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Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont filmds en commandant par la premidre page qui comports une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par la dernidre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbols — ♦• signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbolo V signifie "FIN". Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre filmds i des *^aux de reduction diffdrents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seu! clichd, il est filmd d partir de Tangle supdrieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en p-enant le nombre d'^mages ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. rata lelure. J 32X 1 2 3 ^ -f ■■■ 2 3 4 5 6 / r ^i ■ m The Kotaey's Daughter. BY THE SAME AUTHOR. MliS, GERALD'S NIECE. A Novel. I vol. 8vo, cloth, $i 50 ; doth, gilt edges, $2. TOO STRANGE NOT TO BE TRUE. I vol. 8vo. With illustrations. CloJh, f i 50 : cloth gilt edges, $2. A STORMY LIFE ; OR, QUEEN MAR- GARET 'S JO URNAL. A Novel. 8vo, cloth, with illustrations by Gaston Fay, $1 50 ; cloth, gilt, $2. ROSE LE BLANC. I vol. x6mo, cloth, $1 ; cloth, gilt edges, $r 50. THE STRAW-CUTTER'S DAUGHTER and THE PORTRAIT IN MY UNCLE'S DRA WING-ROOM. Translated from the French, t vol i6mo, |i ; cloth, gilt, |i 50. LIFE OF ST. FRANCIS OF ROME. I vol. i6mo, cloth, $1 ; gilt edges, $1 50. WHICH IS WHICH; OR, THE FIRE O^ LONDON. A Play in Three Acts. i6nio, paper, 25 cents. GERMAINE COUSIN, THE SHEPHERD-^ ESS OF PI BR AC. A Play in Two Acts. i6mo, paper, 25 cents. Sent by mail, postage paid, to any address, on receipt of the price. D. &, J. SABLIER &, CO.. SfSaretoof Stngt, JV*tf Tori-, THe i\OTART'S DAUGHTER. Trandaied from the Fremh of Madame Lemiie Donmt BT LADY GEORGIANA FDLLERTOiV, New York : D. & J. SADLIER & CO., 31 BARCLAY STREET. MONTBKAL : 275 NOTRE DAME STREET Copyright, D & J. BADLDSR & CO., 1878. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. LaPinMe, . . , ..... /^S CHAPTER II. The Family of De VedeUes, ...... g^ CHAPTER III. Visitors, ... ^» •••••• 80 CHAPTER IV. More Visitors, ^ CHAPTER V. Mise Mede, ... -- • • . • . • 01 CHAPTER VI. An Accident, , . ^«, * .75 CHAPTER VII. Complications, . . ' ^^ • • • IS • 1W8 CHAPTER VIII. Second Thoughts, j22 CHAPTER IX. A Trifling Obstacle, , . ... , igo 8 'J 'It i ^ f -i 4 Contents. CHAPTER X. Another Trifling Obstacle, . . , • , , . '145 CHAPTER XI. Denise's Letter, ^ ^59 CHAPTER XII. A Misconception, ....,,, 1^ CHAPTER XIII. The CivU Marriage, I79 CHAPTER XIV. Mise Med^'s Return, .... ^ ,, 187 CHAPTER XV. Belbousquet, • ^ . . , , , . 303 CHAPTER XVI. ■A. Crisis 218 CHAPTER XVII. A Discovery, ^ gg* "^CHAPTER XVIII. The Clue Laid Hold Of, . . . , . .246 CHAPTER XIX. An Emergency, ^ ^ 264 CHAPTER XX. Rose at La Pinede, . 202 CHAPTER XXI. A Stroll through the Woods, ..... 804 CHAPTER XXIL All is Well that Ends Well, ..,*,. , %\% The NOTARY'S Daughter; CHAPTER I. LA PINEDSL seiUeVan^T ' f "■' ^^''"<'™°^'"'. between Mar- seilles and TonloD, a small harbor lies snugly en- sconced m the rocks and protected from thf wkd by a stony projection shaped like a pier, la Tt2 mtl '"""k '"""''""'' ^^^"^ '''" shelter of this httle haven, but at other times the only boats ,n It are those bejonging to the fishermen of «^iotat. It had never been heard of until the Carlo Mieriorn 1831 landed the Duchesso de Berri on «mt po,„t of the. French coast, and at the time known in France as if the qnaint little city had beensitnrled in the neighborhood of Pen.ambuco or Batavia. In geographical dictionaries it was Who h« ^ct bW saSie'd tlS^ZptSM? w^r • ft * • K*- i 6 The Notary's Daughter, said to contain four thousand five hundrcrl inhabi- tants, and the vintage of its hillocks was highly commended. At the time we are s^jeaking of a carriage road from Marseilles to La Ciotat was in course of con- struction. In spite of great efforts, the work pro- ceeded slowly. Great obstacles arose from the na- ture of the soil. Engineers and miners found it difficult to deal with the rocks and precipices in their way ; but there was no lack of zeal in over- coming nature's resistance, for the new road was to open (3oramunications with Marseilles, and for the inhabitants of Li Ciotat Marseilles was a sort of Paris. As to the real P~.ris, they knew its name, they talked of it, but never dreamed of going there; nor is it quite certain that they all did know of the existence of Paris in 1835. This is no exaggera- tion, for at that time many a poor peasant used to take off his hat as he passed before a picture of Louis Phi'ipp?, and called him the good King Louis the Sixteenth. The storm which convulsed the world from 1789 to 1794, and the glory which daz- zled it from 1800 to 1815, had passed unperceived over the heads of these good people. Now all is changed. A dockyard for steamers ha.i been established at La Ciotat. The benefits and the evils of civilization Lave reached that re- mote corner of the world. Tlie traveller's eye reads its name as he passes by one of the stations of the railway, and catches a glimpse of the picu- resquo little town and its bury port full of ship- ping. The Notary's Daughter, At about a league and a half from La Ciotat, at tiie foot of a hill covered with dwarf-pines^ ilexes, and hollv, stands a rock where tha goatherds of the neighborhood are wont to congregate, and which they call, from its peculiar shape, " the Sugar-loaf." At the time in question jast opposite this rock two roads diverged in diftercnt directions. The new highroad leading to Marseilles made an angle and stretched its dusty length between the olive plains on each tide < f it, and the other road, or rather pathway, half choked up with furze and brambles, and supported by dilapidated stonework, ascended the hill. "On a sunny morning in March a man was sitting on a stone ledge at the bottom of the Sugar- loaf Rock. His dress and appearance were those of a thriving bourgeois — his figure shc^t and stumpy, his coaiploxion brown and ruddy. He looked be- tween forty and fifty years of age. There wr^ in his countenance a mixture — not an uncommon one in France — of good-nature and shrewdness, shrewd- ness of a common-place sort, with more sharpness in it than cleverness. There was a cunning look in the fat little gentleman's eyes; but his laugh was frank, which indicated that the cunning was as- sumed and the frankness natural. A man's char- acter is more easily read in his manner of laughing than in any other way ; what is false or affected in it is too apparent to deceive. The name of this personage was M>. Toussaint Lescalle. He was a solicitor, one of the two royal notaries established at La Oiotat. At the moment when we find M. '■. \ 8 The Notary's Daughter. Lescalle seated at the foot of the Sugar-loaf Hill he seemed to bo expectirig somebody. Now and then, shading his eyeb with his hand, ho glanced at the inew road, as it was then called. The wliite pebbles sparkled like diamonds, the ground glowed like burnished gold, the olivc-tjecs gliitercd like quick- silver ; but it was not the peculiarities of the land- scape which occupied M. Lescalle. He beguiled Lis impatience by reading over a letter which he drew out of a huge portfolio on his knees, and then by looking every two or three minutes at his watch with manifest signs of impatience. At last bo got up, seized his portfolio and a bun- dle of keys which had been lying in his hat, and be* gan to ascend the path up the hill. As ho was slowly advancing the sound of a horse's trot reached his ears, which made him suddenly stop and turn round, and then ^ saw a man on horseback ap- proaching at full spe^d, upon which ho rel raced his steps. " Upon my word, M. le Baron, I had given jou up," he exclaimed* as the gentleman came up to him. " No wonder, my good friend,'* wap the reply ; "but if I am late. I assure you I could not help it. I have been spending two days with the Marquis de Pr6vis, and did not arrive at Marseilles till this morning.'* " Will the marquis lend a helping hand about the election ?'* the solicitor enquired. "We had some conversation on the subject,** the l)aron said, in a way that showed he did not intend ' ^^^ The Notary's Daughter. g fco disclose what had passed Ijfcween him and the marquis. M. Lescalles took the hint, and allowed the subject to drop. Before the two men left the foot of the Sugar- loaf Hill the baron dismounted and tied his horse to the trunk of an olive-tree. Glancing at the stony and steep pathway, ho said, " I am not going to run the risk of breaking my Silphide's legs up that horrid road." The lawyer repressed a smile, for although the old mare might have once deserved that fanciful name, lier actual aged condition and broken knees were not in keeping with it. There was a sort of resemblance between Silphide and her master. He, too, was old and thin and worn out ; a small head, long limbs, and an aquiline nose gave him a com- bined likeness to a racehorse and a greyhound. The Baron de Oroixfonds nad every right to this aristocratic appearance, for he was descended — so he always said, at least — from one of King R6n6*s brethern in arms during the wars between the houses of Anjou and Aragon. His wealth was 8U':5posed to be greatly inferior to the antiquity of his family, but he had an elder brother who was » peei of France and very rich. His expectations, in consequence, were more brilliant ihan his means. As they slowly ascended the hill M. Lescalle was the first to speak. Assuming a souk vhat con- sequential manner, he said, *'l am rather afraid, M. le Baron, that this excursion of yours will prove a fruitless one." "Why so ?" the baron asked. ■^■^ •■ ! *l f I I :i|n f- iO The Notary's Daughter. " I mean that you will not be able to carry out your plans." "Have tbey changed their minds about selling LaPinede?" " Oh ! dear, no ; but there is another purchaser in the field/* " Ye?, a lf07id-fide one." "How have you heard of it ?" ** Rer*d this letter. It is from M. Berthet, of Marseilles." Tlie baron glanced at the contents of the letter, and asked, " Who is this Comte de Vedelles ? " *' An ex-magibtrate, I think. One of the old nobility of Lorraine." "I wonder how high this new purchaser will bid." "Considering the price at which we start the sale, there is ample scope for bidders," the solicitor observed, in a confidential tone. " We shall see," the baron replied. "That low price may have tempted this count. When he finds that a neighboring landowner is in the field ho will withdraw." " And you will purchase ? " " Well, my son Cesaire's election must be secured, and to secure it we must possess La Pinede. I must do all I can," and after a pause the baron added, " and then my brother will help us." " Oh I if the Viscount de Oroixfonds lends hia assistancdj, there will be no difiiculty." "I am gidc" lu any case to see this mysterious - S. The Notary's Daughter, II place," the baron said, witboat taking notice of M. Lescalle*s remark. '' It ia an old fancy of mine, which I have never been able to gratify. Ever «nce my return to Croixfonds, fifteen years ago, I have wished to go to La Pin^de, but I never could get in. Have you always had possession of the keys ? ^ ** I received the keys of the chateau sixteen years ago, when Count HonorS went away after the death of his wife, and I have never been thtro myself since that time. He had given me exact orders on the subject, and I adhered to them.'' *' And has nobody been into the house — nobody at all — for sixteen years ? " "Count Honor6, as long as bo lived, spent a week there by himself every year/* *' In what a wretched ^\Ai^ it must be I " the baron said. " I should think so indeed," M. Lescallo replied, and taking the Irrgest of the keys which he carried in bis hand, he thmst it into the rusty lock of an iron gate. Above this gate was a medallion in the style of Louis XV. *8 time, on which tlie letters H and P formed a monoirram, surmounted by a coronet. On each side of tlie gate a stone wall followed the undulations of the uneven grourid and surrounded the whole summit of a tall hill, which seemtd to rebel against this rigid belt by throwing out such an immense quantity of brambles and ivy that in ioveral places breaches were opened in the wall. About sixty acres of barren, wild, uncultivated land, •1,4 ■w 12 The Notary's Daughter, dotted abonfc with clumps of firs — ^remnants of the old forest which had given its name to the place — were enclosed within its precincts, and in the centre of this property stood the house, respectfully called by every one in that neighborhood the CMteau de ]a Finede. Small as it was, something distinguished and old- fashioned in its appearance justified that appella- tion. It had been built in the reign of Louis XIII^, partly of brick, partly of stone,^^ and formed a perfect square ; irregular rows of windows on every side, and a single door studded witK projecting iron nails,, gave it very much the look of a gigantic dice. Before the entrance-door was a broad paved terrace, bordered by a parapet, on which v^ascs of blue china contained dried-up mould and sticks which had once been wreathed with green. Four acacias planted at eaeh corner of the terrace had grown to a magnificent size. Their branches, freed *rom the trammels which used to compel them ta form a sort of tent before the house, had taken: all sorts of strange liberties. One of them had availed itself, in a free and easy manner, of the opening made by a broken pane of glass in one of the windows of the second story, and, intruding into a bedroom, astonished every spring the spiders, its sole inhabitants, by a burst of greeu leaves, white blossoms, and delicious perfume, With the ex- ception of this broken pane, everything in the little chAteau was hermetically closed.. Thick shut?- ters protected the windows of the first story, and heavy iron bars those of the ground-floor. If it had The Notary's Daughter. 13 Dot been for that aadacious branch of acacia and the ^ass growing amongst the stones of the pave- ment before the entrance-door, it might have been supposed that the inhabitants of La Pic^do had only left it a few days aga The grounds evinced the contrary even nwre than the honse, Thedricd-iip soil, covered with branches and bindweed, presented the most desolate appear- ance. A fine avenue of olive-trees, which led from ihe gate to tb.c terrace, some few peach and almond trees, and straggling vines, which made it their bmsiness to strangle the fruit-trees in their entan- gled knots, aloiie testified tliat the place had been formerly cared for. The soil of Provence is unpro- duc'ive when left to itself. To make it fenile, tw© things are required — ^labor and water. For sixteen years La Pin^e had been left without the benefi- cial ministratiiyns of spade or watering-pot. The scene above described mot the eyes of M, Lascalle and the Baron de Croixfond when, after having with diflSculty pushed open the iron gate, the hinges of which refused to do their part, they walked up the avenue, arrived in front of the Chdteau de la Pinede, and, by means of another of M. Lescalle*s heavy bunch of keys, entered the house «nd found themselves in a large hall paved with marble, which emitted that peculiar odor cf dust and decay which housekeepers call a close smell. M. Lescalle rushed into the adjoining sa- loon and threw open the windows. The gladsome morning sunshine flooded suddenly with light the long-closed room, and the two men looked at each !. ■ ■ ■ A^ ,i_ m -^9 n •*• H ^■ H The Notary* s Daughter. II ! 111! other ia silent astonish mcnt. The pnDcipal pieces of furniture were grouped round t!je chimney, ia which half-burnt logs of wood seemed to- be wait- ing for the fire-tongs to rekindle them. On one of those low couches which used to be CiiUed (xtuseu^es some tapestry work with a needle lianging to It, and an unfolded pocket handker- chief, were lying. A child's table standing near tiiis sofa wag covered with little white sheep wear- ing pink collars and fratcmiaing with lions, woTveSy elephants, and letags of proportionate size. Shep- herdesses in blue gowns and huniers in led coa's, resting at the bottom of a large box of playthings, seemed destined to join that hap]>y family. Tlie box was lying open on the couch by tlie side of tl\e piece of work. It was impossible to mi take the mother's place and the child's place in that room. Her work and ita play seemed only just interrupted. Whore was the mother ? Was she not about to come ill ? Where was the child ? Would not the sound of its laughing voice soon ring joyfully on the stairs ? No ; all was silent as ihe grave. The two men looked at each other with that sort of sadness which is sometimes felt at the sight of an empty nest. An old lawyer, and an old man of the world I There must have been a strange pathos in that room to have thus affected them. On the corner of the chimney was lying a dried- up nosegay of violets, which t^ie first touch would have destroyed, and an old newspaper. The Baron de Croixfonds took it up and read the date — March 7, 1819. •;: , . ' II, Pi The Notary's Daughter, T5 **Yes, the eve of the anniversary of tlie poor Countess de la Pinede's death/* the notary observed. *'Oome, Lejcallo, give me some account of it," the baron said, resuming his usual manner. ** You keep your reminiscei^ces as closely under lock and key as the domain of L'v Pi node." ** I had made a promise on the subject,"' M. Les- calle answered ; **but now, unfortunately, there is no reason why I should keep it." '' Well, then, let ns break the seal at once," the bpron said. '* I like family histories, and I sup- pose, as there was so much secrecy observed in this case, that this one must have some peculiar inte- rest. '* As lie said this the baron stretched himself at full length on the sofa, took out his cigar-ease, and assumed a listening attitude. " If you expect some complicated or extraordi- nary history, your curiosity will be disappointed,** M. Lescalle answered. " The state in which you find this place — and this room, in which everything tells its tale — reveals the dmple fact that death snapped the thread of a young woman's existence, and doomed the life which was bound up in hers to a hopeless sorrow/* ** 1 know the fact, but I want to hear details.** "You know, I suppose, that the La Pin^dee were one of the oldest families in this part of the country, and they built this little ehd.tran in the midst of this pine forest when Les Trois Tours, their former abode, had fallen into decay." " Yes, I have heard all that ancient history. Bat what was their position in more recent times ? ** li^il 16 The Notary* s Daughter. " Thoj did not g ) of en to Paris or to court, but were alwajs very popular in their own neighbor- hood, so much so, that they remained here quite unmolested through the whole of the revolnti .nary period. The court party, after the res' oration, never forgave their not having emigrated." The baron, whose family had emigrated, looked displeased, and said : ''I do not care for political details, my dear Lc&calle. Let me hear their do- mestic history/' *' Their private history, M. le Baron, was closely councc ed with what I have just told you aj briefly as I could, for it accounts for the fact that Count Honore de la Pinede concentrated his existence in the narrow circle of his domestic affections and his secluded home. One so young, so wealthy, so hand- Bome, and so clever would certainly have played a part in the world if his principles during the em- pire, and afterwards a sensitive pride resulting from the circumstances I have al'.udcd (o, had not kept him aloof from social and political life. He knew the Bourbons were not favorably inclined towards him, and though his sympathies were Royal- ist, he would not condescend to cun*v favor with them, so he lived entirely in the country, and cared for nothing but his wife and his home." "Whom did ho marry?" " His cousin. Mile, de la Pin6dc. They had both lost their parents in early life, and had been brought up by an old childless uncle. From the time of their babyhood ihey had cared for each other, and cared for haidly any one else besides. It 11!l"' The Notary's Daughter, 17 was ODc of those eng osiiug affections which seemcl to suv^ply to ihcm both the place of all other ties. People uspcl to say that these children realized tho story of Paul and Virginia, only in their case it ended in a marriage. When Count Honore was twenty, he married Mile. Louise, who was eighteen. They had one child, a girl, and for six years their happiness knew no bounds ; La PincJe seemed an earthly paradise. But in one day, in one moment, it came to an end. Madame de la Pinedo died suddenly of diicaso of the heart. Beautiful, happy, smiling, sitting by her husband, who perfectly adored her, and her little child playing at her feet, she expired I *' M. Lescalle paused a moment, and then, pointing to the sofa, said : ''1 see it all before my eyes as I saw it then — her lovely face, white as a sheet and sinking on her bos^m, her hand on the head of her child, Count Honore on his knees, trying in vain to make her smell salts, and looking at her with eyes which seemed to grow wild with terror and despair." "How did you happen to witness thisBCcne?" the baron asked. " I arrived here at the very moment it took place, having called to talk over matters of business with the count. As I opened the door of this room I saw what I have been describing, and knew at once that there was no hope — that all was over. I dragged the poor man out of the room. He seemed to have lost bis senses, and for several weeks his friends were afraid he would quite go out of his mind. They urged him to leave the place, and at last, for the sake of his cbild, he consented to go iV: 1 lilT ini;!' ! i 1-4 liiiii i8 The Notary's Daughter, away. But before his departure he dismissed all his sej'vants, even the gardener, and locked up the house and tho gates of the park. Then he sent for me, gave the keys into my keeping, and cxuctcd a sjleiiin promise that T would never use Ihom — n. ver go myself, or It anybody else go. to Li Pincdc. It was a morbid fancy of his that the place where his "wife had been born, had lived, loved, and died should remain as a solitary monument to her memory, the tomb of lis past happiness, an em- blem of u.ter desolation and perpe ual mourning. I promised to attend to his directi jns. After shak- ing hands with me, Le drove away with his child and her nurse. For the sake of Mile. Denise's education, the count took up his abode in Paris. For the last Cftccn years he has always spent one wcpk in March at La Pinedc. For eight days s' ut op in solitude, for even then he would not admit any one into tho place, he wandered like a ghost about the honso and grounds. People about here think ho was out of liis mind, and lament that this ancient family should have ended so sadly. The last time he came he looked deplorably ill, and spoke of his failing health. I tried to cheer him «23, and advise 1 him to try some waters. lie smiled in a mouriiful manner, and said, * My good friend, the wound has never healed. It ii m t waters that can cure a broken bearL Do not look at mo so sadly. Firteon years ago I was indeed to bo pitied ; but now Cod has been good to mc, and ray release is at hand. I am happier than I have been for a long time past. My sufferings will £oon be over.' :13 The Notary's Daughter, 19 " 'But Mile. D iHHe,' I eaid, 'you ought lo wish to live for her sak- .' " * Ah I my lit:tle girl,* he said, with some emo- tion. ' God will take c ire of Denisc* " God, you sec, was so much in his thoughts, M. le Baron, that I took it as a had sigu, and tliough I said all I could to make him more cheerful, I felt sure he would die soon, and so it turned out. Three months afterwards I received the ne«V3 of his death, and then Mile, de la Pinede, by the advice of her guardian, M. Legrand, made up her mind to sell t'lis place. He has never been to see it, this tine Paris gentleman, and he does not know that its value has considerably increased si .ice the new road to Maricilles has been made. I painted in some- what high colors the deplorable sta'c in wl^ich Count Ilonore's morbid fancy has allowed the pro- perty to fall, and eo we arrived at a valuation which has placed it within reach of your son's means." "In case we have no serious competitors," the baron replied ; "but that M. de — IIow do you call him ?" "M. de Vedelles." " Well, that M. de Vedelles, who falls upon us from the skies, is a great bore." " I did my best. The sale has scarcely been ad- vertised at all at Marseilles — only for the last eight days, so that there has been hardly time for any one to know of it — but this purchaser writes from Paris." " And how on earth did he hear of it there ?" the baron exclaimed. ' I y ■- 1 20 Tlie Notary's Daughter, n Ok! in a very simple manner. Mile, do la PineJo has been cdacatetl at the Convent of the Saci'L-d Heart, and the Countess de Vedelles Tisit^ the ladies there, and made acquainta'.co Tvith the heiress, and thej Lave laid their heads togetlier on the subject. It was impossible to foresee this." ** It is the dev.l to pay I " the barun cried. " If they bid more than two hundred thoa:and francs* we shall have to give it up. Even witli my brother's assistance, and by getting intj debt, we cannot go beyond that price.** " It is a great pity," the solicitor said. There was rather a long pause, and then in a hesitating manner he added, " There might per- haps bo a way in which the matter could be ar- ranged." "What way?" ** Under certain circumstances it would bo in my power to place fifty thousand francs at M. Cesaire*s disposal. " "Could you really, Lcscalle ?" the baron anx- iously enquired. " But then you see, M. le Baron," the solicitor replied, speaking slowly and laying an emphasis on the words—" you see that sum constitutes a consid- erable portion of my daughter's fortune, and Rose is growing up." "Ch ! ib is your daughter's fortune you are speaking of. Then iu that case — " The baron did not finish his sentence, but there was a look in his face which meant, " We need not eay anything more about it." ^5 The Notary's Daughter. 2X " Can you reckon on your electors ?" M. Lescallo asked. " Yes, I think so. I have no anxiety on that point." " If we come to an agreement, I might secure you a certain number of votes." ** Oh I pray do so. We cannot afford to neglect any cht»,nce." "It wcnld be rather a serious thing for me, how- ever," the lawyer answered. '' You see I cannot throw over the party which supports Richer de M )ntlouis, unl ss I had a good reason for it." *' Always o i Mile. Rose's account ? " the baron asked, in a slightly sa irical tone. " Yes, M. le Biron, I am quite above-board with you. I do not mind showing you the cards. Arte- mon Richer — '' "De Montlouis," the baron sneeringly added. " Art6mon Richer seems inclined to pay his ad- dresses to Rose, and, upon my word, he is so good a match that I am not inclined to put a spoke in the wheel by quarrelling with his fa.nily and oppos- ing the election of his uncle." " You don't mean to say that you would give your daughter to that heavy dolt of a man, who is always lounging in the Maminets?** " No', if I could find a better match for her," the solicitor answered, " but—" The baron snatched up his hat and walked out of the house into the avenue. He was determined not to look as if he understood. M. Lescalle drop- ped the subject, and the two gentlemen walked 22 The Nj'ary's Daughter, about tho place calculating the worth of each acre of land, and exulting over tlie neglect in whicli everything was left, which certainly did seem likely to disgust, any one who should visit it before pur- chasing. When this sort of approximate valuation was con- cluded, they went b^cli t3 t lop^ace wherj Silphide was leisurely grazing at the fo )t of the Sugar loaf Fi!l. The baron mounted his steed a:.d turned irs head towards Croixfonds. The solicitor walked by hii side for a few minutes, talking over so.kc of the details connected wiJi Li P. node, jind t en some- what abruptly s.iid, "I am very much afraid that M. Cesaire will not be elected." Without giving tlie biron time to answer, bo bowed nd left him, and as lie hastened home, with tho fear of Madame Lescalle before his eyes, who could not bear to be k«'pt waiting for breakfast, the little man murmured between his teeih, "That old aristocrat ! I hope he uuderctands that I can spoil his game." M. de Oroixfonds meanwhile was making the fol- lowing mental ejaculations : " The presumption of theso low-born people is becoming quite intolerable. . To think of this vulgar attorney's vcniiuring to offer me bis daughter for my son I And now I suppose he will turn against us \ But someliow or other Cosaire must bo elected." Ilis pride and his ambi- tion pulling in different directions, tho descendant of King Rent's frieiad went homo in a very Ijtd " humor. Three weeks afterwards the Oorate do V6delle8 The Notary's Daughter » n became the owner of La Pin«de. A bid of iwenty thousand francs beyond the sam the baron could produce settled the matter. When M. de Croixfonds was informed of this result he fJt almost sorry tliut he had so decidedly snubbed M. Lescalle's proposal, for unless his son could purchase a })roperty in that part of the country he would not be eligible, and, as M. Lescalle took care tc point out, this was not An easy thing in an old-fushioned locality where estates did not often change hands, the baron knew perfectly well that this was the case ; to re- mind him of it was like handling a smarting wound. It was with difficulty that he concealed his vexa- tion. llilif 111 m ■ lilHl n'f'i I CHAPTER II. TUE JPAMILY OF DE VEDELLiiiS. \ The Comte de VctUUes and his family arrived at La Pineuo at the end of April, just at that mo- ment fio delightful in Provence, when the full burst of a southern spring adorns the whole land- Bcape with a profusion of flowers ; the blossoms of the peach and almond trees clothe the country in pink and white ; the yellow stock, t];e purple irie, the blue salvia, the red valerian, and the wild v'ne cover every bill with a rich mantle of gorgeous colors, fringe every wall with bright tufts of wav- ing beauty, and embalm the air with an inde- fcribable perfume. Tlie days were mild and lovely, but the evenings sometimes very cold — thanks to the mistral, that terrible bane of the Provenyal climate. One night that this rough enemy was blowing with virulence and had prevented the usual stroll after dinner, three of the new inhabitants of La Pinede were sitt^'^ig round the chimney, where some pine-logs and burning c nes were diff!:sing their fragrant perfume and not unwelcome heat. These t'lree perse r a were the Count and Counters de V^delles and their joungcst son, Jacques d© U The Notary s Daughter, 25 Vedelles. The count was reading in a huge arm- chair, ihe counteso working at a piece of tapestry, Jiicqnes, half- sitting, half-lying on a couch near Lis mother, poked tlie fire and watched the sparks as they flew up the chimney with an absent expres sion of countenauco which betokened either an idle or a dreamy state of mind, which is by no meaiiS the same thing. For Eome time no one spoke. The great buhl clock ticked, the logs crackled, the wind made strange noises amongst the pine-trees. At last Madame de Vedelles dropped a ball of worsted, and as her son stooped to pick it up she whi pered to him, " Is George still out of doors ?" " I suppose so," Jacques answered in the same low voice. Madame do Vedelles sighed, and an- other long silence ensued. Though she had not meant her question to be heard, it had apparently caught her husband's ear, for he rang the bell, aiid soon the wrinkled face and grey head of old Vincent appeared at the door. *' la M. George at home?" the count asked, without raising his eyes from his book. " M. George is finishing his supper ir the little dining-room. He has made a very good meal of it," the old man added in a significant manner, and, almost before he had finished his sentence, George de Vedelles came into the room. Though he was twenty, his figure was so slight and his appearance so youtliful that he did not look more than seven 'ecn or eighteen years of age. :'l 26 The Notary s Daughter, fftiifii iiiliil ii ii ! ' ■ i! The pciiect symmetry of his features and the whiteness of his face gave it the appearance of a marble hust. It was only in his eyes tliat there was any animation. They were dark, sparkling, and y(t soft ; their dreamy, absent expressi- n added to the peculiarity of this young man's coun- tenince. George's dress, unlike that of the rest of the family, betokened neglect. He had ou that even- ing a shooti g jacket and trousers much the worse for wear, heavy leathern gaiters, and thick, clumsy shoes. Had it not been for the fineness of lis linen and his white and well-shaped hands, he might have been taken for a young gamekeeper. After he had made a bow to his father and kissed his mother's hand, he sat down on the couch beside his brother. As he did so and turned lo;\ards him, a bright smile lightCv^ up his face, but only for a minute. " What have you been doing, George ? " the coui.t asked. "Why did you not come home ia time for dinnei ?" *'I have been out scooting all day," was the answer; "and it was later than I thought when I Ci'me back." "* We may conclude, then, that you have brought home plenty of game." " The season is very bad, and game, I fancy, scarce in this neighborhood." '^Then wliy are you always going out shooting ? What an absurd fancy it is to bo walking about all day with a gun on your shoulder without object or The Notary s Daughter. V result/' Gecrge made no iinawer, and pLiyod with the ears of a fine spaniel which had followed him into the room. M. de Vedtlles went on. ** It was jii3t the same at Valscc, where there was plenty of game of eviry sorr. You do not choose to ex- ert yourself even as to idle sports. You never mike an effort even for the sake of amuseme 'fc. Yon will always remain a listless, unsociable, obsti- nate dreamer." ^ " But my excursions amuse me," George replied, "even thoug » I do not shoot much, and I think they are good for my health." " Health, always health \ " the count exclaimed 5 ** that is the excuse for everything. I am getting tired of it." ** But, my dear, if these long walks strengthen him," Madame de Vedelles said. ** He seems strong enough now," the count re- joined. *'It would be well to think of the im- provement <»f his mind. Come, George," he added in a kinder manner, "can't you resume a littlo your course of studies ? Jacques would direct and help you." "Pray dj not talk of that, my dear father. I cannot work my hias gifted with a melodious voice and a great talent for reading. His father listened to him with delight, and his mother as if she was hearing the most exquisite music. George, before ihe end of the first act, was fast asleep. The Count de V^dellcs kept glancing at the couch in a contemptuous manner. At ten o'clock every one rose a»3d went to bed. Passing before his slumber- The Notary's Daughter. 31 ing son, M. de Vedellfis said to his wife, ** And you try to make uc believe that he has a taste for poetry ? " " The poor child is tired," she said ; ** look how pale he is ! '* "Oil 1 I know that yon can always find excuses for him ; but really be cannot go on leading this kind of life. Only see in what a way he is dressed ; those din y shoes at'd worn-out clothes make him look like a poacher just escaped from the hands of the gendarmes." "I will speak to him about it to morrow," Ma- dame de Vcdelles gently said. During this conversation Jacques had roused his brother, and was whispering to him something he did not seem to understand.. On the first floor of the chdteau there was a square ante-room, with four doors opening into different apartments. After the count and count- ess had gone into their rooms, Jacques stopped his brother, who was going up the staircase to the next story, and said : "You really must attend, George, to our father's wishes. lie gets quite angry with you. You ought to have more sense. " "What sense?" George asked, having heard only the last word of his bi*other's sentence, " The senbs to behave like other people." " I do not see what harm I do to anybody." "That is not the question. It is your duty to obey yonr parents; and your way of going on> though it may not d > them harm, displeases your n tl w ^% i\A 32 The Notary's DaugJUer, i i father. Do tiy, George, to acquire the habits of a gentleman. You are now twenty, and after all you are the Baron de Vedelles." " I do not care whether I am or not," George answered. " Come, Jacques, please do not preach to me. You used not to do so, but now everybody triea a hand aL it; even old Vincent, whilst 1 was at supper, kept grumbling at something or other, I don^t know what, for I was not listening. Really, people might leave me alone." " Poor follow !" Jacques said to himself, " it is impossible tf make an impression upon him. We must be indulgent to his iufiimitiee." And there the conversation ended. The bro- thers shook hands ; Jacques went into his hand- some, well furnished bed-room on the first floor, and George to a sort of large lumber-room up- stairs, which he had made choice of as his sleep- ing chamber, after obtaining leave from his mother to arrange it as he pleased. One of his fancies had been to divide and sub- divide this room by means of curtains hanging on rods, made with pieceb of tapestiy which used to cover the walls of the rooms below before the house had been refurnished and silk substituted in their place. These ancient hangings represent- ed a variety of scriptural, historical, mythological, hunting, and pastoral scenes. Though faded and worn out, they were still very handsome even when seen by daylight j and in the evening, in the faint, vacillating light afforded by a single candle, they seemed to assume all sorts of strange, fantas- The Notary's Daughter, 33 tic shapes — white plumes nodded on the helmets of the knights ; horses advanced against a wild boar standing at bay surrounded by a pack of hounds ; Abraham's sword seemed to descend towards the form of his son bound to the altar of sacrifice ; knights, hunters, and patriarchs looked as if they were carrying on mysterious interviews ; and a crowd of scriptural and legendary personages rose from the canvas like figures in a dream. George evidently tc<"l; pleasure in living amongst these shadowy apparitions, for he often went up to his room before bed- time, and his mother liad sometimes found him in a fit of itb- straction, silently gazing on the face of Rebecca at the we'l or ihe holy Queen Bertha. There was nothing in that room which deserved to be called furniture, except a bed, a dressing- table, and a few chairs. In one corner stood an old lacquered harpsichord, which had once made the happiness of some ancestress of the Pinedes, but had been consigned to oblivion for many a long year. George had ruthlessly torn out of it the re- maining strings, and turned the case into a re- ceptacle for shells, and pebbles, and dried flowers. Planks, supported by tressels, and covered with shreds of tapestry, did duty for a table, on whicl* heaps of books were lying in a hopeless confusion. Old Vincent had vainly asked leave to sort and ar- range them. It was just over this disorderly libra- ry that the branch of acacia from the terrace ex- tended its green foliage and white flowers. George wouM not allow it to be cut off or meddled with. II 34 The Notary's Daughter. He said it was the nicest pirce of furniture in bis room. An old easel, a fiddle, and two or three box* s containing unfiniahed sketclies, and all sorts of odds and ends, completed the s'ngnlor medley of t> ings whicl) filkd thif> straitge bed-chamber. About an hour after ne had gone to his room, but not to bed, and wh?ki the lights in the ch&teaa i^ere all pat out, George do Vedelles softly opened his door and went down stairs. lie stood an in- stant on the landing place of the first floor, and listened to ascertain that no one was stirring. All was quiet, and he went on, first to feel for his shooting-jacket, which he had left on the couch of the dining-room, and baying found it, crossed the vestibule and let himself out by the front door, which he carefully locked. Once in ihe avenue he ran on towards the gak-, opened it in tl.c same noiseless manner, and then dashed down a little path Y hich led through the olive !i oods to the sea. ydrg *»««<» c^^)-^. CHAPTER III. VISITORS. On the folio .ving day t^ie weather was beautiful. A mild shower in tlie tiight liad softtued the air, the sliort-lived violeuce of tlie raistra'i had not too roughly shaken the clouds of snowy blossoms, and the sua was forcing open the orange-buds. Bui*st- i ig on every side, ibcy filled the air with perfume. Everywhere the gardeners hastened to disengage tlie trees from the straw clothing which protects them during the cold weither. Spring had gained the victory, and was triumphing over winter. The count's family were sitting at breakfast. As a rulo, sil nee prevailed during that meal. He read the Paris aewgpiipcrs; George, who was sitting opposite the window, ate i.ea>tily, and stared at ti.e flower-beds ; Madame de Vedelles now and then Slid a few wcrds to Jacques, who v^as sit'ing near her, and consiUed him about points relating to the furnishing of Li Pmcde. A difference of opinion arose on t'e subject of the relative merits of dimity and clunlz. Jacques advised chintz for the chair- covnrs in the drawing-room. Madame de Vudeiles, faithful to the traditions of the Restoration, in- clined to dimity. | 3« r'-t, If r Illill ii •■" !i f! wim 111 'i t 36 T//e Notary s Daughter. The count was appealed to, i.id also voted for dimity ; the coantess, tlins remaining mistross of the field, told Jacques, to comfort him, tliat she meant to put chintz in his room. '• Oh ! it is not worth while to do that, dear mother," he answered. " What I sit on Utrecht velvet all the summer, Jacques," she answered, *' and in Provence too ; I cannot think of such a thinf^ !" " That is not what I meant," he replied ; "hut as I shall not be here more than a few days, it really would be useless to go to that expense." Madame de Vedelles' countenance fell, not know you were going away," she said. " Has not my father told you ?" I did (I N (). .'J **I meant to speak to you about it ihi^ very day, ra^ dear," (he count said, looking up from his newspaper. ''Jacques is anxious to go ^*ack to Paris, and I think he is quite right. He is losing time here, and time is precious." "I suppose he is bored here," Madame de V^- dellea said, scarcely able to suppress her tears " Oh I y -u must not say that, dear little mother," Jacques exclaimed, as he affectionately kissed her ha' d. *' And if ho was bored here," the count rejoined, ** if this sort of idle life in the country did n .t buit him, I should not blame him in the hast. It is a proper sort of life for an old man of my oge who wants rest and solitude ; but at Jucques' age a man must tfiink of the future, and devote himself The Notary's Daughter, 37 Mi to his profession. Jacques lias abilities which will secure success in any line he follows. He has studied for the bar. He has a decided talent for speaking, but it is not by walking about a park that he will acquire reputation, or by living at home that he will prepare for himself future elec'ors." *' But, my dear, iho election which they are so excited about here takes place in two months I *' " I am not talking of municipal elections. I mean the approaching general elections, Vthere I hope to see Jacques cut a considerable figure. But for that end. it is nee ssaiy to take measures bef re- hand, and to acquire a well known name ; that once secured, all the rest will easily follow." " Do you really think so,'' Madame de Vedelles exclaimed, quite electrified at the prospect. ** George ! only think if your brother was to be cne day a deputy ! Would not that be a great hon >r ? '* "A great honor indeed, mother," George re- plied, helping himself meanwhile to some more chicken. ** Are you appealing to George on the subject ? " the c >uut bitterly asked. " Do you suppose he has any ambition for his brother ? Would he had a spark of it for himself ! " George took no noiice of his father's sneering re- mark, and breakfast ended in silence. As Madame de Vedelles rose from the table she looked out of the window and saw three persons walking up tin avenue. *• Hero is company," ahe said. " Jacques, can you make out who t'ey are ? I do not feci as if I hud over seen these people before." ) \ \ ■ \ I ■ UJ -fi 38 The Notary s Daughter. I III Jacques lookeJ and ans^vered : *''It )i M. Tous- saint Lesciklle, mothi r, ^i Ji his wife aud daughter." " Yes, it must be Lescalle,'* the count said. " I sent for him about some business matters, but I wonder why he brings his family here. Does lie suppose that we are to be on a footing of intimacy with them ? " As soon as his mother utered the word "com- pany " George liad disappeared. In the meantime t'ae visit rs had been shown in:o the vestibule. Madame de Vedelles came there and civilly greeted them. The notary said that his wi/-* \\ a 'astent d to pay her respects to Madame la Ootntesse, and had not been able to resist the wish to present her daughter to her. Though Madame de Vodelles was not a little bored with this visit, she answered in a gracious manner, and when the count went into his study with M. Lescalle she led the two ladies into the garden. Madame Lescalle, like ^^any of the inhabitants of provincial towns, was a person who took - inense pains to disQguro by affeotalon cxof i ' natural qualities. Born at La Cictat, she had Iv v it only twice in her life, both times to spend a; week at Lyons with an aunt of hers. These north- ern journeys, as she used to call them, give ler an assumed right to lay down the law on points of fashion and taste. She wtis iu the habit of pro- nouncing in the most positive manner that some particular stuff was out of fashion, that Eoch a style of dress was antiquated, that such and mch a Tlie Notary's Daughter. 39 '1 t i \- color was in bad taste. No one ever ventured to differ from her. Privileges fouude i on assumption are singularly solid, and Madame Lescalle bad long been the uncontested oracle of dl the fine la- dies of La Ciotat. Her decisions wore nndiaputed, even by the wife of the mayor, the first dignitary of the town, and were listened to with deference in the house of the Richers de Montlouis, the wealthi- est family in the neighborhood. Firmly seated on her little throne, which had never been threatened with a rival, the notary's wife had felt a little anxious at the apparition on the occ2« of a Parisian lady of high birth and large fortune. She apprehendo-1 danger from that quar- ter, and, like a skilful general, determined to go and judge with her o^vn eyes of the extent of the peril. In case it proved imminent, she was not a woman likely to succumb without a struggle. He- roic measures were already floating in her mind. "If it i3 necessary,' she thought, *' I shall get my gowns from Paris/* When, after these desperate resolutions, she found herself in presence of a thin, pale, gentle, sickly-looking woman, in a lilac silk dress and a plain white lace cap on her head, Madame Losoalle ftlt reassured, and still more by the fact that two or three silvery grey hairs were to bo seen in the smooth black bands which lined the countess' whire forehead. It was evident that Madame do Vfed'dles did not care ho-v she dressed, and would never bo a leader of fashion at L i Ciotat. In the moaatime tho good lady, who had no llll 40 The Notary s Daughter. idea what was passing in the mind of the no- tary's wife, was wondering at the pecrliaritiea of her dress and manner. In spite of a stumpy figure and a too great cinhonpointy Madame Lf scalles liad been and was still considered pretty. Her com- plexion was blooming, her features regular, her countenance good-humored, and if she had been dressed with a little of that taste slie was always talking about, she would have been a pleasing- looking person, but by dint of absurd pretensions she often made herself ridiculous. A great desire to dazzle the eyes of the inhabi- tants of La Pinede had led to an unfortunate dis- play of magnificence in her dress on that particular day. She wore a bright green Ohaly gown, the pattern of which represented branches of coral, immense sleeves inwardly sustained by internal circles of whalebonC; which gave them no chance of collapsing. An imitation Cashmere shawl, a pink bonnet surmounted by a bunch of flowers which would have filled a jardiniere, completed this aslonishing toilet. From the first moment they met those two la- dies felt how little there was or ever could be iu common between them, even with regard to that ordinary sort of intimacy which presupposes a cer- tain degree of similarity in habits and tone of mind. They did not feel the^ least at their ease with each ot'uer during t »at firsu'nterview, and had it not been for Madame Le^calle's inveterate cus- tom of asking as many questions as possible, con- versation would have languished. But uncertain ri^ III The Notary's Daughter, 41 as she was of another opportuuit}' of seeing the countess, and anxious to collect from her an ample harvest of details about Paris, she made the best of her time. Innumerable were her quesiions concerning dress, of course, and then theatres, parties, balls, and even the dishes then in fashion, for Madame Lescalle, with ail her finery, was also a good house- keeper. Poor Madame de Vedelles was very much behind- hand in all these respects. Her delicate health and pious habits of life had always kept her out of the way of worldly pleasures, and she was obliged to acknowledge her ignorance on several of those subjects in a way that perfectly astouudvd Madame Lescalle. One strpnge question she addressed to Madame de V6delles : *' Does it not surprise }ou very much, madame,"' she said, " to scu the sun here ?" " Why should it surprise me ?'* was the answer. - " I have been told that there is never any sunshine in Paris. It must be very dull." Madame de Vedelles could not help smiling, and found it no easy matter to alter Madame Lescalle*s impressions on that point. In order to interriipt the unceasing course of her visitor's questions, she turned to Rose L acalie, who had remained till then in the background. Her dress was a great contrast to her mother's toilet. It 80 happened that she had returned only a few days before from tlie Convent of the Dimes Ber- nardincs at Marseilles, -^a 1 was still wearing the ^ i 1 42 The Notary s Daughter. school uniform. She felt a little ashamed of her plain blue frock, her white Bcarf, and her straw hat lined with back velvet. But in spite of her bashfulnesB anc" somewhat awkward appearance, Rose Lescalle was really very pretty. She was then just sixteen. Except a rather plump and rounded figure, there was no likeness in her to her mother. She was fair, a very unusual thing in Provence, and a profusion of soft, smooth, golden hair surrounded her cheeks and encircled her head in two magnij¢ plaits. Her eyes were of so dark a blue that they looked black by candlelight ; their expression was sweet and shy, and at the same time open and confiding. The extreme delicacy of her features and her very small nose gave rather a childish look to her face. She looked like a befiuiiful Utile girl of two or three years old dressed as a grown up person and seen through a magnifying glass. As to her complexion, it was simply dazz in^'. Fd-: once the name of Rose had turned out appi'>- )riate. Jacques was at once struck with astonishment at the mother's dress and with admiration at the daughter's beauiy. He tried to converse with tho pretty Provenyale, but could not obtain anything more than a yes or a no in answer to his questions* His mother was a little more successful. ** D J you Uke the couutry, mademoiselle ? " " I don't know, madame. 1 have never lived in the country." " Then I suppose you like a town life better ? " The Notary s Daughter. 43 ** I have not tiled j^et living lu u town, so I can- not le!l if I shall like it." Jacques luaglicd and said : " But you most have lived sornevherc, mademoiselle, either in a town or in the country ?" "^o, sir!" Rose answered. "Ihave8|)ent six years in a convent, and if you bad been at school there you would know tiiat it is not like being eiHier in tne country or in a town." - ** You ai*c quite right, madcmoigelle. I under- efcaud now whaiyou mean. A c nreut is not iike any other plae , You see people in the parlor, but it is not like meeiing them in asaUiu You have A garden to walk in and tha ti-ees to look at, but it ii not like real country." In the course of their walk r-nad tli« grounds the ladies, escorted hy Jacques, passed by the thresliing floor. There they found Gcoi'g^o kneel- ing against a low wali, his ckm res ing on his hands, and his whole attention engaged in watch- ing oomcthing on the gronnd. -** WTiat are you doing there, ray dear boy?^' Ma- i3ame de Yedelles asked, Greorge stood np, bowed to Madame Lescalle, and look d rather foolish. " What Wire yon so intent upon ? " his mother Cjuq^ired^ *' p. rhaps monsieur was watching Ihoso two bet tics fighting in the grass?" Madame Lescalle said, meaning it as a joke. " Yis," George answered, " I have been looking at them for the last half hour. They are wonder- l> 44 The Notary's Daughter. •-K ful creatures. Do you see that one with the blue scales, mother ? It is such a beauty 1 *' " My son George is a great child, I think,*' Ma- dt>me de Vedelles said, smiling rather sadly and kissing her son's forehead. " Come along with us," Jacques said, drawing his broiherVj arm in his. George made no resist- ance, and Rose seemed more at her ease than when walking alone with Jacques behind the two mo- thers. She even ventured to remark upon tho beauty of the flowers, and Jacques tried to keep up tho conversation. " I suppose, mademoiselle," he said, " that La Pinede is one of the prettiest places in this neigh- borhood ?" She shook her head and answered : " La Tour and Fond Saint are also vei'y nice country houses. The views are not so fine, but then the gardens are much moix) neatly kept. You do not see in them those straggling vines which hang on all the trees here." " You do not like them ? " " They destroy the trees and prevent them from bearing fruit. And only look how those caper- bushes are springing up in every direction. My father says nothing in ju res a place so much. When once they take possession of the soil there is uo getting rid of them." *' And why should they l)e gat rid of r " George asked. "Tho lilac flowers of the caper-bush are lovely, with their long pistils, which look like plumes." t •' The Notary s Dmighter. 4S ** Yes. they are very pretty, but still you ought to have them pulled up." " Why ? " *' Because you could plant that hill-side with lu- cerne. It would grovv, as you have water here, and be a profitable crop. Lucerne sells very well in this countrv, where there is so little hav." *• wort'»!y daughter of the house of Lsscalle I" Jiicques mentally exclaimed. ^^ M. le Gomte means, I suppose, to cultivate all this land ? " ** I h )pe not, indeed," George hastily rejoined ; " they can make a kite hen -garden somewhere out of sight." Rose opened her large blue eyos very wide, and said : *' Would you really not wish to improve this property ? " George made no answer, and Jacq js laughingly said that he meant to plant a great many rose- bushes about the place, and then Mile. Lescalle, when she camo to La Pinede, would find herself surrounded by her ramesakes. This lather stupid compliment did not seem to displease the young lady, who blushed and smiled, and in so doing showed a row of the whitest little teeth. Before the visitors left the whole party sat down for a moment on the terrace. Madame Lescalle caught sight of the acacia-branch Mhich had pushed its way into George's bed-room. "Dear me," she exclaimed, "did ihey really makeover the hon>c to you in this dreadful state ? That horrid treo has W. 'T 46 The Notary's Daughter, quite spoilt the wiudow. I could send you a carpen- ter this very evening, Madame la Comtesse, to saw off that abominable branch and mend the casement* * " Do not take that troublo^ madame," Jacques said. "It is into my brother's room that the- branch trespasses,, and George will not hear ol cat- ting it down.^ "Oh ! what an extraordinary idea.'* " It ia a fancy of his.^ " But the effect is so bad. It spoils the »ymi»e>- try of this side of the house, and it just happens that it is the on>y side of La Pin^de which is at all symmctricah What a pity it is that t^-e windows are so badly placed, otherwise it would be a hand- some house. In those old times they had no idea how to build,^*^ At that moment M, Lescalle's reappearance ptrb an end to the discussion, and soon afterwards tlie visitors departetl. As they walked down the avenue, the notary and his family met a carriage, the dusty appearance of which betokened that it came from a distance. Madame Lescalle^s eager curiosity could only dis- cern that it contained an elderly gentleman and a lady with a black veil on* '* Whoare those {>eople ? " she enquired of her husband, " Tliey are not any of the neighbors.'* " I don't know them by sight," M. Lescalle said, after glancing at the vehicle, which passed them ranidly. It stopped at the door of the clidtean just as the notary and his family were going oat of the gate of the pai*k. The Notary s Daughter. 47 Vincent came forward, and the old gentleman said : " Will you teil Madame la Oomtesse de Ve- delles that Mile. Denise do la Pinede and her guar- dian have called to see her." I : i ■ . L; p Xk.: 'I' 1 I w. % mmmm Hi CHAPTER IV. MORE VISITORS. Mlle. Denise de la Pinede was s*ill in deep mourniug for her father. Her plain black tra- velling-dress, made like a riiling-habit, became her tall, thin figure. Round her neck she wore a simple white muslin collar, and on her head a large black felt hit like those worn by the per "ant women ia Provence. Her regular features, o dark eyes, delicately white complexion, ana the masses of black on each side of her face were in keeping with t'.e simplicity of her dress and the mild, serious expression of her countenance. She looked the high-born lady that she was. M. Legrand. her guardian, was a singularly com- mon-place individual. The most remarkable things about him were his gold spectacles and an imper- turbable, self-complacent manner. Whilst thev waited for Madame de Vedelles, he seated himself in an arm chair and read the news- paper. Denise stood in the middle of the room and looked about her. After the lapse of sixteen years she was gazing again on that once familiar scene, on that room where she used to play {'bout near her motlier's couc'i, at the arm-chair her 48 The Notary's Daughter. 49 father used to fit in wljcn he came home from shooting ! Nothing was clianged in tbu': dniwitig- room„ Eiich piece of furniture was in iis old place. The buhl clock was ticking with the sound she so well remembered. Flowers filled tlio old Tases in the corners of the rocm. All looked the same ; but sixtein years had elapsed. Both hcr^ father and her mot"»cr were dead — La Pincde sold. Here she was as a visitor in the house where ghehad been born and had began what seemtd such a brigl fc existence I It was a strange feeling, a wonderful cbange I She looked at everything with that sad, curious attention wi' which the eye rests on once familiar scenes, and as the past rose before her with over- powering intensity, the orphan girl felt more deeply than she had ever done before the yearning pain of bereavement, the utter loneliness of her position. Her heart swelled with this consciousness, and silent tears coursed down her pale, beautiful face. S'le did not perceive that there was some one look- ing at her. George de Vedelles had oeen s'anding for some minutes at the door entranced, absorbed, in a state of intense and wonderiLg admiration. The comte and conitesse's entrance interrupted George's ecstasy, Denise's c mteraplation, nnd M. Legrand's perusal of the Journal des Dtbats. Mile, de la Piaodo made a strong effort over her- self, wiped her eyes, and, hastening towards Ma- dame de Vedelles, said to her in a low, tremulous voice : '* I am sure, dear Madame de Vedelles, ihat you understand the feelings of a poor girl who. 1 V '•i vn 1^1 N II-- 5 TJie Notary's Daughter, ■ m^ after so many years, sees agaiu the home of her childhood, and that with your usual kindness you sympathize v»ith her." The countess L^uk the hands of her young friend in hej*s and pressed them aJfccLionatvly. After a few worda of sympathy and interest had been uttered and answered, Mile, de \\ Pinede (xplained that the Oomte de Vedelles having written to her guardian to ask for tue list of the family pictures and the t dngs that had belonged to th ) la'e Ma- dtime do la Pinede, and not been included in the s lie of the house as it stood — by t he express desire of Count Honorc, who had foreseen the possibility of his daughter's selling the place— slie had thought It better to come herself from Toulon, whore she was spending Fome weeks with an aunt of hers, in order to ptjint out herself vhat these exceptions were, and to arrange the matter with her kind fi-icnds. Denisc had such a pleasant voice, and such a charming waj|of speaking, everything s e said was 80 courteous and so well expressed, that even the old count, who would naturaly have been disputa- tious and inclined to sand on his rights, fell com- pletely under the charm, and hastened to say that Mile. Pinede had but to go through the rooms and point out whatever she wished to be sent ^o her, and her directions would be immediately complied with. It was settled that the visitors should first take some refreshment, and then the business was to bo proceeded with. Xn the moaufirae the following conversation was c.irricd on : The Notary s Daughter, " Shall you como to Paris next winter ? " Denise asked the countess. *• I I no ; we have entirely given up Paris." " On account of the climate ?" ** Yes ; I cannot spend the winter there." **Wc sjld VaJsec only b^causj my wife's health required a southern climate,*' ihe c unt said. " And do you mean always t > live in the coun- try ? Will you not find it rather dull ? " ** Oh ! no ; we have made up our minds to re- tire from I he world. At^ ycur age you cannot un- derstand guch a resdution. You would think it yery tiresome always to remain here." Denise smiled and said, " Ido not think it would quite suit me." ** How do you like Toulon ? ^ ** I shall not be sorry to go back to Paris." "Ah I I thought so," the count said. ** I know what Toulon is like, and t!ie sort of society there — sailors and old dowagers, amusing enough to look at, but despeiately dull to talk to. I suppose you do not mean, mademoiselle, to vegetate long in that dull 3eaport ?" " I am going to remain there some time longer." "And vviiat can induce you to innabit sucu a tiresome place r " "My aunt is viry kind, and wishes mo to stay with her as long as possible," "Mllf;. de la Pinede invents all sorts of strange amusements for herself," M. L' grand said. ** Yuu would never guess how she wiles away the time in that horrid seaport town," li r\ TJw Notary s DattgJitcr. George, who had been leaning on the back of his motiitr's chuir without joining in the conversation, but A\ith his eyes and cars inteiuly engaged on every word that was uffered, venLurvd to say in a low voice, " How, I wonder ? " M. L^grand laughed. *' I shall get into a scrape, I suppose, if I speak of I'wuvre des2)etUs malelois.'* Deniso turned to tlie countess wih a smil , and said : "It is on^y to you, dear madame, t'^at I will let M. Lcgrand mention mv hobbies. We had many common interests in Paris. You know that you were the fir^t person who took me to one of the meetings of the Sainte Famille." ** Oil ! that is another of Mile. Denise'a enter- prizes at Toulon. She leads the ladies of the town a weary life with her Parisian activity. Our Pro- venyalos are rathor inclined to the dolcefar niente of their Italian neighl/ore." "Then they would suit you, George," the count said to his son, whose pale cheeks suddenly red- dened at being thus addressed in the presence of Mile, do la Pinode, whose dark, speaking eyes turned upon him with an enquiring expression. " I sliall tell 3'ou one advantage you may derive from your residence in the south, my dear," the countess said to her young friei d. **Theclimu'e will still further improve your very beautiful voice. Your talent can hardly admit of improvement. Ilavo you been singing much lately ?" ** Has not she got up a choir in the Church of St. Ildegonde," M. Legrand exclaimed, " which is the admiration of. the whole town. It has becom»i The Notary's Dmtghter. 53 *■'• the fashion to go to Vespers since Mile. Denise has begun to play the organ and to lead the choir." ** How odious it is," Denise exclaimed, ** to think of fashion having anything to do with the worship of God I " ** Better that it should be Ihe fashion to go to church than to stay away, my dear," Madame do Vedelies said. " Ah I " Dcuise rejoined, *' I suppose you thick like the English poet wijo said there are seme ' who come to scoff and who leniain to pray.' " George's eyes seemed to grow more eloquent every moment as he listened to this conversation, and it was like awaking from a pleasant dream to be asked by his father to go to his study and fetch from it some papers relating to the personal prop- erty and the ncent purchases connected with the chateau and the estate, which he wished to examine with M. Legrai d. He at otice left the room, but on his way up- stairs entirely forgot what Le had been sent to do, papsed absently before the door of the study, went into his own room, walked up and down for a few minutes, and tlien, leaning against the window, fell into a fit of deep musing. Meanwhile Jacques, who had been out, came in shortly afterwards, and M. do Vedelies presented him to tlic young heiress with a feeling of conscious pride. The way in which 1 e spoke of Jacques as ** my son " made her ask : *' Is the young man who was here a moment ago also your son ^ " ** Yes, my youngest son," the count answered; f iki if!f I.. 54 The Notary's Daughter. C( an overgrown schoolboy, without any manners op conversation. He is so shy that I was afraid of in- troducing him to you. By the bye," he added, turning to Jacques, "do go and see whufc he is about. I sent him half an hour a^o to my siudy for some papers. I dare say ho is quite puzzled to find them. He has no head for anything." "He is not in the shudy," Jacques answered. *'I saw him as I came in at tlie window of his room, staring, as usual, at the view. I called to him, but he did not answer, and disappeared." ** Go and tell him," the countess said in a whis- pi»r, " to be suro to bo in time for dinner. Mile, de la Pinedo aud her guardian will stay and dine with us. >» Jacques went to give his brother this message, and then came back and tried to make himself agreeable to his mother's young guest. He evi- denily was as much struck with her as George, but his admiration was evinced in quite a different manner. Nothing could be more opiJosite in look?, in character, and in manner than M. do Vedilles* sons. Jacques was eight years older than George, and most people would have said much the hand- somest of the two. The De Vedelles were originally of Norman ex- traction, aud he had all the distinctive character- istics of his father's family. Strong, tall, fair- haircd, with a fine complexion and whi-e teeth, he presented a perfect typo of the manly beauty of the race to which he belonged, whereas George resembled his mother, who was a Creole of the isle of Ouba. The Notary s Daughter. 5S Jacques kne^v perfectly well how to set himself off to the best advantage, both as to dress and as to manner. He had talchts and clevern .'ss, and made the most of them. A general favorite wherever he w„jt, his contidenco in hi? powers of pleasing was very great, but not offensivJy di -played. WI;li considerable quickness I e discovered that thcligiit and chaffing tone which was habitual to him when conversing with young ladies would not suit Mile, de hi Pinede, and, without conscions hy- pocrisy or affectation, he talked of things he thought lik, !y to interest her, and gave it to be un- derstood that he might be induced even to take, Bome duy, a prac ical interest in many subjects Le had hitherto little studied. G-eorge scarcely opened his lips bef re or after ditu;er. lie had made, under old Vincent's super- intendence, a ralhor unsuccessful attempt at dress- ing for the occasion; submitted to lave his hair brushed in a fashionable manner, and put on a white waistcoat and a coat and trousers which showed him to have grown considerably since thoso garments had been made. His attiro was not in keeping with his iiy\Q or looks, and his excessive ebynesa made him awkward and almost ridiculous, 60 tlijit Denise easily accepted the disparaging de- scription \\U lather had given of him, and con- cluded that his mind wa^ as deficient as his mau- nirs were strange. Still she seemed interested about him, and as she talked wi.h his brother often turned towards, him^ and tried to make him join in the conversjition. 56 The Notary's Daughter, But whenever she addressed a question to the poor youth he looked so distressed that at last she tho>:ght it kinder not to speak to him. When the meal was over, and coffee had been ^ierved on the terrace, M. de Vedelles and M, Le- grand retired to discuss matters of business, and Madame dc Vudelles and Mile, de la Pinode^ by the count's desire, went over the house for the purpose of marking out the pictures and the arti- cles of furniture which the latter was entitled to claim. The countess was not clever or observant, but f^ili of sweetness and kindness. Her gentle sym- pathy softened what she felt must be a painful task to the orphan girl, w'lo went through it in a calm, deliberate mannv?r as a matter of duty, but, except when slie came upon pictures of her parents or her mother's own work-box, showed little cure or emotion. She consulted a list in her hand, drawn up by her father, and verified its accuracy. When they returned to tue drawing-room, she took Madame do Vodellca' hands in hers, and said: **My dear countess, I am going to make rather a strange request. You have aKays been so kind to me, coming to see mo at the Sacr6 Coeur, and today you have been so full of tenilerneis and sym- pathy, that I feel T may look upon you as a friend. Might I ask you to leave all these things wiih you ? I don't want to take them away; I s'.iould like them to bo here — to remain here." "We will keep them as long as you like for you, dear Denise. I dare tay it will be more convenient ''^^V The Notary s Daughter. 57 foi' you not to removo them till you have a house of your own." "That is not what I mean. I should always like ta think of them as heing here. I have some of my dear father's feeling about this jjlacc. In my heart and thoughts it will bo always sacred to the memory of my parents. What they looked upon, what they touched, what they used, had better be here than elsewhere." The young girl hid her face in her hands, and gave way to a ourst of tears. Madame do Vu'elles gently stroked her hand, and for a few minu es did not speak. Many rapid thoughts passed through her mind. " Why did she sell the place, as she cares for it so much ? Does she now regret that she did so ? What a strange iaca to want to leavo all those son- Ycnirs here ! Dear me 1 lilfenflcr I Such things have, they say, happened as — . Jacques is eo handsome, so pleasing, lias it occurred to her as a possibility ? What a perfect thing it y/ouid be for both of them ! She is going to stay some time at Toulon. How glad I should be I" << Forgive me for being so foolish," Denise siid. **I do not often s'jcd tears, and now it is all over." She raised her head, and there was a swert and beautiful smile on her face, so full of peace and serenity that Madame do Yedelles felt surprised at the sudden change. *' Will you do what I a ked 30U ? Denise said. "I must speak lo my husband first ; but I think I can answer for him that he will agree to keep v$ . r 1 ; r"i fl' I \f. H : Hi 1 1 '5 ; e m S8 Tlie Notary s DaugJtter. tliese t'.iiigs as long as ever you \vish tlicm to stay here,' and to send them to 3011 whenever }ou claim them.-' *• I shall never claim t!iem," Denise said in a tone of such decision that Madame do Vode.les could only say : "At any rate, they will always be at your dis- posal. By the way, there is a box I must also show you." *' George," she said, for at that moment she saw her youngest son on the terrace, sitting on the parapet with his clog and watching his mother and Denise as they satin the drawing-room — " George, go up to the lumber-room and bring lure a box on which you will see wri ten, /Mile, de U Pinedc's toys.'"" George disappcare 1, and broug^it bick that very box which had for d^ many years stood on the couch nt ar whicli Mudamo do Vedclles and Denise were sitting, lie laid it on the table, removed the lid, and took out of it the little sheep with their pink collars, thj wooden animals, the hunters and shepherdesses, and spread them before Deni&j, who took them in her liund one by one, sighed, then smiled, and said : *'Ye3, how well I remcnib r Lhcm I Ti.ey were the delight of my c' ildhood I often asked my pior father lor Ihcm. It was those little sheep I was so fond of. H: us- d to bry mo aU the most wondejful toy^ tliat could bo found in Paris, but I never had any jnst like these." After looking at them a liule w ib, s'.e said, " I cupposo t'.ere are The Notary s Daughter. 59 some poor little children in the neigh borhool whom yoa could make happy, dear couniees, by giving them my dear old toys ? '' ** May I have them ?*' George oag« rly said. Dcnise laughed, but M idame de Vcdelles looked vexed. "Reary, my biy, with your pas ion for collecting odds and onds you will givt* t ) poo^ lo the idea that you aio a growii-ap baby." " I don't care what ])eople think,'* George said, *' Mademoiselle, miy I l»avc thesa things ?" Donlso laughed, and m d, *• Yes, if you can re- concile it to your conscience to deprive the poor children of (hit boxful of happiness.'* "I will go to Toulon and buy a cart-load of toys for all the little beggars round Lw T>:„ede, an I then I suppose I mny keep ihis boxful of happi- ness ? " Those last w. rds were said with a sorL of emution t'lat did not escape Dc^nise's notice. " What a strange youth Ihat is I" a^c thought. Jacques reappeared just t'.ien, and, liU the visi- tors departed, devoted himself to Mile, de la Pineda, an 1 iiitt red himself, when she drove off, that she had foun 1 him very agreeable. IIo asked leave to cull on her aunt when, as was often the case, he was at Toulon. She answered civilly, and took an affectionate leave of the countess. Madame do Velellcs told her husband of Denise'a strange wish to leave all her souvenirs and family pictures at Li Pinede, and conQlcd to him the idea thiit had passed through her mind. ^ ) ' ■ if.- ill , ! ' ■:.~l.x'm ^ !#■ SEi ■*- K '€- ^p-r 2 «^^ II ' III 60 The Notary s Daughter. " Wei], my dear wife," t'le count answered, "bring that ahoufc if you can. Nothing would help on better Jacques' election or bis prospects in life than to murry this beautiful heiress ; so I give you full leave to promote this most desirable re- sult. But believe my experience; hurry it on slowly. Girls with beauty and fortune require to be carefully dealt wit'i, and he niuit make his way with her hiinself before "'C sound M. L^grand on the subject. I susptc:: the youn;:? lady is like you, my dear wife, devout and clerical; Jacques — bad fellow that he is, and more or less Voltairean — ** ** Do not say that, my dear husband. It makes me so miserable." ''If you succeed in marrying him to Mile, de la Pinodc, she will c-nveit liim. I never saw a woman who give mo, at first sight, so much the idea of strength of character. Depend upon it, she will influence aH t'loso she has to do with." " Thank v>od for that. It will always be in a right direction." And the poor mother began to pray t'lat night for the success of the scheme she had so fondly devised. Before re Jring to her room she had ascertained from Jacques that he thought Mile, de la Pin6de wonderfully handsome, and refrained with diffi- culty from hinting at ler hopes. Before wishing him good night, she said : **I was so grieved at dear G-eorge*s asking Deniso to give him her old playthings. It made me feel quite uncomfortable. I am glad his father was not in the room." CHAPTER V. MISE M£D£. Leaving for a while the Be Vedelles occupied each with his or her own private cogitations rela- tive to the visit of the beautiful Denise, we shall follow M. Lescalle and his wife and daughter to a country house called "Les Capucins," whicli be- longed to an aunt of his, with whom they were going to spend the rest of the day. This aunt was a maiden lady who had been given the rather affected name of Mesdelices, but in the familiar Provenyal prtois was called by everybody Mise — that is, Madame Mede. Mile. Lesca lie's youth had witnessed the stormy ecenes of the first Rovokition. When, under the empire, order was re-established and property re- sumed its rights, she found herself in possession of a valuable little estate, and, though somewhat advanced in a^e, received many a proposa! of mar- riage. The old Baron de Croixfonds compromised his ancestral dignity so far as to solicit the hand of Mise Mede, but his and every other offer of the kind was rejected. Mesdelices Lescalle was sharp enough to know that at her age it was only her foi- tune that attracted suitors, and independently of 61 N'lill ' ,H! r 63 Tlt€ Notary's Daughter. other reasons this would have bien erough to de- termine her to reinafn single. Young Lescille, her nopliew, was at that time in Paris stu lying for tue bar. I[e had often re- course to Aunt Mede's purse when his cxtravagunt love of amusement and exjiensc involved him in pecuniary difficulties. After a few yoars' residence in Paris, young Lescalle found himself provided, indeed, with diplomas, bu^ with no mtans of exis- tence but his own talents, which he wjis intelligent enough not to rate very hig ily. Such being the case, I e glidiy accep-ed his aunt's offer to purchase for him an attorney's office in his native tov*n. From that moment Toussuint Lescalle entirely changed his habits of life; he married, and became steady and hai*d-working — the dissipated student of the !jlcole do Droit wa-s ti*ansformed into a respectable man of business, and was^verv tevere upon those who veuuired to live as ho ;.ad done in past days. It w;is rather amusing to hear him find fault with Mi;c Medefor her charitable indulgence 'towards people who Jell into distress th ough their own extravagance. In 1819 the birth of Rose gjivo Mile. Lescalle a feeling of intense happiness. When she looked at the h Ipless little creature just come into tiie world all the tenderne:?s au'^ dt p4h of feeling in her na- ture was called forth, all that sort of motherly a3ec- tion which is dormant in ma! y a woman's heart, and is ready to spend itself in its rich ubutdance on seme object near and dear .to it, which Provi- dence, sometimes late in life, places in its way. ao.i^l The Netarys Daughter, 63 Holding the ba>)y in her arms, elie hactencd to her inphew's room, and stiid : "Toussaint, if you feel any gratitude at all for the affection I liave always showu you, do grant mo what I am going to ask," ** What is it, dijar old aunt ? There is nothing I would Moi do for you," ** Let me biing up your little girl." ** What ! would ^ou really wish that, aunty?*' " Yo4 ; I want to take her and her nurse to the Capucins. You and your wife could come and see h» r as of t' n as you liked. Do let mo have her, my dear nephew ; I have set my heair upon it.*' **This is a very sudden tho^gh^, Aunt Med6 ; you never said any. lung about it before. How came you t > think of it now ?" ** Wlien I saw her, and kissed her, I nnderst"od for the first time the deep love one can have for a little diild. It was quite a new emotion ; and then the thought came into my mind that you would let me take charge of her." M. L^scalle rapidly resolved in his mind the merits of this proposal, and then Laid : ** Well, for my purt, Aunv, Mede, I sec no objection to what you wi-h. The child will be better off with you than with any one else, that I am sure of. If you can settle it with my wife, you can rely on my con- sent." Madime Les'^aVe did not long resist the earnept entieaties of iicr husband's aunt, and Mise Mede carried off the baby in triumph to her country house. I » 64 The Notary s Daughter, From that moment her life, which had been so long a solivary one, underwent a g/eat change. Siie loved little Rose with an intense affection, which tilled her heart with overflowing delight. She waa her joy, her thought, her care of every instpnt ; and that large nimbling honse, which had been before so silent and so still, was soon enli- vened by the sound < f childish laughter and the pattering of infant feeN . Mii:^ M^e'sccuntry houst had formerly been the aucicnt and famous Convent of the Capuchins of La Ciotat. It was built on a slanting part of »the beach, beneath which the waves of the Mediter- ranean were continually breaking against a= belt of small rocks, just rising above the surface of the water. The situation was beautiful, and the ter- race and the garden looked on a magnificent view of the coast on both sides, and oti an unlimited ex- pause of deep blue sea. This spot had been well chosen for a convent We never feel so strongly God*s greatness and our own littleness as when we gaze on the boundless fcky and the fathomless ocean. It was in this delightful spot, in tho midst of the lovtlicst works of nature, and u der the lov- ing and fortering care of her great-annt, that Rose spent the time of her childhood. In her eleventh ,>ear M. Lescalle decided that she was to go to school. Mig^ M6d6 wept in dlcnce for some days, but did not try to pcvsuado her nephew to alter his intsntioD. In her deep humility she thought her- The Notary s Daughter, 65 self unequal to tlio task of educating Eosc, and though she would never have volunteered to part with her, ^hen her parents spoke of it she sub- mitted to it with silent anguisli. M. Loscallc made a mistake la proposing, o^ ' Miso Mede in acquiescing in, this measure. V liad possessed a wiser jadgment and a waiii_v^f lieart, if she \ ad not been deceived by her saintly ignorance of her own merits, they would not lipvc thought it an advantage for Rose. The society of one so holy and so sensible as her old aunt, the knowledge derived from her experience in life — a life which, like eo many of those which began dur- ing the terrible period of the first Frenc'i Revoln- iion, had gained from an oarly acquaintance with entTering and persccut'on a peculiar s rcngth and generosity — would have been a fur higher and bet- ter training for a y ^'Ung girl than that of a board- ing-school i:i a country town, under the care of good and pious women, not highly educated them- selves, and obliged by the ex-gencies of parents of the middling class to attend to their pupils acquir- ing showy accomplishments and a smattering of learning in preference to useful practical informa- tion. The school where Rose spent six years was im- mcnsurab'y better for her than her father's and mothcr*s society and the influence of Madame lisscalie^a worldly example and gossiping acquain' tances; but it wus as decidedly inferior to >\hat eho would liave gained in daily intercourse with her Aunt Meao as were the Btruij^ht alleys and |.li " :" I S Si Gil 66 The Notary* s Daughter, iiiil liigh walls of the onvenfc play-ground (o ilie glou rious expanse and lovely views of the old Caimchia monastery. Bub it was not expected that M. Lcscallo "would understand tiii^, and so his daugliter liad toLarn ^he elements of various sciences in dull abridgments, ; nd to tire her little fingers by running endless u>calcs on the yellow keys of a consumptive piano- forte. " When she came homo. Rose Loscalle had made a good first Communion, and since that time had kept up habi.s of piety which in her father's house would certainly not have been the cise. But it may bo doubted whether she knew as much of Eolid virtue and real relii]rion as when she had left the Capuci:i8, or was prepared to encounter the dangers of the world she was entering upon, as if, during those years when the mind receives its strongest impress, s' e had been under the wing of Misu Medr Tiie society of her school-follows had not tended to elevate her tone of mind or im- prove her character. The calm good sense of the old lady made her perceive it at once, but she also saw that Rose was an innocci.t and loving child, and that no real harm was done. Tlio good nuns, in epite of the unfavorable effects of association with girls some of whom had been brought up in irreligious Jiomes, had prcsorvod her faith and maintained her in the practice of licr duties. Mllo. Lcscallo felt, on the whole, satisfied and hopeful that she might now resume all her influence over the chi dof her heart. The Notary's Daughter. 67 As to Rose's parents, thoy were enchanted with her accomplishments. She could play a long sonata of Hertz without making a single mistake, and brought home gigantic heails of Niobe and Romulus drawn in red chalk. She could speak a little English, not quite with what Madame de Stael calls the ** pure insular accent," but, at any rate, which sounded 1 ko English in her father's ears, who had once been in London for t ao days. It cun easily bo supposed that in her solitary life the least circumstance connected with Rose assumed a high importance in Mise» Mode's eyes. So she made her nephew promise that ho at any rate would call on his way back from La Pinede. S!ie wanted to know hoY Rose had got through this sort of 6rst introduction into society. Contrary to her usual habits, sho felt restless all the morn- ing, and ton times in the coarse of an hour looked out of the window. At last sho could not remain indoora any longer, and seated herself on a stone ^^ench in the garden, from whence sho could see the road. There she sat, knitting with a sort of feverish activity a thick stocking for her charity bag. Mis6 M6.16 ^7as then about seventy years of age. She was tall, thin, and as straight as an arrow. Her face was rather long, her nose aquiline, her lips compressed, in consequence of the loss of her front teeth. Her features indicated a great strength of will, and would have been, perhaps, a little stern, if it had not been for the sweet expres- sion of her large, grey, and ctill very beautiful eyes. i 1 68 The Notary s Daughter. Her dress was half like fc'jafc of a nun, half like that of a peasant. lb consisted of a gown made of a thick. da»k stuff ; a round white plaited cap, and a stiffly-starched handkerchief standing out in pr jectin^ folds over her bosom. When Madame Lescalle's wonderful bonnet ap- peared in the road, the old lady rose and went to meet her relatives. "Well, Virginie," she said, "are jou pleased with j?oar visit ? " Madame Lescalle shrugged her shoulders and ansTered: " Madame dc Vedrles was civil enough ; but th3 is not particularly agreeable. I think she is as stiff as a poker— hat woman," "And the count ?" "Upon my word, I hardly saw him. He just bowed to us and that was all.** " My dear," M. Toussaint put in, " the count had to s]»cak to me on business." "' Oh I of course \ but he might have said a few words to us." "He sent his eon to make acquaintance wiih you." "Oh I vcs ; and a charming young man ho is, so handsome and tall, and conversaole too, quite dif- ferent from his parents." "Ho is the elde t son, t'le one they call— What do tliey call him ?" M. Lescalle asked. " M. J icques," Roso said. "Ah I you remember his name, mademoigelle," Madam? Lescalle laughingly remarked, and tlieu added iu a low voice to Aunt M^de, " He boked a The Notary's Daughter, 69 great deal at Rose, and he said something compli- mentary about her complexion. "' ** She is not an uglj little thing," the aunt re- joined, kissing one of Rose's blooming cheeks. ** Bu' what is fur be ter than compliments. Aunt Mede," M. Toussaint said, *'is the certainty of be- ing employed in the en ire management of the count's aff lirs. He is tire! of business, and means in fu ure to leave everything to me. This will nccessitat'j my being a great deal at La Pinede. I am going to breakfast there to-morrow. We have to talk about the lease of a farm." " How angry tuc Arnoux will be," Madame Ijcs- cille exclaimed. *' Oh ! but you must not say anything about it, Virginie." " Why not ? '' *' It is better M. Arnoux should suppose I go there as a friend. It will have a bet er effect." ** My poor dear Toussaint," Aunt Mt'd6 ex- claimed, " what a foolish sort of vanity that is I ' " My dear aunt, pedple value us according to the value we set on ourselves. I learnt that in Paris. For one perao:i who looks into things, five hundred take them on trust, and believe you are what you give yourself out to be." "I do no. like that principle," Aunt M6d6 said. "I know of a better one, I think." " What is it, Aunt M6d6 ? * ** It is better to be than to seem wortliy of es- teem." ' " O'l I that is a fine sentenoo for a copy-book, i 1 .**«-< \ 1l ■' I - ! \ \:m.s \ . i I JO The Notary s Daughter. n Mise Mede ; but those high flights do not answer in real life. Oome now, jou mast admit that if they think me in town on intimate terms at the chdteau, it will give me a sort of prestige. If I am simply considered as the factotum of the old count, it will not do mo half so much good. Trust to mc, my dear aunt. I know how to steer my little bark. It has mad J good way already. I am considered an influential person at the elections, and people make up to me in consequence — the Richers on the one hand, old Oroixfonds on the other. I am not quite sure that the De Vedelles have not some notions of that sort too. I am rather inclined to think so; but the future will show. Now, let us go to dinner, and convtrce whilst wo cut." They all went into the house, and then on the terrace, where dinner was served amidst the orange- tree?, at the place where trie view was most beauti- ful and extensive. To the right rose tho crested walla and picturesque gateways of L;i Ciotat, sur- mounted by the roofs of the houses. Further on a high rock called ihe Eagle's Beak stood out in bold relief against the deep blue sky. To the left a beautiful range of hills enfolded iho buy in which lies the port of Touloi; on the foreground, ex- actly opposite, was the picturesque little islet called rile Verto, and the sea glittering like burn- ished gold in the broad sunshir.c. It was just at the sumo hour that Gleorgo do Vedelles was stan^Hng at his window absently gaz- ing on the magnificent landscape. "Does not the sea look beautiful from my ter-« i;! The Notary's Daughter » n race, Eosette V Aunt Mede suid to her niece. " We have taken away all the palisade? which used to sur- round ic, little one, to prevent your falling over the ^iiig^i and nothing now impedes the view." "0 Aunt Mede ! it is indeed very beautiful," the young girl said, and then for a moment re- mained in silent admiration. ** I never saw so bright a sunshine as that at St. B:'noit, the walls were so high." And then the conversation turned again on the inhabitants of the chdteau. In the midst of Madame Lescalle's rather prosy descriptions, Mise MeJ6 said, " But you only sp^ak of one young man. I thought the countess had two sons ? " "Yes, Aunt M^do," Rose answered, "there is another, the youngest son, a pale, slight, strange- looking youth." " No one pays any attention to him," Madame L'jscalle rejoined. " He is a funny sort of creature — half-witted, I think. Between ourselves, people S'ly he is a/ac?a,* and I dare say they are right." ■ "Who says so ? " M. Lescallo asked. " Oh I I don't know — everybody. Gautier, the farmer at La Pin6de, who sometimes works in the garden, and Marion the milk woman." " What do they know about it ? " " Marion says that aa she was walking in the night to Beausset with her eon they saw a ghost, as they thought, walking by the seaside. They ' ! .i ii n , *Fada, in Iho dialect of the South of France, doeii not mean exactly an idiot, but a grown-up person who remains in mind And habits a child. ^2 The Notary's Daughter^ l^f "'if i Miillli were dreadfully afraid at firsfc, but as tliey came nearer, who should it have been but that young De Vedellcv^S c said eomethinf? to him, but be did not answer, and walked away in another direc- tion. She said he looked as pale as a ghost, and stared ut them ever so strangely." ** IIow can you listen to such foolisli gossiping stories. Virgin ie ? " the notary said. ** Oil ! I suppose you think, then, that there is nothing strange in a man's mooning about the beach at three o'clock in the morning, when he ought to have been in bed.'* " I dare say it was some piece of nonsense. Per- haps he meant to frighten the women going to market." " Very likely indeed ; but unless a man isa/«(frt, he does not play such tricks when ho is no longer a schoolboy.'' *' Peihaps if this poor young man is in the sta^e you suppose," Aunt Med6 said, ** he may be rest- less and nervous. Fadas have often delicate nerve?, and are bad sleepers. Did the countess say any- thing about her son's health ? " *' No ; but I think she seemed a little ashamed of him. Siio looked quite distjessed when he left Eose and me so suddenly." "And the count?" ** He did not mention him at all," M. Lescalle answered. ** I do not think he likes him." "Poor youth !" Mis4 M6d6 said, ** who would care for him if his mother died ? " <^ Do not distress youiself about that, my dear The Notary's Daughter, 71 aunt^," M. Lescalle answered. " His father is Very rich, and ic will not be difficult to find him a wife. When a man can give Lis son fifteen thou- eand francs a year, there is no difficulty in getting some one to look after him.'* *0 father I'' Rose exclaimed, "who would marry a/<:«c/«?" **I am quite of Rose's opinion," Mise Mede said. "Oh ! I don't know," M. Lescalle rejoined. ** \ dare say this young gentleman would make a very good husband. A wife would do what she liked with him, and have her own way about every- thing." "But, papa, this M. George is not like a child who "Would do all he was told. He has all sorts of strange fancies and odd obstinacies. He does not want his father to cultivate his land, because he likes the flowers of the capcr-bushcs. He will not let them- cut down a branch that runs into his win- dow, and he lives in a sort of lumber-room, where he keeps all sorts of strange, useless things. And he does not dress like other people ; he looks so untidy — not at all like the son of a count." "What Rose says is perfectly true," Madame Lescalle rejoined; "and, moreover, he does not eeem to understand when people ppeak to him." " All this may be as you say, my dear," her hus- band observed, "but I maintain that it will be easy to find somebody who would bo glad enough to marry this youfh. It is pleasant to have a rich husband, and to be called La Baronne de VMclles." ill I S]1flJ ] 74 The Notary's Daughter, t( How cau you talk in that way, Toussainfc?" Madame Lescalle exclaimed. " What I marry a fada f It is dreadful to think of. It gives me quite a horror. I had rather hog my bread than have such an idiot for my husband." "Well, well, Madame Lescalle, do not fly into a passion. Nobody wants you to marry him." The convcrsition then turned on some other sub- ject, and after dinner Mise Mode's relatives took leave of her. They were all more or les8 thought- ful on their way back iii town. M. Lescalle was turning over in his mind how he could make the most of his T)osition at La Pin^de. His wife was oc- cupied wiv r,he idea of sending to Paris for a new gown. Rose involuntarily dwelt on the recollection of Jacqueses pleasant, animated countenance, and mused on the flattering words he had said to her. She compared him in her mind with Artemon Richer de Montlouis, the lion of La Ciotat, and came to the conclusion that the son of the Comte de Vedelles was much better looking and more agreeable than tlie said Artemon ; but t'lenwith a sigh she thought : ** He is going back to Paris." til CHAPTKR VT. AN AOCIDEIST. Some <3i;vs after the first visit which Mile, de la Piii^ile h;«d puid to tlie De Vedelle^^, the countess drove to Touioa to rctum the cawrpHment and to make acquaintance with Dcuise's aunt, a good- uaturcd, commonplace, elde ly lady, who was very fond of Tier nicer, of her pet dogs, and her little comforts. Dcnise was ont, and €0 Madame de Vedellcshad an opporttrnty of spending an hour with Madame de Biissac, and availed licrself of it by trying to find out whether there was any mar- riage in ques ion for the ytmnghidy, and what were the ideas of her annfc and her guardian on the sub- ject If she did not Buceced in obtaining any posi- tive information about it, at any rate phe satisfied herself thiit at present there existed no definite ob- stacle to tijc scheme which she had formed in her own mind. Madame de Brissac said that her niece was to spend the following winter at hc^i* guardian's house in Paris, and would go ont in the world as she !iad clone before her father's death, under the chaperon- ago of Madame Legrand, who had daughters of her own^ and iutlmate connections in the Faubourg St 7S Ill .101" T6 The Notary's Daughter, If H Germain. She had married a wealthv banker, but belonged herself to an old Legitimist family. " She will not long enmin unmarried," Madame de V^dcUes yenturod to say. ** With her beauty, her birth, and her f^irtane. Mile, de la Pinede's hand will be eagerly sought for." " Ah \ even now/* Madame de Brissac said, "M. Legrand often receives proposals for her from vai*!- ons quarters. But after her father^s death Denise declared that for one year, at least, she wished noth- ing to be said to her on f lo subject, and neither M. Legrand nor m jstlf can get her to speak of her own mtenUons, or express an oi)inion as to the eligibility of any parti offered to her acceptance.** *' Perhaps she is a little romantic, and means to make a marriage d^ inclination^* Madame do V6- delies said, *' and hau not yet seen the person who ma^ piease her fancy.** '■* It may be so. Sae is rery reserved about every- thing, is Deaise. She made, I bcIicTe, a promise to her fath'jr on his death-bed not to make anv de« eision for a certain time, and meanwhile I really think she is more occupied about her little sailor- boys than her suitors/^ Then the conTcrsation changed, and soon after- guards Mile, de la Pinede eome into the room. Ma- dame de Yedelles and she had many things to talk about. Denise was much intere.^ted to hearof thai lady's plans of opening a school in the \illage of Trois tour, which was at a distance of about two miles from the chateau, and also of obtaining a second priest, who would assist the very old cure of that ■. ■ 11* l).!l.'|il-- I" ill'. The Notary's Daughter, 77 parish, and 8uj Ma-J q^qij day iu the smail chapel ill the grounds cf La Pineoe, which, like every- thing else in the place, had beeu shot up Acd left in utter neglect Denise had all the savoir faire and energy in practical matters which Madame dc Vedelics was totally deficient in. Her co-operation iu thecC plans was therefore singularly nscfuL S le pro- mised to see the Ticar-gencral of the diocese, to write to the superior of an order whic'i feudi out religious schoolmistresses, one by one, into remote and poor localities, and finally to go again herself to La Pinede to report progress and confer with the countess, as soon as the answers reached her. ** You know there is nothing, my dci./, like talk- ing over ihcse things together," the countess art- fully observed. " More business is done in a quarter of an hour's conversation than by tvrenty letters." They were still eagerly discussing these projects when Jacques de Vedelles called for his mother, with whom he had driven into Toulon. He was presented to Madame de Brissac and quite won tliat lady's lieai't. . The advice he gave her about the proper diet for her dogs was proffered in that good humored, playful manner which had a great charm for persons of all sorts and all ages. Chariot himself lo ked up into his handsome face, as if he nppreciatcd the interest evinced in his healtli, and Denise, seeing h'm so amiable and good- natured, ventured to ask him if he could recom- mend anything for the cure of a fick poodle she had undertaken th>it raoming to prescribe for. i^Hgi» ■•£__ 1. ^__— — — - * 'it w 78 T/ie Notary s Daztghtcr, " Is ho a pet of yours, mademoiselle ? Conld I pec him ? '^ Jacques eagerly enquu'ed* " IIo is the friend and companion,'^ she an- swered, *'of a poor blind man who sits on th© quay a few doors from the corner of this street^ and who is in despair at his illness. I would have taken l.im to a Teterinary surgeon, but his master couid not bear to be wiihout him even for a short time, so I promised la get some one to look at the old dog and siee what eould bo dono for him." " If my mother can wait a few minntea I will go at once, and give master and dog the benefit of my advice. I consider myself clever at doctoring ani- mals. At Valsec I had quite a reputation amongst our farm laborer?. Tliey sold M. Jacques had a, gift for curing beasts. Have you not heard them say so, mother ? " **I know that has- been one of your pretensions;^ dear Jacques, and I will wait with pleasure whilst you do Mile, de \,\ Pinede's commission/' Jacques was absent about twenty minutes, Whea he came back he related with a great deal of fum and animation the result of his exertions r hmv the case had seemed to him beyoM his own po Wei's ; how ho had ascertained the direction of tlie dog-doctor» dragged him out of his den,, and brought him in pre- sence of the dejected poodle; tiovv the very voice of the canine iGscuhipins had raised the spirits cf the patient and made him wag his tail ; how he had prescribt?d for him a eertjiin powder mixed with his food, and a more generous diet ; and that not be- ing quite aware, in spiie of his knowledge on the ^r*"- The Noti.rys Daughter, 79 Bobject, whafc cocstltated generous diet for a dog, Jucqaes bad given a piece of t^-enty franca to hia master and requested him to provide it. ** I assure you, mademoiselle, that I left tb© wbolo party in a bappy framo of mind, jour Beiisa- ritts declaring that when Mile, Donisc took any- thing in bund it always succeeded, and that the dog-leecl" .vas a very clever fellow, and your bumble servant worthy of entering into partnership with him; moreover, that Toupet would certainly get well, seeing ho would have the boae of a good cutlet to gnaw this eyeuing, Betweeu ourselves, my belief is that Toupcfc wa3 dyin^ of inanition^ and that when you walk ibat way to-morrow, ma- demoiselle, you will find your proUgo perfectly re- stored to health," *' How very good of yon, M. "!',> T^uelies, to have taken all th'.s troublo ! You must be experienced in the art of doing kindnesses, or you would not be sncb a proficient in it." " Is it an art, mademoieello ?" *' If not an art, a talent,'' Denise replied. " There are generally three or four ways of doing a kind ac ior, and very diHei-enfc degixies of jiappiness j»ro- ducjd according to the one wo adopt.'" ' I had never thought ol that," Madame de V6- dailes said. " 1 never see but ono way of doing '.hings, and it is, I daix) say, not the best." ** On the contrary, dear madamc," Denise exclaim- ed. ** You have a natural spirit of kindness which guidoi you better, I am sure, tbau any amount of thinking would do»" ! I 'jS 8o The Notary s Daughter. ** You are right, my dear ; I never think to any good purpose.' ''^You are mi taken tbere, my dear little mo- ther/' Jacques aHectionatcly said. " You are not conEcionp of it, bm }our mind is always occupied with plins for making others hap;>y." He would have thought so still more if he cou'd have read her thoughts at tht*t moment ; for as she looked at her handsome son and at the beautiful Denise taiki ,g t gether of the blind man and his dog, and s-jw his look of admiration und her appa- rent pleasure in ii^teuing to Lis [dayful, amusing nonsense, visions were passing before her, all tead- iDg U) his happiucc*? in tljis world and in the next. Provi'lenco favored her matornal wishes, or at least seemed to favor them, in an unexpcted man- ner, and, Ijcing the most unscllis i of human beings, she Hjoiced at an event which had this result, though it involved suffering to herself. As Jacques and she were returning tbah day to La rinedc, a horse harnessed to a light cart, which its master had left standing at the door of a pub- lic house, took fright at con^ething, ran away, and, dashing against tlieir caUcUe, overturned it. Jacques esojp d unhurt, and so did the driver, but Madame do Vedelies* collar-bone was broken and her arm fractured. It would be difficult to do cribe the cons' crnatiou her husband and her son,s evinced in different ways, and according to their difftrent characters, but as intense as possible in each case. The CountcBs do Vedellcs was one of thoi© per- T!u Notary's Daughter, %\ Bons who, withoa': cleverness or much capacity of any sort, and apparently singularly helpless and intfficicat, by dint of tenderness, gentleness, and unsclGsbncss had become essential to her family. As is so often the case, thongli always delicate in health, she hardly ever had been seriously ill, a- d when it crossed their minds that there was reason for alarm, ic struck tliem for the first time tliat life without her would be a dreary sort of thing, and that tbey could not bear to look such a misfor- tune in the face. The old count seemed timply bewildered, and walked twenty times over from h r room, where she had bj'en carried, to the drawing-room, unable to realize that she was not going to spend the even- ing opposice to him, as sho had done for the last twenty-eight years. George seated himself ia a corner of his mother's bed-Ciiamber, and remained there with his eyos fixed upon her, till, her m ans becoming more frequent, ho could stand it no longer, and, snatching up his hat, rushed out of the house, threw himself down with his Taco on the grass, and remained in that posture till the sur- geon, wliom Jacques, the only active member of the family, had instantly sent for, arrived from Oiotat and set the injured limbs. He said the fracturos were serious, but still he hoped all vould be right. However, the next day a great ueal of fever came o;i, and Jacques proposed to hi^ fat/;ier to send forihe beat doctor at Toulon. For that purpose he wrote to Mile, da la Pinedo to tjll hor of tho accident, and to beg her to despatch as soon -s i )*:■■J^.& '^ .<:■.■■*'■ t'-m 82 The Notary's Daughter, as possible wliomever she considered io be the ablest medic;«l niaa in that town. M. Dubois arrived as soon as could be expected, said tiic sta'e of the countess gave ciuse for anxie- ty, bat that vvith care and skilful nursing she would recover. Ho recommended that they should at once procure an experienced nur^e, and oHered to remain himself at tlic chdtcau till she arrived. Jacques again sent a messenger to Madame de Brissuc'd house w^th a letter, in which ho implored Deniso to secure, ns quickly as possible, a skilfui, devoted sick-uurse, repeu,tiog what M. Dubois had said — that his mother'a life would most likely de- pend OD the cui'e with which sbo was watched for t)io next few days »▼""■ nights, and the quiet and presence of mind of ..ivsc aboufc her. In a very short time the answer to his letter wa<; brought back. It was aj follows: "M. le Ccid TE : I know of no one in this town whom I could /uUy recommend to wait on your dear mo- ther at this critical moment. Wo have not any Sceursda Bon Seenirs here — none but paid nurses, in whom I have little conGdenoc. It seems pre- sumptuous to olfer myself, but M. Dubois will tell you that I am not an unskilful nurse ; and I may venture to say that what care and att*5ution can do will v\s}\, bo wanting on my part.. I shall start in ai) hour, and, if my earnest prayers arc heard, God will bless my o2orts to be of u£j to one for whom I feel 60 much osteem and nffoction.^ " (lod bloss lioi- !/* Jacques (jacalated ; but turn- ing to the dottiSi*, who was »n ) i.e ! >. he said ia :..LA^. -. , »•■■ ' '■■ ■■■" ■'''•* ■ The Notary's Daughter. 83 " Mile, (le U Pinedc — it is so to come and nurse my poor an anxious manner : kind of her — offers mother. I do not doubt lier good-will, but she can have no experience.'" " Has r.ot she experience ? *' M. Dubois rejoined. '*I am heartily glad of what you tell mc. It is the very thing I could have wished. I have seen that young lady at work ; a clearer head, a lighter hand, a more noiseless tread in a sick-room, a more cheer- ful disposition I have not met with in the wholo course of my prac ice. T can tell you- that you are lucky to have fouad such a nurse for Madame U Comtesse, and I shall go away easier about my pa- tient now that Mile. Denise will be here." Little had the old count and his sons thought to hare seen Mile, de la Pinedo so soon again at the chdfccau, and it was strange to witness the effect her presence prof^uced, when, scarcely an hour after her letter had reached Jacques, she arrived. It seemed as if a mountain'js weight had been li'ted off the jiearts of all in that house, a? if they breathed more freely, and instinctively derived hope from the proaence of that gentle, strong, bright- looking creature, who really seemed, so George said to himself, to bo an angel sent to their assis- tance. When Jacques announced to his suffering mother the arrival of Denise and her object in coming to La Pincde, a faint color rose in her cheeks, and eho said, *' Thank God ! " with an energy which almost surprised her son. "The sight of her face did me good at once," she told the count the next time he Kn «4 The Notar Daughter, camo into her i-oom after Mile, do la Pinede had been with Ler. " I had been — I am ashamed to say — frctjing because my illness would prevent those two from meeting, an 1 low it has come about that it has actually brought her under our roof. Oh I something must come of it, I am sure." Something was hereafter to come of it, but not just what poor Madame de Vedelles expected. "Mind," she said to her husband brforc he left her that afternoon — ** mind that you insis't upon it that she should have all her meals with you and our 80!5s. She must not shut herself up in my sick- roon>, and sb 3 should take a walk every day." \% ^vas a peculiar life that began thai d;iy for the inhabitants of La Pinedc — a life t^ at was io last about three weeks, and i hen be as if it had never been, except ii3 to the traces it loft in t e hearts and secret thoughts of each of the De Vedelle?. Deuise coming amongst them was a little like tl o efTect produced in llie drawing-room of that house when M. de LeFcalle had thrown open its wimdows and let in air and sunshine. The old count had always wished for a daughter. Ho was — US6 a French vord — \ery impress mi- mUe, and, though reaerred and stern himself, gayety had an irresistible charm for him. His wife had be^n the coflcfortof his life. She had taken away, as far aa in h^n lay, every stone out of his path, tmoo'.ked his mental pillow from morning to night, « udied €rfery turn of his counteniinct', and reflected, in a softened and gentle form, tiio shades which nad saddened his existence As t& hk sons The Notary's Daughter, 85 — of Jacques lie w.os both proud and fond, but there had never been any intimacy between them, and ho had b.come so early a complete man of tho world, and took — even at nineteen or twenty — such a matter-of-fact view of men and things, that, in spite of his handsome face and lively manners, there was nothing really young about him, and by tho time he was twenty-eight his father often felt himself, in some respec s, the more youthful of tlje two. lie looked up to Jacqucs for advice in world- ly matters, and loaned upon liini in all that had to do with tho practical Fide of life. George, as we have already said, wai levoml years younger than lis brother. Tho count and his wife had always 1 nged vo have a st'Oontl child, and, though thro kinil, or had his mother been clevirer, or had his brother in the least understood his character, this state of things could not have existed ; but as it was, there seemed littlo hope of a change. The domestic life of the family had thus settled into a groove which was fatal to the happiness of its members. Jacques' principal wish, in epite of The Notary\ Daughter. 89 his real affection for his mother, was to f^et away ; for the others the future seemed sad enough. It was therefore singularly refreshing to all when a ne^ element wa^ ntroduced into that home circle by Mlic. de la Pinede's presence. The c unt was cUurmed with his voung gnest. How could it have been otherwise? He saw her skilful care, her .watchful nnrsing, her swc fc ferenity, working a rapid improvement in his wife. S'^e was soon pro- nounced out of danger; and, as xt as ler health was concerned, quickly became convalescent. Her only anxiety seemed lest she should get well too soon. It was touching foseo the little artifices she had recourse to in ordor to keep up rho idea that her life depended on Denis j's care. How they all leant upon this young girl, nd what a strange influence she soon possessed over that father and those two sons, so different from one anOi,her, yet each of 1 hem feeling that there was Fome.hing in her no- bler, purer, and higher tlian ^hey had evr'r beforo known ! And with all that superiority of character and mind sha was so u mple, so innocently gay, so femininely attractive. The count had never met with a woman at all 1 ke Deiiise de la Pinede. Ho had known bad and good women, charming and dis grceable women, clever women and silly women, free- thinking women an i pious women, but never «;no who uni ed so much enthusiasm with so much practical g^od sense, one so bold and fearless in defence of all s'le believed and honored and loved. HM asB tu e>. ^^'^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 150 '■^™ It u u 6" 12.2 112.0 1.8 U lillll.6 ■v^ '^ <^ /J ^^^ c* '^l ^^ '> J >.^- V %^^ '^^ /J F Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 '.VEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14SB0 (716) 872-4503 90 The Notary s Daughter. BO unccmpromicing a;.cl yet so fair-minded, eo just, BO tolerant of difference of opinion in others, wiiilst BO firm in her own convictions. He found pleasure in drawing her out. He provoked arfjument for the sake of hearing her speak in that peculiarly musical voico which was one of her attractions, rnd watching the eloquent expression of her dark eyes. And then her mirth, so llko the ripple of a stream or a child's laugh, was wonderfuLy refresh- ing to the old man, who had lived so long alone with his gentle but saddened wife, whose gayety he hud crus-hed long ago and then unconsciously missed it, and Jii-j two soas, who for different rea- sons were not happy in their home. He was the most openly devoted of the three to Mile, de la Pinw. But instead of tbo face which he expected to i«»je, a very pale and, it seemed to the child, very 'cern one looked down upon him, on which bo began to cry and ran away. At tbe bot- tom of the stairs leading down from the terrace he suddenly came face to face with Mile, de la ^P^ 1 1 -— ^t" - r + — ^ ?v 1 si- „n- - mj^ .fl «» 92 The Notary' s Daughter. Pin6(le, who sat down on the steps and took him on her knees to comfort him. " What arc you afraid of, littb one ? " she said, stroking his hluck hair with 1 er soft white hand. '^ I am afraid of the /«<:?«," he answered, hiding his face in her hreast. Dcnise was not acquainted witli this Provenyal word, and supposed it to mean a iiobgoblin ; but anxious to stop the chihl's crying, \4 T/tt^ Notary s Daughter. such a great calamity, could not converse without emotion on subjects which related to the existence or the absence in a soul of that faith which was the mainspring of her whole being. So when she talked to Jacques of anything relating to i^, when she watched the effect of her earnest words upon him — and, like uP earnest words, ihey sometimes did affect him — there was an expression in her countonanca and a thrill in her voice wliic i, poor vain man I he ascribed to a personal feeling of interest in him, Jacques de Vedelles, not to tho intense solicitude which one who has at heart the glory of God and the Balvadon of souls feels xU every creature who is severed from t'iC source of life and light, and the ardent desire to bring it back to a sense of its high destiny. He could not, have conceived that the look of joy which beamed in her speaking eyes one day, when ho had uttered words which implied that ho meant to think and act differently with regard to religion than he had hitherto done, couid proceed from a disinterested anxiety for his salvati m. Ho would have believed i*^, perhaps, if he had ever followed Denise in the hospitals or in the homes of the poor. Ho would then have seen her beautiful faco lighted up with tho same exulting gratitude when some poor wretch, who had been curbing and blaspheming, perhaps, during the long course of a sinful and miserable life, with soften- ed heart and tearful eyes for the first time prayed or kissed the crucifix she held to his lips, or wljen a poor girl on the brink of sin and shame, saved by r l)"'"i ■"W^T""^^^ ii»n TJu Notary s Daughter, 95 her tender euergy, turned from the tempter and followed her to a place of Eafety. It was natural he shonld\herish hopes founded on a mistake and indulge in anticipations which reconciled him to her departure, for ho felt that i* was not durittt^ her stay at La Pinede that he. could propose to Denise ; and that being the case, he al- most lon-jjed for the dav when she would return to Toulon, aud he would feel at liberty to offsr her his hand, which, to suy the truth, he did not much doubt s'le would accept. Madame do Vedelles had unconsciously contriv- ed to cxcilc in Denise a strong interest in both her sons : in JacqUv.s by speaking of hira, by dwelling on his good, qualities and his talents, which had already begun to display taemselves at the har, and then of t'lat absence of faith and that scepii- cal spirit which enlisted against religion and the Church capabilities which, rightly directed, might have made him, the poor mother fondly thought, a Moutalembert, an Ozj.nam, or a Burryer. As io George, she had been profoundly silent ; but what with her compassionate tone when shB spoke to him, his father's ill-disguised contempt, a few words which had been dropped by a servant, and also his absence, his oddities, and the wild, anxious expression of his eyes at times, Denise had eusiiy como to the conclusion that the name of fada, which she had heard applied to him, meant idiot, and that the poor young man was really half- wittcd. Still, she had her doubts ; these doubts led her to seek for opportunities of conversing with him, s i. 96 The Notary's Daughter. and gradually her opinion on this point was shaken and her curiosity strongly stimulated. Now and then George said things wliich astonished her by t!:e;r originality and depth of thought, bat he never kept up a conversation. He generally sat in a corner of the room where he could watch her un- observed, but hardly answered her qucstious or seemed to attend to what she said, unless they happened for a moment to be alone together, and then he was so agitated that lie sometimes said in- cohei-ent things. She felt very sorry for him, and had a suspicion that his relatives were altogether mistaken about this young man ; but she did not Tenture with any of them to approach tha subject. There. seemed a sort of tacit agreement that in her presence George was not to be taken notice of, and they never men- tioned him any more than if he had not existed. Ho did not seem conscious of this sort of moral ostracism, and went on leading much the same life as usual, sitting sometimes by his mother's couch, gentle, silent, and abstracted ; only he remained more at home, and was often on the terrace, whence he could see into the drawing-room where Denise spent part of the mornings busy with church work. She had undertaken to make the altar linen for the little chapel which was to be used for Mass as soon as the arrangements with the bishop were concluded. When she read aloud, as she often did, to Madame de Vedelles, he stood hid behind the open window listening. Meanwhile, the countess recovered rapidly, and ill TJie Notary s Daughter. 97 Denise, in spite of her entreaties that she would prolong her stay, fixed tho day for her departure. ''But you will return for the openinir of the chapel ? " X ^ '' Perhaps, dear rrierjl," D.nise answered ; ''but I can make no promise." As she looked up from her work she %aw George's eyes fixed upon her with an expression which startled her. It was one of entreaty, of deep sadness, of pathetic meaning. " Do tell my mother that you will coma back," he said in a low voice. " I have made a vow to Our Lidy of la Garde to do for you whatever you ask me, if you will promise to come back for the opening of our chapel.*' " What a rash vow I '' Denise said, with a smile. "Very rush," he said; '-for I should keep it whatever it was." Denise thought a moment, and revolved in her mind the hold which tha"; singular promise might some day give her over that lingular youth, whom she could not help feeling a deep interest in, and then £he said gayly : " Well, if I can, I will." " ' I wiir means nothing," Madsmo do Vudelles said, laughing, "with the proviso of if I can.'' '* Would you have me promise to do somethin«'l'>te and civilly gracious re- fusal I shall go to Paris in a few days." Hi r' V .«^ ai« CHAPTER VII. COMPLICATIOlfS. Several days elapsed, and no one at the chateau made uny allusion to Denise. Jacques found it hard work to get over his disappointment, and Ijnged for the moment of departure. George, to whom not a word had been said of what had been going on, was, as usual, silent. The old count, al- most as vexed as his son at the result of the jour- ney to T on, took refuge in politics, and lield long conversations with J.jcques about his prospcoha at the approaching elections. A request had been made to him to stand for the department, M. Oesaire de Croixfonds, who was to have done so, having apparently been unable to buy a property which would have made him eli- gible. This incident happened luckily at the very moment when the thoughts (f father and son were particularly prepared to indulge in ambitious pra jeots, and day after day they had gone through cul- oulations in the morning and in the afternoon, paid visits in the neighborhood, in order to feel their ground and sound the dispositions of the electors. The result of their investigations showed that . ioa The Notary s Daughter, j 03 parties were very evenly balanced, and, as the Baron de Oroixforids had also discovered, that M. Lescalle's influence, and the votes he could com- mand, would probably turn the scale one way or the other, "Would he be well disposed towards us?" Jacques asked his father. *a really cannot (ell. He had given f le Baron de Oroixfonds great hopes that he would support hia son in case of his standing, but somebody said the other day that he threw him over, and is hand and glove now with the Richcrs de Montlouis. M, Jules R Cher is .he ultra-Liberal candidate, yoJ know." •' " I had better call on Madame L?scalle, and try to obtain her good graces " " I suspect that she has not much iufiuence with her lord and master— that is to suy, she rules the menage, but when it comes to business or politics, he is absolute." "How can wc get round him ?" :., " We can ask him to dinner before you go, and judge of his dispositions." "In the meantime I shall leave my card at the Maison Lescallo. Such little attentions are never wholly unacceptable." On (bo afternoon of the same day is he wes re- turning from Lt Oiotaf, Jacques met his brother, and was struck with his paleness and look of mom than ordinary dejection. " Are you ill, George ? " ho said, in a kind man- ser. 104 The Notary's Daughter. " What makes you think so ? " "You don't look at all well." "Oh ! I am quite well. There is nothing the matter with me." " I am not at all convinced of lliat. I have ob- served that for some days you have looked anything but well. You must take care of yours'lf, George." " Oh I I shall take a long walk to-morrow ; that rJoes me more good than anything when—" " When you feel ill. What is the matter with you ? " George hesitafed and seemed about to answer, but he stopped, turned away, and, as if speaking to himself, said : " Oh I these last twelve days." - Those words struck Jacques. It was just twelve days since his own unsuccessful journey to Toulon. As his brother walked away, he locked at him in a thoughtful and anxious manner, then went out himself, and for nearly an hour paced slowly up and down the avenue. At last he stopped, and, as if ho was making up his mind to an effort, came back to the house and walked straight into his father's study. The Count de Vedelles was writing, and said, without looking up: "What do you want, Jacques ? " "I want to speak to you about eomething which is, I think, of Qonsrquencc." " About your election ? " " No ; it. is about George." " Oh : George again," the old man said, with a look of weaiiness. " Well, what is it ? " Tlie Notary's Daughter, 105 '* Bo "is not well, jind if we do not take care, be will get worse, b )th in body and mind. I suspect he spends Ms nights wandering about the grounds. I found out accidentally that he had not gone to bed at all the night before last." M. de Vedelles made a gesture which meant, " Why was I not told of this before ? " ** I did not speak about it, because I knew how much it must vex you, and then, as I could not imagine any rea=on, or tbiak of any remedy for this increasing depression, I 'bought it better not to thwart his fancies. But I am getting anxious about him. Ho is looking very ill, he has lost hi» appetite, ho is more silent and abscraoted than ever, and sometimes his absence is so great that I can hardly rouse liim from it.' " My dear Jacques, all this is not new to me. Your mother has noticed it as well as yourself, and it m ;kei her vpiy unhappy. But what cm wt^ do ? We have tried everything we c»uld think of to fouse him out of this apathy. I am afraid there is nothing to be done. Speaking to him about his health only serves to irritate him.'* ** But I ihink I have found out the cause of this increased dejection." " Have you ? What is it ? " ** He is in love." " In love ! Georgo I Oh ! then that would ex- plain those long walks and winderings about the country. And you have found out the secret, and know who It is le has taken a fancy to. A peasant- girl, I suppose — one of the farmers' daughters ?" i\\ i"^k ;4_| io6 The Notary s Daughter, \ " Jfo ; not at all a peasant-girl I " ** Some cne at La Oiotat, then ? That would be better. If she is a respectable girl and tolerably well connected, why, really it would be no bad thing to get him married. I h ;d often thought that as there is no hope of his entering ino any profession, this would be the best thing ihat could happen." "But iinfoitunatel> it is Mile, de la Pinede he has fallen in love with." "Deulsel Nonsense! I don't believe a word of it." *' But I am quite certain it is so. I suspected it, and just now something be said, half unconscious- ly, proved I am right." "Then I don't see what is to be done. She would certainly not marry him." " No, indeed," Jacques said, glancing at his own handsumc face in the glass. '* A girl who has re- fused me would not, I suppose, think of marrying George. But what can we do about this poor, ^lear boy?-' " You think much too seriously, I am sure, of this fancy of \\u. Well, suppose he imagines him- self in love with Mile. Dcnise, it is only because she is the first pretty girl he has met and talked to. We could easily, if he has taken a sentimental turn, lead his affec ions in gome other more possible di- rection. The fact is, he is bored to death. With- out occup-^tion of any sort, without interest in any- thing, hia life here is, of course, dreadfully dull. Ho will never be able to take care of himself ; and a good, sensible wife, pretty enough to please hia t * '. i '. ' ' T/te Notary s Daughter. 107 fancy, would be ibe making of 3'our brotber. Do you know ibat this idea is quite a relief to me ? Can ^ou think cf any one that would do for liim ? We must not be too particular. People in our own rank of life would obj ct to marry their daughters to such a poor creature as George, consiuering he has no great jy«r/f, and will never get on in life. But what I can fettle upon him, and the title of baroiiue, would tLrow dust into the eyes of many an honest roiurier.'^ Jacques reflected a moment, and then a smile hovered on his lips. *' Oh, father 1 wbat a cipital stroke of policy for both your sons I liave thought of.' " Wbat are you thinking of ? " ** Suppose that witb one a one ycu should kill two * birds.* " ** What t wo birds ? S))eak out." ** Well, you know that M. Lei-calle holds the fate of the nex'^ election completely in bis handp. This is the case beyond a doubt. Uq Las been up to this time playing oil the Croisfonds and the Richers against one another. Now it appears that Oesaire de Croixfonds is out of the fieldj and the choice lies between M. Richer and me. Would not the excel- lent TouEsaint like his pretty daughter to be Ma- dame la Baronne de VeJellcs ? and you would really have a very nice little daughtei^n-law." "I wonder if he would agree to it," the count said, greatly excited. '• Of course it would secure your election at once. The joke in the neighbor- hood has been that the representation of this de- '-'i _ '■"- ' 4 - I: sS^^^^^^^^hI^^B^S ' ■■ '^^^^^^^^^Kk^' io8 The Notary s Daughter, partment is a part of Mile. Rose's marriage por.ion, and wo could go much farther and fare worse. The parents would be a great nuisance, but the girl is nice enough. '^ "She is a charming little thing. Let us lose no time about it. That gigantic swell, M. Artemoii Eicher de Montlouis, is said to be very much fasci- nated by the notary's daughter, and they may en- gage themselves b yond recovery if speedy mea- sures to cut him out are not taken," "I shall write at once to Lcsca.le and ask him to come here to-morrow. He wants tlieEast Farm for a client of his, and I shall put our friend in a good humor by telling him that I have made up my mind,, for his sake, to let Jean Benard have it." " Bravo ! I already see myself M. le Depute des Bouchcs du Rhone, and my pretty sister-in-law iu- fitalled at the chateau. We shall then see, I sup- pose, the acacia branch cut at last. Poor, dear George ! It is realy a capital plan, if only he falla into it." " Of course he will,*' the cosnt answered. *' We shall have to tell him that Mile. Denise is as much eut of his reach aa the moon, and, once convinced of that, he will be cnclianted to fall back on the fair Rose we shall liave provided for him. You had better not say anything of all this to your mo- ther at present, she is over-anxious about things." To the disappointment of the count and his eldest son, an answer was sent to say that M. Les- calle was absent, and not expected homo for some days. Jacques put off again his departure for The JSiotarys Daughter, 109 1. 4 £( Paris, wishing to keep up his father to tlie plan they had formed, and to see the affair fairly starfc- ctl. Ill the meaiibime he was assiduous in his at- tentions to t'losc he looked upon as his future oon- stiaents, .and made himself very popular 1:1 the neighborhood. George looked every daj more fad and dejected. There had been no conimunication between Ma- dame do Vedelles and Mlie, de la Pinede since she had refused Jacques ; but, four or Jive days after the one when he had spoken to \\i father of G-eorgo's state of mind the conn toss received a let- ter from Denisp,. enclosing one from the vicar- general, announcing that a second priest had been appoinled at Los Trois Tours, and would begin saying Mass oFery day at the ehapel in the grounds of La Pinede as soon as he received notice of M. and Madame de Vedelles' wishes on the subject. Denise had informed the vicar-general that the countess would answer his leltcr herself, Sh^ added kind and affectionate expressions as to the health of Madame de Vedelles, but said nothing as to their meeting again. The last day of the month of May was fixed upon for the opening of the chapel. It was to be a very simple function. There bad been plans for the for- mation of a choir under Denise's direction, and the music for the occasion had been chosen during her stay at Li Pinede. But all this having fallen to the ground since her departure, and the unfortu- nate result of Jacques^'s visit on the following day, there was nowr to bo only a Low Mass at eight II J l2- -i 'tf'-\ '. ='" It: tio The Notary s Daughter, 3 ! Uiil o'clock in the morning. A box containing all the things fihe had worked for the altar, and another with all those she had ordered, at Madame de V6- delles' request, from a shop at Marseilles, arrived the day before that of the opening. George necmed excited at the sight of these cases, and when his mother went to the chapel to see them nn|>acked and arranged, and to meet the young priest from Les Trois Tours, ho followed her there, and exerted himself more than he had done about anything since his illness in helping to orna- ment the aliar. On the following morning Madame de Vedelles, in her Bath chair, and her husband and her eldest son on foot, crossed the garden an.l entered the chapel. The count went because it would not have looked well in the eyes of his servants and tenants if he had not done so ; Jacques, because he did not like to vex his mother by staging away. George had preceded the rest of the family, and whin they arrived was sitting on one of the benches witli 1 is head leaning on his hands. WI.en Mass began* ho knelt, but oiherwise remained in the same position. Once, just after the Elevation, he raised his head, and then, in a little tribune on one side of the cha- pel, which was reached by a side entrance, he caught sight of a face which at tliat moment, and to his excited imagination, seemed a heavenly vision. The expression of devotion in that up- turned countenance was more lioly, more beautiful than anything he had ever seen or dreamed of. It was the face indeed whicli, from the first mo- The Notary's Daughter. Ill ment he bad beheld it, he bad thoaghfc the most perfect ideal of pure, high, and lofty womanly beauty. But never had it seemed to him, Ouring those many hours he had watched it, not even when it bent in gentle sweetness over his mother's sick couch, half so beautiful or so ani^el-like as now, in t! ^ attitude of ardent prayer and adoring love. So holy was its look that it impressed him with a feeling of awe. He dared not continue to gaze upon it in that Sacred Presence he had al- ways believed in, but which that expression < f fer- vent adoration seemed to impress upon him more vividly than ever. Ho again covered his face with his hands; a mute, silent, instinctive ])riiyer rose from his heart, which softened ihc dull, ac!»ing pain so long felt and never spoken of. When M is3 was nearly over he glanced again ak the tribune, but it was empty, and ho asked him- self if he had imagined or seen a vision, wheUier Denise had really been in that spot a moment ago, or if it had been a mere illusion. He walked homo like a person in a dream, and never uttered a single word during breakfast-time, and when his father and his brother had left the room, sat opposite to his mother, still plunged in a deep fit of musing. " George," she gently said, " I have a message ta give you." ** A message?" he said ; "I cannot think who can have any message to send to me." " I have just uoen given a letter from Mile, de la Pinede." X 112 The Notary s DangJiicr, A liectic red spot rose 0:1 George's pain clieeka. *'Slie was in the cliapel this morning. S e says that she had promised u^ to. bo present at the first Mass that should be said there^ and that though, at present, 'tis better for all parties that s'.e shouM not come here, as of coui'sc it is, s* e felt that she must keep her word, and that with all her heart she united her prayers wiUi ours; and thei she adds : ' Will you tell ^\. George that I have kept my promise, and that I may some day claim the fuinimcntof his?'" *' Mother, what do s it all mean?" George ex- claimed, starting to his feet. *'What has hap- pened ? Whit is changed ? Why does she stay away ?" Madame de Vedelles hesHated a moment, and then thought it better to let him know the truth. "My dear b^y, if 30a had not been so absent, so nnobserv^ant, you would have guessed what has taken place. Your br<^ther fe 1 in love with Mile, tie la rinede, and the day after she left us went to Toulon and proposed to her. I am sorry to say that she refused him/ It was a groat disapp -int- ment to him and to us." "Jacques? She refused him? Thank God T' he added in so low a voice that his mother did not hear those last words- " And she has sent me that message. She remembers my vow." lie darted out of the room and rushed through the olive-woods to the sea-shore. His head was aching with (xcitemcnt, and daring the rest of the day he could only sit with his forehead resting oil The Notary s Daughter. 113 his Lands, or walk up and down the beach repeat- ing to himself, *' S e lias refused Jacques. S le has sent me that message." It was a d;iy or two after tlie opening of the cha- pel that M. Losctllc citne back to Li Ciotat, and he lost no time in obeying the count's summons, which he found on his arrival. But between that arrival and \A-i visit to the chateau, short as the in- terval had been, something had happened which made him look singularly radiant. Pleasant thoughts were evidently in his mind, and he kept rubbing his fat hands together every five minutes, as if to relieve the ovei*flo\ving exuberance of hia spirits. The fact was, that an hour after his return he had received a visit from M. Richer de Monilouis, the father of M. Artemon, and that after a few preliminary remarks that gentleman had said to him : " M. Lescalle, roy object in calling upon yon is an important one. I come to ask your daugbtei*'s band in marriugefor my son Artemon." The notary rather expected this proposal, but he thought it right to appear surprised- ** How comes it,*' he said, *' tlmt such an honor is done to us by the first family in the town ? " - ** For the best r. ason possible in such a case, M. Lescalle. Artemon could not meet your lovely daughter and remain indifferent to her great at- tractions. She has made the deepest impression on my son's heart, and you will make him the happiest of men if you accept him as a "an-in4aw." Ff 114 The Notary s Daughter. "Rose is very young, ^ de Montlouis." "That is a defect wliich \»ill aLuiys go on diminisliing," the banker said, with a broad smiJc. "I urn afraid the fortune I can give her will seem to you very small." " You '^ive her — " " Forty thousand francs." "I had been told sixty thonsatid francs." "No, M. de Montlouis, forty thousand ; and I as- sure you that even that is almost beyond my means." " Well, you will [)crhaps reco. sider the matter before we finally fix the sum, my dear M. Lesc.iile. I do not want you to give me a positive answer at once, not today I mean. You must wish, of course, to consult Madame Lescalle, only I flutter myself that if you are friendly to us there will be no difSculties in the way." " You have no doubt, I hope, of my friendly feelings ? " " WeH, well, my dear M Lescalle, you have not always be» n our friend." " What do you mean, my dear sir ?" "■ Come, let us speak openly. We are on the eve of an election. My brother is going to stand, and you know that you promised to support M. Cesaire f!o Croixfonds." "Ah ! I thought as much," inwardly ejaculated the notary. " The electii>n is at the bottom of the marriigc, to a great degi-ee, at any rate." " What I promised," he answered, " was to help M. . On another occasion you will give them of your o\in accord to your son-in-law." " What docs your son intend ? " *; Artemon has no settled plans of the kind ; but seemg ihat for the last ten years he has set his face against marriage, and now has completely given in I have no doubt it wiil be the same as to his career! 1 am sure that as a married man he will be a model of steadiness." "It is never too late to mend, certainly, but! suppose there is room for improvement," M. Lcs- calle said. " Oh ! of course, he has been a little wild, like all young men. There is no harm in that. He has sown his ♦vild oats. You were just as uas'eadv once, and only think what an excellent husband you have made." M. Lescallo did not much like this allndon to his past life ; but as it was a home-thrust that could not well be ponied, he thought it best to wm^^mmm^ Ii6 f:i| r The Notary s Daughter. drop the subject, and the two genilecniii parted on the most; CDrdiul terras. As soon us M. do Montlouis was gono, M. Les- callo rnslied to his wife's room. " Virginie/** he said, '* we are going to marry Rose." "To Artemon Richer?" ** Then it is no surprise to you ? " *^Isaw his father goin^; into your « ffice, and I immediately gussseJ what he was cjme about. I knew that it would end ia that way." ** I suspect that their auxiety about the el ction and securing my votes hurried on the proposal. I shall not thinlc of giving them »:ioro than forty tho sand francs with Rose; it is quite enough, considering that it will be my doinri^ if M. Jules Richer is elected.'' " Oh ! certainly it is quite enough, and Rose snch a pretty girl, too, in tlie bargain." "Very pretty, no doultt ; but I can tell you, Madame Loscullo, tha*'; her blue eyes would not have made up for the loss of twenty thousand francs, if it had not been for the vo es 1 can command," ** Artemon is very much in love with her." ** So much the better. And Rose — ^lias she seen im f "I <3oa'fc know ; I have looked after her very closely. M. Artemon is apt to flirt with young ladies, and I was determined that nothing X the sort should go on till he had proposed." " You were quite right, but now jou can speak to Rose. Do you think she will bo pleased ? " The Notary s Daughter, **I should fancy so indeed — ^sucli a tall, hand- some fellow, and so adraircd by everybody. There she is, Toussaint, jas*-. como back from Les Oupu- cins. She has spent the morning with Aunt Med 6. Lea re us together. I shull speak to hei' at once. It would be too formal if you were \v. the room." *•' Very we'.l," M. Lesculle answered, and away he went to Ms office. A moment afterwards Rose came into hor mo- ther's room. She looked like one of Greuzo's pic- tures in her large straw hat, ornamented with a wreath of wi.ld flowers ; her pretiy soft hands and arms holding up the skirt of her pink gingham frock, which enabled her to carry an immense bunch of flowers gathered in Mi86 M^d6'8 garden. With her fair hair hanging about her face, the colo?* in her cheeks deeper still than usual after her walk, and that harvest of roses, no painter could have sketched a more perfect image of spring. Breathless and smiling, she ran up to her mother and kissed her. "Sec, mamma, what lovely flowers I I have ran- sacked Mise Muvle's ^ar/erre.'* "They aro beautiful/' Madame Loccalle an- swered, glancing at the roses, "but I am not thinking of nosegays now. Can -ou guess wha*: I have heard ? " "No J what is it, mamma ?" ** Some one has proposed for you, my dear." "For me— really ! Who, maujma ? " ** Can you gaess ? '* ii8 The Notary's Daughter. "Ko, maiDma," Rose answered, opening Tery wide her large, blue, innocent-looking eyes. ** Well, Ar^oraon Richer de Montlouis wisiies to marry you." R se's countenance changed, her handti loosened their hold of her gown, and all her flowers fell at her feet. ** You said the other day, marnma, that I was too young to be married." ** Your father does not think so.'' "Are you speaking quite in earnest about it, mamma ? '* ** ' ! yes, my dear, as earnestly as possible." *' But mammu, you did say, the day befoi*e yes- terd.iy, that I was a great deal too young to be mar- ried." *• Oh! that is what one always says when there is nothing actually in question about a girl's mar- riage, and no one has yet ppopoped for her; but people do not throw away the chance of a good match on the score of a person's youth. You are very difficult to please if you are not delighted with this proposal. Artetnon Richer is the best parti and the liandsomest man in tliis place." Rose said nothing. She knew her mother's par- tiality for the handsome Artemon, and felt that nothing she co'^ld say would bo understood. She sit silently listening lo Madame LescaDc's com- ments on her extraordinary good luck till some visitors were announced ; then hastily rising, she threw her hat covered with flowers into a corner, and went straight to her father's study. She found TJi£ Notary's Daughter. 19 lean mg on him seated at Hi's bureau, with bis head his hand. He was calculating all the advantages he expected to derive from a connection with the Richers dc Montlouis, Rose tried to steady her voice, and said, '•' Dear papa, mamma has just told me — *' " Oh I indeed. So you have heard, little girl, of the conquest jou have made. Well, it ia of some use to bo oretrv." ** And so M. Artemon — " "Will be your husband, little lady, in three weeks." *^Not so soon as that, papa, I hope. I don't know him afc all." • "Well, I know him, my dear, and that is qui e enough. You and he will have plenty of time to get acquainted when you are married. But you have seen him ; you know what a good-looking fellow he is. That will do for the present, and I suppose he admires my little Rose, as he has pro- posed for her." "Perhaps it is hi=? father who wants him to merry me." *' Oh ! dear, no. Rosette ; a man of thirty is not like a girl of seventeen." Rose sighed deeply, and her father went on say- ing : "'I would not on any account have forced upon my daughter a disagreeable husband ; and if Artemon had not been good-looking and young, rich and well-connected — if he had not bef a just the sort of man a girl would like to marry, I should not have accepted hioi for my little Rose; but thi&t match 120 r The Notary's Daughter* is everything I could desire. What I are you uot delighied, my love ? Why don't you thank your papaard kiss him, insto-id of standing there looking as doleful as if you were not the luckiest of girls V* "I am so surprised, pafn, and. really hardly know if I am. awake or dreaming. The idea of my being married seems so sirange; and so soon, too I I had never thought about it at all." ** It is much bettei" to be taken by surprise, I can tell you, than to be ten years looking out for a husband, as the Demoiselles Arnoux Lave done, and end by not Cnding one and being an old maid. I can understand your surprise, Rosette ; bub after Artemon's first visit von will be enchanted." *' Oh ! no, papa, I »m sure I shall not like him " ; and in saying this Rose, wJio hud been struggling for some timo with her tears, hid her face in her hands, and began to sob. * ' What is all this ncnsensc ? " M. Lesalle sternly . said. "Are we going to play the fool and turn our back on the best match in the neighb rhood ? Oh ! I see how it is. Wc dream at school of some fine fairy prince, and we mean to wait for him." This sort of banter R;3se could not stand. All e'le had meant to say went out of her head. She felt herself helpless against what she felt would be her father's invincible will, and her courage gave way. She rushed out of the study and locked her- self up in her room, without listening to her father's consoling assurance that she was to leave it to him, and that he know much better than her- self what would be for her happiness. The Notary's Daughter. 121 As miglifc well liave been expected, Rose's tears did not ia the least affect his plans. He did not make her girlish objections even a Bubject of thought; and as he went the next day to La Pinede, Toussaint Lescalle felt in a most agreeable frame of mind. " Any one who had seen him walking slowly, with his hands behind his back, enjoying the pleasant . breeze from the sea and thg perfume of the wild thyme, and obsciTcd the affable way in which he nodded to the persons he met, smiled on the chil- dren, and called the dogs by familiar nances, would have said, ** There goes a happy individual." And what was giving such joy to that man that it seemed to ooze out of every pore of his comforta- ble, plump body, and to glittor in his little sharp eyes ? Well, he had an only child — a lovely, innocent girl, full of the gayety which is so attractive at that age. He had her in his home, under his roof, near him from morning tc night, like a bird in spirits, like a flower in beauty and sweetness ; and what made him go very happy was that he was going to get rid of her. Was he on tiiat account a hard-hearted man or a bad father ? By no means. He was like an in- numerable number of fathers. In many families a daughter is con -idered an inconvenience. If she marries at eighteen, it is a good thing j if at sixteen or seventeen, still better.. To see her unhappy iu her hu sound's house is much less of an annoyance than to have her happy at homo unmarried. CHAPTER VIIT. SECOND THOUGHTS. M. DB Vedelles was immediately struck with iis visitor's beaming expression of countenance, and something in it which seemed to provoke an interrogatory remark. After requesting him to be seated, the count said, ** You seem in excellent 8r»irits this moruii r M. Lescalle ? •' ' °* "Ah I well, I am not at all apt to be melancholy, M. lo Comte, and I have indeed no reason to com- plain. Things are not going badly with me, as times go." " Your business is increasing very much, I hear." "It increases every day, and I have clients in every corner of the department." " Yes ; your acquaintance must be very extensive. I suppose you know n.ost of the families in this neighborhood ?'' " A great many of them, not to say all." "You saw by my letter that I will agree to let the East Farm, at his own terms, to your prolSaee Jean B6nard." '^ " Indeed 1 did, Ms le Comte, and I am delighted to find that you have arrived at this decision. I 122 ."B- '. .A 1 ^&?x -' ■ 1 ' "i-'i ' ' lit The Notary s Daughter. 123 have known Btnard for twenty years, and I can assiire you that he is a good sort of man, and a good farmer too. He will do justice to your land." *' I am always inclined to take your advice on such matters, because you have so much knowledge of business, and are especially conversant with questions of land in this locality, of which I am myself quite ignorant." " Without boasting, I may SMy, M* le Comte, that few men have applied themselves with as much attention as I have done to all the details regarding the management of property in this part of the country." "But I suspect, M. Lescalle, that you are not only experienced in matters of this description, but that you have a pretty quick eye as to all sortg of affairs, and chat you could give me jadiciooB advice on a very delicate matter." " Well, M. le Comte, I will not deny that I am often consulted by my neighbors on subjects which reauire considerable tact and discretion." " That is just what I meant. You are a person to whom one can speak quite confidentially." " I al ways go on the principle that a notary is a sort of lay confessor." " I felt sure that was the case, and I am going to speak to you with entire confidence. You know that I have two sons ?" " Yes ; though I only know M. Jacques — a very charming young man in every re-^pect." ** He is alio remarkably clever, and has already distinguished himself at the bar. They are trjing is : 'i *, 124 The Notary s Daughter. at Marseilles to persuade him to give up Paris and remain in Provence. He is thinking of engaging in pcliticai life, and I have no fears us to his not making his way in the world ; but it is not the same case with his brother." ** You are alluding to M. George ? " **Yes." " He is still very young ? " " Not so young as he looks. He will be twenty- one in a few days. He was, till the age of seven- teen, one of the most promising boys imaginable — full of intelligence, and even, apparently, very talented." ** Oh ! indeed, then he has not always been — *' ** Deficient in mind, you were going to say. On the contrary, it is v/nly since a brain fever, follow- ed by a typhoid fever, which seized him during his preparation for his examination at the Poly- technic School, that he has fallen into a state of mind which it is diflScult to define. As far as health goes, he is well and strong enough now. George is oy no means an idiot. He has as much sense as many a one who gpts on creditably in a quiet and obscure position. If he had not once given promise of superior intellect, his present de- ficiencies would not strike us so much. He has lost the power, and even the desire^ of exertion, and I see no prospect of his being able to follow any profession, or of his doing anything for himself. I feel obliged, and his brother quite agrees with me, to think Qf his future existence, and to form gome plan with regard to it'' '•«*.. The Notary's Daughter, 125 ** And wliat are yoar ideas on the subject, M. le Comte?" '* Well, really, the only thing I can think of is to find him a wife, and to let him live quietly in the country — either with us, or in a little home of his own in this neighborhood. He is passionately fond of the country and the seaside— that is really the only taste he seems to have. My wife's health is in a precarious state. I am getting old myself, and I feel that it would be a great relief and com- fort to us if our son was married to an amiable and well-principled girl, who would supply to him our place, and who could make herself happy in a quiet existence, and with a man who would,. I am sure, make her a very kind and affectionate hus- band." M. Lescalle was listening intently to the count's words, and busy thoughts were crossing his mind. " What has h« in his thoughts ? " he said to him- self, and then aloud : *' I should think there would be no diflBculty in finding a young lady such as you describe, M. le Comte." " Well t could you suggest any one ? " "I ought to know, first, what would be your stipulations with regard to this daughter-in-law." " I should not be very exacting." " Must she be of noble birth ? " "I do not hold to it. A man gives his own name to his wife." *'And the title of baronne?" M. Lescalle ob- served. ■■•■ i n 'i iiiiiliil 126 The Notary's Daughter, "Of course. It iH quite a different case with aaughters.' ** And as to fortune ?" "As to fortune, I should se'tle oa George and his wife twenty.five thousand francs a year, and if the g,rl had thir y thousand or forty thousand francs of her owu, which could be hardlv reckoned a dowry — " "I beg your pardon, M. le Comte.. In our part of the country such a sum is reckoned a very 4od man.age portion. But as to the position of%er "All I should care about would be its respccta- DUity— not trades-people, however." " And the age of the young lady ? " "Oh 1 anywhere between sixteen ana twentv- five. She ought to be good-looking-preity, if Ther " '" '''''^'' **''^ ^'^'^' ""^'^^^ ^^^' ^ ^^°^^ "Let me think," M. Lescalle said, musing as if he was turning over in his mind all the youn- ladies m the neighborhood. " There is ml Veslaint, but she is sickly." " Oh ! that would never do." "Mile Laurisse is pretty enough, but as she has ft Hundred thousand francs, I scarcely think—" "That she would accept George." thll^"^' ^"^ ^^ '^ ^""""^ *^*^ ^®" ^""^^ "^"^ "What then?" " She is humpbacked." " He would demur at that.'* The Notary's Daughter, 127 '* What wcttld you say to the postmasfcer'a daugh- ter?" ** That would be too great a mesalliance^ "M. le Cure has a handsomish niece, but she is forty at the least." *' Almost double his age I la there nobody else ?" **Well, M. le Corato, I really cannot think of any one else." *' Oh ! I am sure you will, if you try. If I could meet with something really suitable, I should not mind adding to what I settle on George and his wife t.»?n thousand francs for the corbeitte." The notary reflected for a few instants, and then said, slapping his forehead : *' A thought just oc- curs to me — " ** What ? " the count anxiously asked. *' There is my own daughter." *' Mile. Rose?" " Yes." **I thought she was engaged to a y fung man of La Oiotat." "Artenion Richer, you mean ? Tiiero has been some question of it, but I must say I should prefer the connectioTi with your family. There would be, however, a difficnly, even if you thought my daughter a desirable match for your son." ** I certainly should think so. There would be BO obstacle on our side." "But then, you see, M. le Oomie" — and M. Les- calle hesitated, like a man who has something awk- ward to bring out. "The fact is that Rose ha« not got any fortune at all." 128 The Notary s Daughter. "But you could, if you wished W, do sometljing for us that would quite make up for her want of fortune." " How so, M. le CoHito ?'* "By supporting, a^d consequently securing, the election of my son Jacques." "I thought as much," M. Lescalle inwardly ejaculated. " They are all possessed with the same devil." The count went on. " There are two candi- dates, I know — i-hat is, if M. Cesuire do Croixfond is still in the field. Wo were told he had retired, but—" "He now hopes to purchase l'Es:raine, which would make him eligible." "Would not a t^urd candidate, well supported by influential ^larties, and with a decided talent for speaking, carry the election ? " "It is not unlikely. But I hardly know how I could support M. Jacques, seeing the encourage- ment I have given — " "Oh ! you cannot have any scruples on the sub- jet <:. If we arrange the marriage, Jacques' suc- Lei?i will become, in your case, family concern." "Well, there is truth in what ycm say, M. le Comte, and I am quie ready to further his inter- ests. How old is M. Jacques ? " " He will soon be thirty ; and to get him into the Chamber this year will be an immense advan- tage. It is worth two years to him." " I quite see that, and you can rely upon me. I gball be happy to use my inflaeooe in his fawc 1. « The Notary s Daughter. and as to my daughter, I assure you that I am high- ly fluttered at your wish to have her for a daughter- in-law." The two fathers s-iook hands, r^r^ then M. Lee- calle^aid, "Your young man is not ill-tempered. I hope?" **0h I dear, no. He has never in his life said an unkind word to any one. It is possihle that his wife may not find him a very amusing companion, but he is sure to behave well (o her." *' Ah ! well, then it is all right. I would not on any account give my daughter to a man who would make her unhappy," The count and the notary walked out of the house, and down the stairs of the terrace, arm in arm, like old friends, to the great surprise of Vin- cent, who was not used to see his master on such intim&te terms with persons of inferior rank. M. de Vedelles accompanied M. Lcscalle to the gate or the chdteau. The last words that passed between them before they separated were these— '*He has never opposed my will." The count was speaking of George. " She would never dream of disobeying me," the notary s:iit% alluding to Rose. CHAPTER TX. A TRIFLING OBSTACLE. The day on which this imporfcant conversation had -taken place was a Sunday. At eleven the no^ tary had set out for L% Pineue, and ^ifc the same time his wife and daughter had gone to church. It was one of the finest days of a beautiful spring. The a^undant and unusual quantify of rain which had fallen in the early part of the year had made Provence as green as Normandy and as fragrant as Spain. La Ciofcat had never been in such beauty before. Tlie altar of the Blessed Virgin in the parish church was so surrounded by a mass of lilacs and orange blossoms, that the i)erfume of the flowers exceeded that of the incenso. After Mass all the population flocked to the Tasse, a charming promenade on n terrace near the sea. A number of pretty girls in short petticoats, and youths with red flsbermin's caps on their heads, were strolling up and down in parties of seven or eight, shaking hands and laughing as thej stopped to speak to thtir friends. Some of the consequential families of the towi were walking more sedately iu the midst of tlu 180 ^V>i TJie Notary's Daughter. ' 131 animated, picturesque, noisy crowd. Amongst tlio rest M. le Barou do Croixfoiid and his family, M. Arnoux and his two dangbiers in very stiH muslin gowns, M. Riehrr de Mou louii arm-in-arm with Iiis wife, and Madame Loscalle and Rose escorted by M. Art^mon Richer. At La Ciotat, as in all small towns, the least lit- tle events assume a great magnitude. Everything is made the subject of comments and conjectures. Acts which in Piris no one would take the least notice of are immediately remarked, and give rise to all kinds of suppositions. I", was accordingly a matter of great astonishment t) the big- wigs of La Ciotat when Madame and Malemoisclle Le^calle were seen walking with M. Artcmon Richer. Wo must describe Artcmon. He was a tall fel- low, almost six feet high, broad in proportion, with a thrown and florid complexion and dars hair. His features were symmetrical and heavy, his coun- tenance impudent, vulgar, and good-humored. He was always laughing and showing a row of fine white teeth. His dress was in the worst possible laste. He wore diamond stud* in hip chirt, had large, red, ungjloved hands, and was the very typo of a Prjvenyal swell — to use a slang word. An overbearing, noisy, cynical, in«<-*lent, dashing fel- low, who carried all before him in the little town of \i\ Oiotat. Rich, handsome, and connected as he was with some of the best families in the neigh- borhood, nobody ventured to discountenance liim. Laughing at everybody and everything, v*ith no deference for any one, smoking in the presence of II ii w ■ J \ ■";"*■ ^^jnngmgui m i 1 132 The Notary's Daughter, the finest Lidies of Lis acquaintance, coarse in con- versation, and familiar in his way of talking to women and gir s, he was, in spite of all this^ or perhaps in consequence of it, rather a favorite in the society he frequented, and supposed to have broken t.;e heart of more than one young lady who had fondly and vainly hoped to become Madame Arte m on Riclicr. After spending some years in Paria on the very Fpecious pretext of studying for the bar, he had re- turned to La Ciotat, leaving behinf'' him debts to the amount of thirty thousand >a .-jd, which his fa' her had jiaid, stipulating, however, that there was to bo an end to his residence in Paris ; so he was obliged to find amusement in a small country town and its vicinity. For some time Father Richer laughed at the quarrels, the scrapes, the flirtations, and the follies of his incorrigible son, but at last he became anxious to get him married. Several attempts of ihe kind hnd utterly failed. However, from the first day he had seen Rose Lescall^ Art6- mon had taken a great fancy to her, and ' ^^Id- ness and reserve only made him the more )i i^'e- ly bent on marrying the notary's pretty daugh .;, Father Richer, as we have seen, hastened to take advantiige of this position of things, and what was going on that Sunday on the promenade seemed a public manifestation of the intentions of both families. All tne town was watching the parties, and Madaaie Loscalle's attitude amounted to a first publica ion of bans. There was a sort »>i official dignity in her way of receiving the indirect con- '.mww V The Notary's Daughter, 133 gratulations of her friends, and an ironical conde- scension in her manner of howing to the ladies whose daughters Artemon had rejected. Rose, who was Jiat day an object of envy to all the young girls — Rose, the destined bride of one who had been sought after by the most fashionable of the town beauties — Rose, the heroine of the day, did not seem to share Madame Lescalle's triumph- ant s«lf-compIacency. She walked up and down by her mother*s side in a listless manner, without answering a word to tfje high-flown compliments which Artjmon Richer was showering upon her. All at once Madame Lescalle was interrupted in the middle of a sentence. She felt her arm laid hold of, and, turning round, saw above her daugh- ter's shoulder her husband's red and irate face. " Good gracious ! M. Lescalle," she exclaimed, ** what is the matter ? You tumble upon ua like a waterspout !" " Madame, you ought to have been at home long ago," the notary answered, in a gruff voice very unusual to him. "Take my arm, if you please, and let us be off." Ai Madame Lescalle, quite bewildered, was star- ing at him without moving, he rather rudely {sepa- rated her from Artemon, took his daughter's arm und.r hid own, and was going awry, when t]»e yonng man, recovering from his first surprise, said to liim in a half-jesting, lialf-sneering tone : " Upon my word, M. Ijescalle, you seem to have lost your eyesight at La PinMe I Did not you see that these ladies wera walking with me ? " i 134 The Notary s Daughter, *• I saw it very well, M. Artemon." "Then w. y are you carrying Uiem off ia this snclclea manner ? You may esteem youi*self for- tunate that I have reasons which make mo unwill- ing to qr irrcl with you." , " Oh! pray do not have any scruples on the sub- ject/' M. Lescallo rejoined. "I should like to know what right you have to object to.my taking my wife and my daughter home, if I do not ap- prove of their walking here ? " Artemon bit his lips, as if to restrain a torrent of angry retort which his rising anger was about to give vent to. He said tolerably calmly: ** Your conduct, sir, is quite inexplicable." M. Richer de Montlouis came up at that moment and exclaimed : *• Is this the way you take, sir, of breaking off the negotiation you so readily entered into?" "You may think what you please about it, sir," M. LescaKc answered, and then, making a low bow to M. Richer, he hurried away his wife and daugh- ter. Madame Lescillo was as'ounded. During eigh- teen 3 ears of manied life she had never seen her husband behave in such a strange and unwarrant- able manner. She foresaw a quarrel with th Richer family rendered inevitable and all her hopesi destroved by this unacc untablo burst of temper. M. Lescallc's conduct struck her as so extraordinary that sue felt almost afraid he had gone out of his mind. The more she thought of it the more her surprise and annoyance increased. The Notary s Daughter, 135 As the notary and his companions walked from the Tasse to the Rue Droifcc, where they lived, not a word was said. When they arrived at their house M. Lescalle, red, brea hiess, and agitated, stood op- posite the couch on which his wife and Rose had seated themselves. The mother and daughter were awaiting his first words with equal though a different kind of anxiety. Put he remained sHenfc for a fow instants, as if hardly knowing how to preface what he had to say. Her husband's evident embarrassment inspired Madame Lescalle with courage, and in her most acrimonious voice she began the attack. ** Sir, are you going at last to explain the reason of your extraordinary behavior ? Will you. if you please, tell us vhy you have insulted the only fa- mily in this place which offered a suitable marriaeo for R080 ? " *' "Rose will have a husband," M. Lescalle rcolied in a dignified manner, "worth all the Richers in the world. M. le Comto do Vedelles has just ask- ed her in mariiagc for his son." "ForM. Jacques?" the young girl exclaimed, blushing crimson. "No ; for M. George, which io just as good. lU IS quite as rich as his brother. His father settles upon him twcnty.five thousand francs a year." A dead silence ensued. Then Madame Lescalle, divided between the prospect of so magnificent a connection and a feeling of mafernal anxiety, said : ** What I the youngest brother— the /rtc/^f " ''FacU yourself!" exclaimed ihn exasperated ilt • i 136 Tlie Notary* s Daughter. notary. " IIow can you talk sncli ridicnlons non- sense, Virginie ? George de Vedellcs is a yery pleasing young man. Koso will be very happy with him." "When Rose had heard the name of George she had turned as white as her cambric collar, and leant back, unable to utter a word. The idea of an objec ion to this marriage had not entered into M. Lcscalle's mind. To do him justice, he had always considered the reports as to George do Vedclles' incapacity of mind as greatly exaggerated. lie believed Lim to be a young man of no abilities and somewhat below par in intellect, but by no means half-witted. In spite of all his world hness, he would not have married his daugh- ter to an idiot. He was not aware of the degree to ^\hich the reports (f his mental deficiency had been spread in the neighborhood, and how deeply they had prejudiced Rose against George de Vedc^es. Seeing his daughter so deeply affected, iio wen . up to her, and, patting her cheek, said : " Well, after all you were quite righi;, Rcsette, to turn up your nose at M. Richer's son. I hope you are satisfied now. Who would ever have ex- pected my li.tle girl to be Madame la Baronne ?" Rose sat cold and motionless as a statue. She felt as if a terrible nightmare was oppressing her. At last, bursting into tears, she threw herse'f into her father's arms, sobbing violently, and in broken accents said : "0 my elear father I you cannot mean that you have really accepted this horrid proposal. I am The Notary s Daughter, 137 sure you caiiuot want me to marry that balf-witted youth. What a div adful thing it would b3 ta bo the wife of such a man ! You woul i not make me miserable ! You did not know that 1 should hate the thoughts of it. Oh ! I am sure that it cannot be, that nothing ii settled about it. You will change your mind and tell them go, for you are a dear, good father, and yon love your little Rose. dear, dear papa I for God's sake speak, and tcU me that you will withdraw your promise, if you have made one. You won't speak I Oh 1 I am quite broken-hearted, quite miserable." M. Lescalle, very much distressed by his dauga- ter's tears and vehemence, held her in his arms, and, instead of ppeaking, kissed her hair and tried to soothe her by his caresses, as if she had been a baby. " Come, come, my child,*' be said at last, ** don't crv now ; be a sensible girl Yes, I love my little K vsy, and I want her to bo happy. Now, please don't cry so, my darling. You are quite mistaken about M. George. He is not at all ti e sort of per- Bon you think." Madame Lescalle, affected at the sight of her daughter's grief, pulled her husband by the arm and said : " Would it not bo better, Tous&aint, to let her marry Artemon Richer and bo happy ?" "Oh 1 but, mamma," cried R^se, lifting up her face streaming Avith tears, ''I should not be hap- py with M. Art6mon. I don't want to be married at all. 1 would rather live always at homo with papa and you.*' Jm. \ ■!,:% n 138 The Notary s Daug/tter. These words gave an immediate advantage to M. Lescallc, who said : * Nonsense, nonsense ; that is i^hat romantic girls always say when tl.eir parents want them to make a sensible marriage. You see, Virginie, we must insist upon being obeyed. She does not v/ant to marry either of these suitors. Yesterday she came crying to my room and wanted me to refuse Artemon." "If I am absolutely obliged to marry one or the other of those gentlemen, I had rather of the two be M. Artemon's wife than marry M. de V^delles." "It is too la(e for that, my dear. If you had not shown so great a dislike to M. Eicher, I should have hesitated at the Comte de Vedelles' proposal. I would have facrlficed great advantages sooner than thwart your inclinations ; but as you have no pre- ference for any one, it is my duty to choose for you a husband. Artemon was a good match, and yon would not have him. What I have now arranged for you ii still more desirable, and I cannot listen to any more nonsense on the subject." "But why is it so necessary I should be mar- ried ?" Rose objected. "For the matter of that, my dear," Madame Lescalle said, "if you did not marry M. de V6- delles, nobody would ever propose to you again after what took place on the promenade." " I should not care." ** Oh I that is all very well ; but some years hence yoa would not be of the same mind." "Having publicly broken off, as we have done, the affair with tlie Richers, it is absolutelv neoes- The Notary s Daughter, 139 sory that you should make a briDiant marringe,'* M. Lcscalle gaid. ** You i-eally behaved very ill to that poor Art^- miTi," Madame Lcscalle observed. "What else could I do ? 1 was seeking some cause t') break off with the Eichers, and had been turning over in my mind fifty different plans on my way buck from th3 chateau, and when I arrived and saw you walking in that public manner with Artemon, which almost amounted to an announce- ment of the marriage, I was so taken by surprise, and so dreadfully annoved, that I lost my head. But I am not, on tlie whole, sorry for it. After such a scene as that the Richers cannot expect me to supjwrt them at the next election." "What ! are you going to ^'ail them about that also ? What has made you t c such a dielike tc them ? '' " How stupid you are ! Don*c you understand why I cacDofc support them now ?'' " No, I don't." "Why, Jacques de Vedellcs is going to stand. I must, of course, favor the interests of Rose's bro- ther-in-law." Rose was hiding her face against one of the cushions of the sofa and weeping bitterly. M. Lescalle loved his daughter, but yet the sight of her grief did not affect him in the least. It was not a thing that could enter into his. head that a woman was to be pitied who married in a way which secured to her a good fortune and a higher position than she could have had a right to expect. II 140 T/itf Notary s Dmighter, He had always seen how happy young girls looked when they were engaged to ric!i husbands, and so be made up his mind to let the storm of Bose'? tears blow over, as he would have done a showei of rain. As he left the drawing-room he whispered to his wife, " She would have cried just as much if we had married her to Art^mon, Soothe her and reason with her — I leave that to you." The mother and daughter, left alone together, remained silent for some time, Kose engrossed by her sorrow, and Madame Lescalle considering what line she could take. Her maternal and womanly feelings made her understand better than her hus- band Rose's grief. But there was one idea which towered above all other considerations — ^now that Eose could no longer marry Artdmon, if she refused George de Vedelks there was danger of her not marrying at all. This result, a most galling one to her pride, was not at all improbable. Some girls of good family, and pretty too, had remained old maids at La Oiotat because bo eligible matches could be found for them, and she would have ac- cepted anything rather than such a destiny for Eose. And then M. Lescalle was bent upon this marriage, and his wife was rather afrrid of enteiing upon a course of positive rtsistance to his will. Like many women of the middling class, Madame Lescalle was in some re.-le. But I wonder why you rua a«vay when visitora call. Each time The Notary s Daughter, 147 that Madame Lescalle end her daughter have been here, off you go like a thot. I wonder at it, for Mile. Rose is a remarkably pretty girl." "Yes, I never ga.v sijch a lovrly complexion," Jacques added. « She is quite a picture of youth, wita her fair hair, and charaiing little figure, her soft, large blue eyes, her small hands and feet. Amongst all those dark, sallow Provenjales Mile. Lescalle really looks like a fresh, blooming rose." *' Well done, Jacques," the count said, laughing. "You have drawn a very pretty and exact picture of the young ludy. And you, George, what do mu think of Mile. Rose?" George seemed surprised at being asked his opinion, and answered: '*I don't know; I have never looked at her." " Well, the next time she comes look at her." George seemed quite astonished. "Yes," the count adr d, " I should like to know your opinion of her." " I have no opinion abou t girls of that age," George replied in an ungracious manner. *'\ don't care to make acquaintance with thcm-^Lcj don't care to talk to mo, and what does it signify to me whe- ther Rose Lescalle is pretty or not ?" The count and Jacques again glanced at each other. The countess was puzzled and did not un- derstand what they were at. She was singl'rly matter of fact and had very liitle penetration. S!io did not perceive Goorge's emotion, and only sa\\r that there was something going on whicii she could not make out, and determined af .er dinner to ask m T4S T/te Notary s Daughter, licr hnsbaiid what it all meant. In the course of the evening, whjn they were alone, he gave her ample explanations, anu informed her of his plans for both their sons. '^Jacques a deputy," he said, "and George mar- ried, will be a happy solu ion of the anxieties we have felt about both our children. One of our sons will plunge into the aciive and brilliant life that suits liis talents, and the other will find a hap- py destiny in an obscure domestic existence in which his want of capacity will pass unobserved." Madame de Vedelles listened with deep atten- tion to her husband, and seemed struck by his sagacity and the wisdom of his plans. "I entirely approve of your intentions, my dear husband," she said ; *' Only I hope if poor George objected to what you wisely think would be for his happiness, that you will not make u,:e of your authority to con- strain his will." " I have neither the intention nor the power of obliging him to follow my wishes, my dear Claire. My authoiiiy can only consist in the sort of infin- enoe a parent hffs a right to exercise, and that in- fluence I must use. George cannot judge for him- self aa to what is best for his happiness. He re- quires to be directed, and it v, ould be no kindness to leave him to his own foolish devices." The countess admitted that this was true, and on the following day George was summoned to his father's stud3\ The count fixed his clear, sharp eyes upon him, and in an impressive manner said : ** My dear sou, your mother and I have come to The Notary's Daughter^ 149 an ifl-portant decision, and though I cannot doubt that 30U would be ready to accede to anything which ue thought would be for yoar happiness, I wish to explain to you the reasons which have led us to this determination." " What determination, father ?" the young man asked in a gentle and indifferent manner. "We are convinced that it is desirable for you ta marry." "Indeed ! And whom do you want mo to mar- ry?" George asked in a voice trembling with anxiety. " Sit down there and listen to me ; you will an- swer me afterwards." George bowed in assent; and, leaning against the corner of the bureau where his father was sitting, rested his head on his hand and remained motion- less. The count then began to relate the reasons which had made him form the plan he had in view, hia conviction that a quiet and retired life of do- mestic happiness would suit George far belter than pny other; the excellent character he had heard of the young girl whom he wished him to marry, and her many attractions ; the probability that, t^here- as girls of rank equal to his own might object to bury themselves in the country, wliich was evident- ly what his own inclinations pointed to, Rose Les- calle^ wouhi be so gratified at an alliance far beyond what she could have hoped for as to rank and for- tune that she would fall in readily with all his wisnes. And then he touched on the subject of Jacques' election. A vague, halfunconsciuus smile ( ( ^^i •■ . .! •€ 150 The Notary J Daughter, hovered on the lips of bis son as he did so, and thon the count added : ** These family considerations would not, of course, have influenced me if this project had not helped at once to promote your brother's important interests and to secure your happiness.** "Father, my happiness — "George began in an eager tone. M. de Vedelles stopped him. " You had pi-omised not to interrupt me ; I have not finished what I had to say to you. I know what is in your mind, my dear boy ; your mother, your brother, and myself have all guessed what are your feelings." " Do you mean — " George said and hesitated. " Yes, I know that you are cherishing a foolish dream, a senseless hope which can never be realized. Mile, de la Pinede has refused an offer of marriage from your brother, whoso position in the world and whose abilities are well known ; that you are much tco young for her is in ite.lf an obstacle, and even if you ceased to be so hopelessly indolent and fjave up your strange ways of going on, there would not be the least chance of her acce; iing you. Jacques' fortune and position did not satisfy Mile. Denise's ambition, so you can imagine how utterly impossi- ble it is that she should think of you. It would be an absurd f* lly to persist in such an illusion. You will find in Rose Leecalle a good wife and clnwrning companion, and once married, or even engaged to her, you will see how that other fancy will vanish like a dream." There was no danger now of George's iuteirupt- The Notary's Daughter, mg his fafclier. Sinco the count had mentioned Denise his agitation had become so great that he seemed unable to utttr a word. He grew pale and red, and then pale again, and when his father left off speaking walked silfntly towards the door. "Well, George?'' M. de Vedelles said in his sharp, decisive manner. ** Kow let me have your answer." George stopped, seemed to collect his thoughts, and then murmured something his father could not oalch. " What is it you are saying ?" he asked in an im- patient tone. " Can't you speak ? " George turned back, and laying a cold and heavy hand on his father's arm, said, " To-mon'ow, fa- ther, I will speak to you." " And why not at once, my boy ? " . " Ko, to-morrow," George replied again, and left the room. "Poor fellow!'' thought the count, "he acfcu- ally requires a whole day to find something to say on the subject. Well, I must let him have his way." No one at the chdteau knew how George spent that day. In the evcniug, as he had not appeared at dinner, old Vincent, uneasy at his absence, wrnt and knocked at his door, but without result. No answer came, and after two or three renewed a'.- tempts he came down looking very dejected. " M. George," he eaid, "is shut up in his room, and I cannot get hiro to unlock the door." **N:Ver mind, Vinjent,' the count said; "M. t '*_!iLf2LLL . ?='' The Notary's Daughter, George wishes, I know, to spend the day alone; yoa hjid better not disturb him.'' On the following morning very early some little shepherd b.»ys who were carrying c ceses to Beaus- set suddenly mot George near Cereste, at about two leagues from Lj, Pinede- He was coming back by the cross-road which led to Toulon. 11^ looked pale and harassed and was walking fast, but like a person dreaming and half unconscious. The chil- dren felt as frightened as if they had seen a ghost. In the patois of the country they whispered a few words to each other. "I say, Jean Baptiste, did you see that man ?" the youngest asked. *• He is not a man," the other gravely answer- ed." **I thought it was the young gentleman at La Pinede." "Yes, but ho is a fada^ and those sort of people are bewitched. On Saturday nights they hold their meetings on the hills or sometimes on t' e seashore. Polks like that, look you, seem very quiet, and keep out of the way of everybody to hide their wicked- ness, which is dreadful." "Are you suro of it ?" the little one said, glanc- ing back in affright; ** and is the young gentleman reallv one of them ?" *Ther6son has told me so, and she must know, for she says she has very often met him." " I dare say she is right, for wbere could he be coming from just now, and he walked as fast as if the devil was after him." The Notary s Daughter. 153 ** Oh I he must have been at the Gorges d'OUi- ouillcs, up there in the caverns where the witches dance at night." * Don't let U8 go that way, Jean Baptiste ; it is not quite light yet." ** What a goose you are i Of course we are not going that way; it would be out of our road," the other answered in a consequential toiie. George had passed the two children without no- ticing them. It was about six in the morning when he came home. Everybody wtiiS asleep, and he went into his room without any one seeing him. He did not appear at breakfast, and his father, anx- ious not to hurry him, took no notice of his ab- Lence. In the meantime he, his wife, and his eld- est son discussed the subject on which their minds were running. Jacques had set his heart upon the scheme. His vanity had been wounded by Donise*s refusal, and he was longing to be a deputy, and to ex libit his talents as .in orator, to rise in public life, and give the young lady reason to regret that she had declined liis offer. Dazzled by this pros- pect, and biassed by his wishes, he persuaded himself that George's marriage with the notary's daughter was really the best thing that could hap- pen to his brother. As to Madame de Vedelles, she felt some scruples at the idea of her husband exerting his paternal authority to force this marriage on George, whether he felt inclined to it or not, and the more so that she fancied him too timid and too helpless to fight his own battles. It seemed to her that this would it: 4 \ : m% !i Rl i i 1% ^ lis. 154 T/w Notary's Daughter. \ bo an abuse of parental power which her conscience could not sanction. The more she thought of it the more nervously anxious she became. Her mo- ther's heart protesied against the sort of moral coercion which she foresaw would be used to over- come any attemp . at resistance on George's part. The count I'iraself was not without some uneasi- ness. In spite of his strong will, and his convic- tion tliat he would be right in insisting on his son's complying with his wiaJes, he knew that there was a point beyond which he could not go. It was not in his power to oblige him to obey, and George's silence and seclu-ion madf him rather afraid that he was preparing a decided resistance to tho pro- posed raariiiige. At one o'clock the door opened and George camo in. His parents and his brother all felt at that moment a secret agitation. Jacques looked anx- ious, M. de Vedelles troubled, and Madame de Ve- dellea could hardly restrain her tears. ^ They had on their side age, authority, conscious superiority of mind, and experience; and yet, per- haps, because of a slight misgiving that they were not acting in quite a siraightforward and disinter- ested manner, thev seemed enibarra sed in the presence of one whom they all deemed inferior to them elves in every respect. George went up to M de Vedelles and said : ** My dear father, I am quite ready to marry the person you wish me to marry." After ho had uttered those few words it seemed as if he had exhausted his po.ver of self -command* The Notary's Daughter, and, sitting down on the couch near his mother, he hid his f ice in his hands. M. de V^delles breathed freely. To hirh the re- lief was great. Without a strnggle, without any (xercise of authority or evtn persuasion, his object Wiis secured. ** That is rigljt, my dear George," ho said ; *'I felt convinced that you would be guided by our wishes." Jacques was delighted, and, going up to his bro- ther, warmly shook his hand. Madame dc Vudelles felt a weighn on her heart heavier even fchun if her soil had made some objections, or expressed reluc- tance on the marriage arranged for him. She made a sign to her husband to leave iier alone with George, and he and Jacques went into the next room. Then, trying to tai«e one of her son's hands ia ht.rs, she said : " Do you really mean what you s ly, my dear boy ? You have no dislik.3 to the idea of marr}iag Mile. Lescalle?" George did not answer. " Bjcause," his mother added with a trembling voice — ^f )r her fear of her husband's displeasure male her very nervous, though it did not prevent her from doing her duty — '' if you hate the thought of this mairiage you must say so, dea^ child. We cannot wish to forward your brother's interests at t e expense of your happiness. Come, tell me the truth, my dear George. Is it the fear of your father that makes you agree to marry this young girl ? " i I I. It .. I » J r i'f IM 156 7'/^^' Notary's Daughter, " No, mother, it is nok fear that influences me. Under other circumstances I should have refused my consent to this urrpngemant/' " Oh ! I am glad ^0 hear that, my dear boy. Tiieti you have not auy dislike to Hose Lescallo ? You do not know her much, but I am sure you must thiuk her pleasing — don't you ?*' '* I have never thought whether she is pleasing or not ; I marry her because you are all bent upon it. I may as well do that as anything else. You wish me to marry, and I don't care whom I marry." *' Well, I could not have imagined that you could be as indifferent as that, George, on suchasubject. Have you ever thought about it ? I do not mean to say that in order to be happy together people need 10 bo what is called in love with each other ; but marriage is a very serious thing, and we ought not to feel a distaste for the person who is to be our companion for life. I want you to consider the question well, and not to act in this important matter witli your usual thoughtlessnesS, Try to attend to what I say. You look unhappy. Do toll me the truth, George." •'All I can tell you, mother, is that I have no dislike to that young girl. You have all agreed that I had better marry, so that if I refused to comply with my father's wishr.'s in this case be would soon be proposing somebody else to me. It is better to agree at once to what ho wishes, and not vex him and my brother about it. Oh 1 my head aches dreadfully, and I cannot go on arguing on this subject. I have never gone against my The Notary s Daughter, 157 father's will, much ay I have often displeased and irritated him. He is determined I shall marry, and, as he has chosen a wife for me, so lot it be ; only, please do not ](t us talk any more about it." Madame do Vedelles felt sad and anxious, bat said nothing more, and George left her. She then went into the garden, where her hus- band and Jacques were strolling. The latter came to meet his mother, and, kissing her, said : ** Weil, dear mother, how smoothly it is all going on — how obedient the dear fellow is I I suspect that at the bottom of his heart he is very much pleased." " No, Jacques, I don't think so. He is very un- ^^PPy> *"^<^> I am afraid, very ill. I cannot get him to speak sensibly on the subject. He says he has no objection to this marriage, and yet he seems wretchedly out of spirits. But I don't think you guessed right about Deniso. He never men- tioned her name — did not even allude to her. His apathy is just what it has been all along, only he is much more depressed than he used to be." ** You will conjure up fears and miseries," the count exclaimed. "The companionship of a charming young wife, and the new interests of a home of his own, will rouse him out of this roiOr- bid state of mind." " I have never seen him look so miserable as he does to-day." " My dear mother," Jacques said, *"* yau will not ste things as they are. He has, I have no doubt, some trouble to give up his dream of the 158 Thf Notary's Daughter. last two months, and, instead of worshipping the dark goddess at Touloa, to do hom^^ge to the tttir beauty of La Ciotat. But depend upon it, the struggle will be sliort. Little Rose is charming, and I bet you anything that in a short time he will be enchanted witli his destiny." **Ocd grant that you may be a true prophet T* Madame de Vedelles said with.a sigh. 5;€)/^ CHAPTER XL DfiJflSB S LKTTEB. Two days after the eventful decision which ha^ given so much satisfaction to M. do V6dellc8, and 80 mucli anxiety to his wife, the latter received a letter dated from the hospital ab Marseilles. See- ing where it came from, she concluded it was a petition, and left it amongst others to ho read and answered later iu the dav. It was not till some hours afterwards that she opened this letter. As soon as she had begun reading it she glanced at the signatuje on the other side of the )>age, saw the Bamo*'Denise de la Pin^nle," then, turning back to the tirst page, read as follows • *' IIopiTAL Civil, Maeseilles, Juno 2. ** My dear friend ; I feel it a duty to tell you what I would cortiiinly have mentioned to you some time ago — during some of those hours I spent lirst by your bcdsido and af erwards by your gar- don-chair, sharing the anxiety and then the joy of your family, and fearing for a while as if I belong- ed to you all^ — if it had not been that I was bound by a solemn promise, made to my dear father on his deuth-bed, not to give any one an idea of what he knew was my intention until I hao lie had reached the outskirts ol Toulon the transition from light to darkness, so sudden in those regions, was just taking place. Ho was making his way to Madame do Brissac'i house with a wild, impetu- ous determination that he wouM see Dcnise, that ho would pour forth at her feet the passionate emo- tions of his heart, and liear from her the words which would give him courage to face his own family and ass:rfc his own independence. As he hurried along the Btrv.et, some one tapped him on the slioulder. He turned round, ai.d saw that it was Dr. Dubois. **You here, M. Georf^e?" the physician said. "How are you all at PineJe ? I hope Madame la Comtesse is well, and feels n ) pain in her arm now. By the way, I suppose slio was satisfied with tho garde mdlade I recommcndvd. She is a capital hand at. nursing, that fair lady, and will make an excellent Slater of Charity. JSTot but Ihat I think it rather a pity that such a beautiful Taco s'lould be hid under a cornetle, much as I love and revere that strange head-dress." *'What do you mean, Dr. Dubois?" George stammered in a nervous manner. " Does Mile, do la Pinede intend — " ** Intend, my good mr 1 She toent yesterday to the hospital at Marseilles, and is at thii moment, I have no doubt, already at work under tho si8tei*s. I saw her just before her departure. No bride ever looked brighter and happier. Women are wonder* 1 .3J i^Ki i*! ^H^IB^Li. -^-i i66 The Notary's Daughter, fill when tlicy get w hafc thy call a vocation and take to bo saints. There \^. a bit of the soldier, too, in these S isters of Charity. I like them for that. They arc afraid of nothing. Good-night, M. George. Give my kind respects to M. le Comte and Madame la Comtcsse." Gone I — ^gone for ever I Severed from Lim, not by a grate or by convent walls, but by a life as hopcle sly separated from his own as if an abyss had opened between them. George felt stunned," and mechanically walked on to the ranipar(s till he came to a bench, and there he sat looking at the sea and the starry sky with a sort of hopeless, dull dejecLion. None knew what had been the suffer- ings of his soul during the last three year*. He had led a very strange, a very lonely life, with no inward light a^ to his own state of mind, puzzled about himself as much as others we-re about him. IFrom tlie moment he had seen Donise the apathy "which lidd 60 long oppressed him disappeared. His admiration — his love at first sight for her — eeeracd to asvaken his dormant faculties. Her faith and her enthusiasm rekindled smouldering spaiks w' ich had languished in his soul. Goorgo had never lost his belief in religion, or entirely omitted its most essential duties; but since his ill- ness ho had not thought much about it. His piety, if ho had any, was of the vaguest descrip- tion — a sort of almost pantheistic worship of the beauties of natui'e — a poetical and dreamy religious feeling, such as inspired Victor Hugo in his earlier days, and Lamartino when he wrote his medita- The Notary's Daughter, 167 lions and had not yet indulged in wild sophistry and heretical aberrations. But Dcnise's faith had struck him as something at once divine and real. During the three weeks she had spent at La Pin6de the life of his soul had revived, but it was only a reflected light as yot. During her absence he had suffered deeply. Her presence had been the delight, and at tie same time the strength, as it were, of his existence. It was as if a blind person had for a while, in some strange manner, seen and gazed on a world new to him, and then that the .Tight had gone out and left him in his previous darkness. But still he had lived on the memory of those days. He had looked to their renewal ; he had seen bright visions, and dreamed hopeless dreams, till that moment when, sitting in the deepening shades of night, he felt the old, hard, dull feeling in his heart re- turning, only with a more aching oppression than before. At last he rose, and with feverish speed retraced his steps. It was then that the little shepherds thought they saw a gliost pass them on the road ; it was then that he silently slipped into his room ; then tliat he took out of their box the toys of little Dcnise de la Pinede, and wept over them as a child ; then that he felt careless of his own destiny, indifferent to his own life — anything then he could endure except a struggle, except another allusion to his vain love for that angel who had disappeared for ever from his sight; then that he had yielded :! 'i that calm, supine consent to a marriago V. hich i68 The Notary's Daughter, could not make him more miserable than ho was, and at any rato would content otiiers. When Denise*s letter was given to him, he car- ried i% as we have said, into the chapel where he had last seen her. He road ib on his knees, and it soothed his anguish. The idea t'lat in prayer, at least, she would sometimes think of him re- lieved the sharp pain at his heart. He rejoiced at the vow he hud made. It seemed to keep up a sort of link between them. He did not pray, un- less there was a tacit prayer in t' o tears ho shed in our Lord*s presoncp, and his silent gazo ab the tabernacle, wliich ho ha I seen her gazing at with such inc bio love ; but there cam to him during those hours thoughts which made him say to his mother, when he gave her back Denise's letter, " S'le has chosen tho better par\" m\\ *\ CHAPTER XIL A MISCONCEPTION. In the nudst of the sort of moral tempesk in which Rose Lcficalle found herself submerged, she turned towards what seemed to her a beacon light in a dark sea — the wise and tender love of her old Aunt Mede. In the evening of the day when the scene wc had described had taken place in the notary's house, Bhe went out by a back door, walked down an ftUpy which led to the old ramparts of La Oiotat, and then, hiding her face with her veil, and walk- ing as fast as if she was making her esc:i^^e, took the road to the Capuchins. When she arrived under the dark projection which formed a sort of ^^orch to the old convent, she raised with a trembling hand the heavy iron latch, and crossing a dark passage rushed into the hall, where Mis6 Med^'s old servant was spinning. " Jesus I Mary I how you frightened me, made- moiselle ! " Marion exrl aimed, quite startled at the young lady's sudden appearance. " Marion, where is my aunt ?" Rose asked. ** Where she is now, that is difficult to say ; bat if Blanquette has made good use of her legs fBlan^' lfl9 ^ JK'f,; BtaB-l-gii 170 The Notary s Daughter, quette was tlio maro that dragged Mise M6(ic's tilted oart] he must be a good way (*fif by tlu8 time.'' *• What I is my aunt gone out ?'* *' Gone out ? She is gone away I " " Good heavens I Gone away ! Why ? When ?" Eose exclaimed in despair at this ne.vs. " What Lapponed was this, mademoiselle : Mis6 Mede received this morning a letter from her old cousin, M. Vincent Lcscalle, cure of St. Blaise. The poor dear man said he was very ill, and want- ed to see her before ho died. Miac said, * I must be off/ and no sooner said than done. She stuffed six chemises and two or three jackets into a bag, ordered Blanquette to be harnessed, and off she went full trot to Marseilles on her way to St. Blaise.*' "Without letting us know," Rose sighed. " Oh ! but, indeed, she did write a note to M. Lescalle — here it is in my pocket. She told me to take it, but i thought there was no hurry. I meant to give it to Oasimir the carrier ; but as you are here, mademoiselle, perhaps you will take charge of it.^' Rose took the letter, and in an absent manner twisted it in her fingers. "Don't you bother yourself about that letter, mademoiselle; there is nothing in it but what I have told you." ** Oh I dear me," Rose exclaimed, " what a terrible thing iliis is !" " The illness of the good cure ? But you see he is past eighty, the poor dear old man I It is a good old age, and we can't live for ever." The Notary's Daughter. 171 *' No, thank God I " Roeo could not help ejaca- lating. Astonished at this strange exclamation, Marion looked at her mistress' niece, and wns struck at seeing her countenance so agitated. T venty ques- tions were lising to her lip3, but, unfortunately for her eager, and indeed anxious, curiosity, the noise of Casirriir's conveyance and his own entrance into Iho room in^ernipted the conversation. Rose asked if his carriage was empty, and, hearing that it was, asked him to set her down at the corner of the Rue Droite, for she felt afraid of walking homo alone along the beach. "Not at your own door, Mis^ Rose ?" Casimir asked. "I don't mind going ^^'jt of my way to oblige any of Mis^ M6d6's relations." "No," Rose quickly replied, "put me down wh( re I told you." Even the carrier could not help seeing that the young lady looked unhappy and spoke in a sharp, nervous voice. He remembered what was already the talk of the town — namely, that the notary had publicly bj-oken off his daughter's marriage with the handsome Artemon Richer, and that Mise Rose had been crying her eyes out in consequence ; and as the honest fellow handed her out of his cabriolet, and watched her until she disappeared round the corner near her father's house, he gave way to sundry inward expressions cf disapproba- tion of the tyranny of parents and pity for Mise Med6's niece. Everything that belonged to the old lady was sacred in his eyes, and the poor car- 172 The Notary's Daughter, rier knew that Mis© Rose w»8 the very apple of her oyc. In the coarse of that evening Madame Lescalle ha'.l made one more effort in behalf of her daughter, "whose grief sat heavily on her heart. The Barcn de Oroixfond had left his card for M. Le«ealle, and she jumped at the idea that since the Oomte de Yedelles had nob disdained to connect himself with them, it was not at all improbable that M» C^saire might, after all, propose for Rose, **He is good-looking — young Oroixfond,** she said ; '"^Rose would like him much better, I am sure, than that stupid George de VMeiles*' — she did not ventnre to ^tij fada, " You have been too much in a hun'y about this marriage, Toussaint.'* "Nonsense, Virginie ! * Yon are so foolish about thid sort of thing. Don't you see that we should have been obliged to gi'^a fifty thonsaxid fiancs with Rose if she had mxrried the baron's eon, "whereas the De VMelles make settlements and tto nob care about her fortune. It is a wonderful piece of luck, I can tell you, and your daughter wilJ think so too when she gets over all these school-giii fancies and becomes a sensible woman." Rose was indeed so muoh niadpr the infliuenco of what her father called her school- girl fancies that she still cherished a lingering hojKJ that her marriage would not take place. Mis^ M^d6 was the only perst^n capable of influeneiug M. Lescalle's actions, and she clung to ihe tbonghi that by writing to Ler and letting hep know what was going on she might yet escape her dreaded The Notary's Daughter, 173 tate. Accordingly, she scDt a letter to her aunt, m which she implored her to come back as soon ag possible and lielp her out; of this hatefal predica- nient WhesA t';;is Iiad been accomplished she felfc quieter, and oilered no active opposition to her fiiLher'a projects. As to M. Lescaile, he hastened affairs as much as possible, and contrived so effectually to expedite thora tiidt a week after tlie conditioiis as to settle- ments Lad been agreed npon by tbe two fathers. M. lo Car6 of LaOiotat published, on Sunday afier the Prdne,the banns of marnage between MJe Baron George do Yedellcs and Mademoiaeile Lcscalle, The congregation nas taken by surprise, and ex- treme was the excitemeii t produced by this announce- ment. The sudden rupture with the Richers and the news of this most unexpected marriage became, of course, a general and inces. «?Kt subject of convert sation in the town and in the neighborhood. A party was immediately formed on the side of the Richers, which loudly att^icked M. Lescalle, who was ac- cused of sacrificing his daughter to Jiis ambition and vanity. It waa said that Rose was in love with Artcraon Richer, but that lier parents compelled her to marry that little idiotic Baron de Vedellcs. This gave rise to all sorts of exaggerated reports and inventions, which Rose's pale and dejected countonanco eeemcd to confirm. M. Art6mon, though inwardly oonsci(»tiB that at any rate the first part of the etory had no foundation, found it too soothing to his vanity not to c-ncoura^^e a belief in it. Thi« generally accepted version of tiio stnt,; (f 174 Tke Notary s Daughter, the case eQabled bim to bear his disappointment with equanimity, and the idea that he might main- tain friendly relatione with Madame George d.e V6del)es after her marriage with a man 3he wad Bure to hate and despise kept him from openly re- senting the way in wbich her father had behayed to him. As to the Richer family . who were restrained by no such considerations, they were load and bitter ill thoir abnfeC' of the notary. The Croixfonds, who had also been thrown over byJ\r. Lesculle, vented their resentment by taking part with the Richers. Ic was carious to see how on this occasioF; the representatives in Li Ciotat of a penarious aristocracy and < f a wealthy de- mocracy T/e.:e for the time being united by a sense 01 common wrongs. This momentary fusion of the two oamps produced a somewhat formidable araojnt of hostility. M. Lescalle saw this very plainly, and did not like it at all. Ee hated a struggle. His character was peaceable as well as ambitious, and what he wanted was to cany his point without an open breach with anybody. The sen&at^'o*! produced by tliis marriage began to dis- quiet him, and he was particularly afraid of theso drawing-room agitations reaching the ears and ex- citing the feelings of his electoral clients. He knew very well that the lower classes in town and country do noi. easily interest themselves in discussions of this sort, but that they are quite capable of being roused to it if they become loud and prolonged. The circumstances were impera- The Notary's Daughter* m i tivo ; there seemed but one thing to do, and that was to hurry on the immediate conclusion of the marriage. That onco accomplished, discussions would be useless, and tlie subject soon dropped. With this \iew he expedited all the necessary pre*iminaries and preparation?, alleging in his rea- son an argument most powerful in the eyes of tho Comte de Vedelles and his eldest son — viz., tho nt- cessity of his going, without loss of time, on a round of visits to the voters in order to secure their support for Jacques de Vedelles. ViThen everything was ready, and then only, he wrote to Aunt Mode to urge her to come back. He had taken care in his letter not to inform her fully of tho state of the case. Wiicn he announced to her Rose's marriage ho spoke of his future son- in-law as tho son (f t!ie Comte de Vedellos, and poor Mis6 Mode never had any doubt but that it was Jacques who was going to marry her darling. The notary's posiiion had become desperate from the moment he had burned his ships with regard to any other alliance than that with the Vedelles, and he felt it impossible to stop at half measures, so ho intercepted Rose's appealing letter to her aunt, and reasoned himself into the belief that he was acting in the best way for his daughter's hap- piness and peace of mind. Tiiat tho marriage must take place was a matter of course, and much tho best thing that could happen to her. There- fore it would clearly be wrong not to prevent by every means in liid power the bad effects which Aunt Mode's unreasoning tenderness and her ex- 176 The Notary's Daughter. aggerated scruples, founded on idle, groundless re- ports, might produce in tlie girPs mind. K'ot hearing from Rose lierself, Mis6 Med6 said to herself : " The dear child is too full of lier hap- piness and too busy, I suppose, about her trousseau to write to her old auut. Never mind, the sight of her sweet, bright face when we meet will teil me more than any letters can do." It seemed an if fortuitous circumstances con- spired to favor M. Lescalle's schemes. One morn- jug the Mayor of La Ciotat walked into hi3 office. "My dear Lescalle," he said, **was it not on Thursday next th.'»^ 've ^/ore going to marry your daughter?" " Yes, my dear sir; at ten o'clock on Thursday n orning." ''Oh J I tliouglifc 80 ; but I have come to ask if you would mind delaying it a litile. The prefect has written and invited nie to stay with him for two days. He wants to speok to me on some important business, but I shall bo homo again on SAUirday evening." ** ^rhen that would put off the marriage to the following Monday ?" *'Yes." ThitJ did not aj. all suit M, Lescalie^s views.. To wait till Monday was to leave Mis6 M6fl6, who waa to arrive oii Wednesday night, tho ove of the day fixed for liu^ civil marriage, for four days longer lo cry with t nd over Rose, a, C \ .rt)*f»^ stir her up to jgifltanco. That woai'i 'i'^^i^'-^^fv ■Pi The Notary's Daughter. 177 Suddenly a bright thought struck the notary's mind. ** When do you go ? " he asked the mayor. "We'luesday eveuing." "Then how would it be if, instead of postpon- ing the marriage, .we were to fix on Wednesday, iu- stead of Thursday, morning for ihe ceremony at the Mairie. Wculd that be inconvenient to you ? " " Not in the least." " You can arrange for Wednesday r " *' Perfectly." "Well, then, I think we shall settle upon tli.it. I shall go at once and arrange it with M. d;,' Vc~ delles." "How will it be about Mile. Mede's arrival ? Can you get her here in time ?" " Oh I I dare ''ay she will be here before Wednes- dfiy. We can wriie to her, you know. But if by any chance she did not come in time for your part of the business, M. le Maire, she would he present at the religious function, which will take place on Thursday. That, you know, is the chief thing in my Aunt Mode's eyes." This change of days ensured the desired object. Aunt Medo would not arrive before R fie's fate was fixed, and this was a great relief lo M. Lescallo. Mis6 Med6 had been rather suvprised that such short notice had been given her of the day of the mjirriage. She had only been left just lime to ar- rive in time. Her old relative had been getirjg better for the last fortnight. She took an affec- tionate leave of him, and ihen, with a heart as '^m P*T 178 The Notary s Daughter. light as a young girl's, she began her homevvard journej, full of joy at the idea of Rose'.s happiness. As she travelled from Monosqne to Marceillea,, and then to La Ciotafe, the most deligUtfui iilusious oc- cupied her mind. CHAPTER XIII. THE CIVIL MARRIAGE. "Few are the words which, once read over, to- tally change our existence and fix our fate \\\ life for evp.."* This was written by an English anihowss fifty year? ago, when the Anglican service was the only valid form of marriage for all persons in this coun- try, whatever migiit be their own i^eligion. But simpler and yet more dry is the purely civil cere- mony which in France seals, in the eye of t!»c law, the contract linking together for ever two human destinies. It seems so easy to write onc^s name at the bottom of a page of a register, and to give a monosyllabic answer to the question put to one by a gentleman in black, after reading aloud a string of official sentenced. The only valid part of the groat act called mar- riage wldch the law tiikes oognizancr» of k now no- thing more than a simple formility. Oj ! if young people thought more of what they weT© dmng, if tiiey considered the irrevocable nature of thoM ♦ "Marriage in High Ufo." i8o The Notary's Daughter. e;isily-attered worils, of that signature so sliglitly giveu, would they not oftener hcsifcute in following tJio impulses of their own impetuous self-will, or yioidiig too easily (o the persuasions of others? Would they not be more afraid of rushing, without j)rayer, without reason, without guidance, into an indissoluble union, tlie holiest of earthly vocations when sanctified by religion, the dreariest of bon- dages when unblest by human love and unsnstained by the grace of the sacrament ? But youth is thoughtless, it attaches little impor- tance to its own acts, it 'm prone to hope blindly, and hope makes it careless. The ouly undying re- collections connected with the marriage cerrmony, our French authoress says, are those of the roll- gious service which consecrates it. " Who," she asks, "rememb'^ra the Mairie whero th^y signed their names ? Who ever forgets the altar where they received the blessing of the priest ? " Whatever may have been the inward arugglep or secret despondency of Getrge do Vedelloa and Hose Lescalle, they made no i-emark and oiferi'd no op- position when their respective parents informed them of the day fixed upon for their marriage. A3 to Rose, she had been hourly expecting to hear from her Aunt M6de, whose continued and unaccountable silence was a perfect mystery to her. On thef3V0 of the day fixed upon for the marriage M. L soalle called hie daughter into his study. "Here is a letter fox' yoa, Rosette," he said— -"a letter from your Aunt Med6." Rose made a joyful exclamation, eagerly took the letter and carried it The Notary s Daughter. i8l to her own room, opened ifc with a beating heart, and read as follows : MoNOSQUE, Sunday. My beloved Kosette: lam deligi;ted to hear of your marriage vith M. do Vcdclles. His mo- ther is so good that I am sure her son must be good too, and if he is not everything we could wish in one respect, I feci sure that time and your in- fluence will work a great hangein him. I shall arrive at Ln Ciotat early on Thursday morning. Yon can reckon upon me, my darling. Your old aunt will be near you at the happy and important moment, dear Eosette, ard join her earnest prayers f )r your happiness to the blessing of the Church. A revoir, my dear child. I remain, your affectionate aunt, Mede Lescalle. This, then, was the final blow to Rose's hopes I This the answer to her impassioned pleadings. Aunt M4d^ mUmily rejoiced at her marriage, and satisfied herself wiiii hopes of a change in the one respect in which it did not seem to her completely satisfactory. " Time and my influence I " Rose ejaculated with bitterness. **WiIl they change a fool into a sensible man ? " But this last disappointmen^, if severe, entirely deprived her of all energy. She saw no option but to submit with a dull, &m\ resignation. On Wednesday morning the ^Jomte de V6delleg' carriage, driven by aeoachnganin fall Msety, passed through the streets of La Oiotat, and attracted to their doors all the inhabitanls of the little town. f||H|»|| 1 82 The Notary's Daughter, It stopped before the door of the Mairie, and all the family got out, Jacques first, iu his best looks, smiling and gracious, and then George, pale and pensive, but without any of that feverish agitation he had shown duiing the previous weeks. Whether from indifference or from self-command, nothing could be more simple and dignified than his man- nor. Every one was surprised. Those who did not know him had expected to see quite a different sort of person, and even his relatives were aston- ished at his composure. The Lescallo family arrived shortly afterwards. Madame Lsscalle did not attempt to conceal her self-complaconfc feelings. Her eyes glanced with a triumphant expression j'ound the room. The no- tary tried to assume ^a commanding appearance. Rose, though her eyes were red, behaved very well. Her mother had told her of the report in the town that she was breaking lier heai'fc for Artemon Richer, and this had put her on her mettle. She was resolved that nothing' in her looks or manner should countenance this supposition. Then M. Ic Maire camo in, and stood behind the long table covered with green cloth which, with some wooden benches and two wicker arm-chairs, furnished the room. Wearing his red official so irf round his thin figure, and with the bust of King Louis Philippe, in white plaster, forming a back ground to his mild and intelligent countenance, he proceeded t^ perform the ceremony. All those concerned in it felt at that moment a BorL of uneasiness, and a ratiier tronblesomo sense Tlie Notary's Daughter, 183 of having taken upon themselves a serious respon- sibility. George and Kose, though the saddest of the party, were probably more peaceful at » -art than their rela es. They were acting under obedi- ence, and their consciences did not reproach them. Madame de "^'cdelles was pile and nervous ; it so happened tha i minor cause of anxiety, but one which invo1^ed consid* able emba- rassment, was preoccupying her mind, and — such is human nature — somewhat tn- ing off her thoughts from the solemn considerations of the moment. It had been arranged that the Lescalle family should spend the rcso of the day at La Pinede, and that on the morrow, after the religious ceremony, M. and Madame de Vedelles iud Jacques, who had business to do in Paris wuich had beeu delayed on account of the w Idiug, wou'd take this opportu- nity of going there, and leave the chateau to the young couple for their lion y moon, returning in time for the business of the election. But that very morning the doctor, who had been Bent for, to see a housemaid who had been ailing for some days, h£.i declared that she had the scar- let fever, and gave the startling intelligence that the gardener's c 'ildren were all laid np with it. This had occurred just as the count and countess were dres iug and the carriage was at the door. George had had the scarlet fever, so on his account there was no great fear, thougli even in that case it would scarcely have bfon prudent to remain in the house, but for Rose to go there was clearly impos- sible. 1. 'm If IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) MA ^ t<:'^ y <«- 1.0 I.I 1.25 ■ SO "'^■' la 1.4 U4 IIM 6" 2.0 1.6 P 0. n >'.>■ > >' > > ^ V %" » °m^ PhotogiaphiG Sciences .Corporation r^ WEST MAI',' STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) «72-4503 ^ ^ \ iV \\ '^^^ "^S^^ ^^"- >J5* ^4^'%^ -.■•■V '^i$' w^ o^ _ . J_'_i The Notary s Daughter, To put off the marriage at the lafst moment was, under the circumstances, equally oat of the ques- tion, and whtre to send the young people the next day sadly puzzled Madanie de Vedclles. She drew Madame Lescalle aside as soon as the ceremony was over, and looked so miserable thac had it been be- fore instead of after the irrevocable act had been performed, that lady would have been greatly alarmed. When the state of the case was made known to her, she of course declared that Rose, not having had the scarlet fever, could not go near La Pinede, and for ft- moment sh3 paused and re- flected, and looked as distressed as the countess. But suddenly, to the inexpressible relief of both, she exclaimed: '* Wc have a little jo/ivt7tow a few miles off in the mountains, culK tl Belbousquet, rather a pretty sort of a villa, Wirv s'.iould not the young couple take up their abode there ?" <'By all means," Madame de Vedelles replied, brig'itcning up. And after some conversation with the count and M. Lescalle, and, for form's £ako, with George and Rose, the matt r was so arranged. The sick housemaid had been excluded from the rest of the household, and no danger was feared for the Do Vedelles in returning for one night to tho chateau. But as Rose was not to go there, it was decided that the afternoon should be spent at tho Oapucins instead, and provisions for a cold din- ner were hnstily sent there. This was a very trying arrangement to Rose. The sight of tho home of her happy cbikliiood, the rooms and the gardens The Notary's Daughter, 185 where she had placed as a little girl at her old Aunt Mede's feet, seemed to revive all tlje sharp- ness of her sorrow, and she had the greatest possi- ble t?;ouble not to break down. The hours spent there would have been mora tedious but for Jacques' unceasing lively talk. It was a relief to every one to smile at his playful sal- lies. His vanity, which had suffered from Deniee's refusal, was soothed, bis prospects for the eleciion as good as sure. Madame Lescalle not so bad after all, Uiough she was very vulgar, and Rose, as sister- in law, not to be at all ashamed of. So he was really in very high spirits, and showed off to great advantage. The De V^delles were in admiration of Mis6 M^d^'s house, of her picturesque garden, of the lovely view, " How I wish my sister had been here," M. Tjes- callc said^ " to do herself the honors of her dear Oapucins \ " This wish v/as too much for Rose to hear un- moved. She rushed out of the drawing-room upon the (errace and burst into tears. " Why don't you go and talk to your wife a little, M. le Baron/' Madame Lescalle said to George, who was turning over Mise Med6's books. " You ought to make yourself agreeable to her, and pay her a fc w complimer.ts. Young ladies liko that aort of thing, you *now." George took ko no; ice of the suggestion, but when Madame Lescalle was called away by her hus- band to discuss some question relative to the "fr^S?^ t • \ 1 . \ «• > The Notary s Daughter. umoanfc of furniture at BilbouEfquet he rose, ^venfc oiiL on the terrace, and slowly walked to the place where Rose was sitting. She did not notice his approach iHl ho was close to her. When she looked up and saw liim her countenance changed, ^he started back with un cxpi-ession of intense fear and aversion. Ho saw ir, fixed his eyes on her for a moment, and (hen turned away in silence. Shortly afterwards the party broke up. As they were standing at the door Madame Les- calle called her daughter '* Madame la Baronne," and made some allusion to her having soon a car- riage of her own. George heard her, and again he smiled in the same faint and unconscious manner as he had done when his father had explained the connection between his brother's election and his own marringe. Rose, who had not heard what her mother ^a.d said, noticed that strange, and to her unmeaning, smile, unnc off there with linen and a lot of things." "Then the young people are not going to La Pinede 'i " ''They were going there, but, as ill-luck would have it, Babc:te, the under-housemaid at the cha- teau, is iU of something catching, and everything ia in confusion." " Where is Rose ? " "She has not left her room yet, the poor dear child ; I suppose she is still asleep." "I shall go and see," Mise Mede said, and, scrambling over a pile of cushions and a barricade of footstools, the dear old lady rushed up the stairs, delighted at the ido^ that she would find Rose asleep, and that when her darling opened her eyes she would see her loving aunt watching the moment of her waking, and ready to give her the first kiss. The Notary s Daughter, 189 Rose's room was between ber motljer 8 bed- room and one in which M. Lescallc kept his papers and Madame Lascaile her pears, licr quinces, and her winter grapes. This receptacle of documents and provisions Mise M^d6 passed through, and opened the door of Rose's room. Struck with painful surprise, she stood on the threshold dismayed and astonished at the sight which met hi r eyes ; such a diffci-ent one to what she had expected, Rose's room, which was wont to bo always tidy and nicely arranged, was all in disorder. Portions of a magnificent trousseau covered the chairs and part of the floor, lace and ribbons and embroidered dresses were lying about in a strange state of con- fusion. A Icrge open drawer, where Rose kept her clothes carefully folded up, contained all the modest little wardrobe of her school-days. By the side of the coarse linen and plain frocks and collars of this scanty trotissean were lying books with worn out covers and soiled pieces of music, also some of those small things which have no value except as souvenirs — a little faded velvet pocket-book made by a favorite companion, the blue ribbons attached to the wreath won at the last distribution of prizes, a little image of the Blessed Virgin enclosed in an ivory case. Two cashmere shawls and several pieces of silks for gowns covered the bed in the corner of the room. But it was evident that it had not been slept in. Rose was indeed asleep when Mise Med 6 opened the door, but not in her bed. She was half kneel- ' ''''1! 1 1 ! I' \ .± ! Ji -" 'V, 5» tm; 'i ^"13 M i^ 190 The Notary's Daughter, ipg and half sitting on the step of a wooden prie- dieu, still holding in her hand her little rosary. Her other arm was resting on a chair covered with lace and embroidered pocket handkerchiefs. Sleep had surprised Ijer in this afctiiude, her head was lying on her arm and her thick and beautiful hair covering a part of her face aud of her white dressing-gown. She was dozing in that uncom- fortable position, hkc a child fallen asleep in the midst of its tears ; sobs now and again heaved her breas^ She looked suc.i a picture cf loveliness and grief that even a stranger would have been touched at the sight of that fair young creature, in the height of her beauty and her youth, thus weigh- ed down by grief. Wiiatmusfc that sight have been to Aunt Mede ! Sho went up to the young girl and tried gently to raise her up and lay her on her bed. Rose awoke, opened her large blue eyes, swelled with cryir.g, and when she saw her aunt started up and threw herself into htr arms with a sort of half-lov- ing, hi^r -despairing embrace. "What is the matter, my Rosette?" the g od old lady said. "What makes you weep so, my child ? " " Aunt Mede, Aunt M6de ! '* Rose exclaimed, struggling v.ith her sobs. " But what has happened, my darling ? Is your marriage broken ofE ?" *'0h ! no, no; would to God it was I It took place yesterday." " Yesterday ? " It The Notary s Daughter, tt 191 , ^ Yes jesterd^y. OU 1 i t i, dreadful." rfariin! V"""^ ;,'"^«''«t'»°'i wbat you mean, my rf^] ng. I passed before the church just aow and sav7 the preparations going on." vp1°^ ■' ^^'' ,"' "" ''""^'' 5 "^"t I "as married wliy did you not come back sooner.? 1 bad begge^i you so hard in my letter to come buck." n jouHetter ? Ine.er had a letter from you. «>i7ch,U. Wimtdilyoueayiuit?" '^ ' "I said all I could, Annt M«d«. I implored youtocomeandhelp me-tosa.e me; nowS £ ^te- Oh . dear, oh I dear. I am so wret-jhed ." and Boso ,vei,t as if her heart would break Mis6 Mede feh more and more perplexed. ^^ 0,d you cry like this yesterday, my darling ?" Ao yesterday pride gave me a sort of conr,.ffe I would not let people aee how unhappy I v^ ' ?orTtrt '"" "rr"-' t'-y would'aj I car d for M Artemon, and I could not bear that auvono should ,h,nk .0 for I did not at all wish to nCly mght that al my grief returned. I spent a part of then.ght ,n arranging my things. It seemed ironshf'Tn ^ '^'- ': "'^ ''■'" "^ ■> g^'-'- T"'« anHl fl, T^ """^ "^ ''W^ school-days, and all the plans and hopes I had about the fu- delrthfldl'^ '°" "' '"'"" "P"^"' '" "^ '■' y-' my dear aunt I now you know my fate is 1 .■ mmm^. 192 T/te Notary s Daughter, fixed, I can neyer louk to being bappy any more. This made me cry so muc'i that I thought my eyes would be blinded by bo many tears. How odd it is, dear aunt, that one is able to shed bo many tears 1 " *' Poor child ! " Mise Mecl6 said. '* At your age tears flow easily and plentifully, the fount is not dried up. La^.er in life we suffer more, but we do not weep so much." '' Then at last I had a gr)od thought, I tried to pray. I prayed very earnestly, and 1 tbink God heard me and had pity upon me, for ho made me fall asleep. Just now when I awoke and saw you I thought for an instant that my marriage was only a bad dream. But now it all comes back upon me, and 1 know it is irrevocable. I can neyer, never be bappy again." Miso MeJo had not interrupted Rose, in hopes that she would say something that would account for her sorrow and despair. But when her niece left off speaking she was as puzzled as ever as to the cause of all tins misery, and said with a sigh : ♦' Dear me, my child, what a disappointment this is. I thought you liked M. do Vedelles." *' Aunt Metle ! I hate him." " But what has he done, my child, to make you hate him ? " ^^ " I feel an aversion to him, and a sort of fear. " How very strange I You praised him so much that first day when you had seen him at La Pi- n6de." "I praise him I No; on the contrary ; when- Tlu Notary's Daughter. 193 ever I have seen him I was s'ruck witli his gloomy, unpleasant countenance.*' ** Indeed ! Yom* mot -cr said M. Jacques was so pleasing." " Good heavens ! *' Rose exclaimed, *• whom are you talking of. Aunt Mede? Don't you know it is M. George I have mumed — the other one — \X\q fadaf^ Miso Mode was thupdcrsl^ruck. M. Loacalle'd ingenious contrivances had completely succceJcd. The idea that Rose was to be married to George do Vedelles, to that strange, helpless, stupid young man, whom she had never heard mentioned but with a smile of pity, had never even entered her head. After the first moment of painful astonish- ment this sudden information produced in Mile. Lescalle a transport of impotu us indignation and anger. She rose without uttering a word, and walked towards the dooi. The impulse of her heart was to go and upbraid her nephew with the full forco of her indignant and outraged feelings for the unjustifiable manner in which he had acted towards his daughter. * But long habits cf self-control, the constant Eenyc of God's presence which had become the liabit of her soul, the diily practlo of submitting her every thought, word, and act to that divine Will which \' as the rult? of her life, enabled her even amidst the tumultuous impul cs of aflection, grief, and indignation which, like surging waves, rose in her Iieart to pause and ask herself what, in that terrible moment, was her duty to God and to her wronged and beloved child. i W|i (1(1 .Me it 194 Tke Notary s Daughter. Her souud practical spnse, sustained by her reli- gious principles, enabled her to see afc once that, as what had been done Tras irreyocable — though it might relieve her bursting heart to charge Rose's parents for what she felt to be a sin, though they did not see it in that light — that it would neither improve the position uorassna^;© the sorrow of her injured niece. The impulse was conquered. The "anger, which like a lightning-flash had convulsed her frame and blaiiched her c'leck, was subdued under the eye of Hii ^ whom in that hour she ardent- ly invoked, and then she set hcrsc'lf to the task which she knew he had assigned to her — the at- tempt to soothe, to strengthen, and io elevate that despairing young heart, so rudely dealt with by those who yet loved their child in their own way. She came back to her niece, took her on her knees as she used to da when she was a little child, and, kissing that sweet, pale, and tearful face, she said in the tenderest and most earnest manner : " My own Rose, I am grieved to the heart now that I know the reason of your sorrow. I suffer with you, my darling, and I lament what has been done." ** Oh I Iknewjou would, dear, good aunt that you are. Youy at least, love me." "Try not to blame your parents, my child, they fancied they were acting rightly and for yowr ad- vn,nta£,e, only they do not understand what you and I mean by happiness. The whole misfortune comes from that. Now the thing is done, and I want you, my darling, to listen to what my ear- _ xs^s^sm^sss^xtsismwismi^m msi^^S: ■'Mil The Notary s Daughter. ^95 nest aflfection for my dear child wishes to make her feel. "You must not give way, my own Rose, to tliia sort of despair- You must accept your fate with courageous resignation, and sec if it is not possible to look ou the future in a better light. You have now ceased to be a c lild. Yesterday's ceremony made you a wotnau, and you must try to be a good and sensible one. Instead cf looking back with regret and despondency, fix your eyes dispassion- ately on the future. Depend upon it, Rose, no one who has duties to i^erform, and a lovi-.g heart, need be really unhappy. I know thit at your age it is difficult to be satisfied with but a tolerable sort of existence. You had fancied that you were to be one lay intensely happy. You think that this can never now be tbo case, and your fate seems to you a very hard and exiraordiuary one. Mj dear child, tjie happiness you had pictured to your- self is of very rare occurrence. Tiiosc who have a ttrong power of loving do not often meet with a re! urn, and ic is perhaps still more terrible to lose a blessing once possessed than never to have had it. Many and many women have seen their hopes and their joys vanish before they nad scare, ly bee a realized. They havfe had to s;iy to themselves, ^ It is for ever at an end, that romantic bUss I thought I had secured.' They have felt as if it would be impossible to live without it, but they have done without it, and found in life a fair share of happi- ness. There are in your destiny some compensa- tions." 4 t, '^^k ^ ; n i ' > .»",'.• -" ■i 1 i - The Notary^s '* You are not going, Aunfc M6de, to speak to roe, like mamma, of my carriage and my gowns?" Rose bitterly exclaimed, spurning with her little foot the lace trimm ngs of her wedding-dress. "No, my c'iild ; wliut I allude to arc hlglier and better consolations than those. I want you to think of the duties which ilio sacrament of mar- riage imposes upon Catholic Christians, and the blessings attached to it. I wi^h you to reflect upon th:3 particular duties you are called upon to per- form. From this day forward an important task is assig' ed to you, young as yon are, and a great responsibility. The ordinary course of things is somewhat reversed in your case. Instead of be- coming the wife of a man who could guide and di- rect you, it is you^ 'ot to bo married to one whom you will have to w.i ch over, to lead, (o take oare of. My c ild, there is something sacred in such a mission. It is a holy duty assigned to a woman to be a kind of guardian angel to one weaker in every respect than herself. Yesterday you were a child, a though less girl. To-day you will begin to bo your husband's protestor, his counsellor, and his friend. You will be to him what his mother has been. You will teach him how sweet it is to bo cared for, and to care for others. And; who knows, his heart and Lis mind nujy expand in the genial atmosphere of domestic happiness, at ;1 you may be rewarded by witncscing a great cliange in Jiis moral and mental state. Love — he love which springs from the highest of principles and tho most sacred of duties ~-ira great worker of miracles ; but in any oii.e mr¥'m The Notary's Daughter, 197 "cBpIv"! la not a higher or a swecster mission than to bind t!ie wounds of the heart. Infinite graces, heayenly blessings vdthout number, aescend upon those who devote themselves to this task. Believe me, dearest Hose, those who mako sacrifices to duty, who accept the chalice which the will of their Father in licaven holds to t'^eir lips, and carry their cross with courage after their sufferinpj Lord, kiiow deeper and truer joys than those of selfish or worldly souls, who thnk of nothing but t'leir own enjoyments/' Seeing that Rose was listening to her attentively, Mis6 Mode's hopes increased of finding in her nieco cipabilities for the sort of heroic virtue which alono can stimulate the s.ul to look upon life and its (rials in a supernutural point of yiew, and lift it up hi^^h enough to accept, ahnosfc with joy, an excep- tional destiny. Encouraged by this hope, she be- came eloquent, as people always are when inti- mately pvi'suaded of a truth themselves and ar- den ly desirous to im;>art to others a holy entnusi- asm i k the right direction. She lid not even allude to tiie sorry advantages of fortune and lank, but continued to touch the chord which had found an echo in the heart of the young bride. It is wonderful how some natures find lief in the midst of veiy s'xvere trials by a view placed be- fore thcui of their own position in a light which had never struck them, and which responds (0 their intuitive and undeveloped aspirations. Aftor two hours' conversation with her aunt t 't St 4: :^Mi^\ 198 The Notary's Daughter^ Bose was no longer liko the same person, and when Madame Lsscalle arrived, and came into her room to superintend her dan^'htei's toilet, she was imme- diately surprised at the change in her countenance. She looked serene and calm, and there were no tears in her eyes. ** Dear me, Rosette," she said, quite pleased, **how much more cheerful you look I Oh I I l.avo always said that M. le Mai re has a gift for chang- ing the mood of re mantic young ladits." "No, dear mamma; it is not M. le Maire who has this gift, but my Aunt M6de possesses it. She has said to me things this morning which have strengthened and enc mraged me." " Oh ! true. There }ou are. Aunt Mede, ar- rived just in lime. I did not see you at first. Y-u must excuse me, I am so flurried. You sec I liad to go to Belbousquet early this morning. Every- thing was to bo ready by this afternoon, you know. Oh I dear, atid now that I think of it I forgv^t tho crockery. There is not half enough at the pa- vilion. What can be done ? How will the poor children manage ? " "I can send some," Mise Mede uns veied, " and everything else that may bo wanted." •'That is indeed kind of you, Aunt Med6. I dare say I have forgotten a great many things. On s^uch a day as this one is apt to lose cne^s head." ** I am afraid, my dear Virginie, that you and your husband have strangely lost your heads sinco I went away," Mise Mede said in a grave and sor- rowful manner; and taking advantage of Rose The Notary s Daughter. 199 having been taken possession of by Th6reson and seated before the glass in another part of the room, she added : " My advice has not been asked, nor my wishes consulted. Whrvt is done is of course ir- revocable, and therefore reproaches wonld be superfluous. But," she continued, with two tears rolling slowly down her wrinkled cheeks, **it wll be no easy task, I can tell you, to reconcile this dear child to her lot. You have very hastii;^ dis- poser" of the destiny of such a charming girl. Kose is affectionate and not vain. It would have been far better to have given her to a low-born but honest and loving husband than to your melancholy and morose baron." Madame Loscalle littened in silence to Aunt Mede's observations, and not feeling able to reply to them, she thought the best thing to do was to break off the conversation. Glancing at the clock, she exclaimed, with affected surprise : " Good heavens ! how late it is. We have very little time left. Ought you not to go home and dress, AnutMedo?" " Mv toilette will not take much time. You need not be anxious about it, my niece. At what hour do we go to church ?" "At eleven." " I shall be in time," and then Mise Med6 kissed Sose, and with a look which conveyed all the love am' all the encouragement which a look can con- vey, sli3 departed. With heavy and lingering steps sh^ walked ahmg the road »he had so briskly and rapidly trod tuat very ' \ -- n 200 T/te Notary s Daughter, morning. The weight of her age ^eenied doubled by a load of grief which put to the severest test her strength of soul and Christian resignation. Ateleven the relatives and friends of the family as- sembled in the notary's drawing-room, and tlien pro, ceeded to the church. Everything went off very well. Those who had flocked there in hopes of witness- ing something out of the common way were dis- appointed. George 1 loked, as usual, very pale, but was perfectly calm. Rose was quite composed, and did net at all look like a girl married against her will. The Richer family, who had gone to the church rather expecting a scene, even perhaps that the bride would faint, coiild not report any particular appearance of emotion to Artemon. He was rather affronted that what h§**called " the execu- tion " had passed off so quietly. " After all," he said, '* the girl is only a preity doll, at this moment under the delightful influence of cashmeres and trinkets. We shall see how long this resignation will last.'* And then he walked off to the Estaminet de la Marine, and played a pool at billiards. Three persons had been praying very hard dur- ing the cercmoiy — Mise Mede, who continued to command her feelings lili it was over, but who afterwards nearly fainted away in the sacristy, Madame de VedclleH, who, in spite of the smooth- ness with which everything had gone on, felt anxious misgivings as to the future, and poor old Vincent, who bad never been able to make up his The Notary's Daughter, 201 mind to wjsh his young master j .y of his marriage, partly because he had been looking as sad, if not sadder, than usual since is had been announced, and partly because he disapproved of what he con- sidered a mesalliance, and thought it a great shame to have married Baron George to the daughter of a notary m a wretched little provincial town. He had declared that his old legs would not carrv him to the church that morning, and de- cUneo (he off r of a seat in M. de V^delles' second carriage. But still, after all, Vincent was there, his gray head bowed down in prayer during the service, and when the young people drove away after the marriage breakfast his eyes followed tho caUche as it went down the Rue Droite. With a thoughtful expression, and with his hands behind his back, he walked back to La Pin^de, whence the count, the coumess, and Jacques departed that evening for Paris, . JJ iSsil ) m % ? 1 U ,i"i ^m^ i^m^ 'M^-3)m^, CHAPTER XV. BELBOUSQUET. Belbousquet would hnve been the beau-ideal of a place for a happy honeymoon. The little yilla was siiuated amidst the hills, in a most beautiful position. In M. Lescalle's bachelor days it had been — during the holidays — a resort for himself and his friends. Many a jovial and rather riotous party had made it a scene of festivity. But when be married th3 shooting-lodge was turned iuto a country-house, ard he had intended to spend there part of the summers, buc Madame Lescalle would not hear of it. She declared that nothing would induce her to inhabit such a desert and seclude herself from the social resources of La Oiotat. Every year she came there for one week, in order to superintend the vintage and the gather- ing in the olives, ai^d thought tlioso days the most tedious of the whole year. Like many women accustomed to the narrow atmosphere of a small provincial town, Madame Lescalle hated the country. Nature had no charms whatever for her. At La Ciotat her house had a rather large garden, but she never set her foot in it. Two dozen hens, old Th6r6son's special favor- The Notary's Daughter, 203 iteE, took posBossion of it, and the maids, oa wash- iug daj8, used it as a drying-yard, Madame Lescallo piqued herself on being an ex- cellent housekeeper, and had no idea of losing her time in taking walks. It was quite exercise enough for her to worry her servants, and ascend and de- scend ihirty times a dny tlie stairs which led from her drawing-room to her kitchen. On Sundays she almost always walkei for half an hour on the Tasse, not indeed to enjoy the magnificent view of the sea, but to meet people, which meant from twenty to thirty persons whose faces, and, generally speaking, their gowns, were familiar to Ler. These acquaintances met, bowed, or conversed on the event of the week, whatever it happened to be. As to the young people who were now going to stay at Belbousquet, neither of tlem had objected to tho proposed arrangement. In George's state of mind he would have acquiesced in anything which saved him the trouble of a discussion, and Rose rather preferred to be out of the way of her mother's gossipping friends, Belbousquet owed its name to a grove of ilexes, planes, and beam -trees, kept constantly green and cool by a pretty stream of very clear water which flowed from a rock at the top of the hill. All sorts of gay plants and flowering shrubs lined its banks instead of the dusty hollies and stunted pines which generally grow on the hills of Provence. The house was small, fiat-roofed, and covered with red, rounded tiles. The shutterless windows were protected from the sun by white linen awnings. '& ■ \ ■J ^ -6 204 The Notary 5 Daughter, Those of the ground floor opened on a verandah, around the pillars of which a magnificent vine en- twined its boughs and rich foliage. That red roof, those white awnings, and that festooning vine gave to this little abode the appearance of a tiny Italian villa. For many years its only inhabitant had been an old and very intelh'gent gardener, who had at last arrived at thinking himself sole master of the place. This feeling led him to tuke more pains in improving the garden than if he had been under the impression that he was working for other peo- ple. Thanks to the brook, he lad euceeeded in surrounding the grounds with tl ose shady covered green walks which are called cJiarmilles in France, taises in Provence, pleached bowers in Shakspere's plays, charming retreats which attract imprudent birds, and leave them ut the mercy of Provenyal ahooters. But the winged denizens of the taises of Belbousquet had nothing of the kind to fear, and in the spring their concerts were so sweet and }oud that it was quite a pity that they should have been so long wasted on the desert air, or i\\% equally insensible ears of old Simon. One day Madame Lescalle took it into her head that the grass on the hill of Belbousquet could very well feed half a dozen gouts, and that their milk and cheese would be profitable to her menage. So she bought the fcix goa;s, sent them to her country louse, and desired Simon to look after the said animals and make the most ol them. This did not at all suit the old man. He uttered such The Notary's Daughter. 205 loud and incessant complaints that lie bored liis mistress into allowing him four francs a month to pay a girl to attend to them. Even this was not easily managed, for the wages seemed scanty enough even at La Ciotat. For some weeks Mas-' ter Simon was obliged to take caro of the goa(s himself, and he '~o earnestly set about it by kick- ing and ill-using them that the poor beasts would Eoon have given him no further trouble if xi woman from Cereste had not brought one day io Belbous- quet a candidate for the situation. Tliis individ- ual was a little girl between eleven and twelve called Ben6ite, who had never done anything in her life but look after goats. Old Simon engaged her at once. Lirtle Bondite was as wild, as simple, and as livc'y as her own goats. From the age of three or four she had lived in soUtude in the mountains, and cared only for the sky, for the clouds, for the brook, and the wild flowers. She loved the birds that she had tauglit to feed out of her hand, and the iupects that buzzed over the wild thyme, and the squirrels that jumped from one branch to an- other ; but as to people, she knew as little of them as i>ossible, and was the most untaught, strangest, and yet cleverest little creature imagin- able. As ehy as a fawn, afraid of nothing iu the mountains, she did not mind sleeping on beds of leaves and spending the night sometimes in caves on the hill-side quite alone, but not for the world would she have vcutuiod on the Jiigh road or into Lh Oiotat 1 1 :..?«iiiio^ 206 The Notary's Daughter. The old gardener and the little saTage got on irell together, but scarcely exchaoged ten words in the course of a week. He used to get up at break of day, but cTen before he appeared in the garden Ben5ite and her goats were off to tbe mountains. And at night both were so tired that they hastened to retire, he to his little room hung round with garlaude of onions, and she to her bed of dry leaves in the garret. To supply for the deficienc'es of this very primi- tive houselic Id, the active Ther^son had volunteered to accompany the newly-mamed pair and bury licrcelE in that solitude. Having been in the bouse before Rose's birth, she folt herself called upon, she said, to give her this proof of attachment. Very few words had been spoken by George and Kose as they drove from La Ciotat to Belbousquet. He had asked one or two questions as to the en- virons of the villa, and remarked on the beauty of the country. She had spoken of the fineni ss of the day, and mentioned the names of some of the villages they passed through. When they arrived at Belbousquet she went in- to the little drawing-room, and he followed her. She seated herself at the window and looked at the flower-beds. He stood for a moment before the chimney, filled with evergreens, aiid then, going up to Rose, gave her a letter addr«^ssed to Madar ^ laBaronne George de Vedelles, and then went out of the house and walked up the little path skirling the brook. Rose felt strangely surprised at his writii g her a The Notary s Daughter, 207 letter. What could be its contents, its purport ? She looked at the handwriting. It was firm and distinct, nothing childish or uncertain about it. She was almost afraid of opening it, though she longed to do so. Perhaps it was a bit of nonsense, a hoax, or perhaps it was not from him. His mother had, may be, written to her eome advice or some kind words, and intrusted him with the letter. At last she unsealed the envelope and read as follows : " Wc have been united by the will of our parents. It i3 not our business to question the wisdom of their acts. I fancy that on both sides the object in view has been attained — my brother will be a deputy, and you are Madame la Baronno de V6- dclles, with all the advantages, whatever thdy cray be, that this title secures. "Two days ago I expected that our lives would be spent much in the same way that many other peo- ple spend theirs whoso destiny has not been left to their own choice. I was prepared to find in you all the good and amiable qualities which you are said to possess, and which I am convinced you do possess, and I fully intended to try and make you as happy as under the circumstances it was possible for yon to be. My own faults and deficiencies, which I am but too conscious of, I hoped to make up for by kindness and constant attention to your wishes. These were my thoughts and ideas when I left the Maiiie, where we had been irrevocably united in the eyes of the law, and such they remained until a moment which you must omember, one t I ^ I I 208 The Notary s Daughter. which decided our whole future. You had left the drawing-rocm at Lcs Capucins in tears, and I saw you sitting alone on the terrace in an attitude of great desponder.cy. Affcr some hesitation I fol- lowed you. Your preoccupaiion was so great that you did not notice my approach till I came near you. You turned round, and then in your young face T perceived sucli unmistakable tokens of fear, aversion, and Ox contempt that I saw at onco that you loathed the very sight of me. I can never for- get tliat look. From that moment my mind was irrev'cably made up. As irrevocable us our appa- rent union is my determination never to oblige you — nay, never to suffer you — to consider me as your husband, save in exterior appearance, and that only for a short time. I own that it was almost a relief to me when vour mother more than hinted, at a subsequent period of the day, that my title and my father's liberality compensated for my own demerits. I felt that I could leave you for ever to enjoy those advantages, unburthened with the presence and society of one whom you hate and despise. " I suppose you will agree with me that in order to spare tbe feelings of our respective families and save them annoyance, which I tliink we should both wish to do, however mistaken has been their line of conduct in our regard, it will be desirable for both of us to inhabit this house for a short time, but I solemnly promise tliat 1 shall inflict as little of my society ae possible on you, and that ?ery booq I shall take my departure for ever. The ak£Bsii;t Tlie Notary s Daughter, 2og blame of the separation will rest with me. Once effected, I shall communicate my decision to my father, and make arrangements to settle on you two-tliirds of my income whilst I live ; your jointure is secured by our marriage settlement. ** Should you wish me to go away at once T am ready to do so. You have only to write to mo a note to that effect. Tf you do not miie I shall conclude tlrafc you assent tc my reaiuining here a short time, on as distant a fooiiug as t )e most perfect stranger. I earnestly wish I con Id restore to you your liberty, but as that is not in my power, I earnestly hope that you may find happiness in the society of your family and friends and the inno- cent pleasures of the world, which your position will enable jou to ejjoy. ** George did Vedelles.' Astonished almost to bewilderment, Roso held this letter in her hand, trying to underptand. her own feelings, and to define them. OouM the per- son who had written U be the weak-headed young man wiiom people had described as deficient in or- dinary capacity and unable to take care of himself ? What was she to think of his determination ? Was it a right or a wrong one ? Ought she to feel glad or sorry ? Was it a great relief or not ? Was it true that she had shown him the aversion slie f(;lt for him ? She questioned her conscience and her memory, and both reminded her of the in- ward feeling which had, it seemed, manifest* d itself so visibly and so offensively, and, as he said, decided tbe who)e of thtir future existence. mi I] 210 The Notary s DaUghtsr, Had this announcement been made io lier the day before, she would have felt indeed startled at the idea of all that was involved in it, but relief would have been her chief sensation ; but since her conversation that morning with Aunt Med 6 a change had co^ic ove* her spirit." She had enthusi- astically accepted the idea of saci ifico and self-devo- ticn presented to her. Sue bad dwe!t on the thought of beirg a guardian angel, and it was a somewhat abrupt tranbiticn (o be discarded as a worldly creature, who had married for the sake of position and fortune, to be abandoned by the per- son to whom she had meant to devote herself. The situation was altogether changed. Aunt Med6's advice;. ad exhortations no longer apjilied, and Rose sat with her head leaning on her liand, feeling as if she was in a dream, and longing to awaken. ** Of course," she thought, *'I cannot wri e and tell him to go away ar. once, and have Ther6son sending for papa and mamma and throwing every one into an agitation, I never can ask him to change his mind as to this resolution, he speaks so determinedly, and after all it is not my fault, and in some ways I shall be much happier if ho does go away and leave me, strange, extraordinary being that be is. I suppose I did look at him iu a way tbat must have mude a man_very angry ; somohow I never thought he would perceive or feel it. And then mamma talking in that way to him 1 One th.iig I know — I will not have any of his money, and i wish I could give up being called Madame la Ba- ronnc. Perhaps 1 shall write to-morrow to Aunt The Notary's Dauber, 211 M6d6 and ask her to advise me, or perhaps I shall put It off for two or tlirie days and see what hap- pens." ^ Nothing happened. Ge)rge went out with his gun early in the morning, and, followed by his dcg Wasp, wandert^d about the hills and woods as he used to do at La Pinede. Rose sat in the drawing- room with some work in i)er hands, or strolled in the garden gatliering flowers which she afterwar jg threw away. They met for mealc, and then said a few words to each other in a cold and constrained manner, and Rose wondered how long this sort of life was to last, and whether he would go away without giving her any further notice of his depar- ture. Erery morning she took np her pen to write to Aunt Medo, but a strange nervousness mada her put it off from day to day. One evening she met George coming into the hall with his game-bag in his hand, which seemed quite full. " You have been successful to-day," she said, glancing at his bag. ** No," he answered, "I have not killed anything to-day," and then went U[) the stairs. " Not killed anything," A\q thought to herself, *' and what, then, I wonder, does he carry in that bag." And glancing around her to see that she was alone, she peeped into it, and to her surprise saw that, instead of birds and rabbits, it contained books. Hearing footsteps in the passage, she has- tily went into the drawing-room, but not before she had ascertained that one of those books was a ■I .J 212 The Notary s Daughter. volume of Sliakspere's plays and another th« "Life of St. Dominic," by Lacordai'e. *• What did it uaean ? " she asked horcclf. " Does he read during those long hours he spends in the woods ? Shall I ask him if he is fond of books ? Ho never seems inclined to talk to me of anything interesting. I feel so like a fool whc we are sit* ting opposite to each otlier at dinner. If it was only out of curiosity, I should like very much to converse a little with him ; but I am so afraid of seeming to wish to de ain him here after that strange letter and his irrevocable resolution that I am t'le Grst to leave the room when our meals are ended." Sunday came, and Rose wondered what George intended to do about going to church. She said to him the evening before : ** Mass is at nine o'clock at the parish church." ** Yes," he answered ; ** but I meaa to hear Muss at Cereste at six o'clock in the morning, and to walk afterwards across the hills to St. Laurent. If you will excuse me, I shall not como ! ome for dinner, Bendite's mother will give me something to eat." Rose felt sad, and as she walked to the village chuicb, about half a mile from Belbousquet, a strange sort of depression came over her, very dif- ferent from all she had suffered before. , She was not 8atis6ed with herself, and yet she hardly knew that she had cause for self-reproach. The future scerried so indefinite. It almost appear- ed as if she ought to be glad of the change in heir The Notary's Daughter, destiny. Had she not told her parents, anci be- lieved it, that her wish was to remain unmarried and live with them. And would not Aunt Med6 be glad to get back her child ? But the more she put into shape the prospect before her tlie more her despondency increased. Prayer did not com- fort her, for she did not know what to pray for. She had no wishes, and she did not know how she ought to act. Still she felt an inoperable dislike to the idea of speaking of George's letter even to Aunt Mede. As to her parents, she never could tell them of it. Jf Ihe separation took place, they would hear of it from others, not from her. She heard Mass, and listened to the cure's jt?rd/ifl with a dull, heavy weight on her heart. When she returned to the silent house where she was spending eo many hours alone she caught herself throughout the day looking somewhat anxiously down the ave- nme to watiJih for George's return, and when she heard his step in the hall was angry with herself for being pleased he was come back. He was very tired wit!i his long excursion, said his head ached, ate little at supper, and soon after- wards went to his room. She longed to ask him if she could get him anything for his headache, a cup of strong coffee, or wiiat in Provence they called an infusion of tea, but her shyness with him had be- come so great that sheci>nld not bring herself io say even the commonest things in an ordinary manner, and she lost the opportunity of showing ',im this tnfling attention. She did, indeed, desire Th6- reson to go and ask him if he wished for au3?thing. 214 TJie Notary's Daughter, »!'> *I*be commission was executed, but in a Tery un- gracious manner. Thereson, not unnaturally, had taken a great dislike to George. She considered him slill in her own mind as a /at/a, and, moreover, a very cross and disagreeable one, and when she looked at Mise Rose's sad, pensive countenance, the diminution of her bloom, and the black hue under her eyes, she often felt a strong rising desire to do some bodily harm to M. le Baron, which word she always pronounced with intense contempt, or at any rate to give him a piece of her mind. Two or three days later Rose was sitting at the window of her bed-room, which looked on the road, wondering whether any one would come to see her tliat day. She expected her mother's visit on the following Thuivday, that had been agreed upon when she left home, but Aunt M6de or her father might be coming. She dreaded the thought of it, but still longed for somctliing to break the sort of spell that seemed to hang over her. These musings were interrupted by the loud barking of George's dog. She raised her head, which had been resting on both her hands, and lo \ed eagerly at the road. Perhaps some one was arriving. No, but there was Bcndite stand- ing near the gate with a great load of grass on her head, Slie was vainly trying to collect together her scattered goats. Frightened by Wasp's barking, thoy were rushing about in every direction. The child laid down her burthen, and running after the terrified animals, chased them one after another and drove them into the stable. She then The Notary s Daughter. 2K tried to replace the heap of grass on her head, but, exhausted and breathless with the efforts she had made to reassemble her desk, twice she failed in her attempt to raise it, and down fe!l the grass at her feet. George arrived at that moment, and seeing the little girl's distress, he helped her to lift up the load and to balance it on her head, and walking slowly by her side, he said a fe\v words to her. Be- n6ite answered, and they continued to converse. Rose could not hear what they said, but she watched their countenances, and was surprised to see that when they came into the garden they still went on talking. The child stood leaning against a maple-tree, and George, leaning on his gun, stood listening to her chattering with evident interest and pleasure. Once or twice ho smiled kindly as he spoke to the child, and that smile on his pale, melancholy face was like a ray of sunshine on a sad landscape. Rose was struck with the expression which that smile gave to his countenance. She had, strange to say, never looked attentively at George till then. Before their wedding day, aversion, an J, sincn she received his L tter, an unconquerable shyness, had piovenfed her from fixing her eyes upon him. For the first time she was looking at him without fear of being seen, and cs he stood there talking with Ben6ite she watched him with intense attention. It struck her that hia features wtre regular and refined, his ..ands whii;e and well-shaped, and hia figure graceful. « 2l6 The Notary s Daughter, " If he was more like other people," she thought, "he would be very handsome." At that momenc Th6reson came into the room, and observing that her young mistress was noticing the conversation going jn in the garden, she said : '^ Ah ! there is M. le Baron talking again to Be- n6ite." "Oh I he takes notice of %er, does he ?" Bose said, trying to look indifferent. " '^h I dear, yes ; M. le Baron, who has not a word to throw to a dog in this bouse, often favors Bc- ndite with his society." '•I wonder what she can be telling him that seems to interest him so much ?" " Oh ! for that matter, I suppose like takes to like. She is a queer, wild imp whom nobody would care to talk to but a — I mean a sort of gentle- man like M. le Baron. She is half crazy, is Be- n6ite. You never knew such a head as that child has got, Alrays full of ideas without head or tail, which she strings together and makes songs of, and then she speaks of flo\^ ers us if they were peo- ple and of birds as if they were Christians ^and she is as obstinate and as perverse as a wild-cat. And there was M. le Baron yesterday telling her a tale about fairies, and showing her some shells. I don't know where he got them from. I declare it can only be the likes of such a little savage as that who could tamo her." Thereson. working herself up to a state of indig- nation, was on the point of giving vent to all the anger with which the was bursting against Oeorgo The Notary's Daughter, 217 de VMelles, but Rose cut her ehort, and said in a dry manner: "Tlmb will do. It is not your business to criti- cise what M. de V6(l8lles docs." **0h ! if madame is satisfied with the life that she leads here, I have notliing to say against it." And Th6reson folded her hands in an attitude of r signation. Bose, to change the subject, asked : " What is that case I saw Simon and the waggoner carrying up-stairs yesterday ? " "Does not madame kno^ ? It comes from Paris and was sent to La Pinede. M. Vincent sent it on here. M. le Baron had it opened early this morning, and spent some time tnking out the books that were in it. The floor of his room is covered with thom. Such a mess as it is in ! all the straw and brown paper and string thrown about. Did not madame hear the noise he made stamping up and down \yhilst ho unpacked thom ? " "No, T slept very late, I had a bad night, and felt tired." " I am sure I don't wonder at that, or at your looking ill, Mis6 Rose." "i am not ill, the a'r of this place is very healthy." ** The air indeed ; oh ! I dare say ; I am not talk- ing of the air." •M think you had better go and look after the dinner now, M. de Vedelles is coming in." ■44 n^jiiiiiMftlLjj' CHAPTER XVI. A CEISIg. . ZoK understood that this was a hint to hold licr tongue and leave the room. She went down to the kitchen, and, once there in her own domain, allowed lierself the relief of speaking out her mind to old Simon. She had already told him a great many things during the hour he sat every evening cooking his onion soup and frying the eggs for his supper at the corner of her stove. The aged gardenor proved a very safe confidant. He was as deaf as a post, but knew how to make up for the answers — nob generally to the purpose — which he made to the communications addressed to him, by a play of countenance expressing alter- nately assent ai;d surprise, in a way which gene- rally satisfied lis loquacious companion. So she abused George to her heart's content, declared that she was not going to allow Mise Rose to be snab- bed by a good-for-nothing, ill brought up fada of a baron, who preferred the society of a half-witted creature like Ben6ite to that of his own wife, tho moit charming girl in tlic whole country. This should not go on. She would tell her parents how ill he behaved to her, and, shaking violently her 218 The Notary's Daughter, 219 saucepan, in which she was making a favorite dish of ti.e country, called a houille-abaissey she, for the first time in her life, spoilt it. Tiiis did not im- pr AC her temper, and whilst waiting at dinner 8 c darted angry glances at the xincjiiscious and silt'UL George. That day as she sat opposite to him at the littlo table where they had th^ir meals Rose could not help now and then raising her eyes to his face and contrasting its sad and indifferent expression with t le animation and the smiles she had noticed when he was talking to Bendite. After dinner the post, which only rcachca Bel- bousquet three times a week, brought some letters and newspapers to George, and a note from Ma- dame Lesoalle to her daughter, in which she said that M. Le calle had taken the horse and chaise for a two or three days' excursion to see some of his clients and c:invass t.eru in favor of Jacques de V6<1elles, and she should therefore delay a little her visit. Rose had written two days before to her mother a letter, in which, without saying any- thing untrue, she had managed to make it appea" that she was well and happy. She had dwelt on the charms of the viHa, and described how much M. de Vedelles admired the country. What long walks t'icy took. She did not say that each went out alone. And then she praised Thereson and said how comfortable she made them. Madame Lescalle, finding all was going on so smoothly, thought it better to leave them, for the present, to themselves. Mise M6d6; to whom she M iH\ * 11 ^ * JO The Notary s Daughter sliowt^d the letter, wus of tliu same opinion, and so, to Thereson^s great disappointment, no visitors ap- pparcd. Evar since Rose had seen George talking to Be- ndite she had \vatchHd for an opportunity of get- ting acqaained with the child, and fiauing out from her what were the things she spoke of to M. le Baron. This was no easy matter ; the girl was indeed, as Thereson had said, a wild little crea- ture, yery difficult to accost or to detain. After many vain attempts, she happened one morning that George was gone in another direction to find Benoito sitting on the edge of a well, surrounded by her goats, which had been drinking, and were now lying at her feet. She started up when she saw Mise approaching her, and prepared to run up the steep path that led to the mountains. But when Rose called out to her in the Provcnpal dialect, and said: "1 have got Fomething for you, Ben6ite, something which will make you see wondferful things — things you have never yet seen — on the wings of the beetles and in the hearts of the flow- ers," she st >pped and looked at her young mistress with a half-uoubtful, half-eager expression. Rose, having heard of tbo child's i^ssion for insects and flowers, had provided herself with a magnifving glass, the present of one of her school -fellows, which had bfien lying unused in her work-bag. She gathered a fjxglove and looked attentively through the glass at the inside of the flower, and, really astonished at the beauty of what she saw there, exclaimed, *'0h ! how lovely," upon which The Notary's Daughter. 221 the little girl islowly approacbed, like ti bird who longs to p ck up the crumb you throw to it, but, suspicious of your intentions, hardly yentures to come near enough. Ilowcver, when Rose sat down on the edge of the well and filled her lap with thyme, heath, and hare-bells, and then peeped into their secret folds, Bendito could no longer resist. When the glass was applied to ber eye, and she saw the wonders it revealed, a cry of delight broke from her. Catching a ladybird, she inspected it in the same way and her delight was unbounded. " Mv^nsicur would like to see with that eye," she said. " Will you let him ?" The child's question pained Ros<^}. "Monsieur often talks to you, I think, always about the flowers and ihe insecis ? " Oh ! about many other things, too." What sort of things ? Birds and shells, I sup- glass Is it a (C V" pose " Oh I yes, the shells. I hear the noise of tha sea when I hold them to my ear. Have you ever heard it?" "No." " Monsieur does though, and he can tell what the wind sings in the branches of the pine-trees, and what the swallows say to each other when they meet in the grove before they fly away. But I have toW him things he does not know. That is why he likes to talk to mc. * Benoite,' he says, * why is that cloud sailing so fast across the sky ? ' and then I answer that it is carrying a message from the islands out in the sea up to the tops of the -i ^1 i i ■ mm 1 I 'k < 1 ™1 •-..q i If'i 222 The Notary s Daughter. mountains where the snow always liuc, and then he asks me what the sunflowers are thinking of when they turn round to look at the sun as he sinks behind the hill, and I then answer that they are calling out to him, 'Come back again to-mor- row before the Angelus rings/ When I sing my songs to myself, mother and old Simon and that cross Th^reson call me a fool, but monsieur pats me on the head and says I am something else, a word I don't know." " What does it sound like ? " Rose asked. ''Little poet," the child replied, "And what has monsieur taught you that you did not know before ?" " Oh I so many things about the good God and the angels." *• But I suppose you had heard of the good God, Ben6ito, and you knew that there arc angels ? " "Yes, Mise, but not that it is the voice of t^e good God which speaks when it thunders, and that the winds do his bidding. Monsieur says that the mountains, aid the sea, and the sun, and the flow- ers sing ligether a liymn in his praise, and that I must vi - the same as I go about in the woods and fields, and then he tells me that when he goes away I must talk to ray guardian angel, my own angel, who is always with me though I do not see him, and that as he sees the face of our good God, he will teach me to love and praise my Father in heaven. The one I had on earth went away hefore I was born, and I am glad that the good God is my Father, and the Blessed Virgin is my Mother, The Notary s Daughter, 223 and tbe an^jOld my frieuds. I think monsieur \\ himself one of the angels of the good God. VVbca he speaks a song, for he does not sing his songs, ho speaks them to me, I find it more beautiful music than the organ in the church." Rose had listeutd to the child with a strange emo- tion. A vague idea was beginning to diiwn od her mind that George was not only not a fool — this his letter, that letter which she was always reading over, had at once showed her — bnt that he had thoughts and feelings which no one knew of, and whic I he probably considered her incupabie of ap- preciiting or understanding. One thing Ben6i£e had said stiack her as if it had st ibbed her to the heart, ** \Yhen he goes away." When, and hov7 soon, would that be ? Tiie words in his letter which spoko of his irrevocable determination to part with her for ever were remembered with a pang she coul 1 hardly account for. Could a week spent in ihe way ihe last week hud been spent, one in which he had behaved with cold, distant civility, and not even ai tempted to become acquainted with her, have wrought such a change in her feelings that she was actually dreading his departure, not merely from a sense that there was something wrong about it, thou(;h she could not clearly see who was in fault, but that she had begun to lo^k eagerly for the brief moments when a i'd^ words were exchanged between them as the interesting periods of the day, and that if she caught sight of his face at times when he was not a awaro of it, her eyes could not detacli thr/nselves from it. She had '!!■ :!i Tlte Notary s Daughter, sunk into a deep reverie, irom which she was aroused by Benoite saying: "Now I must take the goats to feed on the moor behind those trees to the left. We always go the :e at this hour, and monsieur generally comes home that way with Wasp, who has now made friends with my goats. He is going to tell me the story of a peasant-girl who was a little shepherdess like me and a great saint. Did you know, Mise, that little girls who take care of flheep and goats could be saints ? Will you come and hear the story monsieur is going to tel^ me ?" must hasten home, B'-^noire ; but to- morrow morning where will you be with the goats ? I will come to you and you will tell me that story." Dr wn by the side of the brook where it runs close to the wood, Mise. Good night." And Bendite walked away, followed by her goats. Rose went home. "I can never forget that Those words in George's letter seemed to haunt her. Had that look, that instant, indeed de- cided tlieir fate, as he had said, beyond change and recall. She had been wrong, she knew i^ to show feelings she now regretted had existed, and which liad disappeared and given way, if not to op- posite, at least to different, impressions. It had been indeed an almost involuntary fault as far as that ii.stant was concerne-J, yet she could not but remember that she \\^^ nurtured and encouraged in herself contempt and aversion towards the person she knew she must marry, which had prevented her from even trying to see in him anything better The Notary s Daughter, 225 than what her dislilie and ready belief of what others had eaid about him pictured to her. Again and again sLe asked lierself what could she do now that '(\s9i tables seemed turned. George really seemed to have conceived an aversion for her. The feeble efforts she made to conyerso with him on any but the rnost trivial subjects were met with a polite indifference and an utter absence of inte- rest. Then Rose felt her tenijjcr rising, and she showed a sort of irritation which she could not con- qu' r at the moment, and which yet she was con- scious might confirm him in the belief that it WG3 his presence which caused it. It was not strange that a young and (imidgirl in so difficult a position did not know how to act. It may indeed seem extraordinary that slie did not hasten to her Aunt Mise or write to her for advice, but a vague fear of bringing matters to a crisis by herscili taking any step, or acquainting even Mile. Lescalle of the determination George had formed, kept her silent. Mis6 Mode might think it right to speak to his parents and hers of the in- tended separation, and she abhorred the idea of their interference, either to make that separation a formal one or to compel him to alter his inten- tion. This feeling was so strong that it enabled her to reneiv her mother on ^\(i day after her first inter- view witi* Ben6ite with u smiling countenance, and to speak in a way which satisfied Madame Lescalle that, although, according to certain hints which Th6r6soi5 had given her during a brief conversation ,4; i^|w |lt il ' '"\ i iill 226 T/ie Notary s Daughter. in i.be kitchen, M. le B.iron was a very dall and silent companion, and that Mise Rose would soon . be ill if she continued to lead such a stupid life, her daughter was well satisfied with her lot. " But, Mignonne," she said, when Rose ex- pressed her wish to remain on at Belbousquet, "we could very well lodge you in town till La Pinede is purified ; and, between yor and me, I believe that stupid maid had nothing after all but a common rash. You can stay witli us until the comte and comtesse return, Yoi n> <> be longing to wearsome of your new gowi s. 1 have had tliera hung up in my large wardrobe. There is notli- ing so bad for dresses as to remain folded up in cases." **Iam sure that George likes better to be here than to go to town, mamma. This place suits him so well. He takes long walks into the mountains. He is gone to-day to the rocks of Entretat. J am sorry he will miss you.' *• And does he, then, leave you in t> \ my alone ? " " Oh I he heard you were coming, fiiu' > a, and — " Rose stopped, and then added, feeling that this sounded rude, "And I suppose he may have thought that we should like to be alone to- gother, George is very shy, you know.*' " Well, well, I suppose he will get used to mo in time, and the best way will be to bring iiim to us at once. What day shall it be ? Next Saturday? And then on Sunday, afer church, we can take a walk on the Tasse, and you can put on your bine Ike Notary s Daughter, 227 8ud white moire gown and your black lace bonnet with the white rose." "I uill speak to h;m about it, dear mamma, and wrireyou a note." ** 01^ I for that matter, my love, I hope jou are Dot g ,jng to place yourself on the footing of asking your husband what he likes to do. -^t any rate, during the honeymoon it is a matter of course that you do as you like ; and with such a young, inexpe- rienoed man— I mean the sort of man he is— if yuu manage well, 30U will always have the upper hand. I am sure this is what the De Vedelles wished. And if you Gnd any difficulty about it, I can make him quickly feel tiiat when we agreed to the mar- riage that was quite understood.'* Kose winced at this speech, and felt how dread- ful it would be to have her mother iaferferiug in her concerns. S) slie only answered that as tlioy hid hitherto not disagreed about anything, there was no occasion for any assertion of her right to have her oun way. Siie again expressed her wish to remain in tho country, and Madame Lescalle re- luctanty waived the point. A day or two afterwards, as Rose was standi g by a window in a back passage which looked on the garden, she saw George sitting on a bench with a bit of paper and a pencil in hii hand. His face, as he looked up, was full of expression, his eyea flashing, and his lips ^noving. He was writing ; now and then he paused, looked up, and then wrot weet Elizabeth I Bless all who S'^ell thy train. And let thy spl. it, dearest -aint, I^ver with us remeiin. Whilst the little girl sang Rose sat with her -ace covered with her hands, tears trickling down her cheeks. She made Ben6its repeat what she called St. EU'zabeth's song till she had committed it hersLlf to memory, and envied the child for whom it had been composed. When, some hours afterwards, she saw George writing in the garden, his face lighted up with an expression she^ad never observed in it before, slio guessed what he was doing, and a passionate desire seized her to collect the little bits of paper he had thrown aside and to decipher what was written on them. She waichcd him out of the grounds, and then furtively made her way behind the bench, and, 1 _-41 .'31 230 The Noiczrys Daughter, m on lier knees, carefully collected every fragment of ilie tora-up ebeet of paper and carried tbem up to her room ; then, locking her door, she patiently and carefully reassembled and adjusted the bits of writing, and with flushed cheeks and beating heart made out some lines whicli had a strange effect upon her. They seemed to her very beautiful poetry, a;.d deficient as she was in literary know- ledge, her instinct did not mislead Rose. The I'nes were full of melody — of the music of poetry — and they expressed forcibly strong and • vehement feelings. They seemed addressed to some one revered, wordiipped, and for ever lost, but not dead, for tliey called upon this being, as far removed from Lim who addressed her as if death had separated them, still to be llie guiding light of his sad existencj. Ho abjured that absent one not to forget in her hours of w rship before the silent altar, to send her ang«l with a n^cssage of strong til and peace to him, wlio, a/ter years of dull apathy, had been awakened to fctl, to think, and, after a brief gleam of illusive hope, to suffer, with an intensity which had roused latent powers, once possessed, long lost, and now regained. " In the homes of tiic poor," these lines went on to say, ** pray for the soul thou hast taught to love th« poor; by the bod ide of the d;.ing pray for him who often longs to lay down the Durthen of life and rest in a quiet grave, God speaks to thee in the silence of his sacramental presence, he speaks to thee through the eyes and through the lips which follow and bless tbeo in the sick ward or the !^t' wm The Notary s Daugktm, 231 house of poverty, and lie will permit thy words to win for nie strength to bear my fate, courage to go through life unloved and uncared for ; they will reach my soul in hours of solitude, spent in con- verse wilh nature and with that God who, when he sent thee to my help, saved mc from despair. Faith had waned, I 3pe had died, love had vanished from my soul; even though stamped with acute anguish, I welcome them again." A strange number of confused, agitated, start- ling thoughts rushed on poor little Rose's mind as she made out these lines and pondered over them* Their meaning could not be mistaken. He had cared for some one else, he had loved some one else. He still worshipped in some strange manner that one, whoever she was, whom he looked upon as a saint or an angel. " Then what businest had he to marry poor little mo ? '* she exclaimed to her- self, w* li a sudden feeling of indignation, and per- haps of jealousy; but conscience — and Rose's con- science was one of those clear and upright guides whifch did not lend itself to self-deceit — answered, " The same business you had to marry him when you felt you hated him." *' But a mar. should have more courage than a woman," the iiiward voice pleaded with some truth. But conscience again replied, ** He meant to try and make you happy ; his letj;er said so. And then you spurned him. You showed him you loathed his very sight. my God I my God I what a mistake I made. Are we both to pass through life, as ho s:iys, unloved and uncared for, bearing the same name, but .•II I ■ I l!«^'' ■ , i ll| \ f 1 i[fl 232 Hi^e Notary s Daughter, strangers to each other, strangers as wo now are, and soon to part for ever ? Bat who i i this woman who ho thinks lias been a blessing to him, and yet made him saff r so terribly ? Who can she be ? Will tliey meet again ? By what the yerses say she must bo vory good, a great deal at church, and tak- ing care of poor people. I won.lcr wiiere she lives ? I suppose I shall never know. I was thinking yes- terday of trying to show him that I no not dislike him, tliatlcould like him very much; but now that I find that ho cares about somebody else, per- haps that would only make him hate me." For two long hours Rose mused in this way, and was only disturbed from these absorbing thoughts by Thtireson's knock at the door and somewhat im- patient announcement that dinner was on the table and M. le Baron in the dining-room. She hastily came down stairs, and was so preoccupied that if George had paid the least attention to her looks he must have been struck with it ; but he was, if pos- Bible, more silent and abstracted than ever. Rose, remembering the expression of his face whilst he had been writing the verses which had thrown her into BO great an agitation, could hardly believe he was the same person now sitting opposite to her, and only uttering, at long intervals, some common' place observation. She became painfully nervous, answered in an impatient manner, and spoke crossly to Zon be- cause, in clearing away the things, she had knock- ed two glasses against each other. Ho seeme( surprised. ilii The Notary s Daughter. 233 At lasf, when llie servant bud left the room, she gof, lip suddenly and said, " I must ask you to excuse me. I have a bad lieadache, and must go and rest." "Are you ill, Rose?" George said, more gra- ciously than usual. ** Oh I no ; it is nothing. I feel only a little stu- pid — alittlcdull. I think I shall go and see my Aunt Medo to-morrow." ** By all means. I think it will do you a great deal of good. Perhaps you do not take enough ex- ercise." Rose stood with the handle of the door in htr hand. She tried to steady her voice. She wanted to say some insignificant thing about sending for the cui-pentor's donkey to take her to town, but the effort to control her emotion failed, and she burst into tears. Ho started up, and, losin all self-com- mand, she exclaimed : " I can no longer e;idure this, my life is unbearable." He seemed pained, and said in a grave and earn- est manner: ** I can indeed well understand it. I feel it has las.'ed too long. I have been considering that it is high tinie that you should beleflrtoenj y the society of those you love and be delivered from my presence. You will do me the justice to say that I have fulfilled my pledge and kept my word. I need not repeat the assurances I have already given you. May God help us both to endure the (•rials of life. Our paths lie in different directions. May yours be as happy and as peaceful as is possi- ble under the circumstances. Perhaps you will remain a few days at Lcs Oapucins, or else bring ":i s * i m%\ % 234 The Notary s Daughter, 1 ' '('' 'if! -.'.I f back your auufc with you hero ? To-morrow I shall go to Mai-seilies." Rose mado no reply. She could not think of anything she could or would say, and hurried up to her room, where she remained for some hours absorbed in painful refleciions, made up of bitter regrets and self-reproach. It was late in the night before she fell asleep, and when she awoke in the morning it was past nine o'clock. She dressed hastily and went djwn stairs. Breakfast was laid only for one on the dining-room table. Thereson's voice was audible in tbe kitchen disputing with old Simon. Rose called her and asked, "Where is M. de Vedelles ? " "Simon says that M. le Baron went to Marseilles by the Qrst diligence at five o'clock this morning. He carried his portmanteau for him to the high- road. So that was why I took away the second cup and plate. Monsieur said that raadame was going Lo-day to the Capucins. Will madame want Oasimir's donkey, and am I to go with her ?" " No ; I have changed my mind. I shall stay here at 'any rate to-day," Rose said; and, after swallowing with some effort a few mouthfuls of food, siie put on her hat and went to try and find Beri6ite. She was ashamed of feeliiig as wretched as she did. She could not bear to remain alone, nor to go to La Ciutat. She wanted to speak of George, and yet the only human being to whom at that moment she felt that she could do so was the little wild girl of the woods, the child he had been kind to." CHAPTER XTII. X DISCOVEEY. Rose walked with a rapij step to the well, where she expected to fiud Beuoite, and sure enough she was there as usual; but, instead of waiting to bo accosted and spoken to, as soon as the child saw her joung mistress she sprang tip and ran to meet lier, "0 Misel' she exclaimed, 'Ms monsieur gone awaj ? " " He went to Marseilles this morning. Did he tell jou yesterday that he meant to do so ? " "Yes; ill the evening, when I was taking the goats into the stable, he came to wish me good-by. He had not said anything about going away when I had met him in tho afternoon. Mise ! I am so sorry he is gone." And Ben6ite begun to cry. Rose sat down by the child and held her hand in hers. The little girl looked up into her face and said : " Will he come back again soon ? I asked him, but he would not tell mc. He only patted me on the shoulder, and said we sliould meet again some day. Are you, too, going away, Mis6 Rose ? I do not love you as much as T love monsieur, but I am 385 236 The Notary s Daughter, ir J3 ) -I 1^'. beginning to like you, and if 30U will tell Th^r680D not to call me an idiot, I shall soon love you." *'01il she must nob do tliat," Rose said, her cheek flushing. "People don't know the harm they do when they dare to say such things. I don't wonder, Bendite, that you should like monsieur better thar mc. I cannot tell you nico stories or make songs for you as he did." " But can't you find stories in a book, Miso f " " Do you mean if I can read tliem ?" " Wcil> I snppose so. What I know is that mon- sieur, when he began telling mo about the dear St. Elizabeth, was carrying a book under hia arm, and in the beginning of it waa a picf- e of her with her lap full of roses, g,nd a gentlem, itli a face some- thing like monsieur's peeping at them. Once he said ho was going to tell me another story, about a sick man she put in a bed, and then when people came to look at him there waa Jesus on hia cross lying in it instead. He found that in the book. Perhaps if you had it you could find some stories iu it.^ The child's suggestion was not lost oa Rose. She made up her mind to yenture iato the room where Ckjorge's books were lying about and to try and discover this one. Whilst she waa thinking of this Bendiie was looking at her wistfully. At last she said x " Mis6, could you take care of the goats for aa hour or two ? " " Perhaps I could. But why should I ?*^ " Because then I could do monsieur's commissioii ... ''5 it'll "^wwi The Notary's Daughter, 237 this morning instead of late this evening, and not have to keep Toinette waiting so long for her mone}-." " Who is TometLc ? " '•'She is a very old, paralyzed woman who lives in a hut half-way between this place and Cereste, at the rocks of Etretat. Monsieur found lier out one day by chance — the first day lie was here, I think — and she was very ill, and afraid slie was going to die. Monsieur talked to Cereste and told M. le Cur6 how bad she was, and M. le Cur6 came, and he got a woman to take care of lier. After that .nousicur wei.t himself every day, and yesterday, 'Bcn6ite,' he e^id, *I want i^i send £ame money to poor old Toinette, as now I shall not bo hero to t-ike food to her. I don't know who io £end with it; Th43reson and Simon would not care to walk so far.' 'Send your guardian angel,' I said. He laughed, and answered that I was for onco to be his guardian angel, and when I have taken the goats home I must carry to her this fine gold thing. It is the finest t!;ing you ever saw. Misc." And Benoite j^roduced a twenty-franc piece in gold, wliicl' she held up before Rose's eyes mth exuliing admiration. ^'!N"ow, I shall be tired to-night, and if you would mind the goats, Mi£6, I could go now to Toinette. She will bo so soriy at the usual time when monsieur took her some dinner and no mon- fiieur and no dinner comes. If she has this to look at, maybe it will cftmfort her, t'lough she can't cat it. But monsieur says? it will turn into a bagful of ii ■,-.ii The Notary s Daughter. peiinies when she likes, and then she can bnj bread." Rose was hesitating as to what she would an- swer, and Ben6ite went on : *' You see, Mis6, I thought of planting ray staff here, just as Ger- maine Cousin did, and leaving it to take care of the goats, but I am afraid they would not mind it." ** No, because you arc not a saint, little Bcu6ifce. Thereson says yoa are very nanghfy sometimes* and will not do as you are told." " The:) ril be a eaint to spite her," Ben6ite ex- claimed, shaking her fist and stamping in a very unsuintlike manner. *• Fll be a saint, and then the birds and the boasts will do what I tell them, as the wolf did when St. Francis bade him keep the peace with the people of Gubbio. That was another of monsieur's tales. But I shall not tell the wolves to keep the peace with Thereson. I will order that great eagle that flew across the sky and perched on the high rock above Etretat last night to pick ont her eyes." ''0 Ben6ite I you would not, if you could, do such a dreadful thing. You would be like a devil, not a saint." ** Well, if not her eyes, her cap. I would bid him carry her cap off her head, away to his nest. I should like to hear her scream after it. But what shall I do about Toinette ?" " Tell me where she lives, and I will go to her myself." "Well, Mis6, you must follow that path that leads through the wood, and then enter the olive The Notary's Daughter. groves and go up the bill. You will pass by a lit- tle sbrine, where there is a madonna, aod then turn tc the left. In a little while yon will come to some lemon and omuge trees., and there under the rocks is Toinctte's hut." Rose went back to ihe bouse to fill a basket, ard then, laden with provisions, and entrusted with the gold piece, which Benoi'e gave into her handa with rather a wistful look of regrot, she started on her ermnd. It was one of the most beautiful of the long days of June. The air was balmy, and ihongh the heat was great, it was not oppressive. There was shade almost everywhere on her road. Eose thought how strangely different things had turned out from what she had expected. She could form no idea as to her future, and felt as ifin u dream. It was a re- lief lo walk, to have something to do, and the fact that she was executing the commission George had entrusted lO the little peasant gave her a sort of satisfaction. The hut Bendite had described was in a lonely situation at the foot of some rocks ; the nearest place to it was C^reste. She ca.ily found it, and explained io the paralytic and soliWy old woman that M. do V6delles was absent, that he sent her twenty francs to provide for her immediate necessi- ties, and that she ha^ lierself brbught her somo dinner. ** And who are you, kind Mis6 ? " the old crea- ture asked, looking with admiration at Eose's lovely face. < :V *^^ 240 The Notary's Daughter. *' 1 am the wife of the gentleman who has visit- ed ycu lately,'*' she answered, and for the first time she said tliat word tvi'fe with a sort of empha- sis that seemed like laying claim to a name she would nof- have willingly given up. " Then the good God Las rewarded him for all his charity by giving him an angel for a wife," Toinetto rejoined, clasping her thin hands together and speaking in that poetical manner wjjich in Provence, as in Ireland, is so often met with amongst the poor and the ignorant. Rose sat down by the bedside and said, " He has, then, been very kind to you ? " ** Good as the good God, Mise. He has saved my life, but done yet more for my soul. Oh I if you knew the peace and the consolation he has given to this poor heart of mine." " How so ? " said Hose earnestly, drinking in each of the sick woman's words, who told her sad and simple story with the impassioned feeling and natural eloquence of a Southern nature. It was an often-told tale, that of a mother whose only son had gone on wildly from his boyish days, and had at last been led into crime, more from weakness — so she thought — than from perversity. Bad associates had got hold of him. Two years airo he had been concerned in the robbery of a diligence, tried, and condemned for five years t(k the galleys. From the day the dreadful news reached her the convict's mother had not heard one word from or about her son. Her soul, as she expressed it, had The Notary's Daughter. 241 thirsted for news of liim, but none ever came, and hope had died away in her heart till tbo day that George de Yedelles, in his wanderings in the hills, had accidentallv entered her hut. To him she told her grief, and, as she eaw pity in his face, she poured forth the long pent-up anguish of her soul, and described the rebellious anger she felt against God and man. He had' soothed and con- soled her. "O Misel'^she exclaimed, *'he told me he knew what it is to suffer ; that young as ho was ho had borne a heavy cross, and that he would try to lighten mine." " Did he tell you what has been his cross ? " Hose asked with her face turned away, dreading to hear the answer. " Not exactly, Mise. He told mo he had been ill, and lost for years the strength to work, or even to think. lo said this when I complained that in the long sleepless nights in winter, when I lie here alone, I almost go out of my mi ad. He smiled kindly, and then just said those few words, and he promised (0 get me news of my son." '• Did he succeed ? " ' *'0h ! /es ; thanks bo io the good God who hears our prayers. Ah ! that reminds me of what he told me when I was crying so bitterly, something a great saint bad said about sons being saved by their motlier's tears. Yes, Mise, ho wro'e to a friend of his at Toulon, some one as good as himself, and he brought me, three days ago, this letter. When he had read it to mo he laid it on the bed^ m I ' ffl li 242 11 L€ Notary s DaugJitcr. n 1 and forgot to lake it away with him. And oh ! I think this was a mercy if tho good God, for I have found in it the words about my Antoine. It lies on my heart all the day, and at, night under my pillow, such as it is. Yon may see it if you like, njy beautiful Mise. Oh ! you arc happy to have M. George for your husband. I am so glad God has given him a wife as good as himself. ^I shall always pray for you both." *'Yes, pray for us both," Rose repeated softly, and two largo teari rolled dovn her cheeks. The letter which Toincttc put into her hands was as follows : "My dear Friekd: As soon as I got your orders, off I went to M. TAumonier du Bagne, and made enquiries with regard to the convict iu whom you take rm interest. "It is very like you, George, during the first days of your honeymoon, for I duly received tho lettre de faire j^^ft, announcing your marriage with Mile. Ro:C Lescallc, and taw in the papers that it had taken place. I mus'j say I think you ought to have written to me yourself on such an occasion ; but to return to the point, I say it was like you to feirct out in the mountains, to which you have apparently retired, a sick old woman to visit and a work of charity to be done. "When we were at college, and you were carry- ing oH all the prizes, what made me love you, old fellow, was not that you were clever and bright and at t ho head of our class, but that if there war^ a kind thing to be clone you were always the one to T}ie Notary's DmigJJcr, 243 do it, t,nd you seem noh (o have lost tlia^i good habit. " Well, I have good news to give you of your young man. wherewith to cheer his moiher's heart. He i^is alive — M. Antoine Lemairc — he is ^\ell, and ■what is better s'.ill, he has behaved so irreprouc'.- ably since he has been at the Biigne that a few weeks ago he was madeoneof thcinfirDiariansof the convict hospital, and is becoming quite a favorite with the physicians. He goos to his duties, and M. I'Aumonier has promised me that the next time he fees him he will tell him that his mother sends him her blessing, and advise him to wri e to her if he knows how, which seems doub ful. Should he be able to do so, I will enclose to you the letter, as the good old lady's hut which you describe is ijot, I shoulJ imagine, fsiYniliar to the postman. '* If you can tear yourself away from Belbousquet — what a charming name, and how well suited the place muit be for a honeymoon I — perhaps yoa could pay me a visit next week. I should like to show you the man-of-war which my uncle com- mands, and which is shortly to carry me off, in company with, that uncle, to the shores of the New World. I have heard from the Paris publisher. His render is delighted with your poems. I could not help laughing the othtr day when C6saire de Oroixfond spoke of you, and asked me if it was true that, since the illness you nearly died of, you had lost all that inlclligence you were so noted for at college. I suspect, old fellow, that in that utter inability to occupy yourself with anything but •ss %M III «i .| ^^^H 244 TJii Notary's Daughter, poetry there has been a tiny bit of maiivaise volonte* Am I uiijnst, George ? Perhaps so, for a clever physician assured me the other day that after such a shock as your brain experienced in that fever it was sometimes years before a person recovered the power of appliea ion, even though Ihe mind was not affected. But God has given you geniu-', and you will take the world by surprise, especially the liltlo world of your own family, who have none of them, I fancy, t!io remotest idea of what lies under that silent, absent, languid, provokirg manner of yours. " Write and tell me if you can come here next week, and believe me youraffec ionate and devoted friend, " -Aloys de Belmont, "JSTaval Lieutenant. " May I venture to beg you to present my re- spects to Madame George de Y^delles ? " Light had been gradually dawning on Rose's mind, and this letter, so sin;?ularly thrown in her way, revealed to her the truth which she was be- ginning to realize. Gcojge de V^ elles was a totally different being from the one the reports of others and her own imagination had drawn. Ho had been misunderstood and underrated by his relatives, de- spised by his father, compassionated by his mother, held cheap by lis brother, and hated by herielf. No wonder he had told the poor paralytic woman before her that heavy had been the cross he had had to bear. No wonder that when he had seen her, on the day she had been made his wife look, at The Notary's Daughter^ 24S him with contempt and aversion — she, the ignor- ant, foolish liltle girl who had not thonght it worth her while to judge for herself of the man to whom she had been married — thaJi he turned from her with disgust and left her to her fate. And he had known and cared for one who must have been so different from herself, his very ideal of a perfect woman ; whereas she must be in his eyes one of those creatures who think tiinkets and smart dresses and a carriage and servants the only ele- ments of happiness. She kept the letter from George's friend a l^^ng time in her hand and almost learnt by heart its contents. When at last she laid it down and Toinette said, **Is it not a beautiful letter ? '' Eose started, and then answered : *' Indeed, I am very glad you showed it to me. I shall come and see you again in a day or two." "With M. George ? " Toinette asked. *' Yes, if he is returned," poor Rose replied with a pang, for she felt how unlikely it was that he would come back, though, if he did, she thought things would be different than they had been, and perhaps — who knows ? — they might be walking through those groves and across those hills one day together on just such a lovely evening as this one ; and visions of domestic happiness that seemed to have vanished for ever would rise again before the wedded girl who had, as she mournfully said to herself, turned her back on her own happiness. ill * m i!ii :«■:': -it ) 1 1 t * 1 11 1 ^B i^V H i km >'i. 'jM i i CHAPTER XVIII. THE CLUE LAID HOLD OP. EosE came home, and after eating her solitary meal she thought of Bendite's siiggestiou ahout the large book where monsieur found the stories about St. Elizabeth of Ilurgary, and after some hesita- tion ventured into the room which was called M. Lescalle's study, and which George hud used as a sitting-room. Next to seeing persons the thought of whom oc- cupies us, the most interesting thing we can do is to examine a room whicli they have inhabited. There are so many small but significant traces of their presence. The prominent feature in this one was the books, some of them lying on the floor open and on their faces, others still in the case, some on the table, some on the chimney. A great many sheels of paper scribbled upon were thrust into a waste-paper basket. The disorder in which everything was left gave Rose some satisfaction. If George had really gone a^yay for good, would not he have packed up his books ? But perhaps he had given directions to that effect. She had not the courage to ak Simon or Th^r^son if he had done so. Me The Notary s Daughter, 247 Besides the books, there were some materials for drawing and painting in the open case, and in the corner an nnframod picture loosely wrapped in "brown paper. She took it up, and found it was a landscape representing the Chdtean de Valsec, the hereditary manor (f the Do Vedelles, which tlie count had sold in order to purchase La Pin^de. She took the painting to the window and lookel with interest at the view of a place where George had spent his childhood. It was a venerable pile of builJing, Tory imposing in its old-fashioncvl Btyle,^nd surrounded by tall, stately larches which added, to its rather gloomy and aristocratic gran- deur. In the corner of this painting Jacques de Vedelles' name was written. He had told her the first day s^^e had seen hira that he painted land- scape, but had never suocfcded in drawing figures. As she was carrying back to the case the view of Valsec she happened to turn it round, and found that on the other side of the canvas there was the portrait of a woman, a most beautiful fuce, with a fine, dignified, and sweet expression, which it was impossilde not to be struck with. *' Oh ! what a lovely countenance,'' Rose inward- ly exclaimed ; and then she saw, at the corner of this painting, not Jacques' name, but the letters G. de v., and the date April 7, 1835. That was t'lc day she had been at La Pinede for tlie first time. Suddenly it flashed upon her that as she was going away, and the carriage in which she was with her narents was driving through the atenue gate, she had caught sight of a caleche %(<^ Yi^ 248 T/te Notary's Daughter, ing up to the chAtean, in which a beantiful young l^erson was sitting by ihe side of an old man. SiiO roust be the person he had painted on the back of Lis brother's picture of Valsec; she must bo the person he had cared for and regretted so in- tensely. Who was she ? Then the idea of Mile, de la Pin6de suddenly struck her; she had heard of her beauty, and what the ladies of La Ciotat called her exaltation. On the day that she was walking listlessly by her mother's side on the Tasse, whilst Art6mon Richer was paying her compliments, she had heard some one telling her mother that the beantiful heiress at Toulon, Mile, de la Pinede, was going to be a Sister of Charity. How often it happens in life that we hear at one time things said with an utter indifference which perhaps at some other period would have stirred the depths of our hearts with indescribable emo- tions I She guessnd now, she felt certain, that it was Mile, de la Pinede George had so profoundly admired, so passionately loved. It must be so. She held, for a long time, the portrait i.i her hand, and gazed at it with deep emotion. She thought that the heavenly expres- sion of that beautiful face told the story of the high vocation of the unearthly love which God had given to this favored child of his heart. She felt no jealousy, scarcely a regret, tliat George should have known and loved and been influenced by one whom he must now look upon as a superior being, a Bort of angel or saint. She compared the lines he lif 1 ' & iV The Notary's Daughter. 249 had written, and which she had preserved, with the picture before her eyes, and not a doubt could exist in her mind that the object of his love and his reverence was Deuiso de la Pin^dc. So engrossed was she with this discovery, and the contemplation of the face he had painted with such rare talent and exact fi lelity, that it was lonp' before 8';e remembered the purpose with which she had entered that room. Rousing herself at last from this absorbing preoccupation, she began to search for the volume Bonoite had described, and soon found it. That volume was the life of St Eliza- beth of Hungary, by the Comte de Montalcmbert. Are there not many who at some turning-point of their cxiitence have met with a book which has been to them like a revelation, and from the read- ing of which they can date an initiation into the secrets of a higher life, which, when it seemed hard to discern light in the future of their cwn destiny, opened before them aims and hopes and possibili- ties never yet droamed of, heights they had never even in thought approached ? This was the effect produced on Rose by that beautiful history of the most lovable of saints, written with all tlie mngic charm of brilliant ge- nius unit'id with ardent faith. It war not so much the magnificent language, the matchlesj eloquence of t' e great champion of the Church in France, which riveted and entranced her, as hour after hour she sat reading this new-found treasure, as tlie emotions, the ideas as to this world and the next, which it awoke in her mind. For the first time I'll I IM nsiiiSHyt^ 250 The Notary's Daughter. sho conceivel what a glorious aud blessed tiling life can be, even in the midst of the deepest sor- rows, when once the relations of the soul with its Creator and its Redeemer have become practical and absorbing. F r the first time slie understood to what a degree human love can bo purified and exalted in two souls united together in the same supreme love. Never has the imagination of man portrayed a more touching i leal of Christian mar- riage than the quaint old biographers of the dear St. Elizabeth — as she was always called in the land of her birth — have drawn of her univon witli that model of Christian princes, the good Duke Louia of Thuringia. The minute details of their domes- tic life, and of tbe tender attachment and sweet piety of these wedded saints, preluding, as it did, his early death in the Crusades and the deep sanc- tity of her widowhood, the p iciical and familiar traits of t..-. mutual affection of the young be- Irolhed cou[)le, the touc-iing fidelity of his love for her, aud her tender and grateful devotion to him, selected and tiaccd as they are by ;i master's hand, formed a picture which laid hold, as it were, of Rose's heart, and seemed to call forth all its latent powers of thought aud feeling. S written some unfinished poems, which she read wiu) a beating heart, for they let her into the secrets of his soul. They contained allusions which mucked them as his own ; and now that she knew, by Aloys de Belmont's letter, that he was a poet, she valued every word, every line, which gave her an insight into his character, a glimpse of his mind. That day and that night worked a great, change in Rose. Feelings of strong religious fervor had been awakened in her, and, at the same time, a pure though earthly affection was dawning in her heart. She had discovered in the life of St. Eliza- beth of Hungary that these two feelings are not incompa'ible. A strange new happiness seemed filling her soul, during the hours of that sleepless night, which. the foresight of suffering did not in- terfere with. Hers might be a sad fate in tho eyes of the world. It might be Grod's will that the cloud which hung over her future life was never to be dissipated, that ho whom she now felt she could have dearly loved might never care for her, never return to her ; but slie now discerned something higher and greater than earthly love, than earthly happiness. That light which sometimes breaks slowly on the mind after long yearsi sometimes i - \ rA M ■ I !■ '■ ' 254 The Notary s Daughter* af^cr a lifetime, of conflict and triul, illumiDates others at once in the momini^ of their days, not al- ways permanently or consistently, but it shines on tho mountain-tops even whilst the upward path ia encompassed by dark s'jades. Such was the case in this instance. Tlie clue had been laid hold of and clutched by that young hand, which erewhilo was helplessly stretched out in the midst of unfa- thomable gloom. The hour when we can look for- ward to a life of suffering, of solitude, or of sacri- fice, with a thrill of supernatural joy, is often the turning-point in our lives. When, three days afterwards. Rose ran out to meet her Aunt Mede, whom she had urgently in- vited to come and see her, the penetrating eyes of the old lady perceived that a change had come over her d irling niece. The soft, smiling, childish f-ice was paler than she had ever seen it ; the dark blue eyes had an earnest look such as she had never observed in them before. Even in the sound of her voice there was something differrut from its us^al tone. SX first they spoke of indifferent things, as people do who arc longing and yet afraid to begin an important conversation ; and then Rose took her aunt, up-stairs to tho room next her own, which she had prepared for her, and made her sit down in an arm-chair near tho open window, and, as she used to do in her childliood, placed her- self on a stool, at her feet, her sweet face looking up into that kind, aged face which looked down upon her so calmly and so wistfully. Mis6 Med6 longed to ask, ** Are you happy, my darling ? " but ■ II"!! -i::i:.,: The Notary s Daughter. 255 she did not feel confidence enough that the ques- tion could be answered affirmuUvely to do so. "I supjwse your husband is takiwg one of those long walks," she said, " which you wrote to me he liked so much. Will he come home for dinner ? I want to make real acquainlance with my nephew.** Two large tears rolled down Rose's cheeks, and a sudden flash gave them a deep color. " Aunt Mede, I have so much to tell you, so much to ask you. My mind is full of new thoughts, and such strange, different feeling?, I hardly know how to begin telling you what has happened." '* Happened, my child ? What caa have hap- pened to you ? " " George has left mo ! " *• Left you ? Good heavens, Rose ! what do you mean? When? How?" " F. ur days ago." *' And where has he gone ?" " To Marseille.-." "With whom?" ** 1 am not quite sure, but I think he is staying with a friend of his, a M. dc Belmont." *' My dear child, you should not have suffered him to leave you," Mis6 Mede said, with a look of uneasiness. "Who knovs if he is callable of taking care of himself ? " "Aunt M6d6," Rose exclaimed, "you, and all of us, and his own family, hr.ve made a great mis- take about George — an extraordinary mistake — which I liuve found ou*» too late. Oh 1 yes, too late." m 2S6 The Notary s Daughter, And bursting into tears, Rose hid her face on her aunt's knees. '^ Speak, my child ! You frighten me. Is he quite out of bis mind ? '* " Oh ! no, Aunt Med 6, l5e is not a bit out of his mind. Ho is full of goodness and cleverness. He is one whom a woman could most dearly love and admire ; and if on the day we were married I had not shown that I hated and despised him — it was before you came back and talked to mc, Aunt Mede — I m'glifc have been the happiest of wives. But now it is all over with that kind of happiness." She paused, but, seeing her old aunt's intense anxiety, she went on : " As soon as wc arrived here he gave me this let- ter." She placed it in Mademoiselle Leecalle's hands, and, when she had read it, said : " He has acted up to what he wrote. For form's sake he remained here till last Monday, but we hardly spoke to one another ; and then I think it was because ho saw me looking so unhappy, and thought I could not bear the sight of him, that he went away, and I shall never see him again.'* ** That does not follow," Aunt Med6 said, and seemed for a few moments buried in thought, " But what besides this letter — which is indeed a proof that he is far from being the sort of person we supposed — has made you tuink him clever, as 70U say }on did not speak together hardly at all ?'* Then Rose, in an artless and touching manner, told Mis^ M6d6 of Q-eorge's conversations with Be- The Notary's Daughter. 257 ndite, related to her by the little ehepheixless ; of the verses she had seen him write, and those she had found in liis books ; of the portrait he had painted of Mile, dc la Pin6dc, and his romantic dcvoiion to h.er. And then, word for word, she repeated what Toinette had told lier of his visits and theii conversations; and last, not least, of M. dc Belmont's letter, which had tlirown light on the strange and fatal mistake of those who had mis- taken the languor of 11 a overwrought brain and the fanciful necaliarities of a poetic nature for proofs of mental deficiency and disordered understanding. **I see it all," Mile. Lescalle slowly ejaculated. *^ It may all come right, Rosy; but 0, my dar- ling ! if you knew how my old heart aches at the thought of what you have had to suffer, and may still suffer, my own f)oor darling child 1 " Then Mi£6 Mede's self-command gave way, and tdars coursed down her wrinkled cheeks. Rose took her hands in hers, and, looking at her earnestly, said : "Aunt Mode, don't cry. Yuu will not grieve when I have told you all I feel and think. When wo both thought on niy wedding-day that I was bound for life to a fada^ tliough we tried to make the best of it, that was a sorrow which had some- thing of shame iu it, and then, though I wished to be .good, I h'ld no idea, I did r.ot understand, what you must know so well. Aunt Mode — that there is a way of beitig good which is not the common way, and that in it suffering and joy can be strangely blended^^" Rose gtopped, overcome by her feelings, au4 .4 ' -.; '. f'^TT? ii!r Ifl ^ 2$^ The Notary's Daughter. looked r.p at ibe sky with an expression in Lcr face which revealed to Aunt Med6 the work of divine grano which had taken place in tha.t young soul. She elov/ly took up the words Rose had uttered, and said : " So strangely blended, my child, that a heart broken with the deepest human sorrow may s ill know a happiness which is indeed a foretaste of heaven. But tell me how you have learnt this blessed secret ? By what means have you dis- covered it ?" g '^ Toinqi;te*s words, and what she said ol all George had done for her, first gave me »u idea that one might be very unhappy one's self, and yet hnd happiness in loving God and doing good to others. But what explained it to me was this book." She had brought with her St. Elizabeth's lifs, and laid it on the knees of her aunt, whose eyes glistened when the saw it. '* Ah 1 my child, you understood as you read these pages — they are very familiar to me, Rosy — for the first time you understood what it is to be a Siint?" Rose nodded assent. "And then came the thought that to aim at sanctity, ai.d by dint of euflcrings and sacrifices to climb the steep ascent which leads to it, might be a greater, deeper joy than any this wca'ld can give ?'* Rose again bowed her head and remained a moment silent. Then she said : • **Aunt M6d^, if you knew to what a degree 1 feel this I I sec two pa.ths before me. rhave no clear idea whioh God meims me to follow. I I^ve ■VPfl The Notary s Daughter. 259 that to him." And again Kose looke<1 upward, and join'-d together her hands, which rested on Aunt Mode's knoes. "What 1 mean is that I see two kinds of life wLich he may intend for me." **Tell me wliat you are thinking of, my child." ''Well, Aunt Mede, it is possible, is it no*, that George may return, ai:d that he may s }me day find out that he can love me, as I have found out that I can love him, and then that we might be happy together, and love God and serve him together, like the good Dnke Louis and the dear St. Elizabeth ? But if he docs not come back, and if he never cares for me at all, then my life would be like hers after her husband's death. I would live with you, dearest Aunt M6de, or here, perhaps — if my parents would let me remain here amidst these beautiful mountains, and the poor people scattered about this place, nursing the sick, teaching the children, and praying in the village churches. I did not know till quite lately, till these few last days, what prayer meant. I used to say my prayers, and T knew our Lord was in the tabernacle on the altar, but not as I now know and feel it. Oh I what a wonderful change comes over one wV.en this is once realized. Which of these two kinds of lives would be best, do you think. Aunt Mede ?'* ''In themselves, my child, and for those bound by n ) duty and no indissoluble tie, a life devoted to God and to the po r is, without doubf, the most easy and straight- road to heaven. If yours is to prove an exceptional fate, if, though married, you are irretrievably separated from him whose name m 260 The Notary's Daughter, you bear, then you may believe thaf. what God will have permitted is intended to be the means of raising you to a more than ordinary perfection., But remember, my child, that yours is not a case in which you can be allowed to chpose between these two kinds of lives. There is no choice for you in the matter." ** Pa-haps not, Aunt MeJ6; still, it might de- pend a little on what I felt and did.'* " What you must feel and what you must do, Rose, is not optional. The vow you pronounced at the altar, the union which received the blessing of the Church, is not cancelled by what has ^ince occurred. You have a responsibility with regard to the soul of your husband from which nothing can relieve you. You must not acquiesce in his forsaking you, even in order to lead a life of what seems (0 you higher perfection. The most perfect life for Christians is that in which God has placed t')em, and your duty is clear and evident." " Is it ? I have felt, on the contrary, so per- plexed how to act." *'How to act may be a question, but the inten- tion of your acts should not bo doubtful. You must leave nothing undono to undeceive your hus- band as to your feelings towards him. You must let him know that you can, that you do, love him — " " Let a man who hates me know that I care for him, and that after he has made it plain that he despises me ?" *• Is it the Rope who has been opening her heart to me that he despises ? Does he know her ? Hag The Notary's Daughter. 261 he had any opp<)rtuaity of reading into her soul ? But even if he had, if he had cousciously and de- liberately rejected the wife God has given him, ifc would still be your duty, patiently, sweetly, ua- weariedly, to pray, to strive, to long for his return, never to give up the hope of it, and, whilst rising daily higher in the upward path to which God's grace is calling you, to hold out to him the hand which was given liim on your marriage- day, and trust to the end that your strong and patient love — the love of a Christian wife, not the fondness of a frivolous woman — will at last recall him to your side and draw him to God.*' *' From the notes in his books, and liis verses. Aunt Mede, I should think George was nearer to God than I am." ** It may be so, my child. We cannot judge of others in that rcspcc', even when well acquainted with tlicm, and I do not know your husband at all ; but I do not reckon religious poetical effusions as any proof of a real and firm faith. Those who liave read Victor Hugo and Laraartine's verc-es in their early days know in what admirable language pious emotions can be poured forth, and yet hew little real religion may inspire them." "0 Aunt M6(le ! I have seen some of their writings amotigst George's books, and found beau- tiful tlinga in them, but they xlid not help me as I now want to bo helped. It was like drinking wine too strong foi^my head, or smelling a too powerful perfume. When I read tlm book, I feel as if I was breathing mountaia air,'*. i ;.-l»..it.i'l^ 262 The Notary's Daughter, **Feed on tliat kind of air, Rosy," Mrc. Lss- calle s:iiil, with a smile. ''Brace yourself with it in preparation for whatever God may app>int to your lot, I begin to think that my Rose, the chil I of my heart, is going to be one of those valiant women whom the Scriptures speak of, and I do nob give up the hope of a little earthly happiness fv)r her either, if she will be brave and patient. We need not despair at all that everything will come right. You and your husband are very young, two children in fact, who have been nii^managcd by others, and then, left to yourselves, mismanaged one anothef We must see now what is best to be done. You .just let me think and pray about it. An hour or two on my knees will help me to a good thought." Rose threw her arms round iier old aunt*i{ neck, aiid kissed her ac she used to do in her childhood when Mise M6de made everything straight for her. "I will leave you alone for a while," she said, almost gaily; "but don't pray too long, Aunfc ;Mede, for now I huvc begun I want to tell you much more about w!;at I think, and wish, and mean to do, whether — " She stopped. It was easy to read tho thoughts that were passing through her mind, an i the connection between those words and the next she uttered. ** Toinette, you Know, said George was very goo4. It was he who made ner forgive people and love God, and M. de Bulmont wrote to him that why ho likcu hiqi so much at college was because he was so kind to every ono ; and you know, Aunt Med6, that I think, I really The Notary s Daughter, 263 do think, tBat in going away and leaving me he thought he was doing right and what was btdt for me/' " Very likely he did. Rosy, and we must find out the best way of undeoeiving him on that point. And now your cheeks are paler than I like to see them, my child ; put on your hat and go and breathe some of that mountain air you are so fond of, amidst tlie wild iliynie and Bjuoite's goats. No, don't take a book with you. Ljok at the sky and the flowers, gladilen your heart witli the thought of Him who miido them and you, and leave the future in his hands." " Yes, Aunt M6d6 ; and the road up the hill leads to Toinette'K cabin. I will pay her a visit." A moment afterwards Mile. Lescalle saw, from her window. Rose crossing the garden, carrying a baskut on her arm and sfnging George^s hymn to S^ Elizabeth. She watched her graceful form, her light step, ana listened to the sweet young voice carolling away as she disappeared amongst the trees, with a grateful sense that, come what might, the child of her heart had discovered the road to true happiness. -v r- I CEAPTER XIX. AN EMERGENCY. The result of Miso M 'd^'s though cs and prayers was that she wrote that evening a long letter to a dear friend of hers at MarseiHes, one of those women whom people instinctively turn to when a difficult thing has to be done or a great act of kindness to be performed — one of those energetic, large-hearted FreKch souls who carry everything before them, and work wonders with a marvellous ease and singular simplicity. Later on Mile. Amelie Lautard was decorated with the Cross of the Legion of Honor. So great and obvious was her influence for good over the soldiers at Mar- seilles, amongst whom she indefatigably labored, that, in ccnsiderai ion of her services, the Minister of War, under the empire, granted her the privi- lege of shortening, at her discretion, in certain cases, the term of military punishment. But at the time we are writing of her career of charitable work was at its outset. Her father had been intimately acquainted with Mile. Lescalle, and she had always remained in correspondence with the little Amelie she had known and loved as The Notary's Daughter, 265 a child. After many anxious reflecfc'ons, she de- termined to tell her the whole stoiy of Rosu's mar- riage and of George's unrequited attachment to Mile, do la Pin^de, now Soeur Denise at the House of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul. She knew, through Mile. Lautard, that this young girl had been sta}ing a short time before at the Chdteau do la Pincde, and that she had felt interested in George de Vedelles, wl>ose isolation in the midst of his family, and deep melancholy, had painfully struck her. S jo thought that Ml'e. Lautard might sound Soeur Denise on the subj ct, and gain from her some information as to his character and state of mind which would furnish a clue to the most effectual means of bringing about his return to his wife and a good understanding between them. Mis§ Mede was much puzzled herself as to the real truth about George. On the one hand, she had heard it positively stated that his intellect was weak and his character childish. It seemed strange that his own parents, his clever father and his loving mother, should have been deceived on that point ; and though all that Rose had related and shown to her militated strongly against these preconceived impressions^ it had not. quite destroy- ed them. T:;cn Thcrcson also had burst into the room where Mile. Lescalle was meditating on these conflicting accounts, and, finding at last a vent for the ire which had been accumulating in her soul during the last weeks, poured forth unmitigat- ed expressions of indignation against M. lo Baron, whom she described as a sort of savage idiot, whom w*\ \ '*' 1; ^ i I I : tttf 266 The Notary's Daughter. it "ouW be \vell if Mis6 Rose had never seen, far less mairied, and who would have deserved to havo had Benoitc for his wife. They would ha^ie been a well-matched pair— she with her foolish gibberish and wild-cat ways, and he with his rude, gloomy, and silent manner. In vain did Mile. Loscalle try to check this tor- rent of abase. She could understand that under the circumstances Zon m'ght be justified m her aversion to George, and some of the things she said made some impression on her own mind. The doubt was whether, with some amount of ap« parent ability when he held a pen in his hand, he was not incapable of acting rationally, or even tak- ing care of himself, in which case it would be neces- sary to communicate with his parents and with Rose's father and mother, at the risk of estranging him for ever from her, or, on the other hand, of trying other means of bringing them together, re« moving misconceptions, and appealing to his sense of honor and duty. She came to t'iC conclusion that this ought to be attempted, if possible, and that Mile. Lautard might not only consult Soeur Bcnise, but seek out also M. de Belmont, with wliom she hoped George was still residing, and find out from him the real truth about his college friend. Such was the purport of the letter she wrote and sent that evening. During the following days she devoted herself, with the tact and ability which be- longed to her character, to keep Rose's mind oc- cupiei with cheering and strengthening tljoughts, The Notary s Daughter. 267 to excite lur to lioi^e, and yet to iirej-are licr for dis- appointment. They prayed and tuey read to- gether, visited Toinette, aod found out other poor people in the neiglibrliood sadly in want both of a little help and of moral antl religious instruction. A new world, that of practical cliarity, seemed opening to the yonng gid, who had so rapidly grown from u child into a woman. It was a aingular blessing for hier, during those days of unt;crtaiuty, that she was experiencing those Orst fervors of awakened faith in aad love of God which (ill tho £0«i with a strange sweetness and almost lift it above earthly cans and Joys, and that she was guided at that time by one so clear-sighted and thoroughly sensible as Mi^c M^dc, The thought had crosed lier mind tliat her niece miglit, like herself, perhaps be called - './ a life of entire conse- cration to God and tho full practice of the evan- gelical counsels. S'.e remembered how, when she vus Rose's age, aod the world was smiling upon her and life looking very bright and fair, a cloud, small at first, like a man's hand, hud appeared in the horizon in the shape of the first news and ru- mors of revolutionary distiirbuucea in tl\e neighbor- hood. The great events which had convulsed her country seemed at first to have little to do with the prospects and tho destiny of a young girl in tho middling ranks of life, but the storm went on dis- turbing and at last darkening every part of France, and bringing tho scafl;old within sight of the hum- ble iiomcs of t'ic bourgeome as well us the nobility. Then war to religion was declared, that war to the 268 The Notary's Daughter, knife which rouses the soul to sacriQce, to action, to heroism, and then Mile. Lcscallo understood what God's voice was saying to her heari, ; she un- derstood what was Jier vocation, not the peaceful cloister — convents were everywhere closed and com- munities dispersed — but the religioas life h\ herown threatened home ; iho religious life in its essence, the religious vows, in its work amongst the poor,. tLi^. prisoners, tbo dying, at the foot of the scaffold, in the ftell of the condemned, in the caves and gar- rets where Mass was said in sr crefc, in the perilous services rendered to a faifchfni outlavred priesthood. She embraced (his life with unflinching zeal. She thanked God tn.i-t he had cast her lot in those dark days. She met dangers which bi*ought her within an inch of death, and often felt that noth- ing }>?s tii'.n the complete consecration whicli severs it o le stroke the heart fro^m all merely hu- man joys could have borne her unscathnd througk the iiery furnace of that terrible time. And now she asked herself, " "Was it God's will that Eoso should walk in her steps ? Had he assigned to her a peculiar destiny, in order that, bearing tlie name of a wife, she should be, as she herself had been, a religiouD in life and heart ? Was that her vocation,, strangely brought about, strangely accomplished ?'^ She watched her without seeming to do so. She pounded her heart as they sat conversing under the pines or strolling along the mountain paths. She observed the changes of her countenance, and no- ticed little acts which would have escaped a less penetrating «nd loving cy^, and soon made up her T}te Notary's Daughter, 269 mind t';at, whether her liusband returned to her or not, Eosc was not called to tread the path she her- self had trodden, not e?eii amidst calmer scenes and brighter days. Many little indications showed her that her heart ■was not free ; that not oi.ly had she discovered that George do VMelles was one a woraun could love, but that she iiad fallen in lovo witli him siiice the day she lijid wiilrsuch terrible reluctance become hi3 wife and he had rejected her. If for a little while they spoke of anything else, she would al- ways revert to Bomcthing reUiting to Idm — lo his books, his verses, his painting^!, or to the remarks she had heard him make on the surround ing Hcenery, to the Sisters of Charity, and Soeur do la Pineue, and Valseo, hid parents, and his friends, Ben^'to and Toinette. S'.e saw her kneeling before the tabernacle pray- ing with intense fervor, her (yes filling with tears, and her little hands clasped together. When she came out of the r.hurch there was a sweet and peaceful expression i-i her face, but Aunt M6d6 noticed that she went and sat on a bench from whence tlie road could be farthest seen, and gazed wistfully upon it. When in the house, if the gate was h^ard to open, her eyes turned towards it with a rapid glance. Then, again. Mile, de la Pinede's picture was placed in Rose's own room. With some women, perhaps, this would seem a proof rather of indif- ference *.han of lore, but M's6 Mede knew her niece'is humble, tender, allectibnate character^ and 1. 1 2/0 The Notary s Daughter, %W\ '',' fe'.t certain that it would be free from j ulougy and loTingly attracted by all that one she loyed cared for. " lb cannot but come right," she said to her- self^ and almost as impatiently as Rose looked for the postman's arrival on the day slic expectvd an answer from Marseilles. When the postman, two days if ler wards?, called at Belbotisquet ho l;ad only one letter to Icaye, and it was not addpe^^sed to Mile. L?scallc, but to the Baronne George d(j V6delU;s, Hose was sitting at brcalilast opposite to Aunt Mede when Zson laid it on the table. She turned red, acd then pale, and her hands trembled so much ihat ebe could hurdiy unseal the envelope, "^^lle. Lescallo watched her with anxiety, and ft «.he news was bad before Rose had finished reading the letter, which she ban .'ed to her iu silence. This is what George had written : My 5)EikR Hose: It will hardly surprise yon to hear that I am about to embark with my friend, M. do Belmont, on board liis uncle's ship, which la going to cruise for two years runongst the South Sea Islands. 1" liavo written to my brother to re- quest him to break this to my motherand announce it to my fatheiv As I am cf age, I have a right to act on mj own judgment, and I am persuaded Ihat for them, for you, and fov raycclf I am doing what is best and wiseif. I have been .for some ycai-s a source of '5orrow and anxiety to nsy parents, and often a cause of dissen- sion between tl;em. Jacqncp w u. ^ 'xU'^ ly be elect- ed dopnty, I hear, thanka s.c ^c ■\s- i^^^^^^ 'xortions. The Notary's Daughter. 271 and in his new position and interests they will find a compensation for my absence, if; indeed, any is needed. As to you, poor child, on whom was thrust the saddest of all destinies, a union with one whora you could not look on without detestation, I hope that life will still have some charms, though I admit that your fat j is a melancholy one. I have begged my father and my brother to arrange with your parents all that regards my fortune, which I wish to leave entirely to you, with the exception of a small annuity, which will snflSce for ray wants and tastes. We sail on Saturday morning, and in taking leiive of France and all I have ever known or cared for, my chief hopo and prayer are that you, who^e existence I have involuntarily bliglitcd, may still enjoy peaceful aud happy days. If I was an infi- del, or a philosoplicr of the school of our modern I'ovelists, I would gladly put myself altogelher out of your way ; but as I am a C nistian, hough a very imperfect one, we must each bear our separate burthens, and drag on life ns best we may. May God bless you, Rose. Sincerely youri, Geoege de Yedejulbb. Aunt Med6 pushed the spectacles oil her nose when she had read this letter, and ejaculated, ** Foolish boy I " Bose, who was 013 inj^, enatchod it from her and said : ** No, not foolish, Annt M6dc. It is a very generous and kind letter, only — only it breaks my heart." " There is no need at all for aoy heart-breaking. 272 The Notary's Daughter. Billy cliilJ. Even if we cannot stop tiie departure of M. le Buron, and if he was to remain two years iu the South Seas, that would not be the world's end, nor jour life's end, either. You are, let me see, not much more than seventeen. Dear me ! per- haps that is the host thing he could have done. He may come back before you arc twenty, and you will both be wiser then." "Two years. Aunt Med6, two years would be like two centuries. dear Aunt M^d6 I cun't we stop him. You see that he is going away because lie t] "nks T 1 ite him, and if ho was to be ship- wrecked >trd drowned, or cast on a desert island like Bobinson Orusoe, I should never forgive my- self." *' Well, child, I suppose the only thing to b3 done is to go to Marseilles and t) call on Mile. Lautard, who has the wisest head on her shomders of any woman I know, and, if your husband has not yet sailed, to see if between her and your Aunt Mede some means to stop him may be devised. You and T, Eose, will find ourselves rather in a ecrape if M. George makes this coup de tete and we have told neither his puents nor yours of his hav- ing lefs you some aays ago. You see, my little ^rl, I was afraid of their falhng out. Your father and mother, J mean, and the count and countess, or of '}>rir all btjI? managing him." *' Th«y wo«M have been sure to do so, Aunt "MM^ ; tha would have been the worat thing that could happen to us. Now there is hope if only he bafi not Bulled. Let us lose no time. May I tell The Notary's Daughter. 273 Simon to fetch two mules to take us to Oas-io, wlitre we shall meet the Marseilles diligence ? If ho will but make haste, thoy will be here in an hour." " Verv well," Mis6 MMe saW ; and at the end of two hours — for Rose bad miscalculated the capabi- litie3 of old Simon's legs — the mules stood at the door, with their jingling bells and large, wide sad- dles ornamented with red tassels, and Dominique, the drivrr, stood alongside of tliem, a tall, tanned, fierce-lookinof m*an, with a brown complixion and tangled black hair. Kose had known him from her childhood, and was consequently on f imiliar terms with him. "Make haste, Dominique/' she excluinnd ; **W0 must be at Marseilles before dinner time." ** You will be at Cassio, Mise Rose, in three hours ; that I undt rtako. As to Marseilles, it is DO business of mine." '* Are yon going to walk all of the way to Cas- sio ? " " Of course ; my legs are, if anything, stronger than theirs," he added, patting affectionately the mules, wiiich had ocrtainly workt d hard in their day. Then he hoisted Rose's little 6gure on her saddle as lightly as if she had been a bird, his dark complexion and wild attire contrasting with her delicate features and pach like coloring in a way wiiicb would have delighted a painteT. Old Siraon the while was helping Mis6 MMls to climb up to the back of the other mule, and tlicy then set out at a kind of ti'ot, Duminique keeping Vi"?^- in 274 The Notary s Daughter * np with the tn at a pace between a walk and a rnn. Roso felt as though she would b ive wished for wings to bear hur more rapidly to Marseilles, and Mise MeJ6 was obliged nov and then to remind her that her old limi* could not stand this unmi- tigated speed. As the little party was leaving the lane which led from Belbousquet into the path across the hills to Cassio, they met a peasant, who stopped Ros 's mule and said : ** Madame, are }ou Madame de VCdelles ? I am one of the gard^crs at La Pi- ncdc/' ** Yes; whut do you want with me ?" "I have come to let M. George know — M. le Baro 1 George, I mean — that M. Vincent, poor old gentleman, was scizol last night with an ati^ek of piiralysis, and M, le Docteur says he has not long fo live. He is quite conscious, poor rlear man, but can speak very little. He keeps asking for M. George, and it is piteous to see him wa ching the door and with the one hand he uuu m vb making the fcign of the cross and throwing up his eyes to heaven. M. le Cuv6 has been to see him, but he will not hear of being anointed till he has seen M. George, so I have como to fetch him ; M. le Cin6 sent me. The girl who was sick went home last week ; her room has been strii:)ped and purified. M*. Ic Cure told me to say that there was no dan- ger, and he wishes M. George to come without de- lay, for the old man may die at any moment. He is conscious in a sort of way, but no quite reasona- ble like, and its no use preaching to him whilst lie The Notary's Daughter, 75 frels about seeing M. Goorge. M. and inadame and M. Jacques are perhaps coming home to-mor- row, but by that time, 'tis ten to one, M. Vincent will bo dead." "0 Aunt M6de ' *' Rose exclaimeJ, '* I am so sorry. I know George loves very much that old man. There 1.3 something so pretty he wrote about him on one of those saraps of paper T picked up ia his room. It began ' Old ^^incent, thou alone hast known.' How sud if he uied without seeing him again, and all the family with whom he has lived fifty years away ! " Mise Mede fixed her eyes on Rose, it ose earnest, powerful eyes, which seem to speak her thought, and Rose's filed wi.h tears. *' Come, my child, what are you going to do ?" Mile Lcscalle asked, and anxiously waiied the an- swer. '^ Do you think, Aunt Medc, I might go to h% Pin6de with ^h good man who has brought the message, and will you go on to Marseilles with Dominique ? " *' By all means," Mis6 M6d6 replied. ''It was what I wanted you to do, Rosette. Here, Domi- nique, give Madame do V^delles her bag; she \% going the other way.'* Boso had jumped off her saddle, and coming close to Mis6 M6d6's mule, she threw her arms round her, looked up in her l\t/mf and said ; " Kiss nr.e. Aunt M6cl6." *• God bless you, my darling^' ihe old lady said, bending down her venerable fiice to pre^g her lipa \. i i' '- 276 The Notary s Daughter. on Hose's whie forehead. ** Go, and do your best with that p:orold faithful servant, and tell hiiu that he must think of God flrst, and of his young master afterwards. Get him to receive the last sacrameutd, and who knows what may follow 'r* Yes, yes, little woman, I know the meaning of that beseeching look. Roly on your old Aunt M^de. What can be done will bo done ; but re- membrr Who it is that holds the reins aloft, and knows better than we do every turning of life's road. What He does is well done, Rosy ; so be off, my bravo child, and do your duty. Many a more dreary ride have I taken than this one of thine — in old days, win n life and death were at stake. Say your beads as you jog on, and hope for the best." A fond embrace was given, and the old woman and the young one parted and went on their way, each with a holy purpose, each with a silent prayer. When, some hours afterward, Mile. Lescalle ar- rived at Marseilles, she went sraiglit from the diligence to Mile. Lautard's house, but found her out. What next was uld vanish. The bell was at last answered. M. de Belmont had left two days before, uiiu gone on board his uncle's ship, which was to set sail that evening. Mi e Mede's heart beat very fast. *•' And the Baron Georg. de Vedelles, is he at homo ? " she askc'. , with intense anxiety. " No, madame ; he is also on board the Jean ^ar^— that is to say, he slept there last night. He called here for his letters two hours ago. M. le Baron embarks also to-night for America with M. le Comte de Belmont." '*How soon do you suppose will the ship sail ?" Mile. Lescalle asked. " I mnot tell exactly, madame ; but I suppose towards sunset." •I III SI! i.l .^^, e>. V^, *,^ ^0. b^. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT 3) / i<> ^^. /- O c?^ ^<5 / ^ 1.0 I.I 1.25 IIIIIM H: 1^ 12.0 1.4 1.6 w '^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WI^T MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. MS80 (716) 873-4303 '^ ip h o \ 278 The Notary s Daughter. *' Hovv long would it take to get to it ?" *'I cannot tell, maduine; it lies at some distance in the bay. Dear me, M. le Comte's own servant was hero just now. He would hare known; but the sailors at the port, :iiot far ofE, would be able to inform mudamo. MisG Mede returned to Mile. Lautard's house, and there heard that s'le would perhaps find her at the Military Hospital, where there was mucli sick- ness just then. She helped the Sisters of Charity to nurse the soldiers. These words made tlie thought flash through her mind that Denise— Soenr Donigc — might be found there also, and thither she hurried with a speed wonderful at her age. Again there was a weary time spent in tlie waiting-room, after sending a message to Mllo. Lautard to aay that she was there, and wished to see her on pressing business. At last fche came, that good, bravo woman, with her bright:-, fine face, her slightly hump-backed figure, bo well kno vvn ir Marstdlles, and her cheering smile. ** My dear, dear old friend, is it you ? I wro^e to you yesterday that I had discovered M. do Bel- mont's address, and would try and see him on your business as soon as I could. Has anything hap- pened since jou wrote ? " "Yes, my gt)od Ani^lie, a letter from George V^delles came, announcing his immediate depar- ture for America. He leaves Marseilles this even- injr with M. dc Belmont in the Jean Bart.*^ "You take my breath away, my dear^^ but tell me quick, you still want to stop him T^ The Notary's Dixughter, 279 " Yes ; for all sorts of reasons. It is a simple misunderstanding between these poor cliildren, both so young, both so wrongly dealt with, and a poor old servant at La Piucde is also dying, and sending for him. Rose is gone to him. My dear Amelie, all might still come right if we could stop hira. But 1)0W to write a message, how to write a letter which would have that effect, and every mo- ment is precious" " L t us call Scaur Denise ; she knows him, and we doii'i. I said something about him to her the other day. Sho told mo that he is rather a strange youth, but with a great deal that is good in him, and cleverncs>', too, she thinks, which none of his family seemed to suspect. Stop a minute, I will ask her to come and Si>eak to you." In a few minutes Soeur Denise came in with Mile. Lautard. M'se Mede, as she looked at the beautiful face under the white cornette, that face George de Vedelles had painted with marvellous talent, said to herself, " No wonder he cared for her," and there was a twinge in her heart as she thought that even her own dear, pretty little Rose's lovelitess could not stand a comparison with the matchless fac»J, the lovely figure, the command- ing and at the same time most gentle beauty of that daughter of St. Vincent dc Paul, that humble servauii 01 wjiC poor. Seated letween Mi96 M6de and Mile. Liutard, Sojur Denise listened like a compassionating angel t ) the story- briefly told, of those two young crea- ta.'e« whose fate was concerned in Mise M4d6'i Hn 11 280 The Notary s Daughter, -T present efforts, and when the latter ejaculated, " How to explain in a few words the whole of this strange case ? How to indicate it in a way that would stop him just as the anchor is about to T/eigh, and he fancies he is doing right to go ?'* *' Would the news of the old bervant*d danger prevail upon him ?" Soeur Denise asked. "It might or it might not ; he might even sus- pect a trick to prevent his departure." SoBur Denise leant her brow on h^^r hands and thought a little; then she looktd up, with her bright, herious smile, and said : *' What a blessing it is to have given up the world ! A Sister ol Charity can do what a young lady could not have done. Wait a minute ; I mu. t have one word v/ith ma swur, and then perhaps we may be able to stop thia mad departure." She left the room, and soon returned with a let- ter in her hand, which she placed iu Mis6 M6d6's hands. It contained these words : *'M. LE Barok: Your old servant Vincent is dangerously ill, and asks for you. Give up your voyage and go to him. You promised me that if I came to ihe chapel of La Pin6de on the last day of May you would grant any request of mine, what- ever it might be. I was there, and I now claim your promise. "Deijise de la Pinede, Fille de Charity. " H6PITAL MiLITAIRE." '' God bless you, Soeur Denise," Mis6 M^de ex- claimed with tears in her eyes ; " but let me just tell you that I am afraid of his going straight to La The Notary's Diwgkter. 281 Pin^do and finding R se, witlioufc Imving heard auytliing to enliglitenliim as to her present feelings to ards bim." Soeur Dcnise took up a pen and addea t1iis post- script: "Como first to the hospital. Tuere are impoi tant reasons for this." "Will you speak to him, Soeur Dcnise ? Will you be the angel of peace that will reconcile him to his young wife ? He never could resist you, I feel sure of that." *' I am not going to be an angel at all in the matter," Soeur Denise answered, with that playful simplicity so common amongst the Sist rs of Clia- rity " If TAa sceur approves of it, I have no ob- jection to see the young baron and to give h'm a good scolding. Oh I here comes our messenger. Shall the note go as it is, Mile. Lescalle, or will you add anything to it ?** ** Oh I no,"' both Mis6 M0J6 and Mile. Lautard exclaimed, and the missive was placed i'" tha hands of a j'oung sailor belonging to one of ScBur Denise's poor families, who promised not to lose a minute \n conveying it to the gentleman on board the Jean Bart. The bells of Notre Dame de la Garde were ring- ins: the Angelus. The softened sound of their chimes floated in the transparent air as the setting sun was sinking into a bed of rosy colored clouds, leaving behind it that bright, lingering light which is so s<:rikii;g on a summer's evening on the Medi- terranean Sea. Geor«»e do V^delles was fitaudiog on the deck of ' I 1ti HI '|7T",'ffl^^HnB. "3 ,<>lJ ina 282 The Notary J Daughter. the vosici, which in another hour was to weigh anclior. Sunk into a deep r.^vcrie, he was fcbinking at that moment of tliree persons, two of whom woul ] grieve at his depir ure, and one who would not know of it, or, if she d d, never give it a thought. There was his mother. He lovel her very much. When siie had been ill after her acci- dent his misery had showed him how str ng was thiit love. But there had been a bitter feeling in his heart for muny a long day which had saddened his affection for her. S!ie had been tender, very tender to him, very gentle and kind ; she had grieved at his father's harshness, and tried to make up for it; hut she had not the least understood eit!.er his character, his state of heakh, or his fcufferipgs of mind. Just as much as M. de V6- delles and Jacquc s, she had looked upon him since his illness as a sort of grown-up child or a nervous invalid, without energy or will or intellect. S'ie had plotted with the others to bring about his mar- ii:igf — that marriage winch had caused him ^uch bit er humiliations. She had, indeed, had scru- ples on the subject, bdt they had been expressed too late to avail. But after resolving to ahandon his home and the wife that !;ad been forced upon him, and on whom he htid heen forced, now, at the last moment,*the t' ought of his mother's sorrow haunt- ed him. It had done so the whole of that day, but when in a c«/e, where he had break fas ed, ho had taken up the newspaper and read the news of his brother's election as Deputy dcs Bouches du Rhone, his heart had hardened again for a while. They The Notary s Daughter. 283 all had what fchey had striven for and sc'iemed for •^-Jacqjes his seat, his parents the full gratificatioa of iheir pride in him, M. Loscalle a good settlement, aiul the title of baronne for his daughter. It was all as it should be, and no one had any right to com- pUiu. " Poor old Vincent will be sorry," he thought ** Except my mother, ho is the only creature in the world who re:dly cares for me. I shall write to iiim from the first place we sto^) at." His eyes, ^hich were wandering over the busy town he was about (0 leave, fixed themsdves at that moment on a square, ugly building which he knew well by sight, (he Military H spital. " Weil, who knows but I may tread in her foo steps ; who knows that I may not some duy <]o as she is doing, live for God alone and the poor." It wa3 not tho first time tliat thought had struck him since ho had left Belbousquet. The fact was that his conscience was not completely satisfied wifc'i Lis reasoning, and had now and then given signs of protesting, which it was necessary to lull and the dream of a bublime vocation to bo here- after followed proved useful as an anodyte to troublesome doubts. These detp musings were interrupted by M. de Belraont'g voice, who critd to him from tl e oppo- eite side of the deck, " George, here i^ a sailor-boy who has brought a letter for you with * immediate' written upoii it." The blood rushed to George's face and brow. He had no doubt some of his family or his wife's ' I ,ji ig^ 284 The Notary's Daughter. relations had written to stop his departure, and all the combativeness of his nature was roused. He felt almost inclined not to read the letter before the ship sailed. Then the fear that his mother might be ill crossed him. *• Good God I" he imme- diately exclaimed, " I cannot run such a risk," and he advanced to meet the boy, who held out the letter to him. The instant he saw the handwriting his heart began to beat violently. When he read the few lines addressed to him he looked pale and agi- tated, but did not for a moment hesitate. Going straight up to M. de Belmont, he said, *' Aloys, you will think me a very strange person, but I must go back. I cannot start with you. I have had bad news.'* " Your parents?" " No ; our old servant Vincent is dangerously ill, and asks for me; I must be with him before he dies." ♦* Well, if it had been one of your family, my dear fellow, hut really I cannot see— After you had made up your mind that you had snch strong reasons for leaving France, it does seem rather chaugoable. I am afraid my undo will be annoyed, lie digcl sent to console him when his mother's illness was breaking his heart. Now she scenied like a heavenly messenger commissioned to upbraid him. He felt half indignant, half subdued. His cheek was flushed and his brow contracted. He burst forth in a tone of voice as loud as was com- patible with the fear of being heard by some of the tm The Notary's Daughter. 289 groups scattered about t!ie room, and beg-tn to justify himself. He spoke of having bccu forced to marry a girl he did not care for. Soeur Deniso interrupted liin and said ; " No force should have compelled you to do that, M George ; you are a perfectly tratliful person, and I am sure yoa vjrill not venture to say that it was no optional for you to j*esist the pressure put upon you." *' My parents were bent on this marriage." » **Ifyou were bound to obey them, what right have you now to fly in their faces by forsaking the wife they have given you ?" ^ **She hates roc, and I can n*»ver love her." ** Are you sure she hates jou ? Have you tried ^o love her? Ha¥e y(^ tried to make her love yon ? Have you forgot that you arc bound to her by the vows you made before God's alt"', and that you have no right to deal with her as wiih a stran- ' ger ? M. le Baron, you arc a man of honor ; you would not have broken i, promise you gave mo, half in joke, perhaps, and you deliberately break one you made to protect and chcrisli this young girl whom God has committed to your keeping, and for whose soul you will have to answer, if^ abandoned at the age of seventeen to all the terap- tcttions of youth and inexperience, she should stray from the path of virtue and honor. You have not thought of this; you have been delud- ing yourself ; you have been en the p^int of com- mitting a great sin. Thank God that he has saved you from it. M, de Vedelics I Low blind fill, w 29c Ifie Notary s Daughter. you have been, bow uoarly wicked witlioat know- ing it." ^ "She hates me, and my wish was io deliver her from the presence of one whom she looks upon with aversion." Soeur Denise made \ little gestore of impatience, and said : "Because a child like your young wife turned her back upon you once and vexed you, are 60th your lives to bo wretched ? Do your dut\ ; leave the rest to God. "Would 3. had Rtill, as some hoorg ago, the right to command you ! " " ScBur Denise," George exclaimed with emotion, " listen to mcl I am not so bad as you think me. I really thought what I meant to do was best for Rose, and uiy plans were not selfish. I l.ft her all the means of njoyment I ^renounced, and my in- tention was to offe^ myself to work with the Catho- lic missionaries in the South Sea Islands, and lead, far away from Europe, the sort of life you are leading here." SoBur Denisc could not repress a smile. " My dear M. de Vedelles," she replied, " that was a very Sne dream, but it is God alone wh > en cull people to lives if this sort, uut their own de- luded fancies. You have before you }our path traced out.* It may still be a happy one." George shook his head, " You can make it ft happy oi.e if you choose., "^Dven if it was fu'l of trials and sorrows. But tarlhly happiness may still be yours, if you do not thrust it from you. I hafo a great mind to tell The Notary s Daughter. 29 T you a secret, in two words, for I must be off. That little wife of yours — you know I have never told, a lie in my life, even for a good object — I say your wife loves yoii, and is breaking her heart at your leaving her. Good-by, M. de VedcUes. Give my kind regards to M. Vincent, and tell him that SoBur Denlse will offer up hpr communion for him to-morrow." ' As she passed through the passage into the wards Soeur Denise met Mile. Le.calle, who had been praying during the whole time of the interview. S!ie took h* r by t':e hand and led her to tlie win- dow. It was getting dark, but tley could see George hurraing down the street leading to the Bur- yu des Dili/jenccs. ^' There he goes/ she whispered to Mise Mede, "Does he know l.e will Ond ilose at La Pi- nede ? " *' No, I thought it better not to tell him so. I think all will be right ; but now we must leave the kSsL to our good God and hope for tb.e best.' » •mmmimmm m' CHAPTER XX. EOSE AT LA PINEDE. It w'ds aViout five o'clock in tlie morn'ug when George de Vedclles got out of the diligence at the place where the cross-roads which led to La Pinede branched off from the liigh-road. The sun was rising and the birds beginning to sing. After the jolting and the dust cf the drive in the dihgence there was something wonderfully refreshing in the morning air and the quiet stillness of the olive ard orange groves ihroujih which he walked on his way to the cl dtcau. Dnriiig the hours of darkness in the conpe of the diligence he had meditated on his conversation with Scour Denise, and marvelled at the change which he felt had come over him. He had so often indulged in waling dreams of which ehe had been the o' ject that he could hardly real- ize having actually seen and spoken to her, looked in her face* and list ned to her voice witi» so little emotion. What had become of that pa-sion which still, a few hours ago, had seemed so strong ? He hardly liked to acknowledge to himself the change which h. coultl not but feel had taken place in the nature of his feelings. It was a relief to have seen bar, and not to have grudged her to God and the m The Notary s Daughter, 293 poor, but the very relief of this change seemed to leave a void behind it. He had often called her in his solitary musings his Beatrice, and compared her to the heavenly object of Dante's poetic worship. He tried to rca\vai.Mw ... -^. 294 The Notary's Daughter, As fiie glorious gun of the south rose higlier aud bighcr la the horizon and nature seensed to liail its beams, so did a feeling of unwonted warmth and joy expand in a heart that had been embittered into hardness and clouded with dark shadows. Suppose she did love him, that prelty hUle Rose — suppose she had a heart and mind capable of cor- responding with the deeper thoughts and a^pira- ticns which liad been struggling into life in his own Boul since Denis„'s vocation and Toinettc's death- bed had roused its latent faith, would not happi- ness be po8.dblc ? Was not light breaking on the future, which l»ad hi. herto seemed so hopeless. Such were George's thoughts as he approached L.i Pinede. The gate was unlocked, and he walked up the avonue at a rapid pace, and with an earnest hope that poor old Viucunb would still be alive and conscious of hi3 arrival. The door rf the house was also open ; he walked into the ball, and then looked into the drawing- room. The sight whic'i met his eyes took him by sui'prise. On his mother's sofa near the chimney Rose, in her walking dress, was lying asleep, look- ing like a beautiful child, with her fair hair about her face and her dark eye-lashes wet with tears. Her head was resting on one of her small hands and the other was laid on an open book by her side. George approached her with a beating heart, and, treading as softly as he could, he gazed at the lovely eheping face with irrepressible emotion, i ** And d ,es she love mo ? " he said to Itself. * my God I " he murmured, kneeling down by the Pf The Notary s Daughter, 295 couch, "let it be so," and tears streamed down his face. His eyes fell on the open book. It was the life of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, and the little hand upon it was placed on the lines he had writ- ten on the margin of one of tlie pages. How much was revealed by the choice and the positiou of that book I He felt it, and an irresis- tible impulse made him bend down and kiss tho hand of his young wife. Rose opened her large blue eyes, and when she saw George's face clos9 to hers she rubbed those lovely blue eyes and said, "It is a dream !" and turned her head on tho pillow as if she '-vished to go to sleep again. " Sleep on, dear Rose," he whispered. " I shall come back when I have seen Vincent." The words, though breathed so low that he thought she could hardly have heard them, made her start up on her couch, and looking hiiu in the face, she stared at him a moment and then said : "Wait — wait ; I must tell you — I must speak to you first — before you go up-stairs." " Am 1 too late ? poor old Vincent I Is he dead ? " And as Rose did not answer, but took his hand in hers, and he felt her hot tears falling upon them, he knew it was so and sobbed like a child. " George, dear George," she said, still holding his hand in hers, " be comforted ; he died so peacefully, just after receiving Holy Communion. M. Ic Cure gave him the last absolution and bless- ing. The dear old man said to me, * You will tcU ill ii i 296 The Notary s Daughter, M. George that I liave had the last sacraments, and ask him to pray for me.'" *- \ou good little anjsjel !" George exclaimed, "you were with him, then, and he did not die uncomforted." " Till I arrived he would not listen to M. Cur6, and kept calling for you. But it seemed to calm him when I came and spoke of you. He wanted to send you a message." " What message was it ?" Rose colored deeply, turned her head away, and was silent. ^ '^ I cannot toll you now ; another time, perhaps." " I gncss what it was," George said gently, tak- ing her hand in his and making her turn towards him. " Was it to tell me that we are to love one another ? " Rcse blushed, and George kissed her for the first time ; then, taking her hand, he said : "Let us go up together, my wife, and pray by the side of our dear old friend, and promise God that wc shall do what he wished. Shall we not love each other, Ro;e, and together serve God ? " "Like the good Duke Louis and his dear St. Ehzabetb," Rose said, pointing to the volume on the sofa. George sufiled through his tears, and they went up together to the room where old Vincent's body was laid out, with a crncifix Oii his breast and fresh flowers, gathered by Rose, at his feet. There they renewed their marriage vows, c^nd prayed a long time side by side. The Notary s Daughter. 297 Ifc was five o'clock in the morning when they came down-stuira and went out on the terrace, where the birds were singing and the gentle morning breeze stirred the braichcs of the aca- cias. One (f the maid-servants, who had found out George's arrival, and seen him from the kitchen crossing the hall, askel if they would have coffee under the trees and something to eat, an offer which they gladly accepted, for the fatigues and emotions of the last few hours had rat^her exhausted them. The meal was a silent one. Their hearts were too full for speech, but hovv different was that silence from that of their meals at Belbousquet ! Now and then their eyes met, and then on Rose's cheeks, which were paler than usual, a deep color suddenly rose and made her look prettier than ever. He could hardly believe she was the same girl he once thought so uninteresting, and, in truth, never had a greater change perhaps taken place in so short a time than the last few weeks had wrought in his young wife. They had awakened in her new feelings of a double sort : strong religious impressions and a human affection, pure, and hallowed by a sacred tie. The light of faith had shone on iier soul like a sunbeam, and a timid love for her husband had arisen simultaneously. No wonder that her coun- tenance was transfigured, no wonder that Ike com- monplace prettiness of a thoughtless girl had be- come womanly beauty of a higher order. Suffer- ing had paled her cheek, and she had grown thm- 298 The Notary's Daughter. %. ner, but it had given a tcnt^erness to l.er soft eyes aud a BweetDess to her smile svhicii toaclied and captivated George. As to Rose, it was not quite 60 new to her to admire George's dark eyes and thoughtful brow. She remembered how often by stealth s'.e hai looked at him at Bclbousquct. Slie thought of those melancholy moments when nothing but a few cold unmeaning words passed t eir lips, and enjoyed a silenca which seemed to express more than eitlier of them could utter just then. But when the meal was finished they held a con- sultation, still sitting under the acacia trees. What should they do ? George's parents were expected that evening at La Pinede. Shou'd ihey wait for them or return to Belbousquet ? Rose blushed and said, " What would vou like to do ? " "What I should like," he said, " would be to stroll slowly, very slowly, through the woods to our little villa ; to borrow for you Matthias's donkey, which we can bring back to-morrow ; to take with us some provisions, and dine in the olive grove by the side of a well I have often sketched ; to rest at noon in the shade, and arrive at home late in the afternoon." Rose did not answer ; a large tear rolled down her cheek and fell on one of the wallflowers sl:e held in her hand. George took the flowers from her, and said : "What makes you cry. Rose ? Do tell me ; I want to know." "It is nothing," she said, raising her tearful The Notary s Daughter. 299 eyes to his and smiling; "I am so glad you are come back." And she gently laid her hand on his with so deep a blush that for a moment she looked «s rosy as ever. " But, then, why do you cry ? " he asked, again kissing her small hand« '* Oh 1 I c .nnot explain it" " But you ought to tell me ; you know that I must always be your best friend, your comforter, Eoe." She smiled, and said, *' I cried very often during those days at Belbousquet, only you did not notice it." **0h! will you ever forgive the odious, sulky, unkind wretch who treated you so ill, who was so cold and so unjust to you, who was determined to think you hated him ? my dear li >6e ! you will never know, you will never understand — " He hid his face in his hands and remained silt-nt. ** George," she gently said, "T know — I under- stand it all. 1 know what you have felt, what you have suffered, and I am glad that it was one so good, so holy, that you loved. We can think of her and speak of her together, as if she was an angel protcc ing us." George looked up greatly surprised. " Who told you about her ? How did you hear ? " ** Oh ! if you knew how I have gazed on her pic- ture, wishing I had been like her, and repeated to myself thos3 lines beginning, * If thou hadst been the gu ding light. >»> rill (11; :IA ii!i ii 300 The Notary s Daughter. " You are a little witch, Rose," George exclaim- ed, rather agitated ; " no one hot myself ever knew of those lines," " O sir I it took a long time to put together the little bits of paper scattered on the grass behind the old bench,'' Rose said with a smile. ** So yoa know all, and you forgive me ? Then you are a perfect angel," he exclaimed. " Oh I no," she answered, ** it is so easy to for- give when one is happy; and 1 think you have also something to forgive.'* George looked up anxiously. ** Had you, Rose^ cared — " *'For any one else before I naarried you ? Oh t BO, never ; but, Geoi-ge, that look when you spoke to me at the Capucins, which made you write that terrible letter, I am sa sorry I ever looked at you rn that way."" " Never mind how you looked at me then, Rose, so that you will often look at me as you are doing now.'* And thus thoy talked an for some time, and then George went to order the donkey and ta store a basket with their noonday meal. Rose sat on, wondering at the change which ft few short hours^ had effected in her life. The scenes of the last night imparted a solemn and affect- ing character ta tliis new-found happiness. Old Vincent's dying wish was amply fulfilled. She looked up at the windows of the room where the old man had died, and breathed a prayer for his soitl. Just then the sound of a hcrse*s feet in the The Notary s Daughter, 301 arenue startled her, ancl, tuniing her eyes that way, 8!;e saw a man trotting up the avenue. As he reached the bottom of the terrace sho saw him tic his liorse to a tree and rapidly mount the steps. It was Art6mon Richer. He Cimc up to her wi h a broad smile on his face, and begun with great volubility to express his anxiety at heariiig f at she was alone at La Pinede, and that some one had died there in the nigh'. "It was a horrible thing/' he said, *• that all of t'ds anxiety and trouble should have devolved upon her. He had heard at Belbousquet, where he had called to pay his respects, that AL le Baron was ab- sent from home, tha'. none of iiis family were at La Pin^do, and M. L3scalle on an electioneering tour, and it had occurred to hiru t.iat the services of a li'iend might be acceptable, or, at any rate," he added, with a deep sigh and a very sentimental ex- pression of countenance, *'the intense sympathy of one who could never cease to feel a most respectful fiolicitude for her happiness, and an ardent desire to relieve her of any cares or troubles which, iu her loneliness, must so heavily weigh upon her mind." Rose — partly from fatigue, and partly from tlve sad and then joyful emotions she had undergone — was in that state where tears and laughter are both readily cxnited. There was something so ridiculous in the ail ctation of profound sensibility which the joily and impudent Artemon assumed, and which suited so' ill with his broad, liandsonie, but vulgar face, tiiat her risible nerves were stimulated bevond control, and to hide that she was bursting with laugh- 'mm- 302 The Notary's Daughter, ter she put hcrhankercbitf before her moat'j. The sight of the handkerchief raised to her face instaDt- Ij convinced Art^mon that she was deeply affected by his sympathy, and he wras beginning a speech with the exclamation of, "Ah I madame," the se- quel of whiCh was abruptly cut short by the ap- pearance of George, who came out of the house to announce ihut the donkey was at the door anl the basket of provisions ready. He started at the sight of Artemon, and fo did that gentleman. Rose stood up, and, commanding her countenance as well as she could, she said to her husb:ind : ** M. Richer called to offer me his services about the an^angemcnts with regard to poor Vincent's funeral. It was very kind of him. He did nofc know you had returned." The corners of Rose's little mouth gave visible sigtis that the would not bo able much longer to keep her countenance. George, on the contrary, made a very formal, courteous bow to M. Richer, and thanked him for his civility with a self-possession and dignity of manner that took the disappointed Artemon en- tirely by surprise. ** Oh ! of course/' he said, " as M. le Bapn was at liome there could be no occasion for any other as- sistance. Still, if be could be of any use, he hoped, as a neighbor, they would command his services — " And far once In his life Artemon became confused, and broke off in the middle of his civil speech rather abruptly and with a heightened color. ■II The Notary s Daughter, 303 Georgft spoka calmly and civilly to the embar- rassed visi.or, hinted that his wife and himself must at oncD set out on their homeward way, and begged him to exenso their leaving lim, at the same time begging him to rest his horse a::d take some refreshment. As Rosp looked at t'icso two men as they stood s^de by side, and contrasted the vuigar, gigantic bourgeois with the re(i.ied, pale, and sensitive young man of high birth and gentle breeding who was speaking to him, the thought of all she had escaped, of all that had been given to her, rushed upon her mind, and this time it was tears, not laughter, she had to hide. Artemon bowed, departed, and rode down the avenue. Orce he looked back, and the picture which met hi3 eyes was Sose mounted on her don- key and George passing the bridle on his arm. He saw her lovely face turned toward her husband with a look of inexpressible sweetness and peaceful con- tentment, and his attitude of unmistakable fond attention to his iittle wife. Did this sight enrage him, or did it give him an entirely new ider. as to ipve and marriage—an idea tending to make him a somewhat better man, and, possibly, when he, too, married, later on, a better husband than he would otherwise have been ? We cannot tell ; seeds are some^ia\es sown on unpromising soil which bear unexpected fruits. Perhaps Artemon Richer de- rived some faint notion of the sanctity and beauty of wedded love from the glimpse he had of it that liiil *i ifl X^%W .*ijt. CHAPTER XXI. . A SiadxL THROUGH THE WOODS. TuEEE are hours, eren on carMi, of nearly per- fect liappin*'gs. Such were those during which George de Vedellca and his wife rode and walked r ross the hcautiful \n\hi and through the woods which separated Li Pin6de from Bclbousquet. Their hearts had b.cn softened ty their sorrow at old Vincent's death, and were prepared to welcome happiness in a spirit not of wild excitement, but of humble and peaceful joy. Every moment they be- came mire and more at ease with each other. The deep solitude of those shady groves, the perfume which the thyme; trodden, under the donkey's feet, exhaled, the fitful play of the sun- shine on the greensward, the hum of the wild bees, seemed to chime in with the glad thoughts which both were dwelling on during nioments of eilcncG which seemed to unite their souls even more closely than conversation. They often thus remained without speaking, and it was not till they made their midday halt by the stdc of the well George had described that they talked much lo one another. There, sitting on the moss, lie told S04 ■P The Notary s Daughter' 30s Rose the whole history of his past life. Ho de- scribed to her all he had suffered from the duj that, recovering from what had appeared a hope- less illness, he hud begun to regain physical strength by slow degrees, angh her slender fingers, which he tenderly kissed awfiy, . And then he told her of the promise he had made to Denise in a thoughtless hour and the use she made of it. Ho related to he r the way in which she had stopped his departure and pointed out to him the fault he had been on the point of com- The Notary s Daughter, 309 mitting. He said that even during tlio dajs of Belbousquet he had been sornetimes touched by Hose's patient endurance of his hateful conduct, which ho now saw m its true light, but that he had hardened his heart by a sort of perverse obstin- acy, and persisted in his rash resolution. ^•^ But," ho continued, ** w!ien she told me — you must forgive her for it, ^osc — that you were begin ning to love your uuWv^rthy and ungracious hus- band, I, too, began, my little darling, to sec what a madman I was to mn away from one whom God had given me for my own; and wL in I found you at La Pinede, where you had been a ministering angel to my poor old Vincent ; when I saw you in that room where I had suil'. red so much ; when you opened ^hose soft blue eyes of yours and looked at me with such inexpressible sweetness, I fell in love with you, dear Rose, and that is the end of my story.** He paused, and then added, "the begin- ning of a now life." Time passed away in those mutual outpourings, and it was long before George and Hose could think or soeak of anything but their own history during the last few weeks ; but before they left their rest- ing place — a spot neither of them ever forgot as the scene of their new-found happiness — George drew from his pocket the small parcel which Aloys de Belmont ph 3ed in bis hands just Jis he was leaving the ship on the previous day. His checks flushed a little as he read a letter it contained and then glanced at some newspapers enclosed in it. Rose watched him, and wondered what it could be which i Is 3IO The Notary s DatigJitcr. emotion. At last he seemed to cause bini so much said: *• Uore, I am so glad for yon I 1 hope it is not * j'ridc ihat makes me rejoice at this news. Read this letter and these papers, my darling, and thank God with me that I may perhaps be yet of some lit tie use in the world, though not a deputy," he add- ed with a smile. They would have been d pretty study for a pain- ter, those two young creatures, sitting on a mossy bank, the quivering light through t.e pine-trees shining upon them through tho green branches, and the c xpression of their faces as variable as tho^o lights and shadows which changed wi h every breeze, his eager, pale face slightly flushe"\ his dark eyes kindling, and hers filling with tears as she read the papers he placed in her hands. Oh I it was a glorious moment for the young cou- ple, one of those unexpected pleasures that make the hearc beat for joy. The letter was addressed to Aloys de Belmont. It was from a literary friend of his in Paris, who had transacted the publication of a volume of George de Vedelles* poetry. It had just appeared under an assumed name, and its suc- cess had been instantaneous. "Your friend's verses," he wrote, "are in every one's hands, and there is but one opinion as to tho remarkably talent they evince. M. de Lamartine praises them, Dclphine Gay has already recited the,, * Ode to the Stormy Petrel,* people talk of nothing else. The *Lays of Provence* have made quite a sensation. The general impression is that France The Notary's Daughter, 3" possesses a i)e»v poet, and one wh* se inspirations are derived from the purest sources, u tlteply religious spirit and an intense love of nature." The reviews which accompanied this letter all praised the originality and b«auty of George's poems. A few criticisms were mingled with the most gratifying enc.uragemenr. This was, indeel, a filling up of their cup of hap- piness. Rose itiserted the precious docu-jients into her bag and would not part with it for a moment. She rode her donkey with a feeling of triumph which made her now and then break out into little incomprehensible exclamations. But when George said, "Would dear old Vincent could have known this ! " then her poor little heart, so full of various emotions, ovfirfloweil, and she burst Into teara. If for many a year George had tilently suffered from the absence of s.^mpathy, it was amply made up to him that dav. ..it' CHAPTER XXII. ALL IS WELL THAT EIJ-DS WELL. Now we must shift the scene, retrace our steps, and relate what had happened during the last two days to other personages of our story, and what had been in particular Madame Lescalle's state of mind and course of action since she had received a visit from Thereson on the afternoon after Misc Med6 and Rose had left Belbousqnet for Marsi^illes. Her husband had been devoting himself to the business of Jact^ucs de Vedelles' eleciion, and hia efforts were crowned wiih success. Thanks to his unremitting exenions, and the popular manners and gift of speaking which hiu candidate possessed, the young count had been returned by a fair ma- jority. The news of his election reach M. and Madame de Vedelles in Paris, and made them re- solve to return at once to La Pinede, where Jacques wished to invite some of his constituents and fintert:ain the neighbors. It was ai SI ' ?'' ■ # . \ . i ■m ^m: m ■■:;.: i ! \ 320 The Notary s Daughter, an income in addition which will nuike her one of the first ladies in the town." It was wonderful how q,uicli:ly this i clench the matter and bring St to an issue^ There was sometliing essonliaDy oo^ ^. i^Zve- iiir Madame Leseallb's natui'e. She liker* : "ti and^ agitation as much as. some people appsecia ' julm and repose. All the year round, she was striving (a get up s'rni^gles with her husband, her aunt, and her servants- Life was dull to her without some ©ne to dispute with. As to M.. Lescalle,- ho was too» absolute in some respects and too yielding- in ethcrg to afford much excitement of lliis sort. Mise Med 6 never quarrelled with any one. The ser- vants were her chief resource, but it is not exciting The Notary s Daughiif* 321 " 1 feo dispute with persoua obligi'd lo submit to one. The prospect, therefore, of an encounter in whica she felt hers would be tho part of an injured mo- ther standing up for her child gave her qnite a genuine rolief, and she prepared for the combat with consid^ rablc zest. She and Thcicson went to Belbousquet that day, and she ftlt thit by establishing herself th^re she would be niistrosa of tho situation. In case M. Lescallo should not at once take her part, or should hip.b at t'.e possibility of a reconciliation between George and Rose, she prepared some magnificent appeals to the feelings of a father, some vehemtnt protests ngainst again exposing her child to tho brutal neglect of her nnwort^^y husb md, and a de- claratiou tluit, t'lough noble blood might not ilow in their veins, honor was as dcar to Ihem as to any aristocrat i i P ance, and fhe, for one, would never be trodden under foot by the great ones of tho earth. It was all very fine. She p.-ic d up and down the verandah spoutirg these sentences, and they sounded well in her own ears. She was not aware that two dark, wild-looking eyes were staring at her through tho foliage. They were Benoitc's, who kept wa'ching t;ie red-faced, plump, excited liitle woman as she would have c!one an angry turkey-c ck. People were to her like curious animals, and the hoped that if mon- eieur came back he would see Mis6 gesticulate, and stump lip and down, talking as fast as the rooks up in tho evergreen oaks. But she instinctively kept out of her way, and this wus prudent, for AA J 322 The Notary s Daughter, Th^res n had Tiot prepossessed Madame Lescallo in her favo . Eirly in the morning this lady was seated i7i the little drawing-room in an expectant attitude. Slie had studied her dress, prepared her attitudes, ard again rehearsed her ^peeciies. The chief difficulty was to kno»v whether to treat the Do Vedelles, w hen they arrived, as friends or foe-. If they did com- ply with her summons, especially if they and her husband arrived together, it would not bo possible to receive them as enemies. After a long and weary lapse of time, at last, late in the afternoon, the sound of a carriage in the lane was he a, and the party from Draguignan came in sight. The Comtessc de Yedolles' anxieiy had gone on increasing all the way, and when on arriving she saw neither George nor Rose, but only Madame Lescalle, who wa^ looking grave and con- eequent'al, her heart sank within her. "Where are our uhiliire.i ? " she asked with emotion. *' All I where are they, indeed, Madame la Oom- tesse?" was the answer. "My daughter is with her aunt. Mademoiselle Lescalle ; as to your son, God only knows where he is." "Good hejivens ! what has happened?" Not only did Madame de Vedelles ejaculate these words, but the count and Jacques made similar exclamations, and M. Lescalle said : " Good God, madame I what has become of him ? " " Be tjeutcd," Madame Lescalle answered in a The Notary's Daughter, 323 solemn manner, ** I hern is no reason to fciippose that anything Inis happened to M. le Biron de V«.'- delles ; his disappearance \\ in keeping with the whole of his conduct since hi^ marriage. Ho has shown his wife nothing but hatred and aver.^ion, he has treated her with the most studied and in- sulting neglect, sciictly vouchsafing to speak to her. The faithful and devoted servant who fol- lowed ray daughter to this solitude can bear wit- ness to his savage, rude, brutal cond.uct." At these words Madame de Vedelles burst into tears ; t e faces of the two fathers expresscel diffe- rent but strong sentiments of indignation. }X. de Vedelles said : "I cannot condemn my son without a hearing. If he has acted as you describe, madame, I will disown and disinherit him. jjuh for God's sake, is there no clue tc his movements ? Does no one know where he is ? " " Why did not Rose let you know at once that he had left her ?" M. LtRcalle asked. "Did my sister know of his departure ? " ** All I can tell you is that yonr sister carried off Rose with her yesterday morning, i have neither seen cor heard from them for some days." There was a pause. Poor Madame de Vedelles seemed stunned- She thought George so incapa- ble of Laking care of himself that it maele her tremble to think of him alone and amongst stran- gers. She turned and looked out of the window with a moumf';!l, wistful expression ; remorse and grief were brimming up in her heai't and filling it 324 The Notary s Daughter. with bitterues?. The old count ha(3 no remorse, but kept saying to himself that fcliis sen of his, once the joy and pride of his heart, had become a source of endless misery. He felt exasperated against Madame Le. c lie, whose every word wound- ed him to the quick, and yet he was too just and too much afraid t .at there might be grounds for xier resentment to give way to his owe. M. Lescalle had listened to his wife's denuncia- tions with anxiety, and felt at a loss what to say or wljat part to take on the subject. The silence lasted for a few minutes, and then Madame T^'^s- calle, gathering up all her energy, again recapitu- la'ed her charges against George, and, raising her voice, said that unt^erno circumstances and in no case — she solemnly declared it in the presence of M. Lescalle, who, if he had any sense, honor, or right feeling, would support her, and in that of the Oomtc and Comtesse de Vedelles, whoso rank and position in no way abashed her — she s'aould not consent to her daughter remaining wiih a husband who spurned and despised her. She should take her back to her paternal home, not an aristocratic one, indeed, but where, under her mother's pro- tection, she would be shielded from insult and ill- usage. ♦ M. Lescalle ventured to interrupt his wife's floW^ of language by observing that Rose would have to bo consulted on the subject. This remark roused all Madame Loscalle's ire, and she burst forth again into a frosh torrent of accusations against George, which mode the countess look every mo- T}u Notary's Daughter. 325 ment loore miserable, the count more exasperated, M. Lescalle luorc disti-essed. Tiie only person in ihc room who did not seem at ail agitated was Jjcqii- ?. He listened to this flow of words with great cDm[X)suro, It was in his nature to take a verj sanguine vievv of things, and he e*it neai- the window pulling the cars of his dog, which had followed him into the room, with the resigned look of a person waiting for the cessation of a troublesome noise. In the midst of one of Ma- dame Lascallb's most startling bursts of eloquence he stood up and said : " Dear me ! there they are in the garden, George and Rose, walking arm-in-arm." Evoiy one rushed to the window. Rose had just got off her donkey, and was lojki ug at her husband with such an unmistakable expression of affection and happiness that Madame de Ytdelles' eyes filled with tears of joy, and Madame Lescalle felt as if a glass of water had been suddenly dash- ed into her face. George and Rose crossed the parterre, came into the house, and started with surprise when, on opening the drawing-room door, they saw the fami- ly party assembled there. No one knew exactly what to say or do, so great was the revulsion of feeling on every side. Madame de Vodelles and Madame Le^caKe seemed, for different reasons, ready to faint. Jacques alone was self-possessed. He went up smilingly to G'^orgc and said : " Oongratnlate me on my election, George. I sup- pose the news had not reached you in this desert V* ir 1 ! m 326 The Noturys Danghter, "Oh!" exclaimed Geoi*ge, ''would dear old Vincent bad heard it ; he woald have been so glad." • j^ " Vinf^nt \ " the count and countess exclaimed at t^^e came time. " We heard l:e was ill,*' Madanie de Vedclle? said, "bat, oh \ U he dead, our dear, faithlnl old friend ? '' The count walked to one of the windows and turned away to hide Ms emotion, wiiilst his wife shed tears she did not try to disguise. " George," she said, " were you with him — did you comfort him for our absence ? " " N'o, mother," he answei*ed, taking her haofda between bis own, " I arrived too late, but my dear little wife was with him during his last hours. M. le Cure told mc that she had soothed and console 1 and cheered him. He gave her messages for us alL Come, Rose, and tell my mother all about it." Madame de Vedelles opened her arms and clasp- ed her young daughter-in-law to her breast with feelings too strong for utterance, ifot to Vincent alone did she feel that this fair, gontle girl had proved a ministering angel. George was not the same morose, dejected being he had been for tlje last four years. S le saw it in his eyes, she per- ceived it in* the tone of his voice, and when, kneel- ing by her, he pressed his lips on the clasped hands of his mother and his ^ ife, she could only look up to heaven in silent, ardent thankfulness. Madame Lescalle had gazed in silence on this scene. She was fairly bewildered at a changD The Notary s Daughter. 32; vvliicb, to do her justictv, did take htr by faurprise ; out tlicre was no mistaking her daughter's coun- lena ce and manner; it was impossible to make her out a victim, and the good side of her own 1 ear- asserted itself, she was glad that Rose was happy. She said to herself, not quoting Shaks- P' ro, bu*; her wits jumping with those of the gr^at .dramatist, ** AJVs well that ends well," and, look- ing at her husband, ejaculated : " Well, but what does it all mean ? '* Tiie notary rubbed his hands and twinkled bis eyes and smiled, as if e family counc.I, and had purposely sent her note so as not to reach her quite in time. Now her arrival was a welcome event. She had much to hear, much to see, much to guess at, and much to thank God for, that dear Mis6 Med6, and it was well she was there to suggest that they had all better depart and leave the young couple to themselves and to the peaceful enjoyment of their new found happiness. The Notary's Daughter, 329 As sue opened the door leading out of the draw- ing-room Bcn6i e was diECovored behind it. The little goatherd had an inveterate habit of ea\csdrop- p:ng, but no one thought at that moment of re- proving her. She darted up to Rose and said : " Mi86, is monsieur what ho always said I was, a poet ? " Upon which Rose — they were all a little beside themselves just then — hugged her and said : '•Yes, he is, and I shall read you some of hid verses." On a lovely morning in May, two years after- wards, M. and Madame George do Vedelles wore sitting on the grass of the little lawn at Belbous- quet, and their beautiful boy of fifteen months old rolling near them amongst the daisies. George kept catching at his son's little fat legs, which made him shout with laughter, whilst Wasp, rather jeal- ous of the baby, uttered short barks to attract his master's attention. On a rustic arm-chair, close to i\A\ group, Mis^ M6d6 sat knitting stockings for her poor people. Rose had on her knees a newspaper, and divided her attention between it and the frolics of George and her boy. Suddenly she uttered an exclamation which made her husband turn towards her his handsome head, 'nto the dark locks of which his baby had been sticking daisies and blades of grass. " Read that," Rose said, with tears in her eyes. He took the paper and perused, with visible emo- tion, the paragraph which his wife had pointed out to him. 4 330 The Notary s Daughter. It waa ft descript'o:! of the fearful ravages of the }ell)w fever in Soadi America, and the announce- ment of the death of Be vera I Sis i era of Charity in the hospitals, where day and night th(y had been nursing the sick. " Amongst others," ii went on to say, " we regret to ttate that Soeur Deniso, eg welllnown at Mareeilles as the friend of the poor, and w 10. in the world, was so much admired as Mademoiselle de la Pinedc , has fallen a victim to the raging pestilence. R.I.r.*' "Wijat different paths there are to heaven!" George ejaculated with a sigh. '* Hers has been a short and glorious one. To her wo owe it, Rose, that, thank God, we aim at the same end, though byaditFereut road." "Is not our road to b oth, too bright, too happy r " she said, drawing close to Mm and laying her hand on his shoulder. "My own darling," he answered, "it is indeed beautifu? and smiling now ; but when we love any- thing 031 earth as I love jou and that baby tie thought will sometimes arise that grief mud come some day to you or to me. One of us. Rose, will huve to go first and leave the other behind. Hea- ven cannot be reached without previous anguish by those who love each other as wo do. Site went straight, ahd on to the goal, nothing weighing her (!own or keeping her back. We must not weep for her/' There was a moment's silence. Then the baby tottered up to them with a ball in its little hand and threw it to Wasp, which played with it and with The Notary s Daughter, 331 the b'y in a wild, froliclfsome 8t:yle. Tbe parouts smili'd, and soon had to play too, whilst Mis^ M6- do looked with rapture on the scene. **0 my dear children I" she exclaimed, "hap- piuoes 13 a beautitul thinrj to ere." George kissed her wnnkled brow and said : **Dear old aunt, it is a blessed thing to be able to enjoy the happiness of others." THE i:kd.