discord reigned supreme there ? What was Count Armand to do ? Force a quarrel on her, in order to get at the mystery ? He dared not contemplate what might be the result of any furtlier contention. Besides, a great love such as his finds a consolation in self-immolation. The next morning Armand went, as usual, to overlook tlu; ])rogress of liis woi-ks. Cattie watched him as long as slie could distingnish liis fif>-ure. She A STAB IN THE DARK. . 1 5/ marked how listless his step; that he never looked ai-ound, but walked straight on, as a blind person would do. It seemed to her that he, who had been so erect, began to stoop, as one does who carries a heavy burden. She strangled a sigh. Oh ! that he had not married her: they might both then have been happy. Her thoughts were not comfortable. Why could he not do as she did — make up his mind to enjoy the pleasures within his power ? She could not change herself any more than lie could change himself. She had half a mind to give up that stupid play, about which she really cared nothing, and had promised in a moment of reckless folly. Most people have read the story of Sintram and his two attendant spirits. We all hear the clanking of chains, the rattling of bones, the sweet hymns, urging us this way and that, as we struggle througli the battle we call life. Cattie went down into the flower-garden: there had been a shower, and the earth gave up its most grateful perfume. The roses hung their heads, drooping with moisture; blackbirds were busy tak- ing their early meal on the close-shaven grass; the sound of hammers and the murmiirs of busy men's voices were brought to her, softened by the warm breeze; the chateau itself had an air of home and comfort. "All yours," whispered the good S})irit. 158 WITHIN AN ACE. "Waste not tliese good days; be like unto a little child; be good and loving, and happiness is yours ! " Cattle listening to the low whispers, stood before a tall thistle; one that she had insisted on having sent to La Gonesse at the time of her marriage. An odd smile i^assed over her face. "I warned him that you were my symbol," she said, half aloud. " I have a mind to have it painted as our crest in every room." The good spirit was vanishing. Unluckily, she was in the vestibule as Armand re- turned to breakfast; and she heard him both speak- ing and laughing cheei'fully. "I am a fool for my pains: he is a true French- man, incapable of any strong or lasting feeling. If I were to die, in three days he would be consoled." It was the little Cure, who had met Monsieur le Comte, and Monsieur had invited him to breakfast. How the little man eat and talked ! The peojile w^erc busy, and, therefore, well beliaved. It was a comfort that the young girls, who were the trouble of his life, always wanting to go to Paris, or into convents, always getting into some mischief, would noAV have a chance. That paper-mill Avas to turn the village into a paradise, and all the giils into Ro- sieres; so said the Cure. He talkeroYe. You niulerstand now why 1 clioose to be your promjtter, and you will take care I always kuow when the reheai"sals are to take l)laee." "Is that all?" "Yes." "Then I sui>pose 1 may go now." It was all very well to brave it out before Ar- manJ, but Cattie could have cried at the thought that Annand's pivcautit)n had come too late. If a nod from her could have sent Monsieur Douai to the antipodes, she would have assuredly nodded. Before the next evening Monsieur Douai had entertained the "c(;r/d" (club) with an animated account of how the little Countess kept her husband in order. Her acquaintance still continued to go into ecsta- sies about her looks, her grace, her talents; but there were some who now ventured to say that perhaps she was too brilliant, wanting in that re- pose, that serious gentleness, which is woman's best portion. The preparations for the Vaudeville went on swinnningly. Scenery was hired, a professional stage-manager and jn'ofessional orchestra, anil a professional prompter were engaged. The large conservatory forming one side of the ihaM ing-room 11 1 62 WITHIN AN ACE. was emptied of its rare plants, and the stage erected there, leaving the salon free for the si^ectators. The theatricals at the chateau were talked of all through the department, and invitations were eager- ly canvassed for, and which Cattie gave with a hountiful hand. She had begun to feel as all women do who are not happy at home, that she must not make enemies. The long-expected evening came at last, and carriages rolled for an hour incessantly under the old archway. Never liad there been such gay do- ings within those walls. Madame Armand received her guests with all that savoir faire for which she had been remarked, giving to each exactly that which was their due. To enable her to play the part of courteous hostess, there was a one act Lever de Rideau. The farce chosen was one in Avhich a poor violoncellist, to pay a gambling debt to a hairdresser, offers to give him five hundred lessons at a franc each, and insisting at the same time on giving his creditor a S2>ecimen of his talents. The gentleman av1)o played this part, the son of one of the greatest artists of the day, is famed for his performances, not on the instrument, though the deception or illusion is per- fect. On this occasion he played an air from the Puritani, imitating so completely Piatti, that he A STAB IN THE DARK. 1 63 drew forth a universal encore. His performance must be heard to have it credited that he can imitate witli lips and tongue all the beauties, the pathos, even the im])erfcctions of the violoncello. The Vaudeville was extremely well acted. Cattie acted and sang as though to the manner born. Her voice, her playfulness, her loveliness made her errors of accent overlooked. She ought to have been satisfied with the unlimited admiration bestowed on her. M. de Jenyay watched his wife with sensations made up of wonder, admiration, and regret. With every fresh proof of talent, with every new burst of enthusiastic applause, a chill fell on him. It was a hopeless case. He could never expect that brilliant fairy to sit at a fireside with none save a husband to admire or to be attracted. He could read in her face how she delighted in the homage of a crowd. He despaii'cd of the future for both of them. Her late coldness, her dissatisfaction was, no doubt, caused by want of excitement. As the piece pro- ceeded, he overheard whispers that made his blood tingle. He could not remain to witness this exhibi- tion of his wife, and the analyzing of her face and form. The sweetest notes of her voice jarred 011 liis ears. He slipped away, as he supposed, unnoticed. It was, pei'haps, well for the success of the per- 1 64 WITHIN AN ACE. formance that he disappeared only as it was nearly concluding; for, though others miglit not remark his absence, Cattie missed him directly. From that moment, she had to make violent efforts to keep up her vivacity. She was overwhelmed with applause. She tasted of that sound which it is said intoxicates all who are the object of it, giving that strange fascination to the stage which renders it so difficult for public favorites to bid adieu to the footlights. The last guest was gone — Cattie had smiled her last obligatory smile. She threw herself on a sofa with a yaAvn that was half a sigh. Her brows were drawn together, her mouth rigid — no longer " the fairy," " the muse," " the grace," " the Hebe," she had heard herself called, but a sullen heavy-eyed woman. Yolande asked, " Are you not very tired ? " " Yes, very." " Take something — some wine — some lemonade — some ice ? " "Oh! Yolande, if you only knew how I hate be- ing asked questions." Yolande was silenced for a minute. Then she began, as timid as kind-hearted people are when they liave to do Avith ill-temper, — "It has been a charming evening; and you were A STAB IN THE DARK. 1 65 SO admired. Such raptures as Monsieur le Prefet was in; and Monsieur Delaunay said " " Spare me — it 's quite eno\igli to have heard their foolish speeches once. I hope you observed the way M. de Jengay tried to spoil everything ? " " Did he ? It is true Armand does n't like parties; but I thought he paid great attention to the play." " He took care to show he did not like it. It was downriglit ill-natured. He hoped to put me out; and he went away just as I was beginning my best song." "That was very bad," said Yolande; "but I dare- say he did n't think you would care." "You are enough to fret a saint, Yolande. I tell you, he knew I should see. He did it to vex me. It was a mean way of revenging himself. He meant every one to see that he did not care for my singing. It will be long enough before he Avill have another oi^portunity of insulting me." And having lashed herself into a passion, Cattle went away to bed without any good-night to Yo- lande. The good Geante cried bitterly, because h'er idol was naughty; and to think that the same person who was creating sorrow and uneasiness all around her, had it in her power to have dispensed contentment and happiness. And all this wretchedness for a 1 66 WITHIN AN ACE. slight wound, — nay, not so mucli as a wound, — a scratch te self-love ! Poor Cattle ! she had yet to learn that the one who loves most is the one that is wisest. CHAPTER IX. LUCUS A NON LUCENDO. Bessie SiisrcLArR's wedding was to take place in September, and as she was to come al^road for-licr wedding-trip, de Jen§ay projiosed to Cattie tliat they sliould invite the newly married conple and IMay to La Goncsse. But no, Cattie would not hear of any thing of the kind. She would not have Bessie her visitor, as a married woman, for all the world. She knew how it would be — such obedience, such sub- missiveness, such tender attentions depart iV autre. She should die of the exhibition. Cattie, in this mood, was so thoroughly and un- reasonably feminine, so pretty, and so picpiante, that her husband scarcely knew whether to laugh at or be angry with her. She read the admiration in his eye, and added, with still more decision, — "I won't have her." "But it will seem very strange," began her hus- band. "Not at all, if we arc not at home. Let us go 1 68 WITHIN AN ACE. somewhere — anywhere; but here I will not liaA'e them." At dinner, Cattie had a plan to propose. She had seen half a dozen people — they were going to Baden- Baden — there were to be operas and concerts — first- rate singers — why should she not write and propose to meet Bessie and her spouse there. It would not be out of their route. So it was decided — the proposal was made, and the rendezvous accepted. Cattie pressed Yolande to be one of the party; but Yolande was busy watching the progress of the dahlias, and did not like moving about. " I will let you off this time," said Cattie, " but you must spend the winter with us in Paris " — lierc a side glance at de Jenyay. "I can't do without you, Yolande — you are the only person who always thinks me right." Madame Armand was still under the belief that Mdlle. de Kerouanne was dependent on the de Jen- 9ays, and it was one of the good actions of her life, the undeviating kindness and respect with which she treated the supposed poor relation. Yolande therefore remained at La Gonesse, charged to report the progress of the works, and to help the Cure to manage the parish. By the second week of September, the Count and LUCUS A NON LUCENDO. 1 69 Countess were installed in one of tlic best suites of rooms in the Ilollandiseher Ilof. Pretty, theatrical Baden — tricked out and orna- mented as a figure in a fashion-book, in a frame of dark forest, austere as virtue itself. The visitors to Baden are not among those who find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, or sermons in stones. De Jengay found a crowd of acquaintances there; among them the Duke his godfather, and the Prince his cousin. They were nicknamed '■'■Vhommeleger^'' and " rhomnie lotird.^^ The first earned liis sobriquet, because he was so thoroughly good-natured — so easily pleased — very few had fathomed the reason of these peculiarities. The fact was, that the Duke had a profound knowl- edge of mankind — the result was a great deal of pity, with a slight admixture of contempt. "I pre- fer laughing to crying," he would say — and he showed that he did. '•'■ JOhomme loiinV Avas as amiable as an egotist can be. He was not averse to help his neighbor, but on condition that it gave him no personal trouble. He would have paid the ex- penses of the wounded Samaritan ; assuredly he would not have crossed the road to lift hiui up. He spoke little, tliongh in truth a well-informed man; he refused mentally, as well as bodily to go out of 170 WITHIN AN ACE. his way — whereas the Duke was ready to do both. The greatest self-sacrifice of the Prince's life was the journey to Scotland at the time of de Jenyay's mar- riage, and it was shrewdly suspected that the Duke had carried him off by surprise. The Prince had never married, and the Duke was a widower, with a daughter, whose perfections as wife and mother he never tired of describing. Hearing him talk of his grandchildren, gave you quite another measure of the man from that which you took of him in salons. When Cattie had come to understand and like him, she lectured him one day, on the absurd speeches he made to women. "Ah! chdre dame, do not try to change me — it is a gymnastic of the mind that does me good — and they like it — they like to be forced to laugh." "But it makes you undervalued." "What does that matter — I amuse and am amused. Once I began to take things seriously, I should have to become a monk." " You are never to talk in that disgraceful way to me." "Oh! as to you — that is another affair — first you are English, and you would cry shocking ;"^ it was a treat to hear the Duke pronounce the word. " P>c- sides you are a sort of god-daughter, and I shall lodk after you like an old papa." LUCUS A NON LUCENDO. 171 Acquaintances and connections were equally ready to find the Countess cliarming, and she was soon iu a whirl of gaiety that separated her as much from de Jenyay, as though the wall of China had divided them. And this, though he was always present wherever she might be. At a concert at which Rubenstein played, and Patti sung, Cattie was seated next a lady whom she had already remarked, ller age might be forty, and her face was one of those of which Longfellow says, "it has a story to tell." It was a long, narrow face, with eyes that were not French; they seemed inherited from some Moor- ish ancestor. The brows were drawn together, as under the pressure of a fixed idea. If thinness be aristocratic, then might this lady be supposed of blood royal. She sat gracefully, and her dress, that revealer of the character of our tastes, had some- thing artistic in its arrangement. Altogether, she was not a person to be overlooked even iu a Baden crowd. While Rubenstein was playing, she let fall various involuntary expressions of admiration, and once when her eyes met those of Cattie, the latter Avas astonished at the change produced on that hard, dark face by a smile. Before the end of the concert, they had interchanged opinions as to the perform- 172 WITHIN AN ACE. aiice, and parted witli frieudly bows. The next day, tliey met in one of the public Avalks, and the Duke and the other gentlemen accompanying the Count- ess, lifted their hats to her neighbor of the evening before. " Who is she ? " asked Cattie. "A most charming woman; remarkable talents; quite out of the common line," rcjilied the Duke; his lorgnon on his noble nose, staring intrepidly at some glaring specimen of fashion, and bowing riglit and left. "You have told me what she is, and not who," said Cattie. The Duke was so busy with his bows and stares that he scarcely xmderstood the question. It was another of the group who answered, "That is Ma- dame d'Aigiullon." "Has she gained the apostrophe?" asked a third. "All I can say is that on her cards her name appears ^^^th a little d, a big A^ and the apostrophe." "AVhat folly," said the Duke, returning to the conversation; "and in a country Avhich has got rid of the prejudices of yours, dear lady," addressing Cattie. "I have taken a fancy to Madame d'Aiguillon. She has a different look from other people. Her face comes back upon me as a familiar one." LUCUS A NON LUCENDO. 1 73 "Lucky it is a woman's," said the Duke, Avliis- pering. "Don't you know that's one of the signs of a beginning love?" " Xo," returned Cattie. " But you liave some experience, helle dame ? " Cattie turned her head away. "Ah! I am shoclcing,'''' and the Duke Lauglied. "You Engiisli are not ashamed of doing, only of the name of what you do." How unconsciously people set other folk's teeth on edge ! "I must let Madame d'Aiguillon know your sen- timents towards her," went on the Duke. "She is amiable certainly, but she is a candid soul, and declares she prefers the society of men to that of her own sex, but she is ^ bonne femme'' at tlio bottom." As the two groups repassed, the Duke left Cattie, and went to Madame d'Aiguillon's side. Presently that lady came to the Countess, Avith a graceful cordiality quite winning. Cattie, on her side, Avas equally gracious, repeating what she had already said to the Duke, that it seemed to her as if she must already have met Madame d'Aiguillon. "In some previous and, I hope, better worhl, but I could never have seen you, and forgotten you," Avas the flattering reply. 174 WITHIN AN ACE. . Both ladies having rooms in the same hotel, noth- ing easier than to meet without ceremony. " I am sorry you have made Madame d'Aiguillon's acquaintance," said de Jen9ay, on the first oppor- tunity. " Why ? What is the matter with her ? " " She is that unfortunate creature, a '■femme incorn- 2'>rise.'' She has had everything on earth to make her happy, and she goes about the world lamenting her fate, playing the victim." "There's a proverb which says that only those who wear the shoe know where it pinches. Ap- pearances are as often false one way as the other. I do n't believe any one complains without a cause." He looked earnestly at her, and said, "Are you happy ? " " No, I am not," she answered, firmly. " Will you explain to me Avhy you are not so ? " "It would be quite useless. The cause is quite beyond your power or mine to remove. I am reas- onable.. I enjoy all the pleasures Avithin my reach, and as for happiness, I am learning tliat one can do without it very well." "My poor foolish Cattie!" he said, in a tone that love alone lends to the liuman voice, and ere she was aAvare of it, she was pressed against his heart. He had left the room before she had recovered from her astonishment. LUCUS A NON LUCENDO. 1/5 "Was Cattie in i^crfect good faitli witli herself when she made up her mind to show that she re- sented this caress ? It was clear that she was a greater novice than the Duke took her for. She did not know that in so much hatred love lies hidden. One thing is certain that opposition only increased her interest in Madame d'Aigiiillon. Between im- pressionable people intimacies ripen apace, and die out generally as quickly. The Countess and her new acquaintance speedily became inseparable. Madame d'Aiguillon spoke, with all the candor the Duke had attributed to her, of her disappoint- ments and deceptions. She was indignantly pathetic over the disillusions matrimony brings. "The woman who loves is never loved," would she say, " It is not the intellectual qualities men care for — the animal governs them. Heaven knows, I had tlie capability of devotion, but of what avail when the devotion is not valued. Ah! how I have hoped, dreamed, nay — even at my age — I still dream of a life d deux, but it is a dream, with always the same terribly matter-of-fact conclusion." Once she said to Cattie, "You are favored by fate." Now Cattie did not wish to tell her story, and ycfc she would not tell an untruth. She hesitated, and Madame d'Aiguillon went on, — 176 WITHIN AN ACE. "Ah! poor child, another victim to the Jugger- naut matrimony." "You misunderstand," said Cattie; "I have no comphiint to make against M. de Jenyay." Madame d'Aiguillon studied the ex}>ressive face before her, and failed in understanding its language. She said : — "You are afraid to speak candidly. I always say Avhat I think, and the essence of my experience is that there are only two classes of men, — those who fawn on women, and those on whom women fawn, — the spaniel or the mastiff. You do n't agree with me, I see." "No, because I have known a man whom to know would be sufficient to make you, Madame, be- lieve in men's goodness. I am not a very good specimen myself," — and Cattle's features worked with repressed emotion — "but I believe that there are good, noble-minded people in the world." "Dear enthusiast!" said Madame d'Aiguillon. "I, too, once had such sentiments. I have an incli- nation to tell you my story; quite a romance of the lieart, — no startling events, merely the gradual wear- ing out of spirit and body." Madame d'Aiguillon told her story with bitter eloquence. She laid bare with passionate sincerity her hopes' and desires, her pride, even her vanity. LUCUS A NON LUCENDO. I77 She showed all the secret woinxls of her disap- pointed, ambitious soul. The fault was that of fate which had given her a husband incapable of under- standing her; in short, every person or thing con- nected with her was to blame, — all except herself. She disconnected her character entirely from the events of her life. To hear her, you would have supposed she had been as passive in the forging of lu>r trials as Iphigenia; as completely the sport of fate as any of the heroes of Greek tragedy. The truth, however, was, that in youth her tal- ents and her grace had made her the star of a bril- liant cir<_;le, had surrounded her with worshi[»ers. In spite of her real gifts, she enjoyed the coarse adulation of a mixed crowd. Her youth had been what the French call '■'■ une jeun^sse orageuseP She licrsclf allowed that she had been a coquette. " Why did not my husband prevent me ? " She did not add, that she had laughed his efforts to scorn. But all prestige, let it be of what kind it will, has its al- lotted time; and Madame d'Aiguillon considered that which is a universal ever-recurring fact, to be her peculiar individual trial. The void she felt she re- sented as an injury; reproaches, and recriminations, and low s])ii-its thinned her circle day l)y day. Un- able to yielrivilege of hearing many particulars of his lordship from tlie first Mrs. Dalgleish, Therefore, she accepted him with her eyes open, and very well satisfied she seemed. She was Bessie Sinclair a little sti'onger in color physically and morally. The only touch of humor that had ever l)een perceptible about her was, when she talked of her sons, — that is, her husband's sons, who were much of her own age. May was thinner and ]i;ilcr; her roses were all white ones; in nothing else altered, the same sweet sedateness, the same devotion to others, the same willingness to accept the pleasures of every one else, as her own. Cattie had not expected to feel any 2)articular LUCUS A NON LUCENDO. l8l emotion at the sight of Bessie and May, and it was a surprise to her to find that, no sooner did she see their once familiar faces, hear their once familiar voices, it required a strong effort on her part not to burst into tears. Tlie good spirit now stepped into the place of the evil one. But she would not have owned, though it was true, that their presence seemed to lift away a veil through which She had lately been viewing many things; she felt morally what she had often felt physically in coming out of a heated, vitiated atniosphere, into the pure cool air. Their conversation was like a long unheard melody, biinging back with it old associations, old feelings. To hear her talking to her friends, asking news, and speaking affectionately and gratefully of Mr. Sinclair, and of Miss Toynbee; even of aunt Polly, and many carelessly treated once, but whom memory surrounded with a tender light, gave de Jenjay the first happy hours he had had for many weeks. Then Cattie was more gentle to himself; she would have indignantly denied it, had any one told her so, but it was the case nevertheless, that the presence of her Scotch friends kept her in check. She excused her- self to herself for this semblance of cordiality to her husband by saying she did not choose that Bes- sie or May should think she was to be pitied, or ancle Dan be gratified bj/ Ijelieving she was unliappy. 182 WITHIN AN ACE. Even Lord Dalglcisli, who, remcmljcriiig what Cattie had been, had at first slirunk back from the brilliant Countess, confided to his wife's ear that he consid- ered her friend was vastly improved. All must fade, the sweetest the soonest, and this pleasant state of matters was ruined by French pre- judice. One day the Duke — his prononcee manner had not found favor with Mrs. Dalgleish or May — well, the Duke spoke sarcastically of their unattractive manners. " Did the English consider grace and affability incompatible "wdth virtue ? " De Jen9ay warmly took up the defense, passing an encomium that set all Cattie's nerves vibrating. "Beautiful, pure as untrodden snow, gentle, kind, was IMiss May, the innocence of her soul could be read in her eyes; to him it seemed that she was the type of all most admirable in woman." Did this enthusiasm spring from the bitterness of his disap- pointment in Cattie ? was it the outspeaking of some former feeling ? "He-he-he!" said the Duke, with a side glance at the Countess. "You have heard the Count's opinion," said Cattie; the only sign of flutter was a little breath- Icssness; "and you will believe it, and try to ap- preciate my fi-icnd, when I assure yo\i it is every svllable true." LUCUS A NON LUCENDO. I 83 "I always j^i<^g"c of a woman by the way she listens to the praise of another, and if it were pos^ sible, you have made more fervent my belief in your superiority, dear lady;" and then the Duke changed tlie convei-sation, in which Cattie joined with so much suavity that his Grace went away with a gi'cat respect for her self-control, and unbounded pity for his godson. " She will make thee pay for thy words, my boy," he muttered more than once on his homeward way. Perhaps de Jen9ay had expected some rej^roach, some sharp retort, when the Duke left them. Not a Avord. A pain, an ache, quite novel, kept Cattie silent. Incidents she could, not have recalled a day, nay, not an hour before, now stood out from the dimness of the past with startling clearness. Bessie's fidgety anxiety for de Jen9ay's going, her watchful attentions to May after his departure. May's own avoidance of any mention of him, her pallor and trembling at the marriage ceremony, were all ex- ])lained. Cattie even suddenly remembered that JNIay alone, of all the family, had not accompanied her to the carriage. The enigma, so puzzling to her hithei'to, of why uncle Dan should have sought to Itring about her marriage witli the Count was solved at last. She guessed now the cause of the old man's sudden seeking of de Jenyay's society. Uncle Dan 1 84 WITHIN AN ACE. had used lier to sliield his darling: he had cared nothing for sacrificing the maiden pride of the orphan Ids hrotlier was protecting; he had liad no pity for the friendless girl; he had ruthlessly sacri- ficed his own truth and a woman's delicacy. Instinct had warned her truly enough that uncle Dan would do her some mortal injury. She had not even the sorry comfort of believing that she was the sole sacrifice to an old man's selfish affection. Those words of enthusiastic praise uttered hy de Jen^ay kept on sounding in her ears; praise that could never be applied to her. When before had Cattie ever allowed, even in thought, her own inferiority ? Was this the humility of awakening love? It Avould have been well had this new-born feel- ing been left to develop itself; but, unfortunately, with the very best intentions, Mrs. Dalgleish stopped its growth. Women are not easily deceiNcd with regard to their own sex. They unfailingly detect where there is any flaw in happiness, where love does or does not reign. Luckily for all parties, it was only the morning before the Dalgleishes were to leave Baden that Bessie, finding, or making an opportunity, said to Cattie, "Do you think M. de Jenyay looks as well as he used to do ? " LUCUS A NON LUCENDO. I 85 "Much the same;" and Cattic added, with a jai" ill lier voice, " accustomed as you are to a rosc-and- lily complexion in your liusband, no wonder 3'ou fancy M. de Jen9ay's oUve green denotes ill liealtli." Bessie continued, Avith untroubled calm. "Ilis complexion is what it was at Mayfield; hut he is very much thinner than formerly, and really his hands look like the hands of a sick person." "Arc you hinting that he is fretting? Very likely he is regretting the blunder of his marriage; for you know as Avell as I do, that it never would have been but for uncle Dan's interference." "I know nothing of the kind," said Bessie, losing her temper. "And if M. de Jen^ay and you are not happy the fault is yours." " You had not always so favorable an opinion of him." "I will not be forced into an unseemly discus- sion," said Mrs. Dalgieish. " I have taken what I consider the right of an old friend to Avarn you. I shall not venture again to do so." " Do me one other kindness, Bessie, for the sake of old times. Tell uncle Dan that I know what he did, and that I, unworthy as he thought me, would not have condescended to a falsehood, — a base, un- manly falsehood, — to gain my (nvn selfish ends. Whatever happens to me, or Avhatcver wrong I do, it is on his head." 1 86 WITHIN AN ACE. Bessie looked what she was, confounded by tlie message, and the passion witli which it was given. An uncomfortable suspicion, not felt for the first time since Cattle's marriage, of some wrong-doing on her uncle's part, made her say, — "Cattie, if any one has sinned against you, re- member that we are taught to hope for the forgive- ness of our own debts, by pardoning those who are our debtors." Cattie shook her head more sadly than angrily. "Pray say nothing of what has passed just now between us to JNIay. It Avould make her uidiappy if she thought we had had angry words." " It is the very last subject I should ever touch on with May, for otlier reasons." Bessie asked for no explanation. When May was bidding Cattie good-by, she said, with tears, — "You still care for us all, dear — do you not? You still love me?" Cattie laid her head for an instant on May's slioul- der, and whisjiercd, — "As long as tliere is any good in me, I shall love you and your father. Tell him, the thouglit of him stands betAveen me and evil." The next moment she had shaken off her emotion. She said, — LUCUS A NON LUCENDO. I 8/ " Will you take a souvenir from me to dear T. ? Look; is this turban not an improvement on num- bers 1, 2, and 3?" CHAPTER X. PAS CONVENABLE. It was evident to even her slightest acquaintance that, after her Scotch friends' departure, the young Countess had lost the animation which was one of lier great attractions. "Nostalgy !" said the Duke; "and it is surpris- ing! So charming a woman, and yet she regrets a country where pleasure is called sliocking! " The Count knew l)ctter than to ascribe his wife's want of spirits to any such cause. The capricious coldness she had shown him for so many weeks as- sumed now another character. Her provoking in- difference, which liad hitherto heen passive, rww often became aggressive. She sat in judgment on his every word ; his most harmless remark was suffi- cient to bring on a violent discussion. Their inter- course had become so jiainfiil tliat he began to wel- come the presence of Madame d'Aiguillon as a safe- guard. Suspicion, that deadly poison, was enervating PAS CONVENABLE. I 89 Cattle's soul. Painful as had been tlie conviction that uncle Dan had trajiped de Jenyay into a mar- riage with her, it was as a wasp's sting to the bite of a viper compared to the pang inflicted by the doubt that May had been the object of her husband's pref- erence. Cattle's imagination ran riot on this theme — it first evoked j)hantoms, and then believed in them — argued upon them as realities. She was like one striving to reascend a strong current. She battled Avith memory to bring forth all that had passed during de Jen9ay's first visit to Mayfield. She bent every faculty towards one point; and by this con- centration of all her powers, she divined, where facts to build on failed her. What a future she foresaw! With a fatal clair- voyance, she traced out the weariness of their tAvo lives, both galled by the chain that bound them, both sinking under the burden of the thousand daily petty annoyances of an unwelcome obligatory inti- macy; and she wished, Avhat all young, ardent, un- tried spirits Avish, in the moments of their first de- spair — Cattle wished to die. No Avonder that, being in such a frame of mind, she nearly drove de Jen9ay wild. His bright bird, his joy and his pride, Avhat liad changed her to this irritable, susceptible, dull Avomau ? Many and many 1 90 WITHIN AN ACE. a time did. a thought intrude on him — a thouglit sedulously banished — one too terrible for the still loving husband to contemplate. The dread pursued him, gro\\T.ng stronger every day. Was there any old taint lingering in her young blood ? Her con- duct really looked like incipient insanity. Pursued by this fear, his behavior to her was marked by a tender forbearance that had its effect even on Ma- dame d'Aiguillon. Once, when Cattie had been more than usually l)erverse, that lady, to de Jencay's horror, had tap- ped her own forehead significantly. One morning a violent storm, a common occur- rence in that region, was followed by a brilliant af- ternoon. The sun's rays gleamed with renewed si»lendor over the refreshed earth. Every blade of grass sparkled like gems; the woods were full of the murmurings of the still tremulous trees; the odor of the pine forests scented the air; while over the sky floated fleecy clouds of iris hues. De Jenpay coming by chance into the room where Cattie was sitting alone, struck by the dejection of her whole appearance, asked if she would Avalk to the old castle to see the sun set. She rose without speaking, and went into the bed-room. " I '11 do it to-day," she said, speaking aloud to herself. Doubt- ing whether her silence implied consent or not, de TAS CON YEN ABLE. I9I Jeii(,'ay waited ten minutes. She came in just as he hud given her up. The Count did more tlian enjoy fine scenery, he was an ardent devotee of Nature, and she in return liad taught him nn indulgent philosophy for all the inconsistencies of the moral world. '■'■ Donne r et pardonnt)''''' was the legend round his crest; '•'' Don- ncr et jjardonner'''' had been the rule of his life. His conduct to his mother was one example; harsh, ex- acting, unjust as she had been to him, he had given and })ardoned. But there were limits to his forbear- ance. Gentle and affectionate to those he loved and esteemed, he was an uncompromising foe to the mean or the false; something given to melancholy, to inertness, there was a hidden tire in his tempera- ment which kindled might easily drive him to ex- tremes. Just now his soul, so to say, saturated with the l)enignity of the moment, inhaling through every sense the loveliness of earth and sky, his heart yearned tOAvards his companion with tenderness and forgiveness. Feeling thus, he involuntarily pressed the arm leaning on his more closely to his side. Cattie felt his rapid heart-beats. Probably the in- fluence of the scene and the hour had an effect also on her. She did not resist the pressure of her arm, and husband and wife mounted the steep path Asith 192 WITHIN AN ACE. that unity of movement typical of a unity of feel- ing. I fancy we are all partial to idyls and pastorals. The most rugged among us have a weakness for love stories. Who that ever read Hermanti and Dorothea but has a sly preference for it over Goethe's grander works. There is balm of Gilead in the sight of natural affections to all onlookers. The greatest artistic beauty is never satisfactory if it offend our moral feeling. Our immortal souls protest against the disunion of the beautiful and the good. As husband and wife slowly ascended the hill, every eye that looked on them softened. They lin- gered about the ruins of the Alte Schloss until, little by little, the distant forest dwindled into a long wavy line of black; they lingered until even the ob- jects near had lost all distinctness of outline, until they had become like some fantastic vision. They had spoken but few words, and those mere observa- tions as to the landscape, and the robber knights, represented in modern days by the proprietors of the gambling tables. Cattle assented to all her husband said. She was too busy with her thoughts to listen or to converse. Leaning on de Jen9ay's arm, she was summoning resolution to tell liim everything, to have done with disguise, with concealment. She was intimately PAS CONVENABLE. I93 convinced that whatever lie answered it would be the truth. Whether or not he had married her through some trickery of uncle Dan's was now he- come of secondary consideration. What she wanted to know, what she would know, was, had he pre- ferred May V Avas May the one he would have pro- posed to marry had there been no interference ? She never took into consideration what she would do if he acknowledged that he had once preferred May. And yet Cattie believed that she did not love her husband, that it was not jealousy which was urging her on. Yielding to her passionate impulse she said, in a loud voice, — " Tell me the truth, here under the true open sky: did you, or did you not, prefer May to me ? " For an instant de Jenyay hesitated from pure as- tonishment. " What a question to put now," he said. "Tell me the truth." "I cannot imagine what nonsense has got into your foolish little head, or what end this cross-exam- ining can have, but you shall have an honest answer. I did admire Miss May extremely; every one Avho knows her must do so. You are not so regularly beautiful, but you are more graceful. Afterwards 13 194 WITHIN AN ACE. I felt all the charm you possess over every other woman I ever met." "And you married me from no other motive than admiration? " "Good heavens! what a child it is!" he ex- claimed. For a 2:)assing moment she tried to keep down her rising passion, but the next all the irritation and suspicion of the bygone weeks burst their bonds. Shaking from head to foot, her words fell from her in short, broken, panting sentences. " I thought you scorned lying. You loere in love with May. I believe you are now. She is so \n\re', her innocent soul looks from her eyes. Uncle Dan would not let you have his darling — every one's darling; but I — I was good enough for the French- man. The old man told you I loved you, do n't deny it; and you — ha, ha, ha! — fell into the trap ! I did 7iot love you; I married for a home, to be rich. I never did — I never shall love you." It was fortunate that the waning light did not allow of his seeing the face so dear to him convulsed by uncontrollable passion. Had he seen the lovely eyes lose their color, as blue eyes do in anger, the delicate nostrils inflate, the rosy lips grow livid; ia short, had he seen all the oiitward signs of the fierce emotions tearing that soft bosom, they could never have b('(;n foryotten. PAS CONVENABLE. 1 95 An infuriated woman ! is there a sight more dis- tasteful to a man! The dignity, the gentleness, the modesty, all that which acts as a restraint upon his rougher natui-e, and makes him offer a willing hom- age, thrown aside. Once, in such a case, is for ever. Forgiven, may be — forgotten, never. Lucky Avas it for poor Cattie that the friendly shades of night hid her distorted face — her voice only betraying an overwhelming agitation. As she spoke those last words, "I never did, never shall love you," she flung herself headlong on the ground. In silence de Jen9ay sat down on one of the many benches close at hand. Few of us find ready speech when we receive a great shock. It would have been impossilile for him to say what he felt, for the situ- ation was unique in his life. He was not thinking what to say or do— he was like a man who, fallen from some great height, tries and tries in vain to discover some landmark to guide him. A furtive step forced him to take a decision. lie looked round for Cattie, and could just distinguish that she was lying where she had thrown herself. He went to her, and without a word raised her placing her arm within his. Her passion had passed away, and left her so Aveak that she was forced to cling to her husband's arm to steady herself. Not a syllable passed the lips of either in that homeward walk. igG WITHIN AN ACE. They had scarcely entered the vestibule of the hotel before they heard their names pronounced by a cheery voice. "So here yon are at last," exclaimed the Duke following them up the stairs. " You have no time to lose — I have secured a box — ' Cri.'tjnno e Comare,'' with Patti — allons — allons, Madame, just half an hour to make yourself beautiful." They were now in the lighted salon, and the Buke, catching sight of Cattle's face, exclaimed, "What a face of the other world! " "I took her too long a walk," said de Jen9ay. "Monster! but charming lady, you are not a baby "without a will of your own. Why did you submit? A delightful opera forfeited for a damp walk in the dark— Pah!" The Duke had exerted himself to get the box, and was disappointed as people are, when their wish to give pleasure fails. " I do not mean to give up the opera — in a quarter of an hour I shall be ready — will you wait for me?" "I am your slave." When the Countess had left them alone, the Duke, after drumming on a table for a minute or so, said soothingly to de Jenyay, "It will be nothing my friend. This morning's storm has set all the women's nerves Avronsf — not one of them in good PAS CONVENABLE. 1 9/ humor. I treat such disturhnuces as I used to do disagreeable paragraphs in the poor Duchess's letters — never take notice of them." ^ De Jen^ay gave an immediate practical illustra- tion of the advice by making no answer to the Duke's observation. He turned the conversation on the various rumors afloat as to war. Within the time she liad said, Cattle returned, charmingly dressed and looking more brilliant than usual, from tlie feverish color produced by agita- tion. " Are you not coming witli us ? " asked the Duke of de Jen9ay. "I must change my coat — I will join you later." "Remember that the number of oxir box is 10;" and so saying, the Duke gave his arm to the Count- ess and led lier away. She went without even a look to her husband. During their drive to the theatre '■'■Vhomme Iccjer^'' said "Confess yourself, dear lady; you have been naughty." " Why do you not suspect your godson of being the one in fault ? " The Duke gave a little significant shrug, and answered with amiable brusquerie, "You are a lovely, bewitching, dazzling creature — be good also, dear lady, that will complete the charm — goodness places an unfading aureole round a woman's lir-ad." 198 WITHIN AN ACE. The Countess listened, astonished. Hitherto, she liad believed him to be a man who looked for noth- ing, cared for nothing in women but their beauty and coquetry. "That is it," he Avent on — "A pretty graceful woman and good. My faith, it 's a perfection one rarely meets." As he said this, they reached the theatre. Enthusiastic as she was about music and easily carried away by the excitement of the moment, Cattie in spite of the fascinations of Patti's singing and dancing remained absorbed in her own uncom- fortable thoughts. What Avould be the consequence of her outbreak ? For tlie first time in lier life, she felt her will was mastered. Was it fear; or was it remorse, that was the cause of the dull heaA^y jiain she AA^as feeling ? On his side, de Jeuyay Avas endeavoring to bring light oiat of the darkness which liad so suddenly fallen upon him. He Avas really puzzled. Why, after months of marriage, rej^roach liim Avith a i)re- A'ious passing admiration for another ? Accustomed to the mode in Avhich marriages are arranged in his country, de Jen9ay could not understand Cattle's liorror of uncle Dan's interference, even had it been more decided than it had. De Jeny;.;- was perfectly under the impression that he OAved to accident alone PAS CONVENABLE. 1 99 having overheard iiucle Dan's conversation with aunt Polly. He could see no excuse in her wanton declaration of want of affection for himself. De Jen9ay paced the room in a vain endeavor to come to some conclusion as to what should be his future course of conduct with his wife. The matter could not rest as it was, and yet he loved her so tenderly, that he dreaded what a further explanation might bring forth. Were all his best and most legitimate hoj^es to be dashed to the ground ? Were the domestic joys, the happy home, to which he had looked forward, to turn out mere illusions, vanishing as he put out his hand to grasp them ? Was duty — arid duty — unsoftened by affection and sympathy, to be liis lot in the future as in the past ? Was his honest love to become his punishment ? Immersed in such thoughts, de Jen9ay forgot that time was fleeting, and that he had agreed to join the Countess at the theatre. She, on the contrary, was noting each passing minute. When it came to the last scene, and still no appearance of her husband, her heart grew very full. Was it with grief or au- ger ? No doubt, with both. The Duke pretended not to perceive her emotion. AVhat with his binocle and the applause he bestowed on the "^Zi'rr,'," he managed to leave his companion pretty much undisturbed, and when men came to 200 WITHIN AN ACE. the box to bow and pay compliments, lie talked so much that the only burden of dissimulation laid on the Countess was to smile, which women, from the beginning of the world, have managed to do, even when their hearts were In-eakiiig. The Duke took Cattie home. She had been touched by his conduct all through the evening; in her present discomfort she clung to him as a sort of refiige. It was this feeling made her say as he bid her good night, " Come early to-morrow." " Ah! these women, these women! " apostrophized the Duke. " Never hapi^y but when they make themselves and every one about tliem unhappy." De Jen9ay heard his wife's light step on the stair, and opened the salon door. Cattie did not allow to herself that she was afraid to meet her husband. She chose to think she was too angry to venture on speaking to him that night. " I am very tired, and my head aches fearfully. I am going to bed directly. Good night." And without waiting his answer, she passed into the ad- joining room. How her heart beat, how her hands trembled, just as though she had escaped some great danger. She was up the next morning before de Jen^ay was awake, and before he was dressed she was already closeted T\dth Madame d'Aiguillon. PAS CON YEN ABLE. 20I Pride prevented Cattie from telling that lady the real cause of the yesterday's scene. She could not, and would not, have it supposed that de Jen9ay had been trapped into marrying. 8he owned to having had a dreadful quarrel with her husband, and that she had said what she had much better have left unsaid. "I am very unhappy. Marriage is an awful busi- ness. If girls only knew, they would n't be in such a hurry to get married." "But what led to the quarrel? Is he jealous?" "Jealous!" repeated Cattie; "how could ho be, unless of the dear old Duke? But men and women can quarrel for other reasons. If I only knew what I liad better do. I want to be advised." "I have no silly curiosity," said ]\[aclame d'Aiguil- lon; "but without knowing something of the cause of the quarrel, how can I counsel you ? " " One thing I said was that I never had loved him, and never would." "Are you quite sure of your indiflFercnce?" said JMadame d'Aiguillon, repressing a smile. She had had so many experiences of such affairs. " Quite sure," replied Cattie. " I believe it is worse than indifference." "Have you never heard of love in hate?" "No, and I don't believe in any such piebald feelino-s." 202 WITHIN AN ACE. Madame d'Aiguillon said, — "Well, all I can do is to tell you how I would act myself. Do n't return to the subject of your quarrel, whatever that ni:iy he; you will only make the matter worse. One word leads to another, and on such occasions the more words the less chance of peace. Ward off any discussion to-day, and to-morrow he will find it more difficult to recur to the subject of your dispute. Gain time. Keep him at bay for a week, and yoix are safe. Men, my dear lady, have not our persist- ency. Let us go to the Murgthal to-day; we'll manage some other excursion for to-morrow. The Duke likes nothing better than pleasure-parties; he '11 help you unconsciously. You are too young to be known to be at open variance with your hus- band. At your age there is only one motive as- signed when monsieur goes one way, and madame the other. You will bring all his family down upon you. One thing more — do not mortify your hus- band publicly. As for the rest nobody will trouble their heads." Cattie was thankful for the hope of a respite. "Come back with me to breakfast, and settle about the Murgthal. He will not say anything dis- agreeable before you." ]\[adame d'Aiguillon laughed and said: — "Oh, you little coward! you have much yet to PAS CONVENABLE. 203 learn. I will follow yoit as soon as I have changed my dress." " I will wait for yoii," said Cattie. Madame d'Aignillon put her hands on the Countess's shoulders, and looking into her eyes, exclaimed, — " Clitre petite \ what awful crime have you com- mitted, to be so frightened to meet your husband ? " "I do not say I did right; but I will never own to him that I was wrong." The moment de Jengay saw Madame d'Aignillon he understood Cattle's tactics. He would have been pained to believe that she had confided, even to an old friend, what had passed at the Alte Schloss, but that she should have told Madame d'Aignillon, — a woman whom she was aware he disliked, — that she should have discussed such a matter with an utter stranger, was as gall and wormwood to him. Night's silent wings had brought him gentle feelings, and he had done what all generous, largo natures do: sought to excuse the beloved offender, by doiibting whether he might not be to blame; per- haps he could not jndge of the finer susceptibilities of a young, proud woman; there were inherent dif- ferences between the feelings of men and women. ITe even found, in recalling Cattle's passionate words, reason to doubt that he outrht to consider them an 204 WITHIN AN ACE. offense. They allowed of an interpretation that liad a right to indulgence, at least from him. Su})j)ose they had their source from some little feminine jeal- ousy, — could he resent that? He was very far, indeed, from resentment when Cattie came in, accompanied by Madame d'Aignillon. That sight put to flight his wish for reconciliation. This obstinate placing of an obstacle between them hardened and irritated him. Before the uncomfortable breakfast was over the Duke appeared in more than his usual spirits. lie had had his private cogitations ere he slept, and his bright face was the oiitward effect of inner benev- olence. AVliile his valet shaved him, the Duke had resolved to carry de Jeu9ay and Cattie to his chateau. "'I shall take them to my sister: she shall i^ut them in the right road. I am fond of that little Anglaise, with her proud ways. No; she would not shed a tear, nor beg pardon, though her lieart was ready to break. How certain she was tliat slie was deceiving me; and all the time she was dying to cry and beg me to help her. I like proud girls." The Duke readily agreed to make one of the ]iarty to the Murgthal. He Avas sure this ])erson and the other would gladly join them. "No; no family party." PAS CONVENABLE. 205 The Duke chose his opportuuity cluriiig the day to propose to Cattie that she and de Jenjay shovdd accompany liini on his annual visit to his chateau. "Plenty of riding for you, dear lady. You shall see a boar hunt. We '11 manage to amuse you. Marie Therese " (his daughter) " shall come with her tnarmaille'''' — the term he gave his grandchildren. "You will like her: frank as the day, giving always more than she receives, loved wherever she goes, good wife, good mother, and an adorable daughter." There was a glistening in the Duk'e's eyes that was very like tears. Cattie put her arm within his, sayhig,— "I should be so glad to know Madame de Loisy. Persuade M. de Jenyay to accept your invitation," she addud. "You are really good." "It is you who are good to overlook my imper- fections, dear lady." That evening de Jenyay said to his Avife, — "The Didce tells me you woidd like to spend a couple of weeks at his chateau, and I have accepted the invitation in your name and mine." "Thank you;" and she was about to leave the room, when he said. — " One instant more." She stopped with her hand on the handle of the door. 206 WITHIN AN ACE. "Do not be afraid, Cattie, of my resinning our painful conversation of yesterday, unless by your own desire. You, and you alone, can remedy the evil you have caused. Be assured of one thing, that Avhatever pain or grief I endure, it shall not weigh heavily on you. Tliough I "would, I cannot take upon rae all the suffering; justice follows alike on the ill we inflict, as on that to which Ave submit." Cattie made no answer. CHAPTER XL " TRA LIRA TANTA-LIRA-LIRA." A LONG, straight, poplar avenue leads to the Duke's chateau, a great white-faced building Avithout any architectural pretensions save that of magni- tude. The de Jenjays were met by the Duke, look- ing larger and brighter than ever, his two grand- children by his side. He welcomed them with his usual heartiness. Madame de R received them with that mixture of graceful reserve which, moi-o or less, distinguishes persons accustomed to the at- mosphere of Courts. Madame de R was quite an old lady — upright and active in body and mind; taking so lively an interest in all the topics and events of the day that you would never have guessed her to be upwards of eighty. It was easier to believe that she had been handsome, for even now her eyes often lighted up with the sparkle of youth. She w^s a devoted ad- herent of the elder branch of Bourbons, and as de- voted to her church. All through life her conduct 208 WITHIN AN ACE. liad been a faithful transcript of tliesc two faitlis. The Duke, whose saint she was, had said to her, " You must break in that little Comtesse de Jen9ay. She has excellent j^oints, but she wants taming. First slie be^vitched Armand, and now she treats him like a negro." Cattie was charming with Madame de R . We are, all of us, different creatures with different peoi)lc; our very physique changes according to our surroundings. We expand mentally, morally, phys- ically, in one atmosphere, and we close and shrink and fade in another. Nervous, sensitive people show this distinctly; but even the most phlegmatic do not escajje the effects of repulsion or attraction. The other guests staying in the chateau were M. de Loisy and his wife (the Duke's only daughter), an Englishman, a neighbor of M. de Loisy's in the south, whom the Duke introduced to Cattie as the " Capitaine Shackouhin," which meant Captain Jack Ilowland. Madame Caroline de Loisy resembled her father: she liad llie s;inie sli-aightforward, firm expression of face; dark and liigh-colored, of an unmistakable southern type — one of those women with little talent, Init a strong will and immense bodily activity. What she undertook she accompllslied : devoted to her family, and without any worldly ambitions or vanity. "TRA LIRA — TANTA-LIRA-LIRA." 209 Her husband loved his wife and his little daugh- ters; but to be perfectly happy he must have his pipe, Shackoiilan's society, and potter about his prop- erty, learning all the gossip he could of great and small. Noble though he was, he had the tastes of one of his farmers, just as had George III. It would have been a marvel, thought Cattle, that Madame Caroline could put up Avith such a man; but to like him as she seemed to do, was saying little for tlie delicacy of her taste. As for Mr. Howland, an ex-captain of Dragoons, you might disappi'ove or laugh at him; do, in short, anything but dislike him. He was a burly, short- necked man, with grisly hair, prominent eyes, a large crooked nose, and a button-hole mouth that turned in tlie oi)i)08ite Oirection to the end of his nose. Yet Avith all these disadvantages, he was not plain: he liad the vis coniica to a superlative degree: his most commonplace remark gave you an inclination to smile. He spoke French and Italian as well as he did English; he was a capital shot, that M. de Loisy vouched for; and as much at home in a yacht as in a barrack. "Obliged to live abroad for my wife's health," he explained to Cattle. "She's been in bad health these twenty-one years, — long time, is n't it? You would not say she was an invalid to look at her. 14 2IO WITHIN AN ACE. All her sisters are invalids, too. Bless you, she can't Avinter in England; so there we have been with india-rubber beds and sheets and pillows, and the Lord knows how many cushions and bottles all over Italy and Egypt and Algiers; and now, hei'e we are, in the very southernmost corner of France, not so young as we were." (Here his eyebrows went up.) " And so we settle a little raorCj and we like orange trees and roses and myrtles. Very sad case." Cattie did her best not to laugh. One of Captain Ilowlaud's most agreeable quali- ties was that he never asked questions, but was sat- isfied to communicate. A high Tory of the old school — perhaps that was one of his attract idus for M. de Loisy : " Chartists, Radicals, reformers, inno- vators — try 'em and hang 'em." So said he. " I '11 tell you what I did," he continued, sotto voce, to Cattie, on the very first evening. " Our Vicar, you see, had a fancy for vestments — purple, and green, and pink. I got wind of it. I have a certain number of acres in his parish — d 'ye see ? I count for somebody there. Well, I just stuck my- self at the vestry-door, and says I, ' You shan't make a merry-andrew of yourself while Jack Ilowland's in the country.' ' You can't prevent me,' says lie. 'Well,' says I, 'I will just try — the strongest gains the day — come on.' All the pe()i)le, tlie ladies as "TRA LIRA — TANTA-LIRA-LIRA." 211 fine as tulips, in their seats. 'Come on,' says I. ' This is the house of peace,' says he. And he went into the reading-desk, I promise you, like a lily of the field, that does not know how to s})in. 'Pon my honor, he did." Naturally, the conversation among these old-idead folks turned on Italy. Here again Jack Ilowland Avas in harmony with M. de Loisy, though the ground for their being so was different. " ^Vhat a mistake that unity," ejaculates the Cap- tain, with an air of disgust. " Florence quite spoiled! When the Grand Duke was there, why we got geese at half-a-paul a pound — just twopence — upon my honor. Now it is as dear as Paris." The Duke and the Captain were indefatigahle projectors of amusement. Both in strong hcaUli, Avith high animal spirits, they required continual ex- citement and motion. Each day Avas marked hy some festivity. Though the Chateau kept aloof from the great Government officials of the town, there were several families in the neighborhood with Avhom they Avere on visiting terms. When the Duke and the de Loisys Avere in the coimtry, it Avas the signal for a succession of dinner, hunting, and riding parties. Madame de Loisy, like her father, enjoyed society. She Avas, besides, a first-rate horsewoman, jiassionately fond of hunting, and accustomed from childhood to follow the dogs. 212 WITHIN AN ACE. At first, Cattie only joined tlie riding and l^oating parties; but one evening de Jenyay lieai'd her say slie should make one of the hunt on the next day. He went to her side and said, — "I beg yoii will not "attempt it. It is rough work enough; and requires long habit to steer oueself safely through the woods." " Of course, I am not such a centaur as Madame de Loisy; but I do not ride so badly as you sup- pose." "You ride perfectly; but you have not the in- stinct of the woods as she has, who has been brought up among them." " The sooner I begin to learn the better." "But you know nothing of a boar-hunt — there is considerable danger for the inexperienced. I do beg of you to give up going." "I am not the least afi'aid." " Of course not," said Jack PIoMdand, coming up. Adding, in English, "I like your spirit — do n't be beaten by a Frenchwoman. You can leap?" "Anything," was the ready answer. "Then you '11 do. Slack your bridle, forward — back — and over you go — ligliter weight than Ma- dame Caroline." Cattie escaped from de Jencay, wlio saw that fur- ther remonstrance would be vain. "TRA LIRA — TANTA-LIRA-LIRA. 213 Tlic hunt was a magnificent affair. All the neigh- bors were assembled, and every one, from the lowest to the highest, en grande temie. Loud fanfares ex- cited men, horses, and dogs. Wh.en Cattie appeared in her close-fitting habit, showing the beauty of her slight figure, her long black feather sweeping low among her fair curls, with sparkling eyes and smiling lips, that general murmur, ever well understood by women, greeted her arrival. " I '11 take care of you," said Captain Jack, in English, as he looked to her girths and reins. He would have lifted her into the saddle, but de Jengay said, — "Thank you, I always mount my wife." The Captain put his hand on one side of his month, whispering to de Loisy, — "Jealous of old Jack: look at her," (nodding towards Cattie,) "isn't she a sight ? See how her nostrils quiver like those of a thoroughbred, and what a color in her cheeks, — she frightened ! she '11 go over a hoiase if it comes in her way, or my name is not Jack Ilowland." It was very pleasant as long as they were in the open ground, but Cattle's heart beat a little faster when it came to galloping through the woods. " Mind your head," warned honest Jack as he ke}it in advance. On they tore. "Ditch!" shouted Jack. 214 WITHIN AN ACE. De Jen9ay, who was by Cattle's side, said: "Don't attempt it, for God's sake!" vShe looked at him with a colorless face, and said sharply: "Do you think I care for my life?" He made a snatch at her rein, she used her whip cruelly, and the spirited animal she was on sprang forward. "By Gad, — she 's done it! " shouted Jack, drawing up himself, — "oh! by the lord Harry, I thought she was done for;" and he took off his cap, and wiped the moisture from his brow. Side by side, de Jenyay and Cattle had taken the tremendous leap. "No luck for you to-day," she said, waving her whip triumphantly. More fanfares, more horns, and baying, but nei- ther husband nor wife were caring for the sport. Tlie blood was boiling in Cattle's veins, — almost maddened by terror and passion, she urged her horse recklessly on. They were nearing a wide stream, known to all the sportsmen of the country for the softness and steepness of its banks. De Jengay seized his wife's rein, she struck his Avrlst MTitli her whii) — he held firm. "You shall not do it," he said with closed teeth. There was a moment of passionate, mute struggle — both horses reared; de Jen9ay let himself fall off, but never lost hold of her bridle, striving to "TRA LIRA — TANTA-LIRA-LIRA. 215 force back her horse from the water. Once more she struck at his hand— this time he uttered some exchimation of paiu. He saw her suddenly turn pale, her eyes closed for a second, then she said, — " Let go my bridle, I am going home." The Captain coming in sight, de Jen9ay slmuted to him, — "Will you take care of the Countess'?" "With the greatest of pleasure, — but where 's your horse. Monsieur le Comte ? " "Taken leave of me, while I was assisting my wife; I must try and find him." De Jenjay hur- ried away. "Xo hurt, r hope?" said Jack, remarking Cattle's pallor, and that she was trembling in her saddle. "None, thank you. M. de Jenyay would not let me leap the water." "I should think not, unless he wanted to get rid of you. Bless you! there's a story about some mad- l)i-ained countess who tried it and broke her back, and worried her husband all the rest of her life." Long before they reached the Chateau, Cattie was scarcely able to sit her horse. She had to be assisted ui» to her room, and no sooner did she get off her habit than she threw herself on a sofa, and in three minutes was fast asleep, — worn out by the excite- ment of her feelings. It was thus de Jen5ay found Iier when he returned an hour after. He stood con- 2l6 WITHIN AN ACE. templating hcv some live minutes — so slight, fk. frag- ile, so resolute, so passionate; Avith what foree tliose small fingers had struck him his swollen, inflamed M'rist showed. He forgave the hlow as he would liave done one giveii by an angry child. lie had made up his mind to bear internal discomfort, to renounce hope of domestic happiness, but he must now speak clearly and firmly. He would not submit to puldic disre- spect. He had sought her now to say this in plain terms — to speak in the tone of a master. He had expected to find her defiant; the sight of her sleep- ing calmly took him by surprise, and, to be (piite truthful, the graceful form, the sweet face, acted on him as peacemakers. His gaze made her eyelids first tremble, then oi)en — she reddened violently. Tlie discourse he had meant to address to her, like many other prepared discourses, went out of lii.s mind. " Will you let it be forget and forgive ? " he sai o ' ^QFCAIIFOM^^ ^^omm^ BRARYQr ^ ^lUBRARY<7/r^ ^^w^UNl^e%. ^losANCEifj-^ JITliUiTi i!^iirrt ^JNIUJ rviuillJ^jA ^ 1= < L 007 190 940 2 5^\:llBKAKT