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I-

ARMANI) DURAND;

OR,

A PROMISE FULFILLED.

MRS. LEPROHON.

PRINTED BY JOHN LOVELL, ST. NICHOLAS STREET.

1868.

(

'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

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.

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

ARMAND DURAND.

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.

;

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-

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-

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.

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

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.

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 :

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,

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

" 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

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.

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.

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

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.

ted.

fing
Ithe
10 a

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

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.

;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

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>.

My
jtne

al-

lions

[few

jpa-

;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.

>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.

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 ^•

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.

:all-

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

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.

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-

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).

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?"

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.

|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

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.

)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.

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.

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

AKMAND DURAND.

I I

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.

-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

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.

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.

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-

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.

" 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.

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.

ARMAND DURAND.

"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^

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.

Ived

Iwas
put
1 the
lime
ud-

jiaiii
Iho-
|ur-

U a

|>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?"

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

,/^

ARMAND DURAND.

;

Irl

lit-

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-

ARMAND DURAND.

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-

ARMAND DURADTD.

I;.'

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.

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.

-»/3WTnAn3<1

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