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 \ ' 
 
THE LADY Ot' PllOVRNCIL 
 
r" 
 
 A 1 
 
 AttXHl 
 
 J A 
 
THE LADY OF PEOVElSrCE- 
 
 OB, 
 
 
 HUMBLED AXD HEALED. 
 
 A TALE OP THE FmST PEENCn EETOLUMON. 
 
 JBcr 
 
 I -^. li- O. E3. 
 
 u« KGYPT, PMDE AND HX3 WtlSOirEIlS " 
 
 
 TORONTO: 
 C^YISli^ljiSIL,I, ^ SON". 
 
 1873. 
 
T4tp 
 
 St. Johnland Stereotype Foundry, 
 
 SOTTOLK OOUNTT, N. T. 
 
 J:ii 
 
PPvEFACE. 
 
 N writing the following pages, A. L, 
 O. E. ha3 kept in view tlio story 
 of Naaman the leper, as being a 
 striking tj-po illustrative of an ' 
 important Scriptural doctrine. The story of 
 
 rl?^'"!!" ^^''' ^^'^''^ '^^ opportunity of exem- 
 plifying the honorable place which may and 
 ought to be that of a servant who is faithful 
 both to an earthly and a heavenly Master. 
 Iho connection between employer and em- 
 ployed IS too often regarded by both as a 
 mere matter of bargain,-so much work on 
 the one hand, to be given in return for so 
 much wages on the other. The Author would 
 be thanklul should hor little ))ook load some 
 masters and servants to feel that this connee^ 
 tion like every other social tic, may be cn-. 
 nobled and strengthened by that faith which 
 
 o7 GoT '''' '''^•- '" '^'' ^'^^^^^^'"^^^ i^-pj^^ 
 
 A. L. 0. E. 
 
 (5) 
 
4 
 
 I 
 
 CO]^TEjV^TS. 
 
 t DAWN ET NOVEMBER *'**J 
 
 n. THE COTTAGli INMATES.'. '...'* „? 
 
 m. THE STEP-MOTHEn's VISIT. . ' Xj 
 
 IV- A WINTKX WAY 
 
 * AO 
 
 V. ONE WOItD '^ 
 
 VI. THE BXJTTERFLY. t^ 
 
 Vn. THE OITER '^^ 
 
 vm. A SACKnncE '^'^ 
 
 IX. DEPAKTUEE , . . ,' | ^ 
 
 X. LANDINO. . ° * ^^'^ 
 
 i-jo 
 
 XI. THE REIGN OV TERROR ,^, 
 
 Xn. msT NIGHT IN FRANCE... izl 
 
 Xni. TRAVELLING ' 
 
 XIV. IN PARIS " * * ^^^ 
 
 XV. THE COMTESSE .'.' V^^ 
 
 XVI. 1,1FE OR DEATH. ........ ^ J 
 
 XVII. BORROW AND SIN.. . . ^^^ 
 
 XVTH. THE CHATEAU,... '..^^ J^^ 
 
 XIX. A IJ3TTER ' ' ' " " "^f 
 
 XX. TEMPTATION.......... "" ^^^ 
 
 XXI. RICH AND POOR. . ^^^ 
 
 XXH. HIGH AND I/3W. ...'.*"..'[* ' ^^^ 
 
 xxni. CONFESSION. "- = -> ->4v 
 
 255 
 
 'vii) 
 
^,'l{[ CONTENTS. 
 
 2G6 
 
 XS.-V. TASSIKG OK ^77 
 
 iX •. THE ERRAND ' ^ ggG 
 
 XXVI. VEAITD AND VEAE ^^^ 
 
 XX\'n. DAKINO THE WORST " ' ' ^^^ 
 
 XXVni. THE RED RIBBON "^ ^^2 
 
 XXIX. A. VERDICT " 330 
 
 XSX. A DISCOVERY ■"" g^g 
 
 XXXI. FLIGHT 353 
 
 XXXII. THE servants' HAEL ^^^ 
 
 ZXXm. VEELINO AFTER TRUTH ^^^ 
 
 XXXIV. MISTRESS AND MAID " ' ' • ^g. 
 
 XXXV. A CHASE gg2 
 
 XXXVI. THE RECESS ^^g 
 
 XXXVn. A FRIEND IN NEED • ' * ' • ^^^ 
 
 XXXYin. WELCOME ^-j^q 
 
 XXXIX. PREPARATIONS ^ ^^g 
 
 Xli. THE FTJGITrS^S ^^ 
 
 XLI. THE TRIAIi ^gg 
 
 XUI. THE CONDEMNED ^^^ 
 
 XUn. THE GtllLLOTINE ^^^ 
 
 XLt7. CONCLUSION 
 
266 
 277 
 
 286 
 
 303 
 
 315 
 
 322 
 
 330 
 
 345 
 . 358 
 . 368 
 . 370 
 . 385 
 . 392 
 . 403 
 . 413 
 .. 419 
 , . 428 
 .. 444 
 .. 453 
 .. 462 
 .. 471 
 
 THE LADY OF PROVENCE. 
 
 :>i^o^- 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DAWN IN NOVEMBER. 
 
 T is in the year 1792 that mj 
 story oiDens, a time during Avhich 
 occurred some of tlie Avorst 
 horrors of tlio French Eovohi- 
 tion. For more than three years had Chris- 
 tendom been breathlessly watching the 
 progress of the fearful social convulsion, as 
 those v'ho gaze on the eruption of a volcano, 
 beholding the fiery lava stream sweep over 
 palace and church ; the flames rising higher 
 and higher, destruction spreading wider and 
 wider, till the sky over all Europe seemed 
 to be reddened by the blood-red glare ! 
 
 In England, which was divided by but a 
 narrow channel from the scene of such a 
 convulsion, intense was the interest which ifc 
 
 (9) 
 
 
10 
 
 DAWN IN NOVEiri;r:i;. 
 
 cxc'itod. Slio :ippo:\red to 1)0 Rcarooly hc- 
 yoiid vciidi of Iho liory hIiowcv, which but 
 for CioiVs l)lo,ssiiig on a pioas kin-' and i\ 
 loval i)0<)pl<.', might bavG crnshod licv tlirono 
 nnd buried in ushcs the wreck of lior consti- 
 tution. Tho storming of the BuKtib, tho 
 massncrc of llio Swiss Guiircls, tho insulta 
 hoiipcd upon Tiouis XYI. and his hapU^^ss 
 Queen, at this time prisoners in the Temple, 
 with the more recent butcheries at Bicetre 
 iind La Force, were the common topic of 
 (?onversation. The names of Eobcspierro, 
 Couthon, St. Just, liercc Danton, blood- 
 thirsty Marat, were familiar as household 
 words on the lips of the smith at his fori>-e, 
 the farmer at the fair, the imblican behind 
 his -Ijar. The press did not spread news 
 during llio last century with the rapidity 
 with which it does so in the present— there 
 was no telegraph to Hash tidings from shore 
 to shore— but the arrival of the stage-coach 
 with tho post-bag was eagerly awaited at 
 county town or wayside-inn ; and the scanty 
 intelligence which its guard might bring 
 down from London was soon widely spread 
 through the neighborhood ; tho account of 
 
DAWN IN XOVEMEER. 
 
 11 
 
 •oly hc- 
 licli but 
 ;• ami i\ 
 L" tlu'ono 
 !• c'oiisti- 
 tilo, tlio 
 insaUa 
 liaplcss 
 Tcinj^le, 
 Bicctro 
 topic of 
 :spierro, 
 bloocl- 
 msoliold 
 is forge, 
 L behind 
 ail news 
 rapidity 
 t — there 
 )m shore 
 ue-coach 
 raited afc 
 le scanty 
 hfc bring 
 y spread 
 icount of 
 
 the .state of Paris losing notljiii- of its 
 honors in its circulation from mouth to 
 mouth. 
 
 _ In the Tillage of W , in Surrey, the 
 
 nitercst felt in French politics .vas increased 
 by tlic en-cumstance of a country-house in 
 its yicuiity being for some time the abode 
 ot the 3oui)g daughter of one of the prin- 
 cipal actors in the terrible drama of the 
 Fvouch Ilevolution. Louis Philippe, Duke 
 or Urleans, cousin, and yet enemy, of the iin- 
 prisoned Louis the Sixteenth, had in 1791 
 son t his daugliter Adelaide to England, under 
 the care of the celebrated Madame do Gen- 
 hs, as the delicate health of the royal of,] 
 -^^s said to require the bracing 4 aud 
 chalybeate springs of our island. Orleans 
 (or Egahte, as he now called himself, in 
 order to win fayor from the Jacobin mob) 
 
 thi^ mcau lously taken. Ifc is matter of 
 Instory that his having suffered his younc. 
 caught.^, to reside in England was one o7 
 he heads of accusation brouglit against him 
 by the enemies who succeeded in ar^^nn,. 
 Pli^hmg his destruction. But, unconscious 
 
12 
 
 DAWN IN NOVEMBER. 
 
 that by her sojourn ia Britain slio was add- 
 ing to tlio perils of her lather, t]io gontio 
 Adehiido found our country a Jjavon of 
 safety from the liorrors rn-in- in her own 
 distracted land ;* and she may often in lier 
 aftcr-hfo have looked back witli regret to 
 peaceful days passed in old England. In 
 happy ignorance of what the futnro might 
 bring either of weal or of woo, Adelaide, in 
 her Surrey retreat, littlo dreamed that she 
 was to hve to see a father on the scaffold, 
 or ft brother on the throne. 
 
 Strong as may be our interest in stirring 
 forsign events, yet, after all, how small a 
 place they occupy in the mind, compared 
 with the petty cares and trials, the hopes 
 and fears, which make up the round of each 
 individual's every-day life ! It was certain- 
 ly not of France and its social changes, nor 
 even of the sorrow of its much-pitied queen, 
 that Faith Stanby was thinking as she sat 
 straining her eyes in the dim twilight of a 
 November morning, that she might weave a 
 delicate basket of the osiers that lay across 
 her knee. 
 
 • "Life and Times of Louis Tliilippi." 
 
 j: 
 
DAWN IN NOVEMBER. 
 
 18 
 
 Jiero w,is indeed too little ligl.t to Imvo 
 raiib 0(1 l.er to go ou with lier wo,k, had 
 not tlie rapidly moving fingers ]cno«-n tlioir 
 >vaj so Holl, that the aid of .si^ht was ia 
 a comparatively small degree required. 
 Faith had been np for some hour., and had 
 ...rnt her rushligl,t do«u to the socket, .and 
 tliou, having no second ouo with whieh to 
 foplaco it. had had to wait for some min„t„* 
 >n almost total darkness till the first -rav 
 gleam should enable her to procee.l with her 
 basket-making employment. She sat verv 
 close to the window-much too close for 
 comfort for the little casement at that o.arly 
 hour let m more of cold air than of ILdit 
 
 Ihe cottage room in which Faith worked 
 was a very small one; it held little beyond 
 l.«r pallet-bed, and the three-legged Z> 
 npon which she was seated. The unplas- 
 teredce,h«g sloped down on either si.le and 
 
 ^s so low that it was only near the middl» 
 
 of the eha,«ber that a person of moderate 
 
 heigh eould have stood upright. But 
 
 bough the size and appearance of the room 
 
 oomfor. er squalor to be seen. As light in- 
 
14 
 
 DAWN IN NO\;.iMCKB. 
 
 W 
 
 1 ;t „-,vn 111 \iow bo;iv(ls cftriietless 
 butBpollessly clean, and wr.lb nvUos« ^^ l.ite- 
 
 of nu.t Looks, una . frumca 1'"^'"™ °^ 
 Naa.„:.u at the Joidan, ^vlncU ^va9 hung 
 over tlu. b.a. The pretty patchvovl: cover 
 on that bed, the three il<nvev-,)ots on 1 ho sill 
 Ulled with delicate plants ^vhicU l-aitli in- 
 tenacd to nm-ao through the winter, !;avo to 
 the tiny room tlK.t home-liUe appearance, 
 the charm of which may re.t on the dw>^l- 
 io. of the peasant as well as on that ot the 
 „ "er. Faith thought that no view m the 
 world could be prettier than that to bo seen 
 fro>u her little window. There was no . 
 much ot sky, indced-for that was almost 
 nnito shut out by the thickly thatched cave 
 under which swallows had twittered during 
 „>a„y a summer-but fair was tln^ prospec 
 over 8«en meadows and softly wooded 
 dopes! with a higher range of hills looking 
 
 bluG in ilio distance. 
 
 The white mist of the November morning 
 
 ^vas now resting on the J^^^^^^^^;^', f^^'f^ 
 like H shroud upon meadow and hill. Ana 
 there ^vas somethin,^ on the mmd of tlio 
 
 ;:^ 
 
DAWN 1^ NOVKMDEU. 
 
 15 
 
 bnskot-niukor ^vliich prcvcntea Jui- fmih 
 cft.ing id tliafc m.,ijr.nt for any of (ho bemi- 
 tics of Natiiro. Bw.Uy was that miiu\ 
 M-orkiijg Avhilo ciaikness compc ]l(.a for u 
 bliof Hp:iCO lllO ihur^iVH to bo idlo, aucl \d.oii 
 they a-ain rcsumctl their work. Faitli, in 
 lier life's journey, hixd come at the n'm of 
 eiglitcen to a point which all in a Christian 
 land may expect at somo time or other to 
 reach, the point where a decision must bo 
 wade wiiidi shall inlliience the whole future 
 HS regards this world-and probahlv also 
 as regards the world to come. lihv: rd 
 Marston, the young farmer whoso dwoljii rr 
 rose on the wooded hill, had on the previ- 
 ous evt-ning spoken a few words to Faith 
 which Iiad sent a thrill of delight throu-h 
 her heart. There had been no time for h"r 
 to reply to t'>om then, for her step-mother 
 who hud been with Faith when IMarston 
 met her, had but turned aside for a minuto 
 to greet a neighbor when those few low 
 words were whispered ; but Faith knew now 
 that It only rested with herself whether she 
 should or should not be mistress of Wood- 
 land Farm, and the wife- of its owner, iho 
 
 '■*^<^ 
 
it 
 
 16 
 
 DAWN IN NOVEMBEIU 
 
 finest, bravest yeoman in all tlie county. 
 To tlie peasant girl it appeared that the 
 happiest lot on earth was summetl up in 
 this description. She had rather that Wood- 
 land Farm should bo hers, than Windsor 
 Castle itself, and all the broad lands around 
 it: Woodland Farm was to her fancy an 
 earthly Eden ; and even had it been a spot 
 less favored by Nature, Faith would have pre- 
 ferred sharing a hovel with Edward Marston 
 to dwelling in a palace with any other hus- 
 band than him. 
 
 " How could he think of me ?" was the 
 young maiden's first tliought after quitting 
 Marston, so unworthy did she feel herself to 
 be his chosen bride ; but that thought was 
 almost instantly followed by another,— 
 " Daro I think of him ?" If the first ques- 
 tion flushed her cheeks, the second sent the 
 blood back again to Faith's heart, and left 
 her face pale with conflicting emotions. 
 Faith had been unable to sleep that night, 
 and had risen long before the first gleam of 
 dawn. Thoughts of Marston and his words 
 had come between her and her rest, had 
 -.^„^- 1--J. i.^«- «»»^i 1./-WVI ■•->•».»» ir/ivi Faith 
 
DAWN IN NOVEMBER. 
 
 17 
 
 county, 
 lliat the 
 [ up in 
 tWood- 
 ^''indsor 
 5 around 
 mcy an 
 11 a spot 
 lavo pre- 
 Marston 
 her hus- 
 
 was the 
 quitting 
 lerself to 
 aglit was 
 lother, — 
 rst ques- 
 sent the 
 , and left 
 amotions, 
 lat night, 
 gleam o£ 
 lis words 
 rest, had 
 3. Faith 
 
 was in an agony of indecision, and now sat 
 at her biisket-makiiig trembling and sliiver- 
 ing, less from the outer cold liian from the 
 chill at her heart. 
 
 And why Avas there any indecision ; why 
 was the maiden's heart not full of joy ut tho 
 assurance that all she could desire of earthly 
 happiness now lay within her reach ? 
 
 In Bunyaii's Allegory wo read of a By- 
 path Meadow, which seems to run idongsido 
 the strait narrow path of duty ; a veidant 
 flowery meadow, very tempting to tho soul, 
 and diverging from tho right way, as it 
 appears, so little, that pilgrims easily per- 
 suade themselves that there is little risk or 
 sin in venturing upon it. Faith now stood 
 close to such By-path Meadow, gazing on 
 its verdure with a wistful, longing eye. 
 There was, as it were, but a stile to divide 
 her from it. What was that barrier which so 
 easily might bo crossed ; that barrier, over 
 which thousands of girls constantly cross, 
 without hesitation, without fear, without a 
 thought of the miseries and perils to whioh 
 the flowery meadow may lead ? That barrier 
 Vvas one brief sentence from Scripture— the 
 
 2 
 
18 
 
 DAWN IN NOVEMBEx;. 
 
 four words, only in the Lord— which divides 
 holy marriage, such as the Saviour hallows 
 with His presence, from the marriage to 
 which the heavenly Master cannot be 
 
 invited. 
 
 • Faith Imew— and bitter to her was the 
 knowledge— that generous, noble, and brave 
 as Marston might be, he was deeply tainted 
 with the infidel views so widely spread, not 
 only through France, but also through Eng- 
 land at the time of which I am writiug. She 
 knew that he spoke lightly on themes which 
 she felt to be sacred ; that he was careleBS 
 even as regards the outer forms of religior. : 
 and that whatever attractive qualities tho 
 young farmer might possess, he lived with- 
 out God in the world. Faith could not 
 close her eyes to this fact, willingly as she 
 (would have done so, gladly as she would 
 have persuaded herself that Edward was 
 leally more religious than he appeared, and 
 that one whose moral conduct was so blame- 
 less, whoso spirit was so generous, could 
 not but be led in time to reverence the God 
 of the Bible. 
 There is an argument which readily occurs 
 
 '!-h:.-:-^- 
 
DAWN IN NOVEMBER. 
 
 19 
 
 to any woman ia tho position of Faith 
 ■H-hich came with power to her mind " If i 
 marry tho man whom I love," thought she 
 will not the tie between us enable me to' 
 draw him upwards? Will not his love for 
 memo , no him also to love what he sees that 
 ills wife holds most precious ?" This chain 
 of reasoning convinces most women that the 
 course through By-path Meadow is not only 
 pleasant, but tho right one;, they rely on 
 
 theirinfluonceforgood, their powerover the 
 Wt of a husband. Faith was fain to in- 
 dulge these hopes, and would liave indulged 
 tliem, but for that barrier in the way, the 
 inspired command which she dared not for- 
 
 yoM ,o,k unbelievers. Should she begin 
 wedded hfe by an act of wilful disobedience. 
 could she expect a blessing on her efforts to 
 ma soul? Might she not rather be her- 
 self drawn away by the influence of a hus- 
 band ? ,vould not her duty to him sometimes 
 clah with her duty to God? and dare she 
 
 swerMng steps m an upward mtl, ,vl,;el. h-r 
 own act would have beset with difficulties 
 
20 
 
 DAWN IN KOVEJnSKl!. 
 
 and obstructions? Faith foima l.orse E m- 
 Btinctively making excuse* f«i; M^^'^^;'"'; « 
 error., trjing to believe that f^\f ,^ 
 can't bo ^vronK^vl.ose life is nr tlio right as 
 if any life could bo right that is spent m 
 forgetfulness o£ Him who bestowed it. Ihe 
 poor girl canght herself in wishing to dis- 
 cover that Edward had some fair reason tor 
 bis doubts, and started to find how ear hly 
 affection could make her regard as a pardon- 
 able error of judgment in one man, that 
 which would have appeared to her as a 
 Biievons sin in another. 
 
 " I should mal;e an idol of Edward-I am 
 now making an idol of him!" thought Faith 
 as the brimming tears so filled lor eyes that 
 she could not see the osiers which she was 
 weaving. " I could scarcely thmk a saymg 
 wrong if Edward said it ; or if I could not 
 help feeling that his words were wrong, the 
 briM.t smile on his lips would make me for- 
 Ket"ail the sin. But must I therefore give 
 him up?" Faith thought of the young 
 ruler who was called to '-o^'fi" 1"«,,S;!J 
 to follow the Lord. ."'«« 
 said poor Faith to 
 
 pO: 
 
 isscssions 
 
 
 ivould liave been easy 
 
DAWN IX NOVEMBER. 
 
 21 
 
 linrselE in- 
 Marston'fl 
 31' all "he 
 , right," as 
 s spent in 
 a it. The 
 iug to clis- 
 reason for 
 ow earthly 
 3 a pardon- 
 man, that 
 ) her as a 
 
 A-ard — ^I am 
 Light Faith, 
 ?A' eyes that 
 ich she was 
 nk a saying 
 
 I could not 
 wrong, the 
 
 take mo for- 
 
 .ercforo give 
 
 tho young 
 
 II his great 
 i-d. •' That 
 oor Faith to 
 
 herself, Avith a choking sonsatioii in her 
 throat ; " I could give up a good deal for 
 religion— at least I hope that I could ; had 
 I a house full of silver and gold, I believe 
 that I would give it up for conscience' sake 
 without so much as a sigh; but T Iward— 
 my Edward— oh! how could I part with 
 him !" and here grief would have fiue course, 
 the eyes overflowed, and Faith sobbed in 
 the bitterness of her spirit, tliouqh very 
 softly, lest her step-mother in the lillle fmnfc 
 room should waken and hear her 
 
 And had Faith no human being with 
 whom to take counsel in this imp°ortant 
 crisis of her life ; had she no father to whom 
 to turn for advice, no friend to whom she 
 could pour out her heart? Whilst the 
 maiden is weeping alone in her tiny cham- 
 ber, a brief account of her family will place 
 in a clearer light the difficulties of her 
 position. 
 
 l5o 
 
CHAPTEIl II. 
 
 THE COTTAGE IN1IATE0. 
 
 ^AITII -was tlie only cliild of 
 Joshua SLanby, or/ as Jig was 
 nsnallj called by hm fellow- 
 laborers, Geutlom an Jos. TJiough 
 tliis title was given in mockery, and by no 
 means as a mark of respect, it ratlicr pleased 
 than offended the man wlio bore it. Jos 
 never forgot, nor let those connected with 
 
 him forget, that Lis father had been 
 lawyer, and that lie had lived in Gold 
 
 Sq 
 
 golden 
 through 
 the 1 ' 
 
 ire. In the mind of poor J 
 
 that 
 
 OS all 
 
 en 
 
 was 
 
 about 
 memory's haze. How the son of 
 
 square, as ho saw it 
 
 awycr had come to bo but a labor 
 
 and an ill-paid laborer too 
 
 ei* 
 
 problem to Jos. He had been to 
 
 'tvas an unsolved 
 
 (22) 
 
 =-;chool 
 
 m 
 
THE COTTAGE INSTATES. 
 
 23 
 
 Ills bojhoocl— iiaj, to tlio very scLool in 
 which the fiimous Samuel Johnson had beon 
 trained for fiituro usefulness and fame 
 Why the one boy had become a woncTcr 
 of k^.arnin- ^vliilo tlio other never willinrrly 
 opened a book, was another ricklle to make 
 out. Tiio defective education of Jos was 
 not from want of Hogging, for it was a stand- 
 ing joke wUh his master that ]io should 
 make extra charge for extra birdies ex- 
 pended upon young Stauby ; but no amount 
 of teachmg or whipping could ever make 
 much of poor Jos. It was not so much that 
 the boy wanted brains, as that he wanted 
 application and resolute will to master the 
 work before him. His teacher compared 
 him to _ blotting-paper, which takes every 
 impi-ession easily, but retains nothin' 
 dis inctly ; with Jos everything turned into 
 a blot. He was not fit to make his way in 
 he world by brain work; Jos tried it, and 
 ^uh3d completely. His father having died 
 and led h,m penniless, the poor young man 
 had no choice but to earn his bread by 
 land-labor, and iu this his success had no"t 
 been great. Jos had never kept any place 
 
 ■\h\ ''^ 
 
 ■i 
 
 : m 
 
 m 
 
 {: 
 
 i ir't , 
 
 ■ I -I 
 
24 
 
 THE COTTAGE INMi^TES. 
 
 thiv 
 
 ieks at a 
 
 time— lio ^vas ever 
 
 for tlivcG Avceu» ..u « v.^- 
 chan-iiK^ wasters or cliangmg ^^olk, mo 
 tTSways a se.a.ble to Jos, ^orM 
 to-month kind of existence. He M odd 
 
 jobs if they eame in his - -y -'''': ^'Z^;, 
 ^ I. . 1,^/1 rto now drove a lainiLi a 
 
 lawn no.v cut -l'«^^S-;^°^ j„^ ^^jj 
 
 pigs to •-;^-'Tjl',t cT.o of U.0 lawn would 
 \rn«; done well. ±nu ^«'*o'^ , t • , 
 
 runclippol. .1.0 hedge would ^""-^J " 
 the clip )U', oue of tho pigs would be lost 
 taiL "Fewcavcdtoe^ployGon -a 
 
 :: ti::^:! i:!:^™ «^o shb and ind„..y ^ 
 
 L erst wllVs and afterwards tlioso o£ their 
 Wter c, mid scarcely have managed to 
 J:;tnt'£or the little cottage in wlach he 
 
 "iftst not he supposed that Jos looked 
 u^n Ws poverty as arising in any way from 
 
 Ssofhisoi. s-i'-i^^-v::"; 
 
 tered the brain of Gentleman Jo- J^ 
 brain had an inveterate haU of tiacin 
 effects to any cause but the r.ght one. Jos 
 Sha,vnluonthathis misfortunes ^vere 
 
 • r .>10a v'iv connected ^^u" 
 in some mexphuabie va} cu-ii. 
 
 V3 
 
THE COTTAGE INMATES. 
 
 25 
 
 was ever 
 sYork ; lifo 
 .•om-liancl- 
 (lid odd 
 V mowed a 
 , a farmer's 
 at Jos did 
 [a^Yn would 
 3 marred in 
 lid be lost 
 Gentleman 
 vlit iudiffer- 
 iiding diffi- 
 industry of 
 oso of their 
 managed to 
 ill wliicli be 
 
 t Jos looked 
 ny way from 
 ca never en- 
 11 Jos. That 
 it of tracing 
 Tht one. Jos 
 fortunes were 
 mnected with 
 
 **t 
 
 the revolutionary idciis so prevalent in his 
 time. It was to them that ho attributed his 
 own descent in the social scale, his moving 
 down tlie ladder instead of mounthig up it. 
 Jos could certainly not make clear to others, 
 nor even to himself, what Voltaire's writings 
 or Robespierre's deeds had to do with his 
 being a laborer instead of a lawyer ; but ho 
 fancied that if ho was poor, it was because, 
 revolution being the order of the day, no 
 real gentleman could have a chance of hold- 
 ing his own. And though his hands were 
 hardened, his nails blackened and broken 
 with out-of-door work, poor Jos imagined 
 himself a gentleman still, at least on Sun- 
 days : then, instead of fustian jacket or 
 linen smock, Jos ^.ould put on his long- 
 skirted coat with ruffles at the sleeves and 
 ruffles in front, such as was worn in the 
 earlier part of the reign of George III. 
 The coat was old, and the ruffles older, 
 having in them more of Faith's neat darning 
 than of the original lace, but Jos always felt 
 himself a gentleman Avhen he wore "^'^ em, 
 and walked forth from his low-thaioUed 
 cottage, his powdered head surmounted by 
 
!f 
 
 20 
 
 THE COTTAGE INMATES. 
 
 a thrcG-corncrcd liafc, "with ca pig-tail haug- 
 iug clown belniitl it. Yes, if tlicro was 
 scarcely bread oiiongli in tlio cottage to 
 satisfy the linugcr of its inmates, there must 
 always bo, in a broken cup kept for the 
 purpose, a little flour on Sunday morning 
 for the hair of Gentleman Jos, and a bit of 
 rushliglit end to servo as pomatum. On 
 Sundays, if on no otlier day of Iho week, 
 Stanby thought much and spoke much of 
 old days in Golden Square, and talked 
 familiarly of the great Doctor as "Sam 
 Johnson," as if the two men, ^vliose lives 
 were such contrasts, had been fellow-schol- 
 ars and equals still. 
 
 Jos went to church about two Sundays 
 out of three, less because ho deemed it right 
 to attend public worship, than tc rhow that 
 his priuciples led him to uphold church and 
 king, as it behoved a gentleman to do. On 
 such occasions Jos, in his long-skirted coat 
 and rufHes, three-cornered hat on his head, 
 and cane in his hand, fell; half ashamed of 
 his homely wife, and of the daughter who 
 never pretended or wished to be a lady, who 
 was only " a good, quiet girl," as her m^other 
 
am was 
 
 THE OOTrAQE INMATES. 
 
 27 
 
 tad boon before l.or. Truo, but for this 
 Bood q„..t girl, t|,c life of Gentleman Jos 
 ould 1 ave been ar more wretcbod tbau it 
 va . It was l^aUb who kept Id, cottage a 
 
 Picture of neatness; it was Faith wbo men" 
 dec and washed his linen, and who listened 
 uti i,at.ont attention to all bis stories of 
 P.^tgrande,u- in Golden Square. It was 
 1 »U s talent or making tho most beauti- 
 1 of osier baskets that enabled her parent 
 to have necessaries even when bo was out 
 ol work, a state of afluirs whieb was of yovy 
 
 ZZZ^"T""'""'- ^''" Gentleman Jos 
 did not think verj bighl;^, of I.'aitb. Ho was 
 H careless father, though not an unkind one. 
 Ui- girl was useful enough to ber father; so 
 «^oio bis too s.-bis l,ammer-bis spad _ 
 
 tool to Gentleman Jos, compared to the 
 old aeernffles which be bad first worn in 
 
 Of his mle tliG second airs. Stanbj, little 
 cl cnption is required : she was ^'either 
 better i2or worse than the average of the 
 Class to whieh she belonged. Deborah 
 ^^■^liDjs thoughts were more set upon what 
 
 { ■: 
 
 > ! 
 
 ::! 
 
 4 
 
 t 
 
 . .! 
 
28 
 
 THE COTTAQE INMATES. 
 
 fiho should out, (liink, and wear, how coals 
 could bo purchased or rent bo paid, than on 
 anything beyond tho narrow world which 
 fiho lived in. Mrs. Stanby was not a good 
 manager, but then Faith could niako one 
 shilling go as far as two ; Deborah had 
 little notion of cither making or mending, 
 but Faith's needle was always ready. Jos's 
 wife was often sickly and complaining; 
 Faith never had a headache, or if she had, 
 fiho said nothing about it. Neighbors would 
 Bum up Mrs. Stanby's character in tho 
 words, " There's not much harm in Debo- 
 rah," a phrase which usually implies " thero 
 is also not much good." 
 
 Faith, as may bo gathered from what has 
 already been said, did not at all resemble 
 her father. Sho had none of his vulgar 
 ambition to mimic the follies and fashions 
 of a class to which ho no longer belonged. 
 Faith looked — what she was — a modest 
 peasant girl, with that quiet manner which 
 has a dignity of its own, a dignity consistent 
 with meekness. No one would speak an 
 impertinent word to Faith Stanby, no one 
 could speak light words of her. Tho 
 
THE COITAOE I.NMATE3. 29 
 
 nppoaraneo of (l.o ,„,u,lo„ w,,s ,u,t shik. 
 ng. Her Imn- smoothly '.raiclod aom.s, a 
 
 «"«iio.e, tlio hair i.over lookc.l rnfflc.,1 Ihe 
 .row was never knitto.l inlo „ ,Vo . I 
 
 Prost? ') '"''^ ^"''^"°' "<»■ 'IW tl'o 
 present goldcu netivorfc of SmKlay classes 
 
 overspread tie land TillP.jn i , "^"fes 
 tlifi /im> ^f * , '""• ■■■"' ^''"'1' liad reached 
 the ngo of twelve, she had had tlio blessin- • 
 of the caro and example of a wise, iutd '2 
 
 road the J3,ble. and read it well, b„t to loyo 
 
 ts ruths and practise its prec pts. p om 
 
 that mother the child l.Ji „i . , 
 
 needle-work, and manv I ? '° '"''"■"'^^ 
 "Ml, ana many of thoso useful 
 
 though homely arts which make a cotlt« 
 
 comfortable. A few books, relics of GoS 
 
 Square, or gift volumes that had beWed 
 
 to er mother, formed a little library for 
 
 Su';-."^' '"?■". ^™^"-^-'reL:: 
 t.oa a.„.- u,e aays duties were over. 
 
 Ml! 
 
 Ij- . 
 
 l' 
 ' i 
 1 ! 
 
 
 if:: 
 
 1 
 
 ■1 
 
 :■' 1 
 
 b-;i^ 
 
 t ■ ■ " 
 
 ii 
 
 'f I H 1-1 
 
II 
 
 ¥' 
 
 30 
 
 THE COTTAGE INMATES. 
 
 Writing Faith had cliiefly taught herself, 
 for to copy out verses was from childhood a 
 favorite amusement. 
 
 From the foregoing glimpse of the life led 
 by Faith in her father's cottage, it will be 
 clear that a marriage with a prosperous 
 farmer would have been to her a rise in 
 worldly position, and an escape from daily 
 toil. Many of her neighbors, indeed, would 
 ask the same question which Faith had put 
 to herself, "How could Edward Marston 
 think of her as his future partner for life ?" 
 But the farmer had but shown in his choice 
 the same strong common sense which 
 marked his conduct in worldly aiTairs. 
 Marston is not the only man who has found 
 modesty and gentleness attractive, or who 
 has shown a belief that in the conduct of a 
 daughter we may see what the wife and the 
 mother's will ue. 
 
 ^JiJigentJ 
 
 time fo i 
 
 struck n: 
 
 nearly U 
 
 liarity of 
 
 advance < 
 
 »8 if rune 
 
 by any ch 
 
 ^as annoi 
 
 ^ess, with 
 
 Vftfrr »->— 
 
© 1 
 
 a 
 
 CHAPTEB irr. 
 
 THE SIEP-MOTHEB's VISIT. 
 
 I llie loud rapid stnkb„ of ?h^' 
 
 'lock m the titchea belL L^" 
 
 ,.,. ier start, diT I.Pr » ™'"'® 
 
 diligently agaia to W J^ff ^^f' '''»<» «et 
 
 straoknine, butFaiM, l „^"« "'oet ],ad 
 
 »-%t«.oCt!:S:':trit'''"^^^°'«'' 
 
 J'»«ty of that clock that' 1^. ^"f " P'''=°- 
 "dvanceof the proper «ml ''"f /''^"J'^ « 
 ?« "running a iL:y,*r;»«''7-ied on 
 
 •iy any chance point J "!,^ '"»'* "ever 
 .^•^ announced b? it .t • " '"•"" ^<*" <»« 
 '«««. with all its .ffe'^t at^- ^'^'^^"'- 
 
 ^' clock, and would let ^o 
 
 (31) 
 
 f|.' 
 
 ■'i\ 
 
 ' 
 
 ■i 
 
 1 
 1 
 
 ( 
 
 ■J 
 
 i 
 
 "t 
 
 

 32 
 
 THE STEP-MOTIIEIl S VISIT. 
 
 0110 regulate or even wind it up but Iiimsclf. 
 It had oiico adorned a mantelpiece in 
 Golden Square ; and in its tawdry appear- 
 ance, loud voice, and general uselessness, 
 the clock formed no unmeet emblem of its 
 owner, Gentleman Jos. 
 
 Tlie striking of tlio clock had probably 
 awakened Deborah, for Faith could hear 
 lier stej)-mother moving about in the next 
 room ; the cottage was so small, and its 
 partitions so thin, that every sound was 
 lieard through. It was not long before 
 Faith's door was opened, and her step- 
 mother, slipshod, dressed in an old faded 
 print cotton gown, with her hair hanging 
 loose on her shoulders, entered the little 
 apartment. 
 
 " Well, I say, child, how perishing cold 
 you are here— you be all of a shiver !" was 
 the step-mother's greeting, as she laid her 
 hand on Faith's shoulder. " But how you get 
 on with your work, to be sure ! That there 
 basket— and ain't it a pretty, one! — has 
 grown wondrous fast under your fingers." 
 
 " I liave been at work a long time this 
 moniiug," said Faith. *''The young lady 
 
THE step-mother's VISIT. 
 
 83 
 
 who lives with the French princess was in a 
 great hurry to have tlie basket : when she 
 ordered it on Saturday, slie wislied to have 
 It home tbe next evening, and was surprised 
 
 that any one should mmd Avorking on Sun- 
 day." 
 
 "Ah, them French ben't mucli better 
 than heathen, and have their fiddling and 
 dancing and play-acting on Sundays jnst as 
 much as on week-days," said Deborah. 
 " But I think," she added, drawing a dirty 
 plaid shawl closer around her— "I tliink. 
 tliat you might for once have Immored the 
 French miss's fancy, instead of getting up 
 nt four o'clock in the witter, and wasting 
 candle, when you might have had daylight 
 to work by." ^ ■ J h 
 
 Faiith Stanby made no reply to this ob- 
 servation. She was dibgently passing an 
 osier-strip in and out to form the lace-like 
 hd of the basket, tliough her chilled and 
 trembling fingers with difficulty managed the 
 delicate work. 
 
 "What a mist there be," observed De- 
 borah, looking forth from the litfcJe case- 
 
 ment; '^ Edward Marston's chimnej 
 
 s ar<« 
 
 M., I 
 
 '» I it I'll 
 
 i 1' 
 
 it ;-i '^ 
 
 1::' fS \\ 
 
34 
 
 THE STEP-MOTIIEPv's VISIT. 
 
 deau blotted out, and all tlie trees about 
 them. ^ Tiicm be his cows a-lowiiig, though, 
 and his cocks a-crowing," she went on, as 
 tJio rural sounds from the neighboring farm- 
 yard came through the still misty air. 
 " Dear heart, what a lot ho keeps ! He's a 
 thriving man, is Marston ; and his wife, when 
 be has one, will live like a ladj. The 
 gossips saj as he bo likely to make up with 
 Matty Doyle; she has plenty of money 
 anyways, but I take it she has a bit of a 
 . temper." 
 
 Faith worked faster tlian before, and kept 
 her eyes steadily fixed on her work. Could 
 she have commtwided her voice, she would 
 have tried to turn the conversation ; as it 
 was, the poor g^il dared not speak, and 
 Deborah went on with her gossip. 
 
 "By-the-by, did you know that Marston 
 liad loft Here a basket of eggs jast afore wo 
 met hnn when we were coming from after- 
 noon church ? You ran up to your room at 
 once, so maybe you never noticed what he 
 had put on the table. New-laid eggs every 
 one of them; and at this time o' the year 
 eggs be so scarce. Queen Charlotte don't 
 
a 
 
 m STEv-Mornm-s viszt. 
 
 Have 'em for hr^otp. t 
 
 tto"«l. sLo Lv^rai i'^r^"^ ^°"-'°"«- 
 «-oil-. "' ™'«'l Ijei- ejes from Jier 
 
 sl'ouJd lite to have 1; 7°" ^"'■"•'' ^'"'^ I 
 cried Deborah Stanb; '"^ "' ^'^"^''»»^ ■'" 
 
 over theSanday at Gul , J'''" '''^^■«' 
 w a peevish tone • " T'™ ' T'' ^'^'^°'''''' 
 
 ^"'' my flannel is wn ^i ? ''""'' 
 I>*orahshi,„,j,^„.^--»^*o.- cobweb," 
 
 — oxia-.vi auoiiier 
 
 
 if: 
 
 ;. . 
 
 
 fi 
 
 pi ■} 
 
36 
 
 THE step-mother's VISIT. 
 
 ulUncl hon chafed hov rough red hands. 
 Such a hard hfe is „ot ,vhat Jos had to 
 
 lud n cV : ''"' " 8->Ueman's sob, 
 and m Golden Square! But, dear heart 
 how uneven thing., iu this world be divS 
 He wo bo a-struggh-ng to get bread enough 
 
 sdo of the Ml. Mary Cobbs-sho has 
 
 ae.rwashn>g_3ou never set eyes on such 
 
 hancferduelsasshehadtoget'uplastw J 
 foi o.n, lace all round, deep as my linger 
 and fine work right over the best part of 
 the lawn ; the plain bit in the middle mi^-ht 
 tove been covered over with a China saucer 
 
 c"! f ;:r 1 '"°^^ '--^'-rciuefs must h :: 
 
 cost as much as you would earn in a month 
 get xng „p i„ t,,^ ^y^j^ mont^ 
 
 nights, and working hungry and cold"* 
 i don t think that we should wish to 
 change places with any French lady now 
 when there is such misery in her land " ob' 
 served Faith. '• ""■ 
 
 " ^'f^^ yonng ladies be well out of if " 
 remarked Mrs. Stanby. °* "' 
 
 " But their thoughts must often be there." 
 
 Ifi. &. 
 
 saiti 
 
 back 
 
 Mara 
 
 rnesc 
 
 get tl 
 
 be in 
 
 m cle^ 
 
 iaclj o 
 
 of the 
 
 J'oom t 
 
 libJo s, 
 
 bo^vJijj^ 
 
 ^incl fait 
 
 ftt tJje ( 
 
 ^epfc as 
 
 doii't sec 
 
 Jiandterc 
 
 cotton or 
 
 "There 
 
 ^e a-sIiG{] 
 
 "Jos s.iy.s 
 
 <^|jops off J 
 
 ^^^is ain't 
 
 ^vomeii's J. 
 
 Miulame (i 
 
 where J c, 
 
r^lE STEP-jfOTnEit 
 
 a 
 
 VISIT. 
 
 said Fiiith^u , 
 
 ^^^^t to P,,. f -^ ^^^"^««^v. 
 
 »_ -•- 'Ills. MKlfl -i 
 
 
 ■<-s aro 
 
 37 
 
 going 
 
 Tow; far 
 
 -'iw/j, as 1 iionvrl 7 " > JUT 
 
 ^ so i'or.sc.|f,vlen sIk, ''''" '^""'«'. told 
 
 l^e in p^. 
 
 ^Uieo ijo\v / j'^i 
 
 to 
 
 ;^ deav oh] Eurri'^n '! '''"^^^' ^''''ni a crust 
 
 ^^ *^^« poor, poor nao' r"'^^'' Finnic 
 
 ^ ^o escape ibr^:::^^/"^^!^^ ^ ^''-- i^o; 
 
 rounds in I 
 
 „...-«^ the fnnonsniob, while,; 
 
 ^incl faitljf, 
 
 nar.ls 
 
 oso tor- 
 
 arul 
 or h 
 
 
 '^^^^ ««cJi bitten- to, 
 
 S(-^e tJiafc it 
 
 ravo 
 
 t.ving 
 
 ••i^ are 
 
 JiancIkercJiief t] 
 
 cotio 
 
 — "«u must ^voo^^ ,. -^ 
 
 (( 
 
 '" oi- or Jace, 
 
 T/i 
 
 ore be 
 
 ^,fc dries tJiem b^ 
 letbing besi 
 
 ilior tho 
 '0 made of 
 
 som 
 
 >>« »-«ho.Wi„. Cp! . "S ''^«''I«« fcuvs foil 
 
 .Jo^ «■'.)'« that tho Jj';';' **' Deborah. 
 
 "I'OPS off head, by le ' ' °' ■"'■'' ''« <"'"« i*. 
 
 ■■■°w«"'« hea,I. ,! *° . ''■^<'"'«'' 
 
 
 ^en's. If I 
 
 ^oiilcl keep n)y 
 
 \vl 
 
 hciid 
 
 <^Jt3j be 
 "'•'s tJiat 
 was, 
 my 
 
 loro I 
 .safe Oil 
 
 
 
 L'' < 'I 
 
 I. J . a 
 
88 
 
 THE STEP-MOTHEU'S VISIT. 
 
 slionldcrH, and not take tl 
 
 gii'ls buck iimoi)'^ t] 
 
 JO poor Frencli 
 
 Jos 
 
 'em, 
 
 c] lurch ns ji I 
 
 tl 
 
 loiii iiiurdcriiirr • f(j]j. 
 
 ays us Jacobins lian't no J'cl.„..., 
 i.'ul ^voukl as lief play at sUltl 
 
 'A;i<'ii anioncr 
 
 <'s in a 
 
 •dvn. Eut, Jbr tlio matter of 
 
 e'vo some here in England as think 
 
 as hit e o churches as they .lo, and yet bo 
 
 hoiiest folk for all IJial 
 th(5 Jand." 
 
 ) * 
 
 IS 
 
 ;uod as any in 
 
 Fa i til bit Jier 1 
 
 Deborah had 
 
 ■p, and said ]jotl 
 
 iinGf, 
 
 find Avas looking at the cl 
 
 agai.j tnriied to the Avindow 
 
 land Farm. 
 
 now 
 
 iiiniieys of Wood- 
 iliudy visible, for the mist 
 
 >vas boginiiing to clear off under the be 
 
 of (h 
 
 o nsmg suti. Jt was tl; 
 
 ams 
 
 chitnnoys that Jjad 
 
 e sight of these 
 
 .suggested the 
 
 step- 
 
 .H.hers last obscrv.-ition. Uvs. Stanbv 
 nail ji. <J11<J^M/^l/-«•. i.1- / . 1 . - •' 
 
 had a suspicio:i that tJ 
 
 weahhy farmer 
 
 might pt)ssib]y bo thinkiijo- of 
 SKles Matty Doyle, that the fresh-htid 
 might mean somethi 
 
 some one be- 
 
 eggs 
 
 to 
 
 „ , "& '^»<1 she was ready 
 
 mnv all the weight that she could into 
 
 I ^vooer at whose house 
 
 might expect to Jive 
 
 'S« eggs left by Mar- 
 
 lU, in the fancy of 
 
 the scale in favor of 
 sko and her husband 
 at free quarters. Tl 
 eton on her table h 
 
 1(1 
 
 Dei 
 
 and 
 cro\ 
 in h 
 
 "J 
 
 Man 
 
 way ; 
 
 talk a 
 
 open 
 
 saints, 
 
 at hot 
 
 30 lu' 1 
 
 i'e a Ji 
 
 it, if sli 
 
 I'aitJj 
 
 fronj h( 
 
 ^^er han. 
 
 " Win 
 
 I^eboraij 
 
 of the III, 
 
 J- aju 
 
 and get 
 coi'id end 
 "J^o,n. 
 jour M'orl: 
 
™^ «m.«or«E,;-« nsrr. 
 
 "-People S'lV T 7 
 
 '«1J^ about rcIigioL ;;•',' ^' ""'"'•"• ''-™ „„ 
 "J^.^" >'<""% tl^u LT': "; ""- '•••'-! and 
 «""ts, a,.,l drive a ],.?.. ^■'""' "^""'"''y 
 "' '«"' «.Ic.,, o, „l ;' ^""-"' ••'■"! look 
 
 '"> •■' '"cky ff;.l .M I , ^"^'y ^"y'" will 
 
 f°»; I'or seat witl, o , fi T"; '■'"'' "«» ' 
 iVIiere bp x-r,,-, „ 
 
 °f tl'c movement" """"" '■" "'« «o.,ud 
 
 ^^•^■""jvoub T °"""''"w'•• 
 • "i n.s no coals. 
 
 i \ 
 
 I u 
 
40 
 
 THE STEr-MOTIIEUS VISIT. 
 
 n i 
 
 we'll liavo to burn aforo the week is over. 
 We'll luivo ncw-liiid eggs for breakfast for 
 once in a way ; I haven't tasted such a thing 
 these six months. I tljink I'll ask Marston 
 to (Irop in antl take a dish of tea with us in 
 » neighborly way some evening; maybe 
 he'll give us a thought when ho kills his 
 turkey at Christmas!" 
 
 Debornh went out of the room, and slniffled 
 down the steep little staircase, leaving Faith 
 to her work and her anxious reflections. 
 The girl could not ask counsel from ono 
 whose coarser mind could not even under- 
 stand tho motives which influenced her own. 
 Faitli knew that her scruples of conscience 
 would to her step-mother seeni' childish 
 weakness. There was but One of whc<u 
 the young maid could take counsel in the 
 hour of her greatest perplexity— her most 
 sore temptation. The little upper chamber, 
 under the low thatched cottage roof, became 
 a holy place, as in it knelt a troubled, 
 tempted woman, in lowly communion with 
 an invisible Friend. Faith asked for guid- 
 ance that she might know what was right, 
 and the answer came, as she prayed, in tho 
 
'"^gt" 
 
 THE STEP-MOTIIRR's VISIT. 
 
 41 
 
 voice of CoiiscioMco, n'arninpj Ihu- from tho 
 13j-patli Miuulow Mliicli her Ijcart yeumod 
 to to, r,,itli asked foL- strft,ioih Ihnfc she 
 might resist; Jier own. will, stroii-fli to ovor- 
 come 111 tho h.-irdest stnio-glo whie], she cvoi 
 had luiowM, strei.nth to give up earthly 
 happi„ess if that happiness coultl only bo 
 secured by breukhig tho least of her Lord'ji 
 commai)dnieiits. 
 
 As Faith huelt in prayer, ..th(5 rising snn 
 burst through tho yeil of mist ; his clear 
 bright rays streamed through tho casement, 
 and filled tho small apartmnnt ^vitll glory' 
 There was indeed little of warmth? A^ 
 Faith rose from her knees she treniMod 
 still with a chill in her frame and a chill at 
 her heart ; but tho darkness of doubt was 
 gone- the path of duty lay clear beforp 
 her— rugged, flowerless, it seemed iudood. 
 but heaven's sunlight lay upon it. 
 
 
 iffj 
 
 if 
 
 ( 
 
 
 :] h:l 
 
 
 ^ M 
 
 i:M 
 
 Ui :il ii 
 

 CHAPTER rv. 
 
 'T was well for tho vill-.^^ ^ • , 
 
 fat thoro ,vas a necessity for 
 'or to ,,„„,, j^ y for 
 
 « la.3^ shfi; '?'""• H-'raith'S 
 "o-uloi; f JJl J:;™, -^,^f i in Ler 
 
 ocenpation as irksome nn/ '' '''"'•^ 
 
 fflcnt as hateful anrlT . ""'•>' '"'"'se- 
 
 broken l.oal r M ''""' 'P''"'« ""d 
 
 » -•"' ever, sleilS'-:^- *---e 
 
 passed "-on«t her fingers LtL?"' '"' 
 t.on was one wl.ich co,Ll eel 1 ' "'''''■ 
 
 ttttenlion to work a,»l vM, '""' ^""^^ 
 
 °">' "»'' J^aith was obliged to 
 
A WINTKY WAY. ^^ 
 
 accept M.s8UnI '"'■'"''■''• «''» ''''' "<>' 
 
 Pro/errcl ),e; o«„ col" ]:« "" ^[" ' ^'""' 
 sl'o could iit ..nv , „ '■'"""- '"'• "'"-0 
 
 "'« pain of SeL : /'''r'- ""'' '^"i'"-'' 
 'vorso than ,vea ^ °..''"' «'^'l'-'"»tl'cr« 
 
 p^S^::^i^'^f 01,0 ^'"- 
 
 leans, to let her 1, ivo ?, , "^ '"^'""'o - Or- 
 
 cottager worked h Jl? ■* , ""'8' ""'' "'« 
 
 >-al^ Stanbv 1 o i;! "';'"' '" "'" »«•>- 
 
 «rgod I.O.. to Zl :,"""« ^--''J-iy liad 
 
 Wc paj.,„e„t fo tl b." :: fV*""''';"" "''"- 
 on Monday morl , ' ''^"' ^"•^»«'" 
 
 obstiuuovofC/" .. '' '.'•"'■"« ••" "'0 
 • ".?•«"<: -duyiu,.-,, iiatie English. 
 
 
 I 1 
 
 I . 
 
u 
 
 A WINTRY WAY. 
 
 woman] avIicii Faitli liacl modestly but 
 firmly persisted in licr refusal. It was need- 
 ful for Fnitli to use more than coaitnoii dili- 
 gence to complete her task and keep lier 
 promise; but before sunset, the most grace- 
 ful and delicate of baskets had received its 
 finishing touch from her fingers. 
 
 Faith hurriedly jiut on her straw bonnet 
 and sijawl— one of the thinnest of shawls, 
 well darned like her fatlxir's ruffles, and 
 almost as ill suited to keep out the cold. "I 
 will warm myself by walking fast," said tho 
 shivering girl to herself, as she crossed the 
 threshold of her cottage, and faced tho 
 piercing east wind. Faith walked rapidly 
 along tht5 high-road, then turned down tho 
 lane that led to the mansion occupied by 
 Madame do Genlis and her pupils — thelano 
 which skirted the farm of Marston. Tho 
 hedges were almost leafless, but the boughs 
 of the biich were still spangled with gold. 
 Thick l;iy tho coral berries on tho hollies. 
 Faith glanced at the trees, and thought how 
 beautiful they looked with the glow of sunset 
 upon them. In the fields wliicli she passed 
 a number of cows were grazing on the yet 
 
A WINTRY WAY. 
 
 45 
 
 green grass. "How happy anil peaceful 
 they look!" murmured the maiden with a 
 sigh ; " everything belonging to him looks 
 happy and peaceful. And I — I have it yet 
 in my power to be the happiest girl upon 
 earth." 
 
 There was the distant sound of hoofs on 
 the road behind her. Faith's heart beat 
 fast; for, distant as it was, she felt certain 
 that the horse which, at a brisk trot, must 
 in a few minutes overtake her, was no 
 other than Marston's gray hunter. She did 
 not turn to look round, but rather quickened 
 lier stops. Had the maiden felt any doubt 
 as to who was approaching, it would have 
 been removed by Hero, Marston's shaggy 
 dog, which dashed up and overtook her. 
 Hero was deemed a savage dog, one with 
 which it was dangerous to meddle; but 
 Faith had never been afraid of tlio hound, 
 she had always a smile and a kind word for 
 Hero, and the animal, fierce to others, was 
 ever gentle to her. He now gavo her a 
 short, glad bark of recognition, and bounded 
 around her, leaping up to claim notice and 
 caress from a friend. 
 
 I ' 
 
 
 i -r'N 
 
 . li 
 
 !1 ■,'' 
 
 w 
 
 \ h 
 
 1:11 
 
 
 I'' 'i 
 
I 
 
 1 
 
 • I 
 
 46 
 
 A "WINTRY WAY. 
 
 "All! Faith Stanby, well met!" cried a 
 cheerful, manly voice, as Marston rcinca in 
 his poweiful hm-sc. Tiic young man sprang 
 from the saddle, and keeping the icin in one 
 hand, held out the other to Faith with a 
 smile so beaming antl joyous, that it was 
 hard not to -smile in rctuin. Few finer 
 looking men than young Mavston trod upon 
 English soil, and he appeared to great ad- 
 vantage on horseback, being a bold and 
 gracel'ul rider. When Marston appeared in 
 the hunting-field, as ho not nnlVequcntly 
 did, none kept up better with the hounds, 
 more fearlessly took a fence or swam a 
 river, than the master of "Woodlands 
 
 Farm. 
 
 Faitli felt that the most trying moment of 
 her life had come. She was accustomed to 
 daily sacrifice of self under her father's roof, 
 where her toil and self-denial made np for 
 the laziness and carelessness of others. 
 Faith had given np her inclinations so often 
 that she was seldom conscious of cft'ort in 
 doing so ; it seemed to be a matter of course 
 that the daughter of Gentleman Jos should 
 rise earlier, v.ork harder, and faro worse 
 
A WINTRY WAY. 
 
 47 
 
 than the other inimntes of his cottage. 
 But Faith now felt that the net of self-Hacri- 
 fioe before her wiis great indeed — so great 
 that it was almost beyond her strength to 
 make it. 
 
 Vii 
 
 
 I i 
 
 11 
 
 -■•). 
 
 
 I 
 
 jM' V' 
 
 IJ: 
 
CHAPTEK V, 
 
 ONE \70RD. 
 
 EALLY, iicplicw, you cannot bo 
 so mad as to throw yourself 
 siway on a x^enniles-; girl, tUo 
 (laujvliter of a spendthvirt ne'er- 
 do-weel, wiio lias no more brains in Ins 
 noddle tlian groats in his purse.^ Jos may 
 have been born, as lie says, in Golden 
 Square; but he'll end in a workhouse at 
 
 last." 
 
 Such had been the almost angry expostu- 
 lation of Mrs. Agatha Marston, Edward's 
 maiden aunt, as her nephew, booted and 
 spurred for a ride, told her before he 
 mounted that he intended to bring home 
 a wife at Christmas, and that such wife 
 hould be liUlc Faith Stunby. 
 
ONE WORD. 
 
 49 
 
 Tlie young farmer listened to the old 
 ladj s outburst with a good-humoured smilo. 
 Tapping ]jis high boot with tho whip 
 which Iio held in his baud, "I marry the 
 girl, and not her father," said ho. 
 
 Mrs. Agatha Marston, who had for years 
 ruled as mistress at Woodlands Farm, was 
 little likely to regard a successor with favor. 
 "Such a man as you might look a good deai 
 higher than Faith," observed the old lady 
 with a sneer. "I know no harm of the 
 child ; but is there no girl with beauty or 
 money iii the country, that you should make 
 up with the daughter of Gentleman Jos?" 
 Marston gave a short, merry hiugii. « As 
 for beauty," said he, " that is a matter of 
 taste. One sheaf of good wheat pleases my 
 oye more than whole acres of poppies ; and 
 as for money," ho added, drawing himself 
 up a little proudly, " a fellow who owns as 
 many bioad acres as I do, and has as much 
 cattle grazing upon them, need not choose a 
 gu'l for the weight of her money-bags. If he 
 cnu keep a hunter, he can surely ktx)p a wife 
 also," 
 
 "- -L'" •• am iULJuatun had mounted 
 
 ■r 
 
 and 
 
60 
 
 ONE wor.D. 
 
 riciaen ivx^y m liigli good-linmor ^vitli liiai- 
 sclf. Ho lia.l ii comfortable peisuMsioii Uiat 
 ill gratil'viiig Mb own fancy ho ^vas doing a 
 generous, aisiiitercstca thing, and to toaso 
 his nia'ulen auut gave ralbeL- an atldccl zest 
 to his ^vooillg. It seemed to Edward that 
 his coniHo of tiao h)vo was lik^^ly to nm 
 almost too smoothly. Ho had, indoeil, never 
 had a ^vol•d of eiicouragomont from Faith ; 
 but she was a shy Uttlo CL'eaini-e, and he had 
 never, till that ' Sunday aftenioon, let her 
 know how much ho cared for her. Notliing 
 was furtlur from the cxpectatious of 
 Marston, than that any difficulty iu regard 
 to a marriagt;, to her so very advantageous, 
 should aiiso on the part of Faith Stauhy. 
 
 Edward was hummiug a morry tunc to 
 himself in 1' - gayety of his hi^art, when ho 
 caught sig. of Stanby's daughter hastening 
 along the lane down which he was ridnig. 
 In her plain print dress and straw honnet, 
 Faitli scarcely looked a suitable match for 
 the wealthv farmer mounted on his gray 
 hunter, for which, but the week bel'ore, he 
 had refused an offer of seventy guineas. 
 Perhaps such a thought occurred to Mar«- 
 
ONE woi:d. 
 
 CI 
 
 ton's OAvn mind .is he reined in liis liorso on 
 oveitiikiijg Faith Stanby. He ceitaiuly did 
 iioi guess tlio cause of Ijer paleness, nor of 
 the nervous agitation of her ni:niucr, Avhcu, 
 after dismounting, ho went up to lier and 
 took her by tlio hand, as related in the pre- 
 ceding eliapter. 
 
 "You have tliouglifc over what I said 
 to you yesterday evening?" ho asked 
 gayJy. 
 
 "I liave— I have," murmured Faith, not 
 daring to look up from tlie groand, or meet 
 tlie gliince of the merry d.irk eyes that 
 glanced down so kintlly upon her. 
 
 "And when shall the knot be ti(!d?" asked 
 Marston, who still held the hand which 
 Faith had not courage to draw away. 
 
 "It cannot be," faltered the maiden, with 
 an eiiort Avhich made ever}' lil)ru in her 
 frame to quiver. 
 
 " Cannot be ! — what do you mc:i]i ?" ex- 
 claimed Marston, in his sur[)rise dropping 
 the hand of the trcmblin'^ oii]. 
 
 Failh felt that she must speak out 
 frankly, fully: she must do so in jiistieo to 
 — arsLon, Kue lirast do so lest her own reso- 
 
 
 i 
 
 U' \ 
 
 f*! 
 
62 
 
 ONE "WOIID. 
 
 1 
 
 lutioii sljouia give way imacr a Iciigiliened 
 
 strain. 
 
 "Ob! Mr. Marston, you aro so kind, so 
 generous! Tho only return which I can 
 make is to bo open and sincere Avith you 
 now. I must not, daro not, consent to be 
 tho wife of one who disbelieves truths which 
 are more to nio Ihrva my life!" Faith 
 clasped her hands as she spoke, far too full 
 of her subject to notice that the movement 
 which she made caused her little basket to 
 drop at the feet of her suitor. 
 
 "So that is how tho ground lies!" said 
 Marston, half amused, half provoked by her 
 words. "I don't think. Faith, that it will 
 bo very hard to reason you out of this fancy. 
 If a man were a drunkard or a tyrant, one 
 would understand a girl's refusing to have 
 him as her husband ; but as long as he offers 
 her a happy homo, what matters it to her 
 whether he choose to read Hobbes and 
 Paine, or a volume of sermons?" 
 
 " How can a liome be happy whero hus- 
 band and wife cannot talk together, cannot 
 feel together, on one subject — tho most im- 
 pprtaiit of all ?" said Faith. 
 
 ::.:£;::: ^ ' .- r sr: 'J g'i ' ^''*'»**w= ' ° ***' 
 
ONE wont*. 
 
 53 
 
 " I can't for my life see ^vliy it slionUln't," 
 roplicd the youug iarincr, " wlion Imsband 
 and wife have every other subject niulcr the 
 snn to choose from. I don't hinder your 
 beheviug as nnich as you like, so that you 
 don't mind my believing as Utile as I like; 
 there's a fair 'bargain, isn't it?' As Faith 
 returned no answer, the young man went on, 
 while his hunter pawed the ground with im- 
 patience, and Hero went bounding round in 
 ciicles. " You look at what yon call serioua 
 matters from a woman's point of view, I from 
 a man's ; this is all natural enough. You 
 are fenced in by a hedge of old notions and 
 scruples; you can neither sec through 
 it nor over it, and are contented to trudge 
 along quietly where your grandmothers 
 trudged before." There was pride in the 
 farmer's tone as ho added, "I liko a 
 bolder, freer course, and mounted on my 
 good horse Reason, I clear the hedge at a 
 
 leap !" 
 
 " And if there should at the other side be 
 danger— if there should be sin?"— faltered 
 Faith. "Remember France, miserable 
 France! Did not all the horrors there ue- 
 
 15 , ' 
 
 i ^'' 
 
 i) ! 
 
 i: \ ! f 
 
54 
 
 ONE WORD. 
 
 gin by Iicr people noglcctiiig religion and 
 forgetting their Goil ?" 
 
 "Leave politics to statesmen, ami preach- 
 ing to parsons !" cried Marston, with growing 
 impatience. "I como to ask you a plain 
 question, with which religion has nothing, 
 or ought to have notJiing, to do. Are you 
 ready, Faith Stanby, to take me for better 
 for worse?" 
 
 HoAv much may hang on a single word— 
 a word which it takes not one moment to 
 utter, but on tho utterance of which the 
 happiness of a soul tlirough time and all 
 eternity may, humanly speaking, depend! 
 To say that little word " No," may require 
 an effort of courage as great as to j^ut the 
 match to a train of gunpowder, the explosion 
 of which must shatter all that has been 
 prized upon earth. Faith often wondered 
 afterwards how she had been enabled to say 
 that short word which decided her fate. 
 She did say it, however ; and it nuist have 
 been in a way to leave no doubt that sho 
 meant it, for Marston turned suddenly and 
 angrily away, muttering something about 
 "fanatics ami fools,*' and unconsciously 
 
ONE WORD. 
 
 65 
 
 M 
 
 crushing Faith's basket under the one booted 
 foot, ho raised the other to the stirrup, swung 
 himself into tho saddle, and in another 
 minute tho clatter of his hunter's hoofs was 
 heard, as at a wild pace ho dashed down 
 the hme. 
 
 " All is over ; I have done it !" murmured 
 Faith ; " Edward is gone for ever, and with 
 him all the joy of my life." She mechani- 
 cally stooped and picked up the little basket 
 all crushed and shattered, with tho mire- 
 marks on it left 1)3* tho heel of the heavy 
 boot. Faith looked at it sadly, and thought, 
 "There is something else crushed besides 
 the basket. He left mo in anger ; but per- 
 haps that is well : I could better bear his 
 anger than his sorrow. I am glad that the 
 Borrow is only with me." 
 
 Faith had made the sacrifice wliich was to 
 her as the plucking out the right eye, and 
 she thought that tli^ suffering which it 
 caused her was the greatest which she could 
 ever have known. But in tliis the maiden 
 was mistaken. Better, far better, the sharp 
 
 Dannr than ^^lie li*f<>-lon"" Dnin If. wnnhl Iin,Vft 
 
 bv'eu worse to have shared an earthly home 
 
 * 
 
 MN 
 
 
 I: li! 
 
 .», I,"' ■<: 
 
56 
 
 ONE WORD. 
 
 with Olio ^vith whom a fond wifo dared 
 hardly Iiavo Jiopcd to have shared a home 
 iu heaven. Faitli was saved Iho constant 
 grief of hearing profane Avords from the hps 
 of a liusband— words for which slie knew 
 that a dread account must bo given. 8ho 
 was spared tho sorrow of going, Sunday 
 after Sunday, a solitary woman, to a ploco 
 of worship, where she must listen to tho 
 doom pronounced on impenitent proud un- 
 believers, with a sickening dread that her 
 husband might bo incurring that doom. 
 Faith was never to know the keen anguish 
 of seeing children of her own learning Ivom 
 a father's example to neglect or despiso 
 what their mother revered. She had escaped 
 the misery of those whoso who havo turned 
 sorrowfully away as tho young ruler turned, 
 when required to take up tho cross and 
 follow his Master. No ; Faith had made a 
 wiso decision even ;is regarded earthly 
 peace, when on her knees sho had resolved 
 at all cost to obey tho Bible command, and 
 marry only in the Lord. 
 
 L 
 
J 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE BUTTER FLiT. 
 
 N .'i pretty little apfirtmcnt in q 
 country mansion, fnrnislietl with 
 elegance and taste, sat two young 
 French ladies, each about the 
 ago of fifteen— Adelaide of Orleans, and her 
 companion Ninon La'FJro. A stranger 
 possessed of little power of discrimination 
 would have had no difficulty in at once sin- 
 gling out the royal ghl, from tlie natural 
 dignity of Adelaide's mien, which was 
 increased by the pensive sadness already 
 stamped on her youthful face. But Ninon 
 was the more richly and fashionably dressed 
 of the two. Of the color of her hair nothing 
 naed bo said, for both the girls wore theirs 
 
 (57) 
 
 I 
 
 \ 
 
 
 u 
 
 ■ I 
 
 ■|! 
 
58 
 
 TflE LUTTEKFLY. 
 
 powclercd, tlio locks bruslicd b.ox3k from the 
 lace, and a large wJnto ciul resti.io on oitlior 
 side of the neck. Oa their heals, each of 
 
 the 
 
 young ladies w 
 
 ore a round Avliite c 
 
 according to tijo custom of th 
 
 ip, 
 
 only tlnifc of N 
 
 period, but 
 
 bright cli 
 f, 
 
 111 on was trimmed with 
 
 a 
 
 3 
 
 crrj-colored ribbon. The oiH 
 
 ixce, wijich Juight otlieruisc liave ' bee. 
 
 pretty, Mas marred by tlie ronge on lier 
 
 cheeks ; Adehxide, with far better^aste, had 
 
 eft hers to their natural j.aleuess. Ade- 
 
 iaido sat close to the lire, witlj her Jittl 
 
 e em- 
 
 broided shppers resting upon the fender, for 
 she suffered from the caid of au Eughsh 
 November; Ninon often quitted her seat, to 
 nit restlessly about th 
 
 rusti 
 
 room, lier silk dress 
 uig as she moved hither and thither oa 
 
 eugth, liko 
 
 her higli -heeled shoes, till at 1 
 a butterfly settling, si 
 
 ^o. «bo ciouclied down on 
 the hearth-rug in front of tlie hre and 
 stretched out to the blaze her small hands 
 which sparkled with a numbcir of rings. 
 
 "I thought that she would fail iZ, that 
 petite Angtahcr cried Ninoa, in a tone of 
 
 vexation. Fro 
 
 year in England, both the olrl 
 
 n having !v>si-dt3d more tlian a 
 
 Kpoke its 
 
THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 59 
 
 languago wifcli fluency imd correctness ; but 
 Niuou's accent tis well us appearance iinist 
 always have inarked her as having come 
 from the sonthcrn side of the Channel. 
 
 "Tliou"- must have a little patience," 
 said Adelaide of Orleans. 
 
 " Palience ! have I not shown it to-day ?" 
 cried the Butterfly. - Have I not for hours 
 watched Ehza packing my boxes and put- 
 ting np my bijoux till I'm well-nigh tired to 
 death, and endured this horrible English 
 climate till I'm nearly frozen, like my poor 
 little monkey! Here, peilt Coqidu" (little 
 rogue], cried Ninon, beckoning with a 
 spangled f:m, which she carried certainly 
 njore for ornament than for use, to a mon- 
 key th.it was perched on the back of a 
 tapeslry-covered chair; "ho shall come and 
 warm himself by the fire— he shall !' 
 
 At the call of liis mistress the animal 
 swung Iiimself down fiom his perch, and 
 leapt nimbly into her lap. Ninon patted 
 
 * It is unnecessary to mention to thoso conversant 
 \vith FvQUfih, that "thoo" and "thou" are used in 
 addressing both inferiors and those with whom the 
 spcakora ure familiar. 
 
 'f ': 
 
 i; . '^ 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 ;' '. 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 ,5 f- 
 
 r 
 
 
 ' 
 
 . f 
 
 lli' 
 
 ■■"■ ; -■ 
 
 |||;i 
 
 
 ^^^^^B 
 
 j ; ' 
 
 \ 
 
 
 lii' ^ 
 
 i 
 
 
 .■■'i 
 
 ' ' ■ i 
 
 i , . 1 
 
 i 
 
 'i^ 
 
 
 M 
 
 m 
 
 ill 
 
 M 
 
CO 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 and stroked her long-tailed pet, "vvhicli was 
 dressed in the extraviiganco of tlio fashion 
 which had prevailed in the French court, 
 and whose grinning muzzle and small beady 
 eyes looked all the more ugly from being 
 seen above a lace ruff. 
 
 "Ah! I forgot, Coquin ; thou must try on 
 thy new head-dress," said Ninon ; and open- 
 ing a small embroidered reticule which hung 
 by her side, she drcAV out a red cap made to 
 fit the head of the monkey. " There ; just 
 look at him, Adele; is n(.)t ho charming! 
 Tho honet rouge "^ is all the rage now ; ho 
 must wear the cap of liberty to secure him 
 a good reception in Paris," 
 
 Adelaide scarcely glanced at the monkey, 
 nor did she join in Ninon's laugh at seeing 
 it wear the republican symbol. 
 
 "And dost thou know," continued Ninon, 
 " that I'm going to change Coquin s name? 
 • — it's the fjishion to change names now ; — 
 I'm going to call him Jacobin:\ That will bo 
 sure to win him favor with his majesty of 
 France, Monsieur the Mob !" Ninon agaiu 
 
 * The red cap worn as an emblom of rovolutiou. 
 10 Jacobins wero furious revolutioniBts. 
 
 t 
 
THE BUTTEPvFLY. 
 
 61 
 
 lauglied gajly, but the Orleans princess 
 
 sigliecl. 
 
 " I wish tliat tliou wonldst not jesfc on 
 these matters, Ninon," said she. 
 
 " I must JGst, I must laugh, or I should 
 die of ennui !" exclaimed Ninon, tciising the 
 monkey with her fan, as she ran on with 
 her light conversation. "If I were to bo 
 guillotined to-morrow, I must be amused 
 to-day! I thnik that it is this horrible 
 climate that makes thee so triple [sad]. 
 For me, I take everything with gaiele de 
 cceur [gayety of heart], or I should be in 
 dreadfully low spirits now !" Ninon shrug- 
 ged her little shoulders and raised her 
 eyebrows to express her sense of the 
 trials of her position. "Has not that 
 petite Anglaise forgotten her promise, and 
 never brought tlio charming basket on 
 which I had set my heart? Has net tliat 
 faithless femme-de-cliamhre [lady's-maid] 
 Ehza deserted me at the last moment, re- 
 fusing to go with me to la heUe France, 
 because of the troubles there, forsooth!— 
 as if 'A/emme-de-chamhrchiii\ anything to do 
 with the National Convention or Jacobin 
 
 ' i;F^ 
 
 .^:1 
 
 fi ■! 
 
 iM 
 
 J 
 
 jl:r' 
 
 t ! 
 
 •I 
 
 !■ it 
 
 si.i: 
 
 w'H ifi- ■ I 'SI , j 
 
 II .! 
 
, I 
 
 62 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Clnbs, or any ono think it, worth Avhilo to 
 cut off her head ? Thou there is the dread- 
 ful voyage before me, wifcli that l^orrible 
 mal-du-mcr [soa-sickiicss], of vhich I nearly 
 died when I crossed the Cliaunel last year ! 
 
 And what is before mo at the end of the 
 journey ? Ah !"— Ninon repeated lier affect- 
 ed movement of eyebrows and shonldurs— 
 
 <( 
 
 ch 
 
 I'm not even to stop in Paris — de 
 
 arming Paris! I'm to li 
 
 iir 
 
 Jivc a prisoners 
 life in Provence, at Chateau Labelle, with 
 Madaine la Comtcsse, ma helle-samr [tlie 
 countess, my sisfcer-in-lawj ; aiidif that does 
 not break my poor litlle heart, it will bo be- 
 cause liearts are not like china plates, and 
 can't be easily broken." 
 
 *'I though t that Chateau Labelle was a 
 delightful residence, and the comtcsse a 
 most charming lady," observed Adelaide of 
 Orleans. 
 
 " Ah ! the chateau Avas delightful enough 
 in old times when my poor brother was 
 alive, and there was plenty of company in 
 the house," replied Ninon La Fere. " It'was 
 a pretty sight to see the horsemen with the 
 dogs set out for the cliaso of tha 6-7/?y/,;v 
 
 MMMM 
 
THE BUTl-Erj-LY. 
 
 G3 
 
 [wild boar], twenty or tijirty gentlcmon at a 
 time, with plumes in their hats and gilt 
 spurs at their heels, clattering out of the 
 court-ya/d, while the mony' horn rang 
 through the woods! And it was pleasa,n*t 
 enough to be at the grand feasts at the 
 chateau; such feasts! The comtesse did 
 not forget the tenants,— tijero was always 
 ail ox roasted whole for tliem at New Year, 
 and the fountain plajed wine instead of 
 water. But the most charming of all," 
 continued Ninon, kindling into enthusiasm 
 at the recollection,—" the most charming of 
 all was the dance in the evening, and Iho 
 Httlo theati-e— ah !" she exclaimed, inter- 
 rupting herself with a gesture of despair, "I 
 am desole'^ to think of the honible clian'-os 
 that I shall find in Cljatcau Labelle !" 
 
 "I suppose that the comtesse has lived 
 in great retirement since lier poor husband 
 'A'as killed in Paris by those dreadful miis^ 
 cMhttes" observed her companion; "it is 
 natural that she should do so." 
 
 " Quite natural that Gabrielle should fret 
 for a while ; I did so myself," reph'ed Ni- 
 non; "for three whole days— while the 
 
 n 
 
 U 
 
 i M 
 
W' 
 
 I! 
 
 i i! 
 
 64 
 
 THE BUTTEliFLY. 
 
 mourning wai? being maclG up— I was deso- 
 Zee— con) d nofc eat, could not sleep, could 
 not dance!" tlio young lady looked dcMvn 
 pathetically at her fan, us though couiiding 
 her sorrows to th(; shephcvd and shepherd- 
 ess in pink silk and spangios that wcie pic- 
 tured upr/ti it. " Bat one canDot be always 
 pi^uig !" Bhe added, raising her xace wiih a 
 Liiule. " Lite is so short, especially in these 
 teiTlblt limes ; so if short, let it be gay !" 
 
 " I id the comtesse love her hiu-band very 
 mneii?" inquired Adelaide of Orleans. 
 
 "More than grandcs dames [grert ladies] 
 generally love their husbands," replied 
 Ninon lightly. "Ah! Coquin— Jacobin, I 
 mean — leave my gold chain alone ; thou art 
 always in mischief!" the girl smartly tapped 
 her troublesome pet with her fan, and went 
 on with the conversation, which the monkey 
 had interrnpted. " Of course, the marriage 
 Vfasttne affaire arrangee [an arranged thing], 
 — Henri and Gabriello had scarcely ever 
 Been and never spoken to each other before 
 it. (How differently these matters are 
 settled in England!) Gabrielle had the 
 money and the lands, my brother had iuflu- 
 

 
 THE 
 
 butterfly; 
 
 % 
 
 1 
 65 
 
 enco 
 
 at. 
 
 conrfc, so 
 
 nothing conlil suit bettof 
 
 i tban 
 
 a 
 
 match be 
 
 twcun tliem. 
 
 Aticl 
 
 really 
 
 i poor 
 
 Henri was 
 
 1 -^.-r • 
 
 charmed "witli 
 
 L his 
 1 1 
 
 wife," 
 
 contiiiuod Ninon, as if a French nobleman's 
 being .so was rather a canso for surprise ; 
 "they were as happj together as if tliej had 
 been peasants in a chaumicrc [cottage], who 
 had never seen or heard of the gy ancle moiide 
 [great world]. Gabrielle, as thou dost 
 know, was quite a star at court; she cueated 
 a sensation at the Tuilerics." But even 
 then she, strangely enough, spent a good 
 deal of time in Piovence, and could leave 
 Paris without a sigh to bury herself, with 
 her husband, for months at a time, amidst 
 the gardens and forests." 
 
 "But her life was, by thy account, no 
 dull one at Chateau Labelle." 
 
 " Not then — but now — ah !" exclaimed 
 Ninon with an affected shudder. " To judge 
 by the letters which I receive now and then 
 from my belle-sceiir, Chateau Labelle must be 
 worse than ever was the Bastile.t No com- 
 
 * The palace of the king and queen, 
 t The great state prison, which was destroyed ia 
 1789 by the Jacobin mob. 
 
 5 
 
 ' . \ ■ 
 
 ■k \h 
 
 ;! 
 
 iii 
 
66 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 pany, no dancing, no amusement— notljing 
 to pass away the wearisome liours ' I be- 
 lieve that I shall find the very rose-beds 
 turned into rows of cypresses, and that the 
 peacocks have lost every eye on their 
 feathers ! Ah, my poor little Jacobin !"~ 
 Ninon was fondling her hairy favorite- 
 "what wilt thou and I do from morning till 
 night in that grand, dreary old place! "if I 
 dance, I must take the chairs for partners ; 
 if I smg, there will be no one to listen ; I 
 shall forget at last how to talk ; I shall forget 
 this English tongue, after all the pains I've 
 taken to master its dreadful ihs ande/w/ 
 Ah, i\ifii mechanic [naughty] Eliza, if she had 
 not thrown up her place, just at the last, I 
 could at least have conversed with her." 
 Ninon appeared to take the loss of her 
 English maid almost as much to heart as the 
 murder of her brother. 
 ^ "I wish that I were going to Provence 
 instead of to Paris," said Adelaide sadly ; 
 "I shrink from entering a city which has 
 been the scene of so many horrors. I dread 
 what the future may bring." 
 "Still thou wilt sec somethhg of life id 
 
 IJL 
 
THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 67 
 
 the Palais- Royal*~l beg pardon, the Palais 
 Eftalite [Equality]," cried Ninon,— *' some- 
 thing to excite— to amuse ! Tliou wilt have 
 to play the agreeable to Messieurs Danton 
 and Marat, and perhaps dance the Car- 
 magnolef with Robespierre himself." Ninon 
 laughed, but Adelaide shuddered. Young 
 as she was, she felt bitterly the position of 
 her father, who had given up the title which 
 was his birthright, to take a name which 
 implied that he made himself one with those 
 who would level royalty and rank with the 
 dust. Egalite was as one stroking a tiger 
 whose fangs are already stained with blood, 
 and whose next act may be to tear him to 
 pieces; the shouts and applause of the 
 mob for which the Duke of Orleans had 
 renounced the fealty due to his cousin and 
 king, were soon to be changed to yells of 
 hate. The ladder on which Egalite sought to 
 rise to power was slippery with blood, and his 
 fall from it would be terrible. The shadow 
 of approaching trials lay on the spirit 
 of his young daughter. 
 
 • The palace of the Orleans fiimily. 
 t A dance peculiar to the Republicans. 
 
 •f ^ 
 
 I ( 
 
 rim 
 
 ^11 111 
 
 
 t ■ 
 
'il 
 
 i ; 
 
 1 
 
 I 'I 
 
 68 
 
 THE BUTTEliFLY. 
 
 "I Hiuui fjuver endure meeting llioso 
 chicis oi Lhollevolution," saitl Adeluiile ; "I 
 coiikl not— no, 1 could nf)t Jet my Land 
 touch that of llobespieire!"— she made an 
 iuvohmtarj niovem: ' . if pushing som'c- 
 thing from lier in disgust. " A[y lieart is 
 m-ung for tlio king, the honest, good -hearted 
 lang, and the unliappy, deeplj-wronged 
 queen! I know that Mario Antoinette 
 never liked papa, but she was always gra- 
 cious to nie." 
 
 "Ah! what a beautiful creature sho 
 was ; I saw her onco at the opca-a, only 
 once," cried Ninon; "but I shall never, 
 never forget the queen. So fair she looked, 
 so queenly, with diamonds ghtlering on her 
 swan-like neck and sparkling in her hair. 
 Every movement of hers was grace; and 
 her smile, it was .simply bewitching ! Every 
 one seemed ready t kiss tiio very ground 
 upon V vich Lwe tror I cm Id not sleep the 
 night afterwards for thinking of that most 
 charmin- ; f queens. I remc aber saying 
 that I would gladly give up ten years of my 
 lile to be Marie Ant Inette-but for one 
 hour!" 
 
 iff 
 
THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 69 
 
 ■i^- 
 
 n 
 
 "And now tlio poorest peasant in France 
 would not change places with its nnliappy 
 queen, a prisoner in the Temple," said 
 Egahto's daughter. "All her beauty, her 
 rank, her grace, have not been able to save 
 her from insult, danger, misery !" Tears of 
 pity rose in the young princess's eyes as she 
 spoke. 
 
 " Thou must not dwell on things so trisier 
 cried Ninon,who disliked ; y thing approach- 
 ing to sadness. " Were wo to cry ourselves 
 blind, it would not help the poor queen ; so 
 why should we make our eyes red, and spoil 
 our beauty for nothing ! Come, shall I sing 
 thee a little chanson to my lute? Ah, I for- 
 i^t, tlio lute is packed up, labelled and 
 coj ^ed : I saw Eliza putting the wrapper 
 r and tl'o case. That mechanic ElizM, to 
 aesert ' Ums ! Tf she had only l^ft time 
 for Madame ^ Gealis to find awoiXiQvfomiie- 
 de chamhre Amjlaisc to fill her place, I should 
 not have minded her going." 
 
 "It would be ImpoB ■' lo to find one now 
 as we start for the sea-port to-morrow," saici 
 Adelaide of Orleans. 
 
 " Ahj I have it !" exclaimed Ninon, with a 
 
 i< 
 
 
 • V 
 

 70 
 
 THE BU'ITEIIFLY. 
 
 itllo cry of cliildisli delight and clapping of 
 liands, as if she had made, an inipoitanf. dis- 
 coveij. " La pcllle Amjlam. ! the gid who 
 makes thoso littlo bijoux of huskots! I 
 have tulvcn such a funcy to thcm-and to 
 her, with the manuoisso quiet aud gculiUf, 
 and the eyes so gentle and tlioughtfnl ! Ah 
 pa va blcH~i]uii will do -that uill do''' 
 continned Ninon, again clapping her hamk 
 i-aith 8tanl)y, slio shall go with mo to 
 1 rovence, to the horrible dreary chateau ; 
 she shall tdk English to me andVoad to mo 
 J^iJglish romans, and feed and take care of 
 my dicmnant Jacobin, and show me liow to 
 make those beautiful baskets. Adelo, I 
 will rival Messieui.,' thy brothers. They 
 ^low so well how to use their hands. 
 Have j;. not seen the charming press and 
 table witJi drawers made by le Dacde Chatres 
 and his brother !^=- If the royal children of 
 iuance learn trades, (the king himself is 
 a clever locksmith,) why not a demoiselle 
 [young lady] of Provence ? In these times 
 oi change, when the world is turned upside 
 down, and butchers and fish-women lord ifc 
 * " Lifo and Times of Lnuia phn; » 
 
 ■n 
 
THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 71 
 
 over Ics aristocrats [nobility], it is just as 
 well tliJit Avo should all liiivo a trado to fall 
 back on in case of nccossity. I may have to 
 Avantlcr about with my Into and my monkey, 
 and dauco and sing for the diversion of 
 othci's instead of my own, and sell my pretty 
 littlo baskets, whilo Monsieur le Due de 
 C/iatrcs^' is carniug his bread by teaching 
 Vhisfoire ct la geograp/iic [history and geogi'a- 
 phy] in some foreign laud." Niuon sprang 
 up from her crouching position on the 
 hearth-rug, as if impatient to begin directly 
 lier conrse of education in basket-mjikii]g. 
 "I will go at once," she cried, "and tell 
 Madame do Genlis that I have found an- 
 other femmc-de-chamhre, and that I have 
 decided on takiug ma petite Anrjlaise with 
 mo to Chateau Labelle !" 
 
 "Hadst thou not better wait to know 
 what la petite Amjlaisc herself says to the 
 question?" observed Adehiide of Orleans. 
 "It is possible that Faith Stanby may decline 
 leaving her home and her country." 
 
 " Decline leaving some wretched c7/az<»?/c/e 
 [cottage], to dwell in the most charming 
 * AfterwufclB King Louis Piiilippe. 
 
 :; (■ 
 
 mm 
 
 
 .; 
 
 ? ] i'i' 
 
 , i. ^- • 
 
 ::| 
 
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 \ ' '■ : 
 
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 ;M 
 
 i Ij t; 1 
 
 
72 
 
 THE BUTTEIIFLY. 
 
 cliateau [castle] mlahellc France ! impossible P' 
 exclaimed Ninon, forgetful apparently of the 
 very different description of the place which 
 she had given two minutes before. '' Besides, 
 if la petite Anglaise did object to going with 
 mo (she miglit so perhaps jnst at first), I 
 should soon win her over with a few smiles, 
 and the promise of plenty of loiiis dor. 
 Money and sugared words are baits which 
 she will never resist." 
 
 " Faith did resist both on Saturday, when 
 thou didst press her so hard to make the 
 basket on Sunday," observed the Orleans 
 princess. 
 
 ''La folk! [silly thing!] — as if there 
 could be jiiiy possible harm in pleasing a 
 demoiselle, and earning a whole crown instead 
 of a half one !" exclaimed Ninon La Fere. 
 "And yet the mhhante, tijough she will not 
 work upon Sundays, thinks nothing, doubt- 
 less, of eating flcjsh upon Fridays, and 
 probably never said an Ave to the Madonna 
 in h<'r life. Ah, these Anglais, they liave no 
 religion at all !" 
 
 " I do not agree with £hee, Ninon," said 
 Adelaide, jier fingers uneonseiouisly toy 
 
THE BUTTEEFLT. 
 
 73 
 
 With a httle golden crueiSx, ,vl.icli sLo woro, 
 suspendea by a ribbon round her neck; "th» 
 Enghsh c o not go to high mass, nor pj 
 to the blessed Virgin, nor have a. nLh 
 outward show as we have-or as we used o. 
 ave m France, before these terrible d^ws- 
 but I have often thought that there is mora 
 depth, more life in their devotion. See Zl 
 influence that religion has over the actil 
 
 example. There was poverty shown in her 
 *ess (I counted three neat patches „pou 
 
 .pon P K laj), and yet, with all your coax- 
 mg and bribery, you could no moi^ ncrsurdo 
 her to do what she thought contr,.', to her 
 rehgion, than you could have moved Z 
 towers ot Mire Dame." '°^ca tlio 
 
 "Ah, the whole nation are obslinale, from 
 then- farmer c a l<ing down to a pJasan^ 
 
 .1 rJ :„^f '^""'^f .N"'°". ^I'm-i.-g hcrshoul- 
 ^eis, and speaking ,n a tone of contempt 
 Her own course of action was as diffoTenl 
 from that of the girl whom she d,., '^ ' 
 
 flutter oiabutterilv is fr 
 
 om 
 
 I' 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 M 
 
 » f 
 
 ^■•:}m 
 
 kk W 
 
 '^H 
 
 
 
 jH^ 
 
 
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 t [ 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
 ill 
 
74 
 
 THE BUTTEIIFLY. 
 
 the strcaii^lit, rapid fliglit of a siroiig-winged 
 bird. Ninon had no principle ol' any kind 
 to guide her: hi L'l'e, her solo object v/na 
 pleasure ; and she was unable even to un- 
 derstand how any one could Jive in the 
 world and yetljo not of tlio world, or how it 
 could bo possible to fmd any happiness in 
 doing the will of an unseea Creator. 
 
 " Perhaps," observed Adelaide, *' thou 
 mayest find Faith as firm in declining to 
 follow thee to France as she was in remsing 
 to work upon Sunday." 
 
 "vl/ct chcre, why shouldest tliou always 
 imagine difficulties!" cried Ninon gayly. 
 ** I think that tliou hast breathed the fog of 
 this England till thou hast imbibed some of 
 its gloom. Thou dose sit, and think, and 
 sigh — I laugh and dance ! where is the use 
 of thinldng and sighing? our crying our 
 eyes out will not bring back the gay court- 
 life ii) Paris, nor the grand processions on 
 saints' days, nor— Ah, Coquinf—Jiwohiul 
 what hast thou done !" exclaimed Nijiou, 
 suddenly interrupted by the sonud of a 
 crash, as the monive}-, in one of his gambols, 
 
 threw down a china figure from a 
 
 
THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 75 
 
 stand wliicli lie had chosen io make his 
 perch*. "The cliarmiiig St. Agnes flung 
 down on the carpet— her gilt crown broken 
 off. All, quelle dommage ! qiidlc dommarjc f" 
 [what a pity !j cried Ninon, raising the fallen 
 image with an air of exaggerated distress, 
 and kissing and pressing it to hor bosom, as 
 if it had been an injured cliild. " Meahant 
 Jacobin, petit monstre ! I will punish thee, 
 I will have thee beaten ! thou hast no rever- 
 ence for the holy images !" Ninon, as she 
 spoke, angrily tiircateiied with her fan the 
 monkey tliat, as if exulting in the mischief 
 which he had done, grinned and jabbered 
 from the pedestal on which the figure had 
 Btood ; then, suddenly changing her manner 
 and to]ie, the volatile girl burst out into a 
 loud ringing laugh : "But thou art a clever 
 fellow, thou art 1 it is but in thy new char- 
 acter that thou art acting! thou knowest 
 that to vrear the honct rouge gives a right to 
 knock down hnages and knock off crowns ! 
 thou wilt have Jacobin manners as m'cU as 
 Jacobin name! Ah, won't they adore thee 
 in Paris!" 
 
 Ninon might have prattled r. ' - ■'' 
 
 ff 
 
 UUlt 
 
 
 
 1 L 
 
 1! 
 
 ■; 
 
 r . 
 
 '■A ' 
 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 J 
 
76 
 
 THE BUTTEKFLT. 
 
 more nonsense in her flippant, affected way, 
 Lad not her attention been diverted from 
 the b.-oken ornament and the mischievous 
 pet by the entrance of a footman in gorgeous 
 livery, to announce that a girl was waitin^, 
 outside, wlio said that she had been ordered 
 to bring something for Mademoiselle Ninon. 
 "Ah, ma petite Angtaise at last !" exclaim- 
 ed Ninon La Fere; "show her up here 
 directly; I have been dying to see her." 
 
 ^ ^ .'^iM*^'^ 
 
' t 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 THE OFFER. 
 
 I HERE could scr.iiielj have been 
 a greater contrast L. fcween two 
 girls than thai, presented by 
 Ninon and Faith, as the latter, 
 pale and sail, in her plain and modest attire, 
 dropped her courtesy before the gayly- 
 dressed, powdered, perfumed, and rouged 
 young lady of France. The November sun 
 had just sunk, and in that chill misty evening 
 more light came from the fireplace than from 
 between the crimson satin curtains which 
 draperied the windows; but there was 
 sufficient to show deep traces either of 
 sorrow or of su^ ring on the countenance 
 of Faith Stanby. 
 
 '' Paiwre file r [poor 
 
 irl! 
 
 tli Ought 
 
 
 '^' 
 
 1 '^ i- : t % 
 
 i/^1' H 
 
 
 ^^\ 
 
 
78 
 
 THE OFFER. 
 
 
 gentle Atlelaide ; " I foar that she has tasted 
 little food since we saw her on Saturday. 
 How pallid her face, how hollow her eyes ; 
 they look as though they had been weeping ! 
 Her shawl is so thin, the wind must blow 
 through her! That >7^e will scarcely re- 
 fuse to go to any place where there is 
 abundance of fuel and food." 
 
 " I am sorry, mademoiselle, very sorry," 
 began Faith, looking down on the soiled 
 and crushed basket which she held in her 
 hand. " I tried to keep my promise ; I was 
 at work before four o'clock this mornin"; 
 but"— 
 
 "Never mind the basket; thou shalt 
 make plenty more, and teach me how to 
 make them, they are si gentlUesr cried 
 Ninon La Fere ; and without giving Faith 
 time to reply, the young lady rattled on : 
 "thou shalt go with me back to France 
 to-morrow— over the sea to la belle France • 
 tliou shalt be my femme-de-chamhre, in the 
 place of that mechante Eliza. I like thy 
 face ; and thou shalt have other dress ; and 
 thou shait comb and take care of my cher 
 Jacobin " — 
 
 HHH 
 
it ■/' 
 
 I:vt 
 
 !*ii 
 
 TIIE OFFER. 
 
 79 
 
 As if the animal had heard the sound of 
 his own name, ho darted from the stand of 
 which ho had taken possession, and from 
 which lie had been maliciously grinning at 
 Faith from the moment of her enterin^^ the 
 apartment. Perhaps the difference in her 
 dress and appearance from that of the 
 usual occupants of that room had roused 
 his natural fierceness, for Jacobin sprang 
 hke a wild cat at the English gir], clung to 
 her arm, and bit her through her thin shawl 
 Faith was startled and frightened ; slie had 
 never seen a monkey before, and the con- 
 trast between the brute's fantastical dress 
 and savage wildness made him appear to 
 her more hideoas 
 
 "Take him off her, she is alarmed— I 
 fear hurt," cried the Orlear.s princess to 
 Ninon, who was almost in couvulsions with 
 laughing at her favorite's vign.,^ns attack 
 on the stranger. 
 
 Ninon La Fere, still laughing, struck the 
 mmikey sharply with h ,r fan, and with little 
 difficulty made him let go his hold, and 
 retreat whining behind a sofa. -Never 
 ^ind," she said to Faith ; - he is the most 
 
 
 1 I: 
 
 J ' 
 
 A Ij 
 
80 
 
 THE OFFER. 
 
 cliarming littlo creature when ho knows 
 thee— so wise— so clever ! thou wilt be so 
 fond of Jacobin when thou art witli me in 
 France." 
 
 "But, lady, I have no wish to go to 
 France," replied Faith, who felt that nothing 
 on earth should induce her to do so. The 
 account of horrors in Paris and Versailles 
 had roused a feeling of strong indignation 
 tln-onghout Britain— a feehng shared alike 
 by the gentle and the bold : that feeling 
 was like the stirring of wind before the 
 coming of the tempest. The black clouds 
 were overspreading the sky, and were soon 
 to burst m the thunders of war. On every 
 side preparations were being made for the 
 impending conflict ; recruiting parties were 
 abroad, and the chances of success in the 
 coming straggle with France was the theme 
 of talk in cottage as well as in hall. To 
 cross the Channel at this period would be 
 almost like going into an enemy's country 
 with the probability of never being able to 
 leave it again. Faith would almost as soon 
 have ascended Mount Vesuvius during an 
 eruption ; the roaring fires and Jiot lava of 
 
THE OFFER. 
 
 81 
 
 lie volcano wero le. ■lomblo to her a;„d 
 than tho flanaca of tl.o French Eevo]„t!^„ ' 
 "No m.h to go! but thou must an<] sinit 
 go! ' e.c aimed Ninon, who was too muo 
 
 J'er ^ull at least from one belongin,. to a 
 
 r :, .^ "■" "°' g™"g to stay in Paris 
 I resule in a chateau tho most Ianna7^ 
 
 ment of hantls and eyes was iulondod to 
 mpress on the imagination of Faith the 
 happiness o bo enjoyed by residing in I 
 place winch the young lady herseS li^ 
 Jiely tecribed as being worse than ttl 
 
 Very modestly, but very decidedly. Faith 
 again declined tho offer made hei- She 
 had no intention, she said, of going iZ 
 
 home She had never been taught a kdy's- 
 Tadly! ' " ''°"''' ^''^""^ «'««> 
 
 tl.I'e'i^^tri*— = *"" '''™^ ^''^" *^->' 
 -.^e. cri.u 1, men, not easily daunted by 
 
 6 
 
 '■i 
 
 
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 11 
 
 '■i 
 
 
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 fl 
 
<rT 
 
 <i i\ 
 
 '1 
 
 82 
 
 TH13 OFFEH. 
 
 a refusnl. " SliG is lien acco^npUc- slio sliall 
 sLow tljoo how to frisonncr — All, I forget, 
 thou knowcst not tho lungungc ! — to friz 
 and to i)owJer." Ninon witli animated 
 movements of her hands acted >vh;it slio 
 describcil. "Thou shalfc work— I am sure 
 tliou dost v;ork beautifully— thou v;ilt soon 
 learn to co])y ks mmJc.s to pci-fcction !" 
 
 " Indeed, hidy, I tliaiik you for tlie offer ; 
 but I must dechne it," said Faith, takmpj a 
 baekward step towards tlie door, v.iLh a 
 strong wish to escape from the room ; but 
 the lively French girl was by no means 
 disposed to lot her retreat. 
 
 "Thou shalt h.-vo money — not paper 
 raoney, not Icsas.sifjnats,""' continued Ninon, 
 .vitli an arch glance at Egalite's dangliter. 
 "Two hundred /rcmcs t — three hundred — 
 four hundred," she continued, raising her 
 terms as she read steady refusal in tho 
 countenance of Faitli. "Thou shalt have 
 money Avitli thy own king's head upon it — 
 
 • Paper moncj', largely circulated in France, of 
 wliicli there will be found fuller mention in a nolo 
 farther on in thi;? volume. 
 
 t A franc ia tenpcuce. 
 
 ^^ ^' -JKT-.:;;":-',' g | jy.^ry^. -^- 
 
Tli^ ^FI'ER. 
 
 i3 
 
 ten yellow golden guineas in thy hand tliia 
 very tlnj— if tlion wilt but crosa Iho soa 
 witli me on AV( tlncsday." 
 
 "Pardon me, lady, but no money would 
 mako mo leave England now," lopliccl 
 Faith ; and she added, but not alo-ul, " ^^oi 
 for ten guineas a thousand limes I ould 
 I chango my country for one in wl there 
 is no order, no peace, and wlu^ro ,o only 
 religion known is the idolatrous worship of 
 Rome." ^ 
 
 For I,. J til was not only infected by IhoKo 
 national prejudices which at tliat timo very 
 strongly prevailed thronghout Britain, but 
 her Protestant princii)lcs made her shrink 
 from throwing herself amongst stranoers 
 professing the Romish religion, if they 
 professed any religion whatever. T]i(« quick 
 eye of Faith had noticed a colored imago of 
 the Virgin Mary wliicli occupied a iiicho in 
 the room, the golden crucifix which was 
 hung round ilio neck of Aacl;ud(>, th^ 
 rosaiy which lay on the taMo, beside an 
 open volume of the legeni'' , of saints. At 
 theiiature of the contents of the book Faith 
 could- only guess from the strange picUno 
 
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84 
 
 THE OFFER. 
 
 :| 
 
 and illuminations which caught her eye ; 
 but this, as well as the things before men- 
 tioned, were in her mind connected with a 
 corrupt Church, whoso votaries had, espe- 
 ciallj' ill Fi-ancc, slain thousands by fire and 
 sword, and diiven the brave and true into 
 exile for no crime but that of desiring to 
 worship their Maker in spirit and in tmth. 
 No temptation or pleasure could have in- 
 duced the English maiden to give up the 
 religious freedom which she enjoyed in a 
 Protestant hind. 
 
 The emphasis which Faith in her reply 
 had laid on the words *' no money J' showed 
 even Ninon that all attempt to persuade 
 her would be vain, and the playful coaxing 
 of the young lady was instantly changed to 
 the expression of anger and disappointment. 
 With the petulance of a spoilt child to 
 whom a coveted toy is refused, Ninon 
 stamped on the carpet, and, in a voice shrill 
 with passion, launched at Faith a volley of 
 epithets in French, the exact meaning of 
 which might not be understood by the 
 English maid, but which were easily enough 
 
 rccuHxiiiscd to bu tuims of 
 
 abuse. 
 
 Faitli 
 
her eye ; 
 3fore men- 
 itecl with a 
 had, espe- 
 3y fire and 
 I true into 
 Gsiring to 
 cl in truth. 
 I have in- 
 ve up the 
 eyed in a 
 
 her reply 
 r," showed 
 
 persuade 
 .1 coaxing 
 hanged to 
 )oiutment. 
 
 child to 
 3d, Ninon 
 oice shrill 
 I volley of 
 leaning of 
 :1 by the 
 ily enough 
 se. Faiili 
 
 THE OFFER. 
 
 83 
 
 was lete—folle — ingrate ; though it would 
 have been difiicult to have proved against 
 tlie poor girl the charge of ingratitude to- 
 wards one who never even ofl(?rcd to pay 
 her for the many hours of toil bestowed on 
 making the unfortunate basket. In vain 
 Adelaide of Orleans expostulated against 
 her companion's outburst of temper ; Ninon 
 would not listen to her friend. The mon- 
 key, seeing and sharing tlie excitement of 
 his mistress, added the noise of his bark to 
 that of her petulant abuse, and appeared to 
 be preparing to dart again at the stranger. 
 Faith did not consider it necessary to stand 
 to be insulted by a passionate girl, or 
 worried by her monkey; so, with modest, 
 dignity, she drew her thin shawl more 
 closely around her, dropped a courtesy to 
 Mademoiselle of Orleans, and then retired 
 from the room. Faith could hear the shrill 
 tones of Ninon's voice until the outer door 
 of the outer hall was closed behind lier, and 
 she found herself again in the open air. 
 
 " To serve such a mistress \TOuld be to 
 sell myself into slavery indeed!" thought 
 Faitli. '-Plow thanliful I am that it is not 
 
 r 
 
 If;. 
 
 I ' 
 
 k 
 
 : 
 
 1 
 
 ^ '1 
 
 
 ■ ' 
 
 Jritiai 
 
 i 
 
 
 li- i !■ 
 

 
 ■'li 
 
 X.-*al^Sss».-a 
 
 86 
 
 THE OFTFER. 
 
 my lot to bo licr maid ; I pity tlie person 
 who is so. I thought when I entered that 
 house that I -was as unhappy as I could be, 
 but I see now that I was ungi-ateful for 
 many rich blessings. Dare I murmur whilst 
 I have a home in dear England, though 
 that home be so humble ! If I am poor, I 
 am free !" 
 
 Notwithstanding tlie sharp pain in her 
 arm from the bito of tlic monkey, the visit 
 to Ninon had had rather a bracing effect on 
 the spirits of Faith. She walked with a 
 firmer stop and head less depressed tliaii 
 Bhe hiul done after her trying interview 
 with Edward Marston. To say "No" to 
 him hud been bitter indeed ; perhaps a 
 Uttle lurking pride in the heart of Faith 
 made her feel rather pleased than otlierwiso 
 that she had had to repeat that difficult 
 word to the fine French lady. ■ As in the 
 dim misty twilight Faith rapidly ret-. 1 
 her steps along the lane which skirted tl-M 
 property of Marston, and intuitivelv strained 
 her eyes to catch a glimpse of liis dwelling 
 through the thick white fog, she realized 
 how much tl 
 
 *o' 
 
 inwwgaffii.Jiii Bi iiMiM ' i i i. 
 
!..'■!• 
 
 THE OFFER. 
 
 87 
 
 lier esfcremo avei^ioii to quitting her coun- 
 try. "When Fiiiih .had parted from Edward 
 an hour before, she had beHeved that she 
 had entirely given up all hope of becoming 
 his wife ; but hope is hard to kill, especially 
 in young hearts. "Why might not Marston's 
 views change— why might he not become in 
 time as pious as he was already generous 
 and brave ? Faith's fervent prayers for the 
 man whom she loved might bo answered ; 
 the only barrier between Maryton und her- 
 self might be throwai down; sho might yet 
 bo the happiest of women. Weary and 
 well-nigh exhausted as slio was, such 
 thoughts inspired Faith with new vigor, 
 and beguiled the way until sho camcT in 
 Bight of the glimmering light in the window 
 of her home. 
 
 ,1 (■ 
 
 U\ 
 
 
 ^f i -i^ 
 
 i 
 
 r 
 
 !;•!( 
 
 ■'M 
 
 ! : i 
 
 \tm 
 
lilt 
 
 ■1} 
 
 ii 
 
 ^t 
 
 CHAPTER yni. 
 
 A SACRIFICE. 
 
 jH, my husband — my poor dear 
 Jos ! Alack, that I should live 
 to see this day !" 
 
 Such "vvere the words, sobbed 
 forth by Deborah Stanby, which first met 
 the ears of Faith as she lifted the latch, and 
 crossed the threshold. 
 
 " My father ! — what has happened to 
 him?" cr>ed Faith in alarm. 
 
 " And he — such a gentleman as he is, and 
 always was — to be marched off with a herd of 
 low fellows as know no more than the beasts 
 they've been a-driving, or the kettles they 
 been a- tinkering," sobbed Deborah, rocking 
 herself backwards and forwards in her chair 
 and v/ringing her hands. 
 (88) 
 
A SACRIFICE. 
 
 89 
 
 "Oh, toll me ^vllat lias happened!" cried 
 Faith, turinufr anxiously towards Tim Ma- 
 son, the carrier, who -was slandino- by the 
 fireplace with liis hands in his pockets. Ho 
 had been the bearer of a letter, wliich lay 
 open on the table. 
 
 " Well, it's nothing to nialvo tlio missus 
 take on so, as if Jos were killed and buried 
 already. It's not every soldier as is 
 knocked over in the bloodiest fight, and we 
 han't come to fighting yet," said the 
 carrier. 
 
 " Soldier !— surely my father has not en- 
 listed!" cried Faith. 
 
 " 'Listed— that's just what Gentleman Jos 
 has done. He'd had, maybo, a drop too 
 much at Guildford; and the recruiting 
 parties, tliey be going about the country — 
 drum and fife, cockades and all. At the 
 soberest times, Gentleman Jos bo easily 
 caught with a fly, if you make it of gay- 
 colored feathers ; so he thought as how he'd 
 go and help to thrash them French, and 
 make mincemeat o' them, for the way they've 
 treated their king." 
 "Jos was always for church and king!" 
 
 I 'k'.i: 
 
 if 
 
 i^ 
 
 ■f 
 
 ' iil' :f'|'| 
 
 ' ;< 
 

 
 lit 
 
 if 
 
 w 
 
 i. 
 
 90 
 
 A SACRITICE. 
 
 cried Debonili, proudly ; " ho'd stand to 
 the last for tlio one or tlio other." 
 
 " So ho thought in the evening," said the 
 carrier, with a broad grin ; " but it seems 
 he changed his mind in the morning, and 
 would rather that "Will Pitt should send any 
 one else to thrash them Jacobine lot." 
 
 Deborah fired up at what sounded rather 
 like an imputation on the courage of Gentle- 
 man Jos. 
 
 " It ain't that he wont fight like a British 
 lion !" she cried, speaking with rapid utter- 
 ance and in an excited manner ; " but he 
 don't forget that he's a father and a husband, 
 and a gent'man ; and he ain't a young man, 
 nor a strong man ; and it ain't a-litting he be 
 set to drill and goose-step, and a-lying out 
 o' nights, and a-marching all day — and he'd 
 the rheumatics all last winter, and a cough 
 in the spring ! Oh," she exclaimed, bursting 
 into tears, " if my poor Jos once goes 'cross 
 the waters, he'll never come back again — 
 never 1" 
 
 Faith looked anxiously at the letter 
 which was lying on the table. Her step- 
 mother pushed it towards her. It v,'as in 
 
 M 
 
 1,1! 
 
tl .; 
 
 I 
 % 
 
 A SACRIFICE. 
 
 91 
 
 the well-known handwriting, straggling and 
 uneven, of Gentleman Jos, with many words 
 underlined, and some doubly so, to give 
 tliem additional force. TJie letter ran as 
 follows : 
 
 •'I)EA« Wri^ AXD FAiTn.-! Lave had niany troubles 
 ^ hfo but the ^oBST of aU has como to mo now. tZ 
 token the kmg's shiUing; and the — regiment, in 
 which I have enlisted, is li].ely to be the nnsr sent on 
 forei^ service if the war breaks out, as it is ..re to do 
 ^^T^^% «™ never Hkely to have to exchange 
 Bhots wiOi the enemy ; for. though the blockhead of a 
 surgeon says that I'm so^cnd in lung and limb, I knovl^ 
 a^dyou know-whatI.„^ered last winter. A gcnti^ 
 
 cmm>ermay I can't stand life in barracks ; and as 
 fo soldering m the field, a week of that woild Knx 
 roe. and leave you a helpless widow and orpMn on the 
 chan^ of a cold world that has always treated me so 
 
 offl^ rr iy '" "*y P'^°«- ^ J^i^er's son has 
 offered to do so ^f I pay him ten guineas down on the naU. 
 Don t leave a stone unturned to make up the sum • Tim 
 Mason, who takes this letter, can hrlnrr u Tme i^ 
 morrou,: ho starts for Guildford at six L^ ^ wt 
 
 ttat you make up the money and send it. Tm a ^^rlZ 
 if you can't raise ten guineas before the momLg 
 
 "J. s.'- 
 Faith tiiraed very white as she read and 
 
 i < ■ i , < ! 
 
92 
 
 A SAcmncE. 
 
 re-read the letter. Ifc was not only the 
 grief for her father's trouble that made the 
 contents strike on her heart like tlio keen 
 'cold edge of a knife. She laid down the 
 paper with a trembling hand, and faintly 
 murmured, " Ten guineas." 
 
 " Ay, ten guineas ; and I should like to 
 know where or how we're to get 'em !" ex- 
 claimed Deborah, passionately striking the 
 table with her fist ; " guineas don't grow 
 upon hedges like blackberries, nor lie in 
 ditches. There's rent due for this cottage, 
 and not a shovelful of coals remaining hi 
 the shed! I've naught but rags on my 
 back ; and if I pawned this table, and the 
 bed from under mo, I could not make up 
 one guinea. Yon clock would not fetch 
 half-a-crown, for all that it came from 
 Golden Square," added Deborah bitterly, 
 reminded of the family heirloom by its just 
 Uien striking — of course the wrong hour. 
 
 " Well, missus, I can't bide here longer, 
 but I'll call in to-morrow morning — 'taint 
 out o' my way — and maybe you'll have a 
 letter for poor Jos, and a pair or two of 
 warni socivs, if to can t c 
 
 ipc up 
 
 money 
 
A SACUIFICE. 
 
 to send Iiim," said Tim Mason tlio 
 
 93 
 
 carrier. 
 
 as he quitted the cottage. 
 
 money— I must and 
 
 « 
 
 Bi.t I must 
 
 will," exclaimed Deborah Stanby, starting 
 up from her chair. " Faith, child, can't you 
 help me to think? yoa M'a.s al'ays a good un 
 for thinking ; poor Jos says as ye take after 
 your grandfather the lawyor. Now when I 
 want advice, you're as mum as a fish ! J 
 toll you what, I'll put on my bonnet and run 
 over to Woodlands Farm ; Edward Marston, 
 he's a generous fellow, and rich enough to 
 do the kind thing. I'll warrant you" he'll 
 lend me ten guineas, and liot look sharp 
 after the payment either." 
 
 ^ " Oh no !— go to any one rather than to 
 him !" cried Faith, her pale face flushing 
 crimson. She had far too much dolicacv of 
 feeling to endure the idea of >i petition for 
 money being made, and a debt (never likely 
 to be paid) to be incurred to the man whose 
 hand she had just rejected. 
 
 " There's no one else I can thVk of," said 
 tho perplexed Deborah; "unless," she 
 added, brightening at the thought— " unless 
 you ask tljc fine French lady who has taken 
 
 ftii 
 
 
 I'! 
 
 "1% 
 
 If 
 
94 
 
 A SACRIFICE. 
 
 such a fancy to your Laskots ; si 
 
 ; slio IS np to 
 
 tho cars in gokl, sIio'Jl liover miss ten 
 have diKpIoased licr, I have matlo 1 
 
 guineas 
 
 URgry," said Failli 
 
 'Ai 
 
 ip-y? — Low? by your nonsensical 
 
 iJg upon Sunday ?" asked 
 
 whim of not worki 
 tlio stop-mother, 
 
 Faith shook her head, hut was silent. . 
 
 Deborah's curiosity was aroubc-d. " Hovr 
 then have you offended lier?" she inquired 
 in a tone of impatience. 
 
 "By refusij]g to go to Franco as her 
 maid." 
 
 " "\niat ! tho grand lady asked you, did 
 she?— and you refused, witliout ever con- 
 sulting your father or me !" exclaimed Deb- 
 or ah. 
 
 " There was no time, tho ladles start for 
 the seaport to-morrow ; besides "—Deborah 
 gave Faith no time to finish lier sentence. 
 
 " She offered you good Avages, no doubt ?" 
 
 Faith's " Yes " was scarcely audible. 
 
 "And if you choso to go" after all, d'ye 
 thmk she'd advance ye ten guineas ?" 
 
 The room seemed to swim around Faith. 
 
A BACIilFlCIi 
 
 95 
 
 and sho lount on tlio tublo to steady herself 
 QS sho gave tlio affirmative reply 
 
 (( rpi , l J ' 
 
 you not go 
 
 ia so generous 
 
 so nionslrously rich!" cried Deborah 
 
 Then why on earth should you not 
 with the young lady,— who 
 and i 
 clutcl 
 
 mv* 
 
 it 
 
 Oii'Aovly at the hope before h 
 
 You've often and often thou 
 
 jdit of entering 
 
 Borvico.' 
 
 ;'Iu Euglancl-iu Englan.l !" cnod Faiih. 
 In England -fuldleckclee!" exclaimed 
 
 DeW.h;..,ervico 13 service, „11 over the 
 vorl.l! I warrant 30.. that the lady who 
 tas such ace on her handkerchiefs has lots 
 of good hings in her larder; and if vou've 
 a full d.sh to eat from, and a soft bed" to Ho 
 on, and capital wages hesides,_,„v ,ia- 
 tience! what does it matter whether y„„'re 
 
 ChaS,.."^ ^'""'» '^^'" '^^ the iriash 
 
 cried'S!:""''°''-^"^'''°^<=^''°^^'- 
 
 r»h ^.'v' "'"''^ ^'"'"' °°"S«'«o," said Deho- 
 
 Jiealtly g,rl hko vou. Your father is liirj 
 rj. r"^^^ ''«:«>«" -the arm,, t 
 
 won't bide there— J, 
 
 OS never could bide at 
 
 ^{ 
 
 i 
 
 ii ' 
 
 II 
 
 « 
 
 
96 
 
 A SACIIIFICE. 
 
 f ;• 
 
 anything for three weeks together ; he'll be 
 a-cleserting — and get shot — nnd all along of 
 you!" cried the step-mother passionately, 
 looldng at Faith with as much indignation 
 as if the poor girl had been the guilty cause 
 of her father's enhsting as well as of his ex- 
 pected desertion. Deborah spoke very fast, 
 as she always did when in a . te of excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "Motlier, give me breathing time, I can't 
 decide in a moment ; I'm very, very wretch- 
 ed," faltered Faith. 
 
 "Of course you are; selfish folk who 
 care for none but themselves are al'aya 
 wretched," said Mi's. Stauby to her whose 
 whole life had been a course of patient in- 
 dustry and daily self-deniuL "I wonder 
 that a girl like yon, who sets up for a saint, 
 should forgot diat the Biijle tells you to 
 honor your parents and provide for your 
 own !" 
 
 The reproof was scarcely a jnst one, yet 
 it went home to the conscience of Faith. 
 The apostle's declaration that he that pro- 
 videth not for his own is Avorse than an 
 infidel, recurred with force to the mind of 
 
lie'll be 
 
 lloDg of 
 
 oiiiitelj, 
 gnation 
 ,y cause 
 ; his ex- 
 217 fast, 
 excite- 
 
 , I cau'fc 
 wretcL- 
 
 Ik who 
 arajs 
 .' whoso 
 ient ill- 
 wonder 
 a sain!;, 
 you to 
 )r your 
 
 ne, yet 
 Faith, 
 lat pro- 
 thau an 
 iuiiicl of 
 
 A SACKIFICE. 
 
 97 
 
 ihe 
 
 the troubled maia™. Faith knew tha 
 could not bear to live in iaxury and leave a 
 parent to ..„t, .she could not ,vear expend" 
 finery whzle a parent was poorly clad 
 W hat many yo„„g £,J,, ^^^' 
 cottage ho^es could say as much as this^ 
 but she d,d shrink back from making ,„ch 
 a sacrifice as that which was required from 
 
 Md at a tmie when Faith's power of endu.^ 
 
 «^ce had already been teslcd so so^S^. 
 
 that It was no marvel if her cour 3 ^ave 
 
 way. With an irresistible craving o'' bo 
 
 a one ,a for five minute.,, Faith °ra„ ou 
 
 the kilchen up the stairs into her own 
 
 httle room, where she throw herself down 
 
 on her pallet bed in a passionate Inyo 
 weeping. '^o^^'j oi 
 
 It may be thought that the maiden's dis- 
 tress was disproportionate to its cause td 
 that ate all there was nothinginar„Cy 
 
 ne who had already shown herself ca^b « 
 
 ";' {•.,^"' f^„^^"S'>«'' gi'l felt that if sha 
 ^nv= cossed the Channel she was going 
 
 f 
 
 .■{, 
 
 
 ■ 4i f 
 
 li 
 
 r\'^ '.a 
 
 ■ If \\\ 
 
: \ 
 
 : 
 
 I 
 
 If 
 
 ii li 
 
 98 
 
 A SACRIFICE. 
 
 into almost liopeless exile. How was slie, 
 alone — unprotected — poor, and ignorant of 
 the French langaago, to find her ^vay back 
 from Provence, which, at that period, when 
 there were neither steamers nor railways, 
 appeared to be more inaccessible than New 
 Zealand would be to ns now ? By consent- 
 ing to accompany Mademoiselle La Fere, 
 Faith would be giving herself \\\), tied as it 
 ■were hand and foot, to a foreigner, of whose 
 command of temper and kindness of heart 
 the late interview had given Stanby's 
 daughter a very low impression indeed. 
 The impending war between England and 
 France would of course render more diflicult 
 all intercourse between the two nations ; 
 Faith miglit not be able even to hear of 
 those whom she loved, and would bo almost 
 as completely cut off from all earthly ties to 
 which her heart clung, as if she were already 
 laid in the grave. Faith loved her father, if 
 she could not honor him, and many a bond 
 of affection linked her to friends of her 
 childhood. Dear to her were the familiar 
 sights and sounds of her home : the warble 
 ol tiio robin that she fed with her crumbs. 
 
,vas slie, 
 orant of 
 'ay back 
 )d, wlien 
 .'ailways, 
 mil New 
 conseut- 
 ja Fere, 
 cd as it 
 ^f whose 
 of heart 
 Sfcanby's 
 
 mdeed. 
 ■ind and 
 
 difficult 
 nations ; 
 
 hear of 
 almost 
 [y ties to 
 ! ah'eady 
 father, if 
 
 a bond 
 ; of her 
 
 familiar 
 .9 warblo 
 
 crumbs, 
 
 A ^A ' -FICE. 
 
 99 
 
 he twitter of the su.Ulows under the eaves 
 
 he whistle of the plough-boy, the chhne of 
 
 «.e c nu-eh-bell which culled her to prayer 
 
 But dearest of all to Faith was the se i^i 
 
 hope that would be wrenched away by er 
 
 till 'y^"^^7. y^ ''''-'' ^^-1 'EcWd 
 ^laiston. He would be certain to take her 
 
 KT '" ''"""^ ^^ ^" -~e that 
 uould soon cease to care for her. Faith 
 pictured to herself the look of indio-„ant 
 surprise -perhaps of contempt- on Te 
 handsome countenance of the En^d h 
 jeoman, when he should hear that the^H 
 
 ^^.om he had chosen for his bride had cfn 
 Hent d to go as fcmme-de-chamhre to a land 
 
 d sl;"T I "' '"'"^^'^^ ^"^'^^^'^^ -^ 
 1 a th Stanby, and it wrung from her the 
 bmer exclamation, "Anything bat tlisl 
 0"! anything but tljj's!" 
 ^ Then followed another silent slruRRlo • 
 the wresthng prayer which precedes and 
 
 pr<^ares for that martyrdom if the ^.iS 
 "^"" *"^ ^^°''!'l "'•»<">•» nothing, which wins 
 
 U: 
 
 Ij 
 
 i''Kn 
 
 ,'•' f , j 
 
 um 
 
 i T' 
 
 MM 
 
 Mi 
 
 • t 
 
 I 
 
 ■ . M 
 
100 
 
 A BACLIFICE. 
 
 Ill I 
 
 no praise from man, but which is the highest 
 achievement of Christian courage. We 
 count the numbers who fight and fall upon 
 Bome great field of battle — those who have 
 been conscious that great events depended 
 upon their prowess, and that the fame of 
 their deeds would spread through all the 
 civihzed world ; but who notes how many 
 soldiers on duty in obscure outposts suffer 
 and endure hardness even unto death! 
 There is One who sees and knows; and 
 perhaps at the great Day of reckoning some 
 unnoticed or despised child of poverty, some 
 servant girl who in life's desert through 
 grace bvorcame the world, the flesh, and 
 the devil, may receive a brighter crown than 
 will be awarded to some whom nations have 
 recognized as great saints. 
 
 Faith did not sacrifice herself from her 
 love for her father, for her filial affection 
 had to be balanced against an affection 
 more weighty: besides, to leave England 
 was to leave her parent also, probably for 
 ever, without even an opportunity of bidding 
 him farewell. Faith's sacrifice was made to 
 Ojig whom not seeiug she had loved j it was 
 
A SACRIFICE. 
 
 101 
 
 for His sake that she was preparing to leave 
 father and friends and countrj, and to givo 
 up all that she dearly prized upon earth. 
 
 The poor girl had not many niinntes left 
 to her, even for prayer; slie heard the voice 
 of her step-mother calling to her from the 
 bottom of the stairs, and obeyed tlie call 
 directly. There was no excitement in Faith's 
 manner; it was very quiet and subdued as 
 she said, on re-entering the little kitchen, to 
 which Mrs. Stanby had returned, "Mother, 
 it IS dark ; will you come with me to the 
 mansion ? I am going to ask the French 
 lady if she is still willing to take me as her 
 servant, and will give mo, as she promised 
 ten guineas, which we will send to-morrow 
 to my father." 
 
 "I knew that you would change your 
 mind; I knew that you would think better 
 of the matter !" cried Deborah in triumph. 
 " There's nothing that a girl fancies like 
 change ; in France you'll bo liappy as a 
 queen !" 
 
 lift! 
 
 i ■ 'i 
 
 i:ttt 
 
 i-l 
 
 5;' ■ 
 
 I i ■ 
 
 [ \ • 
 
 I i 
 
 5 h 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 DEPARTURE. 
 
 HEBE was little wind to swell the 
 canvas of the sailing-vessel which, 
 on the second day after Faith's 
 interview with Ninon, started 
 from an English port to cross the Channel 
 for Calais. The leaden-colored waves that 
 slowly heaved under a leaden-colored sky, 
 but here and there curdled and broke into 
 thin crests of foam. There was no sunshine 
 upon the waters, no patch of blue in the sky. 
 There was a j^loom over the face of Nature, 
 on that November day, which was in har- 
 mony with the sensations of Faith, as, with 
 a half-broken heart, she watched the white 
 cliflfs of England receding in the distance, 
 and bitterly reflected that she was likely 
 
 never to beliold them again. 
 (102) 
 

 DEPAniUHE. 
 
 "I'm glad that Madame do Genlis has 
 
 gonedcnvnintothoeabi„;lonlyhopet: 
 shell stay there till ,vo laud," said Niuon 
 gayly to Adelaide of OrleauB/as theylod 
 together on the deck. •- 1 am never quite at 
 my ease with the gouvcnu^nte besidel 
 one ,s always afraid of these tembly clever 
 women, lest they should put one into i book 
 
 bi of perfect.on-an AdHc or Theodore* like 
 30U and your pretty-behaved brother 
 foMieur le Dm de Chatres." added tie 
 
 'SZf"' ^"^ ^ --y «'-o" of £: 
 
 "The air is too chilly for me; 1 shall 
 follow madame," said Adelaide; "'besSes 
 t would scarcely be commcil-Mt [p operl' 
 vo remain upon deck without her." ^ ^ 
 
 able I iTu T"^-^--^""' *° ^' """fort- 
 aoie, I should die in the cabin • I couhl 
 
 Dot breathe; it is stifliu- detestall 7" 1 
 
 Ninnn « 1? -1.1 ■. , " uetestaue ! cried 
 JNwon. I-aith, she called to her maid in 
 
 liBWdfir' ^°*f°'' ''''^^ '» Madame de Gen- 
 iis 8 well-known work, "Ad61e rf tk»^i "" ';'^°- 
 
 tb. chief characters ar^ .It p^ '°'T' '"""° 
 
 I-»i. Philippe and Adela^; tt W^^T '"""'■ 
 
 If 'i i: 
 
>SII I • 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 104 
 
 DErARTURE. 
 
 an imperious tone of 
 the ermine cloak, and 
 
 command, " fetch me 
 the Cashmere shawl 
 
 for my feet, and the rug and the cushion, 
 and the box of cakes and hon-hons ; I will 
 settle myself here at my ease." 
 
 "But madame" expostulated Ade- 
 laide. Ninon cut short the sentence by a 
 laugh. 
 
 "Never mind Madame de Genlis; I'm 
 pupil of hers no longer. Now that I'm clear 
 of England, I am my own mistress at last. 
 Jacobin ! where is Jacobin ? Faith, bring 
 me my monkey directly." 
 
 Ninon certainly understood how to make 
 herself comfortable even on the deck of a 
 vessel in the gloomy month of November. 
 Wrapped up in her ermine mantle, like a 
 squirrel in its fur, she could defy the sea-fog 
 or chill of the air. She never noticed, nor 
 would have cared had she noticed, that her 
 young maid was trembling with cold. Per- 
 haps it never entered the mind of the gay 
 young mistress that her servant was made 
 of flesh and blood like herself, and could 
 suffer from weariness or pain. Faith was 
 not allowed a moment's rest : now she was 
 
■• '1 
 
 DEPARTURE. 
 
 106 
 
 despatched on messages to the two ladies 
 who were down in tlie cabin; now kept 
 kneeling on deck for an hour to chafe her 
 mistress's feet. The monkey, wluch, not- 
 withstanding his finery, felt the cold, and 
 would gladly have slunk down the gangway 
 into the warmth of the cabin, had to be 
 chased and captured, not without leaving 
 fresh marks of his teeth on the hand of the 
 maid. 
 
 The patience of Faith was much tried 
 
 during the first hours of that voyage. 
 
 Etiquette prevented Mademoiselle La F^ro 
 
 from entering into conversation with two 
 
 French gentlemen who were on board, and 
 
 who, wrapped in their cloaks, walked up 
 
 and down the deck to keep themselves 
 
 warm ; but if Ninon did not talk to them, 
 
 the frivolous girl talked for them, speaking 
 
 loudly and rapidly in French to the English 
 
 girl, who did not understand a word of the 
 
 language, and then laughing affectedly at 
 
 Faith's perplexed and inquiring looks. At 
 
 last, even Ninon grew weary of this childish 
 
 folly, and, addressing Faith in English, she 
 
 = ^o j,^ ^^^ izClviUij leccii me tne lirst 
 
 I I 
 
 w liic VJtH 
 
 ..J l!^.i 
 
 v-n n 
 
106 
 
 DEPARTURE. 
 
 volumo of ' Evelina,' and my parasol (tlio 
 Oriental one of the pattern which Count 
 Lallj brought from India). There's no 
 su'i, but thou shalt hold the parasol behind 
 rnj' head, to prevent tlio tiresome breeze 
 from blowing the powder out of my hair." 
 
 " That poor maid loads the life of a dog," 
 observed one of the French gentlemen to 
 the other ; " she looks ready to drop with 
 fatigue. I wonder how long she is to bo 
 kept standing there, holding that toy be- 
 tween her young lady and the breeze ?" 
 
 There sat Ninon La Fere in her costlv 
 wraps, laughing to herself over her novel; 
 only glancing up now and then to see if she 
 were attracting admiration, or to bestow a 
 caress on her monkey. Close to her stood 
 Faith Stanb}^ leaning against the bulwark 
 to support her weary frame, with her tear- 
 dimmed eyes turned in the direction of the 
 fast-receding shore of her native land. It is 
 not worth while inquiring what were the 
 thoughts of Ninon when she paused in her 
 reading ; she had few thoughts unconnected 
 with self; but had any one had the power 
 of glancing into the mind of her silent at- 
 
DUPARniRE. 
 
 107 
 
 tendant, something like the followiur. would 
 have been read :— " 
 
 "How shall I bo able to endure the life 
 >vhich IS before me-I, a free-born English- 
 woman, a slave to the caprices of an insolent 
 foreigner, between whom and myself tliero 
 IS a wider gulf than tiiat which divides 
 Trance from my own dearly-loved country f 
 I have indeed bartered my freedom for gold ' 
 I must obey my young mistress-I have no 
 choice ; but the loving service, the wiUin- 
 obedience, which no money can buy, I will 
 never, never give to Mademoiselle La Fere 
 fohe treats mo as if I had no more feelin^^ 
 than a stone. My service shall be as that 
 of the mill-stone, which does its work be- 
 cause It cannot resist the power whicli 
 moves it, but does it heavily, lifelessly, and 
 stops the moment that the power is with- 
 drawn. Mademoiselle shall have little cause 
 to congratulate herself that she succeeded 
 m luring me away from my home. 
 
 "But is it not pride that is speakinrr in 
 my heart?" thus Faith pursued her reflec- 
 tions. " Is there not within mo a lurking 
 spirit of raalice-even of revenge ? Happi- 
 
 { 
 
 I . t.i 
 
 
 til 
 
 i' 
 
 
 ^ :; \m 
 
 ■f. 
 
 'lU 
 
 f7;n H 
 
i 
 
 'i 
 
 ! 
 
 15 
 
 BTURB. 
 
 nesg I have given up in this life— joy can 
 never again bo mine ; but while I cherish 
 evil feelings such p^*^ those, can I know that 
 peace which may remain even when happiness 
 is lost? Is it sufficient to make one great 
 sacrifice of the will ? Must not the Christian 
 *die daily' — every wpking hour bringing the 
 opportunity of doing something, or givmg 
 something, for the sake of the blessed 
 Redeemer ? 
 
 " I am a servant ; there is nothing degrad- 
 ing in the calling : the Most High took upon 
 Himself the form of a servant ; He came to 
 minister to others; He stooped to wash 
 poor fishermen's feet 1 There are words in 
 the Bible which apostles wrote expressly for 
 servants, to encourage them, and to instruct 
 them how to perform their special duties." 
 Faith's memory was well stored with verses 
 from Scripture, and she had no difficulty in 
 recalling those which now seemed to be 
 expressly addressed to herself : Servants^ be 
 obedient to them that are your masters, .... i a 
 singleness of your heart, as unto Chris!. Not 
 with eye-service, as menpleasers ; but o,s ih" •' "r- 
 vants of Christ J doing the tvill of Oodj rom lite 
 
DEPAUTURE. 
 
 109 
 
 heart (Epii. vi. 5-7). Not aaswcrhn, a<,am 
 not purloining, hut showing all gou,! 'jiJclitu ' 
 that they ma.y adorn the doctrine of God our 
 Saviour in all things (Titns ii. 9. 10). - Adom- 
 ing tho dnctiino !" repeated Faitli to lu'iself - 
 "t]ien T am called, even as a seivant to' 
 «liow what a CJiiistian woman sliould'be 
 As the servant of Clirist must I work, doin^' 
 His will from my heart. TJio Muster s oyo 
 IS upon mo, and whatever I do, if done niito 
 Him, will bo the free service of love '" Fiith 
 looked on tho white sea-birds, .skimniin<r 
 lightly over tho waves ; and tho 3():i,nin" 
 sigh was breathed, Oh that I had wings like 
 a dove! for then tvould Ifly away, ami he ai 
 rest. But with tho sigh came the ansuorin<^ 
 word of consohitlou— There remalnelh a rest 
 to the people of God. " Yes, beyond tho 
 grave there is rest ; yes, beyond tijoso clouds 
 there is rest! B.it now for tho voyu-c on 
 the restless sca-now for the girding "„p of 
 the spirit to endnro hardness as a faithful 
 soldier and servant. Oh, for grace to cnublo 
 mo to suffer without shrinking, obey without 
 murmuring, and return injustice " and un- 
 
 i <i 
 
 if 
 'l 
 ^1 
 
 
I 
 
 18 
 
 110 
 
 DEPARTURE. 
 
 kindness a\ Itli that cliarity wliicU enclureth 
 all things!" 
 
 Then Enith sought in her memory for an 
 instance from Scripture history of one tried, 
 like herself; anil that of the little maid 
 carried captive into Syria to be the slave of 
 Naaman's wife, readily occurred to her 
 minil. 
 
 . " That girl's trials may have been, proba- 
 bly were, far more bitter than mine," reflected 
 the servant of Ninon, as the vessel slowly 
 bowed and rose over the heaving waves. 
 *•' She was carried off by a foreign, a heathen 
 enemy — perhaps borne away from a blaz- 
 ing home, perhiips over a threshold stained 
 with the blood of a father who htid fallen in 
 its defence! That little maid was a slave 
 amongst idolators — a slave to those who 
 despised Israel, nnd who knew not Israel's 
 God. Oh yes ! her cross must have been 
 3^et heavier than mine 1 And did it seem 
 likely that in the midst of strangers, enemies, 
 Ueatlieii, that little maid would be able to 
 keep alive the spark of true religion which 
 she had brought away in her heart ? What 
 
 grace was required to keep that 
 
 1. 
 
 I 
 
DEPAETUKE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 nnquenclicci, wlion there was notliinq- eaitlily 
 to guard it! But it seem;a that such grace 
 was given. We knoAv that the slave remem- 
 bered the prophet from whose lips, perhaps 
 she may have learned to fear and love the 
 trod of her fathers. And what a character 
 for truthfulness must the maid have won 
 amongst the Syrians, when her bare word 
 -the word of a slavc-gh-1-had power to 
 make her master undertake a journov into 
 the very land which his sword had rava-ed ' 
 Naaman hoped for a miracle on tho n"iero 
 word of his servant ! Ah ! Iior fcoblo spark 
 must not only have been kept n\h-o, but 
 have strengthened and brightened (ill it be- 
 came a light to shine before mon~a li-lit 
 whicli served to guide her heatlien master 
 to health of body and peace of mind. Surely 
 it was the Lord's tender care for servants " 
 thonglit Faith, - that made Him give that 
 little maid a place— an honorable place— in 
 His own holy Word. We might have heard 
 of Naaman's journey, as we do of the; Queen 
 of Sheba's, without being told of t!in first 
 cause of Lis being led to undertake it 
 
 th 
 
 r^-.,.- 
 
 v^rcac iviaster would not lot tin 
 
 but 
 poor 
 
 r1 
 
 It 
 
 : . i:l 
 
 i til 
 
112 
 
 DEPARTURE. 
 
 young slave be forgotten. She had but one 
 talent ; but slie did not bury it : slio was 
 made a blessing even to the enemies who 
 had deprived her of freedom. And yet that 
 maiden lived before the world had had the 
 cxamj^lc of Him who when He was reviled, 
 reviled not again ; the command Avas not 
 then written that servants should do faithful 
 service, not only to masters good and gentle, 
 but also to ihefroiuard ; nor had the assur- 
 ance been given that the patience of an 
 ill- treated servant is acceptable ivith God 
 (1 Petor ii. 18-20). That is indeed an en- 
 couraging word, acceptable loWi God ! Surely 
 He who blessed the slave-girl in Syria will 
 also bless mo ; He who cared for her in her 
 bondage will care for mo in my land of 
 exile. The Lord can keep mo from falling 
 in my painful and slippery path, and make 
 me, amongst strangers and Eomanists, faith- 
 ful to the pure religion in which I was 
 brought up, by my own dear mother." 
 
 !l| 
 
who 
 
 >«^ 
 
 ■ *8 , 
 
 God 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LANDING. 
 
 HOUGHTS sncli as tlio foregoing 
 had a strengthening and cheering 
 effect on the spirits of Faith. 
 She dared not let her mind dwell 
 upon what might have been had she chosen 
 a different lot ; she dared not reflect on the 
 happiness which she might have enjoyed 
 had she been less obedient to the dictates 
 of conscience. Faith tried to fix her atten- 
 tion, not on past joys, but on present duties, 
 knomng that the most trivial become hon- 
 orable if fulfilled in a Clnistian spirit, from 
 the motive of Cliristian love. 
 
 " I must even try to make friends with 
 Jacobin," said Faith to herself; "why 
 should any creature be hateful in my eyes?" 
 
 S (U3) 
 
 ikf 
 
 !^ i\ 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 • H ■■m 
 
 I 'i^ 
 
 w 
 
i 
 
 * 
 
 lU 
 
 L;\NDING. 
 
 Slie had been reminded of the monlvcy 
 by seeing its red cap peeping from tinder 
 the ermine folds of Ninon's mantle, to which 
 the animal had probably crept for the sake 
 of its warmth. Bnt Jacobin had another 
 object ill view besides that of obtaining 
 shelter. The black bead-like eyes of the 
 favorite were longingly surveying the pretty 
 box of Jion-hons, which lay open on the bench 
 on which Ninon Avas half sitting, half re- 
 clining. Cautiously, a brown hairy paw- 
 was extended towards it ; then with a sudden 
 snatch tlie monkey possessed himself of the 
 prize, and sprang up on the bulwarks to 
 enjoy the contents of the box. 
 
 The movement made Ninon glance up 
 from her book ; without waiting to give her 
 attendant time to attempt to recover the 
 box, she angrily struck the monkey with 
 the bound volume which she held in her 
 hand. Ninon had frequently beaten her 
 favorite, had been quite as fond of teasing 
 him as of caressing, and it was no new 
 thing to Jacobin to be knocked over by a 
 passionate blow ; but the monkey's falls 
 had hitherto been on soft carpet or velvety 
 
 
. .^- 
 
 liANDINQ. 
 
 115 
 
 lawn, -now the poor creatnro was tlirown 
 bac was over the side of the vessel into 
 the cold lieaving wjitors below. 
 
 "My monkey ! my Jacobin !" cried Ninon 
 starting up f.om her seat when she saw the 
 ettect of her thoughtless blow ; "fly, Faith 
 % to the captain; order him to stop the 
 vessel this instant, and put out a boat to 
 save my drowning darling." 
 
 Faith hastened to the captain, while 
 iNmon stood wringing her hands, watching 
 the struggles of the poor monkey, and utter- 
 mg loud exclamations of despair, which of 
 course, drew towards her side of the vessel 
 such of the passengers as chanced to be on 
 deck at the time. 
 
 ;' Stop the vessel, indeed, to pick up a 
 hairy^ brute," muttered the weather-beaten 
 captaiu, ,vith a profane exclamation, when 
 Failh delivered her young lady's message ; 
 Id not take in a bit of canvas to humor 
 the fancy of any French miss under the 
 
 Ninon showed at first petulant anger, as 
 8he always did when her will was crossed ; 
 but the rod-faced sea-captain, in his rou'^h 
 
 ! A I 
 
 ir 1 
 
11 
 
 
 IIG 
 
 LANDING. 
 
 pea-jacliet, was a very diffcrout person to 
 deal with from the courteous acquaintance 
 or obsequious dependants with whom Ninon 
 had usually been brought into contact, and 
 she dared not provoke him to anger. As 
 soon as the demoiselle saw that Jacobin's 
 case was hopeless, she philosophically 
 made up her mind to his loss. 
 
 " I can soon have another monliey from 
 Marseilles," observed Ninon, as she leaned 
 over the bulwarks, looking on the waves 
 with which the wretched creature was bat- 
 tling in vain eflbrts to regain tlio vessel. 
 The young lady even appeared to find 
 Bome amusement in watching those efforts. 
 
 "Ah, he swims hvsxYely, paiivre Jacobin; 
 but ho has not wings as the ship has, he 
 will never overtake it. See — he goes down — 
 no, there is his head ; but he has lost Tuis 
 cap of liberty, his honet rouge; it is floating 
 away on the waters ! He lias cast off his 
 old principles, he will die a gentleman of 
 the ancien regime r Ninon laughed ac her 
 own heartless jest, while her favorite sank 
 under the waves. 
 
 '' That fair lady would have cared as lilile 
 
LANT'TXa. 
 
 117 
 
 .had it been licr maid who had fallen over- 
 board instead of her moiikoj," observed 
 one of the French gentlemen to liis compan- 
 ion, as the J walked to the fuither side of 
 the deck. 
 
 " Perhaps a little less," was tlio reply. 
 
 The voyage ended withont further inci- 
 dent ; the vessel, soon after dusk, safely 
 reached her destination, which was the port 
 of Calais. It was by lamplight that Faith 
 first saw a city of France ; not the brilliant 
 lamplight of gas, the invention of more 
 modern days, but the yellow light thrown 
 by oil-lamps suspended in the centre of tho 
 streets. In tho time of the First Revolution, 
 this mode of suspending lamps so often 
 suggested to the Jacobins an easy way of 
 murdering their victims by hanging, that 
 A la lanlerne ! [ To the lamp ! ] became a 
 proverbial cry. 
 
 Ninon's weary maid could give little 
 thought to tho associations which would 
 otherwise have filled her mind on first 
 setting foot on the shore of Franco at the 
 place where her own countrymen had for 
 long borne sway. Her attention was dis- 
 
 I 
 I 
 
 ' \i 
 
 ll 
 
 m 
 
 ^ BA 
 
 \ 
 
 ■■Hi 
 
 
 ■ "," "' 1 '^ ^ y ' 
 
 i : 1 ! 
 
 ;: ^^^*! \ 
 
 u 
 
 i' 
 
 J . 
 
 : ]^ 
 
118 
 
 LANDING. 
 
 tractctl fiom historical recollections by tlio 
 bustlo of laiitliug, and the ilifficiilty of con- 
 veying safely on shore, after dark, some 
 twenty small articles •which Ninon had 
 entrusted to her care, witli a threat that 
 should one bo missing, the servant should 
 never be forgiven. Faith had ;o think of 
 fan and reticule, scent-bottle and powder- 
 puff, instead of Edward III. and Eustace 
 St. Pierre, of whose deeds she had read in 
 an odd volume of Froissart which I. .id been 
 brought ffom Golden Square. She could 
 not, however, avoid noticing in the faces of 
 the small crowd that had gathered at tho 
 port to see the passengers disembark, some- 
 thing that raised in her breast a vague 
 sensation of fear. Tho courteous maimer 
 natural to Frenchmen even of tiie poorer 
 classes, was changed to a republican rough- 
 ness which was with some only assumed, 
 but with others only too faithfully expressed 
 hatred entertained towards everything con- 
 nected with the ancien iw/ime [old order of 
 things]. The French ladies were somewhat 
 jostled on their way up the quay, and mur- 
 murs of '' cmigrecs arldocratcs !'^ from men 
 
LANDING. 
 
 119 
 
 1 by tlio 
 of con- 
 ic, some 
 ail had 
 3 at that 
 t should 
 ])ink of 
 powdor- 
 Eastace 
 
 read in 
 .1(1 been 
 3 could 
 faces of 
 . at tho 
 V, some'- 
 I vague 
 manner 
 
 poorer 
 L rougli- 
 ^sumed, 
 pressed 
 i]g con- 
 irder of 
 mewliat 
 id mur- 
 )tn men 
 
 
 crce 
 
 whose daik features looked storji and fi 
 m the lamplight, made Madame do GeiiliH 
 hurry the movements of lier pupils. 
 They had not gone m.'iny steps when i] 
 
 )t by 
 
 ley 
 
 were luuu uy a servant m mourj 
 bearing a torch, and accompaniell by a 
 womnnwho bad evidently conio to meet the 
 ladies on l]icir first landing at Cal;iis. 
 
 "Ah, Diane!" exclaimed Ninon L;i Fere 
 to the woman as soon as she cauglrc sight 
 of her face, "so ma hdle-scenr has scut thee 
 to meet me! Just see that that stupid 
 Anglaisn docs not drop any of my things." 
 
 It was not mere cnriosily that made Faith 
 glance at tho person whom Ninon had thus 
 addressed. Faith had already heard the 
 name of Diane often enough to know that 
 she was the waiting-maid of Madame la 
 Comtesse La Fere, and would be her own 
 instructress, and might be her tyrant also. 
 On Diane rather than on Ninon "herself the 
 future comfort or misery of tho young 
 Enghsh stranger might depend. H-.r firsi 
 glance at tho French lady's-maid did not 
 reassure Faith. Diane was a woman of 
 about tlurtv vears of inm- sj^o mi<>ht bo 
 
 i 
 
 ■1 
 
 '■ n 'I 
 
 ' ■■■tin 
 
 if; 
 
 
 :i '^ 
 
 u ii 
 
 Pi- 
 
 o^ 
 
 D' 
 
 ^•k 
 
120 
 
 L.VNDINa. 
 
 called gootl-looking, lier face expressed in- 
 telligence, and her manner quick decision. 
 Her complexion was dark but clear; a 
 very frequent smilo had left wrinkle lines at 
 the corncr.s of her mouth, tlio only wrinkles 
 to bo seen, but that smilo itself was not 
 pleasing. It merely lengthened tho thin, 
 tightly- closed lips; it h:id nothing to do 
 with tlie eyes which, black, bright, uid 
 cunning, stiangel}' reminded Faith of those 
 pf Jacobin tlie monkey. 
 
 Diano returned Faith's glance with one 
 of keen curiosity, a gaze which seemed to 
 pierce through and through. 
 
 " Anglaisc, hcreliquer mutic^rod tho wait- 
 ing-maid of la comtesse. Faith was as yet 
 ignorant of tho French language, but of 
 those two words it was easy to guess tho 
 meaning ; and had it not been so, the tone 
 in which tliev were uttered would have 
 
 ft/ 
 
 rendered that meaning inteUigiblc. Faith, 
 as she followed Diane to the hotel in which 
 apartments had been secured for the night, 
 intuitively felt that in the comtesse's/e?7iwe- 
 de-cliamhve A\q would have an enemy rather 
 than a friend. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE REIQN OF'TEKROR. 
 
 jES, I find from Diano that ma 
 hdk-samr Gabiiello is in Paris 
 juvjiiting mo," said Ninon to 
 Adelaide of Orleans, ^vhcn tlio 
 two young ladies wore left alono together in 
 the room which they were to occupy for the 
 night. "Madame la Comfesse is wonderfully 
 aflfecticnr.to indeed ; I certainly did not give 
 her credit for such tender caro of a i^etile 
 etourdie like me ! I should not have thought 
 that anything would have induced Gabrielle 
 to quit her retreat in her beloved Provence, 
 and come up to naughty Paris !" Ninon 
 gave her little affected laugh and shrug of 
 the shoulders. 
 
 a2l) 
 
 
122 
 
 'J'lIE IIKION OF Ti'.nnoR. 
 
 "Pcrl)a]>s la comtesse had 8oino otlior 
 motive for her visit," sng^'josted Adi;kuilc\ 
 
 "Perhaps sho had," said Niuoii Avith a 
 sarcastic smile ; " a pilgviin."go to sonio holy 
 flhriuc, if j\fcssienr.s Ics Jar.ohui.s liavo left 
 Biich things as shrines standing in Paris. 
 They've made short Avork of the luclvloss 
 priests; just think of eighty of them being 
 murdered at the prison de VAhbaye, and 
 two hundred at Carmel, praying in th<^ 
 church !" -^ 
 
 " Ah ! what horrors !" exclaimed Adelaide 
 of Orleans. 
 
 "Shocking, was it not!" said Ninon; 
 "but hero comes Faith with the chocolate 
 and sfmdwiches at last," sho continued in 
 exactly the same tone of voice. " I'm quite 
 glad to have something to warm me, for I'm 
 half-frozen ; and the sea-air gives one appe- 
 tite. Here, Faith, set down the tray, and 
 come and chafe my foet. These French 
 fwjois don't warm like the coal-fiies in Eng- 
 land." 
 
 " I wonder at the comtesse visiting Paris 
 
 • Thiers' "Revolution Fmnfaisn," 
 
otlier 
 lido. 
 Avitli a 
 10 holy 
 vo loft 
 
 Paris. 
 ncklosH 
 I bein^ 
 
 IC, .111(1 
 
 in tlM^ 
 
 ilelaido 
 
 Ninon ; 
 locokite 
 lined in 
 m quite 
 
 for I'm 
 {ippc- 
 ny, and 
 
 French 
 in Eng- 
 
 g Paris 
 
 ■ I. 
 
c 
 
 ■,*/■. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 I ■'; 
 
 
 ON THE WAY TO PARIS. 
 
 I'.ICC i-'3 
 
THE KEIGN OP TERliOR. 
 
 123 
 
 -•/ > ■■■■.• • . 
 
 & 
 
 ifi^y'^ 
 
 \l: 
 
 V 
 
 -•3 
 
 at sncli Li time," .said AdclciiJe ; " I tremble 
 iDYself to retiiru there." 
 
 "Ah, I forget! I have a letter from Ga- 
 briello that will explain all," cried Ninon, 
 drawing a sealed paper from the reticule 
 which lay on her knee. " When Diane placed 
 tlie note in my hand, there was not light 
 sufficient to read by, and then the crowd, 
 and then the bustle, and the lidget of 
 Madame do Genlis to get us safe through 
 the mob, put everything else out of my 
 head." 
 
 iN'inon broke the black seal and opened 
 the letter. It was of course written in 
 French ; and therefore when Ninon read it 
 aloud was unintelligible to Faith, but the re- 
 marks with which Ninon interrupted her 
 own reading were in English ; in which the 
 two young ladies frequently conversed to- 
 gether, it being now almost as familiar to 
 them as their own. 
 The comtesso's letter was as follows : 
 " * T/iou lullthc surprised, dear Jslnon, to hear 
 of my being in Paris ; but I could not rest until 
 I had at least attempted something to alleviate 
 the sufferings of my deeply ivrongcd guecn: 
 
 'i ^ Jt 
 
 I : 
 
 r ! ■ : 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 1, 
 
 I 
 
 If ;■ 
 
 1 \ 
 
 t 
 
 ^ 1 
 
 i 
 
 ■ 
 i 
 
 L 
 
121 
 
 Tllii; llEIGN or TEKIIOII. 
 
 " I told thee so !" cried Ninon ; " Gabriello 
 never came to Paris for ni j sake." 
 
 " ' The mollter of Danton had once received 
 much Jundncssfrom mine; this encouraged mein 
 the hope that the Jacobin leader uvidd at least 
 permit me to share the imprisonment of the 
 royal family in the Temple.' " 
 
 Ninon dropi^cd the letter on her knee. 
 " Gabi'icUe is insane, perfectly insane !" she 
 exclaimed. ''I've heard of many persons 
 trying to got out of prison, but never before 
 of any one tiying to get in !" 
 
 " Do .<^o on with the letter," said Adelaide. 
 
 Ninon first dropped a lump of sugar into 
 ber cup of chocolate and then proceeded 
 with liei' reading : 
 
 " ' I stooped to ash for an intervicio with 
 Danton ; I endured to cross the threshold and 
 enter the presence of that man of blood, to ask 
 a favor of him from whom my soid revolted!' 
 " Gabriello stooped to put her head into a 
 lion's mouth, the wonder is that she was 
 ever allowed to draw it out again !" laughed 
 Ninon, as she paused to sip the sweet choco- 
 late, before finishing the comtesse's letter. 
 * Li vain I entreated for permission to attend on 
 
THR IVniGN OF TlvUKOi:. 
 
 125 
 
 " she 
 
 the queen ; " Cajid's wife hv; Icn.iied to loait 
 on herself,"' was the brutal rej^l'/. I jmnjedfor 
 leave to send to the Temple at lead some fho 
 comforts for the royal captives. " Th^ citizens 
 supply all that the Capds need;' said D anion ; 
 "and they are not likely to ica.d that long T 
 The democrat closed the inierview abruptly by 
 the warning that I myself ov an aristocrat, 
 stood on dangerous ground, and had better quit 
 Paris at once ; unless I ivishcd to share the 
 fate of Louise de Lambelkr" 
 
 "Ah the uiiliappy Frincesse de LamhdUr 
 intemiptcd Adokide; "I cannot think of 
 her murder without a shudder !" 
 
 " Of course it shocked thee, thou wort her 
 near relative, thou hadst seen her so often," 
 observed Ninon, who had put down the un- 
 finished letter in order to dhect her attention 
 to the phato of refreslimenis. '"Wassho 
 really as pretty as is reported?" 
 
 " I thouglit her so,— she was so elegant, 
 liad such an air of ton,'* replied Adelaide of 
 Orleans ; " la jorincesse led the fashions moro 
 than did Marie Antoinette lierself. I will 
 show thee at the Pahiis-Pioyal the poor 
 princess's likeness which was taken for my 
 
 ]^'l 
 
 '\\ 
 
 ' 
 
 r 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 
 
 ■ l>i 
 
 r I 
 
 u 
 
 It ' 
 
 t:. 
 
126 
 
 THE KEIGN OP TERROR. 
 
 mother. She looks in it so aristocrafe, the 
 immense mass of fair hair drawn np from 
 the head, and surmounted by the gayest of 
 chapeaiix [hats], cocked on one side, and 
 trimmed all round with a wreath of rod 
 roses; — ah! that poor head— thivt poor 
 head !" Adelaide covered her eyes with her 
 hand, as if to shut out some horrible sight. 
 
 " The queen fainted when it was carried 
 past her vnndow fixed on a pole, with the 
 long fair hair floating around it," said 
 Ninon La Fere. "Diane has been telling 
 me all about the poor princess's death, for 
 Diane's cousin was present at the mock trial 
 at the prison of La Force. But wilt not 
 thou take thy 2^cfit souper, Adele ?" 
 
 Adelaide would not so much as look at 
 the plate -vvliich her companion had pushed 
 towards her. "Tell mo all about the 
 terrible scene," she said, trcmbUng as she 
 spoke. 
 
 Ninon repeated the fearful tale as calmly 
 as she might have described the plot of 
 some play which she had seen acted on the 
 stage. 
 
 " The princess was brought, as you know, 
 
THE EEIGN OF TERROK. 
 
 127 
 
 before that terrible tribunal at La Force. 
 She looked pale and nervous, Diane says, 
 but had not lost her self-possession. The 
 Jacobin savages demanded her name. 
 'Louise of Savoy, Princesse de Lambelle,* 
 she replied. 'WJjat part did you play at 
 court? Did you know of the plots going 
 on there?'— 'I knew of no plots,' said the 
 princess.— ' Swear to hate the king and 
 queen and royalty.'—' I cannot swear that,' 
 answered the poor lady; 'it is not in my 
 heart.' — 'Set niadame free!' cried the judge. 
 They set her free indeed," continued Ninon, 
 " but it was by the murderers' daggers."* 
 
 Adelaide of Orleans burst into tears. 
 
 Faith Stanby had in England heard some- 
 thing of these frightful scenes enacted in 
 Paris, for they were the talk of all Europe ; 
 but they now rose before her imagination in 
 more fearful distinctness as she listened to 
 the account of them on the first night which 
 siie passed on French soil, and heard that 
 account from French lips. The fair girls 
 who, wrapped in their luxurious robes de 
 
 * Thiera' "Revolution Frangaisc." Also "Kues do 
 Paris." 
 
 n 
 
 
 ' s .-■■' 
 
 I . 
 
 ■ 1 E 
 
128 
 
 TiiF. m-iGN OF teiuior: 
 
 chamhre, now talked of tlio death of Loaiso 
 do Lambelle, miglit liavo in the unseen future 
 a fate as fearful as hers. The gay, flippant 
 Ninon, wlioso dainty littlo feet tlio English 
 maid wag now chafing, was .not more 
 shielded by rank and wealth from murder- 
 er's blow than had been the fair princess* 
 the leader of fashion, the envied favorite of 
 a queen. What a fearful comment did the 
 French Revolution present on the words of 
 the prophet : All flesh is grass, and the gooclli- 
 ness thereof as the floicer of the field ! And 
 yet Ninon La Fere could smile and sip her 
 chocolate with as much relish as if the scythe 
 of Death were not levelling around her the 
 fair flowers which had shone so gayly in the 
 sunshine of a luxurious court. As for the 
 thought of the great Hereafter, of the 
 solemn tribunal to -which murderers and 
 their victims would be summoned alike, such 
 thought never rested, even for a moment, on 
 the frivolous mind of Ninon La Fere. 
 
 " Thou hast so much sensibihty, a heart 
 so tender," she observed to her companion, 
 with her characteristic little movement of 
 eyebrows and shoulders; "but there is no 
 
rilE KEIGN OF TERROR. 
 
 129 
 
 ufio in tears — ifc is iDofcter to langli tluin to 
 cry. Shall I liiii.sh tlio letter of ma hcUe- 
 soRur T' and again Ninon took np Gabriclle's 
 epistle. 
 
 "Where Avas I at? Ah! hcio— 'the fafc 
 of Louise do LamMlc' AVhat a clear, fine 
 hand Gabriclle writes ! * Findinr/ that J 
 cannot serve mjj ^mhappi/ queen hj endangering 
 my oicn 
 Chaicxm 
 in Paris to travel hach tvith thee to Provence. 
 
 life, I have resolved on returning to 
 Laljdle, and I only await thy arrival 
 
 "Now, that is provoking — intolerable!" 
 exclaimed Ninon, flmging the letter down on 
 the table. " Why should I be carried off to 
 dull, dreary Provence the vcrv moment that 
 I arrive in Paris ? I had set my heart on 
 staying for a fortnight, or at least ten days, 
 •with thee, chcre amie, at the Palais-Roval. 
 I must have a little gayety, a little amusement 
 and excitement, before I go to bo buried 
 alive in Provence." 
 
 "Hast thou finished the comtesse's 
 letter?" asked Adelaide of Orleans. 
 
 " No ; there are three lines more— only 
 three," and Ninon resumed her reading 
 aloud. " ' Though thy brother entrusted thee, 
 
 9 
 
 n 
 
 i i\ 
 
 
 mw 
 
 i-]^ 
 
 ,h 
 
 9 f 1 1 
 
130 
 
 THE IJEIGN OP TERROR. 
 
 A mo/?, to the care of the fjouvenimte of the 
 Buho of Orleans, his widow cannot suffer thee 
 to he for one hour under the roof of CUken 
 Egallte.'' 
 
 AdelaitlG iittorca a faint cxclanialioii as of 
 pain, smldonl V rose from hev scat, and turned 
 towards the firo, with her back towards 
 iSiuon La Fere. 
 
 " Oh, thou iieodst not mind wliat Gabriello 
 writes," said Knon, nolicin- Ijcr com- 
 panion's cmotiov., but partly mistakiniv its 
 cause ; "she meant no .larm by leaviu'v^out 
 the titles of thy father ; tiiou dost know that 
 he prides liiniself on the name of Citizen 
 and chose that of Egalite to please his 
 Jacobin friends." 
 
 Adehiide restlessly stirred the fire. She 
 keenly felt the reproach against her father 
 conveyed in the comtesso's note, which she 
 liiul most assuredly never been intiinded to 
 liear. 
 
 "I wanted so much to see and hvo in the 
 Palais-Royal," continued Ninon, in a com- 
 plaining, petulant tone. '' Gabrielle never 
 considers the feelings of olliers ! Tiiere was 
 something so charming in the idea of bein- 
 
THE REIGN OF " :rU0R. 
 
 131 
 
 111 the very p.'ilaco where Cardinal R'iclioHou 
 lived in sucli state a liundrod or two joars 
 bac'c, and Avlicro ho npciit throe hmidre<l 
 thousand crowns on the rcpresentutirm of 
 Ins own tragedy, in the presence of Queen 
 Anno of Au.st ia. How I wish that I could 
 have seen it !" Ninon warmed into animo- 
 tion as she went on. "There was never 
 siicli a place for ftrandeur and show as the 
 Palais-lloyal in the days of the wicked 
 Regent Orleans-pardon ine, Adele, I forgot 
 that I spoke of thy ancestoi-. Whether he was 
 wicked or good matters not to me— he was 
 fit least a magnificent prince ; the splendor 
 and luxury of his court must have been as 
 v>'om\evhi\ as those of the Grand Monarque* 
 himself!" 
 
 "I have heard much of it, perhaps too 
 much," said Adelaide sadly, as she resumed 
 her seat at the table. Young as siie was, she 
 was in some degree already aware that tJie 
 luxury, extravagance, and vice of such men 
 as the Regent Orleans had prepared the war 
 for the horrors of the French Revolution." 
 
 " Thy father also has done much for tho 
 * Louis XIV. 
 
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 -1 
 
 ; r'i, 
 
 
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 y\ .ill li 
 
 . I i ;;»j 
 
 I if 
 
132 
 
 THE UEIGN OF TERROR. 
 
 Palai.s-Koy.'il," cliattoi-cd ou M.-iaomoisolle 
 La Fere. "I long to seo his charming 
 thoatro, ami tlio inarveUoas gikba i iaircaso, 
 iukI all tho si)loiiaia ilocjoralioiis wliich ho 
 adclGcl to Ills ancestors' abodo. B:it I can- 
 not help fancying that tho phico must Jiave 
 looked more paUice-liko before Monsieur le 
 Duo built all those shops (beaiitifal shops, 
 no doubt!) round his garden, and cut do'.vii 
 tho cardinal's fine old trees that jewellers 
 might display their charming hijouxio tempt 
 Parisian ladies."-^- 
 
 "My father had doubtless good reasons 
 for so dohig," said Mademoiselle d'Orleans; 
 " though, for my own pjirt, I should have 
 preferred not having the world's Vanity Fair 
 brought quite so close to my dwelling." 
 
 " Of course ho had reasons, and excellent 
 reasons," laughed Ninon La Fere. " Shops, 
 brilliant fashionable shops, arc trees that 
 bear apples of gold to their owner. ' And 
 why should tho friend of the people, why 
 should Citizen Egalite, shut hims.df up in 
 aristocratic seclusion ? Was not the garden 
 of tho Palais-Royal to be the very birth- 
 * "Eues do Purls," 
 
that 
 
 THE llEIGN OF TEUllOn. 
 
 133 
 
 placo (if tli(3 Frcucli R,;voIution ? Was it 
 not on a bench under ono of it.-.- trees that 
 Camillo Dcsmoulins liarangiio;! tlie mob on 
 tho 12th of July, just b<3foro the destruotion 
 of tho Bastilo?" 
 
 "I Avilncsscd that scene from ono of our 
 pahacc-wiudows," said Adelaide of Or- 
 leans. 
 
 " Didst thou !" cried Ninon La Fere ; " I 
 would give tlio world to have seen it. Wert 
 thou near enougli to hoar tho Jacobin ask 
 tho mob what color they wouUl choose to be 
 the sig:;-mark of Rcvohition ?" 
 
 "No; I could hoar nothing but tho sound 
 of Desmonlin's voije raised high when there 
 was a lull from tho noise made by tho 
 shouts of tho people. Oh, what a tumnlb of 
 voices there was ; I can compare it to no- 
 thing but tho roar of tlio sea. I had been 
 practising on my spinnet, and therefore had 
 not heard what was going on in the garden, 
 till Madame do Genlis ran in, and called me 
 to look out of the window. It Avas to mo 
 an amusing sight ; I enjoyed the excitement 
 then— I remember it now with horror; but 
 who could have guessed to what that popular 
 
 t 
 
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 (■ 
 
 1 
 
 ■ 
 
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 ; ,►■< 
 
I 
 
 134 
 
 THE KEIGN OF TERROR. 
 
 outbreak would lead ! I could see lUo fignro 
 of Desnioulius wliero lie stood on tlio chair 
 or bencli, under tljo brandies of a troo ; ho 
 was gesticnhitliig with bolli his arms, and 
 stamping. I think that ho drew out a pistol. 
 Some one from tho crowd Landed him a 
 ribbon, a green ribbon. I saw tho Jacobin 
 fasten it into his hat; and oh, what a deaf- 
 ening shout arose when ho sprang down 
 amongst tjjo people! Tho mob "pressed 
 round tho orator as if to stifle him with 
 their caresses ; they embraced him as if they 
 would have torn him to pieces in their frenzy 
 of mad admirji-tion." 
 
 "And liow didst thou feel?" asked Ninon, 
 who in the amusement of listening to Ade- 
 laide's descrijition forgot for the moment 
 her own disappointment. 
 
 "Oil, wo had been taught-Madamo de 
 Genlis had taught us— to think it a fine and 
 noble thing to rise against tyranny and 
 overtlirow abuses," said the ilauglitev of 
 Orleans, " She spoko to us of liberty, 
 equality, fraternity; wo were pleased to 
 wear the green ribbon, and when tho 
 
 4 
 
 
! 
 
 THE fiEIQN OF TKliUOR. 
 
 135 
 
 ac figure 
 ho chair 
 troo ; ho 
 •nis, and 
 a i)i.stol. 
 him a 
 Jacobin 
 b a (Icaf- 
 g clown 
 p'ressoil 
 im with 
 1 if thoj' 
 r frenzj 
 
 i Ninon, 
 to Atle- 
 momcnt 
 
 amo de 
 inc and 
 II J and 
 litov of 
 liberty, 
 sod to 
 en tho 
 
 emblematical color Avas changed, wo all had 
 cockades of tho tricolor." 
 
 " All rod would havo been nioro suitable," 
 fluggestod Ninon. 
 
 " Madamo do Genlis actually took ns in 
 one of my fatlier's carriages " to see the 
 destruction of tho Bastile," continued Ade- 
 laide. *' But then, 1 own, I was frightened. 
 When I looked at tho savage, excited mob, 
 and heard their cries of fury, I could not 
 help thinking that it was as if the wild 
 beasts in some menagerie had suddenly 
 been turned loose to tear and devoui all 
 before them. But alas! even then I -ukl 
 httle guess that the Revolutionists ..ould 
 not rest till throne, church, all had been 
 trampled under '" r fuot!" There Avas a 
 moment's XDau^e, and then Adelaide added 
 with a sigh, "It is well for thee, Nmon, 
 that thou art not to remain in Paris." 
 
 "I don't see that — I don't see that at 
 all 1" cried Mademoiselle La Fere, recalled 
 to tho remembrance of her grievance. 
 "Aristocrats are murdered hi the provinces 
 as well as in Paris, — I can couiii four — 
 • "Litb and Times of Louis Pliilippo." 
 
 m 
 
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 ! :i 
 
 "i I 
 
 
 1 I 
 
 ) I 
 
 l* 
 
136 
 
 THE REIGN OP TEIinOR. 
 
 five gentlemen who used to bo at Chateau 
 Labelle Avho have como to a violent end ; 
 and double the number have emigrated to 
 Switzerland or Enghind to avoid it. Then 
 Gabrielle is so absurd; if the Jacobins 
 chose to have her up before one of their 
 tribunals, she'd answer them just as did the 
 Priucesse Lamballe. I don't believe that 
 she'd put on a tricolor cockade if her life 
 depended upon it. See," continued the 
 young lady, drawing a bow of red, blue, 
 and white ribbon out of her reticule, " I'm' 
 prudent enough to have one at hand. I 
 meant this for Jacobin— poor Jacobin— but 
 I may be glad to wear it myself." 
 
 *•■ Perhaps in driving through Paris," said 
 Adelaide. 
 
 "Not in Paris only," cried Ninon. "1 
 tell thee that I should bo much safer at the 
 Palais- Royal than in the chateau of an 
 arisiocrate; thy father, the duke, is so 
 popular; thou Imowest that he is the idol of 
 the people." 
 
 ^^ " Ho was so once," said Adelaide sadly ; 
 " I fear that he is so no longer." 
 
f I 
 
 ^^ 
 
 J', 4 
 
 XJ 
 
 i' 
 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FIRST NIGHT IN FRANCE. 
 
 I HE conversation "vvliicli she Lad 
 heard while chafing her young 
 hicly's feet, left a vagne impress- 
 ion of terror upon the mind of 
 Faith Stanby. Into what a fearful country 
 she had come, where priests were slain in 
 crowds by their altars, and fair ladies 
 murdered in cold blood without remorse or 
 pity! x\nd this was called liberty! All 
 these crimes were committed in the holy 
 name of Freedom ! With intense, regretful 
 love Faith thought of the dear land which 
 she had left— perhaps forever. 
 
 And yet the English girl would not, had 
 she had the power to do so, have recalled 
 
 hor saerifiee of self. It was better, she 
 
 (137) 
 
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 f . k 
 
 
 
 
 4 ;;:,.■ 
 
 I: 
 
138 
 
 FIRST NIGHT IN FRANCE.' 
 
 thought, that the struggle, the suffering, the 
 danger which might await lier should fall to 
 the lot of the young, than to that of the 
 parent who had been brought up in easo 
 and luxury, ^vith prospects so fair and hopes 
 60 bright, and who had met with already so 
 much of misfortune and disappointment in 
 life. Faith would not allow herself to think 
 that her father had sunk so low in the social 
 scale by any fault of his own. Especially 
 now that she was parted from him, none 
 but tender, loving recollections should clin<^ 
 round the image of a parent in the heart of 
 his child. "After all," thought the young 
 English maid, " it matters little what hap- 
 pens to me. Life lost all its brightness 
 and value to Faith when she lieard the 
 clatter of the horse's hoofs which bore away 
 EdAvard Marston." 
 
 The one point touched upon in the con- 
 versation between Adelaide and her compan- 
 ion to which Faith reverted with something 
 like pleasure, was what related to her whose 
 letter had been read by Ninon— Gabrielle 
 Comtesse La Fere. * 
 
 "That lady must have a spirit loyal. 
 
I'ing, the 
 id fall to 
 fc of tho 
 
 in easo 
 id Lopes 
 ■eady so 
 mcnt in 
 to think 
 social 
 pecially 
 n, none 
 Id cling 
 ]eart of 
 
 young 
 it hap- 
 ^htuess 
 rd the 
 B awaj 
 
 e con- 
 mpan- 
 oihing 
 whose 
 )rielle, 
 
 loja], 
 
 HBST NIGHT IN FRANCE. 
 
 139 
 
 generous, and brave," thought Faith Stanby. 
 "I should like to see her. Perhaps I may 
 love to serve her. The comtesse must, at 
 least, be very different indeed from her 
 sister. Perhaps I have been wrong in sup- 
 posing that most French ladies are like 
 Mademoiselle Ninon, or Madame de Genii s, 
 who looks so clever, but so bold. There 
 may bo many amongst them gentle, self- 
 denying, and good. The comtesse, who 
 was ready to bear imprisonment and risk 
 her life for her queen, must, at least, have 
 sometl^ ' ; noble in her character, something 
 to be ioyud and admired." 
 
 When Faith was dismissed from attend- 
 ance upon her young mistress, she found her 
 way, with some difficulty from her ignorance 
 of the French language, to the chamber at 
 the top of the large, lofty hotel, which room 
 she found that she was to share with Diane, 
 Greatly would Faith have appreciated the 
 luxury of being alone, if but for a quarter of 
 an hour; but this comfort was not to be 
 hers on her first arrival in France. She 
 found Diane already in the room. The shy 
 reserved English girl felt that wherever she 
 
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 i'i 
 
140 
 
 FIBST NIQHT IN FRANCE. 
 
 turned whatever sl»e did, the beady Waeb 
 eyes oithe/cmmc-dc^!.a„ibreviere watchin-v 
 her Jiovemonts, and that the looks which 
 they cast upon lier were looks of miu..led 
 curiosity, scorn, and dislike. ° 
 
 "I must for once say my prayers in bed, 
 «nd give up my evening reading of the 
 Scriptures " thought Faith, as sh^ opened 
 the bundle-the small bundle -.vhich held 
 all her ravelling luggage. "I cannot read 
 my Bible, I cannot kneel down to pray, with 
 Ha Frenchwonian watching mo a^il the 
 while. And yet. to read and to worship 
 openly, is that not the way i„ which I 
 should confess my Lord before men ? Shall 
 1 be ashamed of my religion? Shall a 
 ■ Protestant English girl leave a Eomanist to 
 conclude either that she has no religion 
 at all. or one which she dare not a,w? 
 Cold and cowardly heart, to shrink from so 
 plain a duty ! Daniel prayed openly three 
 tmes a day, at the risk of being thrown to 
 tto hons. Oh, for faith like his to over- 
 come ^the fear of man that biingeth a 
 
 It was a verv m-poh «ff/».'- t^-- P.ui i 
 
 .»^..,.- 
 
FIRST NIGHT IN FRANCE. 
 
 141 
 
 open her Bible and read a few verses. She 
 could hardly bend her agitated mind to 
 take in their meaning. It was a greater 
 effort, after she liad closed the book, to 
 kneel down by the side of her low Trench 
 bed, and in the presence of a stranger, and 
 a Eomanist, offer her silent prayer. But 
 with the effort came the reward. Never 
 had Faith been able to plead with more 
 fervor, never had she more sweetly realized 
 that her pleadings were heard. Every one 
 whom she loved was remembered in her 
 supplications, and half the pain of separa- 
 tion was gone. Faith felt no longer alone, 
 even in a strange land. She was one of the 
 Lord's great famil}^ knit together in bonds 
 of love ; and she herself was resting at the 
 feet of a heavenly Father. / tvUl he toith 
 thee, was the promise which came to her 
 memory with almost the force of an audible 
 answer to prayer; and Faith arose from 
 her knees with the response in her heart, J 
 win fear no evil, for Thou art loiih me. 
 
 Diane was standing with arms akimbo, and 
 her thin lips drawn into a mocking smile, 
 as she watched the heretique at her devotions. 
 
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 iii' 
 
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14^ 
 
 HEST NIGHT IN PRANCE. 
 
 She said nothing, hmvever, to Faith, know- 
 lug that she woalcl not be understood if 
 she did so. Diane took up a rosary of her 
 own, and as she passed the beads through 
 her fingers, she rapidly muttered her Ave, 
 and Paternoster, looking at Faitli all the 
 time as though to say, "I too have my 
 forms of devotion." Faith could hardly 
 imagine that her companion was pravin- 
 nor could she exactly tell what the strin- of 
 gay beads could have to do with religLi. 
 Why should prayers bo counted? Were 
 there not here the "vain repetitions" 
 against which the disciples were warned 9 
 Diane concluded her devotions, such as 
 tliey were, by making the sign of the cross ; 
 and satisfied that she had shown a good 
 example to a ^-uighted heretic, went to her 
 rest. 
 
 It was natural that the scenes through 
 which Faith Stanby had passed, and those 
 of which she had heard, should mingle 
 themselves that night in her dreams. She 
 fancied herself again on the deck of a ves- 
 sel, and leaving the white cliffs of Em^land 
 _-i-„i.. i,^,. Xj^x^ iiiscead of the slowly 
 
FIRST NIGHT IN FRANCE. 
 
 143 
 
 heaving waves over wliicli she had passed 
 in her voyage across the Channel, Mild, 
 fnrious billows were tossing around. The 
 deck was crowded with fierce Republicans, 
 who, with excited gestures, thronged around 
 the English stranger. Faith dreamed that 
 the foremost made a demand to her much 
 like that which had been made to the 
 unhappy Louise de Lamballe, save that it 
 was loyalty, not to an earthly, but to a 
 heavenly King which the English girl was 
 called upon to renounce. " I cannot deny 
 Him — it is not in my heart!" exclaimed 
 Faith, in her dream ; and she was in- 
 stantly seized upoii by merciless hands, and 
 thrown over the bulwarks into the tempes- 
 tuous waters below. But at this crisis all 
 the terrors of the dream vanished away. 
 There was no drowning, no struggling with 
 death. Faith seemed, in her dream, to be 
 changed into one of the white sea-birds 
 which she had seen skimming lightly over 
 the waves. She had w^ings, she was free, 
 she was safe, she was flying back to old 
 England ; and the sense of joyful hope and 
 
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 il'-Nh'! 
 
 ^ i[ 
 
 tiiii 
 
 m 
 
 I ■. i ft 
 
 
144 
 
 FIRST NIGHT IN FRANCE. 
 
 confitlenco v/liicli Faith felt in her dream 
 remained with her when, refreshed by the 
 night's rest, she awoke in the morning to 
 find herself in the h\nd of her exile. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 i.-:i 
 
 TBAVELLINO. 
 
 RAVELLING was, in the lasfe. 
 century, very different from what 
 it is now. A single clay will, at 
 present, suffice for the journey 
 from London to Paris; but in 1792 three 
 might be required for that portion of it^ 
 which extends from Calais to the capital of 
 France. 
 
 The Duke of Orleans had sent, for the 
 conveyance of his daughter and her com- 
 panions to Paris, one of his own carriages. 
 Tlie stately vehicle was drawn by six black, 
 horses, with flowing manes and tails; ani- 
 mals something resembling those now used 
 for hearses. But there was nothing Jiearse- 
 like in the conveyance itself. A conch like 
 
 10 145 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
 
_- 
 
 14G 
 
 TRAVELUNa. 
 
 I ! 
 
 th;it in vlilcli ilio Frciicli latllcs wcto to 
 travel hi never now scon, except, porhups, in 
 Bomo civic show or gi-iuul procession. It 
 wna very capacious, and, to our ideas, un- 
 V'ioJdy, swaying I'rom side to side jis tlie six 
 liorses drag,^n(l it along. Tiio np[)('r portion 
 of the carriage was considerably wider tlian 
 tlio lower, and ilio \n1io1o was adorned with 
 a good deal of carving and gilding. Thero 
 Mils ample and luxurious accommodation 
 Avitliin the vebiclo for the ladies ; and on 
 tlie back and front scats outside, liaH'-a-dozen 
 servants were able to find places, thouf^li 
 raitened for room. Undei' more 
 favorable circumstances Faith would greatly 
 have enjoyed t!ie novelty and amusement of 
 her journey Ihrongh a country wlierc?, to 
 her, ev(>rytliing was new. Even as it was, 
 it Was not without a feeling of pleasure that 
 tlio young girl mounted to her h)fty outside 
 place, courteously helped np by one of the 
 Dnke of Orleans' vtdets, who was to occupy 
 the seat at her side. 
 
 Pondiehon — such was the valet's name — 
 was in himself a character; at least such he 
 appeared to the English couutiy maiden. 
 
TRAVELLING. 
 
 147 
 
 To talk fast and incessantly scomod to liini 
 to be a necossity ; and ho accompaiiiod his 
 Bpeccli Mitli HO nmcli action of lioad, eve- 
 brows, bands, such cxpressivo and ]iv(;])r 
 gesticulalicm, that if liis convcrsidion Mas 
 not qiiito as iiitelligiblo to Faitli as it would 
 have been bad sbo known bis hing:i;i,c^o, it 
 wasperhiips to her as amusinp^. Pondichou 
 made Faith comprehend, partly by Iris 
 excessive politeness, partly by most express- 
 ive frowns, shrugs, ;ind pantomimic gestures, 
 whenever they approached a tree of liberty, 
 or a Avaysido cabaret bearing a Jacobin 
 sign, that he was no Republican, but of tho 
 ancicu re'jimc, as became the valet of a princo 
 of the blood. Pondichon, however, seemed 
 to consider discretion as the better pa,rt of 
 valor; f(n-, nothwithstanding his loyalist 
 principles, he always pointcul. ostcntatinusly 
 to the tricolor cockade which he wore in his 
 hat, and sometimes even waved that hat, as 
 if in triumph, whenever he passed through 
 a village. On such occasions the valet, in 
 tho midst of his rattling conversali;>ii, v.ould 
 burst out into the Marseillaise ITyiiin, con- 
 clud 
 
 ! ' 
 
 : I 
 
 
 '1' 
 
 in-i- bva"I3ah!" of disoust when h 
 
 o 
 
 M 
 
148 
 
 TRAVELLINQ. 
 
 was out of hearing of those -Nvhom the 
 (Servant in gorgeous livery contemptuously 
 termcil sans-culottes. 
 
 Faith was at first pleased by Pondichon's 
 poHtciicss, and diverted by his lively man- 
 ners; but she soon felt that the manners 
 were too free, and that tlie pohteness was 
 very different indeed from the respect with 
 which every man should t eat a young 
 maiden, however lowly may be her position 
 in life. The English girl had that true 
 modesty which does not arise from pride, 
 but from that purity of mind which belongs 
 to the new nature imparted by Him who is 
 purity itself. Faith would readily have 
 knelt down to wash the feet of a beggar, 
 but she would not have stooped to listen to 
 light flattery from the lips of a prince. By 
 womanly instinct she soon became aware 
 that it was better that she did not under- 
 stand the speeches made by Egalite's valet, 
 and that it was not for a Christian maiden 
 to encourage familiarity from one who had, 
 like Pondichon, been brought up in the 
 midst of moral corruption. Here was a 
 new difficulty for the shy girl thrown 
 
TUAVELLINQ. 
 
 149 
 
 H 
 
 amongst straugors. Slio was f(;:\vfnl of 
 giving ofFouco, Jiiul was naturally iinwilling 
 to appeal* utterly dilFoient from every one 
 near her ; yet slio must never forego tlio 
 sobriety and modesty of demeanor wliich 
 become a handmaid of tho Ijord. Faith 
 Stanby grow at last so ^fTicond'ortablf, that 
 Bho would have pr.'l'crred tho unfriendl}', 
 sarcastic Diane as I er 'ravoi:ing companion, 
 to the fantastic, llattc'nify Fiencliman. She 
 became more grave anu reserved, and with- 
 out the slightest breach of Cv)artesj, ht tho 
 valet perceive that familiarity from him was 
 unwelcome. Tho vanity of Poudichon was 
 wounded ; ho did not care long to obtrude 
 his attentions upon one who did not relish 
 the levity and worse than idle jesting in 
 which ho loved to indulge. Tho French- 
 man turned from tho shy, quiet stranger, to 
 converse with those who would hmgh as 
 gayly as himself, and care as little what 
 they laughed at. Pondichon made his com- 
 panions merry with tho remark, that it was 
 a pity that those British islanders (the 
 sneer, of oours(> was at Faith) chose to 
 
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 r 
 
 \ 
 
 i» . 
 
 mm 
 
 ni 
 
 M 
 
I i'l 
 
 
 I i 
 
 160 
 
 TliAVELLINa. 
 
 cariT their cold, dulling fog with them 
 wherever tlicy happened to go. 
 
 Tl.ero ,vas a noonday's halt on tho way, 
 to bait the horses and enable the travellers 
 to pai^take of refreshment, at a hotel in a 
 town through which their route lay. When 
 the time approached for again starting on 
 tue journey towards Paris, Faith, who had 
 t us time to mount unaided to her seat on 
 the carnage, found a little crowd assembled 
 around the conveyance. A somewhat noisy 
 crowd It was; those who composed it had 
 been dancmg around a tree of liberty 
 erected iu the courtyard, and their singinf. 
 of t,he Marsoilh-vise had sounded ominousl^ 
 m the ears of Faith while she liad been in 
 the hotel. The arrival of a royal carriage 
 had n,at«rally excited observation and cu?i- 
 osity in the place. The ducal coronet and 
 arms had, indeed, been carefully painted 
 out from the panels, and an emblazoned 
 ^. E., with a cap of liberty, appeared in 
 then- stead; but en tlie buttons of the 
 servants' hveries, and on tho gilt ornaments 
 of the horse^i' harness, still tho h.-.tod coro- 
 net .ippearod. E-alito' liimself l,a 1 I.ecome 
 
 ^^^■^K'ims:-^:. -mmam^mxm 
 
TRAVELLINQ. 
 
 151 
 
 as has already been mentioneil, an object of 
 suspicion in Franco ; and the information, 
 which was speedily circulated, that in thLs 
 carriage travelled his daughter, lately 
 arrived .from England, raised an ill feeling 
 amongst the Jacobins in the crowd. Robes 
 pierre, tho Democrat leader, as was well 
 known, hated England above all other 
 countries,'^ for her loyalty and her free- 
 dom, and he by no means stood alon in 
 his hatred. Poor Faith, whose fair face, 
 blue eyes, and English dress marked her at 
 once as having come from tlio northern side 
 of tho Ciiannel, found herself the object of 
 most unwelcome observation from the Re- 
 publican throng. 
 
 "Anglaisc! Anglaisz! d has Ics Anglais T 
 [down with the English ! ] passed from 
 mouth to mouth, as, with a little difficulty. 
 Faith mounted to lier lofty and exposed 
 seat. The murmur was like tho distant 
 muttering of the thunder, when storm-clouds 
 are gathering over tho sky. 
 
 Faith grew more and more alarmed, and 
 became very impatient for the ladies to 
 * Von Sybol's "Froncli llovolution." 
 
 
 :< 
 
 
 % 
 
 
 Mi.*^ 
 
 tf-'ffi I 
 
 i ' ' ,' M 
 
U2 
 
 TRAVELLING. 
 
 como out of tho hotel, that the carriage 
 might be (hivcn from the place. She tried, 
 however, to suppress all appearance of fear, 
 and to look culmlj' down from her high seat 
 on the tlireatening faces below. "I am an 
 Englisliwoinan," thought Faith, " und must 
 not disgrace the name by playing tlio part 
 of a coward. Bat oh ! why, why docs ma- 
 dame delay ?" 
 
 Soon— though it seemed a long time to 
 Faith— Madame de Genlis appeared with 
 her charges at the entrance to the hotel. 
 They saw at a glance how matters stood, 
 and became aware that on the eve of a war 
 with England, it had been an act of impru- 
 dence to trjivcl with an English maid sitting, 
 exposed to the view of all, on tho outside of 
 Egalite's carriage. 
 
 " See, see tho crowd ! oh ! hear them !" 
 exclaimed Ninon, shrinking back in terror, 
 and grasping the arm of Madame de Ge lis! 
 " They are staring up at Faith Stanhy ; they 
 are crying 'A has les Anglais .'' Had wo not 
 bettr- tell the girl to get down at once, then 
 drive off as fast as we can, and leave her 
 behind ?" 
 
TRAVELLING. 
 
 153 
 
 i» 
 
 Aclelaicle uttered an indignant exclamation 
 at the cowardly suggestion. " What ! leave 
 her, a strangerj unprotected amongst these 
 rough people I" cried the generouH daughter 
 of Orleans. 
 
 Madame de Genlis, with a keen rapid 
 glance, surveyed the threatening faces of 
 the crowd. " It will not como to bloodshed 
 here," she observed in English : " but 
 danger may increase as we draw nearer to 
 Paris. The girl must travel inside the car- 
 riage, and show her white face as httlo as 
 may be." And in a tone purposely impera- 
 tive and harsh, Madame de Genlis ordered 
 Faith to descend irom her seat, and help to 
 place her j'oung lady's parcels in the 
 
 carriage. 
 
 Faith was glad enough to come down from 
 her perch, which was becoming to her every 
 moment more like a place in the pillory. 
 Perhaps her modest bat firm bearing had 
 roused some generous feeling towards the 
 poor young stranger in the minds of the 
 people, who had not, like those in Paris, 
 been brutalized by scenes of bloodshed. If 
 BO, such generous feeling was unconsciously 
 
 la 
 
 i'f) 
 
 i 
 
 .' i\' 
 
 ;i , 
 
 i 1 
 
 ..k. 
 
' ' 'I - I 
 
 ■ JiiH ifi 
 
 - ' iH ; ■ 
 
 1 :|M '« 
 
 Ml 
 
 154 
 
 TRAVELLING. 
 
 mcrenscd by Poudichon, who, in L:,, /f.^ad 
 ot slKiimg the iinpopulaiitj of arx y^).7/.jz,e, 
 with marked nidc-uess gave Failh no ussisfc- 
 auco wliatever in getting dov.n uiUi her 
 bundle. Politeness is so natiu.vl to French- 
 men that the valet's Avant of courtesy 
 provoked animadversion on Iho part of the 
 crowd. 
 
 " There's the kind of poli.h got in courts 
 for je! groulcd a smitli, who, witii face 
 begrimed, had come from l>is ibroe to have 
 a look at EgaHte's carriage. "Yon lackey 
 m hverj don't know hou- to treat a woman. 
 Here, mademoiselle !"-and a strong hard 
 hand was stretched out to help the maiden 
 down Iroin her seat. 
 
 Paitli thanked the Frenchman for his 
 rough conrtesp-she had picked up enongli 
 of his language to be able to do so-and 
 wiih a great sense of relief took her place 
 inside the carringe, opposite to her youn- 
 lady, well shrouded by a q.iantity o1 ■ 
 cushions, bandboxes, and shauls froi:i fho 
 \iew of any one outside. 
 
 "How wonderfnlly a gracious Providence 
 has cared f.>r me!" thoaivht Faith 
 
 c.->" 
 
 as the 
 
i , t 
 
 TRAVELLING. 
 
 ft ft 
 
 large lumbering vcliiclo rattled out of the 
 Btoue-paved yuvtl. " Kindness was put into 
 the hoait even of one ^vllonl I dreaded, 
 and the very circumstance Aviiieli just now- 
 caused mo anxiety and fear, is tlie nionnsof 
 my enjojing comforts ^vliieli wonld not 
 otherwise have been mine. 80 thinly clad 
 as I am, I must greatly have suffureci from 
 cold, had I travelled the Avholo way to Paris 
 on the outside of the carriage. And I am so 
 glad to be separated from Pondiclion and 
 his lively companions." 
 
 It was indeed a luxury to Faith to bo 
 able to remain as quiet and unnoLieed in 
 her corner of the carriage as if she had been 
 a portion of the luggage, exeo])t when her 
 services chanced to be required by the rest- 
 less, fanciful Ninon. 
 
 Faith had, however, to pay for the 
 advantage of travellii)g inside the carriage, 
 in the increased dislike manifested towards 
 her by Diane. The jealousy of ilu) femmc' 
 de-chamhre was aroused by what she chose 
 to regard as a matter of favor, thong! 1 she 
 knew it to be but a matter of prju.lence. 
 
 
 IJ 
 
 That 
 
 a mero sou 
 
 hreifc. 
 
 unc Aut liaise, um hcrfi- 
 
156 
 
 TBAVELLma. 
 
 tiqtie slioiild be admitted to Bit viihiii tlie 
 carriage v.itli the ladies, while tile coufiden- 
 tiai maid of Madame la Comletise jiad to 
 travel oul.sivle in Novembei*, was an insult 
 not to be toleralcl/ Diane dared not 
 express her rosentnieiifc to Madam<3 do Gen- 
 lis, of whom sl'o stood in t-onie awe, Init sho 
 made its innocent object feci its cfiecls at 
 every place where the travellers halted. 
 F'ddi'a had nnch need of patience and meek- 
 sv^Bs under the petty persecntion which she 
 had to endure from a malicious woman. 
 The young sei-vant found it impossible to 
 please Dianii ; whatever Faith did Wi,is found 
 fault with ; every land of service that was 
 difficult or dis;igreeable was allotted to her ; 
 she was scarcely allowed time to take 
 sufficient food at meals, or sufficient sleep 
 at night to keep her from physical exhaus- 
 tion. The spirit of the English girl rose 
 against tyranny more intolerable than that 
 10 which she was subjected by the selfish 
 caprice of licr mistress. Many a time had 
 the poor nuiid to repeat to herself, Let 
 patience have Us perfect work, to strengthen 
 herself for endurance, and to wrestle down 
 
 ', ' ,i; . CI .-,j1;?SU,*S(K^ t 
 
 
W' 
 
 m- i 
 
 TBAVELUNG. 
 
 157 
 
 k 
 
 iihiii tlie 
 f'/onficlen- 
 e iio.d to 
 i?-ii insult 
 ivglI not 
 I Jo Geri- 
 >, but sha 
 'ffecls at 
 3 iialted. 
 ad meek • 
 i'liicli she 
 woman, 
 ssible to 
 ri\B found 
 that was 
 :1 to her ; 
 to take 
 )nt sleep 
 I exhaus- 
 ?iil rose 
 htin that 
 le selfish 
 iiiiU) had 
 self, Lft 
 ron^then 
 lie down 
 
 the anger which rose in her heart against 
 cruelty and injustice. If it bo difficult for 
 the Christian to keep his ligl.it shining when 
 the fierce blasts of temptation blow around 
 it, perhaps it is as difficult to let it burn 
 brightly under the drip, drip of daily 
 provocations, especially those which come 
 fi'om the temper and tongue of a woman. 
 But the grace which feeds the holy flame in 
 the one trial also avails in the other ; and 
 Faith was enabled to work with a dihgenco 
 and endure with a sweetness of temper 
 which won for her the secret, uuavowed 
 respect even of her bitter persecutor. 
 
 'I 
 
 
 
 ' 'f.' 
 
 8l'*'i 
 
 |y 
 
 ti u 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IN PARIS. 
 
 T Avas on tlic Satnrdciy evening of 
 tliat, to Faith, eventful week, 
 (hat the six jaded horses drew 
 the cumbrous travelling-carriage 
 up to one of the barrier gates of Pan's. A 
 slight drizzling rain was falling ; the air felt 
 damp and chill ; even Paris, gay, beautiful 
 Paris, seemed to have a pall of sadness 
 over it. 
 
 Madame de Genlis had, been unusually 
 gi'ave and silent during the day— not one 
 lively ho.i-mct had escaped her ; Adelaide 
 had by no means unmixed pleasure in 
 returning to tlie palace of her fathers. Ni- 
 non was fretful, from weariness and the 
 
 disappoinlment of hei hopes of remaining 
 (158) 
 
mi 
 
 IN PARIS. 
 
 159 
 
 for some timo to enjoy tlie amusements of 
 Paris. It was by iio means a cheerful 
 party tliat occupied the inside of the 
 luxurious vehicle ; even tlio maid had her 
 own heart-sorrows and seciet re-lets. 
 
 At the barrier the travellers found await- 
 ing their arrival a plain but haudsomo 
 carriage, with a footman in mourning livery. 
 He went up to the window of Egalite's 
 caiTiage, and respectfully presented a letter 
 to Matlame de Genlis, and a small j(}\vel-case 
 to Adelaide of Orleans. Tlje elder lady 
 broke the black seal of the letter, and aftef 
 perusing its contents, handed the paper 
 to Ninon. 
 
 "Here, then, my child, wo must part 
 Madame la Comtesse has sent her carriage 
 to convey thee to her lodgings in the Hue 
 des A ." 
 
 Ninon had previously known of this 
 arrangement, which had been jncntioned in 
 a postscript to the letter which she had re- 
 ceived at Calais; and yet slie gave way to 
 a burst of petulant vexaticm. S!io was 
 dksoUe cm descfijjoir on having to quit her 
 atnie diere ; whv could not the comtesso 
 
 ^1^ 
 
 t.^ 
 
 % 
 
 'J'M 
 
160 
 
 IN PARIS. 
 
 havu lelb tliom for at least a few days 
 togcthci" ? — such were the young lady's 
 laments. Adcluiclo jiiobably took lior com- 
 panion's embraces nnd passionate expres- 
 sions of fric.;.it>iiip ioi' as inucli as tliey were 
 worth. Madamo do Gcnlis was anxious to 
 reach the Pahus-Iloyal before nightfall, and 
 in rather an nncorcnionions manner hurried 
 the movements of Ninon. In a few minutes 
 the necessary arrangements wero made, 
 luggage and wraps wero transferred by tho 
 servants from one carriage to tho other; 
 and Ninon, f.<-companied by Faith and 
 Piano, were soon beiug rapidly driven 
 through tho streets of Paris towards a quiet 
 and retired quarti i" of the great capital >i 
 France. 
 
 Ninon, during the drive, conversed a good 
 deal with Dian'- ; wliixo Faith yafc in silence, 
 i ^rtho-ightsv ry full ' f the past. Amongst 
 the few books which Gentleman Jos 'ad 
 pr-pse-ved from the library of his father was 
 a broken-backi-d copy of a translation of 
 tho "Sieclo de Louis XIV.' F-dth had 
 perused eo'^nrly every • olume on wdiicli she 
 could lay n^' and amoi jsfc others thia 
 
\ 
 
 IN TAIUS. 
 
 161 
 
 account of the reign of tlio Grand Bhnorrjue 
 AU tlio woiid's magiiificciico and glory 
 8001110(1 to Faith to bo spread out before 
 her whou .she road of the mighty Louis, 
 surrounded by his briUiant court, his famous 
 generals, liis sparlding Avils, llio beautiful, 
 the gay, tho gifted. What mortal liad over 
 been placed on so high a pinnacle as Louis 
 XIV., lio who had b a ahnost worsiiipped 
 by his court, as though he hael been more 
 than a man I Faith thonglit much of the 
 magnificent monarch as she was driven 
 through the ( ipital of his cxteusivo domin- 
 ions, through beautiful Paris, which she 
 had often in her childhood desired to see, 
 picturing it to Inu-self as a city of fairy 
 palaces, gay ^vitli pcrpetuid music and 
 mii' where SjiavkUn^ fomitains and gUtter- 
 ing rt,. »|v- '-eflt jted perpoiiial simshino. 
 
 " Ah ! c )idd the great king," thought 
 FaitJi, " at one of his magiiiticent feasts have 
 seen, Ukc ]](lsliaz7;ir of old, a handwr* " - 
 on tlie wall, would not tho words traced 
 have been Vanity of vanitief, alt is vanity ? 
 How httle did Louis XIV. in his prido think 
 how his descendant and successor " — 
 
 11 
 
 
 lUk'A 
 
 I »l i;. 
 
 A 
 
162 
 
 IN PARIS. 
 
 " Look, Faith !" cried Ninon La Fore, suil- 
 (lenb interrupting tlio current of the English 
 maiaen's reflections, " yonder is the Tcniplo ; 
 thou soesfc where the light is gleaming in 
 yon "window. Thoio's where the king and 
 queen are shut up ; how trklcs they must be ! 
 Diane tells me that the queen has to unravel 
 bits of carpet with her dainty little hands to 
 get worsted to knit socks with, just to pas; 
 the wearisome hours. I dare say she often 
 lets down her stitches." Then turning again 
 to Diane, Ninon went on with her conversa- 
 tion in French. Faith was very rapidly 
 acquiring the language, so that she partially 
 understood what was said, assisted by the 
 pantomimic gestures with which Ninon 
 usually accompanied her speech. 
 
 " So Marie Antoinette has not even a 
 femme-de-cJiamhrc in attendance, she who was 
 waited upon by duchesses, Avith so much of 
 grandeur and etiquette. C*cd terrihle ! I 
 wonder how she can manage her toilette, 
 how she can powder her hair !" " 
 
 "Ah, mademoiselle, the hair has lo need 
 of powder," observed Diane ; " since the 
 royal family were arrested in Iheiu flight at 
 
IN PARia. 
 
 1G3 
 
 ro, sml- 
 Euglisli 
 ?emplo ; 
 uing ill 
 iig and 
 luat bo! 
 unravel 
 ands to 
 to pass 
 G often 
 3 again 
 nversa- 
 rapidly 
 artially 
 by the 
 Ninon 
 
 even a 
 rlio was 
 uich of 
 ble! I 
 toilette, 
 
 lO need 
 ice the 
 ight at 
 
 Viircnnes, Her Majesty's beautiful hair haH 
 all turned white !" 
 
 " (Test icn'ible /" again exehiinied Ninon, 
 though her .sympathy was not of the kind 
 which reaches below the surface. "And 
 then to be shut out from the sjjcdade, the 
 opera, all her (1' versions, all her pleasures ; 
 it is enough to break her heart. But her 
 life can scarcely bo duller in Paris than 
 mine will be in Provence," continued Ninon, 
 with a petulant shrug. " I suppose, Diane, 
 that there are now no guests at Chateau 
 Labelle '?" 
 
 "Guests, mademoiselle !" cried Diane ; " all 
 the noblesse who used to eomo to the chateau 
 for the hunting (except the emigres) have 
 either been murdered on their estates, or 
 have perished by the guillotine hero in 
 Paris." 
 
 Cest terrible — affrcvx .'" cried Ninon, with 
 more vehemence than before. " Then I 
 shall have nothing whatever to amuse me, 
 no variety~*except, of course, the Fcle-Dieu 
 at Aix."* 
 
 * A_ lioniCHiist festiyal wliicli usetl to Idg Gliscrveii, 
 with many quftint coremouies, in that old town. 
 
 
 ! ' . 
 
 ■A h' f.l 
 
 1 ■■ 
 
 if 
 
 
 
 f. i 
 
 :;i ■■ 
 
 m 
 
 
 i. :-■ 
 
 l ■■ 
 
164 
 
 IN PARIS. 
 
 " Does not niaclemoisclle know that the 
 Jacobins liavo abolished the Fele-Dleu? 
 They have no religion — none !" said Diane. 
 
 "Abolished the Fetc-Dku T repeated 
 Ninon La Fere, in dismay. "Are there, 
 then, no processions Avith banners, no holy 
 images carried aloft, no giils crowned with 
 wreaths strewing flowers, and civic officers 
 marching in their robes, with priests in tlieir 
 sj^lendid garments, and boys swinging cen- 
 sers, and masquers and all — the prettiest, 
 gayest sight to be seen out of Paris !" 
 
 "Ah, mademoiselle, all tlicse charming 
 things are never thought of now," said Diane. 
 " Cimrclies are closed and left to the rats ; 
 priests have to fly for their lives ; persons 
 can't even bo married lilfo good Catholics 
 now. Has not mademoiselle heard how the 
 mob has sacked monasteries, and whipped 
 the holy nuns,* and how sisters of mercy 
 have been plunged shrieking into the river 
 Rhone, and then been dragged out half- 
 dead?" 
 
 " I wish I were back in England !" ejacu- 
 lated Ninon. " And what has become of my 
 
 * Von S^bei. 
 
 
IN PARIS. 
 
 165 
 
 that the 
 Ic-Dleu? 
 
 I Diane, 
 repeated 
 •0 tboro, 
 no holy 
 led with 
 
 officers 
 i in their 
 ing cen- 
 
 >retfciest, 
 
 I" 
 
 [i arming 
 
 II Diane, 
 lie rats; 
 persons 
 latholics 
 how the 
 ivhipped 
 i mercy 
 ie river 
 •ut half- 
 
 * ejacu- 
 10 of my 
 
 heUe-sceur's confessor, Pero la Porte ? Is 
 there no priest now at Chateau Labello?" 
 
 " No, mademoiselle, not one," said Diane. 
 " Since the poor pere was almost murdered 
 when passing down the grand avenue, 
 madame will not suffer a priest to come. 
 Madame says that she will have no innocent 
 blood shed on her threshold. Madame la 
 Comtesse sometimes goes to mass,*" con- 
 tinued Diane, lowering her voice, and 
 glancing suspiciously towards Faith ; " but 
 not often — and suddenly — privately. Few 
 know whither madame is going or for what 
 object she goes. Madame la Comtesse feels 
 much the loss of a resident father con- 
 fessor." 
 
 "I'm sure that I don't!" exclaimed Ninon 
 gayly ; " we are v/eil rid of Pore la Porte ; 
 I liked his proachii'gs little and his penances 
 less. I would much rather have confessed 
 to the merry little abbe at Aix, who was so 
 fond of coming to the fetes at the chateau. 
 How his eyes would twinkle at the sight of 
 a pate de fole gras, or a glass of my poor 
 brother's vin de Bordeaux! Well," con- 
 
 jlI TXT? T- -ri '_ - " T 1 i-V-i- -.: 
 
 : I i 
 
 ' .1 
 
 I 
 
166 
 
 IN PARIS. 
 
 church feasts are abolished, the fasts are 
 done away with also ; that is but fair." 
 
 " I think that with inadame every day is 
 now a fast day," said Diane. "Her spirits 
 are low— she punishes herself; madame 
 lives the life of a saint, yet she thinks her- 
 self such a sinner !" 
 
 " I hope that Gabriolle will not expect me 
 to liv0 the life of a saint," began Ninon, 
 when a sudden movement of Diane's hand 
 and head made her pause in the midst of 
 her sentence. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, look there— just passing 
 that lamp " — 
 
 " "Who is it ? I see no one but a vulgar- 
 looking man with thick, coarse features—a 
 roiurier," no doubt," said Ninon. 
 
 " It is Dantou himself," murmured Diane, 
 in accents of awe. 
 
 Ninon bent forward and looked again 
 from the Avindow with eager curiosity to 
 catch another glimpse of a man who played 
 so leiT'ble a part in tbe tragedy of the 
 French Eevolution. Faith never lost the 
 image impressed on her memory of that 
 
 • Term of contfimpt for ono of the lower eli^ss. 
 
 !/■ 
 
IN PABIS. 
 
 167 
 
 face, with its massive jaw, deeply creased 
 brow, and month so expressive of stern de- 
 cision. But Ninon merely drew back her 
 head from the carriage window, with the 
 frivolous observation, " Tlie 2iarvenu! [up- 
 start] he has not even learned how to tie 
 his neckclotii !" 
 
 " He has hempen neckcloths for his ene- 
 mies, mademoiselle, and ties them tightly 
 enonglj," said Diane. 
 
 The sister of the murdered Comte La 
 Fere could laugh at the femmc'dc-chamhre's 
 jest ! 
 
 ¥ 
 
 m 
 
 'li 
 
 
 ' I 
 
I 5 'I 
 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE COMTEfcJSE. 
 
 JH, Ninon, to what a land have 
 you returned!" Such was the 
 greeting of Gabrielle, when 
 she met her young sister-in- 
 law in the hall of the dwelling in which the 
 comtesso occupied apartments during her 
 sojourn in Paris. 
 
 Faith had concluded from all that she 
 had heard of the Lady of Provence that she 
 must bo very imlike Ninon, of a character 
 far more lofty and noble. Had the young 
 servant furmed no such impression, her 
 first glance at Gabrielle La Fore must have 
 conveyed it at once to her niiml. Faith's 
 silent reflection on seeing t]io comtesse was 
 this : " I havH never before looked upon one 
 (1G8) 
 
 /'• 
 
THE COMTESSE. 
 
 169 
 
 so beautiful, so graceful. There is a mis- 
 tress whom I shall take pleasure in serv- 
 ing." 
 
 Gabriello's form was rather above middle 
 height; and had the peculiar dignity and 
 gi-ace which belonged, perhaps in their 
 greatest perfection, to the hi^Ii-ooi .1 ladies 
 of France. The comtesse \ n'.- d^f ,sed in 
 deep mourning, and wore no ornament of 
 any description, save a jet rosary and cross, ? 
 and a miniature of her husband, set iii 
 
 • brilliants, clasping the kerchief which partl|f 
 shrouded her beautiful neck. That licrcliief 
 and ilm small round cap which surmounted 
 the lady's hair were of simple snow-white 
 muslin. No powder disfigured the rich 
 raven locks which lay on Gabrielle's shoul- 
 ders ; there were no h celets on the finel}-- 
 formed arms, which, as was usual at tho 
 period, were bare to the elbows. But 
 Faith scarcely noticed what tho lady had 
 on; her whole attention was attracted by 
 the countenance of Gabrielle La Fere ; the 
 largo dark melancholy ejes under the beau- 
 
 •tiful brow, the palo cjieeks, the delicate 
 
 fnrA 
 
 
 4 
 
 I 
 
 n f n*« 
 
 '03, the lips :,o expressive of sweutue«a, 
 
 !i I . Ml 
 
 :. H 
 
*" 
 
 i I 
 
 i: m 
 
 170 
 
 THE COMTESSE. 
 
 moro especially wlien from them came the 
 low musical tones of her voice. 
 
 Calm aijcl still as was the manner of 
 Gabrielle, her Imsbaud's sister seemed to 
 have her n, little in awe ; at least it appeared 
 to Faith that Ninon was not at her ease with 
 the Comtesse La Fere. There could, in- 
 deed, be little of sympathy between natures 
 BO widely different. Gabrielle, after kissing 
 iNiuon on each cheek, looked earnestly into 
 %er fiice, trying, perhnps, to trace in it some 
 Hlveness to a dead brother ; then, with an 
 almost imperceptible shake of the head, the 
 lady turned and led Ninon to a lar^jje room 
 on the gronnd-floor of the house, in which 
 a repast was prepared. Diane motioned to 
 Faith to follow, as both of the maids were 
 laden with li.^ht packages, mantles, and 
 trifles which mii^ht be required by Ninon. 
 
 Gabrielle glanced at the little English 
 servant and addressed some qucsticm to 
 Ninon in French. Pier tone was too low 
 for the sound to reach Faith's ears, but the 
 maid both heard and understood Ninon's 
 careless reply. ''AiKjIcdsc—Protestanie,— ah, 
 
 nil 
 
 ;/" 
 
ame the 
 
 nner of 
 emed to 
 ppeared 
 ase with 
 )ulil, in- 
 naturos 
 .' kissing 
 3tlj into 
 it some 
 ■with an • 
 ead, tho 
 ,i^e room 
 II \vhi(rh 
 ioiiod to 
 ids were 
 ies, and 
 *?inon. 
 English 
 stion to 
 too low 
 , but tho 
 Ninon's 
 ite, — ah, 
 
 THE COMTESSE. 
 
 171 
 
 ' Thou hadst better go to tliy warm sup- 
 per, ' said the comtesse to Diane ; " and seo 
 that the English maiden has from me a 
 better protection against the cold than that 
 slight shawl before we start for Provenco 
 on Monday." 
 
 "That lady, at least, takes thouglit for 
 the comfort of others," was Faith Stanby's 
 reflection, as she courtosied and folloued 
 Diane out of the comtesse's presence, for 
 Orabnelle's gesture Lad helped the girl to 
 interpret her words. 
 
 " I cannot help regietlin-, Ninon, that 
 tiou shouldst have brought a ncretic with 
 thee from ELglrnd," said GabrieUe, as the 
 two ladies seated themselves at tlie table- 
 the one to eat and the other to I^elp, for the 
 comtesse herself did not care to ta. te the 
 repast. 
 
 ^^_" Where is the harm ?" ,.V.:cd Ninon. 
 
 ±aith is intelligent and quick— has tlje 
 gout [taste] of a mor-sle, and tlio temper of 
 an angel. So long as sljo obeys readily 
 works hard, and never gnimbles, what mat-' 
 ters it to us what she believes?" 
 
 " Vvhat matters it ?'* repeated iho com- 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 mi 
 
 ii 
 
 ^■ifii 
 
 i! ifl 
 
j 
 
 , i . 
 
 If 
 
 172 
 
 THE COMTESSE. 
 
 tesse bitterly. "Is it not tliis very iiidiflfer- 
 ence to ■what regavcls the welfare of those 
 who servo us — tljis looking on them as if 
 they were brutes that have no souls, or 
 Btones that have no feeling — that has drawn 
 down on tlie anciennc nohlcsse of France the 
 fearful judgments of heaven? The brutes 
 have turned to rend us, the stones are 
 hurled against us to destroy. Where we 
 looked for protectors we find enemies ! If 
 it mattered not to us in our luxury and 
 pride what the masses around us believed 
 or suffered, we are now startled out of our 
 dream of selfish ease, when infidelity pro- 
 fanes onr altars, and democracy pours out 
 our best blood like water." 
 
 Gabrielle spoke rather to herself than to 
 Ninon, for at the moment the comtesse had 
 almost forgotten the presence of her lelle- 
 seeur, who, on her part, was giving much 
 more attention to the delicacies on her plate 
 than to the words which fell on her ear. 
 
 " Thou hast no need to vex thyself about 
 Faith," observed Ninon, without raising her 
 eyes from her pa'J ; she will soon become 
 honne CathoUque at the chateau. Diane has 
 
THE COMTESSE. 
 
 173 
 
 indififer- 
 3f those 
 )m as if 
 louls, or 
 -s drawn 
 ance the 
 ) brutes 
 nes are 
 here we 
 lies ! If 
 ury and 
 believed 
 t of our 
 iity pro- 
 Durs out 
 
 than to 
 esse had 
 ler helle- 
 ig much 
 lier plate 
 
 ear. 
 
 (If about 
 ising her 
 
 become 
 •iane has 
 
 taught her already to dress hair to perfec- 
 tion — she shall teach her also her Ave and 
 Credo ; the one thing is as easy us the 
 other." 
 
 " Had good Pere la Porto still been with 
 us, I should have had iio fear but that liis 
 pious care would soon have brought about 
 our young servant's conversion," observed 
 the comtesse ; " there would then have been 
 a soul saved, and glory would have accrued 
 to the Blessed Virgin;" Gabiicllo crossed 
 herself as she mentioned the name. "But 
 the doctrines of the Church cannot bo taught 
 ^^y ^fonme-de-chamhrc; and this poor Eiig- 
 hsh stranger may live on and thou die in 
 her native darkness." 
 
 " Faith is desperately religious in her 
 own way," observed Ninon La Fuie ; " of 
 course it is the wrong way, for she doesn't 
 believe in the Pope, nor bum candles to 
 the saints, and thinks that she can pray 
 just as well in English as in Liitin. Of 
 course I know this is all very wicked, and 
 that she will burn in purgatory for it ; but 
 it is a comfort," added Ninon, uith selfish 
 phiiosopijy, "Avlien a servant has some kind 
 
 
 !l'; 
 
 "-nm 
 
 1 1 
 
174 
 
 THE COMTESSE. 
 
 ft 
 
 i 
 
 of religion which makes her obedient, oblig- 
 ing, and honest. There's not a bonne 
 Catholique in the chateau to whom I'd 
 Booner give charge of my jewels or my 
 purse than to the English heretic Faith." 
 
 The comtesse made no reply, and for a 
 while the subject of Faith and her supposed 
 errors was dropped between the two 
 ladies. 
 
 
'• %r% * 
 
 t, oblig- 
 \ bonne 
 ora I'd 
 or my 
 aith." 
 rl for a 
 ipposed 
 le two 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LIFE OR DEATH. 
 
 ARLY in the morning of the 
 following Monday, the carnage of 
 the Comtesse La Fe're passed 
 through one of the southern 
 gates of Paris, on that journey to Provence 
 which it would take at least six days to ac- 
 complish. Not but that the high roads were 
 good ; a few royal roads intersected France 
 made by the exertion of despotic power 
 and kept up by grinding exactions on the 
 half-starved peasants ; for on tlje poor had 
 entirely devolved the biirdru of maintaining, 
 the highways : where th cottagers had no 
 money to give, they had been forced to give 
 their labor.* Even in merely driving through 
 • Von Sybel. 
 
 (175) 
 
 V 
 
 'M 
 
 M 
 
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 I n 
 
 
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 •M 
 
W/r,'s 
 
 I 
 
MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART 
 
 {ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 
 
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 Emm 
 
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 13.6 
 
 14.0 
 
 1.4 
 
 2.5 
 
 1 2.2 
 
 2.0 
 1.8 
 
 1.6 
 
 _^ APPLIED IM/IGE Inc 
 
 ^^ 1653 East Main Street 
 
 r^S Rochester, New York 14609 USA 
 
 ''SSS (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone 
 
 = (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax 
 
176 
 
 UFE on DEATH. 
 
 
 provinces of Franco at tlie time of Avhicli I 
 am writiijg, an intelligent gid like Faith 
 could not but bo struck by tlio painfal 
 evidence on every side of the effects of 
 tyrannical laws and cruel oppression. 
 
 The winter of 1792-3 was indeed a season 
 of peculiar distress ; but distress and want 
 had for a long period been the portion of 
 the peasantry of France. What cared the 
 small farmer for his fields, when liaK their 
 produce would have to go to a merciless 
 landlord, to enable him to amuse himself in 
 the theatres or gaming-houses of Paris, 
 while his heavily-taxed tenants were in 
 want of the common necessaries of life ? 
 So little did such tenants care for then* 
 crops, that they would turn out their 
 geese to fatten in tlieir own fields of rich 
 wheat; for why should they gather corn 
 into sheaves, when they themselves and 
 their families were not to eat of the brdad ! 
 
 Faith could not look into the village 
 homes, or the isolated dwellings which 
 dotted the hetlgeless expanse of landscape, 
 to see how scanty and wretched was the 
 fare of their inmates; she did not see the 
 
ipi 
 
 f Avhicli I 
 ke FtvifcU 
 ) painful 
 sffects of 
 
 311. 
 
 I a season 
 md want 
 Dortion of 
 3arecl the 
 lialf their 
 mercilesg 
 limself in 
 oi Paris, 
 
 were in 
 s of life ? 
 for their 
 Dut their 
 is of rich 
 her corn 
 lives and 
 lie brdad ! 
 e village 
 :;s which 
 mdscape, 
 
 was the 
 it see the 
 
 
 
 
 1 ' 
 
 ■ : I 
 
 ii. 
 
 mk 
 
i 
 
 IN A NFW HOME. 
 
 Tiiire 177. 
 
LmE OR DEATH. 
 
 177 
 
 bowl cf gruel, seasoned with lard, or mixed 
 with the ground bark of trees, on which 
 workingmen were expected to keep up their 
 strength for labor; wheaten bread being 
 looked upon as a luxury, a little bacon but 
 as aa occasional treat. But Faith did 
 notice the wretched state of the hovels in 
 which human beings crouched over their 
 scanty fires, some cottages even having no 
 windows ; she did notice that while some of 
 the country people wore sahots [woodei? 
 shoes], many, even in winter, went barefoot. 
 Penury and distress were evident even to 
 \he eye of the passing traveller ; rrd when 
 Faith remembered the well cultivated fields, 
 the full barns, the haystacks and corn-ricks, 
 and the pretty cottnges of her own dear 
 land, she silently but fervently thanked 
 Providence that she had been born where 
 there is liberty without anarchy, and where 
 ti-o burden of poverty is borne by the many 
 without being made more crushing by the 
 tyranny of the few, 
 
 " Ah, that is a novel sight for you, Faith," 
 laughed Ninon, addressing herself to the 
 English maid, who sat opposite to her in 
 
 12 
 
 n 
 
 I l:'-- 
 
 Mm 
 
 -. ■■I fi' 
 
 j-i 
 
178 
 
 LIFE OR DEATH. 
 
 tlio carriage; for the comtesso would per- 
 mit neither of the women-servants to travel 
 outside, the weather being inclement. " I'll 
 be bound you never saw in your country a 
 woman yoked with an ass to drag a plough 
 over the fields." 
 
 "Never, mademoiselle," replied Faith; 
 and she could not help betraying by her 
 tone a little of the iudignation which she 
 felt at the sight. 
 
 lu passing through villages and towns 
 there were again unmistakable symptoms 
 of the fierce discontent, the spirit of hatred 
 towards those who had been born in h 
 station above them which pervaded the 
 oppressed people France. Several times the 
 comtesse was insulted by cries of A has les 
 aristocrates / [down with the nobles!] and 
 the sight of a tree of liberty, or of a knot 
 of workmen wearing the bonnet rouge, and 
 yelling out the Marseillaise, or " A la Ian- 
 terner always awakened some feeling of 
 uneasiness in the travellers' minds. The 
 comtesse, indeed, did not betray her alarm ; 
 whatever she might feel, she maintained 
 lier calm dignity of demeanor ; but Ninon 
 
iilcl per- 
 
 travel 
 t. "I'll 
 )untry a 
 
 1 plough 
 
 Faith ; 
 
 by her 
 
 lich she 
 
 1 towns 
 tnptoms 
 
 liatrcd 
 n in h, 
 eel the 
 mes the 
 ' has les 
 3.'] and 
 a knot 
 ge, and 
 
 la Ian- 
 ling of 
 3. The 
 
 alarm ; 
 ntained 
 
 Ninon 
 
 LIFE OR DEATH. 
 
 179 
 
 became very timid and nervous ; the horrors 
 of the massacres of Paris now perpetually 
 recurred to her mind ; more than once she 
 seemed inclined to dive down and hide her- 
 self under mantles and shawls at the bottom 
 of the carriage. 
 
 " Oh, that I had never left England- 
 there, at least, I was safe !" cried Ninon. 
 " Everything in France is so horribly 
 changed. Why can't the people rest quiet, 
 and eat their gruel in peace ! I wish that 
 I had lived in the glorious days of Louis 
 XIV., when there was nothing but spectacles 
 and diversions, when no one cared what the 
 canaille * said, or thought of tlieir doings !" 
 
 " The corruption and vice of those days," 
 said the comtesse, " have prepared for the 
 miseries of these." 
 
 And Gabrielle spoke the truth. The 
 fearful wickedness which had made the 
 courts of the two last monarchs of Fiance 
 like pest houses of corruption, was one of 
 the principal causes of the French Revolu- 
 tion. Those kings and their courtiers, the 
 luxurious, the impure, had — to borrow a 
 * Term of contempt for the masses. 
 
 'I 
 
 
 ii; !.§• 
 
 IM 
 
 'i 
 
 ji 
 
 •M 
 
 
 :ili 
 
180 
 
 LIFE OR DEATH. 
 
 forcible image from Holy "Writ — sown the 
 wind, and those who followed them reaped 
 the whirlwind. The hire of the laborers 
 who had reaped the field, that hire which 
 had been kept back by fraud, had cried; 
 and the cries of those which had reaped had 
 entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth.* 
 
 After some days' jouru eying, the travellers 
 reached the city of Lyons, and drove up to 
 the entrance of one of the principal hoijels, 
 where Gabrielle had arranged to take a' re- 
 past while the horses were baited. The 
 landlord, all politeness, bowed the ladies- 
 into an elegant apartment on the gvound- 
 floor, from which French windows opened 
 on a slip of garden, which divided the hotel 
 from the street. The low gilded palings 
 which surrounded the garden, left open to 
 the view of the occupants of the room all 
 that passed in the thoroughfare beyond. 
 There were a good many persons in the 
 street, chiefly men, most of them in coarse 
 blouses, unshaven, unwashed, and wearing 
 red caps on tljeii* heads. 
 
 " I hope that madame Avill find everything 
 
 • James v. 4. 
 
iwn the 
 reaped 
 aborors 
 3 wliich 
 I cried; 
 pcd had 
 ,baoth.* 
 avellera 
 
 up to 
 . hoi^els, 
 ke a re- 
 l. The 
 3 ladies- 
 ground- 
 opened 
 
 L6 liotel 
 palings 
 open to 
 oom all 
 beyond. 
 3 in the 
 
 1 coarse 
 wearing 
 
 jrything 
 
 U7E OR DEATH. 
 
 181 
 
 as she could wish," said tho obseqaioujj 
 landlord, whoso smooth fat faco v/oro an 
 expression of anxiety which was not natural 
 to it. " I would presume to recommend tho 
 ladies not to attempt to go out to visii 
 restaurants, or to make purchases, wliilo they 
 honor Lyons with their presence. Tlie city 
 is in a disturbed— a very disturbed state. 
 There are thirty thousand workmen at 
 present out of employ; there is a cry for 
 bread ; tho canaille throng round the bakers* 
 shops; they demand — they thieatcn. 
 Houses were broken into last night— it is 
 said that the owners were strung up d la 
 lanterne." The landlord significantly pointed 
 to his own thick neck, enveloped in tho 
 voluminous folds of his largo cravat. 
 
 The comtesse thanked tho kaidlord for 
 his warning, and said that she had no inten- 
 tion of quittiug the hotel until slio resumed 
 her journe3% Lyons had already won foj 
 itself an unenviable notoriety in the annala 
 of the Kevolution ; while the general dis- 
 tress, <i;reatly increased by tlie country 
 being flooded with assignats, which j-)eopl0 
 were compelled to take instead of coin, was 
 
 ■1*''* I 
 
 i 
 
 n 
 
 i 
 
 'Ml 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 ■ . ' i. 
 
 J' 
 
 ' i ^i- 
 
 
 ''.f\ 
 
 ■ !;■ 
 
 
 " 
 
 i 
 
 ;^i^ 
 
 h 
 
 i 
 
 lb - 
 
 ii 
 
 ^ 
 
 (j 
 
 ^ f 
 
 i 
 
 
 m 
 
 
182 
 
 LIFE Oi; DEATH. 
 
 especially Mt in a laVjC^o manufacturing 
 town." Bread had become very scarce, and 
 any one su'^pected of hoarding grain was 
 exposed to serious danger from the fury of 
 the Jiicobiu mob. Of this the travellers 
 were soon to have an alarming proof. 
 
 The eomtesse, who wiyhed to preserve as 
 much privacy as possible, instead of joining 
 the lahle-ir lible [general dinneu- table], desired 
 to take her meal in the private sitting-room, 
 and to be waited on by lier own maids. 
 Diane and Faith remained, therefore, in the 
 
 * M. Thiers states in his History that in tho year 
 179i tlio assignats in circulation represented tho enor- 
 mous Guvn of 5,536,000,000 francs, or more than two 
 hundred and thlritj millions of pounds of our money ! 
 Of course their real value in tho market was very much 
 less. Von Sybel, in his valuable History of the French 
 Revolution (see vol. iv., p. 333), relates that the value 
 of a.'isl^mUs went down, till in August 1705 they had 
 Bunlc to 2;. per cent— that is to say, a pound in pajier 
 money was only actually worth sixpence in coin. As 
 this depreciation of the assljnats pressed with intoler- 
 able severity upon government ofQcials and holders of 
 govcrumcnt securities, there was actually oflfored to 
 them as a kind of compensation tho privilege of pur- 
 chasing talloic-crxndlcs, oil, and herrings at a quarter of 
 the ituu'ket value ! Truth is in this case stranger than 
 fiction. 
 
icturing 
 rco, iind 
 lin was 
 I fury of 
 avellcrs 
 
 lorve as 
 joining 
 desired 
 g-room, 
 . maids. 
 3, in the 
 
 the year 
 tlio enor- 
 than two 
 r money ! 
 xry much 
 lie French 
 the value 
 they had 
 in paper 
 coin. As 
 th intoler- 
 holders of 
 offored to 
 ^e of pur- 
 [juarter of 
 nger thau 
 
 UFE OR DEATH. 
 
 188 
 
 iipartmcnt, in attendance on the French 
 ladies. 
 
 " So I am not even to have the Httle 
 diversion of a tahlc-iV liuie to enliv(>Ji my 
 journey," sighed Ninon, as, after taking off 
 her cloak and travelling hat, slio seated 
 herself opposite to the comtesso at tho tahle. 
 
 Scarcely had the ladies comnioiiccd their 
 repast, when their attention was aircstcd by 
 loud cries and yells in the neighboring 
 street. The cause of the noir.o was not afc 
 first evident, but as it increased and camo 
 nearer, the comtesse and Ninon rono from 
 their seats, and looked anxiouslj'^ across tho 
 strip of garden into the street beyond it. 
 
 The next moment a man, pursued by a 
 yelling, furious crowd, camo in view. Ho 
 rushed wildly down tho road, like a hunted 
 beast when the hounds are close upon its 
 haunches. By his diess tho fugitive might 
 have been known to be, what ho was, a 
 master baker, but that the dress w.vs so 
 much disordered, Viood-stained, and torn. 
 The wretched man's cap had been knocked 
 off his head, and from tho head its(5lf tho 
 
 
 ,1 
 
 
 blood 
 
 was fast trickling down tho ghastly, 
 
 ■}.l. 
 
I 
 
 18i 
 
 LlFli Oil DEATH. 
 
 terror- stiiclicn fuco. Tho btikov was a pow- 
 erful mi\]), and was milking a ilosporato 
 Btrugj^lo for life, striking right and loft n', 
 tho savages, whoso ohjeot was to pnll liim 
 down, tc;ir him in pieces, trample hiin under 
 foot. It \vas, however, impossible that any 
 one, Htroiig as his frame miglit bo, could 
 lon[j KJ .until! u a struggle against such 
 dospeiato odds; and the baker's last 
 moiuent ^jceined to have come, when tho 
 palings enclosing tho grounds of tho hotiil 
 gave him (mo more chance of life. Fling- 
 ing from himself, by a trememhms effort, 
 two of the mob whose grasp was already 
 upon him, the baker made a dash at thr 
 palings, r.iid succeeded in swinging himself 
 over into tho parterre below. 
 
 " Oh, mercy ! he is bringing tho wretches 
 liere after him !" shrieked Ninon in terror ; 
 "Diane, close tho shutters — keep out the 
 mob !" and wild with alarm, tho young lady 
 hid herself under tho table. 
 
 Diane, who was a strong, active woman, 
 rushed to one of tho windows, and rapidly 
 proceeded to close its shutters and fasten 
 them inside by their iron bar, so as to form 
 
LITE OH DEATH. 
 
 185 
 
 t ■.■ 
 
 a pow- 
 sperato 
 left nl 
 mil liim 
 n under 
 hat any 
 ), could 
 ,t such 
 I's last 
 hen tho 
 ho hotiil 
 Fling- 
 3 efifort, 
 already 
 1 at the 
 himself 
 
 vretchea 
 
 1 terror ; 
 
 out tho 
 
 ing lady 
 
 woman, 
 I rapidly 
 id fasten 
 J to form 
 
 a barricade againsL Iho ycflliiij.,' rufllims who 
 wero clamboriiif^ over tho paliiip;>5. Tlio 
 comtcsso and Faith woro at tho sauui instant 
 busy at tho second window, but not in 
 closing sliuttor.s. At a gosluro iVotn ho-v 
 niistrcs:-i Faith tlircw open tho Fionoh 
 whidow, so that tho gaf^:ping, hunted baker, 
 seeing ono place of r<!t'ugo open, rushed 
 through into tho room, where ho sank on 
 tho cavpot, utterly exhaustcil, unalilo either 
 to fight or to fly. 
 
 There was no tirao to close tho shutters of 
 tho second window; tho garden slij) was 
 already full of rioters ; there seemed to bo 
 nothing to prevent them from following tlioir 
 prey into tho room, and murdering him un- 
 der the very eyes of tho ladies. I>ut tin* 
 courage of Gabriello La Fero rose with tho 
 danger before her. Bravo and beaut i fnl, sho 
 stood at the open window between tlio sa- 
 vages and their helpless victim, and with a 
 gesture of command waved back tho howling 
 mob. They paused — even tlioso fierco 
 Jacobins paused at tho sight of that fair, 
 fearless woman, standing erect in her deep 
 niouniinj 
 
 \ J; 
 
 ^h b* 
 
186 
 
 T.TPTC on DEATH. 
 
 nnblenclnDg courage. There was even a 
 moment's silence amongst tlie throng, then 
 the foremost of them called out with savage 
 fury, " She is an aristocrate /" and the mob 
 caught up and echoed the word aristocrate, 
 <i bos Us arisfocrates ! id seemed about to 
 press forward and wioak their fury upon 
 the defenceless lady. 
 
 But the clear silvery tones of Gabrielle'a 
 voice again arrested the surging tide of 
 furious men. She did not retreat one step 
 —one inch ; had she done so the murderers 
 would have come on ; but some even of 
 those savage rioters shared the sentiment 
 which has been put into the mouth of Coeur 
 de Lion, "I cannot strike where there is 
 neither resistance nor fear.""^^ 
 
 " I am an aristocrate,'' cried Gabrielle La 
 Fere, "the daughter and the widow of 
 aristocraies /" The unexpected avowal sur- 
 prised her hearers, and all became silent to 
 listen to what was to follow. " Yes," con- 
 tinued the comtesse, " an ancestor of mine 
 won his spurs at the field of Ivri, and his 
 
 ♦Vide "Talisman." 
 
LIFE OR DEATH. 
 
 187 
 
 II '■ '" 
 
 )Ten a 
 ;, then 
 savago 
 le mob 
 tocrate, 
 bout to 
 • upon 
 
 trielle's 
 tide of 
 no step 
 rderers 
 )ven of 
 aliment 
 >f Coeur 
 here is 
 
 elle La 
 dow of 
 ,val sur ' 
 ileut to 
 5," con- 
 of mine 
 and his 
 
 title and lands wsre given to him by Uenri 
 de Navarre /" 
 
 The name of their favorite monarch, the 
 king who, more than any other, is regarded 
 with admiring pride by the French, raised a 
 softened murmur amongst the crowd, very 
 different from the savage yells by which it 
 had been preceded. 
 
 "Go, men of France," continued the Lady 
 of Provence, " tell your wives that it is an 
 aristocrate who has this ' saved you from 
 the crime of imbming your hands in the 
 blood of a fellow-citizen, untried and un- 
 oondemned by any tribunal !" 
 
 Most of the atrocities of the Jacobins were 
 committed imder the form, of law, and 
 Gabrielle's last sentence had been uttered 
 with consummate tact. The baker was a 
 citizen, and of course by every republican 
 theory had, as such, a claim to a citizen's 
 rights. The strangely versatile character of 
 a French mob was instantly shown by the 
 one addressed by the comtesse. GabrielleV 
 beauty and heroism made the effect of her 
 words irresistible, and to the amazement of 
 Faith, who as yet knew little of Gallic natur*^, 
 
 1 ' t 
 
 I • • • H , 
 
 j , i 
 
188 
 
 UPE OR DEATH. 
 
 a cry of Five madwnc ! broke ci-itlmsiastically 
 
 from tho very same lips that but two minutes 
 
 before bad yelled /f has Ics arlstocratesl 
 
 The comtesso was no longer regarded aa 
 
 one of a hated class, but as the beauteous 
 
 preserver from unlawful violence of a citizen's 
 
 .life; and the mob were ready to raise aloft 
 
 on their shoulders in triumph the woman 
 
 who, but for her tact and presence of mind, 
 
 they would probably have barbarously 
 
 murdered ! 
 
 Gabriellosawher advantage, and followed 
 it up. " I am a Frenchwoman," she said, as 
 soon as her voice could again bo heard, 
 •' and feel like one for tho sufferings of my 
 fellow-countrymen. Take my purse "—she 
 held one out to the foremost rioter, who 
 looked half ashamed to receive it—" share 
 its contents amongst you. Go and procure 
 bread for your hungry 'children by means 
 worthy of brave meu, who should scorn to 
 fihed blood, save in the defence of their 
 
 country." 
 
 Again, and more enthusiastically than 
 before, arose the shout, Vive rnadamc ! It 
 Imd, humanly speaking, but depended on 
 
i.iFE OR DEATH. 
 
 189 
 
 the trrrn of a straw wlietlior Gabrielle's own 
 life and that of her companions had not been 
 the sacrifice of her attempt to save the 
 wounded baker, and now it seemed as if 
 every individual in the mob had heart and 
 hand at her service. With graceful courtesy, 
 as a queen might dismiss her attendants from 
 her presence, Gabrielle dismissed the ad- 
 miring crowd. Not till the last individual 
 had regained the other side of the paUngs, 
 which had been partly broken down by the 
 rush of the mob, did the comtesse close the 
 leaves of the window, and calmly turn round 
 to resume her former place at the table. 
 Faith was on her knees, offering a glass of 
 wine to the wounded man, whose head she 
 had bound with her handkerchief. The 
 comtesse smiled upon her. 
 
 " Brave, good Anglaisc^ said Gabrielle La 
 Fere, "thou didst second me well. I shall 
 know whom to trust in the hour of peril. 
 Diane," she continued, addressing her 
 femme-de-cJiamhre, "ring the bell for the 
 waiter ; tell him to go for a surgeon, and 
 see that this poor man has all^ the help 
 that he needs at my charge. When thou 
 
 • I -J 
 
 f I 
 
 
 h 
 
 s:':i, il 
 
190 
 
 UFE OR DEATH. 
 
 hast done this, throw open those sliutters 
 ttgain."'^* 
 
 * An incident, much resembling that described in the 
 foregoing chapter, was many years ago related to A. L. 
 0. E. as a fact. But it was not a French lady, but an 
 Englishman of the name of Nesham, who preserved 
 the endangered life of a citizen by a bold appeal to tho 
 Jacobin mob. 
 
-a^-i-^ 
 
 if 
 
 I'U 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 
 stnssi 
 
 
 
 § 
 
 
 mm^ai 
 
 .CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 SORROW AND SIN. 
 
 F Faith from Ler first siglit of the 
 comtesso had felt admiration 
 for the Lady of Provence, that 
 admiration was increased a 
 hundred-fold by the scene which she had 
 just witnessed. The warm heart of tho 
 young English maiden, separated as she 
 now was fiom every one to whom her affec- 
 tions had clung from childhood, yearned to 
 have some being near her whom she could 
 venerate and love ; and Faith felt that her 
 mistress was such a being. Reproaching 
 herself for the foolish prejudice which had 
 made her almost doubt whether wisdom and 
 goodness could bo found at tlio southorn 
 side of th(? Channel, Faith was inclined t-o 
 
 (191) 
 
 ill 
 
 U\ 
 
192 
 
 BORROW AND' SIN. 
 
 rush into iho opposite mistake, and Ijclieve 
 tliat in her French mistress ahe had found 
 an example of the liigliest degree of perfec- 
 tion that human nature could reach. The 
 onthnsiasiic girl's imaoination invested her 
 noble and beauteous lady with the attributes 
 of an angel. 
 
 '♦ It is not the comtesse's fault," thought 
 Faith, " tluit she has been brought up in 
 the errors of Rome. The All-merciful will 
 not condemn her for following the faith of 
 lier fathers. How few, oh, how very few of 
 those who have been brought up in the 
 clearest light of the gospel are to be com- 
 pared to my noble lady ! I Avill pray, most 
 fervently will I pray, that the comtesse's 
 mind may bo as open to religious truth as 
 her heart is to every pure, generous, and 
 holy feeling !" 
 
 It was for the happiness of Faith that she 
 had not the power to read more deeply into 
 the liumaTi heart, for the study of that of 
 Gabrielle Avould have been saddening and 
 disappointing to one of a spirit so loving. 
 While the iravellers are pursuing their 
 journey to Provence without meeting willi 
 
theii 
 
 SOIVUOW AND SIN. 
 
 193 
 
 any other remarkable iuciclcnt by tlio way, 
 wo will pause to glance at tlio cavly life of 
 Gabrielle, antl examine more closely tlio 
 character of the lady of Chateau Labello, 
 and the outward clrcumstancch; which had 
 contributed to form it. 
 
 Gabrielle, the only child of Comto Louis 
 
 Labelle, had been bom tlio heiress of a largo 
 
 landed estate in Provence. From childhood 
 
 ahe had given promise of singular beauty 
 
 and talent, and in womanhood sho had 
 
 more than fulfilled that promise. Admired, 
 
 flattered, courted by all, the youthful 
 
 Gabrielle had found life full of enjoyment. 
 
 Her spirits had been high, her relish for 
 
 pleasure Keen ; but even in the midst of her 
 
 lively mirth there had been an undercurrent 
 
 of serious thought in the heiicss's mind, 
 
 Avliich had given to her character a depth 
 
 which was to be found in that of but few of 
 
 the youthful noblesse of France. 
 
 After the death of her father, Gabrielle 
 became the dcme propridaire of the large 
 estate of Labelle. J^Iany were the suitors 
 for her hand bef<:>re she became the wife of 
 Henry La Ft're. Far happier in this re- 
 
 13 
 
 ' rim 
 
 J Iff' 
 
 
 r^n 
 
194 
 
 SOmiOW AND SIN. 
 
 spect t]iau most brides of licr rank in 
 Franco, Gnibriollo bad boon able with her 
 hand to give her heart also. The husband 
 of a fasbionabh) court beauty, or of a grande 
 darne 2^i'oprk(cdrc, was too often a mere 
 cipher, one whose very existence was ahnost 
 forgotten by the work!, and, alas! by his 
 wife also. To love, lionor, and obey a 
 husband, according to God's holy law, and 
 scriptural example, was thought a strange 
 and singular thing amongst the anclenm' 
 nohlesse; a weakness to be smiled at, rather 
 than a virtues to bo admired. Even Gabrielle, 
 though she loved her Henri, and honored to 
 a certain extcuit, never acted as if she felt 
 herself bound to obey hiin. Hers was tlio 
 quicker intelligence, the firmer spirit, the 
 stronger will, as well as the far larger 
 worklly possessions. Henry was • amiable, 
 self-indulgent, fond of ease. The inflnence 
 which bis young wife had over him was 
 unbounded, and that influence was frequent- 
 ly used IvA' good. Gabrielle was no selfish 
 oppressor ; she had some idea of duties as 
 well as privileges belonging to the position of 
 a landed xjroprietor. Her peasan ts were less 
 
SOEROW AND SIN. 
 
 195 
 
 cruelly gionncl down, loss mercilessly taxed 
 than tliose of inost of the laiidloids around 
 her. The comtesso wished to be popular 
 with her tenants, and to a great extent had 
 her wish. It was easy and natural in her to 
 bo gracious in manner, and to give plcasuro 
 and win attachment needed no sacrifice on 
 her part. Happy would it have been for 
 the lady of Provence had she been content 
 to dwell amongst her own people, and direct 
 her energies to promoting their Avelfare. 
 
 But Gahrielle had an ambitious spirit, 
 and with her, as with most French ladies, 
 the great object of ambition was a high 
 ])lace at court. Henri La Fere would will- 
 ingly have spent most of his time in his 
 beautiful home in Provence, have enjoyed 
 his hunting and fishing, and kept clear of 
 the intrigues and troubles of court-life in 
 Paris. But Gabrielle could not tolerate the 
 idea of her husband sinking into the position 
 of a mere country gentleman, even tliough 
 in that position he might bo a blessing to 
 hundreds around him. Henri Comte La 
 Fere must hold a iAvlcg at court, he must 
 take a leading part in politics, he nuist hold 
 
 , i ;H 
 
 
 
 I w 
 
 \ H m 
 
 iii 
 
 1 ^! 
 !, 11 
 
 jlll 
 
 !-l« 
 
 CiS 
 
 I' I 
 
196 
 
 SORROW AND SIN. 
 
 a post of disiinctioa in Puvis, ^vlucli, to 
 Gabriello, as to so many of her country- 
 women, appeared to bo the very centre and 
 core of the civilized Avorld. Henri gave up 
 his own tastes and inclinations to please his 
 young wife, and when tlio wild storm of 
 Eovolution swept over the city, paid t ho 
 forfeit with his life. The poor young noble- 
 man had been killed by the mob in .Pans 
 about a year before the tinio when my story 
 
 opens. p r 1 
 
 The death of her husband was a fearful 
 shock to Gabriello La Fore. It not only 
 crushed her earthly happiness, but it over- 
 whelmed her with bitter regrets and remorse. 
 Sorely did tho widow reproach hei^self as to 
 the way in which she had exercised her 
 talent of influence in regard to him who had 
 been suddenly cut off by a violent death m 
 tho prime of his manhood, without warning, 
 ^vithout preparation for the awfal change. 
 Henri, before his marringe, had led such a life 
 as was unhappily usual amongr>t the French 
 noblesse of that period. He had scarcely so 
 much as given a thought to religion, and 
 had rarely entered a church, save, perhaps, 
 
SOI'.nOW AND SIN. 
 
 197 
 
 to look at some fumous picture!, oi* to liear 
 mass on somo occasion whou tlio music was 
 especially fine. Aftorliis marria:^o, IIcnri'3 
 outward conduct had greatly improved ; lio 
 had not un-ficquently accompiuucd his bride 
 to assist at a. mass; but ho hud never par- 
 taken with her of the Huly Communion, 
 which Pvomanists hold in such supeustitioua 
 reverence as even to make the wafer an 
 object of worship. Gabriollc had I'elt little 
 uneasiness at her husband's neglect of the 
 most solemn rite of her religion. " Ho is so 
 young, he has many years before him," she 
 had observed to Pore la Porto, her confessor, 
 but the day before the tidings reached her 
 of Henri's violent death. Gabriello had 
 devised more— had striven more to procure 
 for her husband the world's dignities and 
 distinctions, than to draw his gay spirit to 
 care for the things of the world unseen, 
 mto which he had now been suddenly sum- 
 moned. 
 
 Terrible was the revulsion in the mind of 
 the Lady of Provence ; agonizing tlio ques- 
 tion which she w-as incessantly asking her- 
 " w]iero is the soul of my liu^.band ?" 
 
 aei. 
 
 IP 
 
 I- 
 
 s! i; 
 
 t - 
 
 ' i 
 
 f * 
 
 ! 
 
 l! ; 
 
 
 , 
 
 M 
 
 VT 
 
 ¥^^ 
 
198 
 
 BOUUOW AND SIN. 
 
 This was lior iibsorbing thought by night 
 and by ( 'ay, a thought of reiiiorso and an- 
 guish. Tlio fires of purgatory, by which 
 (according to tho falso teaching of Komo) 
 Bouls aro purified after death, haunted the 
 imagination of Gabrielle La Fero. For 
 weeks, after receiving tho terrible tidings 
 from Paris, she never closed her eyes in 
 sleep without seeing in horrible dreams the 
 flames prepared for tlie godless. 
 
 But Rome also teaches (and she has found 
 tho doctrine a very profitable one as regards 
 her worldly advantage) that tho living can 
 help the dead out of purgatorial fires. 
 Gabrielle's intelligent mind had been dis- 
 posed to qnestion tbe possibility of silver 
 and gold, and imrchnsed prayers, buying 
 oflf, as it were, the wrath of an offended 
 Deity against sin. But in the time of her 
 weakness and anguish, the poor anxious 
 widow caught eagerly at any straw of hope 
 that superstition held out. Gabrielle fasted 
 till she injured her health ; she made long 
 pilgrimago:, on foot; she pniv(d to evrj 
 saint in tho calendar; snc y:ve large sums 
 of money for masses to be said for the soul 
 
 
SORROW AND BIN. 
 
 199 
 
 < ' 
 
 of Henri La Fere. Nor was all this suffi- 
 cient to satisfy the yearn -ng heart of the 
 widow. Gabricllo resolved on making a 
 magnificent offering to the Cathedral at 
 Aix. She not only placed in it a fine stained 
 glass window to the memory of the comte, 
 but made an offering of a silver shrine to 
 his patron saint. The workmanship of this 
 shrine was exquisite, it being executed by a 
 first-rate Italian artist, from a design made 
 by the comtcsse herself. Tlio gift was 
 massive; two strong men were unable to 
 lift it ; much of Gabrielle's fine old family 
 plate had been sacrificed to complete it. 
 To form the design for this splendid work 
 of art and offering of devotion, and to 
 superintend the carrying out of her plan, 
 was the greatest solace which the young 
 widow experienced during the first six 
 months which followed her bereavement. 
 
 But GabricUe was to find that her hopes 
 of benefiting her husband's soul by pecu- 
 niary sacrifices made by herself were empty 
 and vain. Scarcely a week had elapsed 
 after her great gifts had been placed in the 
 Cathedral of Aix, wlien the Jacobins smashed 
 
 m 
 
 I ■•It 
 
 
 
 
200 
 
 SORROW AND SIN. 
 
 her wiudow, and melted down her silver 
 shrine into money. The very priests whom 
 the comtesso liad paid to pray for the soul 
 of Henri La Foro had to escape for their 
 hves. Gabrielle had spent her time, her 
 efforts, her wealth for naught, and in the 
 bitterness of her spirit conchided that the 
 Lord had rejected her offerings. 
 
 Had Gabrielle's loss occurred a few years 
 previous, she would probably, in the first 
 impulse of her grief, have entered a convent, 
 to spend the remainder of her life in praying 
 for her husband's soul and her own salva- 
 tion. Happily for her, the very state of 
 .anarchy and irrcligion into which France 
 was plunged at the time prevented her from 
 shutting herself up in a prison where she 
 would have become more and more the 
 victim of superstition. Gabrielle, as has 
 been mentioned, was obliged to pai-t even 
 with her father confessor, as it was not safe 
 for a priest openly to conduct tlie rites of the 
 Romanist faith. This deprivation of what 
 she considered rehgious privileges seemed to 
 the Comtesse La Fere a grievous misfortune 
 indeed. To superstitious Eomanists the 
 
SORROW AND SIN. 
 
 201 
 
 priest stands in tlio place of God; to the 
 priest they confess their sins, from the 
 priest they receive absolution; the priest 
 is the guide of conscience ; the priest is the 
 keeper of the soul. It was perhaps well for 
 Gabrielle that she was driven from the 
 refuge to which, as a Romanist, she natu- 
 rally fled, so that she was not suffered 
 to find false peace from trusting in mortal 
 
 man. 
 
 To the widowed lady there still remained 
 the resource of prayers, penances, and 
 works of charity, and these she did not 
 neglect. Gabrielle spent hours in private 
 worship, and gave liberally to the poor. 
 All who knew the life led by the Oomtesse 
 La Fere, deemed her to be very religious. 
 But what, in truth, was her religion? 
 Merely a consciousness of sin, and a dread 
 of the punishment which it might bring. 
 Gabrielle regarded the All-meroiful only 
 with terror, not with love. She dared not 
 even approach her heavenly Father in 
 prayer without invoking the aid of Virgin 
 or saints. Gabrielle knew — felt that the 
 ^prosy of sin was upon hur soul, but slu) 
 
 i 1 
 
 [i}-t 
 
 I i. 
 
 ' 1 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 '1 
 
 1 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 pi 
 
202 
 
 SORROW AND SIN. 
 
 Tainly souglit for its cure. In the effort to 
 win pardon and salvation by works of her 
 own, the lady was like a fountain perpe- 
 tually striving to spring upwards and reach 
 the clouds, but ever falling back into its 
 basin on earth. The mourner could not 
 understand the mysterious dealings of the 
 Almightj'' with her country, her husband, 
 lierself. Everything around her seemed to 
 be in a wild chaos of confusion ; and in her 
 darkness and misery a rebellious and doubt- 
 ing spirit took possession of the soul of t]ie 
 comtesse. Gabriello knew that spirit to bo 
 wicked, but she could not free herself from 
 its power. The widowed lady had hard 
 thoughts of the Father of mercies ; her 
 mind refused to accept the doctrine that 
 God is love, and wherever this truth is 
 rejected there can be no spiritual healtli. 
 External sanctity of life and charity may bo 
 fair in the sight of the world ; man admires 
 and praises good works without examining 
 too closely whether they come from a source 
 which is pure or poisoned. Naaman, in his 
 purple and fine linen, ma^-, when seen from 
 a distance, have appeared a grand and 
 
 goodh 
 upon 
 honors 
 leper i 
 
BORROW AND SIN. 
 
 203 
 
 goodly object; but the deadly plague was 
 upon him. Naaman was a great man, 
 honorable and mighty ; but Naaman was a 
 leper still. 
 
 \m 
 
 nil 
 
 1 
 
 m 
 
CHAPTEE XVin. 
 
 THE CHATEAU. 
 
 |H, to Avliat a goodly land, to 
 what a beautiful homo, has my 
 gracious Master brought me!" 
 was tlio silent exclamation of 
 Faith to herself on the day of her arrival at 
 Chateau Labelle. 
 
 That day was the first of December, but 
 it was so soft, balmy, and bright that it 
 nlmost wore the beauty of May. On enter- 
 ing sunny Provence, the English girl seemed 
 to have left winter behind her. She was 
 where the myrtle and pomegranate flourish, 
 where the orange and Icnion hang their 
 golden fruit in profusion amongst their 
 dark green leaves ; she had come to the 
 very homo of the rose, which was blooming 
 (20-1) 
 
THE CHATEAU. 
 
 205 
 
 in luxuriance at a season when in our 
 northern clime, ice and snow cover the face 
 of the euiih. 
 
 The chateau of the comtcsso was an 
 ancient, stately buiUling, crowning a wooded 
 height, one of the liills that girdle the city 
 of Aix, and distant about five miles from 
 that place. 
 
 Tlierc was much that struck Faith as 
 pccuHar and picturesque in the appearance 
 of the chateau ; with its mullioned windows, 
 high steep roof, fantastic chimneys, and 
 quaint little turret-towers, it was so unlike 
 any building tliat she had scon in England. 
 The prospects commanded from the towers 
 w-ere 'exceedingly beautiful ; more beautiful 
 than Faith had ever beheld, even in dreams. 
 T'o the south the view over fair sunuy slopes 
 extended as far as to the sea. The Medi- 
 terranean bounded the horizon, now softly 
 blue as a turquoise, now glitteriifg like a 
 streak of burnished silver. But Faith pre- 
 ferred even to this the view from her own 
 Uttle room, which was in one of the pointed- 
 roofed turrets which looked to Ihe east. 
 There the distant Alps lay in tlieir glorious 
 
 i'^ 
 
 ' .111 
 
 I 
 
 M'i 
 
 '1 ?■■ H 
 
 
 ■■11 
 
206 
 
 TFIE CHATEAU. 
 
 \ 
 
 beauty, seen thvougli tlie clear transparent 
 atmosphere, giving the hist finish of loveli- 
 ness to a landscape on which a poet or an 
 artist would have gazed with delight. Faith 
 was neither poet nor artist, but a simple 
 English maiden, yet the pleasure which she 
 derived from looking at the fair works of 
 creation was as pure, and certainly higher 
 than that which belongs merely to a culti- 
 vated taste. Faith looked " tLrough nature 
 up to nature's God," saw His handy work in 
 everything beautiful around her, and the 
 reflection, " My Father made them all," 
 heightened to rapture the admiration with 
 which the glorious landscape inspired her. 
 
 After severe tiials have been endured, fe\Y 
 things tend so much to revive the spirits as 
 a change to new scenes, especially if those 
 scenes be of exquisite beauty. Faith, in 
 making the painful sacrifice of leaving her 
 countr3% had unwittingly been taking the 
 very course most likely to soothe the heart- 
 grief which she felt on having to give up 
 Edward Marston. Never are flowers so 
 Bweet as when they are unexpectedly found 
 throwing fragrance over a rugged path of 
 
' I 
 
 iparent 
 loveli- 
 t or an 
 Faith 
 simple 
 icli she 
 oiks of 
 higher 
 a culti- 
 naturo 
 work in 
 ncl thti 
 m all," 
 on Avith 
 d lier. 
 red, fe'VY 
 irits as 
 if those 
 aith, in 
 ing her 
 ing the 
 e heart- 
 glvo up 
 .vers so 
 Y found 
 path of 
 
 t 
 
 THE CHATEAU. 
 
 207 
 
 duty. Faith did not trample them nnder 
 foot because they were not the flowers which 
 she would have prized the most. She did 
 not refuse to bo grateful for blessings 
 granted because others had been deiiied. 
 She thanked Providence for many comforts 
 and sources of enjoyment upon which she 
 had never reckoned, but which had been 
 freely bestowed upon her. The young 
 maiden had feared a dreary time of exile 
 amongst strangers, who would probably liate 
 her on account of her being a foreigner, and 
 of a faith difllH-ent from their own, and 
 Faith's lirst experience with Diane made 
 her conclude that such fear was but too 
 well founded; but the pleasant, cordial 
 manners of most of hoi* fellow-servants soon 
 put the English girl at her ease. French * 
 politeness was no mere name, but Faith 
 found it in many instances to be the outward 
 expression of true kindness of heart. 
 
 Then there was a repose, a tranquillity at 
 Chateau Labelle, wliicli was very refreshing 
 after the fearful scene at Lyons, which had 
 given Faith a gUmpse of the horrors of the 
 French lie volution. The travellers, at the 
 
 11 
 
 I 
 
 ^ ' !' 
 
 .! i 
 
 J ! 
 
 
 -H 
 
 i 5 
 
 1^ 
 
208 
 
 THE CHATEAU. 
 
 close of their long, anxious journey, seemed 
 to have floated into a safe haven after a 
 storm. The comtesse, as far as Faith could 
 see, had nothing to fear from her tenants. 
 There appeared to bo no danger that the 
 MarseiUcdsc would over bo sung, or the Car- 
 magnole danced, within the walls of Chateau 
 Labelle. With its pictnre-hung corridors, 
 its stately halls with gilded and painted 
 ceilings, its galleries of family portraits, 
 where Labelles of many generations were 
 depicted in strange variety of costumes, the 
 chateau looked the dwelling-placo of peace 
 and order. Every sight and sound within 
 or around it seemed of a nature to calm 
 and soothe an agitated mind. 
 
 But it must not be supposed that the 
 ' charms of her new home made Faith ever 
 forget the old one, or that her intense love 
 for her country was at all weakened by 
 absence. The thoughts of Faith constantly 
 wandered back to her father's cottage, and 
 to the dear ones whom she had left behind 
 her in England. None of the comtesse's 
 fine French clocks had to Faith the charm 
 of the old rattling timepiece from Golden 
 
 ^^ 
 
'!• 
 
 N 
 
 THE CHATEAU. 
 
 209 
 
 Square, "which she had aclmhcd from her 
 oarhest childhood. When Faith heard the 
 lowing of cattle from the fertile meadows of 
 Provence, she would sometimes close hei 
 eyes, and try to fancy that the familiar 
 sound came from AVoodlauds Farm, a spot 
 a thousand times dearer to her than any in 
 the realm of France. Was Edward think- ' 
 lug of her? had her departure given him 
 pain? Often, very often did Faith find her- 
 self asking her heart such questions. When 
 she most admired fine prospects, or the 
 sight of grand works of art, "Oh, if he wore 
 only beside me !" was her instinctive re- 
 flection. 
 
 Faith also remembered her father with 
 tender afi'ection ; and while her hands went 
 busily on Avitli her daily work, her mind was 
 full of little plans for giving him pleasure. 
 What long closely-written letters she would 
 write to him ; with what intf ^sting descrip- 
 tions of life in Provence would she till them ! 
 The letters must indeed be " few and far 
 between," for in those days postage was 
 heavy, and Faith doubted whether she could 
 piepay it. Once or twice in the course of a 
 
 14 
 
 i i 
 
 i 
 
 i :!': 
 
 if m 
 
 t: U 
 
 l! ■ 
 
 vil 
 
 - ;' ■ U 
 
210 
 
 THE CHATEAU. 
 
 year would bo a,s often as tho young servant 
 could indulge in the luxury of sending off a 
 letter^ but wliat an event would its arrival 
 bo at home — dear home ! 
 
 Amidst the beautiful objects wliicli Faith 
 saw in Chateau Labelle, there were somo 
 which she could not behold with feelings of 
 unmixed pleasure. Annette, tho lively, 
 good-humored servante who took an especial 
 pleasure in showing off the place to the 
 English stranger, drew her one day into tho 
 chapel in which the comtesse performed her 
 daily devotions. Tho many-colored stains 
 thrown by painted windows on marble 
 carvings and tesselat-d floor, tho delicate 
 traceries, tho graceful ornaments of the little 
 chapel, struck Faith at the first glance with 
 admiration ; but the feeling changed to ono 
 of pain as tho young Protestant raised her 
 eyes to the image of the Virgin Mary which 
 occupied tho principal position over the 
 altar. 
 
 "Is it not beautiful — superb! a gem 
 of a chapel!" cried Annette to her com- 
 panion. 
 
 Faith had not yei sufficient mastery over 
 
 
 ii 
 
 \i 
 
▼ W i 
 
 THE CHATEAU. 
 
 211 
 
 , < ■ 5 1 Ai i 
 
 "f 
 
 a new langiiiigo to oiuiblo lior to do more 
 than ^ivo assent; she could not explain witli 
 sufficient llncncy uhj that assent was ratliei 
 a cold one. 
 
 The clinpel was indeed beautiful ; but 
 with that iniajj^o — that idol, as Faith deemed 
 it — over the altar, the whole place, designed 
 for Christian worship, was defiled by super- 
 stition. Faith remembered the altar at 
 Bethel, and the doom pronounced upon it ; 
 she recalled the Commandment given 
 amongst the thunders and lightnings of 
 Sinai : Thou shalt not make unto thyself any 
 graven image. Thou shalt not how doion unto 
 them, nor tvorship them ; and she dared not 
 let the admiration of the eye mislead her 
 judgment, or deaden her conscience. Faith 
 left the gorgeous shrine of mariolatry with a 
 fervent though silent prayer : " Lord, 
 open the eyes of my dear lady, that she may 
 look on Thee as the only Intercessor for 
 sinners, the only Saviour of the world !" 
 
 The English girl was not only painfully 
 impressed by the disregard of the Second 
 Commandnient ^hown at ChAteaii Labelle, 
 she was also struck by the habitual dis- 
 
 mU 
 
 >' -J 
 
 'm 
 
212 
 
 THE CnATEAU. 
 
 regard of llio Tliirtl. Tlio most sacred 
 names were constantly taken in vain ; they 
 ..were brought into the lightest excTaraations 
 littered by the laughing li]), and seemed, in 
 the minds of her companions, to bo associ- 
 ated with no idea of reverential awe. 
 
 " 1 think that I must try to get enough 
 courage to speak about this, at least to 
 Annette," said Faith to herself, " as soon as 
 I know enough of the language to enable 
 mo to explain with clearness how the Bible 
 forbids us to take God's holy name in vain." 
 
 Faith was very rapidly acquiring the 
 language ; she seemed to draw in know- 
 ledge of its phrases and idioms with the air 
 which she breathed, and this was in itself a 
 source of enjoyment to an intelligent mind. 
 The French tongue, mixed as it is in Pro- 
 vence with the musical langue d'oc, the 
 language of troubadours, poetry, and love, 
 had a great charm for Faith, and appeared 
 to suit the lovely country where it is spoken. 
 Faith heard little besides, for in the chateau 
 there was no one who could talk English 
 but lierself and Ninon La Fere, and that 
 young lady seldom now cared to speak it. 
 
THE CHATEAU. 
 
 213 
 
 It ploasod her better to babble lively French 
 nonseuso with Diane, than to converse with 
 Faith, whoso quiet, modest demcfinor was 
 in itself a silent reproof to folly. Ninon luul 
 soon lost her fancy for basket- making when 
 she found that the art could not be acquired 
 without trouble. Unfinished baskets were 
 tossed aside as lumber, or given to Faith to 
 complete. 
 
 "To twist bits of osier in find out is more, 
 tiresome than to dance without a partner, 
 or to walk round and round yon dismal par- 
 terres of roses, with nothing to listen to but 
 the screams of those odious peacocks!" 
 exclaimed Ninon one morning, as she petu- 
 lantly flung down a shapeless thing to which 
 flattery itself could scarcely have given the 
 name of a basket. 
 
 It cannot be said that Faith at all re- 
 gretted being now in less constant attend- 
 ance on Ninon La Fere. The English 
 maid preferred more of house-work and less 
 of hair-dressing. It was a pleasure to her» 
 however, when she was called, as occasion- 
 ally happened, to wait on the comtesse. 
 • Faith felt intuitively that she was trusted 
 
2M 
 
 THE CHATEAU. 
 
 and liked by the noble lady, and the kind- 
 ness of lier mistress was repaid by her with 
 a warmth of attachment which made a smile 
 from tlio comtesse encouragement sufficient 
 for any exertions. It was the desire to 
 understand the words uttered by Gabrielle's 
 musical voice that made Faith most anxious 
 to improve her own knowledge of French ; 
 but words wore scarcely needed, for Faith 
 read her lady's wish in her looks, and a 
 glauce was usually sufficient. The service 
 of love requires little guidance beyond that 
 of the eye. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A LETTER. 
 
 <( 
 
 AT is it tliat I bring thee ? — 
 guess!" and the merry eyes of 
 
 Annette sparkled with fun as 
 she stood one morning before 
 Faith, holding a hand behind her, so as to 
 hide the thing which ifc held. 
 
 " Oh, is it a letter ?" exclaimed Faith, 
 eagerly glancing up from the work on which 
 she was engaged, the scarlet JMjoe which she 
 was quilting for Mademoiselle Ninon. 
 
 "You Protestants are all conjurors," 
 
 laughed Annette ; " how couldst thou guess 
 
 the truth at once!" and she produced the 
 
 letter, which was directed in a well-known, 
 
 stragghng handwriting, and bore an English 
 
 post- mark upon it. 
 
 (215;. 
 
 1 i 11 
 
216 
 
 A LETTEB. 
 
 " It is from my father!" cried Faith, and 
 she eageilj' held out her hand ; but Aunetto 
 would not so readily yield up her charge. 
 
 " No, no ; it must be paid for first," she 
 said, merrily shaking her head; "it must 
 be paid for," she repeated, " money given — 
 so many sous " [halfpence] ; for she thought 
 from Faith's perplexed look that she did not 
 understand her. But Faith's perplexity did 
 not arise from not knowing French, but 
 from not knowing how to find money. Sho 
 had placed her dearl^^-earned ten guineas in 
 the carrier's hands to be taken to her father ; 
 she had not since then touched a coin, nor 
 could she expect any wages for months. 
 It was tantalizing to the poor young servant 
 to see Annette counting on her brown fin- 
 gers how many sous were to be paid (and 
 the number did not appear to be few), and 
 not to have a single one to help in purchas- 
 ing the coveted treasure — a letter from 
 home. 
 
 "I have them not," said Faith sadly, 
 looking wistfully at the letter. 
 
 " Ah, thou hast no money, OTwn amie, not 
 even to pay the post !'* cried Annette with 
 
 I. 
 
 J 
 
A LETTEB. 
 
 217 
 
 ready sympathy; "see then, I will trust— I 
 will lend— and pay the postman myself;" 
 and gayly tossing the letter to its owner, the 
 French girl tripped out of the room. 
 
 Who does not know how welcome is a 
 letter from home after a first long absence ! 
 Not a month, indeed, had elapsed sinco 
 Faith, with an almost breaking heart, had 
 left her father's cottage ; but so much had 
 happened during the time, the current of 
 her life had so changed its course, and 
 brought her amongst scenes so new and so 
 Btrange, that to her feelings it might have 
 been six. Like a child feasting its eyes upon 
 some dainty before proceeding to enjoy it. 
 Faith read each word of the address in thcv 
 dear, familiar hand, ere she broke tlio broad 
 wafer which fastened the sheet. It was vo 
 Httlo mistake to direct to her as Mks 
 Stanhy; Faith scarcely recognized herself 
 under the title, but smiled to herscll; as sho 
 sfiid, " It was so like dear father to write 
 it." 
 
 It should be held in mind that Faith had 
 reason to expect that the contents of her 
 parent's letter would be especi;i]]y tender 
 
 !■ \ 
 
 \ I 
 
 5 ' I 
 
 
218 
 
 A LETTER. 
 
 and lo^in[^'. This was tlio first time that 
 Stariby had written to his daughter since 
 she had roscncd him from a very distressing 
 position by what was, from the maiden, a 
 very large gift, purchased by her at a heavy 
 price, — no less than that of her own freedom . 
 Faith had often longed to hear what her 
 father had said, and how he had looked, on 
 first- knowing of the proof which his only 
 child had given of her filial afifection. Now 
 she would see his own words. It was with 
 very pleasant anticipations that Faith began 
 to read his letter ; but these anticipations 
 were certainly not to be realized by the 
 following characteristic epistle fi'om Gentle- 
 man Jos : 
 
 "Dear Child, — I own that I was not a liLllo siu-^yrlsril 
 to find that you had gone off to France. I never thought 
 a daughter of mine would have entered service, and least 
 of all the service of a Frenchwoman ! I am, as you 
 well know, a stanch subject of good King Oeorge, and. 
 if I'd only been offered a commission, there's nothing 
 I'd have liked better than to have helped WiU Pitt to 
 thrash those Jacoljin dogs — ecrascr ces vilains f;ans- 
 cidottes /" [Gentleman Jos had picked up this solitary 
 French phrase, which he was fond of showing off on 
 overy possible occasion.] "But it's natural enough 
 that young folk at your age should like duinge; and 
 
A LETTER. 
 
 219 
 
 ^ 
 
 don't suppose that I hlame you for consulting your o-wn 
 advantage. Only mind that you don't learn foreign 
 ways ; like my old school-fellow, Sara Johnson, I'm 
 English from cocked-hat to shoe-bucklo ; no French 
 fripperies or frogs for me ! By-the-by, when you are 
 sending anything home, don't forget that you are in the 
 land of lace. I gave Deborah my ruffles to mend, and 
 she has patched them up with worsted yam, as if they 
 were a pair of old stocldngs. I wish you had not run 
 away ; everything here is at sixes and sevens. I've not 
 had a well-cooked meal since you left ; tho chimney 
 smokes, and times are hardei than ever. When you 
 send home money, mind I'll have none of your assiy- 
 nnts, your dirty bits of French paper, only fit to light 
 plpcf} with. Honest good coin for me. Whatever you 
 do you must be quick about it, for I'm certain that 
 we'll have tear with France next year, and then you'll 
 be as much cut oflf from us as if you had gone to the 
 moon. Deborah sends her love. She has the rheuma- 
 tics, as usual.— I remain your affectionate father, 
 
 " JosiAH Stanby." 
 
 Faith siglied as slie laid tlio letter down 
 on Ler knee ; it was not wliat she had ex- 
 pected — it was not what she had hoped to 
 receive from her home. She was too lojal 
 and loving a daughter to accuse a parent, 
 even in thought, of covetousuess or weak 
 pride ; but she could not help perceiving 
 tliat her father did not like to acknowledge 
 that she liad already made a sacrifice for 
 
 Hi' 
 
 ! 
 
 1 M 
 
 
 ' i i 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 % 1 
 
220 
 
 A LETTER. 
 
 his sake, and slro saw that he wished to spur 
 on to further efibrts in his behalf odo who 
 l)ad iiGYor required such spurring. Morti- 
 fied and disappointed by wliat she had 
 r(3ad, Faitli did not at first notice that there 
 was a postscript to the letter, crossed over 
 the first page ; for Gentleman Jos's strag- 
 gling writing had so covered his largo sheet 
 of paper, that it was only by crossing thai 
 he had found space for a postscript. On a 
 second porsual, however, Faith repaired her 
 omission, and in the crossed portion of tlif^ 
 epistle road as follows : 
 
 "P. 6'. — Edv/ard Stanton's marriage vnth Matty 
 Doyle is to come oft' three days before Christmas. We 
 nro not a :;li;cd to the weddin;? ; but I mean to go np to 
 the church, and see a bit of the fun. Deborah hopes 
 for a good slice of the cake, as she is to help J^Irs. 
 Doyle in the making of it." 
 
 The letter dropped from the hand of Faith 
 Stanby ; a keen pang shot through her 
 lieart. Edward had then, indeed, forgotten 
 ber — and so soon ; ho could never have 
 cared much for her — never as she had cared 
 for him ! It would have been a relief to 
 Faith to have burst into a passionate flood 
 
A LETTER. 
 
 221 
 
 of tears "when the last fragment of her 
 wrecked hopes was thus swept away from 
 her forever ; but she had no time for weep- 
 ing, for she heard the silvery tinkle of the 
 comtesse's bell. Faith bit her lip hard, so 
 hard that she almost brought blood, and 
 trying to repress all outward sign of emotion, 
 hastened to obey her mistress's summons. 
 
 " The only earthly pleasure lef fe to mo is 
 that of serving my sweet lady," thought tho 
 . poor young maid, as she ran down tho sfcoo]) 
 turret-stair. 
 
 In two minutes another stop than Faith's 
 had ascended that staircase, and .sharp cu- 
 rious eyes were peering over the letter which 
 Iiad brought such pain to her who had 
 received it. As the eyes, though keen as 
 serpent's, had no power to penetrate tho 
 meaning of sentences written in English, 
 Diane derived no great satisfaction from tho 
 act of meanness into Avhicli curiosity had 
 betrayetl the fcmmc-de-cJiambrc. 
 
 i 
 
 i i 51 
 
 i! 
 
 .( ! : 
 
 A^ I' 
 
 II 
 
 % 
 
 '.111 ' 
 
 (J i 
 
 m 
 
 n 
 
h 
 
 ^(^ 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 
 In a beautiful apartment, "vvliicli 
 vras kuown as tlio comtesso's 
 boudoir, sat Gabriello and Ninou 
 La Fere. Tlie former had appa- 
 rently been engaged in the occupation of 
 spinning, for lier hand rested on an elegant 
 !S])inning-wlieel formed of ebony chased 
 Avitli silver, and part of the linen yarn on 
 the little machine had alread}' been drawn 
 into a delicate thread. Ninon seemed to 
 have no occupation but that of pulling to 
 ])ieces, petal by petal, a magnificent rose of 
 Provence which she held in her h and. There 
 ]iad been a silence of a few seconds, when 
 Ninon resumed the thread of a conversation 
 which that silence had broken. 
 (222) 
 
 m 
 
 (( 
 
TEMPTATION. 
 
 223 
 
 " Of course thou art perfectly right, G;i- 
 brielle," she said, with one of her aflectod 
 shrugs ; " every one ought to tliink ahko, 
 and pray alike, cela va smis dire. I hopo 
 thou wilt not take it into thy head that every 
 le ought to dress alike also, and preach a 
 crusade against shoe-buckles and silk stock- 
 ings, because St. Agatha or St. Yerouiea 
 made a point of going barefoot." 
 
 "Thou dost talk lightly, Ninon," said 
 the comtcsse. " I should have thought 
 that oven thou must have seen that it would 
 be a meritorious act to draw a poor heretic 
 iuto the bosom of Holy Church, and teach 
 her to adore blessed Mary, the Queen of 
 Heaven." Gabrielle crossed herself as she 
 spoke. " I like Faith," continaed the lady ; 
 "she is frank, affectionate, willing. The 
 more I like her, the more anxious I am that 
 she should enter that Church, out of the 
 pale of which we are taught that there can 
 be no salvation. Her conversion is much lo 
 be desired, both for her own sake and that 
 of others." 
 
 " I cannot see what others have to do 
 with the matter," observed Ninon. " Thou 
 
Il 
 
 
 TEMFIATION. 
 
 (lost not Kuppos(5," slio continued laughing, 
 ■ tlirit Fuitli's liorctical notions can bo caught 
 like tlie plague?" 
 
 " I do not forget how in this very Provence 
 the lieresy of the Albigenses onet) spread," 
 observed Gabriello La Fere. " It is to bo 
 feared that the poison has not even yet died 
 out, as one of my father's best servants, Le 
 Koy, was said to have been tainted v/ith it. 
 liemeniber, also, how numerous in Franco 
 were the heretic Huguenots not more than 
 a century acfo." 
 
 "And a fine work our pious kings made 
 of converting them !" cried Ninon La Fere. 
 "Thou tliyself hast spoken to mo with 
 horror of ^i o hunting down of tlio Albigen- 
 ses ; the plundering — shooting— burning ! 
 And as for the Huguenots whom our Grand 
 Monarquc turned wholesale out of the king- 
 don), because, like thee, he believed that 
 people should all think alike, I'll bo bound 
 fhoy worn not half so bad as the Jacobins 
 now. England, when I was, there, seemed 
 to me io get on pretty comfortably without 
 the blessing of the Pope, or the special care 
 of the saints. Her king, at least, keeps his 
 
 .1 
 
 ■rii, 
 
I,' 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 
 225 
 
 hoad on his slioulders, -whicli is moro than 
 ours —poor good maE —is likely to do !" 
 
 Gabriello ^va3 shocked by her bellc-savcrs 
 levity, and, without condescending to reply, 
 rose and rang tho bell for Faith. Tlio coni- 
 tesso would havo preferred speaking to her 
 intended convert without tho presence of 
 Ninon, had she not deemed it needful to 
 have some one beside her who coukl, if re- 
 quired to do so, translate her words into 
 English. Ninon was rather disposed t<> 
 remain in tho room, in tho hope of glean- 
 ing some little amusement from the attempt 
 of Gabrielle to make a Papist of a stubborn 
 Anglai.se. On Faith's appearing in answer 
 to the bell, Ninon, who had finished her 
 occupation of pulling the rose into pieces, 
 took advantage of tho comtesse's being 
 engaged in speaking to her maid, to take 
 possession of the spinning-wheel of her 
 sister. While tho following conversation 
 went on, Ninon first snapped the thread, 
 and then, in a mischievous fit of industry, 
 managed to bring the linen yarn into a con- 
 dition little better than that of the rose. 
 
 In depressed spirits from the efiect of 
 
 15 
 
 .:i 
 
 Si (I 
 
 I > 
 
 
 i A 
 
 ': I 
 
 
 l>. 
 
 1 
 
223 
 
 TEMFrATION. 
 
 lending hor hiihovH Icltor, poor Faith en- 
 tored tlio boudoir iiitlo prepared to encoiuilor 
 any fresh trial. She was like n bird with a 
 broken wing; unfU citlici for llight or 
 resistance. 
 
 ^''Madanio rang?" sliti said timidly in 
 French, without advancing much further 
 tlian the door. 
 
 " Close the door and conic nearer," said 
 Gabrielle, with more than lier usual gra- 
 ciousness of aspect and manner. Faith 
 obeyed, and the lady went on, speaking 
 slowly and distinctly, and occasionally 
 ]>auHing to select some word more easy to 
 be understood by a stranger than that which 
 liad first come to her lips. 
 
 "I feel an interest in thee, Faith; it is 
 my wish and intention to have thee much 
 with me as my pen- )nal attendant." 
 
 " Madame is very good," murmured Faith, 
 who regarded waiting upon the comtesso as 
 by far the pieasantest of her household 
 duties. 
 
 "But there is one thing which I wish 
 thee to understand," said her iiiistress- 
 'Froiii tlie unhappy circumstances oi these 
 
 y 
 
 ; 
 
TEMPTATION. 
 
 227 
 
 I 
 
 '^i 
 
 -sSI 
 
 I 
 
 times, it is but soklom that oitlior mjself or 
 my sci'VJinU can enjoy tlio higher piivlhii^os 
 which our Holy Church ollbrs to faitlit'ul 
 heHevers ; but thou must bo awaro that mv 
 chapel is always open for worship. Within 
 it; I expect and require that every one 
 attached to my service nhould pay his 
 devotions, at least once in the course of tho 
 day. The priest may not bo there to receive 
 confession and givo absolution ; but tlui 
 place is itself consecrated, and the shrino 
 contains a piece of tho true cross, which 
 must be sacred to every Christian, as well 
 as other relics scarcely 1 h precious thati 
 this." 
 
 Seeing that Faith looked perplexed, Ninon 
 took 1 her office of interpreter, her light 
 accents contrasting with tho low earnest 
 tones of her sister. 
 
 "Madame la Comtesso tells thee, Faltli, 
 that she Avants thee to bo a good Catholic, 
 and pray at least once a day in her chapel, 
 because she has in it some holy bones, and 
 a still hoher fragment o^' wood." 
 
 Faith, from her fii; ar^ceptanco of \\ 
 situation in Finnce, jiad looked forv.'ard 
 
 f %: 
 
 A 
 
 
 ' 1 1 
 
 
 ■ ^!l 
 
228 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 
 to the probability of having to meet some 
 such temptation as that whidi had now 
 come upon her, and she had prayed for 
 grace to hohl fast to the trutli ; and yet, 
 wlicn the temptation came, it seemed to tako 
 her by surprise. Here, then, she Avas called 
 to make her first stand against Romanist 
 superstition, and that at a time when her 
 spirit felt broken and crushed, and the 
 favor of the one being whom in a land of 
 strangers she loved and reverenced might 
 bo forfeited by such opposition. It cost 
 Faith much not to courtesy silent submiss- 
 ion to her mistress's will ; it was with a 
 l^ainful effort that, clasping her hands, she 
 faltered forth in her broken French, " Ma- 
 dame, forgive me; it is against my con- 
 science." » 
 
 "Thy conscience!" laughed Ninon La 
 Fere ; " what has a/eriune-dc-chconhre to do 
 with a conscience?" 
 
 Gabrielle rebuked the laugh by a glance ; 
 then said, addressing herself to Faith : " It 
 is impossible that a young majden like thee 
 should have any fixed ideas on a subject so 
 vaat— so subJirao as tliafof rolii-iou. Thou 
 
i 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 
 229 
 
 canst not hare the presumption to set up 
 thy views against those held by all the holy 
 fathers of the Church — by all the successors 
 of the apostles ? Brought up, as thou hast 
 unhappily been, in a benighted land, I 
 blame thee not for having hitherto embraced 
 errors which thou hast been led to regard 
 as truths. Thou art not yet sufficiently 
 familiar with our language to read books 
 which I design to place in thine hands, 
 therefore I cannot expect thee at once to 
 give up erroneous views ; but 1 do expect, 
 and require, outward conformity to that 
 form of worship which is mine, and that of 
 all my dependants ; and I desire that from 
 this time forth thou wilt daily offer up thy 
 devotions in the chapel of Mary the most 
 blessed." 
 
 Gabrielle spoke as one accustomed to 
 eomoand, and, by a slight movement of her 
 hand, dismissed her maid out of her pre- 
 «once, as if disobedience, or even hesitation 
 ill compliance with her will were out of the 
 question. But Faith did not retire; she 
 remained in her attitude of pleadin 
 lUstross. 
 
 
 1s*l 
 
 ■.; tl 
 
 
 I ■ 
 
 ^ km 
 
 M 
 
 i 1 
 
 : ^ tm 
 
 ■m 
 
 M 
 
 "■,1 * 
 
 1 
 
 il 
 
 :1#l| 
 
230 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 
 " What matters it, foolish girl, where thou 
 dost say thy prayers ?" exclaimed Ninon in 
 English. "No one knows what thou art 
 saying. I suppose that thy religion doth 
 net forbid thee to worship in any place 
 under the sun !" 
 
 Faith for a moment caught at the 
 suggestion as a means of escape from what 
 was to her a distressing difficulty. Her 
 prayers— her silent prayers— could and 
 should be addressed to her Maker only, 
 though she might be surrounded by relics 
 and images regarded by Papists with idola- 
 trous veneration. But Faith's hesitation 
 was brief. Ahsfain from all appearance of 
 evil: Be not conformed to the icorld, were 
 the warnings that flashed on hor mind. 
 What would the outward conformity re- 
 quired by the comtesse bo but the first 
 downward step which must inevitably lead 
 to others? Having yielded on one x^oint, 
 would a weak girl have the courage, tlx^ 
 power to make a firm stand on. doctrinal 
 questions? It was easier to decline praying 
 at all before the shrine of tlie Virgin, iLan 
 for Faith to defend scriptural views of pui'o 
 

 TEMPTATION. 
 
 231 
 
 worship in a language wliicli she iniporfectlj 
 knew. The English maiden dared not 
 retreat from her first position of . passive 
 resistance, because she could not possibly 
 maintain an argument in any tonguo but 
 her own. She could not tell her lady how 
 the Word of God forbids bowing down to a 
 graven image ; she could not tell of that 
 precious relic, tlie brazen serpent itself, 
 broken to pieces and called Kehnsldan* 
 when it became an object of idolatrous 
 worship. Faith could only repeat timidly, 
 but earnestly, without raising her eyes, 
 " I cannot— it is against my conscience." 
 
 Gabrielle was unaccustomed to opposition, 
 and, above all, opposition from a dependant. 
 The reiterated refusal of a servant-girl to 
 perform what appeared to the lady an act 
 of rehgious duty, as well as one of obedience 
 to herself, raised anger in the naturally 
 proud heart of the Comtesse La Fere. 
 
 " Self-willed girl, as presumptuous as thou 
 
 art ignorant, since thou dost refuse to do 
 
 my bidding, thou canst not expect my 
 
 favor," said the lady coldly, the tones of her 
 
 * A briizon biuible— 0/-«(?en. See 2 Kinr,'f3 x\\n. 4. 
 
 
 -f i 
 
 
 11 
 
 i: 11 
 
 1,1 
 
 m 
 
 r t f 
 
 
232 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 
 voice as well as lier words betraying anger, 
 though her manner was perfectly calm. 
 "Leave me!" she added, with an impera- 
 tive gesture, which Faith instantly obeyed, 
 
 " I have lost the only friend who was left 
 to me !" thought the poor girl, as she passed 
 through long galleries and passages on her 
 return to her room. " What will follow ? 
 The comtesse, good and merciful to all, will 
 hardly turn even a Protestant adrift. I 
 shall be suffered to remain in her service — 
 at least I think so ; but in how painful a 
 position ! A stranger, despised as irreligious, 
 and in disgi-ace as disobedient." Faith 
 drew a heavy sigh as she re-entered her 
 turret chamber. Her glance fell on the 
 letter from England, which Diane had left 
 in the same place as that in which she had 
 found it. * Three days before Christmas, 
 Edward to be married !" murmured poor 
 Faith. " Ah, well, I care very little what 
 becomes of me now!" 
 
 Faith was not long left in doubt as to the 
 consequences of having offended the com- 
 tesse. She had not been an hour at her 
 work when she heard Diane's quick step on 
 
 A- 
 
TEMPTATION. 
 
 233 
 
 the stair, and then the door was uncere- 
 monioiTsly pushed open, and tho French 
 maid's dark face appeared, with a smile of 
 mahgnant satisfaction on the thin Hps. 
 
 " No more riding in coaches for the girl 
 picked out of some English hovel!" cried 
 Diane, with a toss of the head. " Madame 
 has condescended to listen to what I pro- 
 posed from the first. The heretic, who won't 
 kneel in the chapel, shall go and scrub pots 
 and pans in the kitchen, and serve under 
 Marie, whose temper is as hot as her fire, 
 and who hates Protestants worse than 
 cannibals!" Then, with a mocking laugh, 
 Diane slammed the door, and ran down th© 
 staircase again. 
 
 
 {■ 'H 'I 
 
 M 
 
vOiL~ 
 
 CIIAPTEK XXI. 
 
 HIGH AND POOB. 
 
 |EIl change of work and position 
 in tlie liouseliold establishment 
 of Chateau Labelle was by no 
 means pleasant to Faith. She 
 had very little taste for cookery, and it was 
 no small trial of temper to be ordered about, 
 scolded at, and abused by Marie, a little 
 irritnble, bustling Frenchwoman, who seem- 
 ed u first to be determined to find fault 
 with everything that she did. 
 
 Nor was Marie by any means the only 
 one of her fellow-servants from whom FaitJi 
 had to bear uuldndness. For some days 
 after her interview with the comtesse, Faitli 
 met with coldness, if not with actual insult, 
 fi'om Gvery one around her, the rmmC 
 
 T i 
 
 I: 
 
IIICH AND POOR. 
 
 235 
 
 natured Annette herself not excepted. TIio 
 old traditions of the anden regime lingered 
 in Chdteau Labelle even in those days 
 of social change; to be in disgrace with 
 madame was to be in disgrace with every 
 one who looked up to the grande dame 
 as obsequious courtiers to a despot. , The 
 object cf madame's displeasure could be 
 deserving of no one's regard ; was not tlio 
 lady of the chdteau infallible; could the 
 comtesso make a mistake ! 
 
 Thus, under a kind of social ban, to 
 a gentle and loving spirit especially painful, 
 Faith had to bear a daily cross ; but it was 
 rendered endurable by the consciousness 
 that it had been taken up in obedience to 
 the dictates of conscience. In her humble, 
 but not degrading position. Faith w^as 
 winning the blessing pronounced by lips 
 divine upon those who are persecuted for 
 righteousness' sake. And as the maiden 
 braced up her mind to endure hardness, 
 oppression, and injustice, gradually not 
 only the power of endurance increased, but 
 the strain on endurance lessened. Faith 
 had resolved to do her new kind of work 
 
 ■**■• 
 
 II! 
 
i) 
 
 236 
 
 laCH AND rooB. 
 
 well, tliougli she did not like it ; and ^YitU 
 improvement in it came interest also. 
 Marie had a quick temper, but not an 
 unkindly heart, and Faith's gentleness and 
 readiness to learn ere long won her favor in 
 the Frenchwoman's eyes. Marie had be- 
 gun with a violent prejudice against every 
 one holding Protestant views ; but her 
 prejudice gradually melted, like ice in sun- 
 shine, under the influence of the kindly 
 feelings which Faith's sweetness of temper 
 inspired. Marie had thought that Protest- 
 antism was bad, and that every one profess- 
 ing it must of necessity be bad also ; but 
 before Faith-had served under her for many 
 weeks, Marie had reversed the proposition, 
 and held that as the Protestant was good, 
 so likewise must be her rehgion. 
 
 " I. never had under me a girl so quick 
 and willing, so neat and good-tempered, so 
 truthful and honest," said Marie one day, 
 in indignant reply to a contemptuous sneer 
 at the English heretiqiie, made by Diane. 
 " If never speaking an angry word to any 
 one present, or a spiteful word of any 
 one absent, comes of being a Protestant, I 
 
 ^.tinkhMhv 
 
»:J*, 
 
 AN ERRAND OF ME^RCY 
 
 i'h 
 
 U- 
 
 Vage Ji6. 
 
 
dec! 
 
 that 
 
 F 
 
 the 
 coul 
 Froi 
 to t 
 of t 
 thro 
 Faii 
 beei 
 ent 
 Bom 
 ' deal 
 suci] 
 amo 
 lighi 
 clea: 
 lowl: 
 Lab( 
 A] 
 who] 
 Angl 
 any 
 thel 
 to 1 
 
BICH AND POOR. 
 
 237 
 
 declare, Madomoisello Diane, it's a pity 
 that thou thyself art not a heretique also !" 
 
 For even the -worldly intuitively judge of 
 the tree by its fruits ; aud Faith, before she 
 could string together tv/o sentences in good 
 French, had been unconsciously preaching 
 to the household of which she was one 
 of the lowliest members. It was known 
 through the chateau that the cause of 
 Faith's disgrace and change of position had 
 been her refusal to do something inconsist- 
 ent with her religion. A desire to know 
 Bomothing more of a religion which was so 
 ' dear ,to the English girl's heart, and had 
 such influence over her octions, was raised 
 amongst several of her companions. The 
 light of Faith was shining, and shining 
 clearly, whilst she was performing the 
 lowliest duties of a kitchen-maid in Chateau 
 Labelle. 
 
 Annette was the first of the servants from 
 whom the cloud of coldness towards la petite 
 Anglaise entirely passed away ; no cloud of 
 any kind could remain long in the mind of 
 the light-hearted girl. Annette soon showed 
 to Faith more than her former kindness, 
 
 1 1, 
 
 i 
 
 !,V 
 
 
 
238 
 
 EICH AND rOOB. 
 
 and with it a frank confidonco and esteem, 
 which encouraged the English niuidon to 
 venture somotinics to drop a word in season 
 to lier ignorant but not ill-dinposod eom- 
 panion. 
 
 Annette, hko too many sorvant;-} who, 
 after the hardships of a very i)oor homo 
 lind themselves amidst the hixurics of a 
 grand mansion, '.idulged in a wastehilness 
 of her mistress's property wliith Faith's 
 more sensitive conscience regarded as 
 scarcely honest. 
 
 ''Is it Y/ell to burn dayliglit, dear An- 
 nette?" Faith asked one morning, ,when' 
 she entered a room which her fellow- 
 servant was cleaning. "Tlio sun has been 
 up two hours, and thou hast thy candle 
 burning still." 
 
 "Ah, qii'imporlc ?" [what matters it?] 
 laughed Annette. "Were I to keep as 
 many candles lighted to sweep by as 
 madame does to do honor to the shrine of 
 tlio Virgin, they would not be missed at 
 Chateau Labelle." 
 
 "Whether they would be ouisscd or not 
 does not seem to mo to be the only, or even 
 
IIICH AND rOOR. 
 
 239 
 
 M 
 
 the raoat important question," replied Faith, 
 expressinf? hornelf with a good deal of 
 difficulty in French, and yet nanaging to 
 make her meaning tolerably clear. " Is not 
 waste in itself wrong, even waste of our own 
 things ? And if so, how nuioh more that c^ 
 our niisfro;-,,;*^ goods— things with which wo 
 are trv ted /" 
 
 " Th m Unst i leas so strange !" exclaimed 
 Annette, ' > vhom tliis view of the subject 
 was entirely novel. "Wliere didst tliou 
 learn that to Wiisto Is a sin?" 
 
 *' From my Bible," answered Faith simply. 
 "I read there that after the grandest of 
 feasts — that wliere thousands of guests were 
 fed, where the King of kings was the 
 Master, and His servants the lioly apostles — 
 the Lord gave the command. Gather up the 
 ^'ragments, that nothimj he tost. If Ho who 
 could have rained bread from heaven thus 
 thought of the crumbs, and St. Peter and 
 St. John but (obeyed Him in gathering 
 them up, dare u-c think it no sin to waste, 
 however great bo the plenty aroimd us? 
 I have sometimes thouglit that account in 
 the Bible was given expressly for servants, 
 
 4 
 
240 
 
 BICn AND POOR. 
 
 lest they slioukl think the wealth of their 
 masters any excuse for wasting their goods." 
 
 " Thou hast reason, Faith," said Annette. 
 " See, I blow out the candle ;" and she 
 suited the action to the word. 
 
 Faith in the service of any mistress 
 would have regarded economy in the light 
 of a duty, but she had a double motive in 
 wasting nothing that belonged to the Com- 
 iesse La Fere. To save her needless expense 
 was to economize charity funds — the crumbs 
 gathered up from her table helped to feed 
 the suffering poor. Especially at the sea- 
 son of Christmas the lady gave liberally to 
 the needy around her of potage [soup], 
 prepared in her own chateau. During the 
 winter of 1792-3, the very great distress 
 which prevailed in the country from various 
 causes so moved the pity of the comtesse, 
 that she doubled her usual benefactions. 
 From morning till night, and sometimes far 
 into the night, Faith was either busy pre- 
 paring food in what resembled a soup- 
 kitchen for the poor, or in dispensing it to 
 the hungry multitudes who surrounded the 
 postern-gate of Chateau Labelle. Tliia 
 
RICH AND rOOR. 
 
 211 
 
 was to the Christiau servant a most con- 
 genial occupation, while, from the trouble 
 and fatigue which it caused, it left her but 
 little time for fretting over private sorrows. 
 Faith's imtiiing zeal on behalf of the poor 
 tended more than anything el,' o to remove 
 Marie's prejudice against her ; and it was 
 with honest admiration that she, who had 
 once hated Protestants " worse than canni- 
 bals," watched the movemexits of la petite 
 Anglaise, as from a kettle, almost too lieavj 
 for her strength to lift, she filled with 
 steaming soup one after another of the mugs 
 and jars stretched out eagerly to receive it. 
 One of the recipients of the comtosse's 
 boimty especially attracted the notice and 
 excited the pity of Faith. This was a man 
 almost bent double with age, with hair and 
 beard silvery white. His mien was timid, 
 almost cringing, as though he feared to 
 claim even the slightest attention. Every 
 one seemed to push past the poor old 
 Frenchman; hungry children thrust him 
 against the wall ; he seemed never likely 
 to approach near enouo'h to the son^-^kettlo 
 to have the tiny mug which he held in bis 
 
 16 
 
 •.!l 
 
 J h 
 
242 
 
 EICH AND rOOR. 
 
 trembling fingers filled with its savory con- 
 tents. 
 
 " Stay, the old man must have his share !" 
 cried Faitli, moving nearer to him who ap- 
 X)e;ired to be nnable to get nearer to her. 
 With some little difficulty the English girl 
 succeeded in making her way through the 
 press of hungry applicants; she poured 
 warm soup into the mug of the aged man, 
 whose hand shook so that half of the con- 
 tents were lost in conveying them to his? 
 month. 
 
 "It is such a tiny mug, I must fill it 
 again," said Faitli, with a sunshiny smile. 
 
 The poor old man invoked the blessing 
 of all the saints on her head. 
 
 " I was glad to see thee caring for old 
 Antoine," observed Marie to Faith in the 
 evening, when, wearied with a hard day's 
 work, the two servants sat together by tlie 
 blazing fire in tlie kitchen. 
 
 *' Is that the name of the silver-haired 
 man who looked scarcely able to stand ? " 
 asked Faith in her broken French. 
 
 *' Yes ; he is a regular pensioner of 
 madame," was Maries reply. " Antoine 
 
RICH AND rooil. 
 
 243 
 
 was gardener to her grandfather, and to 
 Jiis father before him, thoy say ; but it is 
 twenty years since the old man has been 
 able to dig up an onion, or tie up a lettuce. 
 Madame allows liim to remain in his own 
 little cottage at the end of the olive planta- 
 tion ; it is a very lonesome place to live in, 
 yet to leave it would break the old man's 
 heait Some folk— and Antoine is one of 
 them— get rooted to one spot like a tree, 
 which stands where it always has stood, 
 even when old age has hollowed it out, and 
 it has no more core than an empty nut- 
 shell" 
 
 ''Docs he live all by himself?" asked 
 Faith. 
 
 " All by himself, like a hermit," answered 
 Marie. '-I guess Antoine wll be found 
 some day stark and stiff in his chair. But 
 who can help it ? he chooses to live alone. 
 Madame sends to him every month a pre- 
 sent of money and coffee, and ho sometimes 
 comes here for potagc, but he can seldom 
 manage the distance. I'd not seen him 
 this winter till to-day : but folk in Januarv 
 come for the crumbs like birds." 
 
 ' % 
 
 ■ i 
 
 I A il 
 
 
 
 M 
 
 ''fl 
 
 ■1 
 
 ^ ;•■ 
 
 ^B 
 
 > H 
 
 1 
 
 ii 
 
 
2U 
 
 RICH AND roon. 
 
 " Madame is very kind to the poor," ob- 
 served Faith, whose disgrace had by no 
 means lessened her loving admii-ation for 
 her mistress. 
 
 " Madame is an angel !" replied the warm- 
 hearted Marie. "If she had not been so 
 good, dost thou think that Chateau Labello 
 would have stood the first storm of the 
 Revolution, when feudal seigneurs were 
 murdered on their own thresholds, and be- 
 cause the Bastile was destroyed in Paris, 
 madmen aU over the land thought that 
 every other big building must come down ! 
 Why, hast thou not heard," continued 
 Marie, with raised voice and excited gesture, 
 "that in Franclie Compte the chateau of 
 some noble was burned every day to the 
 end of that dreadful July, and that in the 
 Magonnais six thousand peasants rose against 
 the ancienne nohlesse, and in one fortnight 
 destroyed seventy-two dwellings of the 
 aristocrates ! * Woe then to those who had 
 ^rround down the poor, woe to those who 
 had treated the peasants worse than Afiican 
 slaves! But here— in Chateau Labelle— 
 • Von SybeL 
 
RICH AND rOOPv. 
 
 215 
 
 there was not so mucli as a ^villdo^v broken, 
 nor a branch torn from the trees. Madumo's 
 guards were her own tenants ; tliey rose 
 like one man in her defence ! Ah, when 
 the peasants came swarming up the avenue 
 armed with scythes and pitchforks, some 
 folk cried to the comto and cc mtesso, ' Fly 
 for your lives, — the Jacquerie has begun ! 
 trust not a Proven§al; all the country is 
 mad, all the country is athirst for the blood 
 of the old noblesse' But thou shouldst have 
 seen the comtesse then. She had no fear. 
 Why, said she, should she fear the people 
 amongst whom she had dwelt from her 
 cradle, she and her fathers, and fathers' 
 fathers before her? Ah, it was gTand to 
 hear how the peasants shouted when 
 madame rode up to them with her husband, 
 and to see how they made way to the right 
 and the left, and waved their caps, and 
 cried Vive la comtesse ! There was not a 
 single bonnet roufje nor a tricolor ribbon 
 amongst them !" 
 
 " Was the comte as much beloved as his 
 ladv?" innnirpd V.uih 
 
 '• He was a goodly gentlem-itj. the Comte 
 
 :»k. '■( 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 ' i 
 
 \ > » 
 
 
 
^46 
 
 KICII ANI> POOR. 
 
 i J 
 
 ' i ^ 
 
 La Fere ; but thon (.'ost uiider.'-iftn(l, tho 
 estates vrere jiot h:i ■, tbo coBitessc is dame 
 2:>roprietaire, it was to her that tho peasantry 
 looked. But moMieur was very good," 
 continuod Marie, in n. more noufihalant 
 tone; "he was gntf^ious and pleasant in 
 manner, anduheu on iioiseback looked like 
 another St. George. 1 often say that it 
 was a pity, a great pity, that he and madamo 
 ever left their chateau in Provence to go to 
 that teiTible Paris. But when they first 
 went, just after their marriage (that was 
 five years ago), Uie Ee volution had not 
 broken out. It was natural that a young 
 belle like madamo should like to go to the 
 grand receptions at tlie Tuileries, and show 
 her diamonds at the balls at Versailles; 
 and that Monsieur le Comte should bo 
 proud of a high place at court. Who could 
 tell what would follow?" 
 
 ** Such fearful troubles !" exclaimed Faith ; 
 " how sorely madame must have sufferecl I" 
 
 "When the news came of the comte's 
 murder," said Marie, " I thought madamo 
 would have died. She wished she had 
 been beside him. Had she been," con- 
 
 .Vyt, 
 
RICH AND POOn. 
 
 247 
 
 tinued Marie with cnthusiusm, "I don't 
 believe that there's a Jacobin as could have 
 laid a finger on him, no more than if the 
 blessed Virgin herself had stood at his side. 
 Ah, I forget," and Marie's voice dropped ; 
 '* those sanS'Culoiks care neither for Virgin 
 nor saint; they have stabled horses in 
 convents, pulled down chapels for firewood, 
 laade church-bells into soius, and melted 
 down into money madame's beautiful silver 
 shrine ! Dost thou think," and Marie looked 
 inquiringly into the face of her English 
 companion as the new thought struck her — 
 *' dost thou think that the poor comte will 
 have to stop longer in purgatory because 
 these vilains Jacobins stole what was meant 
 to win for him the martyr's intercession? 
 St. Pancratius knows that it was not the 
 comtesse's fault : it would seem hard if the 
 comte had to suffer ; for the holy saint had 
 the treasure, though he was not able to 
 keep it out of the Jacobins' hands." 
 
 The question seemed a strange one to 
 Faith, and might almost provoke a smile, 
 though it Avas put in sober oavnestness by 
 the ignorant woman beside her. " I should 
 
 I: rW 
 
 
 :|1 
 
 ) . > 
 
 Ml 
 
 
r 
 
 1. 1 
 
 F! I: 
 
 
 men AND rooR. 
 
 think that liolj saints above want no trea- 
 sure but what is heavenly," replied Ftiith ; 
 " and as for intercession, wo need no inter- 
 cessor but One." 
 
 "Ah, thou art Prolestante—lierctique— 
 Anglaiser cried Marie, but without the 
 bitterness of tone with which she would 
 have pronounced the words a few weeks 
 before ; « what canst thou know of purga- 
 tory, or of what is going on there ! It can 
 scarcely be worse," she added, « than what 
 IS going on in poor France. Ah, I hope 
 and pray that it may soon, soon come to an 
 end, this terrible Revolution!" 
 
 V 
 
1 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 HIGH AND LOW, 
 
 ARIE'S liopes were not to bo 
 realized. Tlie year 1793, wliicli 
 had just opened, was to witness 
 some of the most atrocious crimes 
 committed during that fearful period which 
 has filled so many blood-stained pages of 
 the history of fair France. On the 21st 
 day of January, Louis XVI., the descendant 
 of a long line of kings, stood on that scaffold 
 which had already reeked with the blood of 
 so many of the noblest of his subjects. 
 
 The tidings of the execution of the king 
 were received with horror by Gabriello Tj^ 
 Fere. The cup of her country's iniquity 
 seemed to her to be full, and had guilty 
 Paris shared the fate of Gomorrah, tlio 
 
 (249) 
 
250 
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 comtesse ^\ oiild liavo seeu in the deluge of 
 iire only tlio lightcons vengeance uf Henven. 
 The good -the pious— the merciful had 
 been rutldessly slain : wliy did the thunder- 
 1 oilrt sicop, ^yhy did not the wrath of Om- 
 nipotence sweep tlie nnirdcrers from the 
 face of the eartli ! 
 
 ^ Most especially was the indignation of 
 (labrielle aroused by the condiu^t of Phi- 
 lippe, Due d'Orleans, at the trial of Louis 
 XYI. Egalit' had voted for tlie death 
 of his cousin .-ind king ! Gabrielle would 
 noi let his name be utter«Kl in her presence ; 
 it never passed her own lips ; she never 
 alluded to the due but as le froifre, uni;!, on 
 the fo'towing November, E- dite' sufferc'd 
 the same fat.' as his soven ign, and at tno 
 hands of tli^ very democrats to win a\ nose 
 favor he h.M i sacrificed conscience and Idn^^ 
 " SVe ar<' now certain of a war with 
 England," observed Marie U Faith, on the 
 evening of the day on which news of the 
 deata of the king had reached Chateau 
 Labelle. ''The messeiiger who brought 
 the shockinj- tidings from Paris said also 
 1 fit ^'iere were ru uors that war had already 
 
 W/ '■"'.«; 
 
nian and low. 
 
 been declared, and that tlio 1) 
 
 251 
 
 l)()oming of yoni 
 big Englisli guns -would soon l)c hear* o 
 
 ir 
 
 I'onl 
 
 on. 
 
 "It ^vill bo a bitter thing to mo to b(> 
 quito cnt off from my conntry, nin-er to 
 heal- from my home," sighed Faith; for 
 even Avhen the fato of nations hangs in tlu! 
 bahmce, the most patriotic and nnselfish 
 cannot ' Ip anxiously pondoiing over tlie 
 question how the crisis of public events -will 
 affect their own private interests. 
 
 " Hear from thy home ! ah, that remiuLls 
 me that a lettei* for thee Avas brought in 
 the comtesse's post-bag," said Marie. '' I 
 meant to give it to thee in the morning, but 
 the murder of the poor dear king — rt st his 
 soul ! — put everything olso out of my head. 
 Hold, here is the letter ;" and Marie after 
 fumbhng for two or three miniitos amongst 
 the various articles kept in her capacious 
 pocket, produced the crumpled soiled, 
 folde ■' heet of paper, whi ! jolied, as she 
 observed, as if it had lam f year in 
 
 a dust-hole. 
 
 "It may be the last letter from dear 
 England which I sha? receive for a very, 
 
 . ' ^ n 
 
 !'«; 
 
 > I'M 
 
 I 
 
 
 k. IM. 
 
252 
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 V017 long time," thought Faith siullj, while 
 Mario was exploring the depths of her 
 pocket to find the epistle. The first glance 
 at the back of the letter showed tlio English 
 girl that it hud not been -written by her 
 father. 
 
 " If my black hen had dipped her claw in 
 ink and taken to scratcliing on paper, slie'd 
 have made just such a sninvl as that," 
 observed Marie, as she handled the letter to 
 Faith. 
 
 "Who can have written to me? it must 
 liave been my stop-mother," said Faith, 
 wondering at Deborah's having made so 
 very singular an effort. Mrs. Stanby had 
 never been known to write two lines when 
 she could employ the ready pen of her 
 step-daughter, and it could have been no 
 slight cause that had induced her to perform 
 the astonishing feat of scrawling over two 
 pages of a sheet of large-sized paper. Faith 
 could not avoid suspecting that the letter 
 would contain an urgent request for money. 
 How to send any to her home the young 
 servant knew not ; her first quarter's wages 
 were not yet due, and before the time for 
 
HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 253 
 
 pnyineiifc arrived, it was likely that all 
 puaceful commuuication would bo closed 
 bet woe II the two nations on tlio opposito 
 sides of tho Channel. 
 
 But tho unselfish, affectionate daughter 
 was never again to bo called upon to sacri- 
 lice comforts, almost necessaries, to sui)plj 
 tho need of an indolent, thriftless parent. 
 Before Faith had finished reading the ill- 
 spelt, unpointed scrawl, the tears woro 
 falling fast on the soiled and blotted shoot 
 which contained tlio following lines : 
 
 "dear faitli this is to say and youl Be Sory to hero 
 i writes to give bad noes of yer father but ho wood go 
 to Marston's weding tho it snowed ard and Catchd cold 
 and kep his bed and niver no more Got up but parson 
 Boed him several times and Died Sunday last quite e«y 
 and he Utle thout in Goldn squar as hed ivor liav como 
 to Be Berried by the parrish but i puts him on his Laco 
 rufels so he luked like a gcmman as he Alaya was and 
 no more at Present from yer moter debrah stanby." 
 
 Yes, the life of poor Gentleman Jos had 
 closed ; the end had come of his vain hopes, 
 idle regrets, and petty follies. He had boon 
 all his days running after shadows, and 
 had met at last with the great reality, 
 Beatli. A solemn mosst'n<rer is Death. 
 
 Mi 
 
264 
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 wheresoever and to whomsoever he comes : 
 whether to monarchs, the shock of whoso 
 fall startles nations ; or to the cottager who 
 drops into the grave almost as silently and 
 as little noticed as a withered leaf into 
 a stream. Death is the angel that summons 
 to the Master's great tribunal alike him to 
 whom the many talents have been entrusted, 
 and him who buried the one. How little it 
 matters to the disembodied spirit obeying 
 that solemn summons whether it rise from 
 the palace, the hovel, or the scaffold; 
 whether there be at the funeral many 
 mourners or few ! Little it; recks whether 
 the name which the lifeless form once bore 
 be inscribed in the records of history, or 
 eve the year close, be well-nigh forgotten. 
 Few were the tears shed for Josiah Stanby 
 save by one faithful, loving girl, who 
 treasured up memory of every little act 
 or word of kindness that had chequered 
 his selfish life, and who forgot nothing 
 connected with a parent's memory except 
 that there had ever been anything for his 
 family to forgive. 
 
 f 
 
 v 
 
or 
 
 H 
 
 CHAPTER XXm. 
 
 CONTESSION. 
 
 JABRIELLE LA FERE felt 
 
 compassion for her young English 
 servant when, a few days after- 
 wards, she accidentally heard 
 tliat Eaith had lost her last surviving 
 parent. The conscience of the comtesso 
 was not quite easy as regarded the orphan 
 girl who had come to a foreign land, tnist- 
 ing at least in the justice if not in the 
 kindness of strangers. "Have I not dealt 
 harshly with Faith ?" thought her mistress ; 
 " did I do well to show diapleasure towards 
 her because my servant would not barter 
 conscience to win my favor? Faith may 
 be— must bo fearfully mistaken in the views 
 
 to whipli e]in oo r>l^'^''-^-«"^"1" -iM 
 
 . ..1.,, ,,^j, l,->^oi;iil.*l,Ui\ ClIIIL^r 
 
 (255) 
 
 
 '^ i 
 
 M •■: 
 
250 
 
 CONFESSION. 
 
 Jianghtily to drive her from me was scarcely 
 the way to win her to mine." 
 
 Gabrielle took a practical way of show- 
 ing sympathy ; she both advanced Faith's 
 wages, to enable the orphan to procure 
 decent mourning, and also from her own 
 wardrobe the comtesse helped to supply 
 her with many suitable articles of dress, to 
 the scarcely concealed dissatisfaction of the 
 femme-de-chamhre, Diane. Gabrielle did 
 not, however, bestow her gifts in person. 
 " How could I speak to Faith any word of 
 comfort?" thought the Romanist lady. 
 " Doubtless her poor father lived and died 
 holding Protestant errors, despising the 
 intercession of the Blessed Mary, and with- 
 out extreme unction to smooth his path to 
 the grave. No priest has given him abso- 
 lution ; no masses will be said for his soul ; 
 by what arguments, then, could I console 
 the grief of his daughter?" 
 
 The lady was, however, undecided as to 
 whether she should not bring back Faith to 
 her former place in the household, and let 
 the English maid resume her attendance on 
 
 !Nipon 
 
 QTlirl— 
 
 -a? 
 
 iwiciio-iiciic; 
 
 iiUU 
 
 Uiit/0 
 
 de- 
 
;• " if 
 I 
 
 scarcely 
 
 i show- 
 Faith's 
 procure 
 ler own 
 supply 
 Iress, to 
 a of the 
 slle did 
 person, 
 tvord of 
 t lady, 
 nd died 
 ing the 
 id with- 
 path to 
 n abso- 
 is soul ; 
 console 
 
 I as to 
 raith to 
 and let 
 mce on 
 C8 de- 
 
 COKFESSION". 
 
 257 
 
 signed — wait more frequently on herself. 
 But the comtesse had at this time many 
 matters of deep interest to herself to pro- 
 vent her mind dwelling on what only con- 
 cerned the welfare of an humble dependant. 
 
 "Ninon, my sister," said Gabrielle, as 
 she entered her boudoir one evening, and, 
 after closing the door behind her, went up 
 to Mademoiselle La Furo, and laid her hand 
 on her shoulder, " I have heard from Pero 
 la Porte.'* . 
 
 Ninon was on her Imees before the gilded 
 cage of a new favorite, a paroquet gay in 
 plumage of crimson and green, Avhich, in 
 default of more exciting amusement, the 
 young lady was tr3'ing to teach to call out 
 her own name. 
 
 "Ah, Gabrielle, I would give the Avorld 
 that thou hadst come in here but a minute 
 ago ; I am certain that he said something 
 like ' Ninon !' the charming, beautiful crea- 
 ture !" exclaimed the girl with a delight 
 quite disproportioncd to its cause. 
 
 "Leave the biril, and try, it* possible, to 
 listen quietly and seriously (o what I am 
 going to tell thee," said Gabrielle Ija Fere, 
 
 17 
 
 I .- . 
 
 '[ fi 
 
258 
 
 i! 
 
 " 18- 
 
 m 
 
 I 
 
 CONFESSION. 
 
 with a touch of severity in her tone, for she 
 was in no mood for trifling. The comtesse 
 seated herself on the high-backed, richly 
 carved chair which she usually occupied 
 opposite the wide hearth, on which a fire of 
 wood fagots was blazing, for even in Pro- 
 vence January weather was cold. Ninon 
 turned her face towards her Mk-sceiir, but* 
 without rising from her former position 
 before the cage, and during the conversation 
 which ensued, the eyes and the attention of 
 the French girl frequently wandered towards 
 her new pet. 
 
 " I have heard from Pere la Porte," re- 
 peated the comtesse. " Thou art aAvare that 
 the good priest has not quitted the province, 
 but, observing due precautions, has gone 
 from place to place^ secretly performing his 
 spiritual duties. He is, I need not say, 
 overwhelmed like ourselves with indignation 
 and grief at the murder of oui* good king. 
 All open marks of respect to the memory of 
 the sovereign are forbidden by those who, 
 under the name of free'^.om, have destroyed 
 all freedom in France. The very body of 
 Louis XYI. has been consumed by quick- 
 
 |f 
 
CONFESSION. 
 
 259 
 
 ■' i 
 
 lime, that no loyal mourner may ever be 
 able to say, ' Here lies the dust of the 
 descendant of St. Louis.' " Gabrielle paused 
 for a moment from emotion, then went on. 
 "But the faithful still find some way of 
 showing their loyal devotion, and Pere la 
 
 Porte has dost tVou attend to me, 
 
 Ninon?" The t^'- j'^4tin.i was asked with 
 abruptness, and with an air of displeasure. 
 
 " I am aU attention," said Ninon, whose 
 looks contradicted her words. 
 
 " The good father," continued Gabrielle, 
 "has arranged to have a private funeral 
 mass for the king's soul to-morrow, in the 
 little ruined chapel of St Catherine, which 
 stands, as thou knowest, in the ForU Verte. 
 I intend to assist at the holy service, and 
 to take ' o opportunity of confessing my 
 sins to the priest." 
 
 " I thought," observed Ninon, " that thou 
 hadst told me that the coachman was 
 scarcely to be trusted in these dangerous 
 times, and that thou wert in constant fear 
 of getting the priest into trouble." 
 
 "I shall not use my caniage," said Ga- 
 bricUe. " Diane, who is as anxious to 
 
 m 
 
 V '■ s J 
 
 1 . % !| 
 
I 
 
 I s 
 
 m ' 
 
 260 
 
 CONFESSION. 
 
 confess and receive absolution as I am, will 
 go with me to tlie cliapel on foot. I came 
 to ask thee, Ninon, whether it be not thy 
 wish to accompany me also ?" 
 
 Ninon started up from her kneeling posi- 
 tion with an exclamation of surprise. " I 
 go, indeed!" she exclaimed; "two miles 
 there, two miles back, througli a dreary 
 forest, on foot ! impossible — quite impossi- 
 ble ! And for wdiat ? To hear a funeral 
 mass, of all tilings the most trisfe ; for there 
 wiU not even be music, no requiem, no pro- 
 cession, iio incense, not so much as the 
 ringing of a bell ! For such a dismal en- 
 tertainment I will assuredly not run the 
 risk of having some horrid Jacobin mob 
 hunting me dow^n like a hare ! I may be 
 made a martyr ag*iiinst my will, but ivith it 
 never, never !'* 
 
 " There is but little danger to be appre- 
 hended, I believe," observed Gabriello 
 coldly. 
 
 " Oh, a little goes a long way with me," 
 cried Ninon, with an affected shudder. 
 " I've not forgotten the ghastly look of that 
 wretched balcor at Lyons, the eyes half 
 
CONFESSION. 
 
 261 
 
 . J- n 
 
 am, will 
 I came 
 not thy 
 
 posi- 
 
 es 
 
 se. 
 
 D miles 
 dreary 
 mpossi- 
 funeral 
 )r there 
 10 pro- 
 as the 
 mal en- 
 un the 
 in mob 
 nay be 
 tvitli it 
 
 appre- 
 ibriello 
 
 li me," 
 lucldor. 
 of that 
 .'S half 
 
 t'l 
 
 f .: 
 
 starting out of his head, and the red drops 
 falling over his face! Thou may st like to 
 run into the den of a lion, but I would far 
 rather keep outside it. There are plenty of 
 troublesome spirits at Aix, and we are not 
 so very far from Marseilles itself, where 
 Jacobins swarm like bees, and are furious 
 as hornets. What could make thee imagine, 
 Gabrielie, that / should take it into my 
 brain to go on a dangerous pilgrimage on 
 foot to a ruined chapel, to hear old Pere la 
 Porte perform a funeral mass?" Ninon 
 could scarcely stifle her laughter at an idea 
 so absurd. 
 
 "I thought that it might be a comfort t<^) 
 the^ ^o confess and receive absolution for 
 thy sins," said Gabrielie with a sigh, for 
 she felt ijo'.v? sorely she herself needed 
 spiritual comioi',. " It is, I fear, a long 
 time, Ninon, sine ^ ';hou hast enjoyed such 
 privilege." 
 
 " I h ave never been to confession at all 
 since 1 went with Madame de Genlis to 
 England," replied Ninon, resuming both her 
 carelessness of tone and position in front 
 
 Oi thu ciigo. 
 
 t ^ [1 
 
i 
 
 i 
 
 I i' 
 
 2G2 
 
 CONFESSIOX. 
 
 ^^ Gabriello looked grave-almosfc distressed, 
 1 always feared," she observed, " tliat no 
 good would come of thy being sent to a 
 iai]d of heretics at so early an age." 
 
 "No harm came of it-none in the world • 
 1 wish I were in England now !" said Ninon.* 
 tantalizing her bird with a lump of su-ar 
 all the time that she was spealdn<^ '^'I 
 iiever could see the use of whisperin- to a 
 stout eldoily man all one's little childish 
 to lies, and having him put naughty things 
 into one s head, that would never have come 
 tliere but for his questions. I once asked 
 ^aith, 'Dost thou ever confess thy sins?' 
 bhe lodved surprised at my asking her, and 
 said, Oh yes ; I confess them every nio-ht ' 
 X was surprised in my turn. 'Dost thou 
 tind a priest to hear thee so often 9' Ga- 
 brieUe, thou shouldst have seen her bright 
 peaceful look as she aiisnered, 'No need of 
 a priest mademoiselle ; I go straight to tho 
 iiord. 
 
 "I regi-et that thou shouldsth have held 
 ftny such conversation with a misguided 
 Protestant," observed Gabrielle La Fere 
 
 Thou mavst call hov iiiicn-.^vi-l ;f ^i 
 
 XiUU 
 
stressed, 
 that no 
 nt to a 
 
 ) world : 
 I Ninon, 
 f sugar 
 
 
 "I 
 
 ^g to a 
 Jliildish 
 
 frw 
 
 ^ thin^. 
 e como 
 ' asked 
 sins?' 
 er, and 
 night.' 
 it tliou 
 ' Ga- 
 bright, 
 leed of 
 to the 
 
 held 
 guided 
 are. 
 ■ thou 
 
 11 
 
 CONFESSION. 
 
 2G3 
 
 wilt," cried Ninon; "but somehow she 
 seems to go pretty straight with all her 
 misguiding. My window, as thou dost 
 know, commands a view of the postern gatei 
 where Faith deals out thy charities to tlie 
 poor. For lack of better amusement, I 
 have sat for hours watching the giving out 
 of pota(je. It was some fun to see the press- 
 ing and the jostling. If one cannot have 
 court lords and ladies to look at, better 
 have beggars than no one at all." 
 
 " What have the beggars to do with the 
 question of Faith ?" inquired Gabriello La 
 Fe're. 
 
 " Faith had a great deal to do with the 
 beggars," laughed Ninon ; " and she did it 
 well, and with all her heart, as if she could 
 never be tired while a single poor child was 
 himgi-y. Misguided Protestant indeed! 
 Faith is a sister of mercy in disguise ! If I 
 worked as she v/orks, I'd expect to be 
 canonized as a saint, without any help from 
 good Pere la Porte !" 
 
 The comtesse rose from her s'^at and 
 walked to the window. She had come to 
 the decision that it would neithei- be snfe 
 
 i 
 
 % 
 
 ■ i ?! 
 
 f 
 
204 
 
 CONFESSION. 
 
 
 nor riglit to bring 
 
 Faitli again into closo 
 ko Ninon, who liad 
 
 intcrcoiirso with one liL 
 no settled religious views. " It is only tho 
 frivolity of Ninon's- character," thon{^ht 
 Gabiielle, " that lias prevented her ^ isit to 
 England having a very dangerous effect on 
 her mind." But a doubt would arise even 
 in that of the bigoted liomanist lady, 
 whether to be as utteily careless of all re- 
 ligion as was her hnsband'p young sister 
 were not worse than even refusing to kneel 
 before the shrine of th(i Virgin, or to adore 
 as divine a piece of consecruted wafer. 
 
 "Tt is strange," reflected GabrielJe that 
 night, after restless hours during which she 
 had vainly attempted to sleep ; " how 
 strange it is how I am haunted by these 
 w^ords of Faith which Ninon repeated to- 
 day, — / go straight to the Lord. It sounded 
 so child-hke, so trustful! I could hrlf 
 envy the poor heretic a faith so simple and 
 so peace-giving. She goes straight to the 
 Lord with her burden of sins, lays them 
 down at His feet, and her heart is lightened 
 of its weight ; she believes that she is for- 
 
 given ! 
 
 Oh, Tviiat wOuid 
 
 i noi give lor sucu 
 
to closo 
 who jiad 
 only tLo 
 tlioii«^ht 
 c visit to 
 effect on 
 ;ise even 
 st lady, 
 )f all rc- 
 3g sister 
 to kneel 
 to adore 
 fer. 
 
 elJe that 
 hich she 
 ; " ho\v 
 by these 
 jated to- 
 sounded 
 lid hdf 
 nple and 
 t to the 
 ys them 
 ightened 
 B is for- 
 for such 
 
 CONFESSIOh. 
 
 205 
 
 wretcli in the mytL 
 and rolling a stone 
 
 blessed assurance !" moaned the unhappy 
 lady. " I labor, i fast, I pray, I pjivo of my 
 substance, 1 try in e\ery possible way to 
 obey the rules of the Clmrcli, and yet I find 
 no peace — no peace ' Tim like the poor 
 
 story, ever rolling 
 uill, and just as it 
 reaches the summit eeing it bound back 
 doAvn tho steep, so that he must begin anew 
 all his labor and trouble ! It is very hard 
 t^ win heaven by our works; harder still 
 to feel sure that wo have won it. I go to 
 the Virgin, I go to the saints, I go to the 
 ])riest, to seek comfort for a grief-burdened 
 heart, healing for a sin-diseased soui ; 
 Faith — were she right, O most happy 
 Faith ! — she goes straujht to the Lord .'" 
 
 i 
 
 j, 
 
^m 
 
MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART 
 
 (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 
 
 ^ .APPLIED IIVMGE Inc 
 
 1653 East Main Street 
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; I 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 PASSING ON. 
 
 
 IME flowed rapidly onwards, 
 bearing fearful events on its cur- 
 rent. Spring, summer, autunni 
 of 1793 passed away, and still, 
 like the car of the idol Juggernaut, which 
 used to be driven over living human bodies, 
 the French Eevolution rolled on, crushiiif^ 
 under its ponderous wheels victims from 
 every rank of life. In October the beauti- 
 ful widowed Queen of France, Marie An- 
 toinette, ended her suiTerings beneath tin; 
 flashing steel of the guillotine. In ilw 
 following month, Egalite, Duke of Orleans, 
 also died on the scaffold. Nor was he, bv 
 any means, the only Revolutionist wli' 
 perished by the French Revolution. J 
 
 (2GG) 
 
 
 
PASSING ON. 
 
 267 
 
 Wcas as if those who dragged forward the 
 ponderous car of death oft lost their footing, 
 and faUing, were crushed bj their Jugger- 
 naut as remorselessly as the king and the 
 nobles whose blood had already stained its 
 wheels. The ferocious Danton himself, in 
 liis turn, fell a victim to the hatred of those 
 with whom he had joined in destroying so 
 many innocent lives. 
 
 War added its miseries to that of anarchy. 
 There was civil strife in La Vendee, where 
 the loyal peasantry, under gallant leaders, 
 made a desperate but ineffectual effort to 
 stop the death-car of Eevolution. They 
 fought, suffered, and died in the cause 
 of loyalty and order. There was war with 
 Holland, Germany, and Spain ; and Great 
 Britain in that momentous year also entered 
 tlio arena of strife. In August the Union 
 Jack of Old England floated from the walls 
 of Toulon, which had been taken by 
 Admiral Hood. 
 
 But foreign intervention did not arrest 
 the fearful course of the Revolution in 
 Paris. The cannon of the Allies could not 
 silence the roar of a savage population 
 
 i[ 
 
 P r 
 
268 
 
 PASSING ON. 
 
 thirsting for blood. One crime succeeded 
 another: the crowning hoiTor of all occurred 
 on the 10th of November. Th'^n the 
 Parisians, or those who bore rule in Paris, 
 solemnly, in the face of day, under the light 
 of the sun, denied the Creator, renounced all 
 belief in liim by whose pov/er they lived, 
 and moved, and had their being! What 
 was called by the impious blasphemers the 
 Feast of Reason was held in Paris. A 
 wretched woman, dressed in white, with 
 sky-blue mantle, and wearing a cap of 
 liberty, was actually set on high as repre- 
 senting the Goddess of Reason i Were not 
 these monstrous events recorded in history, 
 they would appear to be too horrible and 
 strange to be imagined even by the brain of 
 a madman. It is well that tliev are re- 
 corded, that the world may nevi orget to 
 what lengths of wickedness, what depths of 
 madness and crime, human nature may be 
 brought when the savage passions of men 
 are set loose, unrestrained by religion. 
 These are days when nations need to be 
 reminded how closely linked together are 
 the two commands, Fear God, honor t/ie king, 
 
PASSING ON. 
 
 260 
 
 and Avliafc an awful torreufc of guilt; and 
 misery may rusli in when oiico the protect- 
 ing sea-wall of those commandments is 
 broken. 
 
 Again Christmas-time came round ; but 
 who in miserable France jomed in the 
 angels' song, Glory to God ia the hujhcst, arul 
 on earth peace, (joodioill toward men ? Glory 
 had not been given to God, and on 3a^^-h 
 there was a devouring sv/ord. The cry of 
 the few faithful still left in the land was, 
 Hoio long, Lord, Jioiv long? Gabrielle La 
 Fere, with deepening sadness, saw a new 
 year again open upon her distracted country. 
 She indeed had been spared when so many 
 innocent victims had fallen around her. 
 King, queen, husband, iriends had perished 
 on the scaifold, or been murdered by the 
 mob ; and here she was still unharmed in 
 her stately chateau, dwelling amongst her 
 own people. This was partly owing to 
 Gabrielle's personal popularity, to the aifec- 
 tion which she had won from the peasantry 
 around her; partly to the circumstance 
 previously mentioned, the obligation under 
 which the family of Danton lay to the lato 
 
 Is , 1 
 
 I ■(■ 
 
 ? ( 
 
 K' I 
 
m ^ 
 
 m 
 
 ;:il1 
 
 270 
 
 PASSING ON. 
 
 ComtessG La Et're. But Gcabrielle fouiKl it 
 absolutely necessary to exercise au amount 
 of caution which, to one of her fearless 
 spirit, was irksome. iShe rarely quitted her 
 own grounds, which were extensive ; very 
 seldom was the comtesse's carriage seen 
 even in the city of Aix— most of her horses 
 had been taken for the use of the army. 
 Gabrielle in various other ways reduced her 
 daily expenditure. Not only would the 
 appearance of wealth have been dangerous 
 jn times when the possession of .rank and 
 riches was often treated as a crime, but the 
 wealth itself was greatly diminished. The 
 enormous circulation of assignats through 
 the land occasioned wide-spread distress. 
 Such few of the comtesse's tenants as paid 
 rent at all to the dame proprietaire, who 
 had no means to enforce payment, brought 
 only assignats to her steward, who dared 
 not refuse them. Gabrielle privately dis- 
 posed of both jewels and plate, but a 
 considerable portion of their price was 
 returned in paper money. Complaints 
 would have been worse than useless ; they 
 would have been perilous in the extreme if 
 
TASSINQ ON. 
 
 271 
 
 made by an aristocratc. For the first time 
 in her life the once wealthy lady of Chateau 
 Labelle had to practise rigid economy. 
 Gabrielle saved on herself; for she would 
 not curtail her charities, nor pay her ser- 
 vants' wages in that wretched substitute for 
 silver and gold with which Jacobin rulers 
 had flooded the country. Solitary, unpro- 
 tected, and forlorn, Gabrielle felt much like 
 a shipwrecked mariner whom the waves 
 have dashed, bruised and bleeding, upon 
 shore ; and who, from that shore, watches 
 the vessel in which he had sailed sinking 
 under the furious billows ; she felt like ono 
 who, he iring from afar the cries of drowning 
 companions whom he cannot save, in his 
 desolation could almost wish to share their 
 fate. 
 
 It seemed strange to the widowed lady 
 that nature should still look so peaceful and 
 fair, that the changes of the seasons should 
 stiU succeed each other so regularly, while 
 the whole framework of society was shattered 
 to pieces, and crime and anarchy prevailed. 
 How was it that the rose-tints of djiwn still 
 lay so softly on the wooded hills, that 
 
 Hll 
 
 .! 8t 
 
 m . 
 
272 
 
 PASSING ON. 
 
 ti-cos budded and blossomed and shed 
 frjigranco around, and tlio lark carolled 
 gayl}' on high, just the same as if sorrow 
 and sin were unknown upon earlh? Ga- 
 briello did not see in this the tender mercy 
 of Him who is kind to the imthankful and 
 evil, and who niaketh His sun to rise on the 
 just and the unjust. There was still in her 
 heart a gloomy dread of the power of tlio 
 Supreme Being, a secret questioning of His 
 wisdom and justice, an impatient rebellion 
 against His will. Gabrielle was still blindly 
 trying to feel her ovm way to salvation 
 without the light which could guide her to 
 the one, the only way opened by the mercy 
 of God. The Lady was still like Naaman 
 in his Syrian palace ; the whole head was 
 sick, the whole heart was faint (Isa. i. 5); 
 and she knew not where to find a cure 
 for the deep-seated disease of the soul. 
 
 And how passed the months with Faith 
 Stanby ? In a routine of lowly duties, and 
 mingled trials and blessings, that left her 
 humble and thankful, rejoicing in hope. It 
 was no light trial to be, as Faith was. 
 utterly alone in the world. The maiden's 
 
fASSINQ ON. 
 
 273 
 
 id shed 
 
 carolled 
 
 ' sorrow 
 
 3ad was 
 a. i. 5); 
 a cure 
 ul. 
 
 1 Faith 
 es, and 
 effc her 
 ^pe. It 
 h was, 
 aiden's 
 
 heart clung with lovo, only increased by 
 absence, to the thought of country, aud 
 king, and the associations of home ; but 
 even if Faith could have returned to her 
 native land, she would have been homeless 
 there. It was no light trial to have hor 
 lot cast amongst those who, instead of 
 sympathizing with her deepest feelings, 
 often through those very feelings found 
 means of giving her pain. At times — aud 
 especially after the taking of Toulon by the 
 British, and the naval victory of Howe — the 
 English maid was something in the position 
 of a foreign bird that, loosed from its cage, 
 is mercilessly attacked by the wild ones. 
 French vanity, mortified by defeat, found 
 bitter gratification in wounding la petite 
 Anglaise. It was the delight of the servants 
 at Ohdteau Labelle, aud especially Diane, 
 to heap abuse upon everything connected 
 with England ; and if Faith's color rose, 
 and her lip quivered, her persecutors looked 
 upon her pain as a triumph of their own 
 national piide. 
 
 But Faith's trials only drove her more 
 close to the shelter of the great Rock of her 
 
 18 
 
 ■i 
 
 iil 
 
 Wi . i 
 
274 
 
 PASSING ON. 
 
 strenrvth. Sho increasingly rGalizod what 
 It IS to dwell under the shadow of the Al- 
 mighty. Tho maiden went strai-ht to the 
 Lord, not only to confess and receive for- 
 giveness of sins, but for comfort under 
 trouble, and grace to bear meekly and 
 cheerfully whatever sorrows He in His 
 wisdom might send. It was tho habitual 
 lifting up of the heart in silent prayer that 
 enabled the Enghsh girl to act 'so con- 
 sistently that the most bigoted Romanist 
 could find no fault in lier, save in the mat- 
 ter of her religion. And respect for that 
 religion was gradually gaining ground, 
 especially with Marie and Annette, the two 
 domestics in Chdteau LaboJle who were 
 brought into most frequent intercourse with 
 the Protestant maiden. Faith was often 
 questioned as to what hcreUqiics really 
 beheved, how they worshipped, and what 
 was the source of their hopes as regarded 
 the Me beyond the grave. The English 
 gir had from her childhood known enough 
 of the Bible to be able to give a reason for 
 the hope which was in her ; and her influ- 
 ence, like hidden leaven, was gradually 
 
PASSING ON. 
 
 275 
 
 fm 
 
 spreading amongst tlio liousoliold at Cliuteau 
 Labello. Romanist servants saw in tlicir 
 companion tho power of evangel ical faith 
 to guartl from temptation, and to support 
 under all the troubles of life. 
 
 Faith had earthly blessings as well as 
 earthly trials, and she enjoyed them with a 
 thankful and cheerful spirit. It was a 
 blessing, indeed, to know no want, no care 
 for the morrow, and to have health and 
 strength to do her work. Faith's affection- 
 ate attachment to the comtesse was also a 
 source of pleasure. Not that the servant 
 saw much of her mistress. It was but 
 seldom that Faith had even a glimpse of 
 that noble form in its drapery of mourning, 
 that beauteous face so expressive of silent 
 sorrow ; and still more rare was it for the 
 English servant to have a word from tho 
 Lady of Provence. But the word, when- 
 ever it was spoken, was a kind one ; and 
 the comtesse's trials, Ii;i ■ generosity, her 
 nobleness of conduct, made a very strong 
 impression on Faith. To work for her, to 
 pray for her, to love her, gave Faith an 
 interest in her own humble duties which 
 
 !' 
 
 ,fti 
 
27C 
 
 PASSING ON. 
 
 prevented tlieir sameness from over be- 
 coming irksome. It was from affection, as 
 well as from conscientious regard for duty, 
 that the servant girl cared for her mis- 
 tress's interests as if they had been her 
 own. 
 
 Thus the orphan and the exile, in her lowly 
 estate, was actually far happier than the 
 noble lady whom she served. The one had 
 found rest on the Rock, while the other was 
 tossing still on a dreary sea of doubt. While 
 Gabrielle La Fere was murmuring in her 
 heart because she saw not her ^Maker's 
 wisdom and love amid the earthquake, the 
 whirlwind, and the fire, the fearful j>dg- 
 monts which were desolating a guilty coun- 
 try, Faith was listening to the still smaU 
 voice within, which spoke comfort and peace 
 to her soul, and looking forward to a home 
 in that better land to which every day was 
 bringing her nearer. 
 
 I 
 
^1 
 
 CHAPTEK XXV. 
 
 THE EH RAND. 
 
 I*' ' 
 
 GAIN summer had como with 
 its brightness. On ono of its 
 lovehest afternoons Mario sent 
 Faith into tlio kitchcn-gartlon to 
 gather herbs. The occupation was a picas- 
 uut one ; and Faith, as she bent low to cull 
 the fragrant sago and thyme, was so mucli 
 absorbed in thoughts of her own little 
 garden in England, that she did not hear a 
 light step on the path behind her. 
 
 " I would speak with thee, Faith," said a 
 voice which, from its peculiarly rich sweet- 
 ness, Faith recognized as that of her mistress. 
 1 1 was verj'- unusual for the Lady of Provence 
 to visit this part of her grounds, and Faith 
 rose from her stooping position with a little 
 to receive the orders of madame. 
 
 (277) 
 
 I- 
 
 Mf.- ■ 
 
 f f S! 
 
 It 
 
 'Al 
 
 lit 
 
278 
 
 THE ERRAND. 
 
 " I am going with Diane to— it matters 
 not whither; but we shall be absent for 
 several hours," said the Comtesse La Fere. 
 " TJiis is the first day of July " (Gabrielle 
 would not adopt the new name of Thermi- 
 dor, given to the month by those who 
 affected change in al 'lings), " and on the 
 first day of each month I am wont to send 
 by the hand of Diane, a Httle pension to an 
 aged gardener, Antoine Le Roy. Diane has 
 been unable to go this morning; she will 
 be absent with me this afternoon; and the 
 old man would be disappointed by delay." 
 Gabrielle drew out an embroidered purse, 
 and took from it twelve silver francs.' 
 "Thou wilt bear these to Antoine. Marie 
 will tell thee where he dwells; and do thou 
 ask her for a half Mlogramme of coffee. 
 It is my custom to add that to the silver 
 which I send to the poor old man." 
 
 Faith courteseyed, in sign of obedience ; 
 and, well-pleased at the commission en- 
 trusted to her, with the money in one hand, 
 and a basket of herbs in the other, returned 
 to the kitchen. Marie, with heated face, 
 was standing by the fire, en^^a^ed 
 
 'O'-O^ 
 
THE ERRAND. 
 
 279 
 
 hoiiilU, which she waa preparing for ma- 
 clarae's repast. Faith repeated to her what 
 the comtesse had said. 
 
 " She is goiripr to confession in the ruined 
 chapel, no doubt," observed Marie. " Ma- 
 dame always takes Diane with her — Diane 
 is so eager to confess. It suits her so well 
 to hand over her fagot of sins to the priest, 
 that she may have her hands free to go 
 picking up more, I suppose." 
 
 There was satire in the c' ^rvation of 
 Marie ; for Diane's religion was well known 
 by her fellow-servants to be a mere form 
 without life, the form itself being probably 
 kept up chiefly to please madame and retain 
 her confidence. 
 
 " Is it not dangerous for madame to go to 
 that chapel?" asked Faith, whoso attach- 
 ment to her mistress made her uneasy 
 whenever she happened to know of the 
 comtesse's going on a secret expedition 
 through the forest on foot. 
 
 " Not so dangerous as thou mayest think," 
 answered Marie. " I don't mind telling 
 thee ; thou art faithful and discreet." 
 Marie dropped her voice as she went on, 
 
 1 ' 
 
 I 
 
 I- M 
 
 ■ u 
 
 i'l 
 
 1 H 
 
 ':. I 
 
 
 Mi.fj 
 
 5 V,'-t^ 
 
^.! 
 
 I m 
 
 280 
 
 THE ERRAND. 
 
 and glanced round to see that no second 
 listener was present. "Few know that a 
 priest is ever to be found in St. Catherine's 
 Chapel. It looks empty; the rain can 
 come in ; the wind blows the leaves over the 
 floor ; there is no holy vessel to bo seen, or 
 the Jacobins would, long ere this, hav(3 
 carried it away, as they did madame's 
 beautiful shrme. But there is a secret 
 place in that ruined Chapel in which every- 
 thing is kept that is needed for celebrating 
 mass ; and the priest himself can hide there. 
 There is an old faded painting of St. Cathe- 
 rine and her Wheel on the chapel wall. 
 One might look at it a thousand times and 
 not guess that it is anything but a picture, 
 very much the worse for time and weather, 
 left there because no one thought it worth 
 removing. But let one but press a finger in 
 the middle of that painted wheel, and one 
 touches a secret spring— one can draw back 
 a panel— there is a closet in the wall behind, 
 where the paten and chalice are kept, and 
 the Host itself " (Marie crossed herself as 
 she spoke), " so that nothing is wanting for 
 the holy service ; and yet nothing is seen 
 
THE ERRAND. 
 
 281 
 
 should a stranger enter the chapeh Aht 
 I forgot that thou art a Protestant. Thou 
 hast nothing to do with priest or high mass. 
 But thou wilt not betray the secret?" 
 Marie bit her lip, aware that her talkative- 
 ness had led her to disclose what only a few, 
 and those zealous Eomanists, were intended 
 to knoAV. 
 
 "I would rather die than betray my 
 lady's secret," said Faith. " But my present 
 business is with my lady's errand. I was 
 to ask thee for half a kilogramme of coffee, 
 to carry with this money to poor old An- 
 toine." 
 
 "He always has it, on the first of each 
 month, and must have it of the very best, 
 madame's own Mocha," said Marie, bustling 
 off with her large bunch of keys to the closet 
 in which the stores were kept. " Diane 
 always insists upon that, and on good full 
 measure besides ; Antoine's half kilogramme 
 must weigh heavier than any one else's, or 
 I never should hear the end of the matter." 
 
 " Is Diane, then, so warm a friend of the 
 poor old gardener?" inquired Faith. 
 
 " She speaks of him as her second father," 
 
 ■■| . 
 
 II: 
 
 l-M 
 
 
 IhII] 
 
282 
 
 THE ERRAND. 
 
 said Marie, who with a liberal hand was 
 measuriug out the coffee. " I think that 
 Antoine is some kind of relation to Diane ; 
 anyways she has known him since she was 
 a child, and says that she can never forget 
 the hon-hons with which he treated her then. 
 
 Diane has a very good memory— very for 
 
 other things than bm-hons. She never for- 
 gets an affront, as a younger Le Roy found 
 to his cost; so it's well that she can remem- 
 ber a kindness also." 
 
 "And is Diane always the person to carry 
 madame's bounty to Antoine?" asked 
 Faith. 
 
 "Always; he cannot abide the sight of 
 any one else. Antoine is a little wrong 
 here," Marie touched her forehead with her 
 finger; "he is timid, he is a hermit, he 
 would scarcely open his lips to strangers. 
 Diane says that 't would throw Antoine into 
 a fit if any one whom he did not know 
 should come suddenly into his cottage. 
 Thou must knock first, Faith, and gently. 
 Perhaps the francs and the coffee may prove 
 to the old man that thou art no stranger ; 
 and I remember that thou didst show him' 
 
iiglit of 
 > wrong 
 vith liev 
 •mifc, he 
 L'angers. 
 ine into 
 t know 
 cottage, 
 gently, 
 y prove 
 ranger ; 
 ow liiiu 
 
 THE ERRAND. 
 
 283 
 
 kindness when potage was given out in the 
 winter. Surely thou wilt have a welcome ; 
 no one could be fiightened to look on thee. 
 Antoine will be glad of the money ; good, 
 hard, ringing coin goes a great way, spe- 
 cially in these days when — what between 
 the assignats and the war — silver is as scarce 
 as strawberries in Bnimaire [November]. 
 Ah ! that Pitt — that vilcdn Pitt ! — he's at the 
 bottom of the mischief!" And Marie 
 clenched her teeth and gave a little menac- 
 ing shake of her head, as she always did 
 when she mentioned the name of the great 
 Prime Minister of England, who was re- 
 garded by the French in those days some- 
 thing as Prince Bismarck is in these. 
 
 Faith smiled ; she was more than usually 
 cheerful that day. " It seems to me," she 
 playfully observed, "that if the vintage 
 failed, or the silkworms refused to spin, it 
 would be said that Mr. Pitt was at the 
 bottom of the mischief." 
 
 Marie laughed as she tossed the packet of 
 coffee to Faith. " Ah ! thou art Anglaise } 
 thou dost stand up for him who has bribed 
 ail the world to attack poor France from 
 
 M 
 
284 
 
 THE ERRAND. 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 without, as if slie ]jad not trouble enough 
 within. The saucepan boils over fast enough 
 without Pitt's stirring the fagots." Mario 
 ran to the fireplace, where a hiss and a fizz 
 had probably suggested the not very poetical 
 simile to the mind of the cook. " And now 
 away with thee, Faith. Take the right hand 
 path after leaving the back garden-gate, 
 thou canst not lose thy way. Antoine's 
 cottage stands all alone ; thou wilt see its 
 red chimneys above the olive-trees. And 
 do not loiter," continued Marie, "for there 
 are a hundred things for thee to do ; Annette 
 wants help with the linens ; Diane wiU bo 
 furious if her skirt be unfinished ; the mushn 
 curtains must be changed; the coffee-pot 
 nibbed bright ; there are peas to be shelled, 
 and potatoes to be peeled ; and I can't begin' 
 the preserving of the currants tiU thou art 
 here to -assist." 
 
 Of all the members of the household at 
 Chateau Labelle, the most hard-worked was 
 la petite Anglaise, for she was the servant of 
 servants. Faith, the orphan and foreigner 
 was expected to perform every service that 
 no one eiae liked to perfo,m ; she had to bo 
 
THE EllEAND. 
 
 285 
 
 up early and late, and to give help in every 
 domestic department. It was by her quick- 
 ness, her attention, her orderly habits alone, 
 that Faith was able to make her services 
 keep pace with the unreasonable require- 
 ments made upon them. She had so much 
 to do within the chateau that she never was 
 able to quit it, except when sent to gather 
 kitchen-herbs for the table, a favorite occu- 
 pation with Faith, for it gave her a little 
 fi-esh air ; and the sight of i^lants, though 
 only vegetables, was always refreshing and 
 pleasant. It was a rare treat to the j:)e«i7f^ 
 Anglaise to be sent on an errand through a 
 plantation, especially as that mission both 
 implied trust on the part of her mistress, 
 and was one of kindness to an afflicted old 
 man. With the light-heartedness of a child 
 about to enjoy a, holiday. Faith made her 
 short preparations for her walk ; and as she 
 passed through the back-gate into what 
 looked to her like a leafy paradise, she 
 warbled in low but cheerful tones the notes 
 of a hymn of praise which she had last sung 
 in dear Old England. 
 
 fi 'I 
 
 E 
 I 
 
 M: 11 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 FRAUD AND FEAR. 
 
 I 
 
 lONEY tastes as sweet out of a 
 crockery vessel as out of ouc of 
 gold ; and the amount of pleasure 
 which an individual receives from 
 any source of gratification cannot bo meas- 
 ured by the value which the world would 
 put on that source. To Ninon La Fere, a 
 walk through a plantation, with a visit to a 
 cottage as its goal, would have been intole- 
 rably irksome. She would never have 
 noticed the elastic softness of the turf, the 
 purity of the air, the deep exquisite blue of 
 the sky; the songs of happy birds would 
 have been no sweet music to her. Ninon 
 could not even have understood how any 
 one could experience a sense of delicht ii 
 
 nua ex] 
 (286) 
 
 igi 
 
 m a 
 
 mMM 
 
FRAUD AND TEAR. 
 
 287 
 
 solitary ramble. Yet Faith's heart almost 
 bomided with joy as she pursued her lonely 
 way, wishing that her walk could be pro- 
 longed for hours. The beautiful wild- 
 flowers which bordered her • path, the 
 gorgeous butterfly which basked in the 
 sunshine, then fluttering, rose and flew on 
 before her, as if to tempt pursuit, — these 
 trifles gave keen pleasure to Faith. Or 
 rather they were not trifles which yielded 
 ecjoymcnt to the lowly-hearted young 
 Christian. As the flowers and the butterfly 
 owed their brilliant hues to the sunshine, so 
 Faith's simple delights owed their keen 
 relish to the highest and holiest source. 
 Assured of pardoning mercy as she was, and 
 full of grateful love, Faith at that moment 
 reahzed something of that " perfect peace " 
 which is reserved for them — and for them 
 alone — whose souls are "stayed" on the 
 Lord. There was no more cloud on her 
 conscience than in the glorious sky above 
 her ; the deep heavenly depths of the one 
 were emblematic of the other ; and beneath 
 such a sky it w^as no marvel that the hum- 
 blest object looked bright. Why should 
 
 
 M: 
 
 \ "t\ 
 
 f!' 
 
 
 mn I 
 
 '■'i 
 
288 
 
 fi;aud and fear 
 
 heirs of lieiiven go mourniug in sackcloth 
 when the great Father's works and words 
 >»liko bid them rejoice ? Shall the Christian 
 forget that joy — holy joy — is amongst the 
 fruits of tli€ Spirit ? 
 
 Faith had no difficulty whatever in find- 
 ing the cottage of Antoine Lo Roy ; she 
 only felt sorry to see its red chimneys so 
 soon. The dwelling was small, but prettily 
 situated. It was partly covered with a vine, 
 whose large green leaves, unripe clusters, 
 and delicate tendrils formed a natural cur- 
 tain to the single window, and drapery over 
 the door. 
 
 Gently the maiden tapped on the panel, 
 wliicli looked worm-eaten and old. An 
 eager, tremulous " Entrez, entrez, mademoi- 
 i^eUe," made her lift the latch and cross the 
 threshold. The cottage had appeared 
 picturesque and pretty when seen from 
 without, but the squalor and misery within 
 it made themselves at once disagreeably 
 perceptible to more than one of the visitor's 
 senses. It seemed to Faith, on her entrance, 
 as if the place could not have been cleaned 
 for years; dust lay on every object, accu- 
 
FRAUD AND FEAIl. 
 
 289 
 
 mulated in every corner, tlie very air was 
 lieavy with dust, while the iiii plastered 
 rafters above were covered with the gray 
 cobwebs of successive generations of spider.s. 
 Light, even on that warm bright day, feebly 
 Btmggled into the cottage, being not only 
 obscured by vine-leaves without, but by an 
 inner coating of dirt within. Faith's eyo.s 
 soon became accustomed to the twilight 
 dimness of the place ; but on her iirst en- 
 tering it from the blaze of daylight, slio 
 could scarcely distinguish the features of it*. 
 aged, solitary inmate. 
 
 And what penury and misery were' 
 stamped on those features ! Antoine, whom' 
 Faith had not seen since the wintci-, looked: 
 little more than a living skeleton. Ho made 
 a feeble attempt to rise from the chair on 
 which he had been sitting by a table, with 
 his bony hands resting on his knees, and 
 his bearded chin sunken on his chest. But 
 the effort to rise was a vain one ; he had 
 not strength sufficient to stand upright. 
 
 "Is it Mademoiselle Diane?" asked 
 Antoine, with nervous eagerness. 
 
 ^o, not x^ianc j but I nave conie m iier 
 
 19 
 
 I II 
 
 m 
 
 r 
 
 m 
 
 
290 
 
 VUkVD AND feah. 
 
 place, iul.lcd Faith quickly, fancying that 
 sho HaAv ft look or tlisappoiiitmont pass ovor 
 tho fuco of l!jf poor old mau. " This month 
 . mndanio has seufc hor present by mo." 
 
 Faith counted out tho twelvo frnncs on 
 the table, and at tho chink of each one, as 
 It fe I Antoino uttered an ejaculation of 
 thankfulness to tho Virgin, tJie saints, or 
 madamo--a thankfulness mixed with sur- 
 priHo. 
 
 "All these for mc-all-«7//" i^^ ^^_ 
 claimed, clutching the silver in his thin 
 lingers when Faith had finished counting 
 it out. ^ 
 
 "All," sho replied, with a smile. "But 
 
 vrhereforo art thou thus surprised at my 
 
 adys kindness? Doth not Diane brin"- 
 
 thee the hko gift from madamo every month 
 
 in the year?" 
 
 " Ah ! yes, yes ; madamo never forgets 
 tho poor old gardener; Mademoisdlo Diano 
 always comes with a present," replied 
 Antou.o. " I3ut six francs in i..s as^ignal. 
 does not go far-one gets so ]i-ti < breaJ 
 -so little-it would not keep soul andbodv 
 
 
 ^g 
 
 np roots for my ;;o^au- 
 
 r-A-msmiggtt 
 
FRAUD AND PEAK. 
 
 291 
 
 feu when I can manago to crawl out of my 
 cottage." 
 
 '* Six francs, and only in paper ! — is lliafc 
 ;ill tliaL lliou dost rccoivo througli Diaiio?" 
 asked Faith, tho dark suspicion which 
 crossed hor mind giving to her usually 
 gentle countenance an expression almost of 
 ^' '''^' sternness. 
 
 " I have no more, mademoiselle ; not a 
 Kous more," replied tho pensioner. "I used 
 to have twelve francs in silver every month, 
 with the poor king's face (peace to his soul!) 
 stamped on them every one. But Made- 
 moiselle Diane says that times are no\y 
 changed, and that Madame la Comtesso 
 cannot give as slio gave in tho days of tho 
 ancien re<jime, when the noUcsnc had plenty 
 of horses in their stables, and of loiils (Vor 
 in their co£fers." 
 
 " But Diane, doubtless, always brought 
 you a supply of coffee, like tliis?" asked 
 Faith, holding out the largo fragrant packet 
 which she had carried vvith hor from Cha- 
 teau Labelle. 
 
 Antoine seized hold of the parcel with a 
 wondering joy, an extravagant delight which 
 
 1 < 
 
 i-.- 
 
 * 
 
 'i, 
 
 h 
 
 M 
 
I 
 
 i 
 
 J 
 
 El 1| 
 
 i 
 
 :;ji 
 
 292 
 
 FflAUD AND FEAR. 
 
 ik was almost painful to see. "All! wliai; 
 perfume— what luxury !" ho cried ; " it i^ 
 long— very long— sinca I havo tasted a drop 
 of warm coffee !" 
 
 " Then it would serve Diane right if she 
 were never to taste a drop of warm coffeo 
 again !" exclaimed the English girl, with a 
 burst of indignation which she could not 
 repress. 
 
 The old gardener looked startled at her 
 words, which at the first instant he scarcely 
 understood. Their meaning, however, sooii 
 dawned upon him; and the pensioner be- 
 came suddenly aware both that he had beeu 
 cruelly defrauded of his due, and that he 
 had been letting out to a stranger facta 
 which Diane would undoubtedly wish to ba 
 most carefully concealed. 
 
 " Don't let Diane know that I told you. 
 O mademoiselle, for the love of the blessed 
 saints, don't let her know!" exclaimed the 
 trembling old man in pleading accents, as if 
 he himself had been the criminal who had 
 reason to dread a discovery of a system ot* 
 frauds 
 
 Faith did not venture to give a direct 
 
 wswfflBWTses 
 
1)1 
 
 FJRAUD AND FEAR. 
 
 293 
 
 replj' to tlio reitenitcLl entreaty. She only 
 assured the old gardener that slio would 
 think of him, and care for him, and that sho 
 had hopes that ho would soon hog bettof 
 days. Would it not bo far belter for iiim, 
 she suggested, to corao and live in the 
 chateau, if madame, wlio was so kind and 
 good to all, would give him leave? He 
 might then, perhaps, receive her bonuty 
 from her own hand. Mario would nee that 
 he wanted nothing ; ho would never be 
 hungry again. 
 
 But Antoino, after years of utter seclusion, 
 was too timidly nervous to admit tho possi- 
 bility of changing his place of abode. Ho 
 trembled violently, tears gushed from hia 
 aged eyes at tho very idea of quitting lii.H 
 cottage. Faith saw that tho point could 
 not be pressed. All that she could do at that 
 time was to tr}^ by slight attentions, to 
 mitigate the discomfort in which she had 
 found Antoinc. Faith filled his kettle, 
 lighted his fire, and would luive remainod 
 with Antoine till she had brou<>ht his miser- 
 able liff.lo dnii inlo sonipfliinrr liko oi'dov, but 
 for tlie charge of Marie that sho should not 
 
 H 
 
 'I 
 
 ' ) 
 
 
i 
 
 ■■ I 
 
 ii 
 
 294 
 
 FRAUD AND FEAR. 
 
 delay her return. Faith was not sorry on 
 her own account that she must not remain 
 many minutes in the cottage, from which 
 air, as well as light, was so much excluded ; 
 it was a relief to leave the close, sickening 
 atmosphere within, for the freshness of the 
 soft, warm breezes without. The last sound 
 which Faith heard from the lips of Antoine, 
 as she closed his door behind her, was 
 the repeated entreaty that she would not 
 brmg him into trouble with Mademoiselle 
 Diane. 
 
 "Oh, the wickedness, ihe deceit, the 
 cmelty of that woman !" exclaimed Faith 
 to herself in her native tongue, as she turned 
 from the wretched hovel, " to betray the 
 trust of her generous mistress, to rob one so 
 very poor as Antoine, and under the pretence 
 of old friendship, of gratitude for past 
 kindness ! Could anything be more base ? 
 Antomo is afraid of Diane's anger-no 
 wonder that he is afraid. She who i3 
 capable of such meanness, such cruelty, 
 would be capable of any other sin. But 
 what is. to be done ?" thought Faith. " Th 
 this wicked course of fraud to be still carried 
 
 ! i 
 
 *^mmimm 
 
nUUD AND FEAR. 
 
 295 
 
 on? Ought not my lady to know of it; 
 and if so, who is to tell her ?" 
 
 Faith unconsciously slackened her steps, 
 for the new subject offered to her thoughts 
 was very difficult and perplexing. The Eng- 
 lish girl shared that dislike to anything re- 
 sembling tale-bearing which in schools and 
 in households prevents one member from 
 informing against another. Faith had seen 
 many things at Chateau Labelle of which 
 she could not possibly approve, but she had 
 not deemed it to be her duty to carry a report 
 to the comtesse of the shortcomings of her 
 servants. But was the present case similar 
 to the rest? "Was silence to be justified by 
 necessity, or made a point of honor? Faith 
 would gladly have persuaded herself that 
 it was so. She was not by nature possessed 
 of a high degree of courage ; she had al- 
 ready suffered greatly from the dislike of 
 Diane: dare she draw down upon herself 
 the intense, the vindictive hatred of that 
 unprincipled woman by accusing her to her 
 mistress? Diane was, more or less, an 
 object of foar to every member of the liouso- 
 liold at Chateau Labelle ; no one cared to 
 
 ;' 
 
 
 '. ( ;; 
 
 I: 
 
 Ml' if 'J 
 
29(5 
 
 phaud and fear. 
 
 Iiavo her as an eiicmj, though no one sought 
 her as a fiieud. It was Diane's boast that 
 she never forgot or forgave an affront ; and, 
 however regardless of truth she might 
 usually be, few doubted that in this matter 
 ihefemme-dc-cliamhre spoke truly. 
 
 Faith was a gentle girl, of a very peace- 
 able disposition : she never willingly gave 
 nor readily took offence. In a peculiarly 
 difficult position she had succeeded in pass- 
 ing more than eighteen months in a foreign 
 land, amongst those who professed a different 
 religion from her own, without having an 
 actual quarrel with any one. She had 
 suffered, but she had not striven; when 
 reviled, she had not reviled again. Faith 
 was ready to make any sacrifice for the sake 
 of ixjace, except the sacrifice of conscience. 
 Had the time come when all hope of peace 
 must be given up, and with peace perhaps 
 personal safety ? For the peril involved in 
 making a deadly enemy of a Frenchwoman 
 m the year 1794 cannot be measured by 
 what it would cost to offend a superior in 
 Britain. In her own comitry, Faith had 
 been under the sLield of the law ; in France, 
 
IHIp 
 
 i 
 
 FRAUD AND FEAR. 
 
 297 
 
 law afforded littlo or no protectio;. to the 
 weak. Anarcliy ou every side afforded 
 tearful opportunities to the bold and un- 
 scrupulous to gratify porsonid malice and 
 revenge. There had been women in France , 
 and those not very few in number, who 
 seemed to have exchanged the natural 
 tenderness of their sex for more savage 
 cruelty than that shown by the Jacobin 
 men. Faith had heard with shuddering 
 horror of women sitting in view of the scaf- 
 fold, as at a play, knitting, talking, jesting, 
 as they counted head after head falling 
 under the stroke of the guillotine. The 
 maiden felt intuitively that from none of 
 these harpies coulcl less mercy be hoped for 
 than Diane was likely to show to one who 
 should give her mortal olfenee. 
 
 "I dare not— oh, I dare not incur her 
 hatred!" thought Faith, as again she quick- 
 ened her steps ; " I am so helpless, so friend- 
 less!" Faith's eyes glanced upwards into 
 that clear blue ether which had looked to 
 her, but a short time before, like the 
 sapphire pavement of heaven. " Helpless* 
 friendless !" repeated Faith, in a tone of self- 
 
 ■i 
 
 > , si 
 
 M^ 
 
. ! 
 
 t 
 
 rf'A 
 
 
 iii 
 
 U 
 
 f 
 
 ,'.i 
 
 298 
 
 I'EAUD AND FEAK. 
 
 reproach, " ,vl,ilo I can aslc for I,clp from 
 above-wlicn the Lord Himseli' is my 
 friend ! Oh, this co«-ard fear of man, .shall 
 1 never break from its bondage ? ' m,o is 
 he that w!U harm yc, if ye be fdloims of tlat 
 f^oh^s good?'" Ruth tried calmly to 
 look hor new difficulty in tlio face. " That 
 poor old man is starving ; ho is dvinr; a 
 ...germg death from actual want, because 
 ho IS defrauded of his own ; or ho is <Wvcn 
 just enough to keep him alive, tl,at Diano 
 ■nay continue to make wicked gain by 
 robbrng the poor! If I keep silent, know- 
 ing what I know, will not the wasted, 
 wUhered laeo of that old man h.uut mc? 
 feh dl I not be Diane's actfompliee in guilt V 
 Automo cannot, dare not plead his own 
 cause; ,s not tho cause of the poor tho 
 oauso of the Lord? In past days I was 
 tempted sorely tempted to disobey the 
 voice of eonscieneo through tlio snare of 
 eartily love: now I flinch back through 
 earthly fear. The snare is laid, as it we?e 
 on the oppo.site side of my path ; but it is 
 prep.ared by the same spiritual enemy 
 
 llnl 
 
FRAUD AND FEAR. 
 
 200 
 
 How strong still in my bouI must bo t])p 
 power of solf nnd sin !" 
 
 Faith dreaded mccthig Diane, now tliat 
 she was conscious of possessing llio fcmmc- 
 de-chamhres secret. Intercourse vrilh lu!r 
 had never been pleasant, now it would 
 become very painful. The young servant 
 re-entered the chateau, and rcsvnnod lier 
 domestic duties with a preoccupied mind ; 
 she was so taken up with what she had seen 
 and heard at Antoine's cottage, and thn 
 difficulty of deciding upon what course she 
 should pursue, that for once, by lier in- 
 attention, Faith tried the temper of Marie, 
 a temper which was very easily sot in a 
 blaze. 
 
 "What has como over thee, stupid? 
 Hast thou no hands, no eyes ? Canst thou 
 not set dovm a tray of currants without 
 letting half of them tumble down on the 
 floor? Ill take good care that thou dost- 
 not go gadding through the plantation again, 
 for thou hast left thy wits behind thee !" 
 
 ouch Avas the angry rebuke of Mario, 
 uttered in the shrillest tones of her voice, 
 which was naturallv shrill. But Faith 
 
 ! Ih 
 
 ill 
 
 >■■ 1| 
 
 
 ' tiil 
 
 i I 
 
300 
 
 FRAUD AND FEAR. 
 
 ficarcely lieard wliat sho said, and was im- 
 consciously treading under foot some of the 
 berries M-liidi she. had dropped in her 
 sudden stnrt on Diane'.s entering tlio kitchen. 
 The femme-de-chamhrc advanced, and stood 
 directly in front of and almost close to the 
 frightened girl. 
 
 "So madame tells me that thou hast 
 carried her present to Antoino," said Diane, 
 m tones much lower than those of Marie' 
 but more terrible in their measured distinct-' 
 ness than the loudest chiding of tlie an-ry 
 cook. " Thou didst doubtless find the dear 
 old gardener comfortable and in good 
 health?" ^ 
 
 "I cannot say so," began Faith, while 
 the nervous movements of her foot made 
 more havoc amongst the red currants. Mario 
 liad quitted the kitchen, or Faith's attention 
 would have been unpleasantly drawn to this 
 fact. 
 
 "But 1 say it," observed Diane, advanc- 
 ing still closer to Faith, and bending for- 
 ward till the poor girl could feel her warm 
 breath on her brow. Faith saw the blood- 
 red bow of ril)bon which the fcmme-de- 
 
PlIAUD AND FEAR. 
 
 301 
 
 vhamhrc wore quiver with ciuotiou like that 
 which a spider gives to its web when a prey is 
 c'uight ill its toils. " / say it, and t/iuii must 
 say it also, or it Avill bo tl:c worso for thee ! 
 Ilcrctiqi'.e, Anyhd'^e, thou dobt uiulorstand 
 mo?" 
 
 It was impossible not to understand the 
 menace conveyed in the words. Faith had 
 not courage to reply, even had she had 
 time to do so ; but Diano turned sharply 
 away as Marie bustled back into the kitchen. 
 Faith had to bear a pelting storm of abuse for 
 lier carelessness in rot only throwing down 
 but crushing the currants, as she knelt to 
 pick up the fruit, and then to wash the red 
 stains from the floor. But the chiding of 
 Mario, compared to the threat of Diane, was 
 as the pelting of summer rain compared to 
 the barbed arrow that silently strikes deep 
 into the quivering flesh. 
 
 Yet even as Faith on her knees "as 
 (Migaged in gathering up the trampled 
 fruit, she was forming a resolve that, let the 
 consequences be what they might, she should 
 not be frightened out of performing a Chris- 
 tian duty. She would w^atcli for the veiy 
 
 |i ,\-M 
 
 
 •- j, I. 
 
 ife. 
 
 ;. ■ , 
 
 .]' 
 
 t] 
 
 
302 
 
 FEAUD AND FEAK. 
 
 first oppoiiunltv of speaking aloiio with Lor 
 mistress ; tlio conitusso slioukl know that 
 slio liacl placed false confiilencc in oiio avIio 
 had shamefully abused her tmst; and thf 
 lady in hor wisdom might find some way of 
 protecting Antoino from fnfcnre wrong, 
 possibly without bringing on Fi'ilh all tlio 
 tempest of wrath which she drcpdod'. The 
 maiden, as she knelfc, was siloutly praying 
 for discretion and courage, and otrengtlien- 
 ing herself by repeating and appropriating 
 the divine promise of protection : Fear 
 thou not; for I am with ihcc: he not dis- 
 mayed ; for I am ilnj God: 1 will drcngihcn 
 tliee ; yea, I will hdp ihee ; yea, I will uphold 
 thee loilh the rirjhl hand of My righteousness. 
 
 1,-i 
 
CHAPTER XXVll. 
 
 DARING THE WORST, 
 
 tion. 
 
 pIEN the servants mai ixvomul the 
 suppcr-tablo that evening, Diano 
 wiiH more than nsually animated 
 in manner, and full of conversa- 
 Ilcr talk flowed entirely in ono 
 channel. Sho related tale after tale, all 
 bearing upoii tlio same subject of hatred 
 and vengoanco, sliown in secret plots and in 
 Juidniglit murders. Each story seemed to 
 bo more horrible than the ono which had 
 preceded it; and Diano told it with tho 
 skill of an actress — darkening countonanco, 
 deepening tones giving added effect to her 
 narration, till she made tlio flesh of her 
 listeners creep, and ther: blood run cold. 
 j'iVer and aaou, at tho closer ol somo 
 
 (303) 
 
 1% 
 
 i, 
 
 Sj!( 
 
 '1 
 
 t ! 
 
 li 
 
 V ^- 
 
304 
 
 DARINa THE WORST. 
 
 tale, tliG fomnc-dc'chamhre would give ft 
 glaco of triumpliauf-, defianco at Faith, who 
 looked, as sho folt, shoclcod and sickonod at 
 Iho records of cnielty and criino. 
 
 "I am in no danger of exposure by yon 
 pale, puny Aiir/laisc" tliought Diane ; " she 
 is weak and soft as a feather, and will never 
 venture for a moment to match lier strength 
 against mine." 
 
 But even a feather, with all its softness 
 and pliability, has an inherent power of 
 resistance : of feathers liave been formed 
 breastplates which could turn the edge of a 
 weapon. Diane might easily succeed in 
 frightening Faith, but in shaking her resolve 
 she did not succeed. The effect of fear on 
 the English girl was to make her mistrust 
 her own firmness, and therefore determine 
 to do a painful duty so promptly as to leave 
 herself no time for retreat. Faith dared 
 not wait even till the following day, lest the 
 morning should find her irresolute. Only 
 pausing, therefore, until she saw Diane sit 
 down as she usually did after supper, to a 
 game of ronge-et-noir with one of the other 
 servants, Faith set about her appointed task. 
 
'I^f 
 
 DAiuNQ THE woiisr. 
 
 005 
 
 by yon 
 ) ; " sho 
 .11 never 
 ;trength 
 
 softness 
 Dwer of 
 formetl 
 ge of a 
 3oeil in 
 resolve 
 fear on 
 nistrust 
 termino 
 to leave 
 1 dared 
 lest the 
 Only 
 iane sit 
 er, to a 
 e other 
 3d task. 
 
 Slio slipped quielly out of the seivants liall ; 
 but not to go, according to usual loutiue, to 
 help to prepare the sleeping jipariments. 
 The maid turned down a picture-hung 
 corridor, and proceeded towards the bou- 
 doir in ^v^icll, as she well knew, the comtesso 
 was wont to pass her evening:-, frequently 
 alone. 
 
 Faith had never before gone unsummoned 
 into the presence of Gabrielle La Fere. 
 Tlie poor girl's heart beat very fast, as her 
 timid tap at the door was answered by the 
 hidy's voice bidding her enter. 
 
 Gabrielle sat at a small inlaid table, with 
 jier desk before her ; she was engaged in 
 looking over old letters by the light of a 
 bronze candelabrum. Such occupation is 
 often a sad one ; and the lady, as she pur- 
 sued it, looked even more pensive than 
 usuah The window of the boudoir was wido 
 open, for the evening was warm, and tho 
 breeze that gently stirred the curtains was 
 fragrant with the x^crfume of orange-blos- 
 soms from the garden below. The comtesso 
 appeared to be alone, for Faith did not 
 observe that Ninon La Fere was seated at 
 
 20 
 
 ) 
 
306 
 
 DAllINQ THE WORST. 
 
 the oi:)en Tvindow, she being almost concealed 
 by one of the curtains. Tired of the novel 
 with which she had been trying to kill time. 
 Ninon was indulging in the dokefar niente f^ 
 she might bo supposed to be gazing on the 
 glimmering stars, but tlie thoughts of the 
 young lady were engaged on objects very 
 far below tliem. 
 
 Gabrielle looked up fi-om her papei;s, as 
 Faith, after closing the door behind "^ her, 
 respectfully apx)roached her mistress. 
 
 " Thou hast visited Aiitoine Le Roy, and 
 hast doubtless come to tell me of thy visit. 
 How fares the old man?" asked the 
 comtesse. 
 
 "But ill, madame," replied Faith. 
 
 ^'^ What is his malady?" inquired the lady. 
 
 "I believe, want of proper food and 
 proper care," answered Faith, with an effort. 
 
 Gabrielle La Fere looked surprised. " I 
 provide what the old gardener needs ; he 
 cannot know want," she observed. 
 
 " No, madam, not if he receives what your 
 
 bounty provides." That if, uttered with 
 
 nen--ous emphasis, was the passage of the 
 
 * 8wcd do noihiny, an Italian term for idle loimging. 
 
 m 
 
 J 
 
DARING THE WOllST. 
 
 307 
 
 3onceale(l 
 tlie novel 
 kill time. 
 r nicntc ;'* 
 g on the 
 ts of the 
 3cts verj 
 
 ipei;s, as 
 incl her, 
 
 58. 
 
 Roy, and 
 thy visit. 
 icd tho 
 
 the lady. 
 >od and 
 m effort, 
 5ed. " I 
 eds; he 
 
 iiatyonr 
 ed with 
 3 of the 
 lounging. 
 
 Rubicon to Faith. Gabrielle's attention 
 was instantly fixed, and her suspicions 
 awakened. The comtesse bade Faith give 
 her a detailed, minute account of all that 
 she had seen and heard during the visit to 
 the gardener's cottage. 
 
 The maid could not choose but obey. 
 Uninterrupted, save by an occasional 
 question from Gabrielle La Fere, Faith 
 simply and truthfully narrated all that had 
 passed, neither omitting nor exaggerating 
 aaglit. 
 
 A cloud of stern displeasure gathered on 
 the brow of the listening lady. Gabrielle 
 kept her dark eyes steadily fixed on tho 
 speaker, and Faith met that searching gaze 
 without blenching. There was a pause of 
 silence when the English maiden had finished 
 her account. Faith was startled at that 
 silence being broken by a laugh from behind 
 the curtain. 
 
 "I declare, 7na heUe-soeur,'* cried Ninon, 
 "that thou dost look as stern and solemn 
 about this trifling affair as if it concerned 
 some handsome young marquis being sent 
 to the guillotine just set up in Aix, instead 
 
 ! ii> 
 
 I 
 
 !:' 
 
 
 ■.r 
 
 J 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
(^ l ' 
 
 V>GS 
 
 DARING THE WOIIST. 
 
 of a wretched old man grumbling in a miso- 
 rable cottage !"' 
 
 " It is no light matter to me if I find 
 that one of mj dependents has been wronged 
 and oppressed, and that another has been 
 guilty of fraud and falsehood," said the 
 Comtesse La Fere. "I must sift this affair 
 to the bottom. It is too late to send for 
 Antoiuo to-night, but I will see him myself 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " I hope that thou art not going to do or 
 
 say anything to put Diane out of humor," 
 
 cried Ninon. " She is the only person in 
 
 this tomb of a chateau with whom I can 
 
 laugh and converse ; I shall die of enmii if 
 
 she grow sulky. Faith talks nonsense about 
 
 this old man. He has been bent double 
 
 and has looked like a scarecrow for years. 
 
 Ho must have died long ago had he not 
 
 been well cared for by Diane. But these 
 
 canaille have no gratitude ; and pensioners, 
 
 AS all the world knows, never die !" 
 
 Gabrielle was not wont to pay much heed 
 to^ the babble of her hcUe-swur, and her 
 mind was noAv too painfully occupied by the 
 diselosuruis made by Faith to take in ev< n 
 
V.'M-i I'- 
 ll i I M 
 
 DAKINQ tfHE WORST. 
 
 309 
 
 .:! ill 
 
 m a iiii.se- 
 
 tho purport of what Ninon was saying. 
 The comtesso pressed lior hand to her 
 forehead, remained some moments in reflec- 
 tion, and then addressed Faith Stanby : 
 
 " Mention to no one what thou hast tohl 
 me to-night," said the lady ; " I will not fail 
 to look into this matter," and with a gesture 
 of her hand the lady dismissed her maid 
 from her presence. 
 
 " I have done my part ; I am so thankful 
 that I have been given courage to speak," 
 said Faith to herself as she quitted the 
 apartment. "All now rests with madame. 
 She is just and good ; what is wrong she 
 has power to set right. That poor old man 
 will have cause to bless the chance— but 
 surely it was not chance which made the 
 comtesse send her gifts for once by another 
 hand than Diane's." 
 
 But though the conscience of Faith was 
 satisfied, and she could lie down to rest that 
 night with a sweet consciousness that a dan- 
 gerous duty had been bravely performed, she 
 could not easily sleep. Her mind was 
 haunted by the horrible stories which Diane 
 had related, and for some time she vainly 
 
 :*i 
 
 
 
 %H 
 
 
310 
 
 DAKING TIIE#WORST. 
 
 tried to banish thorn from memory by 
 repec>iing psahiis and old English hymns 
 Tiie hooting of an owl, which Faith had oc- 
 casionally hoard before, now troubled and 
 disturbed her, as if a death-Avail were in Uu) 
 mght-bird's cry. At length, however, drow- 
 smess overpowered thought, and Faith was 
 forgetting in sleep all hor cares and fears 
 >vhen she was startled from hor first slumber 
 by the glare of a candle on her closed eyo- 
 lids. Opening them in sudden alarm. Faith 
 beheld standing at her bedside, with a light- 
 ed candle in her hand, the woman whom 
 she most dreaded. The dark complexion 
 of Diane had almost a greenish hue, and the 
 expression of her eyes looked wolfish to tho 
 imagination of the terrified girl, who thus 
 suddenly roused from sleep, regarded her 
 enemy as she might have done some hideous 
 apparition. 
 
 "I owe thee something— I know it, joer- 
 /ider said Diane, glaring down at Faith, 
 and speaking in a voice tremulous from 
 fury. « I owe thee something, and I never 
 forget such dGhi<i,-~Jcn7icus, jamais r The 
 last words were hissed out rather than 
 
DARINa THE WORST. 
 
 :ui 
 
 spoken ; and before tlieir souml had died 
 away in the cars of tlio trembling listener, 
 i\\Q fi'mmr.-dc-cJiamhrc had turned and glided 
 out of tlie apartment, which was again left 
 in ntter darkness, save from glimmering 
 starlight dimly visible throngh the case- 
 ment. 
 
 Faith sprang from her bed, and was at 
 the door in the twinkling of an eye, f"oni an 
 instinctive desire to lock and bolt it so as to 
 render impossible a repetition of such a 
 visit. But there was no key to turn, no boH 
 to fasten ; ihe door of the little turret-cliam- 
 ber had merely ii latch. The .frightened 
 girl dragged the only chair in the room 
 from its i)laco, set it against the door, and 
 put her heavy box upon it ; a poor barrier 
 they formed, but at least no one would be 
 able to enter that chamber again without 
 rousing its inmate. Faith had seen at 
 Lyons the countenances of men inflamed 
 with savage fury ; she had seen them when 
 it appeared but too likely that actual mur- 
 der was to bo committed before her eyes ; 
 but no face that she had ever looked on left 
 on her memory such an impression of hor- 
 
 U\ 
 
 ' .1 .! 
 

 I 
 
 
 u 
 
 ai2 
 
 DAniNGf THE WOllST. 
 
 ror as that pale, livid ono on wlilcli the glare 
 of the candle had fallen that night. 
 
 " I will go to Annette— I will entreat her 
 to let mo sleep with her— I dare not sta}' 
 here alone," cried poor Faith, trembling 
 from head to foot with nervous excitement- 
 Tn order to carry out her design, she began 
 removing her little barrier from the door to 
 enable herself to open it ; but Faith changed 
 her intention before she had effected her 
 prrpose. 
 
 ** Foolish and cowardly that I am," mur- 
 mured the maid. " Of what use would it be 
 for mo to have the protection of a compan- 
 ion for a short space of time, when every 
 hour of the day— and the night— I am liable 
 to meet with Diane ? She will try to harm 
 me, that I doubt not, but scarcely by stab- 
 bing or shooting me in the chateau. I must 
 be on my guard, and trust in the Lord. 
 Who is it that can hurt me if the Almighty 
 be my defence and shield? Are not the 
 hairs of my head all numbered? Can even 
 a sparrow fall to the ground without the 
 permission of my heavenly Father? TJie 
 Yory worst that human hatred can do to a 
 
DARING THE WORST. 
 
 313 
 
 fcliG glare 
 
 Teat her 
 not stay 
 rembling 
 utement- 
 LO began 
 tloor to 
 cliaijged 
 jtecl lier 
 
 11," mur- 
 ald it be 
 compan- 
 m every 
 m liable 
 to harm 
 )y stab- 
 Imusk 
 e Lord. 
 Imighty 
 not the 
 m even 
 out the 
 ■? The 
 :lo to a 
 
 ■ 
 
 I 
 
 Christian is to send hun a little sooner to the 
 home above, where all la safety, and rest, and 
 peace !" Faitlj pressed her hands tightly 
 over her tlirobbing heart, and looked forth 
 from the casemeiit on (he stars in the deep 
 blue sky, so calm in their radiant beauty. 
 She thought on the majesty of Him who had 
 studded the firmament with those orbs of 
 light, and who for thousands of years had 
 upheld and guided them, while generation 
 after generation of men had' passed away 
 like waves that successively break on the 
 Bhore. There are few things that bring 
 more forcibly before the mind of the Chris- 
 tian the shortness of life belew, and the 
 vanity of earthly hopes and fears, than con- 
 templation of the sky at night. It is not 
 only literally that the world becomes hidden 
 from the view ; not the bodily eyes alone 
 are raised upwards ; faith, looking at the 
 stars, looks beyond the stars, and thought 
 is intuitively shaped into prayer. 
 
 At least thus it was with the young exile. 
 Gradually the tumult in Faith's spirit be- 
 came hushed into peace ; her heart ceased 
 to flutter so wildly. The owl had left off 
 
 it 
 
 ' H 
 
 il 
 
!\ 
 
 314 
 
 DARINa THE WOEST. 
 
 hooting, and sweetly tlie nightingale's song 
 came from the distant grove. Faith's 
 heart had also its music, though her lips did 
 not breathe it aloud. A song heard in 
 England recurred to her mind; a melodj, 
 sad and j^hiintive indeed, but with something 
 soothing in its sadness. Faith returned to 
 her bed, laid her head on her pillow, and at 
 last dropped again into slumber with the 
 strain in hor ear-^ : 
 
 SONG. 
 
 When darkness broods around, 
 All is night— drear night ; 
 
 Thp breezes bear no sound — 
 All is night — still night ; 
 
 The watchers' weary eyes 
 
 Gaze on the eastern skies, 
 
 Where soon the sun will rise- 
 All be light— clear light. 
 
 When o'er the spirit crushed 
 
 Broods the night— sad night ; 
 Earth's sounds of joy are hushed — 
 
 All is night — still night ; 
 Hope, with more earnest gaze, 
 Through the deepening gloom surveys 
 Where will burst the glorious rays— 
 All be light— bi-ight light. 
 
e 8 sonrr 
 Faith's 
 lips did 
 eard in 
 mclodj, 
 metliing 
 irncd to 
 , and at 
 'ith tho 
 
 ^>kUs!^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXVni. 
 
 THE BED niBBON. 
 
 it \\ 
 
 ff.;i 
 
 s 
 
 T must bo owned lliat Faith 
 
 awoke on tlio morrow with a 
 
 weight on her mind, an undefined 
 
 sense of dread which oppressed 
 
 her even before her senses were sufficiently 
 
 clear to make her aware of its cause. She 
 
 arose very early; the sun had scarcely ♦ 
 
 risen, the dew lay thick on the lawn which 
 
 spread beneath that part of the chateau to 
 
 which her turret belonged. Faith went to 
 
 the casement to refresh herself by one 
 
 glance at the glorious eastern prospect, 
 
 bathed in the rosy glow of sunrise, and 
 
 canopied by its golden clouds. Chancing 
 
 to look down from her liei<^lit on tlie lawn 
 
 Faith's attention was aHracted by some 
 
 (315-) 
 
 
 Ii 
 
316 
 
 THE RED RIBBON, 
 
 small red object, which seemed to her, at 
 the first glance, like a stain ol blood on the 
 green grass below. The events of the pre- 
 ceding night had made the poor girl so 
 nervous that a thrill of fear ran through 
 her frame, till, looking down more intently 
 on the object. Faith perceived that it was 
 nothing but a bow of red ribbon. 
 
 " I am more timid than a child, if a bit of 
 colored silk makes mo tremble," said Faith 
 to herself, with an attempt to smile at her 
 own cowardice. " But that looks like the 
 bow which Diane wore yesterday evening ; 
 no one at the chateau wears a red bow but 
 herself. It is .omewhat strange that it 
 should be lymg there on the lawn, before 
 'any one but myself is awake in Chateau 
 Labelle !" 
 
 Faith had another question to solve 
 as she ^jin-ned away from the casement. 
 How was it that Diane knew, as she evi- 
 dently did know, that the comtesse had 
 been informed of her base conduct towards 
 Antoine? Faith concluded, and was cor- 
 rect in the conclusion, that Mademoiselle 
 Ninon, whose delight was in gossip, had told 
 
THE RED RIB130N. 
 
 317 
 
 her, at 
 I on the 
 the pre- 
 
 girl so 
 through 
 intentlj 
 t it was 
 
 a bit of 
 d Faitli 
 at her 
 ike the 
 vening ; 
 )ow but 
 that it 
 , before 
 Chateau 
 
 solve 
 sement. 
 he evi- 
 se had 
 owards 
 as cor- 
 loiselle 
 ad told 
 
 all to the fcmmc-de-chamhrc w' eu Diane 
 waited upon the young lady at niglit. 
 
 Faith's morning preparations never oc- 
 
 crupicd much of the time of which she had 
 
 so little to spare. Being, however, up so 
 
 early this morning, she was able to devote 
 
 some more muiutes than she usually did 
 
 to the Bible-reading and prayer in which 
 
 she found her greatest refreshment. The 
 
 maiden then went again to the easement 
 
 and looked down to see the red ribbon 
 
 once more. To her surprise, not a trace of 
 
 it could she perceive. In vain Faith's gaze 
 
 searched the lawn from side to side ; there 
 
 was nothing on the green grass but the 
 
 dew-drops that shone in the glittering 
 
 sun-beams. 
 
 "I could almost fancy that I had only 
 dreamed that I saw the red bow, my mind 
 being so full of Diane," thought Faith. 
 But the English girl was not given to idle 
 fancies ; and common sense made her de- 
 cide that some one must have picked up 
 and taken away the ribbon during the intor- 
 
 ,w>l U^f,.r/^/^r^ l^pv fivof ori'l eP'^'^Tld look from 
 
 the casement. Faith thought that she 
 
 ft: 
 
 .11 
 
 
 :Mf 
 
 .iltl 
 
818 
 
 THE RED llltJBON. 
 
 could oven trace Bomotliiiif; like footprints 
 on the dewy lawn, tliongli the lieight of her 
 turret made it difficult to assure herself of 
 the fact. But who was likely to have been 
 thero at so early an hour ? The gardener 
 had not yet come to his work, and all was 
 still as death in Chateau Labelle. Faith 
 tried to dismiss the subject from her mind, 
 but again and ngain caught herself conjec- 
 turing how that ribbon had fallen on the 
 grass, and how ii had so suddenly vanished 
 from it. 8ho coidd not but reflect that 
 from the front of the chateau the nearest 
 way to the olive plantation lay across that 
 lawn. 
 
 When Faith entered the servants' Jjall, 
 she found no one in it but Marie. 
 
 "What's in the wmd now, I wonder, 
 Faith?" was her first greeting, as she looked 
 with curiosity at la pelite Anglaise. " What 
 Borfc of report didst thou bring to niadamo 
 yesterday of thy visit to Antoine Lo Boy?" 
 
 ''Wherefore dost thou ask me?" said 
 Faith, who remembered her mistress's in- 
 junction that she should keep silenco on 
 the subject. 
 
THE llEJ RIBDON. 
 
 319 
 
 'X 
 
 lift 
 
 "Because madamo gavo mo so strango 
 an order last night. As Hoon as brealcfast 
 is over I am to go alono in tho pony-cart 
 to the cottage, and bring back okl Antoino 
 to the chateau, and suffer him to speak to 
 no one till ho has seen my hidy herself. I 
 was never sent on so strango an errand 
 l)efore. Didst thou— but, hush ! the others 
 ju'o coming in to breakfast, and madamo 
 desired me not to mention the business 
 before tho rest of tho household." 
 
 '* Madamo is prompt in taking her mea- 
 sures," thought Faith; "but I much w 
 tbat red ribbon shows that somo ono oiso 
 has been quicker still." 
 
 Diane now enteri u tho nail. The blood- 
 rod bow was fastened on her dress, bu^ 
 Faith fancied that it looked damp, and it 
 had certain] V been pinned on awry. This 
 was the first time that a crookedly put on 
 bow ha* ' ever been seen in tho dross of the 
 acGom^lished femmc-de'chamhre of tho Com- 
 
 tesse La Fere. 
 
 " Thou hast a look of weariness, I lane," 
 observed Marie, as she handed to her, at 
 breakfast, her cup of chocolate. "Hast 
 
 ^ni 
 
 i. 
 
 1.1 
 
n20 
 
 THE KKD lilBBON. 
 
 I 
 
 thou been dreaming of tliat liorritl murder 
 at the mill, of which thou wert telling us 
 last night?" 
 
 Diane did indeed look haggard and tired, 
 and her manner was irritable and restless. 
 Faith tried to avoid looking at her enemy, 
 but a strange kind of fascination seemed to 
 draw her eyes in the direction of Diane. 
 
 At the conclusion of the morning meal 
 Diane went, as was her custom, to assist 
 Mademoiselle Ninon at her toilette ; that 
 of the comtesse was already .completed. 
 To attire mademoiselle, build up over its 
 cushion the pile of her hair, duly apply 
 pomatum and powder, and give the finishing 
 touch of rogue to her cheeks, was usually 
 a tedious affair. To Ninon, her toilette 
 was perhaps the most interesting business 
 of the day, and she spun out the time which 
 it occupied by light gossip with her femme- 
 de-chambre, so that hours were consumed 
 in front of the mirror. Ninon did indeed 
 sometimes complain that all her trouble 
 and Diane's were wasted, since only the 
 crows and the peacocks saw the result of 
 an elaborate toilette. But dressing herself 
 
THE RED BIBBON. 
 
 321 
 
 out as if to receive visitors was the yonng 
 lady's favorite amusement, and as it was 
 well-nigh her only one at Chateau Labelle, 
 she usually made it a protracted one. 
 Faith could not help hoping that on this 
 critical mornmg it might be even longer 
 than usual. 
 
 I 
 
 i '-I 
 
 ! 1 
 
 tj* 
 
 21 
 
 '' f 
 
 •m 
 
 
 ^'H 
 
 iifl 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A VERDICT. 
 
 ARIE soon set off on her little 
 expedition to the cottage of 
 ^ Antoinc Le Eoj. Tlio way by 
 wliieU she drove the pony-cart 
 was longer than the foot-path through the 
 olive plantation, hut still would not take 
 many minutes to traverse. Not more than 
 n half-hour elapsed before Faith heard the 
 sound of approaching wheels. The pony 
 stopped at the back entrance to Chdteau 
 Labelle, and then the tones of Marie's voice 
 were^ heard speaking encouragement to 
 Antoine. 
 
 " Come, come, my good friend, what aila 
 thee? Thou hast nothing to fear from 
 madame." 
 
 (322) 
 
ler little 
 tage of 
 way by 
 3ny-cart 
 Ligh the 
 ot take 
 •ro than 
 iard the 
 le pony 
 Chateau 
 's voice 
 lent to 
 
 mt ailH 
 r from 
 
 A VERDICT. 
 
 323 
 
 Faith, from motives of delicacy, avoitletl 
 meeting Marie and Antoine at the door; 
 she did not show herself to them at all. 
 S]'^ knew, however, from the sound of the 
 old gardener's slow, limping steps that 
 Marie, doubtless in obedience to her mis- 
 tress's orders, was taking him straight to 
 the boudoir. Faith was naturally very 
 anxious to know the result of his interview 
 with the comtesse. With an abstracted 
 mind she mechanically went on with her 
 household duties. The maiden had not 
 mucl i.ne, however, for speculating on 
 whaw *vould bo said or done. In about ten 
 minutes Faith heard the tinkling bell which 
 summoned her to the presence of Gabrielle 
 La Fere. At the door of the lady's boudoir 
 Faith suddenly encountered Diane, who 
 brushed past her so rudely, in order to 
 enter the room before her, as to thrust the 
 young maid against the wall. Faith, how- 
 ever, instantly recovered her balance ; and 
 with emotions of mingled anxiety and hopt^ 
 followed the feiwine-de-cJiamhi^e into the 
 boudoir. 
 
 "Piirdon me, madame," said Diane in 
 
 
 5|' \: i\ 
 
 '• U 
 
 
 
 
 5' if^ 
 
 '' ''I 
 
 
 fl< 
 
 i 
 
 '""•3 
 
 
 H 
 
 f. ' 
 
 
 ' urn 
 
 
324 
 
 A YERDICT. 
 
 tones of suppressed passion, as she entered 
 tho presence of the comtesso ; " madame is 
 too just to let an accusation— a most slan- 
 derous, Avicked, atrocious accusation— be 
 brought against her faithful servant, without 
 giving her an opportunity of answering it, 
 and of facing her malignant enemy!" As 
 she uttered the last word Diane glared upon 
 Faith with a look of tho most intense hatred. 
 "Do not trouble or excite thyself, Diane," 
 cried Ninon, who was seated near the win- 
 dow, a little to tho rear of her sister; 
 "Antoine has set the whole matter right! 
 Ho assures us that thou art tho best of his 
 friends." 
 
 Faith, in no small surprise, glanced at tho 
 old man, who was standing trembling before 
 the comtesse, who was herself also standing. 
 Marie, an interested witness of the scene, 
 appeared at a few paces' distance. Faith's 
 glance at the aged gardener convinced her 
 at once that he was under the influence of 
 «trong personal fear. Antoine shook so 
 violently, that at a gesture from her mistress 
 Marie placed a chair for the poor old man ; 
 but he did not avail Itimsolf r^f if «^^^^f i, J 
 
 
A VEEDICT. 
 
 325 
 
 grasping the back of it -vvitli his bony hands, 
 to steady himself on his feet. 
 
 " Art thou willing, Antoine, to repeat in 
 the presence of Faith and Diane what thou 
 liast said to mo now?" asked the comtesse. 
 
 Antoine glanced nervously from the ono 
 servant to the other, without venturing, 
 however, to raise his sunken head high 
 enough to look at their faces. 
 
 " Compose thyself," said Gabriello en- 
 couragingly ; " if thou dost speak the truth, 
 there is nothing that thou needst fear. 
 Dost thou still aver, according to what tliou 
 has just told me, that Diane has every 
 month, constantly, and without fail, brought 
 thee coffee in good measure from me, and 
 twelve francs in fair silver coin ?" 
 
 "Always — ^always, madame; and Made- 
 moiselle Diane has often added gifts of her 
 own, — mademoiselle is so kind. May the 
 saints reward her !" 
 
 " Thou dost hear him, Diane !" cried 
 Ninon. 
 
 "Madame hears him!" cried the femmc- 
 de-chambre. 
 
 But the comtesse did not look perfectly 
 
 '■« 
 
 i'S' 
 
 '. I: 
 
 
 i! 
 
 ^ a^ 
 
 
326 
 
 A VERDICT. 
 
 satisfied still. Slio turned towards Marie, 
 with the grave dignity of a judge question- 
 ing a witness. 
 
 " In what state, Marie, didst thou this 
 morning find the cottage of Antoine ?" 
 
 " In a state neither better nor worse than 
 that of most peasants' cottages, ;nadame," 
 replied Marie. "It looked tolerablv clean, 
 but I did not search into the holes and 
 crannies." 
 
 " Faith made it out to bo a den of dirt," 
 said Ninon. 
 
 "And perhaps it looked so to Faith, 
 mademoiselle," observed Marie quickly. 
 "She comes from a land where I'm told 
 there's no end of mopping and scrubbing, 
 till folk could eat their dinner off the floor — 
 if they ly knew how to cook a dinner 
 Avorth c .ing," added the cook in paren- 
 thesis. " Faith had never so much as seen 
 an omelet before she came to Piovence ! 
 But I must say this for her," continued the 
 warm-hearted Frenchwoman, turning to 
 address herself to her mistress, " Faith is an 
 honest girl, and a truthful girl ; I'd take her 
 bare word against tlio oath of any one else." 
 
A YERDIOT. 
 
 327 
 
 Marie's frank testimony in licr favor 
 went warm to the heart of poor Faith, who 
 was feehng her own position intensely pain- 
 ful, and who sorely needed the support of a 
 friend. She was accused to her dear mis- 
 tress of falsehood and slander; and the 
 wretched old man, in whose behalf she had 
 risked so much, had evidently been fright- 
 ened into saying anything and everything 
 that suited tlie purpose of Diane. 
 
 " I think that Faith will scarcely receive 
 so fine a character again," said Diauii with 
 bitterness ; " ot least from none but idiots. 
 I ask madame's pardon for using angry 
 words in her presence, but a saint could 
 not stand being insulted and slandered as I 
 have been by a Jieretique Anglcdse. Madame 
 has heard what Antoine has said — dear, 
 good old Antoine, who loves his friends ; 
 madame will punish the wicked wretch who 
 has tried to rob me of madame's favor, 
 which to me i$so precious." 
 
 Gabrielle La Fere turned towards Faith 
 " What has thou to say in thine own de- 
 fence ?" asked the lady. " Dost thou still 
 nold to thy statement Oi wrongs received by 
 
 <' 
 
 !l rl 
 
 
 '! 1 
 
 
 n 
 
 'til 
 
328 
 
 A VERDICT. 
 
 Antoine Lo Roy, wliicli wrongs ho himself 
 tlenies ?" 
 
 " I told madame the simple truth yester- 
 day," said poor Faith ; "I canuot say anght 
 else to-day." 
 
 There was a profound silence in the room 
 for several moments, only broken by the 
 heavy breathing of Antoine, and the little 
 sound caused by the trembling of the chaii* 
 on the back of which he was leaning. 
 
 "What is thy verdict, Gabrielle?" cried 
 Ninon, who was the only person present 
 who felt rather amused than pained by the 
 scene. 
 
 " My sentence is this," said the comtessc. 
 " Faith, who asserts, but cannot prove the 
 truth of her statement, that Antoine has 
 been neglected and defrauded, shall be con- 
 strained to carry to him every day from my 
 servants' table a plate of warm viands in 
 lieu of the little pension. She shall also be 
 obliged to spend at least an lour in his cot- 
 tage in cleansing it, or in any other wjiy 
 attending to the old man's comfort." 
 
 The sentence was heard with surprise ; a 
 gleam of something like pleasure came to the 
 
A 7ERDICT. 
 
 329 
 
 
 old gardener'3 face, but that of Diane 
 expressed great dissatisfaction and disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 "Is tliat all, madame?" slio inquired. 
 "Is such a mild punishment sufficient for 
 a — " Diane paused, as if no epidiet of abuse 
 which she might choose could bo sufficiently 
 strong. 
 
 " I have given my decision," said Gabri- 
 elle firmly. " Marie, see that my behest is 
 obeyed. Taho now Antoino under thy 
 charge; give him refreshment, -which ho 
 seems much to need ; and then let him bo 
 conveyed back to his cottage, since I find 
 that he still refuses to leave it to dwell under 
 this roof. Faith is to carry him his meal 
 to-morrow ; see thou that it be not a scanty 
 one. And now, you may all retire." 
 
 "Diane, come with me," cried Ninon, 
 rising with alacrity from her seat; "now 
 that this absurd business is over, I must 
 return to my half-finished toilette. Thou 
 shalt try on me that new cosmetic, for the 
 sun has scorched my complexion." 
 
 Faith and Maiie, leading with them the 
 feeble, trembling Antoine, retired to the 
 
 I' 1' ii 
 
 'It 
 
 * i*^ 
 
830 
 
 A VEllDICT. 
 
 Bervants' liall ; ^vbilo Diane, cliafing witli 
 inward fury, followed tlio young lady to her 
 private apartment. As soon as Diano was 
 out of hearing, Mario turned laughing to 
 Faith. 
 
 " Well dr^iio, bravely done, 'pdilc AnglaUe /' 
 she exclaimed; "who would have thought 
 that thou, with all thy quietness and meek- 
 ness, wouldst be the one to venture to hit 
 Buch a tolling blow at the proud Diane !" 
 
 " I was not able to defend myself, but 1 
 felt thy kindness, Marie," said Faith, with 
 grateful emotion. « Thou at least dost not 
 believe that I have uttered untruth." 
 
 " Nor docs the comtesse believe it either," 
 cried Marie with animation. "Dost thon 
 think that if she had deemed thee a liar and 
 slanderer, she would have let thee off so 
 easily, or have chosen thee to be the one to 
 carry food to Antoine ? Doubtless madamo 
 saw, as any one might see, that there has 
 been tampering with this miserable old man. 
 —Come, Antoine," continued Marie, "lei 
 me be thy father-confessor ; tell the truth 
 now, Diane is not hero to threaten thee with 
 a thrust of her bodkin !" 
 
A VERDICT. 
 
 331 
 
 •Ji 
 
 But not another word, bad or f<ood, conld 
 be wrung from the trembUng Antonio ; it 
 seemed as if ho had either lost the power of 
 speech, or had nuulo a vow not to utter 
 another sentence. The servants gathered 
 around him, Hstening witli much interest to 
 Marie's •vivacious account of all that had 
 occurred. Faith was surprised and relieved 
 to find that the general feeling amongst her 
 fellow-servants was in her favor. The Eng- 
 lish maiden now experienced tlio advantage 
 of having gained a high character for truth- 
 fulness; not a «inglo individual in the 
 servants' hall believed for a moment that she 
 had slandered Diane. 
 
 " There had not been time for Diane to 
 go to the cottage of Antoine," observed 
 Annette, " madame sent for him so early ; 
 otherwise I should have been pretty certain 
 that Diane had bribed or coaxed him to say 
 whatever she pleased." 
 
 " Or fi'ighteiied him out of his wits," added 
 Marie. "Diane keeps her coaxing for 
 Mademoiselle Ninon." 
 
 Faith remembered the red ribbon on the 
 lawn, and was on the point of telling of 
 
 1 . •■' 
 
 :l 
 
 
 
 m 
 .a . 
 
 ^H 
 
 is 
 
 Fi'i 
 
 i , 
 
 - 1 
 
 f 
 
 
 
332 
 
 A VERDICT. 
 
 >vli<'it sho hud seen, when iiuoilior remark 
 inado by Mario restrained her. 
 
 "Diane's anger might frighten a stouter 
 Iieart tlian tliat of the poor okl gardener. 
 You shoukl liavo seen her face to-day, palo 
 to the very lips with passion. I tiiouglit 
 that sho would have flown at madame her- 
 self." 
 
 It flashed across the min(' of Faith Stanhy 
 that even were it in her power to convict 
 Diane of the treachery which sho suspected, 
 she had better refrain from doing so, lest 
 she should place her mistress in a situation 
 of difficulty, possibly even of danger, 
 (xabrielle La Fere, the avhstocrate, trod 
 already on ground sufficiently slippery in 
 those perilous times of revolution ; sho could 
 not afl'ord to make an enemy even of one of 
 her servants. Faith knew enough, of the 
 cJiaracter of the high-spirited comtesse to 
 feel certain that were Diane to bo actually 
 convicted of treachery, falsehood, and fraud, 
 no considerations of prudence would induce 
 the lady to retain in her service one so 
 utterly base. And if the femme-dn-ohamhre 
 were to be dismissed in disgrace, it was 
 
A VEUDICT. 
 
 833 
 
 too likely that ylio would at least attempt 
 to drag down others with her in hor fall. 
 
 "It is bettor, far better," tliought Faith, 
 "that I should bo tho only object of thrt 
 lualico and hatred of Diane. Far bo it from 
 mo to draw down tho lightning upon my 
 dear mistress. Madamn doubts my guilt; 
 I hope and believe thdl; she doubts it ; and 
 even if it bo not sc , hi an/uier world sho 
 will know my innocenc > of t) :-t sin of which 
 Diane has falsely accuojd mo. One groat 
 object is gained — that poor old man cun no 
 longer be starved that Diane may heap up 
 hor ill-gotten gains. May the Lord forgive 
 him as freely as I do for the weakness 
 which has made him utter so many false- 
 hoods to-day!" 
 
 Diane Avas very little seen in tho servants' 
 hall during the remahider of that day ; she 
 had a headache, she said, and did not 
 choose to join the rest of tho household at 
 meals. Her absence was little regretted. 
 The femme-de-chamhrc had made no friends 
 in Chateau Labelle. No one either re- 
 spected or liked her, but her fierce, revenge- 
 ful character made her rather an object of 
 
 I 
 
 lil' Sii* "^^ 
 
 II: 
 
 1*^ 
 
 \'i'. . 
 
 Ill 
 
 HM 
 
 n 
 
Hi 
 
 lii 
 
 i 1 
 
 mi. 
 
 A VERDICT. 
 
 
 I 
 
 fear. Few cared to rouse the resentment of 
 one who was known to nurse, year after 
 year, the memory of an offence, biclmg her 
 time till she could wreak her malice upon 
 the offender. Faith found that, instead of 
 incurring opprobrium, as might have been 
 expected, by informing against a fellow- 
 fc'ervant, she had risen in the estimation of 
 the rest of the household, especially in that 
 of Marie, for her courage in attacking a 
 petty tyrant. 
 
 " I never thought that the pdUe Anglaise 
 would have had the spirit to tackle Diane," 
 said tho laughing Marie to Annette ; " I'd 
 have as soon expected our white kitten to 
 spring at a wolf ! And she nearly had the 
 best of the battle, too," continued the cook, 
 with a burst of mirth ; " had that wretched 
 Antoino had but half the courage of the 
 meek little maid, we'd have had proud 
 Mademoiselle Diane down in the dust, as 
 sure as my name is Marie !" 
 
 " That petite Anglaise is very quiet, verj 
 gentle," tried Annette, her eyes brimming 
 over wifh glee ; " but if it comes to a mat- 
 tor of riollt or wvnnrr—l.nl. \ J ^J^^ hoiiew 
 
 nglit or wrong— bah ! 
 
A VET^DICT. 
 
 335 
 
 she would faco tlio terrible Robespierre 
 
 himself !" 
 
 "I half forgive Faith for being the 
 countrywoman of that mediant Pitt!' 
 laughed Marie. 
 
 
 fli 
 
 I 
 
 
 !' t] 
 
 |;iP 
 
 
 ^m\\\ 
 

 CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 A DISCOVERY. 
 
 N the following morning thero 
 seemed to be a lull after a storm. 
 Diane appeared as nsnal amongst 
 the rest of the household, and 
 >vith her accustomed manner. No change 
 in her was to bo perceived, save that she 
 never spoke to Faith, though she not un- 
 frequentlj spoke at her; but there was 
 nothiDg very unusual in this. 
 
 Faith, however, knew her enemy much 
 too well to trust the deceitful calm. It must 
 booAvned that when the young Enr ishwo- 
 man started after the mid-day meal with the 
 dinner provided for Antoine, tlie possibility 
 of meeting Diane by the way bv no means 
 
 iMd'oasod tbo enjovnicnt 
 (330) 
 
 •^i jJtr jittie waiii. 
 
A DISCOVERY. 
 
 337 
 
 The rustlo of a bird stirring amongst ilio 
 leaves of tlie olives made Faith start; she 
 repeatedly turned and looked behind her to 
 Bce that her footsteps were not dogged. 
 But Faith chid herself for hor fears; and 
 after a rapid walk arrived in safety at the 
 vine-mantled o#ttage of Antoine. 
 
 The appearance of the interior of that 
 cottage, as seen by Faith when she now 
 entered it, confirmed her impression that it 
 had been visited by D^nne at a very early 
 hour on the preceding daj*. There had 
 been a partial cleaning and tidying of the 
 miserable place ; fresh air had been admit- 
 ted, and the atmosphere was no longer 
 difficult to breathe in. The holes and cran- 
 nies, had, indeed, never been touched; 
 dust lay in rolls in every place where its 
 presence Avould not immediately strike tlio 
 eye ; and in many an obscure corner tho 
 spiders still had an undisturbed, and peace- 
 ful reign. 
 
 Faith found old Antoine still very nervous 
 and tremulous, and apparently afraid to 
 utter a word. To her his timid, depreca- 
 torv manner scorned to be a mute entreaty 
 
 22 
 
 H 
 
 ■i ■ 
 
 : ! 
 
 
 
 i'8 • 
 
 HI 
 
 .fi-' 
 
 ' i 
 
 h Ii 
 
338 
 
 A DISCOVERY. 
 
 for pavcloii ; nm\ lior cheerfal, kindly smile 
 told that slie freely gave it. 
 
 " I have l)von.<^lit thee a plentiful supply — 
 see!" Baid Eaith, as she opened her little 
 basket; "enough for dinner and supper 
 besides. And now I am about to clean thy 
 pretty cottage, and makoftit as neat as 
 madame's own boudoir. As the day is so 
 bright, and the air so warm, wilt thou tak(! 
 thy meal outside, nnder the shade of yon 
 beech, and so escape the discomfort of being 
 in the midst of the dust -wliic].! I must needs 
 raise?" 
 
 Antoino shook his head, and looked 
 alarmed at the suggestion. lie did not 
 care to cross his threshold, and sliowed by 
 signs that he wished to remain while tli(^ 
 cottage was being set to rights. Ho did not 
 mind the dust, he had been accustomed to 
 it for years. 
 
 Faitli placed the dinner before the old 
 man, and then, wliile lie partook of it with 
 evident relish, she sat vigorously to work 
 with the implements for cleansing which 
 she had brought over with her from the Cha- 
 teau. ]\lari(5 h ad not been incorrect in say int: 
 
A DISCOVERY. 
 
 339 
 
 tl.at hor young assistant had la.owii nothing 
 o£ Fiench cookery until she had como o 
 Provmce ; hut lew girls had been so quick, 
 orde.ly, and thorough as regarded house- 
 work. Antoine looked up from his dinner 
 in mute surprise at the ^.igol•ous onslauglit 
 raado by the EngUsh maid upon the accu- 
 mulated rubbish of years. 
 
 Faith had before long almost comple cd 
 her work, for the thorongli scrubbing tlia 
 was to follow clearing out she deterred until 
 the following day ; but an old cabmc ,^ as 
 yet undusted, still required her attention 
 It seemed to Faith as if the top of that 
 cabinet, which she could only reach by 
 standing on a «tool, might not luu^ been 
 touched for a hundred years, so thick was 
 the layer of dust upon it, and upon some 
 object which had apparently been 'f ' tl'^™ 
 to he out of the way. Half choked by the 
 dust which she was raising, the maiden took 
 down the neglected vohime-for such i was 
 -that lay before her. She stepped down 
 from the stool, and carried the book to the 
 door, to subject it to a "«««^;;'Y P™f "' 
 of wiping and clapp'" 
 
 .., so aa piirlially nt 
 
 
 if 
 
 
 'Vi 
 
 1^1 ■ 
 
 "'n' P -• 
 
 i W 
 
 n 
 
340 
 
 A DISCOVERY. 
 
 I;: 
 
 least to rcmovo tlio tliick co^iting wum It 
 Soon the brown leather (liiirliisg and rcil 
 odges of the book became vi^ ibly under ibe 
 quick disciiDline of tho dusUr; imd Eaith, 
 opening the volume, glai;ced at the contents 
 of the pa«,es, yelUny with age. 
 
 "Oh, it is a Bible!" exclaimed Faith 
 Stanby, wit^i the jojfui surprise of cue who 
 liiLS unexpectedly liglited lypon i- treasure. 
 
 Faith had, of course, brought her English 
 Bible with her to Provence, but she had 
 oken greatly wished to possess a French 
 one. The Scriptures in tho language of the 
 country in which she now Iwelt would be 
 of the greatest use to the Protestant maid 
 in speaking on religious subjects, as she 
 now not unfi-equently did both with Marie 
 and Annette. Though Faith, by this time, 
 spoke French as fluently as English, she 
 feared to mar the sense of quotations from 
 Scripture by attempting herself to translate 
 them. Glad as one who has found great 
 spoil, Faith carried back the precious Book 
 into the cottage of Antoine, leaving the 
 door open, as was needful, to enable her to 
 
 bear out tho rlnsf. nnrl vnl^hicl. 
 
A DISC0VEI17, 
 
 341 
 
 "Didst tliou know, Antoine, that ilion 
 Imdst a Bible on the top of thy cabinet ?" 
 asked Faith, placing the volume on the 
 table before the gardener, who had by this 
 time finished his meal. 
 
 Antoiue slowly turned over the pages one 
 by one with his withered fingers and looked 
 at them, but with no intelligence in his 
 bleared old eyes. It was evident that ho 
 could not read the volume. 
 
 "It must have been my grandfather's 
 Bible," ho said slowly; "'my grandfather, 
 ho was a Huguenot — that was long, long 
 ago, in the days of the Grand Monarqiie.^^ 
 
 "I daresay that thy guandfather loved 
 and prized his Bible," said Faith ; " will not 
 thou love and prize it also ? This is a blessed 
 Book — so full, oh, so full of comfort! It 
 gives us God's own message of mercy 
 and love. If thou canst not read it thyself, 
 wouldst thou not like to hear it read, 
 Antoine?" 
 
 The old man nodded his gray head, and 
 Faith required no further permission. A 
 door of usefulness had been suddenly 
 onened before her and it was with no la*^'"- 
 
 ij 
 
 h U 
 
 m 
 
 n 
 
342 
 
 A DISCOYERY. 
 
 gard spirit that the English gu-1 entered on 
 the blessed work which she lioped that her 
 Master had given her to do. Here wa.s 
 this old Romanist, the descendant of Hugiie 
 Dot parents, trembling on the verge of the 
 grave ; and into her hand had a torch been 
 entrusted to lighten the gloom, and perhaps 
 guide a poor wanderer home. Faith had 
 been the means of supplying a sufferer's 
 bodily wants ; and now she might be the 
 honored channel of conveying to him spiritual 
 nourishment, tuine and mUIc ivithout mmmy and 
 mhout price. Faith was too eager to impart 
 rehgious consolation to the afflicted to defer 
 even for a day, the reading of the Scriptures 
 to poor old Antoine. She only waited until 
 she had washed the dust from her hands 
 and face in a little brook which flowed at 
 the back of the cottage. Faith then re- 
 entered the humble dwelling, di-v. the stool 
 to the feet of Antoine (who occupied the 
 only chair m the place), and took her seat 
 upon It, resting the Bible on her knee. 
 Atter a short, earnest prayer for a blessing 
 upon what she and her companion should 
 near, J?aith housxn in vno.i ..lon/i " 
 
A DiaCOYERY. 
 
 843 
 
 of holy Scripture. She did not pause long 
 to select, nor did she attempt to offer any 
 comment of her own upon the divine words 
 of tenderness and love which she read from 
 the fourteenth chapter of the Gospel of St. 
 John. Antoine listened with clasped hands, 
 and in silence the most profound ; and when 
 Faith glanced up into his face, as she 
 finished reading the chapter, she saw that 
 tears were flowing down the cheeks of the 
 poor old man. 
 
 *'Are they not sweet, are they not precious, 
 the sayings of our dear Master V" said Faith, 
 as without closing the volume she reveren- 
 tially laid it on the table. 
 
 A well-spring of feeling had been opened 
 in the poor old gardener's heart. It was 
 many, many years since he had heard that 
 chapter read, and perhaps it had brought 
 back recollections of his childhood. Bend- 
 ing down his face on his folded hands he 
 murmured, in a scarcely audible tone, " I am 
 such a sinner — a poor old sinner — the good 
 Lord have mercy upon me!" 
 
 " He will— be assured that He will," cried 
 tlie English girl ; " if thou dost lool 
 
 m 
 
 •vJ , 
 
 \h 
 
344 
 
 U'l.ue 
 
 nor,s 
 
 A DISrOTERY. 
 
 ith to Him who died for si 
 
 li- 
 
 fe 
 
 Dost ihort forgive mo ?" ar^kGd Antoi 
 
 eservc 
 
 id 
 
 unxiouslj'. Now that the ico of r* 
 <^uc0 been broke^v the Jiged man was no 
 longer aLI . to keep buck the word^i wliich 
 he had been longing to pour forth. "0 
 mademoiselle, I have wronged theo, but I 
 did not mean it — I could not help it — oh no, 
 I could not help it ! Diane she is cruel — 
 she is terrible ; she came and awoke me from 
 sleep; it is dreadful to be so wakened in 
 dim twilight! Diane told mo tljat she 
 would kill Lie—and kill thee— if I told tlxo 
 real truth to madame." 
 
 Faith uttered an exclamation of surprise, 
 not at what she Iieard, but at what she . tw ; 
 for the comtesse h/M-self stood on the 
 threshold ! Gabriello a light footstep had 
 been unheard as sre approached the cot- 
 tage • and r w the expression of her coun- 
 tenance showed that part at least of t, j last 
 seji^ence uttered by h^r old pensioner had 
 reached her iudign^nt ear. 
 
 •^ ^L 
 
for siu- 
 
 Autoiiij 
 ervo had 
 was 110 
 ts wliicli 
 ih. "O 
 eo, but I 
 — oh no, 
 ; cruel — 
 me from 
 enecl iu 
 hat she 
 told tlio 
 
 surprise, 
 iho L.aw ; 
 on the 
 tap had 
 tho cot- 
 3r coun- 
 ' tl 3 last 
 >ner had 
 
 
 ' 1 
 
 it?" 
 
mac 
 gi-ai 
 risii 
 nes 
 con 
 sue 
 
 <( 
 
 "tl 
 
 life 
 
 COT 
 
 en( 
 ( 
 
f -ll 
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 FLiaiJT. 
 
 IHAT do I bear !" exclaimoJ tho 
 comtesse, advancing into the 
 cottage with that grave dignity 
 which to Faith's eyes always 
 made her look like a queen. Antoine, 
 gi-asping the table to assist himself in 
 rising, stood on his feet, and by the lowli- 
 ness of his obeisance tried to cover the 
 confusion which ho felt at the entrance of 
 such a visitor. 
 
 "Is it possible," continued Gabrielle, 
 " that thy very lifo was threatened, and the 
 life of this innocent girl, to induce thee to 
 cover by falsehood the guilt of an artful 
 
 enemy ?" 
 
 Ooncoaiment liad from the first been irk- 
 
 (345) 
 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 4 > 
 
 ; - -, 1/: ; 
 
 ! t: . 
 
 i mi 
 
 
 i^ 
 
 :i f/ 
 
 
 mi 
 
 k 
 
 sSs 
 
 SKSS 
 
346 
 
 ixiaiiT. 
 
 some and painful to poor old Antoine, and 
 now that it had also bocomo useless. l,o 
 threw It aside altogether. As the comtesse 
 Icnew so much, there was no reason why slio 
 should not know all. It was a relief to her 
 pensioner to tell everjthing ; not only to 
 relate (ho circumstances attendiui; Diane's 
 last stealthy visit to his cottag^ but to 
 recount the sufferings which her grasping 
 cupKhy had for y^ars inflicted upon the 
 tinud, heli)less old man. 
 
 Gabriello had declined taking the solitary 
 ehair, which Antoine had humbly offered 
 tor her accommodation ; she had preferred 
 remaining on her feet; and her f,c„ro 
 seemed now to rise to more than its usual 
 l|eight as she stood, a silent, indi-^nant 
 listener to the talo of tyranny, frand, and 
 cruelty poured forth by the injured old man. 
 in the darkest coloring was the character of 
 Diane presented to the eyes of her mistress. 
 And this IS the viper who has been for 
 *^o long nurtured under my roof!" cried tho 
 comtesse, as Antoine concluded his story 
 I suspected that all was not right; it was 
 Wis suspicion which iivn-lr, nie »,.<."— -i -- . 
 
FLIGHT. 
 
 347 
 
 final judgment until I could tlioronglily sift 
 truth from error; it was this suspicion 
 wliicli induced mo to come, unattended, to 
 this cottage to day. Now the course before 
 me is clear. I uill instantly dismiss from 
 my service the base woman who has so 
 shamefully abused my trust." 
 
 " Ah, mercy !" gasped Antoino suddenly, 
 his eyes dilating with terror as he stared 
 fixedly at the little window, towards which 
 the baclis of Gabriello and Faith were 
 turned. The old man's exclamation was 
 sharp as a cry of pain. 
 
 "What ails thee?" inquired the comtesse. 
 
 The answer was given in one word, 
 " Diane .'" 
 
 Without waiting for a command from her 
 lady, Faith ran hastily out of the cottage to 
 see if the femme-de-chamhre were actually 
 eaves-dropping beside the vine-mantled 
 window. The English girl could, however, 
 see no one ; but she had no time to examine 
 thoroughly, for she was almost instantly 
 called back into the cottage by a heavy 
 sound of a fall, and then the voice of her 
 lady calling to her to come and help her. 
 
 ;l 
 
 t* 
 
 1 
 
 ! ^ 
 
 
 - ! 
 
 i\<\ 
 
 fl 
 
348 
 
 FLIGHT. 
 
 Antoine had fallen oil the floor, either in 
 a fit or a swoon. To raise him, to bring 
 restoratives, to bear him to his little pallet, 
 required the united strength of Gabrielle 
 and her attendant. The comtesse did not 
 shrink from making the personal exertions 
 to which she was altogether unaccustomed. 
 Her slender delicate fingers gave their help 
 to the fainting old man as readily, though 
 not as effectually, as the toil-strengthend 
 hands of Faith Stanby. Water was quickly 
 brought from the streamlet, wine from the 
 table, — a bottle of the latter having been 
 amoDgst the provisions selected by Mario 
 and brought by Faith. The invalid's hands 
 and feet were chafed, his temples bathed, 
 and gradually he revived, to the great relief 
 of Gabrielle and her maid, who had feared 
 that the stroke of death was upon him. 
 It was a considerable time before the eyes of 
 Antoine unclosed, and then they were 
 turned anxiously, fearfully towards the little 
 window ; and the first word that passed his 
 quivering lips was " Diane !" 
 
 " Thou art nervous and ill, my friend," 
 said the comtesse ; '' thou must remain no 
 
FLIGHT. 
 
 34.9 
 
 longer alono in this desolate cottage ; tliou 
 slialt be carefully rcinovcd to Chateau 
 Labelle,— no one shall harm or frighten theo 
 
 there." 
 
 The proposal was wise and considerate, 
 but it met with the most vehement opposi- 
 tion on the part of the eccentric old man. 
 Antoine clung to his little habitation as if it 
 were part of himself, trembled at the thought 
 of quitthig it, and iuvplorcd with tears and 
 sobs to be left to die where his father and 
 grandfather had died before him, in the 
 place where he had drawn his first breath, 
 and where he had hoped to draw his last 
 also. In vain Gabrielle attempted to reason 
 with the old gardener, and persuade him to 
 submit, if but for a time, to a change which 
 was so obviously for his welfare ; the agita- 
 tion of Antoine became so distressing, that 
 the comtesse was obliged to desist, lest she 
 ishould bring on a fit. 
 
 " He must not be left in solitude to-night," 
 said the lady to Faith. " I will bid Jacques 
 come and sleep in the cottage ; Jacques is 
 a good and kindly lad, and my stables are 
 now so empty that ho can be easily spared. 
 
 " 
 
 |3.> 
 
 : u 
 
 
 I 
 
 • S. 1 
 
 fl 
 
 ■i ^' 
 
350 
 
 FLIGHT. 
 
 Remain here, Faith, for a brief space, till I 
 send him to relievo thee of thy watch by 
 poor Antoine. Thou hast acted nobly, my 
 girl ; thou hast not feared to speak the truth, 
 and to plead the cause of the poor : thou 
 must never leave me, Faith ; the place of 
 Diane shall be thine." 
 
 Faith thanked her lady with her loving, 
 grateful eyes; very sweet to the young 
 servant was such praise from her mistress's 
 lips. The comtcsse was about to quit the 
 cottage of Antoine, when her glance fell on 
 the open book which lay on the table. A 
 little surprised to see it there, as she knew 
 that Antoine could not read, Gabriello went 
 up to the table and laid her hand on the 
 volume. 
 
 "What is this book?" the comtesse in- 
 quired of Faith as she did so. 
 
 "It is the Word of God, madame," Faith 
 answered, her heart fluttering from mingled 
 emotions of hope and fear, as in a tone of 
 reverence she made the reply. 
 
 Gabrielle took up the BibL. "Our 
 Church wisely selects from the ScripturoB 
 such parts as she thinks suited for tli(^ 
 
FLIGHT. 
 
 351 
 
 j^ 
 
 ;' I, 
 
 laity," the comtesse observed ; " the Holy 
 Mother breaks the bread for her children, 
 and gives them their allotted portions." 
 
 " And mixes with these portions a great 
 deal that is anything but bread," thought 
 Faith, remembering the false doctrines and 
 vain traditions of which she had heard 
 much since she had com-^. to I'l'ovence. 
 
 "Thus I have neve- till i ow seen the 
 Scriptures in a complete fuiai," continued 
 the comtesse, who had for a long time in- 
 dulged a secret desire to do so. Gabriello 
 had not the slightest fear of being drawn 
 into what she deemed Protestant errors by 
 reading the Scriptures which Papists profess 
 to honor : to the poor and ignorant, indeed, 
 the lady believed that the Bible might be a 
 dangerous book ; but the comtesse could 
 trust her own 'atellectual acuteness and 
 her strong attachment to her Church to 
 guard her from being drawn into adopting 
 Huguenot views. 
 
 " I shall be better able to win my poor 
 Faith to the bosom of the Catholic Church," 
 thought Gabriellc, " if I can meet her on 
 iicr own ground, and convince her out of the 
 
 5 1 
 
 w 
 
 
 tiaTatssiBJSiiti.,: 
 
II 
 
 fi 
 
 352 
 
 FLianT. 
 
 Biblo whicli she regards with such reverence. 
 Now that I value my young maid more than 
 I ever did before, I shall more earnestly 
 strive to draw her into communion with 
 Eome." 
 
 With this hope on her mind Gabriello 
 asked, and readily obtained, leave from 
 Antoine to tako his Bible with her to 
 Chateau Labelle, and with the Holy Book 
 in her hand the comtesse quitted the cottage. 
 
 "My mistress has the Bible; she will 
 read it, she will study it!" thought Faith 
 Stanby with thankful joy as she saw 'the 
 lady depart. " Oh, if the good seed of the 
 Word do not spring up and grow, and bring 
 forth a thousandfold in that noble, generous 
 nature, it will not bo for want of being 
 watered by my constant and fervent 
 prayers !" 
 
 Slowly and thoughtfully Gabriello re- 
 traced her steps through the plantation on 
 her return to her home. She had a painful' 
 duty before Jier ; she had to dismiss from 
 her service one who had been her atten- 
 dant for many years, in the time of her 
 greatest joy and of her deepest affliction ; 
 
FLIGHT. 
 
 353 
 
 one whoso talents had niaJe her exceedingly 
 helpful, and who had professed the strongest 
 attachment to her mistress's person. Ga- 
 briello was not a woman to regard her ser- 
 vants as she might have done useful pieces 
 of furniture, made to add to her comfort or 
 luxury, — things to be set aside or exchanged 
 for others without a pang of regret. To the 
 mind of the Lady of Provence there was, 
 between her as mistress and the long fami- 
 liar members of her household, a tie not to 
 be broken lightly, nor without a feeling of 
 pain. 
 
 And Gabriello thought sadly of the 
 perilous stiito of the soul of Diane. That 
 covetous oppressor, that false-hearted 
 woman, had been diligent in the outward 
 performance of religious dfilie^,; she had 
 appeared zealous for the 'iJiLtliolic faith. It 
 was painful to Gabrielle to r<i^:')ct that Diane 
 had accompanied her to confession, and had 
 repeatedly partalen with her of the most 
 solemn rite of her Church, while all the time 
 the femme-de-cliamhrG had been acting the 
 basest of lies. 
 
 ''Of what avail," thought Gabrielln, 
 
 23 
 
 M 
 
 i;} 
 ■'If 
 
 i ii 
 
 1' • 
 
354 
 
 FLIGHT. 
 
 i ! 
 
 "could confession have been, or even the 
 priest's absolution, "when Diane was syste- 
 matically pursuing a course of cruelty and 
 deception? Can there be really remission 
 of sins where there is no true repentance, no 
 renunciation of sin ? Did not my unhappy 
 servant rather add to her guilt by varnish- 
 ing it over with hypocrisy so revolting?" 
 
 Still absorbed in these painful reflections, 
 Gabrielle La Fere re-entered her stately 
 mansion. As the comtesse was passing 
 through a corridor she met Annette, and 
 bade her call Diane, to whom she wished to 
 speak alone in her chamber. 
 
 " Madame, Diane went off to Aix, scarce 
 ten minutes ago," answered Annette, looking 
 surprised at her lady's command. 
 
 "To Aix! without my permission or 
 knowledge !" cried the Comtesse La Fere. 
 
 Anything of mystery was a delight to 
 Annette, the young French servant, and 
 there was clearly some mystery here. 
 V/ith such animation and lively gestures 
 Annette related how Diane had come in 
 much heated, much excited, panting and out 
 of breath, about half an hour before, and had 
 
 
FUGHT. 
 
 856 
 
 
 bidden Jacques get the pony-cart ready vite, 
 vite, for that madame had ordered her to 
 drive off at all speed to Aix, to bring a 
 doctor to poor old Antoine, dear old Antoiae, 
 who was lying at the point of death. Diane 
 had just come from his cottage— she had 
 run till she was ready to drop, she was so 
 very anxious to bring help to her faithful 
 old friend. Jacques had been quick, but not 
 quick enough for the impatience of Diane. 
 While he was harnessing the pony Diane 
 had rushed up-stairs. She had not re- 
 mained there many minutes ; she had come 
 running down with a box covered up m a 
 shawl ; not a large box, but Annette said 
 that she thought that it looked heavy, and 
 it must have held something very particular, 
 for Diane would not trust it for a moment 
 out of her hands. Diane had stood on the 
 lawn stamping her foot with impatience be- 
 cause Jacques could not harness the pony as 
 fast as she could tie a bonnet-string. 
 
 « As soon as the little cart came out of 
 the yard," continued the animated French 
 
 giri, "Diiiiie rusiieu lu n, i.\.i.ui-~'^i' >^'- a 
 
 in her haste, sprang into it, and snatched 
 
 i li-' 
 
 
 w\ 
 
 MO 
 
356 
 
 FLIGHT. 
 
 the ^vliip and llio rein from eTacqnes. Slio 
 plied tlie whip so liard," said Annette, 
 miinicking the action of flopging, " that the 
 poor pony llcw like the wind ! Diane nearly 
 upset the cart as she turned round the corner 
 of the road,— she drove as though all kfi 
 Anglalse and Pitt himself were behind her!" 
 Annette's lively narration was interrupted 
 by the voice of Ninon, heard from the gallery 
 at tlie top of the broad staircase. The voice 
 was raised in a far louder, moro excited 
 tone than usual ; and with agitation in her 
 manner and alarm on her face, the young 
 lady came rushing (^own-stairs. 
 
 "My jewel-case gone! The casket— 
 lings — bracelets — brooches,— all gone- 
 gone!" Ninon almost shrieked out as she 
 descended. " Some thief must have been 
 in my room! Call Diane — oh, where is 
 Diane?" It was to the femme-dc-chamhre 
 that Ninon constantly turned for help or 
 advice in all her petty troubles. The sud- 
 den disappearance of every trinket that she 
 had possessed, except a few that chanced to 
 !.-v. v.ix xi-^i. jjciouii, Wi.i« liiu luust uiscressing 
 blow that had ever befallen Ninon La Fere. 
 
FliflHT. 
 
 j7 
 
 Gabriello ut onco divined wliat had oc- 
 cun-ed during lier own abscnco from Cha- 
 teau LabellG. She now felt certain that 
 Artoino had actually seen Diano at his 
 ^vindow, and that the fcmmc-de-chamhre, 
 playing the spy, had discovered f^uat all her 
 treachery was known. Sho had n, with 
 her usual promptitude of acti availed 
 herself of the brief space of tinv which re- 
 mained before her mistress should return to 
 the c^ iteau to dismiss and disgrace her ; 
 Diane had fled to Aix, after robbing Ninon 
 of her jewels. It would bo vain to attempt 
 pursuit, or recovery of the stolen property, 
 for in the city of Aix a democratic commune 
 boro rule, and the self-constituted mayor 
 was Cochon, a Jacobin butcher. 
 
 "I fear, my sister," said Gabrielle gi'avely, 
 " that thou wilt never behold either Diane 
 or thy jewels again." And while Ninon 
 wrung her hands in distress md dismay, the 
 comtesse gave orders that Jacques should 
 at once repair to Antoin. 's cottage, and send 
 Faith back to the chateau. 
 
 '! 
 
 ' ^1 
 
 u 
 
 ii 
 
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CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE SEEVANTS HALL, 
 
 OR tliG ensuing week the flight of 
 Diane, and its attendant circnm- 
 stancGS, formed the one topic of 
 never-failing interest amongst 
 the household at Chateau Labelle. Even 
 Lord Howe's victory was forgotten, and the 
 war raging between France and the Allies 
 comparatively seldom alluded to ; talk over 
 the latest horrors of Paris was exchanged 
 for conversation on a subject in which every 
 one felt a personal interest. 
 
 "Surprised at the conduct of Diane! — 
 no, I was not surprised !" said Marie, ono 
 day, as she sat with tlie rest of the house- 
 hold at dinner. "I knew Mademoisello 
 Diane well enoniih to believe hor to be 
 
 (358) 
 
 •o' 
 
THE SERYAMTS' HALL. 
 
 359 
 
 capable of anything ^vicked. Slio is as fall 
 of malice as a melon is of seeds. Diane 
 had not been a year at the chateau before 
 she ruined poor Claude Le Eoy — got him 
 dismissed at an hour's notice, though he 
 was as good and steady a young man as 
 ever put saddle and bridle on a horse." 
 "Wnendid that happen?" asked Ffiith. 
 "Oh, eight or nine years ago," replied 
 Marie, " in the days of madame's father, 
 Comte Louis Labelle, whoso monument 
 stands in the Cathedral of Aix, at least if the 
 Jacobins have not smashed it. The comto 
 was gay and fond of a life at Court, and 
 while ho amused himself in Paris, ho cared 
 not to inquire too closely into what was 
 passing here in Provence. Monsieur le 
 Comte did not know a good servant when ho 
 had one, or he would never have sacrificed 
 Claude Le Roy to the malice of liis lady's 
 fine femme-de-chamhre.^* 
 
 "How had Claude offended Diane?" said 
 
 Faith. 
 
 "Who knows," replied Marie, with a 
 meaning smile and shrug; "perhaps Claude 
 
 Mademoiselle Diane as 
 
 did not 
 
 upon 
 
 ■I 
 
 r 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 i-' 
 
 '(|| 
 
 w 
 
 :^h 
 
 Mil 
 
 l! 
 
360 
 
 .liE servants' haj 
 
 the perfection of women; perhaps he did 
 not fancy her as much as she chose at first 
 to fancy him. At any rate, Claude was not 
 one of Diane's flatterers, so she naturally 
 became his foe. I know that she hated 
 him, after her own fashion of hating, and 
 hunted him down as the bloodhound hunts, 
 till she got him turned out of the place. 
 By the way, Claude was nephew of old 
 Antoine ; I should not be surprised if Diane 
 owed madame's old pensioner an extra 
 grudge for being related to Claude ;— one 
 never forgives those whom one has wroi ged. 
 Poor Claude ! I never Imew anything worse 
 of him than his singing one of Marot's 
 hymns, when he was in the loft over the 
 stable, — and a fine rich voice he had for 
 singing. I wonder what has become of him 
 now?" 
 
 " I will ask Antoine if he knov- hat has 
 become of his nephew," said Fal.. , who had 
 been occupied, while Marie was tLlking, in 
 filling a small covered dish with the viands 
 which she was about to take to the cottage 
 in the olive plantation. 
 
 "Why shouldest thou go, Faith?'* 
 
:-ii 
 
 THE SERVANTS HALL. 
 
 361 
 
 inquired Annetto. " Did not madame give 
 leave tkai Jacques should take thy phxco in 
 canning the meal to Antoine, and in seeing 
 that his I'oom is kept clean ? To Avait on a 
 poor, wretched old man is no part of the 
 duty of a comiesse' sfemme-de-chamhrc.'' 
 
 " It is a pleasure which I would not will- 
 ingly give up to, any one," said Faith with a 
 beaming smile, as she bore away the littlo 
 supply of good things for her aged friend.. 
 And the English maid spcko truly, for }ier 
 daily visits to the cottage were indeed Jw 
 source to i'aith of the purest pleasure. It 
 was during the hour which she spent with 
 the aged gardener that she felt herself most 
 ihrectly engaged in work for her heavenly 
 Master. Old and ignorant, but of a child- 
 ^Uke, teachable spirit, Antoine was receiving 
 day by day, as it were drop by dro^), 
 spiritual nourishment from her who brought 
 to him earthly food. The old man delighted 
 to hear of the love of a Friend above ; sweet 
 to the soul of Antoine, as golden drops from 
 the honeycomb, were promises from Scrip- 
 ture repeated by Faith. Antoine had been 
 in soro dread of purgatory, and had, consQ- 
 
 -,i^ 
 
 ^1 i 
 
 ':• 'I 
 
 t? 
 
 
 K- *-i: 
 
 M 'ti ii tmw'KM 'wy- 
 
362 
 
 THE SERVANTS' HALL. 
 
 quently, bliraiik from tlio tlionglit of ap- 
 proacliing death ; but the tidings that his sins 
 were not to bo purged out l)y fire, but had 
 ahead} been washed out by blood, .-md that 
 to the lowly believer death is but tlie en- 
 trance into life everlasting,— these tidings 
 filled the old man's eyes with tears and his 
 heart with joy. Faith knew how anxiously 
 her daily visit was expected in tiie vine- 
 mantled cottage, how Antoine's withered 
 face brightened as ho heard her step and 
 her light tap at the door, and for no amuse- 
 ment that the Avorld could offer .vould she 
 have given up the office of cheering, in- 
 structing, and blessing the aged invahd, 
 who seemed to be given to her as her espe- 
 ckii cliargo from the Lord. 
 
 " There goes a true-hearted girl, if ever 
 there was one !" cried Marie, when Faith 
 had quitted the servants' hall, to go on her 
 errand of kindness. 
 
 " Thou wert not always her friend," said 
 A^nnette. 
 
 "Friend indeed!" laughed Marie. "T 
 began by disliking Faith heartily, for tlio 
 double crime of being English and Protest- 
 
THE SEIIVAKTS IIAIi. 
 
 363 
 
 ant; and I gave her pretty good cause to 
 dislike mo in lier turn. I take sliame to 
 myself when I think how I badgered and 
 baited the poor young thing, stranger as she 
 was, and an orphan besides. Bi>t Faith's 
 patience fairly tired out my temper.^ I 
 can't keep my dislikes always a-simniering, 
 as does Diane ; with me they boil over at 
 once, and there's an end of tho matter. 
 Says I to myself, * Faith can no more help 
 the ill-luck of having been born in Eng- 
 land, then she could have helped it had 
 she been born deaf or blind ; and as to her 
 being a Protestant, Claude had Huguenofc 
 blood in his veins— ay, and some Hngaenofc 
 notions in his head ; and yet he and this 
 Faith Stanby are about the two best Chris- 
 tians as ever I knew.' " 
 
 " There's heresy, Marie, downright here- 
 sy 1" exclaimed one of her companions. 
 " What would madame say if she were to 
 hear thee ?" • 
 
 All present burst into a laugh at tho ques- 
 tion, — a laugh in which Mario merrily 
 
 joined. 
 
 " I can't tell what madame would say,'* 
 
 lU 
 
 ^1 
 
 tl 
 
 ■dii„ 
 
3G'l 
 
 THE SERVANTS HALL. 
 
 answered l\Iarie; "but. I'll l)o bound that 
 she would think of the matter mucli as I do. 
 Madame is sharp enough to see that tho 
 kind of religion which makes man or woman 
 keep faste and feasts, and repeat Paternos- 
 ters and Aves by tho score, while hating, 
 robbing, and slandering their neighbors, i.s 
 but like a glazo upon upper crust. Give me 
 the religion that goes through and througli 
 like leaven," continued Marie, unconsciously 
 making use of a Scriptural illustration ; 
 " thou dost not see much of it — it makes no 
 show — bat it changes the whole nature, 
 every crumb of conduct is the better for it ; 
 that is the kind of religion for me." 
 
 Was it nothing that, in a land where 
 eaperstition on tho one hand, and infidelity 
 on the other, pervaded all ranks of the 
 people — was it nothing that a servant girl 
 had shown to a single household, or even to 
 a single individual, that such a religion is 
 possible, and that it springs from living 
 faith in tho pure, simple truths of the 
 gospel ? 
 
 " Certainly Faith is tho happier for her 
 Bible-readinj 
 
 *C1» 
 
rHE servants' hall. 
 
 365 
 
 nd that 
 as I do. 
 hat tho 
 : woman 
 aternos- 
 haticg, 
 libors, is 
 Give me 
 through 
 isciously 
 itration ; 
 akes no 
 nature, 
 L* for it ; 
 
 (i where 
 nfidelity 
 of the 
 ^ant girl 
 ' even to 
 shgion is 
 n living 
 i of the 
 
 ' for lier 
 who was 
 
 perhaps the one of tho comtesse's household 
 over whom the example of la petite Aaglaist 
 had most influence. 
 
 " When she has had the worst troubles, I 
 never knew Faith appear half so wretched 
 as poor Mademoiselle Ninon is now." 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle was so fond of Diane!" 
 observed one of the servants. 
 
 " Fond 1" repeated Marie, with a shrug of 
 contempt ; " it was the kind of fondness 
 which she has for her fan in summer, or for 
 her fur tippet in winter. Mademoiselle, 
 likes to be served, flattered, amused,— Diano 
 understood that well enough ; but I doubt 
 whether the young lady ever was, or ever 
 will be, really fond of any one, if she lives 
 to the ago of a hundred." 
 
 " She is scarcely likely to have a long life, 
 if mademoiselle goes on as she is doing 
 now," observed Annette. " She sits in her 
 room, or on the terrace, crying over the 
 loss of her jewels." 
 
 "How was it that Diane carried oSc* all 
 poor mademoiselle's jewels, and none of 
 madame's?" asked a servant who sat oppo- 
 site to the last speaker. 
 
 M' 
 
 i :: 
 
 Hi 
 
 :fil 
 
 I1' 
 
THE SEUTANTS' HALL. 
 
 " Maaamo's cabinet ^vas locked," began 
 Annette in reply ; slio was interrupted by 
 
 Mario. . 
 
 " Madamo has not now many jewels to 
 lose," said the cook. " As tho comtesso 
 turned most of her silver plate into that 
 beautiful shrine which the Jacobins stole 
 and melted down into money, so she has 
 turned most of her diamonds and rubies 
 into iwtarjc and bread for the poor. There 
 is no danger of thief or Jacobin laymg 
 hands on those jewels now." 
 
 "Mademoiselle Ninon would not have 
 given tho tiniest ring from her finger to save 
 a family from starvation," observed ono of 
 the household. 
 
 "Ah, poor mademoiselle, I am sorry for 
 her," said tho more tender-hearted Annette. 
 " She has grown so thin, so wasted,— all the 
 powder and rouge cannot hide the change in 
 her looks. Indeed, for months before this 
 trouble came, mademoiselle had been losmg 
 her strength and spirits. She says that a 
 country life is killing her inch by inch, 
 ame tl 
 
 Madi 
 
 DUght ic at nrsi- un aciu^^j , •^''• 
 she is half afraid that liei hdle-smir is 
 
THE servants' hall. 
 
 367 
 
 poing into a declino. Maclomoiscllo liorself 
 declares that notliins will euro licr but a 
 vis.t to some grand watcring-placo. Tlioro 
 there is a famous doctor, ^vhoso name 1 
 
 forgot." , ,r • a 
 
 - Doctor-bah I" exclaimed Mane ; a 
 visit to a play or an opera is all thab made- 
 moiselle wants. She is simply sick ^YltU 
 mnui. Tho champagne is merely flat ; stir 
 it with a crumb of amusement, and you II 
 
 set it fizzing again." . , .„ , ,. . 
 
 •With a laugh at Marie's illustration o 
 the young lady's malady, tho circle round 
 tlie dinner-tablo broke up ; and Annette 
 and the rest of the servants dispersed to 
 their various occupations. 
 
 I i 
 
 if 
 
 ^1 
 
 Ml 
 
 ! 
 
 "* i 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 FEELING AFTER TRUTH. 
 
 lABRIELLE, with tho Bible in 
 lier hand, was like a traveller 
 making his way alone and on 
 foot through a difficult country 
 which ho has only traversed before by star- 
 light, and in a conveyance driven by 
 onother. While tlie student was constantly 
 struck by new beauties in tho sacred vol- 
 ume, she was also frequently startled by 
 fresh difficulties, altogether unexpected, as 
 if the traveller's course should be arrested 
 by rock or river, forcing him to turn aside 
 from the direction which he wished to 
 pursue. Gabrielle had commenced her 
 etudy of the Scriptures partly from curiosity, 
 partly from the hoi)e of finding in them 
 (368) 
 
FEELING AFi'EU TKUTII. 
 
 360 
 
 Bviritual consolation, partly— aa uo havo 
 Been— from the dosiro to discover argu- 
 ments by Avliich to draw over Faith to tlio 
 Romanist Church. Tho comtcsso, in pur- 
 suance of tho last-named object, spent 
 hours in diligently seareliing tho Bible for 
 proofs that her Church, in obcdieuco io 
 apostoUc command and example, paid 
 adorim; reverence to tho Virgin Mary, an 
 Intercessor, Queen of Heaven, and Mother 
 of God. This doctrine, which practically 
 places a woman on a level with Him by 
 whom and for whom all things were created, 
 was especially dear to tho heart of Gabri- 
 cUe. It was with something like dismay 
 that she discovered that this is a doctrine 
 which it is impossible to confirm by any 
 candid interpretation of Scripture. 
 
 « And is this all— all that I can collect 
 about the latter Hl'e of tho Blessed Virgin !" 
 exclaimed Gabriello, as, after carefully 
 searching through the New Testament for 
 confirmation of legends and traditions con- 
 cornmg the Mother of our Lord, she returned 
 to the very brief mention of Mary contained 
 
 nf thft Acts of the 
 
 
 first chapt 
 
 24 
 
 ■M I 
 
370 
 
 FEELING AFTER TEUTH. 
 
 Apostles. " It is not from the Scriptures, 
 tlien, that the Fathers of the Church have 
 gathered materials for the lofty shrine 
 raised to the honor of the Madonna. I 
 marvel that there is so little mention of 
 Mary even in the Gospels. Twice the Lord 
 addresses her almost in the tone of gentle 
 rebuke ; as though to i\ "nd her that, 
 tJiough blessed amongst women, she was 
 but a woman still ! And was it not to her — 
 the Blessed Virgin herself — that Christ 
 referred when He said, ' Yea, rather blessed 
 are they that hear the word of God and 
 keep it.' Yea, rather blessed,'" repeated 
 Gabrielle, pressing her hand to her brow, 
 and feeling troubled at the conclusion which 
 she could not avoid drawing from the 
 words of the Lord ; " can it be that the 
 glorious Virgin herself is placed, as regards 
 salvation, on the same footing as the low- 
 liest Christian; that even she needed, like 
 the rest of mankind, to be saved by the 
 death of her Son; and that she acknow- 
 ledged such need when in her inspired song 
 Bhe exclaimed, 3Iij spirit hath rejoiced in God 
 my Saviouu ? A physician is not required 
 
m 
 
 FEELING AFl'ER TRFIIT. 
 
 371 
 
 for tli8 whole, nor a Saviour for tlio sin- 
 less." 
 
 Gabrielle also vainly endeavored to re- 
 concile other articles of belief held by tho 
 Eomish Church, and its numerous rites, 
 ceremonies, and traditions, with the pure 
 unmixed Word of God. How could the 
 celibacy of priests bo required, the lady 
 reasoned with herself, Avhen St. Peter him- 
 self had a wife, and St. Paul declared mar- 
 riage to be honorable in all ? Where was 
 purgatory to be found in tho Bible, or the 
 doctrine that the merits o.' .aints or the 
 prayers of priests could save souls from its 
 awful flames ? Where was the sacrifice of 
 the Mass enjoined ? Did not the Scriptures 
 refute the doctrine that Christ's sacrifice is 
 renewed every time when the Host is con- 
 secrated by the priest, since it is written of 
 the Lo)'d, Not yet that He should offer Himself 
 often .... Christ was onee offered to hear the 
 sins of many. Gabrielle was perplexed and 
 distressed by the numerous discrepancies 
 which she discovered between the teaching 
 of the inspired writers and the teaching of 
 those whom slie had hitherto regarded as 
 
 
 
372 
 
 FEEUNQ APTER TllUTH. 
 
 lier spiritual guides. Many a time the lady 
 was tempted to c5lose the Bible, and lock it 
 up where no eye could ever see it again ; 
 and yet she was drawn by an irresistible 
 impulse to read more and yet more, rising 
 early and retiring late to her rest, in order 
 to spend hours in searching the sacred 
 pages. 
 
 The Epistles, a portion of Scripture which 
 was to Gabrielle almost entirely new, were 
 especially full of difficulties to the mind of 
 the Romanist lad}'. She could not avoid 
 seeing that the doctrines held by the apostles 
 on the deep truths of Christianity were 
 unlike those of her priests. Gabiielle met 
 with such numerous passages in which faith 
 is set forth as saving, justifying, giving 
 access to grace, that a conviction was forced 
 upon her reluctant mind that simple faith 
 in a crucified Saviour must be the very 
 root and stem of such religion as would 
 grow from diligent study of the Bible. 
 "\Vliat, then, Avere all the doctrinos, rites, 
 and observances, all the worship of Virgin 
 and S;ii)its, the reverence for relies, the 
 bodilv exercises sanctioned and maintained 
 
FEELTN iFTER TRUTH. 
 
 373 
 
 10 lady 
 lock it 
 again ; 
 sistible 
 , rising 
 I order 
 sacred 
 
 Q wliicli 
 iv, were 
 nind of 
 ; avoid 
 tpostles 
 y were 
 Uo met 
 2h. faith 
 giving 
 5 forced 
 lo faith 
 bo very' 
 would 
 Bible. 
 ?, rites, 
 : Virgin 
 Lcs, the 
 ntained 
 
 by tb,e Romanist Church? These things, 
 Uko some parasite plant, had (dmost hidden 
 from Gabrielle's view the stem of pure 
 Scriptural faith ; but she had been brought 
 up 80 firmly to believe them to bo an essen- 
 tial part of religion, that she now regarded 
 her doubts concerning their real value with 
 pain, if not with remorse. 
 
 " Would that I could but consult with 
 Pore la Porte !" exclaimed Gabriello to 
 lierself ; " ho would silence my doubts, he 
 would guide my conscience." 
 
 Then with a feeling of painful perplexity 
 the lady revolved in her mind the Master's 
 words, Call no man your father on earth. 
 The command could not be taken literally ; 
 could it be that it forbade yielding up the 
 control of conscience to any mortal what- 
 ever — could it be that it forbade blind 
 obedience even to the Pope liimself as a 
 Bpiritual father? Gabrielle tried hard to 
 bcUeve that tlie divine command must have 
 some other meaning; but the attempt to 
 discover such other meaning always ended 
 in disappointment, 
 
 Jt was with intense pleasure that Faith 
 
 ■if 
 
 ■A 
 m 
 
 '■ l*;f I 
 
 ■rfV 
 
 a . 
 
374 
 
 FEELINa AFTER TRUTH. 
 
 Win 
 
 observed that the Biblo was lier mistress's 
 frequent companion, and the young Berva,nt 
 passed few waking hours in which she did 
 not uplift a silent prayer for a blessing on 
 its perusal. Faith wondered, indeed, to 
 see that diligent study of the Scriptures 
 seemed to bring no comfort to the lady= 
 Gabrielle's brow was more clouded with 
 gloom than it had previously been, and 
 her manner had become more grave and 
 reserved. Faith could not help contrasting 
 the comtcssc's melancholy v\dth the peaces 
 and joy experienced by the aged Autoine. 
 Why should the self-same trutiis have such 
 a different effect upon the souls of the two 
 Romanists? Faith could not answer the 
 question; but the cause was simply this: 
 tlie old gardener was receiving the kingdom 
 of heaven as a little child, content to accept 
 salvation as a free gift, with simple grati- 
 tude and faith ; Gabrielle, on the contrary, 
 had a rooted persuasion that she must her- 
 self pay some price for her soul's redemj)- 
 tion, that with the merits of "Christ some 
 other merits must be mixed. Tlie simplicity 
 of the gospel scheme offended the pride 
 
FEELING AFTER TRUTH. 
 
 375 
 
 lisiress's 
 ; servMJit 
 
 sLe did 
 issiiig oil 
 [Iced, to 
 ?riptures 
 lio ladv= 
 od witli 
 !Cii, and 
 •ave and 
 atrasting 
 le peace 
 Antoino. 
 Lve irnch 
 
 the two 
 5wei' the 
 )ly this: 
 kingdom 
 ;o accept 
 le grali- 
 30iitrary, 
 list lier- 
 redemj)- 
 ist some 
 im])L\*ity 
 10 pride 
 
 which hirked in the comtesse's heart ; there 
 was in ife secret resistance to doctrines so 
 liunibh'ng to the natural man. The Bible 
 was to the Komanist lady like Elisha's 
 message to the Syrian leader, bidding her 
 simply wash in the Fountain opened for 
 sin and be clean; but — like Naaman — the 
 spiritual leper turned proudly fi'om the means 
 of grace provided for her cnro. Were not 
 her Abana and Pharpar — were not gorgeous 
 rites and meritorious works liettor than all 
 the waters of Israel ? Gabrielle had indeed 
 tried them for jchtb in vain, but still would 
 fain indulge the hope, — " May I not wash 
 in them, and be clean ?" 
 
 'I 
 
 1 
 
 ; u 
 
 X, ^ 
 
 , l] 
 
 ':! 
 
r m 
 
 ii 
 
 1 
 
 i . 
 
 i i 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 MIS r BESS AND MAID. 
 
 ATTH had silently observed for 
 some days that her lady was 
 deeply engaged in the study of 
 the Scriptures. The time came 
 when she could remain silent no longer. It 
 was on a morning when the English maiden 
 was standing behind her mistress, employed 
 in combing out and arranging her long dark 
 tresses; while the comtesse occupied the 
 time, as she now usually did, in reading 
 the Bible of Antoine. On that morning, 
 for the first time since Faith had refused to 
 worship in the Chapel of the Virgin, Ga- 
 brielle broke through the reserve which she 
 had observed towards Faith on the subject 
 
 of religion. 
 (376) 
 
MISTKESS AISD MAID. 
 
 377 
 
 
 red for 
 ly was 
 ludy of 
 e came 
 ^er. It 
 maiden 
 (iployed 
 iig dark 
 ied the 
 reading 
 lorning, 
 fused to 
 gin, Ga- 
 lich she 
 subject 
 
 "Faifcli," said ilio comtoKso abruptly, 
 half closing the book which l;iy on her 
 kneo, " dost thou think that thy sins are 
 forgiven?" 
 
 The maiden was a little startled at the 
 unexpected question ; it was one, however, 
 to which she had for long been able to give 
 an answer, and she timidly, but without 
 hesitation, replied in the words of St. John, 
 " ' The blood of Jesus Chri^it clciinseth from 
 all siu.' " 
 
 "Yes, I know it," said Gabriello La 
 Fere ; " and yet not all sinners aro saved. 
 How are we — how art thou — to be sure that 
 Uiat blood hath sufficed to make thee 
 whole?" 
 
 Faith paused for a moment to reflect, 
 then replied again in the words of Scrip- 
 ture, " ' Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, 
 and thou shalt be saved.' I know that I 
 do believe," added the maiden. 
 
 "Believe, and thou shalt be saved; that 
 
 was the answer given by the apostle_ to tho 
 
 • jailer at Philippi," observed Gabriellc, as 
 
 fcsho opened Hkj Bible and turniMl over its 
 
 pages till she had found tho sixteenth 
 
 ii 
 
 Uj' 
 
 fc^l 
 
 I 
 
 
 m 
 
 w. 
 
il I 
 
 378 
 
 MISTRESS AND MAID. 
 
 chapter of Acts. " But would Sfc. Paul have 
 given the same simple answer to every 
 inquirer? AVould he not have spoken to 
 many of prayers and repentance and good 
 works as helpiug to render them acceptable 
 in the sight of the Lord ?" Gabrielle was 
 thinking of her own splendid offerings and 
 deeds of mercy, her self-denial and acts of 
 devotion. Could she not rest upon any of 
 those meritorious things as a means of win- 
 ning favor from Heaven ? 
 
 Faith almost trembled from a feeling of 
 fear that by her own ignorance she might in 
 any way darken the light of tratli beginning, 
 as she trusted, to shine on her lady. She 
 considered lierseK to be unfit for argument 
 on any topic whatever; how should she 
 dare to attempt to handle subjects too 
 lofty to be grasped even by an intellect the 
 most exalted ! Yet she must not leave the 
 comtesse, by silence on her part, to conclude 
 that no reply could be given. " I can only 
 speak for myself, madame," answered Faith 
 in a low, humble tone ; " I rest my hopes on. 
 nothing but God's free grace through Christ, 
 offered to all who truly believe in Him." 
 
MIBTIIESS AND MAID. 
 
 379 
 
 « Dost thou deem, then, that there is no 
 merit, no vahie in the holy Hves and good 
 deeds of the saints ?" asked Gabriello, with 
 Blight impatience in her accents. 
 
 " Oh, madame, saints are but pardoned 
 sinners," cried Faith ; " their robes are only 
 white because they have been washed in 
 the blood of the Lamb." She stopped 
 abruptly, wondering at having ventured to 
 say so much. 
 
 "But how was the merit of that blood 
 applied to them— how can it bo applied to 
 us?" asked the Comtesse La Fere. 
 
 The English girl, with nervous eagerness, 
 was searching her memory to ,find some 
 verse which should express what her mind 
 grasped, but which she had no power to 
 put into words of her own. The first verse 
 which occurred to her, and which she 
 uttered aloud, was, as she knew, but one 
 out of many bearing upon the same life- 
 giving truth. " There/ore being justified by 
 faith, toe have loeac^ tcith God through our 
 L&rd Jesus Christ^ said the English maiden. 
 
 "Peace with God! peace with God!" 
 murmured Gabriclle La Fere to herself. 
 
 ^^' 
 
 m 
 
 rf 
 
nso 
 
 MISTRESS AND MAID. 
 
 Hero was tlio licfilin.G? -wliicli lior sonl neod- 
 ed ; hero Avas tlio blessing imnieasurabiy 
 more precious than the cure of any physical 
 disease. But Gabrielle was not yet i)repar- 
 cd to throw herself entirely and witliout re- 
 serve upon God's jnercy souglit ihroujj;h 
 Christ's atonement alone ; she was not pre- 
 pared entirely to renounce all merit of her 
 own and say, as a holy man onco said, " I 
 put all my good deeds and my evil deeds 
 into one heap together, and floe from them 
 both unto Christ." Gabrielle could not 
 give up the idea that the belief that man is 
 justified by faith only would cause good 
 works to bo neglected, and holiness of life 
 disregarded. The comtesso did not see 
 that if living faith, tlio root and stem of 
 religion, be vigorous, the fruits of pure 
 thoughts and pious deeds must be joroduced 
 naturally and of necessity ; for we have di- 
 vine authority for declaring that if the tree 
 bo good, so is its fruit good also. 
 
 Gabrielle did not choose to continue the 
 conversation with her servant, and Faith 
 ventured on no attempt to renew it. While 
 in meek silence she waited on her lady, she 
 
KISTRESS AND M.UD. 
 
 381 
 
 lil need- 
 iHurab'iy 
 physical 
 l)repar- 
 liout ro- 
 il 1 rough 
 not pro- 
 t of her 
 sfiid, " I 
 il deeds 
 >m them 
 iild not 
 t man ia 
 sO good 
 s of life 
 not seo 
 stem of 
 of pure 
 reduced 
 liave di- 
 the tree 
 
 inue the 
 
 :i Faith 
 
 While 
 
 adj, she 
 
 little guessed what thoughts concerning hor- 
 Bolf were passing through the mind of the 
 comtesso. 
 
 •• This girl— this Protestant servant— who bo 
 firmly believes that she is andean be justified 
 by faith only, and who has found peace in 
 thai belief, she certainly shows forth in her 
 life that such simple faith has i^ower, with 
 some natures at least, to produce holiness, 
 obedience, and love. Is it impossible that 
 she may be as right in lier doctrine as she 
 seems to bo in her practice? Can it be 
 that this lowly believer, who seeks for tinith 
 in her Bible, has actually found the water 
 of life, whilst I perish with thirst? " 
 
 Faitii was too much occupied with house- 
 hold duties to have time to ponder over the 
 foregoing conversation with her mistress 
 during the earlier portion of that day, though 
 she found that her thoughts were constantly 
 reverting to it, however her hands might be 
 employed ; but when Faith started on her 
 usual eiTand to the cottage of Antoine Le 
 Roy, Gabrielle, and what she had said on 
 that morning, filled the mind of the maiden 
 to the exclusion of every other 
 
 "11 
 
 subject. 
 
 W| 
 
382 
 
 M7STRES3 AND MAID. 
 
 iXA 
 
 i 
 
 The ten minutes Kpcnt in passing tlironf^li 
 the garden and olivo plantation wore what 
 Faith decme- 1 her golden time ; prayer and 
 praise, and tin iiglits of gratitude and love, 
 iiHually made the shady path to her as tliG 
 lioiLse of God and the gate of heaven. 
 She was never ho happy as when thus alone 
 with nature and nature's Creator. But on 
 tJiis occasion Faith sang no liymn as she 
 walked ; instead of meditating on passages 
 from Scripture to raises her own hopes to- 
 wards heaven, she was mentally going over 
 again the eonvursation held with tlio Lady 
 of Provence. 
 
 " Oh, would that my mistress had asked 
 those important questions of some one able 
 to answer them fully !" thought Faith. " I 
 am so ignorant and slow of speech, and 
 madamo knows everything far, far better 
 than I do, except the Bible, which she has 
 but lately begun to study. There seem to 
 mo now to be so many things which I might 
 have said, if I had only had the courage and 
 presence of mind to say them T nm afraid 
 that the very iVeeness of God's Qvvi) is a 
 stumbling-bioek in the way oi my dear lady. 
 

 MISTRESS AND MAID. 383 
 
 thronf^li 
 
 Sho has boon so accu tomed l-. tliiuk that 
 
 Dro whnfc 
 
 many things aro needful boforo tlio soul can 
 
 lyor niicl 
 
 have poaco uith God ; sho lin-5 been taught 
 
 lid lovo, 
 
 to mix so mucli of her own doings -with 
 
 }V as tlio 
 
 humblo faith in tho Saviour';-; work, that 
 
 heaven. 
 
 4 
 
 simply to believe and live, bolievo and bo 
 
 \\H alono 
 
 saved, believe and be happy, is a hard say- 
 
 ]3ut on 
 
 ing to her,— or rather, tho news seems to bo 
 
 aa sho 
 
 too good to bo true. And yet, if I could 
 
 )assagea 
 
 only have remembered them at tho moment, 
 
 )p(33 to- 
 
 I could havo mentioned so many, many 
 
 ng over 
 
 things in tho Liblo that explain to us how 
 
 lO Ladj 
 
 sinners are freely saved through faith!" 
 
 
 The maiden thought of prophecy and tyi)c, 
 
 d asked 
 
 tho brazen serpent, tho paschal lamb, the 
 
 3110 able 
 
 Eedeemer's gracious invitation given in the 
 
 th. " I 
 
 Book of tho Propiiet Isaiah, Look milo Me 
 
 cli, and 
 
 and he ye saved, all ye ends of the earth. Tlie 
 
 • better 
 
 English girl felt, though sho had no power 
 
 sho has 
 
 to cxi^lain her conviction in words, that the 
 
 seem to 
 
 look of faith is enough for salvation, for the 
 
 I might 
 
 heahng of tho sin-sick soul, sinco a life of 
 
 age and 
 
 obedience must follow upon it. The Tsraol- 
 
 a afraid 
 
 iie, cured by a look at tho brazen serpent 
 
 toe is a 
 
 lifted up in tho wilderness, received not 
 
 ar ladj. 
 
 healing that he should lie down and sleep 
 
 i; H 
 
 I!' 
 
 11'.. 
 
 
381 
 
 MISTRESS AND MAID. 
 
 away the rest of Lis days, but that lie should 
 be np and doing, and steadily follow on 
 wliitliersoever tlie fiery pillar should lead 
 him. The blood of the paschal lamb would 
 have been shed in vain for any child of 
 Jacob who should have chosen wilfully to 
 remain in Egyptian bondage when his tribe 
 marched forth to freedom. The meaning 
 of these t^^pes was clear to the mind of the 
 simple, unlearned servant, for she herself 
 had looked and lived ; and having been 
 freely saved by grace, had turned her back 
 on the spirtual Egypt forever. 
 
 But no really earnest Christian is content 
 to go to heaven alone ; and personal attach- 
 ment to the Lady of Provence intensified 
 Faith's desire to see her in possession of 
 the blessing which had been granted to 
 herself. " Oh, I would give my right hand ; 
 I would give the sight of my eyes," thought 
 the young servant, " that my dear mistress 
 should know and experience all that is 
 meant by that precious -verse : Therefore 
 being jii^iified by faith, we have peace with God 
 through our Lord Jesus Christ." 
 
le should 
 )llow on 
 •uld lead 
 lb would 
 child of 
 ilfuUy to 
 his tribe 
 moaning 
 d of the 
 9 herself 
 ng been 
 ber back 
 
 3 content 
 il attacli- 
 itensified 
 3ssion of 
 anted to 
 lit hand ; 
 thought 
 mistress 
 [ that is 
 Therefore 
 with God 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 A CHASE. 
 
 I HE attention of Faith was so en- 
 tirely absorbed by her reflections 
 on what had passed between 
 herself and the comtesse, and 
 the intercessory praj^er to which those 
 reflections now led, that she had neither 
 eyes nor ears for any external object, but 
 walked on like one in a dream, looking 
 neither to the right nor to the left. Very 
 rudely was the mind of the maiden recalled 
 to earth by a sudden shout, or rather yell, 
 from man}' voices, which greeted her as soon 
 as a bend in the pathway brought her in view 
 of the cotta^-c of Antoiue. 
 
 (( 'rii 
 
 Tis she ! — she comes — seize her — kill 
 her -I has rAndaiso !' death to rAnii;l;nse !" 
 
 
 !;•!■ 
 
 '■■ K i 
 
 m 
 
 25 
 
 (385 > 
 
386 
 
 A CHASE. 
 
 such were the cries wliicli startled Faith. 
 A mob of savage men, mingled with women 
 yet more savage, had gathered in front of 
 the cottage. TJiey had been watcliing for 
 the coming of their victim as wolves might 
 watch for their prey. 
 
 To go forward would be madness ; Faith 
 could not nwstake the import of that fearful 
 howl for blood, which she had heard before 
 at. Lyons. Her momentary glance at the 
 enemies in front had sufficed for recognition 
 of the face of a man named Butin, whom 
 Diane had several times brousfht to the 
 
 O 
 
 chateau without the knowledge of its mis- 
 tress, and of whoso character Marie had 
 expressed a very low opinion indeed. The 
 appearance of that man in the crowd made 
 Faith certain that she heard Diane's hatred 
 in the cry, " Death to I'Anglaise," and saw 
 it in the dark fierce faces before her, though 
 Diane herself did not scorn to be present. 
 Despairing of finding mercy from the rabble, 
 the poor girl turned and fled for her life, 
 hoping by her speed of foot to distance her 
 
 pursuers, and 
 
 ren-am 
 
 the slicller of tlie 
 
 chateau. 13iit scarcely had Faith ini-iied 
 
A CHASE. 
 
 387 
 
 ir 
 
 and begun lier rapid fliglit, when, to her 
 terror, she fonud that her retreat was cut off 
 by another band of ruffians, who had just 
 burst through the coppice which bordered 
 the ohve planta-tion, and whoso sliouta 
 echoed back those of the fierce pursuers 
 behind her. Thus hemmed in both in froni 
 and rear, Faith felt that hor hxst liour had 
 come ; for as well might she have implored 
 pity from a x^ack of ravening wolves as f fom 
 that Jacobin mob. 
 
 But hfc is clear, and not to be yielded up 
 without a desperate effort. Spurred to 
 exertion by the strong instinct of self-pre- 
 Hervation, Faith again turned, and, leaving 
 the path beset by enemies, plunged amongst 
 the trees through which that path ran. 
 She flung away the basket which she carried 
 on her arm, that her flight might be unim- 
 peded, and rushed wildly on, — as the hunted 
 doe might rush, straining every muscle — - 
 panting — gasping — flying — urged on to hor 
 utmost speed by the fearful sounds behind 
 her, which told that her enemies wore hot 
 in pursuit. Faith had the strength and 
 activity of youth ; and 'extreme peril will 
 
 1 ;■ 
 
 
 ]i 
 
 i 
 
388 
 
 A CHASE. 
 
 incite to efforts of wliicli, iii Ccalmer moments, 
 the linman frame may seem incapable. 
 How the poor fugitive tore through brambles 
 and plunged over brushwood, leaving frag- 
 ments of her garments behind her ; how she 
 bounded down this steep descent, or with 
 agonizing gasps, struggled up that mount- 
 now stopping for a few seconds to regain 
 her breath— then driven forward again by a 
 shout, or the noise of crashing of branches 
 by her pursuers,— may only be imagined by 
 those who in some fearful nightmare have 
 dreamed of flying for life ! Faith knew not 
 whither she was rushing ; she but Imew 
 that she must struggle on— on— and yet on 
 —till her powers should fail, and she should 
 drop down in utter exhaustion. She was 
 no longer now in the plantation ; something 
 like a fence had been scrambled over, and 
 the dull green foliage of the olive had been 
 exchanged for the leafy covert of large forest 
 trees, under whoso shade ferns and mosses 
 grew in profusion. Faith paused, when her 
 breath and strength were almost gone, to 
 
 lean — ll vm lul' a Dcv;uii^.i — d^ciixi.ju ,A^i,^iy- 
 
 bossy trunk, and gaze up at the brand los 
 
 I 
 
moments, 
 neap able, 
 brambles 
 ^^ing frag- 
 ; how she 
 ;, or with 
 
 mount — 
 to regahi 
 .gain by a 
 branches 
 agined by 
 aave have 
 
 knew not 
 but knew 
 mcl yet on 
 (he should 
 
 She was 
 something 
 over, and 
 had been 
 irge forest 
 ad mosses 
 , when her 
 ; gone, to 
 Inst Bome 
 
 branches 
 
 A CHASE. 
 
 389 
 
 above her, and ask herself whether it might 
 not be possible to climb -^.p into some 
 hiding-place where she might remain con- 
 cealed from her dreaded pm'suers. But 
 such climbing was impracticable for a wo- 
 man ; the maiden had neither time nor the 
 requisite strength to make even an attempt 
 to clamber up. Her breath came in painful, 
 gasps, and her heart throbbed so fearfully 
 from the rapidity and length of her flight, 
 that a wild hope rose in the poor girl's mind 
 that her heart might literally burst, and that 
 so her pursuers might find but a lifeless 
 corpse on which to wreak their f ary ! Such 
 was the only way of escape from a death of 
 violence which seemed to bo before tho 
 exliausted maiden. Faith could scarcely 
 forbear praying in her terror that she might 
 thus be caught up to safety where the mur- 
 derers v/ould have no powei: to follow her — 
 that she might die before they could reach 
 her. She thought that she could not fly a 
 single step further, and that she had passed 
 the utmost limit of possible endurance ; and 
 yet, like a dying horsft, cfoadod and lashed 
 
 
 f? 
 
 
 i. 
 
 i 11 
 
 ' 
 
 ! 
 
 ■t ' , 
 
 \M 
 
 ■ & 
 
 
 ' D~ 
 
 to make one last effort, aj^fain and agaui cries 
 
390 
 
 A CHASE. 
 
 
 and yells from tlie approaching rabble made 
 Faith start again on her course. 
 
 The terrible strain could not have been 
 borne much longer; Faith knew that she 
 must give in, and nothing seemed before 
 her but to sink on the ground, and there 
 await her terrible fate, when the fugitive 
 suddenly came in sight of a small chapel 
 which stood on the edge of the forest. It 
 was a deserted-looking building, partly in 
 ruins ; the glass had been shattered in the 
 windows, the door torn from its hinges; 
 grass grew between the marble squares 
 wliich had once paved its floor. But Faith 
 intuitively fled to the building, little suited 
 as it seemed to be to afford her shelter. It 
 was something to die in a place that had 
 been raised by human hands, and intended 
 for the worship of God. The fugitive rushed 
 into the chapel, and beheld straight before 
 her, dimmed by time and stained by wea- 
 ther, a picture painted in fresco upon a 
 panel opposite to the door. Then flashed 
 upon the memory of Faith something which 
 she had heard — when, wliere, or from whom, 
 at that moment she could not remember- - 
 
 ! f 
 
A CHASE. 
 
 391 
 
 I about a picture of St. Catlierine and her 
 Wheel. Faith clarted across the narrow 
 chapel, her finger pressed the centre point 
 of the dimly-pictured wheel, rather with the 
 energy of despair than with the vigor of 
 hope. To her surprise and delight she 
 found that the panel yielded, that the 
 quick movement of her arm could push it 
 aside, and that as she did so an opening 
 appeared in the wall. In an instant Faith 
 was through the opening, and with a last 
 convulsive eiforfc was drawing back the 
 panel so as completely to hide her i)lace of 
 retreat from any one who should enter the 
 chapel. Then, sinking at last under the 
 strain which had been undergone both by 
 mind and bodj-, the fugitive, with almost 
 suffocating gasps, fell prostrate upon the 
 paved floor of her secret recess. 
 
 
 •i 
 
CHAPTEK XX^VI. 
 
 THE RECESS. 
 
 AITH had barely recovered the 
 l^ower of breathing again ^vithout 
 extreme distress when she heard 
 the sounds made by her approach- 
 iug pursuers, and then the loud clatter of 
 wooden shoes on the chapel pavement. She 
 had no means of seeing how many of the mob 
 had entered the building ; there were at first 
 a good many voices speaking outside it, but 
 she could only distinguish two voices within, 
 one of which she felt certain was that of 
 Butin, for his accents had a peculiar harsh- 
 ness which made them easy to be recognized. 
 In silence profound as that of death, al- 
 most afraid even to breathe^ the concealed 
 maiden listened with intense interest to the 
 
 (392) 
 
THE RECESS. 
 
 393 
 
 following conversation between Butin and 
 some companion. They — after a brief 
 search— stood in the chapel, so close to her 
 place of retreat that, but for the panel which 
 separated her from them. Faith could, by 
 putting out her hand, have touched the 
 man -who was nearest. 
 
 "I fancied that she'd have run to earth 
 here," said Butin in his most grating accents. 
 
 " Thou seest that she has not," returned 
 his companion ; " there's not a corner here 
 in which a rat could hide— -not so much a^ 
 a door behind which she could crouch." 
 
 "She ran like a hare— ha! ha! ha!" 
 laughed Butin ; " I wish, Simon, that her 
 red-jacketed countrymen" — the Jacobin 
 added a curse— "would show that they 
 knew how to make as good use of their 
 
 legs !" 
 
 "Thou wouldst run too," observed his 
 panting companion, " if thou knewest that 
 the first man who overtook thee would 
 smasHlin thy skull with a hammer." 
 
 "The Anglaise cannot escape us, Simon, 
 run as slie may ; if our citizens do not catch 
 her to-day— and there are fifty at least on 
 
 ^IH 
 
;J 
 
 394 
 
 THE RECESS. 
 
 lier scent — slio'll bo arrested with tlio com- 
 tosse, her mistress, to-morrow. Bat for 
 the fun of tlio eliaso, it was liarclly worth 
 while to heat ourselves on a (.la_y in Thermi' 
 dor with hunting down a wretch who may 
 just as well die under the national razor* as 
 under hammer or knife." 
 
 "Ah! what about that arrest? I'vo not 
 heard the whole of the story ; Ict'^ leave the 
 rest to wear out their breath and muscle in 
 tlio chase. I don't care to be in at the 
 death," observed Simon. Faith could hear 
 that, as ho spoke, the man wearily throw 
 liimsell: down to rest ; she believed that his 
 head was actually leanijig against the paint- 
 ed panel which served us her screen. 
 
 " TliG story, is easily told," said Butin, 
 Avho also appeared disinclined to run further. 
 "Diane — brave woman that she is! — started 
 for Paris early on the morning alter the 
 day when sho had been forced to leave the 
 chateau. Sho is not one to let the grass 
 grow under her feet, especially wl^n she 
 has a wrong to avenge. Diane saw Eobcs 
 pierre himself." 
 
 * A playful namo given to tlio guillotine. 
 
 Ui 
 
THE RECESS. 
 
 395 
 
 i 
 
 razor* as 
 
 ' Simon uttered an abrupt exclamation, 
 wliicli might inclicato either satisfaction or 
 suipriso. 
 
 "Matters wore easily arranged between 
 the two," said Butiu. " The only wonder 
 is that the bloodhound!^ have not been 
 slipped from their leashes before. Tho 
 messenger from Ttobespicrre with the war- 
 rant f<jr arrest comes down from Paris by 
 the coach which will reach Aix some time 
 about midnight." 
 
 " But is there enough against this said 
 Comtcsse La Fore to make it a business for 
 the executioner to settle ?" aFiked Simon. 
 
 " Enough 1" repeated Butin; "there's 
 enough to bring a score of vile aristocrats 
 to the guillotine ; especially," ho added witli 
 a grating laugh, "if they have wealth iu 
 plenty, as she lias. Bees might be left alone 
 to die a natural death, if they had not honey 
 in their cells. 
 
 " I thought that this comtesso had given 
 away her wealth pretty freely, and that slic 
 was rather popular in this part of the coiui- 
 trv," said Simon. 
 
 " Popular — bal) !" exclaimed his compan- 
 
 H I 
 
396 
 
 THE RECESS, 
 
 II 
 
 1 1 
 
 ion. " A fow whining women, or peasants 
 aoffc-licartccl as women, may lift up their 
 liands and cry out for mercy on the aristo- 
 crat ; but Coclion knows his work, and will 
 do it : he's a pupil of Ilobespiorro, and an 
 apt one ; it won't bo his fault if our city of 
 Aix docs not follow the glorious lead of 
 Paris. But why stop .wo here?— art thou 
 still weary ? Methinks, from the yelling I 
 lioar yonder, our brave citizens have pulled 
 down their quarry at last. I must lend a 
 hand to finish the job, or Diane will never 
 forgive me !'* 
 
 Taith heard ilio rapid clatter of their 
 sabois as the two democrats hurried out of 
 the chapel, in hopes of witnessing her last 
 agonies. The noises in the distance soon 
 died away, and silence succeeded — such a 
 silence that it seemed to Faith as if she 
 were lying, cold and still, a corpse in a 
 tomb. 
 
 But the first agony of terror had passed 
 away. Faith was now calm, and wondered 
 at her own calmness. Her first emotion was 
 that of thankfulness, not so much for her own 
 strange preservation, as for the discovery 
 
THE llECESa. 
 
 397 
 
 which sh<) had mado of tho cliinj^cu which 
 threatened her mistress. A warrant of arrea^v 
 was then actually on its way froni Paris, 
 and would roach Aix at midnight; tho men of 
 ijlood would arrive at tho chateau, and find 
 their intended victim — gone ! Failli almost 
 started to her feet, from tho impulse to rush 
 forth at onco from her placo of conccidment 
 and hasten to Chateau Labello to warn 
 Gabriello La Fero of her danger. But a 
 moment's reflection showed her the folly of 
 acting iipon such an impulse. 
 
 " I should only bo throwing away iny own 
 life, and by so doing endanger one far moro 
 precious," said tho servant girl to herself. 
 "No; I must remain hidden here till night 
 and darkness como on; by that time my 
 pursuers will — at least I trust so — havo be- 
 come weary of their long search. I shall 
 then steal quietly out of tho chapel, and 
 speed back again to tho chateau. But how 
 shall I find my way ?" Faith turned cold as 
 this new difficulty suggested itself to her 
 mind. " I have not the smallest recollection 
 of anything that would serve to guide mo 
 after I plunged into the wood. I li:ive only 
 
 ■^<f 
 
 ¥ \ 
 
398 
 
 THE RECESS. 
 
 |l! 
 
 a coDfuscd remembrance of tangled brnsli- 
 wood and tliickets, and ferns as high as my 
 knee, tliat canght my feet as I .straggled on, 
 and great trees with gnarled roots over which 
 I stumbled, and bossy trunks beliind which 
 I thought of hiding. I could not find my 
 way back by day, and by night — oh yes," 
 Faith suddenly interrupted herself witli an 
 exclamation of jo}^ " I can better direct my 
 steps by night than by day, for the stars 
 will be shining — heaven's own light to guide 
 me ! I remember Annette's showing me the 
 great map of Provence wdiich hangs in the 
 hall, and pointing out the ruined Chapel of 
 St. Catherine ju.st to the south of Chateau 
 Labelle. li I tix my eye upon the pole-star, 
 it will guide me straight to the olive planta- 
 tion, and from thence I will need no guide. 
 Oh, Heaven be praised for the mercies, the 
 wondrous mercies of this day ! But for my 
 fearfnl chase ; but for its accidentally — no, 
 not accidcntalhj — bringing mo i])to this 
 chapf ], and but for Mane's having given me 
 the clue to find this cell of refug^', my mis- 
 tress, my beloved mistress would have been 
 betraved into the iiands of lier toes! Tc 
 
THE RECESS. 
 
 399 
 
 etl brusli- 
 igli as my 
 jggled OD, 
 >Yov wliicli 
 ind wliicb 
 it find my 
 -oh yes," 
 If witli an 
 :]irect my 
 tliG stars 
 t to guide 
 Lig me the 
 igs in the 
 Chapel of 
 f Chateau 
 pole-star, 
 ve pkxnta- 
 110 guide, 
 ^rcies, tlie 
 nt for my 
 tally — no, 
 into tliif.) 
 : given mo 
 ', my mis- 
 liavo been 
 foes ! '1\: 
 
 me it may be given to warn her — to help 
 her — to save her! The mere hope of such 
 a blessed reward overpays mo for all 1 liavo 
 suifered." 
 
 Faith had abundant leisure for reflection, 
 for there still remained some hours of day- 
 light. It was well that sucli a breathing- 
 space was given to the poor girl after the 
 great fatigue and terror which she had 
 undergone. It was a time for bodily rest 
 sorely needed by strained muscles and 
 quivering nerves. It was also a tiino for 
 sx^iritual refreshment, for reviewing the 
 mercies of the past, and recalling promises 
 from Holy "Writ to strengthen the soul to 
 meet whatever trials the future might bring. 
 Faith gave herself anew to her Lord — to 
 live or to die, as might please Him— and 
 asked for courage that she might bo raised 
 above the fear of those who could only Idil 
 the body. Great peace came in answer to 
 prayer ; the throbbing heart could bo stilled 
 into quiet trust even when, as twice 
 happened, parties of her pursuers entered 
 the chapel, proving to Faith how absolutely 
 necessary it was for her to make Jio nttompt 
 
 ; ;i ! 
 
400 
 
 THE RECESS. 
 
 to leavo lier hiding-place until darlmess 
 slionkl have closed in. . 
 
 Tiio maiden was able at leisure to survey 
 that liiding-place, as, with her arm for her 
 pillow, she stretched her aching frame at 
 full length on its floor. The recess which 
 had proved to her sucli a refuge was simply 
 a long narrow strip of space between the 
 false wall of the chapel and the true one. 
 This H])ixcG was little more than a foot in 
 breadth. Hung up on pegs fixed into the 
 wall were various articles of dress, such as 
 are used by Romanist priests when per- 
 forming mass. There were also vessels of 
 silver on a shelf at the end of the narrow 
 cell. Tlio place was not dark, light and air 
 being admitted from above by a long open- 
 ing in the ceiling, through which Faith could 
 see the blue sky, and a portion of the old 
 ruined tower. 
 
 The mind of Faith, as may be supposed, 
 was much engaged in revolving plans for the 
 flight of the Comtesse La Fere. How should 
 «he flee, and whither ? To find any satis- 
 factory solution of so difficult a problem 
 was beyond the power of the English girl. 
 
titil darlmess 
 
 ;ure to surve}'' 
 r arm for lier 
 ling frame at 
 
 recess wliicli 
 ge was simpl}' 
 
 betwceu the 
 the true one. 
 lan a foot in 
 fixed into the 
 ilress, such as 
 its when per- 
 xlso vessels of 
 of the narrow 
 , light and air 
 
 Y a long open- 
 ch Faith coulu 
 ion of the old 
 
 Y be supposed, 
 ig plans for the 
 . How should 
 find an}^ satis- 
 Lilt ft problem 
 le English girl. 
 
 THE RECESS. 
 
 401 
 
 Disguise was scarcely likely to be effectual 
 in a place where the face of the lady was 
 familiar to hundreds. "Who could once 
 look upon that countenance," thought Faith, 
 "and ever forget it!" To escape by land 
 into Switzerland appeared to be impracti- 
 cable ; the fugitives would be almost certain 
 to be overtaken before they could reach the 
 frontier ; and even if they could succeed in 
 travelling that distance, at the frontier they 
 would be arrested. Was there any hope of 
 escaping by sea? The Mediterranean was 
 not many miles distant from Chiiteau 
 Labelle ; Faith knew that well, for she had 
 often gazed from her turret on the bright 
 silver rim which bounded the southern 
 horizon, but she knew of no port that was 
 near. Marseilles, which was about twenty 
 miles off, was itself the very hot-bed of 
 revolution, and perhaps the last place in 
 France to which one of the old noblesse would 
 willinslv flee. Faith, after long anxious 
 pondering over these difficulties without 
 coming to any clue by which she could find 
 her way through them, gave up all attempt 
 to do so. Tiie ccmitcsso, she earnestly 
 
 26 
 
 I ♦ 
 
 u 
 
 '.■ i. 
 
 i' 
 
II 
 
 I'l,! 
 
 402 
 
 THE RECESS. 
 
 trusted, would find out some means of 
 escaping when onco she was made aware of 
 the peril before her. 
 
 Thus Faith watched and waited until tho 
 long turquoise-liko strip of blue above her 
 deepened in tint, and gradually tho various 
 objects in the recess became less and less 
 visible in tho dimness of gathering twihght. 
 "When Faith could no longer distinguish 
 chalice from paten, she softly raised herself 
 from her recumbent position, listened in- 
 tently for several minutes, and then slowly 
 drew bach lier panel. The chapel into which 
 she looked forth was perfectly still, nothing 
 was moving in it but a bat flitting restlessly 
 about tho ruined building. Faith stepped 
 forth from her place of hiding, with a silent 
 prayer and thanksgiving. She then care- 
 fully reclosed the panel behind her; that 
 secret cell might afford refuge to others. 
 
 " But it will not avail my mistress," thought 
 Faith as she left the chapel. "Alas! that 
 the secret should bo known to the treacher- 
 ous Diane !" 
 
 Ik. 
 
10 means of 
 ado aware of 
 
 ited nntil the 
 lie above licr 
 y the various 
 less and les.s 
 ring twilight, 
 r distinguish 
 L-aised herself 
 listened in- 
 then slowly 
 >el into which 
 still, nothing 
 ng restlessly 
 aith stepped 
 with a silent 
 3 then care- 
 id her; that 
 3 others. 
 3SS," thought 
 "Alas! that 
 he treacher- 
 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 '^^0 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^m 
 
 ^4 
 
 
 /■.. 
 
 " 
 
 w-*"*^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 I O find one's way through a forest, 
 even when the stars are glitter- 
 ing brightly, is no easy task, and 
 Faith soon, to her distress, ex- 
 perienced such to be the case. The pole-star, 
 indeed, to a certain extent served to guido 
 her, when she could succeed in getting a 
 glimpse of the sky from some of the more 
 open spaces which were in the wood ; but 
 very frequently the foliage prevented the 
 wanderer from seeing it at all. She had 
 miscalculated also in supposing that the 
 most direct road to St. Catlierine's Chapel 
 lay through the olive plantation. When 
 Faith had been fleeing from her foes, her 
 course had not been a straight one ; sh^i 
 
 M03^ 
 
 '^ 
 
 4 
 
 f* 
 
 I 
 
 a I 
 
;i 
 
 404 
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 had darted now to tbo right, then plunged 
 to the left, as the thicket appeared to offer 
 better cover, or ^vhcn sounds of pursuit had 
 made her suddenly change her direction. 
 The poor girl was now utterly bewildered 
 in trying to retrace her steps, and almost in 
 despair lest daylight should find her wan- 
 dering still in the forest, while Jacobins 
 u'cro sacking and destroying Chateau 
 Labelie. 
 
 Faith had been nearly two hours in the 
 wood, feeling her way, trembhng and pray- 
 ing very fervently to be guided aright, when 
 she came to a break in the wood, and saw 
 beyond it a twinkling light as from a cottage 
 window. Wearily the maiden dragged her 
 steps in that direction, uncertain as she was 
 whether she were approaching the habita- 
 tion of friend or foe. The crescent moon 
 had just risen, and to her intense relief 
 Faith recognized by its light the well-known 
 oiTiline of the vine-mantled dwelling of 
 Antoine. The moonbeams gleamed on the 
 little brook in Vv'hich Faith was wont to dip 
 her jar to bring water to her aged friend. 
 The maiden had approached hiH cothige 
 
 
 «. 
 
11 plunged 
 :d to offer 
 irsuit had 
 direction, 
 lewildered 
 almost in 
 her wan- 
 Jacobins 
 Chateau 
 
 urs in the 
 and pray- 
 iglit, when 
 1, and saw 
 I a cottage 
 agged her 
 IS she was 
 le liabita- 
 :ent moon 
 in SB relief 
 rcll-known 
 ^veiling of 
 Lied on the 
 ont to dip 
 ;ed friend. 
 m cottnge 
 
 I 
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 405 
 
 from an opposite direction from that by 
 which she usually reached it. 
 
 Here was at least a safe landmark ; there 
 would no longer be difficulty in finding her 
 way. Faith was so eager to reach the 
 chateau that she had passed the cottage 
 without attempting to enter it, when a little 
 reflection made her return on her steps. 
 
 " Antoino is not asleep, for his light is 
 burning. Poor old man ! ho has had no 
 one to bring him food to-day, and doubtless 
 he has been terrified by the dreadful 
 cries of that fearful mob that gathered in 
 front of his door. Ho will fear that I have 
 been murdered, and may be in trouble and 
 suspense on my account. Antoine is so 
 timid and so old, that anxiety and fear 
 might bring on another fainting fit— and ho 
 might die here alone and unaided ! I will 
 but tell him that I am safe, explain that I 
 cannot come to-morrow, but that doubtless 
 Marie will do so, and then speed on my 
 way homo with an easier mind." 
 
 In such haste that she omitted even her 
 cnstomary tap, Faith Stanby lifted tlie latch 
 of the cottage door, and then darted back in 
 
 U 
 
 [* 
 
 
iOQ 
 
 A FHIEND IN NEED. 
 
 alarm, for Autoino was not, as usual, alone. 
 A man, seated on the table for lack of a 
 second chair, was apparently engaged in 
 finishing a substantial supper, for a savoury 
 scent pervaded the little room. 
 
 "Faith Sfcanby ! Oh ! the All-merciful be 
 praised !" exclaimed Antoinc, lifting his trem- 
 bling hands as he caught a glini]ise at the 
 door of the friend whom ho had never 
 expected to look on again. 
 
 The stranger sprang to his feet and ap- 
 proached Paii]i witli a ready courtesy 
 which lessened her fear. She glanced up 
 anxiously into his face, and all dread of hira 
 vanished at once ; nothing could bo more 
 unlike the fierce, cruel countenances of 
 Butin and his rabble than that whicli was 
 before her now, beaming with gratitude and 
 Idndness. 
 
 " Come in, Mademoiselle Faith," said the 
 stranger ; " my uncle has been telling me 
 how much, how very much he owes to your 
 goodness." 
 
 " Come in, my guardian angel !" cried the 
 poor old man, who had melted into tears of 
 thankful joy ; " there is no one hero to harm 
 
n Si 
 
 A FPJEND IN NEED. 
 
 407 
 
 lal, alone. 
 Itick of a 
 gaged in 
 [I savoury 
 
 erciful be 
 his trem- 
 =50 at the 
 ad never 
 
 i and ap- 
 coiirtesy 
 anced iij3 
 id of Lira 
 bo more 
 I noes of 
 iiicli was 
 fcude and 
 
 said the 
 lling mo 
 3 to your 
 
 nied the 
 tears of 
 to liarjD 
 
 thee ; tliero is no one near but Chiudo Ln 
 Hoy, and he is faitliful and true as thou 
 art, and loves the Bible almost as well." 
 
 Faitli raised her hand to her brow, and 
 looked again at the stranger. Slie thought 
 that slie rcmcniberedhis name, and slio tlien 
 recalled to mind what Marie had said in her 
 presence of a nephew of old Aiitoino who 
 had been driven from Conite Labollo's ser- 
 vice by the malice of the wicked Diane. 
 This recollection increased the fooling of 
 confidence v; ith which the appearance of the 
 Provencal had inspired her, and it suddenly 
 occurred to Faith that here niiglit be a 
 Heaven-sent liel]:)cr Avliom she could trust in 
 this time of great need. 
 
 Claude knew not, of course, what wan 
 passing in the mind of the maiden, but 
 Faith's pale, anxious look, disordered dress, 
 and dishevelled hair, with what he had lieard 
 from his uncle of the brutality of the mob. 
 made the Proven9al feel certain that tlio 
 English girl was in a grievous strait. He 
 was desirous to re-assure her, and to make 
 her aware how eager he was to do anything 
 
 w\ 
 
 thatli 
 
 X}' in his power to serve and protect her. 
 
408 
 
 A FIMEND IN ^'EED. 
 
 (( 
 
 Y(3U .'iro 8nr|)riscd to find a stranger 
 hero at tlil« lato liour, Mndemoiscllc," said 
 J JO Rov, ])art]y to cxpl'iiii liis i:)ositioi], 
 partly to give Faith tiiue to recover licr 
 self-possession ; " but I am a native of this 
 place, and was born and reared in this cot- 
 tage. Being on a coasting expedition in a 
 fishing-smack Avith a friend, I could not 
 forbear taking the opportunity of re-visiting 
 my old homo, and seeing my aged relative 
 once more." 
 
 " Ah ! and Claude Avauted a glimpse of the 
 old chateau," added Antoine ; " there never 
 lived a Le Hoy that Avas not faithful to tho 
 house of Labclle." 
 
 " You would then servo the comtesse, you 
 Avould help nor were she in peril ?" cried 
 Faith eagerly, addressing herself to the 
 stranger. 
 
 " With my life," answered Le Hoy, and 
 Faith saw in Iho expression of his fine manly 
 features that ho meant what he said. 
 
 Faith would hesitate no long(;r ; there 
 might be somo possible risk in throwing 
 liorself on tho mercy of a stranger, but tlie 
 ])oril of the iiiuo made such risk appear as 
 
\ stranger 
 jcllo," said 
 posit ioi), 
 cover ]]cr 
 ivo of this 
 
 I this cot- 
 litiou in a 
 could not 
 rc-visiting 
 d relative 
 
 ipso of the 
 lore never 
 iful to the 
 
 tesse, yon 
 
 II V" cried 
 If to the 
 
 Roy, and 
 
 ine manly 
 
 id. 
 
 ;er ; there 
 
 throwing 
 r, but tlie 
 xppear as 
 
 A nilEND lU NEED. 
 
 409 
 
 nothing in comparison of that Avhich she 
 HoDght to escape. The idea of a coasting 
 expuditiou in a fishiug-sMacit suggested 
 jiopes of a means of deliveranco for the 
 comtesso Avhlcli were eagerly grasped by 
 Faith. Speaking rapidly, and in as few 
 words as possible, for every minute was 
 ])recious, Faith told of the position of dan- 
 ger in which her mistress now stood ; she 
 told of the wan-ant of arrest which was on 
 its way from Paris ; and it was quite un- 
 necessary to add that safety could only be 
 hoped for from immediate flight. 
 
 Claude listened quite as eagerly as Faith 
 spoke, and caught up her meaning more 
 rapidly than she could express it. 
 
 " I have it !" exclaimed the Provengal, 
 with joyous animation, as soon as the maiden 
 paused in her narrative. " My friend Mar- 
 tin the skipper is a Royalist, like myself, and 
 even were he not so, he is a brave fellow, 
 and the last man who would betray or 
 desert a lady in distress. I will at once 
 hasten back to the shore, — the boat is lying 
 under the beach, close to one of the numer- 
 ous channels by which the Rljoue empties 
 
 t n 
 
 
 II 
 
 f 
 
no 
 
 A FIIIKND IN NEED. 
 
 itself imo ilio so;i, nlinosfc opposite to 
 Rochcnoir. Mailtuiio Li Conitcsso will know 
 the ])liico AVoU ; slio used in her childliood 
 to riclo tliillier on lior Avhilo pony to pjatlier 
 up shells on tlio bciicli, or to enjoy an hour'H 
 sail on tlio ^loditcirancan with Monijicur lo 
 Com to Labcllo." 
 
 Faith's wan countonanco briglitcncd into 
 delight at such u definite plan, such a 
 feasible scheme for escape being brought 
 before her. She felt that in Claude Lo Eoy, 
 she had found a strong staff on which to 
 lean, he was so bright, bold, and intelligent, 
 as well as kind ; ho had not only sympathy 
 to feel fur those in peril, but he had readi- 
 ness to suggest, and resolution lo act. 
 Claude's manner, gesture, tone, all inspired 
 confidence and courage. 
 ^ "It will not bo difficult, I think," con 
 tinned Claude Le Hoy, for madame and 
 yours(;li" to reach the place to-night. Tlie 
 distance from the chateau to Rociicnoir is 
 barely five miles; at least, by the bridle-path 
 through the wood, and tlicn across the stony 
 plain of La Crau. You will have scarcely 
 a human habitation to pass. A light shall 
 
 i 
 
A FHIEND INf NEED. 
 
 411 
 
 bo burning at niianiglit in our littlo vessel 
 to ftiiiilo yon, aiid I myself Avill bo waiting 
 on the beach to recciv'o you. Before dawn 
 we shall bo far away on the blue waves on 
 our course to Italy ; antl uiilesB niadarae's 
 enemies have fins like fish, or wings like 
 oirtls, they will scarcely follow her across tlio 
 wide waters." 
 
 The blithe langli with which Claudo con- 
 cluded the sentence, had an exhilarating 
 effect upon the spirits of Faitli. Tho 
 Provenf;id evidently enjoyed tho thoughts of 
 an adventure, and the danger attending the 
 one in prospect seemed to shrink into insig- 
 nificance from the cheerful, ho^ .ul tono in 
 which it was spoken of by Lo Ilor. Only 
 five miles of quic^^ road to bo traversed— 
 there couhl uo little difficulty in accomplish- 
 ing so short a journey by moonlighl, ; and 
 then freedom on tho fr^sh briny waves, 
 safety beyond reach of the cruelty of man 
 or tho malice of Avoman ; a life of peace with 
 <i dearly loved mistress whom she would 
 have been the means of roscuing from death, 
 — the prospect of all this m ■ so transnnrt- 
 iiig to Faith, that she ulnio,;t j'orgot liei 
 
 
 fii^-) 
 
A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 fatigues and lier fears, as, after grasping old 
 Antoine's hand as a farewell, and receiving 
 his fervent blessing, she turned to depart. 
 
 "You will let me escort you to tho 
 chateau?" said Claude. 
 
 " Oh no, no ! I could find my way blind- 
 fold ; you must hasten down to the sea-side. 
 1 would not be the cause of your delaying 
 one minute," cried Faith. 
 
 Claude did not press the offer, but hastily 
 poured out a glass of light French wine 
 from a bottle -which stood on the table, and 
 •with kindly courtesy presented it to the 
 weary maiden. " You will require all your 
 strength," said Lo Eoy. 
 
 Faith took the much needed refreshment, 
 and then, with Antoine's blessings and 
 Claude's kindly farewell ringing in her ears, 
 with a lightened and most thankful heart, 
 the maiden sped by moonlight along tho 
 path through the olive plantation. 
 
)ing old 
 jceiving 
 Bpart. 
 to the 
 
 y blind- 
 3ca-side. 
 lelaying 
 
 b hastily 
 jli -wine 
 ble, and 
 to the 
 all your 
 
 jshment, 
 igs and 
 tier ears, 
 il heart, 
 ong tho 
 
 InT MB* 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 WELCOME. 
 
 HE time spent in wandering 
 throngh tho forest had appeared 
 to Faith so fearfully long, so 
 much longer than it actually was, 
 that she believed that midnight must already 
 have arrived, if indeed it wore not far past. 
 Slio expected to find the doors of the cha- 
 teau clothed, and hghts put out; for early 
 hours wt-re kept tit Labello tho bolts were 
 always drawn, tho chains fastened, and the 
 keys brought to the comtesso at ten. But 
 lights still gleamed in the windows, and 
 there were sounds within tho chateau, 
 indistinct and faint, but sufficient to show 
 that some at least of the houseliold were 
 still astir. Faith opened the back-door wiih- 
 
 (413) 
 
 'v I 
 
 I' 
 
 
4:U 
 
 WELCOME. 
 
 out any obstruction, and had scarcely done 
 so when she was met by Marie, who, to the 
 English girl's great surprise, caught her in 
 her arms, and, with passionate ejaculations 
 to half-a-dozen saints of the Eomish Cal- 
 endar, kissed her again and again. 
 
 "Oh, moil en/ant, we thought thou wert 
 lost, we thought thou wert murdered! 
 Madame has been so wretched!" almost 
 sobbed forth the excitable woman. "The 
 mob has been here— they smashed some of 
 the windows— they called out such dreadful 
 things— but retired when madame addressed 
 them. But her fear was for thee— for thee ! 
 Oh, mon enfant, how hast thou escaped from 
 their hands ?" 
 
 At the sound of Marie's loud welcome all 
 the household hurried to the place and 
 crowded round Faith, overwhelming her 
 with eager questions. 
 
 "I can answer nothing now— I must 
 speak to madame— this moment— this mo- 
 ment—oh, do not delay me !" cried Faith in 
 a tone of entreaty, with a painful effort to 
 make her way through tlie throng. 
 
 " Stand back all of ye !" exclaimed Marie : 
 
 I 
 
WELCOME. 
 
 415 
 
 :e\y clone 
 o, to the 
 it her in 
 culations 
 lish Gal- 
 lon wert 
 urdered ! 
 ' almost 
 '.. "The 
 some of 
 dreadful 
 :1 dressed 
 'or thee ! 
 3ed from 
 
 come all 
 ice and 
 ing her 
 
 -I must 
 ;his mo- 
 Faith in 
 effort to 
 
 I Marie ; 
 
 " Faith looks ready to drop. Go to madarae, 
 mon enfant/* she added, patting, witli rough 
 kindliness, the weary girl on the back ; " I 
 will see that thou has a warm supper, and 
 a good one, when thou hast said thy say to 
 my lady." 
 
 Faith hurried off in extreme impatience 
 to give her warning to the comtesse. She 
 was met at the door of the boudoir by 
 Gabrielle, to "whom Annette had already 
 conveyed the glad tidings of the absentee's 
 safe return. A mountain weight of anxiety 
 hac'' 'een lifted from the heart of the lady, 
 OiVJ l( her welcome to Faith was not as 
 demonstrative as that of Marie, it was as 
 full of kindness and feeling, 
 
 " I am so thankful to see thee hero safe ! 
 Where hast thou been ; and how " — com- 
 menced the comtesse; but for once Faith 
 sacrificed outward respect to her mistress, 
 and for that mistress's sake ventured to 
 interrupt her. 
 
 " O madame — forgive — suffer me to speak. 
 I have much, much to tell, and my life may 
 depend on mv telling it auickly." cried 
 Faith. 
 
 ;t 
 
 m 
 
 'MS 
 
416 
 
 WELCOME. 
 
 Gabrielle instantly led tlio way into the 
 boudoir, and motioned to Faith to close 
 the door behind her. Sinking down beside 
 the sofa, on which Gabrielle then took her 
 seat, Faith, in a position which relieved her 
 own weariness, whilst it enabled her to look 
 up into the face of her lady, in language as 
 clear and concise as she could use, described 
 the events of the day. She related what she 
 had overheard in the chapel, her interview 
 with Le Roy, and his plan for effecting the 
 escape of the comtesse by means of the boat 
 and the fishing-vessel now lying off Roche- 
 noir. 
 
 Gabrielle remained perfectly silent until 
 Faith had concluded her rapid narrative. 
 The lady then glanced at the richly orna- 
 mented clock which adorned her mantel- 
 piece. The gilded hands pointed to a 
 quarter past eleven. Faith's eyes followed 
 the direction of those of her mistress, and 
 she was greatly relieved to see that the 
 hour was far less advanced than she had 
 feared that it might be. 
 
 " I must go and rouse Ninon," said the 
 comtesse rising, "and toll hor to prepare 
 
"WELCOME. 
 
 417 
 
 for instant departure. Faith — noble, triio- 
 hearted Faith — thou must be the partner of 
 our flight ; nothing but death shall separate 
 thee and me. Go now to Marie, bid her 
 attend me in mademoiselle's chamber, and 
 take heed to speak to no one but her of 
 what thou hast told me now. The other 
 women must retire at once to rest — the 
 sooner the chateau is still the better ; if I 
 could trust the fidelity, I could not trust 
 the discretion of all. And take thou thyself 
 wine and refreshment ; thou must need 
 them," continued the comtesse kindly, not so 
 absorbed by her own peril as not to notice 
 the weary looks of her faithful attendant. 
 
 Faith obeyed her lady's command; and 
 while she hastened to convey her orders to 
 Marie, Gabrielle, with firm step and calm 
 demeanor, proceeded to the chamber of 
 Ninon in order to awaken her. The comtesse 
 found, hoAvever, that Ninon had not yet 
 gone to sleep. The young lady, who could 
 not disrobe herself without the help of a 
 femme-dc-chamhre, was still sitting reading 
 a novel, and only raising her eyes now and 
 apices to complain, in accents 
 
 "o^ 
 
 
 ! -m I i 
 
 ^.f 
 
 ^'■} 
 
 i M 
 
 27 
 
418 
 
 WELCOME. 
 
 of peevish displeasnro, at the tiresome 
 absence o{ Faith. Ninon was somewhat 
 startled by the unexpected appearance of 
 ler mc-swur, and read at once in the coun- 
 tenance of Gabriello that some matter of no 
 iight importance had brought t!io lady into 
 her room at an hour so unusually late 
 
tiresome 
 lomowhat 
 ranco of 
 tlio coim- 
 ttor of no 
 lady iuto 
 ito. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 
 FKEPARATI 0N8. 
 
 EF ill lialf-an-hour ! Oh! it 
 can't be — it is impossible ! every- 
 tliing to i:)ack, and Faith away !" 
 exclaimed Ninon La Fere, after 
 she had heard, with very conflicting feelings, 
 and many interruptions, her helle-sceiir's 
 account of the position in which they now 
 stood. The changes in Ninon's frivolous 
 mind, as she listened, had been various ns 
 those in a kaleidoscope. First came terror, 
 amounting to agony; Ninon was almost 
 stupefied with fear at the idea of Jacobins 
 invading the chateau, and was certain that 
 she, as well as Gabrielle, would be dragged 
 to the guillotine, or slaughtered like th^ 
 Princesse de Lamballe. Then, by a sudden 
 
 (419) 
 
 
 :! 
 
420 
 
 PREPARATIONS. 
 
 change of ideas, pleasure succeeded to 
 alarm. Ninon tliouglit of leaving the hated 
 chateau and going forth into the world that 
 she loved. To the French girl any change 
 was dehghtful, and to escape from her pre- 
 sent gloomy abode was to her like escaping 
 from prison. Vibrating between hope and 
 fear, pleasure and pain, restless— startled — 
 frightened, yet not without a sensation of 
 pleasant excitement, Ninon, with her pow- 
 dered hair down on her shoulders, her 
 tight-fitting boddice half unlaced, and her 
 l)inched features varying in expression with 
 every exclamation that she uttered, Ninon 
 looked a striking contrast to the fair calm 
 lady beside her. 
 
 "We must start before midnight," said 
 Gabrielle La Fe're, laying a slight but 
 perceptible emphasis on the word "must." 
 " The difference between one half-hour and 
 another may make all the difference between 
 life and death. Ah ! here comes Mario," she 
 added, as, flushed with excitement by what 
 she had just heard from Faith, the servant 
 <jntered the apartment. " Mario, I see that 
 thou knowesfc tdl ; thou wilt iif3ip me in this 
 
PREPARATIONS. 
 
 421 
 
 strait," said the lady. " Go and bid Jacques 
 saddJi the horses — we have still two loft — 
 fcA' mademoiselle and myself, and put a 
 pillion on the pony for Faith. Her danger 
 is equal to my own ; I will not leave her here 
 to meet it." 
 
 "Saddle the horses indeed!" exclaimed 
 Ninon, starting up from her seat in a state 
 of irritable excitement. " I cannot ride — 
 thou knowest it— I have not ridden for 
 years ; I do not like the saddle, and never 
 did. To dream of setting me on a great 
 trotting carriage-horse too, weak and deli- 
 cate as I am ! how canst thou be so barba- 
 rous as to think of so cruel a thing !" 
 
 " It is only by riding that wo can take 
 the shorter bridle-path through the wood, 
 or be able indeed to reach the shore without 
 walking the last part of the way," observed 
 Gabriel le, whose manner was much more 
 calm than the looks of Marie, who was 
 unconsciously clenching her fists and grind- 
 ing her teeth at the young lady who could 
 raise frivolous difficulties at so critical a 
 time. 
 
 '•' I tell thee I can't ride— and won't ride. 
 
 i <■? 
 
422 
 
 PREPARATIONS. 
 
 I would rather remain hero by myself, if 
 thou liaat the heart to desert me— thy dead 
 husband's only sister i" cried Ninon, sinldng 
 down again on her set, and bursting into u 
 violent flood of tears. 
 
 " Marie, desire Lemoino then to put the 
 horse; into the carriage — it must bo ready 
 by midnight," said the comtesso, yielding 
 the i^oiiit without farther attempt to argue 
 it with tlje unreasonable, self-willed girl. 
 " See that Faith has refreshment," Gabriolle 
 added to Marie, as the lady and her servant 
 quitted the apartment. The comtesse had 
 much to arrange before leaving — perhaps 
 for ever — the lionie of her fathers, not only 
 as regarded her own needs, but the comfort 
 and security of the dependents wiiom slie 
 must leave behind. 
 
 " Then Faith has returned— I am glad at 
 least of that," muttered Ninon, startiijg up, 
 and maldng her way to the bell-rope. The 
 young lady pulled it twice briskly, well sat- 
 isfied that she would at any rate have a 
 femme-de-chambre to assist her in making 
 preparations which were to Ninon a very 
 important aiTair. 
 
myself, if 
 -thy Jcttd 
 n, sinlcing 
 ing iuto a 
 
 ) put tlie 
 bo ready 
 
 yielding 
 to argue 
 lied girl. 
 Grabriclle 
 r scrvani 
 esse had 
 -perhaps 
 
 not only 
 3 comfort 
 hom sl]e 
 
 1 glad at 
 :ting up, 
 pe. The 
 well sat- 
 ) have a 
 
 I making 
 
 II a very 
 
 
 rnr^PARATioNs. 
 
 423 
 
 Faith, as was her wont, obeyed Iho 
 summons without a minute's delay. She was 
 always ready for duty, even Avhen, as on the 
 present occasion, scarcely able to perform it. 
 Often, very often, had the fro ward young 
 lady sorely tried the maiden's patience; 
 but all former trials of the kind were as 
 nothing compared with what Faith had to 
 endure on that night. It was not merely 
 that she was half dead witli fatigue after that 
 terrible day, and that she had had no time 
 to partake of refreshnjont, save the glass of 
 weak wine so considerately protrered by 
 Claude ; the faithful servant, intent on the 
 danger incurred by her mistress, was in a 
 state of feverish impatience to start. Ninon, 
 who never considered the W(;lfare of any 
 QUO but herself, and to whom tlio smallest 
 things often appeared more ijnportaut than 
 great ones, was as m.ich taken up by prepa- 
 rations for her journey as if some pleasure- 
 trip were before her, and sIk had days and. 
 weeks in which to make such ])roparations. 
 
 " Oh no, not that box!" she cried witli an 
 impatient moveni(>nt of hand and foot. "I 
 want the other -the large one ait tlie bottom 
 
424 
 
 rRErABATIONS. 
 
 Li 
 
 of tho tlircG, that liokls my favorite drosses. 
 Lift down the others — how slow thou art ! 
 Diane was a inonstre, but at least she was a 
 &vsi-v3.io femme-de-chamhre J" 
 
 " But madomoisello cannot take with her 
 large boxes, or much lu{];gago of any kind," 
 faintly suggested Faith Btanby. 
 
 " Who asked thco for f hy advice ?" was 
 the angiy rejoinder. " Of course I could 
 have taken nothing larger than a pocket- 
 handkerchief, if Gabrielle had kept to her 
 insane plan of riding on horseback ; but the 
 carriage is large, ^^ o can pile it well up — so 
 bo quick and pull out that box ! There, 
 there — thou hast managed to drag it out at 
 last : now get the dressing-case down." 
 
 " But, mademoiselle — " expostulated 
 Faith, who had almost strained herself in 
 the effort to move the large boxes. 
 
 " Of course the dressing-case must go 
 with me ; dost thou imagine, lete, that I 
 could travel without my powder-box and my 
 perfumes ?" 
 
 Faith bit her lip hard, and then in an 
 imploring tone urged speed, as on it every- 
 thing might depend. 
 
 
 
PBEPARATIONfl. 
 
 425 
 
 drosses. 
 lou art! 
 
 was a 
 
 nth licr 
 f kind," 
 
 )?" was 
 
 1 could 
 poclcet- 
 3 to lior 
 
 but the 
 [ up — so 
 
 Thero, 
 it out at 
 n." 
 
 stulated 
 jrself m 
 
 nust go 
 , that I 
 : and my 
 
 1 in an 
 it everv- 
 
 ** 1 do make all possiblo spcod, hUc ; it is 
 thou who dost work as if all thy tingcrs 
 were thumbs ! Wliat ! thou hast not found 
 the hico handkcrchiul's yet, and my cJupeau 
 lieu — the most charining of little hats — and 
 the wreaths — the beautiful wreaths ! Ah, I 
 do so hope that we shall go to Naples — de- 
 lightful Naphi! T: shall be sure to see 
 plenty of con pnay t^^eve !" 
 
 " Ah, twelve ci clock is striking!" exclaimed 
 Faith, looking v ■ almost despairingly from a 
 pile of dresses, mantle.^ ribbnus, lace, lin«ns, 
 and finery of all sorts, from Avhich Ninon 
 was trying to make a selection. It was 
 never very easy to the weak girl to make 
 up her mind, and it was more difficult now 
 than ever, so reluctant was she to leave any 
 pet piece of luxury behind her. It is likely 
 that Ninon would have continued hesitat- 
 ing and doubting until daybreak, but for a 
 sudden interruption. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, the carriage is ready," 
 said Marie, abrnptly entering the chamber 
 iu which for more than a half-honr Taith 
 had been endeavoring to pjick for Ninon. 
 
 " JDut I am not ready— shall not be ready 
 
 ' [ 
 
 f 
 
 ^ I 
 
426 
 
 PREPARATIONS. 
 
 for the next hour or more !" exclaimed the 
 young ladj, who had not so much as laced 
 up her boddice, or exchanged her light satin 
 slippers for travelling shoes. "Look thou 
 at that box, there is scarcely one article 
 yet packed in it !" 
 
 " No article need be packed in it," said 
 Marie angrily, her impatience getting the 
 better of her manners. "Mademoiselle 
 can't take with her a trunk large enough for 
 a bedstead ! Faith, madame has been ask- 
 ingrfor thee. Leave me to attend to made- 
 moiselle." 
 
 Nothing loath to make her escape from 
 'the room. Faith hurried out to join the 
 comtesse, after one more imploring entreaty 
 to Mademoiselle Ninon not to delay. The 
 prompt action of Marie was, however, far 
 more effectual than any words could have 
 been, 
 
 " Madame cannot be kept waiting at risk 
 of her life," cried the warm-tempered 
 Proven9ale, her impatience blazing up into 
 passion. Catohiug up a large shawl, she 
 flung it round tlio astonished Ninon, and 
 then clapped — wrong side foremost — a iiai 
 
med the 
 as laced 
 ;ht satin 
 ok thou 
 ) article 
 
 it," said 
 ting the 
 moiselle 
 )ngh for 
 )en ask- 
 5 made- 
 
 PREPARATIONS. 
 
 427 
 
 apon her dishevelled hair. Marie then 
 snatched up with her left hand the small- 
 est box, which chanced to contain but 
 white kid gloves and flowers, and with her 
 strong right arm half carried half dragged 
 Ninon La Fcro out of the room, down the 
 staircase, and into the hall, wliTe the 
 comtesse was only awaiting the coming of 
 her sister-in-law to start on her critical 
 journey. 
 
 
 )e from 
 ain the 
 utreaty 
 
 r. The 
 ver, far 
 [d have 
 
 at risk 
 mpercd 
 up into 
 kvl, slje 
 n, and 
 — a iiai 
 
 1^^' 
 
 lljl 
 in I 
 
 i 
 
 ^i 4 
 
A^ 
 
 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ^n^(^^ 
 
 otl 
 
 
 
 a 
 
 mi 
 
 of 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 INON found lierself in tlio car- 
 riage, and the carriage itself in 
 motion, almost before she had 
 recovered from the shock of 
 amazement given to her nerves by the 
 audacious conduct of Marie. Then in no 
 measured terms she gave vent to her indig- 
 nation, and in despair at finding that she 
 was actually starting without carrying any- 
 thing worthy the name of luggage, she 
 passionately entreated, even with tears, that 
 Gabrielle would instantly ord^ r the coach- 
 man to drive back to Chatoaii Labello. 
 
 "Oh, for pity's sake, tell him to turn 
 round the horses — to drive back at speed ! 
 
 Did ever a young lady go on a journey to 
 (428) 
 
THE tTGITIVES. 
 
 429 
 
 other lands fitted out only with flowers, 
 gloves, and satin slippers !" At less anxious 
 a time the fervent petition and its cause 
 must have raised a smile even on the lips 
 of Gabrielle, but now she only gravely 
 replied : 
 
 " I cannot go back, my sister ; life itself is 
 at stake. Thou shalt share with me what I 
 have brought ; and the few jewels which I 
 bear with me in my casket will, I hope, pro- 
 cure for us the necessaries of life, at least 
 for a time." 
 
 The comtesse's own preparations for the 
 journey had indeed been but slight. A 
 single box of moderate size contained all 
 the lady's travelhng wardrobe; but in a 
 black velvet reticule suspended from her 
 girdle Gabrielle carried a greater treasure 
 than all that Ninon parted from with such 
 passionate regret, — Antoine's old copy of 
 the Scriptures. 
 
 When Ninon found that all her entreaties 
 and tears were useless, she relapsed into 
 gloomy silence ; and as neither Gabriello 
 nor Faith were at all inclined for conversa- 
 tion, each of the three occupants of the 
 
 te'! 
 
 mi 
 
430 
 
 THE FUaiTIVES. 
 
 carriage pursued Iior own train of thouglifc 
 witboufc breaking in, even by an observation, 
 on tbose of her companions. It might not 
 be uninteresting to read the varied nature of 
 these tiioughts as the carriage rolled on, 
 under the pale light of the moon, along a 
 rough and desolate road. 
 
 Faith was, indeed, almost too weary for 
 any connected chain of reflection. The 
 motion of the carriage was at first soothing 
 to her, connected as it was witli the feeling 
 that her own part in contributing to the 
 escai^e had now virUially been played out ; 
 that she had nothing now left to do but 
 simply to obey the orders of another. It 
 has been well said that rest is " a sense of 
 duty performed," and that rest was now in 
 some measure enjoyed by Faith, but it was 
 disturbed by the intense desire to push 
 forward— to be fairly out of France with her 
 mistress. Faith longed for the power to 
 give wings to the horses that appeared to 
 drag the carriage so slowly; and tender as 
 she was towards dumb creatures, she was 
 inclined to wish that Lemoino would less 
 sparingly use the wiiij). There were but 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 431 
 
 
 few houses to be passed on tlie road (by the 
 bridle-path there would have been none), 
 but these houses caused some uneasiness to 
 the faithful servant. This was especially 
 the case with one lonely cabaret , which had 
 a tree of liberty planted in front of the door. 
 A window in one of its upper rooms wa;^ 
 thrown up as the carriage rumbled past, and 
 Faith caught a glimpse of a head in a red 
 night-cap stretched out to see who could be 
 driving towards the coast at the stilly hour 
 of midnight. 
 
 Ninon's feelings Avere divided between 
 pleasure at leaving Chateau Labelle, with 
 hopes of a future life of amusement, bright- 
 ened by all the world's petty vanities, and 
 the annoyance of having to begin that life so 
 utterly unprovided with the means of maldng 
 the most of it. Her memory did not cling 
 to friends or country with the tendril-like 
 clasp of Faith's; it rested, like mould, on 
 every object that had ministered to her vanity. 
 Hope was, however, Ninon's predominating 
 emotion ; and while GabricUe La F(jr(^ \\ as 
 fleeing for hor life, her sistor-in-law, loung- 
 ing back on cnsliions by her side, was weav- 
 
 ■'I 
 

 
 432 
 
 THE FUGIITVTS. 
 
 iiig a little romance, of wJiich she herself 
 Avas, of course, the heroine. 
 
 (.rabrielle, on iho contrary, conld not rjiiit 
 the home of her childhootl, the abode of her 
 3'outJi, the Fccve of her wedded happiness, 
 AvitliOiifc deep feelings of sadness. Tiio lnvm 
 and shrubbery thrjugli ^vhich she had so 
 often wandered with h';r Henri hi Oright days 
 gone for ever, the turrets aiid battlements 
 of the old chateau which she had so often 
 .«;nrvcyed with emotions of worldly pride, 
 tlie galleries hung witli familiar portraits, — 
 Gabrielle felt pain in bidding to all these 
 inanimate objects a long, probably a last 
 farewell. She grieved more at having to 
 leave her dependents ; she had done all that 
 lay in her power to preserve them from 
 suffering want during her absence, and had 
 specially commended poor old Antoine to 
 the care of Marie ; but still, in the present 
 condition of France, all the future must be 
 very uncertain. It was far from improbable 
 that Chateau Labello might share the fate 
 of many a lordly mansion that the Jacobins 
 had burned to the ground, and Marie and 
 
 I 
 
THE FuarnvEs. 
 
 433 
 
 herself 
 
 lot [iiili 
 
 3 of lier 
 
 ppiness, 
 
 lio lawn 
 
 hafl so 
 
 ;Iit (lays 
 
 lements 
 
 lo often 
 
 ■ pride, 
 
 iraits, — 
 
 ,11 these 
 
 a last 
 > 
 
 ving to 
 all that 
 m from 
 ind had 
 :oine to 
 present 
 oaust bo 
 robablo 
 the fate 
 acobins 
 rie and 
 
 the other servants would have to begin their 
 course anew in the world. 
 
 The carriage which conveyed the fugitives 
 went at moderate speed until it entered 
 the stony plain of La Craii. Hero the 
 road, which was scarcely ever nwod for 
 vehicles, became exceedingly rough, and tho 
 violent jolting of tlie carriage culled forth 
 occasional exclamations of annoyance fron\ 
 the lips of Ninon. The coachman plied \ah 
 whip more freely, but tlie horses made slov/ 
 progress, and sometimes came to an actual 
 halt. The scent of the sea was, however, now 
 perceptible, and that scent was more welcome 
 to the fugitives than the perfume of fields 
 of rosea ; to the young islander, especially, 
 that scent breathed of freedom and home 
 
 Presently, in dragging the vehicle over a 
 pebbly ridge, one of the horses stumbled 
 and fell. The carriage came, of course, to 
 a dead stop. The coachman Lemoine, and 
 Jacques, who accompanied the party, got 
 down to try to disengage the fallen animal 
 from its harness. The delay at such a time 
 was terrible ; even the comtesso could not 
 hf-Ip beirayiiig some impatience. 
 
 28 
 
 ^ i ' :• ? 
 
 
 I 
 
 I if;' 
 
 ^ 
 
434 
 
 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 " If all slioukl bo lost, and we so rear 
 safety," she murmured; then leaning for- 
 ward from the carriage-window, the lady 
 endeavored by her voice to quicken and 
 incite to more vigorous efforts the servants 
 engaged with the fallen horse. 
 
 " It is of no use trying to get him up, 
 madanio," said Lemoine, coming to tho 
 carriage-door after ten long minutes thus 
 spent ; " tho beast is much hurt ; we can't 
 get him on his legs; and if we could, it 
 would bo idle to try to drag the carriage 
 over these heaps of shingle. There's not a 
 coachman in Provence as would attempt to 
 drive horses down to that beach." The ' 
 man's manner was sulky, and scarcely 
 respectful. 
 
 " Then we must get out and walk," said 
 the lady. 
 
 Faith was so stiffened by fatigue after the 
 exertions of the last day, that but for her 
 exce<3(ling impatience to reach the boat, she 
 would have felt unable to drag heiself along 
 that stony, difficult way. Bat it was a 
 relief to her that the tedious halt should 
 come at last to a:, end, and that the fugitives 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 435 
 
 filiould Lave rather to trust to their own feot 
 than to stumbling horses and wheels that 
 seemed as if they would not turn round. 
 
 " There is a light— see !— down by the 
 shore!" she joyfully exclaimed as soon as 
 she had followed the ladies out of the car- 
 riage. " Claude Le Roy has not failed us." 
 
 That spark was as the beacon of hope to 
 tlie fugitive women, though its smallneSs, 
 alas ! showed how great a distance still 
 intervened between them and safetv. Gabri- 
 elle ordered Jacques to carry down to tho 
 boat the small amount of lugujage wiiicli the 
 travellers had brought Avith them, aiul leav- 
 ing Lemoino with the carriage and horses, 
 she began to make her way in tho direction 
 of the guiding light, accompanied by Ninon 
 and Faith. It was not to bo expected that 
 the progress of the three could bo rapid 
 over such difficult ground ; and before they 
 had gone many yards, Ninon suddenly camo 
 to a stop. 
 
 " It is impossible that I should walk, and 
 in my thin slippers !" she exclaimed. ** Tho 
 atones hurt niv feet : I cannot o-f^t on." 
 
 Faith was ready to walk burofoot over 
 
 ) -I 
 
 g^i 
 
lit: 
 
 436 
 
 THE FUGrnVKS. 
 
 iharp fliuts rather tlian pause at sucli a 
 •moment. But Iier offer to let madcnoisello 
 wear her saboh was received with peevish 
 anger. 
 
 T .. ... istrancos of Gabrielle had, in- 
 deed, the effect of making Ninon move 
 forwards a few steps farther, leaning very 
 heavily upon the arm of her i^oov fcmmc-de- 
 ■chamhrc. But these few steps did not bring 
 the ladies sensibly nearer to that light on 
 which their eyes were so anxiously bent. 
 ' "Hark!" exclaimed Gabrielle siiddenly, 
 •turnii g back her head to listen ; " what i« 
 that Sound that I hear h. J.ie distance ^ ' 
 . . "O mademoiselle, hasten on! — ha!,ti!U 
 on !" criet^ Faith, in an agony of impatience ; 
 " the enemy is in pursuit." 
 
 " I can't go (jho step farther!" exclaim'^d 
 Ninon, and she threw herself down on a 
 ridge »f pebbles, and began to ring her 
 handb, and cry like a helples child with 
 terror and pain. 
 
 ** M lame, I i.riploro you, fly — fly!" ciicd 
 •Faith to the comtcode. " I know these 
 dreadfu- sounds too well ; they are cominJr: 
 ne. u- iid nearer. I vill i main with 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 437 
 
 such a 
 i^ioisello 
 peevish 
 
 had, hi- 
 n move 
 ng very 
 'Mme-dc- 
 ot bring 
 light on 
 bent, 
 icldenly, 
 ' what i.s 
 
 — lia,;, n 
 atieuce ; 
 
 :claim i 
 ivn on a 
 ing her 
 Id with 
 
 !" eiicd 
 
 V tllOSG 
 
 CO mi 11$: 
 in with 
 
 madomoisello, you may yet escape and Hvo. 
 Oh, for the love of Heaven, fly while tlior. 
 yet is time !" 
 
 "Not alone," said Gabriello La Fero; "1 
 will never leave thee, Eaith, to bo torn to 
 pieces by tlioso ruffians." Laying a firm 
 hand on her sister's shoulder, the eomtess(\ 
 with a fow earnest words, compelled her t(^ 
 rise, but i persuasion or renionstranco 
 could compel her to walk. After a feeble 
 elTort to make two forward stops, Ninon 
 again fell down, crying, upon tiio hard 
 Bhingle. 
 
 " Faith, make thy way to the boat ; thy 
 young life must not bo uselessly thrown 
 away," said Gabrielle, as shouts and cries 
 and trampling of feet crunching over th«» 
 pebbles told that the puiduers Avere fiust 
 '^ainsng upon the fugitives. " Go, I com- 
 mand thee, go; and may the Almighty 
 protect and bless thee for all thou hast 
 done to save me, albeit it be ■* >n(;» in vain !" 
 
 Whether tho strength of x«'n?<' vould 
 have snffi( \l under any circumsiaijccs to 
 enablo. her, v/orn out as she was, to reach 
 ihe distant boat, may well bo doubted ; 
 
 i: 
 
488 
 
 THE ITOinVES. 
 
 but the very idea of forsaldng l\cr miHtroSfl 
 at such a critical moment depriveLl the 
 faithful f^irl of the liltlo poAvcr of motion 
 which had hitherto romaiuod in licr weary 
 limbs. Faith made no attempt to reply, but 
 she also made no attempt to iiee. For onco 
 she disobeyed the command of her lady. 
 "VVhero the comtesso remained, she would 
 remain; the fate of mistress aiui maid, 
 whatever that fate might be, would at least 
 bo met together. 
 
 A f<nv more minutes, a few more terrible 
 minutes, rendered more dreadful by vain 
 attempts to rouse Ninon to make efforts on 
 which tiio safety of others might depend,- 
 and all suspense was over. It Avas evident 
 that it was now too late for escape, — tlio 
 Jacobins were close on their prey. Faifli 
 clasped lier hands, closed her eyes, and 
 resigned herself to the worst. A brief 
 ejaculatory prayer burst from her lips ; ere 
 it was ended the fugitives were overtaken 
 and surrounded. 
 
 Ninon, who had no more courage to meet 
 
 dtRastm' f.l>n.n PriAVnrx.' onrl r\Yaaa-nnn (\f *v>infl 
 
 to enable her to escape it, was the most 
 
THE FUGITIVEH. 
 
 439 
 
 temfied of tho tliroo women wlion slio saw 
 dark forms in tlio moonliglit riisliing down 
 from tho liiglicr part of tho shiuglo, and 
 throwing down before them showers of pob- 
 ])les from tlio licaps over wliich and throngh 
 which they wcro tramping. Ninon uttered 
 two p'* arcing shrieks, — shrieks so loud that 
 they reached tho ear of Le Eoy, who wa8 
 anxiously watching in the boat for tho com- 
 ing of tho hidies from Chateau Labello. 
 Then, all her powers collapsing from thn 
 extremity of her terror, Ninon swooned 
 away on tho shingle, where slio remained 
 for nearly an hour in an insensible state, 
 quite unconscious of all that was passing 
 around her. 
 
 Graduallj', however, tho unhappy gii-l 
 awoke to consciousness, which brought with 
 it only misery. Dizzy and faint, with 
 quivering limbs and swimming brain, Ninon 
 with some difficulty raised herself to a 
 sitting posture and gazed around. She was 
 utterly alone on that dreary, desolate shore, 
 over which tho moonbeams cast sucli a dim 
 and gliastlv gleam. Even iho dintaiit light 
 had disappeared from the beach, and no- 
 
 .!!• ' ' 
 
no 
 
 THE FUGITIYES. 
 
 tiling was to be heard but the faint sigh of 
 the breeze and the answerin*^- moan of the 
 sea. Where was Gabrielle ? what had 
 happened ? Avhat horrible scene liad been 
 acted upon that desolate spot? Ninon 
 ti'embled and shivered. Those who had 
 borne off her sister to prison or to death, 
 had from herself merely torn off the shawl 
 which Mario had Avrapped around her, and 
 left behind them the senseless form which 
 it had enfolded, and which they cared not to 
 carry away. Ninon was not, like Gabrielle 
 and Faith, a special object of Jacobin 
 pursuit ; no warrant had been drawn out 
 for her arrest, like that which had that 
 night reached Aix from Robespierre in 
 Paris. Ninon was simply left to live or die 
 on the shingle, watched over, cared for by 
 no one. The child of luxury, the pampered 
 young aristocro.te, Avas more helpless, deso- 
 late, and wretched, than any gypsy wanderer 
 bepging lier way from hamlet to hamlet. 
 
 Long alter sunrise had flushed the sky, a 
 miserable object, notwithstanding the satin 
 boddice and I'ich.lv brocaded nkiit which slie 
 wore, with braised and bleeding feci whicli 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 441 
 
 left red traces on the liard stones over 
 which she so wearily dragged them, poor 
 Ninon reached the cabaret which she had 
 passed on the preceding night in the com- 
 tesse's carriage. 
 
 The wretched condition of the aristocrate 
 excited the mirth rather than the pity of the 
 inmates of the cabaret, which was one of the 
 lowest sort, and kept by a violent Jacobin. 
 The few denizens of the place soon gathered 
 around the weeping, trembling young lady, 
 made her the butt of their heartless gibes. 
 
 " Ah ha !" laughed one ; " here is a pretty 
 demoiselle, who has been late out at a 
 masquerade, and who has worn out her 
 dainty slippers with dancing." 
 
 " Or at the spectacled chimed in the land- 
 lord, rubbing Lis unshaven chin ; "it seems 
 that there's been a tragedy acted, in which 
 mademoiselle has been taking her part." 
 
 "No, no; the tragedy has not come off 
 yet," cried the first speaker, who set up as 
 a wag ; " it will come off to-day at AIa, 
 where Madame la Comtesse and her 
 English spy will 
 audience." 
 
 la Comtesse and 
 appear before a 
 
 largo 
 
 ■ i 
 
 II 
 
 !» 
 
 «l ■ t: 
 
di2 
 
 THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 "I'm going to the t/ial," ciicd out the 
 landlord. 
 
 " And I — and I" — exclaimed other voices. 
 
 " That's only the first act of the tragedy," 
 laughed the wag ; " the second will come 
 off to-morrow, when the drop will fjdl, and 
 the last scene close with tumultuous ap- 
 plause !" He mimicked with his hand the 
 descending movement of the too familiar 
 instrument of death, amidst uproarious 
 mirth. 
 
 Ninon, with horror and bewilderment, 
 heard the words and saw the action which 
 announced to her the destined fate of her 
 sister-in-law and Faith. They hud been 
 carried off to undergo the mockery of a 
 trial at Aix. The miserable girl's anguish 
 was less on account of the danger in which 
 lay her nearest relative and only protector, 
 than from a dread that she also might bo 
 seized upon and borne off to Aix. Ninon 
 had, with efforts which had cost her almost 
 intolerable sulTering, dragged her^ell as far 
 }is the cabaret, hoping to find in it pity and 
 protection. Now her strongest desire was 
 to escape from the place, a desire intensi- 
 
THE FUGITIVES. 
 
 443 
 
 fied by an evident design on the part of 
 some of the Jacobins to detain her. 
 
 " No, no ; let her go — let her go !" cried 
 the landlord ; " this is no cage for so gay- 
 plumed a bird. Let her fly home, if her 
 lame wing will let her, and tell her sister's 
 hired sycopliants that Henri La Fere's 
 widow is going the same way to freedom as 
 Capet's wife took before her! Did she 
 think, forsooth, to roll past hero mdieard in 
 her fine carringe ! The next carriage that 
 she mounts will be paid for by the people, 
 and her journey will bo but a short one !" 
 
 I 
 
CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 T was the most sultry day of tho 
 most sultry month of July. The 
 sun shone down vJiih. glare more 
 intense than is usual even in tne 
 warm latitude of Provence. Not a cloud 
 tempered his rays, not a breath of wind 
 relieved the oppressive stillness of the at- 
 moPijhere charged with heat. Tlirough 
 each southern window of the largo old 
 town-hall of Aix, streamed in fiery floods of 
 hght in which dust-motes glanced and 
 quivered, and which lit up hundreds of 
 faces turned in enger expectation towards 
 the dais on which sat tlie Mcire, Cochon, 
 and his fellow-judges, wilh u semi-circle of 
 nilhanly-iookiiig jurors, assembled to pro- 
 
Ifli 
 
 THE TLIAL. 
 
 445 
 
 nounce a verdict of life or (le;illi upon two 
 innocent women. 
 
 Notwithstanding the sultry heat of the 
 day, the toAvn-hall was crowded, for the 
 trial of the Dame Froptidairc of Chateau 
 Labelle was the cause of extraordinary ex- 
 citement in Aix and th^^ .iljacent country, 
 Avhere her ancejstors li'ul for 'centuries lived 
 in almo;,t princely state. '^\^ fearful scenes 
 of judicial nnirder to which Paris had be- 
 come familiar were com})arativeh' new at 
 Aix, and in that provincial city, therefore, 
 excited interest more keen. The pressing, 
 jostli'^.g, hustling amongst tlie crowd in the 
 hall, rendered tiie heat of the weather more 
 intolerable still. Several womc n had, with 
 difiiculty, to be borne out in a fainting state, 
 and those who remained seemed to be try- 
 ing the cxpej...aent how much heat the 
 human frame can endure, and how little of 
 fresh air it requires in order to escape 
 actual suffocation. 
 
 " Gabrielle, Avidow of Henri La Fere, 
 8tand forth ! " 
 
 There stood the Lady of Piovence, 
 unprotcctod and defenceless, before the 
 
 . ^ 
 
UQ 
 
 THE TIIIAL. 
 
 tribunal cf those from whom slio well 
 knew that no mercy was to bo hoped 
 for, no Justice was to bo expectoil. The 
 countenance of Gabrielle was usually palo, 
 but now a bright rose-tint flushed her cheek, 
 and gave more than their wonted brilliancy 
 to her beautiful eyes. She loolicd more 
 queenly tliaii ever as she stood erect, with 
 folded liands, listening to the charges 
 brought by the public prosecutor n gainst 
 her. But there was more mournful dignity 
 still in her mien as she confronted the wit- 
 ness who afterwards bore t(!stimony that 
 might bring her mistress to the sciiffold ; 
 for that witness was her own fcnme-de- 
 chamurc, Diane ! 
 
 " Widow La Fere," said Coclion, a burly 
 butcher, proud of the position of brief autho- 
 rity to wliicli he had climbed, " thou hast 
 heard the accusation against thee. Thou 
 art charged with having at divers times 
 spoken against the Kepublic, one and indi- 
 visible ; of having abetted a ])riost in the 
 secret perforniance of rites proliibited by 
 the National Committee ; of having syni])!i- 
 thized with Louis Caix't and iiis v.'idow, 
 
THE TRIAL. 
 
 447 
 
 10 well 
 hoped 
 . The 
 [y palo, 
 ' cheek, 
 illiancj 
 I more 
 3t, with 
 3harges 
 ji gainst 
 dignity 
 he wit- 
 ly that 
 j.iffohl ; 
 nmc-ilc- 
 
 n burly 
 I; autho- 
 )u hast 
 Thou 
 J times 
 id indi- 
 ; ill the 
 ited by 
 syinp:i- 
 v.-idow, 
 
 and of having even attempted, before their 
 trials, to convey to them money, which, had 
 it reached them, they might have used to 
 defeat the sacred ends of justice. What 
 hast thou to say in answer to such capital 
 charges as these ? " 
 
 Clear and silvery sounded the voice of 
 Gabriello La Fere in reply ;' the throngs in 
 the town-hall held their breath to listen. 
 
 " To avow under my ov/n roof principles 
 in whicli I had been reared from my cradle 
 to keep loyal to my sovereigns in their 
 adversity, to daie to worship my Creatoi 
 according to the dictates of my conscience, 
 — if there bo guilt in these thing.-;, then in- 
 deed am ". p-iilty. But it was not always in 
 chivalrous Franco that such things have 
 been reckoned as cnme;^." 
 
 "She is condemn^:' by her own confes- 
 sion ! " cried Cochon vvif •. wolfish eagerness. 
 And then followed the mockery of voting, 
 the vain attempt to fling over murder the 
 ermine man lie of justice. A deep muiniur 
 — partly of stern assent, partly jicrliaps of 
 pity — rose from the assembh^d throng, as 
 the iniquitous sentence was pronounced 
 
 i 
 
 ri^. 
 
 i i 
 
 .M« 
 
 i 
 
 'h 
 
448 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 which coiulcmnGcl Gabrielle, widow of La 
 Fero, to suffer death on the following morn- 
 ing, by the guillotine, in the market-place 
 of the city of Aix. 
 
 The comtcsso heard the sentence without 
 blenching, without so much as a quiver of 
 the eyehd. Her calm reproachful gaze fell 
 for a moment 'on Diane, and the wretched 
 woman dared not meet it. She turned her 
 head away with evident confusion, which 
 r,ho tried to hide by engaging in conversa- 
 tion with Butin, who stood behind her, until 
 her betrayed mistress had been, removed 
 from the prisoner's bar. 
 
 But it was otherwise when Faith Stanby 
 was the accused one, and Diane was again 
 called forward by name, this time to bear 
 witness against the pale English girl. Then 
 indeed the keen, beady eyes of the femrne- 
 de-c7iamhrc gleamed with malignant triumph, 
 jmd Diane poured forth her words fluently ; 
 the only trace of inward agitation being that 
 livid hue which overspread her face, as it 
 liad done on that night when she had stood, 
 candle in hand, beside the bed of Faith 
 Stanby. 
 
m 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 Ud 
 
 Tlio doom just pronounced upon her be- 
 loved mistress had not taken from Faith 
 the natural desire to avoid a violent death 
 for herself ; but it had been like the heavy 
 blow which for a time deadens the sense of 
 personal fear. Tlio faithful servant cared 
 less for life, since the Conitesse La Fere 
 must die. The maiden's perceptions, how- 
 ever, v/ere not dulled as to what was passing 
 before and around her. Faith felt intuitively 
 that far less sympathy than the Lady of 
 Proveuce had excited in the crowd of sj^ec- 
 tators was extended to the servant giil, the 
 foreigner, the Jncjlaise,— accused, as to her 
 surprise she found herself to be, of having 
 been bribed by Pitt to act the part of a spy. 
 
 "Id it true, prisoner, as this witness 
 affirms, that thou didst receive treasonable 
 letters ^lom England, and that one of them 
 contained a large remittance of money from 
 the British minister?" was demanded of 
 
 Faith. 
 
 " I never received a sous of money ; I 
 never received any letters, save two from 
 jv,x- r^oor home, and that was before the war 
 broke out, long, long ago," replied Faith, ia 
 
 29 
 
 m 
 
 W: 
 
 ■■m\ 
 
i •■■'.^, 
 
 450 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 a voice ratlier low, raising for a moment 
 her eyeSf which had boon modestly bent on 
 the marble-paved floor. 
 
 " Had those letters anything in them re 
 lating to the probability of a war between 
 England and the great Eepublic ; or any 
 remarks concerning the political state of 
 I'ranco ?" asked Cochon. 
 
 Faith was about to reply in the negative, 
 when she suddenly remembered the incau- 
 tious phrases contained in the lettei of 
 Gentleman Jos. It had been the last letter 
 ever received by her from her father, and 
 had been perused so often that Faith knew 
 every sentence in it by heart ; but she had 
 destroyed the paper itself as dangerous, on 
 the night on Avhich she had quitted Chateau 
 Labelle. Startled at having been almost 
 drawn into uttering a falsehood,* Faith 
 hesitated, blushed, and with a little em- 
 barrassment replied, " The letter was only 
 from my father, a laborer ; he merely wrote 
 his own private thoughts, as any parent 
 might, to his absent child." 
 
 *•' Thou dost evatle the question, girl !" 
 cried Cochon, in a bullying manner. " Did 
 
m 
 
 THE TBIAL. 
 
 451 
 
 the letter, by whomsoever written, contain 
 any mention of George . minister, Pitt?" 
 There was a low grc vl of imprecation 
 amongst the spectators at the mention of a 
 name so detested by the dcm crats in 
 France. 
 
 Again Faith hesitated a o ; but the 
 Englishwoman's spirit was msed by the 
 evident desire to browbeat her, and wrest 
 w^mtever she might say to her condemna- 
 tion. " The letter contauied nothing, sir," 
 she answered firmly, "that could do harm 
 to France or its rulers. My father was only 
 a poor man; but in England the poorest 
 may write what they please to their chil- 
 dren." 
 
 " Again I demand, Anglaise, did that letter 
 contain any mention of Pitt ?" 
 
 Faith was silent. She could not with 
 truth say "No," and her silence was in- 
 stantly construed into a confession of guilt. 
 The cruel verdict qnickly followed ; it was 
 crime enough to be even suspected of being 
 an agent of the dreaded minister of King 
 
 
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452 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 hissed out Diane in a loud whisper, as the 
 fientenccd maiden passed her to rejoin the 
 other prisoner. 
 
 " Ah, my poor Faiih !" was the comtesse's 
 greeting, " thou and I, Hke so many before 
 us, were condemned before we were tried." 
 
 (( 
 
 
 ^ 
 
>^ 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 THE CONDEMNED. 
 
 jIT down side by side, widow Lji 
 Fere and maiden Faith, com- 
 tesse and soubrctte; take your 
 last meal together. The guillo- 
 tine cuts away all idle distinctions !" Such 
 were the parting words of the jailer, as he 
 left the prison chamber in which Gabrielle 
 and her servant were immured for the night 
 preceding execution. 
 
 " There is some truth in what he sn js," 
 observed the comtesse with a faint smile, as 
 she motioned to Faith to occupy the chair 
 by her side at the table on which a coarse 
 meal had been placed. 
 
 But to the faithful servant it would have 
 been distressing to have changed towards 
 
 (153) 
 
 11 
 
 if 
 
 *:5i 
 
 i 
 
 ^4 
 
 ii 
 
i54: 
 
 THE CONDEMNED. 
 
 her fellow-sufferer, even in the slightest 
 degree, the lowly, respectful demeanor 
 which she had shoAvn to the comtesse in 
 Chateau Labelle. Nor had Faith any vain 
 ambition to rise above the station in which 
 Providence had placed her; in the position 
 of a servant, as she had lived, so was she 
 ooiitcuted to die. Faith, with tears in her 
 eyes, so earnestly begged to be allowed to 
 wait on madamo "this last night," that 
 Gabrielle let her have her own way. It 
 was a mournful gratification to Faith to servo 
 her lady both at meal-time and afterwards 
 at her evening toilette. It was a pleasure 
 ouce more to comb out those long dark 
 tresses ; and as the maid did so she thought, 
 "Hov/ can any one have the heart to hurt 
 one dear hair on this head! But it is a 
 comfort to remember that all th'^--^ hairs 
 are numbered." 
 
 It was from no emotion of prid^ that 
 Gabrielle suffered herself to be waited on 
 thus by her partner in tribulation ; never 
 had ihere been less of pride in the soul of 
 the high-born lady. Death is indeed a great 
 h'velier, and Gabiiello La Fere felt him to 
 
THE CONDEMNED. 
 
 456 
 
 be so, r.3 Lis dark shadow fell on her path. 
 Very solemn thoughts were passing that 
 night through the miud of the doomed Lady 
 of Provence. Witli the Bible in her hand, 
 Gabrielle was steadfastly looking at herself 
 in the mirror of Truth ; she was examining: 
 her own soul as became one who knew that 
 in a inw short hoars she might bo called 
 upon to render account of all that she had 
 done in the body during her sojourn on earth. 
 And how did the actions of her life appeai' 
 to the Romanist lady in that solemn review 
 of the past? All marred by self-seeking, 
 and stained by sin. Gabrielle saw how lovo 
 of praise and love of popularity had mixed 
 with other motives to incite her to perform 
 munificent works of charity. She saw liow 
 her heart had been estranged from her 
 Maker, — how she had presumptuously ques- 
 tioned His wisdom, ungratefully doubted 
 TI*« lovG, even when her knees had been 
 bent in apparently devout adoration. Ga- 
 brielle saw that her exercises of self-denial, 
 her mortification of the flesh, had sprung 
 from a proud desire to purchase some ri^lit 
 to the grace offered xolthout monei/ ami 
 
456 
 
 THE CONDEMNED. 
 
 without price. The penitent was discover- 
 ing that in self-righteousness tliere is sin, — 
 that they -who cherish it in their secret 
 hearts are defrauding God of His gloiy. It 
 is not in the chariot of meritorious works, 
 with splendid gifts but unhumbled heart, 
 that the spiritual leper must approach the 
 Fountain of grace ; but lowlj^, contrite, self- 
 renouncing, with the believer's hope in his 
 heart and the suppliant's cry on his lips, 
 Lordf if 2I10U loilt Thou canst make me 
 clean I 
 
 "Faith, art thou afraid of death?" asked 
 Gabrielle La Fore, raising her eyes from the 
 pages of the Bible which she for the last 
 hour had been perusing and pondering over 
 in silence. 
 
 Faith was seated on a low stool near her 
 mistress's feet. The thoughts of the poor 
 prisoner had been wandering back to her 
 childhood's home in the dear land to 
 which she felt it sad never more to 
 return. In dreamy meditation Faith was 
 again listening to the twitter of the birds 
 under the eaves, the lowing of cattle rising 
 from the meadows, and the soft chime of 
 
THE CONDEMNED. 
 
 457 
 
 cliurcli-bells borne on the breeze. Roused 
 suddenly from such pensive recollections, 
 Faith paused for a few moments before reply- 
 ing to Gabrielle's question, and then said in 
 ft tremulous tone, while a tear moistened her 
 lashes, "Madame, my courage is not like 
 yours. I own I would rather— if it had 
 been the Lord's will — have died quietly 
 in my bed." 
 
 " I meant not the mere act of dying, tho 
 short, shai-p pang when soul is separated 
 from body," observed the lady; "it seems 
 to me that it matters little whether that 
 come to us in the quiet chamber or on the 
 scaffold. But this is what I would ask. Art 
 thou afraid of that v/hich lies beyond 
 death?" 
 
 " No, Heaven be praised !" replied Faith, 
 clasping her hands, and looking up at her 
 mistress Avitli a peaceful smile on her pale 
 features. "Absent from the body, present with 
 the Lwd ! I would not wish to be always 
 on earth, — to he tuith Christ is far better /" 
 
 " But is thy soul then so pure and spotless 
 tliat thou art certain that no punishment 
 awaits thee in the dread Hereafter ?" asked 
 
458 
 
 THE CONDEMNED. 
 
 the comtcsse. " Is it not according to the 
 justice of the Most Holy, that sin — oven if 
 it be but sin of thought — should not g<3 
 altogether unpunished ?" 
 
 "My sins have already been punished,' 
 replied Faith simply ; *' all my many sins of 
 thought, "word, and deed." 
 
 " AVhen ?" inquired Gabrielle quickly. 
 
 " When my Redeemer died on the cross, 
 and paid the forfeit for tliem all!" 
 
 Faith glanced up at her mistress as she 
 spoke, and saw tliat the dark eyes of Ga- 
 brielle were glistening with tears. 
 
 " Ah ! my child, thine is a blessed — most 
 blessed assurance !" said the lady with 
 emotion, laying her hand on the shoulder of 
 her servant, " Such thoughts came even 
 into my soul this day, when I stood be- 
 fore that tribunal, — surely that comfort 
 must have been sent to me from Heaven ! 
 I thouglit how the Most Holy, the Most 
 Exalted, hud Himself stood arraigned before 
 a mortal judge, had Himself listened iir 
 silence to accusations from mortal lips. He 
 did i]ot defcntl His own spotless character, 
 He was muti; befoi'c His accusers ; and 
 
THE CONDEMNED. 
 
 459 
 
 wliereforo?" Faith folt llio prcssuro of 
 GaLriellg's hand heavier on her shoulder, 
 and the hand itself trembled with emotion 
 as tlio lady went on. " It was because He 
 stood in our place — my place ; Ho was 
 judged for my sins, condemned for my guilt ! 
 Christ was sentenced that I might go free ! 
 Faith, Faith, I do believe that I am saved 
 — for Christ died for sinners — there is no 
 condemnation, NO condemnation for them 
 who trust only in Him !" 
 
 The heart of Faith bounded with joy — ^joy 
 so strong that it seemed to sweep away all 
 other feelings in the fulness of its sparkling 
 current. Her prayers then had been 
 answered at last ; her mistress had found 
 peace in believing ! 
 
 Blessed indeed is the time when the lep- 
 rosy of sin is purged from the soui, and from 
 the healing Fountain of Grace the forgiven 
 penitent rises with a new nature, as of a 
 little child, imparted by the Spirit of God ! 
 With some, as with Faith Stanby, the great 
 change comes early ; so early that it is 
 only kn.'Wn to have taken place by spiritual 
 health shown in a holy, ooiisistunt life. 
 
 %. 
 
 I 
 
 fe 
 
 I i 
 
 \ (1 
 
460 
 
 THE CONDEMNED. 
 
 With others, ns with Gabriello La Fere, 
 there is a raarlcccl and novor-to-be-forgoiteu 
 time, of which the Christian can say, " It was 
 then that my leprosy Avas healed ; it was then 
 that, like Naaman,! washed and was clean !" 
 
 In peaceful, happy communion of spirit, 
 the rest of that evening was passed by the 
 two prisoners sentenced to die on the 
 following morning. TJio comtesso and her 
 servant knelt side by side, fellow-heirs of a 
 heavenly kingdom, whilst Gabrielle poured 
 out aloud in words the prayers and thanks- 
 givings which welled from the hearts of both. 
 When tho two had risen from their knees, 
 Gabrielle observed to the English maiden, 
 — " There is but one thing which makes me 
 a little regret being called away so soon from 
 this earthly scene. I could have wished to have 
 lived a little longer, dear Faith, to do some- 
 thing for Him who has done everything for 
 me; to have done it," she added, fearing her 
 meaning might be mistaken, " not as a work of 
 merit, but onhj as a proof of my grateful love.'* 
 
 " I have been thinking the same, madame," 
 replied Faith. " It seems to me that there is 
 just one thing which is still left for me to do." 
 
THE CONDEMNED. 
 
 461 
 
 "What is tliat ono tiling ?" inquirctl fho 
 c^mtesso. 
 
 " It is — from my lioart to forgive Diano I" 
 
 Gubricllo was silent for a space. Hers 
 was a spirit keenly sensitive to wrong, unci 
 deep were the v»rongs which she had sus- 
 tained from a perfidious betrayer, one whom 
 she could not but regard as the murderess 
 not only of herself but of her faithful 
 servant. The lady paused before she 
 answered, but the pause was not a long 
 one. 
 
 "Yes, my child," said Gabrielle mildly; 
 " fi'eely have we been forgiven, freely must 
 WG forgive. May the Almighty pardon that 
 unhappy woman, even as I do now !" 
 
 Then the two prisoners laid themselves 
 down to rest, and their slumber was sweet 
 and untroubled even by dreams of the 
 
 commg 
 
 morrow. The moon glanced in 
 
 through the grating of iron, and her rays 
 fell softly on the sleeping face of Gubriello 
 lia Fere, like the smile of , guardian angel 
 waiting to whisper to the widowed prisoner, 
 " Rise, mourner of earth, rise ; for the 
 Master hath conio, and he oulleth for thee!'' 
 
 
 Sf 
 
 ^^ \ ^ 
 
IV 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE GUILLOTINE. 
 
 VERY largo concourse of people 
 had assembled, even before sun- 
 rise, in the market-place of Aix, 
 to witness the execution of the 
 Comtesso La Fere. Almost every window 
 that commanded a view of the scaffold and 
 guillotine was filled with spectators, though 
 in some few houses the shutters were closed 
 in token of mourning, for there were many 
 citizens who looked on the condemnation of 
 Gabrielle with feelings of indignation and 
 grief. There were many in France who 
 mourned over the crimes committed in the 
 name of Freedom. 
 
 " Ah ! how well do I remember the day 
 when there was almost as great a crowd us 
 (462) 
 
THE GUILLOTINE. 
 
 463 
 
 thiB round tho great door of the Cathedral 
 ft. yonder, to soo the comtesse come forth as a 
 '^ brido in her whito satin and glittering 
 jewels!" observed a peasant svoman, who, 
 with her basket poised on her head, stood 
 in tho sldrt of tho throng. 
 
 "Thou mayst well remember it, Mad- 
 eleine," said a fish worn an who overheard 
 the remark, " for that dress of thine was new 
 on that day, and a gift from the brido of 
 Chdtoau Labelle." 
 
 "There bo many as took her gifts then 
 as have been waiting here for hours to see 
 her die," observed Madeleine sadly. " Alas ! 
 how little they who pressed and crowded to 
 get a sight of the bride, guessed that it 
 would ever come to this ! I wish that when 
 that horrid steel, that flashes up yonder 
 in the sun, comes down, it might be Ro- 
 bespierre's head, and not the comtesse's, 
 that should drop down into the basket." 
 
 " Hist !" said her companion, in a warn- 
 ing tone, " unless thou dost think that thine 
 own head hath been long enough on thy 
 shoulders." 
 
 "Sec, hce ! they conic!" exclaimed Mad- 
 
464 
 
 THE GUILLOTINE. 
 
 eleine suddenly, pointing towards the scaf- 
 fold, at the fiirther side of which the prison- 
 ers had just dismounted from the death-cart. 
 There was a universal movement amongst 
 the crowds at the moment, as when a wind 
 sweeps over a field of corn, and a murmur- 
 ing sound which denoted that "le climax of 
 interest had come. MadeleiLo raised her- 
 self on tiptoe to look over the sea of heads- 
 between her and the scaffold, and then 
 exclaimed, "There she is— the good, the 
 beautiful lady !* Ah ! can the blessed Saints 
 let her die thus?" 
 
 "On whose arm is she leaning ?" asked 
 the other. 
 
 " Dost thou not know ?" cried Madeleine ; 
 "that is the Anglaisc who is to be guillotined 
 with her lady. Poor soul, how gentle she 
 looks ; it is a sin and a shame to kill her !" 
 
 " A sin and a shame indeed !" repeated an 
 indignant voice behind the peasant. It was 
 that of Marie, who had walked from Chateau 
 Labelle to have a last sight of her mistress 
 and of her fiiend. The heart of the impe- 
 tuous Proven^ale was full almost to 
 bursting, and she cared not who overjieard 
 
THE GUILLOTINE. 
 
 465 
 
 the passionate exclamations wliicli she 
 uttered from time to time. 
 
 Though Gabrielle had mounted the scaf- 
 fold with her arm resting on that of Faith, 
 she was really rather supporting than lean- 
 ing on her attendant. The French com- 
 tesse was possessed of more physical 
 courage than belonged by nature to her 
 young English maid; but both, upheld by 
 the same spirit of devotion, were serenely 
 calm, even when standing so clone as actually 
 to touch the fearful apparat of death 
 prepared for their destruction. 
 
 " Faith, dear Faith," whispered Gabrielle, 
 gently pressing the arm of her maid, " what 
 a priceless blessing thou hast been unto 
 me!" 
 
 "It is sweet to me that I may be with 
 you to tho last," was the softly murmured 
 reply. 
 
 "What can be passing yonder?" said 
 Gabrielle suddenly, glancing over the mass 
 of upturned faces below, in the direction of 
 the spot where Marie and Madeleine were 
 standing. "Faith, dost thou not mark liow 
 the multitude sway backwards and forwards, 
 
 30 
 
466 
 
 THE GUILLOTINE. 
 
 like a sea agitated by the sudden gust of a 
 tempest?" 
 
 " Tliey are trying to get nearer to you," 
 began Faith; but the comtesse gave her no 
 time to finish the sentence. 
 
 "No, no; the people yonder are not so 
 much as looking towards us ; the scaffold— 
 the victims— are not the point of interest 
 with them. Dost thou not see the man 
 yonder, waving a paper on high ; all are 
 crowding towards him— ha ! they are raising 
 him aloft on their shoulders !" 
 
 " How the people shout !— oh ! what can 
 they be shouting?" cried Faith eagerly, as 
 much convinced now as was her mistress that 
 something of a very extraordinary and ex- 
 citing nature must have occurred. The 
 distance from the scaffold of the man who 
 was ^vaving the paper on high, and gesticu- 
 lating with frantic vehemence, was almost 
 too great for her to distinguish his features ; 
 but there was something in his appearance 
 Avhich reminded Faith of Claude Lo Eoy. 
 Whoever the man might be, ho was evi- 
 dently the bearer of tidings, and tidings of 
 iuterest so thrillnig that spectaiors, cxecu- 
 
THE (.> iLLOTINE. 
 
 467 
 
 »> 
 
 tioner, victims, — all seemed to forget tlio 
 terrible cause that had drawn tliem together. 
 From the spot where Lo Roy (for it was he) 
 appeared, raised on the shoulders of wildly 
 excited men, there spread raiDidly some 
 electric-like influence, which in less than 
 two minutes had converted the whole multi- 
 tude in the market-plac^ into a loudly 
 shouting, madly rejoicing, frantic looking 
 mass of enthusiasts! Had each man and 
 woman in the throng suddenly received 
 pardon when about to die on the scaffold, 
 there could not have appeared to be greater 
 rapture amongst them than that which burst 
 forth in the now clearly audible shouts, • 
 " Robespierre is fallen — is fallen ! Robes- 
 pierre to the guillotine !" 
 
 The mad excitement of delight with which 
 the destruction of the Jacobin leader was 
 hailed in Paris is matter of history, and 
 forms a striking page in the records of th.-it 
 marvellous time. We read that Robes- 
 pierre's fall, in that eventful July, caused a 
 joy which could not be calmed down foi 
 several davs." The intoxicjition of deli.^h* 
 
 ♦ Thiers. 
 
 1'-^ 
 
 m 
 
468 
 
 THE GUILLOTINE. 
 
 was almost universal tlirouglioiit the city. 
 Men deemed that the Reigii of Terror was 
 over; Paris again could take breath! 
 Crowds rushed to the prisons, the doors 
 were flung open, and captives were released 
 en masse. Those who had never expected to 
 come forth, except to mount the death-cart, 
 were now, amJdst frantic rejoicings, restored 
 to their families and friends. The pendu- 
 lum of the Eevolution had begun on that 
 Thermidor to swing backwards, and it did so 
 with a force resembling that with which the 
 thunderbolt speeds. 
 
 The spirit which animated Paris spread 
 to the provinces, as life-blood circulates 
 from the heart to the farthest extremities of 
 the body. Aix, like other French cities, 
 was wild with joy and excitement. Men 
 who had heard, if not with approval, at least 
 without open indigna'.ion, the sentence of 
 death passed on a noble lady, now made the 
 echoes ring again in the streets with shouts 
 of " Vive la Comfesse La FereT Those 
 who, the day before, would scarcely have 
 ^nrtVAfl a fill wr to save her. now unharnessed 
 tlie horses from the first carriage on which 
 
ri 
 
 THE GUILLOTINK 
 
 469 
 
 they could lay hands, and insisted on 
 drawing her themselves, in a kind of tri- 
 umphal procession, back to ChateaTiLabelle. 
 Instead of a victim, the comtesse suddenly 
 found herself the idol of the volatile people. 
 Faith, who, in a minor degree, came in for 
 a share of the popularity of her mistress, 
 felt herself like one in a dream. She was 
 utterly amazed by the display of the wonder- 
 ful versatility of the French character now 
 before her, and could with -difficulty believe 
 the evidence either of her eyes or her ears. 
 The English gM looked with mute inquiring 
 wonder from the car of triumph to the 
 instrument of death, where the steel which 
 was ere this time to have been dripping 
 with her blood, was still flashing diamond 
 bright in the sun. The first thing which 
 made Faith realize that the astonishing 
 events of the morning were facts, and not 
 dreams, was the sight of Marie's faniihar 
 face, beaming with joy, and the strong grasp 
 of her hand, as, after forcing her way 
 through excited crowds up to the carriage, 
 slie exclaimed, " Ah ! had this blessed ijows 
 but come ten njiunteH later, I should never 
 
 
m 
 
 THE ■VUILLOTINE. 
 
 have looked on thy living faco agam. 
 And, at a sign from her mistress, mounting 
 to a seufon the box of the carriage, Marie, 
 who had left the chateau not two hours 
 before in grief and despair, formed one of 
 the party who -with glad exultation escorted 
 back to her home the Lady of Provence. 
 
t» 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 4- ~ 
 
 Y story might here close, for 
 though the tempest of Revolution 
 was by no means over, its bolts 
 never again reached Chateau 
 Labelle. Should the tale, however, have 
 been perused -with any interest, a brief 
 glance at the future lives of some of its 
 characters may not be unwelcome to the 
 reader. 
 
 Animated by higher motives, the joy that 
 sprmgs from a sense of sin forgiven, and the 
 love which that joy must inspire, Gabriello 
 returned to her charitable works. She now 
 gave to them not only her money, but her 
 cheerful interest, her personal attention. 
 When Antoiue peacefully fell asleep, his mis- 
 
 (471) 
 
 ■H 
 
472 
 
 (DONCLUSION. 
 
 tress, as well as Clauclo and Faith, btood by 
 the dying-bed of the good old man. Lo 
 Roy then became the occupant of the vino- 
 mantled cottage ; and the comtesse appoint- 
 ed him to be her steward and almoner, in 
 which situation the Provencal showed the 
 noble qualities of head and heart which he 
 possessed. 
 
 Though Gabrielle had fully embraced the 
 great leading doctrine of Protestantism, 
 justification by faith, she would at first have 
 been startleu by the idea that she was any- 
 thing but a devoted member of the Church 
 of Eome. Gradually, very gradually, 
 through perusal of the Scriptures and 
 prayer, clearer light dawned on the mind of 
 the lady. Ancient superstitions, erroneous 
 views, dropped away one by one, like the 
 old leaves of the laurel in spring, when the 
 fresh new shoots are expanding; till at 
 length Gabrielle learned to regard her late 
 forms of worship as a bowing down m the 
 house of Rimmon ; and would have shrunk 
 as much as Faith herself from addressing 
 
 A long visit from Pevo la Porte, whoso 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 473 
 
 influence over lier lady Faith had dreaded, 
 had very different results from what she 
 had feared. The priest, a devout man, 
 who at risk of his life had ministered to his 
 flock during the worst times of tho Eevolu- 
 tion, had had his mind much opened by a 
 residence in England. On him also tho 
 light of truth had dawned; and when in 
 many an earnest conference he compared 
 his new views with those of Gabrielle, he 
 was so confirmed in his impression that the 
 Eomish Church had darkened that light by 
 Buperstition, that he felt that he could no 
 longer remain a member of her communion. 
 Boldly coming forward to avow his consci- 
 entious opinions, La Porte became the first 
 Evangelical pastor ministering in that part 
 of the province, since Louis XIV. had driven 
 tlie last one from the domains of the Comtes 
 de Labelle. 
 
 The Protestant pastor soon collected 
 around him a little flock, chiefly gathered 
 from the tenants and servants who followed 
 Gabrielle in renouncing the errors of Kome. 
 The first of the household at the chateau 
 who adopted a purer faith wero Marie and 
 
 1^ 
 
474 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Annette ; but the number gradually in- 
 creased, till the little cliapel in tlio mansion 
 could ro longer contain the congregation 
 who assembled in it to worship in spirit and 
 in truth. 
 
 GabrioUe then had the ruined chapel of 
 St. Catherine enlarged and put into perfect 
 repair. There was indeed in it no gorgeous 
 shrme, no splendid ornaments, no carved 
 image of Virgin or of Saint ; but with sim- 
 plicity beauty was combined. Faith took 
 special delight in watching the progress 
 made in preparing this chapel for Evange- 
 lical worship : with deep feelings of grati- 
 tude she regarded the place where she had 
 found shelter in the hour of extreme peril 
 With the permission of her mistress. Faith, 
 on the day before it was opened for divine 
 service, went to adorn the chapel with 
 flowers. This was to her a delightful task ; 
 and as she placed a rich wreath over the 
 i^t where she had once crouched in con- 
 cealment, a thanksgiving arose from her 
 grateful heart, Uke the perfume from the 
 
 «4 vx ««* ^v %»r* 
 
 " Ah !" she exclaimed, " what cause have 
 
CONOLUSTON. 
 
 475 
 
 I to romcmber this chapel with grati- 
 tude !" 
 
 " And wilt thou not give mo cause also 
 to remember it, dear Faith?" said the voice 
 of Claude liO Eoy, who, unheard, had ap- 
 proached her. " Wilt thou not here give mo 
 tlie reward of seven years of patient waiting 
 and of faithful attachment?" 
 
 Faith turned round with a smile on her 
 lips which was sufficient reply, for Claude 
 had long known that her heart was his own. 
 She took from his hand a basketful of 
 orange-blossoms, fragrant and white, which 
 Le Roy had brought to help her in adorn- 
 ing the chapel. 
 
 And as Faith took the basket with its. 
 beautiful contents, what strange remem- 
 brances came into the mind of the maiden, 
 of another basket, empty, soil-stained and 
 crushed, which she had raised from the 
 road on one chilly November evening ! The 
 damp and cold dreariness of that day, with 
 its piercing wind and rising mist, had not 
 been a greater contrast to the brightness of 
 the summer morn in Provence, than the 
 sadness which had then darkened the soul 
 
476 
 
 OONCLUSlOlf. 
 
 /)f Faitb, to ilie joy wliich filled it now. 
 The biltor trial of tlio timo whou, for her 
 J|iti*tov'B sake, sho had ^-'von up her dearest 
 eartiily hopcH, had led to the happiness of 
 this ! In a few days more, the bells of St. 
 Catherine's chapel rang forth a blithe peal 
 for the wedding of Faitl' and Le Eoy, and 
 thobrid.'d morn was for them the commence- 
 ment of a married life of singular happiness 
 and peace. Fervently grateful was Faith that 
 she h xd been preserved in her early youth 
 from the temptation which had nearly made 
 her forsake the path of duty, and that sho 
 had been given grace to obey the command 
 to marry only in ike Lord. 
 
 Though now a wife, and occupying the 
 cottage which sho looked upon as a little 
 paradise. Faith, as well as her husband, 
 never quitted the servico of tho Comtesso 
 La Fere. Faith Le Roy remained to the 
 end of her days the confidential, valued 
 attendant of tho Lady of Provence. 
 
 One of the brightest spots in the life of 
 Faith (in which there was so much >! 
 brightness), was a visit, of several mort' v 
 duration, which she and her husband, acoom- 
 
 ph 
 
OOKCLUSION. 
 
 477 
 
 panying their mistress, paid to England, 
 after tlio pcaco of AmionH had closetl th« 
 long Avar between that country and Franco. 
 To Faith, who had never lost her lovo for 
 her native land, this was a period of intense 
 onjovmcnt, only heightened by the object 
 whicli had induced the Comtesso La Fere to 
 vi,,it England. Gabrielle, whoso now lowly 
 spirit earnestly sought and thankfully re- 
 ceived instruction, was desirous to meet ' 
 and converse with some of the English 
 leaders in works of mercy, the report of 
 whose successful labors had reached her ears 
 in Provence. The comtesso was strengthenwl 
 and cncon.raged by intercourso with thos*) 
 devoted Christians to go on ^*n an extending 
 career of usefulness in her own beautiful 
 country. Gabrielle carried back from 
 England knowledge which helped her to 
 make Chateau Labelle a central point of 
 light and love, in a land where there was so 
 much of spiritual darkness. Gabrielle la- 
 bored much for the Lord,— it was her 
 delight thus to labor ; but she never looked 
 upon her works or hnr gifts as anvthin*^ ]nit 
 pledges and proofs of grateful lovo to^HIm ' 
 
 1 
 
 4 
 
478 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 whose merits and mercy alone bad made 
 her— the leper— clean. 
 
 Once, during her sojourn in England, 
 Faith chanced to seo Edward Marston. 
 Many years had elapsed since their last 
 painful meeting; but it was not merely 
 Tune that had wrought the change which 
 startled Faith in him whom she bad once 
 regarded, as in all points save one, the 
 noblest of men. While Faith m her upward 
 path had gone from strength to strength, 
 becoming ever more pure-minded and 
 unselfish, Marston had been constantly 
 yielding to temptations from which religious 
 prmciple is the only effectual safeguard. 
 Edward had been a too prosperous man ; 
 his goods had increased, but there had been 
 no blessmg upon them. The farmer had 
 drunk of the cup of worldly enjoyment till 
 he had come to the poisonous dregs. When 
 Faith looked on the countenance, once so 
 fine, bloated hy self-indulgence, and with a 
 coarse, sensual expression upon it, left by 
 unrestrained passions, she could scarcely 
 believe that the horse-racing, high-betting, 
 hard-drinking man of the world before her, 
 
$ 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 479 
 
 was the same Edward for whom she had 
 once felt such deep attachment, such fond 
 admiration. More than ever did the wife of 
 Le Roy bless her heavenly Guide that she 
 had wedded one whom to her dying day she 
 
 could honor. 
 
 This little sketch of the later careers of 
 the characters in this story would not be 
 complete without some mention of Ninon 
 
 La Fere. 
 
 Ninon had suffered so severely on the 
 night of Gabrielle's arrest, and the miserable 
 day which succeeded it, that it seemed 
 doubtful whether her already feeble healtli 
 would ever recover from the effect of terror 
 and fatiguo which she had undergone at 
 that time. For months the poor girl was 
 prostrated by nervous fever, which threat- 
 ened to destroy not only her bodily powers, 
 but those of her mind. By care and nurs- 
 ing, however, the invaUd rallied at last, 
 and her health and spirits were afterwards 
 to a considerable degree restored by a visit 
 which she paid to some friends at a fash- 
 ionable watering-place on the coast. There 
 Ninon met with a Corsicun officer, who, 
 
480 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 though possessed of no recommendation 
 beyond that of a handsome person and 
 flattermg tongue, easily succeeded in win- 
 ning the hand of Mademoiselle La Fere. 
 The union was by no means a happy one to 
 the weak and frivolous woman, who disco- 
 vered, when it was too late, that she had 
 given herself to a spendthrift and tyrant. 
 Ninon had cause bitterly to regret that she 
 had ever quitted the quiet home where she 
 had thought her existence so intolerably 
 tedious and dull. 
 
 About ten years after her marriage, Ninon, 
 now Madame Parrocea, paid a visit to 
 Gabrielle La Fere, This was the first time 
 that the Corsican's wife had been able to 
 obtain permission from her tyrannical lord 
 to accept the repeated invitations which she 
 had received to visit Chateau Labelle. Poor 
 Ninon, wasted and withered in appearance, 
 nothwithstanding false hair and rouge, came 
 back to her old home a weary, broken-spi- 
 rited woman ; an object of pity to those who 
 had not seen her since the days of her youth. 
 Her disposition, however, was little altered 
 save that her temper was more irritable, her 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 481 
 
 spirits more uneven than they had been 
 when she was first introduced to the reader. 
 Madame Parrocca was much the same 
 volatile, frivolous creature as she who had 
 petted Jacobin and tyrannized over Faith. 
 But if Ninon was little altered, the place 
 which she visited was much so ; and Ma- 
 dame Parrocca saw with surprise and curi- 
 osity, though not with much real interest, 
 the many changes which had taken place in 
 Chdteau Labelle since her marriage. These 
 were particularly brought to her notice 
 when, on the morning following her arrival, 
 Marie showed Ninon over the place. 
 
 " What ! dost thou mean to tell me that a 
 school for the tenants' children is held in 
 the hall every day !" she exclaimed. 
 
 " Ah ! yes, madame," Marie replied ; "and 
 it does one's heart good to hear their merry 
 voices as they come out for their play. And 
 then there's the festival at Christmas — ^the 
 feasting — the toys ; Madame la Comtesse 
 knows so well how to make the little ones 
 happy ; and she enjoys their sports as much 
 as they do themselves." 
 
 **'I cannot imagine Gabrielle enjoying 
 
 31 
 
482 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 anything, slie used to be so trister muttered 
 Madame Parrocca, who liad no idea of 
 the pleasure derived from giving pleasure 
 
 to others. „ 
 
 « If madame will turn in this direction, 
 suggested Marie, " she wiU see the beauti- 
 ful corridor laid out as a ward for the 
 
 sick." 
 
 "A ward for the sick !" echoed Ninon, 
 with a look of disgust. " I used to say that 
 Gabiielle made the chateau into a convent ; 
 it seems to be a hospital now. This all 
 comes of the new-fangled ideas on religion 
 which she seems to have taken up." 
 
 « La comtesse spends hours daily in teach- 
 ing the Httle ones in the school, or in read- 
 ing the Bible in the sick-ward," said Mane, 
 who herself took an active part in the work 
 of charity carried on around her. 
 
 Ninon shrugged her thin shoulders with 
 an au' of affected compassion. « I wonder 
 how the comtesse can lead such a galley- 
 slave's life!" she exclaimed. "And yet 
 she looks wonderfully little changed ; Gabri- 
 oUe does not seem to grow old," added 
 Madame Parrocca, as Marie's throwmg 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 483 
 
 opon a door gave her a view of tlie Lady of 
 Provence, at the farther end of the corridor, 
 smiling as she placed some delicioasly ripe 
 grapes in the hand of a sick child. 
 
 « Madame 3 beauty is of the soul-t.nd 
 the soul never grows old," said Mane, with 
 an affectionate look at her mistress. 
 
 Madame Parrocca shrugged her shoulders 
 again. The meaning of Marie's observation 
 was beyond the comprehension of the wo- 
 man of fashion. 
 
 " I suppose that Faith, whom I see yon- 
 der, is also very busy in this charity dmdg- 
 ery," said Ninon ; "it would be just m her 
 line, she was always so insufferably good. 
 
 Marie was nettled by the remark, and by 
 the tone of contemptuous superiority m 
 which it was made. Marie had still a battle 
 to maintain with her own quick temper. 
 « Faith is madame's right hand," she re- 
 plied with a little tartness ; " I do not know 
 how Madame la Comtesse, or any one else 
 in the chateau, would manage without her ; 
 she has such thought, such quickness, such 
 ' kindness for all! The very best thmg for 
 us all which you, maaanio, ever dul, was to 
 
484 
 
 OONCLCrSION. 
 
 bring la petite Anglaise over with you from 
 England." 
 
 Tho words had in them much more ol 
 truth than poHteness ; Marie was still noted 
 for bluntness of speech. The befrizzled and 
 beflounced lady beside her made no reply, 
 but carefully gathering the folds of her dress 
 around her, that they might not so much as 
 touch the snowy-white counterpanes of the 
 beds, Ninon slowly made her way towards 
 the place where both the comtesse and her 
 servant were now engaged with another pa- 
 tient. Faith was gently supporting the suf- 
 ferer's head on her bosom, while Gabrielle, 
 with a look of tender compassion, was hold- 
 iiig a cup to her lips. 
 
 " That woman looks awfully ill, really a 
 shocking object ! " exclaimed Madame Par- 
 rocca with a gesture of disgust. " I wonder 
 how the comtesse can bear to wait like a 
 nurse upon such a miserable wretch ! " 
 
 "Many may wonder at it," answered 
 Marie. " That case is the worst in the ward 
 the only one which is hopeless. That wo- 
 man is slowly dying of a most painful dis- 
 she will never rise 
 
 ease 
 
 again from that 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 485 
 
 bed ; her sufferiuga have been yery dread- 
 ful. But she wants for nothing here; she 
 has every attention, every comfort,— and 
 Faith sat up with her all last night." 
 
 " I suppose that she has plenty of pray- 
 ing and preaching too," said Ninon, with a 
 scornful emphasis which told how little she 
 would value such religious exercises her- 
 self. 
 
 " Monsieur le Pasteur has seen the suf- 
 ferer often; but I scarcely think that he 
 makes any impression upon her," answered 
 Marie gravely. Madame and Faith pray 
 much for her, I know, and will not give up 
 all hope for her soul, -especially after some 
 words that she uttered last night. But 
 where there has been hypocrisy for years," 
 continued Marie, "who can say whether 
 there be real penitence, when the dying in 
 their agony cry out for that mercy from God 
 which they themselves never showed 1" 
 
 " Surely I have seen that wretched crea- 
 ture's face before!" exclaimed Madame 
 Parrocca, leaning forward to obtain a nearer 
 vie^. of the patient whom she was approach- 
 iug. "But no; I must be mistaken,— it is 
 
486 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 impossible, quite impossible that she should 
 ever be found under this roof l" 
 
 " You are not mistaken, madame," said 
 Marie with animation ; " nothing is impos- 
 sible to Christian mercy and Christian for- 
 giveness : that dying woman k-'Diam /" 
 
e.Ko.