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 LEONIE VERMONT 
 
 A STORY OF THE PRESENT TIME. 
 
 BY 
 THE AUTHOR OF "MILDRED VERNON." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 1849.
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED BY HARRISON AND SON 
 
 ST. martin's lane.
 
 8S^ 
 
 TO 
 THE ENGLISH NATION, 
 
 AX HUMBLE TRIBUTE OF ADMIRATION 
 
 FOR 
 
 THE ONLY NATION OF WESTERN EUROPE 
 
 WHICH 
 
 IN THE GENERAL MINDQUAKE OF THE OLD WORLD, 
 
 HAS MAINTAINED 
 
 ITS UPRIGHTNESS UNIMPAIRED; 
 
 AND WHICH, STRONG ALIKE 
 
 IN MORAL RECTITUDE AND POLITICAL INTELLIGENCE, 
 
 HAS RETAINED 
 
 ITS HEALTHY RESPECT FOR THINGS RESPECTABLE, 
 
 AND 
 
 V TO THE DOCTRINES OF PERVERSITY 
 
 HAS OPPOSED 
 
 THE BARRIER OF ITS SCORN. 
 
 THE ONLY COUNTRY, WHICH AT THE PRESENT HOUR, 
 
 ^ HOWEVER OTHER LANDS 3IAY STILL BE DEAR TO THEIR CHILDREN, 
 
 CAN AWAKEN 
 ^ ANY PKIDE IN THE BREASTS OF HER SONS. 
 
 VOL. I. a 3
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 To those who are either natives of France 
 or ^vho love her as the author of this book 
 has long been accustomed to do, for her great 
 and noble qualities, her present position is a 
 source both of shame and sorrow in no or- 
 dinary degree. 
 
 It is in a spirit of sorrow and shame that 
 the following pages have been penned. 
 
 It was reserved for oiu' generation to see 
 France degra:!ed by absolute fear. The 
 France of the first Revolution, however crimi-
 
 Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 nal, was terrible in her guilt, and one half 
 the nation built up, with savage fanaticism, 
 the scaffolds to which the other half went 
 proudly scoffing at death. With the Empire, 
 France was ambitious, grasping, unmindful of 
 others' rights, but glorious ; with the Resto- 
 ration, haughty and frivolous at once, she 
 still kept high her place among nations ; 
 under the House of Orleans even, corrupt as 
 she was gradually becoming, yet material 
 prosperity spread its veil over the many blots 
 that were fast creeping over the brightness of 
 the French name, and the phantom of its 
 greatness was preserved ; but when the hidks 
 gave up their hordes, and that the prison- 
 vomited swarms of the so-called Republicans 
 of February placed their brutal yoke around 
 her, then indeed was given to the world a 
 spectacle it never thought to see : — the spec- 
 tacle of France humbled, degraded, debased, 
 abject from positive fear, — the coward fear of
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 a whole nation, standing palsj-stricken before 
 a handful of hireling mutineers and reprieved 
 convicts. 
 
 But the deeper the degradation, the greater 
 must be the force of the country which can 
 surmount such ignominy, and rise, the trial 
 over, to its former height. 
 
 The writer of these pages has the earnest, 
 firm conviction that France will one day do 
 this, and it is because at a no distant period 
 he sees her, in virtue of a great and glorious 
 principle, rising to a gi'eatness and a glory 
 she has perhaps never yet achieved, that he 
 has had the courage to paint her, as he has 
 had the sorrow to behold her, in the day of 
 her humiliation and of her disgrace. 
 
 " Expiation r a master-spirit of the last 
 century ^^ spoke the word, and who shall say 
 that in it lies not the secret of France's 
 
 * Joseph de Maistre.
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 destiny, and of her marvellous power of re- 
 deeming past errors, and rebounding from 
 the abyss to the summits 
 
 In the lesson that has been taught to 
 Prance within the last eighteen months, there 
 is a mysterious sense that baffles " our phi- 
 losophy," and that nevertheless many will, 
 perhaps, one day be surprised not to have 
 seized more readily. 
 
 Seen from a certain height, inferior objects 
 lose their distinctness, and blend into vast 
 masses bathed in light or wrapped in shade. 
 In the face of the Past, party-spirit sinks into 
 nought, and its infinite intersections and 
 traceries are lost in fast-lengthening gloom ; 
 still more is it absorbed as the eye turns 
 towards the future, and in the growing dawn 
 sees tint after tint disappear. 
 
 Delicate distinctions are now out of date, 
 -—-the struggle is coming on (has commenced 
 indeed) between the old world and the new,
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 between duties and rights, between primeyal 
 principles and as primeval passions. 
 
 Therefore would the author of this "Work 
 have it distinctly to be understood that no- 
 where in its pages have the caUs of party- 
 spirit been obeyed. All parties in France 
 have hitherto equally erred, for all have been 
 equally slaves of the same necessities. Truth 
 alone is strong, and in the pohtical machinery 
 of France all is false. The very bases of 
 power must be remodelled, ere the harmony 
 of love can bind the governors to the governed. 
 The morahty of suffering must be learned, the 
 di'eam of equality in enjoyment renounced. 
 On the one hand, power must be accepted as a 
 duty; on the other, concessions must no longer 
 be regarded as a right. 
 
 It cannot be too often repeated, that all par- 
 ties have erred — will err again, because it is in 
 the intimate nature of party spirit to mislead. 
 Hope may attach itself to the One in whom a
 
 Xll PREFACE. 
 
 principle is incarnate, — never to the party 
 which surrounds but does not support Him. 
 If, then, this book tells of confidence in a 
 Game which has, more than once, seemed irre- 
 vocably lost, it is that the writer of it, in 
 common with many elevated spirits upon 
 whose level he has not the presumption to 
 place himself, believes that that cause is the 
 cause of the country, and that He who 
 represents it is identified with the moral and 
 social regeneration of France. 
 
 Paris, July^ 1849.
 
 asoofe tfit d?trst. 
 
 CORRUPTION, 
 
 " II n'est pas au pouvoir des gouveraaus d'engager 
 I'avenir; mais la pensee de M. le Ministre est evidem- 
 meut de ne donner au pays aucune satisfaction." 
 
 Berryer. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 LEONIE YERMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " They'll bring the House about their ears 
 one of these fine days, if thej go on in that 
 way." 
 
 " Bah ! T thought so too, some short time 
 since; and I think so no longer now/' 
 
 " But the shamelessness of their corruption !'' 
 
 " Alas ! there lies the rub ; since thej can 
 afibrd not to be ashamed of it, it is a proof 
 that it bodes them no vast danger; if they 
 feared anything from the discovery of their 
 bad practices, they would take better pains to 
 hide them. Their adyersaries are as corrupt 
 as themselves — there lies their security/' 
 
 b2
 
 4 LEONIE YERMONT. 
 
 "Their adversaries — granted; but the na- 
 tionr' 
 
 "You talk like a republican; the nation 
 does not exist. This comes of your English 
 way of thinking. In your country the govern- 
 ment acts with the people, in France it acts 
 '.against them." 
 
 " Pardon me; but I discern in you, as in the 
 greater number of Frenchmen to whom I have 
 spoken on this subject, to my mind, a most 
 erroneous application of that word: if by the 
 people you mean the rabble, you mistake en- 
 tirely; our government acts far more against 
 them than your's would venture to do, depend 
 upon it, should it come to an open struggle. 
 But we in England, have not as yet committed 
 the folly of confounding the populace with 
 the people, the best and most intelligent 
 portion of a nation with the portion most 
 ignorant and worst; and, therefore, it is, that 
 an Englishman, when he sees the whole bulk of 
 a people enlisted on one side, and upon the 
 other a government stupidly determined to re- 
 sist, cannot help anticipating the most fatal re- 
 sults from the, to him, apparently inevitable 
 explosion of a country's rising indignation/'
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 5 
 
 " Yes ! I am perfectly aTrare that in 
 England, the first time MM. Guizot and 
 Duchatel displayed before the face of the 
 House of Commons the jugglers' tricks so 
 patiently borne by our Chambre des Deputes^ 
 the outcry would have been such that no 
 repetition would have been possible ; but 
 then, in England you live under a representa- 
 tive government, of which we have never had 
 any notion here. You have a Constitutional 
 Monarchy, and would never allow of the abso- 
 lutist tendencies — of the absorption of all 
 power in one individual — such as we see it 
 here practised with impunity by the sove- 
 reign — we chose, (or did not choose) in 1830, 
 and who, since that period, has been occupied 
 by the sole endeavour to render his sway the 
 most despotic possible." 
 
 " It is certain we should permit nothing of 
 the kind ; but again I repeat, all is so cor- 
 rupt, so false, so rotten in this country, that, 
 as I began by saying, if they do not take care, 
 they will bring the whole house about their 
 ears. Surely, the example of Charles X. might 
 carry with it a sufficient warning to Louis 
 Philippe 1"
 
 6 LBONIE VERMONT. 
 
 " If another revolution of that kind were to 
 be feared — much as I dislike, and as I despise, 
 the head of the House of Orleans — I scarcely 
 know whether I should not myself take arms 
 to defend him . . . ." 
 
 " You surprise me ^ 
 
 "Indeed, I assure you, the supposition of 
 such an event is calculated to alarm seriously 
 every conscientious Frenchman — whatever his 
 opinion may be. If it were merely a ques- 
 tion of chasing from France a dynasty which 
 has more contributed to demoralize the country 
 than all her worst kings put together ; if a set 
 of ministers, not even ransoming their poli- 
 tical recklessness by their talents, were to be 
 driven from the face of the land ; if the move- 
 ment that should deliver us from all these 
 plagues, were a really general and an energetic 
 one ; if this revolt of the public conscience 
 were sincere, and that, in place of the over- 
 thrown fabric, it would or could build up any- 
 thing honest, anything true — were it even a 
 Republic — I would joyfully lend my hand to 
 it — but alas ! I am only too sure of the 
 reverse, and cannot help foreseeing that the 
 first stone thrown down — the first pave torn
 
 LEONIB VERMONT. 7 
 
 up, will plunge us into an abyss from which 
 there is no rising/' 
 
 " And jet, be assured, if these people do 
 not change their present system, a revolution 
 is inevitable/'' 
 
 " There may be an insurrection, and it may 
 be successful, but take my word for it, there 
 will be no revolution, in the pr-oper sense of 
 the word. Men may be changed, but things 
 will remain just as they were/' 
 
 " You may be right : but still I say, ' Gare 
 la Republique,' for Napoleon's prediction forces 
 itself upon me." 
 
 " Yes ! ' dans vingt cinq ans la France sera 
 ou Republique ou Cosaque.' I go further still, 
 and say that, instead of being one or the other, 
 she may be both ; and yet, tyrannized over by 
 the many or despotically governed by one, she 
 will not be in a single iota different from what 
 she is at this hour — neither more true nor less 
 corrupt. I see, as you do, the threatened 
 destruction — everywhere the impending disso- 
 lution ; but, rely upon it, the vital breath is 
 wanting that should reanimate the new political 
 body — the purifying principle, the renovating 
 force, is absent. Life is extinct in France/'
 
 8 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 " You are severe." 
 
 " Because I dearly love mj country, and 
 mourn over her as you would mourn over one 
 beloved whose body should lie quivering be- 
 fore you/' 
 
 " Why, my dear fellow, your view of affairs 
 is perfectly tragical." 
 
 " God grant it may not be the true one." 
 
 " If it is, the best thing I can have to tell 
 my countrymen on the other side of the water 
 will be that, what they take for the movements 
 of a live nation, are simply the twitches of a 
 galvanized body ; that the present state of 
 France bears to real vitality about the same 
 proportion which electro-typed metal bears to 
 genuine silver ; and that, in a word, Louis 
 Philippe and M. Guizot may be looked upon 
 pretty much as the KnoUy and Elkington of 
 the political world." 
 
 " It is easy for you to laugh. But are 
 you, then, seriously thinking of returning to 
 England T 
 
 " I start at six this evening ; and should the 
 Revolution I foresee, and in which you do not 
 believe, break out, let me beg of you to con- 
 sider Walden as your own : my being there or
 
 LEOXIE YEKMOXT. 9 
 
 not makes no difference. I should be hurt 
 if jou did not look upon my house as jour 
 home/' 
 
 ''I thank you heartily. But, come what 
 may, I will never emigrate. Let her make 
 head against the tide, or sink (as sink, alas ! 
 she will), I will stand by the stricken ship ; 
 the more so, too, since there would be unpar- 
 donable cowardice in doing the reverse." 
 
 " Eh, mon cher ! if the scaffold " 
 
 "Scaffolds will never more rise upon the 
 Place Louis Quinze. Whatever may happen — 
 (mark my words, I repeat them) — whatever 
 may happen, there is not energy of conviction 
 enough in France to create rival parties. No- 
 tliing can arise here now, however violent the 
 commotion, save rival interests, and those of 
 the vilest, grossest, most degrading kind. Am- 
 bition has had its day, and has made way for 
 appetite. I am no revolutionist, as you know ; 
 but rather than recognize, as I am forced to 
 do, the utter moral abasement of my country, 
 the deterioration of the race, and the brutish 
 materialism into which it has fallen, I think I 
 would almost prefer the sanguinary conscien- 
 tiousness, the fearful radicalism of Couthon 
 
 b3
 
 10 Ll^ONIE VERMONT. 
 
 and Robespierre. But I will not keep jou 
 listening to my lamentations under this broil- 
 ing sun. — Good-bye! and a thousand thanks."" 
 
 " God bless you, my dear friend, — and 
 recollect my prophecy : before the year is out 
 you will have a Revolution!" 
 
 " Then recollect also mine : should it come 
 as you say, it will not be three weeks old 
 before you will agree with me that a Revo- 
 lution is impossible in France. Au revoir, 
 mon cher." 
 
 " Au revoir f 
 
 This conversation took place one fine day 
 early in the month of June, 1847, in the middle 
 of the gardens of the Tuileries, between Mr. 
 Walden, of Walden, in the county of Leicester, 
 and a young French nobleman from tlie Wes- 
 tern Provinces, Monsieur le Vicomte de Brian- 
 cour. How far one or the other, or indeed 
 both, might be right in their predictions, time 
 was not destined to be long in showing; but 
 at the moment Mr. Walden wended his way to 
 the Hotel Meurice, thinking that France was 
 a mighty unstable country, and that he was 
 sorry to have invested so much money in her 
 dijBPerent railroads, but at the same time con-
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 11 
 
 soled bj the reflection that no government, of 
 whatever nature it should be, would venture 
 to touch what was evidently private property, 
 and the more sacred, that it reposed upon the 
 basis of a mutual contract ; M. de Briancour 
 wandered on, the half-opened Presse in his 
 hand, until he had gained the shadow of the 
 high chesnut trees, near the terrace that bor- 
 ders the Seine ; and there, seating himself 
 somewhat apart from the crowd of idlers who 
 already began to fill the gardens, he prepared 
 to discuss the contents of the day's papers. 
 
 Twelve o'clock had not long struck, and the 
 more elegant of the habitues of the Tuileries 
 were absent from the loitering place so bril- 
 liant at a later hour of the day. It was not, 
 as we have already said, that the gardens were 
 empty; but those who filled them belonged 
 chiefly to the harsher sex, and amongst them 
 the proportion of employes, — men, who after 
 a hurried and frugal breakfast were returning 
 to the laborious duties of a bureau, and merely 
 snatching a breath of perfumed air en route, — 
 was evidently considerable. From the spot 
 where M. de Briancour had taken his seat 
 a complete view was obtained of one of the
 
 12 LEONIE VEEMOXT. 
 
 fairest spots of the Royal Plaisance. En- 
 closed in a square, formed on the north and 
 eastern sides by the Palace itself and the 
 arcades of the Rue de Rivoli, and to the south- 
 west by the terrasse du bord de Teau and the 
 plantation of chesnut trees, the flowery platte- 
 bandes of the Tuileries glittered in the sun a 
 living, blossoming mosaic. Every now and 
 tlien a ray from tlie great star of day lit up 
 the marble whiteness of one of Oauston's 
 delicate nymphs, or losing itself in the crystal 
 of the fountain's mimic wave, returned to its 
 native sky rich with the countless jewels of 
 the variegated foam. 
 
 M. de Briancour had opened his paper as it 
 would seem mechanically, for instead of read- 
 ing, he sat absorbed in a profound reverie. 
 His eye wandered from the dark walls of the 
 kingly residence to the white colonnades of 
 the Rue de Rivoli, from the somewhat dingy 
 monument of one of the most ancient monar- 
 chies of the earth, to the whitewashed range of 
 public offices and hotels bequeathed to the 
 capital of modern civilisation by a conqueror 
 worthy of the renown of barbaric times. The 
 mixed perfumes of the honey suckles, azalias.
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 13 
 
 and limes, came so wooiuglj to liis senses upon 
 the breath of the "sweet south" that do Tvhat 
 he might, he could but think — whilst looking 
 at the closed windows of the palace of so many 
 kino:s — of the davs when the loveliest and most 
 unfortunate of princesses adorned with her 
 gentle graces that illustrious abode, before 
 fallinor a victim into the hands of a misoaiided 
 and infuriate mob. A drum — that sound so 
 dear, as it would seem, to the ears of the sons 
 of France — awoke him from his dream and 
 brought him forcibly back to the subject his 
 recent conversation with Mr. Walden had im- 
 planted in his mind. A sigh escaped him as 
 he turned his gaze upon the torn and soiled 
 tricolor flag that hung lazily down its staff 
 upon the summit of the clock-tower of the 
 chateau. 
 
 "Well!" exclaimed a voice from behind, 
 "M. de Girardin's prose does not seeoi to have 
 gi'eat charms for you this moruing/*' 
 
 "Ha! Philippe, is that you'?'' answered M. 
 de Briancour, half turning round upon his 
 chair, and, without rising, extending his hand 
 with condescending familiarity to the new- 
 comer ; " what brings you from your Montague 
 Ste. Genevieve into our quarters so early? ''
 
 14 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 " A kind of affair, which, if I were to tell 
 you, Fernand, jou would hardly belieye," re- 
 plied he with a smile of disdain wherein a 
 minute observer might have read more than 
 one bad passion, and more than one littleness. 
 " I have been honoured by the Minister with 
 an order .^^ 
 
 M. de Briancour started and with an accent 
 of unfeigned surprise. "You! Philippe I" ex- 
 claimed he, ^'you, an order from the Minister? 
 My dear fellow ! I am sincerely glad ; but how 
 did this happen 1 " 
 
 "I know, as you may conceive, as little upon 
 that point as you," rejoined Philippe, "for no 
 one will do me the injury to suppose that I 
 would solicit employment from those whose 
 very existence I look upon as a calamity, as a 
 degradation to the country.'' 
 
 "Have you accepted 1 '' enquired Briancour. 
 
 " I could not avoid it — the cause of art — " 
 
 " Then you have accepted ^ '' repeated Fer- 
 nand coldly. 
 
 " Why, yes — but not without protesting 
 that " 
 
 " Philippe," pursued his friend, " never 
 mind what you thought it necessary to say to 
 the Minister to qualify your acceptance ; you
 
 LEOME 7EEM0NT. 15 
 
 have accepted the task and mill accept the re- 
 muneration — that is sufficient. Now, tell me, 
 what is the work with which jour palette is to 
 endow the State ? " 
 
 Before we record the answer, we would 
 fain, reader, give jou some idea of the person 
 addressed. Comelj he was at least, if not 
 decidedly handsome ; but closely examined, 
 the strange contrasts visible in face and form 
 ended by producing rather an unfayom-able 
 than a favourable impression. Force seemed 
 coupled with effeminacy, and a certain degi'ee 
 of delicacy with a total want of distinction. 
 The shoulders and chest were singularly broad, 
 indeed almost ponderous, whilst the hands 
 were so diminutive as to make you ask your- 
 self why they should strike you at once as a 
 deformity instead of a mark of birth. The 
 head, though large, was well-shaped, but ill set 
 on. The paleness of the cheek and brow 
 looked more like the result of excess than of 
 wasting thought, and the really fine outlines of 
 the nose and chin were lost sight of in the un- 
 deniable sensuality of the mouth. The eyes 
 of a dark but so uncertain tint that none could 
 tell exactly whether they were brown or grey, 
 varied in expression as in hue ; but there was
 
 16 LIEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 in tliem much that, coupled with the mouth, 
 would have sufficed to alarm a disciple of 
 Lavater. - 
 
 The dress of the personage was no less 
 curious than the rest, and betrayed an evi- 
 dent mixture of affected negligence and real 
 research ; the whole committed to the guid- 
 ance of most decided bad taste. The coat 
 and trousers were well enough, and in colour 
 and shape pretty nearly resembling those worn 
 by ordinary mortals ; but in the rest of his 
 attire the young artist had given ample proofs 
 of his radical tendencies. The unvarnished 
 leather of his dusty boots attested his anti- 
 dynastic principles, and in the slovenly tie of 
 a red silk cravat, supporting no very snowy 
 shirt-collar, lurked rebellion against the House 
 of Orleans (and cleanliness), whilst the length 
 of the beard and the style in which were 
 thrown back from the forehead tlie thick masses 
 of black, and it would seem not disentangled, 
 hair, boded something approaching to repub- 
 licanism. We would not affirm even that an 
 accusation of Socialism might not have been 
 based upon the hat : a high conical machine 
 with huge upturned flaps after the manner of 
 those worn in the Low Countries in the sixteenth
 
 LEOXIE VERMONT. 17 
 
 century. The absence of gloves completed 
 the costume of M. Philippe Vermont, as he 
 stood on the morning to ^^hich we have 
 referred, in the rojal gardens of the Tuileries, 
 on his return from an audience of the Minister. 
 
 To M. de Briancour s last question, as to 
 what was the subject of the work confided to 
 his palette bj the GoTernment — 
 
 "The decoration of one of the lateral 
 chapels of St. , including the altar- 
 piece,'' replied he ; and then continued : " As 
 there were three chapels to be disposed of, I 
 requested the one dedicated to Sainte Isabelle ; 
 and as the composition of the designs will not 
 be a long affair, I shall take a conge this 
 autumn, and beg Madame de Meranges to sit 
 for the head of her patron Saint." 
 
 " I have no doubt my sister will be much 
 obliged to jou for the honour you intend 
 doing her," replied M. de Briancour, with a 
 smile; and turning round to his companion 
 with more good nature than he had yet 
 evinced; "but, my dear fellow," he resumed, 
 "is it possible that you can have presented 
 yourself before the Llinister caparisoned as I 
 now see you T
 
 18 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 One might have thought Philippe Vermont 
 had expected this question, and been disap- 
 pointed that it came not sooner, for upon 
 hearing it his countenance brightened, and 
 with the species of concentrated energy re- 
 quired for the communication of some highly 
 virtuous resolution, he answered — 
 
 " Do you suppose, Fernand, that I could be 
 capable of conceding, by any outward form, a 
 show of respect for that which I so sincerely 
 despise V' 
 
 " From those I despised so much I would 
 scarcely condescend to accept any advantage," 
 retorted M. de Briancour, "especially a pecu- 
 niary one/' 
 
 Philippe Vermont did not blush, nor look 
 at all confused as he rejoined — 
 
 " You know the two religions I profess are 
 the devotion to my country and to the arts ; 
 and in this circumstance, whilst accepting a 
 duty imposed upon me by the latter, I vindi- 
 cated the former by my independent attitude 
 in the presence of the servile instrument of a 
 power I execrate." 
 
 " I never shciU be able to understand,'' re- 
 sumed Fernand de Briancour, " how impolite-
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 19 
 
 ness can be considered as serving the cause 
 of freedom, nor how human dignity is better 
 asserted bj a soiled shirt than a clean one." 
 
 " Because/' interrupted Philippe, taking a 
 seat near M. de Briancour, " you are the child 
 of a race that, as the most immoral and, per- 
 haps, cleverest of its members truly said, can 
 neither forget nor learn anything. You are 
 made up of prejudices and ideas that belong to 
 other ages, and do what you will, you cannot 
 open your eyes to the truth. Now you, Fer- 
 nand, for an aristocrat, are more near to a 
 reasonable being than any I ever met — (M. 
 de Briancour bowed with mock humility at the 
 compliment) ; — how can you consent to play a 
 part in the odious comedy that is being acted 
 around us ? You have no motive for not 
 hating these people as cordially as I do, for 
 you have been of the two less well treated 
 than I '' 
 
 " And what if it were so, Philippe V^ an- 
 swered Femand — "do you think then that, 
 in this world, men and things are merely to 
 be judged from a personal point of view 1 
 Alas ! if that were the case, we might indeed 
 look forward to revolutions without end, the
 
 20 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 bitter produce of disappointed ambition and 
 thwarted selfish vanity — No ! let that rest ; and 
 let lis hope that a time may come, when on 
 the con4;rary, men will put self rather more on 
 one side, and consent to look upon the real 
 good of the country as the only legitimate 
 end and aim of all their efforts." 
 
 " Yes !" muttered Phihppe, " but you do 
 not see that by these very hopes and regrets 
 of your's, you avow your dislike of the pre- 
 sent system exactly to the same degree that I 
 do — only you, who have been taught in your 
 aristocratical salons to regard hyprocrisy as a 
 virtue, you contrive to disguise your disap- 
 pointment by what you designate as savoir- 
 vivre." 
 
 "It may be," replied Briancour, laughing, 
 "but all you can say will not reconcile me to 
 your boots." 
 
 "Because you are a talon rouge." 
 
 "Well," rejoined Fernand, "you must, as a 
 judge of the harmony of colours, admit that that 
 same talon rouge was no ill-advised thing; at 
 any rate, it is as well to have a red patch at 
 one's heel as to tie a red rope round one's 
 neck." This was so good-humouredly said
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 21 
 
 that the democrat himself coiild only laugh. 
 He continued, howeyer, in the same tone — 
 
 " As I came upon jou just now, I could not 
 help wondering what on earth had thrown jou 
 into the fit of musing in which jou were 
 buried — jou were looking at tlie palace of the 
 worst tjrant who ever . . . ." 
 
 Fernand interrupted him bj a loud laugh. 
 " Ah ! m J dear friend," exclaimed he, " I did 
 not think jou so far gone ! You have the 
 approved stjle, 'The palace of the tjrant!' — 
 that was wanting to complete the rest. I will, 
 however, tell jou, that I was not bj anj means 
 occupied with that in jour ejes reprehensible 
 building, but simplj with the verj shabbj flag 
 that at this moment clings so lovinglj to its 
 parent staff up jonder." 
 
 " Umph !" grunted the joung radical ; " I 
 will bet anj monej jou were wishing that, 
 instead of three colours, it still displajed but 
 one, as under the dominion of that benighted 
 race whom we have luckily driven from France." 
 
 ''- As far as I can judge, mon cher," answered 
 M. de Briancour, gravelj, "jou had but a 
 small share directlj or indirectlj in the events 
 which sent the elder branch of the Bourbons
 
 22 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 to eke out their lives in exile ; but, if you 
 take the white flag as the symbol of a time, 
 when this country stood higher in the esti- 
 mation of foreign lands than ever it has 
 stood since, and when, whatever might be its 
 faults, no^e would have dared to accuse the 
 government of dishonesty ; — when with friend 
 or foe the word of France was enough, and 
 needed not the confirmations of treaties, — oh! 
 in that case, I will not say, although I am no 
 Legitimist (and you know it), that I do not 
 regret the emblem of unsullied purity it was 
 once the proud privilege of France, alone 
 among nations, to bear; — but it was not that 
 which occupied me whilst looking at that flag. 
 It was another reflection that may not be 
 agreeable to your revolutionary ears." 
 
 "Dites toujours, mon cher," pursued Phi- 
 lippe. 
 
 " Well then,'^ resumed M. de Brian cour, 
 " I was thinking to myself what a singular 
 country is this same France ; destined, what- 
 ever may be its vicissitudes, and notwith- 
 standing all its vagaries of infidelity, ever to 
 take shelter under a symbol borrowed from 
 the eternal traditions of Catholicism. The
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 23 
 
 loDg series of her kings bears through suc- 
 ceeding centuries the flo^iver dedicated to the 
 mother of the divine Saviour ; and the Revo- 
 lution, in lieu of the eagle dear to pagan 
 glory, places upon her banner the bird whose 
 chant awoke the first of the Apostles '^ 
 
 " Ah ! that hideous, odious cock V' cried 
 Philippe — "a base-born barn-door fowl!'' 
 
 "Halte-la!'' resumed Fernand. "This is 
 against all principles of equality, my dear 
 friend. Your barn-door fowl should in the 
 eyes of every genuine democrat be the peer 
 and companion of the first swan or peacock of 
 the realm. No! really, I cannot admit of 
 such very aristocratical distinctions." 
 
 " C'est egall" continued the artist ; " if I had 
 the taking down of that odious rag up there, 
 I know what I would show to all Paris in 
 place of the coq gaulois, before half an hour 
 were over.'' 
 
 " And pray, from the collection of our past 
 emblems, which would you honour with the 
 preference?" demanded Fernand. "Should 
 it be lily or violet, eagle or bee 1 " 
 
 "Neither," exclaimed Philippe; "emblems of 
 hateful despotism, all — "
 
 24 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 " What then 1 some of the pastoral ensigns 
 of the first days of the Republic — a wheat- 
 sheaf for instance ? " 
 
 " No ! but what too many, in common with 
 yourself, have forgotten — the bonnet rouge 
 of Liberty and Equality '^ 
 
 " And ' Fraternity or Death,' '' added M. de 
 Briancour. " Well, my dear friend, if that 
 way tend your wishes, you will find me less 
 opposed than you imagine to your schemes/' 
 
 "Because you think them harmless, and 
 fancy they have no echo in the country," an- 
 swered Philippe. 
 
 " Exactly so," rejoined Fernand, as, rising, 
 he held out his hand with a smile in sign of 
 adieu. 
 
 " You are mistaken," was the rejoinder. 
 
 " Nous verrons ; I confess that I can more 
 readily believe in the return of the white lilies 
 than of the red cap ; but I won't dispute with 
 you about what I cannot even consent to look 
 upon as a matter of discussion — so good bye, 
 and commend me to Sainte Isabelle, whom I 
 infinitely prefer to Sainte Guillotine." And so 
 saying, M. de Briancour shook hands with the 
 artist, who continued looking at the tricolor-
 
 LEONIE YERMOisT. ^lo 
 
 flag with as much attention as if he had real] j 
 been fixing in his own mind the exact spot on 
 which he meant to hang the odious symbol of 
 his political faith. 
 
 As M. de Briancour prepared to leave the 
 gardens by the side-gate opening directly upon 
 the trottoir of the Place de la Concorde, he 
 became the witness of one of those acts ot 
 petty tyranny so common in a country which 
 does nothing but declaim about equality. A 
 young ourrier in the classical blouse and cas- 
 quette, had attempted to rush past the sentinel 
 and enter the gardens. Hurry and impatience 
 were evident in his every word and gesture, as 
 he vainly endeavoured to induce the sentry to 
 let him enter. 
 
 " For God's sake, comrade, let me pass," 
 urged the man in earnest accents of entreaty ; 
 '• it will save me half an hour. My mother is 
 infirm, and has been knocked down in tlie 
 street. She lives on the other side of the 
 water — Rue du Petit Pont — and I have run 
 from the Place La Fayette without stopping." 
 (The breathlessness of the poor fellow, and the 
 huge drops of perspiration that covered his 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 face and brow, fully attested the truth of his 
 assertion.) " For the love of mercy, let me pass." 
 
 To all his entreaties, the soldier inflexibly 
 opposed himself, and was evidently waxing 
 •wroth at the pertinacity and insistance of 
 the ouvrier, when Fernand, whom the anguish 
 of the latter had interested in his favour, and 
 who, be it said, reader, was no lion, no dandy 
 — interposed. 
 
 " Here, my good fellow,'' exclaimed he, ad- 
 dressing the workman, " change with me ;" and 
 before two seconds had elapsed, M. de Brian- 
 cour's coat and hat had enabled his protege to 
 pursue his anxious course ; but in the midst of 
 his almost unintelligible thanks, his demands 
 "were pressing for Fernand's address, in order 
 that he might return that which he would not 
 consent to consider otherwise than in the 
 light of a loan. 
 
 M. de Briancour shook his head. '•' Never 
 mind my name," said he, " but tell me yours." 
 
 "Pierre Larcher, Rue de Petit Pont, 47 — ■ 
 
 but " and an anxious expression of doubt 
 
 overspread his features as he looked full in the 
 face of Fernand. " You will not deceive me — 
 you will come V
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 27 
 
 " I promise jou I will/' answered Briancour ; 
 " and now make the best of jour way home/' 
 
 " God bless jou, sir !" exclaimed the ouYrier 
 with emotion, and he darted off with arrow- 
 like speed in the du*ection of the Faubourg St. 
 Germain. 
 
 M. de Briancour, in his new habiliments, 
 and standing on the outside of the gate lead- 
 ing into the gardens, was beginning to feel no 
 small degree of annoyance at his position, 
 when a gamin of some ten or twelve years old, 
 who had witnessed the whole scene, approached 
 him respectfully, conscious — as though himself 
 were a child of fashion — of what, under such 
 circumstances, a gentleman's embarrassment 
 must be. 
 
 " Monsieur," said he, " will you allow me to 
 fetch you a cabriolet 1" 
 
 " Nay, more," replied Fernand, " I will give 
 you a franc if you will do so." 
 
 The boy reddened and drew up. " I 
 don't want you to pay me," he said, " but I 
 should be happy to render you a service." M. 
 de Briancour laughed good-humouredly, and 
 haying contrived to appease the over-suscepti- 
 bility of his juvenile friend, stepped into the 
 
 C2
 
 28 LEONIE VEKMONT. 
 
 vehicle, which the lapse of five minutes brought 
 to the Grille of the Tuileries, and drove awaj 
 less satisfied upon the whole (such is man's 
 weak nature perverted by excess of civilization) 
 than confused at the kind act an irresistible 
 mpulse had led him to accomplish.
 
 LEONIE YEKMONT. 29 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Before going further, \re must make the 
 reader better acquainted ^vith some of the per- 
 sonages mentioned in the preceding chapter. 
 
 In 1815 the Comte de Briancour had re- 
 turned to France, after an exile that had lasted 
 from the hour of his birth, which event took 
 place in 1790. His father was killed whilst 
 serving in the armee de Oonde, and his mothen 
 taking refuge in one of the petty courts of 
 Northern Germany, brought up her only son 
 in the obstinate worship of bygone traditions 
 and in the utter hatred and contempt of all 
 that was actually passing in France. At six- 
 teen the young Count was left an orphan, with
 
 30 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 little or no pecuniary resources. He entered 
 the service of the sovereign, to whom in dying 
 his mother had recommended him, and, during 
 nine years, knew no greater annoyance than 
 that occasioned him by the triumphs of Napo- 
 leon. The disastrous victory of Leipsick, 
 however, gave some hope to the almost des- 
 pairing emigres, and M. de Briancour was 
 among those who hailed the " dernier coup de 
 canon" upon the banks of the Pleisse as the 
 "premier coup de cloche de Tempire." The 
 Restoration consequently found the Count, at 
 five-and-twenty, in the best possible condition 
 for serving the masters whom from the cradle 
 he had regretted, and whose political capacity 
 or incapacity he would have considered it high 
 treason to discuss. 
 
 A cavalry regiment was the immediate 
 reward for so many years of exile, and for such 
 uncompromising hatred of the country which 
 had ventured to quarrel with its kings. Ho- 
 nours of all kinds were lavished upon the 
 handsome colonel of hussars, and before the 
 end of the year one of the most noble of the 
 aristocratic families of France had given a 
 daughter in marriage to the head of the house
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 31 
 
 of Briancoiir. Appointments, pensions, im- 
 munities of eyerj sort, poured do^yn upon the 
 youthful pair, and made up for the deficiency 
 of fortune, which otherwise might hare been a 
 drawback on their perfect happiness. Fom* 
 years had passed over, and Madame de Brian- 
 cour was still childless, when in 1820, in the 
 same month which gave to France the so-long- 
 prayed-for heir to the throne, Heaven vouch- 
 safed to the young Countess the experience of 
 a mother's joys. But to the great disappoint- 
 ment of the family, the infant was of the 
 female sex ; and it was not till two years after 
 that a son was born to perpetuate the illus- 
 trious race. Isabelle was the name of the 
 daughter, Fernand that of the son ; for in 
 an alliance through a remote ancestor of the 
 glorious sovereigns of Castille, lay one of the 
 best-founded claims of ^ladame de Briancour's 
 family to renown. 
 
 The young man we have introduced to our 
 readers was, therefore, a child of some eight 
 years of age when the revolution of 1830 
 took place. Mademoiselle de Briancour, upon 
 the death of the Countess in 1828, though 
 but two years older than her brother, arro-
 
 32 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 gated to herself the right of tutoring and 
 watching over him ; and indeed, to say the 
 truth, lucky it was that she did so ; for when 
 once the _ unlooked-for catastrophe that marked 
 the summer of 1830 had hurled from the 
 French throne the descendant of Charlemagne, 
 M. de Briancour became incapable of su- 
 perintending anything, unless it might be 
 the grooming of his horse, or the trimming 
 of his vines. All his ideas were at fault : he 
 had no longer any due notion of things as 
 they were or were not, and the end of the 
 world could scarcely have surprised him more 
 than did the end of the Bourbon monarchy, in 
 which, after the expiration of seventeen years, 
 he scarcely brought himself to believe. 
 
 One thing, however, was quite certain, that, 
 ruined as he was by the loss of all his pensions 
 and places, he could not continue to inhabit 
 the capital ; and, accordingly, three weeks 
 after the revolution of July, he left Paris with 
 his children for his family estate of Briancour, 
 situated in the department of the Calvados, 
 at no very great distance from Vire. Here 
 the great danger was ennui, and that species 
 of moroseness engendered by forced inactivity.
 
 LEONIE YEEMONT. 33 
 
 Ennui was not long in coming, and tlie Count's 
 mental capacities, never having been of the 
 most brilliant description, each succeeding 
 year saw him sink a degree lower in the 
 intellectual scale. In the prime and flower 
 of his age (for at the advent of Louis 
 Philippe to the throne he had not completed 
 his fortieth jear,) M. de Briancour was con- 
 demned to comparative solitude — he, who had 
 existed only in the gay tumult of fashionable 
 life — and in utter idleness — he, who in the 
 thousand frivolities of the vainest and most 
 worldly of Courts, had been accustomed to 
 complain that the day afforded him not time 
 for the quarter of his multifarious occupations. 
 But now, dear reader, let me beg of you 
 not to take M. de Briancour en grippe. A 
 more gentlemanlike, honorable, and in most 
 respects, amiable man, was rarely to be found. 
 He was brave as Bayard, chivalrous as Fran- 
 cois I., (whom in appearance he strikingly 
 resembled) ; generous, hospitable, the servant 
 of his friends, and the slave of his word, — M. 
 de Briancour's only fault was the being go- 
 verned bv one sino^le fixed idea. In the deve- 
 tion to that idea he had been born and bred ; 
 
 c3
 
 34 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 and unmodified by events, unimpaired bj re- 
 flection or doubt, that conviction was destined 
 to accompany hina to the tomb. His attach- 
 ment to~ the elder branch of the Bourbons was 
 not even so much a sentiment, a feeling, as it 
 was an article of faith; consequently he took 
 no note of time, but went on waiting — without 
 paying much attention to the number of years 
 that glided past, — for the moment when the 
 legitimate race was to return, and overthrow- 
 ing the usurper, to resume that place from 
 w^hich no one alive had ever had the right to 
 depose it. As to questioning the fact of the 
 return of the Bourbons to France, it was what 
 never entered the Count's head ; but in his 
 hours of impatience, he was somewhat given 
 to wonder why, being inevitable, it had not 
 yet occurred. 
 
 None of his children were imbued with 
 the same uncompromising legitimist principles 
 as their father ; but for no consideration 
 would they have suffered him to guess so much. 
 lie suspected them, in truth, of being rather 
 lukewarm Carlists, but the monstrous thought 
 that they might not be Carlists at all never 
 entered his brain. Up to the period of the
 
 LEONIE YEEMONT. 35 
 
 reYolution, Isabelle and her brother had been 
 educated bj an elderly lady who had already 
 superintended the education of Madame de 
 Briancour ; but on leaving Paris for the coun- 
 try, it became necessary to adopt some other 
 means of obviating the inconveniences attend- 
 ant upon a prolonged sojourn in the pro- 
 vinces. M. de Briancour was impressed with 
 the idea that the clergy being of necessity 
 what is termed by his party bien pensant, 
 were the only people capable of taking charge 
 of a gentleman's children, and accordingly he 
 applied to the cure of the largest town near to 
 his estate, who recommended his second vi- 
 caire as a young man quite equal to the task 
 of educating the youthful heir of Briancour, 
 and of instilling into him the store of classic 
 and scientific lore indispensable in modern 
 times to a fils de famille. But as to examining 
 the political principles of his vicaire, it was 
 what the cure had never dreamt of, and it did 
 not suo'o'est itself to M. de Briancour that a 
 
 CO 
 
 member of the Church could harbour any 
 thoughts that were not in accordance with the 
 most approved doctrines of so-called legitimacy. 
 It so happened, however, that the person to
 
 36 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 whom one of tlie most determined Yotaries of 
 Carlism thus confided his children, was a mem- 
 ber of that portion of the younger catholic 
 clergy, who base an extension of the rights of 
 man upon the eternal principles of charity 
 contained in the Gospel of the Divine Saviour. 
 
 The Abbe Lavergne was one of a respect- 
 able but numerous family, the head of which 
 — a most honorable tradesman — had failed. 
 Perhaps it might not have been an irresistible 
 vocation which led him to the Church; but 
 once invested with those sacred functions, no 
 will of his could resign, he threw into the 
 exercise of them all the energy of which 
 his remarkably strong mind was possessed. 
 Out of his ardent love for the poor, the sick, 
 the helpless, and all that crowd of disinherited 
 offspring of Fortune who so particularly fall 
 under the observation of the priest, grew a 
 certain involuntary indignation at the blind 
 supineness of the powerful, and the heartless 
 frivolity of the rich. 
 
 M. Lavergne was no republican, as the 
 word has been understood in France; for he 
 neither liked the liberty that leads tlirough 
 anarchy to despotism, nor the equality which
 
 LEONIE YERMONT. 37 
 
 destroys to the last vestige of civilizatioD, 
 but that fraternity Tvhich opens not alone 
 the hand but the heart, which engenders 
 the wish and the will to serve, to comfort, 
 to strengthen those who stand in need of such 
 help, and which, in its sincerity, produces also 
 indulgence towards the fallen, and the desire 
 not to punish but to reclaim. That fraternity 
 found in him an eloquent, an impassioned 
 advocate. None of those who surrounded 
 liim had cared to fathom the political convic- 
 tions of the young ecclesiastic, so that, sin- 
 cerely beloved by all to whom his ministry 
 called him, he was simply looked upon as 
 a person remarkable for his piety, learning, 
 and good heart. As to anything else, none 
 troubled their heads about him, and thus he 
 became the instructor, guide, and counsel, of 
 Fernand de Briancour and his sister. 
 
 Monsieur le Comte — who against all his 
 ennui could find one only refuge in his horse 
 and his gun — after he had once duly com- 
 mitted his children to the official care of tlie 
 Abbe Lavergne, never even thought of enquir- 
 ing towards what points their studies were 
 more especially directed, so that in fact two
 
 38 LEONIE VEEMONT. 
 
 eaglets burst from tlie owlet's nest without so 
 much as having roused the attention of the 
 parent bird to the metamorphosis. 
 
 During eight years did the Abbe continue 
 entirely to superintend the education of his 
 two pupils ; and at the end of this period it 
 would be pretty exact to say that tliey did 
 little more than reflect, in train of thought and 
 character, the image of their enthusiastic and 
 ardent-minded master. The affection which 
 sprang up between the teacher and his pupils, 
 was such as might be expected. Towards 
 Fernand M. Lavergne was in the fullest sense 
 a brother ; whilst his sentiments for Isabelle 
 partook, in spite of himself, of the kind of 
 reverence men may feel for angels. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Briancour was indeed no 
 ordinary person. Grave and serious from a 
 very early age, there grew up around her a sort 
 of holy calm, a gentle meditativeness, that sur- 
 rounded her as with a veil. It was not that 
 Isabelle was melancholy or sad. On the con- 
 trary, there was in her a serenity that defied 
 perturbation, and that sufficed to shed tran- 
 quillity on all around. Every one more or less 
 venerated Isabelle, and without her smallest
 
 LEONIE YERMONT. 39 
 
 effort — for her sincere liumility Tvould have 
 been hurt at such deference — obeyed her. 
 The Comte de Brian cour looked upon his 
 daughter with a secret awe, of which both 
 he and she were equally unconscious ; for 
 whilst she practised a submission to what she 
 conceived her duty, which would have forbidden 
 her opposing even in thought a desire of her 
 father, he believed himself born to command 
 and inaccessible to the mild sway even of 
 domestic influence. As to Fernand, he openly 
 professed entire devotion to his sister, and 
 unlimited admiration of her every word and 
 look. In fact, the pure, gentle authority of this 
 fair young creature ruled sovereign over the 
 little domain of Briancour ; and the Ruler 
 alone was unmindful of her reign. 
 
 Of the two, perhaps Isabelle had most radi- 
 cally profited by the lessons of the Abbe La- 
 vergne. There was in her an abnegation of self 
 and a natm-al gi'avity of mind that drew her 
 irresistibly towards an unequivocal and active 
 adoption of the Evangelical doctrines. She 
 became therefore not alone the pupil in theory, 
 but tlie disciple in practice, of her instructor ; 
 and whilst Fernand, with his lively imagina-
 
 40 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 tion, adopted the precepts of the Abbe as a 
 theme whereon to descant, his sister treasured 
 them up in her heart, and hailed in them the 
 system ^pon which to regulate her actions. 
 
 Fernand, alas ! — the truth must out — was 
 a poet: jes, reader, neither more nor less than 
 a rhymester — a man stringing sonnet after 
 ballad, and ode after elegy, at sight of every 
 tree that moaned beneath the wind, and of 
 every ray that moon or stai's caused to quiver 
 in the wave. Although, of a surety, I would 
 distinctly be understood to mean no harm by 
 saying that Fernand was a poet, yet, at the 
 same time, 1 do mean thereby to infer that he 
 was, to say the least, as liable to the influences 
 of fancy as of genuine feeling, and that in the 
 exact proportion in which he was possessed of 
 a very real and remarkable poetical talent, so 
 had he lost of that concentration of sentiment 
 which lies locked up in those souls which are 
 unexhausted by the outpourings of production. 
 
 Fornand de Briancour was a very distinguished 
 young man, but he was, and had been all his 
 life, a determined, an incorrigible dreamer. 
 Luckil}^, the excellent moral and religious prin- 
 ciples instilled into him from his cradle, and
 
 LEON IE VEEMONT. 41 
 
 fostered with the teuderest care bj his sister, 
 and the Abbe Lavergne, had obviated any 
 serious evil effects that his lyrical tendencies 
 might have helped to produce. From the 
 union of his own instincts with the education 
 he had received, there sprang, for all the mate- 
 rial exigencies of existence, a theorist, a specu- 
 lator — a poet, in a word ; but, for all that 
 regarded principles and honour, — a Chi'istian 
 gentleman. 
 
 But Isabelle's and Femand's were not the 
 only budding minds which it fell to the lot of 
 M. Lavergne to expand. Two other inmates 
 had grown up with his own children in the 
 household of the Comte de Briancour. In the 
 beginning of the campaign headed by the Due 
 d'Angouleme in Spain, the Count's life had 
 been saved by a serjeant of his own regiment, 
 who, at the siege of Cadiz in 1824, fell 
 mortally wounded by the side of his colonel. 
 Upon his death-bed he disclosed to M. de 
 Briancour the ties he had contracted, which 
 rendered his exit from this life doubly pain- 
 ful. He was secretly and illegally married, 
 and his wife was upon the eve of becom- 
 ing a mother. With his last breath Laurent
 
 42 LEONIE VEEMONT. 
 
 Vermont committed to his commanding officer 
 the charge of those dearest to him upon earth. 
 And most loyally did the latter fulfil the 
 duties he accepted at so solemn an hour. His 
 first care., upon the return of the army to 
 France, was to seek out Madame Vermont and 
 assure her of his support and assistance. 
 
 He found her the mother of twins, a boy and 
 girl; and to the whole family did both he and his 
 amiable wife devote the most charitable atten- 
 tion and aid. The widow was not herself by 
 any means a person likely to have interested 
 Madame de Briancour ; for she had nearly 
 every defect common to the lesser bourgeoisie ; 
 but the Countess owed a debt of gratitude to 
 the dead soldier, which, having been unable to 
 pay to himself, she was resolved to discharge 
 amply to his children. Whilst the mother 
 neglected her offspring to think only of fetes 
 and bals champetres, the protectress watched 
 untiringly over the infants whose future pro* 
 bable welfare, both spiritual and temporal, could 
 not but be a source of anxiety to him. In a 
 pecuniary point of view, the widow ought, with 
 the slightest order, to have contrived to be wholly 
 above all need of help ; for between what she
 
 LEONIE YERMONT. 43 
 
 had herself, and -what her husband had left, 
 she was possessed of sufficient to establish a 
 small commerce of lingerie, which, under the 
 patronage of Madame de Briancour, flourished 
 sufficiently to guard her fullj from any approach 
 to want. 
 
 But the improvidence and vanity of a 
 woman, young and equally good-looking, and 
 devoid of all moral or religious principle, 
 set at nouo^ht the benevolent efforts of her 
 friends. Luckily for her children, it pleased 
 Providence to take Madame Vermont from this 
 world of temptation when Philippe and Leonie 
 were but three years of age. At her death, it 
 was found that little more remained than was 
 enough so pay her debts and suffice for the 
 expences of the funeral. The orphans might 
 be considered as destitute. Madame de 
 Briancour immediately announced to her hus- 
 band the intention (in which he entirely con- 
 curred) of taking charge of the two deserted 
 ones, and bringing them up with her own 
 children. Many members of the great and 
 proud families to whom the Count and Coun- 
 tess were allied, denounced this plan as 
 romantic, and even decidedly wrong: ob-
 
 44 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 jections were started of all kinds, and several 
 of tliem very plausible, but Madame de Brian- 
 cour was inflexible in what her conscience re- 
 cognized as the right. " If mj children,'^ said 
 she, " have a father still, they owe it to him to 
 whose children I in turn cannot and will not 
 do less than offer a home." Home she accord- 
 ingly did make for them, not only in her house, 
 but in her heart, and when, scarcely a year 
 after, death smote her in the bloom of her 
 years, she provided, by a small legacy, for the 
 strict maintenance of her two proteges, and 
 amongst her last requests to her husband was 
 that of never abandoning Philippe and Leonie. 
 As long as fortune smiled upon M. de Brian- 
 cour, his intention had been to give every ad- 
 vantage to the twins in the way of education; 
 but, the first years of infancy past, to give it 
 to them separately from his own children. He 
 meant to place Leonie in a convent and Phi- 
 lippe at school, reserving to himself the boy's 
 advancement in later life, either in the military 
 or naval career; and, as to Leonie, he thought 
 it would be no difficult matter, by augmenting 
 in a reasonable degree the dot his wife had al- 
 ready left her, to negotiate for her some suitable
 
 LEONIE YEKMONT. 45 
 
 marriage with an honest bourgeois who should 
 ensure to her respect abihtj and comfort. 
 
 The rerohition of 1830 destroyed all 
 these plans. It became impossible for the 
 Count to devote any portion of his narrowed 
 income to extraneous purposes, and he was 
 therefore placed in the ineritable alternatire 
 of either discarding altogether the orphans of 
 the man to whom he owed his own life, or 
 associating in the closest degree of domestic 
 intimacy his own daughter and son with the 
 scions of a race he looked upon as inferior, 
 and — to give the true intei-pretation of his feel- 
 ings — ignoble ! This last course was, however, 
 the only one remaining to him, and, he chose 
 it, partly from necessity, but partly also, we 
 must injustice add, because a degree of friend- 
 ship had sprung up between the two little girls, 
 which would have made it bitterly painful to 
 Mademoiselle de Briancour to separate from 
 Leonie Vermont. So many privations awaited 
 Isabelle henceforth that her father resolved she 
 should be spared this one, and accordinglj-, 
 when the family of Briancour settled in the 
 domain of their ancestors, they were accom- 
 panied by the twin offspring of the lingere of 
 the Rue Ste. Appolline.
 
 46 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 During eight years, therefore, the Abbe La- 
 vergne instructed not alone the noble heirs of 
 his aristocratic patron, but also their two 
 humble and dependant companions. If Isa- 
 belle and her brother profited really by the 
 lessons of the learned and charitable priest, 
 Philippe and Leonie reaped from them a no 
 less rich harvest, but of a yery different kind. 
 It was impossible to trace more clearly the 
 marks of the paternal natures than in these 
 two children. Leonie had all the uncompro- 
 mising frankness, all the rigid sense of honour, 
 all the generosity and devotedness of her 
 father, whilst every defect of the grisette-na- 
 tured mother had descended to the son. Both, 
 however, possessed, though in different degrees, 
 the sentiment of their inferiority of birth. 
 
 With Leonie it vented itself, first, in a deep 
 regret that the world should have established 
 such distinctions, and next, in a strenuous 
 denial that these were according to the pri- 
 mordial laws of nature. There was no symp- 
 tom of revolt in the little roturiere, but there 
 was an unceasing protestation against what 
 she conceived unjust. With Philippe, on the 
 contrary, there w^as an uneasy desire to resist;
 
 LEONIE YERMONT. 47 
 
 a secret envj, a bitterness of soul, and at the 
 same time a mean yanitj wliich made him 
 magnify to himself the importance of all social 
 distinctions. The one — had she been born on 
 the steps of a throne — would haye raised all 
 those beneath her to the same level with her- 
 self; the other would have pulled down and 
 destroyed every name or fame that should rise 
 above his own. Leonie was rejoiced that 
 every worldly good, even while it contributed 
 to humiliate her, should ennoble and exalt her 
 friend, whilst Philippe could not prevent a 
 feeling of rage from entering his heart each 
 time he glanced at the arms of the Brian cours 
 emblazoned over the staircases and entrance 
 doors of the antique chateau. The coronet 
 his high-minded sister looked upon as a bauble, 
 he regarded as a thing for which to barter an 
 immortal soul. The sister was a staunch re- 
 publican from a feeling of love, the brother, an 
 affected one, from the most undeniable, though 
 well-concealed hate. Both, however, were or 
 thought themselves republicans, from the mo- 
 ment when they began to attend the lessons of 
 the Abbe Lavergne. There was, however, this 
 difference, that, whilst Leonie had already
 
 48 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 gained for herself from the Count the surname 
 of "La petite Republicaine/' her brother passed 
 for an idle dog, good natured and stupid enough 
 withal, whose political conyictions would never 
 trouble either others or himself. "Master 
 Philippe," was wont to say M. de Briancour, 
 "is too much of an epicure to put up with the 
 followers of Ljcurgus; his gourmandise will 
 always stand in the way of the Spartan black 
 broth." 
 
 When ^Mademoiselle de Briancour had at- 
 tained the age of seventeen, more than one 
 suitor had applied for her hand ; for her 
 name was considered, in her own party, as a 
 perfect compensation for any want of fortune, 
 but a year passed by without any choice hav- 
 ing been made. At length, however, a pro- 
 posal so decidedly advantageous— so brilliant in 
 every point — was made to the Count, that the 
 possibility even of a refusal was not adverted to. 
 
 The Marquis de Meranges, in addition to 
 his rank and family, was enormously rich, and 
 possessed of lands and domains that might 
 have contented a Duke of the days of Ic 
 grand Roi. To him, therefore, the hand of 
 Isabelle was awarded, and she had scarcely
 
 LEONIE VEKMONT. 49 
 
 time, liad slie eyen liad the inclinatioD, to 
 dream of the possibility of not accepting, 
 
 At eighteen, Mademoiselle de Briancoiir be- 
 came Madame la Marquise de Meranges, and 
 exchanged her father's home and the com- 
 panions of her youth for the pomp and splen- 
 dour of a princely establishment in la capitale 
 du monde civilize. In Paris, the youthful 
 bride, notwithstanding her numerous and illus- 
 trious connexions, felt herself a stranger, and 
 her home had nothing to offer her which could 
 compensate for this. M. de Meranges had 
 been deprived of all means of employing his 
 acti-sdty by the revolution, and had lived only 
 for pleasure, which, to say the truth, he seemed 
 hitherto to have found principally in his 
 stables. With his young and interesting wife 
 the Marquis was not, and could not bring 
 himself to be, in love: he was dehghted at 
 having married a Briancour, and all his family 
 joined with him in this laudable satisfaction ; 
 but there was about Isabelle a purity, an 
 atmosphere of serenity, that instead of attract- 
 ing, repelled him. Poor thing! she did not 
 know how to disguise her innate worth, nor 
 how to render her undeniable superiority less 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 irksome to her frivolous partner. Her sub- 
 mission to the will of her husband was exem- 
 plary, and Heaven knows, the temper of any 
 other woman would have been tried perhaps 
 beyond bearing. The liberal-minded pupil of 
 the Abbe Lavergne was at every moment 
 recalled to a sense of her social grandeur, 
 and taught to recognize in her rank and name 
 the perpetual obstacle to all her pleasures 
 and sympathies. One of the innocent grati- 
 fications for which Isabelle had most longed 
 in her sudden removal to the capital, was 
 an occasional visit to those celebrities in 
 literature and the arts, whose works had 
 already charmed her solitude at Briancour. 
 No sooner, however, had she expressed this 
 desire, than not only her husband, but all 
 the irreproachable and infallible ladies of his 
 family pronounced the thing impossible, and 
 informed her that for any one having the 
 honour to unite in her own individual person 
 the arms of Meranges and Briancour, it was 
 indispensable to mix only with people of her 
 own caste, and that all association with those 
 who had the misfortune to be distinguished 
 by their intelligence, was indecent and im-
 
 LEONIE YEEMONT. 51 
 
 proper in the highest clegi-ee ! Isabelle sighed, 
 but submitted, and could not choose but think 
 sometimes that, since it was such an honour 
 to belong to certain privileged families, it was 
 a pit J M. de Meranges did not show his due 
 sense of it in some other waj than passing 
 his life among grooms and stable-boys. There 
 were moments when, spite of her docilitj, she 
 secretly rebelled, and went even so far as to 
 opine that the society of such men as the 
 poets and philosophers with whom she was 
 familiar, was preferable to that of the loungers 
 of the Club Grammont or the Maquignons of 
 the Champs Eljsees. Her wedded life was 
 consequently, as we may conceive, no tissue of 
 felicity, and she thought, with a regret she 
 found it often difficult to stifle, of the days of 
 her girlhood, and of the home which, if it had 
 offered no great gaiety to her, had at least the 
 merit of containing all that she loved best on 
 earth, and all those who most loved her. 
 
 When she first married, her darling project 
 had been to bring Leonie Vermont with her 
 to Paris, and, perfecting the girl's education, 
 to transform her into a companion. But the 
 very idea shocked her husband, and her early, 
 
 D 2 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF
 
 52 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 indeed her first friend— judged by far too 
 humble a personage for Madame la Marquise de 
 Meranges — was the first sacrifice on the altar 
 of duty. As, however, it was unseemly that 
 Mademoiselle Vermont should continue to in- 
 habit Briancour now that its only occupants 
 were of the other sex, Isabelle contrived, out 
 of the more than liberal pin-money allowed 
 her by her husband, to provide for her by 
 placing her under the care of a lady of good 
 birth, but reduced circumstances, at Oaen. 
 
 During two years Madame de Meranges saw 
 her father and her brother only twice, when 
 the Marquis brought her to Briancour for a 
 hurried visit. The Count supposed his daughter 
 the happiest of womankind; Fernandas poeti- 
 cal instinct told him that something more than 
 mere worldly splendour was requisite to satisfy 
 such a mind and heart as Isabelle's, and the 
 Abbe, from the hour when his fair pupil first 
 re-visited the paternal chateau, never men- 
 tioned the name of Meranges more, and if, by 
 circumstances he were forced into reverting to 
 a subject, necessarily so often broached by all, 
 he avoided calling the Marquise anything save 
 Madame Isabelle.
 
 LEOXIE VERMONT. 53 
 
 When his joung and neglected, though 
 resohitelj uncomplaining wife, had hardly 
 completed her twentieth summer, M. de Me- 
 ranges was attacked by a low wasting fever, 
 which, acting upon a constitution far from 
 strong, carried him oflf after a few weeks' illness. 
 Nothing could exceed the watchful care, the 
 devoted attention, of Isabelle to her dying 
 husband ; and duty alone, and her ardent 
 charity, produced in her the same mii'acles of 
 patient solicitude which lore is falsely said 
 alone to produce. When his affairs came to 
 be wound up, far from the colossal riches M. 
 de Meranges had been supposed to possess, he 
 was found to have outlived his means for 
 several years, and, his debts once paid, the 
 portion left to his widow was anything but 
 what had been anticipated. 
 
 Isabelle had seen nothing in the brilliant 
 metropolis to make her wish to prolong her stay 
 within its walls : her heart had no remembrances 
 which enchained her there, her inteUigence had 
 met with nothing in those who surrounded her, 
 save the obstacles which the most naiTOw- 
 minded arrogance never ceased placing in the 
 way of its expansion. Paris was to her a desert
 
 54 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 in which she had no companion, a prison whence 
 she longed to escape to the freedom and tran- 
 quillity of her own early home. As soon, 
 therefore, as all matters were definitively 
 settled, and that the mighty family of Me- 
 ranges had nothing more to arrange with the 
 widow of its late representative, the Marquise 
 repaired to Briancour, as she believed and 
 hoped, never to quit it more. 
 
 A strange scruple of conscience on the part 
 of Isabelle enlightened the Abbe Lavergne 
 (had he needed any such enlightenment) upon 
 the degree of felicity which had been the lot 
 of his pupil in wedded life. Scarcely had she 
 returned to tlie home of her youth, than she 
 requested him to assist her in making over her 
 yearly income to the hospital established in 
 his parish for the poor infirm. 
 
 '' It is not very considerable,'^ said she, "but 
 I will not profit by it myself." 
 
 The Abbe fixed upon her a look the sharp 
 scrutiny of which was soon dimmed by irre- 
 pressible tears. 
 
 " My poor child,'' he exclaimed with an 
 accent of heartfelt compassion, "how very 
 unhappy he must have made you !"
 
 LEONTE YEEMOXT. 55 
 
 " Do not imagine that/' was her gentle reply; 
 " it was I who knew not how to please him, 
 and I cannot profit alone after his death bj a 
 fortune that never served to procure us mutual 
 pleasures whilst he lived/'* 
 
 It was done as she wished. M. de Briancour 
 never could comprehend the reason which 
 made his daughter relinquish her dower, unless, 
 indeed, as he said, it was that in other times, 
 when his ancestors were rolling in wealth, it 
 was a frequent custom and a very proper one, 
 for pious widows to apply considerable sums to 
 charitable purposes. Fernand had some vague 
 notion of his sister's true motives, but the 
 Abbe alone really imderstood her, and partook 
 — upon this as indeed upon most other points 
 — of her entire though tacit confidence. 
 
 Leonie was recalled from her pension at 
 Caen, and once more occupied her old place 
 by the side of Madame Isabelle, as she was 
 now universally called. What instinctive re- 
 pulsion had banished the name of Meranges it 
 would be difficult to say, but certain it is that, 
 for ten or twelve leagues round, the name of 
 "Madame Isabelle" was a passport to the sym- 
 pathies of the poor. Whatever girlish glad-
 
 56 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 ness had eyer existed in the heart of M. de 
 Briancour's daughter, was now either extinct 
 or so driyen back into the hidden depths of 
 her being, that little or none of it appeared 
 upon the surface. But the gentleness of her 
 nature, the sweet patience, the submission, had 
 gained in tenfold proportion. Her serenity was 
 not only unruffled, but had so pure and eleyated 
 a character, that you felt sure at once that 
 nothing upon this troubled earth could ruffle it. 
 You saw that Isabelle, young as she was, had 
 been tried, and that more seyerely than from 
 the mere outward appearances of her existence 
 could haye been judged possible ; but you also 
 saw that her resignation rather than her courage 
 had supported her, and that, like most enduring 
 but not energetic natures, the blow that had 
 not felled had subdued her. 
 
 Her yery beauty had in it something that 
 seemed, from her earliest youth, to presage 
 victory over misfortune. Her dark and pen- 
 sive eyes, as they glanced through their thick 
 silken lashes, would have had an expression of 
 painful sadness, had it not been for the regal 
 serenity of the noble brow that expanded 
 above them. Nose, mouth, and chin were of
 
 LEONIE VEEMOXT. 57 
 
 the finest and most delicate sliajoe, but the 
 habitual compression of the lips, and the 
 rarely roseate hue of her cheeks, bespoke a 
 gravity of mind and calmness of spirit seldom 
 belonging to the youthful age. 
 
 Such as she was, however, Madame Isabelle 
 shed over the little circle at Briancour that 
 softening conciliatory influence which the pre- 
 sence of woman alone brings with it, and 
 Tvhich, during her absence, had failed upon 
 more than one occasion. Discord had even 
 threatened, and the various instmments from 
 ^vhich she had contrived to di'aw a concert of 
 harmony, had once or twice been on the point 
 of yielding jarring sounds. M. de Briancour, 
 to whom the loss of his daughter and of Leonie 
 at the same time had been productive of se- 
 rious discomfort, was several times upon the 
 eve of perceiving that his son and himself were 
 perhaps not united in such a precise conformity 
 of opinion, politically speaking, as he had 
 fondly supposed. Still his suspicions never 
 reached the Abbe, and he simply looked upon 
 the innate perversion of the rising generation 
 as the cause of his son's instability of principle, 
 — if such, in fact, existed. When Isabelle re- 
 
 D 3
 
 58 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 turned to liim, and Leonie was again there 
 to amuse him, — to be bantered upon republi- 
 canism (which was of no consequence whatever 
 in her case, but rather a natural kind of thing 
 in a roturiere) and be beaten at chess, the 
 good humour of the Oomte came quickly back, 
 and he decided in his own mind that a Brian- 
 cour who rode so well, who carried a gun with 
 as much grace as Monsieur le Comte d'Artois 
 himself, and who was such a parfait gentil- 
 homme in every outward respect, could not be 
 otherwise than inspired by the proper senti- 
 ments towards the legitimate but exiled sove- 
 reigns of France. Besides, he had now Isabelle, 
 to whom, in case of absolute danger, he could 
 apply, and in w^hose due sense of horror at any 
 political monstrosity on the part of her brother 
 he felt sure he could rely, as also upon her in- 
 fluence in recalling the erring Fern and from 
 his WTong courses. The Oomte, therefore, gave 
 himself up to his determination to see every- 
 thing in a rose-coloured light whilst awaiting 
 the return of the Bourbons, and, as his 
 countrymen express it, "slept upon his two 
 ears^^ in the midst of the latent sedition of 
 his little household, fondly dreaming of the
 
 LEONIE YERMONT. 59 
 
 moment when he should present his son, Mon- 
 sieur le Yiscomte de Briancour, to King An- 
 thony I. (for he did not admit any abdica- 
 tion in favour of the Due de Bordeaux), and 
 hear him appointed, as formerly himself, colonel 
 of a hussar regiment, or captain in the Royal 
 Body Guard. 
 
 But while the head of the house of 
 Briancour sunk further each day into his 
 Toluntary illusions, the youthful heir to its 
 honours and arms was upon the high road 
 to a rupture with every family tradition, and 
 to the repudiation of every doctrine to which 
 his father so uncompromisingly held. Had 
 M. de Meranges lived but a few months longer, 
 it is more than probable that Fernand de 
 Briancour would one fine morninor have sought 
 under his sister's roof for that asylimi which 
 his indignant sire might have deemed fitting 
 to refuse him : things were in that uncertain 
 state in the young poet's mind that any mo- 
 ment might have engendered a resolution for 
 the rashness of which years of repentance 
 would have failed to atone. But the return of 
 Isabelle brought a promise of calm and of a 
 vague undefined hope to the heart of her
 
 60 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 brother that, for a time at least, set to sleep 
 the more stormy workings of his mind. 
 Another cause too, suddenly transformed the 
 somewhat monotonous abode of Briancour into 
 a paradise, the delights of which had been 
 hitherto unsuspected by the dreaming boy 
 who was beginning to feel weary of his life of 
 solitude and inaction ; but as the existence of 
 this cause leads us into the very heart and 
 pith of our story, we will reserve the dis- 
 coyery of it for a fresh chapter.
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 61 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 I WISH, reader, that I could give jou an 
 idea of Leonie Vermont. Not that jou would 
 admire her, for I am afraid that one word 
 would suffice to make jou start from the pic- 
 ture with absolute horror ; but that if I could 
 succeed in painting her as she really was, jou 
 would probablj, like mj unfortunate hero, ac- 
 knowledge the power of a fascination jou 
 could not comprehend or explain. And now 
 for that dreadful word which is to revolt 
 all jour preconceived notions of feminine 
 beautj. Leonie had red haii' ! I will not 
 saj that it was hlond, or even llond imperii' 
 nenf, or chesnut, or auburn, or golden* No !
 
 62 LEONIE YEEMONT. 
 
 it was none of these, it was red — undeniably, 
 uncompromisingly red. But now that I have 
 disclosed the worst, I must, to be just, avow 
 that it was neither ^'carrotty" nor fiery red. 
 It was of a deep, dark red, lustrous withal, and 
 such as, opposed as it might be to all your 
 sympathies, you would, when you had once 
 studied the face that it adorned, have declared 
 to be the only hair suited to the features of 
 its possessor, and preferable to the brightest 
 black, the softest flaxen, or the richest brown. 
 The quantity of this hair, too, was something 
 not to be believed : it curled, it waved, it 
 twisted itself round Leonie's head with an ex- 
 uberance that seemed to mock at the prejudice 
 it awakened. Unloosed from its bands, it 
 literally enshrouded her whole figure ; and as 
 to describing the mass of plaits, bands, tor- 
 sades, and braids, into which it was divided, it 
 would take as much time as it took old Homer 
 to enumerate the forces of the Greeks assem- 
 bled in the army of the " King of Kings.'' 
 Leonie had a peculiar way, too, of arranging 
 her hair, a coiff'ure of her own, which added to 
 her, at first, almost startling appearance. She 
 twined a thick plait round and round on each
 
 LEONIE YERMONT. 63 
 
 side of her brow, so that when joii looked at 
 what the painters call the '• front face/' she 
 resembled as nearly as it is possible to conceive, 
 the capital of an Ionic column with its curled 
 ornaments on either side. The marble white- 
 ness of her skin also flattered the illusion, and 
 certainly at first sight Leoine struck you as a 
 sort of animated statue that had left its pedestal 
 in some distant Grecian clime. Everything with 
 her — we must confess it — was upon an exube- 
 rant, perhaps even an excessive scale. She 
 was taller than most of the women of her own 
 country, to say the least, and rich in form and 
 contour in proportion. Health and strength 
 seemed upon the whole more developped in 
 her than feminine grace, and you discerned 
 at once in every look and gesture the daughter 
 of a race unspoiled by luxury. 
 
 It would be difficult to describe to you, reader, 
 the equal sum but different species of serenity 
 to which, both Madame Isabelle and her friend 
 Leonie had attained. In the one, as we have 
 said, calmness was the result of resignation and 
 the deference she elicited — the tribute paid 
 to a virtue little short of holiness; the other, 
 on the contrary, drew her equanimity from her
 
 64 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 force, and was gentle as a tame lioness. But, 
 as tlie Count of Sen said, she was well named, 
 for all the lion lay dormant witliin her — all 
 the leonine courage, but all the leonine genero- 
 sity too. In Leonie's dark, full, lustrous, 
 iron-grey eyes, there shone a consciousness of 
 her own strength that might have alarmed you, 
 if you had not known how tempered it was by 
 the native nobility of her heart. She had 
 nothing tender, and, to say the truth, nothing 
 over womanly about her, yet she was too quiet, 
 too simple, too serene to have incurred, in no 
 matter how slight a degree, the reproach of 
 any masculine affectation. Leonie's manliness, 
 and manly she was in the truest sense of the 
 word, resided wholly within the depths of her 
 inmost soul, but betrayed itself by no outward 
 sign or mark. When you knew her well, you 
 felt confidence in her to a degree which nothing 
 could shake or impair, and you relied upon her 
 integrity with a faith as firm as you would 
 have leant for support upon a granite rock. 
 As the Abbe Lavergne (who did not cordially 
 like her) was used to say, it would have been 
 an insult to call Leonie Vermont true — she 
 was truth itself. This quality it was, and her
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 65 
 
 uneqiuYOcal "soldierlike" frankness, as he 
 termed it, which led the Comte de Briancour 
 into such a decided affection for his daughter's 
 companion. When he did not call her " la pe- 
 tite Republicaine," he designated her as "mon 
 cher camarade," and never ceased, whenever 
 the subject was started, expatiating upon the 
 singularity of the fact that, between Philippe 
 and her, she was the man of the two, whilst 
 every feminine weakness and vanity had fallen 
 to the lot of her brother. Fernand one day 
 ventured to remark to the Count that this was 
 little more than a question of race, and that 
 whilst from her father, who was nothing more 
 than a stalwart son of the hardy portionless 
 labouring class, Leonie had derived all the 
 primitive virtues she possessed, Philippe had 
 taken from his bourgeoise-mother all the petty 
 vices, all the spurious characteristics that dis- 
 tinguish the mongrel genus to which she 
 belonged. 
 
 " I believe you are right," was the Count's 
 reply ; " I know the old Marechale de Blaugy, 
 your mother's aunt, who was a singularly 
 clever woman, always said that the people 
 were worth all the bourgeoisie put together,
 
 66 LEONIE YEEMONT. 
 
 and that we had nothing to fear and every- 
 thing to gain from them, — they have the in- 
 calculable advantage over that rascally upstart 
 race of the bourgeoisie, that they know their 
 place, and have no absurd wish to exchange it 
 for that of their betters/' 
 
 " I would not have you count too much 
 upon that," was Fernandas rejoinder, which, 
 although M. de Briancour meditated upon it 
 very often, he never could arrrive at under- 
 standing. 
 
 When Madame Isabelle's return to Brian- 
 cour drew her young friend and protegee once 
 more to the chateau, the latter was little more 
 than sixteen. Fernand de Briancour had not 
 seen her once for two entire years, and her 
 presence perhaps, upon the whole, rather 
 more embarrassed than pleased him at first. 
 Then it must also be said, that although Fer- 
 nand was, politically speaking, in his heart a 
 Liberal, he was in his habits, and in all that 
 appertained to social intercourse, an invete- 
 rate aristocrat. He could not, at first — do 
 what he would — look upon Leonie as anything 
 but the daughter of a peasant and a lingere, 
 and, perfectly at his ease with Philippe, whom
 
 LEONIE YERXONT. 67 
 
 he treated cayalierlj enough, he did not ex- 
 actly know how to act towards Mademoiselle 
 Vermont, so as to blend with the perfect polite- 
 ness everj gentleman owes to a female, no 
 matter what her rank or station, that imper- 
 ceptible nuance that should leave no doubt 
 upon her mind of the sentiment he himself 
 entertained, that he was behaying with unde- 
 niable condescension. No doubt he succeeded; 
 for, after a very few days' stay at Briancoui', 
 Leonie's manner towards her old play-fellow 
 changed manifestly. She became reserved, 
 not to say haughty, and her whole time was 
 devoted to Isabelle, between whom and her- 
 self there appeared to exist, since the return 
 of the former to her home, a renewal of their 
 early friendship. 
 
 The opinion of the Abbe Lavergne was not 
 likely to inspire Fernand with more cordial 
 feelings for his sister's friend; for, although 
 the Yicaire rendered ample justice to all her 
 extraordinarily good and noble qualities, there 
 was a point upon which the very pity his cha- 
 rity would have led him to feel for Leonie, 
 inspired him with something near akin to 
 anger and disUke. Mademoiselle Vermont,
 
 68 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 though she fulfilled, with a tolerable degree of 
 regularity, her religious duties, did not throw 
 into the accomplishment of them, that expan- 
 sive tenderness which is one of the marks of 
 true pietj. She remained calm and unmoyed 
 whilst kneeling at the altar's foot, as she was 
 wont to do when any personage, surrounded 
 by more than ordinary temporal splendour, 
 chanced to become a visitor at the mansion of 
 her earthly benefactor. There was no ardour 
 in her devotion, and there was a decided dis- 
 position to question, or rather discuss, matters 
 of faith as though they had been mere matters 
 of political doctrine. This the Abb6 could 
 not but view with pain, and, as we have said, 
 with a certain unavoidable repugnance, which 
 did not always attach itself to the abstract 
 tendencies themselves, nor fall short of the 
 person professing them. 
 
 For several months after Leonie's arrival 
 from Caen matters remained between Fernand 
 de Briancour and her in the position we have 
 tried to explain. Her excessive susceptibility 
 upon the question of her birth had given her 
 the alarm so soon, that she withdrew from the 
 offender long before any offence had been
 
 LEONIE YERMONT. 69 
 
 really given, and consequently long before any 
 of those around could have become aware of 
 what was going on. But the day arrived at 
 length, when these two hearts, thus steeled 
 against one another, were destined to discover 
 the fault in the armour of each. 
 
 One of Fernand's dearest delights was to 
 read to his sister the verses which poured 
 forth so abundantly from his vein of poesy, 
 and to mark the genuine and uncontrollable 
 admiration which broke forth far more in Isa- 
 belle's emotion than in her words. He usuallj- 
 chose for these intimate communications of his 
 muse the hour when Leonie descended to the 
 pianoforte of the grand salon for her daily 
 musical studies, or wandered into the woods, 
 nearest to the chateau, to collect flowers and 
 leaves for her herbal. Twice, however, it had 
 happened that he had found Mademoiselle 
 Vermont with Isabelle, at the moment when 
 he had brought some fresh poetical gem to 
 offer to the confidant of all his thoughts, and 
 twice had the proud roturiere evinced so small 
 an interest in the offspring of his brain as to 
 decline the honour of even making their ac- 
 quaintance. The first time, it was Isabelle
 
 70 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 who begged her friend to stay, the second 
 time, the young author himself condescended 
 to do as much; and, if to Madame la Marquise 
 Leonie protested some imperative occupation, 
 to Fernand she returned the unvarnished reply, 
 that she had neither taste nor talent for 
 poetry, and was unworthy of the honour in- 
 tended her. 
 
 " Strange enough ! '^ observed Madame Isa- 
 belle, " for she knows nearly the whole of 
 Jocelin and the Meditations by heart.'' 
 
 This remark was not lost upon Fernand, 
 who involuntarily recurred to it far oftener 
 than he was himself at all aware of. A cir- 
 cumstance, however, occurred which discovered 
 to the young poet, that Mademoiselle Ver- 
 mont's indifference to the effusions of his pen 
 was not altogether so profound as it ap- 
 peared. 
 
 One evening towards the end of September, 
 Fernand had strolled out into the woods to 
 seek inspiration or repose in the gorgeous 
 spectacle of the sinking sun. It had rained 
 all day, and from the trees and the wet ground 
 there teemed forth a perfumed vapour which 
 the enthusiast inhaled with rapture. The
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 71 
 
 glistening boughs showered down lingering 
 pearls upon him as he passed, and from the 
 woodland depths came the soft twitterings of 
 the earlj roosting birds. Fernand w^andered 
 on, until he came to a ruined tower which had 
 in long bye-gone days been the abode of the 
 warlike Sires de Briancoar. It was situated 
 upon the brow of a hill, commanding all 
 around one of the loveliest forest views that is 
 to be found in France, This hill, which 
 was but one of a long low chain extending 
 as far as the eye could reach, sloped gently 
 down into a valley, or rather ravine, for it was 
 but just broad enough to admit the passage of 
 a stream. On the opposite side, the rivulet 
 was again bordered by a thickly-wooded ac- 
 clivity, running parallel to that whereon the 
 old tower was built. As Fernand approached 
 the Tour-Brian, as it commonly was called 
 (from the circumstance of the first founder of 
 their house, having, it was said, been so named), 
 a certain indistinct murmur apprized him he 
 was not alone. He stopped, and listened, 
 then advanced cautiously in the du'ection of 
 the voice — if voice it really was. A few mo- 
 ments, however, left him no doubt on the sub-
 
 72 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 ject. and lie now directed his stealthy steps 
 towards the portion of the tower whence 
 the sound proceeded. Noiselessly he walked 
 amidst high fern and fading heather, until the 
 splendour of the view, which suddenly burst 
 upon him, made his ear inattentive to that 
 which had attracted him. As he turned round 
 at the first outer wall of the tower, the sun 
 was slowly and majestically sinking down in all 
 the regal splendour of the crimson -canopied 
 west. Under the burning touch of the lazily 
 receding rays, each dark cloud, swollen with 
 the flood of yet unspent storms, was hemmed 
 round by a long line of golden brightness, 
 whilst above the circle of incandescent light, 
 wherein the great luminary itself seemed to 
 dissolve and melt away, the heavens rose pale 
 and pure, as though languidly recovering from 
 the agitation of the recently vexed at- 
 mosphere. The woods, in all their varying 
 autumn-tints, lay slumbering beneath the 
 broad sheet of gentle radiance, that, stretching 
 forth horizontally, swathed them round, and 
 ceased only at the foot of the tower, whilst 
 from the little stream at the foot of the ra- 
 vine came a monotonous gurgle which was
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 73 
 
 woDderfiillj in liarmonj with the sweet mourn- 
 ful serenity of the still evening, and seemed 
 for all the world like its very lullabj. The 
 excessive beauty of the scene had for the mo- 
 ment taken captive the young poet's every sense, 
 when, the first ecstasy of contemplation over, 
 he became aware, that the voice he had heard 
 came from some one in tlie interior of the 
 ruin, who was separated from him only by the 
 mouldering wall of the inner court. He 
 listened, and distinctly heard some verses of 
 his own, repeated in tones he did not recognize, 
 but which seemed to him fraught with singular 
 melody. 
 
 He became curious to discover who thus 
 made his intimate thoughts the companion 
 of her solitary wanderings, and cautiously 
 threading his way amongst the brambles and 
 branches, he at length gained a position whence 
 he could command a distinct view of the interior 
 of the ruin. The tower was entirely open upon 
 the hill side, and in the midst of the luxuriant 
 weeds and rambling shrubs that choked up 
 the entrance, one little grass-grown mound 
 alone offered a seat to those who might wish 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 LEONIE YEEMONT. 
 
 to enjoy the beauties of tlie surrounding scene 
 without being themselves visible. In the once 
 circular wall which still inclosed two-thirds of 
 this interior court, Fernand had espied a chink, 
 through which, by standing on tiptoe, he could 
 just contrive to look. Through this loophole 
 he discovered, seated upon the little mound in 
 front of the ruin, a female figure, in which he 
 was a second or two before recognizing Leonie 
 Vermont. The back of the figure was turned 
 towards him, and he had had time to be 
 struck by the exquisitely classical shape of the 
 head and throat before the colour of the 
 exuberant tresses, rendered more golden still 
 by the deep gold of the atmosphere, awoke in 
 him the consciousness of who was his mysteri- 
 ous admirer. He could scarcely refrain from 
 an indiscreet exclamation at the discovery, 
 and it would be difficult to say whether the 
 excess of his surprise left him any great 
 room for the pleasure attendant upon his 
 amply gratified vanity. Certain it is, that 
 during the time (of which he took no note) 
 which he passed in contemplating Leonie, it 
 never once occurred to him that he had
 
 LEOXIE VEEMONT. 75 
 
 liitherto alleged his aristocratical instincts 
 to lead him into the belief that she was 
 his inferior. She was to him as entirely new 
 a person as though he had not been brought 
 up with her from infancy, and moreover, she 
 looked to him marrellously hke a muse. 
 
 The whole appearance and attitude of 
 Leonie was singularly calculated, not only 
 to show her off generally to the greatest 
 possible advantage, but to impress the be- 
 holder with the sense of her peculiarly, and 
 we will repeat what we have already said — 
 her strangely classical air. Seen by the 
 waning daylight, the rich outlines of her 
 commanding figm-e had something unusual 
 and majestic about them — as the lonely Sphinx 
 of the sandy Theban desert. Her bonnet 
 lay beside her on the grass, and one hand 
 supported her head in an attitude of medita- 
 tion. Leonie was evidently lost, not in con- 
 templation, but reflection, for the intensity 
 of her look showed that there was that passing 
 within her which occupied her far more than 
 did the surrounding glories of the exterior 
 world. Her dark grey eye glowed with an 
 
 E 2
 
 76 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 inward flame, and upon her broad hauglitj 
 brow was stamped the seal of some ceaseless 
 abiding and not pleasant thought. Whether 
 the constant repetition of his verses charmed 
 the ear of Fernand, and subjected him 
 to a species of irresistible fascination, I 
 know not ; but certain it is, that the young 
 heir of Briancour thought he had never 
 beheld a more fitting subject than Leonie for 
 a poet's inspiration. He could not detach his 
 gaze from her, but as she still went on mur- 
 muring his rhymes in a low, almost inaudible 
 tone, he still continued devouring her with his 
 eyes, until the grey twilight became silvery in 
 the face of Dian's fair orb. Then Leonie rose, 
 and as she stood between him and the moon- 
 light, he saw her press her hands upon her 
 brow, and, for an instant only yield, as he 
 thought, to an impression of profound sadness 
 that seemed as though it would have shut out 
 the very eye of nature from the discovery of 
 its existence. It lasted but a moment, and 
 gathering up her shawl and bonnet, Leonie 
 'glided out of the ruin with queen-like steps 
 and air, and took the road to the chateau, 
 leaving Fernand barely time to hide his indis-
 
 LEONIE YEEMONT. 77 
 
 cretion from her -who had been the object of it. 
 He arrived the first of the two at the house, 
 and penetrating by a back entrance, established 
 himself silently in a corner of the grand salon 
 without being observed. M. de Briancour 
 was indulging in his customary evening nap 
 by the side of the blazing fire which the damp- 
 ness of the atmosphere had necessitated. 
 Madame Isabelle and the Abbe Lavergne 
 were encrao^ed in animated discom'se in the 
 embrazure of the farthest window, and Phi- 
 lippe Vermont was eliciting a kind of muffled 
 music from a pair of huge tongs brought in 
 measured contact with the stone of the hearth. 
 Lights had not yet been brought. After the 
 lapse of a few seconds Mademoiselle Vermont 
 made her appearance. Fernand rose instanta- 
 neously and approached his sister and the abbe. 
 
 "Well, cher ami,'' asked Madame Isabelle, 
 " whither did you come '? — have you been owl- 
 shooting this fine evening 1 " 
 
 The servant brought in a lamp, which placed 
 upon a table in the middle of the little group, 
 threw its upward rays full upon the features of 
 Mademoiselle de Vermont; and in its passage 
 across the drawing-room, aroused the Count 
 from his digestive slumbers.
 
 78 LEONIE YERMONT. 
 
 "I have come from tlie Tour-Brian/^ answered 
 Fernand, not so carelessly but lie could mark 
 the effect of his words upon Mademoiselle de 
 Vermont. He thought she blushed. 
 
 " And you, Leonie V pursued the Marquise, 
 "have you too, been inspecting the ruins of 
 our ancestral domains V^ 
 
 " Oh ! no, not I/^ was the hesitating reply, 
 and this time the astonished Fernand had no 
 room for a doubt — Leonie did blush scarlet to 
 the very temples, and her eyes involuntarily 
 sought the ground. 
 
 Fernandas surprise — I might almost say his 
 consternation — was such that he could not 
 avoid fixing upon Mademoiselle Vermont a 
 stare, that had it been remarked, must, to 
 others, have seemed inexplicable, and to her, 
 offensive. Leonie I Leonie ! the inflexible, 
 the absolutely tnie, had said that which was 
 false ! And whyl This was what Fernand 
 could not understand, but which (and this he 
 understood still less) did not occasion him 
 a painful impression, but the contrary. 
 
 " Ah !" sighed the Oomte, turning round on 
 his fauteuil at the mention of the Tour-Brian ; 
 " you may indeed talk of the ruins of our
 
 LEONIE YEKMONT. 70 
 
 ancestral domains! When I think that that 
 slender tower upon the hill yonder was some 
 hundred years back the sign of a sovereign 
 authority which all the Tillages for leagues 
 and leagues around respected and joyfully 
 obeyed!" 
 
 " Joyfully, my dear father'?" whispered Fer- 
 nand. " I doubt whether that be so sure." 
 
 *' Well, joyfuUy or not," resumed the Count, 
 "that is of small consequence; they obeyed — that 
 is the great point." 
 
 " Oh ! yes," exclaimed Leonie with bitter- 
 ness, " they obeyed, because they were tortured, 
 trampled, trodden into obedience, and you 
 expect me to like the ruined emblems of such 
 mis-rule, to look with admiration upon the 
 vestiges of an age so impious in its systematic 
 degradation of the human race. — No I no ! 
 we children of the people can feel only horror 
 and hate for those that speak to us of the 
 barbarous middle-ages." 
 
 "The pictm^esque side of the moyen-age, 
 though, is not to be despised," observed 
 Philippe. 
 
 "Silence!" rejoined his sister, with unusual 
 energy and irritation, " do not seek for plas-
 
 80 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 ticity there, where it is a question of the life or 
 destruction of the countless multitudes of this 
 earth ; there, where whole nations are strug- 
 gling, panting, between emancipation and 
 death/' 
 
 "Bravo, petite!" exclaimed M. de Briancour, 
 laughing heartily, " en avant la Republique ! 
 but arrange your matters after that as you can — ■ 
 you and Master Philippe — for I doubt if he will 
 find anything very picturesque in the humani- 
 tarian times you so admire/' 
 
 " Oh !" said Philippe, " that is not quite so 
 sure ; there are some vastly fine efl*ects in 
 
 " Incorrigible artist I" muttered Leonie be- 
 tween her teeth, as she turned from her brother 
 with positive disgust, and prepared to arrange 
 the chess board for M. de Briancour. 
 
 During the w^hole time that Mdlle. Vermont 
 and the Count were occupied upon their game, 
 Fernand never took his eyes ofi" Leonie's face. 
 Apparently occupied in playing with Madame 
 Isabelle's scissors, and pulling the worsteds of 
 her tapestry work, whilst the Abbe read in 
 a low voice the Journal des Dehats of the day 
 before, and Philippe yawned and stretched
 
 LEONIE ^-EEMONT. 81 
 
 himself before the crackling fire, our poet \\'a3 
 employed in wondering how he could have 
 contrived not to be sooner impressed bj the 
 remarkable appearance and imposing air of his 
 sister's earliest friend. 
 
 e3
 
 82 LEONIE VEKMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Upwaeds of three years passed over, and 
 outwardly little seemed changed in the do- 
 mestic circle of Briancour, but in the hearts of 
 the inmates incalculable rcYolutions had taken 
 place. Since the day when Fernand had disco- 
 vered Mademoiselle Vermont at the Tour-Brian, 
 he had unconsciously harboured towards her 
 sentiments widely differing from those with 
 which she had hitherto inspired him. But 
 although from that hour his manners towards 
 her were visibly altered, hers towards him 
 underwent no shadow of change. She was as 
 distant, as unbending as ever; she avoided, as 
 before, every occasion of making one in those
 
 LEONIE YERMOIs^T. 83 
 
 occupations or amusements to which. Fernand 
 vas a principal party, and never lost an 
 opportunity of asserting before him her repub- 
 lican principles, or of giving vent to the some- 
 what stern feelings that from time to time 
 were inspired in her by her inflexible plebeian 
 pride. This conduct, naturally enough, irri- 
 tated Fernand in no inconsiderable degree, 
 but, before he was aware of the change, the 
 irritation had lapsed into annoyance of another 
 and a tenderer kind. Madame Isabelle, who 
 was far from cunning in the ways of the human 
 heart, could not help noticing the conduct 
 of Leonie towards her brother. She spoke 
 of it to Mademoiselle Vermont, who eluded the 
 question, by renewed protestations of devotion 
 to the Marquise herself (protestations which 
 the latter knew to be sincere). She, impru- 
 dently enough, spoke of it also to Fernand, 
 and expressed her surprise that Leonie, who 
 was so gentle to all the world, should to him 
 alone be so far the reverse. 
 
 Fernand, full of self-love and susceptibility, 
 like all genuine sons of the lyre, was very soon 
 hurt to the quick by the systematic disdain of 
 a person whose beauty filled him with admii-a-
 
 84 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 tion, and for whose uncommon virtues he could 
 not avoid feeling the most unfeigned respect. 
 Out of wounded vanity sprang a sentiment so 
 mixed, so strange, that Fernand himself was 
 long in understanding it, and when he did at 
 length look face to face with the monster that 
 without his knowledge had grown to maturity 
 in his heart, he refused to believe in what 
 seemed to him an impossible fact. The 
 moment, however, came in which he was 
 obliged to avow to himself his own most 
 entire defeat. He loved Leonie Vermont 
 with all his intelligence, with all his soul, with 
 all his heart — loved her in despite of, or rather 
 perhaps, by reason of his vanity, in defiance of 
 his prejudices, of his opinions, of his prudence, 
 and loved her the more resolutely, the more 
 desperately, and the more despairingly, that 
 he was daily and hourly convinced in how 
 diametrical a degree her sentiments for him 
 differed from those he entertained for her. 
 
 When love is not mutual its progress, where 
 it does exist, is sometimes exceedingly slow, 
 and, as nothing extraneous feeds it, it smoul- 
 ders on, consuming all beneath it, but betray- 
 ing its existence by no upward-soaring flame.
 
 LEO^^IE VERMONT. 85 
 
 And thus it ^as with Fern and. Literally 
 overawed bj Mademoiselle Vermont's beha- 
 viour to him, he concentred all his feelings 
 within himself, and nourished on the one hand 
 a desire almost as great to hide from her what 
 he felt, as the longing he entertained on the 
 other that his sentiments might be returned. 
 
 All wish to quit the home of his youth had 
 vanished from the young poet's mind, and to 
 him now, whatever might occui', Briancour 
 was the one spot upon earth which contained 
 all that was dearest to his heart. 
 
 But a very short time after the conversation 
 we have reported in our last chapter, Philippe 
 Vermont left his benefactor's house for the 
 metropolis. Too idle, too self-indulging, too 
 inert as it was supposed, to have profited by 
 the excellent instructions of the Abbe La- 
 vergne, PhiUppe's future career had become a 
 source of considerable anxiety to the inha- 
 bitants of the chateau, when suddenly the boy 
 himself settled the question by announcing his 
 resolution to devote himself to the arts. The 
 Abbe was, as usual upon all serious matters, 
 the intermediary between Philippe and the 
 Count, and as he thought he perceived certain
 
 86 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 marks of decided talent in the former, he did 
 not hesitate to plead his cause with M. de 
 Brian cour. The Count \yrote to an old friend 
 of his, who, notwithstanding his political 
 opinions, was an authority in all such matters, 
 and who promptly replied that he would 
 engage, if the youth in question possessed any 
 real talent, to have him placed in the atelier of 
 one of the most celebrated of our French 
 modern painters. Accordingly, Master Phi- 
 lippe was despatched to the capital, furnished 
 with recommendations from both M. de Brian- 
 cour and the Abbe to one or two persons, who 
 it was hoped would watch over and prevent 
 him from striking off into any of the thousand 
 by-ways and wrong roads which tempt the 
 inexperience or the bad passions of nine- 
 tenths of those who in the modern Babylon 
 consecrate themselves to a professional study 
 of the arts. 
 
 For the first few months all went marvel- 
 lously well. Philippe showed talents of so 
 superior an order, that the illustrious master 
 under whose guidance he had been placed 
 augured future fame and wealth for his young 
 pupil in a more than ordinary proportion, nor
 
 LEONIE YEKMONT. 87 
 
 did tliose whose care was directed towards his 
 principles and conduct, find any very serious 
 cause of complaint. During the first year, 
 his letters to his sister were pretty frequent 
 and tolerably satisfactory ; but after that 
 period^ although in an artistical point of view, 
 everything was couleur de rose, matters were, 
 in other respects, far less as they should be. 
 Philippe had chosen to leave the person in 
 whose respectable family a friend of the 
 Abbe's had placed him on his arrival in Paris, 
 and had taken lodgings in the Quartier Latin, 
 where he had unluckily made but too many 
 acquaintances. From this moment he gave 
 but seldom any news of himself to those who 
 were interested in his welfare ; and to the 
 Count's threat of stopping his supplies (that 
 is to say, the modest income arising from 
 Madame de Briancour's legacy) during the 
 term of his minority, in case he did not 
 instantly return to his former quarters, he 
 vouchsafed no reply whatever ; nor since then, 
 did any one at the chateau hear any more of 
 the wilful boy except from persons in Paris, 
 who all agreed in their appreciation of his 
 really remarkable talents.
 
 88 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 At little more than eigliteeo, Philippe Ver- 
 mont had exhibited a picture, which, though 
 full of the marks of a yet unpractised hand, 
 had, by certain incontestable beauties, surprised 
 the most distinguished connoisseurs into loudly- 
 expressed admiration, and elicited repeated 
 predictions of the youthful artistes future great- 
 ness. The picture (unluckily perhaps) sold 
 for a sum that, although not very considerable, 
 still sufficed to enable Master Philippe to set 
 at nought any act — of no matter how salutary 
 a control — on the part of his guardian. And 
 thus, scarcely emerged from adolescence, was 
 Philippe Vermont launched into the most dan- 
 gerous of all existences in the most dangerous 
 city of this earth. 
 
 Upon attaining his majority, the young 
 artist addressed to M. de Briancour a neither 
 ill-conceived nor ill-worded letter, asking, 
 respectfully enough, for the deposit in his 
 hands of the small sum left him by the 
 Countess in her will. As there was now no 
 longer any pretext for withholding it, the 
 money was immediately transmitted to its 
 owner, and in reply more to the tone than the 
 purport of his quondam ward's epistle, the
 
 LEOXIE YERMONT. 89 
 
 Coimt felicitated Philippe upon his rapid pro- 
 fessional progress, and informed him that if 
 the occasion presented itself, he would be still 
 received with pleasure in his former home, 
 should he wish to revisit it. This brought an 
 answer so suitable, that even Leonie, who 
 appeared to harbour great distrust of all her 
 brother's proceedings, could not help being 
 gratified, and joining with the rest in hoping 
 Philippe might honourably shape his course 
 through life, and withstand the innumerable 
 temptations to which he was exposed. 
 
 blatters rested there, but Philippe's budding 
 fame had awakened in Fernandas breast a feel- 
 ing yet unknown. He had hitherto sought in 
 poetry for a consolation, and for the means of 
 employing that activity of mind to which 
 exterior circumstances seemed to offer no food. 
 But the idea of glory reaped by one whom he 
 had hitherto regarded as in every respect his 
 inferior, fired his ambition, and produced a 
 thirst for renown that the chances of publicity 
 (good or bad) alone could slake. 
 
 To his sister did he, as upon all occasions, 
 confide his desires, and strengthened by her 
 approval, he concerted measures with the Abbe
 
 90 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 Layergne, before startling his father bj the 
 communication of his plan. 
 
 When Madame Isabelle informed the Count 
 that lier brother thought of publishing a 
 volume of poetry, certainly his astonishment 
 was great. He raised no objection, for he 
 recollected that, under the Restoration, Duch- 
 esses had written novels, and printed them, 
 but he expressed ineffable and somewhat dis- 
 dainful surprise at two circumstances : first, 
 that a gentleman should dream of writing 
 verses, and next, that a gentleman should wish 
 to publish them. However, as other names as 
 high as his own had figured on title-pages 
 before then, he said nothing absolutely against 
 his son's literary fancy, and so, ere three 
 months were over, out came the book, and ere 
 six had elapsed, the name of Fernand de 
 Briancour had its place in the literary salons 
 of Paris, beside those whom Fame had adopted 
 for her own. 
 
 A singular difference was visible in the 
 behaviour of the two sisters upon these nearly 
 similar occasions. Whilst Madame Isabelle 
 could not disguise the delight she felt at her 
 brother's success, Leonie, on the contrary,
 
 LEONIE TEEMONT. 91 
 
 eyinced something closely approacliing to pain 
 and dislike whenever the subject of Philippe's 
 celebrity was broached. There was nothing in 
 the empty fame of a successful artist that 
 could satisfy the ambition of so really proud a 
 person as Mademoiselle Vermont, and there 
 was much in the character of her brother that 
 the more alarmed her the more his profes- 
 sional efforts should gain for him renown. 
 
 And thus, as we have said, upwards of three 
 years passed over. Fernand had latterly be- 
 come so different from what he had used to be, 
 that Madame Isabelle and the Abbe Layergne 
 began seriously to fear, that the constant soli- 
 tude and forced inactiyity of his life, was 
 preying upon him, and would end by impair- 
 ing both his spirits and his health. He grew 
 reseiTed and taciturn, and indulged in long 
 fits of abstraction, from which he roused him- 
 self only to eyince marks of restlessness and 
 agitation, which ended sometimes by ruffling 
 even the placid serenity of his sister. He had 
 all the appearance of a man tormented by a 
 resolution he dares not adopt and cannot avoid. 
 As in most cases, however, accident saved him 
 the trouble of forming and following any pre-
 
 92 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 conceived plan. The electric spark was ap- 
 plied to the mine, and the long-nourished, 
 long-concealed passion that had swelled within 
 Fernandas breast, burst suddenly forth with all 
 the energy entailed by its forced compression. 
 One morning after the Count had with- 
 drawn from the breakfast-table, during a con- 
 yersation which was founded upon Fernandas 
 recently published book, Leonie had contrived — 
 by certain apparently general remarks that he 
 was far too susceptible not to apply immedi- 
 ately to his own person — to wound M. de Bri- 
 ancour to the quick. Later in the day they 
 met face to face in one of the smaller alleys of 
 the garden, at the turning of a corner where 
 neither could recede. Leonie started back so 
 suddenly on perceiving Fernand, that a small 
 work-basket she held upon her arm, coming in 
 contact with the stem of a tree, was over- 
 turned, and spread its contents upon the grass. 
 M. de Briancour, with the politeness natural 
 in a Frenchman, even towards his bitterest 
 (female) enemy, hastened, notwithstanding 
 Leonie's protestations, to gather together the 
 various little objects, — scissors, needle-papers, 
 and strips of muslin, that were scattered about.
 
 LEONIE TEEMONT. 93 
 
 -Amongst otliers, a volume of diminutiye size 
 met his eye: he raised it, and inrohmtarilj 
 glanced at the title. It vas a copy of a trans- 
 lation of Schiller's " Kabale und Liebe." 
 Whilst Fernand had picked up the book, 
 Leonie was earnestly occupied in searching for 
 some missing portion of the work-basket's con- 
 tents. M. de Briancour had mechanically 
 opened the little rolume; his eye fell upon the 
 passage in the first act, where the President 
 speaks of his son's supposed attachment to a 
 girl of birth inferior to his own : — " That he 
 should pay court to this roturiere, flatter her, 
 and, for aught I care, prate sentiment to her, 
 — all this I look upon as natural enough, — 
 quite pardonable in a young man, — but, — " 
 
 Fernand had got no further in the passage — 
 which, like many others, as he perceived, was un- 
 derlined — when Mademoiselle Vermont turned 
 round. It was evidently the book she was 
 seeking, for, upon seeing it in M. de Briancour's 
 hands, the exclamation and dismay that 
 escaped her, was so nearly approaching to a 
 positive shriek, that he raised his eyes in asto- 
 nishment. Leonie was pale as a statue, and 
 the look of distress she fixed upon him was
 
 94 LEONIE YERMONT. 
 
 such that Fernand would have felt absolutely 
 alarmed, had not a sudden gleam of instinctive 
 hope shot suddenly across his mind, and made 
 him literally reel under the wild anticipation 
 of indescribable delight. 
 
 He had scarcely time to do more than 
 clench in his hand the volume which he was 
 now determined not to surrender, when Leonie 
 sprang towards him, and in a tone of com- 
 mand which could not disguise her agitation, 
 — " Give me that book,'^ she exclaimed, darting 
 upon Fernand a look that, at another moment, 
 would have made him quail. As flushed by 
 anger now as she was before pale from fear, 
 she laid her hand upon the volume, and with 
 closely compressed lips and fury-flashing eyes 
 struggled to snatch from him who now stood 
 towards her as an adversary, that which it 
 became evident he would not yield. He 
 watched her anxiously, narrowly. His eye 
 never left her, as he marked the various ex- 
 pressions which succeeded each other upon 
 her face, convulsing every feature. Passing 
 from fear to rage, and from rage to a senti- 
 ment of her own weakness, she at last, with 
 joined hands and quivering lips, entreated
 
 LEONIE YERMONT. 95 
 
 Fernancl in accents of sincere distress, to 
 restore to her the volume he still so inflexibly 
 held. 
 
 Their eyes met. For an instant she sup- 
 ported his glance, but only for an instant. 
 
 " Leonie 1 " said Fernand, in a tone that 
 every one has heard once in his life, and that 
 few have ever forgotten — that tone of undis- 
 guisable ardent sentiment that rings through 
 the heart on its first awakening, and leaves its 
 echo ever after. 
 
 "Monsieur le Vicomte," replied the haughty 
 girl, interrupting him, and struggling to the 
 last against the irresistible influence that was 
 beginning to paralyse her pride ; but she could 
 say no more. He passionately seized her 
 hand, and drawing her towards him — 
 
 " Leonie ! '' murmm-ed he in a voice stifled 
 by emotion. " This to me ! " 
 
 It was the work of one instant, this mute 
 and mutual confession of a passion kept secret 
 for years. Pale, trembling, and oppressed by 
 the weight of conflicting feelings, Leonie would 
 have sunk to the ground, had she not found 
 refuge upon that bosom where the sublime in- 
 tuition of afi'ection told her she must hence-
 
 96 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 forward rest lier head. Clasping her hands upon 
 her ejes, as though to shut out the world from 
 the sight of her defeat, she allowed Fernandas 
 circling arms to support her, and in a flood of 
 tears wept forth the secret of her soul. At 
 their feet laj the volume which had betrayed 
 their love, and as Fern and printed upon the 
 innocent forehead of his Le'onie the first kiss 
 of affection, as chaste as it was profound, his 
 eye rested upon a paper soiled and creased 
 evidently from long usage, which, escaping from 
 between its pages, revealed to his glance some 
 lines of his own written in Leonie's hand — the 
 same he had overheard her repeating to her- 
 self amidst the verdant solitudes of the Tour- 
 Brian. 
 
 And now came the outpourings of heart 
 into heart, the more prodigal that they have 
 been the longer sealed ; the recitals of unknown 
 struggles, of griefs unpitied, of tenderness re- 
 pelled, condemned, and only the more deeply 
 felt ; all that sweet poetry of the soul, to which 
 those who really love alone attain, and to 
 w^hich, to the young heart who for the first 
 time feels it, all the hymns of all the poets who 
 ever wrote on love are as nothing.
 
 LEOXIE YERMOXT. 97 
 
 Fernand's doom was now sealed. The first 
 days after the scene we have recorded, were 
 passed as is usual in such cases, in one con- 
 fused, tumultuous dream of bliss. He was be- 
 loved! oh! je who, now further advanced upon 
 life's high road of toil and honours, have learned 
 to look down with compassion if not contempt 
 upon the joys of early, ardent youth — try and 
 remember the poignant thrill of rapture, which, 
 at some period or other of his existence has 
 made every created being vibrate under the 
 consciousness that he was loved; and then, 
 whatever may be the height to v.hich in the 
 colder science of the world he may have 
 arrived, say whether, could that first pang of 
 bliss (for it partakes of pleasure and pain) have 
 endured, there is any sacrifice of worldly weal, 
 of worldly fame, at which if purchased, it vrould 
 not have been cheaply bought ! 
 
 Fernand's dream of happiness, however, was 
 not destined to continue long in its first state 
 of unadulterated purity. Leonie, attached as 
 she was to him (and she was so, as was natural 
 in such a character as her's, with all her heart, 
 with all her soul), Leonie had an innate rec- 
 titude of principle from which nothing could 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 induce her to swerve. Her standard of honour 
 she chmg to with the more tenacity, that it was 
 placed xipon an elevation to which but few, 
 and ho ordinary natures could attain. It 
 needed no entreaty to make her promise that 
 whatever might happen, she would wed none 
 other than him she loved, and had loved so 
 long; but no power upon earth, not even that 
 wielded by Fernand himself, could have made 
 her depart from her determination never to 
 accept Fernandas hand unless its offer were 
 sanctioned by his father's consent. 
 
 This, to the young poet, seemed tantamount 
 to a positive decree that the object of his pas- 
 sion should never be his. He became again 
 pre-occupied, disquieted, sad ; and though the 
 possibility of his father's ultimate consent was 
 the only hope at which he could snatch, the 
 monstrous improbability of such an event 
 forced itself each day and hour more painfully 
 upon his mind. 
 
 The day when the two lovers read together 
 the pages of Schiller's mournful drama — of that 
 sad tale of pride warring against affection, 
 which had been the mute instrument of their 
 present union of soul — the difi&culties of their
 
 LEOKIE TERMOls'T. 99 
 
 own position burst more frightfully upon them. 
 At the end of the second act, where the con- 
 sequences of the son's revolt against his aristo- 
 cratic father in favour of an unequal attach- 
 ment are painfully shown, the book fell invo- 
 luntarily from the hands of both, and each 
 hiding his face upon the other's breast, wept in 
 the bitter, mute agony of a discouragement 
 akin to despair. Fernand was the fii'st to 
 recover from this paroxysm of giief : rising 
 from his seat, and gently pressing Mademoi- 
 selle Vermont to his heart, 
 
 '' Leonie," said he, in tones of deep tender- 
 ness, " our love is of the kind that hopes and 
 waits, for it cannot die ; 'patiens Cjuia eternus ; 
 you do not know what that means, my own — 
 it means that eternity is ours ; " and Femand 
 raised his dark eloquent eyes to heaven with 
 an expression far more common in woman 
 than man, and which told of a faith and of an 
 innate purity, wherefrom Leonie drew the in- 
 stinctive trustfulness with which she confided 
 herself to her young lover. His cheek was 
 very pale as he added, "Eternity is our's, Leo- 
 nie! but upon earth, where are we to tm-n for 
 hopel" 
 
 f2
 
 100 LEONIE YERMONT. 
 
 The silently weeping girl raised her eyes to 
 Fernand's, and with an air that partook of 
 something akin to doubt, "To Him who is 
 above, would say Madame Isabelle;'' mur- 
 mured she in a musing tone. 
 
 "Ah, Isabelle!" rejoined Fernand, as 
 though struck by a sudden thought ; and as 
 they wandered along the woodland paths that 
 led to the chateau, he spoke no more, but lost 
 in reflection, pressed mutely the hand of Leo- 
 nie as it hung upon his arm.
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 101 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 As Fernand sat bj Madame Isabelle that 
 eyening, pulling lier ^YO^steds as usual, and 
 playing with her scissors, he found the courage 
 to ask her for an interyiew the next morning 
 before any one else in the house should be 
 stirring. The manner in which he said, " I 
 haye something to confide to jou," was at once 
 so earnest, and so strange, that his tranquil 
 sister, fixing upon him her wondering eyes, 
 could scarcely ayoid insisting to know whether 
 anything disastrous had happened. 
 
 At sunrise Madame Isabelle descended into 
 the garden, where her brother had preceded 
 her. Adyancing towards her, instead of
 
 102 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 tendering his arm, he took her's, with that 
 tender familiarity so delightful to observe in 
 the relationship between brother and sister. 
 For some moments they walked on in silence, 
 until they found themselves in an alley of 
 limes, where Isabelle, espying a wooden bench, 
 proposed to her brother to stay and seat 
 themselves. He looked up suddenly from the 
 ground. 
 
 " Oh ! no, not there '/^ exclaimed he, recog- 
 nizing the very spot where he had met Leonie 
 upon a day he could never forget ; and turning 
 round, he hurried back across the flower gar- 
 den into a path that led into the woods. 
 When the surrounding trees had so hidden 
 them in their deep shade that no curious eye 
 could see, and no ear hear that which should 
 pass between them, Fernand stopped, and 
 taking both his sister's hands in his, looked 
 her full in the face. 
 
 " My dear brother Y' said the Marquise in a 
 tone of affectionate compassion ; for her femi- 
 nine tact instinctively told her that some 
 sorrow of which she was ignorant required 
 from her consolation. 
 
 " Isabelle,'' replied he, earnestly ; " upon
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 103 
 
 what jou shall answer to what I must confide 
 to JOU hangs the future happiness or misery of 
 mj life. I love Leonie Vermont/' he added 
 slowly, and after a few moments' hesitation. 
 
 Madame Isabelle started back, and could 
 not control an inyoluntary exclamation of sur- 
 prise that seemed not exempt even from dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 " My poor Fernand 1" sighed she, as she 
 fixed upon his pale features — pale from agita- 
 tion and suspense — the soft, indulgent glance 
 of her dark and gentle eyes. 
 
 " My poor Fernand !'' and as she repeated 
 the words she took possession of his arm, and 
 led him further into the depths of the wood. 
 At the foot of a wide-spreading beech they 
 seated themselves upon a rustic seat, and for 
 a few moments neither seemed disposed to 
 speak. 
 
 " And Leonie,'' began Madame Isabelle at 
 length, " does she know of this unhappy 
 attachment '?" She had hesitated at the end 
 of her sentence, and how Fernand did thank 
 her in his heart that " hopeless" was not the 
 word that had risen to her lips ! 
 
 " She not only knows of, but shares it," was
 
 104 LEONIE VEEMONT. 
 
 his replj. A slight shade of disapprobation 
 crossed the features of the Marquise, but pass- 
 ing away at the end of a second, 
 
 "Poor girl!'' said she, and they were her 
 only words of blame. 
 
 Fernand taking courage, at last turned 
 round, and in a more resolute tone than he 
 had hitherto adopted, — 
 
 "Sister," said he, "be frank with me; tell 
 me the truth: are you, too, opposed to our 
 love 1 Do you condemn us as others will V 
 
 Madame Isabelle mournfully shook her 
 head. 
 
 " Condemn, Fernand !" she rejoined ; " Oh 
 no ; that I dare not do — I dare not, to two 
 hearts that have found in each other the 
 priceless treasure of a mutual aifection. An 
 opinion, a conviction — if you will, a prejudice 
 — forbids your union. I dare not even think 
 that where two souls are free, there can exist 
 a right in any worldly consideration to divide 
 them ; where in our nightly prayers we can 
 offer up to our Almighty Father the pure love 
 with which another has inspired us, I cannot 
 believe that any human being has commission 
 to reprove."
 
 LEONIE TERMOXT. 105 
 
 " Bless you, my own sweet sister !'^ exclaimed 
 Fernand with rapturous delight, embracing 
 Isabella ; " then jou will help us, jou will be 
 kind to Leonie, and jou will not be angry 
 with her because her love has become the 
 charm of mj existence V 
 
 "Oh! Fernand," interrupted Madame Isa- 
 belle, with an accent he had never heard her 
 use before. *' Love, true, real, and pure love is 
 such a holj thing! I can hardly explain to 
 you all I feel upon this subject, but it seems 
 to me as though for the beings who can inspire 
 so subHme a sentiment, I have almost a feeling 
 of reyerence. Oh ! my brother," she resumed, 
 taking his hand and pressing it, " it must be 
 so gi*eat, so noble a sensation ! to know that 
 into another's soul your soul has been trans- 
 fused — that another's heart beats with each 
 pulsation of your heart, that a divine intuition 
 instantaneously reveals to one who is distant 
 that which the other feels ! Oh ! beheve me, 
 the beloved upon earth, those who can draw 
 forth these priceless riches of the human heart, 
 and who are wealthy enough to pay them, are a 
 privileged race, — they who inspire pure love in 
 man must be thems elves the beloved of angels 1" 
 
 f3
 
 106 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 As Fernand looked upon his sister's face, 
 upon the heightened colour of her cheek, and 
 the tearful brilliancy of her eye, a great secret 
 flashed upon his mind for the first time. He 
 threw his arms around her, and kissing her 
 fondly 
 
 "Dearest, dearest Isabelle!'' he said with 
 profound emotion, — "but now I asked for 
 your pity, and it was you who needed mine. 
 My own sister, why have I never known before 
 all that was passing in your breast '? why have 
 you never confided to me all the disappoint- 
 ment, all the sadness that must have so long 
 oppressed you*? why was I V 
 
 " Hush ! dear brother,^' she replied ; and 
 with all her accustomed serenity of manner, 
 tone, and look, 
 
 "Heaven forgive me,'' she resumed, "if I 
 have murmured. Consolations are vouchsafed 
 to me, my Fernand, which more than compen- 
 sate for everything. There is One whom when 
 we have, we are rich beyond all measure ; and 
 in the love and care of those whom He has left 
 to us, in the exercise of that charity He has 
 prescribed, there lies a remedy for every ill, a 
 balm for every sore." As she uttered these
 
 LEONIE YEEMO^T. 107 
 
 last words, Fernand was almost startled hy 
 the look of imearthlj beauty which his sister's 
 countenance wore. " JSTo ! mj dear brother," 
 she added, "we must not be tender of our- 
 selves ;" and with a smile of angelic sweetness, 
 '' Let us now talk of jou and poor Leonie." 
 
 "Why do JOU saj poor Leonie'?" asked he. 
 " You do not measure the extent of my lore 
 for her — you do not know how long it has 
 filled eyerj comer of my heart." 
 
 " Dear Fernand," replied Madame Isabelle, 
 -I fear " 
 
 '•'Fear whaf?" interrupted M. de Briancour 
 anxiously, and perceiving his sister s hesitation. 
 
 *' My own brother," rejoined she with almost 
 maternal tenderness, "you know, though but 
 two years older than yourself, hovr much you 
 have ever been my child— how much in earlier 
 years especially, I used to guide and even 
 sometimes scold you; — Do you recollect that^^ 
 and she looked at him with an air he could 
 not resist. 
 
 "Chere petite maman !" he exclaimed with 
 emotion. " Be to me now what you ever 
 were : you know I never rebelled against your 
 authority — never resisted your advice."
 
 108 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 "It is for that reason, Fernand/' rejoined 
 Madame Isabelle, " that I will again treat jou 
 as my child, and, tell you I fear more for 
 Leonie's happiness than yours — do not start 
 — I know that, could you believe that possible 
 now, you would be unworthy of her love — — '' 
 
 " And unworthy of the name I bear," inter- 
 rupted he almost indignantly. 
 
 "Oh! Fernand! Fernand ! there it is!'' 
 said his sister. " Have you thought of how 
 serious a thing is what the world, perhaps not 
 unadvisedly, terms a mesalliance 1 Have you 
 thought of all the responsibility it entails upon 
 the one who is supposed to condescend? 
 Have you reflected that the words you have 
 just uttered would, if spoken before Leonie, 
 when Leonie should be your wife, recall to her 
 all that she must never more remember 1 Fer- 
 nand, believe me," she continued with deep 
 earnestness, "you know that I am far from 
 what is termed an aristocrat; you know that 
 religion, and every conviction of my mind 
 forbid me to take note of the paltry social 
 distinctions invented by man to feed his vanity 
 and pride ; but believe me, the consciousness of 
 good birth is one of the last things that leave
 
 LEONIE VEKMONT. 109 
 
 us; the blood that flows through our veins is 
 one of the latest hushed of the voices that 
 speak within us." 
 
 " But/' suggested Fernand, " the ardent, 
 all-absorbing love I bear Leonie " 
 
 " May be enough for her happiness for the 
 first months, nay, even years, of your wedded 
 life ; but will there never come an hour when 
 Leonie's plebeian pride (and this is the most 
 active, the most inveterate of all) will clash, 
 without either of you being enabled to help 
 it, against your aristocratical instincts'?'^ 
 
 Fernand looked down for an instant, and 
 then, strong in his hope and in the faith of his 
 deep affection, raised his head, and tried by a 
 thousand passionate arguments to convince 
 Madame Isabelle of the vanity of her fears. 
 
 They talked long; and, at last, when they 
 broached the subject (which both had instinc- 
 tively avoided) of M. de Briancour's consent, 
 both agreed that it was as idle to dream of 
 obtaining it as it would be of drawing down 
 the stars from their spheres. 
 
 " And without that," asked Madame Isa- 
 belle, " how can you support your wife V 
 
 " AVithout it," replied he dejectedly, " Le- 
 onie will not consent to become my wife."
 
 110 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 " Then your waiting will be long, m j bro- 
 ther," she answered; "for when Leonie has 
 decided upon that which she thinks right, no 
 human power can make her swerve. But 
 what is to be donel" 
 
 Fernand hesitated for a second, and then 
 in a tone of cahn but determined resohition, 
 he said : " I must leave Briancour : " " I will 
 not live longer here. Mj plan is to go to 
 Paris, and there, aided by my name, my 
 connexions, and the friends our family has, 
 still remaining, to " he stopped. 
 
 "To serve the House of Orleans," said 
 Madame Isabelle, slowly. 
 
 " To serve my country, if I can," rejoined 
 he, looking his sister in the face. 
 
 She remained silent a moment, and then, 
 holding out her hand to him — 
 
 " You are right, my brother," she said, 
 firmly, " I never did, never could understand 
 the conduct of too many of the representatives 
 of the first names in France; — I never shall 
 comprehend in what way it could serve even 
 the interests of the cause they upheld, to desert 
 the country which had given them birth, and 
 give her up to the vile appetites and low
 
 LEOXIE ^T:RiIOXT. Ill 
 
 intrigues of those who are losing and dis- 
 honouring her/^ 
 
 " Then jou approve m j plan T repeated 
 Fernand with joj. 
 
 " And will aid its accomplishment bj every 
 means in mj power/' replied Isabelle. " We 
 shall have to fight against a stout opposition 
 at first from my father, but I think that by 
 representing to him the number of families 
 of our party who have sent their sons to 
 Paris, and by not alarming him at first with 
 the announcement of your more serious pro- 
 jects, he may be brought to allow of your 
 departure.'' 
 
 "Ah! my own Isabelle!" exclaimed her 
 brother, as rising they wended their way to- 
 wards the house, " when the day comes on 
 which, having secured an honourable position 
 by my own efibrts, I can boldly ask for 
 Leonie's hand, how I shall look back to our 
 morning's walk under the beeches of Brian- 
 cour, and bless Heaven for having given me 
 such a sister !" 
 
 " Do not be angry with me," interposed she 
 gently, " if 1 again dash a shade across your 
 bright thoughts; but suppose for an instant
 
 112 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 that you should not succeed'? — that, notwith- 
 standing your incontestable superiority over 
 nine-tenths of those who aspire to serve 
 
 the state, you should be disappointed 
 
 Dear Fernand! how will you support that?' 
 
 " My own Isabelle," he replied, " I cannot, 
 will not dream of it. At the idea of gaining 
 her love by my own efforts, however hard, I 
 feel myself borne onward by such an irresistible 
 energy, that I cannot believe in an obstacle 
 impossible to vanquish. Neither am I going 
 to ask that which is unjust : — every labourer 
 is worthy of his guerdon. I am ready to 
 labour, — to devote my strength, my daily 
 energies to unremitting toil. I offer my 
 honourable name, my honesty, and the small 
 talents with which I am endowed, to the ser- 
 vice of the state. It is impossible — a voice 
 within me tells me it is impossible — that I 
 should not with patience succeed.'' 
 
 " Well! God help and speed you, dearest 
 brother,'' said Madame Isabelle solemnly. 
 " We will pray for you here with all our 
 hearts."
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 113 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The task was no easy one of persuading 
 the Count that his son ought to visit the capi- 
 tal, and mix somewhat in the active life of his 
 fellow citizens. However, Madame Isabelle 
 and the Abbe Lavergne accomplished it, and 
 towards the close of the autumn of 1846, 
 Fernand de Briancour found himself in Paris 
 with a certain degree of renown, plenty of re- 
 commendations, and a lightlj-filled purse. 
 
 Amongst his father's oldest and most at- 
 tached friends, Fernand soon discovered that 
 by far the greater number would be favourable 
 to the plan he had conceived, for he met few 
 amongst the young men of his own age and
 
 114 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 position who were not anxiously endeavouring 
 to pierce tlie crowd, and obtain employment 
 under a government whose duration had pretty 
 well exhausted the patient sulkiness of the 
 fathers, and was rapidly beginning to tempt 
 the ambition or appetite of the sons. 
 
 Upon his arrival in the Paris fashionable 
 world, M. de Briancour was surprised to find him- 
 self so well known as a poet. More than one fair 
 valseuse lisped his verses in his ear, more than 
 one songstress warbled his ballads set to music, 
 and more than one mistress of a house was 
 proved to show him off as one of the lions of 
 her literary circle. Fernand, who was in reality 
 a poet at heart, sincerely fond of the arts, and 
 accessible to the charms of a so easily bought 
 reputation, allowed himself to be too quickly 
 flattered into a literary celebrity. In the out- 
 set he had no friend to warn him of the danger; 
 and when, upon one occasion, a Minister com- 
 plimented him upon certain stanzas contained 
 in his volume, he was amazed to hear an elderly 
 gentleman, whose acquaintance he had recently 
 made, and who amused him from his originality 
 and esprit, say to him, as they left the room 
 together —
 
 LEONIE YEEMOXT. 115 
 
 " It is luckj, mon cher, that joii are no soli- 
 citor — no place-liunter, for M. ^' "^'' * '""■ has 
 this evening, in the politest Tvay in the world, 
 placed you in the category of those who never 
 ' get on ;' he has embalmed you in the bays 
 and parsley leaves of Apollo, and signed for 
 you a brevet of brilliant inutility." 
 
 Fernand did not exactly disregard these 
 words; but the cordial reception he obtained 
 from the very Minister in question the first 
 time he had an audience of him, and the po- 
 sitive promises he made him of employment 
 within th^ shortest possible space of time, 
 drove the remembrance of them from his mind, 
 and made him think his clever friend had more 
 originality than judgment. 
 
 The Minister from whom M. de Briancour 
 solicited employment was a man who deceived 
 public opinion far more by the appearance of 
 vices that were not his own than by the affec- 
 tation of virtues to which he was a stranger. 
 M. Mortagne was of bourgeois extraction, but 
 with a length of bourgeois pedigree behind him 
 which gave him all the ungraceful pride of a 
 true descendant of the stiff-necked provincia 
 echevins of other times. His talents were of
 
 116 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 SO elevated an order, that those who could 
 appreciate him felt unfeigned grief that where 
 so much admiration was due, so little esteem 
 could be paid. Whenever a question could be 
 viewed in a liberal, generous, exalted manner, 
 that view of it was M. Mortagne sure to take ; 
 whenever an act of pusillanimity, whenever a 
 backsliding from the broad road of loyalty and 
 honour, whenever a littleness or a falsehood 
 became the inevitable consequence of a policy 
 as shortsighted as it was ignoble, there M. 
 Montague might be discovered. So much 
 grandeur in words, so much baseness in deeds, 
 are rarely seen united ; and, as usual in France, 
 the words passed before the deeds, and served 
 as a cloak which, all rent and torn as it was 
 by every thrust, made daily more easy to an 
 impatient opposition, served still to disguise, 
 until it was too late, the fatal imprudence of a 
 system based solely upon corruption. 
 
 The thing that was most curious to an ob- 
 server was, that this inflexible Minister, this 
 man unpopular above all for what was called 
 bis unbending arrogance, his immutable obsti- 
 nacy, was precipitating the country to its ruin 
 from one immense — and in a statesman, unpar-
 
 LEONIE VERMOKT. 117 
 
 donable fault — weakness. Devoid of that rec- 
 titude of moral principle which, hj offering an 
 extraneous and fixed support, enables even the 
 most tottering to stand upright, M. Mortagne 
 had allowed the love of power to fasten on 
 him without opening his ejes to the dangers 
 which were hourly attaching themselves to 
 its possession. He would not see that 
 Truth was the one thing for which the 
 country was thirsting, that sincerity had 
 become expedient, and that the nation was 
 sick of the monstrous lie which had become 
 incarnate in its government. Listening to the 
 loud flatterers who surroimded him, and whom 
 — had he but communed with his own glorious 
 intelligence for an instant — he must have de- 
 spised from his inmost soul, M. Mortagne 
 became fatally the prey of those who sur- 
 rounded him, and already disclosed to all who 
 could see clearly, to what miserable intrigues, to 
 what ignominious back-stairs' influences he 
 must end by falling a victim. 
 
 Fernand for several months saw nothing of 
 all this. He was fascinated, Uke so many 
 others, by the splendour of the talent, and 
 could not find in his own loyal and honest
 
 118 LEONIE VEEMONT. 
 
 heart wherewith to believe in the dishonesty of 
 one so highly endowed. Fernand was de- 
 ceived — duped, and all those around. The 
 Minister knew it long, aye, very long, before 
 he could allow the conviction of the deception 
 to graft itself upon his mind. When he heard 
 the repeated promises given freely from man 
 to man, and when he saw the bright clear eye 
 meet fearlessly the glance of his own, and felt 
 the pressure of the hand ratifying the solemn 
 verbal contract, Fernand, as a gentleman, could 
 not allow himself to distrust. There is a de- 
 gree of duplicity, to the bare comprehension 
 of which, do what he may, a gentleman can 
 never attain, and this was the degree practised 
 upon Fernand. 
 
 The very importance, too, of what he was 
 soliciting, made him eager to believe in the at- 
 tainment of it : the fact that the whole hap- 
 piness of his life depended upon his success, 
 blinded Fernand to the possibility of failure, 
 and made him believe every promise, accept 
 every delay, rely upon every assurance of sin- 
 cerity. Added to this, absence had tried 
 Leonie's calmness of temper, and she evidently 
 now counted as much upon the possibihty of
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 119 
 
 obtaining one day M. de Briancour's consent 
 to her marriage Avith his son, as did the san- 
 guine Fernand himself. However much people 
 may affect to treat with disdain the torments 
 of what is termed disappointed ambition, when 
 to the hopes of worldly advancement are united 
 the dearest hopes of the heart, so that the 
 ruin of the one is the annihilation of the other, 
 few tortures can be imagined more acute than 
 those endured by him who, in his bitter toil of 
 place-hunting, counts every shade upon the fea- 
 tures of a Minister's merest hireling by a pang 
 that wounds him the more sharply that he must 
 hide it from all eyes. 
 
 Poor Fernand began, at the end of some 
 months, to allow fear to glide into his soul, at 
 least by the side, if not actually in the place, 
 of hope. He was so absorbed by the object 
 for which he craved advancement, that at fct 
 the idea of the injustice done to himself did 
 not strike him, nor did he dream of resenting 
 the falseness of the conduct that had been held 
 towards him. Neither his vanity nor his pride 
 came in any degree into play ; it was his heart 
 alone that was interested, and he went on 
 hoping against hope ; for nothing is so hai'd to 
 discourage as the heart.
 
 120 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 When M. de Briancour arrived in Paris, his 
 first impulse was to seek out Philippe Vermont ; 
 but a short time sufficed to prove to him that 
 he was far nearer to Leonie in the absence of 
 her brother than when speaking of her to one 
 who so little resembled her in any way. 
 Philippe's mode of life had taken so completely 
 the colour of all that is worst in the existence 
 of an artist, that in a merely social respect 
 Fernand could not but desire to keep apart 
 from him. And yet there was in Philippe, 
 added to a decided talent as a painter, a 
 force of imagination, an ardour of thought, a 
 vividness of expression, that in his presence 
 captivated you involuntarily. This Fernand 
 acknowledged from the first, and in his letters 
 to Leonie frankly told her he had met with 
 few people more brilliantly gifted in a certain 
 sense than Philippe. But she had, from their 
 earliest years, judged her brother more cor- 
 rectly, though perhaps more severely, than any 
 one of those around them. 
 
 " Philippe," said she in one of her letters to 
 Fernand, " is, and will ever remain, an artist. 
 Every form, every colour, every apparent or 
 material outward beauty, has the power to
 
 LEOls^IE VEllMONT. 121 
 
 subjugate his fctncy, ^'liich is, alas ! the only 
 part of him endowed with any energy. He is 
 capable, I fear, of what are commonly called 
 'great things' but from none save the most 
 miserable motives : — there is no truth and no 
 principle in him. If I wanted to save Philippe 
 from the disastrous consequences of a too ready 
 submission to some passionate impulse, I should 
 not know what power to inyoke, nor in what 
 name to require from him a sacrifice I am 
 certain he would not make. " Beware of 
 Philippe, dear Fernand," was the concluding 
 sentence — "rely upon it, he is dangerous: 
 mine is not a timid nature, but he has always 
 made me tremble." 
 
 Fernand thought Leonie exaggerated con- 
 siderably, for he could not conceive how a 
 young man of little more than two and tvrenty, 
 spoiled by fame and enervated by all the des- 
 tructive influences of a sensual life, could be 
 dangerous. Still, the more he saw of Philippe, 
 the more he recognized that his sister's appre- 
 ciation of him was a just one. He was, as she 
 had said, an artist ; nothing more and nothing 
 other than an artist — a man who in all that 
 was great, serious, or sublime, sought for nothing 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 save plasticity. Fernand was too new in the 
 world to know how deeply dangerous are 
 these frivolous materialists, these empty wor- 
 shippers of mere form. In so much as Fer- 
 nand was a worshipper of the ideal, in just so 
 much as he allowed himself to be sometimes 
 sung to sleep by the whisperings of the syren 
 voice within him, as much did Philippe conse- 
 crate all the motive powers of his intelligence 
 to the sole glorification of what may be termed 
 tangible in art, to the cultivation of all that 
 belongs to its exterior manifestation. Herein, 
 however, he attained to so really remarkable a 
 height, that many, even amongst those who were 
 called upon to judge, were fascinated by the 
 brilliancy, the glow, the deceptive beauty ; — 
 believed in a truth which did not exist, in a 
 worship of the ideal which was utterly absent. 
 Fernand had had many a discussion with 
 Phihppe Vermont upon politics. The young 
 painter was an avowed, professed republican, 
 and so great was Fernand's affection for Leonie, 
 that he hastened to announce to her, with the 
 intention of giving her pleasure, the adoption by 
 her brother of opinions diametrically opposed 
 to his own. But upon this point Leonie was
 
 LEONIE YEEMONT. 123 
 
 not more charitably disposed than upon others. 
 " There is no tmth in his repubhcaDism/'' 
 replied she. " He is, relj upon it, in politics, 
 as mere an artist — as brilliant, perhaps — but 
 as unconcerned a rirtuoso as in art." 
 
 What ^ith Leonie's constantly — and it must 
 be allowed somewhat strongly — expressed dis- 
 trust of her brother, and his own natural 
 distaste for his manners and opinions, M. de 
 Briancour became daily more estranged from 
 Philippe, and ended at last by scarcely seeing 
 him at all. 
 
 Fernandas life was wholly occupied by his 
 untiring efforts to arriye at pohtical employ- 
 ment, by his ceaseless endeavours to obtain 
 admission into the arena, where that secret 
 conscience, which rarely if ever deceives, told 
 him he should inevitably distinguish himself. 
 Of all those who met Fernand in the world, 
 few or none guessed at the motives which ren- 
 dered him so desirous to obtain public employ- 
 ment. 
 
 The indifferent crowd of his fashionable ac- 
 quaintances saw him pursue his panting course, 
 and either shrugged theii' shoulders at his blind 
 incurable faith in promises made only to be 
 
 g2
 
 124 LEON IE VERMONT. 
 
 broken, or laughed gaily beforehand at the 
 certain defeat of hopes which thej regarded as 
 the offspring of an insatiable vanity. 
 
 " H^ has taken his place among the rhyme- 
 sters of our age/' said one. " Can't he be con- 
 tent with hearing the women prattle his verses, 
 without wanting to push himself into the coun- 
 cils of the State T 
 
 " It is so absurd," rejoined another, " that all 
 these poets never will be satisfied with their 
 literary fame, but must be craving for and 
 striving after distinctions for which they are 
 unfitted.'' 
 
 " For my part," added a third, "I think it 
 would but be right for some friend to open liis 
 eyes to his position, and prevent him from ren- 
 dering himself ridiculous by this eternal pur- 
 suit of a place no one ever dreamt of giving 
 him." 
 
 And so the crowd of his friends went on, 
 commenting upon his ambition and vanity ; 
 looking upon him, in fact, as a competitor, but 
 unable to understand that every step of Fer- 
 nand, in his arduous chase, was marked not 
 alone by the sweat from his burning brow, but 
 bj the red drops of anguish from his bleeding
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 125 
 
 heart. Leonie — Leonie was the end and aim 
 of his course : the sum of his earthly bliss was 
 told out before him ; but his hand, which ached 
 from long grasping, could not reach it. And 
 still that hope which will not die bore him up. 
 He seemed, after every fresh attempt to dis- 
 courage him, after every apparent defeat, to 
 gather new strength for the fight, and he 
 struggled the more valiantly the farther the 
 victory seemed to recede. 
 
 Leonie, too, had, little by little, allowed her- 
 self to be convinced that nothing would be 
 impossible to him she loved ; and Femand 
 hourly felt that the illusion of ultimate success 
 had, fostered by distance, become so strong in 
 her mind, that the destruction of their mutual 
 hopes might now be fatal, not only to his peace, 
 but, strong-minded and resolute as she was, to 
 hers. 
 
 Friends, or those who called themselves such, 
 M. de Briancour had found in plenty. Every 
 one was ready to recommend him to those high 
 in power ; every one used " all his influence ;" 
 every one obtained the same promises, the 
 same solemn and positive assurances ; and 
 every one, equally " astonished" at the delay
 
 126 LEONIE YERMONT. 
 
 in their accomplishment, recommended patience 
 whilst waiting for success, or resignation imder 
 defeat. 
 
 Resignation ! defeat ! oh, if thej who uttered 
 those well-advised words could have seen the 
 blow thej dealt upon the victim's quivering 
 heart, thej would assuredly have lacked the 
 courage to pronounce them, or gained the de- 
 termination to fight a stouter battle for the 
 cause they had so lightly undertaken to 
 defend. 
 
 Resignation ! — and were there, then, those 
 who could dream that the failure of a paltry 
 place under Government, as barren in honour 
 as profit, could suddenly blanch the cheek of a 
 man like Fernand de Briancour '? Were there 
 none who could see that this was no history of 
 vanity, or even ambition 1 — none who could 
 feel the beatings of the heart in all these hot 
 pantings after place '? — none who could divine 
 that between the efi'ect and cause lay too glar- 
 ing a discrepancy for the true cause not to be 
 elsewhere than where they believed it 1 None ! 
 Of all those who had surrounded Fernand up 
 to the period when our tale commences, not 
 one had fathomed the depths of his anxious
 
 LEONIE YEEMOXT. 127 
 
 and agitated soul — not one had measured the 
 extent of the ill which was gnawing at his yery 
 vital essence. Too proud to avow to any of 
 those around the degree to which he was suflfer- 
 ing, M. de Briancour went on, from day to day, 
 stifling real anguish under an appearance of 
 indifference, which was becoming hourly less 
 supportable. His attachment to Mademoiselle 
 Vermont, naturally enough, grew exactly in 
 the inverse ratio of his chances of brinorincr it 
 to a satisfactory issue ; and, all things con- 
 sidered, amongst the crowd of men whose 
 future prospects in life depend upon ministerial 
 favour, it would have been perhaps impossible 
 to find one who was deserving of more pity, or 
 obtained less, than Fernand de Briancour. 
 
 At the time when our tale opens, in the 
 month of June, 1847, the young poet had 
 begun to look for the first time at the bare 
 possibility of a defeat in the arduous struggle 
 he had undertaken ; and, though he would not 
 as yet allow his fears to grow into distinct 
 shapes, stiU they haunted him from time to 
 time, and met his fluttering heart at every 
 turn, sickening and scaring it with their baleful 
 semblance.
 
 128 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 Poor Fernand I Low different tlie reality 
 from tlie bright dreams lie had encouraged at 
 Briancour ! How often he read and re-read 
 Schiller's " Kabale und Liebe," and thought 
 mournfully that proud fathers were not the 
 only obstacle that opposed the course of such a 
 love as his !
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 129 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The gloom that hung over Fernand's 
 spirits was, however, destined to be broken by 
 one of those lightning-rajs of Hope, %yhich 
 often only serve to render the succeeding dark- 
 ness more impenetrable. The evening of the 
 day on which our story begins, M. de Brian- 
 cour had promised to spend at the house of a 
 lady whose influence was reputed (and justly 
 so) considerable in the political world. Upon 
 arriving at his lodgings he found a note from 
 Madame de Blangy, requesting him to come to 
 her immediately after his dinner, in order that 
 she might speak to him in private, and before 
 any of her other visitors were announced. 
 
 g3
 
 130 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 That infallible voice of the heart which never 
 fails to warn where the heart is in anj de- 
 gree engaged, told Fern and that something 
 favourable had happened, and with a stej), 
 the rapidity of which he could not moderate, 
 he flew to the abode of Madame de Blangy, 
 which he reached at the monstrous hour of 
 half-past seven. The servants in the ante- 
 room looked astonished as he passed, and the 
 mistress of the house, as she held out her hand 
 to him, could not avoid a good-natured laugh, 
 as she said — 
 
 "If M. de Blangy had not been obliged to 
 dine at the Due de B.'s, you would have been 
 too soon, for I should not have told you what 
 I have to tell before him.'' 
 
 Madame de Blangy was one of the few 
 remaining women in Paris who bear witness 
 to another and politer time,— to a time when 
 women were allowed to take an active interest 
 in . politics without being accused of sharing 
 many of its low intrigues, and when they were 
 permitted not only to feel but to show a sin- 
 cere desire to aid their friends of the other sex 
 without so much as a shade passing across 
 their reputation. Ifc was not so much the age
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 131 
 
 of Madame de Blangy (though she vas ap- 
 proachiDg cinquantaine) as it was her per- 
 sonal character that placed her bejond all 
 censure. She had at five and twenty occupied 
 the position she still held, and out of the 
 many constant, firm, and enthusiastic admirers 
 who formed her little court, no one had ever 
 yet rentured to point out a single name to the 
 wearer of which might be attached the epithet 
 of more than friend. It would be hard to say 
 to what particular cause could be ascribed her 
 political influence, unless it was that she had 
 always possessed it. M. de Blangy was a 
 Deputy of the moderate Opposition, du centre 
 gauche, and belonged moreover to that class of 
 honest men, the inflexibility of whose honesty 
 is as much guaranteed by family traditions as 
 by personal principle. He was neither very 
 rich, nor very fashionable, nor very brilliant in 
 any way ; neither was he of that too numerous 
 clique which looks upon tiresomeness as a proof 
 of grayity, and measures a capacity for what 
 are termed serious affairs by the degi-ee of 
 ennui inflicted. The Count de Blangy had 
 married his wife for love, and no one ever 
 dreamt of turning him into ridicule ; the Coun-
 
 132 LEONIE VERMONT. ' 
 
 tess had remained attached through life to all 
 her duties as a Christian wife and mother, 
 and no one had ever conceived her to be less 
 charming than those who forgot them all : it 
 w.as impossible to be more beloyed and less 
 popular, to be more influential and less gener- 
 ally known than the de Blangjs. 
 
 Upon his debut in Paris, Fernand had been 
 introduced at her own desire to Madame de 
 Blangj, who much admired his poems, and in 
 whom he found a steady friend. 
 
 " And now, seat yourself there, opposite to 
 me," commenced Madame de Blangy, as soon 
 as she had concluded the remark ~we have 
 already set down. 
 
 Fernand smiled, bowed, and did as he was 
 bid, but without as yet uttering a syllable. 
 
 The good-natured Countess, burying herself 
 more and more in the cushions of her luxu- 
 riously stuffed bergere, allowed herself for a 
 moment to take a complete survey of our hero, 
 and then with an arch smile — 
 
 " My dear M. de Briancour," continued she, 
 " why do you not ask me what I have got 
 to say to you'? You are dying to do so, and 
 ^et all the conventions of society rise up like
 
 L^iONIE VERMONT. 133 
 
 SO many dragons before jour ejes, and render 
 sucli a thing absolutely impossible/' Fernand 
 began to stammer some excuse, whicli tended 
 to prove that he was not anxious at all, and 
 that the mere wish to obey a lady's behest was 
 the reason of his presence in such a place at 
 such an hour. 
 
 " Ah ! mon jeune ami/' replied the Coun- 
 tess, ''what if I were to take you at your 
 word"? — suppose we try to chatter a little 
 about the Spanish marriages, or, what is newer 
 still, the proces Teste. What do you think 
 of a Minister who . . . 1 — but no ! " she re- 
 sumed, interrupting herself, " I will not torture 
 you any further. — I have good news, I have 
 excellent news for you from the Minister." 
 
 As these words fell upon Fernand's ear, 
 slowly, solemnly pronounced, he lost all con- 
 trol oyer himself, and all care of what was, or 
 was not, decorous. "You, Madame!" ex- 
 claimed he, in a tone so true, with a look of 
 such undisguisable, joyful agitation, that his 
 kind protectress held out her hand to him with 
 that sort of interest one accords involuntarily 
 to the display of any profound and genuine 
 sentiment.
 
 134 LEONIE YEEMONT. 
 
 " Yes, mj dear M. de Briancour," slie con- 
 tinued seriously, "I have seen tlie Minister 
 myself, and received his irrevocable promise ; — 
 I say irrevocable, because I may venture to 
 affirm to you, that a promise made by him to 
 me will be strictly kept. Before one month 
 is over, you will receive the appointment you 
 have so long solicited." 
 
 Fernand bent down over the hand he held 
 in his ; he pressed it religiously to his lips, and 
 his lips quivered, — to his heart, and his heart 
 throbbed ; — but he could not speak. He tried 
 repeatedly, but he dared not trust to words. 
 Madame de Blangy looked at him, at first, sur- 
 prised ; but soon, surveying him with the 
 tenderest maternal interest, 
 
 " Why did you not place more confidence in 
 me '? " she asked with an accent of sincere 
 emotion. "I thought I was aiding a young 
 aspirant in his career ; I believed I had helped 
 to open his course to an ambitious spirit who 
 sickened at seeing so many less worthy more 
 fortunate, but I perceive now that there was 
 something that I guessed not, and something 
 of which, had I earlier known it, I would have 
 let no hour go by without tending towards
 
 LEOKIE YEEMONT. 135 
 
 the accomplishment. I can imagine all, my 
 dear M. de Brianconr/' she continued, gazing 
 kindly upon Fernandas agitated featm-es. 
 "You need not speak more plainly. Old 
 women like me have not quite forgotten the 
 language of the heart; but in the paths of poli- 
 tical life it is what one hears but seldom. — 
 I haye often receiyed thanks for favours I 
 have been enabled to obtain rather than to 
 confer, but never such as yours " 
 
 "Oh! Madam!" murmured Femand, at 
 length, and it was all he could say, " I do not 
 thank, I bless you " 
 
 " Well," she continued, " it is I then that 
 thank you, and that sincerely, for the good you 
 have enabled me to do you. But you should 
 have told me sooner. Another time, my young 
 friend, reflect well, before you decide upon 
 shutting out from your confidence those who 
 have offered you their friendship. There is both 
 pleasure and pride in aiding the full develop- 
 ment of a legitimate ambition ; but remember 
 that the possibiHty of ensuring a fellow crea- 
 ture's happiness is a deep delight of which you 
 have no right to deprive those whom perhaps
 
 136 LEONIE VEKMONT. 
 
 a very little attention might have sufficed to 
 reveal to you as capable of appreciating it." 
 
 Maclanie de Blangy talked for some time 
 still to her visitor, and he answered her, far bet- 
 ter than in words, by the mute eloquence of his 
 profound emotion. At last, after he had 
 tasted over and over the rich draught of his 
 unexpected satisfaction — after the certain suc- 
 cess of his worldly prospects had been proved 
 to him beyond the possibility of a doubt, and 
 that all he had despaired of seemed now to 
 come within his grasp, the amiable Countess, 
 with a smile peculiarly her own, and a charm 
 of manner which most people recognised as 
 unrivalled, rose from her seat, and bade her 
 guest Adieu. 
 
 " I will not retain you to-night," said she ; 
 " you have too pleasant company in your heart 
 to think even my presence anything but a 
 bore; — no excuses, I know how much you love 
 mc at this moment," and she smiled again 
 more archly than before, — "but, you know well, 
 you would rather be alone than in my salon 
 with the half of the two Chambers and of the 
 Corps diplomatique to boot. Even I am no
 
 LEONIE ATlRMOIsT. 137 
 
 fit society for joii now, until jou can tell me 
 the whole, and as jon cannot do that tliis 
 evening, why, jou will be infinitely happier, 
 where you will have no one to talk to but 
 yourself; — besides," she added, looking at him 
 with that finesse which belongs to women, and 
 to French women particularly, " if I am not 
 mistaken, you will have letters to write to- 
 night." 
 
 Fernand kissed Madame de Blangy's hand 
 with positive rapture, and having made an 
 appointment with her for the following day, 
 followed her instructions, and hurried from 
 her presence, about as little conscious of 
 whither he w^as going as any individual out 
 of Charenton might be supposed to be. 
 
 The moon was shining in all her mild 
 splendour, as M. de Briancour crossed with 
 hurried steps the Place de la Madeleine. The 
 shadow of the lime trees, with which the 
 square is planted, trembled upon the broad 
 white pavement as he passed ; the scents of 
 the sweet summer flowers from the stalls of 
 the not yet dispersed marche aux fleurs, as- 
 sailed his senses ; and mixed with these there 
 came a sound that, distant and mysterious as
 
 138 LEONIE YERMONT. 
 
 as it was, stayed his course as if by magic, 
 and made liim inyoluntarily uncover his head. 
 From the church came pealing the tones of the 
 organ. It was the hour for the Salut, sung 
 every evening during the week of the fete 
 Dieu. Hardly knowing what he did, Fernand 
 found himself within the walls of the temple. 
 From the choir rose fragrant clouds of incense, 
 — from the vaulted ceiling poured down rich 
 floods of light — the last sounds of the organ 
 were dying away in unison with the mellow 
 voices of the youthful choristers. The priest 
 at the altar, had raised above the heads of 
 the prostrate multitude, the adorable sign of 
 the Saviour's deepest and most ardent love 
 for man. And those beautiful words of 
 humble faith and trust, — 
 
 " Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Domini," 
 
 vibrated solemnly through the vast edifice, 
 awakening an echo in every contrite or con- 
 fiding heart. 
 
 Fernand sank down, not upon any one of 
 the chairs that were nearest to him, but upon 
 the stone pavement, upon the steps leading 
 to one of the side altars, and covering his face
 
 LEONTE YEEMONT. 139 
 
 with his hands, poured forth from his inmost 
 soul his deep thankfulness to that Paternal 
 Power, which, after so much tribulation, had 
 vouchsafed him so much joj.
 
 140 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 That niglit was spent bj Fernand in writing 
 to Madame Isabelle and Leonie; and those 
 who liaye experienced siicli contending emo- 
 tions as his, will better understand than we 
 can describe the tender rhapsodies, the joyful 
 ravings of those letters. He did not even try 
 to sleep, for he felt that sleep was impossible ; 
 but gave himself up to golden dreams of the 
 future, making plans of happiness, wherein 
 Leonie was the pivot upon which all turned ; 
 building castles in the air, over which Leonie 
 ruled with sovereign sway. 
 
 The Oomte de Briancour, when some months 
 had passed over his separation from his son,
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 141 
 
 had ended, not without considerable diffi- 
 culty, by yielding his consent to Fernandas 
 plan of seiTing the new government. The 
 influence of the Abbe Lavergne, aided by 
 that of Madame Isabelle, and backed by the 
 letters he receired from old friends of his own 
 party, whose sons had acted as his own wished 
 to do, succeeded in defeating the Count's 
 firm resolves, and he gave a reluctant assent 
 to Fernandas political projects. But the idea, 
 that when a man of his name and family — 
 when a Briancour did agree to serve the 
 government of the House of Orleans, that 
 government could possibly do anything save 
 open its arms with humble enthusiasm to the 
 condescending new-comer, would have ap- 
 peared to the Count the very height of in- 
 sanity. Consequently, in all his communi- 
 cations with his father, Fernand had avoided 
 allowing any trace of discouragement to ap- 
 pear, and M. de Briancour had been led to 
 imagine, not only that it was the most natural 
 thing in the world that his son's appointment 
 should experience some delay, but that these 
 delays were of themselves the best proofs of 
 the Minister's desire and determination to
 
 142 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 offer to the Viscomte de Briancour only such 
 a position as the Viscomte de Briancour could 
 deign to accept. When, therefore, Fernand 
 felt for the first time absolutely assured of that 
 which he had begun to look upon as a vain 
 hope, he refrained from announcing his good 
 fortune to his father, lest the latter should 
 wonder whence came such extraordinary joy 
 at a thing of which he had always been so 
 sure. Ten times at least did Fernand open 
 his letter to Leonie, to add some phrase of 
 which the importance seemed to him perfectly 
 vital ; and at dawn of day, though he was 
 quite aware of the inutility of such a pro- 
 ceeding, Fernand himself deposited his letters 
 in the post, as though there being actually 
 there would make them reach tlieir destination 
 the quicker. 
 
 "What to do till four o'clock, the hour at 
 which he was to see Madame de Blangy, Fer- 
 nand could not tell. He was essentially what 
 the French call des oeuvre, and could 'lave 
 found no pleasure or profit in any occupation 
 whatsoever. In the newspapers he saw no- 
 thing save the spot where, in a short time, he 
 should read his own so much-longed-for nomi-
 
 LEONIE YERMONT. 143 
 
 nation, and that otlier where, at some future 
 period, would be announced his mamage with 
 his beloved Leonie. "M. le Vicomte de Brian- 
 cour to Mademoiselle Leonie Vermont." He 
 thought that would read very well ; it is true 
 there was no de before the bride's name, but 
 what of that 1 "When he should be Ambas- 
 sador, or — who knows ^^ Minister, he could well 
 afford to laugh at the aristocratical vexations 
 of his noble allies of the Faubourg St. Ger- 
 main. Then, too, how very handsome Leonie 
 would look upon the day of their wedding, 
 and how dignified she would be in her diplo- 
 matic or ministerial functions ; and how those 
 who might affect at first to look askance at her 
 social position, would be obliged in the end to 
 acknowledge her personal superiority ! Fer- 
 nand was soon lost in all these pleasant consi- 
 derations, and had grown to regard his father's 
 consent to his marriage as one of those things, 
 the difficulty of which being more distant, dis- 
 appef^rs entirely. He felt certain that, as he 
 had at last triumphed over the passive system 
 of resistance opposed to him by those in power, 
 through a continuance of promises eternally 
 unfulfilled, he should have no great difficulty in
 
 144 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 overcoming the obstacle of his father's ancestral 
 pride. He was too happy, too flushed by 
 recent success to dream of a defeat under hnj 
 form or shape. 
 
 Like all gentle and kindly natures, Fernand, 
 in his good fortune, wished nothing more than 
 to make others participate in it. He was not 
 of those spirits for wliom adversity is healthful, 
 but, on the contrary, wanted prosperity — child- 
 like and poet-like — that he might not despond 
 and doubt. In the midst of his dreams of suc- 
 cess, he bethought him of the poor artisan of 
 the preceding day, to whom he had rendered 
 such a singular service, and whom he had so 
 faithfully promised to go and see. He was, 
 perhaps, in want, thought Fernand, and he 
 might be useful to him ; at any rate, he had a 
 mother who was ill, and that, he well knew, 
 Madame Isabelle would have said was suffi- 
 cient. Hastily despatching, therefore, his de- 
 jeuner de gargon, he sallied forth into the 
 streets, and took his way on foot towards the 
 Rue du Petit Pont. The clocks were striking 
 ten as he gained the pavois Notre Dame, and 
 crossed the bridge by the Hotel Dieu. When 
 he entered the street mentioned to him, he
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 145 
 
 had considerable difficulty in finding the house 
 he sought. No one knew, or cared to know, 
 anything of the abode of Pierre Larcher, and 
 M. de Briancour went from door to door with 
 small success. At length a chiffonnier pointed 
 out to him an alley, over the gate leading into 
 which was, in truth, to be deciphered, although 
 half effaced, the number he had been told to 
 seek. 
 
 At the end of the alley Fernand emerged 
 into a small, dark, dirty, foul-smelling court, a 
 dwelling equally fitted for poverty or pestilence. 
 He looked around him in hopes of espying 
 some entrance, or some one from whom to 
 enquire his way, when a harsh voice behind 
 him cried out suddenly — 
 
 "Whom do you ask for here V 
 
 And turning round, he perceived at the 
 broken window of a room or back shop on the 
 ground floor, a greasy handkerchief twisted 
 into a sort of nightcap, and adorning the head 
 of the female Cerberus of these regions. 
 
 When M. de Briancour, touching his hat, 
 and with all the politeness possible, had pro- 
 nounced the name of Pierre Larcher, 
 
 " Go straight up, take the door to the left 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 LEONIE TERMONT. 
 
 hand, and jou will find them on the sixth 
 storj/^ replied the voice ; and then in a lower 
 growl — :" When I saj them,'' it resumed, " I 
 doubt 1 saj more than is true, for I shall be 
 rather astonished if la vieille ever comes out 
 whole again after what she got yesterday/' 
 
 M. de Briancour ascended, as the portress 
 had directed him to do, to the topmost story 
 of the house, and no easy ascent it was; for 
 the narrow staircase received little or no light 
 from the small windows opening into the dark 
 court below, and through whose cobweb-hung 
 panes not sufficient day could penetrate to 
 enable the visitor to avoid the filth of the 
 slippery stairs. 
 
 When Fernand had reached the last landing- 
 place, he found that he was not much nearer 
 to his journey's end and aim than before. 
 Passage branched into passage, and corridor 
 led into corridor; and on either hand were 
 doors without name or number. At one of 
 these Fernand knocked, and the frightened 
 child who opened it evidently no more under- 
 stood his question than if he had spoken 
 Greek. The sound of voices, however, guided 
 him in another direction to the end of a kind
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 147 
 
 of gallery where a half-open door stood in- 
 vitingly. A gruff voice mumbled a song or 
 species of complaint e, the terrible words of 
 which related to a murder committed long 
 years since, but still famous in the annals of 
 crime. Heavy blows were struck as though 
 upon a block, and the singer evidently kept 
 time to his song by his work, whatever it 
 might be. Fernand advanced, and knocked. 
 
 " Who^s there, in the devil's name?'' ejacula- 
 ted the gruff voice in tones gruffer still — and a 
 face and figure stood in the doorway, such as 
 it required all M. de Briancour's presence of 
 mind to gaze upon unawed. " Who are you ? 
 and what do you wanf?'' repeated the man, 
 who seemed but ill pleased with the appear- 
 ance of his visitor. 
 
 " I am seeking for a young man who lodges 
 here," replied Fernand, firmly, but gently at 
 the same time ; '' his name is Pierre Larcher, 
 and he has a mother who met with an accident 
 yesterday, and who is ill. I wish to see if I 
 can be of any use to her, and should be 
 obliged if you could tell me where to find her 
 
 son. 
 
 "Umph!'' grunted the occupant of the den, 
 
 h2
 
 148 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 into which M. de Briancour was almost afraid 
 to look. "It isn't often one of your sort 
 comes upon such errands. I don't know any- 
 thing of him you mention, but I believe he 
 lodges at the second door off the landing-place 
 to the left hand," and so saying, he retreated, 
 shutting the door yiolently in Fernaud's face. 
 
 As he had told him, howeyer, so it reall}^ 
 was; and on applying for entrance at the 
 door pointed out to him, Fernand found him- 
 self face to face with the young ouvrier of the 
 preceding day. Upon perceiving M. de Brian- 
 cour, the poor fellow could not restrain an 
 exclamation, that was almost a cry, of delight 
 and surprise. Fernand with that peculiar 
 grace to which none but a gentleman ever 
 attains, and which takes off from protection 
 all its sting, held out his hand to him, and 
 cordially shaking his — 
 
 " Eh ! bien, mon brave,'' said he ; " how is 
 your mother? for in truth my visit at this 
 early hour is more for her than you, whom I 
 thought to find absent at your daily occupa- 
 tions." 
 
 ^VAlas! Sir," answered Pierre, leading Fer- 
 nand respectfully into the interior of his little
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 149 
 
 apartment, "my poor mother suffers still so 
 much that I could not leave her, and I have 
 been forced to ask a conge of t^ro or three 
 days from the patron. Ah! ^Monsieui*!^' he 
 continued, looking at Fernand with a gratitude 
 nothing can describe, "if jou had not come 
 to my aid yesterday, God knows where my 
 poor mother would have been at this hour; 
 for when I came in, there she lay insensible, 
 and no one had taken any care of her. The 
 person who gave me the news, got a commis- 
 sioner to come up to the atelier, but could not 
 even stay by her till I came, for our portress 
 declared she would have no strangers in the 
 house; so when I arrived, she was lying on 
 the bare floor of a room that is to let down 
 stairs, for they did not even think of searching 
 in her pockets for the key of our door. Poor 
 mother!" continued Pierre. " Would you like 
 to see her'? she is better now; and since the 
 doctor bled her, she understands all that is 
 said to her, and has heard all about your kind- 
 ness to me yesterday." 
 
 Fernand, assenting to the proposal, followed 
 his guide into an inner division of what formed 
 in fact but one room. Upon a low, and ap-
 
 150 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 parently but ill-furnislied bed, laj the poor 
 sufferer. At her feet opened a small window 
 through which were visible the roofs of the 
 surrounding houses, and rising above all the 
 towers of Notre Dame. Upon the ledge of 
 the window stood a vase full of flowers, but 
 such a vase, and such flowers, as might serve to 
 show the love of these fair gems of nature, and 
 the impossibility of satisfying it. They were 
 flowers such as may be gathered in a Sunday's 
 walk across the fields ; wild honeysuckles and 
 buttercups, with thyme and sweet basil, placed 
 upon the undamaged side of a broken jar that 
 had once held preserves. These flowers at 
 once riveted Fernand's entire attention. They 
 told such a tale of humble poverty, and of hard 
 struggling after the very lowliest of God's gra- 
 cious gifts, that all his poetry, not to speak of his 
 humane feelings, were instantaneously enlisted 
 in the cause of the inhabitants of this poor 
 abode, and the more M. de Briancour surveyed 
 every thing around him, the more he felt a 
 growing interest in those he had come to serve. 
 At the bedstead of the sick woman hung a 
 wooden crucifix, and on either side were affixed 
 to the wall, without frames, two soiled and
 
 LEONiE vee:^iont. 151 
 
 torn prints of tlie Blessed Virgin and of Saint 
 Peter, bearing upon the nail which secured 
 them at the top, two rosaries of the very 
 poorest kind. The appearance of the ouyrier's 
 mother was such as, if well examined, would 
 have engaged the attention of any reflecting 
 mind. Suffering with her was but too evidently 
 not an accident, but a habit — the one constant 
 habit of her life ; but her wasted cheek, and a 
 certain mild imploring expression of eyes too 
 brilliant still in their deep-set orbits not to be 
 indicatire of a naturally impetuous natui'e, 
 bore witness to the resisTiation with which that 
 suffering had been borne. Gazing upon the 
 mother and son, M. de Briancour could not 
 avoid being struck by the marked difference 
 between them. The one, tall, well, and strongly 
 formed, of that clear brown complexion which 
 indicates purity of blood, seemed the imposs- 
 ible offspring of the unusually diminutive and 
 sickly being that lay stretched upon the bed at 
 his feet. 
 
 " Mother," said the young artisan, as he ap- 
 proached the patient's couch, " here is the gen- 
 tleman of whom I spoke to you last night. 
 He has come to see you."
 
 152 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 The poor woman tried to raise herself from 
 her pillow, but in vain, and fixing upon Per- 
 nand the peculiar look we have already men- 
 tioned-r- 
 
 " Monsieur," replied she, in a weak and 
 broken voice, "God will bless you for what 
 you did to my son : the poor can only pray, 
 but there is One who has said that our prayers 
 will be heard/' 
 
 *' But, ma bonne mere," answered Fernand, 
 taking the hand of the sick woman as respect- 
 fully as though it had been that of a princess, 
 " what I was enabled to do was so little, so in- 
 finitely little, that really -" 
 
 " Ah ! " interrupted she, with rising energy, 
 " how little you know the poor, and their real 
 sufferings ! Listen to me, for you have that 
 in your bright eyes and kind face that shows 
 you can profit by what I would say. We do 
 not hate one another — you of the fine world and 
 we of the kennel ; but we do not understand 
 one another, and neither will forgive the other 
 his faults. When I hear those who want, rail 
 against those who have, and impute all their 
 miseries to them, I ever tell tliem to hold their 
 peace, for they know not what they say. I
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 153 
 
 never yet found one of jour class who was not 
 charitable after his notion ; on the contrary, 
 your purses are often too readily opened to 
 the unworthy. But that is not all," she con- 
 tinued, shaking her head, and then looking at 
 Fernand with an expression such as he had 
 seldom seen before ; " we want Love" resumed 
 she, the tears rising to her eyes, " the love of 
 our common Saviour — your's and our's — the 
 Christian love, the chanty of which he spoke. 
 Oh ! Monsieur, if you did but know how it 
 wounds us to think that we are discarded, shut 
 out from the hearts of those above us — the 
 great and the rich — and that when they tender 
 us alms, they do so to get rid of us ! Believe 
 me — believe me, few of those to whom the 
 hand of Christian love should be stretched forth 
 would ever dream of enquiring what the hand 
 contained. That is why I thank you for what 
 you did last night to Pierre. If you had 
 given him money to pay a coach to bring him 
 here, I might still have thanked, but I should 
 not have loved you. But you did to him what 
 a brother might have done — you treated him 
 as a fellow-creature in distress, and you showed 
 that your pity came from the heart's charity. 
 
 H 3
 
 154 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 Oh ! Monsieur '' slie added, pressing Fernandas 
 hand with emotion, " tell those of your class 
 to try and love those of our's — it will spare 
 their purses and may prevent many a misfor- 
 tune/' 
 
 " Mother !" said the young man, who all 
 this time had listened in silence, his hand rest- 
 ing on the back of a chair, and his eyes bent 
 upon the ground. " Dear mother ! what are 
 you thinking ofl What misfortunes should 
 happen 1 The rich are so rich, and we are so 
 poor f 
 
 " Mon ami," rejoined M. de Briancour, 
 gravely — "your mother says what is but too 
 true, and her words are but the echo of what I 
 have heard all my life from those nearest and 
 dearest to me. I have a sister,'' continued he, 
 " whom if you could see, you would love as all 
 upon our earth must love the angels in heaven, 
 — and, believe me, I have learnt from her that 
 it is the duty of the so-called rich to nurture 
 in their bosoms and tenderly to foster those 
 less fortunate than themselves ; it has ever been 
 her precept that deep, deep must be the love 
 and deep the confidence, which shall win for 
 the rich man the envied privilege of helping
 
 LEONIE YERMOXT. 155 
 
 his poorer brethren. But," continued he, turn- 
 ing to the sick woman, who had listened eagerly 
 to all he said — " this, if I do not mistake, is 
 not jour first suffering V 
 
 '•'No," replied she with patient gentleness, 
 " suffering and I have never been strangers. I 
 was born deformed, and lame, and have all my 
 life been infirm. But God's mercies," she con- 
 tinued, looking dcYOutlj up to heaven, " have 
 been numberless. Orphan, and helpless as I 
 was, his father loved me, and chose me from 
 out of a crowd of others more worthy to be 
 his wife than I, and he supported and watched 
 over and cared for me, until Pierre was old 
 
 enough to fill his place, and then " her 
 
 voice faltered — " Heaven took him from me ! 
 Had the Almighty left him to me longer, I 
 might have forgotten that all His gifts are but 
 loans, and so have sinned — but He willed it 
 not so, and His name be blessed/' 
 
 "And so, ma bonne mere," pursued Fer- 
 nand, profoundly touched, "you have never 
 been tempted to murmur when you have seen 
 the happiness of others 1" 
 
 " Murmur I" she rejoined, " at what 1 an- 
 other's happiness 1 Oh ! who could do that 1
 
 156 LEONIE VERMOET. 
 
 Besides, happiness is like suffering — we cannot 
 judge of it ; those we think the happiest may, 
 for all we can tell, be more miserable under 
 their grand outward seemings than the veriest 
 outcast in the streets, and the poorest and 
 most wretched may have consolations of which 
 we know nothino^. Murmur !" she again re- 
 peated, " at what 1 The mercies of our Divine 
 Saviour have been so manifold ! Think, Mon- 
 sieur, only think ! I am now sixty-two, and, 
 whatever may have happened to me since the 
 earliest hour I can remember, God has never 
 refused me the grace to bless his holy name, 
 and submit to his holy will — Murmur ? oh, 
 no!'^ 
 
 M. de Briancour raised the poor woman's 
 hand respectfully to his lips. " Ma mere," 
 said he, "I know none of us, who, if so tried, 
 could say as much/' 
 
 " Ah 1" remarked Pierre, with a smile whicli 
 was not without a tinge of sadness, " perhaps 
 my poor mother is right, sir ; and if some of 
 you knew us better, you might perhaps acknow- 
 ledge that we have that within us which should 
 merit some small portion of the kindly affec- 
 tion she so warmly speaks of"
 
 LEONIE YERMONT. 157 
 
 During the latter part of the conyersation, 
 which M. cle Briancour purposely prolonged, 
 his attention was engaged by a book which 
 lay half-opened upon a small table near the 
 bed. After many efforts he made out the 
 title : — it was the " Soirees de St. Petersbourg" 
 of Joseph de Maistre. 
 
 " Do you read that book 1 '' asked he of the 
 ouYrier, unable to conceal his surprise. 
 
 " We all read it/' was the reply, " and I not 
 only read, but bless him who wrote it. It was 
 not my mother's lessons nor the recollection of 
 my childish duties that taught me the way to 
 the Confessional and to the Altar of Christ — 
 it is to M. le Comte de Maistre that I owe that 
 strong faith which upholds under all inflictions, 
 and that humble submission of my reason to 
 the decrees of Him who governs all." 
 
 " But haye you never sought in his pages," 
 demanded Fernand, more and more astonished 
 at all he heard and said, "for some trace of 
 that Divine indulgence, of that supreme tender- 
 ness which so characterizes the religion of Jesus 
 Christ ? — Do you find in de Maistre the charity 
 of which we spoke even now V
 
 158 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 The young artisan's brow grew gloomy, and 
 his voice was altered as he replied : — 
 
 "I doubt much, Sir, whether you and I 
 should "judge M. de Maistre from the same 
 point of view. You can know nothing of the 
 hopes and consolations (stern ones if you will) 
 which we, the disinherited, find in those 
 glorious works." 
 
 "Will you allow me sometimes," asked 
 Fernand, rising, " to come and talk with you 
 upon them'?" 
 
 Pierre Larcher bowed with a proud modesty 
 that struck M. de Briancour forcibly. 
 
 ''And now," said the latter, after a mo- 
 ment's hesitation, " I must beg you to give me 
 my coat." 
 
 " Oh I thank you ! thank you ! " exclaimed 
 the aged mother, joyfully; "I was so afraid 
 lest you should want to give it Pierre ! " 
 
 "So much the reverse," rejoined Fernand, 
 laughing, and boldly taking an instantaneous 
 resolve, " that I am in much want of it, and 
 will, if you permit me, exchange for it the one 
 I have on, which is far too hot." 
 
 At these words the ouvrier turned round.
 
 LEO^HE YERMONT. 159 
 
 — "Wliat!'' he exclaimed, "do you not dis- 
 dainl" 
 
 "Yous plaisantez, mon clier," was M. de 
 Braincour's reply, as he gaily donned the 
 coat the poor artisan had already worn, and 
 throwing the other over his arm after the 
 fashion of a paletot, prepared to take his 
 leaTe. 
 
 Tears stood in Pierre Larcher's eyes, as with 
 a deep respect no one could have construed 
 into seryility, he ventured to oflfer his hand to 
 his aristocratic visitor. 
 
 Fernand shook it cordially, and in that 
 honest grasp the elegant patrician sealed a 
 mute but infrangible bond of union with the 
 proud and simple-hearted child of toil. 
 
 Upon arriving at home, M. de Briancour 
 found a letter from Madame Isabelle, an- 
 nouncing to him the arrival of her father in 
 Paris, accompanied by herself and Leonie, for 
 the purpose of following a proces which had 
 been long pending and was now thought likely 
 to draw to a favourable close.
 
 160 LEONIB VERMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The meeting between the lovers was, as 
 all such meetings are, somewhere about the 
 only event wherein anticipation is outstripped 
 by reality. Leonie was so elated since the 
 receipt of Fernand's last letter, she looked 
 upon him now as so surely her future husband, 
 that nearly all restraint was taken off from 
 the free manifestation of her feelings, and all 
 her heart contained of treasured love for Fer- 
 nand she revealed to him, and blushingly con- 
 fessed to Madame Isabelle. 
 
 Madame de Blangy, as may be conceived, 
 was initiated into the secrets of the trio, and 
 at the same time that she applied herself to
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 161 
 
 ojainiDOf an influence over the mind of the 
 Count, that should at a given moment be useful 
 to her joung proteges, she lost no time in 
 making the Minister feel that she would insist, 
 bj every means in her power, upon the accom- 
 plishment of a promise on which she now knew 
 depended all Fernandas hopes of happiness. 
 
 Three weeks flew by, the happiest our poet 
 had ever known. Even M. de Briancour was 
 not deprived of a certain degree of content- 
 ment; for, although it was, to be sure, rather 
 annoying tliat his only son should persist in 
 serving the Usurper's Government, still it was 
 a great satisfaction to reflect that he had 
 gained (or so nearly so that it might be re- 
 garded as certain) an action at law against 
 one of the Usurper's stanchest supporters. 
 
 As the proces of which we have spoken bears 
 in no manner, as to its cause, upon any cir- 
 cumstances connected with our tale, it is 
 useless to enter into its details. There, where 
 alone it could concern, and that very nearly — 
 the personages we have introduced to our 
 readers — was in the mere fact of its gain or loss. 
 M. de Briancour's opponent was a principal 
 elector of his department, a man who, taking
 
 162 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 advantage of that position, had contrived to 
 obtain bj adroitly bartering his vote, all the 
 thousand petty advantages which his Deputy- 
 ship could ensure him. The matter in litigation 
 was a piece of land, and the sum at stake on 
 either side was not above fourteen or fifteen 
 thousand francs (perhaps rather more than five 
 hundred and fifty pounds); but an obstinate 
 determination to carry off the victory had 
 seized both the parties at issue, and great 
 acrimony had arisen between them. The 
 action, lost by the Count in a provincial court 
 of law, had been — he having appealed against 
 the judgment — referred to the Gour de 
 Cassation, which annulled the first decision, 
 and decreed a fresh trial to take place in 
 Paris. Great was M. de Briancour's delight 
 at his expected triumph, and in anticipation of 
 it he had promised his daughter and Leonie 
 to pass the winter in Paris, which to both 
 occasioned no small degree of joy. 
 
 Madame Isabelle, for the first time in her 
 life, found what she liad so long sighed for, 
 an intellectual aliment for her mind ; and she 
 bloomed forth in spirit, and expanded morally, 
 as a flower that, transplanted from a narrow
 
 LEONIE TEBMONT. 163 
 
 vase, wherein its roots haye been compressed, 
 into the generous bosom of the earth, spreads 
 forth the vigorous verdure of its leaves, 
 and attains in the expansion of a healthy 
 efflorescence to the full term of its natural 
 development. In Madame de Blangj she 
 discovered a fi'iend really — to use a hacknied 
 but not less true expression — after her own 
 heart; and in the habitual society that sm*- 
 rounded her, she found a field in which her 
 intelligence delighted to exercise itself. 
 
 Madame de Meranges — for in Paris, to her 
 great distaste the name of Madame Isabelle was 
 no longer in conformity with etiquette — soon 
 became one of the chief habituees of Madame 
 de Blangy's receptions, and there scarcely 
 passed an eiening on which the newly libe- 
 rated recluse of Briancom^ failed to give an 
 hour or two to the conversation of the most 
 celebrated among the heroes of politics, lite- 
 rature, and the arts, who almost nightly 
 assembled at the house of her amiable friend. 
 
 Leonie, on the contrary, but seldom accom- 
 panied Madame Isabelle, and when M. de 
 Briancour's invincible taste for the Opera 
 Oomique and Gymnase, had lured him out
 
 164 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 upon the Boulevards, she either passed her 
 evenings with Fernand, or — what to her was 
 nearly as pleasant — in thinking of him, until 
 her habitually early hour of retiring to rest. 
 And so pure-hearted was Leonie, and so 
 pure-hearted Fernand, that even the saintly 
 Isabelle well knew that there was no danger 
 in leaving the fond dreamers to the deep 
 enjoyment of these perpetual tetes-k-t^te. 
 
 In the apartments which M. de Briancour 
 had taken, in one of the small streets running 
 from the Rue St. Honore, in the direction of 
 the Tuileries, considerable repairs were neces- 
 sary, and for all those (and they were the 
 principal ones,) where a carpenter or joiner 
 was required, Fernand had taken care to re- 
 commend Pierre Larcher. The protracted 
 illness of the latter's mother had thrown him 
 out of his regular employ, and his place being 
 filled up in his patron's atelier, he was driven 
 to ask a livelihood from private custom. 
 Madame Isabelle took an active interest in 
 the young artisan, and by her constant and 
 well-advised attentions soothed the ills, both 
 bodily and mental, of his suffering parent. 
 Pierre had, by these means, — too proud to be
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 165 
 
 called a client, — become a sort of humble 
 fi'iend in the family, — an object to Madame 
 Isabelle of ill- defined anxiety, to Fernand 
 of study, and of triumph to Leonie, who 
 delighted to behold in him the virtues inherent 
 in the sons of the people. 
 
 But about this period a circumstance, at 
 first trifling in appearance, occurred, which had 
 a more decisiye influence upon Fernandas 
 destinies than he himself, when it happened, 
 could have supposed. 
 
 One evening, as he was issuing from Pierre 
 Larcher's abode, whither he had gone to bear 
 a message from Madame Isabelle, he was sud- 
 denly accosted by a female, who, in passing 
 rapidly by, addressed to him the following 
 words : 
 
 " For the love of Heaven, turn back, and 
 follow me." 
 
 He had not time to mark the features of 
 her who thus spoke, but the tone was one of 
 such earnest entreaty that Fernand turned 
 without hesitation, and threading the crowd 
 on the narrow pavement, sought to join a 
 figure, which again contrived to draw him 
 onward by almost imperceptible signs. It
 
 166 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 stopped for an instant at a door-way, a few 
 yards higher up than the alley leading to 
 Pierre Larcher's abode ; and then, assured that 
 it "was followed, disappeared through a low 
 wicket in a long passage emerging upon a 
 dark staircase. Fernand still followed, grop- 
 ing his way, and led on by a Yoice which once 
 only in a whisper said, "Follow me, — pray 
 follow me." At the top of a staircase which 
 seemed interminable in its windings, the young 
 poet's mysterious guide stayed her course, and 
 inserting into the lock of a door on her right 
 hand a key which she drew from her pocket, 
 mutely motioned her visitor to enter. 
 
 As soon as the door was closed behind 
 them, and before Fernand had time to cast 
 a glance over the wretched garret where an 
 obvious effort at cleanly neatness struggled 
 against pitiless poverty, his conductress turned 
 suddenly round, and, trembling apparently 
 from fear and emotion, — 
 
 " Monsieur,^' she exclaimed, clasping her 
 hands earnestly, " pray, pray, forgive me for 
 the liberty I have taken, but you have so 
 much in your power that I could not refrain. 
 I did not dare allow my timidity to. get
 
 LEONIE YERMONT. 16*7 
 
 the better of me. I have Tratclied joii already 
 more than once, and wanted the courage 
 to address you ; but now I am driven past 
 endurance, and I must have recourse to the 
 
 only person Tvho can help me /*' She 
 
 stopped for breath, and seemed almost ready 
 to faint. 
 
 The Vicomte, to say the truth, anticipated 
 an immediate demand for pecuniary assistance, 
 and accordingly in his most benevolent tone, — 
 
 " Tell me in which way I may serve you, 
 my poor child," said he, looking with real 
 commiseration at the trembling girl before 
 him, whose excessive youth and remarkably 
 prepossessing appearance inspired him with 
 an involuntarily strong interest. " If not I, 
 possibly the ladies of my family may be 
 enabled to do something " 
 
 The girl started. "Oh! no!" she hurriedly 
 exclaimed, " you, and you alone, can aid me. 
 What I seek for is so little, — a nothing, — a 
 mere nothing ; — and yet, perhaps, you will 
 refuse me. It is an answer, — a word, — no- 
 thing but a word!" Her agitation had gone 
 on augmenting at every syllable, but at last, 
 coming to a full stop, she appeared to gather 
 strength in a desperate decision, and in a
 
 168 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 lower tone commenced a series of questions 
 which not a little puzzled her auditor. Fixing 
 her eyes upon Fernand with an anxious im- 
 ploring look, by no means warranted by the 
 nature of the demand, — 
 
 " Do you remember, sir," she asked, " ex- 
 actly ten days since, on the night of the ele- 
 venth of this month, last Tuesday week, 
 giving your arm to a lady in the Rue de Rivoli, 
 turning into one of the streets leading down 
 towards the Palais Royal, and, having left her 
 at the door of a house in the street, continu- 
 ing your road across the Rue St. Honore to 
 the Theatre Frangais, where you were met by 
 a gentleman of your acquaintance V She 
 again stopped, and fixed her anxious glance — 
 more anxious than ever — upon Fernand, who, 
 unable to repress an involuntary smile at her 
 tenacious memory, nevertheless shook his 
 head. " You do not remember that V she 
 cried, in accents of anguish. — " Oh ! try, try 
 for the love of mercy ! — I will help you," and 
 she recapitulated the whole with such vivacity, 
 dwelling so earnestly and accurately upon the 
 smallest details, that M. de Briancour at length 
 did recollect that, on the evening in question, 
 he had accompanied Madame Isabelle from the
 
 LEOXIE TERMOXT. 169 
 
 house of a friend, who lodged opposite the 
 Tuileries, and, having left her at her own 
 door, had strolled on in the direction of the 
 Rue de Richelieu. 
 
 Hanging breathlessly upon each word which 
 announced a successful eflPort of memory, the 
 girl continued in a lower and more agitated 
 tone, 
 
 " It was under the colonnade of the theatre 
 that jou met another person, a friend; rou 
 gave him your hand, — you spoke together like 
 intimates, — who was that '?" and here her yoice 
 sank into a whisper. 
 
 Fernand taxed his brain for some moments, 
 and at length answered, — 
 
 " You are right ! I did meet Blangerville 
 that night at the door of the Theatre Fran- 
 ^ais/' 
 
 " Who V murmured the anxious girl, — 
 " what name did jou saj V 
 
 " M. de Blangerville, — the Marquis de Blan- 
 gerville/*' 
 
 " Ha!" she stammered forth in a tone that 
 was like a stifled scream. — " Oh, no ! it is im- 
 possible ; — it cannot be ; — he, the Marquis de 
 Blangerville! — a Grand Seigneur! mercv of 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 heayen," and she staggered back a few paces, 
 and leant upon a chair for support. Suddenly, 
 however, collecting herself, — " I remember 
 now,"- she added, " there were two; — jou 
 spoke first to some one who was walking under 
 the arcades, before speaking to another, who 
 was reading the plaj-bill at the door of the 
 theatre: you must recollect that," she conti- 
 nued with panting eagerness; — " he turned 
 round, (he had his back towards you,) and 
 you shook hands; nay, more, he took your 
 arm, and you walked together to the corner of 
 the Rue de Amboise, where he left you." 
 
 All this time Fernand had been seemingly 
 engaged in vainly ransacking his memory, but 
 at this point he appeared to arrive at the re- 
 quisite conclusion. 
 
 " To be sure!" he exclaimed, " you are per- 
 fectly exact : it was Philippe Vermont." 
 
 The girl drew a long deep breath, after the 
 manner of one who has accomplished a labo- 
 rious undertaking, and then, with comparative 
 calm, — 
 
 " Who is M. PhiHppe Vermont T she en- 
 quired. 
 
 Fernand smiled.—" He would be but indif-
 
 LEONTE yer:*iont. 171 
 
 ferentlj pleased at the question/' replied he. 
 " Philippe Vermont is one of the rising 
 celebrities of the day, and, like most others, 
 fancies himself much greater than he is." 
 
 The girl turned pale, and in a trembling 
 voice, — " He is then probably very rich," she 
 added. 
 
 " Why, no," rejoined Fernand ; — " his 
 genius has not as yet brought him much 
 more than the empty gratification of his vanity; 
 but, may I ask," pursued he, becoming curious 
 in turn, " what interest you take in this young 
 painter, whose name you did not even know*?" 
 
 The girl fixed a bewildered look upon 
 her visitor, for at first she did not exactly 
 understand his meaning: at length, blushing 
 scarlet, and suddenly lowering her eyes to the 
 ground, she resumed, in a hurried and em- 
 barrassed manner, — " It was not for me, but 
 for some one else, — some one belonging to me, 
 and most dear. — You have rendered me such 
 a service!" she exclaimed, after a pause of a 
 second or two, during which her embarrass- 
 ment seemed only to increase, and, at length, 
 clasping her hands, and looking Fernand in 
 the face, — " Forgive me, sir, pray, pray for- 
 
 I 2
 
 172 LEONIE YEEMONT. 
 
 give me : you cannot guess what I have suf- 
 fered," she ejaculated, and unable to articulate 
 more, she sunk upon a chair in a paroxysm of 
 tears; 
 
 There was a certain air of modesty about 
 his new and so strangely made acquaint- 
 ance, and an unaffected intensity in her eager- 
 ness and in her grief, that from the first had 
 interested Fernand, and prevented him from 
 manifesting any impatience, whilst undergoing 
 the interrogatory to which she had subjected 
 him. He now advanced towards her with real 
 interest, and sought to discover, if in any way 
 he could be of service, either to herself or to 
 those for whom she evinced such disquietude. 
 Drying her tears, the weeping girl now rose, 
 and again thanking her visitor, declined all 
 further offer of assistance, and entreated his 
 forgiveness for that which she had already so 
 unceremoniously claimed. 
 
 Fernand prepared to withdraw, and the 
 youthful grisette (for to that class she evi- 
 dently belonged), with downcast eyes and an air 
 of unmistakeable humility, stood nearly hid- 
 den behind the door which she held half open 
 for hiui to pass through. But the adventure
 
 LEONIE YEEMONT. 173 
 
 was not to end here. Scarcely liad lie gained 
 the head of the staircase, when a sound, un- 
 noticed by him, issuing from below, drew the 
 girl with one bound upon the landing-place. 
 Whatever it might be that she heard, it was 
 enough ; for, springing forward, she seized 
 Fernand by the arm, and before he well knew 
 what had happened, he found himself once 
 more in her room, and face to face with her 
 alone. But this time it was with neither 
 curiosity nor disquietude that he had to do; 
 it was with positive agony. From the roots 
 of her hair to the tips of her finger nails, the 
 girl was absolutely livid with alarm, and her 
 whole frame quivered and shook so that she 
 could not stand upright. Tottering to the 
 window, which she opened, and against which 
 she supported herself, 
 
 "SirT she uttered in the thick choking 
 accents of despair, " will you save my life "i 
 Ask no questions ; we have no time for that. 
 Will you consent to escape from here by a 
 passage I will point out to you ; for, if not, I 
 have no resource but to throw myself out of 
 this window r 
 
 Fernand thought of all the histories of sue-
 
 174 LEONIE YERMOI^T. 
 
 cessful guet-a-pens practised upon joung men 
 of fortune of which he had read in novels and 
 newspapers, and hesitated for a second, but 
 the reality of the suffering he witnessed was 
 such that beyond the second he could hesitate 
 no longer. 
 
 " Mourir pour la patrie ! 
 
 " C'est le sort le plus beau," etc. 
 
 sang a voice at some little distance, repeating 
 the burden of the famous Chant des Girondins, 
 then just in the infancy of its fame. 
 
 The girl literally rolled rather than fell at 
 Fernand's feet, and in a voice, the tones of 
 which were evidently stifled by the cleaving of 
 the tongue to the mouth, "If there is any 
 one whom you love in this world, save me for 
 her sake !" muttered she, wringing his hands 
 in her own. 
 
 " Show me where I am to go," was the now 
 instantaneous reply. With energy as despe- 
 rate as was previously her dismay, she sprang 
 forward, and opening a door at the opposite 
 side of the room, pushed Fernand upon a flight 
 of steps unillumined by any light save that 
 which proceeded from within. 
 
 " Go up there," she exclaimed, in accents so
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 175 
 
 liurried and low as to be scarcely intelligible. 
 " At the top is the granary : you will find a 
 door at the end ; it is never shut ; pass through 
 it, and you will find yourself on a landing- 
 place; go straight down till you gain the 
 street ;" and in the intensity of her bewilder- 
 ment and alarm, she closed the door without 
 thanking her charitable risitor for his kindness, 
 but, as it would seem, not too soon ; for before 
 the latter had attained to the topmost stair, 
 the indistinct tones of a masculine voice re- 
 vealed to him in part the secret of his sudden 
 and forced flight from the gi'isette's chamber. 
 
 Several minutes were employed by M. de 
 Briancour in vain attempts to find the door 
 that had been mentioned to him as a means of 
 exit. At length he succeeded in putting his 
 hand upon a latch ; the door opened, and he 
 found himself upon a narrow landing-place, 
 from which led downwards the interminable 
 spiral of a dark, dirty staircase. How dark 
 it might be Femand had no just idea till he 
 had reached the second landing, whither the 
 skylight at the top ceased to send the help of 
 its struggling rays. Beyond this, he seemed 
 to be descending into the bowels of the earth.
 
 176 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 All was uDiform in his loug descent : stairs, 
 walls, and banisters. He had counted, as 
 he thought, seven stories, and still no light 
 gleamed, and he found no outlet. But at the 
 bottom of what he hoped was the last flight, 
 the rail of the banisters ceased. But there 
 was no door, no appearance of an aperture, no 
 freshness arising from the near neighbourhood 
 of the street. On feeling his way too with 
 hands and feet, he came, at the distance of a 
 few steps, to what was evidently the prolonga- 
 tion of the staircase. He was therefore still 
 " suspended in mid air," and had by no means 
 yet arrived upon terra firma. 
 
 Nothing remained but to go on, and so, on 
 he went ; but upon stretching out his hand this 
 time, he met with no banister-rail : his hand 
 touched only the wall, which seemed to him 
 harder and colder than before. The air too 
 felt damp. Oould he be descending into the 
 cellars 1 and was the last landing-place he had 
 left upon a level with the earth 1 But then, 
 why was there no door, no opening upon court- 
 yard or street 1 No ! it could not be that ; 
 and at any rate he would go on, for if mis- 
 taken, he could but retrace his steps. But
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 177 
 
 just as he had come to this resohition, and to 
 the tenth or twelfth stair, his footing failed 
 him, and the unexpected depth of the last 
 step threw him violently forwards against 
 something which at first appeared like a wall, 
 but which yielded under the pressure of his 
 weight. A stifled sound, like that of the shut- 
 ting of a well-muffled door, followed, bringing 
 with it a whiff of air across M. de Briancour's 
 face. Fernand had fallen down upon the sudden 
 giving way of the object against which he had at 
 first struck, and certainly what his hands now 
 touched was the bare earth, damp and clammy 
 as might be. Before he could rise, the sound 
 of a voice struck his ear — " Jean," it said, in a 
 gruff whisper, " are you there V " Aye, aye f 
 replied, in a similar tone, a voice which seemed 
 to Fernand to issue from the walls around 
 him—" Fm not far off." 
 
 M. de Briancour's first impulse was to call 
 for help ; but before he could do so, the voice 
 he had first heard, whispered words that 
 stopped him from giving any notice of his 
 near neighbourhood. " Have you got the 
 arms V it mm'mured ; but the answer was lost 
 upon Fernand, for he only heard a confused 
 
 I 3
 
 178 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 whispering, as though the two speakers had 
 met, and were now talking in close conference. 
 At the end of a few seconds, howeyer, he 
 caught -a sentence which appeared to him of 
 ominous import to himself. After the word 
 " passage,^' distinctly pronounced by one of the 
 whisperers, the other replied in a somewhat 
 louder key — " Oh ! that is well settled — I 
 came through it ten minutes ago, and I have 
 this moment locked it." 
 
 These words recalled to the Vicomte's mind 
 a noise he had heard unnoticed scarcely a 
 moment before, and in which he now recog- 
 nised the turning of a key. No doubt re- 
 mained. He had stumbled against the door 
 of some secret passage, leading Heaven knew 
 where, and he was now cut off from all 
 chance of retreat or of assistance. He began 
 to curse the evil fortune which had led him 
 to listen to the supplications of a grisette, 
 whom he could scarcely now avoid regarding 
 in the light of a person tutored to entrap him, 
 for what end he was utterly unable to divine. 
 His first impulse, however, was — now that he 
 found himself caught in what he naturally 
 enough took for a trap — to try if no means
 
 LEONIE YEEMONT. 179 
 
 existed of making his escape. He had already 
 risen to his feet, but in the complete darkness 
 that reigned around, he could only trust to 
 the sense of touch for rerealing to him the 
 circumstances of his position. After some 
 little groping, and cautiously advancing but a 
 step at a time, his extended hand came in 
 contact with a wall. He raised his ami, 
 lowered it, moved it to right and left, — yes ! 
 everywhere the same hard cold surface. It 
 was decidedly the stone boundary of his pri- 
 son. Stooping to the foot of the wall, he 
 again touched the earth, tlie bare clammy, and 
 in some spots, loose ground ! 
 
 He now determined to follow the course 
 of the wall, and keeping his right hand upon 
 it, whilst stretching out the left one, to avert 
 any unlooked-for obstacle, he slowly glided 
 along what appeared to him a somewhat 
 considerable space. At length the hand which 
 touched the wall was stopped by a pro- 
 jection seemingly at right angles with the 
 line he had hitherto followed : he put for- 
 ward his foot, and the same obstacle pre- 
 sented itself. It was evident he had reached 
 one of the corners of the chamber, and 
 he prepared to follow this fresh line of
 
 180 LEOME VEEMONT. 
 
 boundary as he had followed the preceding 
 one. How long he had employed in recon- 
 noitring his novel abode he had no means of 
 ascertaining; but it seemed to him as though 
 hours had flown by, At length, towards the 
 middle of what he thought was the third side 
 of his cell, the plain surface of the wall ceased : 
 what he now touched was wood, and a very 
 little time sufficed to prove to him that it was 
 in the form of a door. But nowhere did he 
 meet anything in the shape of a handle; all 
 was smooth, and of a uniform surface. 
 
 He began to despair of finding any issue, when 
 suddenly, close to the edge of the door, and 
 under the line of the stone wall which bor- 
 dered it, he felt a hole of about the size of a 
 walnut. Inserting his finger into the aperture, 
 he became aware of a latch on the other side. 
 But now he hesitated, and for a second felt 
 inclined to withdraw his hand. Whither 
 might this mysterious issue lead 1 the door 
 once opened, who could tell into what danger 
 he might be thrown 1 That he was likely to 
 fall a prey to some of the thousand miscreants 
 w^hose social ties are formed upon the basis of 
 mutual crime, seemed to him almost evident. 
 He had heard from vague report of the congre-
 
 LEONIE TERMOXT. 181 
 
 gations of repris de justice, felons, coiners, mur- 
 derers, whom the police was in the daily habit 
 of tracking, and whose resorts were often found 
 in the least suspected places, and he took it 
 for granted that he was about to fall a victim 
 to some such hideous, fearful band. 
 
 After a little reflection, however, he came to 
 the conclusion that the danger was equal be- 
 hnid him and before, and therefore, trusting to 
 Providence, he resolved to go on at all risks. 
 Slowly and stealthily he raised the latch : 
 the door yielded : cautiously he passed its 
 threshold, and treading step by step, for fear 
 of some chasm opening beneath his feet, he 
 closed the door behind him, and went fonvard. 
 But the darkness was the same, and he seemed 
 to have gained nothing by the change. The 
 wall which he found on either side by stretch- 
 ing out his ai-ms, served to shew him that he 
 was in a narrow passage, and at the end of a 
 dozen paces he came to a flight of steps. 
 When he had reached the fourth, a faint ray 
 of glimmering light appeared at no great dis- 
 tance, and he found himself standing on level 
 ground. But now the light moved, and he 
 heard a noise as of some one treadino: close to
 
 182 LEOISriE VERMONT. 
 
 Lim ; and then doors opened and shut, and a 
 heavy blow was given upon some object like a 
 bench or table. 
 
 "Are we all here'?" said a voice, which, 
 even in his first moment of surprise, Fernand 
 fancied was not entirely strange. 
 
 '' All," was the reply. 
 
 "Then introduce the new member," re- 
 joined the first voice : and again doors opened 
 and a heavy tread was heard. 
 
 During the last few moments, Fernand had 
 been occupied in finding his way towards the 
 light, which he now perceived shone through 
 the chink of a wall opposite to him. As he 
 made for this point, however, he was nearly 
 arrested in his course by knocking his head 
 against what appeared like a low stone 
 arch, and on either side his hands touched 
 what seemed to be stone door-posts — but no 
 door interposed itself between him and the 
 light. Only when he had passed under the 
 low archway, the air seemed more dense, 
 as though confined within narrower limits, 
 and the bare earth, that had hitherto formed 
 the floor, was exchanged for a rough kind 
 of tiled pavement. Fernand advanced, with
 
 LEONIE VERMOXT. 183 
 
 redoubled caution, towards the light, and 
 with little trouble reached it. It shone 
 through a separation in some boarding which 
 partitioned off this sombre ante-room from 
 the chamber beyond. Again the Yicomte 
 stretched out his arm, but this time his hand 
 fell upon the barrel of a gun ; and, as he con- 
 tinued to grope along, musket after musket en- 
 countered his touch. But now a^ain, the noise 
 of a door, and the tread of people close to him, 
 as it seemed, made him doubly desirous to 
 arrive upon a level with the line of light. 
 Seeking to support himself against the wall 
 without betraying his presence by the fall of 
 any of the arms ranged against it, he soon 
 gained a position which enabled him to survey 
 unseen all that was passing in the adjoining 
 chamber. 
 
 In the centre of a long dimly lighted room, 
 the walls of which were unpapered, and the 
 floor of which was roughly paved, stood a 
 dii-ty-looking wooden table, partially covered 
 by a still dirtier looking piece of black cloth. 
 Along two sides of the table were ranged 
 wooden benches, and at the head of it stood a 
 high-backed chair covered with some much-
 
 184 LEONIE VEEMONT. 
 
 worn stuff that had once been red. Twenty 
 or thirty men were dispersed in groups of two 
 and three around this mysterious chamber, but 
 their presence occasioned but little noise, for 
 their conversations, which appeared animated 
 and, in some cases, even vehement, were car- 
 ried on in whispers, and not even a chance 
 word reached the ears of their involuntary 
 watcher. 
 
 Fernandas whole attention was soon, how- 
 ever, engrossed by one object. At the foot of 
 the table, and with its back turned towards 
 the Vicomte, stood a figure of unusually large 
 proportions. This M. de Brian cour quickly 
 guessed to be the chief of the band. His 
 dress, in the first place, bespoke him of a 
 higher order than the rest, the greater propor- 
 tion of whom were workmen in their blouses, 
 or individuals whose shabby genteel attire de- 
 signated them as belonging to that, in Paris, 
 infinitely more dangerous class, known under 
 the name of les habits rapes, and there was 
 about him that unmistakeable air of command 
 which, if it is often the effect, is as often the 
 cause of authority. Upon the large head of 
 this personage, rendered larger still by the
 
 LEONIE YERMOXT. 185 
 
 mass of sable curls tliat adorned it, reposed in 
 slouching style, a benet, or cap of crimson 
 cloth. His occupation seemed to consist in 
 taking cognizance of a rather Toluminous cor- 
 respondence, for letter after letter was lifted 
 by his hand from the table, and, after a cur- 
 sory glance, either consigned to his pocket or 
 held over the flame of a candle that flickered 
 and flared unsnufied at the reader's elbow. 
 
 Fernand was beginning to lose sight of the 
 rest of the assistants in the absorbing anxiety 
 he instinctively felt for this one individual, 
 when his attention was arrested by the en- 
 trance upon the scene of two new actors. 
 From a door at the other end of the chamber 
 issued an elderly man, leading by the hand 
 one much younger than himself, and who was 
 blindfolded. They advanced till within a few 
 paces of the man in the red cap, and then 
 the elder of the two men, taking ofi* his cas- 
 quette with a gesture full of deference, mutely 
 presented his companion to him, whom the 
 Vicomte could now no longer doubt was the 
 leader of all those assembled around. The 
 latter, raising his head, gathered up the papers 
 remaining on the table, and, with a sign which
 
 186 LEONIE YEEMONT. 
 
 all appeared to comprehend, moved towards 
 the upper end of the board. The several 
 groups now blended together, and crowded 
 round- the table, some seating themselves on 
 benches, some standing behind those who had 
 obtained seats. At the foot stood alone the 
 last two comers, the blindfolded man and his 
 conductor. But Fernandas whole attention 
 was still riveted upon the tall chieftain, from 
 whom he never averted his glance during the 
 few moments the latter took to move from the 
 bottom of the table to the top. 
 
 Something stirred within Fernand at the 
 sight of this man : an inward voice told him that 
 he was no stranger, but that in that bulky frame 
 dwelt a spirit born to wage war against his own. 
 The Vicomte trembled as he marked the object 
 of his scrutiny threading the assembly, till he 
 reached the presidential chair, evidently des- 
 tined for his seat. And now the figure stop- 
 ped, and spoke to some one by its side, 
 averting still its face from M. de Briancour's 
 glance, and then it put forth its arm, and its 
 hand rested upon one of the elbows of the 
 chair. — That hand! Fernand shuddered as he 
 looked upon the rounded, dimpled, plump,
 
 LEONIE VEKMONT. 187 
 
 white fingers ; — he knew it ! It could not, 
 and jet must be. But now! see ! the figure 
 turns, its face glances full upon Fernandas 
 sickening ejes, and 
 
 M. de Briancour supported himself against 
 the wall, for an unaccountable faintness came 
 oyer him ; but this was quickly succeeded b j a 
 gasping curiosity. Placing his bonnet rouge 
 beside him on the table, and brushing up his 
 sable curls with a theatrical air, the President 
 again provoked the attention of the company 
 by a blow upon the board. When all were 
 silent, and every eye was directed towards 
 the two men at the foot of the table, the 
 President began : 
 
 " What is the name of the new brother you 
 have brought to US'?" he inquired of the elder 
 of the two. 
 
 " Jean Lefevre, and my son," was the reply. 
 
 " Citizen Jean Lefevre," added the Pre- 
 sident, "tell your age and profession, the 
 place of your birth, and that of your present 
 abode ; also your means of existence." 
 
 "I was twenty-six last March," answered 
 the blindfolded man ; " I am a journeyman 
 locksmith; I was born in the Rue Moufibtard,
 
 188 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 I live in tlie Rue de Sevres, and I earn my 
 bread by the labour of my hands/' 
 
 "Have you reflected," resumed the chief, 
 " upon- the demand you have made — upon the 
 nature of the engagement you are about to 
 formr^ 
 
 " I have/' 
 
 " Are you aware that death is the punish- 
 ment of treachery?' 
 
 " I am." 
 
 " Swear then," continued the President in a 
 sterner tone, " never to reveal to mortal man 
 that which shall pass in this room." 
 
 " I swear to preserve the silence of the 
 grave upon all that I may either hear or see," 
 replied Jean Lefevre. 
 
 After a pause of a few seconds, the master- 
 spirit, fixing a scrutinizing glance upon the 
 object of his cross-examination, pursued: — 
 " What is your opinion of the present Govern- 
 ment 1" 
 
 " That it is traitor to the cause of the coun- 
 try and of the people." 
 
 " Who profits by the existing Government 1" 
 
 "A small number of the privileged few." 
 
 " In virtue of what right do they govern V*
 
 LEOXIE VERMONT. 189 
 
 continued the President, with, as Fernand 
 thought, an imperceptible expression of spite. 
 
 " That of force." 
 
 " What is the master-vice of society'?" 
 
 "Selfishness." 
 
 " Wliat stands in lieu of honour, integrity, 
 and -virtue 1" 
 
 "Money!" 
 
 " Who is he before ^vhom all bow down 1" 
 
 " The rich man." 
 
 " Who is he upon whom it is lawful to 
 trample ?" 
 
 " The poor man," — and this time the tone of 
 the answer betrayed such deep, concentrated 
 hate, that Fernand felt himself grow cold. 
 
 " What is your opinion upon monarchy and 
 upon its representatives, kings V 
 
 " I think monarchy an execrable institution, 
 and hold kings and princes as hurtful to 
 the human race as tigers and wild beasts." 
 
 " Who are the aristocrats of the present 
 dajl" 
 
 " The aristocracy of birth having been 
 abolished in July, 1830, the aristocracy of our 
 times is composed of the wealthy, — an aris- 
 tocracy as destructive as the former."
 
 190 LEON IE VERMONT. 
 
 " And the people, how do they fare?" 
 
 " They are treated as serfs, as slaves/' 
 
 "When royalty shall be overthrown, shall 
 we rest satisfied?" 
 
 It would be difficult to give an idea of the 
 rage that vibrated through the tones that con- 
 veyed the following answer : — " Every aristo- 
 cracy must be destroyed, — every privilege 
 must be crushed under foot, otherwise,'^ — and 
 here the voice sank to a growl, like that of a 
 mastijff over a bone, — " otherwise we should 
 leave all the work undone." 
 
 " Upon what principle should society be 
 based?'' 
 
 " Upon that of equality." 
 
 " In the place of monarchy, what form of 
 government should we establish ?" 
 
 " The government of the people," answered 
 Lefevre, in a louder key, — " the Republic." 
 
 At these words the sympathy of the assist- 
 ants became manifest; but their incipient 
 applause was hushed by a gesture from the 
 President, who went on with his political 
 catechism. 
 
 " What are the rights and the duties of the 
 citizen under a well-regulated government?"
 
 LEONIE YEEMOKT. 191 
 
 " The right to existence, to gi'atuitoiis in- 
 struction, to an active participation iu the 
 gOYernment ; and his duties are those of devo- 
 tion to the public cause, and of fraternal love 
 to his fellow citizens." 
 
 " He who does not fulfil his duties, does he 
 preserve his rights V inquired the President in 
 a somewhat insinuating tone. 
 
 " By the fact of not fulfilling his duties, he 
 forfeits his character of a citizen." 
 
 " And he who would preserve his rights, vet 
 fulfil no duties, is he too one of the people 1" 
 added the chief with a lurking expression of 
 eje, which to Fernand revealed a strong latent 
 contempt for his ignorant auditors. 
 
 "He is unworthy to live," ejaculated the 
 fierce republican ; " those of that stamp are to 
 the social body what the cancer is to the 
 human frame. The first condition of a return 
 to a proper state is the extirpation of such 
 foul excrescences." 
 
 "How are the people to manifest their wiir^" 
 
 " By the laws they themselves establish, and 
 to which all must equally submit." 
 
 " Can a Chamber of Deputies make laws for 
 the people V
 
 192 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 " No ! a Legislative Chamber can only pre- 
 pare tliem ; but the people must sanction or 
 reject/' 
 
 " And in the event of a revolution, can the 
 people, directly after, govern themselves V 
 
 " I have said," answered Jean Lefevre 
 rather sententiously this time, "society at 
 present is gangrened; in order to pass to a 
 healthful state, heroic remedies must be ap- 
 plied. The people will need for some time a 
 revolutionary government." 
 
 *' But this revolution," asked the President 
 slowly, " should it be a political or a social 
 oner 
 
 "A social one," rejoined the Republican, 
 firmly. 
 
 " In a word, then," demanded the proprietor 
 of the bonnet rouge, " expose your principles." 
 
 " I hold it to be necessary," answered the 
 locksmith deliberately, "to exterminate royalty 
 and every sort of aristocracy, to substitute in 
 their stead the Republic, which is the govern- 
 ment of equality ; but, to pass from the existing 
 order of things to the proper government ; a 
 revolutionary power must be established that 
 shall enable the people to exercise their rights."
 
 LEOXIE YERMONT. 193 
 
 The president assumed an air of solemn gi'a- 
 vitj as lie now addressed the reTolutionist. 
 *' Citizen!" he commenced, sitting back in his 
 fauteuil and stretching forth his right hand 
 upon the table — " Citizen ! the principles vou 
 have professed are the only just ones, and the 
 only ones that are capable of aiding the march 
 of humanity towards the end it is destined to 
 attain ; but the realization of these principles 
 is no easy task. Our enemies are numerous 
 and powerful; they disj^ose of all the com- 
 bined forces of the social body ; we. Repub- 
 licans our very name is proscribed, and we have 
 but our courage and our rights. Reflect !" he 
 continued in a warning tone, '4t is yet time; — 
 reflect on all the dangers to which you stand 
 exposed, directly you shall have entered our 
 ranks. The loss of what little you possess, 
 the loss of liberty, the loss of life even . . . 
 Are you prepared to contemplate all these V 
 
 " I haye reflected, and am ready," replied 
 sturdily Jean Lefeyre. 
 
 '•'Bring the new member to the head of the 
 board," said the President to the father of the 
 locksmith, and a moment later, the blindfolded 
 man and his conductor were face to face with 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 LIEONIE VEEMOKT. 
 
 the broad-breasted chief, who had himself risen, 
 and who stood with folded arms and a look of 
 tragedy-heroism that appeared considerably to 
 impress the whole assembly. 
 
 " Citizen ! ^' he said in solemn tones, " re- 
 peat the words of the following oath: Mn the 
 name of the Republic, I swear eternal hate to 
 all kings, to all aristocrats, to all oppressors of 
 humanity. I swear entire devotion to the 
 people, fraternal love to all men, save and ex- 
 cepting the above-mentioned aristocrats. I 
 swear to punish all traitors. I swear to give 
 my life, and to mount even the steps of the 
 scaffold, should this last sacrifice be necessary 
 to ensure the sovereignty of the people, and 
 the reign of equality. . . .'" 
 
 At this point the president interrupted the 
 repetition of the formula, and taking a small 
 dagger from his breast, placed it in Jean Le- 
 f^vre's hand. 
 
 " May I suffer the traitors death/' he now 
 again continued, carefully waiting between 
 each phrase till it had been duly repeated, 
 " may I be struck by this very knife if I break 
 my oath! I freely consent to a traitor's fate if 
 I ever reveal the least thing to any one, who- 
 ever he may be."
 
 LEONIE YEKMOITT. 195 
 
 " Take off his bandage/' said the Master to 
 the elder Lefevre, who instantly obeyed ; and 
 then fixing an authoritative look upon the new 
 "brother," he motioned to him to take his 
 place upon the bench to the right hand of the 
 presidential chau', whereon he himself now re- 
 sumed his seat. 
 
 " Citizen ! " he added, " the society accepts 
 your oath : you belong to the association ; la- 
 bour with us henceforward for the liberty of 
 the people. He who has this night brought 
 you amongst us, has no doubb informed you of 
 our objects and our plans; our own questions 
 will have still further enlightened you, and in 
 a few words we will discover to you our most 
 intimate intentions. But first, inform us 
 whether you are able to contribute to our 
 means of defence by ammunition or arms \ "' 
 
 "We have brought two muskets, a pistol, 
 and a pike," replied the younger Lefevre, " be- 
 sides a pound and a half of powder." 
 
 " Where are they \ " 
 
 "There I" answered Jean, pointing to Fer- 
 nand's hiding-place. 
 
 " Where all Delessert's mouchards won't 
 succeed in finding them," muttered with a 
 
 k2
 
 196 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 grim smile a man seated at the foot of the 
 board. 
 
 " Citizen," pursued the bonnet rouge, " jou 
 are aware that no written documents exist in 
 the association, and that you are unknown 
 among us, except by the name you may choose 
 to adopt, or the number to which you may an- 
 swer. In case of arrest you must reply to no 
 <][uestions. The committee which goyerns the 
 -association remains likewise anonymous, until 
 it is deemed advisable to take up arms, when 
 the committee is bound openly to declare itself, 
 and it is forbidden to make any attempt at in- 
 surrection if the committee be not at the head 
 of the movement. During the combat, each 
 member must obey his chief according to all 
 the severity of military discipline. One of 
 your duties is to propagate the doctrines of 
 the society, and, should you know any citizens 
 discreet enough to be admitted here, you will 
 bring them to us. Each one who unites dis- 
 cretion and good-will merits to be enrolled in 
 our ranks, whatever may be his general degree 
 of instruction. We take upon ourselves the 
 completion of his political education. You 
 understand," continued the president, fixing
 
 LEONIE YERMONT. 197 
 
 liis steadiest glance on the new adherent, 
 " what are the causes of our just revolt against 
 the established order of things *? " and upon an 
 affirmative sign on the part of the younger 
 Lefevre — " we have joined together," he added 
 in a loud and firm tone, " to resist more suc- 
 cessfully the oppressors of our land, whose^ 
 policy it is to keep the people in ignor- 
 ance and disunion ; therefore, is it our plan to 
 unite the forces of the people and to diffuse 
 instruction over the whole surface of the coun- 
 try. Oiu' tyrants have proscribed the liberty 
 of association and of the press ; and, there- 
 fore, is it our duty to join in association more 
 perseveringly than ever, and to supply the de- 
 ficiency of the press by our ardour in preach- 
 ing our doctrines upon all occasions. The 
 arms our oppressors have forbidden us to use 
 are precisely those they dread the deepest, and 
 those upon which we should the quickest seize. 
 You have sworn," he resumed, after a mo- 
 ment's pause, " to join all your efforts to our's 
 — but later, when the hour shall have struck 
 for us to rise in arms to overthrow the power 
 that has betrayed our country — will you be 
 with us then '? The enterprise is hazardous —
 
 198 LIEOKIE VERMONT. 
 
 our enemies are strong — thej liave an armj, 
 treasures of wealth, and the support of foreign 
 crowns. Thej spread terror around; whilst 
 we, helpless outcasts! we, have only our courage 
 and our right. Again then, I say, when the 
 signal shall be given for the fight, are you pre- 
 pared to die, arms in hand, for the cause of 
 suffering humanity '? " 
 
 " I have said I was ready — and I am so ! ^' 
 rejoined Lefevre in a surly tone, which told of 
 something akin to impatience. 
 
 " But harder than the necessity of fighting 
 in the open street," resumed the president, in 
 a lower key, " a yet sterner necessity may 
 exist — that of striking, single-handed, at the 
 hated usurper of our rights — at him, who sur- 
 rounded by legions of ferocious victors, can, 
 with one word, with one look, doom to destruc- 
 tion the patriot who '' 
 
 " We call that assassination," interrupted 
 Jean Lefevre, with a gloomy resolution ; "well! 
 I'm ready for that too ! " 
 
 A dead hush followed these fearful words, 
 and Fernand almost fancied that the presi- 
 dent's bold glance quailed beneath that of the 
 locksmith ; but it was the affair of a second,
 
 LEOXIE YEEMO^"T. 199 
 
 and he quickly resumed : " Destiny decides 
 the hand to whose firmness shall be entrusted 
 the noble mission of deliyering France from 
 her hated tyrant. In the meantime, it is the 
 duty of every citizen to pay to the public 
 cause the tribute of his thoughts, his counsels, 
 and his prayers. Such is the duty we are 
 fulfilling at this hour. The ship is sinking, 
 brothers ! we must saye her. The best, the 
 pm-est, noblest of the sons of France — those 
 whom an immoral and impossible state of 
 things has disinherited, and to whom the lords 
 of the earth hare said — ' Work ! work ! with- 
 out ever reaping the reward of your toil,' they 
 are sufiering, starving ! — they are without work, 
 without bread ! — Shall we leave them without 
 help and without hope 1 " 
 
 In the ardour of his last appeal, the president 
 had risen to his feet, and now stood with 
 folded arms and head thrown back, watchins: 
 the efi'ect of his harangue upon his auditors, 
 who replied to it with ardent cries of " No ! 
 no ! "— " AVe must help them ! "— " We must 
 save them ! " — and other similar protestations. 
 
 " When so lately winter with its frosts 
 doubled the bitterness of the people's distress.
 
 200 LEONIE YERMONT. 
 
 and debarred us from tlie last of our enjoy- 
 ments — the fresh air," continued the president, 
 every now and then complacently adopting 
 the pronoun we, and quietly incorporating 
 himself with " the people '' and the " suffering 
 class: — " " AVhen winter, I say, gnawed with its 
 icy tooth into the very bones of the poor, we 
 were told to %ait' — to 'be patient,' for that 
 summer, with its returning rural toils, would 
 bring new gains to the labourer — but what has 
 it done '? The genial sun has brought fresh ver- 
 dure to the fields and pasture to the beasts 
 within them ; it has given food to the meanest 
 of the animal creation; but to the poor what 
 has it given 1 to the wretch in whose ears 
 rings ceaselessly the discordant cry of a law 
 he neither made nor sanctioned, and to whom 
 that law says — ' Nothing of thine is here : 
 these fields, these pastures, and these harvests 
 are not thine — work, and touch not! To that 
 unfortunate, what can change of season bring '? 
 nought, save the mockery of his stepmother 
 earth, who, glowing with her rich produce, hurls 
 at him the defiance which the infernal powers 
 inflicted upon Tantalus. It is not the 
 charity of the wealthy that we crave ; we do
 
 LEOKiE ^t:rmont. 201 
 
 not ask for the rich man's gifts " (a -aniyersal 
 and ominous murmur followed these words, 
 and showed clearly enough how the "rich 
 man " would fare whose evil fate should lead 
 him into such a neighbourhood ;) "we thirst 
 for justice, for our rights. It is to the fulfil- 
 ment of a duty that we bid you, and our 
 cause is the purest and most sacred of any. 
 Think, brothers ! think of what has so newly 
 passed," pursued the chief, with ever-increas- 
 ing warmth ; " remember the millions so sin- 
 fully wasted not six months ago upon the nup- 
 tials of a Spanish baby with a royal stripling 
 whose features we have never seen, to whom 
 we are as the dust under his horse's foot, and 
 this whilst the stomachs of the people were 
 tortured, wrung with hunger. But what 
 matters it to the proud ones of the realm that 
 the people of France should starve ? The 
 last of the usurper's sons has intermarried 
 with the blood of Castile — that indeed has the 
 power to make their cold hearts leap ! " 
 
 This last sentence was delivered with an 
 ironical melodi'amatic laugh, which produced a 
 considerable sensation, and the vociferations 
 of the meeting, partially repressed until now, 
 
 k3
 
 202 LEONIE YERMONT. 
 
 rendered the president's eloquence for some 
 seconds unavailing. When silence had been 
 re-established : " The selfishness of those who 
 govern us/' recommenced he, " is as rash as it 
 is ferocious, for who can deny that, if the 
 people were so inclined, they could respond to 
 their impious orgies otherwise than by moans 
 and tears! But the time is fast coming,'' 
 cried the orator suddenly, stretching his ex- 
 tended arm above the heads of the assembly, 
 and quelling both by voice and gesture the 
 storm his words had raised ; " the time is fast 
 coming, when we must meet our oppressors 
 face to face, and when the usurper must be 
 laid low, — and then, putting aside all false 
 compassion for a hateful race, let us devote to 
 the infernal gods the enemies of humanity 1 
 When the hour shall have struck, men of the 
 people, no pity ! — think upon the martyrs of 
 freedom in other days! — think upon those of 
 our own times; remember the scaffold of 
 Alibaud, Maureau, and Pepin ! — think of Bar- 
 b^s and Blanqui, and so many others who in 
 the loathsome dungeons of the tyrant expiate 
 the crime of having been the people's friends. 
 Men of the people, no pity ! — raise your
 
 LEOXIE TEKMOXT. 203 
 
 sinewy arms, and steep tliem in the blood of 
 the executioners of the human race!" 
 
 To give any idea of the tumult of savage 
 applause which followed this horrid harangue, 
 would be impossible. It broke forth in jells 
 rather than words, and from the gestures of 
 more than one among the assistants jou would 
 have thought thej revelled by anticipation in 
 the possible realization of the last bloody pic- 
 ture presented to their foid minds. 
 
 Fernand felt as though death were near. 
 And indeed, how could he escape from it '? 
 Discovered, he must fall a victim to the fury 
 of the monsters around him, and undiscovered, 
 should he not die even a worse death'? The 
 present pre-occupation of a sense of personal 
 safety was so strong, that it for the moment 
 surmounted every other sentiment. A few 
 minutes, however, sufficed to show him that his 
 suspense coidd not last long. When the agita- 
 tion produced by the president's speech was a 
 little calmed, one of the conspirators rose, and, 
 having first extinguished two out of the four 
 tallow candles that lighted the apartment, he 
 gave one to a man near to him, and took one in 
 his own hand. The band now divided into two
 
 204 LEONIE YERMONT. 
 
 groups, one of which bent its course towards 
 the door through which Fernand had seen the 
 elder Lefevre and his son enter, whilst the 
 other group, composed of twelve or fourteen 
 individuals, came towards the verj portion of 
 the wall on the other side of which the 
 Vicomte was standing. He now became aware 
 of the fact that a door existed there com- 
 municating with the secret passage, through 
 which he had found his waj. Discovery 
 therefore was inevitable! unless! — but a mo- 
 ment only remained. He stepped forward. 
 Still musket after musket met his outstretched 
 hand, — and now a key grates upon a lock, — 
 he has reached it, — he has had time to feel 
 the wooden door ! — and now, should the door 
 open on the inside of the adjoining room he 
 must in less than five seconds be a dead man ; 
 — his only hope is that the door may open on 
 the outside, and so, in opening, cover him. 
 See now, — the light glimmers, — the key turns, 
 — the door yields. Fernandas heart ceases 
 to beat, and he recommends his soul to God ; 
 but a dark solid somethiug intervenes between 
 him and the light, and he is shoved slightly 
 aside by the door, which does open into his
 
 LEOXIE TEE^rO^'T. 205 
 
 liiding-place. He does not yet feel thankful — 
 but he breathes. The first man \vho goes out is 
 the president, bearing the candle in his hand. 
 One, two, three others follow. He wiU have 
 time to mingle with them unnoticed, before 
 the last one closes the door. — The light glim- 
 mers now faintly and far on before : he steps 
 forth, joins the group, and they walk on in 
 silence, unbroken save by sundry remarks upon 
 the ardent patriotism and splendid genius of 
 the president, until they descend the steps 
 into the narrow passage. The locking of tlie 
 door leading into the armoury is distinctly 
 heard behind them ; M. de Briancour is in the 
 middle of the band. Yet no one notices him, 
 for it is too dark, and all are pre-occupied, and 
 moreover possessed with a sense of their own 
 perfect security. "When they had reached the 
 end of the passage, the whole party came to a 
 sudden halt. 
 
 " How is this V ejaculated the chief; '"when 
 I came through here, this door was shut, and 
 now it is wide open !" 
 
 Femand's blood ran cold. 
 
 " You probably pushed it too forcibly,'' ob-
 
 206 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 served some one near liiro, "and instead of 
 shutting, it must have flown open by recoil/' 
 
 " O'est possible/' replied the leader of the 
 troop, "but I could have sworn I shut it with 
 my own hand." 
 
 The incident passed ofi", and the whole gang 
 entered the cellar wherein M. de Briancour 
 had first found himself confined, and of which 
 he now took a rapid survey. Soon the mystery 
 of his entrance into this secret chamber was 
 explained. Upon applying a small key to a 
 lock, so well concealed as to be on the outside 
 invisible, an opening appeared in the wall. 
 This was no other than a door that moved 
 upon a pivot, and, when unlocked, yielded to 
 the pressure applied upon either side of the 
 spring. Once closed, (as the Vicomte per- 
 ceived, when they had cleared it), nothing in 
 the uniform surface of the wall could indicate 
 an aperture of any sort, and it was only to the 
 hazard of its having been for an instant un- 
 fastened, when he struck against it, that he 
 owed his temporary imprisonment and all its 
 consequences. Imuiediately upon securing 
 this issue, the band mounted the cellar-steps
 
 LEOXIE ^-EEMOXT. 207 
 
 slo^lj aud Tvitli much caution. Arriyecl at 
 the top, there where Fernaud had ceased to 
 find the continuation of the banister rail, the 
 president opened a door -^vhich the Vicomte 
 had failed to find, and, extinguishing his can- 
 dle ^vhich he placed upon the ground, the 
 whole party were quickly in a coiu't-yard, sur- 
 rounded by high dark houses, and canopied 
 over by a brilliant starht sky. 
 
 The balmy freshness of the air passed un- 
 heeded by Fernand, as did also the sudden dis- 
 appearance of nearly all his companions. He 
 found himself alone with two other men who 
 walked forwards, and whom he mechanically 
 followed. He fancied for an instant, that he 
 heard receding steps in distant staircases, but 
 he marked it not, and went on. He passed 
 the alley and the wicket through which some 
 hours before the grisette had led him, and it 
 was not till he got into the street that he 
 breathed freely, or that his senses returned 
 even partially to him. He walked on rapidly ; 
 he almost ran, and never did he notice, that 
 wherever he went, to whichever side of the 
 street he crossed, the ill-dressed figure of a 
 most ill-looking personage followed dog-like
 
 208 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 his steps, nor left him till he had entered his 
 own door. 
 
 And where was the chief of these rebels 
 all the while ? When the party emerged from 
 their subterranean lair into the free regions of 
 upper earth, whither did he bend liis steps *? 
 
 This was what Fernand de Briancour asked 
 himself, as late on the following morning he 
 awoke from his troubled sleep, and tried to 
 collect his ideas upon the horrid scenes of the 
 previous night.
 
 LEOXIE YEEMO^'T. 209 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Tyto days after tlie scene we have attempted 
 to describe in our last chapter, the ante-room 
 of M. ChaToiid, the Minister's private secre- 
 tary, was filled as usual with solicitors of both 
 sexes, and of all ranks and ages, who from 
 early morn till dusk pursued their hard and so 
 often thankless trade. A grande dame had 
 just been ushered into the important func- 
 tionary's presence when she was followed by a 
 short, thickset, yulgar-looking man, wearing 
 the rosette of the Legion d'Honneur large as a 
 full blown rose, at the first button-hole of his 
 coat. This individual, without tendering his
 
 210 LEONIE VEEMONT. 
 
 card, or asking any preliminary questions, 
 proceeded straight to the door of the ca- 
 binet. 
 
 " Pardon, Monsieur," interposed one of the 
 garcons de bureau, " but M. Ohavoud is not 
 visible just now/' 
 
 " Not to all the world, I dare say," replied 
 the little fat man, with an impertinent glance 
 at the tribe of small solicitors, forced to wait 
 their turn — " but you know I never wait : he 
 always receives me." 
 
 " Oh ! I am quite aware of that," resumed 
 the underling, deferentially, " but the present 
 visitor is a lady, and perhaps M. Oha- 
 voud ^" 
 
 " Devilish provoking 1" muttered the new 
 comer. " Well then, go in and tell him he is 
 wanted: that will settle the matter." 
 
 There was a little hesitation about the Cer- 
 berus which might have ended by irritating 
 the man with the rosette, had not at that 
 moment the door of the cabinet opened. 
 
 " I give you my word I will use the whole 
 of my influence with the Minister, Madame la 
 Marquise," said a smooth insincere-toned voice, 
 as a tall, well-dressed, fashionable-looking
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 211 
 
 woman passed the threshold ; " but alas ! my 
 influence is so slight !" 
 
 " I count upon jou, my dear M. Charoud," 
 replied the lady, with an affected familiarity 
 she intended to be most gracious, but which, 
 from the excessive desii'e it betrayed to be 
 condescending, arrived no further than dis- 
 guised impertinence. " I count upon you — ■ 
 we are such old, good friends!" and with a 
 haughty stare at her successor, who all but 
 intercepted her passage, the noble dame 
 walked majestically out of the ante-room. 
 
 '•' Who is that bony beldame, with her inso- 
 lent airs, to whom you have just been pro- 
 mising what you never mean to keep V in- 
 quired the new intruder into the place-hunter's 
 paradise, when the door was closed behind 
 him, and he found himself alone with M. 
 Chavoud. 
 
 " Peste ! comme vous y allez !" replied the 
 latter; " that is the Duke de Bondy's sister, 
 the famous Madame de Matteville.^' 
 
 "What! the beauty r 
 
 "Exactly.'' 
 
 " Well," rejoined the decore, " I never 
 should have guessed that ; and what does she 
 wantl"
 
 212 LEONIE YERMONT. 
 
 " Oh ! a mere nothing — what they all 
 want," replied the Secretary with a smile ; " a 
 nice, convenient, agreeable, well-paid place for 
 her son." 
 
 "Which of course you have promised to 
 obtain," said the little fat legionnaire, with a 
 cunning twinkle in his small sharp eyes. 
 
 " And which possibly may be obtained," 
 answered the functionary, gravely. 
 
 " They are then very rich V ejaculated the 
 other. 
 
 "They have sulked since 1830," rejoined 
 M. Ohavoud, looking his visitor full in the 
 face. "And if they come round, it will not 
 be alone : — ^plenty of others will follow." 
 
 " I understand," said the hero of the red 
 ribbon, somewhat testily. " And because they 
 have for seventeen years refused their adhesion 
 to this government, they are to receive as a 
 matter of course all those things of which they 
 who for seventeen years have supported it, are 
 to be deprived !" 
 
 "Nay, my dear M. Regnard," interposed 
 the Minister's minister, in his softest tone — 
 " of what have you to complain ?' 
 
 " Of what ? Why simply of yours and M.
 
 LEONIE VEKMOXT. 213 
 
 Atortague's system of giving all to your ene- 
 mies, and notliing to jour friends/' 
 
 "Have we ever refused jou anything'?'' 
 asked M. Chavoud. " The last time you 
 applied to us was, I think, three weeks ago, 
 for a sous-prefecture for your nephew, and if 
 I mistake not, he is now duly installed. In 
 the course of the last three months you hare 
 changed two prefets, made a bishop, and got a 
 consul-general turned into a cliarge d'affaires 
 (which was decidedly irregular), besides ob- 
 taining five altar-pieces for young artists, 
 and a bureau de tabac for your daughter's 
 governess " 
 
 " And what is that, pray, to what I have 
 done for you V' rejoined sharply M. Regnard. 
 " Why, if it had not been for me, the Ministry 
 must have fallen upon the last cabinet ques- 
 tion — you had but a majority of eight, and I 
 brought you nine Totes. I promised right 
 and left — I got the votes, and you gained 
 the day — but I must have my words borne 
 out. I will stand no shilly-shallying, and so 
 you may tell M. Mortagne — that which I have 
 promised I will be enabled to fulfil — I will not 
 give assurances I cannot keep ''
 
 214 LEONIE YERMONT. 
 
 " Why, my dear friend/' interrupted the 
 alarmed Secretary, " the Minister is obliged to 
 do so." 
 
 " The Minister may do what he likes," was 
 the answer ; '^ but I am an honest man, and a 
 man of my word, and I won't be cajoled. 
 Why, d — n it ! I should lose my credit in my 
 department. All the people to whom I have 
 made promises are influential men : I should 
 compromise my re-election. No, no, my good 
 fellow, ony promises must be ratified." 
 
 M. Ohayoud thrust his hands into his 
 pockets with a gesture of despair. " It is you, 
 and such as you (that is, our own party), who 
 are ruining us," he exclaimed. " This state of 
 things cannot last : you will destroy us, and 
 yourselyes at the same time." 
 
 " That remains to be seen," resumed M. 
 Regnard. " Meanwhile, stick to your friends, 
 say I ; for the Conservatives alone can save 
 you. But my visit of to-day had another and 
 a far more serious object ; and reflect upon one 
 thing — I am come upon an errand that touches 
 me personally." 
 
 M. Ohavoud took the fat Deputy by the 
 hand. — " Then," he observed, " you hnoiv you 
 are sure of ."
 
 LBONIE TERMONT. 215 
 
 " I know nothing/' answered M. Regnarcl ; 
 "but I tell jou this; that if I go from hence 
 dissatisfied, I and mj party will oppose the 
 Ministry upon every occasion, and vote against 
 you, all of us like one man." 
 
 M. ChaTOud sighed heavily. " My dear M. 
 Regnard," said he, " what is it you want ?" • 
 
 " The position we agi-eed upon together six 
 months ago for my son." 
 
 " It was not vacant," objected the ofiicial. 
 
 " But it is so now," rejoined the inflexible 
 place-hunter. 
 
 "WeUr 
 
 " Well ! — Charles is waiting for it, to get 
 himself proposed as a member of the Jockey 
 Club. Le pauvre cher enfant ! he is quite 
 melancholy about it ; and it is too bad to see 
 the way in which you waste time here and 
 neglect business. Allow me to say, my good 
 Chavoud, that you have been most remiss in 
 this matter ; for if you had followed it up six 
 weeks ago, all would have gone capitally — 
 whereas now However, tant pis pour 
 
 YOUS." 
 
 " Well,'' sighed M. Chavoud, with a resigned 
 smile, " I do not see that much time has been 
 
 lost."
 
 216 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 '' Oh, you don't see that !" rejoined rather 
 bitterly the Deputy ; " then I must prove it to 
 you. That place to which I had a right, and 
 upon which we counted, is promised to another, 
 M. Chavoud !" 
 
 "Ah! bahr cried M. Ohavoud— " why, 
 who could have promised it T 
 
 "The Minister himself!" 
 
 The Secretary shrugged his shoulders. "In 
 that case, my dear Sir,'' he observed, " there is 
 of course nothing to do. We must look for 
 another place for ce cher Charles." 
 
 "That will not do," replied M. Regnard. 
 " You must keep your word with me." 
 
 " But, my dear Sir," objected Ohavoud, con- 
 siderably emboldened, " if the Minister " 
 
 " Tut ! tut !" resumed M. Regnard impa- 
 patiently, " these shifts will not answer with 
 me. I am not to be put aside because Madame 
 de Blangy, or any other female politician, 
 chooses to wheedle out of M. Mortagne that 
 to which I have a right." 
 
 " Oh !" resumed the Secretary, " it is Ma- 
 dame de Blangy who has " 
 
 " Yes, it is she !" rejoined the Deputy, 
 angrily ; " and I wish from my soul that all
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 217 
 
 her tribe of intriguantes, with her at their 
 head, were at the bottom of the Red Sea. 
 She has bothered the Minister till he has given 
 a solemn promise that joii will be obliged to 
 make him break." 
 
 " I, mj dear M. Regnard !" answered Cha- 
 vond. " Naj, jou must indeed be reasonable. 
 Madame de Blangj is very influential ; the 
 Minister respects her infinitely, and she is a 
 person with whom you know engagements are 
 kept. Indeed, I must decline." 
 
 And the silky Secretary began to look liko 
 a man who has the upper hand, and who wishes 
 to preserve it without any breach of civility. 
 
 " Besides, my good friend," he continued, 
 " what difference can it make 1 We shall be 
 able to find another place for your dear boy ; 
 and that will settle the matter." 
 
 " The matter can only be settled one way," 
 retorted stm-dily M. Regnard. '* I must have 
 for Charles the place M. Mortagne has so un- 
 advisedly promised to young Briancour." 
 
 " To whom did you say V suddenly de- 
 manded Ohavoud, with an appearance of in- 
 creasing interest. 
 
 "To old Briancour's son — an impertinent 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 young dandy of a fellow, who always looks at 
 one as tliougli one were a tailor presenting a 
 bill — a puppy as insupportable as his ass of a 
 father." 
 
 M. Ohavoud's countenance underwent a 
 manifest change. 
 
 " Ah \" murmured he, deliberately stroking 
 his chin, and surveying his visitor steadfastly, 
 with the air of a man who all at once perceives 
 an object he has been looking at in one light 
 presented to his notice in another. "Ah !" 
 he again repeated. *' His father and you are 
 at loggerheads, are you not V he asked. 
 
 " Confound the obstinate old fool !" ejacu- 
 lated M. Regnard — " of course we are, and 
 are likely to be so for some time to come, as 
 justice is administered in this country." 
 
 " I perceive then truly as you say," rejoined 
 the Secretary, "that this is quite a personal 
 affair." 
 
 The Deputy nodded assent, and drawing in 
 his lips and knitting his brow, said as plainly 
 as a countenance could speak without words, 
 " If you dissatisfy me you shall see it still 
 plainer." 
 
 " And so," pursued M. Chavoud, in a musing
 
 LEONiE at:emont. 219 
 
 tone, "joung Briancour found means of 
 getting Madame de Blangy to solicit for 
 liim ? She is very influential — ^verj. It is 
 wonderfid, M. Regnard, how these joung 
 aristocrats push themselves forward." 
 
 " It is disgusting," retorted Regnard, with 
 what an uninitiated spectator would call a 
 burst of honest indignation, "to see the 
 ravenous appetite for place that is manifested 
 bj half the joung men of the present gene- 
 ration." 
 
 "It is, as you say, wonderful," echoed 
 Chavoud, with a peculiar smile. 
 
 " It quite sickens me to see how they 
 intrigue," remarked the Deputy. 
 
 "So it does me," responded the Secretary, 
 suppressing a still more developed smile. 
 " Well, M. Regnard," he resumed, after a 
 momentary pause, "I think you may set 
 your mind at ease. M. de Briancour will not 
 stand in your way." 
 
 "Now, indeed, you speak like a sensible 
 man," said the Deputy. " You know how 
 useless it is to disguise your influence from 
 me. "We are all aware that you do with the 
 Minister what you like, therefore you may 
 
 L 2
 
 220 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 often, I warn jou, be held guilty of want of 
 will, but never of want of power !" 
 
 " In this case/' replied M. Ohavoud, " I shall 
 have but little merit/' 
 
 "How so r 
 
 " Because we have young Briancour so on 
 the hip in another way, that Madame de 
 Blangy will be the first to withdraw from him 
 her protection." 
 
 *' Bah !" and Regnard stood dumb-foundered. 
 *' How so 1 pray tell me V 
 
 " I cannot,'' answered Ohavoud, looking dis- 
 creet. 
 
 " Nonsense, man," was the retort ; " tell me." 
 
 " Well then — but walls have ears ;" and 
 the Secretary drew close to his friend. "An 
 occasion is offered to us such as we cannot 
 choose but seize," whispered Ohavoud, with a 
 sinister grin. "Young Briancour has, like 
 most youngsters of his age, a sly passion in an 
 out-of-the-way corner of Paris — a little grisette, 
 Vi^hose abode is, as luck will have it, most com- 
 promising for her admirer. She lives, mon 
 cher, in a house where we know of the existence 
 of a wliole beehive full of conspirators, and 
 where, one of these fine days, when the moment
 
 LJ^ONIE TERMONT. 221 
 
 shall seem opportune, a domiciliarj visit will be 
 made/' 
 
 " Well/' rejoined the Deputy ; " and Tvhat 
 then r 
 
 "^Vhat then!" echoed Chavoud ; " whv, 
 don't jou see at once'? Le petit Vicomte is 
 an imprudent Romeo, and sometimes returns 
 from his nocturnal visits at daybreak." 
 
 " But how do you know that '?" asked the 
 puzzled Regnard. 
 
 *' Pshaw ! my dear friend," replied Chavoud, 
 with a disdainful shrug of the shoulders, 
 " how do we know everything '? Shall I tell 
 you where you went last Friday, when you 
 left Madame Regnard at the Opera T 
 
 "Oh, never mind me, never mind that," 
 harshly answered the flurried legislator ; " but 
 I really cannot approve, I cannot think pro- 
 per, this prying into private conduct, this 
 system of poKce-spying, this " 
 
 *' We are not at the tribune, cher M. Reg- 
 nard," intei-posed Chavoud, with a bland 
 smile, laying his hand upon his visitor's arm ; 
 " I have no doubt you do not approve; but 
 you will not refuse to profit by what shocks 
 you so much 1"
 
 222 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 " It is not for me/' retorted tlie Deputy ; 
 " it is for my son that '' 
 
 " Well, never mind for whom it is/' resumed 
 Ohavoud. " If your scruples were so great 
 as to prevent you from accepting, why nothing 
 could be easier than " 
 
 "Oh, my dear fellow," added the virtuous 
 M. Regnard, with a gulp that seemed as though 
 he had at length succeeded in swallowing the 
 pill that had for a moment stuck in his throat ; 
 " you must not think of it in that light. You 
 know I am somewhat prudish upon these points 
 — quite a stickler for all our constitutional rights 
 and liberties," (the old sinner had systema- 
 tically voted with the most encroutes of the 
 Conseryative majority for the last five years) ; 
 " and therefore you must take no heed of my 
 opinion in such matters. But do go on with 
 your story about M. de Briancour." 
 
 " WeU, then, here it is in two w^ords," said 
 Chavoud ; "Le petit Vicomte was seen to enter 
 the house inhabited by his fair one a short 
 time after dusk, and he did not leave it till 
 near dawn. The grisette in question was 
 with him, and from enquiries made in the 
 neighbourhood, it results that the young gentle-
 
 LEONIE VERMONT, 223 
 
 man, described as a ' Monsieur a redingote," 
 is in the constant habit of visiting this amiable 
 ricrolette. His name was not discoyered till 
 two or three days ago. The agent, appointed 
 to watch the house of which I speak, thinking 
 he might be a good prize, followed him to 
 liis own door, and soon discovered who he 
 was/' 
 
 " Well," objected Regnard, " but still the 
 fact of his being the lover of a grisette, though 
 certainly wrong and improper — " 
 
 " Farceur!" ejaculated the bureaucrate, tap- 
 ping the rotund waistcoat of the Deputy. 
 
 " Hem ! hem !" cawed M. Regnard, clearing 
 his throat. — " The fact, I repeat, of running 
 after a young girl is a thing which can scarcely 
 be adduced as a reason for not obtaining the 
 position he is in quest of." 
 
 " No !" replied, in a loud tone, M. Chavoud ; 
 " but the fact of being a member of a societe 
 secrete is a circumstance which, if properly 
 managed, may." 
 
 " But, good heavens !" exclaimed M. Reg- 
 nard, " do you really suppose that he 1 
 
 Oh! those infernal Carlists! they will never 
 be quiet till we have exiled them every one."
 
 224 LIEONIE YERMONT. 
 
 " And confiscated their estates, eli V sug- 
 gested, with a sly wink of the eye, M. Cha- 
 voud; — " there, however, is not the point. 
 Le petit de Briancour is, I believe, as well 
 converted to the present government as any 
 other of the hundreds who want a good place 
 under it ; but, to say the truth, he embarrasses 
 us, and we should be fools to let such a good 
 opportunity escape of getting rid of him." 
 
 " But how V persisted the Deputy. 
 
 " Why,'' replied the Secretary, " suppose 
 that, instead of being the lover of a lace- 
 mender, he were a brother of the Societe des 
 Droits de I'Homme.'' 
 
 " Heaven's mercy !" cried the trembling 
 decore; " you don't mean to say that those 
 blood-thirsty rascals still exist 1" 
 
 " They are still some seven or eight hundred 
 in this town," answered the Secretary; " but 
 never mind them, my good friend, they will 
 do no one harm; and to say the truth, the 
 government rather avoids having them molested, 
 as that would reveal their existence to many 
 who have no conception of it. But to return 
 to our subject. What prevents us (the Minister 
 and I,) from being convinced that M. de Brian-
 
 LEOKIE VERMONT. 225 
 
 cour is a dangerous person, — a conspirator, — 
 a republican, — what prevents us from thinking 
 
 this r 
 
 " Why, in truth," objected the Deputy, 
 seemingly vanquished by the argument, " I 
 
 think as you say, that f " to be sure," he 
 
 resumed, after some little hesitation, " to be 
 sure, you know it is not true." 
 
 " Bah !" answered the Secretary ; " la 
 moindre des choses ! an accusation gravely 
 made always leaves something behind." 
 
 " Oh ! in the end you won't get out of it," 
 replied M. Regnard; "young Briancour will 
 prove his innocence, and then " 
 
 "Tush!" was the reply; "no one ever 
 proves his innocence. Convictions are all that 
 ever come into play, and those of men like 
 M. Mortagne always produce a certain effect, 
 even when they are not partaken of; besides, 
 a chance word thrown out in a high quarter 
 you and I know of, would settle the business 
 at once; and then, however Madame de 
 Blangy may wish for her protege's success, she 
 can do no otherwise than admit that it is a 
 very awkward business, and the Viscount a 
 very silly, imprudent young man; besides, it 
 
 L 3
 
 226 LEONIE VEEMONT. 
 
 is, after all, such an easy tiling to destroy in 
 the protector the interest shown to the person 
 protected! If you knew the numbers w^ho 
 have come here clamouring for favours for their 
 friends, and whom, with half a dozen words, 
 I have sent away, delighted to find a pretext 
 for taking the Minister's part, and proving to 
 those whose affairs they had made their own, 
 that they were unreasonable, and had no right 
 to expect anything from any one I I know 
 Madame de Blangy is not of this kind, and 
 that it will be more difficult in her case than 
 in most others; still, something of the un- 
 avoidable annoyance attendant upon the non- 
 success of her endeavours will stick to the 
 Viscount, and she will not be sorry to make 
 him responsible for her disappointment. Rely 
 upon it, mon cher, this time next year, M. de 
 Briancour will have no place, and Madame de 
 Blangy and the Minister will be as good friends 
 as they are now/' 
 
 " Umph !" mumbled the Deputy, "it is not 
 perhaps quite right/' And so opining, he 
 thought to himself what a particularly moral 
 statesman he was. He felt rather angry, to 
 say the truth, with his conscience, for being so
 
 LEONIE TERMONT. 227 
 
 timorous, so delicate, but consoled himself with 
 the idea that it was a fault on the right side, 
 &c., &c., and so this internal colloquy ended. 
 " After all," resumed he, pursued in spite of 
 himself bj that vague yearning for self-justifi- 
 cation which almost all men feel when they are 
 about to commit a bad action. "x\fter all, 
 what could young Briancour want wdth a 
 place 1 what object could he have in pursuing 
 the Minister with his demands for office 1 '^ 
 
 " Mere gratification of vanity," murmured 
 ChaYOud, " lis en sont tons la." 
 
 "Shocking! shocking!" added M. Regnard, 
 "so paltry," and he inwardly congratulated 
 himself upon his own personal grandeur d'ame. 
 
 " You see then that you have little to dread 
 in that quarter," continued the Secretary. 
 
 " And all to expect from you," rejoined the 
 Deputy. " Charles will be so pleased at his 
 nomination." 
 
 The two men shook hands, and M. Chavoiid, 
 amidst flattering promises, conducted his 
 visitor to the door. 
 
 "Apropos to that!" said the latter, when 
 he had reached the threshold, " why don't you 
 come and dine with us to-day, at half-past six?
 
 228 LIEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 without ceremony. I have had some green 
 oysters sent to me from Bordeaux this morning 
 that look magnificent." The Secretary's eyes 
 glistened. 
 
 " If 1 could," said he, " but I really don't 
 know. . . I am so occupied ! so killed 
 with work ! I am afraid to say. . . ." 
 
 "Aliens," rejoined M. Regnard, "we will 
 wait for you till seven." 
 
 " I cannot refuse," said the gently-yielding 
 Chavoud, and as the other prepared to tra- 
 verse the ante-room, " are the oysters freshl'^ 
 said he. 
 
 " They are alive." 
 
 "Well, I suppose I must say yes — so a 
 re voir." And exchanging another cordial 
 pressure of the hand, the one went forth upon 
 his daily course to the Chamber, there to help 
 the downfall of the Ministry by his support, 
 and the other retired anew to his cabinet, to 
 listen afresh to the ever-renewed supplications 
 and complaints of place-hunters, and to purr 
 over them, cat-like, with promises.
 
 LEONIE VERMOisT. 229 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 AxD, as M. Chavoiid said, so the blow vras 
 struck ; but (and this the unscrupulous under- 
 ling thought unnecessary to avoid) the ^linister 
 was no party to it. M. Mortagne was deceived, 
 neither more nor less than Madame de 
 Blangy herself, and whilst ruthlessly trampling 
 upon all Fernand's hopes and crushing his 
 every prospect of happiness in life, he firmly 
 believed he was unmasking an intriguant, and 
 defending the confidential posts of the State 
 from the invasions of an impostor. Reader ! 
 I will not take upon myself to affirm that, had 
 this wise and moral Minister known the real 
 state of the case, he would have acted other-
 
 230 LEOKIE VERMONT. 
 
 wise, but there was something so very generous, 
 so very high-minded in his intellect, that 
 Chavoud, he scarcely knew why, felt emba- 
 rassed at the thoughts of confiding to him any 
 plan of positive dishonesty, and preferred 
 keeping the deep rascality of his proceedings 
 to himself. He accordingly imparted to his 
 superior the sad transgressions of the Vicomte ; 
 and M. Mortagne, although seriously annoyed 
 at being forced to forfeit a promise made to 
 Madame de Blangy, determined to treat 
 the disloyal "Oarlist," as they all united in 
 calling him, with the severity he so well 
 deserved. Madame de Blangy, however, 
 with a true woman's tenacity, would not be 
 beaten thus. She protested it was a calumny, 
 and hesitated not an instant in denouncing 
 Chavoud as the author of it. 
 
 " It is his invention," she exclaimed to M. 
 Mortagne, " and you are once more deceived, 
 as you, too often are, by that sly, smirking 
 manoeuvrer." 
 
 The Minister, in his blandest manner, as- 
 sured Madame de Blangy she was mistaken, 
 that Chavoud was one of his best friends, and 
 devoted to him with canine fidelity. Equally
 
 LEONIE VEEMONT. 231 
 
 impressed with opposite convictions, they 
 separated, M. de Briancour having lost his 
 chances of an appointment. 
 
 Madame de Blangj, however, was too kind 
 a person, too zealous a friend, to allow herself 
 to lose courage and give up the game after this 
 fashion. She therefore resolved to prove, irre- 
 futably, the existence of a deliberate calumny, 
 and to exact the advancement of her protege 
 as an amends. But as usual, the obstacles she 
 met with to this plan came from the person most 
 to be benefited by it. In a conversation upon 
 which she at length determined with Fernand, 
 and during which both, naturally enough, played 
 at cross purposes, she discovered to her horror 
 and surprise that no amourette existed (the 
 unfortunate young man held to clearing him- 
 self from the imputation on Leonie^s account, 
 and in so doing revealed much of the danger of 
 which he never guessed), and that of secret 
 societies and midnight conspiracies, Fernand 
 did somehow or other know enough to give a 
 vague colour to the accusation brought against 
 him. 
 
 The Yicomte, on the other hand, supposed, 
 from the strange questions put to him, that 
 every detail of his adventure on the night
 
 232 L]SONIE VEKMONT. 
 
 of his unlucky yisit to the grisette's chamber 
 was known, and that the police, so quickly 
 master of every movement, however hidden, 
 had by some mysterious means become pos- 
 sessed of a secret he would have given worlds 
 to conceal. 
 
 During the day that followed his conversa- 
 tion with Madame de Blangy, numberless were 
 the plans that Fernand revolved in his imagi- 
 nation without finding one that he could ven- 
 ture to put into execution. The whole of that 
 restless night he passed in turning over in his 
 own mind the possibilities of escape from a 
 disclosure which he dreaded at every hour ; and 
 before anything except milk carts and chif- 
 fonniers were stirring in the streets, Fernand 
 was out upon a desperate and bootless errand. 
 Long did he wander, finding none of those 
 whom he sought, and at length, harassed and 
 agitated by fatigue and by the failure of his 
 morning's excursion, he re-entered his own 
 doors with one of those heavy forebodings of 
 immediate evil that are rarely found to de- 
 ceive. 
 
 Breakfast passed over. Both Madame Isa- 
 belle and Leonie were silent, and pre-occupied 
 by the gloom which hung over Fernand, and
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 233 
 
 which not all the jokes of his father (for the 
 Count was in high good humour that day) 
 could make him shake off, even in appearance. 
 M. de Briancour the elder had sallied forth 
 to take his usual gossipping walk upon the 
 sunny side of the Quai des Tuileries, with 
 whomsoever he could find on his road thither, 
 who would listen to his epigrams and anec- 
 dotes against the " Usurper's'' court. Madame 
 Isabelle was occupied with household matters, 
 and Leonie was alone with him she loved . 
 Fernand had risen, and was standing at one of 
 the windows looking forth upon vacancy and 
 in intense thought. Mademoiselle Vermont sat 
 for a few seconds, trying to seem engaged with 
 the corner of a handkerchief she was embroi- 
 dering. The half hour past eleven struck. 
 Fernand turned hastily round, and looked 
 with an almost affrighted glance at the clock ; 
 then seizing his hat, he prepared to leave the 
 room, forgetting to say good bye to Leonie. 
 
 The gui dropped her work upon her knee. 
 
 "Sans adieu 1" she said, in an inquiring 
 tone, which brought the Vicomte to her chair 
 in an instant ; and taking his proffered hand 
 in hers, — " Fernand, what is the matter V she
 
 234 LEONIE YERMONT. 
 
 added, fixing upon her lover an anxious tear- 
 ful gaze. 
 
 " Do not ask me/' was the reply. 
 
 " Then there is something I" she exclaimed, 
 rising to her feet, and subjecting Fernand, 
 whose hand she still held, to all the fire of her 
 ardent, searching eye. 
 
 " There is !" he rejoined, in a low voice, but 
 with more calmness than before. "It may be 
 nothing, Leonie, and it may be " he hesi- 
 tated, as he saw the colour abandon the cheeks 
 of his affianced. 
 
 " What 1 . . . what may it be V inquired 
 Mademoiselle Vermont, slowly and in a scarcely 
 audible tone. . 
 
 Fernand pressed her hand with that strong 
 grasp of afi'ection which to the true heart says 
 plainer than all words — " I will stand by you 
 to the last f and as each read the other's 
 loyalty in the momentary glance which they 
 exchanged, 
 
 " Leonie,'' he resumed, " it may be so grave 
 that you and I may stand in need of all our 
 courage ; but not till all is over shall you be 
 aware of what has passed. If I need your aid 
 in the task which is before me, dearest, then I
 
 LEONIE VEEMOlfT. 235 
 
 will tell you all; but till then, rely upon me, 
 implicitly, entirely." 
 
 " Fernand, I will do so," answered she, 
 firmly ; and with her this promise meant — 
 " Whatever tortm*es of suspense you may in- 
 flict, I will not murmur, but resolutely wait." 
 
 " God bless you, my own love," said the 
 Vicomte, with earnest tenderness, as he im- 
 printed a kiss upon her hand. " Remember 
 that whatever . . . ." 
 
 A violent ring at the bell interrupted Fer- 
 nandas protestations, and sent the two lovers 
 to some little distance from each other. The 
 door of the salon opened, and Madame la 
 Comtesse de Blangy was announced. The 
 Vicomte, with another hurried look at the 
 clock, was preparing to excuse himself, and 
 leave his amiable protectress with Mademoi- 
 selle Vermont, but the former prevented him. 
 
 " I have come here upon serious business," 
 she began, laying her hand, without further 
 preamble, upon Fernandas arm ; " and you, 
 my dear M. de Briancour, must listen to me." 
 
 Mademoiselle Vermont gathered up her 
 work. "Nay, Mademoiselle Leonie," pursued 
 Madame de Blangy, in the same grave tone,
 
 236 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 "do not go — mj errand concerns you to the 
 full as much as him." 
 
 The Vicomte sprang forward, and with an 
 impulse of which he was not master. "For 
 God's sake !" he exclaimed, and then checking 
 himself, added, in an under tone, " not before 
 
 her spare her let her go ! . . . what 
 
 has happened ? Is he V here he stopped, 
 
 not daring to proceed. 
 
 Madame de Blangy looked surprised, as she 
 replied, "I do not understand jou; but I must 
 entreat of jou to be calm ; and you, my dear 
 child," she said, appealing to Leonie, who 
 stood by, motionless and pale, supporting with 
 Stoic firmness an evidently harrowing anxiety, 
 " come near to me, and listen to what I have 
 to say." 
 
 The three drew close together ; Leonie upon 
 a low chair at the side of the Countess, and 
 Fernand upon a small sofa opposite. 
 
 "I have good news for you, my young 
 friends," commenced Madame de Blangy, look- 
 ing stedfastly at Fernand. A deep breath 
 escaped from Leonie's compressed lips; the 
 Vicomte stared at Madame de Blangy as 
 though he had not heard aright. " I repeat,"
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 237 
 
 resumed the Countess, *' I have ; — but first be 
 so kind as to order that no one be admitted 
 during mj visit. What I have to saj must be 
 said to you Uvo alone, and never hereafter pass 
 the lips of any one of us." 
 
 When Fernand had given the required in- 
 junction, the Countess recommenced : 
 
 " I have this moment left the Minister, with 
 whom I have talked for upwards of an hour. 
 A fearful charge has been made against jou" 
 (Leonie started, and looked towards Fernand 
 as though to see how she might help to defend 
 him: the Vicomte grew crimson.) "But," re- 
 sumed Madame de Blangy, " your fortune is 
 now in your own hands. I have an appoint- 
 ment with M. Mortagne at six o'clock to day : 
 you will accompany me, and there, with one 
 word, not only destroy the infamous calumny 
 that has been invented to ruin you, but render 
 a service to the government, that can never be 
 forgotten." 
 
 "Ah! dear Madame de Blangy, what a 
 friend you are ! " cried Leonie, kissing the 
 Countess's hand with rapture, and showing by 
 her outbreak of joy how much of suffering she 
 had concealed. Fernand fixed a scrutinizing
 
 238 Ll^ONIE YERMONT. 
 
 glance upon liis protectress, as he replied, ^'The 
 OYerthrow of a calumny I partly understand ; 
 but what service can I render which is to be 
 so well paidT' 
 
 " Ecoutez, mon cher,^^ rejoined the Countess, 
 throwing off a certain half-embarrassed, half- 
 watchful air she had adopted towards the Vi- 
 comte from the first moment of her entrance 
 into the room. "Before this dear girl we 
 can speak as frankly as if we were alone/' 
 
 " Oh, do, do ! " interrupted Mademoiselle 
 Vermont ; '• let me know all, now that all is 
 over! That is . . /' (for Fernandas look had 
 something in it which daunted her), " that is, 
 if ... if M. de Briancour judges proper/' 
 she added timidly. 
 
 " You shall know all, my dear child, and be 
 our judge,'' replied resolutely the Countess, and 
 turning to Fernand, " You are aware," she said, 
 "that Chavoud (for it is evident he is the 
 author of all), accuses you of being a member 
 of the 'Societe des Droits de I'Homme,' and of 
 conspiriug against the existing government and 
 probably against the king's life." 
 
 *'0h, Madame!" ejaculated Leonie, clasping 
 her hands in dismay, " how infamous ! " (At
 
 LEONIE TERMONT. 239 
 
 this word " infamous " Fernand's look at his 
 affianced bride grew so strange, that, had not 
 both women been otherwise occupied, they 
 must have noticed it). "And is it possible 
 that any one could belieye . . .V 
 
 " Hush ! my dear girl," interrupted ^ladame 
 de Blangy ; " unfortunately these kind of ca- 
 lumnies are rarely set on foot by men as ex- 
 perienced as he with whom we have to do, 
 without there being a something, no matter 
 how yague, upon which to rest the lie. Now 
 listen," she continued, " without being earned 
 away by your emotion : our friend here, the 
 Viscount, for some excellent reason, frequents, 
 as it appears, a certain quarter of the town, 
 held in suspicion by the police, and a few 
 nicjhts aero, he was seen to issue from an abode, 
 with every secret of which " (Fernand winced 
 and turned pale) " our well-trained govern- 
 ment spies are intimately acquainted." 
 
 Mademoiselle Vermont raised her eyes to 
 her lover^s face and mutely questioned him. 
 
 "Eh, monDieu!'' he replied, "the tale is 
 simple enough. I will repeat to you, Leonie, 
 what I have already told to Madame la Oom- 
 tesse, of the way in which I became involun-
 
 240 LEONIE VEKMONT. 
 
 tarilj initiated into the secrets of the society of 
 conspirators to which you allude/' And Fer- 
 nand proceeded to recount to Mademoiselle 
 Vermont the story of his meeting with the 
 grisette and his visit to her mansarde, hiding 
 from her, however, that the person so anxiously 
 enquired for by the ouvriere, was none other 
 than Philippe Vermont himself. 
 
 " And could you satisfy her curiosity V 
 asked Leonie. 
 
 "It is dif&cult enough,'' rejoined the Vi- 
 comte, evasively, " to recollect all the people 
 whom we may have met in the street during 
 the last three weeks." 
 
 "Oh! ma foi!" murmured parenthetically 
 Madame de Blangy, "if it were not that 
 Ohavoud was utterly ignorant of all that had 
 passed between the Minister and myself in 
 regard to you, I should set down your grisette 
 as a decoy duck. 1 have seen men of his 
 species at work, and know how they can shape 
 their villanies, or,— as they term it now, — 
 when it is required to drown a man, they find 
 out the precise stone that it is requisite to tie 
 about his neck, — but Ohavoud was not upon 
 his guard, so that supposition is inadmissible.
 
 LEONiE VERMONT. 241 
 
 Destiny has been busy in the matter, tliat is 
 certain. But," resumed the Countess, " you 
 hare not told all: you hide still the most 
 important part ; and, take care ! they know 
 that you hide it." 
 
 Fernand shuddered in such a way, that any 
 unprejudiced looker-on would hare pronounced 
 liim guilty. " For mercy's sake, ma dame !" 
 he said in an altered tone, " spare me upon 
 that point. You, who know all," and here he 
 glanced at Leonie in a way she did not ob- 
 serve, and Madame de Blangy did not under- 
 stand, " know that no tortures can wring 
 from my lips the betrayal of ." 
 
 " There it is!" exclaimed the Countess witli 
 energy; "it is incomprehensible! and upon 
 my word, if I did not know you as I do, I 
 should fancy there was a consciousness of guilt 
 in your refusal." A sad smile parted the 
 Vicomte's lips as Leonie almost breathlessly 
 conjured him to accede to the Countess's de- 
 mand, whatsoever it might be. 
 
 "Poor child!" he whispered to himself, 
 *• how little you know what you ask !" 
 
 " Here it is that I need yom* influence, nia 
 belle," recommenced Madame de Blangy. " M. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 Fernand, as you perceive bj his own showing, 
 lias been, he says," and she marked these 
 words, significantly watching the effect of 
 them upon the Vicomte's agitated counte- 
 nance, " an involuntary witness to the plots 
 and conspiracies of a set of wretches who are 
 planning the downfall of a Government from 
 which he is himself soliciting favours and place ! 
 Thus far I have brought M. Mortagne to what 
 was my own belief, and he now asks no better 
 than to atone by any means in his power for 
 the injury inflicted by a calumny — if calumny 
 there really has been/' 
 
 " Oh ! Madame !" exclaimed with different 
 degrees of indignation, both Leonie and Fer- 
 nand, at these concluding words. 
 
 " Well," rejoined the Countess, "there is 
 but one way of proving your innocence, and 
 till I had been discouraged by the strangeness 
 of your own attitude, I confess I thought you 
 would have seized it joyfully. If your dis- 
 covery of these hideous machinations be, in- 
 deed, involuntary, nothing binds you, and you 
 can but feel a strong desire to aid the Govern- 
 ment in its endeavours to seize and punish 
 the monsters, who are plotting its ruin, — if you
 
 LEOmE YEEMOKT. 243 
 
 refuse to do this, ho^yeYer I may believe in 
 jour good faith, who else, think jou, will do 
 sor 
 
 Fernand quivered. " Ah ! Madame de 
 Blangj,'^ he faltered, in a tone of absolute 
 anguish, " what would jou have me do ? — 
 JOU, jou! the most generous, the most noble- 
 minded of women, jou would have me give 
 
 up the name of the misguided man who '' 
 
 Madame de Blangj sprang from her chaii\ 
 " What!" she cried, " has it gone so far ! — 
 do JOU actuallj know their very names V 
 
 The Vicomte seized her two hands in his 
 own, and wringing them violentlj, '-'And — 
 
 and —JOU do not V he stammered, barelj 
 
 master of his utterance, — " jou do not ! Oh, 
 for mercj's sake, repeat those words ! — jou — 
 JOU do not know that " 
 
 " We know nothing, of course, but what jou 
 can tell us," she answered with undisguised 
 impatience; "and I should saj,'' she added, 
 '' we know nothing but what jou will tell us, 
 for unless jour participation in all this matter 
 be less involuntarj than jou wish me to think, 
 JOU will not allow anj false feeling of com- 
 
 M 2
 
 244 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 passion to interyene between jou and the 
 resolute sacrifice of such criniinals." 
 
 " Say all jou like, dear Countess," rejoined 
 Fernand, trying to kiss the hand Madame de 
 Blangy withdrew from his grasp, " say all you 
 like, call me conspirator, revolutionist, what 
 you will . . . We are saved ! we are saved ! 
 oh ! thank Heaven and its eternal mercy !" 
 and the Vicomte sank back exhausted in the 
 corner of the sofa, covering his face with his 
 hands. Madame de Blangy and Leonie looked 
 at one another in bewilderment; at length the 
 former, after a pause of a few moments, deter- 
 mined to attempt a last effort. 
 
 "M. de Briancour," she said coldly, "you 
 are aware that if I go from hence bearing to 
 the Minister the refusal you have given me, 
 not only is your future career irrevocably 
 closed, but you are a marked man, a man who 
 is to be watched, and, pardon me," (her voice 
 fell almost to a whisper) "a man whose word 
 is not always to be trusted, a man whose 
 honour . . . ." 
 
 Mademoiselle Vermont had said nothing 
 during the latter portion of the conversation 
 between the Viscomte and Madame de Blangy,
 
 LEONIE YEEMONT. 245 
 
 but had sat as tliougli turned into stone. At 
 these last words, she let her head fall upon her 
 breast, as one who has received a heavy blow, 
 and two large tears had gathered upon her 
 eyelashes, but did not fall upon her deadly 
 pale cheeks. Fernand rose, and standing face 
 to face with his perhaps too zealous protectress, 
 — " Madame de Blangy," he said, with a des- 
 perate effort at calmness and in a tone of 
 deep respect, "look at me. I am the last of 
 a long line of gentlemen who in latter years 
 left little to their descendants save their 
 honour : do you believe that to save my life I 
 would sully that V There was something so 
 earnest in the young Vicomte's manner that 
 the Countess relented — " I did not — I — I do 
 not,'' she at last frankly said. 
 
 "Then believe me,'' he continued slowly 
 and solemnly, "when I swear to you, upon that 
 honour which I hold so dear, that every single 
 circumstance I have detailed to you is strictly 
 true, and that, could I explain to you the 
 motives of my present conduct, you would be 
 the first, the very first to approve." 
 
 " Oh ! my dear M. de Briancour," retorted 
 the Countess, now quite softened, "then why —
 
 246 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 do, do afford me at least some means of justi- 
 fying you, let me . . . ." 
 
 "Alas!" he replied, "that is what grieves me 
 most : it is that I can give you no aid, no help, 
 no succour — all is forbidden me. Dear, amia- 
 ble, kind Madame de Blangy/' he added with 
 real feeling, " try to forget me ; it is all you 
 can do for me now, whilst I can never, never 
 forget your kindness to us." 
 
 Fernand's tone and his whole bearing were 
 such, that the fair Countess, notwithstanding 
 all her determination to serve him in spite of 
 himself, could go no further. She bade adieu 
 to both ; Leonie receiving . her farewell with 
 seeming unconsciousness, and Fernand pressing 
 her hand to his lips with profound and sincere 
 gratitude. 
 
 When Madame de Blangy was gone, the Vi- 
 comte retraced his steps into the salon, which 
 was tenanted solely by Leonie. A few seconds 
 passed in silence ; at the end of which Made- 
 moiselle Vermont rose, and coming close to M. 
 de Briancour, 
 
 " Fernand," she said, in a deep, calm voice, 
 and taking the burning hand of the young 
 man in her own ice-cold grasp, — "could you
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 247 
 
 not do what Madame de Blangj -wished? 
 was it impossible 1" 
 
 "Impossible!" he echoed in an accent that 
 admitted no farther doubt. 
 
 "And must I too know nothing of the 
 secret jou keep at such a costl" she added 
 in the same still way. 
 
 "Nothing — nothing, Leonie!" rejoined her 
 lover, with intense inward emotion. 
 
 "It is well, Fernand," she said; "and — but 
 one question more. Your — I mean our future 
 welfare 1 " 
 
 "Oh! my Leonie!" he replied, drawing 
 his beloved towards him, and pressing her two 
 hands upon his heart, '* if you knew from what 
 Providence has this day preserved us, you 
 woidd confide in Heaven, and look forward to 
 the future rather with hope than despondency." 
 
 "I wiU confide in you, Fernand," she an- 
 swered firmly, as ofi*ering her marble brow to 
 her affianced bridegi'oom's kiss, she slowly and 
 noiselessly glided from the room. 
 
 And why, — you will I am sure, reader, 
 have asked ere now — why did Feruand thus 
 cast from him the only means of realizing 
 what for years had been his fondest hopel
 
 248 LEONIB YERMONT. 
 
 Why did lie deliberately sacrifice himself and 
 the girl he so deeply loved *? Why did he even 
 allow the expression of a doubt which, in other 
 times^ would have goaded him to distraction 1 
 Whyl — Because, reader, that horrid spectre 
 Ayhich the ancients blindly called Fatality, had 
 intervened between him and his happiness, 
 and had, when it was at the fullest, dashed the 
 cup from his lips.
 
 LEONIE VERMONT, 249 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Fernand had discovered from Madame de 
 Blaugy's conversation, that — in some respects 
 at any rate — his fears might be mitigated, inas- 
 much as it was manifest to him, that the secret 
 TV'hich he regarded as so important was in his 
 entire and sole keeping, and that the fate of 
 those (whoever they might be) whom he was 
 labouring to screen from discovery, remained 
 in his hands alone; but alas! to their's was 
 attached the fate of himself, of Leonie ! With 
 what bitterness of spirit did he reflect that a 
 word, a single word of his would suffice, if not 
 to open before him the path to honour and 
 fortune, (that was closed,) at least to convince 
 Leonie that no choice was left him in the 
 
 M 3
 
 250 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 course lie was pursuing; and yet, that word — 
 he dared not utter it; he dared not crush the 
 heart of his betrothed under the weight of an 
 openly- revealed, fearful crime. He remained 
 silent; so did Leonie. 
 
 Sometimes he caught her searching gaze 
 fixed upon him with an intensity from which 
 he instinctiyely shrank ; but from the hour 
 when Fernand had said he could not justify 
 himself, not a word had ever passed the 
 lips of either in reference to Madame de 
 Blangy, to the Minister, or to anything in 
 the shape of affairs. Madame Isabelle won- 
 dered, and even tried to question; but she, too, 
 soon sank into silence, instinctively warned 
 that there was a something she had best not 
 know. Fernand felt, and would not avoid, 
 even to himself, that his career was closed, and 
 that a life of far worse than obscurity — of com- 
 plete inactivity — was all that remained to him. 
 This thought would have gnawed upon his 
 heart until every fibre of it lay bare, had it 
 not been guarded, and as it were, wrapped up 
 against all outward approaches, by his love 
 for Leonie. And thus it was that that which 
 should have doubled his anxiety, relieved him 
 from it.
 
 LEOXIE YEKMONT. 251 
 
 Oh! je calculators and logicians of the 
 world, suspend joui' sentence; nor, while ad- 
 miring the fine temples of " consideration" and 
 " respectability," you hare raised to your- 
 selves upon the dust of yom' so-called affec- 
 tions, be too eager to sneer at ^yhat, being in 
 an indulgent mood, you are content to denom- 
 inate madness. Xot one of your mathemati- 
 cal theorems will hold good with the heart, 
 where the heart really is. The faintest of its 
 pulsations will turn into hieroglyphics all the 
 lines, points, and angles you have been trying 
 to carve upon it; and to your astonishment 
 and horror, (for I quite agi'ee with you that 
 this is not at all " selon les regies",) you will 
 discover that in this most capricious science, 
 not one of your so justly venerated axioms 
 will stand. No ! not even that truly self- 
 evident one which avers " the whole to be 
 greater than its part." 
 
 "Well ! Fernand's love for Leonie was the 
 love of a poet ; but neither he nor she knew 
 that. He had really longed for position and 
 independence on her account; but as his was 
 a contemplative more than an active nature, 
 and averse from any sustained efforts of
 
 252 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 energy, he chose rather, in his present disap- 
 pointment, to contrast that which he still held 
 and might have lost, with that which had 
 in a moment eluded his grasp, and to find the 
 balance in his fayour. He thought of the 
 danger from which they had just escaped 
 (without reflecting that it was a danger which 
 might recur at any hour), of the mercifulness of 
 Providence, in leaving to him the entire sum 
 of his ideal bliss, and only assailing him in his 
 worldly prospects ; and finally, he presumed 
 to himself the possibilities of an existence 
 upon fifty pounds a-year, feeding his mind 
 with the recollections of wild stoi'ies and vague 
 rumours of places where people "lived upon 
 nothing;" until, in the dreams of blue hills, 
 blue rivers, green woods, and bright sunsets, 
 he lost all due notion of the glove-cleanings, 
 collar-starchings, stocking-darnings, and other 
 vile necessities which attend upon poor men's 
 wives, and instantaneously transform a poet's 
 love into a sloven. 
 
 However, notwithstanding all the wander- 
 ings of his imagination, Fernand soon found 
 the position insupportable. His father began 
 to be indignant at his son's not being yet in-
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 253 
 
 ducted into one of the foremost positions of 
 the state, and to marvel at what the " paryenii 
 of a Minister" could be about. ^ladame de 
 Blangj, although she still remained intimate 
 with Madame Isabelle, was evidently em- 
 barrassed in presence of the Viscount, who 
 little by little ceased entirely to visit at her 
 house. Leonie said nothing ; but her look — 
 her look was enough ! Before another month 
 was out, Fernand had agreed with the Count 
 that, as the latter was still retained in Paris 
 by his law-suit, he had better let his son, poet 
 as he was, and unfit, consequently, for the 
 transaction of worldly matters, go down to 
 Briancour, and superintend the proceedings of 
 the harvest, and the getting in of the scanty 
 rents : and, accordingly, Fernand started, leav- 
 ing his sister in astonishment, and Leonie 
 serious, if not sad, and more silent than 
 before. 
 
 Madame de Blangy, when informing the 
 Minister of her inability to clear her protege 
 from the charge made against him (and which 
 she persisted in styling calumnious), had ob- 
 tained from him, after the most earnest en- 
 treaties, a solemn promise of secresy, one of
 
 254 LEONIE YEEMONT. 
 
 the few promises he did not yiolate. No one, 
 therefore, was aware of the true reason of 
 young Briancour's ill success, but supposed him 
 to be merely one victim the more out of the 
 many who had been simple enough to believe 
 in M. Mortagne's assurances. It being "all 
 an affair of vanity," as they said, none out of 
 his brilliant salon-friends were inclined to be 
 sorry for him ; only, now that the question 
 w^as definitively settled, and that he acknow- 
 ledged himself enfonce (only half the work is 
 done as long as the struggler can be consoled 
 by the shadow of an illusion), they were rather 
 disposed to be good-natured, to forgive his 
 literary superiority, to forget his extraordinary 
 presumption in having dreamt of a place, and 
 to vote him a bon enfant, if he asked no one 
 for either sympathy or aid. 
 
 What Fernand did at his father's comfort- 
 less mansion in Normandy ; how he fared ; 
 how he fled the country gentlemen who tried 
 to consort with him out of doors, and the 
 country ladies who endeavoured to draw him 
 into their dismal homes, — all this does not 
 concern us at present, any more than the num- 
 berless pieces de vers, sonnets, elegies, and the
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 255 
 
 like, that he composed ; or tlie long letters 
 that lie ^^rote to liis ladje-love ] or the long 
 walks that he took to the " Tour-Brian ;" or the 
 long reveries that he fell into in the lime avenue 
 ■where he had first exchanged votvs with Leonie. 
 
 One thing is certain, that, being, as we 
 have said, most essentially a poet, his love 
 for Mademoiselle Vermont, instead of decreas- 
 ing in absence, decidedly augmented, and from 
 every one of his solitary musings he returned 
 more devoted, more exalte than ever. Exalte, 
 reader, is the word ; and I am sorry that I 
 can find none in our language so precisely suit- 
 able to the idea I wish to convey to you. 
 
 If the Yicomte had remained much longer in 
 his solitude, the constant object of his pre-occu- 
 pations would have been adorned with such 
 ideal splendours, that it is even to be feared 
 lest, upon a return to the reality, a certain in- 
 stinctive feeling of disappointment might not 
 have arisen. But Fernand's absence was not 
 sufficiently protracted, and he was, besides, 
 over-young for such an effect to have been 
 produced. Upon Mademoiselle Vermont the 
 separation had a different effect. She thought 
 upon Fernand incessantly : her heart was lite-
 
 ^56 
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 rally full of liim ; but it was her heart, and 
 not her imagination. Of this latter quality 
 she had but a small provision. Of what passed 
 in her^ mind, however, no one could have the 
 faintest guess ; for Leonie was the reverse of 
 what is termed demonstrative. Madame de 
 Blangy, who only saw her once during the Vi- 
 comte's absence, when she came with Madame 
 Isabelle to make a morning call, could not hide 
 her surprise ; and as the Marquise was taking 
 leave of her, " What a stone !" she could not 
 help whispering to Madame Isabelle, alluding 
 to the Yicomte's small chances of advance- 
 ment, of which his sister was now fully aware, 
 although she could not divine the cause. 
 
 " Do you think so V was the reply. 
 
 " Why, do not you V rejoined the Countess. 
 
 " I — I don't know," answered musingly Fer- 
 nandas sister. And it was the truth. Madame 
 Isabelle did not know what to think of Leonie. 
 Something told her that in that firm nature 
 impressions were not fleeting, and she felt 
 more than half afraid of her friend — awed, as 
 it were, as people are in nature, by that which 
 has either immeasurable height or fathomless 
 depth. There was— she felt it — in the love
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 257 
 
 of Leonie for Fernand the patience of that 
 which cannot die, and can therefore afford to 
 forego the solace of any exterior sign. 
 
 Of Philippe Vermont the family saw but 
 little. His own sister, as we know, judged him 
 with uncompromising severity. Madame Isa- 
 belle shrank from him with a sentiment of re- 
 pugnance she could neither master, nor under- 
 stand. M. de Briancour the elder alone seemed 
 to derive a kind of pleasure from the artist's 
 rare visits. The Count belonged, in the Legi- 
 timist party, to that school who think that the 
 return of the elder Bourbons to the throne 
 would be cheaply purchased at the cost of — 
 no matter of what — of foreign invasion, civil 
 war, a revolution — a reign of terror — any ca- 
 lamity, of any extent. Little boots it to those 
 who can still say with him, " The country is 
 there — where is the Kinsj V And accordingflv, 
 whosoever allowed his seditious desires to point 
 at the downfall of the Orleans dynasty, was to 
 the ex-Garde du Corps a momentary ally and 
 friend. No matter what the destroyer meant 
 to put up in place of that which was to be over- 
 turned — the first necessity was to destroy ; and 
 upon this point the Count and Philippe agi'eed
 
 258 LEONIE VEKMONT. 
 
 SO well, that Leonie was confirmed in an idea 
 she had already vaguely entertained, namely, 
 that M. de Brian coiir himself was in some way 
 connected with the secret society whose mid- 
 night doings Fernand had witnessed, and that 
 the honour of the father had been only saved 
 by the sacrifice of the son. 
 
 Philippe's famous Sainte Isabelle, which the 
 government he hated had ordered, and for 
 which he had felt no difficulty whatever in 
 receiving a good round sum, was now the chief 
 ornament of a side chapel in one of the hand- 
 somest metropolitan churches, situated not 
 far from the Louvre, and in the quarter of 
 the town inhabited by M. de Briancour. 
 Madame Isabelle had, at Philippe's request, 
 sat for the face of her patron saint, who was 
 represented embroidering a cap, for which her 
 royal brother. Saint Louis, asked her, and 
 which she refused to him in these terms. '' It 
 is for a higher than you, brother — for one of 
 the poor of our Lord Jesus." Louis IX. was 
 represented standing before his sister, and 
 bowing in acquiescence to her refusal. The 
 picture was upon the whole a good one, espe- 
 cially as to the material execution of it. The
 
 LEONIE YEEMOXT. 259 
 
 colouiing ^vas remarkably fine, and the draw- 
 ing correct, but the idea was wanting. Sainte 
 Isabelle was a very beautiful portrait of Fer- 
 nand de Briancour's sister; but the sweet holi- 
 ness of the saint was absent : the tender flame 
 that burns within the breast of the daughter- 
 elect of Heaven, and irradiates her brow — that 
 burnt not there. 
 
 Neither was justice done to the warrior 
 of Christ. The pale, ardent face of Castillian 
 Blanche's son shone with none of those 
 mystic glories which belong to the sainted 
 Cnisader Kino;. No ! it was a tableau de 
 saint ete from which all sanctity was absent, 
 but barring that, a pretty picture, and im- 
 mensely admired by the million. Difibrent 
 circumstances had put off the execution of it 
 for a year, and as the reparations going on at 
 the church were not near drawing to a close, no 
 hurry was manifested by the Government, and 
 Philippe was left to the temptations of idle- 
 ness and of his own perverted nature. The 
 consequence of this delay was, that Madame 
 Isabelle's first sitting was given upon her 
 arrival in Paris, and that the picture was not 
 hung in the chapel till nearly a month after 
 Fernandas departure. Young Vermont had
 
 260 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 paid no visits at M. de Briancoiir's until after 
 the Vicomte's departure, and his first one was 
 made when the completion of his picture had 
 removed all necessity for Madame Isabelle's 
 occasional presence at his atelier. 
 
 They did not, as may be supposed, agree par- 
 ticularly well ; but the angelic purity and gentle 
 indulgence of the one cast, as it were, a veil 
 over the faults of the other, and never did 
 Philippe Vermont appear to less disadvantage 
 than when in the society of Madame Isabelle. 
 During these long sittings, the conversation 
 was almost entirely kept up between the 
 artist and his fair model; for Leonie, who 
 always accompanied the latter, had so little 
 forbearance with her brother, and so unfavour- 
 able an opinion of his character, that she gene- 
 rally occupied herself with a book, or by some 
 other means contrived to avoid all communi- 
 cation with Philippe. 
 
 October had arrived; and Fernand, after 
 spending two months at Briancour, where the 
 harvest had been late, had accepted an invi- 
 tation to stay with a friend near Ohartres. He 
 had not been there many days when he re- 
 ceived a letter from Mademoiselle Vermont, 
 from which the following is an extract :
 
 LEONIE YEKMONT. 261 
 
 " I really am at a loss to conceiye what 
 charm Philippe finds in our presence, or iu 
 your absence, but his visits here are, I think, 
 too frequent — at least they are too often re- 
 peated to please me, who do not enter into the 
 merits of his conversation, or believe one half 
 of what he says. I am principally afraid, too, 
 that the great Chief (this was the name by 
 which they familiarly designated the Count) 
 " lets his so-called loyalty get the better of his 
 prudence. His fidelity to the exiled takes the 
 same tone that Philippe^s Radicalism does : 
 now, you best know whether this may be 
 dangerous. There is no harm with me : my 
 republicanism is in the heart, but with Philippe 
 it is a very different thing. I wish he would 
 leave off coming here of an evening. He may 
 do worse things than make Noisette faint 
 away .... but I forgot, you do not even 
 know who Noisette is — such a pretty creature. 
 I only wonder he does not want to paint her. 
 I know, if I were a painter, I should. She 
 is a complete Arab, which is the origin of 
 the soubriquet I have mentioned. She has 
 another name, which she will soon change, du 
 reste ; for the little thing in question is no
 
 262 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 other than your friend Pierre's affianced wife. 
 Poor Pierre ! they are waiting till he can get 
 something in the shape of a tolerably certain 
 livelihood, and then they will marry, and stem 
 the torrent of the world together. Think, my 
 Fernand, how these poor young lovers interest 
 me.'^ 
 
 The Vicomte hesitated no longer. De- 
 termined to stop Philippe's intimacy with his 
 father, and relying upon the mere fact of his 
 own presence in the family circle for so doing, 
 both effectually and promptly, he came back 
 one fine morning to Paris, to the surprise of 
 no one save the Count, who was quietly dis- 
 cussing his cafe au lait when the wanderer 
 returned. 
 
 " God bless my soul, Fernand ! " exclaimed 
 the elder Briancour, dropping into the coffee 
 above-mentioned the well-soaked slice of bread 
 he was carrying to his mouth, " this is a sur- 
 prise f and, stretching out his hand to his 
 son, whom he cordially embraced. " Why, if I 
 had had delicate nerves," he added, with a 
 laugh, "who knows but that I might have 
 fainted like Noisette !" 
 
 This was evidently a standing joke in the
 
 LEONIE YEEMOXT. 263 
 
 family. Wlien the meeting was well over be- 
 tween all parties, and the N^icomte had assigned 
 some plausible reason for his return, "Fd lay my 
 life, now," said good-humouredly the Count, 
 " that our demure ^Madame Isabelle, there, knew 
 something about your coming. I hare no chance 
 in that quarter. If Madame La Republique " 
 (his surname for Leonie) " had guessed any- 
 thing, I should hare known all your secrets 
 long ago ; but we are better cousins than you 
 will ever be ; and you don't trust your projects 
 to her." 
 
 Leonie looked confused, for her true and 
 honest nature revolted from this contmued sys- 
 tem of domestic duplicity. Fernand hastened 
 to change the subject of conyersation. "What 
 is this history," he asked, " to which you all 
 allude 1 for you are not the first : my sister 
 has already spoken to me of it in her letters. 
 Who is this Noisette V 
 
 M. de Briancour the elder suppressed a 
 laugh, and, looking out of the corner of his 
 eyes at his daughter, " I should never be for- 
 given, I presume," said he, " if I were to say 
 all I think about her !" 
 
 " Then suppose, my dear father," interposed
 
 264 LEON IE VERMONT. 
 
 Madame Isabelle, " joii only say to Fernand 
 that which you know" 
 
 "All I know ; all I know ; umph!" muttered 
 the Oount, " that is pretty talking. All I 
 know comes to little enough. One fine morn- 
 ing, these fair ladies wanted a workwoman, and 
 your friend Pierre" (the whole house persisted 
 in dubbing him Fernand's friend) " came to me 
 with a grave face, and informed me he wished 
 to recommend a protegee of his own, for whose 
 virtues and morals he was ready to vouch, 
 seeing that she was destined to be his wife at 
 the earliest opportunity, — as if that were any 
 reason for being sure of a woman !" 
 
 " Oh ! father !" exclaimed Madame Isabelle. 
 
 "Enfin!" concluded the Count, "I had a 
 long history told to me, which, if it were true, 
 would prove Pierre to be a phenomenal fool ; 
 for I must say the girl is as pretty a one in 
 her way as it ever fell to my lot to behold ; 
 but it ended in her coming here to work. 
 Your sister swears to her virtue." 
 
 "And you. Monsieur le Comte," said Leonie, 
 " do not care one straw whether the girl be 
 well-behaved or not." 
 
 " Now, if it comes to that," w^as the reply,
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 265 
 
 *' what can it matter to people of that class 
 whether their conduct be good or not ? Thoj 
 have nothing to do with honour ; and as to tlie 
 virtue that is necessary to well-born women, 
 why, one does not expect it from them !" 
 
 " My dearest father/' observed Madame 
 Isabelle, "religion makes no distinction be- 
 tween the poor and the rich, the highly or 
 lowly born." 
 
 '"' Let alone religion," cned Leonie, her eyes 
 flashing fire ; " common justice, — common good 
 feeling forbids everything of the kind. For 
 shame!" she added boldly; "do you think that 
 the hard-working son of the people has not as 
 much right as the pampered idlers of your 
 haughty class to the enjoyment of unsullied 
 honour; and when he returns home from his 
 daily labours, is it not as sweet to him as 
 it would be to you, to seek repose and comfort 
 in the faithful love of a wife, whose purity 
 he knows to be unclouded by a wrong 
 thought r' 
 
 "Ta! ta! ta! Madame La Republique," 
 replied the Count, " we all know that, in your 
 opinion, what you call a son of the people 
 is by nature an infinitely superior being to 
 
 YOL. I. N
 
 266 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 a descendant of the Montmorencjs. I have 
 long ago made up mj mind to the humble 
 position I must necessarily occupy in your 
 estimation, owing to the unfortunate circum- 
 stance of my birth ; but " 
 
 " Now do leave off that bantering tone," re- 
 torted Leonie, who was a favourite, and pri- 
 vileged to say anything ; " there is no arguing 
 with you. But really you and your party (for 
 you are all the same, every one of you) do 
 sometimes gives utterance to such sentiments, 
 that one is inclined, in spite of oneself, to feel 
 lenient towards the Terrorists of '93." 
 
 " Peste !" cried the Count, with an air of 
 mock alarm. '' Well, Leonie, when that re- 
 gime comes back again, I recommend my head 
 to you — but on my shoulders, please — for I 
 care little what becomes of it when it is oflf 
 them." 
 
 Mademoiselle Vermont laughed. " You and 
 yours," said she, " will one day drive things to 
 such a pass, that you will see I shall yet have 
 to save you all, and cover you up in a fold of 
 my republican flag." 
 
 "And with all this," interrupted Fernand, 
 never sorry to change the conversation when it
 
 LBONTE VERMONT. 26V 
 
 got into the channel of political discussion, " I 
 am no wiser than I was an hour ago touching 
 the history of Miss Noisette's ' Attaques de 
 Nerfs/ which seem to amuse jou so much/' 
 
 " Oh ! amuse," objected the Count — " c'est 
 selon — I know it did not amuse me at the 
 time it happened, for I thought the girl would 
 have died, and I Tery nearly got my eyes 
 picked out then, for opining before ^Madame 
 Brutus (another of his epithets for Leonie) 
 that fainting fits, hysterics, Sec, were the ap- 
 pendages of fine ladies, and quite out of place 
 in a fille du peuple." 
 
 " Xow let me tell the story,'' interposed 
 Leonie. "This is the way it happened: Little 
 Noisette was sitting at the window of the 
 salle a manger at her work, but the light was 
 failing, and as dusk came on, she fell into a 
 kind of reverie, which she sometimes does, I 
 obserye, when not intent upon her sewing. All 
 at once we heard a most fearful scream, and 
 upon opening the dining-room door, we found 
 Noisette on the floor, apparently dead. She 
 was insensible for nearly half an hour, and 
 when she came to herself, had a yiolent nervous 
 attack. The fact is that Philippe, whom your 
 
 Is 2
 
 268 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 father had asked to dinner that day, had, it 
 seems, thought it vastly ingenious to play off 
 upon the poor girl some of his stupid atelier 
 tricks r He stole into the room without her 
 perceiying him, and when it was nearly dark, 
 frightened her out of her wits (it is from him- 
 self I have the history) by speaking all on a 
 sudden to her in a sepulchral voice, and 
 making her believe there was a ghost in the 
 room. Poor little thing ! she told us after- 
 wards she was very nervous, and liable to faint 
 on the slightest occasion." 
 
 " Yes, poor child !" added Madame Isabelle ; 
 " and do you recollect, Leonie, with how many 
 blushes and what embarrassment she begged 
 we would be so good as not to tell Pierre, for 
 she said she was doing everytliing she could to 
 cure herself of this weakness, and that he 
 would be so angry if he knew, for that it 
 would not do for a poor ouvrier's wife to be so 
 ■delicate/' 
 
 ^' Ma foi ! so say I," exclaimed the Count. 
 '' But to be sincere, I must admit that she is 
 very gentille, and has contrived to make friends 
 with every one in the house, even with the 
 Concierge, which was no easy matter/'
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 269 
 
 "And with his Avife, too/' added Leonie, 
 " which was a more difficult matter still/' 
 
 " Well/' resumed Fernaud — " but how camo 
 Pierre Larcher's bride elect bj the strange 
 name jou give her, and which, as far as I 
 know, exists on no calendar. Noisette ! I 
 never heard of such a name." 
 
 " And never saw such a face. Til be bound :'' 
 said the father. " Whj, man. Noisette is too 
 fair a name for her. It's Mocha she should be 
 called, — coffee, absolute coffee 1" 
 
 " Yes, dear father," observed Madame Isa- 
 belle, " but with all her brown skin how very 
 pretty. To cut the matter short. Fern and," 
 she continued, turning to her brother, " Pierre 
 has the most charming fiancee you can con- 
 ceive. She is so gentle, so modest, so hum- 
 ble ! and she seems so very sad sometimes ! 
 you cannot think how we all like her, and 
 what an interest we feel for her." 
 
 " Poor thing! I believe, for that matter, 
 she is to be pitied, for I take it she is very 
 poor," said, carelessly, the elder Briancour. 
 
 " I say poor things," rejoined Leonie gravely, 
 " for both are to be pitied, and both I believe 
 are very unhappy. But you must know," she
 
 270 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 added, turning to Fern and, " that the little 
 woman has a real name, like any other Chris- 
 tian, and rejoices in that of Oelestine Branchii; 
 and I think jou will agree with ns, that 
 Pierre's soubriquet for his future wife is infi- 
 nitely prettier than her legitimate and legal 
 appellation; so Noisette she is, and Noisette 
 she seems likely to remain with us." 
 
 Later in the day, Fernand was crossing the 
 anteroom, when through the half-open door of 
 his sister's chamber, he caught sight of a figure 
 which appeared to him not altogether unknown. 
 He entered: at the noise of his steps the 
 figure turned round, and he stood face to face 
 with the girl who had drawn him into her 
 abode, on the night which had had such fatal 
 consequences to him. Probably her adventure 
 with Philippe Vermont had warned her, for 
 she neither screamed nor fainted; but merely 
 let her work drop out of her hand, and turned 
 as white as a sheet. 
 
 " Are you the person they call Noisette V 
 said the Vicomte in a loud tone. — " Are you 
 Pierre Larcher's fiancee V 
 
 " I am," said the girl, looking like a con- 
 demned culprit ; " and, — and, — you, — sir 1 
 who, — who are you V
 
 LEONIE VEEMONT. 271 
 
 " The brother of Madame Isabelle/'he replied. 
 
 " Then/^ she added, with gasping anxiety, 
 " you are nothing to, — to, — the other, — to 
 Mademoiselle Leonie V 
 
 " Nothing,'' answered Fernand, lookinor scru- 
 tinizingly at the ouvriere. 
 
 " Heaven be praised !" she ejaculated, and 
 then, in an almost inaudible voice, " if you 
 are the M. de Briancoiu- of whom I have 
 heard Pierre speak, you have been very 
 good to him." 'Tor his sake then, sir," and 
 she clasped her hands in earnest entreaty, 
 '" spare me, — do not at least condemn me 
 unheard." 
 
 " I will never condemn any one unheard," 
 answered Fernand mildly; " but let me know 
 your story, which seems a mysterious one, as 
 soon as possible: till then be at peace; do 
 your duty to your employers, — you have 
 nothing to fear from me." 
 
 " God bless you, sir," whispered the girl, as 
 mechanically she gathered up her fallen work, 
 and, sinking into her chair, began sewing with 
 a rapidity and energy that seemed to proceed 
 from some secret spring independent of her 
 will.
 
 272 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " But, Pierre, who is this young girl whom 
 you have recommended to my sister, and in 
 whom every one seems to take such an in- 
 terest V asked Fernand de Briancour, the day 
 after his return home of the ouvrier, to whose 
 abode he straightway went, and before whose 
 mother (conceiving that a marriage was on the 
 tapis,) he did not scruple to put the above- 
 mentioned question. Upon reflection, the 
 Vicomte deemed it advisable, before under- 
 taking the cross-examination of Miss Noisette 
 herself, to obtain from Pierre what he felt sure 
 would be a rigorously true statement of the 
 case.
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 273 
 
 " Who she is T echoed the infirm mother, 
 half rising from her rickettj arm-chair close to 
 the window, and placing her two lean hands 
 upon the worm-eaten elbows of her seat, so as 
 to support herself while she bent forwards, and 
 looked M. de Briancour earnestly in the face. 
 " Who she is % ask rather what she is ?" she 
 cried in a tone of malevolence such as Femand 
 could never have suspected in so apparently 
 gentle and so piously resigned a nature. 
 " Ask what she is," she repeated ; " and see 
 whether he will tell you that.'' 
 
 " Mother T exclaimed Pierre, and the voice 
 Avas loud and stern, almost to threatening. A 
 pause of a few seconds ensued, during which 
 the flashing eyes of the parent (those ardent 
 orbs of which we have already spoken) sought 
 little by little beneath their wrinkled lids for 
 a shelter from the determined gaze of the 
 offended son, whose brow did not relax, but 
 who slowly released his under lip from the 
 hard gripe of his closing teeth. " My respect 
 for you has ever been unbounded," added 
 Pierre in a hoarse altered tone ; " do not, 
 for God's sake, force me to do as a mere duty 
 that which has been so long a pleasure." 
 
 n3
 
 274 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 The poor woman shuddered at these words, 
 and retreated instinctively to the very back of 
 her chair, as though she could coil herself up 
 into nothing. Darting a look at Pierre, in which 
 gleamed still more hate than love, and more 
 regret than either, " There it is \" she mut- 
 tered ; " the wretches ! They carry off from 
 us everything with their false vile endearments ! 
 They steal from us the love of our children— 
 of our own sons — and, if that were all ! — but 
 not alone their hearts do these sinful ones 
 beguile, but their souls ; oh ! their eternal 
 souls are lost !" and she covered her face with 
 her hands. 
 
 "Mother!" said the ouvrier, with a milder 
 accent, " fear nothing — no one can change my 
 love for you — you, and you alone can, by a 
 harshness which is neither in your real nature, 
 nor in accordance with your fervent love of 
 our Lord, make my home less happy ; but 
 even you cannot change my affection. So, 
 forgive me, mother,'' he continued, trying 
 vainly to obtain possession of one of her hands. 
 " I will not wound your ears by recounting 
 before you that which it displeases you to 
 hear ; but I will tell all to our benefactor — to
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 275 
 
 our friend I may say, for that lie has been to 
 us. — Nay, mother, if you will not give me your 
 hand, you will at least take from me the kiss 
 of peace," and so saying, he bent over the little 
 figiu'e and pressed his lips to its furrowed brow. 
 " God bless you ! " he murmured, as turning to 
 the Vicomte, he added : " we had better leave 
 my mother now ; she will be calmer when we 
 are gone." 
 
 Fernand had been a mute but most observ- 
 ant spectator of the whole scene, and as he 
 was leaving the artisan's apartment he, and he 
 alone, caught the look by which the mother 
 followed her retreating son. There was in the 
 glance of those unquenchable eyes, that which 
 told volumes to Fernand. Deep love wrestled 
 there with angry grief; but stronger than 
 affliction or than sorrow either, glimmered the 
 unsteady light of disquietude. A moment 
 more and she would have recalled her son ; but 
 the sense of maternal dignity prevailed, and 
 the door closed upon her much shaken though 
 not yet prostrate resolve. 
 
 What M. de Briancour had witnessed was 
 sufficient to furnish his imagination with super- 
 abundant food, and it is difficult to say at what
 
 276 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 iniquities on the part of Noisette he would 
 judge fitting to stop ; for after all, amiable, 
 and well-principled as he was, still, Fernand 
 was a son of Gaul, and as such, his first natural 
 impulse was to question the existence of virtue 
 in man and woman, but most especially in the 
 latter. 
 
 " Monsieur le Vicomte,'^ begun Pierre, as 
 soon they were out of hearing, " I have, as you 
 may conceive, much to tell you. — Something 
 too there is, that I would fain have kept se- 
 cret, and which now I must divulge, in order 
 that your judgment may not be led astray. 
 When will you hear ihqV' 
 
 " Whenever you like — ^now," said Fernand, 
 pleased with the ouvrier's readiness to disclose 
 that which M. de Briancour was inclined to 
 fancy par avance must be a tale of guilt. 
 
 The Yicomte, who was (as we have said) 
 no fine gentleman, and not the least afraid of 
 being seen side by side with an ouvrier en 
 blouse, proposed to Pierre a walk to the Luxem- 
 bourg, where they might find a seat and make 
 sure of not being disturbed. 
 
 It was a mild day, such as October has in 
 plenty ; soft and mellow rather than bright ;
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 277 
 
 when the downy white clouds steal oyer heaven's 
 blue like a promise of warmth and wrapping 
 for the approaching winter, and the perfume- 
 less wind sighs among the dropping leaves, as 
 thoudi it were mourninor over their fall. 
 
 Dahlias and chrysanthemums, and all the 
 host of autumn's scentless flowers, stood forth 
 in grand array in each plattebande of the 
 garden — but from the glossy boughs of the 
 orange tree had fallen its sweet crown of silver 
 blossoms, unreplaced, as in sunnier climes, by 
 the ripe load of ruddy swelling fruit. No 
 luscious odour charged the breeze as it rufiied 
 the snowy-feathered breasts of the swans 
 sailing upon the surface of the mimic lake — no 
 blaze of sun turned the pebbles into gems, as 
 they crackled beneath each passing tread — no 
 wild notes burst from the bosom of the high 
 trees ; but their silence was deep as their shade. 
 This was a kind of day Femand liked above 
 all others, and, poet as he was, he had not 
 crossed the great carre in front of the palace, 
 before he was to the full as much occupied in 
 thinking of the adventurous Lauzun's royal 
 wife, the fair-haired heroic grand-daughter of 
 Henri Quatre, as of the swarthy damsel, whose
 
 278 LEONIE VEEMONT. 
 
 history it had seemed to him so needful to 
 hear. Nevertheless, when they had discovered 
 a bench well hidden from the public eye, 
 and they had taken their seats upon it, the 
 Vicomte recalled his wanderino' thoudits from 
 the high-born maid who first turned the 
 cannon of the Bastille against the crown, to 
 devote them to the descendant of those fierce 
 spirits by whom that same Bastille was made 
 a heap of ruins. 
 
 " Monsieur le Vicomte," began Pierre, " you 
 must promise me one thing before I open my 
 mouth. It is said those of your class do not 
 believe in the honour of ours ; — do not think 
 that amongst the poor virtue can exist. — 
 Now, " 
 
 "Un instant, mon ami,^^ interrupted Fer- 
 nand, " do not be offended at that sentiment, 
 pray : believe me, the examples we see around 
 us in what you are pleased to term our class, 
 are of a nature to prevent our too strong belief 
 in human excellence ; but recollect, pray," and 
 the Vicomte uttered tliis with most unusual 
 bitterness, " that our opinions are formed from 
 the constant contact with our own, and not 
 with your world; so do not be wounded by
 
 LEOXIE VERMONT. 279 
 
 our disinclination to credit wliateyer is good 
 and right." 
 
 "Well, Monsieur le Yicomte," rejoined tlie 
 workman, " jou must still promise me one 
 
 thing, " 
 
 " Which is V' interposed Fernand, — 
 " To belicTe strictly that which I shall tell 
 JOU. We do not deal in those delicate con- 
 ventions hj which, in more refined spheres, 
 one thing is meant whilst another is said. . I 
 might, were I so minded, refrain from telling 
 you anything at all. If I simply withdi'ew 
 Noisette from her employment at Madame la 
 Marquise's, and refused to give any further 
 information upon the subject, you woidd, it is 
 true, be at liberty to form any opinion you 
 might choose of both her and me; but you 
 could discover nothing connected with either 
 of us, and you would have no right to claim 
 any explanation from me. I tell you frankly. 
 Monsieur," pursued Pierre, " that the number 
 is small of those to whom I would reveal the 
 one chief secret of my life ; but to you I can 
 refuse nothing, for I could not bear that you 
 should think less well of me than I deserve. 
 I will conceal nothing from you, because (for-
 
 280 LEONIE VEEMONT. 
 
 give me, if to jou this seems no compliment, I 
 mean it as one), because I believe jou to be 
 worthy of hearing that which I have to tell ; 
 but you must promise to believe implicitly my 
 words. I do not know how to lie, nor do I 
 know why I ever should/^ 
 
 "Pierre," answered M. de Briancour, seri- 
 ously, " I give you my honour I will stead- 
 fastly believe every syllable you shall utter. 
 You are aware of many of my ideas upon 
 your class and mine, and therefore can now 
 proceed in all confidence." 
 
 " It is now about three years past," began 
 Pierre Larcher; and then he stopped, and 
 sighed. " It will be just three years next 
 month," he continued ; " I was returning home 
 from my day's work on the other side of tlie 
 w\ater; but it was very late, for I had had 
 several little commissions to execute that had 
 detained me past the usual hour, so it was 
 between nine and ten when I crossed the 
 Pont-Royal. The night was as bright and as 
 cold as you can imagine any night to be. The 
 moon was high up in the sky, and the river 
 was uncommonly swollen that year, so it looked 
 almost twice as broad as it commonly does.
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 281 
 
 Well, I had crossed over from the Place dii 
 Carrousel, and was standing on the pavement 
 at the corner of the bridge, just by the Baths. 
 I stopped for a moment, and could not help 
 looking at all that was before me. The moon 
 and the stars seemed to lie on the water, as if 
 it was their couch, and I could see the roofs 
 of the bath-houses dancing up and down 
 between the trunks of the trees, for the river 
 was not only high, but it was rough also. 
 The wind whistled through the branches of 
 the poplars after such a fashion, that I began 
 to think of the cold, and was just moving on, 
 when I fancied I heard a moan somewhere 
 near me. I listened, and then again I dis- 
 tinctly heard a low wailing sound, as of some 
 one in the last stage of suflPering. I looked, 
 and saw nothing; but upon walking forwards, 
 I discovered, just at the turn of the bridge, an 
 object that soon explained to me the whole. 
 At first, I only saw a heap of dark clothes; 
 but upon bending down, I discovered the 
 figure of a female. She seemed little more than 
 a child, giving no apparent sign of life, unless 
 it might be the low moaning sound that had 
 di'awn me towards her. I took hold of her
 
 282 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 hand: it was like ice, and dropped down heayily, 
 when I let it go. I did not hesitate long, as you 
 may suppose, but when I found all my efforts 
 only drew from her fresh sighs and groans, I 
 took her up in my arms, and looked to see, if 
 she were not absolutely dying. And, Monsieur 
 le Vicomte,^^ said Pierre solemnly, " I believe 
 she was, and I believe, an hour later, and 
 nothing could have availed. Her head hung 
 down over my arm, the neck bending back- 
 wards like a thing without any life at all, and 
 when I put it upon my shoulder, it felt quite 
 cold, and chilled me. I did not know what to 
 do, or where to ask for help ; however, I looked 
 over the way at the little passage that leads 
 from the quai to the Place du Carrousel. 
 Lights were burning there still, and I bethought 
 me, that at the cake stall I could get either a 
 glass of water or some brandy, I carried the 
 poor child across, and, not choosing to collect 
 a crowd round me, I put her gently down on 
 the pavement inside the great arch, and went 
 to the cakewoman, and bought a glass of 
 brandy ; but she would not let me carry away 
 the dass, till I said it was for some one who 
 was fainting hard by, and then she sent her
 
 LEONIE VERMOXT. 283 
 
 little boj with me to see I did not make away 
 with her goods. The boj held up the girFs 
 head, while I poured the brandy drop bj di-op 
 into her mouth; and that done, the youngster, 
 having made sure of his mother's property, 
 went back, and left us alone. 'Oh! it biu-ns,' 
 that was the first sound I heard. * I would 
 rather die, — let me die :' those were the first 
 words she uttered ; and then she opened her 
 eyes, and looked at me as though she had no 
 understanding left. When I got her to her 
 feet, I saw she could not stand, so I took her 
 round the waist, and held her up. Then I 
 asked her questions, and she could not ans- 
 wer them, but kept on looking at me like a 
 wild thing. I thought then, she was perhaps 
 over-tired, for she several times repeated the 
 word Creil, and I lifted up one of her feet — I 
 had not dreamt of looking at them before. 
 The soles of her shoes were worn away, so 
 were the stockings, and I could see the bUsters 
 and sores on the poor little feet aU torn and 
 wounded by the hard roads " 
 
 Fernand shuddered. "How shocking!^' 
 he murmui'ed. 
 
 " Oh ! sir," rejoined Pierre, " who shall
 
 284 LEONIE VEEMONT. 
 
 deny the hand of Proyidence in all things 1 
 What brought me there on that one particular 
 night '? that 1 7th of November which is now 
 my heart's dearest day. It was not my road 
 — I never went that way before, and have 
 never taken any other since. I ought to have 
 struck off by the Rue >St. Denis and the 
 bridges higher up ; what brought me then 
 upon the pave of the Pont Royal, if it was 
 not that there lay the shorn lamb whose only 
 refuge my bosom was to be. Blessed be the 
 Lord for all his mercies ! " said Pierre, with 
 deep reverence, as he took his cap from his 
 head. "But most of all, blessed for that he 
 gave to me, poor as I am, that power of wliicli 
 so many take no heed — the power of consol- 
 ing, of rendering back to the child scarcely 
 out of its cradle, some portion, at least, of the 
 happiness it had lost." 
 
 The Vicomte looked at his companion with 
 w^ondering eyes. There was a dignity, a severe 
 elevation about the artisan that struck M. de 
 Briancour as being not often equalled. After 
 a momentary pause, Pierre continued — "When 
 I asked her if she was tired, she did not 
 reply, but only looked at me with a look more
 
 LEONIE TERMONT. 285 
 
 and more wandering. At last, sHe seemed to 
 gather together all her remaining faculties for 
 one immense effort, and with ejes starting 
 from their sockets, and a tongue cleaving to 
 her mouth, said, in a tone that I cannot now 
 think of without horror, and, as her head liter- 
 ally rolled upon mj breast, 
 
 " ' I am hungry ! ' 
 
 " I had nothing about me," resumed Pierre, 
 after passing his hands OA^er his face, as though 
 to efface the recollection of what might have 
 occurred; "I had spent mj few remaining sous 
 for the brandy. But I remembered that I had 
 not eaten the whole of the hasty dinner I had 
 taken, and that I had a slice of bread in my 
 pocket. How hastily I took it out, and how 
 hastily I gave it to her, you may conceive ; 
 but at first she could not profit by it — she was 
 over eager, like a famished animal, but her 
 teeth had no force to tear the bread, nor had 
 her throat force to swallow it, so that I should 
 think it was nearly an hour before she could eat 
 the scanty food I had given her. However, 
 to shorten my tale, she did contrive to gather 
 a little strength, and at last, with the help of 
 mv arm round her waist, we got home — to my
 
 286 LBONIE YERMONT. 
 
 home, for she had none. Mj mother was 
 sitting watching for me, and beginning almost 
 to be alarmed " 
 
 " And probably/' interrupted M. de Brian- 
 conr, " not too smooth-tempered, from what I 
 have seen this morning/' 
 
 " Pardon me,'' replied Pierre, " there is but 
 one point on which religion has been unable to 
 subdue mj mother's naturally ardent nature. 
 No ! on the night I speak of, she met me with 
 a blessing and a smile. I told her what had 
 happened, and that I had a starving creature 
 with me. She was all goodness, all anxiety to 
 help the poor sufferer, and would have divided 
 her own bed with her ; but I gave up mine and 
 found a berth upon some matting at the door. 
 During the whole of the following day (as my 
 mother told me, for I was absent at my work,) 
 the wanderer slept, ate once upon waking, and 
 then turned again and slept, apparently uncon- 
 scious of any change. Upon my return, she 
 was still sleeping, and I passed that evening 
 with my mother without disturbing her. The 
 next day was Sunday. My poor mother, in- 
 firm as she is, never missed high mass, and I 
 generally accompanied her ; but upon this day
 
 LBONIE VERMONT. 287 
 
 she agreed witli a neighbour to go together to 
 church, and I staid to watch over our new in- 
 mate. About half an hour after mj mother 
 had gone out, I thought I heard some one 
 stirring — I listened — so it was ! She had 
 risen, had dressed herself, and a short time 
 afterwards she knocked at the door of her 
 chamber, asking if there were any one within. 
 I opened, and stood face to face with as inter- 
 esting a looking being as can well be imagined. 
 Her dress was both ragged and dirty — that 
 was plainly to be seen, spite of all the eJBPorts 
 she made to conceal it by wrapping round 
 her the large old shawl she had worn when 
 I found her on the bridge. Her cap was 
 much the worse for wear, but the bright gloss 
 of the hair that was braided under it, arrested 
 all one's attention. She was thin and wasted, 
 and yet was so evidently little more than a 
 child, that she coidd not look one year older 
 through suffering. Her eyes appeared more 
 than half the size of her face, and stared 
 at me like a frightened stag's. I hardly at 
 that moment remarked her brown, brown skin, 
 
 more like a gipsy's than anything else '' 
 
 " Ah ! I see," murmured Fernand, almost to 
 himself, " Noisette.''
 
 288 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 "Yes!" ejaculated Pierre, with sudden emo- 
 tion; " Noisette, my own little Noisette, whom 
 I had first taught to walk ; mj playfellow, mj 
 companion." 
 
 " How so V inquired Fernand, surprised, " I 
 don't understand." 
 
 " No, I forgot," rejoined the ouvrier, "I have 
 not yet told you, but I will do so in a very 
 few words, ^fter the first greetings exchanged, 
 I naturally tried a question or two, and when 
 she told me her name was Oelestine Blanchu, 
 and that I coupled with it the word Oreil 
 repeated by her so often the night I had found 
 her, I could have no doubt that I saw before 
 me the first and earliest companion of my 
 infancy. We are not natives of this town," 
 said Pierre, turning to the Vicomte, "we come 
 from a village near Abbeville, and we have 
 lived in Paris for the last thirteen years. Ten 
 had elapsed since I had seen Noisette, but 
 once put upon her track it was impossible for 
 me not to recognize her at the moment. There 
 were some fi\e or six years between us, and 
 from the hour when I, a boy of seven, taught 
 the baby of eighteen months to put its little 
 feet to the ground, I had been considered as the
 
 LEOXIE YEEMOXT. 289 
 
 born protector of Oelestine, whom I had chris- 
 tened Noisette from her dark complexion. 
 When we left our village I was eleven years 
 old, and when at the end of ten years I so 
 suddenly re-found my poor baby-friend, she 
 had not quite completed her sixteenth year. 
 At first we were all joy at our extraordinary 
 meeting. Oelestine, though she could not re- 
 collect me so well as I recollected her, had so 
 often heard me spoken of as her constant com- 
 panion in infancy, that she fancied she knew 
 me well, and flew to me with the confidence 
 one never loses at any age for those who have 
 been our cradle companions. But now came 
 the tale of the poor girl's grief." Pierre 
 stopped. " M. le Vicomte," said he, " one 
 word will do, for I cannot recount that wliich 
 it tears my heart to think of. Celestine's 
 story was the common one. Her father had 
 died the year before : left an orphan with no 
 means of support save her needle, she had 
 contrived to keep herself out of want. But 
 one day — eh! mon Dieu," muttered Pierre, 
 crushing his casquette between his clenched 
 hands, " it is the old story to be sure — and 
 yet. — Well, the child listened to what she 
 
 YOL. I.
 
 290 LEONIE YEKMONT. 
 
 should not liave heard, and like so many others 
 she fell! Her seducer was a stranger to the 
 province, and was merely passing the season at 
 a neighbouring chateau. He left one morning 
 for Paris, and this was the only clue that could 
 be obtained. It was to find him that the un- 
 happy girl had come toiling and panting from 
 the Tillage in Picardy, begging her way during 
 the latter part of her journey. When she 
 reached Paris two nights before, she had not 
 eaten for thirty-six hours, and when I found 
 her she was fainting for want. 
 
 " Now, listen to me. Monsieur le Vicomte," 
 resumed Pierre ; " it is this that I need not 
 have told you. I might have let you believe 
 Oelestine to be immaculate; with an ordinary 
 person I should not have been wrong to do so ; 
 but with you it is otherwise. I wish that you 
 should know how entirely her present virtue 
 has atoned for the loss of her early innocence. 
 Poor Noisette !" he pursued; " I took her from 
 that hour to my inmost heart. I comforted 
 and strengthened her, and when I taught her 
 how to retrieve, I disclosed to her the extent 
 of her fault, of which she was ignorant till 
 then. She had had no religious instruction
 
 LEONIE YERMONT. 291 
 
 wliatever, and, like the majority of our paj- 
 sanceSj knew neither how to read nor write. 
 I became her master. Long before I began to 
 look upon her as mj future wife, I regarded 
 her in the light of a sacred charge entrusted 
 to me by Him who rules all things, and I stre- 
 nuously did my best to fulfil my duty. I 
 instructed her in the precepts of om* Divine 
 religion, and my mother, who, as far as things 
 remained in this state, was very kind, rejoiced 
 fervently with me when, after a sincere confes- 
 sion of her sins, Celestine knelt at the altar to 
 receive the Holy Sacrament. Whatever wrong 
 I may commit in this world," said Pierre, 
 solemnly, "I hope she will plead for me, for I 
 was the humble instrument of her return to 
 our adorable Master, Ah ] if you could know 
 with what intense joy I watched her growing 
 love for the Saviour of all mankind ! how I 
 g-uarded her from the contact of every impure 
 thought! — ^how I tended, and fostered, and 
 loved her ! Believe me, sir," pursued the 
 ouvrier, " no high-born lady of your class was 
 ever loved with such respect as Noisette. I 
 felt as one should feel if, by dint of long 
 labour, one had given back the down to a 
 
 2
 
 292 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 butterfl/s broken wing. I tliought I bad 
 brought back the bloom upon her soul, and I 
 was afraid almost to breathe, lest I should 
 destroy it again. I don't know how these 
 things are looked upon by such as you (I 
 believe in a very different light), but every 
 time I look upon Noisette, and think of her as 
 my wife, I feel- a deep thankfulness swelling 
 within me, and a kind of humble pride that I 
 cannot describe, at the idea of God having 
 chosen me for this good work." 
 
 " And yet,'^ suggested the Vicomte, busy all 
 this time asking himself what could be the 
 connecting link between Pierre's fiancee and 
 Philippe Vermont — " and yet, my sister and 
 Mademoiselle Leonie say the poor girl is some- 
 times very melancholy ; is this so 1" 
 
 " Ah !" sighed Pierre, and his countenance 
 fell, " it is too true. My mother, with all her 
 goodness, has one sad imperfection — she is 
 inexorable even to cruelty upon the article of 
 female virtue, as regards all those belonging to 
 her. When I told her Celestine's story, she 
 took pity on her, though I could discern an 
 instinctive alteration in her manner. Still, 
 her piety combated this successfully, till the
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 293 
 
 day Trlien I told her Celestine, and no other, 
 should be mj wife. She has never seen her 
 since, nor can she hear her name without the 
 sort of outbreak you witnessed this morning ! 
 Here, then, is the misery : I will not, even for 
 the sake of my poor little lamb, offend the 
 mother, whose love for me is bound up with 
 her life ; but, as I have no hope of ever obtain- 
 ing her consent to our marriage. Noisette's 
 position is sometimes a sad one, and she feels 
 it keenly. God knows!" he added fervently, 
 *' I would give my life to spare her a single 
 pang ; but there are some evils that I cannot 
 ward off from her. And now, Monsieur le 
 Vicomte,'' he concluded, " do you think I have 
 introduced into Madame la Marquise's employ 
 a person who was unworthy of that honour 1" 
 
 "Far from it, mon brave ami," answered 
 M. de Briancour, cordially — " far from it. I 
 respect you more than I can express, for your 
 conduct, and would do anything in my power 
 to promote your happiness." 
 
 " And Noisette T asked the ouvrier, with 
 the prompt susceptibility of the heart. 
 
 " I pity her from my soul," replied Fernand; 
 *' and 1 am certain, could Madame Isabelle
 
 294 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 know her story, she would use all her influence 
 with jour mother to make her consent to 
 receive Noisette as your wife." 
 
 " Alas !" sighed Pierre, " all human influence 
 must be useless there, where not even the voice 
 of Religion can prevail." 
 
 The day was far advanced when M. de 
 Briancour separated from his companion. He 
 went his way home, reflecting upon the far 
 greater development of certain virtues (where 
 they exist at all), and particularly of the senti- 
 ment of self-sacrifice, in the lower and more 
 uncivilised class than in the higher and more 
 cultivated. 
 
 When Truth is, it appears : nothing is more 
 certain ; for if not, the most lovely of all 
 Heaven^s daughters would be deprived of her 
 divinest privilege, — that of carrying instanta- 
 neous conviction to the hearts of all around. 
 Fernand, sceptical as the world might have 
 made him upon some points, still retained all 
 his original nobility of soul. The high-placed 
 heart is a sure divining rod, and points to the 
 deep waters of truth however hidden ; and our 
 young poet knew that every word Pierre had 
 told him was true. His admiration for the
 
 LEONIE TEEMONT. 295 
 
 artisan became unbounded as his respect : but 
 he could less than ever understand Noisette. 
 He was, however, man of the world enough to 
 know, that whatever a woman's frankness may 
 be, she rarely if ever makes a spontaneous 
 avowal of a fault from a mere love of truth ; and 
 therefore, when he found the requisite occasion 
 for questioning Noisette, he began by telling 
 her he was acquainted with her whole history. 
 He was almost sorry he had persisted in his 
 determination to question her, however, for her 
 agony of grief during theh* conversation was 
 heart-rending. Having previously obtained 
 fi'om him a solemn promise that on no account 
 would he ever mention her name to PhiKppe, 
 or Pliilippe's name to Pierre, she now disclosed 
 to him that young Vermont (whose name she 
 never knew till she had had the courage to ask 
 it from M. de Briancom-) was the friend of the 
 first author of her shame. It was for this 
 reason — and because she had met the two con- 
 stantly together — that she wished to discover 
 who Philippe really was, and this was the 
 cause of her fainting when Vermont suddenly 
 appeared before her. Fernand was now per- 
 fectly satisfied, and only regretted having put
 
 296 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 poor Noisette to what, after all, turned out to 
 be an imnecessarj degree of torture. 
 
 And so matters went on, the little ouvriere 
 coming every morning to Madame Isabel] e's, 
 and her fiance escorting her home every night. 
 Philippe, from the hour of Fernandas return, 
 never entered the house where his sister dwelt, 
 and the latter remained unchanged in her 
 courage and in her prixie. In the midst of the 
 moral tempest threatening her on all sides, she 
 firmly clung to the rock which, while it sup- 
 ported, bruised her and made her bleed — to 
 the rock of unquenchable, ever increasing, 
 hopeless love !
 
 LEOXIE VEiniONT. 297 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 October went by, and then November and 
 December. January came, and \rith it the 
 meeting of the Chambers, and the divers poli- 
 tical complications which were to end in Insur- 
 rection. 
 
 Femand had for some time past been too 
 much pre-occupied by all that was passing 
 around him to give so much anxiety to his 
 own personal affairs as he would otherwise 
 have necessarily done. He was, like most 
 men at the eventful period we aUude to, under 
 the pressm'e of coming events. That the 
 storm was inevitable no one thought of deny- 
 ing ; but, to say the truth, the greater number 
 
 3
 
 298 LEOI^lE YERMONT. 
 
 firmly believed it would be weathered. The 
 year whose knell had rung upon the 31st of 
 December, 1847, had prepared men's minds 
 for th€ crisis that was to come, and the hand 
 of Providence was unmistakeably heavy upon 
 France. The hideous trial in the Chamber of 
 Peers, wherein the two hitherto purest glories 
 of France, her army and her magistracy, were 
 dishonoured in the persons of General Cubieres 
 and M. Teste, held up to public execration 
 that long existing system of corruption which 
 was already the object of every honest man's 
 private scorn. The Legislature, the Parlia- 
 ment of France, sank to so low a level under 
 repeated and well-proved accusations of an 
 infamous nature, that the very gamins of the 
 streets had learnt to look upon the word thief 
 as synonymous with that of a " satisfait," or 
 a Pair de France''^. What i& called "o^ood 
 
 * The author of this work passing one day ou the 
 Pont Neuf in the month of July, 1847, heard a boy of 
 eight or nine years old, at play with another of his own 
 age, call his companion "roleur." "On ne dit plus 
 cela," replied the accused imp^ " On dit Pair de 
 France!" " Ou ^ satisfait ' !" murmured a decently 
 dressed man close by. A Sergent de Ville waa look- 
 ing on, and smiled, as he listened !
 
 LEONIE TEE^ilOXT. 299 
 
 society," had won for itself, through its scan- 
 dals and crimes, the contempt, loiidlj expressed, 
 of the lower class ; and when, to do honour to 
 his joung bride, the Due de Montpensier 
 opened to the pleasure-loving tribe the sombre 
 salons of Yincennes, the exasperated populace 
 of the Fauxbourgs, through whose serried 
 ranks rolled the grand equipages of the rich 
 bourgeoisie of Louis Philippe's court, gi'eeted 
 the slowly advancing train with every epithet 
 that hatred and disdain could forge; whisper- 
 ing, hissing, groaning, hooting the horrid words 
 before the very faces — into the very ears of 
 those who had but too well earned them. 
 The long protracted cry of reprobation raised 
 by the people, (for this time it was really 
 they,) over a race who had gone too far, was 
 the dirge of the then existing state of tilings. 
 The sentence was passed, — the execution of it 
 alone remained, and but a little foresight was 
 required to see what must soon inevitably ensue. 
 Nor, from all the odium heaped upon society 
 and upon its official representatives, was the 
 interior of the Court itself exempt. Grimes at 
 which, when they occm* in the inferior ranks, 
 "respectable" people are accustomed to hold
 
 300 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 up tlieir hands, began to stalk about in the 
 ante-cliambers of the Tuileries. Gentlemen, 
 aides-de-camp, and companions of the Princes, 
 cheated at cards, and were spirited away before 
 the stroke of retributive justice could attain 
 them: ambassadors committed suicide, or, 
 being accused of wishing to murder their 
 children, defended themselves in a course of 
 law proceedings of such a nature that from their 
 merest detail women the least prudish shrank 
 away. Dukes of old name, and long attached to 
 royalty, butchered their wives, — yet no punish- 
 ment ensued, — no positive, public retribution; 
 for of that which is wrought by shame and the 
 crushing sense of dishonour, — of that worst 
 and most insupportable of all penalties, — the 
 people were, alas! too fatally persuaded that 
 the rich and the high in place had no fear. 
 
 Nor was Paris the only spot where corrup- 
 tion in the upper classes excited the rage of 
 the lower ones. The judicial drama which, at 
 the Assize Court of Poitiers, counted amongst 
 its actors Duparc, Gouin, Gauthier, and the 
 other dilapidators of the public money at 
 Rochefort, proved that, even in the remotest 
 jprovinceSj all th^ wheels and springs of admi-
 
 LEOXIE YEEMOXT. 301 
 
 nistration were choked up by the coiTOsive rust 
 of dishonesty. The farthest-sighted of all 
 political writers in France, Emile de Girardin, 
 in January, 1847, had already said: — "If it 
 be true that personal and private interest, in 
 each several branch of the hierarchy of society, 
 is daily to become the sole rule of every man ; 
 if daily the conviction is to be acquired, not 
 alone that the public may be made free with, 
 but that it is absurd not to steal as much as 
 possible in order to grow rich ; — if this be true, 
 how far off is society from the precipice ? 
 And how many hours yet remain before it 
 must be swallowed up in the gulf that is 
 yawning to receive if?" 
 
 Gold had indeed become the God of France, 
 and the whole nation was prostrated before 
 Mammon. " None but fools are obliged to go 
 on foot,'' was the speech of a notorious robber, 
 Claude Thibert; who from an insatiable love 
 for the material enjoyments of life, had passed 
 through every stage of swindling, pocket-pick- 
 ing, and the rest, tiU his progress was stayed 
 at the Parisian Cour d'Assises, where the 
 President commented on his phrase of *' II n'y a 
 que les imbeciles qui yont a pied,'' in the fol-
 
 302 LEONiE yeemo:e^t. 
 
 loT\dng terms : — " This is to saj tkat the ho- 
 nest man in our social state is a mere dupe ; 
 and the man devoid of principles — the crimi- 
 nal in Jact — alone worthy of the delights of a 
 luxurious existence." And thus it was: the 
 honest man had grown, not only to be — but 
 to be looked upon as — a dupe in the vitiated 
 state of social France ; and this, in such a 
 nation, was an unnatural order of things, im- 
 patiently submitted to by more than one class 
 in the countrj. 
 
 It was evident to all those who reflected 
 U23on events otherwise than from the mere 
 point of view of momentary expediency, that 
 something extraordinary was in the wind. 
 Coupled with all that was passing to disgust 
 the nation with its rulers and with its whole 
 system of present government, there was an 
 evident desire to attract its attention, and to 
 encourage its admiration of the so-called heroes 
 of the Revolution of '93.. Tlie too romantic 
 Girondins of Lamartine were in every hand; 
 Michelet's impious rhapsodies, though they 
 found small favour, showed the tendencies of a 
 certain portion of the public; Louis Blanc saw 
 a fortune showered at his feet for the first
 
 LEOXIE TEE^^rOXT. 303 
 
 volumes of a work which was to yindicate the 
 scaffold-piiryejors of other days, and upon the 
 ruins of all constituted forms of society, to 
 proclaim as sole sovereign — The People. In 
 short, it was evident that France was ap- 
 proaching an awful moment in her history, 
 and none witnessed the stormy sittings of the 
 memorable Chamber of 1848 without a vague 
 and undefinable fear. Everything was a sub- 
 ject of contention. The events passing through- 
 out Europe but added cloud upon cloud to 
 those that already darkened the political 
 horizon of France. From the glaciers of 
 Switzerland rang a cry of protestation against 
 wrong ; from the Council-Chamber of Sans 
 Souci glided forth an Act that recalled the 
 first steps of Louis XVL; throughout Italy 
 sounded the watchword of Constitutional Go- 
 vernment ; and whilst Ferdinand of Naples 
 replied to the rebellious Sicilians by the 
 cannon of Palermo — from the Vatican poured 
 forth the imprudent concessions of over-love. 
 Electoral Reform then again raised its ominous 
 head in France, and few were the voices that 
 clamoured not in its favour. From the pro- 
 vinces came the news of banquet upon ban-
 
 304 LEONIE VEEMONT. 
 
 quet; in Paris even the banner had been 
 raised, and had waved over the heads of thou- 
 sands without let or hindrance. Already — 
 early in the year 184 7 — had Berry er, in defence 
 of the proposition for Electoral Reform, fa- 
 thered by Duvergier de Hauranne, uttered 
 those memorable words : " I would fain ask 
 the Minister in how many years he will judge 
 it fitting to accord the modifications for which 
 the whole nation is waiting with impatience V' 
 And yet nothing was given, nothing was even 
 promised. Day after day the storm gathered 
 thicker, and the atmosphere grew heavier and 
 darker. And day after day did M. Guizot 
 struggle single-handed against the ever-grow- 
 ing crowd that was pressing in upon him. A 
 noble sight it was, to whatever opinion you 
 might belong, to see that glorious intelligence, 
 unimpaired by toil, replying by fresh flashes of 
 splendour to every fresh attack ; to watch that 
 never -faiUng courage, disdainful to the last of 
 whatever form its enemies might assume. Few 
 examples can be afforded by history of a more 
 spirit-stirring combat than that fought by the 
 misguided Minister of a more misguided King, 
 against an inexorable opposition and an angry
 
 LEOXIE YERMOXT. 305 
 
 country in tlie dawn of 1848. Long ago had 
 M. Guizot truly said — " The only possible 
 progress now lies in resistance;'' but this time 
 it was the country he resisted, and wliole 
 nations are seldom very easily yanquished 
 adversaries. 
 
 Hourly the struggle became more deadly, 
 and the weapons used on both sides more 
 envemoned. Personalities were hurled like 
 paving-stones from one side of the Chamber 
 to the other, and even the marble stillness 
 of M. Guizot's countenance, lighted only by the 
 glare of his eagle eye, was convulsed beneath 
 the insidt which one day awoke the echoes of 
 the Chamber. " C'est Polignac et Peyronnet !' 
 That was in fact the signal for revolt. From 
 the scene of wild agitation which followed 
 those words, you came away convinced that 
 the parliamentary battle was now over, and 
 that the next struoforle must be in the street. 
 
 On the Monday, 21st of February, all was 
 calm. The fatal words, " Passions ennemis 
 et aveugles,'' Lad been adopted and sanctioned 
 by the Parliamentary majority, and the banquet 
 of the Twelfth Arrondissement was to take place. 
 
 The first hour of the evening, however? 
 changed the face of afiuirs, and before night
 
 306 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 had long fallen, it was known that the Govern- 
 ment forbade the re-union in the Champs 
 Eljsees, headed by the deputies of the oppo- 
 sition. Thereupon the greater portion of the 
 Paris bourgeois slept quietly, rather sorry, 
 perhaps, that there was to be no fun — nothing 
 to see on the morrow ; but the fauxbourgs slept 
 not, and in its own quarters revolt was abroad 
 and busy. 
 
 Leonie and M. de Briancour, if the truth 
 must be told, were both extraordinarily excited 
 by all that was passing. Both of them read 
 the papers with a devouring interest that 
 would have amused Madame Isabelle, had she 
 not been sincerely anxious and unquiet about 
 the general aspect of affairs; for she ardently 
 loved the country, and had mourned deeply 
 over all that had latterly gone so far to lessen 
 France in the eyes of honest men. Leonie 
 dreamt of radical changes in the State, and 
 panted for what she had, however, too much 
 good sense not to regard as most improbable. 
 M. do Briancour, on the other hand, hailed 
 every appearance of an insurrection, a riot, a 
 row of any kind, as an infallible sign of the 
 approaching return of " Le Prince ;" and both 
 the Count and his protegee were, therefore,
 
 LE0>'1E VEEMOXT. 307 
 
 tremblingly alive to every sound, to every miu'- 
 miir that breathed from either Parliament or 
 street. They could not, however, be expected 
 to agree for any very long space of time, for, 
 whilst the one was expecting everything from 
 " ce peuple heroique" that she pictured to her 
 highly wrought fancy, the other was longing 
 for the hour when the establishment of a 
 genuine and absolute monarchy would enable 
 the upper classes of society to resume their 
 privileges, and lord it — as it was proper and 
 fitting that they should do — over "cette canaille 
 de populace/' Yet a more affectionate heart 
 or a more refined natm-e than Leonie did not 
 exist, and certainly no braver or more loyal 
 gentleman ever stepped this earth than the 
 Comte de Brianeour. 
 
 Fernand was hardly to be seen in his home 
 during the debates upon the address; and 
 when he did return he was peculiarly taciturn, 
 and looked at Leonie in a singular way. On 
 the 20 th of February, Noisette excused her- 
 self, under the plea of indisposition, from 
 attendinor her work durino: the next ensuino: 
 week; and PieiTe, who delivered the message, 
 had not been heard of since.
 
 308 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 On the morning of the 22nd, Madame Isa- 
 belle, as usual, sallied forth to early mass. 
 Nothing embarrassed bj the crowds she met, 
 pouring down from the ever disaffected faux- 
 bourgs; nothing daunted by the fearful faces 
 that glared upon her at every turn, by the 
 angry songs that rent the air at every instant, 
 she proceeded across the Place du Palais 
 Royal to church. AVith some difficulty she 
 reached the door of the temple (it was the 
 one where hung the picture of her patron 
 saint, whose fete fell upon this one particular 
 day). Mass was just commencing in Sainte 
 Isabelle's chapel, and no more devout heart 
 drank in the holy words of consolation, or 
 gave itself up whole and entire to the love of 
 Him who is ever beyond yet ever with us, 
 than that of Fernand de Briancour's sister. 
 When the benediction had been given, and 
 the words of the Evangelist had pronounced, 
 " Blessed they who are born not in the flesh, 
 but in the spirit of God," the few, whose 
 especial duty it was that day to venerate the 
 memory of Sainte Isabelle, retreated one by 
 one, leaving the youthful widow alone. The 
 church was untenanted — the last mass had
 
 LEOXIE VERM02?T. 309 
 
 been said, — no presence, no sound, was there 
 to prevent the entire union of the soul ^Yith its 
 eternally Beloved. Madame Isabelle looked 
 cautiously around, and sure that no profane 
 eye could misinterpret her action, slid down 
 from her prie-Dieu upon the stone pavement, 
 and rejoiced in the feeling of being prostrate 
 before her divine Master, alone with the pro- 
 found sense of her own un worthiness, and with 
 the blissful idea of his boundless mercy. There 
 are moments of prayer when the soul is so 
 completely absorbed in the contemplation of 
 the Divine Being, that all the perceptive facul- 
 ties are strained, as it were, to catch, in the 
 universal hush, the voice that only speaks 
 when deep silence reigns around. Madame 
 Isabelle was really absorbed in prayer — ab- 
 sorbed in the feeling that God was near, that 
 he heard her, that he would be with her when 
 the hour of trial came; and that there were 
 some of those whom she loved (for she ever 
 prayed for Leonie), into whose hearts he 
 would one day send a ray of his Eternal 
 Beauty, of his Eternal Truth. Comforted, 
 strengthened, calmly unheeding all that might 
 happen, Madame Isabelle arose, and before
 
 310 LEONIE YEEMONT. 
 
 leaving the cliapel, meditated for a moment 
 upon the virtues of her patron saint, while 
 gazing upon the painting that hung before her. 
 
 As she turned to pass through the iron 
 grating and prepared to descend the three 
 steps that led to the aisle of the church, she 
 saw that she was not so solitary as she had 
 imagined. A man stood at a few paces dis- 
 tant, with his back towards her. The figure 
 had hardly time to turn ere she recognized 
 Philippe Vermont. She was preparing to pass 
 him with a very sHght sign of recognition — for 
 she liked not worldly greetings in the house of 
 prayer — but the artist stepped forward — 
 
 " Pardon me, Madame," he said, approach- 
 ing her respectfully, " but you cannot go from 
 hence alone." 
 
 " Why so. Monsieur Philippe V replied she, 
 still moving on ; "I came so, and do not see 
 what should prevent my returning." 
 
 '•' I must prevent it," he rejoined firmly, and 
 before she could object, " Do you hear that 1" 
 lie continued. 
 
 The Marquise listened, and in the midst of 
 a distant rolling of drums, and what seemed 
 like the clatter of horses' feet, she caught a
 
 liEOXIE TEEMOXT. 311 
 
 sound such as she had never heard before. It 
 -was a dull, heavy, booming sound, as of distant 
 guns at sea, — a sound full of mysterious warn- 
 ing, — a Tvhispered roar, like that of the ocean 
 Trayes when they tell you they are mounting, 
 mounting still, and that they \vill be upon 
 you before you can escape. Madame Isabelle 
 shuddered involuntarily : it is a sound to 
 make the blood run cold ; and stretching forth 
 her hand tiU it touched Philippe's arm, she 
 looked him calmly, but interrogatively, in the 
 face. 
 
 " It is the voice pf the people," he said in 
 a low and sinister tone that made her shrink 
 back instinctively. 
 
 They were now at the chtirch door. 
 When they had crossed the threshold of the 
 sacred edifice, Madame Isabelle saw that she 
 should of a truth stand in need of some arm 
 to guide her, and she took that which Philippe 
 offered her. 
 
 The masses they threaded were quiet, but 
 menacing in their very stillness. The heavy 
 tramp of the cavalry resounded from time to 
 time along the streets, whilst ever through the 
 grey misty air came the booming ominous
 
 812 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 sound we have alluded to. At length it took 
 a form, and as our two pedestrians neared 
 the Tuileries and the Rue St. Honore, " A has 
 le Ministere !" and " A bas Guizot !" alternated 
 with " Vive la Reforme !" and reduced to a 
 popular cry that which in its mysterious unde- 
 finableness liad appeared more terrible stilL 
 
 Never a word spoke Philippe or Madame 
 Isabelle till they reached the latter's door. 
 Once they were stopped by a grille that was 
 being torn down, and once by some paves that 
 were torn up ; but that was all. 
 
 " Merci, Monsieur Philippe," said the Mar- 
 quise at her own door ; " won't you come in 
 and see my father V 
 
 "Thank you," was the answer, "I have 
 something very particular on hand." 
 
 " Do you think there is anything serious in 
 all this V asked she. 
 
 " Serious 1" echoed Philippe, with a strange 
 smile ; and then, as though correcting himself, 
 " I don't know, I am sure," he added. " You 
 see that the Government are so very strong!" 
 and, as he took leave of her, he pointed to a 
 squadron of horse coming down from the Rue 
 de Rivoli.
 
 LEONIE YERMONT. 313 
 
 That night M. Guizot sipped his tea com- 
 placently at Madame B 's, and announced 
 
 that all was over ; and wise men, and men who 
 saw a great way into things, opined what a 
 considerable advantage it was to the Ministry 
 that the emeute had shown its teeth, and got 
 friditened before it could bite. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 314 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The die was cast, and the throne of France 
 in the dust. The shot that disturbed the 
 echoes of the Boulevards on the night of the 
 23rd of February, and was answered by a 
 volley of musketry from the. troops, had marked 
 the doom of the Orleans race. It would be 
 idle to inquire who fired that shot, whose finger 
 pressed the trigger that did such fell work ! 
 It was to be ; little boots it whether the mad- 
 man Lagrange, or a raw and frightened soldier 
 of the line, was the instrument of inexorable 
 Providence. 
 
 A mournful night that was, that same 23rd 
 of February, and wonderfully in accordance
 
 LEOXIE VERilOXT. 815 
 
 with the horrid work it witnessed. Beneath 
 the misty veil of the drifting rain, barricade on 
 banicade rose dismally, till the whole town, 
 torn up, as it were, by the roots, presented to 
 the uncommanded and disheartened soldiery 
 its rough ramparts of stone, bristling porcu- 
 pine-like to the view. 
 
 We all know bow Louis Philippe threw 
 down sceptre and crown, and escaped from 
 the cares of royalty in a hackney coach. We 
 know, too, how, out of all the Deputies repre- 
 senting the nation at large, not one was 
 found to resist the invasion of the Chamber by 
 the mob, or boldly to aifico^ the levelled gun ^t?>^, 
 of an insurgent, and claim protection for the / 
 
 insulted majesty of the law. These things 
 are of history's domain, and come not at pre- 
 sent within our range ; we will, therefore, 
 inquire what the personages of this tale were 
 about on the morning of the 24th of Fe- 
 bruary. 
 
 At eight o'clock, to her unspeakable surprise, 
 Madame Isabelle found her father sallying forth 
 in the most approved attire of a genuine in- 
 habitant of the fauxbourgs — blouse and cas- 
 quette, nothing was wanting; — but below the 
 
 p 2
 
 316 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 blouse jou discovered the varnished boots, and 
 the cuiFs of the ignoble vestment rested upon 
 hands that could not, even in the eyes of the 
 most unlearned in such matters, have passed 
 for unused to gloves. 
 
 " I shall be back again soon,'^ exclaimed the 
 Count, leaving his astonished daughter in the 
 ante-room, wondering upon what errand he 
 could be bent. And "back again" he cer- 
 tainly was, before the ordinary breakfast hour. 
 Leonie was the most eager in her questions as 
 to what he had seen ; repeating over and over 
 — " Why did you not take me with you V 
 
 " There is nothing to see now," was M. de 
 Briancour's only answer to the demands show- 
 ered upon him; and he looked considerably 
 disappointed. "I have been," he continued, 
 '' from the Madeleine to the end of the Boule- 
 vard du Temple, and no bad morning's work 
 it is, for the barricades rise up at every fifteen 
 yards, and it is enough to make one sick to 
 see the scared attitude of the soldiers, and the 
 
 degradation into which that old (and he 
 
 shook his fist in the direction of the Tuileries) 
 has brought the army of France. Yes ! even 
 the army ! (as if he could not be content
 
 LEONIE VEEMOXT. 317 
 
 'svitli his cheesemongers and tallowchandlers, 
 and all his tribe of electeiu's, et Gardes Na- 
 tionaux!) It looks AYell, to be sure, to see 
 them dawdling about, disarmed and dishon- 
 oured as thev are. I — " and here the Count 
 gave utterance to one of those poweiful jurons 
 corps de garde which have since become cele- 
 brated in the extra-parliamentarj orations of 
 M. Caussidiere. 
 
 " But, father," interposed Madame Isabelle, 
 " what are thej going to do 1" 
 
 "Who, thejr 
 
 " Why.— the Ministers. . . " 
 
 ''There are none," grrowled the Count. 
 
 "Well then, the Government"-- for Madame 
 Isabelle did not, any more than her father, 
 like to style Louis Philippe, King. 
 
 "The Government!" he echoed, "it don't 
 exist." 
 
 "But Philippe, as you like so much in 
 your party to hear him called,'*' objected 
 Leonie with a laugh, " what do you think he 
 will do r' 
 
 "Oh! he!" retorted M. de Briancour, 
 " there is no question of him in all this, more's 
 the pity ! To say the truth, I don't know
 
 318 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 what they would be at ; the day before yester- 
 day they cried, 'Down with the Ministry/ 
 and they got it down ; — yesterday they cried 
 ' Hurrah for Reform/ and I suppose they will 
 have that too — but what they are to cry for 
 to-day I don^t know, and as yet they are not 
 crying for anything at all, but are all as silent 
 as dormice. I never saw such dumb crowds 
 in my days : the only show of life they gave 
 was just now, when Lamoriciere came trotting 
 up the Rue de la Paix and making speeches to 
 them which I could not hear, nor could they. 
 But that was no matter : they flew at him, and 
 nearly tore him to pieces from wanting to 
 embrace him. I saw one fellow fly off with 
 some of the lacing upon his coat, and another 
 tug at his boot as though the devil possessed 
 him.'' 
 
 " Yes, father,'' said Fernand, who had just 
 then joined the breakfast table, " but you have 
 not been down the Rue de la Ferme with them 
 upon their visit to Odillon Barrot's. I have, 
 and I assure you they are after mischief, and 
 that we may have hot work yet." 
 
 Fernand had hardly uttered the words when 
 a detonation was heard, not far off"; and was 
 followed by some irregular shots.
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 319 
 
 " Heayen be merciful to us all !" said Ma- 
 dame Isabelle, devoutly. 
 
 Leonie had risen, and stood listening eagerly. 
 With proudly curling lip, dilated eye, and nos- 
 tril expanded, she looked no unapt model for 
 a youthftd goddess of war. Another detona- 
 tion rent the air, and then followed, during 
 several seconds, a well kept up, though irregu- 
 lar fire. Fernand looked imdecidedly towards 
 the door. " You may go," said Leonie, " I 
 will take care of her — fear nothing — je suis du 
 peuple, moi 1" 
 
 The Viscount did not wait to be told this 
 twice, but was ofi* before his sister could ven- 
 ture a remark. 
 
 And now came noises indescribable from 
 the street. Yells, groans, deep mutterings, the 
 rush of a crowd, and the inarticulate words of 
 the many-voiced monster. 
 
 Of the latter, however, some were borne 
 upon the wind to the chamber, where our trio 
 were standing. M. de Briancour literally tore 
 open a window, and thrust his head into tlie 
 street. 
 
 " What !" he shouted to a group gathered 
 round the door of the house, '' has he abdi- 
 cated r
 
 320 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 " He is gone \" was the answer of a dozen 
 voices above. 
 
 '' Oliasse V' asked the Count, in a tone 
 nothing can describe. 
 
 " Ohasse !" was the echo from beneath. 
 
 M. de Briancour, in a fever of impatience, 
 seized his casqiiette, and with a loud, exulting 
 laugh of irrepressible joj, " He is gone r he 
 shouted triumphantly. 
 
 " Who r asked Leonie. 
 
 " The Usurper Y' cried the Count, dashing 
 out of the room. 
 
 " Vive la Republique Y' exclaimed Leonie, 
 with sudden inspiration. 
 
 " Vive le Roi I" made the staircase echoes 
 ring, as M. de Briancour flew like lightning 
 down the steps. 
 
 " God bless all who suffer I" said Madame 
 Isabelle, with deep emotion, as, in obedience 
 to an impulse she could scarcely understand, 
 she proceeded to her own room, ekrhe^ly to 
 pray for all those who, whatever their sins, 
 had this day begun the work of expiation. 
 
 " Cry ' Vive le Roi !' can't you?' ejaculated 
 M. de Briancour, as he took his ill-favoured 
 portress round the waist, and gave her a loud- 
 resounding kiss.
 
 LEOKIE ATIRMONT. 321 
 
 " Which one 1 " demanded the astounded 
 old woman. 
 
 But the Count could not stay to reply. 
 " He is gone ! " he triumphantly shouted, and 
 was half-way down the street, before she had. 
 shaped her question. Every step he took, every 
 man he met, confirmed the tale that he had 
 been told. '' He is gone ! " 
 
 There was the one fact in which, for a short 
 space of time, every pre-occupation, every pre- 
 vision of the future was merged. The dreamer 
 had cast off the cloak that covered him, fan- 
 cying that was the nightmare under which he 
 lay oppressed; but he slept on still, and soon 
 dreamed as before, and the nightmare will 
 come again, and many another nightmare, 
 perhaps, ere the morning dawns upon him — 
 if morning ever shall dawn upon that dreamer 
 again. 
 
 One o'clock was striking, when M. de Brian- 
 cour, dressed en vainqueur, found himself at 
 the foot of the great staircase of the Chateau, 
 in the midst of a crowd who had certainly no 
 analogy with the splendoui-s around them. 
 
 In an instant the rush up the stairs was
 
 322 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 friglitful, and the Count was carried away by 
 the irresistible torrent. 
 
 "This is not the first time youVe been 
 here,'\ said somewhat suspiciously to M. de 
 .Briancour a gargon boulanger, whose mealy 
 jacket was stained by powder and blood. 
 
 " No, not exactly/^ rejoined the Count; " but 
 it is the first time these eighteen years." 
 
 "Ha! ha!'' added the baker's boy, nudging 
 his neighbour's elbow jocosely, "but there is 
 nothing for you in the scramble, camarade !" 
 
 " Who knows '? " said carelessly M. de 
 Briancour. The words were lost in the 
 deafening shouts which at this instant burst 
 forth from all sides, and greeted a personage 
 who had taken possession of the stair-head, 
 and from thence was preparing to harangue 
 the multitude. This was no other than a 
 huge, pudgy-cheeked, black-faced coalheaver, 
 who, attired in a general officer's uniform, and 
 having adorned his head with one of the 
 ex-King's wigs and court-hats, was in the act 
 of playing sovereign, and receiving his liege 
 subjects in mock state. 
 
 " My children," he began, " it is always
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 323 
 
 with renewed pleasure that ," " Bravo ! 
 
 bravo !" burst from the crowd at this imitation 
 of Louis Philippe's well known phrase. 
 
 "Gentlemen/' recommenced the coalheaver ; 
 "the circumstances which unite us at this 
 moment are so exceedingly delicate ," 
 
 A horse laugh, varied by whistlings, and 
 uncouth sounds of many descriptions covered 
 the remainder of the sentence ; " but, gentle- 
 men," added the mock-monarch with' solemn 
 gesture, "in future, I pledge you my word, 
 the Charter shall be rigorously adhered 
 to." 
 
 " A bas la Charte !" vociferated the crowd? 
 and the toy of a moment being swept away 
 in the person of the bedizened Charbonnier, 
 the populace, disposed to be rather good- 
 humoured than otherwise in the houi' of 
 victory, dispersed itself through the galleries, 
 salons, and boudoirs of royalty, committing 
 few excesses, save such as might serve to show 
 it had a right to do whatever it chose; — smash- 
 ing glasses, breaking windows, and firing at 
 the pictures on the walls. In the principal 
 receiving-room, there was, however, a halt, 
 and a profound silence ensued. A man, with-
 
 324 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 out hat, coat, or cravat, his arms bare, his 
 shirt open, his hair in disorder, suddenly 
 sprang upon the polished surface of a richly 
 carved, table that occupied the centre of the 
 salon, and, with outstretched arms, imposing 
 silence upon the multitude, he commenced the 
 first verse of the Marseillaise. The air was 
 caught up with wild enthusiasm, and the 
 novel inmates of the royal abode, seemed to 
 derive some nameless satisfaction from the 
 mere fact of making the senseless walls ring 
 with the oft-repeated chorus of the hymn of 
 revolt. Further on, in a gallery adorned with 
 paintings, and where princesses were used to 
 find solace in music, the mob were for giving 
 themselves the innocent diversion of demolish- 
 ing a splendid pianoforte of Erard's. But a 
 young man, tall, fair, and whose bearing (not- 
 withstanding his strange accoutrements,) be- 
 trayed gentle blood, stepped forward, and laid 
 his hand upon the keys. 
 
 " Let the captain alone,'^ cried a powerful 
 voice to those who pressed on towards the 
 instrument ; " let him alone, I say, and tell 
 him to give us a song,'' 
 
 " La Carmagnole," shouted one, " Oa ira,"
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 325 
 
 slirieked another; "or give us again 'Enfants 
 de la Patrie/ roared a third. 
 
 "I know none of those songs/' replied 
 steadily and, perhaps, not without a little 
 haughtiness, the joung man, looking his strange 
 auditory in the face ; " but/' and here his 
 features relapsed into a half sort of smile, " I 
 will play you a polka if you like to dance." 
 
 And dance they did. And what a dance ! 
 and what words they put to the notes of that 
 polka ! 
 
 M. de Briancour turned away in disgust, 
 and, with some other stragglers, loitered on 
 into the private dining-room of the royal fa- 
 mily. Here the evidences of recent occupa- 
 tion were particularly striking, — the fire still 
 burning, the symmetry of the chairs de- 
 ranged, a thousand little traces of woman's 
 presence everywhere, and on the ground, near 
 the hearth, an embroidered handkerchief, drop- 
 ped as though by some hand unnerved by 
 sudden fear, — all combined to show how, in 
 the very midst of the most peaceable enjoy- 
 ments of life, the lava tide of revolution had 
 rushed in upon these doomed ones, and swept 
 them away, even as they stood.
 
 326 LEONIE VEEMONT. 
 
 Enemy as lie was, M. de Briancour felt 
 softened when lie thouglit of the women, the 
 innocent, the young, the gentle beings who 
 had so lately been dragged down and crushed 
 by the fall of a throne. 
 
 The Count had seen enough, and these 
 minor details of a great misfortune rather 
 sickened him than otherwise. As he turned 
 to retreat — 
 
 " Pardon, Monsieur le Due," said an ouvrier, 
 presenting him a pack of cards with his dirty 
 fingers, " won^t you do the Spanish Ambassa- 
 dor the honour of taking a hand at whist "? 
 You perceive, we are making up the tables ;" 
 and as the Count turned round he saw a dirty, 
 ragged, blood-stained, powder-begrimed con- 
 gregation of emeutiers playing at a reception 
 at Court. 
 
 " Here is the nonce du pape,'' continued the 
 first man who had addressed the Count, and 
 peeping oyer whose shoulder he recognised the 
 baker's boy with whom he had mounted the 
 stairs. " Oh, see ! there is the Britishambas- 
 sador — will you allow me to introduce you ; 
 would not you like to play with him V 
 
 " When his turn comes, Etienne, to play
 
 LEONIE VERMONT. 327 
 
 cards with ambassadors here," muttered the 
 journeyman baker under his teeth, and point- 
 ing to the Count at the same time, '•' jou and 
 I shall probably be in no humour to make fun 
 of that or anything else." 
 
 "A bas les Carlistes ! " — "A bas les Je- 
 suites ! " was instantly shouted from one end 
 of the salon to the other, and matters might 
 have gone ill for M. de Briancour, had not just 
 then the rush of the crowd from the throne- 
 room separated him from those who seemed 
 not unlikely now to become his aggressors. 
 
 Following the populace, wilder now, and 
 wilder at each instant, who in brute triumph 
 bore aloft the material emblem of mined 
 royalty, the broken, soiled, and desecrated 
 throne, M. de Briancour made his way into 
 the gardens, and walked musingly homewards 
 along the quais, whilst the infuriate mob car- 
 ried its senseless prey to the Bastille, there to 
 burn at the foot of the column of July that 
 symbol of a sway which the days of July had 
 given to France. 
 
 ^'Hola, Maitre Pierre!" cried the Count, 
 " whence come you V 
 
 "From the Chamber," replied the workman.
 
 328 LEONIE VERMOI^T. 
 
 "And what news V 
 
 " Lamartine and Arago at the head of a 
 proYisional power, which promises to give 
 Franca whatever government she may really 
 desire." 
 
 " Hurrah then ! '^ cried the legitimiste. 
 "Vive Henri v.!" 
 
 " The Republic will be proclaimed to-mor- 
 row/^ retorted Pierre with a tone wherein 
 lurked an imperceptible tinge of disdain. 
 
 "The Republic?' echoed M. de Briancour 
 with a contemptuous laugh, " reve de fou !" 
 
 "It is the dream of this country since 
 1789," answered Pierre sternly, "and I, for 
 one, Monsieur le Comte, will give my life's 
 blood to establish it." 
 
 It was late in the day when Fernand re- 
 turned home. He came from the Hotel de 
 Ville. When he had satisfied the ardour of his 
 sister and Mademoiselle Vermont for news, he 
 drew Leonie gently into the embrasure of a 
 window at some distance from the fire, near to 
 which Madame Isabelle sat. The room was 
 nearly dark, and the rays of the street lamp 
 through the window-panes alone enabled 
 Mademoiselle Vermont to see how very agi-
 
 LEONIE YERMOXT. 329 
 
 tated and worn was the Vicomte's counten- 
 ance. 
 
 " Leonie/' he began, taking both her hands 
 in his, "you may now learn from me the 
 secret, to keep which I sacrificed all our present 
 hopes. Perhaps jou may have thought that I 
 gave up too readily all chance of " 
 
 "Oh! never! dear, dear Feraand!" inter- 
 rupted the high-minded girl, " never ! for I 
 knew — I guessed all.'' 
 
 " You V exclaimed the Vicomte, " then 
 why did you never by a word, by a hint — V 
 
 " Oh ! Fernand ! how could I V she replied, 
 tenderly pressing her lover's hand ; " but tell 
 me, is he in no danger now?'' 
 
 " Nay, he triumphs !" rejoined Fernand, 
 with an imperceptible inflexion between com- 
 passion and scorn. 
 
 "What!" she whispered anxiously, "is it 
 possible that the Bourbons, whom France so 
 indignantly threw off, can " 
 
 " The Boiu'bons !" echoed Fernand. " Alas, 
 we are at this hour living under the rule of a 
 Republic that will be proclaimed to-morrow.*' 
 
 " And yet you say there is no danger for 
 him V repeated Mademoiselle Vermont. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 330 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 "Danger! why, I saw him not an hour 
 since borne in triumph on the filthy shoulders 
 of a mob, who were straining their throats in 
 praise of his Danton-like eloquence." 
 
 " Good heavens !" cried she, " M. de Brian- 
 cour turned Eepublican!" 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Leonie V' 
 asked the Vicomte. " What has my father to 
 do with all this \" 
 
 " What I" demanded Mademoiselle Vermont, 
 astonished in her turn. " Why, is it not of 
 him you have been speaking all this while V 
 
 " Heaven defend us !" sighed Fernand, struck 
 by a sudden thought. " I have all to tell you, 
 then, for I see you know nothing.'' And tak- 
 ino* in his own two hands the hand of the now 
 trembling girl, who instinctively dreaded the 
 disclosure with which she was threatened, 
 '' Leonie," he said, in a low, earnest tone, 
 " things were worse even than you fancied. 
 On the night on which I witnessed so much 
 that the Minister would have had me reveal, I 
 had recognised in the president of the secret 
 society, in the leader of those desperate men 
 who were not excluding murder from their re- 
 volutionary counsels — I had recognised "
 
 LEOXIE YEEMOXT. 331 
 
 He paused. 
 
 " Xot jour father, it would seem," murmured 
 she ; — "but who then T 
 
 " Your brother, Leonie," answered Fernand, 
 in a slow, solemn tone. 
 
 " Philippe !" screamed she, starting back in 
 dismay. 
 
 "What is the matter'?" inquired jMadame 
 Isabelle, rising. " Has any thing happened to 
 him 1 is he hurt T 
 
 "Nothing, dear sister," replied Fernand, 
 motioning to the Marquise to resume her seat. 
 Leonie leant against the window, and covered 
 her face with her hands. 
 
 " An assassin !" she groaned, " and call him- 
 self a Republican. A RepubKcan !" she con- 
 tinued, '' and all the while taking, as the price 
 of his labours, their gold against whom he was 
 conspiring in the shade ! Oh, shame ! shame ! 
 shame on him !" she added, with ever-rising 
 energy ; " and shame on me !" And at these 
 words, said in a faltering voice, her courage 
 seemed to give way. 
 
 " My Leonie !" said her lover, with tender- 
 ness, again pressing her hands in his — " mine 
 come what will, — my own dear one — my wife !"
 
 332 LEONIE VERMONT. 
 
 " The sister of a conspirator — of a criminal," 
 said she mournfully, raising her tearful eyes to 
 Fernandas. 
 
 " Yesterday, perhaps," replied he, ^vith a 
 compassionate smile ; " but to-day the criminal 
 is a patriot, a saviour of his country, a hero !" 
 and at this word, the smile involuntarily 
 turned from kindness to contempt. 
 
 The colloquy of the lovers was brought to 
 an end by the sound of M. de Briancour's voice 
 at the door. And the agitation visible on the 
 faces of both Fernand and Leonie passed im- 
 perceived in the rapturous embraces distributed 
 to each member of his family circle by the 
 Count, who divided his expressions of rejoicing 
 between " He is gone !" and " Vive le Roi !" 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 PEINTEP BV HARRISON AND SON, ST. MARTIN'S LANB.
 
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