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 I- 
 
 ARMANI) DURAND; 
 
 OR, 
 
 A PROMISE FULFILLED. 
 
 m 
 
 MRS. LEPROHON. 
 
 PRINTED BY JOHN LOVELL, ST. NICHOLAS STREET. 
 
 1868. 
 
 ( 
 
i- 
 
 'K. 
 
 ,'=?■ 
 
 
aKMAND DURANJ). 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Among the earliest French settlers who 
 hful established themselves in the seigneurie 
 of— Alonville we will call it — on the banks 
 of the St. Lawrence, was a family of the 
 ntime of Durand ; and the large and valua- 
 ble farm which had come down from father 
 to «on in regular succession, had enabled 
 them always to maintain their position as 
 leading men in the district in which their 
 lot had been cast. They were a strong and 
 handsome race, industrious and thrifty too, 
 though in no manner parsimonious. 
 
 Paul Durand, tall, straight, with jet black 
 hair and eyes, dark skin and regular fea- 
 tures, was a good specimen of their male 
 representatives. Unlike most of his coun- 
 trymen, who usually, at least in the rural 
 parts, marry at a very early period of life, 
 Paul had reached the age of thirty before 
 he decided on taking to himself a wife. The 
 cause of this lay not so much in indiflerence 
 to conjugal happiness as in the fact that, 
 for some years oefore he had attained the 
 age of manhood, his father had died, and 
 his widowed mother had thenceforth con- 
 tinued to live with him in the paternal 
 homestead, ruling alike his purse and house- 
 hold with a judicious though arbitrary 
 hand. His only sister, Francoise, had mar- 
 ried at sixteen a respectable country mer- 
 chant in a neighboring village, to whom 
 she brought not only a handsome face 
 but a comfortable dower ; so Mrs. Durand 
 wa.< at liberty to watch over and devote her- 
 self entirely to her son. 
 
 What a fine old homestead was that over 
 which she presided, and how strong is the 
 temptation to pause and describe it. The 
 house of rough masonry, was substantially 
 though irregularly built, with a large elm 
 shadowing the front, and dazzlingly white 
 outbuildings and fences. These latter were 
 all regularly whitewashed every year, a pro- 
 ceeding which imparted an additional air of 
 thrift to the wall Kept, well stocked farm- 
 yard. At one end of the building stretched 
 out the garden, a quaint mixture of vegeta- 
 bles and flowers, where superb moss-roses, 
 flanked beds of onions, and delicate hearts- 
 ease, astors and carnations, borderetl squares 
 of beets and carrots. In one corner, con- 
 veniently located amid a perfect wilderness 
 of blossoms of every hue and shape, was a 
 long wooden stand on which were ranged 
 some eight or ten beehives. But why 
 linger over the description? Any one who 
 has sailed past thb banks of our noble St. 
 Lawrence, or those of the smaller, though 
 
 picturesque Richelieu, must have seen many 
 such homes. 
 
 Probably Paul Durand feared that the 
 conflicting claims of a wife and a mother 
 in the one household might not answer 
 as well in his home as it did in that of 
 many others, on account of the difficulty 
 the elder Mrs. Durand might find in yielding 
 any portion of the authority she had here- 
 tofore sovereignly wielded. It was there- 
 fore only after the mourning put on for that 
 well-loved mother, who had died in his arms, 
 had been worn its allotted period, that 
 he commenced thinking of looking for a 
 companion to fill the void death had made 
 in the old farm house. The chief difficulty 
 of the task, however, lay in the number 
 he would have to clioose from, for the 
 richest dowered as well as handsomest girls 
 of the parish would have looked favorably 
 on liis suit. But not among them was his 
 choice destined to be made. 
 
 The seigneur of Alonville was a wealthy, 
 kind-hearted man, named de Courval, and 
 as he was hos2)itable, like most of his class, 
 his large substantially built manor house 
 was filled every summer with a succession 
 of friends from the neighboring parishes, or 
 from Montreal, in which city most of his re- 
 latives resided . 
 
 Among these latter wa^ a family but re- 
 cently arrived from France, and most wil- 
 lingly they accepted Mr. de Courval" s pres- 
 sing invitation to spend part of the summer 
 with him. Mr. and Mrs. Lubois came, bring- 
 ing in their tmin two young children, ag^ 
 respectively seven and nine, and their nur- 
 sery governess. The latter,Genevieve Audet, 
 was a pale, fragile looking girl, with delicate 
 pretty features, and quiet timid manners ; 
 educated sufficiently for the humble postshe 
 occupied, but possessing, in reality, no great 
 acquirements beyond it. She was a por- 
 tionless cousin, seven times removed, of 
 the family she lived with, and in her case, 
 as in that of many others, the circumstance 
 of relationship by no means improved her 
 condition. They generally ignored, whilst 
 she never even hinted at the fact, the only 
 effect of it apparently being to prevent her 
 bettering her condition by seeking a situa- 
 tion in another family, lest the doing so 
 should bring discredit on the connexion 
 which was such a barren honor to her. 
 
 Paul Durand often called at Mr, de Cour- 
 val' s, partly because they had some interests 
 in common, having purcliased between 
 them a large tract of swamity ground at a 
 
 V 
 
 \ 
 
ARMAND DrRAND. 
 
 nominal price, whi(!h they were now pro- 
 ceeding to utilize by draining, and partly 
 because these visits wore ft source of real 
 pleasure to Mr. de Courval, wlio was as ex- 
 cellent ft farmer in theory as Durnnd was 
 in practice, and delighted to talk over 
 crops, drainage^ and farm stock with one 
 whose success m all those things was so 
 good an illustration of the justice of his 
 opinions concerning them. When he called 
 at i<he manor-house, if the master of the 
 establishment had visitors staying with him, 
 he and Paul generally betook themselves to 
 the quiet room which served the double 
 l)urposei* of library and office, and there 
 they cliatted and smoked Mr. do Courval's 
 excellent tobacco undisturbed. 
 
 The latter would willingly have intro- 
 duced Paul to his more fashionable friends, 
 I'or he both esteemed and respected him ; 
 but Durand naturally avoided society in 
 which the conversation generally ranged on 
 town topics, with which he was unac- 
 quainted, and the interlocutors in which 
 dialogues were sometimes at little pains to 
 hide the species of contemptuous indiffer- 
 ence they felt for his social position. 
 
 In coming and going he often encountered 
 (ienevi«ve Audet and her little charges, 
 and he sometimes felt grieved, sometimes 
 irritated by th* species of tyranny the 
 spoiled, unruly children seemed to exercise 
 over their lucklesb governess, hiimple and 
 .^itraightforward in all things, he one day 
 communicated his opinions on the subject 
 to Mr. de Courval, and without pe^ceiving 
 the pleasant twinkle, ominous of match- 
 making, that suddenly gleamed in that 
 gentleman's eye, Paul placidly listened tr. 
 an eloquent panegyric on Miss Audet';; 
 virtues, accompanied by some touching 
 allusions to her trials and troubles wliich 
 were indeed only too well grounded. Then 
 liis host asked him to accompany him to 
 look at his splendid mangel-wurzel, and 
 somehow or other they strolled up to where 
 (fenovieve sat under a spreading maple, 
 trying to coax h<pr unruly pupils to learn 
 that Canada was not in Afi'ica, as they per- 
 sisted in asserting it was. What more 
 natural tiian that Mr. de Coiu-val should 
 introduce his companion to the governess; 
 and then, whilst they exchanged a i'ew 
 words, address some laughing remarks to 
 the children, which soon drew down on 
 him a torrent of childish cliHtter. 
 
 Genevieve's manner hatl very little of 
 the animation for which French women are 
 famed, and tlie sad lessons her short, young 
 life had already attbrded, had iniparte«l a 
 reserved, almost cold tone to language and 
 manner, yet Paul felt himself strangely at- 
 tracted toward her. ISiie was so delicate, 
 so helpless-looking in appearance, so deso- 
 late, so unhappy in reality, that he could 
 not avoid feeling that species of inward 
 
 impulse which all noble, manly men know 
 in the presence of oppressed weakness, the 
 desire to protect and succor. The inter- 
 view lasted much longer tlian he was aware, 
 for it had prove<l a very interesting one ; 
 nor was it the last, for, a couple of dayf* 
 ftfter, Mr. de Coui-val sent fur him to come 
 and inspect some vegetable monster in the 
 shape of a huge turnip, capable of winning 
 a prize, not only for its size, but also for its. 
 ugliness and inferiority in point of taste or 
 nutritious properties. The curiosity was 
 duly examined and commented on, and 
 then in strolling round, they came again 
 upon Miss Audet and her charges, and 
 again Mr. de Courval engaged the latter in 
 noisy, childish talk, whilst Durand, by no. 
 means backward, addressed hiinself to their 
 governess. The favorable impi-ession mode 
 on him by the latter was strengthened by 
 this second interview, and fully confirmed 
 by one or two subsequent meetings. 
 
 There was no longer any necessity for 
 Mr. de Courval's sending for Paul, for he 
 now had constantly some message to bring 
 to the manor house, or some question to 
 ask the seigneur. There were no obstacles 
 in the way, for Mrs. Lubois and her hus- 
 band had returned to Montreal, leaving 
 their children and governess, at Mr. de 
 Courval's kindly urged request, at his housej 
 his old house- keeper, a respectable widow 
 occupying a place in his household supe- 
 rior to that of common servant, being there 
 to satisfy propriety. 
 
 One sultiy afternoon that Paul was tak- 
 ing his way thither, thinking very little of 
 his ostensible message and very mucli of 
 < icnevievc Audet, he perceived the latter, 
 seafced with her pupils under a cluster of 
 towering pines, a little out of the direct 
 road to the house, and he bent his steps 
 towards them. His movements were slow, 
 the soft green turf gave back no echo of 
 his footsteps, so the group under the pines 
 were totally unconscious of his approach. 
 Probably, hail it been otherwise, the scene 
 he witnesse<l would liave been somewhat 
 modified in its developments. The gover- 
 ness, very pale aad unhappy looking, was 
 seated on a low garden stool, a half-closed 
 book in her hand. Her youngest pupil was 
 beside her, betraying by laugh and look the 
 high approval he bestowed on the spiiit- 
 ed conduct of his elder brother, who stood 
 in front of the hapless Genevieve, defiance 
 Hashing from his eyes, whilst he informed lier 
 '< that he woald not learn any longer from 
 her, because his mamma had often said f\\o 
 was not able to teach him, and that she did 
 not know how to direct or bring up child- 
 ren." 
 
 With wonderful gentleness the girl re- 
 joined " that even if Mrs. Lubois had said 
 so, he must learn from and obey herself 
 till his mamma had procured another gover- 
 
 •i 
 
 ^ 
 
 / 
 
 
 
ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 't 
 
 A- 
 
 ness; ami that duty obliged her to in- 
 Hist till then on his learning the lessons in 
 which he waa so backvvanl." 
 
 "That's all your fault!'' shouted the 
 young rebel. " Mamma says we will never 
 learn anything till we have a tutor, and that 
 Hhe would get us one to-morrow, only f*he 
 does not know what to do with you. No 
 body will marry you as you have no dot " 
 (marriage portion). 
 
 In geiiei-al, Paul was e.xceedingly tolerant 
 of the shortcomings of children, and no 
 clover-fields were so boldly invaded for 
 strawberries in summer, nor trees so fear- 
 lessly climbed into for wild ulums and nuts 
 in autumn us were hi-<. Indeed, bo was 
 frequently taken to task by his neiglil)ors 
 on the score that his excessive leniency had 
 a most demoralizing ctt'eot on the youth of 
 the village, to which rebuke he would reply 
 that they must not forget that they had all 
 been children once. In the present in- 
 stance, however, he fiercely clenched his 
 hand, whilst an expletive, better left unre- 
 corded, escaped his lips. Fearing for his 
 yelf command, and knowing that interfe- 
 rence at the present moment might prove 
 most injudicious on Miss Audefs account, 
 he abruptly turned down a dense alley of 
 evergreens, and after having arrived in the 
 midst of the walk, threw himself down full 
 length on the graen sward, and taking out 
 his handkerchief wiped his forehead. lie 
 seemed strangely moved, but Paul Durand 
 jiever indulged in soliloquy, so after a half 
 hour's deep thought, he rose and slowly 
 walked back to the spot in which he had 
 left Genevieve. 
 
 She was still there, her eyes intently bent 
 on the earth, and a look more weary and 
 languid than usual on her small regular 
 features. The shrill voices of the children 
 engaged in a noisy game of romps re-echoed 
 near, ijut she dicl not seem to hear them, 
 or Durand either, as he quietly accosted 
 her. < »n his repeating the usual salutation 
 in a loutler key, she looked up and he then 
 said, " I suppose I must not ask what Miss 
 Audet was thinking of! Her thoughts 
 seemed very far away." 
 
 " Yes, they were in France." 
 •'Ah, without doubt, because Miss (iene- 
 vieve has many friends there whom she 
 dearly loves!"' 
 
 •' No," was the softly spoken reply, 
 ' ' I have none there now. " 
 
 There waa nothing sentimental or affected 
 in the quiet voice in which this was said, 
 and Paul looked silently down at her. The 
 golden sunlight slanting between the 
 branches lighted up the delicate oval face, 
 the large soft eyes, and though he had 
 never read a novel in his life, he felt the 
 magic charm of the scene and situation as 
 keenly as if he weekly perused half a dozen 
 of them. 
 
 Long and earnest was his scrutiny, noting 
 
 face ami form, even to the slight, small 
 
 fingers that mechanically turne<l i lie leaves 
 
 of the book she still held, and on which 
 
 her eyes were again bent, and then 
 
 he inwardly said: "Such a girl as that, 
 
 indeed, not able to marry without a dot I 
 
 1 Ah, Madame Lubois, we shall see." 
 
 1 With the courtesy and ease ot manner 
 
 i which the ^ Canadian farmer, no matter iiow 
 
 I poor or illiterate he may l)o, usually pos- 
 
 1 sesses, he seated himself on the long garden 
 
 ! bench beside her. 
 
 I And now, if the reader anticipates or 
 dreads a "love scene," we hasten to assure 
 hira or her the supposition is groundless, 
 and will content ourselves with saying that 
 when Paul Durand and (tenevievo slowly 
 walked up to the house a half hour after- 
 wai'ds they wore promised man and wife. 
 The deep flush on the girl's face, the bril- 
 liancy of her eyes told of happiness as well 
 as emotion, and in Paul's look there was a 
 blending of honest exultation, tempered 
 with a tender gentleness of look and man 
 ner that augured well for the future of both. 
 Very undemonstrative, very quiet lovers 
 were they, however, so much so that when 
 Mr. De Courval suddenly came upon them, 
 the faintest suspicion of the real state of 
 mattei-s never dawned on him, and merely 
 inwardly thinking how unusually well Gene- 
 vieve looked, he pressingly asked Durand 
 up to the house. The latter accepted the 
 inviUition, and ( renevievo, suddenly anxious 
 on the score of her unruly pupils, turn- 
 ed her steps towai-ds the summer house 
 from which their voices proceeded, raised 
 in angry dispute. 
 
 Seated in Mr. de Courval's study, Durand, 
 without much circumlocution, informed his 
 well pleased host of what had just taken 
 place, begging him to fulfil the duty of 
 writing to inform Mrs. Lubois of the state 
 of affairs. 
 
 "Please tell her, Mr. de (Jourval," ter- 
 minated the suitor, " to allow the marriage 
 to take place ns soon as possible, and above 
 all things, don't forget to say that I want 
 no dot." 
 
 Mrs. Lubois was written to. .\ cold 
 answer soon came, saying " that Genevieve 
 was free to do as phe pleased, but as the 
 match was not a remarkably brilliant one, 
 there was no reason for immoderate haste."' 
 The parties interested, especially Durand, 
 thought otherwise, and a couple of weeks 
 afterwards they were married in tlio village 
 church, very early in the morning, Mr. de 
 Courval triumphantly giving away the 
 bride, as Mr. Lubois had found it impossible 
 to be in Alonville at that particular time. 
 The breakfast given by the good-natured 
 seigneur was sumptuous, though there were 
 so few to partake of it ; and as he heartily 
 shook Dm-and's hand at parting, ha slyly 
 
6 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 r/ 
 
 whinpered : "How well we have got on after 
 all without our noble oousinH !'' 
 
 It wa8 probable the fear of this very cou- 
 Hinsliip being claimed by the new married 
 couple, that prompted the unkind and 
 otherwise unaccountable indifference the 
 Lubois had displayed during the course of 
 the wooing and wedding. " 'i'hey were not 
 going," they angrily reasoned, "to expose 
 themselves to the incursions of unpolishe*!, 
 country clodhoppers. Air. de Courval 
 might make as much of the farmer Durand 
 as he liked, because lie lived in the country 
 where society was not only limited but less 
 select; they, however, could not think of 
 admitting hobnailed boots and rustic man- 
 ners into their aristocratic di'awing-room.'" 
 
 CIIAPTEU II. 
 
 No small amount of jealousy had been 
 excited in Alonville by the unexpected antl 
 speedy manner in which the best match of 
 the parish had thus been aj>propriated by 
 a stranger ; and the tongues of mothers and 
 daughters were alike busy and merciless in 
 their denunciations of such a step. 
 
 "What could he see in her, indeed, a lit- 
 tle doll-faced creature with no life or gaiety 
 in her, to bewitch him in such a manner ? 
 What made liim marry a stranger when 
 there were plenty of smart handsome girls 
 in his own village that he had known ever 
 since they wore pinafores ? She had pretty 
 little feet to be sure and small dainty hands, 
 l)ut were they gootl for anything ? Could 
 they bake, spin, milk, or do anything use- 
 ful ? Ah, well, retribution would come to 
 Paul Durand, aiul he would yet mourn in 
 sackcloth and ashes the tine girls ho hail 
 passed by to marry that little puppet." 
 
 But all these hmientatioiisand prophecies 
 were unavailing, and in no manner disturb 
 ed the serenity of the two individuals who 
 were tlie objects of them. Were they all 
 unfounded? Alas! that we should have to 
 record it — not((uite. The bride knew little, 
 if anything, of liouse-keeping. This was 
 the more unfortunate, as the elderly woman 
 who had superintended Durands household 
 skilfully enougli since his mothers death, 
 had abruptly taken leave when informed of 
 his intended nuptials. 
 
 It was not so much that she felt incensed 
 at the idea of his introducing a wife into 
 the establishment ; his chief fault lay in his 
 having ignored the charms of a certain 
 niece of her own, who could boast of a really 
 handsome face as well as comfortable dower, 
 and whom la mb-e Niqueite had decided 
 many months previous was a suitable wife 
 for him. With this end in view she had 
 sounded .Sophie's praises night and morn- 
 ing, lauded Sophie's qualities, mental and 
 moral, dilated on her admirable house-keep- 
 
 ing skill, and the patience with which 
 Durand hod listened to talk, which he judged 
 the result of the garrulousness of ago, un- 
 fortunately confirming her in lier illusions, 
 which were shared by the fair Hophio her- 
 self, she felt too much aggrieved to remain 
 beneath his roof after seeing her dreams 
 so rudely dispelled. The two inexperienced 
 girls hired at the last moment to replace 
 her, tiiough stout and willing, were other- 
 wise incompetent, and the bride was thus 
 thrown entirely on her own resources. 
 With a vague presentiment of coming tiou- 
 blo, Paul had done his utmost to induce 
 the injured Mrs. Niquette to retain her post, 
 lie had expostulated, solicited, and ottere(l 
 what was considered then almost fabulous 
 wages for her continued services, i)ut re- 
 venge to some natures is very sweet, and 
 she could not forego it. 
 
 Forgetful of the kindness, tlie conside- 
 ration with which her employer hnd always 
 regarded her, the presents, the privileges 
 he had bestowed with a liberal hand, she 
 worked herself up to a belief that she had 
 been treate<l with the most signal ingrati- 
 tude, Jind that she was really an injured 
 personage. 
 
 "Ah!" she thought, as she left him 
 with a " good bye, Mr. Durand," to which 
 he coldly responded. "Ill soon see you 
 arrive, my gay bridegroom, begging me 
 to come back, but I won't do that till you 
 find your dainty wife have prayed long and 
 hard ; and then when I do return, I'll 
 teach you both how to respect hi luere A7- 
 
 But tlie good old dume was mistalcen : 
 neither her master n^v his bride troul UhI 
 her with solicitations to return. Lonir ns 
 she had lived with Paul Durand, she had 
 not fathomed his character yet. 
 
 As we have before said, the Avomen ot 
 the Durand family were always notable 
 housewives, and during the long reign of 
 the last worthy lady who had Ijorne that 
 name, Paul's house had been the best man- 
 ageil, the most neatly kept in the village, 
 whilst liis dairy products were ecjually 
 famed for quantity and quality. This satis- 
 factory state of things had deteriorated 
 very little, if any, during Mrs. Niquette's 
 rule, who, to do her justice, had looked as 
 narrowly to the comforts of Paul and the 
 interests of the establishment, as her late 
 mistress had done. Alas ! under the new 
 djTiasty, things were very diflf'erent, and it 
 was to be hoped, i'or the sake of the de- 
 parted Mrs. Durand' s peace of mind, tliat 
 she was not cognizant of sublunary matters, 
 especially of details concerning her son's 
 household. 
 
 The latter liked a good table and h.'Jil 
 always been accustomed to one — now, the 
 soup was often burned or watery, the 
 bread sour and heavy, worthy of the 
 
AHMAND DURAND. 
 
 ; 
 
 k 
 
 t ,) 
 
 wictchtd Imttrir »lt»stin<'U to bo ealen witli 
 it, wiiilst tin' fi is]) blown pancakos, cnillev« 
 iiiid dainty jneHcrvos, (}iiit bud at one time 
 HO fie(iuontly adorned bistable, werothingH 
 ol' tbe i)ast. Still, with tlu' seneio.iityof a 
 ninnly nalare, he neither sooKled nor grum- 
 bled, but contented hiniHelf with a laugh- 
 ing liint occasionally on the subject, never 
 alliidinp to it, liowever. when his wile 
 looked worried or troubled. I'oor Gene- 
 vieve ditl often make si)usmotlic etlbrts to 
 ac<)uire a small portion of the valuable 
 science in which she was so lamentably 
 deficient, but the results were always diH 
 eouragnig Jailures. and she was gradually 
 coming to the fatal conclusion that it was 
 no use to try. As if to make matters 
 worse, Paul's sister, who Imd just been left 
 a widow, wrote to announce tliat her health 
 shaken by anxiety and fatigue during her 
 husband's illness, re(iuired change of air, 
 and slie felt assured her brother and new 
 sister would kindly receive her for a few 
 weeks. 
 
 Ah! how honest Paul Durand dreaded tliat 
 visit. How his heart ached as he thought of 
 liis poor little wife's shojt comings laid bare 
 to the keen gaze of that pattern and model 
 of housewives. As to Genevieve, herself, slie 
 counted the days and hours as the criminal 
 <;ounts the time that has to elapse before 
 the execution of his sentence. Her sus- 
 l)ense was not of long duration, lor three 
 days after her letter, Mi-s. Chartrand arrived. 
 Despite her recent bereavement, which she 
 leally deeply felt ; despite her own some- 
 what shaken health and energy, the state 
 of matters in her brother's household alarm- 
 ed, almost horrified her. Vague rumors 
 had indeed occ^isionally reached her ear 
 of the housekeoiiing deficiencies of her 
 new sister-in-law, but occupied entire- 
 ly with her husband, who had been confined 
 to liis room three or four months previous 
 to liis death, she had scarcely heeded them. 
 Now, they burst upon her in all their ap- 
 palling reality, and perhaps no greater dis- 
 traction to her legitimate .sorrow could have 
 been found than the new Held of regret 
 thus opene'l to her. 
 
 " llow," she inwardly asked herself, " can 
 I find time to grieve for my poor I^ouis' loss, 
 when I see such wretched bread, sucli un- 
 eatable butter on my brother's table ? How 
 can I dwell on my own state of lonely 
 wklowliooil, when I see those abominable 
 servants of my brothers gossipping with 
 tlieir beaux, whilst the dinner is burning on 
 the stove and the cream going to waste in 
 the dairy. Oh, it is distracting !'' 
 
 Distracting it proved indeed, for before 
 Jlrs. Chartrand had been a week in the house 
 she had almost forgotten her woes and her 
 weeds in the fierce astonishment excited by 
 a farther insight into the waste and mis- 
 management of the household. For Gene- 
 
 vieve she ex)teriencod no sentiment beyond 
 that of contemptuous pity, and a keen 
 regret that Paul had made ho sod a mistake 
 in his choice. 'J'liat strong, bustling, active 
 woman, brought up to housekeeping from 
 lier cradle, eouhl not understand the sick 
 languor, the weary discouragement to 
 which lier weak, nervous sister-in-law, was 
 so often a ))rey, and more than once she 
 inwawlly accused the latter of mincing 
 affectation. 
 
 Aflaire could not go on long in tins way 
 without her disburdening her heart to some 
 one, and one Suntluy afternoon, after 
 having declined accompanying (ionevieve, 
 under some pretext, to aftoinoon service, 
 she entered the room where Paul was 
 smoking in peaceful solitude. There »vas 
 no misinterpreting the determination that 
 sat enthroned on her brow, the portentous 
 solemnity of her manner, and he inwardly 
 made up his mind for a scene, but, like a 
 wary tactician, he awaited the attack in 
 silence. * 
 
 "Paul," she suddenly burst forth, '-put 
 down your pipe and listen to me. J want 
 to have a tulkwith you.'' 
 
 "A talk about what?" was the brief res- 
 ponse. 
 
 "About what, you a.sk m* ! What could 
 it be else than the woful mismanagement 
 of your household '.''' 
 
 "I think that is entirely my business 
 and Genevieve's,'' he drily replied, resum- 
 ing the pip« he had momentarily laid 
 down. 
 
 "That answer might do for a stranger, 
 but it is not a just one to make to your 
 elder and only sister, who, in speaking to 
 you, is movcti entirely by aff'ectionate inter- 
 est for yourself, (iive me one fair, patient 
 hearing, and 1 will not ask another. 
 Let me now say unreservedly all that is on 
 my mind, and then, if you wish it. I will 
 for ever after hold my peace." 
 
 Feeling there was some truth in her words, 
 Durand silently nodded, and she resinned ; 
 "In our poor mother's time, though you 
 liad not more cows in your pasture than you 
 have now, indeed less, for you have addeil 
 three beautiful lieifers to the stock, there 
 were always a few firkins of sweet, well 
 made butter ranged in your cellar, leady 
 for market when the price should be satis- 
 factory ; there was a goodly row of cheeses 
 on your slielves, and baskets of eggs. Ifow 
 is it now ? Nothing for sale ut present, and 
 there will lie nothing later ! In one corner 
 of the untidy dairy, a firkin of some pale 
 streaky substance which we must call but- 
 ter. I suppose, as it would answer to no 
 other name ; a dozen of eggs, perhaps, on 
 a cracked plate; some mouldy cream, and 
 that is the extent of your dairy riches. 
 Are things better in your poultry yard? 
 Kemembering the broods of thriving poul- 
 
8 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 Iry, turkeyn and goese, tliat used nt ono 
 limo ti> people it, my heart fairly aclios 
 when [ watch now the couple of lonely 
 gosling:^ and turkeys; or the handful of 
 "Nvretched little bantamM, wild as woodcocks, 
 that pick up a living ns best they can, for 
 h:df of the time thoy are not fed, though 
 enough is wasted from each meal to tit 
 them for prize fowl. What do you say to 
 all this, b'-other? I tell you that you arc 
 on the high road to ruin." 
 
 *'No, Francoiso, there is nr> danger of 
 that. God is very good to me."' Here the 
 speaker reverently dotted his cap. "My 
 liarvest this year is bej'ond any I have yet 
 gathered in, though I have had my grana- 
 ries often well filled. ]']verything has pros- 
 pored withme in quantity as well as quality, 
 and wo will not, thank heaven, miss the 
 protits of dairy or poultry ynifl.'" 
 
 "Well, 'tis 11 great blessing, Taul. that 
 you are so lucky ; you require to be so. 
 But what about yoiu- own comforts? Your 
 table (you must not bo an;^ry with my plain 
 speaking, I'or you have given me leave to 
 «ny what was on my mind), your table, 1 
 believe,is tiie worst supplied in the pari."!!." 
 
 •• I'm sure, Francoise, we have had some 
 very good pies lately and fruit tarts."' 
 
 " .\h, brother, you may well look sheep- 
 ish, and pretend to stare into tlie bowl of 
 your pipe, ns you s.ny that. You cannot 
 ■ deceive me, though you try to. I saw Widow 
 Lupointe's little girl stealing into the yard 
 •with them on three different occasions. 
 Anything as tempting as them in the cook- 
 ing lino coulil not be prodticed in this 
 house now, unless I turned up my sleeves 
 and went to work myself." 
 
 Poor Paul felt considerably disconcerted, 
 for he had secretly called at Widow La- 
 pointe"s and prepaid for the confection of the 
 ilainties inpei-son, hoping his sharp-sighted 
 jister might suppose they were of home 
 manufacture. He worked still harder 
 though in silence at his pipe, while Mrs. 
 Chartra'ul pitilessly went on : 
 
 •' Look at the garden, which can be com- 
 pared only to that of the sluggard, over- 
 grown with weeds and nettles ; and yet, I 
 ioo two great strong, lazy gii'ls lounging 
 ibout here. Mother kept but ono, still, 
 u\ her time, the same garden was admired 
 by all the parish for its fine display of vege- 
 tai)los, fruits, even flowers. I see no signs 
 either of new home-made linen, nor yet 
 of good gray homespun, such as eveiy 
 Buivind wife has always been able to make 
 for her husband and her children. Will 
 vou tell me what can or what does Oenevieve 
 •vio?"' 
 
 A flush had l>een gradually stealing over 
 Durand's .swarthy countenance, and at 
 length, heavily striking the table, he retort- 
 ■ed : ** That is my business, Francoise, only 
 mine, do you hoar ; and had it not been 
 
 for my promise to let yoi' speak, you would 
 not have been able to say so much." 
 
 " I know that," was Mrs. Chartrand'»i 
 philosophicid reply, "but, as you passed 
 vour word to give me n fair lioaring, 1 shall 
 keep you to it. Is not every syllable I've 
 uttered true as gospel'/ Have I maligneil 
 Oenovieve in ono single point'.'"' 
 
 " If I am satisfied with my wife, who else 
 has a right to find fault with her'/"' was 
 the loud voiced interrogation. 
 
 " You need not look so fiercely at me, 
 Paul. I see you want to quarrel, i)ut 1 
 will not gratify you. 'Tis always the way 
 with you men. When your cause is a ba<l 
 one, yovi always try to prop it up with angry 
 words and blustering. Now, I will have my 
 say out if you stormed twice as much. God 
 knows no unkind or angcy feeling towards 
 your wife lives in my heart, and it is for 
 her good, as well as yours, that I should 
 .speak plainly. No one wi.^. more delight- 
 ed than myself when I heard of your mar- 
 
 riage, because I 
 
 thought 
 
 il would be for 
 
 your happiness. 
 
 '• And so it was, Francoise, and I am as 
 happy as a king. Nor do I intend to make 
 myself and my poor little wife miserable 
 by asking her to do what she is not able to 
 do. She is not made for strong or heavy 
 work, no more than the little singing birds 
 twittering in the elm outside. Besides, 
 she is young and will learn." 
 
 Mrs. Chartrand inwardly thought that 
 women as young and delicate as Genevieve 
 had often made good managers and house- 
 keepers, but she prudently kept her reflec- 
 tions on that jioint to herself, and resum- 
 ed : 
 
 '■'Without blaming your wife for her 
 ignorance of housekeeping, don't you 
 think it would be wise for htr to begin to 
 learn at once. Your crops may not always 
 prove as good as this year ; children, bring- 
 ing fresh expenses, may come ; and tlie ruin 
 you now laugh at overtake you later. 
 Listen, and I will make you an offer. I am 
 a childless widow — free to follow my own 
 wishes. Say the word and I will make my 
 home here. I will be no burden, for you 
 know I have sufficient means of my owk 
 I will teach Genevieve house-keei)ing, if she 
 has strength or desire to learn, and in any 
 case, I will take the whole burden of the 
 household on my own shoulders. Your 
 comfort, your purse and haj)pines3, will 
 gain by it. Now, reflect well before you 
 give me an answer either one way or the 
 other." 
 
 Paul DuraiKi did so. He crossed his 
 arms on the table and rested his head on 
 them, in deep, earnest thought. Certainly 
 the material pros])erity of his establishment 
 beneath that thrifty housewife's care would 
 materially increase, but how would Gene- 
 vieve like it? That was an imitortant ques- 
 
ARMAND DIRAND. 
 
 tion. Firkins of l)utln', storM of olifioso 
 vould accuiniiliitn in hi't cellarH ; )lom(^ 
 jnado c'.oth and linen in his ouphoards, and 
 when ho would retimi iVoni his farm Inborn, 
 hungry and tirod, tempting, well prenare<l 
 luoals would await liini. Yea, it would ho 
 very plousant for him, hut would it he so for 
 yiis wife, who would pass the hours of his ah- 
 Hence in shrinking from the constant miper- 
 vision his sister would oxorri'^f over every 
 thuig and every i)ei"son arouu'l her? How 
 miscrahlo, how niortitied wouhl she feel, 
 brought perpotuiilly into such vivid contnist 
 with the skilful, energetic Madame t'lnr- 
 trand ; made to feel so keenly her inferiority 
 on all tlia points in which the other ex- 
 celled. 
 
 No, he had no right to risk his wife's hap 
 pinoss hy bringing a third pirty to dwell 
 beneath his roof, and in a kinil, though firm 
 tone, ho rejoined : 
 
 " Th ink you, Francoise, for your kind of- 
 fer, the prompting I know of a good heart, 
 liut I think it better that I and my little 
 <^!enevieve should rough it alone. Troubk-s 
 we will have, 1 suppose, like most married 
 jjoople, l)iit we must try to bear them 
 ])atiently ; and if (ienovieve is wanting in 
 some things, she possesses, at least, a 
 ^'entle, affectionate nature, and a loving 
 heart." 
 
 '• 'Tis finally settletl then, Taul ?" 
 
 " Yes; you are not angry?" 
 
 " No. Do you not think I have better 
 sense than that? But I must leave to mor- 
 row. I could not endure, any longer, the 
 trials to which both my temper and my 
 patience are continually exposed in this 
 house. Between Genevieve's indifference, 
 and the shameless negligence of her two 
 lazy girls, I would bo worried to death be- 
 fore a fortnight, debarred as I would be 
 i'rom trying to set things right. Why, they 
 have almost made me lose sight of my poor 
 dead husband, and of that decent grief, 
 which, as a respectable widow, I am bound 
 to feel. I will go to my room now, and 
 lead some prayers, for I missed vespers 
 this holy Sunday to have a talk with you." 
 
 She left the room, and Paul lapsed into a 
 brown study, from which he was at length 
 roused by the entrance of his wife. 
 
 "Come here, Genevieve." 
 
 She obeyed, and passing his arm around 
 her, he said, looking earnestly into her face : 
 My sister wishes to come to live with us ; 
 she will take all the charge of the house- 
 keeping into her hands." 
 
 The bride's pale cheek slightly reddened, 
 her lip quivered, but with an effort of self- 
 control she quietly answered : "Of course, 
 Paul, if you wish it." 
 
 "No, my httle wife. It shall not be. 
 ■So one shall come between you and I ; 
 and we'll struggle through our troubles 
 unhelped. I have already told sister Fran- 
 
 coise HO, and the blame of refusal will rout 
 entirely with myself." 
 
 How elofpicntly the lustrous brown eyc^ 
 thanked him, how tenderly the small 
 lingers closeii on his own, reconciling him 
 in their nmto expression of afft'ction to 
 the many Hhortcomin^s that Mr».t'hartran<l 
 had so pitilessly laid before him. Tho 
 lattt-r kept her resolution of taking an 
 early leave, and tho following morning, 
 whilst sunrise was still flushing the vwt, 
 mounteci into tho jomfortable little spring 
 cart in which her brother was to drive her 
 back to her own abode. If Paul had felt any 
 qualms of conscience for his refusal of her 
 kindly intended ott'er,thesightofherplump. 
 portly figure, and full, ruddy cheeks, which 
 he inwardly contrasted with his wife's frail 
 little frame and delicate face, fully recon 
 ciled him to the past. 
 
 After Mrs. Chartrand's visit, one of the 
 incapables was dismissed, and a substitute 
 procured in tlio shape of a rare housekeeper, 
 who could do everything almost as well its 
 Mrs. t'hartrand herself. But, nl;<s ! she had 
 a terrible temper, and would pounce like 
 a tigress on that innocent lamb, her mis- 
 tress, without tho slightest ])rovocjition. 
 Knowing her value, Genevieve bore every- 
 thing patiently; but one afternoon thut 
 Marie was venting her constitutional ill 
 temper in sundry insolent remarks as to 
 what some people were sent into the world 
 for, when they were not able to oven liolp 
 a poor, uver- worked servant with a churning, 
 or a baking, her master, whom she supposed 
 busy in the farm-yard, entered unperceivod, 
 and after listening a moment to her angry 
 diatribes, laid his hand on her shoulder, 
 and ordered her at ohco to pack up and 
 "go." 
 
 Of course there was a storm afterwar(i i, 
 and Genevieve, securely shut up in ho 
 room, listened in nervous alarm to tho 
 uproar going on outside, the rattling of 
 crockery, the warlike clashing of knives, and 
 the spasmodic movements of chairs, ben- 
 ches, pails, kicked over in turn. Itsub3ide<l, 
 however, in time, and husband and wiio 
 felt equally relieved when the door closed 
 upon their skilful but redtmbtablo " help ;" 
 Paul devoutly, though somewhat obscurely, 
 thanking Providence " that they would have 
 peace now, even though they should soon 
 be again in the midst of chaos," referring 
 l)robably to the general irregularity and 
 confusion from which Marie's activity had 
 dragged the household. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Company still continued to come and goat 
 Mr. deCourval's ; for the month of October, 
 with its brightly tinted woods and hazy 
 amber sky, without speaking of the excel- 
 
10 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 lent shooting the environs of the place af- 
 foided,rendere(l the country quite fts attrac- 
 tive (18 it had been during the summer 
 months. 
 
 Gentlemen with guns and dogs, gentle 
 men on horseback and on foot, frequently 
 passed Durand's door, but CJenevieve saw 
 nothing of them. Mr. de Courval had fre- 
 (juently and kindly invited the new mar- 
 ried couple to , '.sit the manor house, but as 
 Paul evidently did not care about doing so 
 whilst there were strangers there, Genevieve 
 remained contentedly at home. One after- 
 noon she was standing in front of the door, 
 looking at the distant hills glowing in the 
 mellow, golden light of that beautiful season 
 we call Indian summer, when Mr. de Cour- 
 val, accompanied by two gentlemen friends, 
 passed on foot. They all three looked 
 weary antl dispirited, for they had been on 
 foot since early morning ; and when Gene- 
 vieve, whom Mr. de Courval instantly ac- 
 costed with his usual friendly politeness, 
 asked tViom to step in a moment and rest, 
 a thing she could not avoid doing without 
 violating common courtesy, for Mr. de 
 Courval complained of fatigue, her ofJer 
 wjus gladly accepted, lie introducod his 
 friends, one, a Mr. Caron, a gentleman of 
 middle ago ; the other, a handsome young 
 cavahy officer, named de Chevandier, who 
 had come out from France to spend some 
 montlis in Canada, The latter seemed 
 equally surprised and struck by the ])retty 
 fiice and (juiet gi-aceful manners of their 
 hostess, as she placed before them tum- 
 blers, with ajug of excellent cider, which we 
 need not inform our rccaders was not homo 
 made. 
 
 Genevieve, however, was entirely un- 
 conscious of the particular at tention with 
 which Captain de Chevandier favored her, 
 and that very elegant young gentleman 
 would have been highly mortiKed had he 
 knowTi that she had not even observed the 
 glossy luxuriance of his dark hair and 
 moustache, or the classic regularity of his 
 i'eatures. 
 
 Durand came in before the departure of 
 the guests, and, quite unembarrassed, pres- 
 sed hospitality upon them with kindly 
 courtesy. De Chevandier" s .aristocratic pre- 
 judices were somewhat shocked by the 
 appearance, on the scene, of this jdebeian 
 entertainer, but his inetlable airs were as 
 much thrown away on the husband, as his 
 looks of admiration hail been on the wife. 
 At length the three gentlemen, rested and 
 refreshed, took theirdeparture, the military 
 Adonis indulging in wondering legrets on 
 their homeward way, that '• such a charming 
 little creatin-e should be doomed to pass 
 her whole life among cows, fowls, and all 
 that sort of thing."' 
 
 After they had left, Durand uiformed his 
 wife that he was thinking of paying a visit 
 
 to Montreal, to j)Ui"ehase groceries and 
 other necessai-y articles, as well as to see 
 the merchant to whom he usually sold a 
 large iiortion of his farm products ; conclu- 
 ding by enquiring if she would like to 
 accompany him. 
 
 " I can spare you a few dollars, little wife, 
 to lay out on ribbons, in the tine shops, 
 even though our butter and chickens have 
 been failures,'" he added, with a smile, ex- 
 pecting that Genevieve would eagerly grasp 
 at the offer ; for a trip to town, even with- 
 out the promise of spare dollars, was con- 
 sidered a great privilege by the wives in 
 Alonville. To his surprise, indeed, disap- 
 pointment, she reflected a moment, hesita- 
 ted, then finally declined. The reason of 
 this was the uncertainty she felt as to how 
 she should act towanls the Lubois. Did 
 she go to town without calling to see them, 
 and thanking Mi's. Lubois for the clumsy, 
 old fashioned gold brooch she had sent her 
 as a wedding present, she might be taxed 
 by the family with great ingratitude, and 
 yet, on the other hand, did she present 
 herself with her husband at t'.ieir exclusive 
 mansion, they might piovo very imwelconie 
 visitors. To avoid this dilemma, then, she 
 resolved on remaining at home, esi)eeialiy 
 as Paul would not be absent more than a 
 few days. 
 
 The day succeeding his departure, (ieno 
 viovi;, who was exceedingly fond of the opcMi 
 air, and could imagine no greater treat than 
 to sit for hours on a bench in the garden, 
 or under the old elm that shaded so pleas- 
 antly her comfortable home, listening to 
 the chirping of birds and insect life around 
 her, betook herself with some pretence M' 
 needle-work to her haunt behind the trunk 
 of the great tree whose ami)le rotundity 
 sheltered lier in great jiait fVo:ii t'ue obser- 
 vation of ji.'issers by, whilst its foliage pro- 
 tected her from the sun. 
 
 iShe had been brought up in a dingy, 
 dirty town in I'mnce, for there are dingy, 
 dirty towns in that favored portion of the 
 globe, whatever may be said to the con- 
 trary, and the country was to her an unex- 
 plored world as delightful as it was new. 
 How she revelled in her own quiet way in 
 its freshness, its beauty, its perfumes; and 
 how every new phase of its life elicited an 
 admiration wliich she di 1 not dare to openly 
 express lest she should expose herself to 
 ridicule. Perhaps this predilection was in 
 pai't responsible for the lamentably slow 
 progress she was making in theacijuirement 
 of housekeeping knowledge, for whilst she 
 would be in person in the kitchen, her heatl 
 aching, her cheeks aglow, mid-t the fumes 
 of frizzling, stewing or broiling, or, what 
 was still worse, wivshing or scouring, her 
 thoughts would longingly turn to the cool, 
 pure air outside, the rustling of the green 
 boughs overhead ; and she would inwardly 
 
 ♦ 
 
ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 11 
 
 think, with a sigh, how much she wouhl 
 prefer a piece of bread and a cup of milk 
 enjoyed amid tliat pleasant repose, to the 
 most dainty banquet, heralded in by such 
 culinary struggles and efforts. 
 
 Comparatively free from household trou- 
 bles for a while, she had celebrated the first 
 day of Paul's absence by making a dinner 
 on the primitive articles of lare just men- 
 tioned, an arrangement which entirely suit- 
 ed her hand-maidens, who. also fond of the 
 dolce far nienie, added a piece of cold meat 
 to tiieir dinner and were satisfitd ; ease 
 making up for the frugality of their meal. 
 Then, taking a pair of slippers she was em- 
 broidering as a present for her husband, and 
 which she worked at in secret, wishing to 
 surprise him, never doubting but that he 
 would find them useful as they were oma- 
 mental, she installed herself in iier nook at 
 the foot of the old elm. 
 
 What a glorious afternoon it was. How 
 often she paused in her work to look from 
 the far off purple hills to the gorgeous 
 coloring of the autumn woods, from the 
 golden and azure glories of the sky above 
 her, to the flasiiing waves of the broad, sil- 
 very St. Lawrence flowing past. All was 
 still. The birds had already winged their 
 way to climes that ofi'ored them another 
 summer, and the si'cnce was only broken 
 by the soft rustle of a leaf occasionally fall- 
 ing to the ground. Suddenly, however, a 
 footstep near caused her to look up, and 
 there, cap in hand, his most winning smile 
 on his handsome, regular features, stood 
 Captain de Chevandier. His manner was 
 very courteous without being fulsome, and 
 Oenevieve listened undisturbed to some 
 innocent remarks on the weather, the coun- 
 tiy and the excellent shooting. The time 
 passed so pleasantly that she wa.": imcon 
 scions, when he took his departure, that he 
 liad been nearly an hour in conversation with 
 her. 'i"he day following was as bright and 
 pleasant as its predecessor had been, and 
 after a very light meal, she hurried oft' with 
 her canvas and wools, not to the elm tree 
 this time, for a sort of instinct tuld her it 
 was too much in llie line of i oad traversed 
 by Mr. de Courval and his visitors, but to 
 another equally i'avored haunt under a 
 crooked but shady apple tree in the garden. 
 She was working most assiduously, for she 
 wished to complete her little oftoring Ijefore 
 her husband's return, when a clear cultiva- 
 ted voice pleasantly enquired, '-How was 
 Mrs. Durand,' and glancing up, she saw 
 Captain de Chev?ndier looking at her over 
 t he low garden gate. 
 
 Genevieve felt anything but gratified by 
 tliis incident, but she was too gentle to 
 betray her sentiments on the subject, so 
 she politely returned his greetings. Still, 
 there was a considerable degree of reserve 
 in her manner, and de Chevandier, at a loss 
 
 how to proceed, looked about him for in- 
 spiration. By good fortune his glance hap- 
 pened to fall on a bed of magnificent dah- 
 lias of various hues and shades, and feign- 
 ing great admiration of their beauty, he ask- 
 ed ])ermission to look at them nearer and 
 gather one. The permission was coldly 
 granted, and whilst dwelling, with the air 
 and manner of a connoisseur, on the rich 
 tints and peculiar beauty of the specimens 
 before him, he contrived to introduce a 
 graceful compliment to the exquisite taste 
 of the fair mistrei's of the garder., and to 
 the success which had attended her efforts. 
 "You givenie more credit than I deserve. 
 Captain de Chevandier. Tis the old house- 
 keeper, who lived with my husband before 
 his mairiage, who deserves all your praise.'" 
 I)e Chevandier bit his lip, and inwardly 
 blessed his stars that none of his witty, 
 caustic companions of the mess-table were 
 present to witness this signal discomfiture. 
 Soon recovering himself, he resumed : 
 
 " Well, that will noti)revent me choosing, 
 with Madamv's (permission, a couple of 
 those splendid crimson ones,' and he suit- 
 ed the action to the woril. 
 
 Then, from the flowers it was natural to 
 talk of the country, and by a very natural 
 transition, from the country to France. Ah! 
 here was a link between them at last, and 
 de Chevandier was not slow to seize upon 
 it. Though a native of Paris, there were 
 few parts of his sunny land which he had 
 not visited, find even with the dingy little 
 town, Genevieve's birth-place, he was ac- 
 quainted, having been detained there once a 
 whole day by bad weather, during which time 
 he had continually cursed it as the smalle.-t. 
 meanest, most insufferable spot on the 
 surface of the globe. His recollections of 
 it were now, however, of a different nature. 
 and he spoke of its simple church, the quiet 
 little cemetery, with a pathos that almost 
 brought tears to Genevieve's eyes. 
 
 " Ah, Mrs. Durand," he imi)etuously ex- 
 claimed, after a moment's silence, " how- 
 miserable you must feel transplanted from 
 our lovely land to this ungenial clime I 
 What are We here, children of Fiance, but 
 poor exiles?'" 
 
 Genevieve was liy no means prei)aretl. 
 despite her love of i'atherland, to go such 
 lengths as this, and raising her eyes with a 
 look of astonishment, which never wavered 
 before the half admiiing, half sentimental 
 gaze bent on liei', s)ie rejoinetl : 
 . " Miserable do you siiy '.' Why, Mr. de 
 Chevandier, I have known mor(^ real liap- 
 piness and quiet during the last few montli* 
 than I have ever enjoyed in my life. Franre 
 is dear to me as a reminiscence, but here, 
 in < 'anada, my affections as well as all my 
 earthly hopes are centred !" 
 
 This was anothei <liscouraging conversa- 
 tional blow, from which, either unable to 
 
12 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 rally, or inferring from Genevieve's manner 
 that his stay had been sufficiently long, he 
 rose, and after a few parting words, utter- 
 ed in the same strain of respectful courtesy 
 with which he would have addressed a lady 
 of the highest rank, he withdrew. 
 
 As he closed the gate after him, however, 
 he muttered: " What a strait-laced, unsa- 
 tisfactory little creature, hut then, what 
 matchless eyes, what taper fingers ! Sure- 
 ly, that thick-headed husband of hers can- 
 not expect them to do muclj in the way of 
 milking or butter making. Ah ! my worthy 
 Durand, 1 am afraid you will find out too 
 late that you have blundered cgregiously 
 in your choice." 
 
 With a look of deep thought on hi:< usu- 
 ally careless features, lie strolled leisurely 
 back to Mr. ile Courval's. 
 
 The ensuing day, de Chevandier made 
 iiis toilet with elaborate care, and having 
 armed himself with some newspapers and 
 magazines which he had lately received from 
 France, he bent his steps, about the same 
 liour, in the ilirection of Durand's habita- 
 tion, (renovieve was not imdor the elm, 
 iioi", on looking over the gate, could he see 
 iier under the ajiple tree. Evidently she 
 'lid not wish for any farther interview, but 
 ■\e Chevandier was not easily daunted, and 
 lapping, with the light cane he carried, 
 against t!ic door, he imiuircd of the untidy, 
 imcombed girl who opened it "if Madame 
 were in.'" 
 
 "She is somowliere in the garden," was 
 ilie curt response, and feeling she had done 
 all that could be expected from her im- 
 der the circumstances, she clapped the door 
 to with a suddenness that caused the visi- 
 tor to recoil. 
 
 •• What savages!" lie exclaimed, " but I 
 will not give it up. 1 must seek her in the 
 garden."' Had Captain de Chevandier been 
 asked what end or aim he had in view in 
 paying such marked attention to Mrs. Du- 
 rand, he would unhesitatingly have answer- 
 ed that he intended no harm. Mrs. Du- 
 rand was a very pretty as well as refined 
 woman, and a harmless, sentimental friend- 
 ship kept tip with her would serve great- 
 ly to lighten his visit at the manor-house, 
 which otherwise was passing very heavily. 
 But despite sui-li vague semi-innooence of 
 ))urposo on his part, alas 1 for (renevieve, if 
 she encouraged or listened to his overtures, 
 for no religious principle guided him, the 
 only restraining influence he acknowledged 
 was the world's code of honor, and what -a 
 lax one that too often is ! 
 
 Inwardly wondering, almost chafing at 
 the intense interest she excited in him, he 
 unlatched the little gate, and picking his 
 steps amid pumpkins, cucumbers and 
 melons, all growing in the most neglected 
 luxuriance, he made his way to the little rus- 
 tic simimer house, constructed out of a few 
 
 boards, round and over which a wild grape- 
 vine had been trained, forming a covenng 
 of pleasant verdure. Genevieve was still at 
 the " eternal worsted work," as de Chevan- 
 dier inwardly stigmatized it ; he would much 
 rather have seen her m clancholy and listless, 
 but with his usual graceful ease he entered, 
 oflering his credentials in the shape of the 
 books and papers he had brought with him. 
 Genevieve could not do otherwise than 
 thank him for his attention, and besides, 
 she .was really pleased to see the names and 
 pictures of places and things so familiar to 
 her. Whil-t she was looking at the illus- 
 trated frontispiece of one of them, he took 
 up the work she had laid down, smilingly 
 asking " for what the monument of female 
 industry and patience he held in his hand 
 was intended." 
 
 " A pair of slippers for my husband," was 
 the reply. 
 
 An expression of keen irony flashed 
 across de Chevandier's features, and, as he 
 thought of honest Paul in his rough country 
 boots, striding through the muck of the 
 farm-yard, and then looked at the delicate 
 combination of beads and silk floss mtended 
 for him, and the faiiy-like fingers which had 
 worked it, his lip curled and he involuntar- 
 ily said : 
 
 "Mr. Durand is a very happy man and 
 will, of course, thoroughly api)reciate this 
 fairy gift. I hear he is an excellent farmer, 
 understands all about sub-soiling, drainage, 
 cattle and such necessary horrors." 
 
 Genevieve looked at the speaker. Novice 
 as she was, she divined the covert contempt 
 lurking beneath the half patronizing, half 
 ironical compliments thus paid to Paul, 
 and, keeping her eyes still steadfastly 
 fixed on her companion, she rejoined : 
 
 "My husband is not only a good farmer, 
 but an honorable, upright man ; one whom 
 the most inditlerent of wives could not help 
 re3j)ecting and loving." 
 
 There was something grand in its way 
 in this fearless, frank expression of her sen- 
 timents from one usually so reserved and 
 reticent as (ienevieve Durand, and whilst 
 de Chevandier's heart inwardly did her 
 homage for it, it also awoke within him a 
 sentiment of jealous irritation of the man 
 thus favored and honored. It taught 
 him also that in the young wife's presence 
 he must avoid uttering even one word that 
 could possibly be construed as disrespectful 
 towards Paul, and he hastened to repair his 
 blunder by making some friendly, compli- 
 mentary remark regarding Durand, uttered 
 with the tact and delicacy of which he was 
 eminently master. 
 
 Genevieve resumed her work, and whilst 
 her fingers moved with nimble skill, de 
 ('hevandier talked or read aloud short pas- 
 sages from the papers he had brought with 
 him. The afternoon shadows were length- 
 
AUMAXI) DIRAND. 
 
 18 
 
 ening when the young wife suddenly rose 
 to her feet, saying he must excuse lier, bs 
 she might be wanted at home, lie escort- 
 ed her to the door, and as he lingered ut 
 the steps, saying a few farewell wortis, two 
 figures, standing at an angle of the ham, 
 closely watched their movements. Tlnso 
 were Manon, the girl who had given hO 
 characteristic a reception to Captain de 
 Chevandier, and Olivier Dupuis, one of the 
 most inveterate gossips of the village. 
 
 " And, you tell me," he siii*!, slowly, 
 ominously shaking his head, '• you tell me 
 that tine town gentleman comes here every 
 day, and spends hours with Madame, (a 
 scornful inflexion on the word,) the husband 
 too, away ! Well, well, Paul Durand, you 
 could not do like others and take a smart 
 sensible girl of the village for your wife, 
 you wantetl a dainty bit of chinaware in- 
 stead. Oh ! we shall see, we shall see. 
 When do you expect Paul home?" 
 
 " To-morrow, I think." 
 
 " Good day, then, Manon, and should you 
 ever marry, don't tread in your mistress' 
 footsteps." 
 
 "Keep your advice, pere Dupuis, till it's 
 asked. When I'm married, I shall do just 
 as I like," and with this amicably farewell 
 Ihe pair separated. 
 
 The rain poiued down in torrents all the 
 ensuing day, and de Chevandier had to 
 forego his intention of calling on his charm- 
 ing neighbor, lest a visit under such cir- 
 cumstances would render him ridiculous. 
 He therefore betook himself in a veiy ill 
 l^imor to the sitting room, where he divid- 
 ed his time between tossing over Mr. de 
 Courval's books, which were nearly all on 
 agricultural subjects, and kicking aside, or 
 swearing at the half dozen dogs that enliv- 
 ened the home of his bachelor friend. 
 
 Genevieve on her part was as happy as- 
 possible. The house, under the united ef- 
 forts of herself and handmaidens, shone 
 with cleanliness, whilst Manon, by some 
 extraordinary coincidence, liad matle some 
 excellent pies, and turned out, for once, a 
 baking of bread, neither burned outside, 
 nor raw inside. By way of climax, the 
 wonderful slippers, happily completed for 
 the occasion, were ostentatiously spread out 
 on the back of Paul's armchair which was 
 drawn to his favorite nook near the flower 
 filled window. Then Genevieve hastened to 
 her room, and after a wistful look at the fast 
 falling rain, to whose violence her husband 
 was probably then exposed, entered, with 
 pretty wifely vanity, on the duty of endea- 
 voring to make herself look as charming as 
 possible. 
 
 Her task was not a difficult one, for at 
 all times pretty, excitement rendered her 
 doubly so, and the flutter of pleasure arising 
 from the expected return of her husband 
 after this, their first separation, brought a 
 
 light to her eyes and a flush on her cheek, 
 that made eld Dupuis' appellation of china 
 ware pa.^sably appropriate. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Meanwhile we will go back a few hour$ 
 to meet Paul on his homeward route. Rap- 
 idly he jolted on, heedless of the miry 
 roads, of the rain so liberally deluging him. 
 in the happy prospect of soon being a;: ut 
 with (ienevieve, and in the satisfactoiy 
 remembrance of the favorable business he 
 had transacted in Montreal, tokens of 
 which he had brought back in the shape of 
 ! handsome presents for his wife. 
 
 Unexpectedly he came upon old Olivier 
 Dupuis trudging along on loot, and appa- 
 rently as heedless of the rain as himself. 
 Of course Paul drew up and offered the 
 wayfarer a seat beside him, a proposal ac- 
 cej)ted with an alacrity arising from more 
 motives than one. When started on the 
 way again, after a few words about the 
 weather, Paul heartily said : 
 
 " .'\h, pere Dupuis, it cheers and shortens 
 a long road wonderfully, to know that 
 there is a true, kinA wife at the end of it to 
 welcome one." 
 
 Olivitiv groaned aloud and dismally shook 
 his heatl. 
 
 Skipposing this mournful outburst was a 
 covert allusion on Dupuis' part, to his own 
 state of widowhood, Paul, though it was 
 the first time lie liad known him to grieve 
 on that account, kindly said : 
 
 '• Cheer up, Olivier, all have their trials 
 in this workl sometime or othei-, and you 
 have good health and good spirits to make 
 up for your lonely fireside." 
 
 "As fortliiit, Paul Durand," was the tart 
 i-eply, "I think myself much less to be 
 pitied without a wife than many men ar« 
 with one." 
 
 The tone, ?ven more than the words, was 
 peculiar, and Paul cast a keen glance at his 
 companion. 
 
 " Yes, look at me well, and I only wish 
 you could lead in my face, all that's on my 
 mind. It would save me telling things 
 which 1 won't be thanked, I suppose, for 
 making known. Oh I Paul, Paul, why 
 couldn't you do as your neighbors and 
 forefathers did before you, choose a wife 
 from among the smart, honest girls of your 
 parish, instead of going farther to fare 
 worse'/'' 
 
 "Assuiedly, neighbor Dupuis, you have 
 been taking somebody else's allowance of 
 rum this morning, atop of your own," was 
 Paul's angrily uttered reply. 
 
 This last insinuation shot homo, for old 
 Dupuis often exceeded the bounds of 
 temperance, though ho had not done so on 
 this particular occasion, so, with a malicious 
 twinkle in his little sharp oyos, he replied : 
 
14 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 "Thank you for the hint, good friend, 
 but I've met no Christian today generous 
 enough to olfer me his share. That's 
 neither here nor there, however, and we 
 need not tight because I thmk it my duty 
 to tell an old friend and neighbor out of 
 kindness, when I see his wife carrying on 
 and amusing herself, when he's away, with 
 one of the beautifully dressed, perfumed 
 young gentlemen viniting at the seigneur^ s 
 Ah ! you may well turn pale, for it's true. 
 They spent threa whole hours in the garden, 
 alone, yesterday. Manon saw them too, 
 so she can tell you the same story, and the 
 day bol'ore that, widow Lapointe saw them 
 talking together under the apple tree in 
 the garden. She says she stood watching 
 them for nearly an hour ; and the fine gen- 
 tleman was ail smiles and sweetness to 
 Madame,' (again a marked emphasis on 
 the title). 
 
 Dupuis was small in stature, feeble and 
 gray haired, so Paul, who possessed her- 
 culean strength, was too generous to gratify 
 his vengeance by using personal violence 
 towards him. He was therefore obliged to 
 content himself with snatching him up 
 suddenly by the back of his coat collar, and 
 dropping him, as he would have done a 
 troublesome puppy, in the middle of the 
 miry i-oad. Then, with the one muttered 
 word coquiii (rascal), he lashed his horse 
 furiously and set ofl"at a break-neck .speed 
 
 he allowed the 
 the reins to fall 
 his head in his 
 
 along the uneven road. 
 
 After a time, however, 
 animal's pace to slacken, 
 on its neck, and bowing 
 hands, he groaned aloud. Yes, yes, it must 
 be true. The thought was agony unspeak- 
 able,but that did not diminish the likelihood 
 of its truth. He remembered now how 
 that elegant gentleman's gaze had pertina- 
 ciously and admiringly followed his wife's 
 movements during the short visit he had 
 paid with Mr. de Courval at their house ; 
 and he recalled, with a feeling of mingled 
 rage and despair that she had unaccount- 
 ably, at least to him, refused to accom- 
 pany him to town. 
 
 Durand was by nature ofa fiercely jealous 
 temperament, but this failing had hitherto 
 lain almost dormant from want of circum- 
 stances favorable to its development. Now, 
 aU f»t once it leaped into existence with as 
 much strength and vitality as if it had 
 blazed unrestmmed all his life. His anger 
 toward his wife was softened now and then 
 by a pang of grief or wounded tenderness ; 
 but his rage against de Chevandicr was 
 deadly, and had the latter crossed his path 
 during that homeward drive, the- consc- 
 (juences might have been of a fatal nature. 
 As he turned into the yard, the gate of 
 which .stood open in expectation of his ar- 
 rival, he nervously shrank from the thought 
 of meeting his wife. He knew, beforehand. 
 
 reproaching and accusing her would afford 
 him no satisfaction, and ho asked himself 
 would it not be better to drive at once to 
 the manor-house, ask for de Chevandier, 
 and without a word of commentary or ex- 
 planation, fall upon him and take full ven- 
 geance for his wrongs, serving Mr. de Cour- 
 val with a small dose of the same treatment 
 if ho ventured to interfere, for, after all, ho 
 was the indirect author of all this misery, 
 brhiging with him into virtuous, humble 
 homes, his unprincipled, fashionable friends. 
 Whilst he still sat wavering in purpose, 
 reins in hand, the door opene<l, and Gene- 
 vieve, in her fre^h, girlish beauty ran out, 
 and poising her little foot lightly on the 
 iron step held up her blushing face to kiss 
 him. Naturally shy and undemonstrative, 
 nothing but her deep lo\'« for her husband 
 could have tempted her so far out of her 
 usual reserve ; but, turning aside his head. 
 as if nut comprehending her intention, he 
 harshly said : " Go in out of the rain." 
 
 What a fierce pang of anguish shot through 
 her heart as he spoke the words. He had 
 had such love, such trust in her, and she 
 was so winning, so lovable, so gentle in ap- 
 
 Eearance, whatever she might be in reality, 
 eaping from his seat, he unharnessed his 
 horse, led him to the stable, and declining 
 the assistance of one of the farm servants, 
 who hastened to help him, he fed, watered 
 and rubbed the animal down himself. Feel- 
 ing then that the di'caded explanation be- 
 tween himself and his wife could no longer 
 be averted, he strode into the house. The 
 cloth was laid, supper on the table,and Gene- 
 vieve standing waiting for him ; but how dif- 
 ferent that pale, shrinking wuman, to the 
 blushing joyous creature that had bounded 
 down so lightly a few moments before to wel- 
 come him ? Euthlessly flinging away the em- 
 broidered slippers (in the midst of poor Ge- 
 nevieve's bewildered anguish that little Jtct 
 inflicted a special pang of its own) he seat- 
 ed himself at table, but food and drink re- 
 mained untouched, except a large tumbler 
 of cold water which he swallowed at a 
 draught. He tlien pushed back his chair. 
 
 " What does it all mean ?" the trembling 
 young wife asked herself, for the twentieth 
 time ; and her cheek grew paler and her 
 lips whiter, till she almost feared she would 
 faint. 
 
 '< The hue of guilt," thought Paul. " Ah ! 
 the worthless hyi)Ocrite !" 
 
 At length she spoko. 
 
 " Paul, what is the matter with you ? Why 
 do you treat me thus ?' ' 
 
 " First answer me a question, woman ! 
 What visitors have you had here in my ab- 
 sence ?" 
 
 *' No one but Captain de Chevandier," she 
 faltered. 
 
 " Ah ! it is true then ! And you have 
 the audacity to acknowledge it !" 
 
ARMAND DURAXD, 
 
 16 
 
 This speech was certainly inconsistent on 
 Pauls part, for if slie hiid concealed the 
 trutii he wouKl have been if possible more 
 enraged with her : l>ut when was anger ever 
 logical or consistent ? Her reply, however, 
 was a fearful contirniation of the reports he 
 Iwul hoai-d, and in a hoarse, husky voice he 
 asked : 
 
 '■ I low often?' 
 
 ••Three times," 
 
 "That is, every day during my absence, 
 except to-day, when either the fear of my 
 return, or of exposing his dainty person to 
 the rahi, kept him at home, oh false, 
 ■woithless woman! What can I, what do I 
 think oftlu^ wife who profits of a husband's 
 abMiico to i)ass hours every dayinthecom- 
 pany of a total stranger, whose only claims 
 on lici' arc that he i> young, handsome and 
 uni'vincipled?' 1 
 
 ••••li!on my sacred word, Paul, I will 
 swe.ir it on the Bible, if you like, I have j 
 never wionged you, my liusband, by one woi-d 
 or thouglit. Without any invitjition from 
 me. CaptJiin lie Ohevan<lier called here, 
 moved only by a feeling of politeness or 
 courtesy," 
 
 ••Silence. I say! Po you think you can 
 blind me to your misdoings as easily as 
 that ! Ah, you have i)roved yourself an un- 
 grateful as well as a false wife. Though 
 you have matle ourselves and oui- home a 
 laughing-stock in the village, through your 
 miserable ignorance of eveiy thing that a 
 woman shoidil know, I have never spoken 
 an angry woid to you, never even given 
 you a cold look on that account. But you 
 spend the time that other women pass in 
 honest, useful housework, in lisfcening to the 
 sweet words of a scoundrel — in trifling with 
 your husband's honor I" 
 
 ••Paul, you are cruel and unjust." 
 
 " Silence, I tell you. Do you not know 
 that to-morrow the wretched gossips in 
 whose power you have so weakly, so crimi- 
 nally placed yourself, will have held us both 
 up to public soorn ? Out of my sight !" 
 
 Mio rose, and with a feeling of deathly 
 sickness crept from the room. 
 
 The fiercest enemy Paul Durand ever had 
 would liave felt his desire of vengeance 
 sated if he could have looked into tluit 
 silent chamber and into the deptks of the 
 cccupant's heart, as he sat there in lonely 
 wretchedness, his aclunghead bowed on his 
 oro-sed arms, unnoting the thickening sha- 
 dows of twilight, miconscious of the long 
 day's fast which he had but liglitly broken 
 once in the anticipation of the pleasant 
 evening meal to be partaken of in his own 
 home with her. 
 
 By degrees his first violence gave way to 
 softer thoughts and feelings. What if (fe- 
 nevicve had only erred through inexpe- 
 rience or thoughtlessness — had been gudty 
 of no greater fault than simply permitting 
 
 de Chevandier's visits, without cither invit- 
 ing or encouraging them ? 
 
 Well, it was almost as bad, for he had said 
 words in his anger which few women oouM 
 easily forget or forgive, and ho felt a spirit 
 of dogged sullenness rising within him 
 which would prevent him making anything 
 like advances even if convinced tliat he had 
 unjustly accused her. 
 
 lie foresaw it all — the estrangement that 
 hencefortii would arise like a wall between 
 them, an estrangement which time would 
 only deepen. And they had been so happy 
 together ! He had known such perfect bli«s 
 in his home since she luul come to it — she 
 had entwined herself so closely aroimd hi'i 
 very being ! In anguish unutterable he 
 groaned aloud. 
 
 A light foot-fall crossed the floor, and 
 looking up he saw Genevieve beside him. 
 She placed the candle she carried on the 
 table, and even in the trouble of tiio mo- 
 ment, he noted how deathly pah; she wa-, 
 and how weeping and mental suffering had 
 already left dark rings beneath her soft eyes. 
 Suddenly conviction awoke within him that 
 she was iimocent of all wilful offence, and 
 with that thought a terrible fear Hashed 
 across his mind that she had come to say 
 she would leave him — that ho had insulted, 
 outraged her beyond forgiveness. It was 
 just such gentle (juiet women as she who 
 did such things. And he knew, he felt 
 that the demon of sullen pride within him 
 would keep him dumb, that even though 
 his lieart should break he should make no 
 sign and let her depart. 
 Very softly then she spoke, 
 " Paul, I am sorry, truly sorry that I have 
 angered you thus ! Had I known that you 
 would ha\e disapproved of Captain de Che- 
 vandier's visits, I should have refused to 
 receive them, even at the risk of insulting, 
 without provocation, a friend of Mr. de 
 Courval's. Hear me swear now before 
 God as solemnly as if I were on my death 
 bed," here she knelt beside him, and re- 
 verently raisetl upwards her clear earnest 
 eyes, shining with the light of truth, "that 1 
 am innocent of one tlionght or word that 
 could in any manner have wrongml you. 
 Surely you will forgive my unintentional 
 offence?" 
 
 Passionately, convulsively he strained her 
 
 to his heart, and as 
 inwardly registered 
 would he 
 
 grieve. 
 
 That feminine gontlene.s.<, 
 
 he held her there, he 
 I vow that never again 
 iitratlict or doubt her. 
 more powerful 
 than anger, logic or pride, had demolished 
 in an instant the wall that passion and sus- 
 picion had raisoil between them. 
 
 "My wife! my «larling !'' lie whispered, 
 as the tears his honest manly nature no 
 longer felt ashamed of, fell thickly on the 
 glossy heatl restiiig against his breast. 
 "Thank (joil we arc at peace again I May 
 
16 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 this be otir last as it hau been our firet 
 (|uarrel !" 
 
 It was, and no look of doubt or angor on 
 cither side, darkened the course of tlieir 
 Inter married life. 
 
 The next day, when Captain de Chevan- 
 dier called, he was told that Mrs. Durand 
 was too buHjr to receive liiin. When he 
 repeated his viHits, whiclt he took good 
 care to do at a time when ho knew Durand 
 was from home, having seen him pass on his 
 way to the back of the farm, he doubtless 
 Mattered himself with the prospect of a dif- 
 i'erent answer, but the reply was the same, 
 coupled with the additional mortification of 
 seeing Genevieve at one of the windows, 
 engaged in no more important occupation 
 than that of trimming the )ilantB and flow- 
 ers in the window 
 
 With u muttered curse he turned awsy, 
 and the next day bade farewell to Alonville, 
 never to return to it. 
 
 Matters after this went on veiy quietly 
 at the Durand homestead, but though 
 perfect peace and affection reigned within 
 if, there was no perceptible change in the 
 domestic economy of the establishment, 
 dtill, honest Paul was thoroughly satisfied, 
 thoroughly happy, bo that, after all, was the 
 chief poini. The slanderouu gossip propa- 
 gated by old Dupuissoon died out for want 
 of something new to feed upon. <ienevieve 
 continued to enjoy with the same zest, sun- 
 shine, birds and flowers, satisfying her con- 
 science now an<l then by a desperate eflbrt 
 at housekeeping, which, after causing her 
 intense worry for some tiuK*, she would 
 quietly abandon. 
 
 A token of Mrs. Chartnuwl's thoughtful- 
 ness ^oon arrived in the shape of a large 
 parcel, accompanied l)y a note from that 
 lady, saying that as she supposed Paul 
 would soon require new shirts, she had 
 taken the liberty of sending a dozen, cut 
 out according to a pattern of his she had in 
 licr possession. She knew the mtiking of 
 them would bo only an amusement for her 
 sister-in-law. 
 
 Of course the yomig wife willingly under 
 took the task, and when I'aul left for his 
 tields in the morning, he carried with him 
 in imagination a jjleasant picture of his 
 pretty Genevieve seated at her little table, 
 armed with a dainty thimble and scissors, 
 and a pile of snow white cotton and linen 
 before her. But, alas! (Jenevieve's good 
 intentions were frustrated not by want of 
 will but of ability. (She got confused, 
 utterly bewildered, between gussets, bands 
 and pieces: and, hnally, disheartened and 
 discouraged, she put her work hopelessly 
 down before her. iShc left it and returned 
 to it, twice, thrice, during tlie (iourse of 
 the day, but witli like result. Whilst sit- 
 ting with lior hands lying listlessly in her 
 lap, thinking how willingly the would 
 
 exchange the little embroitlering talent 
 she p08seB8e<l for the art of reducing the 
 chaos of white strips before her to or<ler, 
 Paul, hot and wearied with his toil uncler 
 a burning sun, entered. 
 
 Instinctively she caught up the sewing 
 which had made so little progress since 
 morning, and then glanced towards her 
 husband. He had seated himself, and was 
 wipmg the thick drops of perspiration 
 from his flushed forehead, such a contrast 
 in his hot weariness to her own repose as 
 she sat quiet in that cool shady room, and 
 yet how dispirited, how listless, how mis- 
 erable she felt in the midst of lier easi-. 
 
 " Well, little wife, how goes the sewing ?" 
 he kindly asked. 
 
 She threw it down again, and bursting 
 into tears, sobbed forth : 
 
 "'Tis no use keeping up a fiction. 1 
 understand nothing about it! Paul, I'aul, 
 you have a useless, worthless wife !" 
 
 Pushing away the work, he drew her 
 kindly towards him, whispering: "Heaven 
 is witness, Genevieve, that you render my 
 home pleasant to myself and happy, — wliat 
 can woman tlo more? Don't worry your- 
 self about such trifles. Your sweetness 
 ami patience render you more dear to me 
 than if you were the most notable oookand 
 seamstress in the parish ! Tie all that up in 
 a bundh; and this evening we will drive to 
 widowLapointe's and leave it with her. I* 
 will be a chaiity to make her earn a trifle 
 iind the drive will make you as cheerful as 
 a linnet.' 
 
 They soon started, and though gossips 
 wondered at Paul's infatuation and singular 
 blindnes-i to the shortcomings and utter 
 uselessness of his wife, she pursued her 
 way more petted and indulged than ever. 
 
 Before another year the cup of Paul's 
 happiness was filled to overflowing by the 
 birth of a son. 
 
 No titled nobleman longing for an heir 
 to bear an old and time honored name ; 
 no viiltionaire, anxious for a son to inherit 
 his vast wealth, rejoices more over the birth 
 of a male child, tlian does the humble 
 Canadian peasant. Either it is that he, 
 too, likes to see his obscure though honest 
 name perpetuated ; or that he knows a 
 son's strong arm will bring him help in his 
 agricultural labors at a time when he 
 knows old age will render such assistance 
 almost indispensable ; such is certainly the 
 case. 
 
 But, alas I Paul's joy, like all earth's 
 gleams of sunshine, was short lived, and 
 Genevieve'8health,alwaysfrail and delicate, 
 never rallied after the birth of her child. 
 Day by day she grew weaker, and despite 
 the art'ection, the watchful tenderness 
 with which Paul surrounded her ; despite 
 her own boundless, clinging love for hus- 
 band ajul child, the parting hour came^ 
 
AllMAXlJ DURANK. 
 
 17 
 
 'S 
 
 He 
 
 \ 
 
 and patient, re.signeil, 8he softly lat'iithed 
 out her life in the strong arms thut hud 
 jiroveil so socni'(; u resting jiluco to hen', 
 siiiof! sho hid lir.-t known their shelter. 
 
 Ah ! I'anl Durand, as yon sat lonoiy a)id 
 almost broken hearted in your room, no 
 soun<l breaking its haunted silence but the 
 monotonous ticking of the tall clock stand- 
 ing in the corner, and, looking back, remem- 
 bered the weariness ami languor with whicii 
 at times she moved about; and the color 
 that went and came with every trifling 
 exertion, you divined the secret of the 
 want of energy for which iille tongues had 
 so often blamutl her : and yon reverently 
 thanked your (iod that you hud never 
 reproached or taunted her with it : never 
 Jiaishly uige<l her to exertions antl ettorts 
 which were beyond her strength. 
 
 J\'rhap.s Durand's greatest solace was 
 found in this thought, anil in the petting 
 of liis infant son, who possessed aH his 
 mother's delicacy of feature, and, it was to 
 be feared, natch of her fragility of consti- 
 tution. Now. in his isolation, Paul would 
 willingly have accepted the companion- 
 ship of his sister, but that worthy lady, weary- 
 ing of her weeds, had already consented to 
 exchange thein for nuptial garments, and 
 was to be ma! ried in a few months to a res- 
 jjectable notary somewhat advanced in 
 years, but who possessed a good practice 
 and quiet temper, points Mrs. (.'hartrand 
 liad taken care to fully satisfy herself on 
 befoie giving an affirmative answer to his 
 .■^uit. It was not so much on account of 
 household waste and mismanagement that 
 Paul desired his sister's presence, for by this 
 time he had l)ecome thoroughly accustomeil 
 to both, but it was foi' his chiUl's .sake. That 
 tender little nursling wanted more.judicious 
 care than the fitful kindness or ignorant com- 
 panionship of servants. Once convinced that 
 there was no chance of Mrs. Chartrand's 
 coming to live with him, he resolved to 
 inirry again. 
 
 ••.\h, what a shame!'' some reader may 
 exclaim. " How could he so soon forget 
 the fair young wife who had nestled for a 
 time on his hearth and next his heart." 
 
 He did not forget her; and long years 
 after, in the solemn hour when life's last 
 scenes were receding from his misty sight, 
 the hope that he was again to meet her 
 absorbed every earthly regret ! 
 
 CHAFrER V. 
 
 It was for the love of (lenevicvo that 
 Paul sought a mother for (Jenevieve's child, 
 and that thought exclusively guided him in 
 his second choice. Careless of youth, beau- 
 ty, or rustic dower, he passed by many a 
 bright eyed, rose lipped girl who would 
 have smiled on his suit, and selected a 
 
 plain featured, but amiable, virtuous girl, 
 already regarded in the i>arish as an old 
 maid, knowing that she would replace to 
 his idolized son, as far as woman could do, 
 the young mother he had so early lost. 
 
 The day ho asked Eulalio Messier to be 
 his wife, ho frankly explained to her his 
 reasons for changing his single state, (juietly 
 adding that he esteemed and respected her, 
 anil woidd endeavor to make a good hus 
 band, but he never mentioned the word 
 love. Eulalio was amply satisfied, and 
 thankful alike to Providence and Paul ; for 
 her total want of dower as well as personal 
 attractions seemed to have irrevocably con 
 dennied her to a state of single blessedness, 
 which in her case signified a life of isola 
 tion and uiuMidijig toil. 
 
 I'aul's secoml wedding took place on a 
 scorcliing day in .luly, a month capable of 
 inflicting as much fiery inconvenience on 
 the inliabitants of this land of " snow and 
 ice" as if we dwelt beneath the tropics. 
 
 Many of our readers may remember the 
 inimitable ilesciiption given by Dickens, in 
 Little Dorrit, of a hot day in Marseilles, in 
 wliieh the broiling pavements and blistering 
 walls aie enlarged upon, whilst luckless 
 jtedestrians are desciibed as plunging into 
 the sultry fierce glare of the sunlight, and 
 I swimming for their lives to the nearest 
 
 strip of shade. 
 ' Just such a temperature was it in Alonville 
 on the day of the important event above 
 alluded to ; no ripple stirring tho smooth 
 clear waters of our magnificent St. I^^vwrence 
 as it flowed majosticiilly past, mirroring 
 back the pretty villages nestling coquettish- 
 ly on its banks ; no breath of air stirring the 
 trees, the long grass, the weeds and wild 
 flowers that bordered the road side and 
 filled every dell ami hollow, looking in 
 their sultry immovability as if painted on 
 canvas. 
 
 What a very Sahara seemed the closely 
 shaven clover fields, the yellow stubble re- 
 flecting fiercely back the molten sunlight 
 that poured down on it, and how hot and 
 scorched the poor corn fields lookel, each 
 stalk bending, it seemed, not so much be- 
 neath its weight of grain, as under the 
 merciless heat, till they seemed to claim 
 pity almost as much as the kine anil sheep 
 that panted .and gasped beneath the meagre 
 shadow of fence and outbuilding, or the 
 few isolated trees spared here and there, on 
 the land. Insect life, however, held full 
 jubilee, and flies buzzed, bees hummed, 
 crickets, grasshoppers sang, chirped, till 
 their united eflbrts made up almost in 
 volume of sound, if not nnisic, for the silence 
 of the birds that mutely nestled amid the 
 drooping foliage. 
 
 Before tlie neat little village church a 
 number of vehicles were gathered, the 
 horses of which were lied to the numerous 
 B 
 
18 
 
 AHMANI) DURANI). 
 
 posts which usually «lot tho green hwih-iI 
 in front of the country pliices of wornhip. 
 Soon the owners of said voliicles cnme out 
 of tho sacreil etUHce ; and witli brisk inter- 
 change of jokes and a fund of gaiety that 
 rendered tlicm indifferent to. if not uncon- 
 scious of, tho scorching atmosi)hore, the 
 cavalcatlo proceeded to tlie hndegroonTH 
 house, festivities of any kind in the hri<le's 
 l»ovorty stri(^ken home lieiug if course out 
 of tho question. 
 
 Paul would have jiroferii-d liy fur having 
 liis second marriage on the same <nii('t, 
 simple scale as thelir-^i, but his friends pro- 
 tested so energetically, indoeil indignantly 
 against such an unsocial proceeding, that h»f 
 was obliged to sdcriKce his own wishes and 
 conform to theirs an<l to custom. 
 
 We need not .say that on the morning in 
 <|uestion the Durand homestead, from attic 
 to cellar, was in a state of shiniiig as well as 
 hosj>itable preparation, linge nosegays, 
 some placed in cracked jugs or tumblers, 
 graced every available s)iot. whilst a long 
 table diajied in snow white country linen 
 was plentifully setout with<ielf and glas.ses. 
 
 When the lively i)arty entered the house j 
 the i'aii'er portion proceeded to divest them- 
 selves of their large straw hats and to shake 
 out their calico skirts.* taking tm-ns for 
 Nurvt-ying their smiling faces at the ono 
 looking glass adorning the bed-room wall, 
 and whose shining surface rewarded each 
 beliolder with a distort<'<l .<omblance of 
 self, enough, not only to subdue effectually 
 any lurking vanity the fair gazer might 
 iiave ])Ossossed, but in some cases to cause 
 them to recoil in horrified ama/ement. 
 
 •fugs of cider and ale. with raspberry 
 syriij), a summer beverage most Canadian 
 housekeepers can make tojjerfection, were 
 handed freely round, and shortly after, amid 
 remarks on the heat ami the ciops, they 
 gathered round the table ; and the village 
 <•«/•««, who occupied the post of honor, 
 having said grace, thoy attacked the dainty 
 fare before them. TJie sui)ply was indeed 
 most bountiful, consisting of poultry, 
 sausages, cold roast pork, smoking pan- 
 cakes, fruit tart,s, honey ami preserves, 
 with huge heaped up plates of brown crisp 
 crullers, that never failing cake, a plate of 
 which is always to \)o found _on Canadian 
 tables. Bottles of rum and sherry, the 
 latter chiefly intendetl for the "women- 
 kind," were placed at reasonable distances 
 around the board. 
 
 Seated at the upper end were bride and 
 bridegroom. Paul looked calm and quite 
 at his ease, but nothing could equal the 
 magnificent self possession of the bride, who 
 
 • Our readers will please remcmljer tliat tlii.'* 
 was in our hero's inCanfj. Fapliiou, in our 
 country parts, has uiinle ripid pidgrvss since 
 then. 
 
 sat in her new place as composedly as if 
 she had occupied it for the last ten years. 
 Her black hair, which, by the way, was real 
 ly glossy and abundant, was brushed back 
 as simply as possible from her temples; 
 and her toilct/e, though irreproachably 
 neat, hiul evidently been chosen with a 
 view to utility, and as strong a contempt 
 for finery as distinguished that of her 
 worthy husband. The expression of her 
 «oinitenance was frank anfl honest, as well 
 MS good humored. With unrufHed tran- 
 quillity she listened to jokes and inuendoefl, 
 to the labored and intentional repetition 
 of her new name without blush or token of 
 embarrassment, till at length the most 
 in<lustrious jester, the "wit" of the party, 
 having emptied every arrow in his quiver 
 without once putting her out of counten- 
 ance, declared to aneighV)Or thathowoiild 
 really tin<l more pleasure in quizzing his 
 grandmother. His discomfiture, however, 
 in no manner interfered with the general 
 hilarity, and merriment; singing and talk 
 ing went on, whilst keener appetites had 
 jierhaps never been displayed even in tho 
 bracing Inmger inspiring days of winter. 
 At length the party lose from tuble, and 
 during tho confusion of changing seats, the 
 men tilling pipe-s. which they did with to- 
 bacco tnken from small pouches cariied 
 on their jtersons, iJurand made a sign to 
 his new made wife, and she, comprehen<ling 
 liiin, instantly r )>e and quietly followed 
 him out into a narrow passage terminating 
 in a -teep staircase leading to the upper 
 ]>art <ir tiie house. The ceiling of this flat 
 Wiis very low, but the same air of comfort 
 reigned here as below, and in a little crib, 
 sjjread with coarse but beautifully whitf 
 linen, slept a pretty child of two yeari^ 
 oM. 
 
 Liying his broad sunburned hand lightly 
 as a rose leaf on the sleeping child's fore- 
 head, J»aul ])urnnd said, with a slight 
 tremor in his voice : 
 
 "My motherless child, Eulalie. You 
 will be a mother to him, will you not?" 
 
 The woman looked in silence at the little 
 sleeper. The face was one of great loveli- 
 ness, and even in that early stage of life. 
 the perfect regularity of the featm-es gave 
 sure promise of later be.auty. Perhaps, 
 awakened by the father's light touch, the 
 child opened its large hazel eyes, that acquir- 
 ed a still darker hue from the long heavy 
 lashes that shadowed them, and looked up 
 quietly, wondering at the trnknown female 
 face bending over it. 
 
 Surprised, perhaps pained by her silence, 
 Durand resumed : 
 
 "You have not answered me, Eulalie! 
 Will you not be a mother to my poor boy '?" 
 
 A faint flush stole over the bride's cheek, 
 the first that hail visited it that evening, 
 though it was her wedding day. Kneeling 
 
ARMAXD DURAND. 
 
 n 
 
 beside tho cmrllo, she ten«lerly kissed the 
 diild, wiiispfring : 
 
 " YcH. Miiy (lod give me grace to do 
 my duty towards it well !" 
 
 'I'licn for II moment her lips moved oitin'r 
 in silent jiriiycr or promise, and when she 
 rose to her loot thiMo was a look in her face 
 that told I'aul nhe was resolved to keep hei' 
 jnomise— a look wliich rendered her moie 
 l)eauliful in liis eyt-s than if roses and dim- 
 l>le8, instead of lines of caro and hardsiiip, 
 marked her countoiumce. | 
 
 Quietly tlie newly wedded couple went | 
 back to their guests, the father carrying j 
 his boy, who, of couise, was ready attired | 
 in all his Hnery for the occasion ; and Mrs, | 
 Durand bore the now storm of jests and 
 compliujents that sidutcd her return with 
 her usual serenity. After little Armand 
 had been duly atlmired anil caressed (some 
 worthy dames smothering a sigh ns they 
 whispered among themselves tho ominous 
 word " step mother,'") he was handed back 
 to the girl who had had charge of him 
 since his mother's death, and who stood at 
 the door, scowling in turn at each indivi- 
 dual who touched her nursling, for Lfsettc's 
 temper on tl^at joyous tlay was sadly soured, 
 not so much by the general festivities as l)y 
 the special circumstance that had given rise 
 to it. 
 
 The day wore on. Fiercer and licrcer 
 blazed the sun; the great river, as one of 
 the gues-ts reproachfully said, would not 
 -^pare them even a whift" of air to blow the 
 smoke cuil from their pipes ; but, despite 
 that, eating, drinking, smoking, went on, 
 varied by singing and ilancing, which in the 
 then state of the temperature was a species 
 of self immolation almost incredible. 
 
 Everybody was delighted, and the gene- 
 ral merriment never flagged. Though the 
 doctor of tlie village, young and unmar- 
 ried, was among the guests, together with 
 his i)rother. an equally untrammelled no- 
 tary irom Montreal, both amusing and 
 agroeal)le, more than one feminine breast 
 heaved a sigh, inwardly acknowledging that 
 the new bride, despite her plainness of fea- 
 tjLire and the title of "old maid," with 
 which they generally qualified her behind 
 lier back, had indeed secured the first 
 marital prize in Alonville. 
 
 The wedding festivities lasteti for eight 
 days, being celebrated alternately at the 
 lioiisps of the different relatives of the new- 
 ly wedded pair; and then, when all parties 
 wore tiioroughly tired out with pleasure, 
 ihinjx'^ returned to their usual course, aiul 
 ])erfect (|uiet settled down in the household 
 «)f Paid Durnnd. 
 
 There was not much danger of Paul's 
 -econd wifeiuaUing him forget the first, for 
 Eulalie was sin.milarly taciturn and matter 
 of fiitt. and eonlil spend hours in company 
 with ln-r iiu-b.iii<l without uttering a word 
 
 or encouraging him to do so, But she wa."" 
 a rare housekeeper, and dairy, poiiltiy yard 
 and gartlen, flourished under her .ui-j'.ice.- 
 even as they liaddone under thosi' of Taul'-i 
 worthy mother. 
 
 Oh! restless human heart. How often in 
 the midst of the comfort, cleanliness and 
 thrift that I'ow surrounded him. I'aul locked 
 back with a longing, aching heart, to the 
 l>eriod of misrule which had been re ndired 
 happiness to him by the love and compan- 
 ionship ol' the idolized young wife he had so 
 early lost. 
 
 lie knew though and acknowledged the 
 sterling worth and good qualities of the 
 .<-econd Mrs. Duraiid, whilst she, nevei- ob- 
 taining a look into the closed cliaml>iTs ot 
 his heart, averred that he was one ol the 
 best and most devoted of husbands. She 
 took the little Armand to her heart at ouce. 
 and though naturally undemonstiativ*', ca- 
 ressed and petted hhn with all .i g »cd 
 woman's devotion. 
 
 The time came when she hail another 
 child to fondle, but when she had rendered 
 Durand the father of a strong robu- 1 boy. 
 she made no distinction between the chil- 
 dren, and little Paul did not lob his bro 
 ther Armand of a single j>artiele of her 
 art'ection and watchful care. 
 
 Of course this new tie between husband 
 and wife was a powerful one, and he began 
 to feel a deeper interest in her, a more anx- 
 ious desire for her health and happiness 
 than he had yet done, when again inexora- 
 ble Death steppetl in and depriveil him ot 
 his wife, just as he was beginning to feel 
 sincerely attached to her, A malignant 
 fever, contracted in the chill rainy season 
 of autumn, sufficed to prostrate that active 
 strong f'l-ame, full of energy and health; 
 and the second wife was laid beside tlie 
 first, just two short years after she had 
 taken her place. 
 
 As Paul sat in his mourning clothes the 
 day of the funeral, and remembered that he 
 was now bui'dened with two helpless chil 
 dren instead of one, whilst he was more 
 lonely than ever, he inwardly determined 
 that he would not venture on matiimoay 
 again,bui come what would, he would endea- 
 vor to struggle through the battle of life 
 companionless. Destiny, however, had 
 some comfort in store for him. After some 
 months, liis sister's husband, Henri Kaielle, 
 paid the debt of nature, dutifully and 
 kindly tended by his wife to the last. The 
 new made widow briefly wrote to her bro- 
 ther: "Paul, do you want me?" to which 
 he briefly rejoined : "Yes. without delay. ' 
 and she came, 
 
 " You see, brother, it was written tluit 
 we should live togetla-r. We both niar)ied 
 a couple of times, almost, it seemed, to 
 evade it, but it was to be. 1 aiu satisMed if 
 you are!" Paul was amply so, and gave all 
 
 ■ mmm 
 
no 
 
 AKMAM) DLRANK. 
 
 jiiHt, luitlioi'iiy t'> this new rogont of his 
 lioiisfliohl, iKirwasliisrontiihMU't' mi^pliu'ril. 
 She i>i()VC(l hcrscir ncll worthy of it, ;iii(l in 
 no iv.x|K'c't nioro so tlian in her jn>l 'ions 
 niro of her hroihor's two youiii? son^. Sho 
 liad nrv(>r been hh-SM-d witli childivn, ami 
 ln'i' iiindly natiiic yoaino'l nvoi tiio (wo thus 
 ronti(h«(| to hci' rh irt'i-, as it' tlioy Imd l.fcn 
 iildood Ik r very own. 
 
 Tiip two hoys wcro ns ditt'ciont in disjio- 
 
 f-itionas thi>yW<'rf in jtiiy-ii'al charai toiis- 
 
 tics. and wiiil.-t Armand, witli iiis nioiiior's 
 
 IVa^rilo Itcanty, wa-- sensitivo, rt^ticcnt ami 
 
 i|Uit't, i'aiil jioM-cssfd tlif manly vigoi of liis 
 
 fatlior, liut was )iosido>. tuihuh-nt and 
 
 tiion^hflcss. lioth ])uriind and liis sistoi- 
 
 troatcd th<^ cliildion with pcifcot < |Uality; 
 
 and if at tinn'- I'l^nl, in watuliing tin- strong 
 
 n scniMance iiis cldost son horc to Iiis fair 
 
 vnnng niothoi', f"lt liis lioait yoarn (owards 
 
 jiin) as it liad onco(h.)nc towards liis idolized 
 
 hrst wife, ]h> nov<'r rvincod the feeling hy 
 
 -iny <iiilwar<l token of picforonco. 
 
 CIlAITKIi \l. 
 
 I'anl J)nrand. always industrioiusand pi'o.s- 
 jterous, was now a rich man. Kainis aini lands 
 }ie owned in inoie than one locality, and fi 
 i'oIleg(' education foi' his sons seemed to 
 liim a matter ol' eonr.se. lie was no miser, 
 and how else eoidd h(> spend the very 
 considerable sinus that had aeeumidated in 
 liis strong li(..\. despite his freijuent i)ur- 
 chases of land, unless on them. 'I'o college 
 then the two lads went, and their outHts, 
 for tho.se day.s of modei'atc ideas, were con- 
 sidered remarkably fuio ones, though they 
 would jiroliably have excited tlie scorn of 
 youths oi' the present generation. 
 
 Armand was tall foi' his age. and slight: 
 Paul was remark<d)ly developed in lieight 
 and robiLstness for his. Both boys had 
 been for some years under the charge of 
 an ctlicient village schoolmaster, who 
 liad at least fairly started them on the 
 
 l>rice Jiir 
 
 thorny road of learning. It was in the 
 month of September, the very day of 
 Ihe re-o])ening of the classes after the .sum- 
 mer's vacation, that they entered beneath 
 the low-browed portal of the old Montreal 
 College.* 
 
 Durand accompanied them, and after a 
 .short conversation with the Director of the 
 Institution, father and sons were stand- 
 ing alone in the.s(jnaie. tlag-pavcd entrance 
 hall, rani's eyes wcie glancing restlessly 
 aroinid him, from the low, time-darkened 
 ceiling to the small-paned. curtainles.s 
 windows, but Armands look was wistfully 
 h.xed on his father who was saying ii few 
 
 * Since Icaseil by the ^•fiillcuRu of tlic 
 kSeminaiy to tliv lin]KTiaI (ievernnu iit ,i; a bar- 
 racks. 
 
 words of farewell counsel and encourage- 
 ment. At length the (inal pressure of 
 hands was given, and as Durand left tiio h dl , 
 the porter, a ratlier unsueiubh', not to .>.ay 
 ill-nature<l looking imiividual, entered. 
 
 Paul retmned his in<piisitive scowl by 
 a glare of <leliance, ami whisjx.fcd to his 
 lirother: "I hate that fellow like poison 
 already !'' 
 
 Theie were no lessons as the classes were 
 not yet formed, ,so a long day was attbrded 
 tl»e new comers to become ac(|uainted with 
 tlieir future abfule an<l fellow juipils. rani 
 made good um» of his time, and iiefore he 
 went to rest that night he had engaged and 
 <lefeated three tlitlerent l)f)ys in single com- 
 biit, sworn eternal fri(>ndshi]) to another, in- 
 vited ii fifth to !-pend the iie.xt vacatioji with 
 him in hi-' fathers hous<N in Alonville, besides 
 selling two knives and a i)ocket book at 
 exorbifmt juices to some of his comrades, 
 whose purses having lieen recently replen- 
 ished by kind friends, wei'c able to indulge 
 in the lu.xmy of paying a high 
 things they <lid not want. 
 
 Armand had made no a<lvance as vet 
 towards intimacy with any of his comjjanions. 
 and .some of those (|uick-witte(l young gen 
 tlemen had invested him Ix'lore twenty- 
 four hours with the title of Miss Armand. 
 Whether this feminine ajipellation, ofcour.«e 
 intended as a highly contemptuous one, 
 had been suggested by his retiring, quiet 
 manner, his shyness, or his delicate beauty 
 of feature and complexion, it is impossible 
 to say, but it was soon almost universally 
 adopted, ami inflicted an extraordinaiy 
 amount of mortification on its object. 
 
 The two brothers were sitting together, 
 one holiday, some weeks later, in a room 
 overlooking the play ground, surrounded 
 by its noble range of towering poplars, when 
 the voices of two loiterers who had pauseil 
 awhile underneath the window, unconscious 
 of their neai- proximity, arrested their 
 attention. 
 
 " Yes, it is a good knife, but I paid a good 
 price for it ! I bought it from one of the 
 Durand boys,'' 
 
 " From the large boned noisy fellow, Til 
 warrant!" was the reply. "There seems 
 nothing of a trading spirit in the younger 
 one.'' 
 
 " I think the younger one a regular milk- 
 sop, a muff, a fellow to run from a mouse I' 
 "Come, we neither of us know anything 
 about his courage — we haven't seen it tried 
 yet ; but, he has a thorough !)red look 
 about him which that great hulking brother 
 ofhish.is not got. Just look at the small 
 hands and feet— straight, regular feature^. 
 and slight graceful .shape!'' 
 
 As the words wert^ spoken a frown 
 gathered on Paul's foieliead, but he mafle 
 no remark, merely bending moic forwairl 
 to obtain a view of the .speakers, in which 
 
AUMAND DIUAND. 
 
 21 
 
 i 
 
 notion he was involuntarily imitated by 
 Arnmnd. 
 
 'I'iuM'o tiuy i^tood talking togothor, one a 
 tall flogaiit"stiii»lin;; of seventeen, namecl 
 Vi.-tor ill' Mi/ntenny, the other, Hodolplie 
 HeU'ond, the owner of tlie knife, a conii^aet, 
 ^(lUal•o built, swarthy looking boy, somewhat 
 younger. 
 
 •'Don't talk sneh trash, de Montenay I'" 
 MJ.l Helfond, angrily. "Wiiat l)Usinesshasa 
 fellow with a face as pretty and hands as 
 >niall as a girl's?'' 
 
 •'As well ask what business has the raeer 
 to pos.sess .slight, gracehd limbs an<l elegant 
 symmetry of form, instead of rejoicing in 
 the lumpish shaj.0 and movement" of the 
 cart hor.se ?' ' 
 
 '•Idon't.seo what you are driving at!" 
 was Belfonds retort. " 1 suppose in your 
 eyes a fellow can't be of a decent size and 
 Suihl without being compared to a cart 
 horse because you happen to be a little in 
 the slim and dainty line yourself!'' 
 
 •' Well, my dear Uod()li)he, I am both proud 
 and thankful that I do possess the elegant 
 i-liiiiness on which you seem to set .such 
 little store. If a fortune were placed in on(> 
 scale and my own ])ersonal good points in 
 another, 1 would unhesitatingly choose the 
 1 ittcr ; for you know money might come to 
 one accidentally some day or anotlier, but 
 money could never change huge red Hsts 
 and broad .H(|uare feet into hands and feet 
 like— why shoukl 1 mince it '.' my own, for 
 instance !" 
 
 '•Hang it, de Montenay! Ifyouarenota j 
 Ibol you are a fop, which is just as bad ! 
 Much gooil the aristocratic sinallness of 
 your extremities, as the doctois call them, 
 would do you in boxing, boating, or any 
 tiling useful !" 
 
 " It wouUl serve at least, good Hodoli)he, 
 to distinguish the captain from the crew, 
 the otticer from the private !" 
 
 " 1 tell you what it is, Victor de Montenay, 
 I'd knock you over in a minute, did 1 not 
 know that my family is as good anrl as old 
 asyourown, and thatconse(|uently, in sneer- 
 ing at me, you are simply making a donkey 
 of yourself." 
 
 " My frien<l, you would indeed be thick 
 headed as well as big handed if you thought 
 there was anything personal 'n\ my remarks. 
 Come and have a game of foot" bill to put 
 you in good lumior with yourself and your 
 friends !" 
 
 " They've hit us both pretty hard !" mut- 
 tered P.aul between his teeth. " You a milk- 
 sop, I a big hulking clod polo ! I hope I 
 m.'vy be able to pay oft' one of them yet.'" 
 
 In the peculiar emphasis the speaker laid 
 on the word "one," he evidently thought 
 only of redre.ssing his own particular wrongs, 
 but his companion, without any comment oi. 
 this unbrotiherly reticence, quietly said : 
 
 •' What lUe couUl we expect*? i^Mtener* 
 seldom hear good of tlieniselvofl" 
 
 " You are a scrupulous fool !" was the 
 sliarp re|)ly. ••I think there i-i as nnuh 
 nonsen-^e in you as in that cojiceited idiot 
 who seems to set such store on his good 
 looks. I oidy wish I could get a chance of 
 spoiling them for him a little !" 
 
 The noisy ^ntrance of half a dozen com- 
 rades put a st«>i> to further discussion, and 
 .\rmanil, seeing liis brother's sullm mood 
 ^till continued, amused himself by e.\:iniin- 
 iiig the pile nl' new stutly books before him. 
 
 The regular school routine now com- 
 menced, and as far as tlie labor of learning 
 was concerned, Arm;uid had nothing to 
 complain of, foi' he mastiMed his tasks witii 
 an ease aiicl corrrctncss which won him high 
 eulogiums from iiis teachers. I'lifortunate- 
 ly, however, this very success i-xcited the 
 envy of some of his companions, whilst his 
 shy, retiring natme, mixile him no IrieiKU. 
 Day by day his unpopularity increaseil, and 
 the words Mins .\rmand, milk sop, were 
 freely applit«l to him without any imi- 
 vocation on his jiart. All this was intolcM- 
 able to the boy's scdisitive nature, and more 
 than once he deteiniined he would write 
 to his father and beg— pray him to remove 
 him from college. 
 
 ( )ne afternoon that he was standing ijuietly 
 in the play ground, looking on at tiie sports 
 of th<! others, a baiul of his tormentor-* 
 gathert d aroun<l him. and with the malicious 
 ingenuity peculiar to many Itovs, began their 
 persecutions, ( )nc mockingly re(|uested 
 " J/m- Armand to join in their games." 
 Another deprecated such a thing lest slie 
 should spoil the beauty of h(>r .soft white 
 hands, which were only tit to " hold on to 
 mannna's apron string." 
 
 This ancient witticism was receivetl witii 
 shouts of applauding laughter, which grew 
 more hilarious, when a third young gentle- 
 man expressed his wonder that .V/'.v.v Durand 
 should go out without a stui boimet, as her 
 delicjite complexion might get tanned or 
 freckled. 
 
 Armand's breath came (|uick and panting. 
 His whole being was writliing beneath the 
 pitiless mockery of his tormentors, wjio. to 
 do them justice, scaicely realized tiio amount 
 of suffering their thoughtless jesting inllict- 
 ed on that highly wrought sensitive organ- 
 izjition, so shrinkingly afraid of ridicule. 
 His check became pale as ileath, and h.ilf 
 imploringly, hall' despairingly he glanceil 
 round the circle. Alas ! no relenting, no 
 compunction betrayed itself in any of the 
 boyish countenanc(\-< breathing mirth an<,l 
 mischief. Feeling keenly the cruelty, the 
 injustice of a jiersecution so unmerited on 
 his part, the boy burst into tears. .\t sight 
 of this unexpected disjday of emotion, some 
 became silent, whilst others only seemed to 
 redouble their persecutions. 
 
oo 
 
 ARMANI) DIRAND. 
 
 ' "All! nhoH going tr> taint! Quick, a 
 ^mpllitig I ottlo !" sni;'. rmi'. " A porkot- 
 iiiinilkcicliiof to wipo licr Iciiis." HUggostCfl 
 unotlior. 
 
 At tliiH juncture llio f>l«>g.uit doMontonay 
 iin<l Iiis I'licml nnd constant conipiuiion, 
 J>o(t(>lj.h(' Hoif'ond, strolled up und joined 
 tli<^ gioup. 
 
 •• Why, halloii ! what is the matter with 
 Miss Arniiuid?" ii)(|uircd the lattor. 
 
 Arniand looked su<ldenly up lik(! a stag 
 at Imy. and his glance fell on tlie spoukor 
 who loomed up largo in front of him. 
 Suppo-iing in the porturhation of the mo- 
 ment that Uodoi|)h(t hud heeii among his 
 peisccutors fmm tlio lirst, and giving way to 
 I lie wild craving for revenge that had hecn 
 >\vclling within his heart for the last few 
 iiKiments, Armand sj)rang on his foe, with 
 I lie strength and rage of a tiger, l)ringing 
 liim to the earth with him. Ilo rolled over 
 ;ind under his antagonist, and unmindful of 
 the sledge hammer Mows the lattor .shower- 
 ed njton him, he never relaxed the fiorco 
 grasp he had taken of his throat. .\ mist 
 -eemed hefore his sight, a dulne.ss in his 
 iiearing. and he was totally unconscious, in 
 lhatdeliri\mi of i)assion, of all other things 
 ■'live thirst of revenge, till lie was dragged 
 hy main force ott'his antagoni-it. 
 
 "Why. Dur.and. you are a perfect devil ! 
 vou've nearly strangled him !" said one of the 
 L'roup, as he assisted Relfond to rise, whose 
 Mood stained lips and faco,livid from partial 
 ^utlDcation, presented a somewhat alarming 
 spectacle. 
 
 Somewhat confusedly regretting his des- 
 jter.ue fiu-y, .Arnvind mechanically raised 
 liis hanil to his face and took it down stain- 
 ed with blood. Without a word he walked 
 over to a tuh of water that stood imder the 
 rain spout and commenced washing from hi.s 
 I'Ountenance the traces of the fray. 
 
 ••Well, friends. you"ll scarcely call him 
 .Hi.f.i Armand, any more, after this, I 
 think !'■ (piestioned de Montenay, address- 
 ing the circle of hoys, who -still stoofl quiet, 
 almost stupefied by the lightning-like 
 j-nyiidityand fury with which the slight, deli- 
 <aio boy, they had been so ruthlessly 
 tormenting, had fallen upon one far exceed- 
 ing him in size and strength. 
 
 There was no answer to this, and address- 
 ing himself to Relfond, he said : 
 
 •'The best thing yoii can do is to follow 
 the example of your late adversary, who has 
 indeed proved himself a foeman worth your 
 steel, and give yourself a good washing. 
 It will refresli j'ou as well as improve your 
 ajipearancc." 
 
 Belfond, with quiet good sense, staggered 
 off to follow this advice, though not in the di- 
 rection Armand had taken. I'his latter was 
 still at his ablutions, when, seeing a shadow 
 fall across the sunlight, he looked uyt and 
 perceived de Montenay beside him. 
 
 '•Armand, do you know that you area 
 horoY" he Haid. 
 
 " A brute, you mean !" 
 
 " By no means ! If it had been tliat over- 
 grown brother of yours, I might have found 
 something brutish in the bull dog tenacity 
 with wluch you lield fin, strangling und 
 choking your foe, but in one of your slight 
 liuild and strength, it was courage— pluck, 
 in the higlicst degree, fiive me your 
 hand !" 
 
 Now, ,\rmainl had entertuned from the 
 first a feeling of profoimd boyish admiration 
 for the handsome young aristocrat before 
 him, who, always dressed with scrupulou.s 
 care, elegant, though often insolent in his 
 numners, witty and sarcastic in his lemarks, 
 belonge(l to a class with which the country 
 bred lad had nev( r yet come into contact. 
 Indeed ho had looketl up to him as some, 
 thing infinitely lieyoiuj the reach of his 
 fric^ndship or intimacy under any c'"ciun- 
 stances, and to have him thus stamiing be- 
 side him with words ofprai.se on his lips and 
 proffering the hand of friendship, brought 
 a flush of exultant delight to his brow and 
 made his heart beat fast with j>leasure. 
 
 Shyly, howevei', without ln^traying what 
 he felt, he extemled his hand, saying at the 
 same time: "But I thought Rodolphe Bel- 
 fon<l was a friend of yours !' 
 
 •' So ho is," and de Montenay seated him- 
 self on the edge of the tub, whilst Armand 
 dried hi-' face and hands in his handkerchief. 
 *' So ho is. Indeed, wo are distantly related, 
 but that is no reason I should fight his 
 battles. Notwithstanding I spend half the 
 vacations at his place and he the other 
 half at mine, that did not prevent ray feel- 
 ing rather satisfied to see him get the worst 
 of the encounter to day with a youngster 
 like yourself. Ho l)oasts so much of his 
 bone and muscle, his strength and sinew, 
 that a lesson such as you gave him will 
 probably prove a wholesome one.' 
 
 Had Armand been oUler and more ex- 
 perienced in life's ways, a suspicion as to the 
 value of such a friendship as Victor seemed 
 to extend to his friends might have flashed 
 across him, but dazzled by pardonable 
 vanity, he listened to his companion as to 
 an oracle, without doubt or misgiving. 
 
 " You see — what's your name, Armand, a 
 good one, in keeping with your looks, if 
 you had the {strength and size, the points 
 of a jnizo fighter, I would have taken no in- 
 terest in seeing j'ou come out in such style 
 as you did to-day, b.ut I must say I was 
 pleased to see you, with that girlish face and 
 figure of yours, thrash that big ma.ssive 
 friend of mine who has knocked myself 
 over more than once. Don't flush up with 
 such a look of annoyance when I mention 
 your pretty face and figure. You will yet 
 i)e proud enou"h of them both when you 
 know a little pf life. Yes, as jn'oud a-s I am of 
 
 
AllMAND miRAND. 
 
 •2.T 
 
 mine !" (iii<lIn^lotiii(xl>*iiiiliii^ly ovorhinown 
 roflection. ininonMl Ixuk in the liinuMo 
 wattM's of tin* till). " Whiit do llui tliick ln'iul 
 «(l louts iiiiio, my Jiiliu achah'n amongm 
 the rt'Ht, know whiit weight heauty, cillior 
 in man or woman, ctirrifs with it in the 
 world wliilo it lasts." 
 
 Annand, finding hin piiiioxophic young 
 fiiend hucomiiig rather det'p for him, hiwti- 
 ly ropliod that ho would rathor bo devoid 
 ot' such douhtlul beauty as procured for 
 him the mockery and iMMseeiition of hi.s 
 companions. 
 
 " The day will come when you will think 
 otliorwiso, Mast«'r Armand, and wh-n tho 
 iiK.ilitjf tlipy will ;;)iin ynu will runk far 
 jiighor in your estim ition thiin even the won 
 deling respeet yoiii' late e.vhibitioii o\' 
 fearless pliuk has won you from your 
 sehool niate.^." 
 
 The i»reinii()ii> young speaker bent still 
 further over his water mirror us he spoke, 
 and lookeil mori' thoughtfully down on the 
 liandsionie classie face it mirrored back, 
 [/•ugues behind his companion, in point of 
 worldly knowledge, was Armand Durand, for 
 tho former had read novels, and gleaned 
 from them information that he would have 
 been much l)ettor without. Suddenly rous- 
 ing himself from his pre-occupation he 
 a-ked : 
 
 •• What the mischief made you single out 
 so suddenly my big shouldered frieiul when 
 ^onio of tlio.>e other cubs hid been tor- 
 nieniiiig you long before ? Why, how asto- 
 ni-hed you look I" 
 
 Armand's regret, when he learned how 
 comparatively unpiovoked had been the 
 fierce assault he had committed on Belfond, 
 was extreme, and his conviction that tho 
 jiai t he hail played was anything but that 
 of a hero, doubled. That regret, however, 
 wtuispoedily over-looked, if not forgotten, in 
 the mingled gratifictition and pride found in 
 the thought that tho object of his .secret 
 boyish revorenco had deigned to extend to 
 him the li.nid of friendship. 
 
 Later in tho diiy lie found himself unex- 
 Itectedly in dose contact with his lute ad 
 vcrsary, as the boys were preparing to fall 
 into their ranks, previous to proceeding to 
 tho refectory. 
 
 •• I say, Durand," whispered the oth 'r. 
 fiercely, as he pointed to his darkened and 
 swollen eye. " 1 suppose you are confounded- 
 ly proud of your smartness, but I'll have 
 my turn next. Perhaps you would like 
 another bout in the play-ground to-morrow, 
 during recreation?" 
 
 •• Krankly — no !" was the honest rejoin- 
 der. 
 
 •' And why not pr<ay?" 
 
 •• Because you are a great cleal stouterand 
 stronger than I am, and I would certainly 
 -get the worst of it." 
 
 '• But, say, Armand, you bowled him 
 
 over like a nine pin this morning, and per- 
 haps you might do it again,'' said ono 
 young gentleman, longing for tho excite- 
 ment of a stand up fight. 
 
 Armuiil shook his head. " 1 moy have 
 done it once, but I wouldn't be able to do it 
 again ! Besides, I'.elfonil, I'm forry for 
 flying at you in the way I did this morning, 
 without HuHicient provoiMtion. It was some 
 of the fellows who hid been worrying uieall 
 along that I wanted to attack." 
 
 '• Durand, you are as honest as you are 
 plucky. Shiko hands !" and a second time 
 tint day was the hand of friendship extend- 
 ed to Armand. 
 
 From that time an intimacy, highly gra- 
 tifying to Durand and useful to tho ele- 
 gant Victor. si>rang up between them. Ar- 
 mand, in the simple, honest admiration he 
 experienced for the aristocratic heir of the 
 lie Montenays. and the gratitude he felt 
 for having been elevated to the coveted 
 post of friend, thought no sacrifice too 
 groat to otter on the altar of friendship, 
 and whether it was writing a thesis, copy- 
 ing Latin translations for him. at tho ex- 
 pense of his own play hours, or pressing on 
 his gracious aci-eptance the chief portion of 
 his share of the well filled basket ho and 
 his brother freijuently received from home, 
 ho was eipially happy. 
 
 i>o Montenay not only accepteil this ho- 
 mage but displayed a marked i)refercnco 
 for the society of him who tendered it, find- 
 ing the incense umonsciously offered his 
 vanity, very gratifying, whilst at thb same 
 time he discovered a i-ertain charm in tie 
 refinement of word and feeling his boy 
 friend evidently possessed, a retinement 
 arising in great part from tho childi!?h in- 
 nocence and delicacy of his character, an 
 innocence so strongly marked that, luippil 
 for them both, de Montenay had never yet, 
 cared about troubling it. 
 
 The intimaiy between Victor and lio- 
 dolphe Belfond had latterly almost ceased, 
 but as it was the result as much of froijuent 
 intercourse between tiieir two families, as 
 of mutual pi'(!ference neither party sufi'er- 
 ed from its cessation. And so, witii few 
 variations beyond tlMs,. pi'f'sented by the 
 duties and amusenient.-i of school life, tlu^ 
 days passed over, pleasantly enougli, till tho 
 halcyon time, so earnestly longed for by 
 teacher ami piii>il, the summer vacation, 
 was at hand. 
 
 With what rapture did both boys leaj) 
 from the jolting vehicle that conveyed 
 them, one bright July morning, to their 
 home ! 
 
 With what reckless joy did they fling out 
 boxes, bags and parcels, utterly regard- 
 less of accident or injury to the chatteLs in 
 question; and with what exuberant atiec- 
 tion did thoy embrace Aunt Francoise, and 
 shake hinds, again and again, with their 
 
24 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 lather, who, stalwart, nvect as evei', stood 
 watching tliem witlia feeling of quiot pride 
 }io endeavored, somewhat ineffectually, to 
 conceal. 
 
 And then what a flood of questions they 
 poured forth regarding barn-yard i'avoritcs, 
 special fruit trees, or garden beds, wlioso 
 jireat attraction lay in being their own, in- 
 terspei-sed with torrents of disconnecte(l 
 ;'.neodotes about seliool mates, school life 
 jind masters. 
 
 For long months past the walls of the 
 farm house had not heard sm-h voluble 
 eliatter, such mirthful peals of laughter, 
 >uch snatches of songas tlu-y daily re-echoed 
 to now. 
 
 On the return home, a course of feasting 
 w;us of course inaugurated, and fruit and 
 cream, fresh eggs and butter, daintj' cakes 
 and preserves, presented a charming con- 
 trast to the simpler fare of college life. 
 Never were boys more pette<l and feasted; 
 iindj never were jiarents happier in their 
 jirerogative of thus indulging them tlian 
 were Paul Durand and bis sister. One 
 sultry afternoon that the lads were loung- 
 ing in the summer house, arranging rods 
 jind tackle for a proposed lishing excursion, 
 IMi's. Iliitelle mending some of the countless 
 torn garments which tlieir wardrobes fur- 
 nished, Durand entered, and to tlii' ([Uestion 
 smilingly propounded to him of '• What 
 news?'' answered : 
 
 " I have just seen Mr. dc Courval. lie 
 was about starting for Montreal, but be 
 intends returning soon an<l bringing the 
 lamily with him." 
 
 The family in question consisted not of 
 wife and children, for Mr. de Courval bad 
 never married, but of a widowed sister and 
 lier daughter, whom lie iiad biought fiom 
 (Quebec, some years previous, to presiile 
 over his bachelor home, when the death of 
 his brother-in-law, .hiles de Beauvoii', had 
 left them in embarrassed circumstances. 
 
 "lsMr.de Courval well?"' asked Aunt 
 l{a telle. 
 
 " Yes, an<l he en(|uired mo>t kindly 
 about oiu' boys. He says they intend having 
 gay doings up at tiie Manor-house soon, 
 and he nuist see something of them dur- 
 ing their vacation.'' 
 
 Neither Paul nor .\rmand seemed nuieh 
 elated by this intelligenee. bife offered 
 already too many familiar sources of 
 pleasin-e to leav<( them any wish for un 
 known fields of en, joyment, and the member 
 of the group mo^t deligjited with the in- 
 formation was certainly Mrs. Katelle, whose 
 secret wish was to see her nephews mingle 
 freely in a more aristocratic sphere than 
 that in which her own lot Iiad been cast. 
 
 Some time after, a very friendly invitation \ 
 came from the Manor-house for the biothers, j 
 mentioning they would have the ))leasure ' 
 of meeting some of their school mates ' 
 
 among the guests. Paul, if he gave tiie 
 matter a thought at all, was rather pleased 
 than otherwise, but Armand shrank from 
 the idea of going amongst strangers ; and it 
 i'<^quir(rd some very sharj) words from Aunt 
 Katelle to induce him to accompany his 
 bi'Other. 
 
 Owing to the unwillingness Armand 
 brought to his toilet, and the laggard pace 
 at which he walkeil ujt to the house, it was 
 somewhat past the ai)poiiite(l hour when 
 they aiiived: and on being s}iown into the 
 drawing-room, they were informed by the 
 polite doinestic that Mr. de Courval and bis 
 young guests were out in the grounds, but 
 would soon l»e in. 
 
 (Jraieful for a few moments resj/ite. 
 Armantl seated himself in a corner, whilst 
 Paul sti'olled* leisiu'cly roimd tin; room, 
 examining its contents. What a contrast 
 tiie a))artment presented, in its lace and 
 damask curtains, mii-rors. paintings and 
 countless trinkets, the very names and use:- 
 of wliich were riddles to tliem, to tlie plain, 
 though clean, '-best room" of their own 
 home, with its bare floor, covereil only by a 
 few strips of rag carjiet (produce of .\unt 
 Katelle's industry), white flimity curtains, 
 simple straw bottomed chairs and wooden 
 settle; its Only ornaments being some 
 vividly colored pictures of saints, together 
 with a b'W ))laster statuettes of equally 
 amazing untruthfulness to nature. The 
 longei- Armand looked, the moie deejily he 
 felt liow great mu-t br- thedi-tance between 
 hini>e!f and those who dwelt among tht> 
 s<!enes of elegance he now surveyed, and 
 the greater Ijecame his dread of encounti.r- 
 ing them. 
 
 So suddenly as to make him start, a door 
 at the far en<l of the room Tuiclosed, and a 
 slight, elegantly dressed girl of fourteen or 
 tll'teen entered, .'^he evinced no surprise 
 on seeing the new comers, but after leisure- 
 ly suiveying them, inquired if they wanted 
 Mr. lie Courval. 
 
 Armand made no rejily. but Paul bluntly 
 rejoined : '* 1 supjjose so. as he invited u* 
 here ! My name is Paul Durand, and that 
 is my brother Armand." 
 
 A quick eainest look shot from the large 
 hazel eyes, beneath which Arm.and colored 
 seai'let, and again she spoke, but this time, 
 more courteously: " My micle will be here 
 in a few moments and will of course be glad 
 to see you." 
 
 As she left the room. Paul grumbled. 
 " Nice enough, but 1 hate girls ! The^ t-re 
 always so nonsensical and stuck up !" 
 
 Arman<l maintained there w.as nothing 
 unj)leasant about this specimen at least, 
 of the sex thus sweepingly condemned. 
 '' Ahl here they are!"' he hastily added, ss 
 the sound of voices and laughter floated 
 through the open window. 
 
 In they came, Mr. de Courval in front. 
 
 ' 
 
ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 26- 
 
 and kindly shaking hands with tho new 
 comers, he said: "You will meet some of 
 your friends here. There are two or thi'ee 
 from the same college as yourselves." 
 
 Armand cast a quick, nervous glance on 
 the group of young people surrounding his 
 host, finding to his great discomfiture that 
 all eyes were bent on himself and brother; 
 but a sentiment of relief descended on his 
 troubled spirits when he perceived Victor 
 «le Montenay among them. Shyly though 
 <iuickly advancing towards him, he extend- 
 ed his hand to the admired, loved friend of 
 iiis college life, but the latter affecting not 
 to see the action, with a slight nod and 
 
 ''IToware you, Durand ?" turned 
 
 careless 
 away. 
 
 To describe wliat Aimand felt at that 
 moment would bu iinpo'<sil)le. Shame, 
 mortification and wounded feeling were all 
 torturing him at once : his misery deepened 
 by the fixed, inquisitive gaze of the many 
 strange eyes bent on him, when, suddenly 
 a pleasant, familiar voice, heartily exclaim- 
 ed : "How are you, Armand? So glad to 
 see you !'' and the hand that had been dis- 
 dained by de Monttnay was energetically 
 shaken by Itodolpho Bolfond. The latter's 
 fiank manliness of character thus happily 
 softened a little the bitterness of the first 
 life lesson given to Armand Durand. A 
 moment after de Montenay had disdain- 
 fully turned from his college friind. he 
 approached the same young lady who liad 
 accosted the two brothers a few minutes 
 jirevious, and whom tliey now knew for the 
 first time was (iertiinle de Beauvoir, ^[r. de 
 C'ourvars niece. He bent down whispering 
 fiiendly or fiatterino; words in her ear, 
 nhich she, being as wayward and uncertain 
 in temper as she was fascinating in appear- 
 ance, answered by petulantly turning from 
 liim and flinging a sprig of heliotrope, which 
 ho had given her a few minutes previously, 
 out of the window. 
 
 The evening, with music, round games, 
 strolls on the lawn, passed i)lcasantly to all 
 of the guests except perhaps our hero. 
 Even Paul, liaving met with a couple of 
 kindred spirits wlio " hated reading, girls, 
 music, and all that sort ol' trash, and cai'ed 
 for nothing but foot ball, boating and fish- 
 ing," amused himself tohirably well. Ar- 
 mand alone, too shy and painfully ill at 
 ease to make advances, and siill smarting 
 from the sharp wound so ruthlessly infiicted 
 by de Montenay on every feeling of his 
 better nature, counted each hour, wearily 
 longing for the end. 
 
 Mr. de Courval, though a kind, was not a 
 very attentive host, and his sister, Madame I 
 de Beauvoir, who, imposing in silks and } 
 laces, reclined languidly on ihe sofa during j 
 the greater part of the evening, still more 
 indifferent '.ban himself. Isolated and un- ; 
 noticed, Avinand stole from the drawing 
 
 room, where he seemed entirely out of 
 place, and was standing on the verandah, 
 revolving in the quiet moonlight, thought"^ 
 more painful than pleasant, to judge by the 
 expression of his face, when a light, quick 
 footstep approached, and hastily turning, 
 he saw Gertrude de Beauvoir at his .side. " 
 
 '• Why do you not come in and take some 
 supper?" she asked. "All the ices and 
 strawberries will be finished, for you young 
 college gentlemen have good appetites." 
 
 " 1 hank you, I am not hungry !" 
 
 " Perhaps you are sulky then. Mamma 
 says boys are always eitlier the one or tho 
 other." 
 
 " But I am neither, Miss de Beauvoir!" 
 
 "Well, all evening you havo been so dull 
 and lonely! Is it because \ ictor de Mon- 
 tenay would not shake hands with you ?"' 
 
 Armand's brow flushed at the remem- 
 brance of that supreme mortification, and 
 at the tliought that she had witnessed it. 
 and he answered : " Yes, I was much painetl 
 by it, especially as de Montenay and myselt 
 were very good friends at College." 
 
 " In your place I would nevei look at or 
 speak to him again !" was the impetuous 
 young lady's comment. •' it was very paltry 
 of cousin Victor to act in such a manner !"' 
 
 Greatly comfortetl by tiiis unexpected 
 sympathy, the shy resoive of Armand's de- 
 meanor began insensibly to soften, and he 
 soon found himself relating, to a willing ani 
 engrossed listener, details of his sclionl 
 trials and troubles, even to the memorabh 
 school-boy skirmish which had boon the ori- 
 gin of th(» friond-^liip botw.-cn himself and 
 de Montenay. Wiiil-t liglitly. apologeti- 
 cally touching on the paroxysm of i-age to 
 which he had yielded on that occasion. 
 Gertrude interrupted him by clapping her 
 han<ls and energetically exiiaiming: 
 
 " (food ! Gooil ! Y'ou sbouM liave served 
 all the wi'etches in tho samo way ! "Tis for- 
 tunate I'm not a boy, fora-^ I cannot lieai 
 a rude word or look, jiaticntly, I would 
 have been eternally emraged in (|uarrel<« 
 with my schoolmates. I never liegin. but. 
 at the same time, I never \nit u[) with any 
 impertinence or injustice !" 
 
 At this moment, de Montenay stcpjierj 
 out of the French window opening on tin 
 verandah, and saying : "< 'ome. Miss Truant, 
 maTuma has sent me to bring vou t) her." 
 tbi'cw hix arm carelessly round her waist. 
 and endeavored to diaw Ik i' towards tin 
 house. 
 
 The spirited young lady, iiighly resenting 
 •this liberty, suddenly turnecl on him. and 
 administering a sounding slap on his ear. 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " iiow dare you do that, Victor de Mon- 
 tenay? Do I ever permit you to take such 
 liberties?" 
 
 If de Montenay had wisliod to astonish 
 Armand, by displaying a greater degree ot 
 
26 
 
 ARMAND l)UKANI>. 
 
 lamiliarity with tho fair young lady of the 
 Manor-house than was in reality accoided 
 him, he whs certainly well punished. 
 
 Turning pale with anger, he muttere<l : 
 ••It seems to me a cousin has a right to so 
 r^niall a privilege !" 
 
 •• I do not contest the small value of the 
 ]>rivilego, sir," answered tho pretty ternia- 
 L'ant, tupping her little foot on tlie ground. 
 ••Wliat I find fault with is your ruilcness, 
 which your (juality of cousin in no manner 
 excuse.-!. An<l, indeed, our cousinship, 
 fourth or fifth degree, is so very distant as 
 to be almost doui)tful. 'Tis a distinction 1 
 do not at all covet!" 
 
 •'Well, I will leave you. Miss de,Beau- 
 voir," he retorted, with ironical politeness. 
 •• Perhai)s you may wish for an opportunity 
 to give your new accjuaintanc*', Mr. Durand. 
 the privilege you see fit to deny me!" and 
 with a sneer on liis liandsomo face, he turned 
 away. 
 
 iSinco the beginning of her interview with 
 Armand, no tinge of color hid once deep- 
 ened on (Jertru<le's eiieek, whilst liis had 
 been in a chronic state of fluctuation, but 
 it was h(M' turn at last, and now, a vivid 
 Hush suddenly ov(>rspread her elieek and 
 brow, wliilst embarrassment kept her silent 
 ibr a moment. 
 
 .Suildenly turning sharjily on him, she 
 -aid: '-.Armand Durand. it' 1 thought you 
 were such an idiot as to believe that de 
 ^[ontenay's im})('rtinence. I would treat 
 YOU just as I hav(^ done him; but, what- 
 ever other faults you may i)Ossess, you 
 oertiiinly hive not his matcliless conceit !"' 
 
 Armand was too much confused to answer, 
 liut then- was nothing painful in his pies- 
 eat embavra,ssment, anil as he stood there, 
 under the soft summer sky, the ricli odors 
 of the flowei's stealing up around them, 
 listening but scai'cely dniiig to look at the 
 '■right, though wayward young ercaturo at 
 his sid(\ tlie scene impressed itself pleasant- 
 ly on Ills memory, to be recalled with strange 
 yearning in futiu-e years when they both 
 sliould be far apart, through force of 
 oircumstanc(\s moie than actual distance. 
 
 •'Come, now."" >iie (juickly said; '' 1 
 will introduce you to mannna. Vou nuist 
 not leave without tliat, for it would bo 
 impolite to do so. "'I'is no use he.-itating I" 
 >heautlioritatively adde<l, a-< .\rmand, mut- 
 tering some confused apology, ilr<nv l)aek. 
 ••Come this minute !'■ and sjie lightly led 
 the way, her companion luiwillingly fol- 
 lowing in her wake. i[rs. de Beauvoir, 
 reclining on the sofa with cushions on her 
 right and cushions on her left, wfih talking 
 in an indolent, caressing sort of way with 
 de Montenay, who half knelt in one of the 
 graceful positions that se^'Uied natural to 
 him, on a low stool beside her. Loftily 
 ilisregardful of hi< presence, CJertrude trun- 
 quilly said: 
 
 "Mamma, I wish to introduce to you 
 Afjnand Durand." 
 
 Mrs. de Beauvoir favored the luckless 
 cantlidate for the honor of her acquaint- 
 ance, with a steiuly stare, a cold bow, and 
 then immediately returned to her engross- 
 ing conversation • with tie Montenay. Ar- 
 mand hastily retreated fiom her ungenial 
 I)rcsenco, and then Mrs. de Beauvoir cahn- 
 ly said : 
 
 "Gertrude, my child, Victor has been 
 asking me to make his peace with you. lie 
 thinks you are rather severe with him, and 
 1 must add, 1 think so, too ! Too severe with 
 him, an old friend ; and too familiar with 
 new acquaintances, who, to make things 
 worse, are obsciu'e nobodies." 
 
 Gertrude silently lookeil from her mo- 
 ther to de Montenay. The eyes of the lat- 
 ter were cast down as if he felt pained by 
 the censure thus pronounced on herseli', 
 but the girl detecteil a faint gleam of ex- 
 ultation on his ft)atuies, and she coldly 
 retorted : 
 
 "As far as regards obscure noliodies, mam- 
 ma, they are imcle's guests, and as such, 
 have a right to be treateil with courtesy, 
 especially when they know how to behave 
 themselves, which some of our highly fa- 
 vored ac(iuauitances do not seem to do!"' 
 
 Mrs. de Beauvoir raised her eyes in 
 gentle deprecation. "My dear Gertrude, 
 how often must I implore of you to mod- 
 erate your natural vehemence of character ! 
 'Tis in such bad taste — so uni'eminine — 
 I)Ositively vulgar. What must, what can 
 N'ictor think of you ?" 
 
 " 1 care very little about his opinion," 
 was tho scornful rejoinder, '• He can scarce- 
 ly think less of me than I do of him : 
 and, I will add, just by way of conclusion, 
 that if ever he provokes me again as he 
 did to-uight, I will give him two slaps in- 
 stead of one !'' With this Parthian shot. 
 Miss Gertrude abruptly turned away, and 
 bent hor steps to the farthest end of the 
 .apartment. 
 
 Mrs. de Beauvoir shrugged her shoulder>. 
 "You will re(juire patience, my dear de 
 Montenay, if your intentions renriin un- 
 changed. But time, unceasuig watchful- 
 ness on my pait, not to speak of tho all- 
 powerful influence of a mother's example, 
 will in all likelihood tone down her present 
 peculiarities. She is at least truthful and 
 frank." 
 
 "Yes, painfully so. Madame; but, ii'itn- 
 porti' ! llandsome, clever, graceful, she is 
 ix prize worth waiting for, and I will wait!" 
 
 '•The resolutiim of a boy of eighteen, I 
 fear, de Montenay !"" and tho lady lightly 
 tjipped his shoulder with her fan. 
 
 "We shall see, Ma<lamt^ de Beauvoir. 
 You know I am very determined, indeed, 
 obstinate in character, and will not easily 
 abandon wh;|t 1 once set my lieart on. As 
 
 ' 
 
 U 
 H 
 
ABMAND DUKAND. 
 
 27 
 
 
 to the petubuice with which she treats me, 
 t does not annoy mo much, for I would 
 scorn a prize too easily won. In throe years 
 'jertrvide will he eighteen and 1 will he of 
 Mge." 
 
 " Yes and master of an independent 
 fo/tune !" thought the wily Mrs. de £eau- 
 voir. "An excellent j;ar<i in every respect, 
 fov my wilful child !" 
 
 CIIArTER VII. 
 
 The vacation wa.s over, aaid the hoys, full 
 )f intoxicating rooolleotions of holiday plea- 
 sures and liherty, had to settle down as best 
 they could to the monotonous routine of 
 college life. Aniiand, who had begun to 
 love learning for its own sake, and to lind 
 a new and markrd i)Uasine in the prosecu- 
 tion of studies which he had at first looked 
 on with tlislike and apprehension, was very 
 contentedly sorting his books and writing 
 nriterials, preparatory to placing theni in 
 his desk. Paul, seated beside hun, was oc- 
 cupied in the samt> duty, but perforniuig it 
 111 a very diffeient spirit, snatching the 
 books violently I'rom the box, then hiu'ling 
 them down ruthlessly on the floor, apostro- 
 ]>liizing each as a personal and much hated 
 I'oe. 
 
 •' Ah! s . . . ^ Latin grammar!"' he said, 
 liantically clutching at a i)rinily bound vol- 
 ume. " How many pensiimn, how many 
 lie(Klaches and hotu-s of torture are you 
 L'oing to earn for me this year?'' 
 
 Then the offending book was flung some 
 vards off, overturning in its flight a com- 
 rade'.s ink Ixittlc, whicii accident resulted in 
 ii smart interchange of sentiments any- 
 thing but complimt-ntary or courteous. A 
 moment after de Montenay sauntered up. 
 
 " Uh ! how are you, Armand ? Awful, is'nt 
 it. to be back agiun in these dismal dingy 
 quarters'/ But you don' t look half as miser- 
 able as some of us!" 
 
 Armand started anil colored, as his late 
 boy heroaceosted him, but the scene at Mr. 
 <le Courval s ro^c uj) before him with all 
 its mortifying recollections, and he (juietly 
 replied that he was quite satisfied to re 
 '6nuie his books again. 
 
 •• Pray, don't be coming the good boy 
 over us!'' laughed de Montenay. misinter- 
 preting Arman<rs reserve, and never dream- 
 ing that his inHueiice over him was irrevo- 
 cably at an end. *' Come instead, like a 
 good fellow, and see if you can beg or bor- 
 1 i-^w from any one, a kiy to fit 'my trunk. 
 I've lost mine and feel too wretched to look 
 for it!" 
 
 " I'm soriy to refuse you, de Montenay, 
 but I cannot leave my own books lying 
 al)out. I nmst put them away befpre the 
 bell rings." 
 
 Victor silently stared at the speaker. 
 
 What, his fag, his follower, hts worshipper, 
 had thrown off his allegiauce, and now re- 
 jected his overtures. It was both humiUat 
 ing and mortifying. 
 
 " Why, what the dense is the piatter with 
 you ?" he angiily asked. " You are etAnd- 
 ing mightily on your dignity to-day !" 
 
 " Just as you stood on yours t\\e laist 
 night we saw you at Mr. de Courval's, when 
 you were too fine to shako hands with my 
 brotlier," savagely put in Paul, moved not 
 so much by sympathy for Armand, as l>y the 
 ill tempered mood of the moment, as well 
 as his dislike towards de Montenay. 
 
 '• Who spoke to you, block-head?" ejacu 
 lated the latter, darting a look of withering 
 scorn on this new adversary. 
 
 Paul glanced regretfully at a pondeixjus 
 dictionary he had just flung beyond liis 
 reach, but another tolerably large volume 
 was at hand, which he i)romptly hurled at 
 the enemy's head, merely grazing it, how- 
 ever. De Montenay quickly returned the 
 compliment with a thickly framed slate, 
 the shock of whose descent Paul warded ofl 
 from his skull by receiving it on his arm. 
 Furious, he started to his feet, and a moiv 
 serious breach of the peace was imminent, 
 for de Montenay was as ready for the fray 
 as himself, when a friendly mediator ap- 
 peared on the scone, in the sliape of Ko- 
 dolpho Belfond. 
 
 " Hold on, you fellows! Hold on I" he 
 good-naturedly interposed. " Becjiase we 
 are all savage at being nailed down again to 
 our desks, 'tis no reason we should brain 
 one another ! You've lost your key, Victor. 
 Here is my bunch. Try them.'' 
 
 De^ Montenay, without either look or 
 word of thanks, took them, and sullenly 
 withdrew, whilst Paid went on with his 
 work in a more angry mood than ever. 
 
 Belfoutl seated himself beside Armand, 
 saying: •' You served friend A'ictor nicely, 
 just now. lie certaiidy deserved nothing 
 better. But how have you en,joyeJ your 
 holidays ?'' This was the introtluctiou to a 
 pleasant talk that tilU-d up the time till the 
 hour for other duties arrived; and Armand 
 separated from his companion, convinced 
 that if he had lost one friend, he luid gaifli- 
 cd another. 
 
 (.»ur hero's progress was nwv very rapid, 
 but that was owing as much to great natu- 
 ral quickness us to application, for theiie 
 was a dreamy vein in tlu' boy's character 
 that often filled his mind with other 
 thoughts than the studies over which he 
 bent. Longer tlian he would havoavowo<l 
 to any one, he brotuled and gjievod oyer 
 tlio painful termination to his pleasant 
 friendship with Victor de Montenay, recall- 
 ing again and again, the galling feeling of 
 humiliation that had almost suffocated 
 him when slighte<l so painfully by his cob 
 lege friend, in Mr. de Coiiryal's drawing 
 
28 
 
 ARMANP DURAND. 
 
 room. Then he would chiifr at social dis- 
 tinotions which Hecmed so unjust, and le 
 solve that in some coming tlay ho would 
 au've his way to a position as high as could 
 be won, even if lie struggled a life time to 
 attain it. 
 
 Visions, loo, of the wayward hut graceful 
 girl, so dittbrent to the common jdace, 
 respectable wives and daughters of Alon- 
 ville, the only specimens of tlu'ii" sex he 
 had as yet seen, woulil ttit across his mind, 
 and childish, innocent as these remem- 
 brances always weie, they some how or other 
 invariably increased the restless, ambitious 
 longings taking deep root in his heart. 
 
 Would he turn out a woiker or a 
 dreamer? Time alone could tell, but the 
 elements and cai)acities of both lurked in 
 his nature. Fortun.-itely for him, however, 
 the wish to excel, supported by the ease 
 with whicli he acrjuired his tasks, for the 
 present, decided the question in the most 
 favorable manner. 
 
 Paul blundered on, shnking work when- 
 ever it was possible to do «o, and evidently 
 thinking every task or lesson thus evaded, 
 a positive gain. Yet lie was not a noted 
 dunce either, for natural shiewdness, an i 
 ihe attention of vigilant professors, made 
 him acquire, desjiite himself as it were, a 
 tolerably fair share of knowledge. 
 
 On the fartlier college career of Armaml 
 we cannot afibnl to ling<'r, for the more 
 eventful chapters of manhood have to be 
 recounted. 
 
 At tlieend of two years, Belfond and de 
 Montenay left, having gone through the 
 course with pretty fair success. 'Die cool- 
 ness between the latter aiid Armnnd had 
 never passed away, but theie had been no 
 open hostilities on either side. Belfond, 
 however, was excellent friends with oui' 
 hero to the last, and matle him ever the 
 recipient of the comitless plans and 
 hopes he was forming for the ha]jpy pciriod 
 when he shoidd bid a final I'aicwell to tlie 
 college walls, and return to that happy 
 home, where, only son among five sisters, 
 he was a household idol. 
 
 After his departure and that of <le Mon- 
 tenay, Armand applied himself, if possible, 
 more closely to his studies than ever, and 
 on the solemn public distribution of ciowns 
 and prizes, which marked the close of the 
 scholastic year, as well as of his own col- 
 legiate life, carried otl", before the' proud 
 happy gaze of his father and of his Aunt 
 Ratelle, the highest honors of the day. 
 
 There were other witnesses of his triumph 
 also, and in one of the front seats, amongst 
 the elite of the city who were there present, 
 sat Gertrude de Beaiivoir and her mother, 
 Mr. de Courval on one side, an<l Victor de 
 Montenay on the other. Fortunately, per- 
 haps, for Armand's self-possession, he did 
 not perceive the latt(>r group, till after the 
 
 close of the magnificent valedictory, which 
 he delivered with an eloquence of voice and 
 gesture, whose influence, combined with 
 that of his refined and striking personal 
 beauty, [)rocured him round alter round of 
 deafening ajiplause. < »n resuming his seat, 
 he looked lor the first time in the direction in 
 which tliey sat. and encountered the splen- 
 did eyes of (Jertrude fixed upon him. 
 
 Despite the great changes tiie \(\w past 
 years had mad(i in hei'. transfoiming the 
 careless, self willed child of fifteen, into an 
 elegant, aristocratic gir'.. he knew her at 
 once, and his heart beat with a strangely 
 pleasurable feeling on reatling in her gaze. 
 an immistakable admiration of the elo- 
 (luent address he had just concluded. 
 
 Mr, de (Jourval's face als i reflected u simi- 
 lar feeling, but Mrs. de Heauvoir was 
 superbly indifferent, and de Montenay, 
 stooping towards her, with a sliglitly satiri- 
 cal smile on his handsome face, was evident- 
 ly indulging in some sarcastic witticism to 
 which she aj)provingly listened. 
 
 " What a .■.i)lendi(i young fellow !" warmly 
 ejaculated Mr. de Courval, turning towards 
 his companions. "Ifow ]iroiid his father, 
 as well as we, Alonville i)eo[)le. ought to feel 
 of him ! Such elo(juence and graceful ges- 
 ture, and then the many honors he has 
 won." 
 
 ".-1 mi huounV' responded de Monte- 
 nay, slightly shrugging his shoulders. 
 "There may be similarity of title, but there 
 is no farther analogy between Greek and 
 Latin roots, and those of field and garden. 
 Will a knowledge of the classics help i'l 
 raising clover; or will versification teaeji 
 him how to prevent the ravages of the 
 weevil?" 
 
 " But I don't see why he should return to 
 roots or crops either!" interi'upted Mr. de 
 Courval. somewhat testily. •' Paul Durand 
 has ample means, and, 1 doubt not, jud^r- 
 ment enough to give a lad of such rare abi- 
 lities, a profession. The other brother can 
 take the father's place on the farm. But i 
 must go up and congratulate my good old 
 friend on his son's triumphs ! Are you com- 
 uig, sister Julie?"' 
 
 "Keally, you must excuse me. I know 
 nothing whatever of those people, and the 
 weather is too hot for making new acquaint- 
 ances." 
 
 " (.)r for renewing old ones that a person 
 would rather forget," added de Montenay. 
 
 "Uncle, I will gladly accompany you, 
 for I not only know ' those people ' but like 
 them !" and shaking out her voluminous 
 muslin flounces, (Jertrude swept past de 
 Montenay without vouchsafing him a look. 
 
 The young man's brow ilarkened as he 
 watched her making her way, amid smiles 
 and nods from surrounding friends, to the 
 spot where stood the happy family group, 
 of which Armand was the centre. A word 
 
AIIMANI) DLRAND. 
 
 29 
 
 or two, nothing more, to him ; a IViendiy 
 grasp of thf hanil to his father; ami some 
 contidential chit cliat with /fr/i/e Fmnc<>i.>e, 
 whilst Mr. <le T'ourval wuiinly i'elicitatud 
 Duranrl, and invitod his sons to visit him 
 ofton either in town or country, for he pos- 
 sessed very conifortuble (|uarters in Mon- 
 treal, which he j)atronized with his houso- 
 liold during the long winter months ; tiiis 
 was all that passed. Still it was enough to 
 excite de Muntenay's nngei'. and eyeing 
 tlie little circle, he wrathliilly exclaimed: 
 
 •• As wilful and wayward as ever! Kacli 
 day that adds to her charms, seems to in- 
 crease, in equal degree, her self-will and 
 interminable caprices !' 
 
 "Like every young and pretty girl, she 
 knowi her own value:' replied Mrs. de 
 Beauvoir, disguising a yawn, for such i)a.s- 
 sagosat arms were so fietiuent between her 
 daughtei' and young de Montenay, that 
 her patience at times gave way under their 
 constant repetition. 
 
 '• I fear, so nuich so, Mrs. de Beauvoii', 
 that she will never be at)le to understand 
 the value of a husband's authority !' 
 
 llis companion opened her eyes to their 
 fullest extent, then compassionately said : 
 " But do you not know, my <lear de Monte- 
 nay, that husbands really have no authority 
 in om- rank in life, or in the times we live. 
 In the wilds of Ai'rica, Polynesia, or in 
 places equally remote and uncivilized, they 
 may have, but, believe me, nowhere else ! ' 
 
 De Montenay smiled grimly. "A plea- 
 sant prospect ior a fellow seriously contem- 
 plating a plunge into matrimony !"' 
 
 " But why take the plunge if you dread 
 it, poor Victor ? I really fenr at times that 
 yourself and my wayward girl will not be 
 very happy togetlier." 
 
 '•"Tis too late to think of that now — too 
 late to retract!"" he muttered. "For years 
 past I have determ'ned she should be my 
 wife — placed my hopes, heart and wishes 
 on it : I cannotatfortl to give ui) my dream, 
 now, even tliougli it should bring nje 
 ini>ery !"' 
 
 Prolmbly the astute Mrs. de Beauvoir was 
 flwaie of this, or slie would not have ventur- 
 ed to play i\\M an<l loos<> with so valuable 
 a prize; and Imving studied Victor de Mon- 
 tenay's character thoroughly, knew that a 
 little seeming indifference wouUl advance 
 lier favorite pi qject far more than too much 
 apparent eagerness. 
 
 Some time aftei' do Montenay had left 
 College, he had I'ormally askeil (lertrutle's 
 li<ind, and she. H;ittered by the attentions 
 of a liandsome suitor, who was in his tuni 
 sought by half of the girls of her own age, 
 and influenced too by the counsels and 
 arguments of her motlier, who singularly 
 appreciated the wealth and social position 
 of this aspirant to her daughter's hand, 
 inclined to his suit. 
 
 An engagement wa.s entered into which 
 was merely a jrelude to a series of engage- 
 ments i>f a less amicable nature, hi which 
 (iortrudes wayward independence of cha- 
 racter and her betrothed's arl)itrary Jealou- 
 sy were freely displayed. At the close of 
 one of these skirmishes, Gertrude suddenly 
 changing from a (it of passionate sobbing, 
 into a marble calmness of demeanor, in- 
 forme<l her startled listeners, Mrs. de Beau- 
 voir and Victor, that the engagement was 
 broken off, and tJJuit henceforth she would 
 consider herself as free as if it had never 
 existed. 
 
 In vain, de Jlontenay, who was really 
 deeply attached to her, b(>gged forgiveness 
 — in vain Jlrs. de Beauvoir, alarmed at the 
 danger of losing so good a parti, remonstrat- 
 ed and scolded : the yoimg lady was inexo- 
 rable. Finally, more in sympathy for her 
 mother"s tears (Mrs. de Beauvoir could 
 nearly always summon the latter at com- 
 mand) than her lovers solicitations, she 
 consented to a sort of conditional engage- 
 ment, which merely provided that if neither 
 of them changed their minds before the end 
 of the year, the marriage should take place, 
 but, in the meantime, both i)artics should 
 be perfectly i'ree to act as they liked. 
 
 After this, matters went on a little more 
 smoothly between the young pcojtle. He 
 was less exacting, she, in conse(iuence, leas 
 exasperating. Wherever Gertrude was, de 
 Montenay was also, and he followed her 
 like her shadow. Their union at a later 
 period was a generally received thing among 
 the circle in which they moved, and de 
 Montenay, without scruple, proclaimed it 
 everywhere as a settled fact, judging such 
 a step would prove a very efiectual moans 
 of keeping other suitors from entering the 
 lists. 
 
 • •' ■ ■ CHAPTER Vm. 
 
 A happy man was Paul Durand, when, in 
 stalled once more in his comfortable home, 
 he sat with )>ipe and tobacco before him, 
 his tine, manly sons seated on either side, 
 smiling Aunt Katelle already engaged in re- 
 ))airing their dilapidated wardrobes, whilst 
 he listened to the cheerful, animated dis- 
 cussion going on. 
 
 " So you are determined, Paul,' he said, 
 after listening to a violent diatribe from hi-* 
 youngest >on against college life, followeil 
 by an e<|Ualiy eneigetic eulogium of the 
 happiness of a farmer's destiny, " so you 
 are tletermined you will not return to col- 
 lege, to comi)lete the course, unless com- 
 pelled to do so ! You want to enter on a 
 farmer's life at once".'"' 
 
 *' Yes, father. That is the free, pleasant 
 life for me! No mo|iing one's self to deatli 
 in dingy olliee dungeons, studying tho 
 
20 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 learned profesmons I nOrlinibing my fingern 
 viith ink, and stultifying my lirains witli 
 thesis writing and note taking I'' 
 
 " For shame, Paul !"' deprecated Mrs. 
 Ratello. " you should not talk so after 
 costingso much money at college and spend- 
 ing so long there; youshonhl have picked 
 up hy this time a little love for books and 
 learning."' 
 
 "Books," almost .-hon ted Paul. "Oh 
 I've had enough of tiiem to last my life 
 time. I dont think HI ever open one 
 again; not, ut least, till 1 am grny heiwled, 
 and happen to be named silioul commis- 
 sioner, or church warden." 
 
 Durand tranquilly t-nioked on. These 
 sentiments, notwithstanding the considera- 
 ble sums spent on the ediicalion on whicli 
 the speaker evidently set such small store, 
 in no manner displease<l him. lie had al- 
 ways secretly wished that one of his boys 
 should succeed him in the old homestead, 
 and in the management of the large and 
 well kept farm, of whose flourishing condi- 
 tion he was so justly jaoud. The robust 
 and stalwart Paul was the one best suited, 
 by strength and ti sfes, for the i>osition. 
 
 " Well, Dieii incfi !'' inteirupted Mrs. 
 Hat«.'lle, with an indignant jerk of her thread, 
 "that both my nepliews are not of the same 
 way of thinking. Armanrl a])i)reciates at 
 least the advantages of education." 
 
 "t)h, Armand !' retort(<l Paul, sarcasti- 
 cally. " He is a genius, i)r a book worm, 
 whichever you choose. I think one of 
 them in a family is quite enough !" 
 
 Armand good humoredly smiled, but 
 Aunt Fran^oise severely rejoined : " One of 
 them is about as much as destiny seems to 
 intend favoring our family witii, my young 
 nephew, for you certaiidy have no calling 
 that way." 
 
 " Armand, what do your thouglits point 
 to ?" interposed Durand. 
 
 " Well, 1 suppose first to what Paul would 
 call a dingy office dungeon. There, I 
 can dust the defekw and stools, whilst wait- 
 ing to become jud^e, or attdrney gene- 
 rali" 
 
 " You need not laugh, Arm^irid, in sayiiig 
 it !" gravely remarked Mrs. Ratelle. " Some 
 of Canada's greatest m*n have been sons of 
 farmers, and I think your chanee is as good 
 as another's. Tliank God! natiinll talent 
 and steadin^Bs often' meel;, even in this 
 wick«d world, with their just rewai'd; but, 
 I must see, now, to making Some nice hot 
 cakes for your suppers, boys. wliic)i, farmer 
 or judge, you will equally enjoy." 
 
 That autimin saw Armaiul installed in 
 the office of Jowph bahaise, an emi- 
 nent lawyer of Montreal, a kind-hearted 
 and l)enevolent man : wliilst Paul, re- 
 joicing in his new freedom I'rom college 
 thraldom, rose with the dawn each morn- 
 ing, and shared bis father'^ farm dutiet: 
 
 with a zest and eiyoynient that gicatly 
 pleased the latter. CJun and fishing rod 
 were not neglected cither, and when Durand 
 sometimes saw him return after ahalf days 
 keen sport, and watched hi^ athletic frame, 
 full of robust h«Milt'li, evincing such capk- 
 cities for keen enjoyment of life, he thought, 
 with a sigh, of his other son, toiling ovfer 
 wearisome books in a close gloomy office, 
 and almost wi.shed that Armand had chosen 
 otherwise. 
 
 Let us see now how fared it with the 
 latter. Mr. Laliaise, the lawyer with wlioni 
 he studied, was kind — the study of law itself, 
 though dry, was not exactly distasteful to 
 him, and his father, liberal and indulgent, 
 gave him money enough to amply supply 
 his wants, which were in reality reasonable. 
 and moderate, lie lived with a respectabh 
 though humble family where no othei 
 boarders were taken, and where the mealn 
 were comforta})le and abundant, the linen 
 unexceptionable, and Mrs. Martel. the 
 hostess, motlierlyand good-natured. Surely 
 life was opening very easily and pleasantly 
 for both brothers ! Coulil it be that in those 
 bright sunshiny waters there were alieady, 
 at least for one of them, "breakers ahead?" 
 Mrs. Martel had neither sister nor da iigliter 
 to aid in dusting the quahit little del f orna- 
 ments decorating her mantel piece : nor in 
 watering and clipping the geraniums and: 
 monthly roses that blossomed so luxuiiantly 
 in her bright but small paned windows. 
 t>ne afternoon, however, that Armand re- 
 turned to his boarding house, .some weeks 
 after he had taken up his residence tl)ere, 
 he perceived, in passing through the front 
 room to his own apartment, a young girl 
 seated near the window sewing. She did not 
 even raise her head when he entered, and 
 all he saw in the momentary glarice he cast 
 upon her, was tliatshe'had a graceful figure, 
 and was exceedingly well dressed. At 
 supper, however, she was seated at table, 
 and Mrs. Martel briefly introduced hei' ah 
 **mj cousin, 1 )elima Laurin, whft is cominjg 
 to stop liere for a few days to help me with 
 my se^vin^ng." 
 
 Arnlaha' carfelfessly looked at her. Her 
 features wei'e dfelicjltely' chiselled, her jetty 
 hair and eyeri superb, whilst her figure^ of 
 slight btifpertfect symlAetry, was shown t» 
 all p6.«isJl)le advantage by an elegance of 
 df-eps m6i*e svtrjtrising in one of her sUitioh, 
 than even her great loveliness. Still, wifehi 
 the mertl wa.s over, he felt nb wish to linger, 
 and betook himself without any nieiital 
 effort to his little room, and the dry society 
 of I'othier and otliei- leg.al luminaries. 
 
 Several Aveeks had now elapsed, and still 
 Delinia remain(^d with Mrs. Martel, but she 
 was always busy with sewing, and as quiet 
 and unobti usive as it was jjossible to be. 
 Notwithstanding her great beauty, her i-e- 
 iineil appearant^e and timid gentleness of 
 
ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 31 
 
 manner, Armnnd gave her but a vorj' small 
 share of his thoughts, probably because ho 
 had fii-stmet fJertrude de Beanvoir, mid she 
 ^vith her patrician grace and wayward fasci- 
 nations, hflfl become unconsciously to him- 
 self, the standard by which he judge! all 
 feminine attractions. 
 
 The reception of an invitation to an 
 evening party at Mr. deCourval's (he little 
 suspected the sturdy argument that had 
 preceded ihe writing of it, between his in- 
 tended host and Mrs. de Beauvoir) tilled 
 liim with mingled feelings of gratification 
 and embarrassment. After a struggle witli 
 his shyness, he determined on going, 
 and lost no time in or<lering from a com- 
 petent tradesman wiiatever he might 
 require for so important an occasion. 
 
 The evening, at times as much dreaded 
 ns desired, arrived, and with a beating heart, 
 our hero entered, for tlie first time, a ball- 
 loom. How bewildering the lights, music 
 and gaily dressed figures, circling roun<l in 
 the dance, at first appeared to him, but, after 
 a time, he grew more self-possesse<l, and 
 summoned courage to make his bow to Mrs. 
 (le Beauvoir, as, gorgeous in costly raiment, 
 she reclined in a graceful position on ii 
 couch, smiling on all with easy iiltiibility. 
 but giving herself very little troubl(> Ix yond 
 that to entertain her guests. Her recfption 
 of young Durand, though cold, was jtolitc, 
 a circumstance due probably to a threat of 
 (Jertrude's, who, heaiing her mother declare 
 she would receive this countiy i>r(iti'</<'^ 
 of Mr. de Courval's in a manner that would 
 effectually prevent his returning a second 
 time, had therewith announced Jier inten- 
 tion of milking amends for whatever slights 
 or rudeness she should show him, by flirting 
 with the victim all the evening. 
 
 With this threat before her, and the 
 certainty of its being put in execution if 
 provocation were given, Mrs. de Beauvoii-, 
 we have said, leceived her unwelcome guest 
 civilly enough. A few hearty words from 
 Mr. de Courval, a smiling, kindly bow from 
 Gertrude, who, doubly attractive in ln-i- 
 light, airy ball dress, stood, the unembar- 
 rassed: centre of a circle of admireis : ami 
 Atmand glided with a feeling of intense 
 relief into a quiet corner, near a side door. 
 
 "Nothmg will induce me to leave this 
 liftven of refuge, unless to make my escaj)o 
 into the passage, if too haixl pressetl,'" lie 
 mentally resolve*!, as he took in all the ad- 
 vantages of his new jiosition. He farthei' 
 ]>roceeded to sti'engthen it by drawing 
 towards him a small table piled with prims 
 and illustrations in which to conceal his con- 
 fusion, if anything should occur to make it 
 overpowering. 
 
 "Why, how are you, Armand!" sudden- 
 ly exclaimed a friendly voice at his elbow, 
 " Where have you been biuTOwing of late 
 that I've never met you ?' 
 
 " In Mr, IjvViaise's office, in St, Vincent 
 street." 
 
 "Not a bad place, either, taken all in all. 01 
 course, as you have by this time made up 
 your mind to be either a judge or a states 
 man, you must begin by the first step to 
 war((s it. Well, you'll do. You arc steady 
 and you have brains, two most important 
 ]toints in the career you have chosen, and 
 for the matter of that in any other." 
 
 " And yourself, Belfond ?' 
 
 •' Why I've almost gone through tlie pro- 
 fessions, I tried the law first. t>h, it was 
 intolerable! Dry, dusty and ban-en ! Then 
 I had a shy at medicine, but though I could 
 stand the horrors of the dissecting room 
 and body-stealing, I could not, no, for the 
 life of me, I could not endure the smell of 
 the drugs. A notary's bondage I have )iot 
 tried, for I have had enougli of the law in 
 every shape ; but, there is time enough to 
 make up my mind. Besides, as my old 
 bachelor uncle and go<lfather, Toussaint 
 Lallciniind, has lately declared his intention 
 of formally making me his heir, provided 1 
 cut all useful or honest occupations, such 
 ln'ing in his opinion somewhat derogatory 
 to a gentleman's dignity, I will probably 
 end l>y being nothing at all." 
 
 " You will be able to do so if Mr, Lalle- 
 niitnd possesses half the wealth rumor 
 credits him with." 
 
 •' True ! Still, I should like to try for a 
 while, an artist's cjireer, at least the tra- 
 velling and sightseeing part of it ; but, I 
 suppose, imcle Toussaint woxddn't hear of 
 suciiathing! I say, though, you don't in- 
 tenil stopping here all night ! 'Tis a capital 
 corner with a nice cool draft, but you have no 
 right to monopolize it entirely 1 Ah, Miss 
 (lertrude is looking this way, I stippose 
 she will soon be bearing down on us. How 
 <lo you like her?" 
 
 " lieally, 1 know her very little," rejoined 
 Armand, somewhat flurried by this abrupt 
 questioning, " but she is very elegant and 
 fascinating." 
 
 " So do I not think. She is clever, and 
 good looking enough, but with a terrible 
 will of her own. I have five sisters, and I 
 do not think I have seen as much toinpei 
 and caprice exhibited between all of them, 
 since I loft ofl" pinafores, as I have witness- 
 ed Miss de Bejiuvoir display on two or three 
 different occasions. But perhaps the fault 
 lies more in the nmnner that odious mo- 
 ther of heis has brought her up than in her- 
 self." 
 
 Injustice to the young lady thus censur- 
 ed, Belfond should have sttited that his sis- 
 ters were phlegmatic, easy tempered girls, 
 somewhat inclined to be stout, and of a very 
 different organization to the impulsive, sen- 
 sitive Gertrude; moreover they were liappy 
 in the rule of a mother who was as wi-e as 
 she was <levote(l. 
 
82 
 
 AllMAND DUUAND. 
 
 \'cry gracefully Miss do Bcnuvoir ttoatod 
 lip to tlic two young moii, ami after a few 
 ^vo^dH of friendly greeting to Arniand, witii 
 whom ^llO now spoko for the first time since 
 lii.s eiitraiic(s playfully chided thorn for 
 \Vii,-<ting «o many words and moments on 
 oa.h other, when there wore young latlies 
 present to whom they could dovote both. 
 
 '• Do you dance, Mr. DurandV" 
 
 Armand replied in the negative, and Bel- 
 I'ond hauntoivd ott", saying: " that as he did 
 -o, in a sort ol a way, he would now look 
 up a partner." 
 
 Miss do IJoauvoir remained some time 
 longer chatliug with her enraptured com- 
 panion, who, the iirst few moments of in- 
 tense onibairassment over, felt much more 
 It ease than he could have behoved possi- 
 l>Ie, ton minutes previous. The fact was, 
 though the yomig girl could be sarcastic ami 
 arrogant to a most disagreeable extent 
 when )trovokod. there was a frankness, a 
 natural simplicity about her that hispired 
 contidi')u'o instead of repelling it. 
 
 Probably finding her daughter's inter- 
 view with Armand too protracted, Mrs. do 
 Boauvoir came uj) after a time, politely in- 
 quiring " why Mr-. Durand did not join 
 the dancers." 
 
 " I do not know how to dance, Madame," 
 rejoineil Armand, relapsing into the state 
 of confusion from which ho had just emerg- 
 ed. 
 
 •' Would ho favor them with a song 
 then ?" 
 
 Again our hero protested his ignorance, 
 mentally thanking Heaven he was able with 
 a clear conscience to do so. 
 
 " Well, you must take a hand at cards ! 
 they want a player in the next room !'" 
 and she carried off the reluctant Armand, 
 triumphing in having separated him so 
 diplomatictilly from his fair companion. 
 
 He was soon seated at a whist table witli 
 Belfond's eldest sister for his partner; and 
 she good naturedly overlooked his many 
 blunders, never once reproaching him for 
 trumping her tricks and resolutely ignoring 
 her lead. This forbearance he felt the more 
 grateful for, as the sharp looking lady on 
 his right mercilessly pounced upon her 
 bapless partner, a quiet, middle-aged gen- 
 tleman in spectacles, every time he infring- 
 ed in the slightest manner the most tri- 
 lling rules of the game. 
 
 Music and singing there was plenty of, 
 and Gertrude and de Montenay sang a cou 
 pie of duetts splendidly together, both evi- 
 <.lently (juite indifferent to the applause 
 they elicited. Then there were a couple of 
 wretchedly bungled opera selections, a good 
 song from Belfond, who grumbled, soito 
 voce " oh bother !" on being asked to sing, 
 and a splendidly served supper. There 
 were no social round games, so common 
 then, no forfeits.oranytliingof that sort. Mrs. 
 
 de Boauvoir lioing too fiushional*h> to tole- 
 rate them; yet, on the whole, tiic party 
 went oil" ploasimtly enough, and Armand, 
 who had f-njoyed anothci' long delightful 
 talk with Miss do Boauvoir, returned homo 
 quite charmed with hii dtbiit in gay life. 
 The timid ailvancos lie found himself forced 
 to make to .some of the ladies pro.sont, wore 
 most graciously recoivcfl, for thougiihe nei- 
 ther .sang, danced noi' flirted, his haiidsomo 
 face and refined ajipoarance won him smilci 
 and courteous looks on all .-ides. 
 
 CHA1'TK]{ IX. 
 
 The next day Bolfond called to see liim, 
 and thoy had an houi's jjloasant talkinth(» 
 neat little rooin, wiiioli. (l('-)iit<,' its lag 
 carpet, whitowushod walls and countiy 
 made chiiirs, was very conilnrtable. A 
 couple of pretty, bright colored mat.s and 
 a daintily fashioned pt-n-vviiior, evidently 
 the work of fominino lingers, were on tho 
 little table, and tho visitor took (hom up. 
 saying : 
 
 " My sister Eliza has just given me some 
 triHes like those. How tlo you como to 
 have any? You havo no sister, or cousin, 
 have you ?' ' 
 
 " None. Now, that I think of it, this 
 is the first time that I've soon tlioso dainty 
 nothings Iioro !"' 
 
 •' iSuroly your fat mothei'ly hostess ha.s 
 .sometiiing else to do than to pass her time 
 in jiroparing romantic surprises for you. in 
 the shape of oi'nHniontal neodle-work," 
 queried Belfond, anuisod by his own con- 
 jecL'.-e. 
 
 "It can scarcely be hor. It must bo 
 Miss Delima Laurin, a cousin of hers, who 
 is staying here, ju«t now, helping with tho 
 house sewing." 
 
 " Oh, wo arc coming to it at last, friend 
 Armaml, though in a roundabout sort of 
 way!" laughed Belfond. "Now, 111 wager 
 what you will, that the maker of those 
 mats is young, ami pretty."' 
 
 " 1 believe .she's both, though I've scarcely 
 looked at or spoken to hor ten times, 
 since she has been in tho house."' answered 
 Armaml, with a slight sha<le of weariness in 
 his tones, for he looked on the matter a* 
 top uninteresting oven for jesting. 
 
 Belfond, with woUbrod tact, abandoned 
 the subject, seeing it was distasteful, and 
 spoke of past college life, politics and what- 
 ever other topic jn-esontod itself. After a 
 time ho approached a window overlooking 
 the little garden, which, d»»spite tho brilliant 
 coloi'ing of October foliag<', appeared bleak 
 enough. Suddenly ho uttered a low whistle 
 of astonishment and eagerly exclaimed : 
 
 "Tell mo, Armand, wlio is that fairy 
 princess, that angel in the alley there '( I 
 I never saw such a lovely face !"' 
 
 "That is the cousin. Miss Delima."' 
 
ARMAND DCRAKD. 
 
 tB 
 
 in 
 
 " Well you we either ft very sly, or a very 
 -obtuse sort of fellow I" and Belfond turned 
 11 sharp, scrutinizing glance upon \w com- 
 panion. "Why, that girl is absolutely 
 beautiful, and her carriage and drcas as 
 gi-aceful as those of any of the women kind 
 at Mr. de t'ourval's the other night, not 
 •excepting the peerless (lertrude herself." 
 
 '•Pshaw!" laughed Armand. "You are 
 bent on making discoveries today, in whose 
 correctness, however, no one will coincide." 
 
 Belfon<l eyed him still more closely. "If 
 I were speaking," he said, "to de Mont- 
 onay, or some others that I know, I would 
 unhesitatingly assert tliat all this indif- 
 ference of yours was sham, but, I have 
 Always found you so straightfoi-ward, that 
 1 really believe in your astonishing blind- 
 ness. But she is coming nearer ! Heavens, 
 what a beauty ! How is it, Armand, that 
 you have not fallen in love with her ? 1 am 
 three-quarters gone already !" 
 
 "Then you need fear no rival in me," 
 was the gay reply. " I do not intend sacri- 
 ficing one moment of the time belonging 
 to thoBO dry shelves" (and he pointed to a 
 small book case filled chiefly wrtii law 
 books) " to all Misf Delima's charms. But 
 are you going?" 
 
 ** Yes, I've been here more than an Iiour. 
 <'0me, and take a turn with me in town. 
 We'll be just in time to join the usual band 
 of fldneurn.'^ 
 
 Armand was soon ready, and as the two 
 young men passed through the little pas- 
 sage, on their Avay out, they met the pretty 
 Delima entering from the garden. Durand 
 was passing her as usual, with a courteous 
 bow, when she timidly stopped him to say, 
 "that a parcel and letter from the country 
 had just arrived for him, and if he wished it, 
 she would give them to him at once." 
 
 " Y'es, yes, Armand. There is no hui-ry 
 for our stroll. Look at parcel and lett.r. 
 You must long to know how they all are at 
 home." 
 
 " Perhaps the gentleman had better sit 
 <lovvn in here for a moment," and as she 
 spoke, the j'oung girl led the way into the 
 little drawing-room 
 
 On a table near the geraniums, was a 
 |)ile of calico and cotton, with a small mat in 
 process of fabrication, like those adorning 
 Armand' s room, leaving little doubt as to 
 the donor. 
 
 Belfond got up on a pretence of examining 
 the window plants and of inhaling their 
 fragrance, but in reality he kept a close 
 watch on Delima, as she gave his friend the 
 liackage and handed him her tmy scissors 
 to sever the cords. Without waiting to 
 give more than a passing glance to the 
 contents, which consisted Apparently of 
 
 wearing apparel, he broke the seal of the 
 over it. "Good news! 
 
 letter and ran 
 They are all well." 
 
 " How is Paul ?" questioned Belfond. 
 
 "Couldn't be better. He says he nities 
 mo profoundly, and thinks if lie wei-e m my 
 place ho would run away at once. But I 
 am all ready now. Thank you I" ha politely 
 but carelessly added, as Delima offered to 
 have his possessions put immediately in 
 his own room ; " I'll see to it myself when 
 I return," and he and Belfond went out 
 together. 
 
 " I have just made another discovery," 
 said the latter, in a graver tone than ho had 
 yet employed. 
 
 " Yes. Well, friend Rodolphc, you are in 
 a lucky vein this morning. Tell it, please !' ' 
 
 " It is this. Though you don't seem to 
 care about that lovely little girl, she cer- 
 tainly cares a good deal about you." 
 
 This supposition both surprised and 
 startled Armand, and his face flushed. 
 " Nothing sf the sort!" he hastily rejoined. 
 
 "As I have already told you, wc have 
 scarcely exchanged a dozen words toge- 
 ther." 
 
 "That maybe, but I do not think my 
 opinion the less coiroct in consequence. 
 I W(i8 looking at her, instead of the gera- 
 niums, all the time, and she certainly U 
 not as granite hearted as yourself. But 1 
 see you would rather change the subject^ so 
 now for a saunter down Notre Dame 
 street." 
 
 That evening, as Armand took his seat 
 at the tea table, he looked for the first time 
 with interest at Delima, a natural result of 
 the extravagant praises bestowed on her by 
 his friend, as well as of the hints thrown 
 out, regarding her partiality for himself. 
 She was in her usual place, jiresiding over 
 a smoking fUsh of some palatable raqouf, 
 for the Martels, like many Canadian fami- 
 lies, partook of meat, three times a day. 
 
 She never raised her eyes when he enter- 
 ed, and as Mrs. Martel was busy with her 
 tray, and her husband with cutting the sub- 
 stantial brown loaf gracing his corner of the 
 boardj Armand had ample opportunity of 
 studymg her face unobserved. 
 
 Was she really as beautiful as Belfond had 
 said ? He looked closely at the small,regular 
 features — the long, silken lashes — the deli- 
 cately cut, oval face, and inwardly acknow- 
 ledgedj with something like surprise at his 
 own bhndness, that she was. Suddenly she 
 raised her eyes to his, proffering some of 
 the contents of the dish before her, but 
 meeting his earnest gaze, her own droojied, 
 and a soft flush overspread her cheek. 
 
 Remembering Belfond's second discov- 
 ery, which this embarrassment served in 
 some degree to corroborate, a feeling of na- 
 tural vanity mingled with the interest her 
 beauty excited in Armand" s breast, but on 
 Mrs. Martel's asking if the news he had re- 
 ceived from home had been favorable, his 
 thoughts instantly reverted to the family 
 
H 
 
 AB^^IfD DUKAND. 
 
 circle there, and Deliipawas lor the timo 
 forgotten- 
 
 For 8omo time after this nothing of 
 import occurred to our hero. He prose- 
 cuted hia laiv studies with the uame 
 ^ucoe^a with which ho ha<l done those of 
 college, winning opinions from Mr. Luhaiso 
 as favorable as tnose he liad previously 
 dor^e froQ) his professors, fl is life, thoqgh 
 regular and quiet, was by no means dull or 
 lonely; /and he was often invited out iti 
 families occupying a high Hocial position, 
 where the presence of refined, accomplish- 
 ed women formed an atmosphere most 
 attractive to him, despite his tunidity. 
 To Mr. de Courval's, notwithtiUmiiiug that 
 he was pressingly invited by the latter, ho 
 rarely went, for though Gertrude was kind 
 and polite, Mrs. de Beauvoir's rect-ption of 
 him was so frigid that, inexperiejiced as he 
 was in feminine ways, he could not mistake 
 her hostile feelings towards him. 
 
 On the few occasions that he encountered 
 de Montenay, the latter made no advances, 
 and his reserve was faithfully copied by Ar- 
 mand, a cold nod when they met being the 
 only remaining token of what had once 
 been a warm friendship. 
 
 Belfond often dropped in to see him, oc- 
 catsionally bringing a friend as light hearted 
 as hiipis^ll- Armand never oflered them 
 any other refreshment than Canadian to- 
 bacco — for it must be acknowledged that 
 all these young men smoked— and a glass 
 of cider or ale, with occasionally, a plate of 
 rosy Jintfteuse apples, or crisp crullers, 
 dainties constojitly sent him from home by 
 his ^unt Katelle : and Belfond, accustomed 
 as hp was to a taole spread with every lux- 
 ury, enjoyed these impromptu feasts with a 
 i€)st equal to any he liad displayed in his 
 hungry college days. 
 
 One eyening that he had brought with 
 hii^ a gentlemanly ypung fellow, a law stu- 
 de;n^) "^ ^^^ ^^^ three were discussing, 
 amid puffs of narcotic smoke, the politics 
 of the day, condemning the tyranny of the 
 imperial government and the blindness of 
 Uy^ir o\n\ rulers, and settling the affairs of 
 piwrope with wonderful celerity, if not wis- 
 dom, a visitor for Mr. Durand was announc- 
 •4, and looming large in the small room, 
 Paul made his appearance. Of course there 
 yifs a cordial exchange of civilities, a rapid 
 lire of questions and answers about home, 
 the country, the roads, and then the new 
 oomer was provided with a pipe, and smok- 
 ing recommenced with vigor. But the 
 conversation did not flow as Ireely as before. 
 Paul's mind was of a stamp far inferior to 
 that of his companions, and this difference 
 was rendered still more marked by a cer- 
 tain rusticity of manner and language which 
 he had actually been at some pains to ac- 
 quire, when ho had settled down at Alon- 
 villc on leaving college. 
 
 An this gradually became more evid«nt to 
 him, he gr«w ^iturn, aod listened with a 
 sort of moody pre-occu|>atioQ to. the W^on 
 polished saUies, the witty retorts of his 
 companions, varying the occupation by 
 stealtliily contrasting their white slender 
 hands with his own embrowned ones, and 
 their easy, ^aceful motions, with his owti 
 stiff, constrained movements. 
 
 At length the other guests took leave and 
 the brothers were left alone. 
 
 "A'A6i>»/" ejacukt^ Paul, " yon are 
 not so much to be pitied as I once thought 
 you were. iHantrel you are very comfort- 
 able here and quite the tine gentleman I" 
 
 Without noticing the ugjiy sneer wit!* 
 whidi the latter words were uttereti, 
 Armand rejoined: " You forget that I an» 
 shut up during a great part of the day in u 
 duigy ottice dungeon, to use your own. 
 woiils." 
 
 "A dungeon that perhaps you see very 
 little of !" retorted Paul. " When a fellow 
 hates a place he can easily keep away i'ron:^ 
 it." 
 
 "But, Paul, I do no suph thing !' earnent- 
 ly aviswered the other. " I do not shirk my 
 law studies any more than 1 did my collegt> 
 ones." 
 
 " Oh, you needn't begin bragging about 
 them now! I'm sure wo have all heard 
 enough of the subject. Between my father 
 and la tantc Francoise, I have had a perfect 
 sickening of it. But to change the topic — 
 here is a letter from father with something 
 better than mere vvords of advice in it. A* 
 I guessed !'" he adae(^ on Armand's open- 
 ing the epistle and Ending a couple of bank 
 notes inside. 
 
 Whilst the latter perused his letter, 
 smilii>gly dwelhug on the pleasant words of 
 affection it contained, Paul lay moodily back 
 in his chair, watching the unconscious read- 
 er with a lowering brow. He silently coni- 
 pared the roughs unfashionable cut an<l 
 texture ofhis own home spun suit, which lie 
 had ordered so con^lacently from tln> 
 village tailor, with the plain, but well-made 
 clothes Armand M?pre ; his well trained, well 
 brushed, glossy hair, with his own rough, 
 uncared-for locks ; and the little signs of 
 refinement on the simple dressing table, 
 which, whilst he sneered at them, excited, 
 nevertheless, his vexation. 
 
 The sad truth was that the spirit of un- 
 worthy jealousy, which had for years past 
 smouldered in Paul's breast towards hj* 
 elder brother, was beginning to assume a 
 more definite character, and was develop- 
 ing itself under the new tide of reflections 
 and thoughts flowing in upon him, witli 
 startling rapidity. The constant flattering 
 mention of Armand at homo from a fatlier 
 and aunt both exceedingly proud of hi» 
 talents, the frequent remittances sent 
 him, though in this respoct Paul had no 
 
 
ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 35 
 
 tering 
 father 
 k hi» 
 sent 
 id no 
 
 cause Tor jealousy, for Durantl was Htriotly 
 impartial in all pecuniary matterH : and 
 lastly, the wde ditt'eronoe he now plainly 
 Haw for the lirst time, not only between 
 himself and his retineo gentleman brother, 
 but also tliat brother's aasooiates, fanne<i 
 the feeling of envy into active life. 
 
 " Paul, what are you thinking otV^ ques- 
 tioned Armand, as he folded up hirt letter 
 and placed it and the enclosure in hix Htout, 
 leather pocket-book. 
 
 " ( )f how easily you win your daily bread." 
 
 "Well, all things have a beginning you 
 know. Of course, I can make nothing 
 now, but when I shall have passed my exa- 
 mination, and fairly entered the tieUl. mat- 
 teitj will be wonderfully <lifterent." 
 
 "Words are cheap t" said Paul, grimly. 
 
 "And BO are sneers, though they are not 
 the more agreeable for that I' ' retorted the 
 other, beginning to feel nettled at his com- 
 panion's persistent ill-humor. 
 
 "Oh, you must overlook the plain speak- 
 ing, or boorishness, as I suppose you would 
 call it, of a rough former like myself," was 
 Paul's ironical reply. " I have not the ad 
 vantages of town polish." 
 
 "What are you driving at, Paul ? Speak 
 out your thoughts like a man, ctui't you ?" 
 
 " Well, it is this. Here are you drenwed 
 en fjraiid neiffneur, waited on like one, enter- 
 taining the aristocracy, receiving money, I 
 supposo, when you choose to ask for it, and 
 what do you do for all this ? i, on the oth.er 
 liauil, with no such pretensions or expenses, 
 um up every morning before live ; tramping 
 over the iiirm in all weathere and roads ; 
 out drudging, working under burning sun, 
 or dulling i-ain." 
 
 " Your own choice, so you need not quar- 
 rel with it. How decidedly did you pro- 
 claim, on your last return from college, that 
 you would be no book worm, no galley 
 slave chained to a musty desk, but would 
 choose a farmer's free, independent life. 
 Father would willingly have given you a 
 profession if you had asked him." 
 
 " No, one of tlyit calling in a family is 
 (juite enough. There must be some one to 
 look after the bread and butter of the others, 
 or they might come to know hunger." 
 
 "Poohl pooh! brother Paul," answered 
 Annand with a good humored laugh, 
 through which, however, pierced a shade 
 of aimoyance, " our father can do all that 
 for years to come, as he has done it in the 
 past. Be honest, now, as you were in the 
 old college days, when you used to tell us 
 you would rather be a farmer, tramping in 
 heavy boots through muddy fields and 
 ditches, than the governor in his chair of 
 state." 
 
 "Oh, bother!" was the illogical reply. 
 "'T isn't fair to cast up in a fellow's face 
 things he may happen to have said yeare 
 ago." 
 
 "But, Paul, it is not too late yet to 
 retract your choice. On your return, speak 
 to father. I know you will soon gain him 
 round to your wishes, and before two months 
 from this you can be settled down, law or 
 niediottl student, whichever suits you best, 
 and share my room here, which wjems to 
 have so highly excited your grumbling ad 
 miration.' 
 
 "There's no particular hurry in the cjino 
 that I know of," was the dry n-joinder. 
 " Besides, sending monthly remittanres to 
 two might reouire a little study of ways 
 and means on father's part fii-st." 
 
 " Let us leave the subject, then, before 
 we qiiarrel over it. I will go and ask Mrs. 
 Martel if she can spare me a pillow and 
 blanket to-night, aud you can turn into 
 my bod." 
 
 " No, I must go back to the Three Kings, 
 whore I've left my horse. If you oHer ni« 
 supper, though, I won't ref\ige it." 
 
 " Willingly ! That was included in my 
 offer of a bed." 
 
 Armand then went to inform his landlady 
 of the unexpected addition to the supper 
 table, and having received her fri«ndly 
 assurance of satisfaction thereat, returne<l 
 to Paul, who, beginning to feel aehamed of 
 his late tpierulous ill-humor, made an 
 effort to be somewhat more agreeable. 
 
 Delima Ijaurin was at supper, an<l the new 
 guest seemed almost as much struck with 
 her beauty as Belfcmd had been. He was 
 very civil in his own abrupt way, offering 
 this, proffering that, and on the return of 
 the brothers to the be<l-room, he fairly 
 overwhelmed Armand with questions as to 
 who she was, whence she had come, how 
 long she would stay. Plain jokes and 
 hints as to such charms being enough to 
 reconcile a man to dungeons darker than 
 law offices, and allusions to the complete 
 silence Armand had maintained on the very 
 existence of a person who without doubt 
 gave occupation enough to his thoughts, 
 proved still more unpalatable to the young 
 host than the cross questioning had done, 
 and at length, he said : 
 
 " Do, for mercy's sake, try for another 
 subject a little more amusing than one that 
 bores me so immensely. I heartily wish 
 little Deliimawere back in St. Laurent again, 
 for she brngs down on my devoted heivd 
 an insufferable amount of poor jokes and 
 wearisome questions 1' ' 
 
 Inwardly setting down this speech as 
 meaning the reverse of what Armand really 
 felt, especially as the latter, owing to some 
 chance remembrance of Oertrude de Beau- 
 voir, had colored two or three times during 
 the conversation, Paul abandonetl the sub- 
 ject, and found one more satisfactory to his 
 companion in recounting the changes that 
 had taken place of late in Alonville ; who 
 constituted the village choir ; who had beeu 
 
;36 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 flppointod churoli Wiirden, iiiHpoctor of 
 loadfi, and other oflicoH. 
 
 It wiiA ruthor lute when the lnothorM 
 hO)mrateU lor the night, but thoiiuh I'aul'u 
 iC8t vraH genorully protbund, and Nleop a 
 viHitor that ctuno with little uolioitation, it 
 WHH long that night before blumber closed 
 hit) lidH, and he lOHHed anil tumbled on his 
 couch, alternating between j«'alou8 feeling'^ 
 towardii hit* brother and half regrets that 
 his own peculiar tantoa ancl temperament 
 would prevent him following the profession 
 of a gentleman. "Hang it! No!'' he mut- 
 tered, with an impatient plunge on his pil- 
 low. "Nature neither made nor intended 
 me for a smirking town fop, so let me bo ott' 
 witli the dawn. I hate this place!'' 
 
 CUAPTEK X. 
 
 After stopping a moment in fiont of Mr. 
 Martel's door, the following morning, to 
 say a word of farewell to his bi-other, Paul 
 Jolted homeward, the train of his tiioughts 
 more or less tinged with his I'eflections of 
 the previous night. Arrived at the old home- 
 stea<l, he was besieged with (juestions as 
 to how he kad found Armand, how he wa^^ 
 looking, and what Ive was doing ; and, ahia • 
 for human natuie, Ire contrived, wlrilst 
 keei)ing to n certain degree within the 
 "itounds of truth, to answer in such a manner 
 as to show his brother and his surroundings 
 in tiie least favorable light. 
 
 "lie was smoking, chatting with a couple 
 ot fine gentleman friends, who, from their 
 talk, must be frequent visitors of his. He 
 was dressed in the height of the fashion, 
 looking exciCHlingly gay. and not at all like 
 •one who studied too hard, or worried his 
 inind unnecessarily with professional pro- 
 blems."' 
 
 The fathci- looked j<omewhat grave at this, 
 for he thonfrhtol'the many temptations into 
 which ill chosen companions might lead his 
 inexperienced son: but Mrs. IKtelle was 
 •' <juite satisHed tiiat he should rank with 
 aentlenien. dress, look like them, i'or after 
 all, he woulcl be one of them. There was 
 no saying wliat higli social position he was 
 rlestined to till.'' 
 
 "Bah!" sneered Paul. " Perhaps to spend 
 his life haunting the court house, looking 
 always to my fatlier to pay for the very kid 
 gloves with which he covers his dainty 
 hands.'' 
 
 " Son Paul, be ivot so ready to find fault 
 ■with your elder brother, lie has as yet 
 given me no cause for mistrust, or xmeasi- 
 ness," said Durand. 
 '< No ! all the othei- way !' interrupted Mrs. 
 JJatelle, glancing indignantly towards her 
 nephew. " Who carried ott' the highest 
 honors at college? who was publicly prais- 
 od by liis i>rofessois for industry and good 
 
 conduct? Paul Durand, can it be (h it vou 
 are jealous of your elder brother ?* ' 
 
 " O misMrdrdf!'' pjaculated Paul. "I 
 give in— I retract, I apdogize! Anything 
 you wish, (ante Krancoiso, so you will let us 
 have peace. Father, for meny's sp.ko, len<l 
 me a pipe and a little tobacco!" Mw. Ku 
 telle made no reply to this speech, but the 
 warlike, doHant miumer in which her knitt 
 ing needles clashed together, jilainly he 
 trayed that her rufHcd feelings wero^ still 
 unsoothed. 
 
 Meanwhile that subtle enclumtress, Deli 
 ma lAurin was «|uietly cn<leavoring all the 
 time to weave her spells around our hero, 
 and he, at last, began to discern an<l ap- 
 preciate in some degiee her beauty and 
 grace, after his attention had been as it 
 ware forcibly attracted towards them by the 
 praise and wonderment of all of his friends 
 who had seen her. To these latter, she was 
 veiy distant, indeed cold, and nev«'r ans- 
 wered by smile, or encouraging word, to any 
 of the compliments that were gallantly 
 whispered to her, by passing admirers ; but 
 for Armand, there was always a soft blush, 
 a timid look, or gentle inflexion in hoi- 
 voice, that plainly betrayed she took a dec]) 
 interest ia him. (inuhially, a friendly fti- 
 tim«#f w*s siM'inging up between them, 
 cbiefly the result of their i-tsidenc* tmdw 
 the same roof. Often in the long evenings 
 of winter, which had now come on them, 
 he spent a coui)le of hours in .the family 
 sitting-room, reading aloud, or perhaps 
 playing a game of drafts with Delima, who 
 was no mean adversary. 
 
 Had he been less inexperienced in life, 
 or more suspicious in temperament, he 
 could not have helped noticing the remark- 
 able dexterity with which Mrs. Martel con 
 trived to fm-ther the giowing friendship 
 between himself and her pretty young 
 cousin, pressing Mr. Ai-mand, on stormy, 
 snowy nights, when there was little fear oi' 
 intei-ruption, to leave his lonely room for a 
 little wliile, and Join their circle, of which 
 Delima, always occupied with her sewing, 
 formed a member. Then she would coni- 
 passionately bid the latter put down that 
 work at which she was eternally stitch, 
 stitching, and perhaps Mr. Armantl wotd(i 
 kindly play a game of drafts with her. Very 
 i'requently, too, Mrs. Maitel was obliged to 
 absent herself in tiio course of the even- 
 ing, to look, as she alleged, after house- 
 hold duties, but the grave piopricty of the 
 young people during these frequent hegi- 
 ras was irreproachable, and must, if that 
 astute matron was watching them from 
 some hidden corner, have highly edified 
 her. During the winter, Armand studied 
 closely enough, going out however to so- 
 cial gatherings occasionally, and indidging 
 in no more expensive dissijiation than was 
 comprised in an occasional oyster supi^er. 
 
ARMAND Dl'RAND. 
 
 8T 
 
 legi- 
 Ithat 
 rom 
 ttieil 
 llied 
 so- 
 
 J was 
 jper, 
 
 parUkonof with lu« student friends. Tlio 
 number of Caraquettes suorificod dining 
 these luirmU'88 revels was ho considerable, 
 tliat it woul'l bo hardihoo<l to state it on 
 paper, lost the sum total should bo looked 
 on iiH an exagg«mtion. 
 
 Ono keen, wintry afternoon, nn Armand 
 was hanging up his overcoat, having just re- 
 turue<l from the offlco, an old college chum, 
 for whom ho had never felt any particular 
 frien<lship, but who had nevertheless per- 
 sisted in keeping up the acquaintance, call- 
 ed to invito him to an oyster banf^uet. " My 
 address," lie jocosely adde<l, " w a small 
 wooden house, St. Mary street, up three 
 flights of steps, Hrsi door, opening on the 
 garret." 
 
 Now Armand partly expected his brother 
 on that particular evening, from the con- 
 tents of a letter received the preceding day, 
 but as it had 8nowo<l heavily for some time, 
 he began to think the fear of heavy roatls 
 would have induced liim to defer his jour- 
 ney. At least such was the view taken of 
 the matter by Robert Losperance, when Ar- 
 mand pleaded his brother's expected arrival 
 as an excuse for declining the invitation, 
 feeling, in reality, no great desire to join 
 the set ho wouUl meet, the members of 
 which were probably of a much faster stamp 
 than he was himself. But Lesperance 
 begge<l, insisted, adroitly hinting that of 
 course Durand was accustomed to wealthier 
 and more aristocratic entertainments, till 
 Armand, out of good nature, finally yielded 
 a reluctant consent. 
 
 When our hero sallied forth, first leaving 
 precise directions where he could be found 
 in case of Paul's arrival, it was considerably 
 past the appointed hour, but he had 
 wished to give his brother every possible 
 chance. Lesperance' s jocular description 
 of his abode was pretty near the truth, and 
 Armand's head nearly came in contact with 
 the low browed door on entering. 
 
 The noise that saluted his ears was deaf- 
 ening. J»ng, loud bursts of laughter, 
 occasional snatches of song, convivial cheers, 
 and an occasional sound as of a double 
 shuffle, executed by heavy boots on a bare 
 floor, betokened that mirth, even at this 
 early sUvge of the proceedings, reigned 
 triumphant. There was but a momentary 
 lull on Armand's entrance, during which 
 he excused his late arrival, and the host 
 accoimted for the uproar, by explaining 
 that " in order to prevent his guests falling 
 on tha bivalves, and incontinently causing 
 their complete disappearance, before Mr. 
 Durand' s arrival, he had challenged them to 
 see if they could not get up a little merri- 
 ment without any extraneous aid in the 
 shape of refreshments, liquid or solid." 
 
 The result had proved satisfactory enough 
 to excite a natural anxiety in any reflecting 
 mind as to what height the general joviality 
 
 would attain when 8thn»Uate<l by the banquet 
 which IvOMperance, with ono of his friend*, 
 was now occupied in ))reparing. 
 
 The apartment in which Armand found 
 himself was very different to his own noatly 
 furnished, exquisitely clean room. ik 
 small size, low— with ceiling ami wood 
 work discolored by time and smoke, there 
 was no attempt at ornament, except u few 
 rude colore<l prints of lady dancers, witli 
 preternaturally pink clieoks, ami short, full 
 skirts, side by sido with a likeness of a 
 noted boxer, and some famous French clown, 
 in one comer was a large painted chest 
 conuiining the host's wanlrobe, and an 
 swering also as a library, being pile<l with 
 dusty, venerable looking volumes ; in ano- 
 ther, a fishing rod and pair of rusty foils 
 o'erarchwl, a cracked mirror, suspended 
 against the wall, and so small, that Lesper- 
 ance fref^uently declared ho couM only seo 
 his features in detail, one at a time. A 
 pair of snowshoes, placed at angles, orna- 
 mented one window, whilst a toboggin partly 
 blocked up the other. A clean, though 
 rough table, probably boiTowed for the 
 occasion from down stairs, filled np a great 
 part of the chamber. .Some black >i'>ttle.4 
 containing liquids stronger tlian M ntieal 
 ale, flanked each end ; a few coarse An, 
 a lame cruet-stand, two empty paiN i. the- 
 floor to receive the shells, and all wu.^ ^otn-. 
 plete. Wo must not overlook the great 
 variety displayed in the matter of drinlcing 
 vessels. A few common tumblers, two bluo 
 delf mugs and throe tea- cups, presented 
 variety if not elegance. 
 
 Suddenly the host, assuming a grave ex- 
 pression of countenance, exclaimed : " And 
 now, gentlemen, for an important question. 
 Washed or not washed ?" 
 
 " Not washed, of course !" shouted several 
 voices. Let them come on the board with 
 their native mud around them." 
 
 "So much the better; for my amiable 
 landlady, beside whom Gorgon and Medusa 
 would have been agreeable and charming, 
 informed me a short while ago that I 
 should have to wash them myself. Here, 
 friend Pierre, as your mouth is always open, 
 either singing or shouting, you will proba- 
 bly swallow the most, so help me to carry 
 them in!" 
 
 No sooner said than done. From somo 
 gloomy nook outside, probably the garret, 
 the pair soon re-appeared, bearing between 
 them a huge tray piled high with dainty 
 Caraquettes. 
 
 " Now, friends, to the attack I I have 
 but two legitimate weapons of warfare 
 (and he flourished above his head two dingy 
 oyster knives) one of which I reserve for 
 myself, as lord of the manor : the other for 
 Monsieur Durand, as the latest accession to 
 our select and cheerful circle. There are 
 several dinner knives, a screw driver, no 
 
38 
 
 ABMAND DURAND. 
 
 bad substitute, I assure you, if well sharp- 
 ened, and a jack knijf«, ho choose, gentle- 
 men, choose, unless some of you have come 
 ready armed." 
 
 Probably foreseeing, from experience, a 
 similar contingency, a couple of the gueuts 
 actually drew oyster kmves from their 
 pockets, whilst others had good stout 
 jack knives, almost equally serviceable, and 
 the onset commenced. 
 
 After some tim-^ the door opened, and a 
 sharp featured, grim looking specimen of 
 the softer sex entered, bearuig a large jug 
 of steaming water in her hand. 
 
 " Ah ! many thanks, la mire" heartily ejac- 
 ulated Lesperance. "Now, whoever wants 
 punch can have it ; but see, dear Madame 
 Hurteau, if you could possibly lend us a 
 couple of tumblers instead of these tea-cups ? 
 No matter how hot or strong we make the 
 beverage, we cannot for the life of us help 
 thinking 'tis tea we are drinking all the 
 time. The consequence is, we take occa- 
 sionally too much." 
 
 "That you would always do in any case," 
 and she sourly smiled. " Yourself and 
 friends cracked two glasses the last orgy 
 you held here, and you have not paid me 
 for them yet, though I intend you shall do 
 60 when settling for the month's rent." 
 
 " Yea, my dear lady, and it shall be done, 
 even if I have to raise the necessary funds 
 by public subscription," he rejoined with 
 imperturbable good humor. 
 
 " If Madame can wait a moment, we shall 
 send round the hat at once," gravely urged 
 an undersized, merry looking youth, who 
 had already, with no better implement than 
 a nisty table knife, accumulated a fair pile 
 of shells before him. 
 
 "Then its precious little you'd put in it, 
 George Leroi," was the retort, accompanied 
 by a look of withering scorn. " 'Tis always 
 the worst wheel of the cart that creaks the 
 loudest." 
 
 ' ' Your quotation is old and stale, Madame 
 Hurteau I Try again and strike out some- 
 thing original and new." 
 • ^Disdaining farther reply, the hostess 
 retreated, slamming the door behind her 
 with a violence that made the Caraquettes 
 shake in their shells, and the ballet girls 
 on the walls. 
 
 Over the scene we will not linger mucli 
 longer. For a time there was really some 
 very excellent singing, glees, duetts with a 
 full, effective chorus, but as the cracked 
 tumblers and mugs more frequently circu- 
 lated, the organs of time and tune in most 
 of the singers seemed to become singularly 
 obtuse, and the result was highly distressing 
 to a critical ear. Indeed the mirth 
 was becoming every moment more noisy 
 and uproarious. The oysters having been 
 disposed of and the shells pushed into a 
 corner, a couple of the guests were execut- 
 
 ing a pasde-deuK in the middle of then 
 whisthng their own accompaniment; ai» 
 other had climbed on the table, and was 
 shouting at the top of his stentorian lungs 
 some pathetic, sentimental ballad; wUlst 
 the hum of voices, ringing of glasses and 
 peals of laughter, tilled up the measure of 
 noite. 
 
 In the midst of this turmoil, the landlady 
 flung open the door, gruffly exclaiming: 
 "You'll find him in there, young man," 
 and Paul Durand was ushered into the 
 room. 
 
 At first, he could scarcely see, or be seen 
 through the dense clouds of tobacco smoke 
 filling the apartment, but in a moment his 
 hand was grasped in Armand's, the singer 
 descended from his impromptu orchestra, 
 and the dancers, now thoroughly out of 
 breath, sat down. 
 
 Hegrets were expressed over the entire 
 disappearance of the oystei-s, but the black 
 bottles still contained what their host called 
 " some drops of comfort," with which Paul 
 was at once provided, as well as with a well 
 filled pipe. Perceiving the uproar was 
 again recommencing more furiously than 
 ever, Armand begged leave to retire witli 
 the new-comer, as they had much to say to 
 each other, and after noisy " good nights," 
 and farewells, the brothers descended the 
 stairs, and set off under a bright moonlight 
 sky, the ghttering white snow crackling 
 pleasantly beneath their feet. 
 
 "You seem to have got i^ito a pretty 
 lively set," said Paul, drily. 
 
 "'TIs my first evening among them, and 
 I do not think I'll be in a huny to try a 
 
 second one, for I could 
 
 such noisy enjoyment, 
 already." 
 
 "Faugh! no wonder!" 
 "Such a miserable dirtv 
 
 not stand much of 
 My head is aching 
 
 coughed Paul., 
 den. I wonder 
 
 what tante Franooise, with her aristocratic 
 leanings, would say, could she have had a 
 peep in there to-night? Another sort of 
 gentry to tlie white-handed, witty young 
 dandies I found you with last time." 
 
 " I must confess the latter are far more 
 to my taste; but how are they all at 
 home?" 
 
 "Father is not well — confined to his bed 
 by rheumatism and rather low spirited. 
 Aunt Francoise is busy coddling and nursing 
 him, and I, general administrator of the 
 farm business. 'Tis well I am not tied to a 
 town office just now, or affairs would not go 
 on as smoothly as they do." 
 
 Armand readily coincided in this opinion, 
 and when they were comfortably seated 
 beside the brightly polished stove, in the best 
 parlor of the Three Kings, he took the let- 
 ter Paul handed him end entered on its 
 perusal. 
 
 It was much briefer than such home 
 missives generally were, and there was an 
 
ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 39 
 
 ted. 
 
 fing 
 Ithe 
 10 a 
 
 go 
 
 Ion, 
 Ited 
 fest 
 
 let- 
 its 
 
 line 
 1 an 
 
 unusual q^aemloasness in the ho))es it con- 
 tained that Armand was endeavoring to 
 profit of his time and of the money he was 
 costing, glancing also at the great services 
 Paul rendered them at home and thanking 
 Providence he was >vith them. 
 
 Whatever was unusual about this epistle, 
 Armand set down to th© physical suffering 
 UBider which the writer was labofuig, and he 
 <lnd his brother talked more earnestly and 
 quietly than was their wont of home affairs 
 an 1 family matters. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Paul as usual made but a short stay, and 
 liis purchases for the invalid and the 
 house completed, he turned his horse's 
 hoad homewards the following day. On 
 Armand's expressing a wish to return with 
 him, to see his sick father, it was hastily 
 vetoed by Paul, who insisted that the fact 
 of hi« son's leaving his studies would only 
 annoy and fret him, a thing to be carefully 
 avoided in his present suffering state. 
 
 Two letters that our hero wrote home 
 shortly after Paul's visit, remained without 
 an answer, beyond a few hurried lines from 
 the latter announcing that their father was 
 a little better. Then came a letter from 
 Durand himself, containing a great deal of 
 aolemn warning both from father and aunt, 
 regarding the danger of ill chosen acquain- 
 tslnces — much formal advice about the 
 necessity of profiting of time, with some 
 plain hints about the expense of his support 
 in town J and in answer to his question of 
 whether he had not better run down into 
 the country for a few days to see them he 
 was briefly told to remain where he was 
 •and profit of his opportunities. 
 
 All this deeply wounded Armand, who was 
 r<^lly guiltless of having done anything to 
 deserve it, and his own letters home grew 
 colder., briefer and fewer, characteristics 
 Which now plainly marked all the family 
 «pistles he received in return, with the 
 c^odption of occasional bulletins from Paul 
 wHich, however kind in spirit, contained 
 vety little beyond a mention of their 
 father's health, and of the irritating change 
 his rheumatic sufferings had wrought in his 
 usually placid temper, together with some 
 dry details regarding the farm or stock. 
 
 Determined not to brood, if he could 
 help it, over these painful changes, our 
 hero studied — went out when invited, 
 and' occasionally, though very rarely, when 
 unable to refUse without giving absolute 
 orffence, joined the noisy merry makings of 
 LeBperance and his friend.s. These details, 
 for Want of other matter, he frequently 
 motioned in his letters to Paul, to whom 
 h^ tfjSoke very unreservedly, oven telling in 
 oM ceme how Lesperancc had borrowed 
 
 money from hirti which he had no hopefs of 
 ever having repaid. Paul's answering 
 epistles soon becanto of a nature to invite 
 these confidences more fully, for he often 
 repeated how much such amusing letters 
 •nlivened the monotony of the long dull 
 evenings at home, and how well he ei\joyed 
 such graphic descriptions of town life and 
 its pleasures. 
 
 Of Delima Lauiin, Armand spoke rarely. 
 A dawning interest in the young girl, 
 excited far more by her evident partiality 
 for himself than by her beauty, induced a 
 shyness on the topic which made him gene- 
 rally avoid it. In reality, there yt&a very 
 little to write about. A quiet evening at 
 cards or drafts, now and then; a cariole 
 drive with her and Mrs. Martel on rare 
 occasions ; ora dreamy, long talk beside the 
 large double stove, through whose chinks 
 the fire shone redly, on cold winter nights, 
 such was the extent of their intimacy j and 
 Mrs. Martel's absences from the room, 
 which occurred with a frequency, suggestive 
 at times of design, never caused a tone in 
 his voice to vary or won a tenderer look 
 towards his beautiful companion. Armand 
 might not have been so indifferent had not 
 another face, wayward, proud, charming, 
 often risen mentally before him. steeling 
 him in a great measure against all other in- 
 fluences. 
 
 The carnival was very gay, and as Durand 
 was better, so at least Paul wrote, Armand 
 enjoyed without scruple the harmless social 
 pleasures within his reach. Ho occasionally 
 met Miss de Beauvoir at some of the more 
 richercM of these entertainments, and 
 sometimes eryoyed the i-aro privilege of a 
 dance vrith her, during which sne was always 
 gracious and friendly in the extreme. Sin- 
 gularly enough, every one of these meetings 
 had the effect of rendering him insensible 
 for v;eeks after to Delima's charms. 
 
 With the la.«,t week of the festive season 
 came an intense longing to visit home, evea 
 if his presence were unwished for there, and 
 on Shrove Tuesday, the closing day of the 
 carnival, he set out for Alonville. When he 
 came in sight of home, evening was closing 
 in, and he eagerly looked towai-ds the com- 
 fortable old farm house, expecting to see it 
 cheerfully lighted up, for Lent, that season 
 of fasting and i)enance had been from time 
 immemorial ushered in within its sub- 
 stantial walls by feasting and mirth. One 
 light now alone faintly twinkled from the 
 sitting room window, but, nothing dis- 
 couraged, he pushed on, supposing it was 
 rather early yet for general "lighting up," 
 a process usually deferred in me countiy 
 till the latest possible moment, from econo- 
 mical motives. On arriving he left his 
 horse to the care of the overjoyed old farm 
 servant, and without fatther warning tl»n 
 a short rap, he entered the sitting robith 
 
40 
 
 ARMiND DURAND. 
 
 Anything but festive or cheerful did it look. 
 By the light of a candle burning on a small 
 table near her, Mrs. Ratelle was sewing, 
 whilst Paul Durand was seated in a large 
 cliair, one limb swathed in flannel and sup- 
 ported on a stool, his head resting on his 
 hand in gloomy silence. 
 
 On seeing Armand, his aunt Francoise 
 hastily rose and affectionately greeted him, 
 but his father, generally quiet and unde- 
 monstrative, was unusually so on the present 
 occasion. Indeed the coldness of his greet- 
 ing chilled the impetuous warmth with 
 which his son sprang towards him, and 
 whilst wounding the young man deeply, 
 imparted a reserve to his manner and 
 conversation which the father noticed at 
 once, and inconsistently enough, chafed at. 
 The conversation dragged on heavily. 
 There were some sarcastic fears that he 
 would find a visit to the country very dull 
 after his gay town life, and a querulous 
 <loubt as to the necessity or wisdom of 
 young men studying professions unless 
 where there was stability of character. 
 
 Here Armand earnestly asked: "But, 
 why do you say that, with such emphasis, 
 father ? On what ground am I to be con- 
 demned for want of steadiness?" 
 
 "Well, son, your own letters to Paul for 
 the last few weeks, which he has regularly 
 read to us, may have given rise to the idea," 
 was the dry rejoinder. 
 
 " But was there anything forbidden — any- 
 thing really wrong told in them?" 
 
 " This much, boy I They spoke of little 
 else than mirth, feasting and gaiety, when 
 the old father, whose willing hand furnish- 
 ed money for joining in all this merriment, 
 was lying utterly forgotten by you on a 
 sick bed, a prey to severe suffering and 
 discouragement.' ' 
 
 Armand half rose to his feet, but Mrs. 
 Ratelle, interpreting aright his indignant 
 look, with a warning, entreating glance 
 towards the invalid's swathed limb, and the 
 medicine bottles at his elbow, interposed : 
 
 "Brother Paul, you must not be too 
 hard on our boy I 'Tis very difficult for a 
 young man to live like a hermit in a gay 
 city." 
 
 " Paul wrote to me that you were better, 
 father; and when I wished, some weeks 
 ago, to come to see you, . grieved, anxious 
 as I was about your ailing health, I was 
 curtly informed by letter that you wished 
 me to remain where I was and not lose my 
 time." 
 
 "I did say so once, and Paul wrote to 
 you that I was better, out of kindness. Ah, 
 he is a son to be prizetl, a staff for my old 
 age ! VVhat would have become of me, of 
 the faitn, of us all, if he, too, had taken to 
 law or physic ? Vp early and late — at work 
 from morning till night ; no party going, 
 oyster suppers, or white kid gloves for him, 
 
 my hard-working, industrious boy. Ho- 
 makes money instead of spending it." 
 
 Deeper grew the flush on Armand's cheek, 
 as his father continued in this strain, and. 
 he was on the point of breaking forth, 
 despite his auntllatelle's beseeching looks, 
 into hasty rejoinder, when the entrance of 
 Paul effected a diversion. Matters, however, 
 did not grow much smoother, a,iti. the kind 
 eflbrts of tante Francois©, and the excellent 
 supper she provided, failed to impart any- 
 thmg like cordial cheerfulness to the little 
 circle, or to banish the irritability that 
 marked Durand's manner. 
 
 " Why did you show my letters ?" abruptly 
 asked the elder brother, as they sat together 
 in Paul's bed-room after the family had 
 separated for the night. 
 
 "Because I did not think there was any 
 harm in doing so. I supposed they would 
 have amused father instead of annoying him. 
 If I had kept them to myself, he might hava 
 supposed there was something terrible in 
 them." 
 
 " I scarcely know him, he is so changed !" 
 moodily resumed Armand. "What doea 
 it all mean?" 
 
 "Age and rheumatism," was the curt 
 reply. " Don't think I escape without my 
 share of fault finding I When anything goes 
 wrong, even to the bolting of a stable win- 
 dow, you should hear him." 
 
 "Poor Paul!" ejaculate<l Armand, the 
 faint gleam of suspicion that had flashed 
 across his mind vanishing at once. "It 
 must be hard to bear." 
 
 It was long past midnight before the 
 elder brother fell asleep, for he was ren- 
 dered additionally restless and wakeful by 
 the heavy breathing of Paul ; but the latter, 
 following the time-honored rule of early 
 to rest, was also early to rise, and when 
 Armand, who had slept unusually late, 
 came down stairs, he was told that break- 
 fast was long since over, and Paul gone out. 
 an hour before, on his farm tour. 
 
 "Why did not Paul awake me?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Because he knew you were not used to 
 the hardships of early rising," returned 
 his father, and there was a dry sarcasm in his 
 tone that irritated the young man as much 
 as it pained him. 
 
 Aunt Ratelle soon placed an excellent 
 breakfast before him, but his appetite was 
 not keen, and after a few minutes spent 
 over the meal, chiefly employed in answer- 
 ing dry questions propounded to him by 
 his father regarding the progress he was 
 making in his law studies — the hopes he 
 had for the future, he sprang up and ap" 
 proached the window. Though near the 
 middle of March, a fierce snow storm wa» 
 raging, and as he looked forth at the bleak 
 scene before him (what can be drearier than 
 a country landscape in a snow storm) he felt , 
 
ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 41 
 
 ;ie 
 
 ap' 
 the 
 was 
 lleak 
 ^han 
 felt. 
 
 there was a strange sympathy between it 
 and the aching dreariness filling at the mo- 
 ment his own breast. 
 
 Another cold question from his fathei^ 
 followed by a petulant reply from himself, 
 which in turn drew forth a sarcastic remark, 
 and his resolution was taken. Yes, he 
 would return to town at once. The chill 
 wintry air would be more endurable than 
 the new and strange atmosphere of unkind- 
 ness that had suddenly filled his once hap- 
 py home. 
 
 His intention of leaving so soon and 
 in such weather, was warmly opposed by 
 his Aunt Ratelle, but Durand, perliaps in- 
 fluenced by pride, offered little opposition. 
 On bidding him farewell, however, a sudden 
 softening in his voice and manner almost 
 tempted Armand to throw off all reserve and 
 franlcly ask " what had chilled the deep 
 love that had once reigned between them 
 and rendered their intercourse such a 
 happy one ;" but the fear of a repulse, of 
 bemg openly told what he secretly dreaded 
 '* that it was the expense he entailed on 
 liis father which rendered the latter so re- 
 served and irritable," prevented him. 
 
 After our hero's return to town, he betook 
 himself to the daily routine of life, as dili- 
 gently but in a less joyous frame of mind 
 than previously. Letters from home were 
 rarer and as unsatisfactory as ever, whilst 
 he in turn wrote but seldom, and then 
 generally addressed himself to taul. 
 
 One pleasant afternoon that he looked 
 unusually dull, Mrs. Martel good-naturedly 
 insisted on his going out for a walk, as he 
 had confined himself greatly to the house 
 and office of late. " And please, Mr. 
 Durand, will you kindly oblige me by 
 bringing my poor Delima with you for a 
 walk ? She wants a little fresh air as much 
 as you do yourself. Industrious; hard work- 
 ing little creature that she is, she never 
 thinks of taking any rest." 
 
 Armand, wirhout any great professions of 
 interest or delight, briefly answered in the 
 affirmative, and old Mrs. Martel, smiling 
 and exultant, hurried off to tell her cousin 
 to dress. Looking very charming in a simple 
 but graceful toilet, Delima soon fluttered 
 down stab's, and Armand, with some brief 
 word of courtesy, opened the little gate 
 for her to pass out. 
 
 Suddenly Mrs. Martel appeared in the 
 door way, and breathless from the speetl 
 with which she had hurried down stairs, 
 conjured Delima to call at her cousin Vezi- 
 na's to borrow the pattern of her new cap. 
 
 " 'Tis rather far," hesitated Miss Laurin. 
 
 "Where is it?" questioned Armand. 
 
 "Near the pied du courant, Ilochelaga." 
 
 " Oh, that is very far 1" ho replied. 
 " 'Twill fatigue Miss Laurin too much." 
 
 ' ' Not at all, "hastily inten-upted Mrs. Mar- 
 tel. " Delima is a gootl walker. No dis- 
 
 tance can tire her, and I particularly want 
 my new cap for Sunday. Please oblige me. 
 Mr. Durand?" 
 
 '• Well, if you insist, and Miss Delima 
 thinks she is equal to it, I am willing," and 
 without farther parley, the young couple 
 set off. 
 
 The walk was pleasant enough, anil they 
 arrived at Mrs. Vezina's as fresh as when 
 they started. The cap was willingly lent 
 and then hospitality ottiered. They must 
 wait for a cup of tea. Delima's timid fear 
 that it might detain them too late, and 
 Armand's suggestion that a glass of milk 
 or cider would be equally welcome, as it 
 would permit them to start on their home- 
 ward way immediately, were resolutely 
 resisted. The merits of the cup of tea were 
 enhanced by hot cakes and other delicacies, 
 the preparation of which took considerable 
 time, so when the feast was over, and Deli- 
 ma rose to put on her hat, Armand instead 
 of giving an approving thought to the 
 dainty fare lately spread before him, was 
 impatiently speculating on the lateness of 
 the hour, and the stupidity of Mrs. Martel 
 in sending them such a distance in the 
 evening. 
 
 They immediately started for home, and 
 the twilight was fortunately soon replaced 
 by a remarkably clear, brilliant moonlight. 
 Perhaps rendered nervous by the compara- 
 tive lateness of the hour, Delima tripped a 
 couple of times, so her companion felt 
 bound in common courtesy to offer her the 
 support of his arm. As they walked on, 
 two lonely figures in the long dusty road, 
 she occasionally looking up to him with 
 that timid, appealing look which becomes 
 some women so well, the noise of wheels 
 broke on the stillness, and a carriage came 
 driving slowly towards them. 
 
 The occupants, two ladies and a gentle- 
 man, were closely scrutinizing our pedes- 
 trians and suddenly Armand with a pang 
 of inexpressible mortification, discovered, 
 that they were Mi-s. de Beauvoir and her 
 daughter, with Victor de Montenay. In 
 reply to his low bow, two of the party nodd- 
 ed coldly, but ffertrude's face was slightly 
 turned aside, and in the clear, full moon- 
 light, he could plainly see it looked cold 
 and haughty as if made of marble. 
 
 How he chafed at the unlucky chain of 
 circumstances that had led him into hi.« 
 present position, mentally apostrophi '.ing 
 Mrs. Martel in terms anything but compli- 
 mentary including the fair Delima herself 
 in the condemnation. In vain the latter 
 looked up more winningly than ever into 
 his face I In vain the soft pearly light 
 added a deeper lustre to her splendid eyes, 
 a spirituelle beauty to her sculptureil 
 features ! Armand saw — thought only of 
 that cold averted face which hail worn for 
 
wr 
 
 42 
 
 ARMAND DUKAKD. 
 
 the firs*'. tim« to^vat*ds him a look of 
 hauteur. 
 
 " Who were those ladies in the carriage ?" 
 timidly inquired his compainion, breaking a 
 long silence. 
 
 "Mrs. and Mias d© Beauvoii-," he curtly 
 rejoined, unable to disguise a certain lurk- 
 ing irritation in his voice. "But wo must 
 walk faster, Miss Laurin. 'Tis growing 
 very late." 
 
 Little more was said on either side. 
 Armand was in no mood for talk, and Deli- 
 ma richly dowered in beauty, was not greatly 
 *o in mind «»• conversational powers. Arriv- 
 ed at home our hero, With the briefest 
 possible answer to Mrs. Martel's smiling 
 welcome, hurried past her into his room. 
 
 " Did be speak?" she asked, in an eager 
 whisper of her cousin, as they stood a 
 moment in the little entrance. 
 
 " Nothing to the purpose," rejoined the 
 girl, tears of mortification glittering in her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Heavens ! what a flinty heart he must 
 have !" and ill's. Martel elevated her hands 
 and eyes as she spok«. "But keep up 
 your courage, my Delimal I courted my 
 worthy old husband, in there, fully six 
 months before he condescended to make 
 love to me in return. And, yet, see how 
 much he thinks of me now, and what a 
 happy couple we are. But are you hungry, 
 little one ? I have some nice head cheese 
 imd a slice of good home made cake in the 
 cupboard for you." 
 
 " Yes, I will eat a morsel, for I scarcely 
 touched anything at Aunt Vezina's with 
 Mr. Armand' s eyes watching me." 
 
 " Bah ! do those fine gentlemen think 
 that because a girl is pretty and delicate 
 looking, she is to live like a bee, on honey 
 01- flowers ? Thank goodness, my Delima ia 
 able to eat food that can at least nourish 
 her. Come, now, to the cupboard, and then 
 off to bed, for you must feel tired after 
 your long and profitless walk. 
 
 ■ .- CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A fortnight had elapsed without Armand' s 
 liearing from home, but they were all pach 
 negligent correspondents there, the event 
 caused him no great uneasiness. 
 
 Once had he met Miss de Beauvoir since 
 the unlucky evening walk he had taken 
 with Delima, and instead of the smiling, 
 friendly bowwith Which she had ever fever- 
 ed him, she passed with the faintest possi- 
 ble nod of recognition. This unusual se- 
 verity bewildered poor Armand'. Surely he 
 had not deserved it. He little knew that 
 Ue Montetlay had whispered some short time 
 previous to 5lrs. de BcaUvoir.some discredit- 
 able reihark regarding his friendship with 
 the ptetty Delima, of whose beauty he had 
 
 heard lavisli praises from RodOlpheBelfotid. 
 Mrs, de Beauvoir, by no means particulaV or 
 prudish, had repeated this piece of g696ip 
 to her daughter. Whom it both shocked *od 
 pained. The moonlight meeting v^ith 
 Artnahd arid his fair conijianiori at so lat^ an 
 hour, on a lonely road, had wdnderfttlly 
 confirmed it, and Gertrude, with a bitterness 
 she could not explain to herself, resoli^ed 
 that all farther friendship, indeed civility, 
 between herself and Armand, should bi^ at 
 an end. 
 
 The latter was sifting at his desk one eve- 
 ning, his head bowed on the volume open 
 before him, not, however, studying any pro- 
 fessional problem, but wondering whether 
 Miss de Beauvoir would ever smile on him 
 again, and whether her present coldness Was 
 merely the result of caprice, or of a settled 
 determination, when a loud tap at his door, 
 and Belfond's cheerful "How are you?" 
 awoke him from his re very. 
 
 After a short while, the latter abruptly 
 said : " Why, what is the matter with you, 
 old fellow ? Twice have I called lately and 
 each time have found you in the blues. 
 Are you in love or in debt, which is it ?" 
 
 "Neither," rejoined Armand, withaforced 
 smile. " My life is too quiet to give me a 
 chance for either." 
 
 " I don't know that," and Belfond shotok 
 his head dubiously. ^^Labelle petite in the 
 next room has half turned my head and I've 
 seen her only a few times ; how, then must 
 it be with you, domiciliated under the same 
 roof with her ?" 
 
 Our hero faintly colored, thinking how 
 fortunate it was that his friend's suspicions 
 did not point to Gertrude, and after a mo- 
 ment's silence, Belfond abruptly said, with 
 tone and look more serious than he had yet 
 assumed : 
 
 " The best thing you can do is to come 
 with me for a while to St. Etienne. l^y 
 mother wrote this week, entreating a visit, 
 and insisting that I should bring some 
 friends with me. I came here to ask you 
 and will take no refusal !" 
 
 " You are very kind, Belfond, but " 
 
 " Not another word, or you will confito 
 me in my opinion that Miss Delima ha% al- 
 ready so strong a hold on your affections 
 that you cannot leave her even for a ffew 
 days. You have only to-morrow for prepa- 
 ration. Wednesday morning we must be en 
 routc.^^ 
 
 Armand, who retained a very pleasant re- 
 collection of the art'ability and good breed- 
 ing of the Misses Belfond, gratemlly assent- 
 ed, feeling that he wanted some change to 
 aid in dispelling a certain discouragement 
 and listlessness that was beginning to steal 
 over him, and which he had scarcely the 
 will, much less the strength to resist. TrUe, 
 they might be angry at home about his ab- 
 senting himself from his studies, but the 
 
ARMAND DDltAM1>. 
 
 48 
 
 My 
 jtne 
 
 al- 
 
 lions 
 
 [few 
 
 jpa- 
 
 en 
 
 ;re- 
 sed- 
 snt- 
 to 
 kent 
 Iteal 
 Ithe 
 le, 
 ab- 
 the' 
 
 8en«e of ii^astice under whicii he smarted;, 
 made him for the time indifferent to praiae 
 •or blame. 
 
 That evening, at tea, he cai^lessly am 
 nounced his intention of leaving for a short 
 *ime, and he was somewhat surprised, not 
 to say embarrassed, when Delima rose 
 from the table in evident agitation and left 
 the room. 
 
 Mrs. Martel hastily followed, and after a 
 pause spent by Armand and hia host in 
 staring at each other, the lattersaid, philo- 
 sophically: "We may as well begm, or 
 efeiything will be cold. Do you pour 
 out the tea, Mr. Armand, and I'll put in 
 the milk and sugar." 
 
 When Mrs. Martel shortly after re-enter- 
 •ed the room, which she did with a face of 
 unusual solemnity, she found them fVeely 
 helping themselves to hot toast and cold 
 roast beef. 
 
 " Wife, where is la petifeT' This was Mr. 
 Martel's usual name for Delima. 
 
 " 111 and low spirited!" groaned the hos- 
 tess, glancing first solemnly towards the 
 ceiling, and then indignantly towards her 
 husband, who was just helping himself to 
 another round of toast. 
 
 " Perhaps the apple dumplings we had 
 at dinner have disagreed with her. I thought 
 them rather heavy myself." 
 
 " If you had not been so busy with 
 them, and your knife and fork, Andre 
 Martel, you would have seen that she 
 never touched them," rejoined the incens- 
 ed matron, darting a withering glance to- 
 wards her spouse, whilst he, unconscious of 
 having incuiTcd her wrath, continued 
 his meal with a hearty appetite. 
 
 Soon after, Armand, expressing a polite 
 regret for Miss Delima' s illness, rose from 
 table. 
 
 "Oh I she'll be better this evening, 
 Mr. Durand, and I think if you could drop 
 in for an hour's chftt, it would cheer her up," 
 said his landlady. 
 
 " I would do so willingly, but I have some 
 papers to finish copying, and have to write 
 home to tell them where I am going." 
 
 " Mr. Armand Durand you have a heart 
 as haixi as a mill stone!" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Martel, softly but angrily apostrophizing 
 her lodger as the door closed upon him. 
 
 " Indeed, wife, 1 think him a very quiet, 
 kind young gentleman." 
 
 " And, husband, I think you a thick head- 
 ed dunce, so, now that we have each had 
 our say. handover what is left of the toast." 
 
 Andre knowing that his wife's fits of ill 
 temper were usually of short duration, com- 
 piled with imruffled equanimity, and 
 harmony was soon restored. 
 
 Pale and depressed^ Delima came to 
 table next day, but our hero was too much 
 preoccupied to bestow on her the amount 
 ofsymp.-ithy which Mrs. Martel doubtless 
 
 thought 80 fair a face dt^serted. A vague 
 fear too that he w«(s in seme moMttre cow. 
 nected With the young girl's illness or me- 
 lancholy, made him shrink from the very 
 subject, and when she put hef hand in his 
 to say good bye, the morning of hh de|)ar- 
 ture, he felt intensely grtltefal to his land- 
 lord for standing quietly smokhig in the 
 passage during the parting, unconscious 
 alike of Armand's gratitude, or Of his wife's 
 concentrated wrath at his want of tact, 
 which harmlessly exploded in the kitchen 
 a few moments afterwards, when he went 
 in search of her. 
 
 Armand was no flirt. He was afeo too 
 honorable to encourage a yoUng girl in a 
 feeling of affection to which he might nerer 
 be able to respond, and which, whU'st occa- 
 sionally gratifying his self love, had in real- 
 ity left his heart untouched. 
 
 Life at 8t. Etienne, where the Belfmd fa- 
 mily resided, was very delightful. A con- 
 stant round of harmless gaiety fflled up the 
 time, and picnics, excursions by land and 
 water, interchange of visits with neighbor- 
 ing families, succeeded each other uninter- 
 ruptedly. Armand was quite a favorite 
 with his entertainers, principally because 
 Rodolphe, the pride and hope of the fti- 
 mily, was so fond of him, and Mrs. Belfond, 
 whose clear penetration had divined the 
 moral worth of her son's fViend, encour- 
 aged in eveiy manner their intimacy. 
 
 Two or three young ladies from town 
 were also guests, but Miss de Beauvoir was 
 not among them. The hostess had written 
 herself to invite her, but Qertmdo replied 
 that she had promised her uncle, Mr. do 
 Courval, to remain some time at Alonville. 
 She would accept later. 
 
 On Armand's calling one afternoon at the 
 village post office to enquire for letters, a 
 small note was lumded him. The writing 
 though irregular, and evidently disguis- 
 ed, was decidedly feminine, and inwardly 
 hoping it was not a new phase of Delima's 
 low spirits, he opened it and read : 
 
 "Armand Durand, how can you give your- 
 self up so entirely to idle gaiety, when your 
 good and loving father lies on hia death 
 bed ? Hasten home at once, or you will 
 be too late!" 
 
 There was no signature, not even an ini- 
 tial, but a sudden presentiment that the 
 writer spoke truth, blanched the reader's 
 cheek to deathly paleness, and he resolved 
 to leave for Alonville tha,t very afternoon, 
 nay, that very hour. Should it prove a 
 hoax, a visit home >vould be no hardship, 
 should it be truth — but that supposition 
 was too terrible, on it he would not even 
 permit himself to dwell. 
 
 On his return, he briefly informed the fa- 
 mily that he had receivetl news ftom home 
 whioh obliged him to leave immediately, 
 and some hours after he was on his way. 
 
44 
 
 >RMAND DURAND. 
 
 Two days' rapid travelling brought Ar- 
 mand to his journey's end, and he alighted 
 at the old homestead, almost sick with anx- 
 iety and dread. The outer door was half 
 open and he hastily entered. Sitting-room 
 and hall were empty, but there were signs 
 of disorder about that usually well kept 
 abode that struck a deeper chill to his 
 heart. A forgotten candle guttered slowly 
 down in a strong draught from an open win- 
 <low — a foot stool, overturned, lay beside a 
 cliair on which a bowl had been carelessly 
 left, and cloaks and shawls lay across the 
 Htair railing. His secret terror growing 
 deeper and deeper, he hun-ied up the stairs 
 and stood breathless at his father's bed 
 room door, which was wide open. 
 
 His worst fears were realized. In that 
 dimly lighted room, surrounded by weep- 
 ing friends and neighbors^ Paul Durand, 
 l)ale and with closed eyes, lay back on his 
 
 Eillow, the damps of death gathering on his 
 row, its purple hues around his mouth. 
 Agonized, desperate, losing for the moment 
 all self control, Armand sprang towards the 
 bed, and flinging himself on his knees be- 
 side it, almost screamed forth : 
 
 " Oh, God 1 It cannot be I Father, 
 Father, you are not dying I" 
 
 Slowly Durand opened his heavy eyes and 
 looked at his son. The countenance of the 
 latter, distorted with menttil agony, ghastly 
 pale even as that of the dying man, spoke 
 eloquently of passionate anguish, and when 
 in a fresh outburst of delirious sorrow, 
 he loudly asked : 
 
 " Why was I not called to your sick bed, 
 told of your danger ?" a smile, beautiful as 
 a ray of sunlight, stole over the wan face of 
 Durand. 
 
 " Child of my Genevieve !" he faintly 
 whispereci, and as Armand bowed his head 
 on his favher's breast, in answer to that ap- 
 peal, the latter feebly strove to caress his 
 wavy hair. 
 
 *' My God, I thank thee for this crown- 
 ing meicy !" his pale lips faltered. 
 
 Armand coulcf not trust his voice to 
 speak, and a short silence followed. 
 
 Suddenly a look of inexpressible distress 
 disturbed the heretofore calm counte- 
 nance of the dying man, and in a voice, 
 broken and almost unintelligible, he gasp- 
 ed : " The will ! the will I Armand, my son, 
 see to it!" 
 
 One quick glance the elder brother dart- 
 ed towards Paul, whose eyes fell guiltily 
 beneath his, and then he soothingly rejoin- 
 ed: " Do not be anxious, father dear, about 
 it ! We will arrange all for the best!" 
 
 A look of relief, then of happiness again 
 stole over Durand's face, but speech was 
 failing fast, and he whispered, " pray." 
 
 One of the neighbors took up a prayer 
 book and with a broken voice, read aloud 
 
 prayers suitable to the occasion. After a, 
 while Durand's lips moved. 
 
 His eldest son bent closely over him and 
 distinguished the one word "Genevieve."' 
 
 It was the last Paul Durand spoke in thin 
 world, and shortly after his spirit passed 
 away. 
 
 When the eyes of the dead had been re- 
 verently close<l ami farther piayei-s read, 
 Armand rose from his knees and left the 
 room, closely followed by Mrs. Ratelle. 
 
 "Kiss me, my poor unhappy boy!" she 
 said, as she entered with him into the oom- 
 ibrtably furnished bed-room he had always 
 occupied with Paul since they were children, 
 and drew him towards a seat. "Sit down, 
 here and tell me why you clid not come 
 home to us sooner?" 
 
 " Rather tell me," he asked, with a fierce- 
 ness strangely out of keeping with his 
 usual gentleness of character, "rather tell 
 me why I was not asked to come — why 
 that sneaking, treacherous Paul did not 
 write to me?" 
 
 "Yes, he did write to you, twice, and 1 
 wrote once, but no reply came. Have you 
 been absent from town lately ?" * 
 
 " Yes, I have been spending a few days at 
 Mrs. Belfond's, in St. Etienne, but I wrote 
 word home I was going there, an<l left 
 strict orders with my landlsuly to forward 
 to me any letters that should arrive for me 
 in Montreal." 
 
 " Something must be wrong then, for we- 
 have not received a letter from you for a 
 considerable time past." 
 
 "'Tis a riddle that must be solved," re- 
 joined Armand, sternly. "I fear some 
 treachery has been at work." 
 
 " Hush ! Do not say that !" implored Mrs. 
 Ratelle. " Paul might hear you, but, before 
 he joins us, I have a few things to tell you 
 which it would be better for you to hear 
 from me than fi-om any other." 
 
 " Go on, kind tante Ritelle, I am listen- 
 in?." 
 
 But tante Rivtelle di»l not find her task 
 apparently an easy one, for she hesitated — 
 then, with a desperate effort, faltered : 
 
 " You must know your poor father Wfas 
 very much pained by your continued ab- 
 sence, as well as silence, when we had 
 written twice to tell you of his serious illness, 
 which we did whenever we feared that rheu- 
 matism was about attacking his heart. 
 News came to us through some indirect 
 channel that you were feasting and enjoy- 
 ing yourself at St. Etienne, and, yesterday 
 morning, my poor brother, irritated by 
 your supposed ingratitude and indifference, 
 sent for the notary, anil — and — oh, my 
 poor boy," and here the speaker fell on his 
 neck, weeping, " you are disinherited, pen- 
 niless!" 
 
 Calmly Armvnd spoke. "Then my brother- 
 Paul is sole heir?" 
 
ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 45 
 
 was 
 ab- 
 hail 
 less, 
 i- 
 
 leart. 
 
 lirect 
 
 \]oy- 
 
 iay 
 
 by 
 »nce, 
 my 
 his 
 Ipen- 
 
 jthev" 
 
 •'Yes, apart from a thousand pounds 
 left myself, whicli I accepted merely with 
 the intention of making them over to you, a 
 thing I will do without any delay." 
 
 " No, no, good tank. 'I1iey were not in- 
 tended for me, and I do not want them. 
 "S'ery bitter indeed has my return home 
 proved, but one ray of light brightens its 
 gloom. My father died in my arms, bless- 
 ing me and thinking of my mother. Thank 
 (Jod that she gave not birth to the traitur 
 who undermined me in my father's love. 
 Cio djwn now, dear/(/n/e Fraticoise, you will 
 be wanted below and I long for a half hour's 
 solitude." 
 
 Knowing her presence was indeed ncces- 
 Kary for superintending the last sad prepara- 
 tions, she silently pressed her nephew's 
 hand and wont down stairs, resolved to keep 
 Paul occupied below, so as to prevent the 
 brothers meeting till Armand's excited feel- 
 ings sliould have a little calmed down. 
 
 The latter left alone, sprang to his feet 
 and commenced jjacing the room. In one 
 of his hurried, uneven movements, he over- 
 threw an old-fashioned leather portfolio 
 vThich had always lain on the table, and as 
 he stooped to 'raise it and the contents 
 which had s«vttered in falling, his eye rest- 
 ed on a sealed letter, addressed to himself, 
 in his aunt's well-known writing. He tore 
 it, open. It was a short and urgent appeal 
 to him to lose no time in repairing at once 
 to his father's death bed, adding that the 
 latter was constantly asking for him. 
 
 •'Ah, good brother Paul !'' he muttered, 
 between his clenched teeth. "The riddle 
 lias been quickly solved. This is why the 
 letters never reached me ! What a reckon- 
 ing lies before us!" 
 
 (iras))ing the epistle in his hand, he re- 
 iiuined his beat, his eyes constantly turned 
 towards theckoor, longing for his brother's 
 entrance that he might give vent to the 
 passion surging up within him. Armand 
 was in a dangerous i'rame of mind just then. 
 Men less exasperated than he was, have 
 wrought murder under its influence. He 
 dimly foresaw that wrath would entirely 
 get the bettor of him— that Paul was hot 
 blooded and violent, and what the result of 
 an altercation between them woultl be, no 
 human foresight could tell. Still he was 
 determined that an explanation should take 
 place that very evening, indeed that very 
 hour, if Paul entered the room. 
 
 At length the door handle turned, and 
 Armand's heart gave a bound. " Ah, here 
 he is at last, the household traitor !" 
 No, it was not Paul but Mrs. Ratelle. 
 She looked eagerly towards her nephevy, 
 hoping to see a more tranquil look on his 
 face, but instead, its angiy excitement had 
 deepened, and the wrathful brightness of 
 his eyes had increased. 
 
 " My boy, my Amiand, I had hoped to 
 have found you calmer !" 
 
 <'Is this of a nature to make me calmer, 
 Aunt Francoise ?" and he held towards her 
 the letter that had fallen from the portfolio. 
 "This is the summons you sent me, to como 
 quickly to bid my father a last farewell ! 
 Brother Paul did not see the urgency of 
 the case and detained it,as he has, of course, 
 done the others. But he will account 
 quickly to me for all, and as I momentarily 
 expect him, I would rather, ianie Francoise, 
 have no witness to our interview. You wil 1 
 be welcome in this room at all other times." 
 
 "As you wish, dear Ai-mand, but, first, 
 you must come with me to see your poor 
 father in his shroud. I have sought you 
 for that purpose. Do not fear meeting 
 Paul there, I have sent him on a message.'' 
 
 Mutely assenting, Ainmnd followeil his 
 aunt through the jiassage to the room 
 now hung with sheets, and lighted with 
 wax tapers, where lay the mortal remains 
 of Paul Durand. The solemnity, but none 
 of the repulsiveness of death was there, for 
 the stalwart farmer looked as if ho wer« 
 quietly sleeping. The look of suffering 
 had passed from his face and his regular 
 features wore calm and ])lacid. 
 
 Aunt and nephew knelt one on each sidio 
 of the bed, and as the latter suddenly raised 
 his face, now softened and grief stricken 
 in expression, with eyes full of tears, Mr.s. 
 Ratelle reached across, and clasping his 
 hand, placed it over the still breast of the 
 dead. 
 
 " Armand, my child, I who have replaced 
 to the best of my ability the mother you 
 lost so early, ask you, now, by her sainted 
 memory, as well as by the love which this 
 true-heart on which your hand and mine 
 are now resting, bore you through life, to 
 forgive tlie wrongs youi- brother has done 
 youT' 
 
 "Aunt Patello, you ask too much," and 
 Armand vainly strove to withdraw his hand 
 from the firm fingoi,s that retained it in 
 that sacred resting place. 
 
 " Not so. if these poor icy lips could speak, 
 what would they say ? Armand, you dear- 
 ly loved your father, and despite the little 
 estrangement that reigned of late between 
 you, you were his favorite son." 
 
 " 'Tis because I lovod my father, I would 
 avenge myself on him who, through a series 
 of plotting and treachery, untlermined me 
 in that fathers love."' 
 
 " But at the last wliotUd your lather cling 
 to? Armand, Armand, hanlen not your 
 heart against my prayers, against the muto 
 entreaty of those rigid lips and this jiulae- 
 less heart which can only appeal to you now 
 by their mute immovability. Even as 1 
 am now praying to you, Armand. so would 
 he have prayed. im])lored you to forego ^• 
 
46 
 
 ARMAND DURAXD. 
 
 ^ 
 
 w ■ 
 
 vengeanoe which in ita unhallowed strength 
 may mean fratricide, murdor." 
 
 Young Durand, powerfully afleoted, 
 bowed his head and then whispered: "I 
 promise I" 
 
 " Heaven will bless you, my Armand, for 
 that word I I know that you will regard 
 a promise made in this solemn presence, 
 sacred as an oath. Ah ! that is Paul's step 
 on the stairs, 'fhnnk <'0dl I need not 
 shrink in terror from his coming as I would 
 have done a short half hoiu- ago. Be true, 
 my Arrnand, to your word." 
 
 The door opened and Paul entered. As 
 his glance fell on his brother, ho involun- 
 tarily recoiled, then advanced a step or two, 
 and said with much embarrassment of 
 manner : 
 
 "This is a sad meeting for us, Armand ! 
 Another hour and you would luivo arrived 
 too late!" 
 
 "Yes, robbed alike of my father's bles- 
 sing as of my inheriUvnce. Paid Durand, 
 you owe me a heavy debt," and he held 
 up the intercepted lett<-r, "but 1 have pro- 
 mised beside our dead father to cancel it ." 
 
 Paul's swarthy cheek became ashen gray, 
 and he muttered hidistinctly something 
 about having accidentally forgotten the 
 loiter alluded to. 
 
 •Even as the others were forgotten!" 
 retorted Armand, bitterly. "However,! 
 am pledged to peace, so farther discussion 
 is useless. The world is wide and hence- 
 forth you will go your way and I mine. 
 The one thing necessary is tliat our roads 
 should for ever lie far apart." 
 
 hJomething like compimction awoke in 
 Paul's selfish heart, and as his dark cheek 
 flushed, ho faltered: "Armand, that need 
 not be. My father has left plenty of means, 
 and I will be willing to share with you. 
 You will not find me as selfish or grasping 
 as you think !" 
 
 "How little you know me if you imagine 
 I could accept help or favor from you, 
 after that past which will for ever lie as a 
 gulf between usl" 
 
 Here Mrs. Ratelle hastily interposed, 
 dreading the turn the conversation was 
 taking. "Paul, yoii must absolutely go to 
 bed now. For the last three nights you 
 have faithfully watched beside your poor 
 father. To-night Armand and I will replace 
 you. Alas I that our vigil should be so 
 hopeless a one !" 
 
 Paul, ill at ease in his brother's presence, 
 yielded to this proposal, and aunt and 
 nephew were again left alone. After some 
 farther prayer and silent, reverent thought, 
 Mrs. liatelle beckoned her companion to a 
 seat beside her, in a far corner of the room, 
 and there, in a low, subdued tone, recount- 
 ed to him the brief episode of his young 
 mother's wedded life. She glossed over 
 nothing, not even her own energetic disap- 
 
 proval of the young wife's housekeeping 
 short-comings, and then she spoke of Paul's 
 mother, her moral worth, and the conscien- 
 tious, tender oare she had always bestowed 
 on her young step-son. As Armand listened 
 to these by- gone reminiscences, glancing 
 ever and anon at that quiet bed and its 
 shrouded occupant, he felt more and more 
 convinced that Mrs. Ratelle's intervention 
 had been mercifully ordained, and he 
 thanked Qod that he had listened to her 
 prayers instead of the promptings of re- 
 venge. 
 
 The dreary days preceding the funeral, 
 nnd the still drearier one of the last sad 
 ceremony itself, passed over, and thei* 
 Armand made his preparations to return ta 
 Montreal at once. He and his brother hiid' 
 rarely mot during the interval, and then 
 they had merely exchanged nods. Each 
 felt the presence of the other a painful re- 
 straint. 
 
 That evening, as Amiand waa returning 
 ft-om a visit to his father's grave, he saw 
 coming towards him a slight, elegant figure, 
 the first glimpse of which set his heart in 
 violent motion. It was Gertrude de Beau- 
 voir, and quick as thought the conviction 
 flashed across him that she was the writer 
 of the few anonymous lines that had sum- 
 moned him so niysteriously to his father* 
 death-bed. Ho she probably thought him a 
 heartless, unnatural son, turning I'rom the 
 most sacred appeals of affection, to listen 
 but to the voice of pleasure or dissipation ! 
 It was too hard that he should lie under thfr 
 weight of her censure, her contempt, when 
 he was really undesei-ving of either, so he 
 would, despite the tumultuous- throbbings 
 of his heart, accost her and clear himself. 
 His courage almost failed him as he ap- 
 proached her, she looked so elegant, so 
 stately, but with an effort, he made her a 
 profound bow, which she returned by » 
 slight nod of recognition, so frigid that he 
 involuntarily drew back. Growing des- 
 perat.i>, however, in his intense anxiety to 
 right himself in her estimation, he again 
 drew near, but as he exclaimed, "Good 
 evening. Miss de Beauvoir," she abruptly, 
 haughtily turned from him. 
 
 Never had Armand experienced so gall- 
 ing, so bitter a sense of mortification as it 
 that moment. How he reviled, reproached 
 himself for his folly. What had he in com- 
 mon with this elegant, capricious beauty, 
 that he should have exposed himself so 
 stupidly to her contumely? What cared 
 she whether he was worthy of praise or 
 blame — he, the unknown law student, per- 
 mitted to enter on suflerance her uncle's 
 drawing-room ? Even had she written him 
 the anonymous note he had received at St. 
 Etienne, it was probably nothing but the 
 result of sudden whim, of woman's caprice. 
 
 As if to fill the measure of his humilia- 
 
ARM AND DURAND. 
 
 4T 
 
 :all- 
 
 ut 
 
 bhetl 
 fom- 
 l«ty, 
 
 U 90 
 
 irecl 
 or 
 Ipev- 
 
 J him 
 
 It St. 
 
 the 
 
 Irice. 
 
 fiiha- 
 
 tiqq V> OYCirflowing, hia glnnoo uuddenly fell 
 on de Montenay, wlio had been ndv/ituing 
 aorpye t>h0 Helds and now bounded li>;litly 
 o\!6r the femce, aligjitir^; boitide (iortrude. 
 In the jnocking, malicious expression of 
 his foce, aa ho aUghtly nodded to Aiminul, 
 t he letter saw that he l^d witiicsHed and 
 enjoypd the mortiiyiiig repulse he had juBt 
 rep^lved, and aolaping hia aoro and wounded 
 tei^iukg? by giving (v dead out in return lor 
 Victor's inaoilent bow. he turned away, 
 thwgh not before he Wi seen the lattei* 
 raipe a tlower that had juat fallen from the 
 lK>uqi^et Miss de Beauvoir held in her hand, 
 and after gallantly pressing it to bis lips, 
 place it in his breaat. 
 
 "Ah! loving him, of course aho hates 
 me!" aoliloquized our ci-pstfallen hero. 
 '* What am I, farmer Durand's son, in com- 
 jMiiispn with the heir of the de Montenays? 
 Fool ! fool I what madness have I been 
 labjoring uuder for some time paet ! Well, 
 1 t,\m cured of it now and for ever !" 
 
 Depressed beyopd measure, he j'etumed 
 to the house and stole up to the spare room, 
 thp OJiie he had occupied since hia last arri- 
 val at home, and there threw hiniaelf 
 wet^rily on a chair, feeling as if life had 
 nothing worth living for. 
 
 In came tante Francoise to coax him <lown 
 to tea, but he alleged a bad headache aa 
 r^x^uae for declining. Then she touched 
 on his plans and a consitlerable amount of 
 diacussion ensued. On learning that Ar- 
 mand was contemplating giving up the 
 study of the law and eniieavoring to obtain 
 a place as clerk in some store or counting- 
 liouse, her indignation knew no bounds. 
 Indeed, he was almost stunned by the volu- 
 ble yeproaohes she poured forth, taxing him 
 vfitjfi ingratitude to the memory of father 
 and mother, and indifierence to the family 
 
 hOQO^. 
 
 Oil Armand's reminding her that he was 
 now, thanks to his brother's treachery, left 
 without means beyond whatever he might 
 earn by his own exertions, she impetuously 
 urged on his acceptance the legacy left her- 
 self. " Would I ever have taken it had it 
 not been that I intended it for you? I 
 would have flun^ it back to my brother 
 first, irritated as I was by the injustice of 
 his will." 
 
 A.fter a prolonged, almost angry discxis- 
 sipn, it was settled that Armand should 
 continue the study of his profession, using 
 carefully meanwhile, for his maintenance, 
 the interest of the legacy. 
 
 Mrs. Batelle yielded to Paul's urgent re- 
 quest that she should continue to live in 
 the old homestead and direct it, till, as she 
 curtly told him, he brought home a wife, 
 an event which might liappen in a week for 
 all she cared. 
 
 With an aching heart, Armand Dui-and 
 left the home of his boyhood, of wl^ich 
 
 Paul wae now sole mat^ter, feeliqg, in all 
 probability, he ahoukl never o.row iti* 
 threshold again. Adding a ahari>pr pang to 
 the thought of the cruel injustice and 
 treachery <rf which he had b«en the object, 
 rose on his recollection (he disdain with 
 which Miss de Beauvoir hwl turneil from 
 hun and from the explanations he hod so 
 earnestly wished to make to h«r. Yes, it 
 was all dreariq^ss together, and he longed 
 to get boo^ to his drv legal studies, hoping 
 to bury in their dull details every other 
 thought or rera@mbfance. 
 
 Uld Mrs. M^^t^^8 reception of him was 
 cordial in the ejftreme ; but, even in the 
 tii-st flush of opngmtulation and sympathy, 
 there was a mysterious allusion tp some 
 special reaaon which caused her tp rejoice 
 doubly over his arrival. Little by little, 
 exacting fropi him all the while strong 
 promises of aecresy, she at last revealed the 
 fact that her pqpr little cousin was breaking 
 her he«rt abpnt Mr. Armand. She cared 
 nothing for the latter's fine gentlemen 
 friepda ^ho l^ t«> often flattered her ; nor 
 for the two wealthy young farmers of St. 
 Laurent, who had vainly tried to win her. 
 No ; her love was for Armand alone. 
 
 Ilemembering the remarks made by 
 Rodolpho Belfond shortly after DeUma's 
 arrival, regt^rding her evident preference 
 for himaelf, our h'^ro, tfapugh no fop, saw 
 nothing improbable in Mrs. Mar tel's revela- 
 tion. There was something aooth>ng in it 
 alac to his self-love, which had been so piti- 
 lessly woimded by Miss de Be^iuvoir'a 
 haughtiness, and something so consolatory 
 to the affections which had been so ruth- 
 lessly outraged by Paul's falsehood and its 
 result. Yes, there was one heart, at least, 
 that beat true to him, and the tlxought of 
 Delima in her fresh young beauty, grieving, 
 praying, living but lor him, a strong senti- 
 ment of gratitude, of 
 
 " That pity which is akin to love," 
 
 took possession of him. Ah ! her feminine 
 gentleness would never have allowed her to 
 outrage even an enemy's feelings as that 
 high-bom beauty had done his. But fear- 
 ing his silence might be misintei-pretetl by 
 his companion, he hastily commenced : 
 
 " I cannot tell you, dear Mrs. Martel, how 
 imhappy the information you have just im- 
 parted, makes me. This is more especially 
 the case, owing to my father's will, which 
 has left me penniless. I cannot think, lor 
 years to come, of marrying. Mention tliis 
 to Miss Laurin and she will at once see tlie 
 inutility of wasting farther thought on my 
 unworthy self." 
 
 "Mr. Durand," replied his landlady, with 
 dignity, " Delima loves yourself, not your 
 
 I fortune, and I feel assured she will rather 
 rejoice than otherwise, at a circumstance 
 
 I affording her an opportunity of showing 
 
48 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 her disinterestcdneRs. Ah, licrs in a noble 
 nature !" 
 
 " That I fully believe, hut let us hope 
 that you have miHtaken hor sentlmontB.'' 
 
 "Alas! I have not," interrupted Mrs. 
 Martol, solemnly. •' I have only too good 
 cause to know the truth of what I say. But 
 thunk God, you are hack. The very know- 
 ledge will do la pauvre petite good." 
 
 That day, a few hours later, Armand en- 
 tered the sitting-room, where Dehma, look- 
 ing all tlie better for a certain pallor and 
 look of languor, sat on the little sofa, a 
 pretenet'of needle work in her slight fingers. 
 •Slie colored deeply ns Armand entered, 
 and to his intense vexation he felt that his 
 i'ace crimsoned also. The interview was a 
 most embarrassing one to both,, fi-om the 
 mutual ettbrts made to conceal that embar- 
 rassment, but Armand soon recovered his 
 self-possession and then what a bewitching 
 little listener he had to whatever scraps of 
 narrative he chose to give her. What ten- 
 der sympathy shone in those soft varying 
 eyes, what timid admiration lurked in those 
 tlowncast, modest glances ! Ah ! a most 
 tlangerously ckarming invalid was Delima, 
 and an older head than that of Armand 
 might have yielded to hei' subtle influence. 
 Htill ho struggled niiinfuUy again«t it and 
 the wily artsofMfc. Mart el, who in her way 
 was almost as formidable an adversary as 
 Delima heiself. 
 
 Without the former's able generalship, 
 matters would have nevei' gone farther than 
 11 sentimental friendship between the young 
 })eople, but the elder lady was determined 
 it should not rest at that. In answer to 
 lier energetic appeal one day that she had 
 enteied his room on some trifling errand, 
 that he should take pity o>i her cousin and 
 speak some words of encouragement, he 
 !ibrui)tly rejoined: ''But have I not told 
 you, Mrs. Martel, that I am a beggar?'' 
 
 " .Say not so, Mr. Durand, whilst you are 
 rich in the possession of a heart like Deli- 
 ma's. ]jisten to me ! you will marry the 
 ])Oor child and live with us. We have no 
 childieu. so there will bo plenty for us 
 all." 
 
 Armand impatiently sprang to his i'eet, 
 but the remembrance of the soft tearful 
 eyes that had looked so sadly at him that 
 morning, whilst their owner informed him 
 of her intention of returning to St. Ijaurent, 
 as her health was getting worse instead of 
 better, enabled him to conquer his momen- 
 tary annoyance. Mrs. Martel continued at 
 intervals, in tlie same strain, Armand pur- 
 suing his rapid promenade through the 
 narrow room, and then he abruptly entered 
 the sitting-room where Delima was sitting, 
 looking listlessly from the window. Of 
 course his hostess did not follow him there, 
 and the lapse of an hour found him still 
 lingering beside that slight girlish figure. 
 
 When they parted, they were aflianced lov- 
 ers. 
 
 True, he had hesitatingly acknowledged 
 that ho feared he did not love her as she 
 deserved to be loved, as indeed he felt he 
 was capable of loving, but had she not with 
 touching gentleness whispered that it 
 would be her aim, her study to win him to 
 do so. Yes, she was surely all that a man's 
 heart could wish for, and yet as Armand 
 pressed the kiss of betrothal on her cheek, a 
 sudden remembrance of (Jertrude, with her 
 patrician grace, so fascinating, despite her 
 coldness and haughty reserve, flashed upon 
 him and substituted a dull pang of pain for 
 the rapture with which that hour shoukl 
 have been fraught. 
 
 Mrs. Martel with an energy that fairly 
 applied Armand and against which he 
 vamly protested, hurried on affairs as rapid- 
 ly as possible, and shortly after, one dull 
 overcast morning, at the early hour of six, 
 Armand Durand and Delima Laurin were 
 united till death should them part. 
 
 There was no ceremonious wedding break- 
 fast and pretty bridal gifts — no nithering 
 of friends and acquaintances to wish them 
 Joy. Mrs. Martel fearing family interfe- 
 rence, had extorted a promise from Armand 
 that he should not write home before the 
 event was over, and he, knowing well how 
 unwelcome the information would prove, 
 willingly assented. 
 
 Of course there was a dainty breakfast 
 spread to welcome them on their return 
 from church ; of course Mrs. Martel was all 
 smiles and felicitations, and the lovely 
 bride herself all blushes and fluttered hap- 
 piness ; still — perhaps it was the dim, gray 
 light of an overcast day— a faint shadow 
 rested at times on the bridegroom's hand- 
 some face which he vainly strove to conceal. 
 Would the young girl at his side aid in dis- 
 pelling or deepening it, was a question, the 
 answer to which lay hid in the dim misty 
 recesses of the future. 
 
 CHAPTER Xiri. 
 
 ii '■ 
 
 Ijamps were lighted and curtains drawn 
 early, in the comfortable drawing-room of 
 the Manor-house at Alonville, for the even- 
 ing was wet and windy; and leaning 
 thoughtfully back in the depths of the 
 largest and softest of easy chairs, sat Ger- 
 trude de Beauvoir. 
 
 A strip of embroidery on her lap, wools 
 and canvas on the table beside her, and 
 books and newspapers at her feet betokened 
 she had turned from one employment to 
 another without finding much interest or 
 amusement in any. Her reverie was inter- 
 rupted by the entrance of Victor de Mon- 
 tenay, who, apparently undisturbed by the 
 coldness of his reception— he had by this 
 
ARMAND DURAKD. 
 
 49 
 
 d lov- 
 ed geti 
 IS she 
 elt he 
 t with 
 lat it 
 iiim to 
 man's 
 rmand 
 leek, a 
 ith her 
 ite her 
 d upon 
 >ain for 
 shouUl 
 
 t fairly 
 lich ho 
 ,s rapid- 
 me dull 
 [• of six, 
 •in were 
 
 igbreak- 
 athering 
 sh them 
 interfe- 
 Armand 
 ?fore tho 
 ivell how 
 d prove, 
 
 l)reakfa9t 
 r return 
 el was all 
 \e lovely 
 ired hap- 
 lim, gray 
 
 shadow 
 I's hand- 
 
 conceal, 
 id in dis- 
 Ition, the 
 Im misty 
 
 Is drawn 
 
 Iroom of 
 
 le even- 
 
 1 leaning 
 
 of the 
 
 kal Oer- 
 
 ^,, wools 
 
 jer, and 
 
 tokened 
 
 aent to 
 
 krest or 
 
 Is inter- 
 
 Mon- 
 
 . by the 
 
 |by this 
 
 time grown accustomed to hor wilful ways — | 
 drew another easy chair towards her and 
 suated himself. 
 
 "Have you hoard about the latest mar- 
 riage?" he questioned, aftt'r a short ox- 
 t'.hange of commonplace phrases. " No I 
 Well, that very handsome, clever, good-for- 
 nothing Armand Durand, has at last mar- 
 ried the pretty little sewing-girl with whom 
 ho has been flirting so long." 
 
 The speaker bent a covert, penetrating 
 look on his companion, but she stooped, 
 even whilst he spoke, to raise a fashion- 
 plate that lay at her feet, and when he again 
 caught a glimpse of her face it was calm as 
 that of a statue. 
 
 "Tho news does not seem to interest you 
 much, Gertrude." 
 
 " Why should it ? I know him very little ; 
 her, not at all!" 
 
 '* l^et us turn then to topics nearer homo ! 
 When is our own marriage, dearest, to come 
 oft?" 
 
 '» T am sure I havo no idea except that 
 it will not be for a long time !" and she 
 Iijilf closed her eyes as if the topic Wfuricd 
 her. 
 
 " But that is not a. just or jjenerous an 
 swer to my (jucstion." 
 
 *' It is really tho best I hsive to givt*."' 
 Ho angrily pushed back liis chnir and 
 .*iid: "Gertrudi'.it is time to havo dona with 
 cliildish folly — tin\e to nitit'y at the altar 
 the engagement between us. Think how 
 long and faithfully I have waited, bearing 
 all the while with your indifference and oa- 
 l)rices. Be just now and answer n\e." 
 
 "The answer, 1 fear, will not be a [)lea- 
 sajit one, Victor. Do not insist on my 
 giving it!" 
 
 "But I must have it. I cannot, I will 
 not be put off any longer from month to 
 •month — from year to year. 1 entered this 
 room to-night, resolved not to leave it 
 without an exi)licit, definite reply." 
 
 " Since you will have it so, I will speak. 
 Vrankly, then, I fear that you and I are too 
 tlissimilar in .sympathies and opinions to 
 permit us ever to be happy together I" 
 
 "Gertrude, you are not serious I You are 
 aurely only saying this to try my patienca 
 as you so often do." 
 
 "For once, no." was tho rejoinder. "1 
 was earnestly reflecting on the subject when 
 you entered, and thinking how I could best 
 make my determination known to you." 
 
 De Montenay sprang to his leet and 
 vehemently exclaimed: "You surely do 
 not dare to say that after having kept mo 
 so long dangling in your train, you intend 
 to prove false to your promises now !" 
 
 " What promises ? You know well that 
 after the last grand eclnrcissement we had 
 together, it was formally settled that wo 
 were both free — entirely released from our 
 I)revious engagements." 
 
 "So, perhaps, in word, but not in reality. 
 Think you I want to be taunted everywhere 
 witli having been jilted by you?" 
 
 "You can say you jilted mo, if you like 
 it better, and I will never contnuiict you. 
 'Tis no fault of mine that you havo per- 
 sistently followed my footsteps, without re- 
 ceiving, for months past, any encourago- 
 inent from me. Ah ! [ would much rather 
 be sneered at now than pitied later as a 
 miserable wife." 
 
 " You are growing sentimental," and de 
 Montenay's lip curle<i. " 'Tis not in your 
 line. Miss de Beauvoir, and does not be- 
 come you." 
 
 "Certainly not," she retorted, with an 
 angry flash of her dark eyes. " Nor is it 
 in my lino either to sit tamely down and 
 listen to any one talking to me as you are 
 daring to talk now. All ! what a happy 
 couple we would make!"»ho sarcastically 
 added. " 'Jur life one long unceasing war- 
 fare " 
 
 " At least," he interrupted, "we havo the 
 advantage of knowing eacii other's faults 
 now, instead of lin<ling thorn out after 
 mairiage. Tiiere will be no mutual accusa- 
 tions of dect'ption in our ease." 
 
 "Because we neltiier of ushavo self oom- 
 niiuid sufficient to conceal our faults," wa* 
 tin- retort. " Our characters are too undis- 
 cipliufd for that !" 
 
 is cliildisli triHiuL'. 
 
 CJertrude I 
 speak as 
 
 This 
 I'ray be r«asonable and let u-* 
 si-nsible man and woman, not like a pair of 
 (juarrelsonie cliildren." 
 
 " I havo given you my final definite an- 
 swer. I am soiry for your sake, but no re- 
 criminations or entreaties will ever win 
 another from me. ' 
 
 "If such is really your determination, 
 you are a heartless, unprincipled flirt." 
 
 "No one knows better than yourself, 
 Victor, the injustice of that accusation. 
 Have I ever pretended to feel love for you? 
 Have I not rather by my persistent coldness 
 plainly proved I entertained no such 
 sentiment, and have I not repeatedly endea- 
 vored, though always overruled, to end 
 this entanglement, which was forced, as it 
 were, on me, when I was too young to decide 
 on so important a point." 
 
 " All nonsense. Miss do Beauvoir," retort- 
 ed de Montenay, stung almost to madness 
 by this frank avowal. " Probably you have 
 fallen in love with some more favored in- 
 dividual than myself. Indeed, I half sus- 
 pected you of a fancy for that preux chevalier, 
 Armand Durand, though apparently ho has 
 not reciprocated the sen4ment." 
 
 "How dare you forget yourself thus?" 
 queried Gertrude, with flashing eyes. 
 
 "Why, young people, what is all this?* 
 said the soft, clear accer ts of Mrs. de Beau- 
 voir, as she swept into tho room, her rich 
 dress rustling with every movement. "I de- 
 
 D 
 
AO 
 
 AllMAMt 1>UUANU. 
 
 i'laroyou are (juiirrclling witliaK inucli acii- 
 inonya«if you wore man and wifo iilrondy," 
 
 "That 1 f<'ar wo will iiev«'r Ix^!'' rojoinrd 
 do Montenay, sull(>iily. " At luast if 1 am to 
 trust tho (>xi)lanati(>iiH with which Misn do 
 Boauvolr Jwh juHt favorod itif." 
 
 "Ah, a lover's «iuarn'l, 1 see ! I must say 
 you liavo liad a fair proportion of tlioiii, but 
 oourtahip would roally bo insulU'rably insi- 
 pid if not (enlivened by somctliinK of the 
 sort."' llcirc tho spoakor carofullv adjuHte<l 
 tiio cushions of the sofa on which sho luul 
 heated lierself, casting, howcvt-r, a quick, 
 covert glance in the direction of tho belligor- 
 cnts. 
 
 " 'Tis more than a lover's (|uarrel, Mrx, 
 <lo Beauvoir, 'tis a formal intimation from 
 your daughter that she will not fuUil om- 
 engagement — that she ileHmtely rejects 
 my hand." 
 
 The elder lady's chci-k reddened, ajid hor 
 white iingors involuntarily tightened on 
 tho cushion tassel with which they were 
 playing, but with great outward calnmcss 
 she replied : 
 
 '' And you really believe her, Victor? Ah, 
 tis her turn today, it will be yours tomor- 
 row. Tonight, she will probably cry hcr- 
 scrlfto sleep, grieving over her folly, and 
 longing for tho morrow to biing about a 
 i«vi!onciliation.'' 
 
 (iertrude's lip curled superciliously, but 
 she made no reply, whilst di'! Montonny, 
 taking his cai», moo<lily rejoined : "1 will 
 say good evening, ladies, for I have borne 
 as much to-night as I possibly could boar. 
 Kew men would have endured as much!" 
 AVith this ho abruptly left the room. 
 
 Mrs. do Beauvoir waited till the heard 
 liim descend the staii-a and tho hull door 
 close upon him, then, shutting tho door of 
 tlic drawing-room, sho apjiroached her 
 daughtt r and said : 
 
 " Do you tell me that you have actually 
 lofused do Montenay '!'' 
 
 ''Yes, mamma, 1 have." 
 
 "And why may I ask? Is he not good 
 enough for a young lady eating the bread of 
 charity — fed, clothed by her uncle's boun- 
 ty ?" 
 
 (iertrude's delicate cheek reddened, for 
 l)ride had a fair share of rule in that young 
 hoart, and she impetuously answered : "Yes, 
 1 did refuse him, and I would refuse him if 
 I,were begging from door to door!" 
 
 " From what novel is that taken, or is it 
 a flight of your own imagination ?" 
 
 "Please listen to me, mamma. I now 
 formally confirm what I have just told do. 
 Montenay. Never, never will I be his wife !" 
 
 " But you have no alternative child. You 
 know as well as myself the struggling pover- 
 ty from which your uncle iJe Courval's gene- 
 rosity rescued us? You cannot have forgotten 
 the narrow, shabby lodgings in Quebec, in 
 which we were living, after your father* 
 
 <l<>ath, when his welconin letter arrived. 
 Well, ilid you find that life of privatiotx 
 so pleasant that you want to return to it?" 
 
 "There h no ijuestion of our doing t^n, 
 iiianuna. I'nclo makes us welcome imd ho 
 has am])Io means." 
 
 "(irantod, but ho may die, and ho ha.s 
 otlKir relatives who may confidently expect 
 their share in his wealth. Another thing, J»c, 
 may many nf;ain,and then what will becomo 
 of us? Nothing for you but to go od a 
 governess, and for me, perhaps, to mako 
 handsome dress cjips instead of wearing 
 them (Jertrude, you must forgot this sud- 
 den madness that has taken possession of 
 you, and mnrry at once, for 1 see in your 
 case, tho i)TOverb ' Delays arc dangerous.' 
 is dotdjly true." 
 
 " But, mamma, 1 canr ' vill not do so," 
 and tho little foot rapit it tho ground. 
 
 Oil, if you knew how th. jfiool girl feeling 
 of admii-ation that I entert4iined for Victor 
 when 1 first came out in society, soon gav^^ 
 way to indifference that has deepened in 
 its turn to ]iositivo dislike." 
 
 "(lortrudo, 1 hitherto have stooped to 
 reason and persuade, now, I will commaml. 
 J.isten, child, I enjoin you, under pain of my 
 si'Ve.i'V'st displeasnrti, to fulfil your early 
 engagement with <l(( Montenay. You will 
 not, surely, sot me at defiance !" 
 
 " ^[annna, you have given me my own way 
 so long that it will not do to tighten tlv.; 
 reins s» suddenly. Many Victor 1 nt-vcr 
 will, so cease to worry mo, and let there l»« 
 peace again between us." 
 
 "(lod help me !" said Mrs.de Beauvoir, 
 an inexpressible accen' )itterness pierc- 
 ing through tho con nality of tono 
 
 and mannei', which. 
 
 len, had never 
 
 varied. "I have brought up a daughter, 
 who, forgetful of what she owes both to me 
 and herself, mocks at my counsels and 
 laughs my authority to scorn." 
 
 A sudden feeling of remorse awoke in 
 Gertrude's breast, for she saw her com- 
 panion's emotion was sincere, and throwing 
 her arms around the latter's neck, slio 
 whispered: " Furgivo me, mamma, I am so 
 sorry lor having grieved you thus !" 
 
 "Prove it then by obeying me," coldly 
 rejoined Mrs. do Beauvoir, as she unwound 
 her daughter's arms from her neck and 
 left the room. 
 
 " God help me too !" sobbed the impetu- 
 ous girl, as she flung herself in a paroxysm 
 of passionate sobbing back in hor chair. 
 "Worried, tormented as I am on eTeiy 
 side, and my own undisciplined heart the 
 cruellest tormentor of all !" 
 
 Gertrude de Beauvoir s nature was a noble 
 and generous one, but tares had grown up 
 thickly in her impetuous character under 
 the mismanagement and counsels of her 
 shallow, worldly mother, and now tho har- 
 vest time was an exceeding bitter one. 
 
AllMAND DURANI). 
 
 M 
 
 to has 
 ixpoct 
 ng, h*' 
 
 OCOIlKi 
 
 mako 
 oui-iii^ 
 lissucl- 
 ision ol" 
 in your 
 jei-ous," 
 
 closo,'' 
 ground . 
 feelinfi 
 • Victor 
 on gavo 
 ened iu 
 
 opwl lo 
 mman<i. 
 in of my 
 lU' oailv 
 i'ou will 
 
 own wiiy 
 
 litcn tl¥.; 
 I nc'vci' 
 there Ut? 
 
 3eauvoii', 
 
 s» pieiv- 
 
 of tone 
 
 I novel' 
 
 lughtcr, 
 
 th to nu' 
 
 els anil 
 
 Iwoke in 
 ler coni- 
 throwing 
 jck, sho 
 I am so 
 
 ' coldly 
 
 mwound 
 
 leek and 
 
 impetu- 
 |aroxysm 
 ar chair, 
 in erevy 
 ieart the 
 
 U a noble 
 lown up 
 fer under 
 of her 
 I the har- 
 Iter one. 
 
 Heart sick, wrotchcd, bIio Htolo tohorroom, 
 and after long hourn, Hohbeil herHolf to 
 Hloep, to awake next morning solf-willod 
 and imporious as ever. 
 
 fHAFrEll XIV. 
 
 The ploaHunt part of a Canadian autumn 
 had como anil gone— the gorgeous, many 
 tinted foliage had fallen loaf by leaf from 
 the trees, leaving, here and there, a KoliUiry 
 hrown speck clinging to «ome of the Hkcle- 
 ton brandies. Its amber, mellow HunHhino 
 had given place to the cold gray light and 
 Heurehing winds of dreary November ; and 
 many a disconsolate pedestrian, whilst sur- 
 Teying the seas of liquid mud flooding the 
 city streets, longed im))atiently for a keen 
 Irost and deep snow-fall which would biing 
 the chief compensation the seiwon could 
 offer in return for the many tliscomforts of 
 which it was so prodigal. 
 
 Sitting writing by this dull November 
 ght, in his little room at Mrs. Martel's, was 
 Armand Durand. Very grave and thought- 
 ful looked the young bridegioom of a few 
 months, ami as ho abruptly laid down his 
 pen and rested his hea«l on his hand, a long 
 sigh escaped him. After a while he opened 
 the plain wooden desk at which he was 
 B(Mited and took out a letter. Though the 
 letter was dated a considerable time i)ast 
 and had evidently been often handled, he 
 lead it slowly over. 
 
 It was from Mrs. Eatelle, and had been 
 written on her learning tlirough some acci- 
 dental channel the news of his marriage. 
 Short and cold, it began by regretting that 
 ker nephew shuiikl have shown so little 
 respect to his fath' r's memory as to marry 
 almost immedia' \' after his death, and 
 that too without cv. n jnontioning his inten- 
 tions to any of the family ; then it deplored 
 the singular and unwise choice ho had made. 
 Ah, he had wounded tanir Ratelle in her 
 weakest point there ; he who had received 
 an education which fitted him to seek a 
 lady, a woman of intellect and birth for 
 his wife, and who instead, had married 
 a sewing girl. It ended by a brief intima- 
 tion that though she might consent to see 
 himself in the future, she had no wish 
 whatever to make the acquaintance of his 
 wife. 
 
 As may be supposed, the study of this 
 epistle did not tend in any degree to cheer 
 the reader's spirits, or to dispel a certain 
 thin line of care, beginning ali'eady to show 
 itself legibly enough on his smooth fore- 
 head ; and after replacing it in his desk he 
 returned to the brooding cliain of thought 
 to which it had been anything but an agree- 
 able diversion. The striking of the clock 
 in the adjoining room, heard easily through 
 the thin partition, suddenly roused him 
 from his abstraction, and he resumed his 
 
 pen with a sudden uftgorness that plainly 
 denoted his intention of making up for lost 
 time. 
 
 He had spent about a half-hour thr ., 
 when the door opened and his young wife 
 entered. She looked very beautiful; and 
 was drt'HH<«tl with a richness hitherto ivithout/ 
 prc^cedeiit in that humble abodo. A coittly 
 silk, elaborately triinnuHL — a gold watch 
 and chain, with a couple of showy rings on 
 \wv taper lingers, presented a singular con- 
 trast to the simpler though gmcoful toilets 
 ill which wo liav»^ first known her. 
 
 " I want you to come out with mo lor a 
 walk, husband?" 
 
 " 1 fear I cannot go. I must have all this 
 
 writing done for to-morrow, and, though Mr. 
 
 liahaisc is kind, ho insists on punctuality.'' 
 
 "That is only an excuse. The real njason 
 
 is that you tlon't wish to accompany me." 
 
 " And why should 1 not want to go out 
 with su«li a pretty little woinun as your- 
 self?" was the smiling query. 
 
 •' Because 1 suppose you're ashamed of mo 
 — afraid of meeting any of those line ladies 
 and gentlemen at whose houses you used to 
 visit l)efore your man-iage." 
 
 He gently laid his hand on hers and said : 
 '• Delima, you have already sj>oken in tliis 
 manner two or three timcvs, and whilst 
 assuring you of tlie injustice and folly oi" 
 such an accusation, I hive also told yon 
 tlittt it pained me." 
 
 " But it is true !" she pouted. '• None 
 of them take the least noti«e of me, though 
 indeed 1 look us muth of a latly in luy new 
 silk as any of them, and though you used 
 to bo invited out everywhere last year, 
 since our marriage not one invitation hu 
 como for either of us." 
 
 Too generous to point out to her that 
 she harself was the csiuse of this universal 
 neglect, Armand made no reply, whilst she 
 continued in the same complaining strain : 
 '' I'm sure when 1 married a gentleman, 
 a professional man 1 may say, I thought I 
 should be regarded and treated everywhere 
 as a lady !" 
 
 "But you forget, Delima, I am a poor 
 man, and poor men are little thought of by 
 society." 
 
 " You might be rich if you liked. Yoii 
 have rich friends." 
 
 Our hero hastily moved back his chair, 
 and she, probably comprehending the mcan- 
 injr of that abrupt movement, resumed : 
 
 " Of course you get into a passiOn if your 
 poor wife dares to even open her lips on 
 any subject save those which please you." 
 
 Armand bit his lip and took up his pen 
 which he had momentarily laid down. 
 
 '<Ah! I see you are tired of me — you 
 want me to go away !" 
 
 "I really think it would be the most 
 prudent measure. Do you know, littlu 
 wife, we are yorging on aquarrel?" 
 
r 
 
 r^ 
 
 M 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 /* 
 
 '"Tis all your fault then," was the femi- 
 nine retort. " You get angry if I even speak 
 to you." 
 
 For a moment the bridegroom's brow 
 contracted, but then as the ludicrqus ab- 
 surdity of the accusation struck IiLtj, he 
 smiled and said: "Well, have it so, but, 
 since I am such a beilr, get out of my den 
 quickly, lest I shottld prove dangerous. 
 When I have finished my work, [ shall be 
 entirely at your dispoeal." 
 
 '' But I want you to come out with me 
 now," she persisted. 
 
 " Again, I tell you, I cannot. To-morrow 
 afternoon wo will have to ourselves." 
 
 ♦' But tomorrow afternoon I will not go !'' 
 and with a petulant toss of her head, .she 
 flounced from the room. 
 
 Armand sat motionless for some moments 
 and then he murmured : " She was so 
 gentle — so timid — so dove like before mar- 
 riage I" 
 
 Ah ! is he the only husband who ha*i ever 
 marvelled in a similar manner under 
 similar circumstances ? 
 
 He soon howe' er turned to his papers 
 and steadily worked on till summoned to 
 •upper. The board was not as plentifully 
 or daintily spread as in t-he days of his 
 bachelorhood ; noi- was Mrs. Marfcel'* coun- 
 tenance as serene and smiling. Tlie host 
 i>' ne was imchanged, and, with the good- 
 jKiturcd politeness of former days, he said, 
 iis tlie young man took his seat: "Mr. 
 Armand, try some o^ this hash. Perhaps it 
 is better than it looks — at any rate it is all 
 J have to offer." 
 
 " And it is as good as we can afford, 
 Andre," added his wife, severely. "Money 
 is not found in the streets, now a days." 
 
 "Nor was it, some months ago, wife, 
 when we used to have a roast fowl, or some- 
 thing as nice, nearly every evening. But, 
 thank Providence, I have a good appetite 
 afl well as good digestion, so can eat what is 
 going." 
 
 "It's a pity you cannot boast also of 
 having a little good sense?" wivs the snr- 
 castic comment of bis better half. 
 
 " 1 have what is just as useful — a fair 
 share of good temper," imperturbably 
 rtjomed the worthy Mr. Martel. "Ar- 
 mand, my son, pasa me the bread. You 
 are not eating, petite ; what Lh the matter ? 
 rerh'^ps you, either, cannot relish the 
 ha<.li." 
 
 "It is not that," indignantly intompted 
 the hostess. "No, the poor child has been 
 disappointed." 
 
 " Not in love at any l-ate," was the smiling 
 comment, "for she has friend Armand 
 secured, hard and fast I" 
 
 "I wish, cousin Mtlrtel," answered the 
 young bride, with a auick flash of her dark 
 eyes, " I really wish tliat you would not drag 
 my name into any vulgar jokes." 
 
 " You are rather sharp to-night, young 
 woman ! You were mot quite so short in 
 past times." 
 
 " Because her patience, Andre, has been 
 sorely tried this evening. Waiting, dressed 
 in her best two or three hours, for a walk 
 with her husband and not able to get it." 
 
 " Oh, is that all? Well, she'll enjoy it all 
 the more vrlxen she does get one." 
 
 " Brides are not usually refused such 
 small requests," replied Mrs. Martel. " Per- 
 haps, though^ it's the way with gentle- 
 men," and a sneering emphasis was laid 
 on the latter word. 
 
 " Delimahas married a poor man." calm- 
 ly spoke out the bridegroom. " She must 
 take the consequences. Instead of walking 
 out with her to-day, I had to write." 
 
 " For all the money the writing brings 
 in, it might have been laid aside for a 
 while ; but you have rich friends, Armand, 
 
 you if your 
 to apply to 
 
 who could and would help 
 pride would onlv allow vou 
 them." 
 
 In that last sentence Mrs. Martel h^d 
 stated the unpaitlonable grievance that 
 was at the bottom of most of the feminine 
 persecution of which Armand was the ob- 
 ject. 
 
 " I kftv© already told you, Mrs. Martel, 
 that I would not allow any interference o« 
 that subject." 
 
 " Poor people should not be so finical 1" 
 and Mi's. Martel stared at the clock as if 
 addressing this observation specially to it. 
 " You should remember you have a young 
 wife df'pendenton you now." 
 
 Here Delima burst into tears whilst Ar- 
 mand hastily roce from table and left the 
 room. 
 
 " I think you'll drive the nouveau marie 
 into soon taking walks on his own account, 
 if you go on at him in this way. He will 
 find it the only means of securing a little 
 peace." 
 
 " Andre Martel, you are an idiot !" 
 
 " Perhaps so — I married you, but lot us 
 cease this sparring, wife, and give me ano- 
 ther cup of tea." 
 
 As soon as he had swallowed it, he un- 
 ceremoniously i-ose and strolled into the 
 kitchen for a smoke. 
 
 Meanwhile Armand started out on his un- 
 premeditated wt'lk, and drearier weather 
 fortune could not have favored him with. 
 The pleasant sunshine of the afternoon had 
 early becogie overcast, and now fast falling 
 snow, accompanied by a keen piercing 
 wind, rendered the streets shunned by all 
 .vliom necessity did not force into them. 
 Purposelessly lie walked on. No aim had 
 he beyond jisissing away an hour, and calm- 
 ing down the unusual irritation reigning ia 
 his breast. Past more than one brightly 
 lighted house whose doors had till lately 
 been hos])itably opened to him, he strode, 
 
ARMAND DUBAND. 
 
 58 
 
 |ing la 
 ightly 
 
 jlatelj 
 trode, 
 
 thinking bittorly of tho many chunges liis 
 marr'oge had brouglit him. No invitations 
 liad he received since that eventful epoch 
 from any of his former friends, no calls had 
 been made on liis young bride, no unceer- 
 monioua visits paid himself in tho evening, 
 except by Lesperance and a couple of his 
 associates, whose society tic by no means 
 desired for himself, much less for Delima. 
 
 Of course the isolation that hail fallen 
 upon him was owing in great part to the 
 obscure social position of the wife he hatl 
 chosen, and partly to some random insin- 
 uations, carelessly me iioned byde Monte- 
 nay, or Mrs. de Beauvoir, and subsequently 
 tnrculated pi-ctty freely, t )f this latter fact 
 he happily was unaware, for he had sulject 
 enough for bitter thought already. 
 
 Leaving the thorouglilares he turned 
 down one of the narrow dark streets leading 
 to the liarbor. Tlie latter presented a lonely, 
 desolate look. The black expanse of wa^^^ei", 
 dark wharves covered with snow, whilst two 
 or three spectral looking crafts, oyster or 
 wood batteaux, the last visitors of the port, 
 shone dimly through the faint, uncertain 
 light. A lamp gleamed dimly here and 
 there, through the thickly falling snow, 
 and against the post of one of these, he 
 leaned for a long time, absorbed in thought 
 }is dreary as the scene around him. At 
 length yielding to a growing feeling of phy- 
 sical discomfort he turneil his steps home- 
 ward. Though not late when he arrived 
 there, he found the lights and tires out and 
 i he door fastened, Mrs. Martel and Delima 
 having retired early, so as to execute this 
 small vengeance. As he knocked softly at 
 the door, he inwardly thought how pleasant 
 it would be if his young wife came down, 
 and with a kind word or smile admitted 
 him. How willingly, then, would he over- 
 look the annoyances and discomforts of that 
 evening I A light gleamed suddenly inside 
 the house and the bolt was withdrawn, but 
 it was by the worthy host himself. 
 
 " Poor Armand, you must bo very cold ! 
 Why, you are wet through and through 1 
 Sit down and I'll light up a tire to warm 
 you. You need'nt say no, becausq if i 
 don't, you'll be sick to-morrow. You are 
 shivering now." 
 
 First, carefully closing iho dooi' of the 
 stair-case leading to the upper part of the 
 house, he stirred tho smouldering lire in 
 the stove, into a cheerful blaze, and filled 
 the kettle. This done, he proceeded to 
 place on the table bread and cold meat, 
 with tumblers and a bottle. 
 
 •* Armand, you took no supper this even- 
 ing so you must make a hearty one now, 
 and a glass of something warm will keep 
 you from taking cold after your lonesome 
 walk. Ah, my young friend, you must not 
 let these matrimonial squabbles cast you 
 down. Of course they're unpleasant at 
 
 first, but when one gets used to them, they 
 find that they simply mean — nothing I Be- 
 sides, there is always somo compensation. 
 If a wife is a scold, she is probably a clever 
 housekeeper — if niggai-dly and fond of 
 stinting one's comfort*, she is C(u*tain to be 
 saving and economioal." 
 
 Young Durand shook his hojul. •• I do not 
 find the compensation a sufficient one in 
 either case." 
 
 " Perhaps neither do I, but where is the 
 use of grumbling at destiny? To be sure, 
 some men revei-se this rule and manage to 
 liavo all the faults on their side — the endu- 
 rance on the woman's, but they must have 
 strong wills and rough tempers of their 
 own." 
 
 " I hate quarrelling with women !" said 
 Armand, abruptly. 
 
 " So do I," was the cjuiet answer, " and 
 in consequence Mrs. Martol rules the 
 roast. To be sure, I tell her a piece of my 
 mind, now and then, but it does neither 
 good nor harm. Taken all in all, she is a 
 smart, careful wife — keeps my house and 
 clothes in excellent order, whilst as to her 
 tongue, I mind it no more tlmn the singing 
 of the canary hanging over your head. Try, 
 friend Armand, to follow my example, and 
 you will be all the happier for it." 
 
 The prospect thus hold out to the young 
 bridegroom was anything but si very enli- 
 vening one, and he inwardly wondered 
 that runaway husbands wore not more com- 
 mon. However, he was young, blessed with 
 a tolerably good constitution and appetite, 
 so he addressed himself without farther 
 delay to the comforts Martel had so kindly 
 
 f)rovided for him, and found that they at 
 east dispelled his sensations of intense 
 physical discomfort though they could do 
 nothing for the dull pain wearing at his 
 heart. 
 
 Calm brooded over tho cottage for somo 
 days after this, but on one ocw»*ion that 
 Mrs. Martel and Delima had been out to- 
 gether shopping, Andre saw at once, by tho 
 menacing brow of his spouse as she re-en- 
 te* '^d the house, that the truce was at an 
 end. Armand, who had been detained at 
 the office did not come in till late, and see- 
 ing that liis smiling salutation to his young 
 wife was coldly received, he seated himself, 
 awaiting, though not withMartel's philoso- 
 phical calmness, the coming storm. 
 
 " I should hke to have anew dress, Ar- 
 mand," suddenly said the bride in a pet- 
 tish tone. 
 
 " But you have one on you already that 
 becomes you charmingly." 
 
 '' I do not ask for compliments. ' Tis mo- 
 ney 1 want I" 
 
 " Alas! I have none to give. You see on« 
 of tho many dii^adTantages of being married 
 to a poor man ; but, in case 1 should find 
 
54 
 
 ARMAND DURAI.D. 
 
 u purse, or come into a fortune, what sort 
 of a dress is it that you want ?" 
 
 " A purple silk with a satin stripe, I saw 
 one on a lady to-day.'' 
 
 '• Yes, and a real bold one she was too !" 
 interrupted Mrs. Martel. " To see the 
 haughty way she sailed in as if she was a 
 queen and cast a look at Delima and mc, as 
 if we were beggars, and Delima by far the 
 prettiest of the two." 
 
 " Who was this bold lady in the purple 
 silk with a satin stripe?" questioned Armand 
 laughingly, as he helped himself to a piece 
 of toast. 
 
 " One who used to know you well enough, 
 though she is too proud to know your 
 wife," and Delima slightly tossed her head. 
 " Miss do Beauvoir." 
 
 The sound of the name that had been a 
 spell to him through his boyhood and be- 
 yond it, brought a flush to his cheek which 
 his female companions were not slow in 
 noting. 
 
 ''Ah, if you had married the yoimg lady 
 whose name causes you to blush so charm- 
 ingly, you would not have refused her a 
 paltry silk dress !" was Mrs. Martel's sar- 
 castic comment. 
 
 Thoroughly roused, Armand retorted: 
 " If I could not have given it to her, she 
 could have done without it, for she does not 
 require such extraneous aids to make her 
 look like a lady." 
 
 Armand, in saying this, had indeed sprung 
 a mine under his feet, the effect of which 
 he was destined to expiate in many a sub- 
 sequent domestic feud. Its present result 
 was to call forth an hysterical sob from 
 Deluna and an energetic denunciation from 
 Mrs. Martel, among which confusion he 
 hastily rose and retreated to that usual 
 haven of refuge, his room. 
 
 "This is to last through sickness and 
 health till death do us part!' he wearily 
 sighed. " And she is only seventeen — 1 but 
 two and twenty!" 
 
 Very dreary was the maze of thought 
 into which he ])lunged, and long he re- 
 mained absorbed in it, careless, indeed un- 
 conscious that ho was in darkness, and 
 that, notwithstanding the severity of that 
 sharp winter night, no fire crackled and 
 sparkled in the small stove that stood in 
 his room. 
 
 Suddenly the door was thrown open and 
 the hostess, after uttering the one word, 
 *' Mr. Belfond," placed a candlestick on the 
 table and hastily retired, closing the door 
 with startling violence. 
 
 For a moment the two friends, a prey to 
 mutual embarrassment, silently confronted 
 each other, then Belfond recovering 
 himself, extended his hand and seizing 
 Armand' 8 in a tight pressure, cxclained, 
 *' Well, old friend, it is time to wish you joy, 
 but 1 have been out of town since your 
 
 marriage, and only arrived yesterday. Poor 
 uncle Toussaint is now in a better world I 
 hope than this, (hero Durand noticed for 
 the first time that his friend was in deep 
 mourning) and his generosity to myself 
 deserved all the attention and affection I 
 could show him. I need not ask if you are 
 well and hapjiy — bridegrooms should always 
 be so." 
 
 Of course! Armand replied in the aflBrma- 
 tivo and endeavored to look as blissful as 
 it was reasonable to expect from him undei- 
 the circumstances, but his careworn, hag- 
 gard face did not escape the quick eyes of 
 his friend, who had had, moreover, a fore- 
 shadowing of the truth in the momentary 
 interview he had just held with the bride. 
 The re tiring, gen tie modesty which had once 
 distinguished her and which he had so much, 
 admired, had given place to a vulgar osten- 
 tation of dress — a ridiculous self assertion of 
 look and manner which amazed as well as 
 disgusted Belfond, and prepared him for 
 the gravity of the error his unlucky friend 
 had made in his choice of a wife. 
 
 After a time, seeing that the bridegroom 
 seemed unwilling to speak, he gaily touched 
 on his own affairs. "You must kr\ow, 
 Armand, that with the exception of the few 
 weeks of poor uncle Toussaint's illness, dur- 
 ing which time I got a little repose, mother, 
 sisters and cousins have been and are still 
 continually importuning me to do what 
 you have spontaneously done and get 
 married. Destiny, though, is against it ! 
 I see a young lady — take a fancy to her 
 and congratulate myself that there is a 
 prospect of being able to fulfil the wishes 
 of my friends, for I never intend to marry 
 without love, bien entendn, but before my- 
 self and the object of my worship have 
 met five or six times, my flame begins to 
 burn dimly, and at the end ofa dozen inter- 
 views, it is entirely extinguished. I'm sure 
 there are very few nice girls in society with 
 whom I have not been deeply in love for a 
 time, and yet I think I would rather be 
 hanged to-morrow, than marry any of them. 
 Come — advise me what to do ?" 
 
 There was a momentary pause, Durand 
 evidently seeking for an answer, when the 
 voice of Mrs. Martel, plainly audible through 
 the thin partition, exclaimed, in reply pro- 
 bably to some suggestion of her husband's: 
 " Fire, indeed I no, we cannot aflTord to 
 indulge in such wasteful habits. If they 
 are cold let them come out and sit here. I 
 suppose we are good enough company for 
 them !" 
 
 This tirade was too loudly uttered fw 
 Belfond to afl'ect unconsciousness of it, and 
 looking earnestly in Armand' s face, which 
 expressed so plainly the mortification and 
 pam the bridegroom felt, whispered " My 
 poor friend 1" 
 Rodolphe Belfond, however, was not one 
 
ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 55 
 
 )urand 
 
 in the 
 
 Ihrough 
 
 |ly pro- 
 
 oand's: 
 
 ford to 
 
 |f they 
 
 lere. I 
 
 siny for 
 
 Bd for 
 
 |it, and 
 
 which 
 
 Ion and 
 
 "My 
 
 Lot one 
 
 to give way long to sadness, and suddenly 
 snatclung up Arniand's caji, he placetl it on 
 his hoadjsaying : " And now for a walk, then 
 11 cosy oyster supper at Orr's over which 
 we can discuss our mutual gi-ievances." 
 
 Armand made no opposition, and as the 
 two friends passed out^ arm in arm, Mi-s. 
 Martel, with a shrill voice and still shriller 
 laugh, said : " It is teaching a husband bad 
 ways, Mr. Belfond, to bo Uiking him from 
 his young wife." 
 
 •'The way then, Madame Martel is, for 
 the young wife to render his home so happy, 
 that it w^ill bo impossible to coax her part- 
 ner away from it," and with this telling 
 it?joinder to the older lady, and a gay defer- 
 ential bow to the bride, who fat pouting 
 near the window, lie drew the door behinil 
 him. 
 
 ••'I would give mucli, Armand, to lie in 
 your place for a month, tluit I might have 
 tho taming of that old shrew. I think my 
 hates would prove ?*trongorand more lasting 
 than my loves.'" 
 
 "I caimot eniUno (lUarroUing with wo- 
 men !"' said Armand, wearily. 
 
 •' I am not so s(iuoami.'<h, and woulil enjoy 
 a bout with that old virago as mucli as I 
 used to relish a set-to in oiu- college days, 
 f would show no quarter to her ago or sex, 
 1 assure you !'' 
 
 After tho two friends were comfortably 
 seated at their oysters, in a pleasant warm 
 room, Armand began to open his licart a 
 httlo to his companion. Ho hurriinl over 
 the incidents of liis father's death, suppress- 
 ing in great part, tho tale of Paul's treaeli- 
 ery; and then, thougli with consideraltb" 
 reluctance, mentioned tho circumstances 
 connected with his marriage. Rolfond saw 
 at onco how completely his friend had been 
 duped, but ho made no comments while 
 tho latter went on to explain, that he con- 
 tinued, in compliance with his ,\unt's 
 • earnest desire, to draw the yearly interest of 
 the legacy left her by his father. Unlucki- 
 ly he had once mentioned to his wife, Mrs. 
 Katclle's pi-oposal to put him in possession 
 of the whole sum at onco, and this circum- 
 .<tance was a constantly recurring cause of 
 the bickerings wliioh embittered his domes- 
 tic life. 
 
 Both Mrs. Martel and Delinia continually 
 but vainly urged him to endeavoiu' to imluoe 
 Mrs. Ratelle to renew her first proposal, 
 for Armand knew that such a request would 
 be unwelcome in tho present state of 
 things, as tante Krancoiso would naturally 
 be averse to placing the sum she luul 
 destined for assisting him in his legal studies 
 and starting him in life, at the discretion 
 of a thoughtless young girl wlio might 
 spend it on ribbons or tine furniture. 
 
 Then Paul, shortly after his brother's 
 marriage, had written him a few friendly 
 Fines Legging him to accept a couple 
 
 hundred pounds as his wedding gift. Tills 
 epistlo Arir ^nd had briefly re-directed back 
 to his brother, but unfortunately Delima 
 had previously seen it on his desk, and it 
 afforded fresh scope for angry remonstrance 
 and fretful repining. 
 
 From the moment of that discovery, Mrs. 
 Martel and his young wife gave him but little 
 rest or peace. Had money really been a 
 thing utterly unattainable, his life would 
 have been much easier, and his female 
 friends would have been satisfied with things 
 as they were, but the idea that he could com- 
 mand eight hundred dollars, if not more, by 
 a mere scratch of his pen, as they phrased 
 it, a sum fabulous in its amount to them, re- 
 presenting elegant toilets, parties of plea- 
 sure, new furniture for tho little sitting- 
 room and many other things equally 
 attractive, and yet obstinately refused to 
 employ so precious a prerogative, was un- 
 bearable. 
 
 When Durand had concluded his confi- 
 dences, a pause followed, which Belfond at 
 length broke by saying: " AVomen arc 
 unintelligible and unmanageable. Look 
 at that Oertrude do Beauvoir. After flirt- 
 ing with de Montenay and keeping him 
 dangling after lier evtr since ho left college, 
 she gave him an unqualiHed tlismissal the 
 other day." 
 
 "Why?"' iniiuircd Armand, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 '' For a woman's weightiest reason— tho 
 utter absence of one. Mrs. do Beauvoir was 
 bemoaning her daugliter's infatuation ami 
 obstinacy tho other day, to my mother, in 
 the most pathetic terms, and deploring the 
 loss of what she styles such an excellent 
 match. But to return to j'our own affairs. 
 Now or never, dear Armand, let mo enjoy 
 tho i>rivilego of a real friend ami see how I 
 can help y. u. You know poor uncle Tons- 
 saint has left me ample means, the entire 
 control of which I possess myself, and 
 Joyfully do 1 place whatever you may require 
 of them at your disposal."' 
 
 Armand shook his head. 
 
 " If my pride wouKl have alloAved mo to 
 accept of your generously proft'ere<l help, 1 
 would not have si)oken to you so openly of 
 all my troubh's. No, Kodolple, true, kind 
 friend ; but do not look so chagrined, 1 
 promise that if 1 should ever be driven to 
 apply to a friend, to you shall my applica- 
 tion be made." 
 
 It was lato when they rose to separate, 
 and as Armand sol'tly knockod for admit- 
 tance, ho anxiously remembered that he 
 had never returned yet at so lato an hour 
 to his home. As usual, i( was liis landloi-d 
 who let him in, an<l in n somewhat hesitat- 
 ing voice ho aske<l whether ho required 
 anything instead of the supper from which 
 the tongues of his fair companions had 
 driven him. 
 
a^ 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 On Armand's answering in tho negative, 
 lie seemed much relieved, and muttered 
 something about the women being unusu- 
 ally out of sorts, Mrs. Martel having taken 
 the mean revenge of locking up the bottle. 
 "Itowever," he added, ''I'll buy another 
 one tomorrow, and put it into a new hiding 
 place, so we will checkmate her famously." 
 
 As the young man with a friendly good 
 night, was retiring to his room, his compa- 
 nion laid his hand impressively on his 
 shoulder and said: "One piece of advice, 
 friend Annand, that I will not cease repeat- 
 ing to you, till you act on it, is this, don't 
 let scolding drive you frorn your meals. 
 Hat well and heartily — tlien oeat a retreat 
 as quickly as you like." 
 
 This counsel was certainly given in time, 
 for next mominj;, at breakfast, Mrs. Martel 
 and Delima, launclied forth into sharp 
 inuendoesand irritating reflections concern- 
 ing the neglect and heartless indifference 
 of some men who preferred a drinking bout 
 with a boon companion to the society of 
 their respectable wives. 
 
 Instead of acting on his host's judicious 
 .idvice and taking a full meal, Armand 
 hurried ofl', after ncM rations of tea and 
 toast, to what he had once laughingly 
 styled a dingy office dungeon, but which 
 was now a Jiavon of i-efuge — a welcome 
 asylum of rest. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 It cannot be said that oin- liero was either 
 .'IS studious or as apt as he liad been before 
 liis unfortunate marriage. lie certainly 
 was not. Who could toll the bright dreams 
 and illusions lie had had then to spur him 
 on to exertion ? Now it was all narrowed 
 down to a mere strife for daily bread without 
 one gleam of hope in tlie future — one ray 
 of joy in the present. ^lore than once Mr 
 Lahaise had entered the office unexpectedly 
 .and found his student buried in moody 
 reverie whilst piles of papers to be sorted 
 or coi^ied lay untouched on tlie desk before 
 liim. Tlie lawyer, however, had heard 
 something of Armand's troubles, so lie was 
 considemte and merciful, knowing that 
 the young man's rare abilities would enable 
 him later, to make up for tho time he was 
 now losing. 
 
 Slowly — wearily to Duraiifl dragged on the 
 tedious winter, with its short days and long 
 interminable evenings — no pleasant social 
 entertainments, no quiet fireside hours to 
 gild its course. In the domestic circle mat- 
 ters were growing worse instead of better, j 
 Mrs. Martel's vituperativeness and Delima's 
 ill humeri' but increased in proportion as 
 they ascertained more thorouglily each day 
 the invincible patience of their victim, who 
 despite of all, however, remained firm to 
 
 his resolve of not applying for money to 
 either friend or relative. 
 
 But there is such a thing as straining a 
 bow too tight — as filling a cup too full, and 
 this Mr». Martel was destined to find from 
 her own experience. 
 
 As Armand after a hasty dinner was pre- 
 paring to leave for the office, Delima pet- 
 tishly informed him she wanted money 
 badly. 
 
 He instantly drew his slenderly filled 
 purse from his pocket and gave it to her. 
 •' 'Tis all 1 will have, Delima, till next 
 month, but you are welcome to it." 
 • The young wife opened it and scattered 
 the trifling contents contemptuously on 
 the table before her. 
 
 "That is of no use," she pouted. 
 
 '•But what do you specially want just 
 now?" 
 
 '•Firstly, a new coat for yourself— yours 
 is disgracefully shabby — "' 
 
 "Oh, is that all!" he interrupted. 
 "Thanks ; mine will do well enough for this 
 winter." 
 
 "Then if your coat will do my worn 
 old fui-s won't. They look perfectly dis- 
 graceful beside my fine new cloak." 
 
 " Yes, that they do," chimed in Mrs. 
 Martel. For a bride too they look doubly 
 bad." 
 
 "I am sorry for it, but I fear you will 
 have to take this season out of them." 
 
 "That she won't, Mr. Durand," inter- 
 rupted tho hostess. " What business had 
 you to take a wife if you can't dress her 
 decently?" 
 
 " You forget jou forced me to, in spite of 
 myself," retorted Durand, who felt in an 
 unusually irritable frame of mind. 
 
 " Yes, I can testify to the truth of that," 
 added Mr. Martel, .lotto voce, " -lust as I 
 was mariied myself! " 
 
 With angry countenance his wife turned 
 on the speaicer, bnt the latter prudently 
 left the battle-ground at once. 
 
 " All this is not answering my question," 
 interrupted the young bride. 
 
 " I have answered it already. I've no 
 more money to give you at present." 
 
 '• Yes, plenty if your pride woidd allow 
 you to ask your rich relations. But mther 
 than do that, you choose to live on charity." 
 
 Armand's cheek flushed deeply. 
 
 " How is that, Mrs. Martel? Do I not pay 
 you regularly the sum you fixed yourself as 
 the price of my own and wife's board ?" 
 
 "Bah! a sum that does not half cover 
 the expenses! However, if you won't 
 write, I will, and I'll tell your Aunt Fran- 
 coise, your brother Paul, and, perhaps too 
 your former proud lady love, the stiff- 
 necked Miss (le Beauvoir, how poor and 
 miserably ofl' your wretched wife is." 
 
 "You had better not do it, Mrs. Mar- 
 tel!" rejoined Armand, with an unwonted: 
 
AKMANU DURAND. 
 
 57 
 
 Is 
 
 Ir 
 It 
 
 look in his eyes wliich should have 
 warned that sliarp Avitted matron she was 
 goin^ too far. 
 
 Without noting it however and approach- 
 ing still neai'er, she stared defiantly at him, 
 reiterating: " But I will do it. I'll not 
 allow me nor mine to know want when the 
 scratch of a pen will bring them plenty. No 
 poor proud beggar sliall impose on us, or if 
 we have to put up with such a thing the 
 world I" ^11 at least know it." 
 
 Suddenly yielding to one of the gusts of 
 passion which, notwithstanding the gentle- 
 ness of his disposition, at rare intervals 
 swept over him, Armand suddenly turned 
 upon his portly opponent, and seiung her 
 by the shoulder, hurled her through the 
 open door with a force that sent her crash- 
 ing amongst tho geranium pots, which 
 came down with herself in one confused 
 lieap. 
 
 " Now, Delima, you will pack up your 
 clothes without aeiay, and be prepared to 
 leave this house in an hour." 
 
 " But she shan't go with you, you mons- 
 ter!" exclaimed Mrs. Martel, rising from 
 the debris of broken pots, plants and 
 eai'th. " You would kill her as you nearly 
 killed me, just now." 
 
 "You hoar me, Delima," said our hero, 
 with stern calmness. 
 
 "No, I will not go with you," hysterical- 
 ly sobbed the young wife. 
 
 " As you will," was the indifferent rej^ly. 
 " I have no intention of insisting on my 
 rights," and he quietly left the room and 
 passed into his own. 
 
 At once he entered on the toils of pack- 
 ing up, which with him was the very simple 
 process of thrusting into his trunks, clothes, 
 . hooks, brushes, in the order they came to 
 hand. At the end of a half hour his 
 task was complete. Then he suddenly re- 
 membered that at the commencement of 
 the late stormy interview he had given liis 
 purse to Delima. AVhat was he to do ? For- 
 tunately he had a few dollars put up to 
 pay an account for some law l)Ook lately 
 purchased, and knowing tho bookseller 
 would wait, he resolved on appropriating it 
 to present use. lie glanced at his watch. 
 Three quartei*s of an hour hatl elapsed al- 
 ready. Well, he would wait one hour as he 
 had told his wife, and at tho expiration of 
 tiiat time, he would Iciivc. If she chose to 
 accompany him ho was satisfied — if she de- 
 cided on remaining, he would not say a 
 word to dissuaile her from it. Again ano- 
 ther look at his time-piece. Four — tlu-ee 
 — two minutes. Ah, the hour was up, and 
 he took his cap, when tho door slowly 
 opened and his wife flushed and tearful, 
 entered. 
 
 "Are you coming with me, Delima? 
 Yes! DresB then quickly, for we have no 
 time to lose. I will go for a cariole." 
 
 " Where are we to go to?" she sobbed, 
 completely subdued and sinking helplessly 
 into a chair. 
 
 •' Do not be anxious ! We can easily ob- 
 tain comfortable lodgings for the price we 
 pay here. I have a respectable quiet house- 
 m view at which I will make arrangements 
 at once and then return for you. It will 
 give you a little time to pack up your rib- 
 bons and flowers." 
 
 On his way out, he saw no signs of Mrs. 
 Martel, but he encountereii her husband 
 who had been instructed to waylay Armand, 
 and win him over, if ijossihle, to friendlier 
 feelings. 
 
 "Why, how is this, Armand ? You are 
 not really going to leave us ?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Martel, and I deeply regret 
 it is under such unpleasant circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " Take a little time, Armand, to decide. 
 Do not leave immediately." 
 
 " Nothing would induce me to remairt 
 even a night longer." 
 
 '■^Allona! alloiis ! What signify a few hot 
 words more or less ? My wife is already 
 sorry for the past and willing to make 
 friends if you'll consent." 
 
 " I have no objection to the latter pro- 
 position and T am exceedingly sorry my- 
 self for the violence I displayed during the 
 dispute, but my mind is irrevocably made 
 up.' 
 
 "Nor am I surprised at it!" ejaculated 
 Mai'tel, treacherously going over to the 
 enemy. " You have suffered a great deal, 
 and now that you have thrown off your 
 chains, I cannot wonder at your not wish- 
 ing to put them on again. You frightened 
 the bonne femvie thoroughly, but as you for- 
 tunately did not hurt her, 1 bear you no 
 malice. .She said she thought all along 
 that you had the heart of a mouse, but the 
 finds instead you have that of a lion." 
 
 " I disclaim the compliment, if it is in- 
 tended as one, and feel heartily ashamed of 
 my exhibition of lion heartedncss. But 
 time presses — I must be off. Before leav- 
 ing, however, I must thank you, ^Mr. Mar- 
 tel, lieartily and sincoroly lor the kindness 
 you liavo invariably shown me during my 
 stJiy under your roof."' 
 
 Andri' coughed, and his voice was 
 snniowhat unsteady as lie rejoined : " Ood 
 l)less you, Arman<l ! From first to last you 
 liave acted as a true gentleman. I hope 
 little Dolima may prove wortliy of you!" 
 
 Within an hour Durand returned for liis 
 wife, and ilrowned in tears, she stepped 
 into tlio sleigh, without uttering a word, 
 having already made her ailieux to the fa- 
 mily. 
 
 Arrived at their new residence which 
 seemed both owlerly and comfortable, Ar- 
 mand proceeded to take possession of their 
 small though neat apartment by unpacking 
 
58 
 
 AKMAND DURAND. 
 
 I I 
 
 A 
 
 imd hanging up hirt clothes, placing liis 
 Ijooks andpupers in their respective places. 
 Delima, meanwhile, sat disconsolately on a 
 ti'unk, breakhig forth every now and then 
 into a fresh outburst of weeping. 
 When the tea bell rang she indignantly de- 
 clined that refreshment, so Annand went 
 down alone. The meal was certainly a 
 great improvement on tin) niggardly re- 
 pasts spread before him of late, and the rc- 
 tiection a pleasant one that henceforth they 
 could bo taken in peace, without a running 
 iiccompanhncnt of reproaches and recrimi- 
 nations. 
 
 There wore but four other boarilera. Two 
 old maiden .sisters, neat in dress and prim 
 in speech, and a quiet middle aged' married 
 couple, with whom, however, and the cliat- 
 ty smiling hostess, a sufficiently lively con- 
 versation was kept up. 
 
 When Armand returned to his own room, 
 ho found it somewhat cheerless, the tire 
 having gone down. Delima hud cried her- 
 self asleep in an easy chair, and as the rays 
 of the candle beside her streamed full on 
 her pale, tear stained face, his heart smote 
 him, despite the constant provocation and 
 annoyance he received from her. 81ie 
 looked so young, so fragile, ami now she 
 was so utterly dependent on him. 
 
 He cjiiickly started the fire again, sought 
 out the hostess to ask that a cup of tea 
 miglit be sent up to Mrs. Duraml, as she 
 was ill, a request willingly accedotl to and 
 then returned to awake his wife. She 
 again refused the proposed refreshment 
 after it had been brought to her, and re- 
 newed her sobbing, interspersed with pas- 
 sionate grievings over her own sad fate 
 and desolate condition. 
 
 After a few words of unavailing conso- 
 lation, the lamentations meanwhile re- 
 doubling, ho gravely said: "If you are so 
 utterly wretched, Delima, I see but one al- 
 ternative. You must return to Mrs. Mar- 
 tel's where apparently you cjin alone be 
 iiappy. I will give as much as I can possi- 
 bly atibrd towards your support, increasing 
 the sum when I will be able. It is too late 
 .now, but to-morrow morning you can leave 
 this." 
 
 " I will do no such thing," interrupted 
 the fair bride, with much vivacity, " though 
 I suppose you would bo well pleased if I 
 did, tinding it probably a good riddance." 
 
 Stung to energy by this thought, she 
 sprang to her feet and commenced armng- 
 ing her disordered toileite and sorting out 
 what few articles of clothing she had brought 
 with her, Mrs. Martel having promised 
 that the remainder should be ready when 
 ■sent for. 
 
 When the bridegroom returned the fol- 
 lowing day from the office, he was agree- 
 ably surprised to find his fairer half, seated 
 at her sowing in the little drawing room 
 
 and engaged in pleasant chat with one of 
 the lady boardei-s. He was further gratified 
 by her whispered assurance that she felt 
 happier and more comfortable than at Mrs. 
 Martel' s abode. 
 
 Now, had Armand Durand possessed a 
 little more determination of character, had 
 he been able to follow up his signal domes- 
 tic victory by a certain firmness of manner 
 and purpose, all might yet have gono on 
 tolerably well, but unfortunately such was 
 not the' case, and when after a time Mrs. 
 Martel became a frequent caller at their 
 jiresent residence and Delima passed a 
 great portion of her time in reciprocating 
 these visits, he never interfered. The 
 moral results of this intercourse were plain- 
 ly perceptible in the growing independence 
 and exacting character of the young wife, 
 who seemed to think the chief aim of exis- 
 tence now was to dress herself as elabora- 
 tely and extravagantly as possible. 
 
 Armand on his side drudged on persever- 
 ingly at his office duties, though at times 
 with a feeling of dreary discouragement ho 
 could scarcely combat. No farther inter- 
 course had passed between himself and 
 Paul, subsequently to his returning to the 
 latter his epistle containing an oft'er of mo- 
 ney, but at New Year's, a brief letter came 
 to him from tanfe Ratelle in which was en- 
 closed a present of fifty pounds. There 
 was no mention of the bride in this missive, 
 nor any wish however faintly expressed, to 
 make her acquaintance. Unfortunately 
 Mrs. Ratelle had heaixl from good authori- 
 ty a very accurate description of her cha- 
 racter and learned thus how poor, how ut- 
 terly worthless was the prize for which her 
 ill starred nephew had paid such a price. 
 
 The fifty pounds was soon coaxed from 
 him, and instead of being devoted at least 
 in part, to the liquidation of some debts 
 contracted by the young couple, was laid 
 out in the purchase of a new set of furs for 
 Delima and a suit of out door costume, ri- 
 valling in elegance the toilettes of Miss do 
 Beauvoir herself. Mrs. Martel was not for- 
 gotten in this unequal partition of Aunt 
 Katelle's New Yeuvr's gift, and a handsome 
 new cloak out of it fell to her share. 
 
 The lapse of a few months found the 
 bride who had been so much enchanted at 
 first, with boarding house life, utterly tired 
 of it. The boarders were so ill-natured and 
 sarcastic to her — the landlady so rude and 
 disagreeable that she scarcely dared to ask 
 for a glass .of water between meals, and she 
 herself so tired of being obliged to always 
 eat, sit and live under the constant super- 
 vision of strangers, that she had come to 
 the conclusion she would rather starve in a 
 little homo of her own — even a garret — 
 than remain where she was at present. 
 
 Of course Mrs. Martel was at the bottom 
 of all this repining and discontent. That 
 
ARMAND Dl'RAND. 
 
 50 
 
 -wily mischief-maker found she had but very 
 Uttle comfort or liberty in her visits to the 
 young wife. There was no possibility of 
 ■cosy teadrinkings or long pleasant evenings 
 crowned by a hot supper. In short, Delima 
 might as well be in St. Laurent for all the 
 •comfort or profit there was now in her so- 
 ciety. 
 
 Prompted by such ill judged inuendoes 
 and advice, young Mrs. Durand soon made 
 herself intensely disagreeable to her fellow 
 boarders; and her attectation and airs of su- 
 periority were resented with considerable 
 warmth. Every evening when our hero re- 
 tirrned fi-om the office, there was a fresh 
 grievance to relate, a new tale of oppression 
 anil unkindness to impart, till ho began in- 
 sensibly tj dread his return to his present 
 abode, almost as much as he had once done 
 that to Mrs. Martel's hospitable domicile. 
 ])elima would vary the tale at other times by 
 <lwelling on the happiness they would 
 onjoy in a homo of their own, — no matter 
 how humble — and on the economy and 
 housekeeping ability she would display in 
 the administration of said homo. 
 
 The picture was tempting and, Armand 
 often found himself wondering how it could 
 be accomplished, and if his independence 
 «nd pride would ever allow him to solicit 
 his Aunt Rjitelle's aid in bringing it about. 
 Destiny settled the matter by favoring 
 him with an accidental meeting with tank 
 Francoise, who had come to town for the tirst 
 time since the death of her brother, Paul 
 Dnrand. 
 
 Armand, his young wife leaning on liis 
 arm, met her face to face as she was coming 
 out of one of the low-browed, dingy shops, of 
 which many still characterized Montreal at 
 that period. Remembering all her former 
 kindness, the young man was really over- 
 joyed by the meeting, and plainly evinced 
 by look and word, the pleasure he felt. Mrs. 
 ..llatelle's first coldness soon thawed imder 
 the subtle charm of Arinand's aftectionate 
 greeting, and to pressing solicitations of the 
 young couple that she would return with 
 them and partake of their present land- 
 lady's hospitality, she returned an answer 
 in the negative, but coimterbalanced her 
 refusal by inviting them to dine with her 
 in the quiet respectable hotel whore she 
 put up. 
 
 The invitation was at once accepted and 
 tlte banquet came off triumphantly. True. 
 ]Mr8. Ratelle viewed with considerable dis- 
 favor the costly fura and elegant mantle 
 adorning the wife of a poor law student, 
 but Delima looked so veryyoung and lovely 
 and rendered herself so charming, resuming 
 for that purpose the gentle coaxing ways 
 which had characterized her before mar- 
 riage, that tante Francoise felt the prejudices 
 -she had conceived against her, fast wearing 
 iiway. With an openness which the elder 
 
 lady rather appreciated than otherwise, the 
 bride enlarged on her ardent desire to be 
 in a home of her own, not forgetting to ui- 
 dulgo at the same time in one of her usual 
 brilliant dreams of faultless house-keeping. 
 "But, child," exclaimed Aunt Ratelle. 
 drily, in answer to this latter rhapsody, « 1 
 cannot imagine so finely dressed a lady as 
 j'ou are, looking after pots and pans, pick- 
 les, and preserves. You would do better 
 in a sfl/o«.'" 
 
 " Ah, lante Tranroise," rejoined De- 
 lima, adopting at onc(^ the title by which 
 Armand addressed his ainit, "I dress so 
 finely because I have nothing else to do. If 
 I had a little homo of my own, how differ- 
 ent it would be ; I would have something 
 more useful to think of than finery. 
 
 Mrs. Ratelle said no more on the subject, 
 and when the young couple took leave, she 
 asked her nephew to return in the evening 
 to have a talk with her. Of course he wil- 
 lingly complied and the night was far ad- 
 vanct^d when the conference came to an end. 
 Much had they to speak of, but through 
 the course of that long conversation the 
 young man was wonderfully reticent on the 
 subject of his own domestic annoyances, as 
 well as on the mana>uvering that had been 
 employed to bring about his marriage. 
 
 Amongst other items nf home news, Mrs. 
 Ratelle told him that Paul remained always 
 quietly in the old homestead, but had grown 
 unusually gloomy and taciturn, whilst his 
 interest in agriculture and farming had con- 
 siderably diminished. Ho seemed to hav(> 
 no thought of matrimony, though, if so 
 disposed, he could have his choice among 
 some of the prettiest girls in Alonville. He 
 never mentioned Armand's name, nor 
 alluded hi any manner to the events that 
 had transpired at the time of their father's 
 death, though sho suspected he brooded 
 the more deeply over them for all that, 
 turning, probably for consolation, to stim- 
 ulants, with a frequency tliat filled her with 
 anxiety and misgiving. 
 
 Then Mrs. R itelle spoke of our hero's 
 affairs, and asked him if ho desired as 
 much as his wife to have a fire-side of his 
 own. Remembering the tiresome com- 
 plaints and tirades inflicted on him every 
 evening by Delima, he heartily answered 
 in the affirmative. His reply evidently 
 found favor in the eyes of tante Francoise. 
 who secretly feared that the present inac 
 tive life thu bride was leading might ino- 
 culate her with idle, extravagant ideas, and 
 render her unfit at a later period for assum- 
 ing the management of a household. 
 
 The end of all this was that Armand was 
 to be put in immediate possession of the 
 legacy left her by his father, a portion of 
 which, wisely invested, would ensure 
 a reasonable annual interest, wliilst a 
 sufficient sum coukl be deducted to set up 
 
60 
 
 ARMAND DUKAND.' 
 
 
 house-keeping atonco, though on Uiesmnll- 
 est possible scale. 
 
 " I hope, nephew, our decision has been 
 a prudent one," suid Aunt llatelle, im- 
 pressively. "Some might say it would 
 have been wiser to have left things as 
 they were, but you arc riow a married 
 man, surely fit to be tmsted with the di- 
 rection of your own affairs. Two finalities 
 are eminently necessary for you, economy 
 and firmness. See that you fail in neither !"' 
 
 (ilAPTEU XVI. 
 
 What a triumpliant day that was for 
 Delima when, after having wearily travelled 
 with her husband over half the city in 
 search of some habitation that came up to 
 lier ideal standard, they found a cottage at 
 a low rent, in St. Joseph street, containing 
 the requisite number of cupboards and 
 closets, with the small verandah in front 
 which she regarded as indispensable. Then 
 when Armand, who had the usual mascu- 
 line aversion to shopping, put a well filled 
 purse into her hand before leaving for the 
 office, giving her carte blanche to lay it out 
 iiccording to her own discretion, how Joyous 
 and exultant she was. 
 
 Her first step of course was to go in searoli 
 of Mrs. Martel, and that matron successively 
 drove the clerks of at letista dozen different 
 stores to the verge of desperation, by 
 pricing, liaggling, depreciating the goods 
 displayed before her, and altering her mind 
 several times before she concluded any 
 bargain. Her assistance, however, was in- 
 valuable to the embryo house-keeper. But 
 lor her prudent interference, the latter, 
 guided by the same tastes that directed 
 her purchases in dress would liave invested 
 the three quarters of her capital in an ex- 
 pensive carpet, embellished with lilies and 
 roses ; and a set of drawing room furniture 
 to match, as unsuited to their curum- 
 stances as were her own silks and laces. 
 
 On Mrs. Martel' s angrily asking what 
 slie would buy the stove and kitchen re- 
 quisites with, she consented with a hcaxy 
 sigh to satisfy herself with something less 
 mostly. Whilst discontentedly surveying the 
 sober though comfortable looking drugget 
 and plain chairs and table chosen by Mrs. 
 Martel, the latter sharply whispered : 
 
 " 'Tis somewhat of an improvement, my 
 girl, on the bare Hoor, and the wood(>n 
 chairs and settle of the best room, in the 
 old farm house at St. Laurent !" 
 
 The bride, who in the midst of her new 
 found grandeur had almost succeeded in 
 banishing such reminiscences, as she did 
 the thought of the aged work-worn grand- 
 father who hod brought her up, colored 
 deeply, and determinedly closed her lips, 
 never opening them again till they had left 
 
 the store. There were several ilays of such 
 shopping, but at length nil tiio ihatteb* 
 came home; the furniture wuh placeil and 
 tiie bi'ido and bridegroom took possession 
 of their now abode. Delima was triumphant, 
 Armand contented because slio wim so, und 
 Mrs. Martel, wlio had considtn-ately invited 
 herself to tea, under pretext of starting the 
 young house kooper fairly on hor way, ma- 
 jestic and complacent as thoii;,'li to say '<ttU 
 my work!"' 
 
 Difficulties liowevor soon beset the patli. 
 Kuch day brought with it a tliscoveiy moru 
 or less unwelcome. First, tlio kitchen 
 swarmed with beetles and cockroaches, and 
 Delima was so mucli afraid of those speci- 
 mens of entomology that her shrieks woit? 
 heard re-echoing through the house every 
 time she decended to that region. The 
 most approved nn^thod of getting ri<l of the 
 plague was, of course at onco ailopttd. 
 tlioiigii only with partial success. 
 
 Ne.xt the chimney smoked in the most 
 capricious manner, sometimes, on tho 
 clianging of tho wind to certain quarters, 
 threatening Armand an<l Iiis wife with the 
 fate of the inhabitants of Pompeii, in the 
 shape of clouds of ashes whirled in tliei? 
 faces with masses of pungi-nt smoko as they 
 sat beside their fireside, 
 
 A recollect (chinmey cowl ) partly niende*! 
 this, and their attention was then called to 
 another grievance. The roof iu one part of 
 the house badly leaked and the moisture 
 had slyly trickled down into tho sacred 
 closet when^ Delima's splendid holiday silk 
 was suspended, and hud elaborately streaked 
 and spotted it all over like an arabesque 
 scroll. These misadv(>)itures wew repaired 
 by the mending of the roof and the pur- 
 chase of another dress. 
 
 Fate had not yet finished its persecntion.'j, 
 for tlie cellar was now invaded by rats, be- 
 fore the horror of whoso jiresenci^ the ter- 
 ror inspired by the beetles faded into 
 nothing. Into tbi> latter stronghold of the 
 enemy Delima would never venture alone, 
 so Arniand had to accompany her on pil- 
 grimages for the moli'rUI of their meals,. 
 till he felt he would almost prefer living pn 
 anchorite's faro, brend and water, if it 
 woidd tree him from the migratory state 
 into which lie was plunged, whenever hu 
 crossed the threshold of his abode. A cat 
 was i)rocured,but sho confined her exertions 
 to robbing the pantry and breaking an. 
 unimaginable amoimt of delf, till she became 
 more destructive than the ruts themselve.s. 
 
 Meanwhile how did Delima's house- 
 keeping thrive V Did her husband find the 
 reality come up to the golden visions she 
 had previously indulgeil in ? 
 
 The fact was that, bewildered by tho ap- 
 palling discoveries of each successive da/, 
 and distracted by phuis and conjectures for 
 remedying these evils, .\rmand scarcely 
 
ARMAXD DURAND. 
 
 61 
 
 id 
 
 noted that th»^> cnkeM were Holid and 
 heavy, tlit- moiUs Itiirnetl or rnre according 
 to tho strength of tlic fire, and tlio soum, nn 
 indescribable mixture of greasy fluid with 
 lumps of liiilf raw vegetables swimming 
 complacently through it. When the young 
 hunband alluded, which he only did at mro 
 mtcrvals to these phenomena, Delima indig- 
 nantly asked how could she cook anything 
 well, beset by all sorts of horrors an she was, 
 and blinded, stupoHeU by smoking chim- 
 Bevs and leaking roofs. 
 
 ^'hc argument seemed good, at least 
 Armnnd chose to take it as such, ami lie 
 j>ropOi.-ed remedying all their troubles by 
 jtrocuriiig additional aiil in the shape of 
 H girl wlitMe eiiuiuiimity would be proof 
 ;igainstthe terrors which exerte<lso powor- 
 'ul an iuHuenco <>n the nerves of Delima. 
 The lattei- willingly ass(»nted to his propo- 
 sal, and arrayed again in silken nument, 
 he-jewelled and be-i-iuged, the young wifc^ 
 felt very imi)ort;int and digiiitied, issuing 
 ordei-s to lior hund-maiden. 
 
 Ikit alas, ] jzfttc was soniewliat suscopti- 
 bJe, and a lively warfiire was soon inaugura- 
 ted l)etween niistr<>ss iuid maid. Dolima 
 who h:id no idea of what true dignity con- 
 l^rsted in, endeuvonnl to make up by a rro- 
 gtmct^ and constant faidt-tinding fo*- the 
 want of that calm Justice and perfect self 
 <^omniand so necessary to those whose lot 
 it is to govern. 
 
 Every evening now when the hapless bus- 
 land arrived al li<»nic, instead of that light 
 feminine chit-eiiafe which is a very pleasant 
 thing in its time und i)lace, or that perfect 
 .•epo.so and (juiet which often renders u 
 domestic heartli cijually agreeable, he had 
 '^o listen to wearisome repetititnsof Lizette's 
 shortcomings, and of the series of outrages 
 ''ho had inllieted on her mucli enduring 
 mistress. 
 
 '•' Why do you not send her away then and 
 get another ?" would Armand ask, distract- 
 <!dly running his hand through his thick 
 wavj' locks till thoy stood almost on end. 
 
 ]Jut that did not suit Mrs. Durand. fShe 
 knew Ijizette was an excellent servant 
 industrious, hard-working and honest, 
 iind she only >vanted the luxury of grum- 
 Iding. Mrs. ^Martel's visits became more 
 and more frequent, meanwhile, and her 
 appearance at their socid bo ird a thing of 
 iTiOro frequent recurrence. 
 
 The species ot shame facodness which .she 
 had displayed during her first visits soon, 
 disappeared, and gave place to tirades 
 against tho incompetency and usole.ssness 
 of Lizette, interspersed with occasional hints 
 intended for the reproof or edification of 
 the head of the establishment. 
 
 One day that tho two ladies were dis- 
 cussing tho demerits of the mucli tried 
 domestic, the kitchen door i)urposely left 
 open, in order th it she might profit 
 
 of this candid analysis of her character, 
 Li7.etto burst impetuously into the room, 
 informed its occupants that it was easy 
 seeing they were not used to having ser 
 vants — that she, Lizette, who had lived with 
 real ladies before she came to them, could 
 tell they were upstarts, and that she would 
 not spend another night with them for any 
 consideration. 
 
 Hereupon her young mistress recovering 
 from the stivte of breathless amazement in- 
 to which this onset had thrown her, sternly 
 informed the excited abigail that if she 
 carried her threat of leaving on such short 
 notice, into execution, she would not only 
 forfeit her month's wages but would also 
 receive a character that would prevent any 
 one else employing her. 
 
 The girl independently replied that when 
 she wanted a character she would apply to 
 one of the real ladies she had lived with. 
 
 Before the commencement of (his exciting 
 scene, Armand had hastily retreated into 
 the inner room and closed the door, but of 
 course the voices of the disputants penetrat- 
 ed full and clear through all intervening 
 obstacles. He was not surprised therefore 
 when Lizette shortly after made her ap- 
 peai-ance, and having briefly stated that she 
 could not remain in the place any longer, 
 asked for her wages. Having overheard 
 all tho provocation that had led to this out- 
 burst, Durand paid her demands without 
 remark, and shortly after on glancing out 
 of the window, beheld her, bundle in hand, 
 passmg out into the street. 
 
 A moment after Delima rushed breath- 
 lessly into the room, followed soon by Mrs. 
 3ilartel. 
 
 '•Surely, Armand, you did not pay her for 
 this month?" 
 
 "Yes. Why not?" 
 
 " Why not ! Did you hear all the insolence 
 she gave me ? You did, you say, and you 
 can ask why not ! Armand Durand, you 
 have not the spirit of a man, or you would 
 not have sat tamely there wlalst yom- wife 
 was insulted and abused, and then have 
 paid the wretch who did it." 
 
 Here Mrs. Martel groaned aloud. 
 
 "But you were two to one against her," 
 answered Armand, "and certainly well 
 able for your adversary." 
 
 "Ah, so not content with encouraging 
 her by your silence — paying her the wages 
 she had forfeited, you tiUce her part, too?" 
 angrily questioned the yotmg wife. 
 
 A louder and more indignant groan from 
 Mrs. Martel, and a cough, evidently pi-e- 
 liminary to her taking active part in the en- 
 gagement, at which, Armand hastily caught 
 up his hat and muttering something about 
 other business to attend to, left the house. 
 
 The business thus vaguely alluded to 
 consisted in strolling about for an hour or 
 so, till it was time to return to the office, 
 
(}2 
 
 AKMAND LIJRAND. 
 
 where ho took his seat, mcntjilly con- 
 gratulating himsolt'ou liaving such a sum 
 and tranquil anylum. As tlio hour ol' de- 
 parture aiTivod, aiul lio was gatlieriug up 
 almost unwillingly soino books and papers 
 }jo wished to tak»! Iionio with him, lie was 
 inexprowsibly surprised by seeing the well 
 dressed but old i'ashioncd figure of tnnte 
 Francoiso <'ntering at the door. SJio had 
 come to town on unexpected business, and 
 knowing she would Hnd Armand at his 
 office, had ealled there so as to have liis 
 escort to his new abode; for Delinm in the 
 first Hush of gratitude consequent on the 
 magniHcent donation wliich had enabled 
 them to commence housekeeping, liad 
 insisted pertinaciously on Mrs. Katelle's 
 l)romising that she would make her home 
 Avith them whenever she should come to 
 town. On arriving with his companion, at 
 tlie comfortable little cottage in St Joseph 
 street, Armand opened the door with his 
 latch key, inwardly tormented by strong 
 misgivings as to the frame of mind he wouUl 
 Hnd his young wife in after the exciting 
 scenes of the day. 
 
 The reality however he was totally un- 
 prepared for. The Hi-es were out and the 
 rooms empty and deserted, iJelima having 
 gone out witli Mrs. Martel after previously 
 concerting with the latter to pimisli 
 her husband for his contumacy by spending 
 the evening from home and leaving hiui to 
 the resources of bachelor sjcill. 
 
 Everything was in tlie condition it luid 
 been in at tlie commencement of hostilities, 
 the furniture disordered, tlie carpet littered 
 with crumbs, scraps of thread, paper, wliilst 
 , the door leading into the kitchen whioli 
 stood half oi)en, aflbrded a vi(;w of a table 
 piled with unwashed dishes, an ashes- 
 strewn hearth and an unswopt floor. 
 
 The shock this spectacle inflicted on 
 Aunt Francoiso witli her unboundetl love of 
 order and house-wifely neatness, was indes- 
 cribable. Armand, mortified and confound- 
 ed, muttered something about Delima hav- 
 ing been obliged to go out with her cousin 
 Mi"8. Martel, their servant having suddenly 
 left — the keeping of a domestic was a new re- 
 velation to his spellbound companion — and 
 then prayed her to sit down whilst lie 
 lighted a tire, the one solo branch of do- 
 mestic economy he had a clear idea of. 
 
 Silently she assented, and as her eye 
 wandered from the slight handsome figure 
 of her nephew bending over the sullen fire 
 to the confusion and discomfort throned a« 
 it were all around her, her thoughts went back 
 to the early married life of Armand' s father 
 and her own repining at the choice he had 
 made. As far as regai-ded domestic com- 
 fort or good management, there was a 
 strange similarity apparently between the 
 lot of father and son, but there, she ac- 
 
 knowledged to herself with a sinking heart, 
 the resemblance ended. 
 
 The gentle, loving Genevieve would 
 never have left her husband sniToundtHi ly 
 discomfort and confusion, to seek amuse- 
 ment for herself elsewhere. At least, it 
 she had not accjuired the art of keeping Iut 
 home in that exquisite order which renders 
 the pooi'cst hut attractive, she was always 
 thi'ro to welcome hinj on his return 
 with her soft sweet voice and loving lookx 
 and smiles. Mrs. H'ltelle Irul once fearless- 
 ly expressed to her brotlier, lier un(|ualified 
 disapprobation of the system, or rather the 
 want of it, that reigned in his household; 
 for strong in his passionate love for liis wife 
 and in that wife's entire devotion to him- 
 self, he could bear to hear bitter or unpa- 
 latable truths; but what tower of strength 
 had Arninnd to shelter him ? Looking in 
 his worn, saddened fa(;e and recalling all 
 that she had heard, all tluit slie heiselfhad 
 seen, tlie answer aroso witliin her own 
 aching heart — none — none. 
 
 Ah, not b}' one word ofcritieisni or cen- 
 sure, however loudly i:alled for. would she 
 add one feather's weight to the Innden that 
 already weighed so lieavily on him, and 
 when lie came towards her saying with 
 forced cheerfulness : '• At least, tuntt- Fran- 
 eoise, ifwe have no supper we sliall have 
 a good lire,'" she quickly rost- to lar feet 
 !uid smiled pleiisantly, .-ix she answered. 
 *' But indeed, nephew .\rmiuid, wo shall 
 have both!' 
 
 Having divested liersolf of licr out door 
 habiliments, she tool< up a towel lying on n 
 chair near and after carefully pinning it so a«! 
 to protect her dress, and fastening back the 
 muslin strings of her cap, exclaimed: "Now 
 you shall see that la rictli: taiih: has not foi- 
 gotten heroldeti craft." 
 
 Xotwitiislanding h'r nepliew's njmon- 
 strances she- entered with alacrity on the 
 task of reducing t)»e ehans that reigned in 
 the kitclu^u to order. It was h<^ou done, 
 !uid not very long after a comfortable sup- 
 per of hot toast, ham .and eggs (the house- 
 hold lai'der was well stocked) laid on the 
 table. 
 
 During the course of the meal she cheer- 
 fully questioned him about his jjrospecU-, 
 expressing her satisfaction that he was pur- 
 suing his law studies so closely, tut little, 
 very little said she concerning his domestic 
 affairs. Unce only, after a long silence, she 
 laid her hand softly on his and whispere<J, 
 as she looked wistfully in his face : " Ar- 
 mand, my son, I fear you are not happy I" 
 
 He made no reply beyond kindly press- 
 ing her hand and slightly averting his face. 
 Silence then fell on both again, and it 
 lasted till a knocking at the door aroused 
 them. Armund opened it and bis young 
 wife, with a half sullen, lialf defiant look on 
 her beautiful face, entered. 
 
AUMAND DUUAND. 
 
 es 
 
 pur- 
 ittle. 
 nostic 
 
 )ered, 
 Ar- 
 ty I" 
 )rees- 
 
 facc. 
 id it 
 )use(i 
 
 " How do you like baclielor housekeep- 
 ing?" she quoBtiontxl, tartly. " You liad 
 HO much sympathy for Lizrtto that — " 
 
 " Xante Frun^oi.so is here," he gravely in- 
 terrupted. Confused and iwhamci I, Dolima 
 hastily turned, and ns she emhrnced Mrs. 
 llatelle, the latter icily enduring, not re- 
 turning the salute, muttered something 
 about ooing sorry who liad not known that 
 she was coming, as she would have I'eturnod 
 early to give her supi)er. 
 
 " Why^ child, should you show more at- 
 tention or kindness to lui* than you do to 
 your husband? His clainn on you are far 
 greater than mine.'' 
 
 The pretty mouth i)outod — tlio smooth 
 young brow contracted, and wltli a .slight 
 toss of her head sho turned away to un- 
 dress. 
 How little had poor /a)i/r Francoisc thought 
 in those long past days when she l)orH so 
 severely on (lonevieve's misenil)l(> house- 
 keeping, that a time would conic when she 
 would recall witli aching yearning her lov- 
 ing smiles and gentle ways, feeling they al- 
 most atoned for all other dcKciencics, ]{(». 
 pining however was useless, and she resolv- 
 ed on avoiding all verbal expressions of it. 
 Two days more she passed with the youn;; 
 couple, for she ha<l business in town that 
 compelled her to i-emain, and during that 
 time she saw eno«gli of j^fdima's manage- 
 ment and of Armand's domestic felicity to 
 make her wisli that slie ha<l never come. 
 
 Her jwrting with tlie bride was rather a 
 stormy one. She toltl her in quiet stern 
 tones how deficient she found her in all the 
 qualities that constituted a good wife, 
 j)lainly intimating that future favors and 
 presents would depend entirely on the 
 amendment of Delima's conduct; and then 
 when the latter waxed warm and imperti- 
 ment. Aunt llatelle held her peace and 
 quietly left the house. 
 
 Rodolphe Belfond occasionally called to 
 see his early college friend, but on all sucli 
 occasions the young wife, instead of leav- 
 ing her husband and visitor to enjoy a talk 
 together, always joined them, dressed with 
 elaborate elegance ; and with her silly 
 idiatter and still more absuixl affectation, 
 contrived to render the visit wearisome to 
 host and guest. At other times, when 
 under the influence of ill temper, she con- 
 trived to make mattei-s equally unpleasant 
 by scolding in a raised key at the much en- 
 during successor to Lizette, or bustling 
 in and out, with a great display of brushing, 
 dusting, and cleaning, endeavoring to make 
 lier two victims feel uncomfortably awake 
 to the impression that they were greatly in 
 the way. 
 
 Fortunately Belfond was not much trou- 
 bled with shyness or over sensitiveness, so 
 he generally sat on, unmoved and unruf- 
 fled in the midst of the storm, and thinking, 
 
 whilst ho cilmly contemplated the irato 
 countenance of Delima, how quickly and 
 thoroughly ho would tamo that beautiful 
 shrew if ho were in his friend's place, mar- 
 velling all the while at the hitter's weakness, 
 but pitying whilst he condemned him. 
 
 Care of, however, a deeper sort was begin- 
 ning to brood over the yoimghouseh' 11 I. Tin- 
 money given by Mrs. liitello had bce.i spent 
 with a lavish thoughtlessn<'ss which that 
 worthy lady had never contemplated. 
 
 The only branch of usefulness which Dc- 
 lima possessed in any degree was the know- 
 ledge of her needle, and in that she cer- 
 tainly excelled ; but even though dresses, 
 mantles and all the dainty little articles of 
 ornament in which she so much delighted, 
 as W(^ll as her husband's sewing or mending, 
 were all done l)y herself, that one branch of 
 economy could not atone for the utter want 
 ol" system or good minagement which per- 
 vaiknl («.very other department of house- 
 htjld government. 
 
 When the young wife asked for money, 
 Armand at once gave it to lier, generally 
 without enquiring for what it was wanted, 
 lest liis doing so shoukl bring on an alter- 
 cation; but when the constant inroiuls thus 
 made on their little fortune had terribly di- 
 minished it, and he began to etilurgoon tho 
 fact and on the consequent necessity for 
 economy, she paid but little heed, mental- 
 ly re-assuring herself with the thought that 
 Avh'u their purse was em])ty they could 
 apply to ianlc Francoise. When tiiis time 
 came, and Delima, without consulting her 
 husband, privately wrote to Mrs. liiitelle an 
 epistle i)ortraying in tliw most vivid terms 
 their destitution, and which, notwithstand- 
 ing the intense study and application it 
 had cost her, was, nevertheless, amai-vel of 
 bad grannnai' and orthography, the answer 
 soon came, short, sharp ami tlecisivo. 
 
 Jfrs. llatelh- had already given them a 
 sum sufficient, if managed with projjr'r caie 
 to place ihem above the necessity of 
 applying for assistance for a much longer 
 period. Mrs. Durand must leain to be less 
 extravagant in her dress anil household 
 expenditure before slie could extend to her 
 farther heljj. There was an expre-sion of 
 suri)ri.so too that young Mrs. Durand, who 
 must necessarily have been brought up in 
 habits of the strictest economy, should find 
 it so ditticult now to practice them. 
 
 In the first burst of anger excited by this 
 frank communication, Delima showed it to 
 her husband, but she wiis luiprepared for 
 the bitterness with which he upbraided 
 her for having taken such a step without 
 consulting him, and for the want of proper 
 pride or dignity which liad sufiered her to 
 make the appeal. 
 
 Little by little that part of the sum 
 which was destined through the interest 
 drawn from it, to afford them a small an- 
 
64 
 
 AllMAND DUKAND. 
 
 «1 
 
 imal income wiis oxpomled, somt> of it hav- 
 ing been devoted by Arnmnd muchiagainst 
 his* wife's will to paying ott" various trifling 
 debts contiHctetl tluring the first months 
 of their mairiagc, and with poverty thus 
 lilose at Imnd, retrenchment was impera- 
 tively called for. The servant was dismiss- 
 ed, the expenses of dress and table dimi- 
 nished, and Delimu, changing at once from 
 one extreme to the other, degenerated 
 from un over dressed puppet into a tawdry 
 slattern. Of course character too participat- 
 ed in this change for the worst, and frown- 
 ing discontented looks and wouk weari- 
 some rei)iiiings over her miserable destiny 
 were now alone heard in our hero's unhappy 
 home. 
 
 Mrs. Ratclle's customary New Year's 
 gift of fifty pounds arrived in time to 
 shield them from actual want, and Armand- 
 after desperate efforts, procured some copy- 
 ing to do which brought him a triflmg 
 l>ittance in return for hours of close unre- 
 mitting toil when his office houj-s wore over. 
 One by one many superfluous household 
 iuticles, some of which need never have 
 (loen purchased at all, wore disposed of to 
 .supply present necessities, and over each 
 sauriHce of this kind Delima would grieve 
 and lament as if it 1^•«re the severing of one 
 of her heart strings. 
 
 Mrs. Martel, now a constant visitor at 
 the cottage, would join vigorously in these 
 lamentations, shaking her head, over and 
 over again, and pitifully murmuring "Oh, 
 my poor, poor Delima !" till Durand felt 
 iit times as if he would go distracted. On 
 one occasion that the young wife had been 
 unusually loud in iier complaints, and her 
 i'emale relative equally so in lier condo- 
 lences, Armand reduced them to utter 
 silence by turning on the visitor and in- 
 forming her the best thing she could do 
 for the happiness of all parties would bo to 
 take Delima back with her, and keep her 
 till he had a wealthier or pleasanter home 
 to offer her. But this outburst was a rare 
 event, and the moral influence it exerted 
 soon passed away, leaving his feminine ad- 
 versaries again victors of the field. 
 
 Whilst bearing up as best he could 
 against the adverse circumstances surround- 
 ing him, one day yielding to discouragement 
 and despair, the next, renewing his re^solves 
 to battle bravely with his fate and conquer 
 it if possible, a messenger arrived from 
 Alonville, bidding him hasten thither imme- 
 diately, as Mrs. Hatelle had been struck by 
 paralysis and now lay at the point of death. 
 Of course, Armand, grieved, shocked, pre- 
 pared to start without a moment's delay, 
 but Delima willingly availed herself of the 
 excuse afforded by bad roads and incle- 
 ment weather to decline accompanying 
 him. 
 
 He arrived iu time to receive good kind 
 
 tante Francoise's last blessing, to heor a 
 few words of iulvic:o and sympathy, when 
 anoth<!r stroke of the rolentless enemy 
 closed the scene. Tho desolation of Ar- 
 mand's feelings as he stood beside that rigid, 
 motionless form, no words could convey. 
 She was tho last neing on earth who really 
 loved him (all faith in his wife's afiectiou 
 liad long since passed way) ; that dulled 
 cold ear the only one in which he cared to 
 whisper his griefs or plans, and now the 
 future that lay before iiim was uncheered 
 by hope of .sympathy iiom any true or lov- 
 ing heart. 
 
 A few measured ((uiet words pastsed 
 between himself and Paul, the latter 
 awkward and constrained, the elder brother 
 pro-occupied and indifl'erent, but that was 
 tho extent of their intercourse. 
 
 After the funeral, which the brothers 
 followed side by side, tho village notary put 
 aletter in Annand's hand which Mrs. Itatelle 
 had ilirected should be given him after her 
 death, adding, at the same time, that he 
 was ready to rcful to him the will of the 
 decea.sod. Tho epistle, dated the morning 
 before Armaud's arrival, was written tremu- 
 lously, almost illegiljly, but, was tenderly 
 )i;!(.i;tion'ito in strain, .sympathizing with 
 him in his unhappiness, and bidding hint 
 look for consolation to that source whence 
 she so abundantly derived it, the hope of a 
 future life. Slie tlien went on to say, that 
 with the exception of some charitable 
 bequests aiul a present to Paul, she left 
 Armand her sole heir, but foreseeing from 
 Delima' 8 extravagance and liis own 
 thoughtlessness where money was concern- 
 ed (amply proved by the lavish manner in 
 which the large sum she had before put 
 them in possession of had been expended) 
 that if the legacy were left them, free from 
 any restraining conditions, it would speedi 
 ly be spent, leaving them soon again a prey 
 to poverty, she desired that Armand should 
 only receive the yearly interest of the 
 money bequeatlied him, for the space of 
 seven yeai-s, at the expiration of which 
 time he should enter on its enjoyment, un- 
 trammelled by farther conditions. 
 
 When our iiero was again reinstated in 
 his home, and related to his wife;' m details 
 
 .► itentsof 
 iieeal her 
 
 jng yr: 
 
 have bf i 
 doi. 
 
 wei 
 sh. 
 a little 
 
 of Mrs. Ratelle's deaf 
 the will, Delini'i cot 
 disappointT" nt 
 
 "Only a ,»,.. 
 
 year for sev 
 
 edly repeat 
 
 the sum we 
 
 we may both bo 
 
 that time." 
 
 " If so it would not prove an event greatl.T 
 to be regretted," rejoined Armand, speak 
 ing out of the bitterness of his heart, " sv 
 ly our life is not such a pleasant one !" 
 
 pounds a 
 
 liscontent- 
 
 more than 
 
 starving on. Why 
 
 before the close of 
 
jnt, un- 
 
 ited in 
 lotails 
 en tool' 
 \[ hw 
 
 )unds a 
 ontent- 
 re than 
 Whj 
 lose of 
 
 greatl.T 
 speak 
 
 'sr 
 I" 
 
 ARJUAND DURAND. 
 
 65 
 
 " It would be if we had plenty of money," 
 woa the unwomanly reply. 
 
 " No amount of money could bring liappi- 
 nesBto our home," sorrowfully thought tne 
 young liusbimd, but he held his peace. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A few moremonthHof weary .struggling— 
 battling with poverty umlddme^tic troubles 
 — then another change in the dmma. Mr. 
 Laliaise, the kind and intelligent lawyer with 
 whom Armand studietl, was taken ill, and 
 after many alti'mations from worse to better, 
 paid the debt of nature. 
 
 Tins last stroke was most keenly felt by 
 our hero. It aeemed to him that, one by 
 one, every human being, who had loved or 
 shown him any inttuwt was taken away. He 
 did not reflect that they were ripe in years — | 
 their death.>», events in the order of nature 
 to be soon expected — he only felt the dull 
 blank each decease left in his life and 
 hopes. For many days after Mr. I^aliaise's 
 funeral, he remained rjuiet — inactive at 
 kome, occupying liimselt with a preterice 
 of copying some law papers, but in reality 
 yieldmg more and more to the discourage- 
 ment creeping over him. 
 
 Was it apathy, or was it illness? He 
 could not toll which. He knew no farther 
 time nhould be lost in seeking out a suc- 
 cessor to the late Mr. Lahaise under whose 
 anspices he might continue his legal studies, 
 but a strange aversion to the profession he 
 bad embraced, was taking possession of him. 
 " How," he mentally asked himself, "could 
 he afford to lose so much valuable time 
 acquiring knowledge that might never 
 bring him any return. Even if he successful- 
 ly pursued his legal studies and passed his 
 examination (a thing which in his present 
 state of despondency he felt very doubtful 
 of) what assurance had he that clients would 
 come — briefs bo given him? At the very 
 best it would be long before such could be 
 the case, and in the meantime debts and 
 difficulties were closing in around him antl 
 poverty sitting like a .spectre at his hearth- 
 side. 
 
 One dark stormy morning he had risen 
 with these thoughts, and they had clung to 
 him with relentless pertinacity through its 
 •ourse. Heedless of Delima's reproaches 
 regarding liis idlene.^s — of her loud lamen- 
 tations over her fato, ho sat with head bowed 
 in his hands, motionless as a statue, 
 through long, weary hours, not planning 
 nor proposing, but blankly yielding to 
 despair. 
 
 Suddenly a friendly hand was laid on his 
 •houlder, and a fri(>ndly voice cheerfully ex- 
 
 claimed : ''Halloa, 
 been taking a nap. 
 to you twice and 
 answer." 
 
 Armand, you have 
 I have said good day 
 have not yet had an 
 
 Armand looked up with a forced smile > 
 endeavoring, evidently, to tVame a reply, 
 when Delima's shrill voice inter{x>Hed. 
 
 '•Indeed, then, he has chosen a wrong 
 time to take daylight naps in, when we 
 have scarcely the price of a dinner in the 
 house. He wouhl in spite of me fritter away 
 the greater part of this month's money in 
 paying debt.s, as if we could aflbnl that I" 
 
 " I sold my watch yesterday morning, and 
 surely tlio price of it has not all gone for 
 the lew scanty meals we liave hiwl since 
 then," replied the young husband, wearily. 
 Delima reddened. She had not expected 
 such frankness on his part before a third 
 party, but, determined not to be put down, 
 retorted : " It will be though, before you 
 think of getting me any more, and then, 
 I suppose wo may starve." 
 
 Armand passeil his hand across his fore- 
 head, while an unusual look of sutfering 
 clouded his dark languid looking eyes. 
 
 *'My dear Mrs. Durand," interiiosed 
 Belfond, controlling with great dinicul- 
 ty his intense indignation at her ill- 
 humor and heartlessness, "you see thai 
 your husband is not well. Pray leave him 
 alone with me for a short while, as I liave 
 something of importance to say to him." 
 
 In her tawdry untidy state, her splendid 
 wavy hair escaping here and there in disor- 
 derly masses from her comb, she flounced 
 from the room. 
 
 " Confound her I" escaped from the visi- 
 tor's lips before he had time to check him- 
 self. 
 
 The languid eyes looked sorrowfully at 
 him, and he hurriedly, entreatingly said : 
 
 ''Forgive me, Armand, for Heaven's sake, 
 but at the sight of you, so worried and ill- 
 looking I scarcely know what I am doing 
 or saying. Oh, friend, fiiend, I could cry 
 like u very woman to see you thus," and he 
 tenderly laid his hand on that of his com- 
 panion, whilst his honest manly eyes filled 
 with tears. 
 
 •' But, diantrer he abruptly said, hastily 
 dasliing away these evidences of weakness, 
 " it was not to indulge in jeremiades I 
 ciime here but to see if 1 could not be of 
 service to you. You need not flush up so 
 hotly ! I know if I offered you money or 
 loan, you would say as you did before, had 
 you intended accepting either, you would 
 not have exposed your wants so openly, 
 though, indeed, in your place I would not 
 stand in such an absurd manner on my dig- 
 nity. 'Tis something else 1 would propose 
 to you, and which you can accept without 
 forfeiting one tittle of that independence 
 on which you set such store. I have wrif 
 ten to my cousin Duchesne in Quebec, w' 
 is one of the leading lawyers there, an(* 
 will willingly take you into his office at 
 giving you all the advantages, and ' 
 many more than you enjoyed with 
 
 £ 
 
(56 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 M 
 
 I 
 
 M 
 
 I I 
 
 haise. The fact is he is most anxious to 
 ha\ e you with him, having heard your cha- 
 raci>rand abilities very highly spoken of 
 in several quartei-s." 
 
 Armand, suspecting to whose good offices 
 the interest taken in him by Mr. Duchesne 
 was attributable, shook his head. 
 
 *' Bel fond, waverings are at an end, and 
 my mind fii-mly made up to abandon the 
 ]>rofessioii chosen in more prospei-ous 
 times." 
 
 " No, no, you will not do that Armand ! you 
 will not play so cowardly apart. Listen to 
 me. Sell ott" your furniture here. The 
 proceeds of sale will not only enable you 
 to pay your expenses and those of your wife 
 to Quebec but leave you with something in 
 lj(ind. Arrived there, take a room in some 
 respectable ijuiet boarding house, and then 
 enter cousin Duchesne's office at once. If 
 you are too selfish, too stiff necked to give 
 me the pleasure of lending you what I know 
 you will soon be able to repay, you will 
 still have enough to start with in the strug- 
 gle, and you can I'ough it in Quebec as you 
 have done here. Duchesne has promised 
 me that he will ensiu-e you plenty of copy- 
 ing — you can take a couple of scholars in 
 the evening, it necessary, in short, do any- 
 thing rathei' than give up the profession on 
 whose dry thorny road you have already 
 advanced so far, anil which may ultimately 
 lead you to honor and fortune.'" 
 
 "But success is so uncertam," muttered 
 Armand, '• and the jieriod of j^robation so 
 long. 1 might be able to jirocure at once 
 .>?omo situation or clerkship which would 
 bring me in a good salary.'' 
 
 •' And, what then ? You would still per- 
 haps bo a clerk at the same salary in tive 
 years from this. Still, the idea would be a 
 very fair one if you had not already enter- 
 ed on another career. Listen, Armand ! 
 Promise to give cousin Duchesne a trial." 
 
 *' Do you i-emember, Kodolphe, that long 
 past day in our college life, which witness- 
 ed the beginning of this our true and last- 
 ing friendship, and yet whose first stop was 
 my springing at yoiu' throat like a bull dog 
 and nearly strangling you. Well, as I stood 
 then, at bay, harassed, desperate, enemies 
 and troubles all around me, so do 1 now 
 stand to-day."' 
 
 •• But, you forget, with a true fiiend at 
 your side, who, unluckily for you, has the 
 foible of always wanting to give you ad- 
 vice. You see, one great ad'-'.ntage that 
 will result from your remov to Quebec 
 will be the freeing your wife from the per- 
 nicious influence of that old she-dragon 
 relative of hers, who, 1 suppose, is always 
 putting mischief into her pretty little head. 
 If after having tried my plan, you still con- 
 tinue to sigh for a change^ I will undertake 
 to procure you a good situation later. I 
 
 lia\ J friends aad cousins too among our 
 Quebec merchants." 
 
 Long Belfond reasoned and persuaded, 
 Ills friend wavering more and more, till ho 
 
 1 finally yielded, and when they separated 
 
 I the look of blank desjmir had passed from 
 
 I Armand's countenance. 
 
 j When our hero first announced his in- 
 tention of removing his household gods 
 
 i to Quebei', a rare domestic scene ensued. 
 
 i Delima wept, stormed, all but fainted, and 
 
 i Mrs. Martel loudly declared tliat tlie shock 
 of a separation in her present delicate state 
 of health would kill her— that none but a 
 madman or monster would think of 
 dragging a delicate young creature away 
 among strangei-s from the friends she was 
 so deeply attached to. To all this Armand 
 had but one answer, which was a ijerfect 
 stronghold as it were against the enemy. 
 
 If his young wife found the arrangement 
 so unbearable, she was at perfect liberty 
 to remain with her friends. This proposi- 
 tion, however, not meeting the general 
 views either, hostilities were abandoned, 
 lest, perha2»s in a fit of anger he should 
 enforce it, and Delima contented herself 
 with going about the house in a state of 
 tearful misery. Their wardrobes were packed 
 up and the auctionheld. This latter wasquite 
 successful, many trifling articles being bid 
 upon, oi' bought up at comparatively high 
 prices by an humble looking though com- 
 fortably dressed individual in the crowd, 
 whom no one suspected of being a messen- 
 ger of Kodolphe Belfond. 
 
 With a dark wintry sVy overhead whose 
 gray clouds presaged a heavy snow storm 
 though a considemble quantity had already 
 fallen the previous night, our hero set out 
 with his young wife for the now city m 
 which they were to try their fortunes. The 
 appearances of the weather were so little 
 encouraging that he would wiUingly have 
 delayed his departure for another day, 
 but the farmer who had agreed to take 
 them for a moderate sum in his comfortable 
 carriolo, could not wait. They brought 
 but one small trunk containing changes of 
 wearing apparel, Belfond having under- 
 taken to see the remainder forwardetl by 
 the first safe opportunity. 
 
 When they started, Delima was sobbing 
 bitterly, Armand revolving dreary thoughts 
 and sombre anticipations, and both so pre- 
 occupied that they were almost unconscious 
 of the thickly falling snow and the murky 
 sky over head. They stopjied for dinner 
 at a little village inn, where a plate of ex 
 cellent soup and a mutton fricassee was 
 served to them, and of which Delima, who 
 was beginning to recover her spirits, having 
 had her ciy out, heartily partook. They 
 were soon en route again but in conse(iuence 
 of the quantity of snow that had fallen, the 
 roads were very heavy, and the stout Cana- 
 
ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 «7 
 
 I whose 
 
 V storm 
 
 alreadj- 
 
 set out 
 city m 
 «. The 
 10 little 
 ly have 
 ir day, 
 ,0 take 
 [brtable 
 roughl 
 .nges ol" 
 undei- 
 Ided by 
 
 sobbing 
 (loughts 
 I so pre- 
 luscious 
 murky 
 dinner 
 of ex 
 lee was 
 lui, who 
 1 having 
 They 
 l(iuence 
 len, the 
 U Cana- 
 
 dian horse whose sinews seemed made of 
 iron floundered and struggled gallantly on 
 in the midst of the snow-drifts, shaking 
 back, every now and then from eyes and 
 mane the icy particles plentifully besprinkl- 
 ing them. 
 
 How eagerly the travellers began to look 
 forward to their an-ival at the little village, 
 ii) the inn of which they were to pass the 
 inght. The wind was keen ancl sharp, 
 but Armand contrived to keep his wife 
 well shiekled from its biting breath by the 
 tliick bufl'alo robes with which they were 
 liberally provided. At length lights 
 began to twinkle through the snow filled 
 nlmosphere, and with a sentiment of intense 
 satisfaction the wearied paity drew up at 
 the long looked for inn. Travellers had 
 jireceded them, for the sound of voices 
 came through the door of the httle parlor 
 wJiich was ajar, and there was a great 
 i)U8tle and appetizing odor about the stove, 
 iji the outer apartment close to which a 
 couple of farmei-s were <«moking and drink- 
 ing. 
 
 Delima in wretched temper seated herself 
 on the chair nearest at hand, but the host 
 at once asked Madame and Monsieur to 
 step into the other i-oom. They did so, and 
 ibund themselves most unexpectedly in 
 t)ie presence of Mrs. and Miss deBeauvoir. 
 Armand, overcome with astonishment, fell 
 back a step or two, his check crimson, and 
 then recovering himself, bowed politely to 
 both ladies. Mrs. de Beauvoir replied by 
 a stately though civil inclination of her 
 l)oad, but Gertrude, apparently beset by 
 the same embarrassment which had taken 
 possess! jn of young Durand, colored 
 deeply, then hesitatingly bowed. 
 
 Delima recognized the ladies at once, 
 liaving occasionally seen them in public 
 whilst in Montreal. She noticed the mutual 
 though momentary embarrassment of her 
 iiusband and thti high hired, aristocratic 
 young girl, who, she felt, despite her own rare 
 beauty and elaborately elegant dress, was 
 yet so vastly her superior. 
 
 Piqued at this — piqued at the coldness of 
 the strangera, which afforded no encourage- 
 jnent to an introduction or acquaintance, 
 nlie asked with an air of affected dignity : 
 '•Could he not get one of the servants to 
 help her in taking off her wraps ?' ' 
 
 "They are too busy," he whispered. 
 "Pray let me do it?" 
 
 Bent on showing her importance and her 
 power over her husband, she peevishly re- 
 torted : " No, you are too awkward. Do 
 go and see if you cannot get me proper as- 
 sistance." 
 
 What could he do but yield? Refusal 
 would only bring on a scene. 
 
 After a short absence he returned. " 'Tis 
 as I feared, Delima, every one is busy." 
 
 " 'Tis too bad," she exclaimed with the 
 
 same ridiculous air of self assertion. 
 " What a miserable place you have stopped 
 at ! Well, help me off with my cloak I" 
 
 Armand fairly overwhelmed with morti- 
 fk»ition and shame, endeavored to comply, 
 conscious all the while, that the cold sar- 
 castic gaze of Mrs. de Beauvoir was bent 
 upon them. Her daughter either through 
 compassion for our hero, or impatience at 
 the absurd pretensions of his companion, 
 had seated herself with a book near the 
 tallow candle that burned dimly oti the 
 table, and however her attention may have 
 wandered from its pages, her eyes never 
 did. 
 
 The servant soon came in to lay the table 
 for supper, and the comedy in which Delima 
 was chief actress, continued. Though tho*-- 
 two ladies who were accustomed to every 
 luxury, found no verbal fault witli the 
 repast, Mrs, de Beauvoir contenting 
 herself with shuddering when she tasted 
 the tea and inspected the pork omelette, 
 which latter she left untouched on her 
 plate, Delima, who partook liberally enough 
 of both, was loud in her condemnation of 
 everything. A coui)le of times she had 
 contrived to whisper to her husband : " In- 
 troduce me to them," and fearing that she 
 would be overheard, he took the first step 
 towai-ds satisfying her by endeavoring to 
 get up a few woi-ds of conversation with 
 Mrs, <le Beauvoir. 
 
 To his inquiry if sl»e intended proceeding 
 on her journey the following morning, des- 
 pite the condition of the roads, she briefly, 
 answered "yes." Nothing but the difficul- 
 ty of travelling by night in such heavy 
 i-oads would have induced her to remain 
 so long in their present abode 
 
 He then enquired if Mr. de Courval were 
 well. "Yes, thank you," and she ruse from 
 the supper table as if to terminate the con- 
 versation. "Come, Gertrude," she said, 
 turning to her daughter. "It is time to 
 retire." 
 
 " You ought to feel proud of your polite 
 town friends I" whispered Delima, with 
 angry sarcasm, as both ladies with a slight 
 inclination left the room. 
 
 Gertrude, who was last, overheard the re- 
 mark, and she involuntarily glanced towards 
 them, but there was more of sadness in its 
 expression than of anger at the rudeness of 
 the remark she had overheard. 
 
 Delima noticed the look and made it 
 an excuse for the outburst of rage and 
 mortification to which she gave way as the 
 door closed behind them. 
 
 How dare they treat her with the insolent 
 contempt they had done? — Was she not 
 as good as them? — And what a craven he 
 was to stand tamely by and see her thus 
 insulted. Ah I if he had possessed the 
 spirit of a man he would not have borne 
 it. 
 
68 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 T 
 
 "What would you have hnd me do?" he 
 at last Btemly asktd. "They did not want 
 to know you nor myself either." 
 
 But remonstrance or rebuke were alike 
 unavailing whilst such a tempest of wrath 
 agitated Delima's breast. Her dignity, her 
 pride had been in her opinion shamelessly 
 outraged, and feeling the inutility of oppo- 
 sing her farther, Armand turned with a 
 smothered groan to the window and leaned 
 his hot and throbljing brow against it, star- 
 ing with vaoiint look at the white dashen 
 of enow and sleet that eveiy now and ihen 
 struck against the panes. 
 
 Mentally rose before him, in sharp con- 
 tast, that dignified, refined girl, and the 
 shallow, violent tempered, though beauti- 
 ful woman who called him husband, and 
 whose raised angry voice was even now 
 sounding in his ear. 
 
 He shuddered and f(»lt he understoo<i now 
 how men committe<l suicide and the train 
 of reflection that letl to such a desperate 
 
 merciless tongue was intolerable, io he- . 
 determined on remaining where he wa.«, 
 but he would take no more than the one 
 tumbler Lesperance was so energetically 
 and persistently forcing upon him. Wheii 
 that was finished, however, a strange ex- 
 hilaration had taken possession of him, and 
 he felt that a Lethe was at hand which coultl 
 attbrd him at least a fi-w houi-s' oblivion ot 
 his troubles. 
 
 Why should he not profit of it? Yes, hi; 
 would do so in future, fully — recklessly. 
 The stigma attached to a drunkard's nam«. 
 the dishonor, i)Overty and ruin attendant 
 on the victim of intomperance, would not 
 restrain him ht-ncefcj'tli. What had life for 
 him worth living, caring, or toiling for? 
 Nothing ! 
 
 Deliberately ha would give himself up 
 to the terrible temptation so suddenly 
 besetting his path. 
 
 Surprised, delighted at this ea.sy compli- 
 
 deed. Yes, Vnitfor the restraining thought j ""ce in one who had been so remarkable 
 
 of a future existence, ho could, ho would i 
 free himself from life and it« intolerable i 
 bondage. I 
 
 At length, exhausted by her own vehe- 
 mence, Delimacame to a stop.and abruptly 
 opening the door, called to a female servant 
 passing to conduct her to her bed-room. 
 The latter assented, and Armand was left 
 »lone. Still he stood at the gloomy window, 
 watching the storm outside, dreary as that 
 reigning within his own aching heart, when 
 he became conscious of fresh aiTivals at the 
 inn. Tho neighing of horses, tinkle of 
 bells, sounds of cheerful voices broke on 
 the night's stillness, aiid iher there was 
 stamping of feet as the travellers shook off 
 the snow clinging to them, in the outer 
 room, and merry calls for a good supper 
 and for something hot in the meantime 
 to restore impeded circulation. The voices, 
 cultivated enough, were somewhat familiar 
 to Armand, and as he was just wondering 
 under what circumstances he had heard 
 them before, the door was thrown open, 
 and Robert Lesperance and one of his 
 intimate friends entered. Their delight on 
 seeing Armand was rapturou8,Hnd the latter 
 vainly strove to draw back. They did not 
 — they would not se j that their noisy mirth 
 was unwelcome, •• 1 pipes, with hot water, 
 sugar and run., were loudly called for, 
 whilst ho was playfully forced to the table 
 and seated between them. 
 
 (J lasses were .speedily replenished, for the 
 new comers were hard dri.ikors, and they 
 insisted on doing the same tbr Armantl, 
 Lesperance himself preparing his portion 
 and making itadditionallystrongand sweet. 
 "Now," whispered Armand's better angel, 
 " leave them. You have had enough, re- 
 turn to your wife!" but the thought of 
 being expose<l again that night to thelatter's 
 
 heretofore for strict self command. Lespe 
 ranee and his iriend sang gay songs, told 
 gay stories, all the while plying their victim 
 with full glasses, till at length they had thf 
 satisfaction of seeing him slide graduallv 
 down on the sofa, utterly, stupidly intoxi- 
 cated. 
 
 Then they congratulate<l themselves on 
 their work and laughed over it. He had 
 always been so cursedly finical and stand 
 oft'— so moral and correct, that it was a per- 
 fect triumph to have pulled him down from 
 the pedestal on which he had planted him- 
 self. What amusement they would have 
 with some of the fellows when they got back 
 to Montreal, telling the story. But what a 
 
 Eity it was that Armand was not amusing in 
 is cups. Not one word had he uttered 
 that might not have been said whilst he 
 was sober. I'erhaps he would prove more 
 entertaining the next time. At least they 
 would give him a chance, and with such 
 light talk they dragged the sleeper into an 
 easy position on the sofa, put the pillows of 
 the latter under his iieaii,and then throwing 
 his own heavy cloak which lay on an adjoin- 
 ing chair, over him, left the i-oom. 
 
 Early the following morning, Armand w.i.^ 
 awakened by the maid servant coming in 
 to set the room in order, and singularly 
 enough, no unpleasant symptom of his la*;t 
 night's revel remained, beyond a slight 
 headach. This latter he got rid of by stepp- 
 ing into the kitchen and immersing his head 
 and face in colli water, 'ihen having smoo- 
 thed his thick wavy hair as best he could, he 
 retumeii to the sitting room. 
 
 He understood it all. The empty tum- 
 blers and other traces of the recent revel — 
 tho sofa on w..:ch he hp ' passed the night. 
 Yes — he hiwl yioldeci freely, fully to the 
 tempter I Now that his piilso was calm, his 
 
AKMAND DURAND. 
 
 69. 
 
 ling ill 
 
 Igularly 
 
 Ihis lat*t 
 
 slight 
 
 stepi>- 
 
 ivis heiul 
 
 Ig smoo- 
 
 )ul(l, he 
 
 ty turn- 
 
 I revel — 
 
 night. 
 
 to the 
 
 aim, hirt 
 
 iorehead cool: now that reason had returned 
 to her throne^ was he sorry for the past ? 
 
 A sullen look stole over his face and his 
 lieart answered "no." lie recalled the 
 (exhilaration, the recklessness, the oblivion 
 his self indulgence had brought to him, and 
 h<i resolved to return to it again. No price 
 could be too dear to pay for such a blessed 
 Vireak in the weary, monotonous misery of 
 his life ! 
 
 He was sitting absorbed in these thoughts, 
 iiis eyes fixed on the floor, when the door 
 .'oftly opened, then shut, and raising his 
 oves he saw Gertrude do Beauvoir standing 
 li'Cifore him. Her face was very pale and 
 .-lie leaned one hand on the table as if for 
 .Tiipport. 
 
 In a low hurried voice she said : " Armand 
 ] )urand, may I speak to you with the free- 
 'lom, the fmnkness of a friend?" 
 
 Too mucli surprised and agitated to 
 rtnswer in words, the young man merely 
 towed his head. 
 
 " I would ask you then by the memory of 
 the parents who so dearly loved you — of 
 the i"espect you liave hitherto won from 
 friend and foe, — by the recollection of our 
 hoy and girl friendship to solemnly promise 
 that you will never yield again to the 
 temptation that mastered you so completely 
 lost night?" 
 
 Armand's face crimsoned. Ah, she knew 
 nil his degradation then. Well, what was it 
 xo her, this proud beautiful being, so far 
 removed from his sphere — from him and 
 Ids? 
 
 Something of the sullen look that had 
 clouded his brow when she had first en- 
 tered, again stole over it and he answered : 
 
 "Thanks, Miss de Beauvoir, for the 
 t'enerous interest you display in my welfai-e, 
 but I would not like to bind myself in the 
 Tiianner you ask. Temptations strong and 
 irresistible may arise, and I will have enough 
 to answer for in yielding to them without 
 having also violated promises to add to the 
 number of my mi.sdeeds." 
 
 " I will not take this for my an.swer. I 
 have risked my mother's anger — your wife's 
 insults— the mockery of your boon compa- 
 nions to make you this appeal. Surely, 
 surely, you will listen to it." 
 
 " Miss de Beauvoir, I dare not. Resolu- 
 tions of doing better, I freely oflier, but, 
 boyond tliat, I dare not venture. I have 
 tasted once of the cup of oblivion and the 
 Iraught was too welcome to permit of my 
 >olemnly abjuring it." 
 
 "But the noble promises of your man- 
 hood — the talents that God haa bountifully 
 <'ndowed you with, are all these to be ex- 
 changed for a drunkard's degraded life — a 
 ilrunkard's caiiy and unhallowed death?" 
 " Life is not so very pleasant to me that 
 1 thould cling to it," he bitterly rejoined. 
 "Oh, I know iW, Armand," and she 
 
 involuntarily clasped her liands, whilst her 
 eyes filled with tears. "I heard all that 
 passed. My mother and myself occupy the 
 room next to this, and, despite all efforts of 
 ours, every word was audible through the 
 thin board partition. Then when she left 
 you, they came, and who can wonder that, 
 sorely tried as you had been, tempted in 
 your hour of weakness, you fell. I could 
 scarcely refrain from seeking your side to 
 dash the glass from your hand, but my 
 mother was with me and I dared not. Then 
 I heard them triumphing over yoiu" fall — 
 laying plans for tempting you in the future, 
 and I vowed to myself, oh, Armand Durand, 
 that with the morning's light I would seek 
 and try to save you I" 
 
 Greatly affected, Armand could not trust 
 himself to speak, and after vainly waiting for 
 an answer she went on, rapidly, tremulouisly . 
 " You are not the only one to whom the 
 burden of life is a heavy one. Ah I it is no 
 rose leaf to myself, but we must not look 
 earthward for our reward I Arm yourself 
 with generous coiu-age then, and instead of 
 weakly sinking on the field, battle bravely 
 on till the end." 
 
 Still he spoke not, and fearing a final 
 refusal, she hm-riedly added : 
 
 " In pity listen to me ! You will not 
 misjudge the step I have taken and call 
 me unmaidenly ; but, if I am seen here, 
 others will. Still, even with the fear of 
 that before me, till you give me the promiso 
 I ask, I will not go." 
 
 "Be it as you will, noble, true-hearted 
 friend," he answered. "I promise you 
 solemnly by all I hold moat sacred — by my 
 honor as a man and Christian, to never 
 drink of that fatal Lethe again. I will at 
 least endeavor to prove myself worthy of 
 the generous interest you have deigned to 
 take in one so unworthy as myself.'" 
 
 Her whole face lighted up, and she joyful- 
 ly whispered ; "I know that promise will 
 be faithfully kept, and, now, take this ring," 
 and slie removed a valuable ruby from iier 
 finger. "Wear it, not in remembrance of 
 the donor, but of the solemn promise you 
 made in the hour it was presented to you." 
 The ring, which was too large for Gertrude 
 and had been always worn in consequence 
 with a guard, fitted Armand perfectly. 
 
 "To be worn," he said, |>a8sing it on his 
 tinger, " as my promise will be kept — till 
 death!" 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Durand, and now, fare- 
 well. We leave thi« morning, and I probably 
 will not see you again." 
 
 They shook hands and parted. When 
 Aimand was alone ho i-overently bowed his 
 head and asked for grace to keep his promise 
 inviolate, thanking God, too, that there were 
 Buoh women in this miserable world as Ger- 
 trude de Beauvoir. The friendship evinced 
 I for him by this generous, noble-minded girl^ 
 
70 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 raised him even in his own estimation, 
 recalling the high, earnest aspirations that 
 once were his, and filling him with a fervent 
 resolve to be true in future to the better 
 part of his nature. He was standing at the 
 window, revolving such thoughts and watch- 
 ing the sun that now shone gloriously down 
 on a world of snowy crystals and glittering 
 diamonds, when his wife entered the room. 
 
 " You area kind attentive husband I" was 
 lier irate address. 
 
 Armand here indicated by a sign that the 
 next room was occupied, on which she at 
 once lowered her voice without changing 
 the spirit of her speech. 
 
 " It was a shame for you to leave me alone 
 a whole night in a strange house and in a 
 miserable closet of a room, full of lialf 
 famished rats and mice that kept me awnke 
 in mortal terror the whole night long.'' 
 
 " Well, Delima, you left me so abruptly, 
 and had said so much before leaving;, that 
 I did not care to ex])nse myself to hear more 
 by following you." 
 
 "Where then did you pass the night? 
 Smoking and drinking, I suppose." 
 
 "You have not divined all the truth yet! 
 Trying on that sofa, stupidly intoxicated, 
 if you doubt the truth of my words, ask 
 Lesperance and his friend, who were the 
 companions of my revel." 
 
 Delima' s cheek paled. She had seen 
 fnough of the evils and horrors of drunken- 
 ness (her father having died a victim of 
 that terrible vice) to make her shrink in 
 terror from the idea of a <lrunkard for a 
 mate. Armand ' s refined nature — his abhor- 
 rence of low or degraded vice had lulled her 
 into a dream of false security from wliich 
 she now awoke in terror. 
 
 Yes, she saw the precipice on whose 
 fearful brink she and her husband stood, 
 and conscience whispered that her own 
 unbridled tongue and temper were the 
 chief causes of his yielding to temptation. 
 
 Yet despite all that, she angrily turned 
 on him saying: "How can you have the 
 face to tell me such a thing, Armand ? You 
 should be ashamed of yourself. Ah 1 I 
 foresaw what my fato would be wlien I 
 consented to leave friends and home. I sup- 
 pose you want to break my heart so as soon 
 to be rid of me 1" and she burst into a 
 paroxysm of low but passionat^i weeping. 
 
 He looked at her. mentally contrasting 
 her in her unwomanly harshness, her weak, 
 fretful waywardness with the young girl 
 who a little while previous had stood where 
 she stood now, and a thought flashed across 
 him that one seemed like his good, the 
 other his evil angel. That thought how- 
 ever was immediately repressed, and he 
 felt relieved when the sound of voices and 
 tinkle of bells called Delima in a sudden 
 impulse of curiosity to the window. It 
 was as she had guessed. Mrs. de Beauvoir 
 
 and her daughtei- were stepping into their 
 richly eouipped sleigh, which was drawn by 
 a pair of splendid chestnut horses. 
 
 Grief and anger were alike forgotten in 
 the interest excited by this spectacle, and 
 hastily drying her eyes, she enquired of the 
 servant who entered at the moment to pre- 
 pare the table for the morning meal, " If 
 the ladies were leaving without taking any 
 breakfast?" 
 
 "No; breakfast, for which they had paid 
 liberally, had been served to them in their 
 own room, but it remained almost untouch 
 od. The elder lady seemed greatly annoy- 
 ed by the loss of her night's rest owing to 
 the noise going on in the next room." 
 
 .Vrmand winced. The girl who spokft 
 was unconscious that the quiet, gentlemanly 
 young man before her, was one of the ruth- 
 less disturbers of Mrs. de Beau voir" s repose, 
 but, not the less deeply did he feel the 
 shame, the humiliation of the moment, and 
 it required a gftince at the ruby that glis- 
 tened on his finger, to restore liis self pos- 
 session. 
 
 Delima indemnified herself for the disap- 
 pointment of having lost a second meeting 
 with the de Beauvoir ladies by assuming an 
 extraordinary amount of state during break- 
 fast, at which meal they were joined by 
 Lesperance and his friend. She had at first 
 intended upbraiding the latter two mirth- 
 ful spirits with great acrimony for the 
 share they had had in Armand's shortcom- 
 ings of the night previous ; but suddenly 
 remembering the silent quiet dignity of 
 Gertrude, and the cold hauteur of her 
 mother, she enveloped herself in a mantle, 
 as it were, composed of the characteristics 
 of both, and thus agreeably disappointed 
 her husband who was endeavoring to pre- 
 pare himself for a scene of some sort or 
 other. At the same time she greatly impos- 
 ed on the other two guests, who secretly 
 wondered where Durand's little country 
 wife had picked up such "quality manners" 
 as they phrased it. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The journey to Quebec was performed 
 without farther incident. They arrived 
 late in the evening, and Lesperance, who was 
 thoroughly acquainted with that ancient 
 city, piloted them to a cheap inn in the 
 lower to^vn where they could pass the time 
 till Armand would have foun<i out a board- 
 ing house. 
 
 "Now, Durand, come and join us," said 
 Lesperance, heartily, after Delima, tho- 
 roughly worn out with her fatiguing jour- 
 ney, had retired for the night. "Come, we 
 will have pipes and glasses in ami make a 
 night of It I Don't shake your head so 
 solemnly, old fellow. Think what a good 
 
ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 Tl 
 
 Ived 
 
 Iwas 
 put 
 1 the 
 lime 
 ud- 
 
 jiaiii 
 Iho- 
 |ur- 
 
 we 
 
 U a 
 
 so 
 
 |>oii 
 
 time we liocl at the Maple Leaf yesterday 
 and you not a bit the worse for it next 
 morning!" 
 
 '' It was the first night of the kind, Les- 
 perance, that I ever spent, and I firmly in- 
 tend that it shall be the last. 'Tis useless 
 anking, now, for neither persuasion nor 
 mockery can move me." 
 
 Still the tempter persisted. He did not 
 want to leatl Armand into any excess — he 
 only wished that they should pass a social 
 merry evening together, but ever between 
 him and the one whose fall he sought to 
 compass, the calm noble face of Gertrude 
 rose up, at once a shield and safe-guard. 
 
 A cheap and tolerably comfortable board- 
 ing house was found by our hero next day, 
 and he and his wife installed in it without 
 Uelay. He then sought out Mr. Duchesne 
 and on i>resenting a letter furnished him 
 by Belfoml, was received with marked civi- 
 lii^ and at once assigned his place in the 
 office which differed very little from the 
 one he had occupied in the rival city except 
 that it was still dingier, darker an^ dir- 
 tier. 
 
 Of course Delima fretted and murmured. 
 She found the hills fearfully steep and 
 slippery — the streets narrow and dirty, and 
 the shops small and mean in their exterior 
 but extortionate in their prices. To these 
 complaints, childish though they were, the 
 young husband listened with more sympa- 
 thy than he had been accustomed to vouch- 
 safe her latterly, for Delima' s health was 
 anything but satisfactory. » So thought the 
 experienced physician whom he lost no 
 time in consulting, and who prescribed de- 
 licate nourishment, good wine, daily driving, 
 when the invalid felt unequal to the fatigue 
 of walking, with apparently very little be- 
 neficial result. 
 
 Either the total separation from that arch 
 mischief maker, Mrs. Martel, or the hopes 
 •f coming maternity exercised a very soft- 
 ening influence on Delima's character. Of 
 cMldish fretfulness and complaints there 
 was still any amount, enough to put Doctor 
 Meunier at times out of all patience ; but 
 the olden spirit of arrogance and aggression 
 was entirely laid at rest. Her dependence 
 •n Armand was now carried into the small- 
 08t detftils, and as the hour approached for 
 his return, she would seat herself near the 
 window of their little room watching for 
 him. If he were at all behind time, a thing 
 sometimes the case^ where messages often 
 devolved on him, she would upbraid him 
 with his neglect and indifference, declaring 
 he remained away because he found the 
 time passed with her, wearisome. 
 
 To a man of a less generous or gentle 
 disposition tlian Armand Durand was, all 
 this would have proved nitolerably irksome, 
 but he found an excuse for all moods of her 
 waywardness in her ailing health and lonely, 
 
 isolated condition. They had no friends or 
 acquaintances in Quebec, and they formed 
 none. Armand knew a few lawyers or 
 students, some of whom he had previously 
 met in MontreiU, but the intimacy proceed- 
 ed no farther than a bow, or perhaps a 
 hand-greeting in the street. Fortunately 
 for Delima, her landlady was a kind, mo- 
 therly person, but her house-keeping 
 cares, united to her anxieties respecting 
 her boai-ders and three small children, left 
 her littl« leisure to talk or listen to her new 
 lodger. 
 
 New Year's day was at hand, ami it 
 dawned on the old city with a sun of won- 
 derful brilliancy, but, though the cold was 
 severe, the sleighing was splendid and the 
 sky without a cloud. The streets wer« 
 filled with horses of every color and vehi- 
 cles of every description, these latter crowd- 
 «d chiefly with the sterner sex, for on that 
 special festival, the feminine part of the 
 population remain at home to receive their 
 male friends. Dressed in a plain, dark 
 dressing gown, for her love of finery and 
 dress seemed almost to have deserted her, 
 Delima looking very quiet and dull was 
 seated in her easy arm chair which was 
 drawn up close to the window to enable her 
 to look on the gay scene without. 
 
 A quick light step sounded on the stairs 
 anil Armand entered. 
 
 "See, Mrs. Durand,'' he gaily said, '-I 
 have brought you your ^/re/tHes" (New Year's 
 gift) and as he spoke, he opened and hand- 
 ed her a tiny pasteboard box, where, nestling 
 in a layer of cotton wadding, was a small 
 though very pretty brooch. 
 
 She took it whilst a faint smile lighted up 
 her beautiful f\ice, and with an attempt at 
 her olden coquetry, fastened it in her 
 dress. 
 
 " It becomes jou very well indeed, but 
 next year we must have something cost- 
 lier.' 
 
 This speech touched some painful chord 
 or presentiment in the young wife's breast 
 and bursting into tears she sobbed forth: 
 '* Armand, Armand, my heart tells me I shall 
 never see another New Year!'" 
 Grieved by her despondency, Dunind did 
 
 his best to coax or laugh her out and taking 
 
 her hand he gently said : 
 
 "Say, dear wife, is there anything you 
 
 would wish me to do for yoii'?" 
 
 " 1 have but one wish in the world now, 
 
 but I know you would never t'onsont to it, 
 
 so 1 need not name it." 
 
 An inkling of the truth fla.«hed across 
 
 our hero's mind, causing him to fairly 
 
 shudder with dismay, but he looked at the 
 
 pale tearful young face beseechingly raised 
 
 to his, and he courageously asked : " What 
 
 is it?" 
 
 *'To have cousin Martel here to take care 
 
 of me through all my troubles?" 
 
79 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 Armand's mind took in at once the 
 worry, the domestic storms, the intense 
 fliscomfort comprehended in this simple 
 sentence, and he remained silent. 
 
 His companion went on : " You know 
 •Id Miss Duprez who occupied the little 
 room next to us has gone to spend the win- 
 ter with her friends in Threo Kivers, so we 
 •ould got it for cousin Martel. She would 
 willingly come if we asked her, and it 
 would be such a comfort to have her with 
 me insteatl of sitting moping alone here 
 all day. Oh, do, dear Armand, consent!" 
 
 It was not in Durand's nature to refuse, 
 80 he rejoined, " I suppose I must not say 
 no to any request made on New Year's day, 
 BO write to her when you like, and tell her 
 we will pay all her expenses." 
 
 " How good you are, Armand ! I fear she 
 would not come without that. I had to 
 
 f)ay her out of the house-keeping money 
 or the pretty dresses she bought me when 
 I first came from St. Laurent. And now 
 let me look again at my pretty brooch. 
 I have not felt so cheerful for a long 
 time. 
 
 Whatever Purand's secret thoughts were, 
 k« kept them to himself, and New Year's day 
 •loeed more pleasantly for the young couple 
 than it had dawned. 
 
 Mrs. Mai-tel most willingly accepted the 
 invitation, and in what seemed to the young 
 husband a mira<>.ulously short time, arrived 
 with her trunk and bandboxes. Lodged 
 and boarded at Armand's expense, she felt 
 obliged to behave at least tolerably well, 
 but her eternal presence in the one little 
 room appertaining to him was in itself a 
 sore trial. Of course the invalid now con- 
 sumed, mysteriously enough, a double 
 quantity of wine and dainties, without gain- 
 ing any extra plumpness thereby, but Ar- 
 mand found no fault as long as he was able 
 to meet all these extra expenses, which he 
 contrived to do by practising rigid economy 
 where his personal tastes or pleasures wore 
 concerned, and by toiling late and early 
 over the copying which Mr. Duchesne, in 
 pursuance of a promise made to Belfond, 
 plentifully procured him. One afternoon 
 that he had mentioned to Delima the pro- 
 bability of his early return, owing to a half 
 holiday granted at the office, he was agree- 
 ably surprised on entering to find her 
 alone. 
 
 " Where is Mrs. Martel?" he asked. 
 •I have sent her out on a couple of mes- 
 tiages that will keep her busy till dark. 
 The truth is, Armand, I am tired of her." 
 
 "Well that is something new ! I fear next 
 you will be growing tired of myself and 
 sending me oflTalso I" 
 
 " Ah, there is no danger of that ! Since I 
 have lived with you here alone, without some 
 on« always talking ill of you, and putting 
 mischief into my head, I feel very ditferent- 
 
 ly toward's you. Armand, I have been any- 
 thing but a good wife." 
 
 "Nonsense, little Delima, don't mind 
 that. We'll all turn over a now and very 
 pleasant leaf soon." 
 
 " You will turn it over alone, my husband, 
 and I honestly wish it may be a happy 
 one 1" was the quiet, low toned reply. 
 
 "Why, I'll really begin to wish for old 
 cousin Martel, after all if you talk in this 
 unreasonable manner. No, no, it was de. 
 creed that you should die a judge's wife, 
 and when we remember that I nave not 
 passed my examination yet, you will see 
 there is a long lease of life allotted you." 
 
 She shook her head, but made no attempt 
 to prevent her husband from diverting tnt' 
 conversation into a more cheerful channel. 
 
 Both the young people looked up regretful- 
 ly when Mrs. Martel, flushed and important, 
 bustled into the room. After loquaciously 
 detailing the fatigues of her expedition, her 
 escapes from falls on slippery side-walksj 
 runaway horses, from robbei-s under guise of 
 extortionate shopkeepers, 'she displayed 
 her purchases, enlarging on her own supe- 
 rior skill in bargaining, as successfmly 
 opposed to the chicanery of the tradesman 
 with whom she had had to contend. 
 
 This latter fruitful topic exliausted she 
 suddenly discovered that the apartment 
 wa-« cold, and flinging back the stove door 
 with a loud crash, threw in several billets 
 of wood, wondering all the while, how 
 Armand could sit quietly there and let the 
 room get so very cold. 
 
 " But it is quit^ warm enough, cousin 
 Martel, and we have already an excellent 
 fire." 
 
 "Besides," interposed Armand, "Dr. 
 Meunier has specially interdicted keeping 
 the room too hot. He says it weatens 
 Delima." 
 
 "That!" for Dr. Meunier's opinions, or 
 indeed for those of any other inexperienced 
 young man," and she disdainfully snapped 
 her fingers together. "I should think I 
 know something about nursing and sick 
 rooms by this time." 
 
 Here it must be premised that a brisk 
 warfare had been inaugurated between 
 Delima's medical attendant and Mrs. Mar- 
 tel, from the first arrival of the latter, that 
 worthy matron instinctively opposing every 
 injunction or recommendation of the higher 
 authority. 
 
 Dr. Meunier would cheerfully enter the 
 room and after commenting on the beauty 
 of the weather, suggest a walk or a drive, 
 according to circumstances. 
 
 "Just Heavens! Go out today, Doctor! 
 Why she would freeze to death. Look out- 
 side at the icicles hanging to the horses' 
 noses!" 
 
 "She needn't look at them, ma'am, if 
 
 '\ 
 
 J 
 
 ,/^ 
 
ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 73 
 
 I 
 
 % 
 
 ; 
 
 1 
 
 Irl 
 
 lit- 
 
 r' 
 
 if 
 
 they frighten her," would be the uncere- 
 monious reply. 
 
 Or, perhaps he would make his viHit on 
 some occasion when imder favor of Ar- 
 mand's absence and hei- own nianagemont 
 the apartment was hot as a fuinace, and he 
 would savagely inquire: "Which object 
 she had in view— roasting the patient alive 
 at once or weakening lier to death by the 
 i-ame atrocious expenditure of caloric." 
 
 « Weakening her indeed, Doctor!" Mrs. 
 Martel would indignantly reply ; "A good 
 fire, or good footi never weakened anybody 
 yet." 
 
 ''1 want no old womans fancies, if you 
 jilease, ma" am. in this sick room. 'J'hey 
 have killed more unfortunates than disease 
 has ever done." 
 
 "You want to kill her your own way!'" 
 his feminine antagonist would murmur *o//o 
 voct. 
 
 In Dr. Moiuiiers absence his orders were 
 !^tlll more systematically set at defiance. 
 The open air exercise or drive would be 
 adjourned to a more favorable day — the 
 fctove piled full of wood, and more than this 
 the physician" s tonics oi draughts set aside 
 under plea that a bowl of broth or a glass 
 of warm negus would prove more beneficial 
 than nasty drugs. 
 
 Now, though Mrs. Martel had no faith in 
 the physician's preparations, she had a con- 
 siderable amount of it in her own tisannes, 
 and liberally supplied the invalid with them. 
 This latter measure, however, was known 
 only to herself, lor quiet as Armand was in 
 other respects, she knew he would never 
 tolerate so audacious a revolt against medi- 
 cal authority. 
 
 Though probably ignorant of the half of 
 Mrs. Martel" s shortcomings, Dr. Meunier 
 had already expi-essed his opinion regard- 
 ing her, in the plainest terms to our hero, 
 concluding his i-emarks on one occasion, by 
 saying: "Were she a hired nurse, Mr. 
 Durand, 1 should certainly take her by the 
 shoulders and turn her out."' 
 
 in consecjuence of this opinion, Armand 
 sounded his wife as to the possibility of 
 their visitoi' being induced to shorten her 
 stay at present, under the condition of 
 maiking up for it by a longer visit at a later 
 time, but the mention of such a thing threw 
 Delima into a paroxysm of weeping, during 
 which she passionately declared "that she 
 knew if Mrs. Martel left her now, she would 
 never see her again."" The subject was m 
 consequence abandoned and matters re- 
 mained in the same condition till the arri- 
 val of the event so anxiously expected. 
 
 Poor Delima' s sad presentiments of the 
 last few weeks were only too well founded, 
 and the evening of the day that saw Armand 
 a father, found him sitting pale and awe- 
 struck, like one in .some terrible dream, 
 bewide the lifeless form* of wife and child. 
 
 A few words of farewell to her husband, a 
 passionate kiss on the baby brow yet moist 
 from the waters of baptism, and on which 
 the chill damps of death were already 
 gathering, and the spirit of the young wife 
 had passed into eternity, almost immedi- 
 ately followed by that of her sinless child. 
 
 Rarely had funereal tapers shed their 
 pallid light on two lovelier relics of sad 
 humanity that on that beautiful young 
 mother and her infant. Peath had shar- 
 pened without remlering harsh, the feeble 
 lineaments of early uifancy, till the little 
 waxen face bore a startling resemblance to 
 the placid statuesque countenance lioside 
 which it lay on the snow white pillow. 
 
 in the course of the long night tliat th« 
 new made widower [>as8ed beside that hush- 
 ed, quiet bed, (he had shortly, almost stern- 
 ly refuse«l, all oifers of companionship dur- 
 ing his last sad watch), sharp and severe was 
 the self examination he mentally subjected 
 himself too. He felt he had never loved 
 her to whom he had solemnly vowed love 
 at the altar, but then he had been faithful, 
 and liad cherished her in sickness as in 
 hcaltli, bearing perhaps more patiently with 
 her faults and foibles than if she liaclbeen 
 throned in his inmost heart. Ah I conscience 
 was all the easier now that he had sutfered 
 and bonie in patience, instead of retaliat- 
 ing, even when he had had good cause for 
 doing so. He could now gaze sadly down 
 on Uiat beautiful face without reading 
 reproach in its pallid marble features, and 
 without tormenting himself with vaui 
 regrets that he could not expiate a paai 
 which was now beyond his reach. 
 
 From the hour Armand lost his wife, a 
 remarkable change becanie apparent in the 
 tone and demeanor of hi- wli'lom landlady, 
 Mrs. Martel. The half familiar, half defiant 
 manner that had characterized her since 
 his entrance into her family, entirely dis- 
 appeared, and the olden courtesy which 
 had marked her first intercourse with her 
 " young gentleman lodger,'" resumed. 
 After seeing poor Delima laid in the (juiel 
 cemetery of Saint Louis she impressively 
 bade tiie young widower farewell, feeling 
 that all future intercourse between them 
 was at an end, a supposition in which she 
 was not mistaken. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The first days of mourning over, our hero 
 returned to the legal studies to which he 
 now devoted liimselfj heart and soul. The 
 strict seclusion m which he lived, contribut- 
 ed materially to his farther advancement. 
 Mr. Duchesne soon foresaw tliat tlie young 
 man so earnestly reconunended to his kind- 
 ness by his cousin Belfond, was one of those 
 destined to arrive early at that goal of sue- 
 
74 
 
 ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 If 
 
 cess which m many never reach. In writing 
 to Rodolphe ho had assured the latter in 
 speaking of Arnwuid, tliat rarely hatl ho 
 Been such mental gift« combined with so 
 much steiuly energy and such irreproaolia- 
 hlo uprightness of character. 
 
 It was not won<lerful then that Durand, 
 after having pusswl a most successful and 
 brilliant examination, was oll'ered by Mr. 
 Duchesne a share in his extensive practise. 
 <imtefully, promptly t lie offer was accepted, 
 and Armand now foimd himself in a position 
 singularly fortunate for one of his years, 
 as well as for one who had labored for a 
 lime under such great disadvantages. 
 
 Time pasoerl on, and again bright smiles 
 were lavished on the clever, handsome 
 young lawyer, and invitations plentifully 
 sent him, but within the portals of the gay 
 or fashionable world, Ai-mand was never 
 seen. A time came however when he was 
 obligetl to depart at least for once from his 
 usual rule, an<l that was on the occasion of 
 his friend Belfond's wedding. The latter, 
 notwithstanding his freqtient vigorous 
 tirades against matrimony and the fair sex, 
 had suddenly madc^iAip his mind, after an ac- 
 <iuaintance of three weeks, and a courtship 
 of one, to lead to the altar a young damsel 
 of sixteen, just out of conventual blue, the 
 color then worn by the pupils of Notre- 
 Dame, and who, to counterbalance her ex- 
 treme youth, possessed a pretty face and 
 gentle, lovable disposition. 
 
 Queoec gossip hiul decided that the bride 
 olect was Gertrude de Beauvoir, and Durand 
 ff It angry with himself for the strange dull 
 pain, the dreary sense of world weariness 
 t he news gave him. It was with a preoccu- 
 pied look which he vainly strove to render 
 cordial, that ho saw Belfond enter his 
 t'omfortablo rooms one morning and in- 
 form him with a smiling though some- 
 what confused countenance, that he had 
 walled to give Armand o chance of wishing 
 him joy. 
 
 This our hero did with as good a grace as 
 he could assume, adding, perhaps a little 
 cynically, that ** he and his /¥«H<r'e were 
 sufficiently long acquainted to have a fair 
 knowledge of each other's tastes and sym- 
 pathies." 
 
 At the end of this speech, Belfond turned 
 tiery red and angrily exclaimed : •• None 
 of your chaffing, Armand ! Had another 
 fellow told mo that I would have knocked 
 him over insteatl of inviting him to my 
 wedding. Little Louise and I will be all 
 the happier for having some occupation 
 lifter matrimoiiy in the way of .studying 
 «ach other's good points, for of course we 
 will try to remain blind to all the bad ones." 
 
 "Louise 1" repeated Annan<l, bewildered. 
 
 "Yes, Louise D'Aulnay; but you nee<l 
 not open your eyes so wide,you do not know 
 
 her. She only left the < 'onvent last num- 
 mer." 
 
 •' Ah 1" rejoined Durand, Iceling immense- 
 ly relieved, " I thought it was Miss de 
 Beauvoir." 
 
 "Tut ! So danger of that ! I told you 
 years ago she was not to my taste, nor 
 |)roV)ably am I to liers, nor anybody else 
 indeed, for the matter of that. She has 
 refused offers right and left, and some of 
 them better than slio had any right to ex- 
 pect; but, for one thing 1 will always respect 
 and revere her — she rejected point blank 
 that concoited fop. de Montenny. I sup- 
 pose her vocation, as my little Louine 
 would phrase it, is to be an <Ad maid. 
 Probably the report concerning us origi- 
 nated in the circumstance that she is coming 
 down here to be Louise's bridesmaid. The 
 two familieo, are on the friendliest terms, 
 always visiting or reci])rocating civilities. 
 But what a difference between the two! 
 Ah, Gertrude is far too clever and standotf 
 for so blunt and prosaic a fellow as myself. 
 She would suit you much bettei' !'' 
 
 Luckily Belfond whilst he spoke was busi- 
 ly employed, according to a habit of his, in 
 kicking at a lion's claw, aggressively sup- 
 porting the table, it being the nearest object 
 suitable for the exercise, so the deep quick 
 flush that his last speech had called to his 
 companion's face escajied his notice. 
 
 "And ndw. Armand." he continued; 
 " would you like to be groomsman ?" 
 
 " By no means, my dear friend !" was tiie 
 hasty response. " Vou know how averse I 
 am to all such offices. Snail like. I wish to 
 remain within my shell." 
 
 " I thought as much: so 1 gave Arthur 
 D'Aulnay, my future brother-in-law, a 
 conditional promise that if you refused, 
 he should be held eligible for the post. 
 His anxiety to obtain it arises from the fact 
 that he is deeply smitten with Miss de Beau- 
 voir, and svs he is only eighteen years of age. 
 you may imagine what his chances are. 
 Now, 1 must be ofi', for I want to choose a set 
 of pearls for my own pearl of gieat price ; 
 but, one word of warning to you, DuramJ, 
 before we part. As you value my friend- 
 ship, never try to chaff me about my short 
 acquaintance with Louise D'Aulnay; or, to 
 hint, as a fellow did this morning, whom 
 1 intend cutting from this out. that had I 
 waited another week, I would i)robably 
 have changed my mind, as I liad so ofte!i 
 done before. An revnir ! Do not fail to be 
 on hand, in time, on the happy morning!'' 
 
 With mingled feelings Armand tlonned 
 the irreproachable attire in wiiieh he wa» 
 to assist at the nuptial feast, one moment 
 desiring, the next shrinking from the »[ - 
 proaching meeting with the one wom.'*n 
 whom he now felt had been his first as sije 
 had been his only love, the woman whotse 
 generous courage h.id saved him from 
 
 . 
 
ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 7') 
 
 \ 
 
 
 liimBelf— fwrn ruin — nnd who hotl stretched 
 out a helping hand when all the world 
 beside, with one exception, had fallen off 
 from him. 
 
 Tlio D'Aulnays were among the first and 
 wealthiest families in Quebec, so everything 
 was ilone with great state and splendor; 
 and the bride looked like a snowdrop, 
 und her elegant aristocratic bridesmaid 
 like a magnificent Jleur de lis, tall, white 
 and stutely. 
 
 Amaand's eyes followed her during iho 
 ceremony with a strange renewal of the boy 
 worship, the earnest admiration with which 
 she had inspired him during their first in- 
 terview at Mr. deCourval's summer fete, and 
 when at the close of the ceremony, her 
 glance liappened to encounter his and a 
 polite but inditlerent bow followed, he sadly 
 thought to himself she was no nearer to 
 him now than she had been to the impolish- 
 ed country lad. 
 
 The guests were soon seated around the 
 richly spread breakfast table, and now 
 came one of those unpleasant contre temps 
 from which Armand's secluded life had 
 heretofore protected him. Since the me- 
 morable morning when (lertrude, like some 
 angel of light, had stood by his side in the 
 way-side inn, and won from him that pro- 
 mise which had been his salvation, he nad 
 scrupulously and religiously observed it. 
 Even when Mrs. Martel hatl proudly an- 
 nounced to him his new found paternity, and 
 presenting him with a brimning glass, bade 
 him drink to the health of mother and 
 ihild, he ha«l bravcnl that good woman's 
 indignation by steadfastly refusing the 
 proft'ered cup, causing her to remark 
 later that she was quite prepared for the 
 sad catastrophe that had followed close 
 upon so unhearil of a circumstance. 
 
 Now the health of bride and bridegroom 
 was formally proposed, and champagne 
 glasses tilled to the brim. Mechanically 
 our hero raisetl his to his lips and then set 
 it down untouclied, hoping to escape notice 
 and the charges of affectation and singu- 
 larity which he knew would be levelled at 
 him. His expectations however were dis- 
 appointed, and two or three observers in- 
 stantly challenged him. Total temperance 
 was perhaps mrer at that time than it is 
 now, and expressions of jesting disappro- 
 bation, with any amount of what Belfond 
 would have called chaffing, unsparingly 
 showered on him. 
 
 »' Is Mr. Dumnd like the knights of old 
 when preparing for first donning their 
 golden spurs, under vow to abstain from 
 the juice of the grape ?" sneeringly asked 
 «le Montenay. 
 
 •* I am indeed bound by promise," coldly 
 Wut courteously rejoined our hero. 
 
 " Well it seems to me the present happy 
 occasion, like a jubilee, should afford a 
 
 chance of getting rid of all onerous or ill- 
 judged vows. What does the fair brides- 
 maid think I 
 
 " That a promise made should be ful- 
 filled," was tne curt reply. 
 
 Upon this another toast was propcsed. 
 responded to, and Arnumd with his brim- 
 ming goblet left in peace. 
 
 After the guest** had rettuned to tin 
 drawing room, ho was stiinding before a 
 beautiful engraving representing one ot 
 the belles of the French court, and think- 
 ing how much the calm, proud brow and 
 eyes resembled those tiffiertrudc, when a 
 soft rustle of silk sounded behind him, and 
 turning, he saw Miss de Beau voir, who was 
 passing to the other end of the apartment. 
 A friendly interchange of trifies — a wonder 
 that they had not met for so long a time, 
 an allusion from Armand to the retired life 
 he had led of late, and then there was a 
 pause. 
 
 The latter was broken Ijy (iertrudes 
 abruptly saying: '-How glad I v/a.s this 
 morning to see how faithfully you have kept 
 your promise." 
 
 "Could I do otherwise when you had 
 tleigned to ask it ? Ah, I trust I will keep 
 it and the precious talisman you gave me 
 then, as I once before told you, till death." 
 and he raised to his lips the ruby ring she 
 liad given him. " Think, Miss do Beauvoir. 
 of what you saved me from — of all I owe 
 you, and tell me. can you wonder at the 
 earnest, the life long gratitude I feel tf 
 wards you?" 
 
 Ah, Armand. that speakiuii passion.Tti 
 gaze, that thrilling intensity of look, voiei- 
 and manner, unconsciously betrayed a 
 sentiment warmer than that of gratitude, 
 andasudden flush rose to (lertrude's cheek 
 and her calm fearless eyes diooped. 
 
 " You attach far too much importance 
 to a trifle, Mr. Durand, and the fidelity with 
 which you have observed your promise 
 repays me amply for the ettbrt it cost to 
 ask it. But you have not en(|uired about 
 your old and early friend. Mr. de Coui val. 
 yet 1" she adde<l, anxious to give a turn to 
 the conversation which was becoming em- 
 barrassing. " Have you not heard that h<- 
 has been very ill?" 
 
 '• lamtrulysorry tohear it," and Arman<l 
 handed a chair, which his companion at 
 once took, evidently nothing loath, now 
 that the conversation was on a strictl\ 
 general subject, to prolong it. 
 
 She told Durand that Mr. de Courval had 
 had several severe rheumatic iittacks, that 
 he was becoming in fact a mai-tyr to the 
 disease, and though at the present moment 
 he was a little better, Mrs. de Beauvoir had 
 been obliged to remain at home to nurse 
 him. Then the conversation wandered 
 back to the first meeting between them as 
 boy and girl, in the manor-house of Alon- 
 
76 
 
 ARMAND DURADTD. 
 
 I;.' 
 
 i! 
 
 ii 
 
 Ville, and how. even then, at that early 
 time she had befriended and cncourased 
 him. The transition was easy from tnat 
 back again to the already much talked of 
 meeting at the village inn, and the happy 
 influence it had exerted on Armond's Hub- 
 isemient career. 
 
 The subject waa an engrossing! v interest- 
 ing one apparently to both, ana whatever 
 peculiar spell lay in it, I)urand, tlosplte the 
 hopelessness of his lasting ana secret love 
 lor hia companion, and the polite indiffer- 
 ence she hud usually shown him, found 
 liimself, almost before lie was aware of the 
 I'act, laying bare to her gaze the long 
 and jealously guarded secret of his heart. 
 With the shimmer of her bridesmaid 
 lobes and veil ai-ound her, with the gay 
 talk and laughter of the wedding guests 
 Mounding in her oars, Gertrude de Beau- 
 voir accepted the vows of one for whom her 
 preference dated almost as far back as did 
 his for herself. 
 
 That Mrs. de Beauvoir should sneer and 
 cavil when informed of the engagement 
 entered into by her daughter, was not lur- 
 ])ri3ing, but fortunately her opposition vas 
 neither violent nor long-lived. True, be 
 was not a seigneur, nor was ho a wealthy, 
 independent gentleman like de Montenay 
 or Belfond, but then he was partner with 
 an old and well known lawyer, and after a 
 short time would come into untrammelled 
 possession of Mrs. Ratelle's fortune. Paul, 
 too, was unmarried, and report said ho 
 drank freely, so he would probably soon 
 put an end to his existence that way, 
 leaving Armand his heir. 
 
 Yes, she would consent. It was better 
 Gertrude should marry him than remain an 
 old maid, as she had often threatened to 
 <lo beior \ Mr. de Courval was quite satis- 
 lied, and between the intervals of a sharp 
 iheumatic attack, presented the bride with 
 a comfortable dower and rich trousseau. 
 
 How much had Armand to tell his 
 Jiancie, including the reception of the 
 mysterious note summoning him to his 
 father's death bed (o note which Gertrude 
 confusedly acknowledged having been 
 written by herself.) Then the treachery of 
 liis bi-other Paul — the manajuvering of 
 Mrs. Martel, the miseries and struggles of 
 his unfortunate marriage — the peaceful 
 <leath of his wife, and his quiet monotonous 
 life since then. 
 
 Gertrude was a sympathizing warm heart- 
 ed listener, and more than once those eyes 
 which he had thought so proud and indif- 
 i'erent grew suspiciously dim as he pursued 
 his recital. 
 
 '•There is but one thing, Armand, in all 
 this which I would wish otherwise — one 
 thing that I would ask you to retract. For 
 my sake, you must forgive your brother 
 Paul, fully and freely." 
 
 Durand's brow darkened. 
 
 " GoHrude, I have done him no ii\jury, 
 nor do I seek to do him any for all the evil 
 he wrouglit myself. Surely that is 
 enouah!" 
 
 " No ! The concessions you have already 
 made were for Mrs. Ilatelle's soke, you 
 must now do somotluug for mine. Listen, 
 Armand. Lot your free unconditional par- 
 don of Paul be your wedding gift to myself. 
 I will prize it more highly than the purest 
 di-jmond or rarest pearl I Sovereigns usu- 
 ally signalize tlie inauguration of their 
 reigns by an act of amnesty, so let us mark 
 the commencement of the wedded affection 
 which I hope shall ever reign between u», 
 by a similar proof of cleuiency." 
 
 The speaker's voice was playful, but her 
 dark eyes were wonderfully oainest afid 
 ontreatin^^ and Armand felt how impossi- 
 ble it would bo for him to ever refuse any- 
 thing they asked. 
 
 *' How con I say no to any request of 
 yours ? Yes, even my revengeful pride, x»y 
 long cherished though passive animosity to- 
 wards the brothel- who robbed me of vkj 
 birthright and my father's love, must 
 yield to your influence. AJi, Gertrude, no 
 greater proof of your unbounded power and 
 my deep devotion could be given !" 
 The wedding was simple, the best thing to 
 be done, Mi's. de Beauvoir remarked, where 
 the antecedents of the bridegroom had 
 been so peculiar. Gertrude magnanimoius- 
 ly forebore resenting this speech, as her •wn 
 wishes all pointed to qmet and utter a!b- 
 sence of display. 
 
 Paul, though kindly asked to be present 
 returned an excuse, alleging that he was 
 ill, feeling probably too conscious of his 
 guilt towards his brotlier to desire meeting 
 hun on such an occasion. He sent titie 
 bride, however, the most superb set of 
 jewels that money could procure, and at a 
 later period found courage to pay the new 
 married couple a short visit, an event, how- 
 ever, not often renewed. No wife of his 
 ever entered the old homestead at Alou- 
 ville to dispel the gloom that reigned no- 
 thing it. 
 
 De Montenay never married. He con- 
 tinued to frequent boll-i'ooms and to haunt 
 for a time the footsteps of every pretty de- 
 butante that came out, till his glossy hau- 
 had tm'ned gray, — a misfortune remedied 
 by the use of some invaluable dye — and 
 false teeth had replaced the white regular 
 ones of which he had been so proud. This 
 life he led till age and incroosing infirau- 
 ties left him no alt«roative but that of 
 abandoning it, and he thai settled down 
 into the Grossest and mosttyranoioal o^old 
 bachelors, his chief jayoiisement opi^istiag 
 in sneering at xi^^traiiQny in genaral and 
 the wedded bliss of nis friends and acquain- 
 tances in particular. 
 
ARMAND DURAND. 
 
 7T 
 
 No cloud however did hiu vindictive pIo- 
 (|Uence bring to the suniOiino brightening 
 the homo of Armund ami bin wife ; and if" 
 trouble and sicknenH ocoasionally visited 
 them, HM they do all of Adam's mce, the so- 
 lace to that passing grief was found in their 
 mutual aHcction. 
 
 A brilliant destiny awaited Durand 
 uad in the political arena of his cuun- 
 try, on which he entered soon after his mar- 
 riage, ho distin^uiMlu'd himself as much i)y 
 his unwavering integrity us by his mre ta- 
 lents. Well supported was he in his course 
 by the noble and superior woman who was 
 
 the Hiiarer of his thoughts, his hopes, his 
 plans, as she was of his lifu destiny ; and in 
 thoB«' dark hours of discouragement whicli 
 few t. ito [sons of their country escape, she 
 whis]'ered hope, and cheered him on his 
 onwind path. 
 
 Honor nor emolument never tempted 
 liim to sacritit'e one principle — one point 
 of justice, and the fairest inheritance Ar- 
 mand Durand left his children, one far 
 surpassing in value the amplo fortune and 
 social position In,' had won, was the me- 
 mory of his true honest patriotism uml 
 unsuUied integrity. 
 
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