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 torney-General and the Trustees of the Library
 
 THE 
 
 STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 \ 
 
 BT 
 
 OCTAVE FEUILUET, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE ROMANCE OF A POOR YOUNG MAN." 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH 
 BY M. H. T. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 
 
 LATE TICKKOB & FIELDS, AND Fiu>a, OSGOOD, & Co. 
 
 1872.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, 
 
 BY JAMES B. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 UNIVERSITY PRESS : WELCH, BIGELOW, & Co., 
 CAMBRIDGE.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAST I. 
 
 PAG* 
 
 I. THE FERIAS 5 
 
 II. THE BEAUMESNIL FAMILY 7 
 
 III. SIBYLLE 10 
 
 IV. SIBYLLE'S MADMAN 15 
 
 V. Miss O'NsiL . . . . 21 
 
 VI. SIBYLLE OUT OP THE PALE OP THE CHURCH 27 
 
 VII. THE BAHK 38 
 
 VIII. THE PARSONAGE. 42 
 
 PAET II. 
 
 I. CLOTILDE ....46 
 
 II. THE HOTEL DE VERGNES 55 
 
 III. RAOUL 61 
 
 IV. THE DUCHESS BLANCHE 64 
 
 V. THE CHURCH OP THE MADELEINE 74 
 
 VI. THE CROWN 78 
 
 VII. THE STUDIO 84 
 
 PART III. 
 
 I. THE RETURN TO FERIAS . . . ._.>', . " . .96 
 
 II. RAOUL AT THE PARSONAGE 101 
 
 III. RAOUL AT THE CASTLE OP FE'RIAS . . . ...*. 107 
 
 IV. THE EXPLANATION Ill 
 
 V. SIBYLLE'S LOVE 114 
 
 VI. THE LOVE OP CLOTILDE ". ., . . ...... 117 
 
 VII. THE SWAN . 124 
 
 932627
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 PAET I. 
 
 i. 
 
 THE FERIAS. 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL day in the month 
 -j- of August was drawing to its 
 close. From the bells of the small, 
 but solidly built church of Farias, 
 which stands on the summit of a 
 steep cliff, on the eastern coast of 
 the Norman peninsula, rang out a 
 peal of merry sound. From the open 
 doors a number of peasants, dressed 
 in their Sunday costumes, were mak- 
 ing their way into the churchyard. 
 They appeared to hail with great 
 satisfaction the sight of a Norman 
 nurse in sumptuous apparel, who 
 had just presented herself on the 
 threshold of the church porch, sooth- 
 ing to sleep behind the wide wings 
 of her coif a child enveloped in rich 
 baptismal robes. The crowd opened 
 a passage for this important person- 
 age, who, from time to time, conde- 
 scended to suspend her triumphal 
 march and to raise the veil which 
 covered the child, so as to afford an 
 occasional glimpse of her precious 
 charge to the group of interested 
 matrons that surrounded her. The 
 nurse was followed by two domes- 
 
 tics in black livery, carrying two 
 heavy wallets, which attracted the 
 exclusive attention of the less senti- 
 mental portion of the public. After- 
 wards, the cure", still wearing his 
 stole, came out of the church, and 
 with an air of business said some- 
 thing to the domestics, who quickly 
 went forward, the crowd hastily fol- 
 lowing. In a few moments the 
 cure", a stout, middle-aged man, whose 
 features bore the impress of an hon- 
 est simplicity, was left alone in the 
 little churchyard; and from a dis- 
 tance could be heard, mingled with 
 the sound of the waves dashing 
 against the shore, the cries of the 
 children on the borders of the heath, 
 scrambling for their share of the 
 customary bounty. At the same 
 time the church-bells ceased to ring 
 out their joyous chimes, and the sim- 
 ple edifice resumed, in the solitude, 
 the character of rigidity and melan- 
 choly which the ocean seems to cast 
 back upon all that it approaches. 
 Behind the thick woods which skirt 
 the horizon on the side of the land, 
 following the undulations of the 
 hills in a parallel line with the shore, 
 the sun was sinking in his glory,
 
 6 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 piercing with thousands of golden 
 arrows the dense masses of the foli- 
 age ; his slanting rays still rested on 
 the summit of the cliff and lit up 
 the glittering panes of the church 
 windows, but they no longer reached 
 the sea, the azure tint of which was 
 rapidly assuming a more sombre hue. 
 
 At this moment the door of the 
 church again opened, and an old gen- 
 tleman and old lady, both tall of 
 stature and with an air of distinction 
 and quiet dignity, slowly descended 
 the steps of the church porch, and 
 advanced towards two slabs of white 
 marble joined together on two graves 
 close to each other, where they 
 kneeled down, side by side. The 
 cure* also kneeled down a few steps 
 behind them. After a few moments 
 the old gentleman arose, and touch- 
 ing the shoulder of the lady, who 
 was praying with her face concealed 
 by her hands, " Come, Louise," said 
 he, gently. 
 
 She immediately arose and look- 
 ing at him, her eyes filled with tears, 
 smiled upon him. He drew her to- 
 wards him, and touched with his 
 lips her pure and pale forehead. The 
 cure* approached. 
 
 " My Lord Marquis," said he, with 
 a sort of hesitating timidity, " He who 
 gave has taken away : shall we not 
 say, ' blessed be his name ' ? " 
 
 The old man sighed, fixed his eye 
 for a moment upon the sea, then upon 
 the sky, and, taking off his hat, an- 
 swered, "Yes, sir; 'blessed be his 
 name.' " 
 
 He then took the arm of the lady, 
 and they left the graveyard together. 
 
 Half an hour later, as night was 
 closing in, a carriage, rolling almost 
 noiselessly over the damp ground of 
 a long, gloomy avenue, brought back 
 to the castle of Ferias all now left of 
 the ancient family of this name, the 
 two grandparents, whom we have 
 seen bending over two graves, and 
 the blue-eyed orphan child, who had 
 just received in baptism the name 
 of Sibylle Anne, handed down in the 
 family for many generations. 
 
 It was now a little more than a 
 year since the Marquis and Mar- 
 chioness of Farias had lost success- 
 ively, within an interval of a few 
 days, their daughter-in-law, Julie de 
 Vergnes, an angelic creature, who had 
 lived with them only long enough 
 to make herself adored and wept 
 over, and their only son, Christian, 
 Count of Fe'rias, a young man of a 
 grave, sweet, and tender nature, alto- 
 gether crushed by the terrible blow 
 which had befallen him. In these 
 days of weak faith and unhealthy 
 sensibility, many, struck down by 
 misfortunes such as these, would lose 
 courage and give way to despair. 
 Not so the Marquis and Marchioness 
 of Ferias; for although both of a 
 nature in which tenderness almost 
 reached the point of weakness, and 
 although they felt to its fullest ex- 
 tent the agony of their irreparable 
 loss, still they were sustained by re- 
 ligious faith, by the support of their 
 mutual affection, and, lastly, by the 
 sentiment of the duty which remained 
 to them to fulfil towards the infant 
 child, almost the offspring of the 
 tomb.
 
 THE STOEY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE BEAUMESNIL FAMILY. 
 
 A COUNTRY neighbor, called Mme. 
 de Beaumesnil, had found, in 
 the catastrophe which had over- 
 whelmed the house of Ferias, a 
 fortunate opportunity for exercising 
 the talents she believed herself to 
 possess for playing the part of con- 
 soler, and for pouring out the treas- 
 ures of charity nature had laid up 
 in her heart. For a person filled, 
 like this lady, with a spirit of devo- 
 tion to others, a birth and two deaths 
 succeeding each other in so short a 
 period as a fortnight were circum- 
 stances of rich and rare interest. 
 Shortly after the young Countess was 
 taken ill, this provident matron has- 
 tened to the castle of Ferias, with her 
 pockets filled with various remedies 
 and elixirs. Entirely in her element, 
 she had, during this fatal fortnight, 
 never ceased advising and consoling, 
 chattering and fluttering about like 
 a sea-gull in a storm. Such demon- 
 strations on the part of a stranger 
 formed a singular contrast with the 
 calm demeanor of the two old peo- 
 ple, upon whom fell the weight of 
 these terrible calamities, and who, 
 withdrawing as much as possible 
 from the gaze of others, hid their 
 grief, with the sensitive reserve of 
 high-toned natures. This position 
 had highly disgusted Mme. de 
 BeaumesniL Shortly after her re- 
 turn to her own house, towards the 
 close of one of those rich and heavy 
 repasts not uncommon in the country, 
 she gave out her opinions on this 
 
 subject to her guests in the some- 
 what inelegant style habitual to 
 her. 
 
 " Decidedly," said she, " these Fe"- 
 rias have no heart. I always sus- 
 pected it was so ; now I am sure of it. 
 They are made up of pride ! Really, 
 if I had not been there, it would 
 have been but dry mourning, as one 
 may say; and, indeed, for all the 
 thanks I received, I might as well 
 have spared my handkerchiefs and 
 my poor eyes ; but either one has a 
 heart, or one has not. Besides, what 
 I did was for the love of God, who 
 sees and knows all things, does he 
 not, abbe* ? Do drink something, my 
 dear abbe*. Come, cure", you must 
 drink a glass of my home-made wine. 
 You cannot refuse me that. It is 
 true, my poor friend, I cannot offer 
 you such wine as they have in the 
 cellars at Farias. But what we have 
 we give with a welcome. That is 
 something. Come, another glass. See, 
 it is poured out, you must take it. 
 You need something to keep you up. 
 I saw how you were overcome at the 
 two ceremonies. Your tears fell like 
 dew upon the altar. Apropos of that, 
 your altar-cloth is coming on finely, 
 and, indeed, it would have been fin- 
 ished by this time, if it had not been 
 for these interruptions. But we 
 must keep up, you see. Life is only 
 a vale of tears, you know. Besides, 
 why should we be in greater grief 
 than the Ferias, who really have 
 astonished me. And then, Providence 
 knows what is best. That poor Julie 
 certainly had some accomplishments, 
 but she was a conceited little Parisian,
 
 8 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 who, if she had lived, might not, 
 perhaps, always have given such sat- 
 isfaction to her fine relatives, partic- 
 ularly with a husband like Christian, 
 who could not hold his own with a 
 woman, notwithstanding all his fine 
 airs. He was a good fellow, I do not 
 deny it, but proud as a peacock, a 
 true Ferias from his head to his heels ; 
 and, as the blessed Gospel says, ' The 
 haughty shall be brought low.' " 
 
 Here Mme. de Beaumesnil mod- 
 estly wiped her lips, upon which the 
 good home-made wine had left some 
 traces. 
 
 Notwithstanding all this miserable 
 gossip, Mme. de Beaumesnil was 
 not altogether a fool. A kind of 
 vulgar cunning, often the accompani- 
 ment of a narrow mind, and of igno- 
 ble sentiments in her, was combined 
 with a tenacity of will which made 
 her a good woman of business. She 
 was the daughter of a small country 
 squire, with a large family of children, 
 and appeared destined, as she herself 
 would have expressed it, to dress the 
 hair of St. Catherine, patron of the 
 virgin martyrs, when a considerate 
 friend suggested to her an available 
 prey in the person of Monsieur de 
 Beaumesnil, who resided in a neigh- 
 boring canton, a rich man and of 
 good family, but whose want of intel- 
 lect almost amounted to idiocy. She 
 resolved she would marry this fool, 
 and she succeeded in carrying out 
 her purpose. And, indeed, M. de 
 Beaumesnil, who was entirely igno- 
 rant of business, did not make a bad 
 bargain when he gave his name to 
 Mademoiselle Desrozais. She set 
 
 herself energetically to work to re- 
 lieve his property from some embar- 
 rassments, and succeeded in putting 
 his affairs on a good footing, and in 
 keeping them from that time forward 
 in good order. M. de Beaumesnil 
 could now safely resign himself to 
 the pleasant state of somnolence 
 which usually occupied the intervals 
 between his repasts ; when awake, 
 this eccentric personage appeared to 
 consider life as a perpetual joke, 
 smiling and laughing at everything, 
 with or without cause. Ordinarily, 
 he was as mute as a fish, excepting 
 when he had dreamed, for he had a 
 mania for relating his dreams, which 
 was, in fact, his principal mode of 
 entertaining his guests. M. and Mme. 
 de Beaumesnil had no children, and 
 this circumstance was not especially 
 afflicting to humanity in general, 
 but it was a most fortunate one for 
 the relatives of the lady ; one of her 
 brothers, Theodore Desrozais, who 
 called himself chevalier, and made 
 pretensions to nobility, soon set up 
 his household gods at the manor 
 of Beaumesnil. He was a man of 
 mature age, with a large nose and 
 small eyes, whose conversation after 
 dinner often brought blushes to the 
 cheeks of the ladies. During the 
 week he was, alternately, the terror 
 and the admiration of the servant- 
 girls of the vicinity, and on Sundays 
 he sang in the choir of the church. 
 Then came a cousin, Constance Des- 
 rozais, an old maid, fat, smiling, and 
 servile, upon whom Mme. de Beau- 
 mesnil imposed a large share of the 
 labors of the household; lastly, a
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 niece, Clotilde Desrozais, whose father 
 had, not long since, been killed in 
 Africa, a beautiful, dark-complex- 
 ioned child, passionate, capricious, 
 absurdly indulged, and who already 
 manifested a most decided charac- 
 ter. 
 
 "You see, cure," remarked Mme. 
 de Beaumesnil to her pastor, whom 
 she frequently made the confidant of 
 her ideas, but from whom, to do the 
 good man justice, she seldom ob- 
 tained more than a cold and con- 
 strained assent, " you see, it is only 
 spoiled children who turn out well ; 
 I have always observed that. What 
 is the use of crossing the poor little 
 creatures ? They will have plenty 
 of crosses when they are older, poor 
 things ! Besides, it would be a want 
 of confidence towards the good God 
 who watches over them. I know 
 this is not the notion of the Ferias, 
 and they have made free to insinuate 
 it to me in regard to Clotilde; as 
 much as to say, the dear child might 
 reproach us one day with having 
 spoiled her, when, on the contrary, 
 she feels for M. de Beaumesnil and 
 myself the greatest possible love and 
 respect. Is it not so, my adored Clo- 
 tilde ? " 
 
 Mile. Clotilde, who was now about 
 seven years of age, and who listened 
 to this discourse with her arms 
 crossed, and balancing herself on the 
 top of a chair, made no other answer 
 than to thrust out her tongue from 
 between her little pointed teeth. 
 
 "Charming little pet!" continued 
 Mme. de Beaumesnil, not at all dis- 
 concerted. "What a frank nature! 
 
 As for the Fe'rias, we shall see what 
 they will make of their Sibylle, with 
 all their whims about education. And 
 that pagan name they have given her 
 is not any too good an omen. Noth- 
 ing but their family pride put that 
 into their heads. Cure", remember 
 what I tell you; she will turn out 
 an affected minx, like her poor 
 mother." 
 
 It may seem strange that a woman 
 like Mme. de Beaumesnil, surrounded, 
 too, by such relatives, should be ad- 
 mitted, on terms of intimacy, into a 
 household like that of the Ferias, 
 where nobility of blood, habits of 
 high breeding, and natural good taste 
 combined to form an interior of the 
 most distinguished kind; but one 
 great inconvenience of a country life 
 is, that there one endures rather than 
 chooses their acquaintances. Be- 
 sides, Mme. de Beaumesnil, who, with 
 all her fault-finding, was extremely 
 proud of her intimacy with the great 
 people of the neighborhood, had suf- 
 ficient sense to be herself much more 
 circumspect in the presence of the 
 Ferias family, and to insist upon a 
 similar reserve on the part of her 
 relatives. Besides, she was so obse- 
 quious in her attentions that the good 
 old people felt in a manner bound to 
 return her civilities. The toleration 
 natural to kind hearts, and the fatal 
 necessity of a second for billiards 
 and a fourth for whist, games of 
 which the old Marquis was fond, and 
 in which the chevalier Theodore ex- 
 celled, may still further serve to 
 explain the singular fusion of such 
 opposite elements.
 
 10 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 ni. 
 
 SIBYLLE. 
 
 THE Count and Countess de Ver- 
 gnes, the maternal grandparents of 
 Sibylle, who lived in Paris in great 
 magnificence, made no opposition to 
 the arrangement proposed to them by 
 the Ferias, after the unhappy events 
 which brought such sorrow to both 
 families. Sibylle was to be brought 
 up in the country, and not to take 
 up her residence at the Hotel de 
 Vergnes until the time should come 
 to give the finishing touches to her 
 education, to introduce her into so- 
 ciety, and to think of her establish- 
 ment in marriage. The Countess de 
 Vergnes, especially, an extremely 
 worldly woman, still young, and who 
 liked to be thought even more so 
 than she really was, accepted eagerly 
 an arrangement which delayed her 
 appearance in the character of a 
 grandmother, by keeping a little lon- 
 ger out of sight the living proof of 
 the fact. 
 
 We are obliged to confess that the 
 first few years of the life of Sibylle 
 Anne offer nothing especially worthy 
 of record. The child was pretty ; 
 her large blue eyes had usually a 
 sweet and serious expression, but 
 they would assume a deeper hue 
 during those noisy and mysterious 
 fits of rage which a skilful nurse 
 knows how to pacify by her soothing 
 incantations. Sibylle, to tell the 
 truth, was sufficiently addicted to 
 these demonstrations of passion, 
 which are not the greatest attraction 
 of infancy. One summer night, 
 
 when she had just been laid in her 
 cradle, in front of a window left open 
 on account of the extreme heat, she 
 began to scream so loudly that the 
 Marquis and Marchioness rushed 
 simultaneously to her room. The 
 nurse had exhausted all her compos- 
 ing resources, and declared she did 
 not understand the case. The Mar- 
 chioness sang to the child, the Mar- 
 quis scolded ; she still continued to 
 cry and struggle. 
 
 "Really, it is almost unbearable," 
 said the Marquis. "Can anything 
 hurt her, nurse ? " 
 
 "'No, my friend," said the Mar- 
 chioness, " that is not it ; she wants 
 something." 
 
 " But what can she want, my dear ? 
 Try and find it out ; for I say again, 
 I can scarcely bear it." 
 
 " My friend," said the Marchioness, 
 who, with her superior maternal in- 
 stinct, had studied the direction of 
 the eyes and hands of the excited 
 child, "I see now what it is; she 
 wants a star." 
 
 " My dear, I believe you are 
 right. Yes, it is plain ; she wants a 
 star." 
 
 "Well, then, sir," said the nurse, 
 " we will light a piece of paper and 
 put it into her hand." 
 
 " No, no," said the Marquis, "I will 
 not agree to that; it would be deceiv- 
 ing the child, and, besides, I will not 
 yield to such a caprice. Nurse," 
 added he, in a severe tone, " shut the 
 window." 
 
 This masterly expedient was suc- 
 cessful ; for Sibylle Anne, after a few 
 moments of reflection, made up her
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 11 
 
 mind to go to sleep, and probably 
 dreamed that she was holding her 
 star in her little clenched hand. 
 When Sibylle was able to express 
 herself by speech as well as gesture, 
 there was no longer any room for 
 doubt that this young person had 
 received from some malicious fairy, 
 forgotten at her birthday fete, the 
 fatal gift of conceiving the most un- 
 reasonable fancies, and of requiring 
 the immediate gratification of them 
 with an imperious vehemence which, 
 when any obstacle was interposed to 
 the fulfilment of her wishes, goaded 
 her almost to frenzy. 
 
 This unfortunate temper, observed 
 by Mme. de Beaumesnil, afforded her 
 a malicious pleasure, and, as may be 
 imagined, was a source of great sor- 
 row to Mme. de Ferias. 
 
 " We must allow, my friend," said 
 she, sighing, to her husband, "that 
 there is something of the demon in 
 our angel." 
 
 " No, my dear," returned the old 
 Marquis, " I do not allow it. It is 
 true, the child has a strong and pas- 
 sionate will ; but so much the bet- 
 ter, if that will be rightly directed. 
 I often see you, my dear, admiring 
 the rosy and transparent nails of our 
 little girl ; but, you know, without 
 proper care they would soon become 
 only hideous claws. So it is with 
 all the faculties with which Heaven 
 has endowed us; they are double- 
 edged tools, equally fitted for good or 
 ill. The more powerful and deter- 
 mined these faculties are, the richer 
 is the gift ; the great point is, proper- 
 ly to regulate and direct them. This 
 
 will be Sibylle's own duty towards 
 herself, when she is old enough to 
 comprehend it ; until then it is ours. 
 I have always believed that parents, 
 and all others upon whom devolves 
 the sacred task of educating children, 
 are, at least, half responsible for the 
 destinies which are preparing for 
 them. My idea of the justice of God 
 is, that it condescends to look back* 
 to the beginnings of our faults, even 
 to their earliest germs, and, with the 
 exactness of supreme equity, to take 
 into account the share of all in the 
 destiny of each. This responsibility, 
 for which we must render account, 
 is doubtless a heavy burden ; but, on 
 the other hand, it is sweet to think 
 that our influence on the character 
 and future of our children is not 
 only great for this world, but may 
 even extend to eternity. In regard 
 to Sibylle, without crushing in her 
 the precious instrument of the will, 
 which is a choice faculty and a 
 priceless weapon in the battle of life, 
 I shall use all my efforts to bend it 
 in the direction of the true, the rea- 
 sonable, and the possible, although I 
 certainly could have wished this 
 painful contest might have been 
 spared me in my old age ; for I ac- 
 knowledge my extreme weakness for 
 this child, and I should be misera- 
 ble if she were to think her grandfa- 
 ther now her only father harsh 
 or unkind; and God knows I am 
 not so." 
 
 " God and I ! " said the Marchion- 
 ess, gazing on the face of her hus- 
 band with a look of infinite tender- 
 ness.
 
 12 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 The conversation of the good old 
 people was suddenly interrupted by 
 the sound of sharp cries proceeding 
 from the garden, which summoned 
 M. de Farias to the practical applica- 
 tion of his theories. He immediately 
 repaired to the scene of action, his 
 heart oppressed by the sense of the 
 cruel duty laid upon him, when he 
 perceived his granddaughter engaged 
 in a furious contest, with feet and 
 hands, against her faithful nurse, 
 who, for two or three years past, 
 had been promoted to the duties of 
 governess. This deplorable scene 
 was taking place on the borders of a 
 pond, upon the waters of which 
 three or four swans were noiselessly 
 displaying their majestic grace. See- 
 ing her grandfather coming, Sibylle 
 stopped crying, and awaited his ap- 
 proach, with flaming eyes and lips 
 compressed, in a most resolute atti- 
 tude. 
 
 "What is the matter, if you 
 please ? " said M. de Ferias. 
 
 " I want to ride upon the swan," 
 said Sibylle, briefly. 
 
 " What do you mean ? ride upon 
 the swan ! " said the Marquis. 
 " What nonsense is this ? " 
 
 The nurse then explained that the 
 young lady, after distributing bread 
 to the swans very prettily, had sud- 
 denly expressed an energetic desire 
 to ride upon one of these birds, and, 
 thus mounted, to make the circle of 
 the pond. " Is it not true, my lord, 
 that she would be drowned ? " 
 
 " There is no doubt of that," re- 
 plied the Marquis, "and she de- 
 serves to be allowed to try it." 
 
 " The swan does not get drowned," 
 said Sibylle. 
 
 " The swan has received from God 
 the power of swimming, and you have 
 not." 
 
 " I want to ride upon the swan ! " 
 repeated Sibylle, trembling with rage. 
 
 " You must go to your room," said 
 the Marquis, " since you will not lis- 
 ten to reason. Take her away, nurse." 
 
 As Sibylle struggled with redou- 
 bled shrieks, M. de Farias took hold 
 of her, lifted her from the ground, 
 and, walking quickly back to the 
 castle, he deposited the child in 
 one of the lower rooms and locked 
 the door; then he returned to his 
 wife, and, sinking tremblingly into a 
 chair, " My dear," said he, " my only 
 consolation is, that I suffer more 
 than she does." 
 
 There are readers without chil- 
 dren, and we must not forget it. 
 Therefore we will not follow the 
 footsteps of M. de Farias through all 
 the course of his painful and praise- 
 worthy application of his system of 
 education. Suffice it to say, that 
 after a pretty frequent recurrence of 
 scenes similar to the one we have 
 just related, Sibylle began perfectly 
 to understand that the nature of 
 things and the superior wisdom of 
 her grandfather must, and should, in 
 many cases, stem the torrent of her 
 will, until she should be able to com- 
 prehend the nature of the moral law, 
 which was to restrain its course and 
 direct its bent. The day came when 
 it was sufficient for M. de Farias to 
 say to her, smilingly, "Sibylle, do 
 you want to ride upon the swan ? "
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 13 
 
 to calm the tempest of any unrea- 
 sonable caprice. And of her impe- 
 rious instincts there only remained 
 the persevering and passionate firm- 
 ness which usually accompanies noble 
 aspirations. Mme. de Beaumesnil, 
 a jealous witness of these happy 
 results, now changed her tune; in- 
 stead of pitying Sibylle's grandpar- 
 ents, she began to pity Sibylle her- 
 self. 
 
 " Really," said she, " those old 
 Ferias can have no more feeling 
 than a stone, to beat that poor little 
 creature, an orphan too ; for al- 
 though they have never done it 
 before me (they would not dare, for 
 they know my heart, and I would 
 not bear it), one can easily see that 
 the child is accustomed to being 
 beaten. She trembles in their pres- 
 ence, she detests them, and they cer- 
 tainly deserve it." 
 
 Mme. de Beaumesnil was mistaken. 
 In the heart of a little child there 
 exists the same feeling of profound 
 justice as in the soul of a great 
 nation. Cnildren love their par- 
 ents, just as nations do their rulers, 
 when they respect them. Sibylle, 
 so far from detesting M. and Mme. 
 de Ferias, loved them with a dis- 
 cerning affection uncommon at her 
 age. She admired, as well as adored 
 them. Her keen and enthusiastic 
 mind could understand and revere 
 the beautiful inner life of the old 
 people, the exquisite intimacy, the 
 quiet dignity, the somewhat patriar- 
 chal discipline, which pervaded the 
 house of her fathers. Besides, con- 
 trasts were not wanting to enlighten 
 
 her judgment. Sometimes she went 
 to pass a day with Mine, de 
 Beaumesnil, who professed to enter- 
 tain for her the feelings of a mother, 
 and who manifested her affection by 
 overwhelming her with absurd flat- 
 tery and with unwholesome dain- 
 ties. 
 
 On these occasions the trivial gos- 
 sip of her hostess, the undignified fa- 
 miliarity of Mile. Constance with 
 the servants, the insipid gayety of 
 M. de Beaumesnil, the drinking- 
 songs of the chevalier, and the bois- 
 terous turbulence of beautiful, dark- 
 eyed Clotilde, older than herself by 
 four or five years, excited in Sibylle 
 a sort of surprise mingled with dis- 
 gust, which she sometimes naively 
 expressed. 
 
 " Were you amused, my darling ? " 
 said to her Mme. de Ferias ? 
 
 " Yes, grandmother, they amused 
 me very much, but I was very tired." 
 
 Always, after making one of these 
 excursions, Sibylle felt more than 
 ever the charm of the moral atmos- 
 phere which she breathed at Ferias, 
 and a new delight in the caresses of 
 her good relatives. 
 
 The Marquis of Ferias had a per- 
 sonal superintendence over the af- 
 fairs of his extensive domains. His 
 custom was, himself to distribute on 
 Saturday of each week the pay of 
 the laborers employed on the estate, 
 when he took the opportunity of 
 informing himself in regard to the 
 condition of their affairs, and of sup- 
 plying their wants when charity was 
 needed. The ceremony of the weekly 
 payment was one of Sibylle's great-
 
 14 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 est pleasures. In fine weather it 
 took place on a lawn which divided 
 the park from the farm ; at the end 
 of the day the Marquis and Mar- 
 chioness would seat themselves on 
 a bench shaded by a group of oak- 
 trees, Sibylle placing herself gravely 
 between them. First, she listened to 
 the distant singing of the reapers; 
 then she watched the long file as 
 they appeared on the top of a hill 
 which overlooked the park. They 
 descended, still singing, the pruning- 
 knife in the hand or the pitchfork 
 on the shoulder, by a path which 
 led across the heath, and only 
 stopped their song when they reached 
 an opening in the hedge, in front of 
 the oak-trees. Then they ranged 
 themselves on the lawn, and received 
 in turn their pay, and frequently 
 something more, from the hands of 
 the proud and delighted Sibylle. 
 M. de Ferias had inherited from his 
 forefathers another custom which he 
 maintained with the same fidelity. 
 At the hour of the Angelas he was 
 accustomed to assemble in the li- 
 brary of the castle the servants of 
 the household, and also the work- 
 men residing on the estate, and to 
 read aloud to them the evening 
 prayer, adding some remarks appro- 
 priate to the circumstances of his 
 listeners. The subdued light, the 
 careful tread which marked the en- 
 trance and exit of the respectful 
 subordinates, the tears which some- 
 times filled the eyes of Mrne. de 
 Ferias, the occasionally touching al- 
 lusions of the old Marquis, all com- 
 bined to shed over this consecrated 
 
 hour a penetrating and mysterious 
 charm for Sibylle. 
 
 She had also less grave pleasures. 
 Mme. de Ferias, next after her hus- 
 band and her granddaughter, was pas- 
 sionately fond of two things, flow- 
 ers and rare fowls. Perhaps she 
 expressed for them a greater fondness 
 in order to give her husband the 
 ineffable pleasure of gratifying her 
 tastes. Whether this were the case 
 or not, scarcely a week passed with- 
 out the Marchioness finding under 
 her window a flower-pot or a cage, 
 which appeared to have fallen from 
 heaven during the night; and fre- 
 quently M. de Ferias, concealed in 
 the thicket with Sibylle by his side, 
 would watch the delighted surprise 
 of his wife. In consequence of these 
 attentions, constantly repeated dur- 
 ing so many years, the conservatories 
 and the poultry-yards of Ferias were 
 a matter of wonder and admiration 
 to all the surrounding country. The 
 Marchioness passed a large portion 
 of her time in these delightful places, 
 where she blessed the goodness of 
 God and the kindness of her hus- 
 band, and where, also, she would 
 shed tears ; but for Sibylle this para- 
 dise was unequalled. This country 
 of flowers and birds, of which her 
 grandmother seemed the queen, en- 
 chanted the child. It appeared to 
 her like fairy-land, and her grand- 
 father, the creator of these magical 
 effects, was to her almost super- 
 human. Madame de Farias looked 
 upon her husband with no less favor- 
 able eyes. Sibylle, seeing her one 
 day leaning out of a window of the
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 15 
 
 conservatory, looking with a pleased 
 iutentness, put her head out also, 
 and perceived M. de Ferias watering 
 a rose-bush in the morning sun. 
 
 " My darling," said the Marchion- 
 ess, "is not your grandfather hand- 
 some ? " 
 
 Sibylle ran out quickly, and, ap- 
 1 preaching the old Marquis, she inter- 
 preted to him this expression of 
 affection in her somewhat proud 
 language : " Grandfather, the Mar- 
 chioness of Ferias sends me to tell 
 you she thinks you handsome." 
 
 The Marquis smiled. " Nonsense ! 
 go tell her that it is she who is 
 charming." Then, calling her back, 
 "Take her this flower," added he. 
 
 IV. 
 
 SIBYLLE'S MADMAN. 
 
 THE pure and brilliant atmosphere 
 of one of those beautiful days in 
 midsummer when the sun is shining 
 in the azure of a cloudless sky gives 
 a sense of tranquillity and peace which 
 seems as if it might be permanent 
 and abiding. Notwithstanding, how 
 frequently will the clouds gather, the 
 winds rise, and give tokens that the 
 beautiful day will end in a storm ! 
 
 This familiar comparison may serve 
 to indicate a new phase in the young 
 life of Sibylle, after five or six years 
 of the entire serenity we have de- 
 picted. Suddenly her temper became 
 uncertain. She was sometimes wild- 
 ly gay, then some passing cloud 
 seemed to send a shiver through her 
 young heart, and her fair head would 
 
 droop like an ear of corn in the 
 wind. She was seized with a strong 
 fancy for solitude, and would insist 
 upon her nurse going with her into 
 the woods, which surrounded the park 
 of Ferias, where she sometimes would 
 remain the whole day. 
 
 " What can she do all day in the 
 woods, nurse ? What pleasure can 
 she find there ? " inquired M. de Fe- 
 rias, puzzled by this singular con- 
 duct. 
 
 " My Lord Marquis," answered the 
 nurse, "this is what she does. We 
 walk about quietly for a while, and 
 Mademoiselle is as good as possible. 
 But, if she gets a glimpse of the blue 
 sea, through the trees, she is excited ; 
 she claps her hands, and cries out, 
 ' The sea, the sea ! ' Then she takes 
 hold of my hand, and makes me run 
 with her so fast that I can scarcely 
 keep my feet ; but she keeps crying 
 out, ' The sea, the sea !' and laughs as if 
 she were delighted. Then I sit down 
 at the foot of a tree and take out my 
 work, and my young lady beside me ; 
 everything seems to amuse her ; a 
 leaf, a flower, a piece of moss, she 
 will examine in her serious way, 
 sometimes for an hour. Then, again, 
 she will throw herself on the grass, 
 and sleep like a partridge in a fur- 
 row. I say she sleeps, but, indeed, I 
 am not sure, for to-day, when I lifted 
 up her hat, which had fallen over her 
 face, she was crying. Perhaps some 
 dream made her cry." 
 
 This last account excited the anxi- 
 ety of the Marquis. Sibylle was 
 called. 
 
 "My darling," said he, "why did
 
 16 
 
 THE STOKY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 you weep to-day in the woods ? 
 Does anything trouble you ? Are you 
 unhappy ? " 
 
 " no," replied the child, putting 
 her arms round her grandfather's 
 neck. 
 
 " Then why did you cry ? " 
 
 "I do not know; for nothing at 
 all." 
 
 And he had to be satisfied with 
 this answer. 
 
 There was one spot in the woods 
 of Ferias for which Sibylle mani- 
 fested an especial predilection. It 
 was a narrow ravine, through which 
 ran a stream, almost hidden by its 
 green banks. At the source of the 
 stream the ground was very irregu- 
 lar, and through a large rock trickled 
 tiny streams of water, which fell 
 into a natural basin below. This 
 weeping rock, overhung with thick 
 shade-trees, festooned with vines, and 
 carpeted by damp mosses and large 
 leaves, presented in this lonely spot 
 a wild and charming aspect which 
 had gained for it the honors of a 
 legend, of which the name only now 
 remained; it was called the Fairy 
 Eock. This name, which called 
 to mind the fairy tales of her child- 
 hood, had a particular attraction for 
 Sibylle. She would stand by it for 
 hours, half enchanted, half fearful. 
 She expected an adventure. Two 
 here happened to her. One summer 
 evening she had repaired to the 
 Fairy Eock, whilst her nurse, as 
 usual, was working at the foot of a 
 tree in another part of the wood. 
 Sibylle liked to be alone with her 
 rock. Mile, de Ferias was now a 
 
 little girl of seven or eight years 
 old, tall for her age, elegant and 
 graceful. The thick masses of her 
 fair hair were confined by a net, 
 and the weight appeared to incline 
 her to throw back her head with a 
 motion full of haughty grace. She 
 usually wore a large hat, round 
 which was twined a long black feath- 
 er, which fell partially over her fore- 
 head, and seemed to cast upon her 
 naturally deep eyes a rather wild 
 shadow ; but sometimes she would 
 wreathe her hair with vines and 
 flowers, so as to make for herself one 
 of those heavy crowns seen in pic- 
 tures on the heads of young shep- 
 herds playing the flute in scenes of 
 mythology. 
 
 That evening this fancy had seized 
 her, and, using the little fountain as 
 a mirror, she had woven for herself 
 a head-dress of rustic grace. She 
 held in her hand a wand, from which 
 she had stripped the bark; and, 
 standing on the brink of the basin, 
 she would raise it from time to time 
 with mysterious signs, as if she were 
 playing a part in some fairy idyl. 
 Suddenly, the copse in front of her 
 parted, and a young man jumped 
 lightly upon the platform which 
 surrounded the fountain. Sibylle 
 stepped back, and opened her lips to 
 scream ; then she stopped, motionless, 
 leaning upon her wand in a coura- 
 geous attitude, her eyes fixed upon 
 the stranger. There was nothing, in- 
 deed, alarming in his appearance ; 
 he was a young man, not more than 
 twenty years old, dressed simply as 
 a traveller ; tall, active, with air of
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 17 
 
 youthful grace, and with bright, kind 
 eyes. The unexpected apparition of 
 the child, her beauty, the singular 
 crown on her head, her courageous 
 attitude, at first filled the young man 
 with silent astonishment. At last 
 he smiled, murmured a few words to 
 himself, and then said aloud, " Par- 
 don me, mademoiselle ; perhaps I am 
 upon your grounds." 
 
 " Yes," replied Sibylle. 
 
 " Excuse my intrusion ; I came," 
 said he, showing his portfolio, "to 
 sketch in these woods, which were, 
 I supposed, open to the public." 
 
 Sibylle making no answer, he 
 turned to go. 
 
 " I am sorry to leave," he resumed, 
 gayly. "This is such a beautiful 
 spot ! May I ask its name ? " 
 
 " The Fairy Eock." 
 
 " Ah ! then you are the Fairy," said 
 the young man, amused by the seri- 
 ous manner of the child. 
 
 A smile passed over Sibylle's 
 proud face. " Yes," said she. 
 
 " Would you allow me to draw your 
 portrait ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Will you at least permit me to 
 ask your name ? " 
 
 "Sibylle." 
 
 " Adieu, then, Mile. Sibylle. Would 
 you give me a kiss, my child ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Will you let me kiss your hand ? " 
 
 Sibylle put out her hand with the 
 air of an infanta. The young man 
 smiled, and kissed it gravely. 
 
 " Thank you, mademoiselle. Now 
 I will go, and I assure you I shall 
 never forget either the rock or the 
 2 
 
 fairy. Will you not, also, keep a lit- 
 tle memory of me in your pretty 
 head?" 
 
 " I do not know your name." 
 
 " My name is EaouL Will you re- 
 member it ? " 
 
 " Always," said the child. 
 
 Eaoul, a little confused, without 
 exactly knowing why, looked at her 
 for a moment with an awkward smile ; 
 then he respectfully said "Adieu," 
 and disappeared in the copse. 
 
 Some days after this the Marchion- 
 ess of Ferias, with her granddaughter 
 on her knee, thus began one of those 
 stories in which she excelled : 
 
 " There was in the forest, on the 
 banks of the Ganges, a king's son, 
 who was hunting. He was beautiful 
 as the day, witty and modest. His 
 name was " 
 
 The Marchioness not finding a 
 name for the king's son, Sibylle in- 
 stantly supplied one. " Eaoul," said 
 she. 
 
 "Why Eaoul?" asked Mnie. de 
 Ferias, a little surprised. 
 
 A slight blush passed over the 
 cheeks of the child. From a feeling 
 which she would have found it im- 
 possible to explain, she had made an 
 innocent mystery of her interview 
 with the unknown. Now she con- 
 fided it to her grandmother that, as 
 this Eaoul had appeared to her beau- 
 tiful as the day, witty and modest, 
 his name naturally came into her 
 mind to baptize the king's son, who 
 had exactly the same qualities. Ma- 
 dame de Ferias laughed heartily at the 
 history, but she ascertained the next 
 day, on visiting the town of Furias,
 
 18 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 that the prince, Raoul, who was, they 
 told her, a fine young irian, and of 
 good family, had left the country on 
 the evening of the same day he had 
 appeared in the wood ; therefore Si- 
 bylle was allowed to continue freely 
 her beloved excursions, and a short 
 time afterwards she met, on the same 
 spot, with a second adventure, which 
 requires a few words of preface. 
 
 The stream which receives the 
 waters of the fairy rock of Ferias, 
 and which, continuing its course 
 through the woods, falls into the sea 
 at a distance of two leagues, receives 
 on its way the water of two or three 
 tributaries, which swell the stream to 
 a sufficient size to turn a mill which 
 formerly stood on the edge of the 
 forest. The miller who owned the 
 mill was called Jacques Feray. He 
 at first had served as a sailor, and, at 
 his return, his faithful fiancee had be- 
 come his wife, and assisted him in 
 the management of the mill. It was 
 a happy household. Jacques Fe"ray 
 was a brave, good-humored fellow. 
 He had a fine voice, which he used 
 to exercise in his night-watches on 
 board ship, and when his wife pre- 
 sented him with a little girl, he would 
 rock the cradle and sing her to sleep. 
 In front of the mill was a small gar- 
 'den, in which were some fig-trees 
 and three bee-hives; and the joyful 
 young miller, with his songs, his pret- 
 ty wife, and the tiny child, who soon 
 began to dance to her father's music, 
 made a bright, pretty picture in the 
 sunshine. After five or six years of 
 happiness, a fearful misfortune over- 
 took this happy family. One stormy 
 
 autumn night the canton of Ferias 
 was visited by a flood, which con- 
 tinued to increase all the next day ; 
 and the following night, the peace- 
 ful brook, swollen to a raging torrent, 
 overflowed its banks and the neigh- 
 boring fields, and carried away the 
 mill. Jacques Feray with great dif- 
 ficulty saved his wife and child from 
 drowning ; but he was entirely ruined, 
 his house and mill and implements 
 all gone, and also a considerable pro- 
 vision of grain and flour destroyed. 
 In a few days his wife and child both 
 died from the effects of cold and ex- 
 posure, and were buried together in 
 the churchyard of Ferias. The fol- 
 lowing day the cur went, out of 
 compassion, to see the poor man. He 
 found him lying on his face in the 
 yellow mud which now covered his 
 little garden, formerly so gay and 
 pretty. 
 
 " Come, Jacques," said the cure, 
 trying to rouse him. 
 
 Jacques never stirred. 
 
 " My friend," said the cure, " I en- 
 treat you ! " 
 
 Jacques raised his head. "Go 
 away," said he. "There is no good 
 God!" 
 
 The cure, unable to get from him 
 any other answer, went sorrowfully 
 away. The next day he went again, 
 and found him in the same place and 
 the same position, and still answer- 
 ing his attempts at consolation by 
 this one phrase : " There is no good 
 God!" 
 
 It soon became evident that the 
 mind of the poor man was seriously 
 affected. He left the ruins of his
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 19 
 
 mill, took refuge in a miserable hut 
 on the top of a hill, where sheep had 
 been used to resort for shelter from 
 the heat, and there he lived like a 
 wild beast. Sometimes he was heard, 
 especially in stormy weather, utter- 
 ing shrieks which would make the 
 passers-by shiver with horror. In 
 the early days of his insanity, several 
 times, in the morning, the panes of 
 glass in the windows of the church 
 of Fe'rias were found broken, and the 
 aisles covered with stones. A watch 
 was kept, and Jacques Feray was dis- 
 covered throwing stones, with child- 
 ish fury, against the house of God, 
 who had so sorely afflicted him. 
 They talked of arresting and im- 
 prisoning him; but the good cure* 
 had pity on him, and nothing was 
 done. This was the only act of vio- 
 lence which he committed. He was 
 otherwise inoffensive, although his 
 appearance was repulsive. After a 
 time he became more an object of 
 ridicule than of dread. He was 
 called " the crazy Fe'ray," and while 
 the farmers were giving him a little 
 food, the children would often fasten 
 rags on his back. 
 
 One day Sibylle, having left her 
 nurse some distance off, was kneeling 
 on the brink of the basin into which 
 fell the water from the Fairy Eock. 
 She had taken off her hat, and, after 
 examining curiously a few moments 
 the vegetation in the bottom of the 
 basin, she had almost hidden herself 
 among the grasses and flowers that 
 grew on the brink ; seized with one 
 of those fits of sadness to which she 
 had lately been subject, she began to 
 
 cry, and watched her tears fall drop 
 by drop into the pure and transparent 
 water. A slight sound caused her to 
 raise her head, and she perceived the 
 madman, Fe'ray, opposite to her on 
 his knees among the brambles. His 
 head was covered with the remnants 
 of a straw hat, he was pale, thin, and 
 frightful in appearance ; his gaze was 
 fixed on Sibylle with a singular in- 
 tensity of expression ; large tears fell 
 from his hollow eyes on his long 
 gray beard. Although the child was 
 brave, still the sight of this spectre 
 made her tremble ; she tried to call, 
 but could not utter a sound. The 
 madman comprehended her terror, 
 and said in a low and plaintive tone, 
 " Do not be frightened, I will not 
 hurt you." Then he rose, and while 
 Sibylle also rose mechanically, he 
 approached, and looked at her fixedly. 
 
 " Poor child ! " murmured he, " poor 
 child ! " And throwing himself on the 
 ground he sobbed, with his head in 
 his hands. 
 
 Sibylle knew the story of the poor 
 man, and she began to comprehend 
 that some vague resemblance recalled 
 to him the little girl he had lost ; her 
 fear was conquered by pity ; she 
 knelt down and gently passed her 
 white hand over the head of the 
 madman. Then, as if frightened at 
 her own temerity, she ran to join her 
 nurse, who was not a little alarmed 
 on seeing Jacques Fe'ray coming after 
 them. He followed them to the 
 castle like a dog. M. and Mme. de 
 Fe"ria.s, touched with Sibylle's account 
 of him, approached the unfortunate 
 creature, who had stopped behind the
 
 20 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 iron railing of the park, spoke kindly 
 to him, and filled his bag with pro- 
 visions. From this time forward his 
 insanity appeared to assume a milder 
 form. Nearly every day he presented 
 himself at the gate of the castle, and 
 Sibylle would run to meet him with 
 her hands full. She often met him 
 in her walks ; he had observed her 
 fondness for wild-flowers, and he 
 would bring enormous bouquets of 
 them and lay them silently at her 
 feet. She would smilingly say, 
 " Thank you, Jacques," and he would 
 go away satisfied. The Marquis and 
 Marchioness called him Sibylle's mad- 
 man. Sibylle was pleased and some- 
 what proud of her influence over the 
 lunatic. On one point, however, she 
 failed in an attempt she made, by the 
 advice of her parents, to induce him 
 to attend mass in the church of Fe- 
 rias; when they reached the grave- 
 yard he uttered a wild shriek, and 
 fled quickly out of her sight. 
 
 About two months after her first 
 meeting with the madman, Sibylle 
 received a visit from her friend Clo- 
 tilde Desrozais, who was now prepar- 
 ing to enter a convent in Paris, for 
 the purpose of finishing, or rather 
 commencing, her education. Clotilde 
 was now about thirteen years of age ; 
 she was tall, beautifully formed, with 
 superb eyes and heavy braids of 
 blue-black hair; and between her 
 crimson lips shone teeth of a pearly 
 whiteness. She appeared to have a 
 quick intellect and strong feelings; 
 but, in fact, it was not easy to tell 
 what elements predominated in her 
 untamed nature ; and Sibylle felt for 
 
 her an affect ion, mingled with anxiety. 
 Clotilde one moment would torment 
 her by her turbulent caprices, and 
 the next seduce her by her effusions 
 of tenderness. She would put her 
 arms round her, and say, with tears 
 in her eyes, " How I love you, Sibylle ! 
 I shall always love you. Swear that 
 you will always love me." 
 
 Mile. Desrozais had then come 
 to pass the day at Ferias. While 
 Sibylle was preparing a collation 
 for her friend, the latter spied from 
 a window the madman, Ferny, sleep- 
 ing in the shade in the court-yard 
 of the castle. Clotilde, without say- 
 ing a word to any one, ran to the 
 kitchen and procured a ball of twine, 
 on which she strung horse-shoes, 
 spurs, and pieces of broken glass, 
 which she picked up here and there, 
 and then went and fastened these 
 ornaments to the clothes of the sleep- 
 ing madman. Then she called her 
 dog Max, a fierce creature, who 
 followed her wherever she went, and 
 awakened the madman by calling to 
 the dog to bite him. Jacques Fe"ray 
 was extremely afraid of dogs, who 
 frequently attacked him. Seeing the 
 bull-dog springing towards him, he 
 began to run wildly. The noise of the 
 appendages which hung to him fright- 
 ened him still more. He ran from 
 one gate to the other, panting and 
 screaming, with the dog barking at 
 his heels, to the great delight of the 
 beautiful Clotilde. But now Sibylle, 
 attracted by the noise, ran to the 
 window and saw what was going on. 
 Instantly she bounded into the court- 
 yard, and reached the madman at the
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 21 
 
 moment -when the dog had seized 
 hold of the rags in which he was 
 clothed. The child used all her 
 strength to protect him from the 
 ferocious animal, who turned on her 
 with sudden fury and bit her arm, 
 from which the blood began to flow. 
 The servants ran out, called off the 
 dog, and carried Sibylle, fainting, into 
 the house. Seeing the consequences 
 of her mischievous conduct, Clotilde 
 burst into tears ; but as she went 
 home she saw Jacques Feray, still 
 stretched on the pavement, raise the 
 horse-shoe with which she had 
 adorned him, and shake it at her 
 in a threatening manner. She only 
 laughed at the silent threat of the 
 idiot, and she made a mistake when 
 she did so. 
 
 V. 
 
 MISS O'NEIL. 
 
 M. DE FERIAS, who thought the 
 moral training of a child should 
 commence from the cradle, neverthe- 
 less had been in no haste to begin 
 the intellectual education of his 
 granddaughter. Now, however, it 
 had become necessary to have an 
 instructress for her, and M. de 
 Ferias thought it best to apply 
 to his cousin, the Count de-Vergnes, 
 the maternal grandfather of Sibylle, 
 whose residence in Paris, and whose 
 extensive acquaintance, would afford 
 him facilities for making a selec- 
 tion in so important a matter. 
 He therefore wrote to the Count 
 a grave and touching letter, in 
 which he dilated upon the dispo- 
 
 sition and qualities of his grand- 
 daughter, and begged him to neglect 
 no precautions in order that the 
 teacher might be worthy of the pu- 
 pil. A month afterwards, as M. de 
 Ferias began to be uneasy at the si- 
 lence of the Count, he received the 
 following reply : 
 
 " MY DEAR COUSIN : After div- 
 ing repeatedly, like a fisherman of 
 pearls, into the ocean of Paris, I 
 believe I have discovered the treas- 
 ure you ask for. The person in 
 question has not, it is true, a very 
 attractive physiognomy. They say, 
 however, she is an angel without 
 wings. She is not my beau ideal of 
 an angel, but no matter for that; 
 and I send her to you at the same 
 time with my letter. Send your car- 
 riage to Station, evening train. 
 
 The lady has just finished the educa- 
 tion of a pupil, for which she has not 
 been too well paid. Your servant 
 will recognize her by this descrip- 
 tion: Miss O'Neil (Augusta Mary), 
 thirty years old, with red hair, Irish, 
 of an old and noble family, speaks 
 all the dead and living languages, 
 works, paints, plays the harp, and 
 rides on horseback. Any number of 
 et cetera. 
 
 " A shower of kisses for Sibylle. I 
 throw myself at the feet of the Mar- 
 chioness." 
 
 A letter like this, upon a subject 
 so interesting and important in the 
 eyes of the Marquis, appeared to him 
 an inexcusable piece of frivolity, and 
 although he knew that, notwith- 
 standing this worldly and flighty
 
 22 
 
 THE STOEY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 style of expressing himself, M. de 
 Vergnes was really wanting neither 
 in sense nor in feeling, still it was 
 not without some apprehensions that 
 he drove in person to the railway sta- 
 tion at , to meet the governess 
 
 who had been described to him in 
 such equivocal terms. The first ap- 
 pearance of Miss O'Neil, descend- 
 ing from the railway-carriage with 
 her travelling-bag in her hand, was 
 far from reassuring the Marquis ; he 
 recognized her. at once, even in the 
 twilight. She was tall, thin, and 
 angular, and she walked with the 
 stiffness and precision of an automa- 
 ton ; she had high cheek-bones, and 
 her red hair fell in long curls on 
 either side of her face. A brown 
 straw hat surmounted like a dome 
 this unattractive physiognomy. His 
 heart sank within him. " Really," 
 murmured he, " De Vergnes is inex- 
 cusable." 
 
 However, when he came nearer to 
 Miss O'Neil, he observed in her pale 
 blue eyes an expression so pure, so 
 kind, and so candid, that he was 
 touched by it, and his prejudice was 
 soon half conquered. Miss O'Neil, 
 herself painfully conscious of her 
 unprepossessing exterior, replied to 
 the courteous greeting of the old 
 Marquis a little awkwardly, but still 
 in a simple and ladylike manner. 
 Her voice, too, was particularly 
 sweet and musical. M. de Fe'rias 
 began to think with .M. de Vergnes 
 that she might indeed be an angel, 
 although at first the wings were but 
 little apparent. He seated her be- 
 side him in the carriage, and soon 
 
 began to enlighten her as to the dis- 
 position and mind of the young pu- 
 pil who was to be intrusted to her 
 care, ending with a brief repetition 
 of his own views and system of edu- 
 cation. 
 
 Miss O'Neil listened attentively, 
 and when he had finished she an- 
 swered, " Sir, I perfectly understand 
 your description of the disposition of 
 the child. As for your principles, 
 they are mine also. To develop and 
 cultivate the natural gifts of the in- 
 tellect is always safe, if at the same 
 time the idea of God and religion be 
 the predominant and sanctifying one." 
 
 The Marquis shook his head with 
 an air of great satisfaction, so that a 
 cloud of perfumed powder could be 
 perceived in the carriage. " My dear 
 Miss O'Neil," returned he, "may I 
 now ask you to tell me something of 
 your own history, upon which my 
 cousin De Vergnes has informed me 
 but little; but, understand, that I 
 ask you, not from curiosity, but on 
 account of the interest with which 
 you have already inspired me." 
 
 The kind politeness of the old 
 Marquis was most gratifying to Miss 
 O'Neil. Long accustomed to an at- 
 mosphere of cold civility, which had 
 chilled and repressed her, she had 
 deeply suffered in her feelings and 
 in her pride. For the first time in 
 her life she felt she was appreciated, 
 and this charming old man spoke to 
 her in a tone she had scarcely hoped 
 to hear in this world. Unseen in 
 the darkness, tears filled her eyes, 
 while she briefly related her history, 
 which was very simple. The only
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 23 
 
 point on which she spoke much was 
 on the antiquity of her family ; for 
 she was, she said, descended from the 
 kings of Ireland. Her father had left 
 her a comfortable fortune, but her 
 two brothers had not managed her 
 affairs with the prudence that would 
 have been desirable. M. de Ferias 
 understood that her property had 
 been absorbed by fraternal extrava- 
 gance. Fortunately, the employment 
 she had selected was one congenial 
 to her tastes, and she had great 
 pleasure in educating her last pupil, 
 but parting from her had almost 
 broken her heart. 
 
 Thus, when M. de Farias and Miss 
 O'Neil descended from the carriage 
 into the court-yard of the castle, the 
 most friendly understanding was es- 
 tablished between them. In a few 
 moments after the Marchioness, to 
 whom her husband had imparted his 
 favorable opinion, completed the de- 
 light of the Irish girl by the benevo- 
 lent kindness of her reception. It 
 was now late. They took Miss 
 O'Neil into the room where Sibylle 
 lay sleeping under the white cur- 
 tains of her bed, her head on one 
 arm, which was nearly hidden by 
 her silken tresses, and in the grace- 
 ful position childhood usually as- 
 sumes even in sleep. Miss O'Neil 
 looked upon her with delight, and 
 turning to the grandparents said, 
 " She is an angel. I love her al- 
 ready." 
 
 She was then installed into a 
 neighboring apartment, of a size and 
 luxury to which she had been little 
 accustomed. The tapestry of the 
 
 room was covered with figures of 
 shepherds and shepherdesses, who 
 appeared to be happy, but assuredly 
 they were less so than Miss O'Neil. 
 Nevertheless, a flaming sword, ready 
 to drive her from this paradise, hung 
 over the devoted head of this inno- 
 cent creature. 
 
 The next morning Mme. de Fe- 
 rias, after another conversation with 
 Miss O'Neil, which only served to 
 confirm the favorable impressions 
 she had received from her husband 
 in regard to her, presented the in- 
 structress to her pupil Sibylle, who 
 possessed, to a degree uncommon at 
 her age, an appreciation of beauty 
 and harmony, looked anxiously at 
 Miss O'Neil, and responded coldly to 
 her advances, with the air of a per- 
 son not favorably disposed, and who 
 reserves her opinion. The Marchion- 
 ess left them together to become bet- 
 ter acquainted, and descended to the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 Here she found M. de Farias dilat- 
 ing upon the merits of Miss O'Neil 
 to the Abbe" Ke"naud and Mme. de 
 Beaumesnil, whom the importance 
 of this event had already attracted 
 to the castle. 
 
 "Well, my dear?" said the Mar- 
 quis. 
 
 " AVell, my friend, as far as I am 
 able to judge she has an enlarged 
 mind and a most religious spirit." 
 
 " You see," resumed the Marquis, 
 with a radiant air, " we have discov- 
 ered a diamond. We must allow 
 that De Vergnes, with all his fri- 
 volity, has shown rare tact and judg- 
 ment. It is true that she is not
 
 24 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 handsome, but this will be for Si- 
 bylle a living demonstration of the 
 small value of physical advantages 
 compared with moral qualities, such 
 as Miss O'Neil possesses, nobility 
 of sentiments, purity of heart, mental 
 charms 
 
 " Sweetness of temper," said the 
 ' good Marchioness. 
 I " And solid religious principles," 
 added the cure*. 
 
 In the midst of this concert of 
 praise the door of the saloon was 
 noisily opened, and the nurse, who 
 went by the name of Madame Rose, 
 entered abruptly in a state of evident 
 consternation, which announced a 
 serious catastrophe. 
 
 " In Heaven's name, nurse, what 
 is the matter ? " exclaimed the Mar- 
 quis, rising. 
 
 " My Lord Marquis," answered 
 Mme. Eose, almost breathless, "she 
 is not a Christian." 
 
 "What? who? Miss O'Neil ? Not 
 a Christian, nurse, you are crazy !" 
 
 "She is not a Christian," replied 
 Mme. Eose ; " it is a sure thing, since 
 she has just asked John whether 
 there was a Protestant minister in 
 the neighborhood, and whether she 
 would be able to go every Sunday to 
 the temple." 
 
 ' " A Protestant ! " said the Marquis, 
 sinking, quite overcome, into his arm- 
 chair. " A Protestant ! " Then, after 
 a pause, " Mme. Eose," said he, in 
 a changed voice, " that will do, you 
 can go now." 
 
 A few minutes of profound silence 
 ensued; the Marchioness exchanged 
 with her husband sorrowful glances ; 
 
 the cure and Mme. de Beaumesnil, 
 took each other's hands, and raised 
 them with an air of consternation, 
 sincere in the former, but not so in 
 the case of the lady, for, in reality, 
 this unexpected blow to her neigh- 
 bors only gave her great satisfaction. 
 
 " Certainly," said the Marquis, an- 
 grily, "this is unpardonable in De 
 Vergnes ! not to have informed him- 
 self on so essential a point, I sup- 
 pose he would as soon have sent me 
 a Jewess or a Mahometan, just 
 like him. As for me, how could I 
 imagine such negligence ? The idea 
 never occurred to me. Besides, be- 
 ing an Irishwoman, it seemed so 
 unlikely. However, we all under- 
 stand that the nurse, when she re- 
 fused Miss O'Neil the name of 
 Christian, spoke like an ignorant 
 woman, as she is. Miss O'Neil is 
 not a Catholic, but, notwithstanding 
 the deplorable errors of her belief, 
 she is still a worthy and interesting 
 person. What am I to do ? " 
 
 " It appears to rne," said the curd, 
 timidly, "it would scarcely be right 
 to leave Mile. Sibylle under the care 
 of a Protestant instructress, particu- 
 larly as the child will soon prepare 
 for her first communion." 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! " cried Mme. de 
 Beaumesnil. 
 
 "I know it cannot be," returned 
 the Marquis. " I do not dream of it ; 
 but I must confess I am bitterly dis- 
 appointed at being obliged to deprive 
 my granddaughter of the advantage of 
 the instructions of a person possess- 
 ing so many accomplishments, and, I 
 must also say, so many virtues. I
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 25 
 
 also dread to think of the blow it will 
 be to Miss O'Neil. What would I 
 not give if I could spare her and my- 
 self the explanation and separation 
 which seem to be inevitable ! " 
 
 " It is certainly hard, my friend," 
 said the Marchioness; "but since it 
 is necessary " 
 
 " The sooner the better," said Mme. 
 de Beaumesnil, roughly. 
 
 " Excuse me, madame," replied the 
 Marquis, rather quickly, " you do not, 
 I presume, expect me to drive away 
 this young woman, as if she were a 
 thief, only because she is a Protest- 
 ant." 
 
 After a silence of a few moments 
 the Marchioness said, gently, " I was 
 going to say, my friend, that, if you 
 wish, I will be the bearer of your in- 
 tentions to Miss O'Neil." 
 
 " No, no, my dear ; you are always 
 ready to take upon yourself every- 
 thing that is painful, but it would 
 not be fair. Do you know whether 
 Miss O'Neil is alone ? " 
 
 " Sibylle is with her." 
 
 "Send for the child." 
 
 The poor governess, meantime, 
 when the departure of the Marchion- 
 ess had left her alone with Sibylle, 
 could not but observe in the counte- 
 nance of her pupil the unfavorable 
 impression she had made upon her. 
 She took care not to make any at- 
 tempt to remove this feeling by any 
 special attentions or unwelcome ca- 
 resses. She did not offer to kiss the 
 little girl, but, smiling gently, she in- 
 vited her to accompany her to her 
 room and assist her in unpacking her 
 trunks, always an interesting opera- 
 
 tion to a child. She began by taking 
 out her simple wardrobe, and while 
 this was going on Sibylle stood in 
 the middle of the room, her arms 
 crossed behind her back, silently and 
 rather contemptuously watching the 
 motions of the busy Miss O'Neil; 
 but her pretty face grew brighter, 
 and soon displayed a lively interest, 
 when she saw her produce from the 
 depths of a chest an herbal, then a 
 palette, paint-brushes and an easel, 
 and, lastly, half a dozen pictures 
 painted by herself. The child then 
 began to question her in a most ani- 
 mated manner; but she altogether 
 stopped at the appearance of a harp 
 which the Irish lady took from its 
 case, and when Miss O'Neil, after 
 placing the instrument on its gilded 
 base, struck a few chords with an ab- 
 sent air, the enthusiasm of Sibylle 
 for this wonderful stranger could no 
 longer be repressed. 
 
 "Will you teach me everything 
 you know, Miss O'Neil ? " 
 
 "Certainly, my dear, everything." 
 
 " Shall I learn to know, like you, 
 the names of all the flowers ? " 
 
 "You shall learn them all, my 
 child." 
 
 " Shall I play on that beautiful in- 
 strument, like the angels ? " 
 
 " Yes, like the angels." 
 
 "And shall I paint pictures like 
 yours ? " 
 
 "Certainly, and better ones, I 
 hope." 
 
 "I do not think that would be 
 possible, Miss O'Neil ; they are mag- 
 nificent." And in order to evince to 
 Miss O'Neil her respectful admira-
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 tion, Sibylle hastened to render her 
 all the little services in her power. 
 She helped her to arrange all these 
 interesting objects, and when the 
 time came to hang the pictures, she 
 mounted on a chair to hand the nails 
 to Miss O'Neil. These pictures, al- 
 though not so magnificent as they 
 appeared to Sibylle, were not desti- 
 tute of merit, but there was in their 
 composition a certain monotony, for 
 they nearly all, in fact, represented 
 the same subject ; and on the frames 
 were engraved the words : View of a 
 lake by moonlight, by Miss O'Neil. 
 The moon rising on the shore of a lake, 
 by Miss O'Neil. A lake, moon- 
 light effect, by Miss O'Neil, etc. 
 
 The Irish lady, having finished her 
 task with the help of her little friend, 
 drew from the case a last picture, 
 wrapped in linen and sealed up. 
 " This, my child," said Miss O'Neil, 
 " is not mine ; it is the work of the 
 young girl who, before you, was my 
 only pupil. The dear child worked 
 at it privately, for a month before my 
 departure, and she begged me not to 
 unfold it until I should reach my 
 destination." 
 
 With a trembling hand she now 
 removed the envelope. The picture 
 upon which Miss O'Keil fixed her 
 expectant eyes represented a lake 
 of an apple-green color, brilliantly 
 lighted by an enormous moon, in the 
 midst of which floated a cradle, con- 
 taining a child whose features pre- 
 sented a caricature of those of Miss 
 O'Neil. On the border was written, 
 Infancy of Miss O'Neil on a lake. 
 Moonlight effect. 
 
 The young lady, her late pupil, 
 had apparently thought it a good 
 joke to take leave of her governess 
 with this witty and amiable allusion 
 to her fondness for picturesque effects. 
 
 Poor Miss O'Neil, overcome by 
 her feelings, burst into tears, and, 
 sinking into a chair, " Oh ! " ex- 
 claimed she, "what cruelty! It is 
 then true after all I have done 
 she has no heart. 0, how hard it is 
 to bear ! You do not understand, my 
 dear," said she to Sibylle, who, in 
 fact did not comprehend, but who 
 looked at her with an expression of 
 pity and sympathy, " but I will ex- 
 plain this to you. I took care of this 
 young girl for ten years, I educated 
 her, I caressed her, I worshipped 
 her. To remain with her, I would 
 have been her servant, a servant to 
 her children ; and, you see, her last 
 thought, her last action, has been to 
 mock me, to insult me ! And I 
 loved her so well, better than her 
 own mother ever loved her. It 
 breaks my heart ! " 
 
 And she hid her face in her hands. 
 
 "Do not cry, Miss O'Neil," said 
 Sibylle, trying to take her hands ; " I 
 will love you if you will let me." 
 
 " O my dear child ! " said Miss 
 O'Neil, sobbing. 
 
 "You will never leave me, Miss 
 O'Neil." -\ 
 
 " No, never, never." 
 
 " What is your name, Miss O'Neil ? " 
 
 "Augusta Mary." 
 
 "Well then, Augusta Mary, we 
 will always live together." 
 
 Miss O'Neil took the child up in 
 her arms, and, pressing her convul-
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 27 
 
 sively to her heart, overwhelmed her 
 with tears and caresses. 
 
 The uurse surprised them in this 
 affectionate attitude. 
 
 " My young lady is wanted in the 
 drawing-room," said she, stiffly. 
 
 Sibylle kissed her friend, and fol- 
 lowed the nurse down stairs. 
 
 "My darling, your eyes are red. 
 What has happened ? " said the Mar- 
 chioness, as Sibylle entered. 
 
 " I have been crying with Miss 
 O'Neil. Her other pupil has treated 
 her so badly; but I have consoled 
 her by promising her she shall never 
 leave me." 
 
 " Well," said the Marquis, " this is 
 too much. My dear child, you must 
 give up this idea ; an unforeseen cir- 
 cumstance obliges us to part with 
 Miss O'NeiL" 
 
 " Grandfather, you would not treat 
 her so. Eemember, she is alone in 
 the world, poor and unhappy. Be- 
 sides, I love her with all my heart." 
 
 " My dear," replied the Marquis, 
 " I am as much grieved as you can 
 be ; but, unhappily, we have no 
 choice. We have just learned that 
 Miss O'Neil is of the Protestant re- 
 ligion, which is a false and wrong 
 religion." 
 
 " I cannot believe Miss O'Neil has 
 a bad religion, grandfather. You 
 may be sure it is not true. Her 
 heart is too good for that, and then 
 she plays the harp like Saint Ce- 
 cilia." 
 
 " We are not talking of the harp," 
 answered M. de Farias, rather impa- 
 tiently. " I repeat, that Miss O'Neil, 
 with all her good qualities, is, unfor- 
 
 tunately, not of our religion, which 
 is the only good and true one." 
 
 " Well, then, grandfather, we must 
 teach it to her ; I am sure she will 
 be very grateful. Our dear curd will 
 teach her. Will you not, sir ? " 
 
 The cure moved his chair uneasily. 
 
 "Besides," said Sibylle, putting 
 her arms round her grandfather's 
 neck, " when she lives with you, she 
 will see that your religion is the 
 best, that there cannot be a better 
 one ! " 
 
 "Stop, stop," said the poor Mar- 
 quis, looking timidly towards the 
 cure*. 
 
 The cure* sighed, and answered, 
 " Sir, you know sometimes God puts 
 the truth in the mouth of a child." 
 
 The Marquis caught at this. " You 
 know, curd, how much I am interest- 
 ed in this poor young woman; an- 
 other word, and she remains." 
 
 " One might perhaps try for a 
 time," said the curd. 
 
 " She stays, she stays," cried 
 Sibylle. " Thank you, grandfather ; 
 thank you, cure." She bounded up 
 stairs to Miss O'Neil, who then 
 heard for the first time of her danger 
 and her safety from the little seraph 
 who had covered her with her wings. 
 
 VI. 
 
 SIBYLLE OUT OF THE PALE OF THE 
 CHURCH. 
 
 THE generous decision of M. de 
 Ferias in the case of Miss O'Neil, 
 which was immediately spread abroad 
 and commented upon throughout the
 
 28 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 neighborhood by MmeMe Beaumes- 
 nil, was not considered at all to his 
 credit nor to that of the cure, who 
 was regarded as his accomplice. It 
 must be confessed that, to those who 
 did not understand the merits of the 
 case, the proceeding would naturally 
 appear a somewhat irregular one. 
 M. de Fe'rias himself, on mature con- 
 sideration, felt rather uneasy at the 
 responsibility he had assumed in 
 placing his granddaughter under the 
 care of an heretical instructress. As 
 for the poor priest, in addition to the 
 gossip of his neighbors and the 
 pricks of his conscience, he had the 
 pain of receiving on this occasion 
 the compliments of the judge of the 
 canton, an old man who believed in 
 little besides Voltaire, of whom he 
 appeared to consider himself the 
 prophet. The Abbe Ednaud, on his 
 way to the castle a few days after 
 the arrival of Miss O'Neil, met the 
 Voltairian magistrate, and was so much 
 disturbed by the equivocal praises 
 he heard from him, that when, on 
 reaching his destination, he found 
 the Marquis taking his morning 
 walk under the avenue of chestnut- 
 trees, he candidly confided to him 
 his mortification and his scruples. 
 
 " My worthy friend," replied M. 
 de Fe'rias, "you may well imagine 
 that I myself am not on a bed of 
 roses ; like you, I have heard the 
 murmurs of public opinion, and I 
 agree with you in thinking the praise 
 of the judge a bad symptom ; for the 
 wise man tells us that, next to the 
 grief of our friends, we should dread 
 the joy of our enemies. Neverthe- 
 
 less, my dear abbe*, I shall retain 
 Miss O'Neil, for in the course of my 
 Long life I have frequently observed 
 that the impulses of the heart, some- 
 times more difficult to follow than 
 the dictates of a selfish and worldly 
 prudence, although condemned by the 
 world, are often blessed by Provi- 
 dence. However, to secure the help 
 of God we must help ourselves ; and 
 you and I, my worthy friend, must 
 neglect no precaution in order that 
 we may maintain our position under 
 circumstances of so much delicacy 
 and importance, I mean, so as to 
 secure to Sibylle the advantages of 
 the superior education Miss O'Xeil 
 appears so capable of imparting to 
 her, and at the same time to keep 
 the child in all the integrity of the 
 faith of her forefathers." 
 
 In order to attain successfully this 
 twofold object, although two years 
 were still wanting to the time fixed 
 for Sibylle's first communion, it was 
 agreed that the Abbe* Eenaud should 
 commence immediately a course of in- 
 struction calculated to place upon the 
 surest foundation the orthodox faith 
 of Mile, de Ferias. Thus, at the same 
 time, Miss O'Neil might safely be 
 allowed to proceed with the moral 
 and intellectual culture of Sibylle 
 Anne. M. de Fe'rias entertained no 
 doubt that the governess would faith- 
 fully observe the formal request he 
 had made, that she should never 
 enter upon religious topics with her 
 pupil, except in the way of general 
 morality ; but in case for the 
 thing was possible Miss O'Neil 
 should disappoint the good opinion
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 29 
 
 of M. de Farias, and, yielding to the 
 spirit of proselytism characteristic 
 of her sect, should even one day pro- 
 duce a Bible from her pocket, and 
 enter upon a course of polemics, 
 then the Abbe Eenaud would be 
 there, on the watch, to detect the 
 first signs of her deviation from the 
 path of rectitude. 
 
 At first M. de Ferias took the 
 precaution of being always present 
 at the lessons given by the Irish 
 lady, or else his absence was sup- 
 plied by the Marchioness; but he 
 soon began to remit a surveillance 
 which he saw was unnecessary when 
 he became better acquainted with 
 the scrupulously honorable character 
 of Miss O'Neil ; and of this the Mar- 
 chioness and the cure were equally 
 convinced with himself. 
 
 These three good people, now that 
 their scruples of conscience were at 
 rest, were delighted to observe the 
 rapid progress of Sibylle under the 
 almost magical influence of Miss 
 O'Xeil. Indeed, her rare faculties 
 of mind would have been in danger 
 of a too rapid development, but for the 
 wise method of her teacher, who was 
 fully equal to the performance of the 
 task upon which she had entered. 
 
 " I might," said the latter to Mme. 
 de Ferias, " easily educate her into 
 a prodigy; but I prefer rather to 
 keep her back than urge her for- 
 ward, and to make her in time a 
 distinguished woman." 
 
 M. and Mme. de Ferias were de- 
 lighted with the zeal and the pro- 
 gress of their granddaughter, and not 
 less so with the favorable change 
 
 they saw in her disposition, from 
 the time that regular studies and 
 pursuits had occupied her thoughts. 
 Although still a very serious child, 
 Sibylle had lost the habit of those 
 confused reveries of which she had 
 been so fond, and which had given 
 her an expression of melancholy 
 not natural at her age. Now her 
 childish and musical laugh constant- 
 ly awoke the echoes of the old cor- 
 ridors. She even frequently mani- 
 fested in their family life a jocular 
 spirit, which usually broke out 
 rather abruptly, and formed a pleas- 
 ant contrast with her habitually 
 grave demeanor. Sibylle had in 
 her composition a strong vein of 
 satire and a quick sense of the 
 ridiculous, which, unaccompanied by 
 a kind heart, might have made her 
 appear unamiable. She not unfre- 
 quently drew caricatures, not very 
 artistic, but expressively comic ; and 
 her grandfather could scarce refrain 
 from a smile when, in one of her pic- 
 tures in this style, the manly mus- 
 tache of Mme. de Beaumesnil, and 
 the Roman nose of the chevalier The- 
 odore, figured in rather remarkable 
 proportions. Mme. de Beaumesnil, 
 although unconscious of this inci- 
 dent, it may well be believed, took a 
 very small share in the happy feel- 
 ings which the successful tuition of 
 Miss O'Neil produced in the castle 
 of Ferias. 
 
 " Cure," she said, " you will see if 
 something does not happen to bring 
 down the pride of the Ferias ; for 
 such obstinacy and mistaken tolera- 
 tion cannot turn out well As for
 
 30 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 you, I do not blame you so much, 
 for I suppose you expected to con- 
 vert this unhappy creature ; but, be- 
 tween ourselves, you must confess 
 you have been mistaken there." 
 
 The cure acknowledged it. With 
 the instinct of malice, Mme. de 
 Beaumesnil had touched the tender 
 spot in this kind heart. Indeed, it 
 was not without- some bitterness of 
 feeling that the Abbe Eenaud had 
 felt himself obliged to renounce this 
 cherished hope after two or three 
 conversations, in which the Irish 
 lady displayed an enlightenment of 
 mind and a firmness of principle 
 which he felt rendered it useless for 
 him to enter into an argument with 
 her with any prospect of success. 
 
 However, the worthy man, forced to 
 renounce his hopes in regard to Miss 
 O'Neil, only applied himself more 
 faithfully to that portion of Sibylle's 
 education which was intrusted to 
 him, and in this task, at least, he had 
 the comfort of success. During the 
 first year of his instructions he had 
 confined himself to teaching her 
 sacred history, reserving the doctri- 
 nal part for the second. The Orien- 
 tal grandeur of the Old Testament 
 histories, and the touching legends of 
 the early saints and martyrs of the 
 Christian era, awoke in Sibylle's 
 imagination a religious fervor which 
 gradually took the place of the poet- 
 ical dreams of her childhood. 
 
 It was no longer golden-robed 
 fairies, magic castles, and princely 
 hunters, with which, in her fancy, 
 she peopled the solitude of the 
 woods, it was with pale hermits 
 
 and saintly shepherdesses ; and above 
 all it was the mysterious and impos- 
 ing idea of God, his power and his 
 goodness displayed in all the changes 
 of nature, germinating with the 
 plants, shining in the stars, and 
 thundering in the storms, which ele- 
 vated her thoughts and touched her 
 heart. 
 
 The religious enthusiasm of the 
 child sometimes, indeed, was carried 
 to an extent which troubled both 
 the curd and her grandparents. One 
 cold winter day she gave away her. 
 cloak to a little beggar she met on 
 the grounds, thereby making herself 
 ill with a severe cold. At another 
 time she tried in her childish way to 
 imitate the austerities of the saints 
 in the deserts. It was, however, al- 
 ways easy to bring back to the right 
 path a mind of a high order like 
 that of Sibylle, and a few sensible 
 remonstrances soon moderated this 
 excess of zeal. 
 
 About a year after the arrival of 
 Miss O'Xeil, the Marquis, an habitu- 
 ally early riser, was seated at his 
 window enjoying the delicious air of 
 a beautiful April morning, when he 
 descried Sibylle alone on her way 
 to the park. 
 
 "Where can Sibylle be going so 
 early, my dear ? " said M. de Ferias to 
 the Marchioness. " I did not know 
 she was up. She appears as if she 
 did not wish to- be seen, and she is 
 carrying a basket." 
 
 " I do not know what she is plan- 
 ning, my friend," said the Marchion- 
 ess ; " but for some days past she 
 has had numerous conferences with
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 31 
 
 Jacques Fe'ray. Yesterday she shut 
 herself up in my room for two hours, 
 and this morning she has borrowed 
 my perfume-burner. That is all I 
 know." 
 
 " We must follow her, my dear." 
 M. and Mme. de Ferias could easily 
 follow, on the gravel paths, the track 
 of the footsteps of Sibylle, which led 
 them, after a walk of a few minutes, 
 to the opening of a glade, on the 
 highest point of ground in the park. 
 This site was justly celebrated for its 
 beauty. It was surrounded by mag- 
 nificent forest trees, and commanded 
 a view of the sea, to which led a suc- 
 cession of gentle declivities covered 
 with a brilliant verdure. In the 
 midst of the glade stood a colossal 
 oak-tree, and under the shade of its 
 branches was one of those rare monu- 
 ments left on the Norman coast by 
 Celtic worshippers, an enormous 
 table of rough stone, which bore a sin- 
 gularly wild aspect, and looked like 
 the contemporary of the tree. 
 
 M. and Mine, de Ferias, as they ap- 
 proached the spot, suddenly stopped 
 on hearing the voice of Sibylle some 
 paces from them. The child was 
 speaking in an animated and al- 
 most threatening manner; then she 
 stopped, and an odor of incense could 
 be perceived in the air. The Mar- 
 quis and Marchioness, advancing a 
 little farther, could now see Sibylle 
 on her knees at the foot of the oak- 
 tree, her eyes raised, and her lips 
 moving as if in prayer. Against the 
 trunk of the tree could be seen the 
 letters composed of wild violets in- 
 terwoven the word " God." On the 
 
 stone table was placed the perfume- 
 burner, from which a light cloud of 
 incense seemed to arise. At a little 
 distance was the madman, Feray, 
 kneeling against a tree and watching 
 Sibylle with the downcast look of a 
 hound that has been beaten. Mme. 
 de Fe'rias gazed at this scene with 
 the tenderest emotion, but the Mar- 
 quis with a serious and anxious ex- 
 pression. 
 
 Just then Sibylle observed their 
 approach, and sprang to her feet, 
 blushing like a rose. 
 
 " My child," said the old Marquis, 
 pressing her to his heart, "this is 
 well, but your altar needs a cross. 
 "We must remember the goodness of 
 God as well as his power." 
 
 " That is true," said Sibylle. " I will 
 put a cross on it." 
 
 "My darling," said Mme. de Fe- 
 rias, " did you make these beautiful 
 letters of these flowers ? " 
 
 " I made them," answered Sibylle, 
 "but Jacques gathered the violets, 
 and, do you believe, I cannot persuade 
 him to pray with me. He is a mon- 
 ster." Sibylle accompanied this epi- 
 thet with a frown, which appeared to 
 affect Jacques Fe'ray deeply. He 
 cast down his haggard eyes, and said, 
 timidly, " There is no good God!" 
 
 "Wretch,!" cried Sibylle, and sud- 
 denly, taking him by the shoulders, 
 she pushed him over. Then, seeing 
 him stretched on the ground, in a 
 frightened and awkward attitude, she 
 rushed hastily into the woods, laugh- 
 ing merrily and shrugging her shoul- 
 ders. "You great simpleton!" said she. 
 
 Jacques appeared delighted.
 
 32 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 It was Sunday morning, and, ac- 
 cording to their custom, the Ferias 
 family repaired, after "breakfast, to 
 the parish church. They arrived 
 rather early, and found the chancel 
 occupied only by the Beaumesnil 
 family and the curd. Mme. de Beau- 
 mesnil, with an unusually important 
 and busy air, was placing in front of 
 the high altar a little table, on which 
 reposed a wax figure with painted 
 face, enamelled eyes, and curling hair, 
 adorned with paper flowers and che- 
 nille ornaments. The cure, the chev- 
 alier Theodore, and Mile. Constance 
 contemplated this masterpiece with 
 ravished eyes, and M. de Beaumesnil 
 with an idiotic smile. 
 
 "What is this ?" asked Sibylle, ap- 
 proaching with curiosity. 
 
 "My child," said Mme. de Beau- 
 mesnil, " it is a new figure of one of 
 the blessed saints I have just had 
 sent from Paris." 
 
 It was now the hour of service, 
 and Sibylle took her place in the 
 family pew ; but the Marquis observed 
 she did not pray with her accustomed 
 fervor. 
 
 The congregation, during the cere- 
 monies, directed many impatient 
 glances towards the altar, accom- 
 panied by whispers and smiles. When 
 the mass was over, their curiosity 
 could .no longer be restrained, and 
 they tried to enter the chancel ; but 
 the chevalier Theodore kept back the 
 crowd, and then, assuming the part 
 of cicerone, he exhibited to them 
 the graces and merits of the wax fig- 
 ure, and even caused it to open and 
 shut its eyes by means of an ingeni- 
 
 ously contrived spring. The impres- 
 sions produced upon the congregation 
 were diverse ; some of the men ridi- 
 culed the image and Mme. de Beau- 
 mesnil; but some old women, con- 
 ceiving for it a sudden devotion, 
 consecrated wax tapers in its honor. 
 Mme. de Ferias, importuned by Mme. 
 de Beaumesnil, joined the ranks of 
 these proselytes. 
 
 Sibylle, on her return to the castle, 
 was unusually sad and silent. Had 
 she been shocked by these unseemly 
 familiarities with sacred things, so 
 contrary to the solemn ideas she had 
 formed of the greatness of the Deity 
 and of the dignity of the worship due 
 to him ? Whatever were her thoughts 
 she kept them to herself. 
 
 Meanwhile the time fixed for her 
 first communion approached. The 
 Abbe Eenaud then came every day 
 to Ferias, where he partook of the 
 family dinner, and afterwards gave 
 her a lesson on the catechism. One 
 afternoon M. de Ferias, who, a few 
 moments before, had left his grand- 
 daughter in the room with the cure, 
 was surprised to find her in the gar- 
 den. 
 
 " Has the abbe gone so soon ? " 
 said he. 
 
 " No," answered Sibylle, briefly, " he 
 is asleep." 
 
 " Does he often sleep in this way ? " 
 said the Marquis. 
 
 " Very often, after dinner." 
 
 "No matter," returned M. de Ferias, 
 gravely, "it was your duty to wait 
 until he should awake. Neither your 
 conduct nor manner show a proper 
 respect."
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 33 
 
 It was not the first time M. de 
 Farias had observed in Sibylle's man- 
 ner towards the cur an appearance 
 of irreverence, almost of contempt; 
 and he also had noticed a change in 
 the abbe, who appeared less cheerful 
 than formerly. That day the Mar- 
 quis questioned the curd on the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 "Are you satisfied with Sibylle, 
 my friend?" 
 
 A slight flush rose to the cheeks 
 of the poor priest. 
 
 " yes, M. le Marquis ; but you 
 know the child has a great deal of 
 sense." 
 
 " But does she make a good use of 
 her sense, abbe" ? " 
 
 " Dear sir, if any one is to blame it 
 is I. To enter the lists with so acute 
 a mind, I should, doubtless, resume 
 my theological studies, for I have 
 become somewhat rusty by time." 
 
 " But does the child venture to 
 argue with you ? " 
 
 " It is true, sir ; and to-day she 
 has raised some objections which are 
 really embarrassing." 
 
 " On what subject, my poor abbe* ? " 
 
 " On the subject of the mysteries 
 of religion." 
 
 "But this is not natural Can 
 there be anything behind the scenes 
 in this ? " 
 
 "Beally, monsieur, sometimes I 
 cannot help thinking so." 
 
 " Could Miss O'Neil possibly exert 
 any adverse influence over the mind 
 of Sibylle ? " 
 
 "Alas!" returned the abbe", "I 
 know not what to think. Certainly 
 Miss O'Neil, when she is present at 
 
 my instructions, conducts herself in 
 the most satisfactory manner; and 
 yet it is only too plain that I lose 
 every day more and more the respect 
 and confidence of the child." 
 
 "It may be," said the Marquis, 
 " but this misfortune must not make 
 us unjust. Follow me, abbe*." 
 
 M. de Fe*rias led the way towards 
 the old oak-tree, where he knew at 
 this hour he should find Sibylle and 
 Miss O'Neil. The Marquis and the 
 abbe, as they walked along, made up 
 their minds that no idle scruples 
 ought to prevent their overhearing 
 the conversation between the teacher 
 and her pupil. Concealed by the 
 shrubbery, they could listen to them 
 without being perceived. Miss O'Neil, 
 seated on the Druid rock, was holding 
 in her hands a celestial globe, of which 
 she was explaining the mechanism to 
 Sibylle, who was kneeling at her side. 
 From time to time she raised her 
 hand, as if to indicate different points 
 of the horizon ; but this lesson was 
 nearly over, and she soon put down 
 the globe. Then she detached from 
 the trunk of the old tree some moss, 
 which she gave Sibylle to examine, 
 and explained to her the botanical 
 structure of the plant in detail. 
 
 " My dear child," said Miss O'Neil, 
 " I love to descend into these minute 
 spheres of creation and there find the 
 same hand of the great God who 
 reigns among the stars. If sometimes 
 I fear that the humble prayers of a 
 weak creature like myself may not 
 reach his mighty ear, I think of the 
 blades of grass, in which the wonders 
 of Providence can be seen even as
 
 34 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 they are in the sun itself, and I take 
 courage." 
 
 " I love God," said Sibylle. 
 
 " And he loves you, my dear." 
 
 " I do not know that," replied the 
 child. 
 
 Miss O'Neil looked at her atten- 
 tively. 
 
 "You have sad thoughts lately, 
 Sibylle." 
 
 "Very sad, Miss O'NeiL" And 
 tears filled the poor child's eyes. 
 
 "And will you not tell them to 
 me, my child ? " 
 
 " You have forbidden me to speak 
 to you of religion," said Sibylle, tim- 
 idly. 
 
 "Yes, my dear. There are cer- 
 tainly some great religious truths, 
 common to all thinking beings and 
 above all human controversy, upon 
 which I cannot but dwell, in the 
 course of my instructions ; but to 
 discuss with you any special point 
 of faith or doctrine would be a 
 want, on my part, of duty, gratitude, 
 and delicacy, in fact of common hon- 
 esty, after my promise to your grand- 
 parents ; and I never will do it. So 
 we will no longer speak of your 
 sorrows, since they are connected 
 with religious subjects. But I do 
 not understand this, my child, and 
 I fear you do not evince on this 
 point sufficient simplicity of heart 
 and humility of mind. To a good 
 child, it should be easy to adopt 
 with confidence the religion of its 
 parents ; certainly of parents such as 
 yours." 
 
 Sibylle bent down her head with- 
 out answering. Miss O'Neil rose. 
 
 " Come, let us take a run in the 
 woods, my dear," said she, smiling; 
 " that is more suitable for your age 
 than doctrinal discussions." 
 
 Sibylle kissed her, and they dis- 
 appeared together under the trees. 
 
 " Well, abbe* ? " said M. de Ferias, 
 crossing his Srms with a somewhat 
 triumphant air, looking at his com- 
 panion. 
 
 "Well, sir, it is clear that the 
 difficulty does not arise here." 
 
 " On the contrary, you see, abbe", 
 that Miss O'Neil comes to our aid. 
 After such an assurance as we have 
 received, to dismiss her would cer- 
 tainly be a great wrong." 
 
 "Assuredly, M. le Marquis. It 
 is plain that it is my incompetence 
 alone which causes the difficulty." 
 
 " No, no, my friend, it is not that. 
 It is only some childish fancy, 
 which will pass away." 
 
 The Marchioness, being consulted, 
 did not ask for the dismissal of Miss 
 O'Neil, but she proposed that they 
 should send Sibylle alone to pass a 
 few weeks with Mme. de Beaumesnil, 
 where the cure* might continue his 
 lessons with the certainty of no 
 counterbalancing influence. M. de 
 Ferias agreed to this plan. A fever 
 which had broken out among some 
 children living on the estate was to 
 furnish a pretext to Miss O'Neil and 
 Sibylle for the departure of the latter. 
 Her wardrobe was prepared, and 
 Mme. de Beaumesnil came in person 
 to fetch her. 
 
 Any trifling event which disturbs 
 the monotony of some existences is 
 hailed as a blessing. So it was on
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 35 
 
 the occasion of Sibylle's visit in the 
 Beaumesnil household. From the 
 Chinese saloon, where M. de Beau- 
 mesnil smiled perpetually at the 
 mandarins and the mandarins at 
 him, even to the kitchen, where 
 Mile. Constance speedily announced 
 the news, an air of gayety pervaded 
 the mansion. The first idea of the 
 chevalier Theodore on this great occa- 
 sion was to visit the cellar, and to 
 produce two bottles of old wine with 
 which to drink the health of Mile. 
 Ferias. 
 
 The dinner was soon announced, 
 and the conversation at the table 
 consisted of the gossip of the neigh- 
 borhood. Mme. de Beaumesnil in 
 general condemned most people, and 
 did not approve of the rest. Not 
 forgetful, however, of what she 
 deemed her especial duty, she min- 
 gled with her discourse some in- 
 structive legends intended for the 
 benefit of Sibylle, stories of a little 
 girl who, having neglected to say her 
 prayers, was drawn out of bed in the 
 night by the feet ; and of a little boy 
 who missed his catechism, and re- 
 ceived punishment from an invisible 
 hand. These fearful anecdotes, un- 
 fortunately, appeared to affect M. de 
 Beaumesnil much more than they did 
 Sibylle. Finally, at the dessert, the 
 chevalier Theodore sang some songs, 
 of which Sibylle only understood 
 that he was fond of dancing on the 
 green with the shepherdesses, which, 
 in fact, he sometimes did after ves- 
 pers. Becoming excited, he seized 
 the hands of Sibylle and of his 
 cousin Constance, and began to exe- 
 
 cute a sprightly step, which ended 
 with his throwing down a pile of 
 plates, and receiving, in consequence, 
 the epithet of " stupid animal " from 
 the lips of his affectionate sister. 
 
 Sibylle, who felt as if she had been 
 shipwrecked amongst a tribe of can- 
 nibals, was only too happy when the 
 hour came for her to retire to the 
 little bedroom of her friend Clotilde. 
 Burying her face in the pillows of 
 her bed, she wept long and bitterly. 
 
 The next morning the Abbe* 
 Ke"naud presented himself. The les- 
 son took place in the garden, Mme. 
 de Beaumesnil sitting near with her 
 knitting. To the great satisfaction 
 of the cure", the lesson passed with- 
 out the child raising the smallest ob- 
 jection. 
 
 Mme. de Beaumesnil now organ- 
 ized in the Chinese saloon a little 
 chapel, adorned with shells and de- 
 votional images, where the chevalier 
 sang vespers as he was accustomed 
 to sing them in the choir. Then 
 Mme. de Beaumesnil or Constance 
 would read aloud some devotional 
 book, frequently stopping to scold 
 the beggars who came into the court- 
 yard. The books they selected were 
 not of the number of those composed 
 by the great men and the saints of 
 the Church who have interpreted 
 truth to the human mind in lan- 
 guage worthy of their high subject. 
 On the contrary, it was usually some 
 mystical production, where all moral 
 and religious truth was buried under 
 the flowers of a refined symbolism. 
 
 Sometimes Sibylle, unable to catch 
 the sense of this verbiage, would fall
 
 36 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 asleep, and be suddenly awakened 
 by the formidable voice of the 'chev- 
 alier beginning a chant, sustained by 
 the contralto of Mme. de Beaumesnil 
 and the falsetto of Mile. Constance. 
 
 M. and Mme. de Ferias came one 
 day to dinner at the manor. Mme. 
 de Beaumesnil informed them of the 
 complete success of the experiment, 
 and of the submission of Sibylle, and 
 received in turn their affectionate 
 thanks. Sibylle was surprised not to 
 see Miss O'Neil with them, and her 
 grandmother replying that a slight 
 indisposition had kept her at home, 
 Mme. de Beaumesnil thought it ne- 
 cessary to express her hopes that Miss 
 O'Neil would not die of this sickness, 
 since, if she did, she must go straight 
 to hell. This painful proposition, 
 accompanied by some words of com- 
 passion, caused Sibylle to open her 
 eyes very wide indeed. Apparently 
 she found it difficult to imagine 
 Mme. de Beaumesnil, crowned with 
 glory, among the number of the elect, 
 while Miss O'Neil was to be plunged 
 into the depths of the abyss. 
 
 One evening, as Sibylle was pre- 
 paring for bed, Mme. de Beaumesnil 
 observed round her neck a little 
 medal her grandmother had given 
 the child. She examined it, and 
 said, "Take it off, my dear; I will 
 give you a better one." Mme. de 
 Beaumesnil had a large store of 
 medals, and she now bestowed one 
 of the handsomest ones on Sibylle. 
 
 "But I will keep my own, too," 
 said the child. 
 
 " You may do so, but do not be 
 surprised if yours should be changed 
 
 into lead; this sometimes happens 
 when a medal is jealous of her sis- 
 ter." 
 
 " How of her sister ! Of what 
 sister ? " cried the child, as if 
 alarmed. " But, madame, there is 
 only one Holy Virgin." 
 
 Mme. de Beaumesnil hesitatingly 
 answered, " Certainly ; but that is no 
 matter. Come, stop chattering now, 
 and get into bed and go to sleep." 
 
 Sibylle tried to sleep, but it was 
 some time before the confusion of 
 her ideas permitted her to do so. 
 
 After a visit of three weeks Sibylle 
 became as silent and gentle as a 
 dove, and was held up by her hostess 
 as a pattern of exemplary conduct. 
 Now, she declared, Mile, de Ferias 
 was perfectly prepared for the holy 
 duties of religion. 
 
 Great, therefore, was the surprise 
 of the lady, when one morning, at 
 the hour for the daily lesson on the 
 catechism, Sibylle announced her 
 determination not to take it ; it was 
 useless, she said, since she had de- 
 cided not to make her first commun- 
 ion this year. 
 
 At this astounding declaration 
 Mme. de Beaumesnil became as red 
 as a peony, while a marble paleness 
 overspread the features of the cure. 
 
 "And why, mademoiselle, if you 
 please, do you not intend to make 
 your first communion ? " said Mme. 
 de Beaumesnil in a hissing tone. 
 
 " I have ideas which do not per- 
 mit ine to do so, madame." 
 
 "What ideas? Come, will you 
 speak ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell them to you."
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 37 
 
 "Very well, mademoiselle. Ah, 
 how I would punish you if I were 
 your mother!" 
 
 " Happily, madame, you are not," 
 said Sibylle. 
 
 Mme. de Beaumesnil rose from her 
 seat. She could not annihilate her, 
 so she retired. 
 
 Half an hour after this the Abbe 
 Renaud, accompanied by Sibylle, who 
 had refused all explanation, entered 
 the castle of Ferias. The child went 
 to her room, while the poor cure, wip- 
 ing the tears from his eyes, presented 
 himself in the saloon. 
 
 On learning the strange determi- 
 nation of their granddaughter, M. and 
 Mme. de Ferias were overwhelmed 
 with grief. Their conscience, their 
 tenderness, their pride, all were 
 wounded, and Miss O'Neil, who was 
 present, shared in their sorrow. Si- 
 bylle was called, and she came imme- 
 diately. She was frightfully pale. 
 As she went up to her grandfather to 
 kiss him, the old man stopped her. 
 
 " My daughter," said he, " your ca- 
 resses are ill-timed while you are 
 breaking our hearts. I do not reproach 
 you for your thoughts, they are not 
 in your own power ; but your want 
 of confidence in us is unpardonable, 
 and I am obliged to tell you that I 
 have the right to insist upon an ex- 
 planation." 
 
 "While he was speaking Sibylle had 
 gazed on him with a fixed look She 
 opened her lips as if to speak ; then 
 she became almost livid, and fell 
 upon the floor. She was carried to 
 her bed, and an attack of fever en- 
 sued. On opening her eyes she saw 
 
 the Marquis and Marchioness bend- 
 ing tenderly over her. 
 
 " My darling," said her grandfather, 
 "I was wrong to press you so far. I 
 doubt not but you are sorry to afflict 
 us, and that your scruples arise from 
 a too great tenderness of conscience. 
 I trust God will remove these chi- 
 meras from your mind, and in the 
 mean time I grant you full liberty in 
 all that regards religion." 
 
 " How good you are ! " said Sibylle. 
 She passed her arm round the neck 
 of the old man, drew his white head 
 down on her pillow, and fell into a 
 tranquil sleep. 
 
 M. de Ferias, alarmed by the agi- 
 tation of her young mind, had, in 
 effect, resolved to respect these mys- 
 terious troubles, and even to remove 
 for a while the apparent cause of her 
 difficulties. From this time the les- 
 sons of the abbe were suspended. 
 Miss O'Neil was directed to avoid in 
 her instructions all exciting subjects, 
 and the Marquis even went so far as 
 to give Sibylle a dispensation for the 
 time from joining in religious ob- 
 servances. The following Sunday 
 there was spread throughout the 
 church of Fe'rias a feeling of pity 
 mingled with blame when the Mar- 
 quis and the Marchioness sorrowfully 
 took their places in their accustomed 
 seats, and between them was the 
 empty place of their granddaughter. 
 
 With these exceptions, things at 
 the castle resumed their usual course. 
 M. and Mme. de Fe'rias continued 
 their tranquil and benevolent course 
 of life. Sibylle and Miss O'Neil pur- 
 sued their studies and took their
 
 38 
 
 THE STOEY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 walks with their accustomed regu- 
 larity. All went on as usual, except- 
 ing that the countenances of the two 
 old people daily grew more sad, as if 
 the tears shed in the night had made 
 deeper wrinkles in their faces, and a 
 dark circle appeared to extend itself 
 under the eyes of the child, and her 
 fair head seemed bowed as if by a 
 heavy weight. Miss O'Neil, too, 
 daily seemed to become more thin 
 and angular. " Sir," said she to the 
 Abbe Kenaud, who, like a true Chris- 
 tian, continued his frequent visits to 
 the castle, "this unhappy enigma 
 will wear us all out. I pray God to 
 give us strength to endure it with 
 patience." 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE BARK. . 
 
 IT was a Sunday in the early part 
 of autumn. M. and Mme. de Fe'rias 
 were to dine at the parsonage, and 
 their carriage was to be sent there 
 for them after vespers. A little be- 
 fore the appointed hour the carriage 
 appeared, and Sibylle got out; she 
 had come to enjoy from the top of 
 the cliff the sight of the effect of an 
 unusually high tide, swelled by a 
 violent storm which, during the pre- 
 vious night, had raged upon the coast. 
 She climbed to the summit of a high 
 rock, and there she found Jacques 
 Fe'ray seated on the ground, his head 
 in his hands, gazing on the sea. 
 Sibylle touched him on the shoulder ; 
 he looked up angrily ; but seeing who 
 it was, he gently moved, as if to make 
 room for her, and she sat down beside 
 
 him. Below them raged the ocean, 
 stormy and terrible ; waves, moun- 
 tain high, crested with foam, were 
 dashing against the rocks ; and the 
 sighing of the wind mingled with the 
 distant sounds of the chants proceed- 
 ing from the church. A heavy autumn 
 sky, over which rushed masses of 
 dark clouds, added still more to the 
 gloom and desolation of the scene. 
 
 After a few moments of silent 
 contemplation, Sibylle took gently the 
 hand of the madman, who turned 
 and looked at her with anxious eyes. 
 
 " My poor Jacques," said she, " we 
 are very unhappy." 
 
 Jacques Feray shook his head in 
 sorrowful assent. 
 
 " God has forsaken us, my poor 
 Jacques ! " 
 
 Jacques looked at her as if greatly 
 astonished. 
 
 " You too ! " said he, in a low tone. 
 
 "Yes, he has forsaken me," said 
 the child. 
 
 Jacques, without rising, turned 
 towards the little church, at which 
 he shook his fist, then, shrugging his 
 shoulders, he resumed his former 
 position; Sibylle, too, sank into a 
 gloomy reverie. 
 
 She was suddenly roused by cries 
 which proceeded from the little 
 churchyard, and, rising, she saw a 
 group of people standing on the 
 church porch apparently in a state 
 of great excitement. Their eyes 
 were directed towards the ocean, and 
 Sibylle soon ascertained the cause of 
 their anxiety. It was a fisherman's 
 bark which had just rounded the 
 point of one of the rocks, and which
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 39 
 
 seemed to "be struggling violently 
 with the winds and waves. It had 
 lost a portion of its rigging, and 
 showed other signs of distress. Ap- 
 parently the little vessel belonged to 
 some neighboring port, being of a 
 larger size than those usually an- 
 chored in the little harbor of Fe'rias. 
 
 The intelligence soon caused the 
 little church to be deserted, and a 
 crowd of people, amongst whom was 
 seen the cure himself, still wearing 
 his priestly robes, rushed to the edge 
 of the cliff to watch the motions of 
 the bark. They could distinctly 
 descry the forms of three or four 
 men, some endeavoring to adjust the 
 remnants of the sails that were still 
 left, others throwing overboard the 
 cargo to lighten the vessel. They 
 could even hear their cries of distress, 
 and M. de Fe'rias and the cure*, greatly 
 moved at the sight of their misery, 
 entreated the village fishermen to 
 put out to their rescue ; but the most 
 liberal offers could not induce them 
 to consent ; they said no boat could 
 live in such a sea, and that, although 
 they pitied the poor strangers, they 
 were not willing to risk their own 
 lives for them. 
 
 For more than half an hour the 
 bark had been laboring to round a 
 point of rock, and at last she appeared 
 to have succeeded, and shouts of joy 
 arose among the crowd; but these 
 were soon changed into cries of ter- 
 ror and pity as the bark was dashed 
 violently back on the edge of the 
 rocks. She rose with the wave, and 
 was then thrown suddenly on her 
 side, from which she did not right 
 
 herself; and it seemed as if every 
 succeeding wave must dash her to 
 pieces and sweep off the unfortunate 
 human beings who clung to her deck 
 and masts, with only this frail refuge 
 from the boiling torrent which divided 
 them on one side from the land, and 
 the boundless depths of the ocean on 
 the other. A shuddering silence fell 
 upon the crowd assembled on the 
 cliff, only broken by the sobs of the 
 women. Suddenly one of them cried 
 out, " The cure." 
 
 The crowd murmured their ap- 
 proval ; the men took off their 
 hats, and all knelt down. Sibylle, 
 who had followed with all the ar- 
 dor of her soul every detail of the 
 scene, was astonished to see the im- 
 posing character of the expression 
 which had spread itself over the 
 countenance of the priest. He had 
 mounted a high point of rock ; his 
 gray hair waved in the wind, and his 
 pale face, raised towards heaven, wore 
 an almost sublime expression of sad- 
 ness and of faith. He raised one 
 hand in the direction of the ship- 
 wrecked men, and said, in a slightly 
 tremulous but distinct tone, "You 
 who are about to die, whom I do 
 not know, but who are known to 
 God, I give you absolution in the 
 name of the Father, and of the Son, 
 and of the Holy Ghost." Having 
 pronounced these words, he kneeled 
 down, and for some moments appeared 
 absorbed in prayer. When he arose 
 from his knees, he saw that the bark 
 still resisted the action of the waves, 
 although fearfully convulsed by the 
 repeated shocks. " But," said he, " God
 
 40 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 grants them a respite; can we do 
 nothing for them ? Are you quite 
 sure, my friends ? " 
 
 A negative murmur was the an- 
 swer. 
 
 "At least," said he, "we might 
 
 make some effort. My friends, come 
 
 with me to the beach. We can see 
 
 I better there. Eeally, this sight is 
 
 unbearable." 
 
 Hastily taking off his priestly 
 robes, he rapidly descended the path 
 which led to the shore, followed by 
 the crowd. 
 
 M. de Ferias, who had more than 
 once endeavored to induce Sibylle to 
 leave this painful scene, now insisted 
 on her returning to the castle; but 
 she entreated him to allow her to 
 remain, and follow the people to the 
 edge of the water. 
 
 From that point the aspect of the 
 sea was even more terrific ; but the 
 brave cure", looking on the sinking 
 bark, announced his determination to 
 go to her rescue. 
 
 " I will go alone, if I must," said 
 he, " but I will go " ; and, before any 
 attempt could be made to stop him, 
 he jumped into one of the boats 
 moored at the quay. This action 
 caused great agitation among the 
 crowd. Amongst the spectators was 
 'an old fisherman who had hitherto 
 shown but little emotion, in fact, 
 had displayed a cool indifference ; he 
 was considered the most experienced 
 sailor in the village, and when his 
 opinion had been asked, he had only 
 shrugged his shoulders without deign- 
 ing to reply. Now the old man 
 stopped pacing up and down, took 
 
 his pipe from his mouth, and, shaking 
 out the ashes, put it into his pocket. 
 
 " Since the cure" risks his life," 
 said he, " I risk mine." 
 
 He then jumped into the boat, and 
 began to unfasten her ; but this action 
 had excited an impulse of generous 
 sympathy among the crowd, and 
 several sailors, regardless of the en- 
 treaties of their wives, rushed for- 
 wards, crying out, " I will go ! " 
 
 The old fisherman replied, " Three 
 more besides the cure and myself 
 will be sufficient." 
 
 Three men immediately took the 
 oars, while the old fisherman placed 
 himself at the helm, and the boat 
 pushed off. For some moments, in 
 the comparatively calm waters of 
 the little basin, she rose and sank 
 with a sort of regularity of motion, 
 but soon after she had passed the 
 pier she became violently agitated, 
 now rising on the top of a crested 
 wave, now sinking into an abyss of 
 waters ; and, as night was rapidly 
 approaching, the anxious crowd soon 
 lost sight of her altogether in the 
 darkness of the fog. 
 
 The general anxiety, now height- 
 ened by doubts and conjectures, rose 
 to intensity almost unbearable, and 
 several women were carried away 
 fainting. M. and Mme. de Ferias at 
 first refused to yield to the entreaties 
 of Sibylle to be allowed to remain 
 longer ; but they consented when she 
 said to them, " Let me stay to the 
 last, and to-night I will tell you 
 everything. I will no longer have 
 any secrets from you." 
 
 In the midst, even, of events so
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 41 
 
 distressing, these words were wel- 
 comed by the Marquis und Mar- 
 chioness ; so, wrapping the child in 
 shawls and furs, they allowed her to 
 remain. 
 
 After an hour and a half of the 
 most intense dread and expectation, 
 a sailor on the watch heard a sound 
 which he declared was that of the 
 boat, and shortly afterwards it was 
 seen approaching in the dim light. 
 
 When it reached the quay, the de- 
 light of the spectators rose almost to 
 frenzy; they embraced each other, 
 they danced wildly around. A fire 
 was hastily kindled on the beach, 
 and by its light soon a man was 
 seen to jump from the boat and turn 
 to assist another, who was the curd. 
 The good man, wet, chilled, and over- 
 come by fatigue, could scarcely stand. 
 He was carried towards the fire, and 
 seated on a piece of wreck, while the 
 crowd surrounded him, trying to kiss 
 his hands, and even his clothes. In 
 a faint voice he murmured, " My 
 friends, my good friends!" and he 
 fainted. 
 
 When in a few moments he came 
 to himself, the first object that met 
 his eyes was the lovely face of Si- 
 bylle, seen by the light of the fire, 
 her beaming eyes fixed on him with 
 an ecstatic expression. When she 
 saw that he recognized her, she 
 sprang towards him, put her arms 
 round him, and said, " My good cure*, 
 how I love you ! " 
 
 To the heart of the old priest it 
 was as if an angel had descended 
 and said to him, " God is pleased 
 with you ! " 
 
 M. and Mme. de Farias, having 
 satisfied themselves that the ship- 
 wrecked mariners, who, happily, had 
 all been saved, would receive in the 
 village all the care necessary in their 
 condition, took the cure in their car- 
 riage to the parsonage, and then re- 
 turned to the castle with Sibylle. 
 
 " My child," said M. de Ferias, as 
 they descended from the carriage, 
 " you are fatigued now, shall we wait 
 till to-morrow to hear what you 
 have to tell us ? " 
 
 " no," said she, " you have 
 already waited too long, immedi- 
 ately." 
 
 A fire was kindled in the boudoir 
 of the Marchioness, and Sibylle, 
 seated at the feet of the two old 
 people, opened her heart. The read- 
 er has probably already divined the 
 truth. Sibylle had been wounded 
 in feelings of religious enthusi- 
 asm by the puerilities of a narrow- 
 minded devotion ; her taste had been 
 shocked and her judgment offended 
 by ill-chosen expressions and unbe- 
 coming practices, so that she had 
 come to doubt whether the religion 
 of her parents, and especially the re- 
 ligion of Mme. de Beaumesnil, were 
 worth that of Miss O'Neil; and 
 when this idea had once entered her 
 mind, she could not forget it. She 
 had been so unhappy she could 
 have wished to die. She then ac- 
 knowledged, that the sometimes 
 common manners of the curd had 
 displeased her, and that his appear- 
 ance had contrasted painfully in her 
 eyes with her ideal of a priest and 
 apostle ; but that evening, she said,
 
 42 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 the Abbe Renaud had appeared to 
 her as if transfigured. At the mo- 
 ment when he had invoked upon the 
 shipwrecked mariners the absolution 
 of Heaven, and when he had rushed 
 alone to their rescue, she had com- 
 prehended that only a sincere faith 
 and a devoted love of God could 
 inspire such actions, and that her 
 belief was now firmly fixed in the 
 religion of her forefathers. 
 
 The Marquis and Marchioness lis- 
 tened to her with a feeling of inex- 
 pressible relief. 
 
 "My darling," said M. de Fe'rias 
 to her when she had finished, until 
 then he had only interrupted her by 
 caresses and smiles, "my darling, 
 you always wish to ride the swan ; 
 you ask for the impossible, and I 
 fear it may be the difficulty of your 
 life. You now bring to the search 
 after truth, and I fear you may one 
 day bring to the search after happi- 
 ness, an ideal of perfection which is 
 truly elevated, but which it will be 
 difficult to realize. Eemember, my 
 child, that religion practised perfect- 
 ly would be heaven itself; but we 
 are on the earth, and the worship of 
 men can be but imperfect. There- 
 fore, my Sibylle, do not regard their 
 weakness and ignorance as crimes. 
 I too, my daughter, am far from ap- 
 proving all the forms in which de- 
 votion manifests itself ; some are not 
 to be praised, and others much to be 
 condemned. In my eyes, also, these 
 trivial practices, these superstitious 
 exaggerations, profane the pure altars 
 of religion. But my age is more tol- 
 erant than yours ; when you are 
 
 older you will have more indulgence, 
 more justice ; you will pardon much 
 to sincere hearts, you will even par- 
 don their superstition, since it is at 
 least an homage to truth. And now, 
 my daughter, go to sleep, and enjoy 
 yourself the peace and happiness 
 you have restored to our hearts." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 THE following morning the sun 
 shone brightly on the hills and 
 heaths as M. and Mme. de Fe'rias 
 drove at an early hour to the village, 
 to visit the shipwrecked sailors. On 
 their way they left Sibylle before 
 the gate of a little garden not far 
 from the church. Through the vines 
 of clematis and honeysuckle could 
 be seen a small house with flower- 
 beds in front. Sibylle rang the bell, 
 and the cure himself opened the 
 door. His sleeves were partially 
 rolled up, and he had in his hand a 
 spade, which he dropped at the sight 
 of Sibylle. 
 
 "Is it you, my dear young lady?" 
 said he. 
 
 " Yes, my father, I have come to 
 take my lesson in the catechism." 
 
 The curb's eyes filled with tears. 
 " Is it possible ? " said he, " Come 
 in, my dear child." 
 
 Then, suddenly remembering that 
 his hands were stained from his 
 work, he called out. " Marianne ! 
 quick, bring me some water." 
 
 The old woman came, apparently 
 not in the best of humors.
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 43 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said she, ironi- 
 cally, after saluting Sibylle, " does he 
 not look well this morning, after his 
 pranks and his follies ? He has the 
 complexion of a corpse." 
 
 " Bah ! " replied the cure", gayly ; 
 " on the contrary, I am as fresh as a 
 rose." 
 
 "Much like a rose!" said Mari- 
 anne, in a grumbling tone, as she re- 
 tired. 
 
 The abbe laughed, and seated Si- 
 bylle near him, on a bench shaded by 
 a large fig-tree. She immediately 
 put into his hands her catechism, 
 which she had brought with her. 
 
 " But, my child, will you first ex- 
 plain to me by what miracle you have 
 returned to me ? " 
 
 " You worked the miracle yourself, 
 my father. Since last evening I re- 
 gard you as a saint." 
 
 " my dear child ! " said the old 
 man, blushing. 
 
 She then related to him her im- 
 pressions of the previous night, and 
 while she was speaking the abbe fre- 
 quentty applied his large red hand- 
 kerchief to his eyes. 
 
 "But will you tell me," said he, 
 " what was the cause of your aliena- 
 tion from the faith ? " 
 
 Sibylle told him, but she did not 
 speak on this point with the same 
 frankness. She spoke a little vaguely 
 of the practices and the speeches 
 which had shocked her. She named 
 the Beaumesnil family and other 
 bigots of their stamp; then she 
 stopped short, and cast down her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Come, my daughter," said the 
 
 cure, kindly, " go on. It is my turn, 
 now. I beg you to continue." 
 
 Thus urged, Sibylle confessed to 
 him the causes which had separated 
 her from him. For her, she said, a 
 priest was a sacred, mysterious per- 
 sonage, above human weaknesses, 
 occupied with saintly meditations, 
 placed on the steps of the altar, be- 
 tween God and man. She would wish 
 him only to appear in the church, un- 
 der the cloud of incense, and to spend 
 the remainder of his time in visiting 
 the poor and the sick It was diffi- 
 cult for her to feel proper reverence 
 for a man whom she habitually saw 
 eating and drinking, playing games, 
 and reading newspapers. Besides, 
 she thought, in this familiar inter- 
 course with his parishioners, some- 
 times the priest appeared their social 
 inferior, instead of their spiritual su- 
 perior ; and that he was, thereby, led 
 to tolerate practices and expressions 
 he would otherwise have reproved. 
 In short, these circumstances had led 
 her into a wrong and unjust estimate 
 of his character; but the events of 
 the previous evening had opened her 
 eyes. She asked his pardon for hav- 
 ing misunderstood him, and assured 
 him that henceforward nothing could 
 ever diminish her respect and affec- 
 tion for him. 
 
 During this explanation, of which 
 we have given only the substance, 
 the countenance of the Abbe Eenaud 
 had assumed a grave and anxious, 
 even a sad, expression. His intellect, 
 slow but not weak, appeared to re- 
 ceive a new light, which partly daz- 
 zled him. In the tenderness of his
 
 44 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 conscience he rather exaggerated than 
 excused his shortcomings, and, re- 
 viewing in his mind the course of his 
 pastoral career, he asked himself 
 whether the lukewarm feelings of 
 many of his flock might not have 
 been caused by his failures in duty, 
 by which he had compromised the 
 prestige and effect of his authority 
 in sacred things. He resolved in his 
 heart that he would do all in his 
 power to repair his negligence, that 
 he would shake off his habits of in- 
 dolence, fortify his mind by study 
 and meditation, and purify his life 
 by self-denial. These worthy reso- 
 lutions lent to his features and to the 
 tones of his voice a touching dignity, 
 when, after a few moments of silent 
 reflection, he answered Sibylle thus : 
 "I thank you, my daughter. I' am 
 no longer young, but at any age we 
 can become better, and, by the help 
 of God, I will do so." 
 
 Sibylle's ideal of the priestly life 
 and character was not altogether a 
 new one to the Abbe* Re"naud. He 
 could look back to the days of his 
 youth, when similar noble aspirations 
 had filled his heart, but he had 
 gradually allowed himself, by giving 
 way to his constitutional defects, to 
 take a lower standard ; but it needed 
 only an exceptional circumstance like 
 this to rekindle in his soul the flame 
 of devotion ; .and the old man, habit- 
 ually timid and loving his ease, still 
 had in him the elements *of the 
 martyr. 
 
 It was, indeed, a cold and patient 
 martyrdom, recurring every day and 
 hour, to which he devoted himself. 
 
 Already Sibylle could observe in his 
 language and manner something of 
 the higher tone which she had desired, 
 as also in the lesson which followed 
 their explanation. 
 
 The Marquis and Marchioness now 
 arrived, and interchanged warm con- 
 gratulations with the cure. These 
 were interrupted by the loud ringing 
 of the bell of the gate, and Mme. 
 de Beaumesnil appeared, carrying an 
 enormous bouquet of artificial flowers. 
 After friendly salutations, she de- 
 manded from the abbe the key of 
 the church, in order to place her 
 flowers upon the altar. 
 
 " Madame," he replied, " if you will 
 allow me, I will myself place them 
 on the altar. It appears to me more 
 proper." 
 
 Mme. de Beaumesnil looked at him 
 as if petrified ; she had been accus- 
 tomed to be so busy in the church, 
 dusting, ornamenting, and arranging, 
 that she could not understand this, 
 and answered in a sharp tone, 
 " My dear abbe", do you wish me no 
 longer to employ myself in the deco- 
 ration of the church ? " 
 
 "All that you give me for that 
 purpose, madame, I will receive most 
 gratefully ; but, if you will reflect as 
 I have reflected on this subject, you 
 will see that the dignity of worship 
 suffers by too great familiarity with 
 sacred things. The altar should be 
 my care alone ; give me your flowers, 
 and I will offer them in your name." 
 
 Madame de Beaumesnil flourished 
 her bouquet indignantly, and, instead 
 of handing it to the curd, went towards 
 the well and threw it down. After
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 45 
 
 this exploit, she fell on a bench and 
 burst into tears. They tried to calm 
 her, and she yielded to the affection- 
 ate remonstrances of the cure, and 
 even ended by asking him to dinner ; 
 but he refused, as he had also declined 
 the invitation of the Marquis, giving 
 for a reason the state of his health. 
 
 In his parsonage the abb<$ sat down 
 to his lonely repast, which was ex- 
 tremely meagre, and even refused the 
 cup of coffee which the faithful Mari- 
 anne brought at the close of the 
 meal. 
 
 During the weeks and months 
 which followed, the Abbe* Eenaud 
 continued, both at home and abroad, 
 to follow the system he had laid 
 down for himself. He shut himself 
 up a great deal in his parsonage, and 
 it was known that he led there the 
 self-denying life of an anchorite. He 
 discontinued his habit of familiar 
 visits, and although this was at first 
 a matter of complaint in the parish, 
 the consequence was a kind of solem- 
 nity and reverence attached to his 
 presence when he did appear. Be- 
 sides the increase of public respect, 
 he gained the great advantage of a 
 perfect independence. He allowed 
 no interference in matters relating 
 to the church, and reformed many 
 abuses which had crept in. Amongst 
 these was the manner in which the 
 chevalier Theodore Desrozais was in 
 the habit of singing in the choir, 
 where he had been accustomed to 
 indulge in a familiarity far from 
 becoming; even going sometimes so 
 far as to amuse the audience by looks 
 and words. The cur had always 
 
 disliked this license, and now, find- 
 ing that some serious reproofs were 
 not sufficient to stop it, he ended by 
 forbidding the chevalier to take part 
 in the singing. This measure, added 
 to some other pastoral admonitions, 
 so exasperated the chevalier that the 
 following Sunday he absented him- 
 self from church, and sent word to 
 the cur<$ that he had borrowed from 
 the judge the works of Voltaire. 
 After a few weeks, however, of these 
 philosophical studies, an attack of 
 gout brought him to a better state of 
 mind ; he sent back Voltaire to the 
 judge, and requested a visit from the 
 cure, who lost no time in complying 
 with his wish. The reconciliation 
 between the frivolous old chevalier 
 and his pastor was sincere, for at 
 heart he was not a bad man; but 
 this incident increased the resent- 
 ment which Mme. de Beaumesnil 
 had entertained against the cure* ever 
 since the affair of the bouquet, and 
 she endeavored in every way to un- 
 dermine his influence in the parish, 
 but without success. 
 
 The knowledge, however, of her 
 machinations, in addition to the in- 
 creased labor and the rigor of the 
 ascetic life now led by the Abbe 
 Renaiicl, produced a visible alteration 
 in the health and spirits of the good 
 old man. Sibylle grew uneasy when 
 she saw him begin to assume the 
 physical appearance of those legen- 
 dary satnts whose virtues she had 
 admired. She consulted, by the ad- 
 vice of her grandparents, his faithful 
 servant Marianne, whose accounts 
 did not tend to reassure her.
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 One day, as the cure* was finishing 
 his hermit-like repast, he perceived 
 in the apartment an aroma now be- 
 come unusual to him, and, at the 
 same time, Marianne placed before 
 him a steaming cup of coffee. 
 
 "But, Marianne," said he, "you 
 know very well I have left off drink- 
 ing coffee." 
 
 " Bah ! " said the old woman, with 
 a grimace ; " when you know who 
 has prepared this coffee, I will answer 
 for it you will take it." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said the 
 surprised cure*. 
 
 The smiling apparition of Sibylle 
 in the doorway of the room ex- 
 plained the mystery. 
 
 From that time the Abbe* Re*naud 
 observed an extraordinary develop- 
 ment of culinary talent in Marianne, 
 for, without any increased expendi- 
 ture, the dishes she placed before 
 
 him were much more nourishing and 
 palatable. 
 
 He complimented her on the im- 
 provement; she only shrugged her 
 shoulders without making any answer. 
 
 Meanwhile the course of religious 
 instruction Sibylle had been receiv- 
 ing drew to a close. 
 
 Her first communion took place on 
 the first of May; the weather was 
 mild and lovely. 
 
 Jacques Feray stationed himself 
 in the churchyard to see Sibylle 
 pass, all in white, like a daisy in 
 fresh bloom. She smiled on him as 
 she passed, and, for the first time in 
 fifteen years, Jacques Fe"ray stepped 
 over the threshold of the church ; he 
 remained near the door, but listened 
 attentively throughout the ceremony, 
 and towards the close, thinking 
 doubtless of his little dead daughter, 
 now an angel in heaven, he shed tears. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 CLOTILDE. 
 
 WE shall not pause long over the 
 three or four years which succeeded 
 Sibylle's first communion. They 
 were spent in perfect peace for her- 
 self, and for all those by whom she 
 was surrounded. Her talents for 
 study, for music, for painting, were 
 cultivated to the greatest advantage 
 by Miss O'Neil, and her grandparents 
 were delighted with the results. Her 
 
 mind, also, as it was developed by 
 time and experience, lost somewhat 
 of that character of severity which 
 had been the defect of her childhood. 
 The womanly heart was now begin- 
 ning to beat within her, as shown by 
 her more gentle and tender manner. 
 
 The influence of Sibylle over the 
 mind of the cure still continued. 
 Mile, de Ferias could now sometimes 
 smile herself at the excess of her 
 former zeal. Instead of urging the 
 old man to the path of an ascetic
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 47 
 
 life, she frequently employed inno- 
 cent stratagems to induce him to 
 abate something of the rigor of his 
 solitude and his abstinence. 
 
 Still, on all points which appeared 
 to her essential to the dignity of re- 
 ligion, she continued inflexible, and 
 the docility with which the Abbd 
 Renaud followed her advice on these 
 subjects was frequently a matter of 
 amusement to M. de Ferias in his 
 conversations with the Marchioness. 
 " My dear," he would say, laughingly, 
 " she is a spiritualist, and she wants 
 to spiritualize all the parish." 
 
 And, indeed, in consequence of the 
 suggestions of Sibylle and the praise- 
 worthy efforts of the abbe*, the wor- 
 ship in the parish of Fe'rias was con- 
 ducted with an unusual purity and 
 dignity, by which the authority of 
 the doctrine was confirmed and es- 
 tablished. 
 
 About this time Sibylle had the 
 pleasure of making the acquaintance 
 of the Countess de Vergnes, her ma- 
 ternal grandmother. The Count de 
 Vergnes, twice since the birth of his 
 granddaughter, had had the courage 
 to tear himself away from his Paris- 
 ian life to come and pass three or 
 four days at Ferias. Sibylle, there- 
 fore, knew him well, and she was 
 fond of him , for he was. kind and 
 amiable, and, besides, her recollection 
 of him was associated in her mind 
 with bonbons, magnificent dolls, and 
 beautiful pearl necklaces ; but she re- 
 gretted never to see him accompanied 
 by her grandmother De Vergnes, who, 
 under the pretext of her exquisite 
 sensibility, had delayed her visit from 
 
 year to year. When, however, she 
 did at last arrive she appeared to 
 bear the meeting with equanimity, 
 and, turning to her maid, said, " See, 
 Julie, I was just so at fifteen. I feel 
 quite overcome." And she embraced 
 Sibylle with some appearance of a 
 tear. 
 
 For the first twenty-four hours 
 one might have imagined Mme. de 
 Vergnes was tempted to take up her 
 abode at Ferias, so delighted did she 
 appear to be with the country ; the 
 woods, the sea, the meadows, the 
 singing of the birds, all threw her 
 into a state of ecstasy. " Ah ! " said 
 she to her hosts, "how happy you 
 are to be able to live here ! You do 
 not realize your happiness. This 
 calm, this silence, and then the sound 
 of the wind among the trees, and the 
 sight of the cattle feeding at a dis- 
 tance ! And these little pheasants, 
 these little yellow creatures running 
 after their mother ! ' Not pheasants ? 
 chickens,' do you say ? 0, how in- 
 teresting it all is ! Yes, this is the 
 true life ! Nature, the country ! 
 Ah, you are indeed happy to live 
 here ! " 
 
 Nevertheless, the third morning 
 after her arrival, Mme. de Vergnes 
 confided to the discreet Julie that 
 she had not closed her eyes the night 
 before. " Really," said she, " I can- 
 not conceive how they are able to 
 sleep in this country. I am not used 
 to these noises. These birds, who 
 begin to chatter from the break of 
 day! Certainly, I love the singing 
 of birds; but then there is a time 
 for everything ! And then the sheep
 
 48 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 bleating, and the cattle lowing ! One 
 might fancy one's self in the ark! 
 And then, nothing but green forever 
 before one's eyes ! It is enough to 
 disgust one with green ! I believe I 
 am turning green myself ! Give me 
 my little hand-glass, my good Julie. 
 It is no wonder, indeed, after such a 
 night ! " 
 
 At last, on the fourth day, Mme. 
 de Vergnes received a letter which 
 recalled her in haste to Paris. She 
 expressed her bitter regret, and at 
 midday took her departure. "My 
 dear child," said she, as she took 
 leave of her granddaughter, "we 
 must keep up our spirits ; we will not 
 have a scene. Soon you, also, must 
 quit this paradise to come to the city. 
 Such is life ! Adieu, my dear child, 
 adieu ! " 
 
 Sibylle's strength of mind ap- 
 peared sufficient to sustain her under 
 the grief of this distressing separa- 
 tion; at any rate, she had now the 
 consolation of the society of her old 
 friend, Clotilde Desrozais, who had, 
 some time before, returned home 
 from her convent life. She had amply 
 realized the promise of her child- 
 hood. She was tall, willowy, grace- 
 ful. She had heavy masses of beau- 
 tiful black hair, which she braided, 
 twisted, curled, or wove into a dia- 
 dem for her beautifully shaped head. 
 Her arms, her hands, her shoulders, 
 white as marble, seemed modelled 
 after the antique. Under her some- 
 what heavy eyelids her velvet-black 
 eyes shone with a brilliant light. As 
 to her character, Clotilde seemed, in- 
 deed, greatly improved; the noisy, 
 
 obstinate, turbulent child appeared 
 transformed into a timid, modest 
 young person, speaking little and in a 
 low tone, obliging and ready for every- 
 thing ; in fact, a model young lady. 
 
 Sibylle was delighted with this 
 change; she became very fond of 
 Clotilde, and an almost daily inter- 
 course was established between them. 
 Sibylle was enthusiastic about her 
 friend's beauty ; she loved to dress 
 her as a druidess, a Roman lady, 
 a Jewess, a Circassian ; and then to 
 draw or paint her in these various 
 costumes, saying, in her artistic en- 
 thusiasm, " No, you are too beautiful, 
 you are frightfully beautiful, ridicu- 
 lously beautiful." 
 
 Clotilde appeared to share all the 
 favorite tastes and pursuits of Mile, 
 de Ferias, and made herself the echo of 
 her ideas, her dreams, her opinions; for 
 she had a fund of passionate emotion 
 always ready to expend itself upon 
 something, and sometimes the ardor 
 of her aspirations towards excellence 
 appeared to surpass even that of 
 Sibylle. 
 
 In their familiar intercourse, Sibylle 
 could not but remark that, when they 
 happened to touch upon any senti- 
 mental subject, Mile. Desrozais im- 
 mediately would assume an attitude 
 of profound melancholy, of deep de- 
 spair. She inquired the reason of 
 all this. 
 
 " You are too young to understand, 
 my dear ! " replied Mile. Desrozais, 
 shaking her head and sighing deeply. 
 
 This answer, as may be imagined, 
 only the more excited the curiosity 
 of Sibylle, who, guessing a romance
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 49 
 
 in the history of her friend, entreated 
 her to honor her immediately with her 
 confidence. Clotilde at first refused ; 
 but, at length, after making Sibylle 
 swear to a profound secrecy, " My 
 dear," said she, " I never shall marry." 
 
 " Is it possible ? " said Sibylle, 
 drawing nearer, with redoubled in- 
 terest. 
 
 " Yes, it is certain," returned Mile. 
 Desrozais ; " for I love some one, and 
 he whom I love and by whom I am 
 beloved cannot marry me ; circum- 
 stances separate us forever." 
 
 " Dreadful ! " cried Sibylle ; " but 
 what is the reason ? "Where did you 
 meet him ? What is his name ? " 
 
 " I can tell you only his Christian 
 name ; it is Eaoul. Why do you 
 blush ? " 
 
 At this name of Eaoul, Sibylle had, 
 indeed, suddenly blushed deeply. 
 
 " Why do you blush ? " repeated 
 Clotilde, quickly ; " do you know any 
 one named Eaoul ? Answer me." 
 
 " I blush because you speak of 
 things which interest me. Where 
 could I have known your Eaoul ? " 
 
 "Yes, you certainly cannot know 
 him. Well, my dear, he had a cousin 
 in the convent, whom he used fre- 
 quently to come and see with his 
 mother. His appearance interested 
 me at once. I must tell you he was 
 not a very young man, so that I 
 imagined myself alone in my admira- 
 tion of him, and did not suppose the 
 other young ladies had remarked him. 
 I was undeceived, however ; one day 
 we wanted to play at some game ; 
 one of the young ladies proposed that 
 each of us should write on a piece of 
 
 paper the name of the young man 
 among the number of those in the 
 habit of coming to the convent whom 
 she would choose to marry, and after- 
 wards that these names should be 
 read aloud." 
 
 "It was a singular game," said 
 Sibylle. 
 
 " It was as good as any other. 
 Well, we decided to play this game. 
 Each wrote a name upon a piece of 
 paper, and put it into a basket. Well, 
 when the slips of paper were read 
 aloud, they all contained the same 
 name, Eaoul ! " 
 
 " It was singular," replied Sibylle, 
 coldly. 
 
 " I saw, therefore, that I was not 
 alone in my opinion of him. Some 
 days afterwards, my dear, I happened 
 to meet him in the parlor, and I 
 observed he looked a great deal at 
 me. His cousin, who was a friend 
 of mine, suddenly rose, and, coming 
 across the room to the place where I 
 was standing, said to me, hastily, 
 ' Do not stir for a few moments.' I 
 then saw he had a portfolio on his 
 knee, and that he was sketching. I 
 must tell you he paints beautifully. 
 When he had finished, he made an 
 inclination of the head, and thanked 
 me with his eyes in the most grace- 
 ful manner. As I went out of the 
 room I dropped a pair of gloves I 
 held in my hand. He picked them 
 up, seemed to hesitate, and at last, 
 instead of returning them to me, he 
 put them in his pocket, at the same 
 time fixing his eyes upon mine with 
 an expression so deep and touching 
 that my heart almost stopped beating,
 
 50 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 and I felt that from that time we 
 were bound together for life." 
 
 " Is that all ?" asked Sibylle. 
 
 " Certainly. Is anything more 
 necessary ? Have I not told you we 
 are bound for life ? " 
 
 " I think not," said Sibylle. 
 
 "You child!" returned Mile. 
 Desrozais. "Know, then, that a 
 week afterwards my friend informed 
 me, with an air of mystery, that her 
 cousin, urged by his family to form 
 a marriage with a young girl of no- 
 ble birth, and very beautiful and 
 rich, had suddenly gone away to 
 travel in Persia. It was suspected, 
 added my friend, with a malicious 
 glance, for in reality, she did not 
 love me so much as I had supposed, 
 that he had conceived a fancy for 
 a person without birth or fortune. 
 Is it not clear now ? Poor Raoul 
 it was for me had braved the 
 hardships of exile, perhaps of dan- 
 ger; for sometimes those who go to 
 those distant lands never return. 
 Well, you may laugh at me, Sibylle, 
 but I consider myself as his widow, 
 and I often weep over the sad fate 
 that separates us." 
 
 A few charming tears accompanied 
 the last words of Clotilde, and Sibylle, 
 quite convinced, kissed them away, 
 and tried to console her. 
 
 This confidential conversation be- 
 tween the young girls had taken 
 place in one of the most remote and 
 retired avenues of the park. They 
 were suddenly surprised at hearing 
 the sound of voices near them, and 
 almost at the same time a hunting- 
 dog ran towards the bench where 
 
 they were sitting, and seemed desir- 
 ous of making their acquaintance. 
 
 " Who can be coming ? " said Clo- 
 tilde, hastily rising ; " whose can this 
 beautiful dog be ? " 
 
 Just then the Marquis and Mar- 
 chioness of Fe'rias appeared in sight, 
 accompanied by a strange lady, no 
 longer young, and by a young 
 man with light hair and a slender 
 figure, elegantly dressed, and who 
 was twisting a riding-whip in his 
 lilac-gloved hands. At this appari- 
 tion the inconsolable widow of poor 
 Raoul passed her hand rapidly over 
 her tearful eyes, her curls, her plaits, 
 her skirts, and in two seconds she 
 was equipped for the combat. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Sibylle, quietly, 
 "these are probably the Val-Ches- 
 nays. My grandmother has been 
 expecting them." 
 
 Sibylle had now attained her six- 
 teenth year, and her future interests 
 seemed to require that before long 
 should take place her introduction to 
 the world, and to Parisian life. M. 
 and Mme. de Ferias, although they 
 had made up their minds to the sac- 
 rifice of parting with her, still felt 
 deeply the hardship of it. The 
 only way of preventing a separation,- 
 probably a lifelong one for them, 
 was to form for their granddaughter 
 an alliance and establishment in their 
 own neighborhood; but, after some 
 inquiries in the narrow circle to 
 which their retired life confined 
 them, they had renounced this vague 
 idea, which also, it appeared to them, 
 might be prompted by a selfish mo- 
 tive.
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 51 
 
 However, a friend, who was the 
 confidant of their sorrowful feel- 
 ings on this point, had also made 
 some inquiries. It was the bishop 
 
 of , who took a lively interest in 
 
 the welfare of Sibylle, and who one 
 day announced to the Marquis that 
 he had found for her a husband who 
 appeared to him a phoenix. 
 
 "I have been searching for this 
 rare bird," wrote he, " throughout my 
 diocese, during my pastoral visita- 
 tions, and lo ! I have found it at my 
 own door. It is the young Baron de 
 Val-Chesnay, last representative of 
 the Val-Chesnay Merinville, a name 
 not equal to your own, my Lord 
 Marquis, but still a very good one. 
 His fortune is immense, at least 
 equal to that of your granddaughter. 
 Eoland is a handsome young man, 
 hardly twenty-four years old, but 
 that is a good fault ; and then, Mile, 
 de Farias is young, and there is no 
 haste. His mother is a saint, not an 
 eagle in mind, but a saint. She has 
 brought up her son, under her own 
 wing, in the best of principles ; she 
 has never left him. She is now in 
 precisely the same dilemma as your- 
 selves ; she fears not to be able to 
 marry her son in the neighborhood, 
 and she trembles at the idea of his 
 plunging into the vortex of Parisian 
 life. As for the young man, I will 
 not say too much about him person- 
 ally, but certainly he appears very 
 well. Indeed, I think I have made 
 a fortunate discovery." 
 
 M. and Mme. de Ferias received 
 this welcome communication with 
 delight. A few days after they were 
 
 introduced to Madame de Val-Ches- 
 nay and her son in the drawing-room 
 of the episcopal palace. The two 
 mothers, both feeling the same anxi- 
 ties, soon became cordial and confi- 
 dential, and before they parted the 
 Val-Chesnays had accepted an invi- 
 tation to pass a week or two at the 
 castle of Ferias, in order that the 
 two young persons might be made 
 acquainted, and that it might be seen 
 whether their own hearts would lead 
 them towards the fulfilment of the 
 wishes of their relatives. 
 
 During these preliminary negotia- 
 tions, M. and Mme. de Ferias had 
 taken the greatest possible pains to 
 conceal from Sibylle all knowledge 
 of these delicate negotiations; they 
 had used a plausible pretext for their 
 visit to the Val-Chesnays, of whom 
 Sibylle had heard them speak, but 
 whom she had never seen. Distrust- 
 ing themselves on account of their 
 great personal interest in the result 
 of this affair, they resolved not to 
 influence their granddaughter in any 
 way by their own opinion. Sibylle 
 was far from suspecting anything, for 
 the idea of marriage had never pre- 
 sented itself to her mind, excepting 
 as a termination to a residence, more 
 or less prolonged, at the Hotel de 
 Vergnes. It was therefore only with 
 a certain curiosity, but with a per- 
 fect serenity, that Mile, de Farias 
 saw appear on her hereditary do- 
 mains the young man who advanced 
 towards her with the riding-whip in 
 his hand. The young Baron, ap- 
 parently better instructed than her- 
 self, blushed slightly as he saluted
 
 52 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 her, and Mine, de Val-Chesnay, after 
 examining her with a maternal eye, 
 received her with a warmth of man- 
 ner which appeared singular to Si- 
 bylle. 
 
 At the termination of a walk in 
 which Mile, de Ferias took pains to 
 lead the way towards the most inter- 
 esting sites of the park, they visited 
 the hothouses and the fairy-like 
 poultry-yard. During these explora- 
 tions, the gentle gayety, the animated 
 conversation of Sibylle, the sim- 
 plicity and taste with which she 
 pointed out the beauties of the place, 
 entirely gained her the heart of the 
 old lady, who occasionally cast on 
 her son glances of happiness and tri- 
 umph. M. and Mme. de Ferias, too, 
 seeing the favorable impression made 
 by their granddaughter, were also 
 delighted. The young Baron him- 
 self, whose appearance was distingue, 
 but cold and phlegmatic, gave evident 
 signs of satisfaction, but he would 
 have considered it beneath his dig- 
 nity to manifest an unconventional 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 A faint smile spread itself over his 
 lips, which he sometimes deigned to 
 open, in order to let fall, like morsels 
 of ice, the words, " Charming ! deli- 
 cious ! ideal ! " 
 
 Clotilde alone seemed left out of 
 this happy group ; she followed some 
 steps behind, sometimes caressing the 
 dog of the Baron, sometimes appear- 
 ing plunged into a deep melancholy, 
 although none of the furtive glances 
 which her striking beauty attracted 
 from the imperturbable young man 
 were lost upon her. Mile. Desrozais 
 
 dined at the castle with her aunt. 
 After dinner the two young friends 
 went into the library, which was 
 also a studio. Sibylle immediately 
 began to draw something on a piece 
 of tinted paper, replying with vague 
 words of assent to the unmeasured 
 praises bestowed by Clotilde upon 
 the new guests. 
 
 " But, seriously now, my dear," said 
 Clotilde, after a silent pause, " what 
 do you think of him ? " 
 
 " M. de Val-Chesnay ? O, charm- 
 ing ! delicious ! ideal ! " replied Si- 
 bylle, with a droll imitation of the 
 Baron. 
 
 " Do not deceive yourself, my dear," 
 said Clotilde ; " he is a husband for 
 you." 
 
 Sibylle opened her eyes very wide, 
 then burst out laughing. 
 
 " Bah ! " said she, what folly ! see, 
 it is finished." And, presenting to 
 Clotilde the sketch she had hastily 
 made, " See ! " said she ; " here he 
 is, my husband ! " 
 
 It was in reality impossible to mis- 
 take M. de Val-Chesnay, with his 
 blonde whiskers and hair falling over 
 his shoulders, a marked line dividing 
 the top of his head, a collar of a 
 metallic stiffness, and a blue cravat 
 covered with immense round spots. 
 This absurd head was supported by 
 a body faintly traced, but from which 
 appeared an enormous pair of lilac 
 gloves, and the lower limbs were in 
 the stiffest possible of positions. Clo- 
 tilde, on seeing this grotesque image, 
 was convulsed with laughter. 
 
 As soon as she could speak, " Do 
 give it to me, I beg of you," said she.
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 53 
 
 " Take it, then," said Sibylle. 
 "Thank you, my good little Si- 
 bylle." 
 
 Meanwhile Miss O'Neil had been 
 exhibiting to Mme. de Val-Chesnay 
 some paintings of her pupil, which 
 the Baroness admired enthusiasti- 
 cally, and the young Eoland uttered 
 from the height of his necktie the 
 epithet "masterly." When Sibylle 
 returned to the drawing-room, she 
 was entreated to fill up the measure 
 of delight by executing something 
 for them on the harp, which M. Ro- 
 land de Val-Chesnay, a little more 
 expansive after dinner, qualified as 
 "ideal, not only," he said, "on ac- 
 count of its beauty of form, but be- 
 cause, when well played, it was really 
 a charming instrument." 
 
 It would have been difficult to 
 resist entreaties so eloquent as 
 these, and Mile, de Ferias did not 
 resist. 
 
 At her harp Sibylle looked really 
 lovely. She was dressed that even- 
 ing in white, with wide falling sleeves. 
 Her graceful figure, her beautifully 
 shaped head with its crown of golden 
 tresses, her eyes so full of depth and 
 expression, gave her an almost se- 
 raphic appearance. The word " angel " 
 seemed not inapplicable in looking at 
 her. However, the character of her 
 beauty, rather intellectual than physi- 
 cal, was not exactly the kind to im- 
 press a mind so little aesthetic as was 
 that of the last of the Val-Chesnays. 
 When Sibylle had finished he gently 
 applauded the performance with his 
 lilac gloves, and thought, in his heart, 
 that his fiancte was rather thin. Im- 
 
 mediately afterwards, Sibylle, who 
 not been satisfied with seeing her 
 friend Clotilde all day in the back- 
 ground, begged her to sit down to the 
 piano. Clotilde, after a little press- 
 ing, consented. She took off her 
 gloves with an absent air, waved for 
 an instant her magnificent arms un- 
 der the whiskers of the young Baron, 
 who was near the piano, and, after 
 running a few chords, began, in a fine 
 contralto voice, to sing an air of Doni- 
 zetti, mon Fernand I in which 
 she excelled. She sang it, indeed, 
 and especially that evening, with an 
 accent of passionate melancholy, the 
 effect of which was greatly height- 
 ened by her expressive paleness, her 
 deep, swimming eyes, her quivering 
 nostril, the graceful bend of her 
 beautiful figure. The effect was not 
 lost upon M. de Val-Chesnay, who, 
 standing in front of her and behind 
 the piano, received a liberal portion 
 of the glances addressed to the ima- 
 ginary Spaniard. Never before had 
 the young man been exposed to such 
 a battery of looks. Clotilde ceased 
 to sing, but his cold gray eye was 
 still fixed upon her, and his half- 
 opened mouth and bending attitude 
 showed that, for the moment, he had 
 really forgotten himself and conven- 
 tional observances. He could not 
 find words to compliment Mile. Des- 
 rozais, notwithstanding the real pleas- 
 ure she had given him ; but he hastily 
 took off his gloves, in order to help 
 her look for a piece of music in a 
 portfolio. It was not surprising if, 
 in the course of the search, he hap- 
 pened to touch her hand.
 
 THE STOKY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 It would be a mistake to suppose 
 that, when Mile. Desrozais was dis- 
 playing all her powers of fascination 
 to attract M. de Val-Chesnay, she had 
 formed any deliberate plan of usurp- 
 ing the heart and hand she saw were 
 intended for Sibylle. So bold a 
 scheme could not originate so sud- 
 denly, even in a mind as enterprising 
 as hers ; but there are women, and, 
 indeed, some women charming in 
 other respects, who can never see 
 even a man to whom they are per- 
 fectly indifferent interested in an- 
 other woman without feeling an irre- 
 sistible impulse towards conquest. 
 This jealous instinct, peculiar to the 
 sex, in passionate and ill-regulated 
 natures becomes almost satanic. Clo- 
 tilde had only followed the inspira- 
 tion natural to her, and for the mo- 
 ment had no particular aim, except- 
 ing to wound her dearest friend by 
 attracting to herself the admiration 
 of the man who, as she believed, was 
 destined to become her fianct. But 
 soon the great success of her manoeu- 
 vres, the simplicity and awkward de- 
 light of the young Eoland, suggested 
 to this clever young lady more seri- 
 ous and deliberate ideas. 
 
 Half an hour afterwards, as Mme. 
 de Beaumesnil and her niece walked 
 silently towards home on a shady 
 path, Clotilde suddenly said, " Aunt, 
 what is the fortune of the Val-Ches- 
 nays ? " 
 
 " I do not know, but it is enor- 
 mous," said the aunt. 
 
 Clotilde sighed deeply. 
 
 "My dear," returned Mme. de 
 Beaumesnil, after a short pause, 
 
 " stranger things have happened. 
 Perhaps it is the will of God." 
 
 " aunt ! " said the young girl, 
 smiling. Then, seeing a glow-worm 
 shedding its light on a bed of moss 
 which covered a stone wall, she took 
 it up, put it as an ornament into her 
 hat, and resumed her walk, singing to 
 herself with a sort of triumphant air, 
 as if she had conquered her star. 
 
 From that time Mile. Desrozais 
 undertook, with the tacit sanction of 
 her aunt, a regular campaign against 
 the small brain and large inheritance 
 of the young Baron. It would take us 
 too long to recount the details of this 
 attack, in which Clotilde displayed 
 the greatest strength and courage, 
 supported by the prudence of Mme. 
 de Beaumesnil. To show how easy 
 the victory was, we need only define 
 a little more particularly the small 
 nature of the personage whom Clo- 
 tilde had selected for a prey. 
 
 The victim of a system of hot- 
 house training, which an injudicious 
 maternal tenderness frequently in- 
 flicts upon the object of its solicitude, 
 Koland de Val-Chesnay, weak and 
 defenceless, surrendered almost with- 
 out resistance in this first battle of 
 life. The good principles in which 
 he had been educated had taken no 
 real root in this inert and narrow 
 mind. Unfortified by the salutary 
 discipline of a public-school educa- 
 tion, he had the passions of a man 
 with the defects of a child, and, as 
 is frequently the case, it was upon 
 the heart of his mother that fell the 
 first blow from the weak but violent 
 hand of the ungrateful young man.
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 55 
 
 Two months afterwards the old Bar- 
 oness, after many tears and entrea- 
 ties, found herself obliged to sanction 
 a union utterly repugnant to her 
 feelings, notwithstanding the testa- 
 mentary advantages Mme. de Beau- 
 mesnil had obtained from her husband 
 in favor of her niece. 
 
 Clotilde and Roland were married 
 in the little church of Ferias with a 
 great deal of display and with every 
 appearance of felicity. In a few 
 weeks, after various contests with 
 her daughter-in-law, the Baroness 
 was left to take care of the patrimo- 
 nial domain of the Val-Chesnay's, 
 and the young couple gayly went to 
 take up their abode in a pretty hotel 
 in the Champs Elysees. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE HOTEL DE VERGNES. 
 
 THE marriage of Clotilde and the 
 events which had preceded it had 
 produced between the families of 
 Beaumesnil and Farias a sort of cool- 
 ness and restraint from which even 
 Sibylle was not exempt. She was 
 too candid and inexperienced herself 
 to see in their true light all the 
 intrigues of Mile. Desrozais, whom 
 she supposed to be seriously in love 
 with Roland ; and she certainly was 
 far removed from the feeling of envy 
 to which Mme. de Beaumesnil and 
 the young Baroness attributed the 
 coldness of her manner ; but she had 
 been unpleasantly surprised by the 
 extreme promptitude with which M. 
 de Val-Chesnay had usurped in the 
 
 heart of Clotilde the place of the 
 Raoul who was in Persia. The mer- 
 its of the young Baron did not appear 
 to her sufficiently overwhelming 
 to produce so sudden a revolution, 
 and she could only see in it an 
 inconstancy and frivolity by which 
 her friend was seriously lowered in 
 her esteem. , 
 
 The grandparents of Sibylle natu- 
 rally judged the conduct of Clotilde 
 with more severity, from their greater 
 experience, but they judged them- 
 selves yet more severely, and could 
 not excuse the innocent egotism 
 which had at first blinded them to 
 the inferior qualities of the young 
 Baron. After having run the risk of 
 inducing Sibylle to form ties so un- 
 worthy of her, they entirely aban- 
 doned the idea of forming an alli- 
 ance in their neighborhood, being 
 resolved that in so important a mat- 
 ter they would not allow themselves 
 to be influenced by any personal 
 feeling. The departure of Sibylle for 
 Paris was now, therefore, definitely 
 determined upon. M. de Vergnes 
 was written to, and wrote in reply, 
 that it was fortunate she was coming, 
 as already an army of aspirants be- 
 sieged his house day and night with 
 guitars ; so much so, that the police 
 began to remark it. In the mean 
 time, Sibylle's health appearing not 
 very strong, M. and Mme. de Fe'rias 
 eagerly caught at the pretext for keep- 
 ing their granddaughter with them 
 another year. They wrote rather tim- 
 idly on the subject to M. de Vergnes, 
 who replied that it was a good idea, 
 for another year in the country
 
 56 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 would be a great benefit to Sibylle, 
 and that, as for the would-be lovers, 
 a year of delay would only make 
 them more patient and more anx- 
 ious. 
 
 The Marquis andMarchioness had 
 perhaps hoped they should die before 
 the end of this year of grace. This 
 blessing, however, was not vouch- 
 safed to them. One sorrowful morn- 
 ing in the succeeding autumn they 
 accompanied Sibylle to the railway 
 station, where they took leave of 
 her. Always opposed to outward 
 demonstration or display, they en- 
 dured this painful separation with 
 calmness and dignity, although an 
 expression of anguish was imprinted 
 on their features. When, after driv- 
 ing back to the castle in silence, the 
 two old people entered their now 
 solitary home, they shut themselves 
 up in their granddaughter's room, 
 and wept bitterly, clasped in each 
 other's arms. 
 
 The departure of Sibylle had been 
 witnessed by another despairing heart ; 
 this was Jacques Fe'ray, of whom the 
 young girl had taken leave the night 
 before, not without emotion. She 
 was not sure the unfortunate man 
 had understood it, and she was sur- 
 prised and touched to see him the 
 next morning waiting for her at the 
 station. When the train left, the 
 poor creature began to run, to try 
 and follow it, but he soon fell ex- 
 hausted on the ground. For a few 
 days he remained near the station, 
 watching the trains, to see whether 
 Sibylle would return, and then, giv- 
 ing up that hope, he retired to his hut 
 
 on the cliff, to lament in the solitude 
 her prolonged absence. 
 
 The Count de Vergnes received 
 Sibylle on her arrival, and conducted 
 her to his hotel in the Chausse'e 
 d'Antin, where she found the Count- 
 ess impatiently expecting her in the 
 society of three lap-dogs, who greeted 
 Mile, de Farias with lugubrious barks. 
 She was soon established in a prettily 
 furnished apartment, where, notwith- 
 standing the unaccustomed noises of 
 the street, and also the agitation of 
 her own heart and mind, she speedily 
 fell asleep; for at her age slumber 
 comes without courting. The next 
 morning, when she made her appear- 
 ance, M. de Vergnes presented her 
 in the court-yard of the hotel with 
 two blood-horses he had provided for 
 her. She was delighted with the 
 idea of trying one of them, and of 
 accompanying her grandfather in his 
 morning ride in the Bois de Bou- 
 logne. The Count was very willing 
 to display his pretty granddaughter. 
 
 During three weeks M. de Vergnes 
 devoted himself to her service with 
 the juvenile ardor and chivalrous 
 grace for which he was distinguished. 
 He conducted her to the museums, 
 the picture-galleries, the public build- 
 ings, and took her to all the theatres ; 
 then, one fine day, under the pretext 
 of a little fatigue, he delegated for 
 twenty-four hours to Miss O'Neil his 
 office of cicerone, and did not re- 
 sume it. 
 
 His zeal was exhausted; he re- 
 sumed his own habits of life, and 
 henceforth Sibylle rarely saw him, 
 excepting at meals; but when she
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 57 
 
 did meet him, he was always charm- 
 ing and entertaining ; and he brought 
 his granddaughter all kinds of trin- 
 kets and curiosities, and an abundance 
 of bonbons. He was perpetually 
 joking with Miss O'Neil, pretending 
 that he was in love with the Irish 
 lady, and in despair at her cold 
 treatment of him. 
 
 This standing joke was very con- 
 venient for him. When he wished 
 to leave a little earlier for his club, 
 or elsewhere, he would say, " Miss 
 O'Neil, I can no longer bear it; a 
 little hope, or I must leave." 
 
 And he did leave. He never re- 
 mained at home in the evening, for 
 his definition of Paris was, that it is 
 a town in France where men some- 
 times spend their evenings with 
 other men's wives, but never with 
 their own. 
 
 The independent habits of the 
 Count de Vergnes seemed, however, 
 to create no void in the existence of 
 the Countess, which was extremely 
 well filled. 
 
 " I really do not know," she would 
 say, every morning, " how I shall be 
 able to accomplish all I have to do 
 to-day." 
 
 She awoke about eight o'clock, 
 took her chocolate in bed, fed her 
 dogs, and slept again until ten. She 
 then rose, and began her toilet, which 
 was sometimes finished by twelve 
 o'clock. Then came the hour of her 
 second breakfast, which was usually 
 a prolonged one. Then she drove to 
 several shops, made the people un- 
 roll yards of different materials, and 
 bought nothing. She returned to 
 
 her hotel, made a second toilet, and 
 proceeded to the Bois. Afterwards 
 she would visit a confectioner's shop, 
 and eat pate de foie gras and ices, ac- 
 companied by a glass of Spanish 
 wine, and then begin her visits ; in 
 the intervals consuming about half a 
 pound of bonbons. At. seven she 
 dined with what appetite she could. 
 She then made her third toilet for 
 her evening visits. 
 
 Mme. de Vergnes, as a matter of 
 course, considered it her duty to draw 
 her granddaughter into the circle 
 of busy idleness, round which she 
 turned every day with the convul- 
 sive frivolity of a squirrel in its 
 cage. She introduced her gradually 
 to all her friends, who were so nu- 
 merous that it took several months 
 to exhaust the list. One of the most 
 intimate ones . had been dead six 
 weeks when the Countess and 
 Sibylle presented themselves at her 
 door. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed the Countess 
 to the porter, who had come out to 
 her carriage to announce to her this 
 distressing intelligence ; " dead ! Can 
 what you tell me really be true ? " 
 
 "Yes, rnadame," said the porter, 
 who was rather witty, " she has been 
 dead six weeks ; she is even buried." 
 
 " Ah, do not tell me such dreadful 
 things ! " said the Countess. " It is 
 really astonishing ! Such is life, my 
 dear child. John, drive to the con- 
 fectioner's, Eue Castiglione, you 
 know." 
 
 Sibylle usually accompanied her 
 grandmother in the evenings to 
 three or four salons, at each of
 
 58 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 which she stopped a few moments. 
 If the first aspect of Parisian society 
 did not altogether equal the expecta- 
 tions of Sibylle, still, this kind of life 
 had its compensations. In spite of 
 the insipidity of this vortex of world- 
 liness, she passed many pleasant 
 hours in the mornings, when visiting 
 with Miss O'Neil different resorts of 
 interest, and the theatres in the 
 evenings, and even in the streets ; for 
 her active and cultivated mind could 
 enjoy the ceaseless activity and the 
 imposing show by which she was 
 surrounded. The intellectual charm 
 of Paris fascinated her. 
 
 After a residence of some months 
 at the Hotel de Vergnes, Sibylle, in 
 a letter to the Marquis de Ferias, en- 
 deavored to convey to him her im- 
 pressions. " I experience," said she, 
 " the extreme of interest and also 
 the extreme of ennui. Paris seems 
 to offer more to the intellect and less 
 to the soul than any other place. 
 My mind is interested, and my heart 
 is sad. If I can choose my own resi- 
 dence, I would never be more than a 
 bird of passage in this great city. 
 
 " When I first arrived, it appeared 
 to me like a carnival which must 
 come to an end ; but it never does ; 
 it is the every-day life. These peo- 
 ple seem to come, go, move about, 
 laugh at each other, and die, all at 
 once. Death in Paris always sur- 
 prises me ; it does not appear natural. 
 Here they seem to live on dainties, 
 not on bread. Ah, I would rather 
 eat my daily bread quietly in my 
 dear old home and beside the arm- 
 chair of my dear grandfather ! " 
 
 Sibylle only confided to M. de Fe- 
 rias a small portion of her feelings. 
 The void she felt in the life of Paris 
 seemed to increase daily, and on one 
 point touched her heart very nearly. 
 The eccentric conjugal relations which 
 existed at the Hotel de Vergnes 
 formed in her mind a painful con- 
 trast with the remembrance of the 
 delightful and almost holy intimacy 
 she had been used to witness at Fe*- 
 rias. It was evident that M. and 
 Mme. de Vergnes, with the exception 
 of their meetings at breakfast and 
 dinner, lived as far apart as if they 
 had been separated by the ocean. 
 They had not in common either a joy 
 or a sorrow, a memory or a hope. 
 They would exchange at their meals 
 some commonplace remarks, and then 
 each return to their own course. 
 
 Sibylle at first was disposed to be- 
 lieve that the wrong was chiefly on 
 the side of her grandmother, whose 
 extravagant dissipation and utter 
 emptiness of mind were only too ap- 
 parent. Struck, on the contrary, by 
 the brilliant qualities of the Count, 
 she supposed that he had been at 
 first wearied by the incurable silliness 
 of his wife, and so discouraged as 
 gradually to become estranged from 
 her. She therefore found excuses for 
 the roughness of language and man- 
 ner in which the Count de Vergnes, 
 so gracious and gallant in society, 
 sometimes indulged towards his wife. 
 One day, however, she was surprised 
 at the violence of a tirade upon which 
 he entered against women who did 
 not know how to grow old, and asked 
 herself if this piece of morality, ex-
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 59 
 
 cellent in itself, came with a good 
 grace from the lips of the Count. 
 These reflections caused her new 
 doubts, upon which, shortly after- 
 wards, a fresh light was cast. 
 
 About this time her grandfather 
 experienced a slight attack of gout, 
 and for a week was unable to leave 
 the house. Sibylle was surprised to 
 see her grandmother renounce all her 
 habits of daily life, and devote her- 
 self to the care of her husband with 
 a zeal which was the more merito- 
 rious as it was but ill repaid. The 
 Count received all her attentions 
 with a sulky coldness, but treated his 
 granddaughter with much more cour- 
 tesy. 
 
 One day, when they were convers- 
 ing, the Countess, sitting by, made 
 some remarks. 
 
 M. de Vergnes only shrugged his 
 shoulders. "My dear friend," said 
 he, " it is not worth while to speak 
 merely for the sake of talking ; when 
 a person has not two ideas, it is bet- 
 ter to say nothing." 
 
 " But, my friend," said the Count- 
 ess, " you are really too unkind ! " 
 And she put her handkerchief to her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Come, my dear," said the Count, 
 " I see what has put you out of hu- 
 mor; you have spent three or four 
 evenings at home. You are not equal 
 to it. Go see your friends, wear out 
 your horses, display your fine dresses ! 
 It is the only kind of happiness you 
 can understand. I will no longer 
 deprive you of it." 
 
 This uncalled-for attack roused the 
 Countess from her habitual listless- 
 
 ness, and she replied with one of 
 those outbursts of anger and truth 
 which injustice will sometimes ex- 
 tort from the lips of the most pa- 
 tient and enduring. " Ah," exclaimed 
 she, " this is too unjust, too unwor- 
 thy ! I do not wish to make a scene, 
 but I will answer you. You shall 
 not try to lower me in the esteem of 
 this child, without any effort on my 
 part to prevent it. Besides, what 
 she sees here should be a lesson to 
 her, and it is right she should under- 
 stand it. I, also, was a child when 
 you married me, and if I have made 
 no improvement, if I have remained, 
 as you say, without two ideas in my 
 head, if I have to blush for my want 
 of knowledge, whose fault is it ? If, 
 instead of the object of a mere pass- 
 ing fancy, I had been truly your wife, 
 your friend, would it have been so ? 
 Did I not love you sufficiently to lis- 
 ten to your advice, your instructions, 
 your suggestions, had you taken the 
 trouble to impart them to me ? Ah, 
 you well know how thankfully I 
 would have welcomed them ! It was 
 all I asked for, all I expected, to 
 be near you, to listen to you, to raise 
 myself to a level with you ! Every 
 young girl with a true heart is ready, 
 when she marries, to become the do- 
 cile, happy pupil of her husband. A 
 woman will learn everything from 
 the man she loves, and from him 
 only. You left me almost immedi- 
 ately. You did not choose to sacri- 
 fice a single taste, a single habit, to 
 devote a single evening, to make of 
 the child who adored you a compan- 
 ion for your soul. You reproach
 
 60 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 me with my insipidity; it is your 
 own work. And you even reproach 
 me with the folly, the emptiness, the 
 dissipation of my life! But which 
 of us first deserted the family hearth, 
 where all the happiness I would have 
 asked for would have been to sit at 
 your feet? Even after all these 
 years, as soon as you remain at the 
 fireside I attach myself to it. And 
 this is the way you receive me ! Ah, 
 if I had not thrown myself into this 
 vortex of worldliness and vanity, my 
 grief would have killed me, or I 
 might have gone astray as others 
 have done ! If I have remained a 
 child and silly woman, at least I have 
 been an honest one. And if my life 
 is miserable, my head empty, and my 
 heart broken, at least your honor has 
 been safe and your name unspotted." 
 
 As she finished speaking, the poor 
 woman burst into a flood of tears ; 
 she rose, and left the room. 
 
 The Count de Vergnes, although a 
 libertine and an egotist, was neither 
 silly nor altogether bad ; at first 
 he had tried to interrupt with impa- 
 tient interjections the energetic re- 
 criminations of his wife ; then, as if 
 astonished and cowed by the unex- 
 pected and vehement eloquence of 
 this inoffensive creature, he had end- 
 ed by listening to her with a sort of 
 confusion and respect. When she 
 left the room, he said to Sibylle in a 
 grave voice unusual to him, " My 
 dear, go and see if your grandmother 
 wants anything." 
 
 Sibylle ran to her side ; she found 
 the Countess on her knees, sobbing. 
 She tenderly caressed her, and told 
 
 her her grandfather had sent her. 
 She consoled her by the prospect 
 that, as age and infirmity would soon 
 confine her grandfather more closely 
 to his own fireside, it would be in 
 her power to gain some influence 
 over him, and to live on happier 
 terms with him. 
 
 The Countess answered her, " My 
 dear child, it is rather late, but with 
 your help I may do something; I 
 will trust to you." 
 
 Sibylle induced her grandmother 
 to remain more at home, especially 
 in the evenings, and tried to interest 
 her by reading aloud to her in turn 
 with Miss O'Neil ; and she had the 
 satisfaction of aiding her in prepar- 
 ing for the solitude of old age by 
 more worthy and serious occupa- 
 tions. 
 
 Sibylle had intended passing a 
 portion of the summer at Ferias; but 
 she determined to sacrifice this ex- 
 pected pleasure in order to continue 
 her work of filial piety, and not to 
 desert her grandmother, who had 
 formed for her a most touching 
 attachment. She therefore accom- 
 panied her grandparents to Saint 
 Germain, where they passed their 
 summers in order to be as near as 
 possible to Paris. In this more re- 
 tired life the bond of union between 
 the Count and Countess de Vergnes, 
 which their granddaughter strove 
 with delicate hand to draw closer, 
 was perceptibly strengthened. 
 
 One day M. de Vergnes took her 
 hand in his. " You are a good child," 
 said he, with an accent of emotion. 
 " You will have your reward."
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 61 
 
 He then went towards Mme. de 
 Vergnes, tenderly kissed her, and left 
 the room. 
 
 Mme. de Vergnes made a sign to 
 Sibylle to come to her, and, clasping 
 her in her arms, she wept, pressing 
 her to her heart. 
 
 This happy circumstance in a 
 measure reconciled Sibylle to the 
 somewhat artificial life at Saint Ger- 
 main ; in the autumn they returned 
 to Paris, where the crisis of her des- 
 tiny awaited her. 
 
 III. 
 
 EAOUL. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE FERIAS was not 
 so entirely absorbed in her attentions 
 to her grandparents as altogether to 
 abstract her mind from the delicate 
 personal question which her resi- 
 dence in Paris was expected to de- 
 cide for her, namely, her establish- 
 ment in marriage. On the contrary, 
 there were many reasons why this 
 subject should frequently be in her 
 thoughts. In the first place, her res- 
 idence at the Hotel de Vergnes 
 forced her to lead a kind of life un- 
 congenial to her tastes, and which 
 even interfered with the exercise of 
 her affections, as she was not able to 
 follow the dictates of her heart by 
 dividing her time between Paris and 
 Farias. Then, to her serious and dis- 
 ciplined mind, marriage appeared to 
 be the great law of moral life, to be 
 fulfilled at the proper time according 
 to the Divine ordinance. Lastly, and 
 above all, this grave young girl had 
 in her heart all the tender weak- 
 
 nesses of a woman ; and neither the 
 amusements nor the intellectual 
 pleasures of Paris, nor even the 
 duties she had taken upon herself, 
 were sufficient to satisfy the aspira- 
 tions of her soul after a more perfect 
 happiness. With the glowing imagi- 
 nation of her age and character, she 
 had formed her ideal, and one of a 
 heroic type ; she vaguely pictured to 
 herself a being worthy of the sacri- 
 fices she was prepared to make for 
 one she could love ; she was willing 
 to give her heart, her hand, her life, 
 to the man whom she might find 
 worthy of such devotion, and pre- 
 pared fully to return it. 
 
 Notwithstanding her youth and in- 
 experience, Sibylle was endowed with 
 a keenness of perception, and a faculty 
 of judging, which might be expected 
 to preserve her from the bitter disen- 
 chantment which is frequently the 
 end of highly raised expectations. 
 She felt that in making choice of a 
 companion for life her grandparents 
 were too worldly minded and frivo- 
 lous greatly to assist her by their 
 opinions, and that she could rely only 
 on the advice of Miss O'Neil and the 
 promptings of her own heart. 
 
 The Count de Vergnes would amuse 
 himself with parading before the eyes 
 of his granddaughter an imaginary; 
 battalion, as he called it, of marriage- 
 able men, and then would proceed to 
 ridicule the individuals of this inter- 
 esting legion; afterwards he would 
 reproach her with her fastidiousness, 
 and laugh at the highly raised expec- 
 tations he attributed to her. 
 
 " I know what you want, my dear,"
 
 62 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 he would say ; " you require a man 
 handsome, rich, noble ; then he must 
 be an artist, a musician, a good horse- 
 man, witty, and devout ! Well, you 
 will look in vain for such a one ; it 
 is a variety which does not exist." 
 
 " But no," said Sibylle, " I do not 
 ask for so much. I ask only for a 
 man whom I can love ! " 
 
 " Ta ! ta ! ta ! " replied the Count ; 
 " you are too unreasonable." 
 
 These conversations were a great 
 amusement to the Count de Vergnes, 
 but they did not change the senti- 
 ments and ideas of Mile, de Farias. 
 She had not failed to remark in the 
 intercourse of the world, that the 
 matrimonial habits of M. and Mme. 
 de Vergnes were in no manner ex- 
 ceptional in polite society ; but, on the 
 contrary, in a greater or less degree, 
 the same as those of their circle of 
 acquaintances. The heart and mind 
 of Sibylle rebelled against the idea of 
 forming one of those marriages of 
 which the ordinary termination ap- 
 peared to be a sort of mutual weari- 
 ness, an amicable separation, and a 
 virtual divorce. 
 
 She thought of the far different 
 union of the Marquis and Marchion- 
 ess of Ferias, of their pure and gentle 
 affection, increased rather than dimin- 
 ished by the flight of years, and which 
 had impressed upon her imagination 
 a sort of ideal type of Christian mar- 
 riage. Sibylle also hoped to be the 
 beloved and faithful companion of 
 the man to whom she should be 
 united, not only for time, but also, 
 as she trusted, for eternity. She 
 believed that a true marriage should 
 
 not only be founded upon the love 
 which unites two hearts, but upon 
 the religion which has instituted and 
 sanctified the bond between them. 
 Such were her ideas, and, always 
 true to her convictions of right, she 
 had determined never to jmarry any 
 man who did not seriously share her 
 religious belief. This resolve, good 
 in itself, unhappily was one difficult 
 to realize. Although in these days 
 there are still found some striking 
 instances of high qualities of mind 
 joined to the most fervent religious 
 convictions, still they are rare, and 
 it cannot be doubted that an extreme 
 emancipation of thought and a criti- 
 cal if not a sceptical spirit are widely 
 spread throughout society; and it 
 was with regret that Mile, de Farias 
 remarked that the men whom she 
 met in society, the most distinguished 
 for mind and talent, were usually 
 spoken of as free-thinkers, and not 
 unfrequently as free-livers also. 
 
 The greater part of Sibylle's second 
 winter in Paris had passed, and she 
 began to believe that her grandfather 
 was right when he said that the 
 variety she required did not exist. 
 Perhaps she was right, but her mis- 
 take was in thinking that she would 
 be able entirely to control her heart, 
 and to follow the dictates of reason. 
 
 Among the number of the draw- 
 ing-rooms where Mile, de Farias had 
 been presented by her grandmother 
 there was one to which some secret 
 charm seemed to attract her. It was 
 that of the duchess dowager De 
 Sauves, who, together with her only 
 son, the Duke de Sauves, and the
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 63 
 
 young Duchess, his wife, resided in 
 one of the most luxurious hotels of 
 the Faubourg St. Honore". This sa- 
 loon, where the old Duchess, with 
 one singular exception, of which we 
 shall afterwards speak, received only 
 a limited circle, in consequence of 
 her strict prejudices in favor of good 
 blood and certain opinions, did not 
 seem to offer any special interest or 
 resources ; nevertheless, Sibylle never 
 came to her receptions without a cer- 
 tain vague feeling of emotion which 
 she scarcely acknowledged to herself, 
 so unreasonable and causeless did it 
 appear to her. This singular feeling 
 was connected with an early remi- 
 niscence of her childhood, her in- 
 terview in the park at Farias with an 
 unknown stranger named Eaoul, whose 
 appearance and conversation had al- 
 ways remained imprinted upon her 
 memory with a kind of romantic 
 association. The name of Eaoul was 
 to her dear and almost sacred. The 
 reader may remember with what in- 
 voluntary agitation she had heard it 
 pronounced by Clotilde, in her recital 
 of her love-affair ; and this name, 
 which was frequently repeated in the 
 saloon of the Hotel de Sauves, had 
 always for Sibylle a kind of mys- 
 terious fascination. 
 
 She could not, indeed, suppose that 
 the Eaoul of whom Mme. de Sauves 
 often spoke could be her Prince 
 Charming, of the park of Ferias; 
 but neither could she doubt that it 
 was the identical Eaoul whose im- 
 aginary passion in the narrative of 
 Clotilde had hastened his departure 
 for Persia, This, however, was a dis- 
 
 covery Sibylle had made herself, for 
 her former friend, with whom she 
 kept up only a rare and rather cool 
 intercourse, had her own reasons for 
 not enlightening her on this point; 
 but Sibylle had soon recognized in 
 the young Duchess de Sauves, n4& 
 Blanche de Guy-Ferrand, the friend 
 of the convent-life of Clotilde, of 
 whom she had spoken as the cousin 
 of her hero. Afterwards it was not 
 difficult to conjecture that a certain 
 Count de Chalys,. of whom the young 
 Duchess . spoke as my cousin Eaoul, 
 and who had actually returned from 
 Persia only a few months previous, 
 must bear a strong resemblance to 
 the fortunate man who had once 
 gained the unanimous suffrage of so 
 many young ladies in the convent. 
 Sibylle said to herself her interest 
 proceeded from curiosity, and that 
 when that was satisfied it would 
 probably vanish. He did not seem 
 to have any strong taste for society ; 
 for, although she frequently passed 
 the evenings at the Hotel de Sauves, 
 she had never happened to meet 
 him there. In the conversations she 
 heard respecting this invisible cousin, 
 M. de Chalys was always spoken of 
 as a distinguished man, and one 
 much sought after in the world ; but, 
 with the reserve natural to a young 
 girl, she made no inquiries in regard 
 to him. She had sometimes thought 
 of questioning the young Duchess 
 about him, for Sibylle felt herself 
 drawn towards this young woman; 
 but she, on the contrary, frequently 
 treated her rather with a coldness 
 and restraint, which did not invite to
 
 64 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 any confidential conversation. Again, 
 however, the capricious Duchess 
 seemed attracted towards Mile, de 
 Ferias, who could not understand the 
 meaning of the curious and intense 
 glance she sometimes fixed upon her. 
 We will explain to the reader the 
 singular conduct of the Duchess to- 
 wards Sibylle, and also introduce him 
 to some new acquaintances. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE DUCHESS BLANCHE. 
 
 BLANCHE DE GUY-FERRAND, Duch- 
 ess de Sauves-Blanchefort, was not 
 beautiful, scarcely even pretty; but 
 she was charming. She had golden 
 hair, and blue-gray eyes, and the 
 most delicate features. Her princi- 
 pal attraction was her grace, which 
 was remarkable ; and her taste in 
 dress was something wonderful. She 
 always knew perfectly well what 
 suited her style of appearance, and 
 in evening dress she looked like a 
 fairy. 
 
 It was now five years since she 
 had been married to the Duke Os- 
 wald-Louis de Vital de Sauves, who 
 was some twenty years older than 
 herself, but an amiable and still very 
 handsome man. The Duke had, in- 
 deed, reached his fortieth year before 
 he yielded to the entreaties of his 
 mother to marry. His ruling passion 
 had been horses and hunting, and he 
 was fond of the pursuits of a country 
 life, and in marrying he made it a 
 condition that he should be allowed 
 to continue to pass a portion of his 
 
 time at his estates, which he was, in 
 fact, in the practice of visiting at 
 least twice a month. 
 
 Mile, de Guy-Ferrand had allowed 
 herself to be made a Duchess with 
 the rather sorrowful indifference 
 which appeared to predominate in 
 her character. As a young girl, she 
 had not been much remarked, but 
 with the aid of the greater liberty of 
 taste and selection granted her as .a 
 married woman, she had speedily 
 taken her place among the stars in 
 the horizon of fashion ; and her mini- 
 ature graces formed a striking con- 
 trast with the noble and ample style 
 of the masculine beauty of the 
 Duke. 
 
 Her husband continued to lead the 
 kind of life for which he had stipu- 
 lated ; during the summers he resided 
 with his wife at the Chateau de 
 Sauves ; in the winters they returned 
 to their hotel in Paris ; but out of 
 every month he passed a fortnight 
 at his estates, to visit his grounds 
 and his stables, leaving the young 
 Duchess under the gentle guardian- 
 ship of his mother. He had the 
 reputation of being an excellent 
 husband, and there are, in fact, many 
 worse ones. 
 
 Two children were born to them 
 within five years of their marriage. 
 
 The Duchess Blanche had led 
 some years of this tranquil existence, 
 which appeared to bear, at least, a 
 great resemblance to happiness, when, 
 going one evening to visit her moth- 
 er, Mnie. de Guy-Ferrand, who was 
 slightly indisposed, she was surprised 
 to find by the fireside her cousin,
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 65 
 
 Eaoul de Chalys, who had arrived 
 that morning from Marseilles, after a 
 long sojourn in the East. M. de 
 Chalys, left an orphan at an early 
 age, had had for a guardian the 
 father of Blanche, and, after the 
 death of M. de Guy-Ferrand, he had 
 paid his widow every filial attention 
 in his power. His intimacy with 
 Blanche was, therefore, much greater 
 than that ordinarily existing between 
 cousins ; nevertheless, the young 
 Duchess, on meeting him again after 
 so long a separation, manifested 
 more surprise than pleasure, and 
 seemed even to repel his fraternal 
 embrace with an air of cold dignity. 
 She addressed to him some common- 
 place questions, and then relapsed 
 into silence, while her mother pur- 
 sued the affectionate interrogatory 
 which the arrival of Blanche had 
 interrupted. Then Mme. de Guy- 
 Ferrand, feeling fatigued, retired, 
 after asking Raoul to entertain Mme. 
 de Sauves until her carriage should 
 come to take her home. 
 
 The first few minutes of this tdte- 
 d-tete were passed in a somewhat 
 embarrassed silence ; M. de Chalys 
 looked at the young Duchess with a 
 sort of puzzled curiosity. 
 
 " My cousin," said he, suddenly, " I 
 must compliment you on two things : 
 in the first place, you have become a 
 very pretty woman ; and in the sec- 
 ond, I know you are a happy one ; 
 and nothing in the world can give 
 me greater pleasure than the knowl- 
 edge of this fact." 
 
 Blanche raised her eyes to his, and 
 tried to answer him with a smile ; 
 
 but her lips moved without uttering 
 any words, and she burst into tears. 
 Eaoul, surprised, and uncertain what 
 to do, moved towards her, but she 
 rose, and hastily left the room. 
 
 The Count de Chalys stood for a 
 moment as if confounded, his eyes 
 fixed upon the door by which his cou- 
 sin Blanche had disappeared; then, 
 clasping his hands, " Ah ! " said he, 
 " what can be the meaning of this ? " 
 
 While he was in this state of per- 
 plexity the door reopened, and the 
 young Duchess returned, her eyes 
 still red, but with a smile on her 
 face. She put out her hand, and 
 said, cordially, " Excuse me, it is noth- 
 ing ; do not go, let us talk awhile." 
 
 She threw herself into an arm- 
 chair, and questioned him rapidly 
 upon his travels, and upon his life in 
 the East. This put them more at 
 ease, and they were soon laughing 
 together. 
 
 " There now," said Eaoul, " this is 
 like old times, when I was your 
 brother ; now I seem like your grand- 
 father. Ah, how old I feel ! Good 
 night, cousin ! " 
 
 When he had risen to take his 
 leave, Blanche had once more become 
 serious. 
 
 He pressed her hand, and said, 
 " May I come to see you some- 
 times ? " 
 
 "Yes, often, I hope," said the 
 young woman, " as you please ! " 
 
 From there the Count de Chalys 
 went to visit a friend of his, a great 
 student, who lived on the street Ser- 
 vandoni. His name was Louis 
 Gandrax, and he had the honor of
 
 66 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 being well known to Mile, de Ferias, 
 and even of exciting her interest to 
 an unusual degree. Sibylle, at first, 
 had been not a little surprised at 
 finding this plebeian admitted on 
 terms of intimacy to the very exclu- 
 sive drawing-room of the Hotel de 
 Sauves. Notwithstanding the very 
 liberal and frankly expressed opin- 
 ions of M. Gandrax, the old Duchess 
 treated him with even more respect 
 than she paid to some men belonging 
 to the most distinguished families 
 of France. The explanation of this 
 anomaly was a little curious. M. 
 Louis Gandrax, who was a man of 
 no family, had, in his early youth, 
 practised medicine with great suc- 
 cess ; but, although poor, he had 
 renounced a lucrative practice in 
 order to devote himself exclusively 
 to scientific pursuits. Endowed with 
 high faculties of mind, combined with 
 great industry, in a few years he 
 attained to an elevated rank among 
 the scientific men of the age ; and 
 some remarkable discoveries in chem- 
 istry and physics had obtained for 
 him, much earlier than the usual age, 
 the honors of the Institute. He was 
 now thirty-five, and strikingly hand- 
 some ; his complexion was dark, and 
 hisliigh forehead and regular features 
 had the firmness of a bronze statue ; 
 his eyes were full of fire, and yet 
 calm ; his easy, measured, quiet, and 
 sarcastic mode of speaking accorded 
 well with his distingut, haughty, and 
 cold appearance. He was a radical 
 democrat and a decided materialist ; 
 and he neither concealed nor paraded 
 his opinions. In short, he was a 
 
 singular friend for the Duchess de 
 Sauves, who, both in religion and 
 politics, belonged to the ultramon- 
 tane party. 
 
 Nevertheless, the Duchess was al- 
 ways happy to number M. Gandrax 
 among her guests, although his pres- 
 ence frequently caused her no little 
 anxiety. With a strong mind and 
 deep religious feelings, this singular 
 woman was weak only on one point ; 
 this was an extreme dread of death. 
 Her health was far from good, and 
 about ten years previous, while suf- 
 fering from a serious attack of illness, 
 she had, during the absence of her 
 family physician, called in M. Gan- 
 drax, who at that time lived in her 
 neighborhood. His skill, his calm 
 and decided mode of speaking, and 
 his strong magnetic influence, had 
 had a great effect upon the excitable 
 and nervous temperament of the 
 Duchess. She placed in him entire 
 confidence, and when he gave up the 
 practice of medicine, at her earnest 
 entreaty he continued to prescribe 
 for her as a physician. She felt very- 
 grateful to him ; she believed he had 
 already many times saved her life ; 
 she flattered herself he would save it 
 many times still, perhaps altogether. 
 The adoration she professed for this 
 important being, joined to her horror 
 of his political and religious opin- 
 ions, constituted between the Duch- 
 ess and her physician a bond of 
 union somewhat similar to that be- 
 tween Louis XI. and his astrologer. 
 
 Louis Gandrax returned her gen- 
 erous confidence with a sincere at- 
 tachment ; but he was frequently
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 67 
 
 amused at the eccentric and almost 
 scandalous part he was called upon 
 to enact in the fastidious and exclu- 
 sive society of the Hotel de Sauves. 
 He played his part, too, although not 
 a man of the world, with perfect 
 good-breeding ; nevertheless, his most 
 reserved expressions sometimes pro- 
 duced the effect of exploding bomb- 
 shells in the midst of this severely 
 orthodox circle. The poor Duchess 
 employed all her tact to persuade her 
 other guests to tolerate the eccen- 
 tricities of the saviour of her life. 
 When he dined with her, she would 
 try and cajole him, by supplicating 
 words and looks, into a little respect 
 for the ideas and sentiments of the 
 rest of the company. 
 
 " But now, Gandrax," she said to 
 him, "joking apart, you do believe 
 in something ? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly, madame," replied 
 Gandrax with the utmost coolness; 
 "in the god Pan." 
 
 " At least, my friend," she re- 
 sumed, shortly afterwards, " you be- 
 lieve in what they are speaking of 
 now, in love." 
 
 " Do I believe in it, madame ? " 
 answered Gandrax ; " love is a disor- 
 dered vibration of the nerves of the 
 head, and thus affects the heart ; cer- 
 tainly I believe in it." 
 
 Sometimes the poor Duchess could 
 scarcely bear it. "Ah, my friend!" 
 cried she one day, " shall I ever have 
 the sorrowful courage to give up 
 your acquaintance ? " 
 
 The celebrity of Louis Gandrax, 
 the originality of his character, and 
 the singularity of his presence at the 
 
 Hotel de Sauves, were not alone 
 what had attracted Sibylle's atten- 
 tion towards him ; it was that from 
 him she most frequently heard the 
 name of Eaoul, of whom he spoke 
 with a grave and deep feeling, and 
 never in the ironical manner habit- 
 ual to him. She knew they were 
 united by an jntinaate friendship, and 
 that, during the long absence of the' 
 Count de Chalys, M. Gandrax had 
 been his assiduous and constant cor- 
 respondent. This fact created in the 
 mind of Sibylle a feeling of sympa- 
 thy towards a person whose ideas on 
 all subjects were entirely the oppo- 
 site of her own. 
 
 The very day of his arrival in 
 Paris, Eaoul had paid a visit to 
 Louis Gandrax, and had even passed 
 a portion of the day with him ; the 
 latter, therefore, was not a little sur- 
 prised to see the Count reappear at 
 eleven o'clock at night, in the little 
 apartment where he sat working by 
 the light of his students' lamp. 
 
 " Bravo ! " said he ; " you are wel- 
 come. Has anything happened ? " 
 
 "O, nothing serious," said Eaoul. 
 " I will tell you, however, what it is. 
 In the first place, I must confess I 
 have not always been quite frank 
 with you ; when I went to Persia, I 
 allowed you to believe that my only 
 motive for going was my curiosity 
 and my artistic tastes. This was 
 not the whole truth, and, although a 
 friendship like ours should not have 
 permitted any secrets between us, it 
 appeared to me superfluous to speak 
 of some secondary reasons which, in- 
 deed, were not quite devoid of an ab-
 
 68 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 surd motive. You know my cousin, 
 the Duchess Blanche ? " 
 
 " It would be strange if I did not, 
 as I am in the habit of saving her 
 mother-in-law's life every fortnight." 
 
 " You remember my extreme inti- 
 macy with her mother and herself, 
 and my frequent visits with Mme. 
 de Guy-Ferrand to the convent 
 where Blanche was educated. I 
 only looked upon her as a little girl, 
 and, although fond of her as of a sis- 
 ter, I never dreamed of admiring her 
 any more than I would a doll. But 
 the idea began to occur to me that 
 the little girl cared a great deal for 
 me, and that her mother was favora- 
 bly disposed towards a union be- 
 tween us. I began to apprehend 
 some unpleasant explanations, and, 
 to make my story short, two or three 
 months before the time came for 
 Blanche to leave the convent, I 
 resolved to travel, and to go to Per- 
 sia." 
 
 " "Weak ! " murmured Gandrax. 
 "And then?" 
 
 "A letter from you received at 
 Ispahan informed me of the marriage 
 of Blanche with the Duke de Sauves. 
 I felt thankful for the news. I did 
 not, however, return immediately ; I 
 spent a year in Persia, one in Con- 
 stantinople, one in Egypt, one in 
 Greece. At last I returned. This 
 evening, as my duty and my feelings 
 dictated, I went to visit my aunt. 
 She received me a little coldly at 
 first, but she is a good woman, and, 
 besides, her daughter is a Duchess, 
 and soon she was as affectionate as 
 in former years. Then the young 
 
 Duchess came. I perceived in her 
 manner a shade of resentment, a little 
 coldness, a little emotion, a little con- 
 fusion. I can scarcely describe it." 
 
 "Bah!" said Gandrax, "^hat fol- 
 ly ! Your cousin adores her husband, 
 and no wonder, for he is a magnifi- 
 cent man, and entirely devoted to 
 her." 
 
 "You talk too much, my friend," an- 
 swered Eaoul, quietly. " Know, then, 
 that Mme. de Guy-Ferrand having 
 left me alone with the young Duch- 
 ess, I took the opportunity of con- 
 gratulating her on the happiness of 
 which you speak. Well, she looked 
 me in the face for the first time, 
 burst into tears, and left the room." 
 
 " 0, indeed ! " said Gandrax, frown- 
 ing. 
 
 "She came back in a moment 
 after, recovered herself, and was kind, 
 friendly, sisterly, but not at all natu- 
 ral, and the fire of passion was in her 
 eyes. Well, what do you say now ? " 
 
 " I say you must not see her again." 
 
 " And how can I avoid seeing her, 
 living in Paris, and she my nearest 
 relative ? It is impossible." 
 
 "Go back to Persia, then," said 
 Gandrax. 
 
 " I shall not go back to Persia." 
 
 "Then why do you ask my ad- 
 vice?" 
 
 " I do not ask your advice, I only 
 relate to you an episode in my use- 
 less existence ; that is all." 
 
 M. de Chalys rose, and paced the 
 floor of the study. 
 
 " No one can be less at home on 
 these subjects than I am," resumed 
 Gandrax ; " but a child could foresee
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 69 
 
 the consequences of such an adven- 
 ture. In fifteen days, or in fifteen 
 months, if you yield to the current 
 of events, you will be the lover of 
 the young Duchess, who is the wife 
 of an excellent man and your own 
 near relation ; that is to say, you will 
 deliberately commit a wrong action, 
 from which I withhold my approval 
 and esteem. I have said." 
 
 "Yes," said Eaoul, stopping ab- 
 ruptly in his walk; "truly, a bad 
 action ! And what is a bad action ? 
 What is your standard ? And what 
 if I think it a good one ? What if I 
 find the young woman exceedingly 
 improved, and if I find myself drawn 
 towards her by one of the sweetest 
 laws of nature, what other law is 
 there, then, to prevent my yielding 
 to the first one ? " 
 
 " The law of honor," said Gandrax, 
 dryly. 
 
 " The law of honor," returned Ea- 
 oul, raising his voice, "where do 
 you find that law in the elements of 
 which nature is composed ? Show 
 it to me in any of your chemical or 
 mathematical combinations. Be logi- 
 cal. Why should I obey a fiction ? " 
 
 " It is you who are not logical," 
 answered Gandrax. "You would 
 cast discredit upon the principles of 
 emancipation and free thought. Be- 
 cause we do not believe in the ex- 
 istence of a God, would you infer 
 that virtue and honor are baseless 
 fictions ? That would be folly. Am 
 I not an honorable man ? Point to 
 a blot on my life ! And why am I 
 so ? Partly, perhaps, from pride, and 
 to prove to superstitious worshippers 
 
 that a man may believe in nothing, 
 and yet act better than themselves. 
 Yes, from pride, but also because I 
 am logical, whatever you may say to 
 the contrary ; because I recognize in 
 the moral, as well as in the material 
 order, necessary laws ; for good faith, 
 self-respect, justice, probity and hon- 
 or are wheels indispensable to the 
 working of the social machine. Yes, 
 I recognize these necessary laws, and 
 I observe them. That which the 
 plants and the stars do by their in- 
 stinct, I do by my reason. In this 
 consists my superiority, my dignity. 
 I am a man." 
 
 "My friend, you pride yourself 
 upon your self-control. I acknowl- 
 edge you live with the austerity of a 
 trappist ; but why ? Because the 
 blood in your veins is as cold as if 
 it descended from a glacier. There- 
 fore, what merit is it in you ? " 
 
 " I live as I choose to live," re- 
 plied the young scholar, impressively. 
 " One can do what one has the will 
 to do. You are a woman." 
 
 Eaoul laughed, and continued to 
 walk in silence for a few minutes ; 
 then he resumed : " You may say 
 what you choose, Louis, but when I 
 have ceased to believe in a God, the 
 source of all justice, the model of all 
 virtue, the author of all moral law, 
 I find no sufficient reason to restrain 
 my tastes, my inclinations, my pas- 
 sions, even my appetites." 
 
 " Ah, " said Gandrax, smiling, " the 
 truth is, Eaoul, you are not an unbe- 
 liever ; you are a rebel, and a rebel 
 presupposes a master, and you talk 
 of logic ! "
 
 70 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 " You are right ! " said Eaoul, with 
 animation ; " my unbelief is not calm 
 and serene like yours ; it is painful 
 to me, it is desolating. You are 
 right ; I am a rebel, and my broken 
 chain makes me suffer. I mourn 
 that I can no longer find the God of 
 my childhood. I seek him sometimes 
 with tears, but in vain ; he hides him- 
 self from me; and I sometimes am 
 even willing he should crush me, so 
 that I might behold him, though but 
 for a single second." 
 
 G'andrax kindly took his hand. 
 
 Eaoul pressed that of his friend 
 firmly, and said, " May you, my poor 
 Louis, never know how feeble are the 
 strongest arguments of reason against 
 the torrent of passion and the tem- 
 pests of the soul ! " 
 
 " Amen ! " said Gandrax. 
 
 " Let us speak of other things/' said 
 Eaoul, taking a seat. " I had another 
 surprise to-day. I recognized in the 
 Champs Elys^es, in a very handsome 
 carriage, that beautiful creature of 
 whom I once spoke to you, who was 
 in the convent at the same time with 
 my cousin, and whose portrait I 
 sketched. What was her name? 
 Clotilde?" 
 
 "Clotilde Desrozais, I believe," 
 said the young scholar, coldly. " She 
 is now the Baroness Val-Chesnay; 
 very rich, very elegant, and very 
 much admired." 
 
 " Why, she used to be poor ! Who 
 is her husband ? " 
 
 " A stiff, light-haired young man ; 
 no great things. She discovered him 
 in the country, carried him off from 
 his mother, and married him." 
 
 "I am not surprised to hear it. 
 Does she visit my cousin ? " 
 
 "Certainly; I often meet her at 
 the house of Mme. de Sauves. She 
 has invited me to her Monday even- 
 ings." 
 
 " Do you go ? " 
 
 " 0, about once in two months. It 
 does not suit me particularly well 
 there." 
 
 One o'clock struck before M. de 
 Chalys rose to go. 
 
 Taking the hand of Gandrax, 
 " Then," said he, " you are always 
 happy!" 
 
 " Perfectly so." 
 
 " I am not. Good night ! " 
 
 And he left. 
 
 The Count Eaoul de Chalys had 
 been left at an early age master of a 
 large fortune, but that had not pre- 
 vented him from giving a great 
 portion of his time to intellectual 
 pursuits; and, desirous of making 
 himself acquainted with every species 
 of knowledge, he had even devoted 
 himself to scientific researches, for 
 which he, in reality, had no particular 
 taste nor aptitude. It was in this 
 way he had formed so close an inti- 
 macy with Louis Gandrax, attracted 
 towards him by his pure life and 
 energetic character. The natures and 
 temperaments of these two men were 
 very different, and they were warm 
 friends without either of them en- 
 deavoring unduly to influence the 
 other. To the icy nature of Louis 
 Gandrax, the passionate soul and ex- 
 citable mind of Eaoul would bring 
 a life and warmth which sometimes 
 surprised and greatly excited the
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 71 
 
 young scholar ; and on Eaoul the 
 calm decision and the clearly defined 
 views of his friend had a soothing 
 and satisfying influence. 
 
 With a general taste for the fine 
 arts, Eaoul had early manifested an 
 especial talent for painting; he de- 
 voted himself with ardor to this 
 pursuit, and after ten years a few 
 excellent works had placed his name 
 among those of the masters of the 
 art. The day after his return home 
 he arranged his studio with a view 
 of transferring to the canvas some of 
 the numerous sketches he had made 
 during his travels in the East. He 
 resolved, by constant occupation, to 
 divert his mind from the untoward 
 attraction which drew him to the 
 Hotel de Sauves. Nevertheless, he 
 could not refuse an invitation to din- 
 ner, which he shortly after received 
 from Mme. de Guy-Ferrand. He 
 was rather piqued at finding his 
 cousin perfectly at her ease on this 
 occasion. The following day he 
 called upon the Duchess Dowager, 
 and his cousin Blanche, while he was 
 describing some of his travels, having 
 affected to yawn behind her fan, he 
 felt secretly irritated, when a new 
 direction was given to his thoughts 
 by the entrance into the drawing- 
 room of the young Baroness of Val- 
 Chesnay, nfa Clotilde Desrozais. Clo- 
 tilde neither spoke to him nor looked 
 at him ; in fact, she did not appear to 
 recognize him, which did not partic- 
 ularly please him, for he was struck 
 and dazzled by the splendor of her 
 beauty. However, before she took 
 her departure, as she was standing 
 
 not far from him, her eyes fell on 
 him ; she had just extended to an 
 old gentleman beside him an invita- 
 tion to her receptions on Monday 
 evenings. " But," said she, with a 
 timid, hesitating air, " is it not Mon- 
 sieur de Chalys ? " 
 
 " Yes, inadame." 
 
 " WeU, then," said she, "the friend 
 and relation of M. de Sauves will 
 always be welcome at my house." 
 
 Eaoul made a low bow, and 
 thanked her. 
 
 At the moment when Clotilde was 
 spreading the net over her former 
 admirer, the eyes of the young Duch- 
 ess sparkled ; as she went to the door 
 of the room with her friend, she said, 
 inquiringly, " Has not my cousin 
 grown old ? " 
 
 " yes, my dear," replied Clotilde ; 
 " I scarcely recognized him." 
 
 When Eaoul made his appearance 
 on Monday evening in the drawing- 
 room of Mme. de Val-Chesnay, he 
 found there his cousin Blanche, who 
 looked on this occasion as if she had 
 been dressed by the fairy godmother 
 of Cinderella. After passing the even- 
 ing in the society of these two charm- 
 ing young women, he went home 
 convinced that he was the object 
 of jealous contest between them, 
 and that it was for him to decide 
 to which of them he should surren- 
 der his heart. 
 
 It is not easy to define the reasons 
 which make a man admired by wo- 
 men. The Count de Chalys, how- 
 ever, was certainly one calculated to 
 please. His figure was tall and ele- 
 gant, with a sort of indolent grace,
 
 72 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 joined to an appearance of great 
 strength and endurance, which gave 
 him eminently what is called a dis- 
 tingu4 air. 
 
 His forehead was remarkably pure, 
 and his chestnut hair was just begin- 
 ning to recede a little from his tem- 
 ples. The great charm of his face 
 consisted in the sweet, kind, and 
 rather sad expression of his eyes, 
 which were shaded by long eye- 
 lashes. Such was the Count de 
 Chalys ; he was a man whom it was 
 impossible to meet in society without 
 inquiring his name. Probably the 
 greatest merit of the Count in the 
 eyes of women was, that he always 
 appeared ready to fall in love. His 
 look of indifference became animated 
 and devoted when talking to women ; 
 he inspired a feeling of interest and 
 confidence. 
 
 Notwithstanding these dangerous 
 qualities, the Count de Chalys had 
 had but few love-affairs. He had 
 never played the miserable part of a 
 Lothario. The elevation of his na- 
 ture and an innate feeling of honor 
 and uprightness had preserved him 
 from this. Now, however, unhappily, 
 the situation was one which seemed 
 likely to shake his resolutions on 
 this point. 
 
 In the worldly life of Paris, such 
 complications are not unusual, and 
 Eaoul had not the strength of re- 
 ligious principle to preserve him in 
 circumstances of temptation. 
 
 The two young friends, who now 
 cordially hated each other, seldom 
 lost sight of him. Clotilde, we must 
 say, really loved M. de Chalys, and 
 
 for the first time in her life experi- 
 enced a feeling of true affection. She 
 had scarcely been married to the 
 Baron de Val-Chesnay, when she con- 
 ceived for this weak young man a 
 feeling of inexpressible contempt. 
 For a year or two she had repressed 
 the passionate feelings of her heart 
 by plunging into the excitements of 
 Parisian life ; then ennui had seized 
 upon her; and now the Count de 
 Chalys appeared upon the scene, with 
 all his real merits enhanced by the 
 charm of former memories. She im- 
 mediately guessed, too, that her friend 
 Blanche, already her rival in the gay 
 world, was particularly interested in 
 him; and this was another reason 
 for her resolution to make a conquest 
 of his heart. The Duchess Blanche, 
 of a better nature and with higher 
 principles, perhaps would have suc- 
 ceeded in conquering her feelings, 
 formerly innocent but now guilty, 
 towards her cousin, which had been 
 revived by his unexpected return, 
 had she not been exasperated by 
 these attempts to win the heart of 
 the man who had been the hero of 
 the dreams of her youth. Thus this 
 young woman was drawn towards the 
 dangerous abyss partly by love, part- 
 ly by hate. 
 
 M. de Chalys frequently regretted 
 the situation in which he found him- 
 self between these two young rivals ; 
 of the two he cared most for Blanche, 
 touched by her constant affection, 
 but he was in love with neither. 
 The young Duchess received the at- 
 tentions he paid her with a feeling 
 that they did not make her happy.
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 73 
 
 Her conscience reproached her, but 
 whenever she made an effort to con- 
 quer her own heart, some desperate 
 attempt of Clotilde would drive her, 
 with a feeling of blind desperation, to 
 a renewal of the contest. 
 
 The Duchess, also, was scarcely 
 less jealous of Mile, de Ferias. Look- 
 ing, one day, at her mother's house, 
 over Eaoul's portfolio, she had been 
 struck by three drawings, remarka- 
 ble in themselves, and rendered still 
 more so by the notes affixed to them. 
 The first of these sketches repre- 
 sented, under the thick shade of a 
 tree, and at the foot'of a rock covered 
 with vines, a little girl of singular* 
 beauty, standing resolutely in the at- 
 titude of a queen, and holding in her 
 hand a wand as if it were a fairy 
 sceptre. Underneath were inscribed 
 the words : " Taken near the rocks 
 
 of , Normandy, August 10, 
 
 184-. Mademoiselle Sibylle." The 
 next drawing represented the same 
 child, in the same position, but with 
 a face and figure indicating a greater 
 degree of maturity. Underneath was 
 written : " Mademoiselle Sibylle five 
 years later." Finally there was a 
 third drawing, finished with great 
 care, and which bore this inscription : 
 " Mademoiselle Sibylle at eighteen 
 years of age." This was a stu'dy of 
 a young girl whose face and expres- 
 sion were wonderfully presented in 
 their greater development, and it 
 formed almost an exact portrait of 
 Mile, de Fe'rias. The young Duchess, 
 stupefied with amazement, was on 
 the point of pronouncing her name, 
 but she refrained, and, turning to- 
 
 wards her cousin, "Who is this?" 
 said she. 
 
 "I do not know," replied Eaoul; 
 " it is a child whom I once saw for a 
 few moments, and who, if she is alive, 
 must be an adorable creature by this 
 time." He then related to his cousin 
 his meeting with Sibylle, near the 
 Fairy Eock, giving her all the par- 
 ticulars. "The name of the little 
 village and the neighboring castle," 
 added he, " has escaped me ; or, 
 rather, I believe I never knew it, 
 for I went hastily through the coun- 
 try; but I have frequently felt 
 tempted to revisit it. It is singular, 
 but among all my reminiscences of 
 travel, and I have many, there is none 
 more vividly impressed upon my 
 mind, nor of which the remembrance 
 is sweeter to me than this one. 
 There was something really extraor- 
 dinary, almost supernatural, about 
 the child." He was going on to en- 
 large upon the subject, when, seeing 
 a frown on the brow of Blanche, he 
 stopped. 
 
 As may be imagined, the young 
 Duchess took no small pains to pre- 
 vent a meeting between Mile, de Fe- 
 rias and her enthusiastic cousin. She 
 only invited Eaoul to the Hotel de 
 Sauves when she knew Sibylle would 
 not be there, and she saw him more 
 frequently at the house of her mother, 
 who was not intimate with Mme. de 
 Vergnes. As for Clotilde, although 
 she did not know the secret which 
 chance had revealed to Blanche, still 
 she took equal care to prevent a 
 meeting which the beauty and pres- 
 tige of Sibylle might make a danger-
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 ous one ; and as M. de Chalys visited 
 little excepting at these two houses, 
 at other times confining himself to 
 his studio and his club, it seemed 
 likely that Sibylle and the artist 
 would never meet, -when an unfor- 
 seen circumstance occurred to break 
 the charm which separated them. 
 
 V. 
 
 THE CHURCH OF THE MADELEINE. 
 
 ONE morning Mile, de Fe'rias, ac- 
 companied by an old servant of her 
 grandmother, had gone to hear mass 
 in her parish church, which was that 
 of the Madeleine. She perceived at 
 a little distance from her the Duch- 
 ess Blanche, kneeling in an attitude 
 of deep meditation. Sibylle had 
 passed the previous evening at the 
 Hotel de Sauves, and had remarked 
 in the young Duchess a greater de- 
 gree than usual of the singular in- 
 terest she frequently manifested to- 
 wards her. The unexpected presence 
 of Blanche in the church at first 
 rather distracted her thoughts, but 
 after a little time she became ab- 
 sorbed in the devotional exercises, 
 when she was suddenly disturbed 
 by the sound of suppressed sobs near 
 her. The mass being just finished, 
 and the church nearly empty, Sibylle, 
 looking anxiously around, soon saw 
 that it was the young Duchess who 
 was weeping. Her face was con- 
 cealed by her hands, but evidently 
 her tears were flowing fast. Mile, de 
 Ferias went to her, and said, in a gen- 
 tle voice : " Pardon me, but you are 
 
 suffering ; can I do anything for 
 you ? " 
 
 Blanche raised her head, and 
 through her tears recognized her 
 with a mixture of confusion and an- 
 ger. 
 
 " No, mademoiselle," answered she, 
 coldly, " you can do nothing for me." 
 
 Sibylle at this marked repulse 
 felt her eyes fill with tears ; she 
 bowed slightly, and, drawing down 
 her veil, made a sign to the servant, 
 and prepared to leave the church. 
 She had reached the door, when her 
 arm was gently touched, and, turning 
 round, she saw the young Duchess, 
 with an altogether different expres- 
 sion on her face. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said Blanche, " I 
 fear I have offended you." 
 
 " A little," answered Sibylle, smil- 
 ing. 
 
 "Pardon me," returned the young 
 woman; "I am so unhappy. Will 
 you come to see me to-day at two 
 o'clock, and ask for me alone ? " 
 
 "Yes, madame," said Sibylle, "I 
 will come." 
 
 Blanche seized her hand, pressed 
 it convulsively, and disappeared. 
 
 The morning seemed long to Mile, 
 de Fe'rias, so much had the scene in 
 the church awakened her curiosity 
 and her interest. When she was 
 admitted to the apartment of Mme. 
 de Sauves, she found the latter in a 
 state of agitation approaching to an- 
 guish. 
 
 On her entrance, the young Duch- 
 ess rose to meet her ; her eyes were 
 hollow with weeping, but they shone 
 with an unusual brilliancy. She took
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 75 
 
 the young girl's hands in hers, and 
 drawing her close to her said, " Mile. 
 Sibylle, will you be my friend ? " 
 
 " Most willingly," replied Sibylle. 
 
 Blanche threw her arms round her 
 and kissed her tenderly, still weeping 
 and sobbing. She made her sit on a 
 sofa beside her, and, hiding her face 
 on the bosom of Sibylle, she said, 
 her words interrupted by her tears, 
 " I love you be kind to me will 
 you not love me ? I so much need 
 some one to love me." 
 
 When she became a little more 
 calm, the little Duchess, still holding 
 the hand of her new friend tightly 
 clasped in her own, said with an at- 
 tempt at a smile, " You do not un- 
 derstand all this, my dear; some day 
 you will comprehend it; but promise 
 me to love me and to save me." 
 
 " To save you !" murmured Sibylle, 
 astonished. 
 
 "Yes, I know you can help me. 
 You have so much sense and good- 
 ness, and I can trust you. But do 
 not despise me ! I have suffered so 
 much, resisted so much. Listen to 
 me. When I married, I loved some 
 one I had loved him a long time 
 ever since I knew I had a heart 
 it was his. I expected to marry 
 him, I had been taught to expect it, 
 but he saw nothing ; he did not 
 choose to see anything. He went 
 away ; I thought he would never re- 
 turn. I gave up my dream of hap- 
 piness and I married." 
 
 Here the Duchess paused as if em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 Sibylle affectionately pressed her 
 hand. 
 
 "Take courage," said sh. "The 
 other one came back, did he not ? " 
 
 " Yes," returned Blanche, "he came 
 back, and I found that I still loved 
 him. I could not conceal it from 
 him, and I have suffered martyrdom, 
 for I know it is wrong, but I am so 
 weak; and now God has given me 
 the courage to throw myself in your 
 arms, my good angel." 
 
 And she embraced Sibylle fer- 
 vently, and then, rising, said, "My 
 darling, I have given you my entire 
 confidence ; I esteem you so highly 
 that I will do whatever you tell me 
 to do. Come now, say, what would 
 you do in my place ? " 
 
 In the midst of the chaos of re- 
 flections, suppositions, and interest- 
 ing imaginations into which the rev- 
 elations of the Duchess had plunged 
 Mile, de Farias, she found it difficult 
 to collect her ideas sufficiently to 
 frame an answer to these questions. 
 
 "But," she said, "you have too 
 high an opinion of me ; all this is 
 so new to me that I know not what 
 to say. But your confidence touches 
 me deeply, and I will try with all 
 my heart to deserve it. Let me see, 
 does this some one does he love 
 you?" 
 
 Blanche answered sorrowfully, 
 " Not much, I fear I mean I 
 believe." 
 
 "Why not throw yourself upon 
 his honor, and tell him it would be 
 better for your peace of mind that 
 he should go away again ? " 
 
 " Do you think so ? " said Blanche ; 
 " but no, I could not do that ; do not 
 ask me that."
 
 76 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 Sibylle reflected gravely for a few 
 moments, and then said, "What I 
 should do, would be this, I should 
 simply confide all to my husband. 
 Without entering into details, or 
 mentioning names, I should tell him 
 that I am too much alone, that as he 
 is for me the symbol of duty, as the 
 cross is that of faith, it is better for 
 me that both should be constantly be- 
 fore my eyes, 'that they may be more 
 in my heart. The Duke has a gen- 
 erous soul ; he will understand it all, 
 and you will be saved." 
 
 " Yes, I prefer that," said the Duch- 
 ess ; " you are right ; the Duke has a 
 generous soul. I think I should have 
 loved him if he had tried to make 
 me ; but I seem nothing to him, like 
 a child ; he does not know me. Well, 
 I will think of it." 
 
 "You must not think of it," said 
 Sibylle, "you must do it. Is your 
 husband in Paris ? " 
 
 " Yes," returned the Duchess. 
 
 "Then promise me to speak to 
 him this evening." 
 
 The Duchess suddenly rose. 
 
 " I hear him coming," said she. 
 
 " Promise me to speak to him im- 
 mediately," said Sibylle. 
 
 " I promise," said the Duchess, em- 
 bracing her; "adieu till to-morrow." 
 
 At this moment the Duke opened 
 the door, and witnessed the affection- 
 ate parting of the two young friends ; 
 and when Sibylle left he took leave 
 of her with the greatest courtesy. 
 
 M. de Sauves, who, as the saying 
 is, " was not born yesterday," had not 
 failed to remark at first sight the 
 perturbed condition of the Duchess, 
 
 and felt like a man having the pre- 
 sentiment of a thunderstorm in the 
 air. Nevertheless, he concealed his 
 impressions under an appearance of 
 nonchalance, and smilingly touched 
 with his lips the brow of his young 
 wife. 
 
 " I have just met the children in 
 the park," said he. 
 
 Then he paced the floor of the bou- 
 doir, humming an air, and stopping 
 here and there to look at the flowers 
 in the vases ; he picked a rose, and 
 said, carelessly, " I did not know you 
 were so very intimate with Mile, de 
 Ferias, my dear." 
 
 " yes, we are very intimate. 
 You do not disapprove." 
 
 " On the contrary, she is a young 
 person for whom I have a great ad- 
 miration. She is very handsome, her 
 style is perfect, and I believe she is 
 in every way superior. What were 
 you telling each other, when I came 
 in?" 
 
 The Duchess summoned all her 
 courage. "I was telling her my 
 troubles," answered she. 
 
 " Your troubles ! " replied the 
 Duke, laughing ; " what are they, my 
 poor Blanche ? " 
 
 " Very serious ones." 
 
 " 0, indeed ! " said the Duke, with 
 the utmost serenity. 
 
 " Mile, de Ferias," resumed the 
 Duchess, " has advised me to confide 
 them to you. She says you have a 
 generous soul." 
 
 The Duke was still calm in ap- 
 pearance, but his pulse began to beat 
 more quickly. 
 
 "Really!" said he; "well, I do not
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 77 
 
 know whether I have a generous soul, 
 but the advice appears to me to be 
 good, and I am grateful to Mile, de 
 Ferias." 
 
 The Duchess rose, and, leaning 
 against an arm-chair, "My friend," 
 said she, impressively, " do not leave 
 me so much alone ; or, rather, so as 
 not to change your habits, take me 
 with you to the country when you 
 go. You will make me happier." 
 
 M. de Sauves breathed more quick- 
 ly, as he said, " Are you not happy, 
 then ? " 
 
 "Not altogether so," replied 
 Blanche. "I am very young to be 
 left so much alone. I need more af- 
 fection ; more to fill my heart." 
 
 " Ah," said the Duke, in an impa- 
 tient tone, " this is romance ! And 
 your children, are not they suffi- 
 cient ? " 
 
 " I adore my children, but believe 
 me, my friend, at my age I need 
 something besides." 
 
 " I do not understand these subtle- 
 ties," cried the Duke. " If you are 
 not happy, you are ungrateful to 
 Providence and unjust towards me. 
 These sorrows are purely imaginary, 
 and I will not yield to your unrea- 
 sonable fancies, nor make you and 
 myself ridiculous by taking you with 
 me to the country, like a camp- 
 follower. It is absurd; it cannot 
 be!" 
 
 The young Duchess, after a mo- 
 ment of sorrowful silence, raised her 
 tearful eyes to her husband's face, and 
 said, " My friend, understand me ; it 
 must be so." 
 
 The Duke de Sauves came very 
 
 near his wife, and said, gravely, 
 " What does this mean ? " 
 
 "It means that I feel myself 
 weak, and I ask you to support 
 me." 
 
 A livid hue overspread the counte- 
 nance of the Duke ; his eyes were 
 inflamed with anger. His young 
 wife sank, half fainting, on the 
 sofa. 
 
 The Duke made no attempt to 
 raise her", but, crossing his arms over 
 his chest, he began to pace the room 
 with long strides, followed by the 
 anxious and imploring gaze of his 
 wife. For ten minutes nothing was 
 heard in the room but the heavy 
 tread of the Duke upon the carpet, 
 when he suddenly turned and ap- 
 proached the couch. The young 
 Duchess half rose with a convulsive 
 movement. He took her hands, 
 looked her in the face, and said, in 
 his deep voice, a little broken by 
 emotion, "You are a good woman. I 
 thank you." 
 
 At these words poor Blanche sobbed 
 like a child, and, throwing herself on 
 the breast of her husband, she wept 
 long and bitterly. The Duke also 
 wiped away some tears from his 
 manly face. 
 
 In a few moments he said, " My 
 dear child, I will leave you now, we , 
 both need repose ; but be sure of one v 
 thing, I will take you with me." 
 
 " Thank you," murmured Blanche. 
 
 And he left her. 
 
 Left to herself, the young Duchess 
 threw herself on her knees and 
 thanked God for the peace which 
 penetrated her soul For the remain-
 
 78 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 der of the day she was perfectly hap- 
 py. Towards evening, however, a 
 bitter thought suggested itself. She 
 pictured to herself Clotilde, and the 
 probable triumph that awaited her, 
 now that she herself had given up 
 all thought of the love of Eaoul. 
 That night, as she lay awake revolv- 
 ing in her mind a thousand different 
 plans to circumvent Clotilde, an idea 
 struck her, which she determined to 
 carry out; and having taken her 
 resolution, which was an heroic one, 
 Blanche fell asleep. 
 
 VL 
 
 THE CROWN. 
 
 THE following day the young 
 Duchess de Sauves spent a portion 
 of the morning in visiting various 
 shops of florists, where she made 
 some mysterious purchases. She 
 afterwards drove to the Hotel de 
 Vergnes, and having shut herself up 
 with Mile, de Ferias, she recounted 
 to her, with many effusions of friend- 
 ship, her conversation with her hus- 
 band, and the entire success of the 
 line of conduct which she had sug- 
 gested to her. 
 
 " My dear," said she, " you must 
 come and dine with me to-day. My 
 mother-in-law, at my request, is going 
 to get up a little dance. There will 
 be no one but yourself at dinner. 
 Come just as you are. After dinner 
 we will dress together. If you wish 
 to please me you will wear your 
 white and blue dress. I want to 
 dress your hair myself." 
 
 Mile, de Ferias accordingly arrived 
 about seven o'clock at the Hotel de 
 Sauves, and she observed the young 
 Duchess was extremely agitated. 
 During the dinner the Duke paid 
 her a great deal of attention. At 
 the dessert he joked with her upon 
 her serious expression, and upon the 
 depth of her blue eyes. 
 
 "You are a dangerous blonde," 
 said he. "You look like an angel 
 meditating a crime. Ah, you can 
 really laugh sometimes ! I am de- 
 lighted to see it, mademoiselle." 
 
 Blanche having told him of the 
 young girl's talent for drawing cari- 
 catures, the Duke would not believe 
 it unless she consented to make one 
 of him, and brought her pencils. 
 Sibylle tried to excuse herself, but, 
 as he insisted, she drew one with a 
 ludicrous resemblance to the eques- 
 trian statue of Henri IV., and pre- 
 sented it to the Duke with a low 
 courtesy. The Duke, drawing her 
 towards a window, said to her, 
 "Mile, de Ferias, you must permit 
 me to tell you how grateful I am for 
 your esteem and friendship. I hear 
 you admire generous souls, and I am 
 truly happy to hear that you rank 
 me among them." 
 
 Sibylle blushed, put out her hand, 
 and left the room. 
 
 The young Duchess led the way to 
 her boudoir, and while they were 
 dressing she talked rapidly on all 
 sorts of subjects, inquiring into the 
 tastes of her friend in regard to the 
 fine arts, scenery, travel, etc. Have 
 you seen this place, or that country ? 
 Have you been to Switzerland, to
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 79 
 
 Italy ? No ? well, we will go togeth- 
 er when you are married." Here 
 she stopped abruptly. 
 
 "Now I must dress your hair," 
 said she. 
 
 She then made Sibylle sit down in 
 front of a large glass, and opened 
 carefully the parcels of flowers she 
 had purchased in the morning. Si- 
 bylle observed they were all wild- 
 flowers, of the species that grow in 
 the woods ; in particular a quantity 
 of vines and twining plants. 
 
 Her fancy immediately carried her 
 back to the woods of Ferias, and to 
 the solitary spots where she had 
 been used to gather similar flowers. 
 The young Duchess first arranged a 
 part of Sibylle's beautiful fair hair 
 in a graceful mass, then she began 
 to braid and twine the remainder in 
 a most artistic fashion. Afterwards 
 she took the vines and flowers, 
 and, weaving them into a graceful 
 wreath, she crowned her like a wood- 
 nymph. 
 
 While her hands were thus em- 
 ployed, Sibylle felt some tears falling 
 upon her shoulder. 
 
 " "Why do you weep ? " said the 
 young girl ; " what is the matter ? " 
 
 " It is nothing," said Blanche ; 
 " some tears, you know, are sweet." 
 
 Hers, however, were not altogether 
 so ; but if any bitterness mingled with 
 them, still her sacrifice, laid upon the 
 altar of right and duty, was a pure 
 and noble one, and upon it, per- 
 chance, angels may have looked down 
 with pleasure. When she had fin- 
 ished her labor of love and com- 
 pleted the toilette of Sibylle, she 
 
 was perfectly satisfied with the effect 
 she had produced. "Ah," said she, 
 " you are beautiful to-night ! I am 
 delighted with you. Come, now we 
 must go down stairs"; and she led 
 the way to the drawing-room. 
 
 Mile, de Ferias was really on this 
 occasion not only beautiful, but cap- 
 tivating. 
 
 She was not very tall, but the per- 
 fect harmony of her figure made her 
 appear so. Her great charm con- 
 sisted in the marked but delicate 
 outline of her features, in the beau- 
 tifully shaped mouth, and, above all, 
 in the expression of her eyes ; habit- 
 ually blue as the sea beneath a 
 cloudless sky, under the influence 
 of some strong emotion they would 
 seem to grow darker, as if a cloud 
 had passed over them, and even to 
 shadow forth storms and emit flashes 
 of light. 
 
 The young Duchess, who had ob- 
 served this striking characteristic, 
 had heightened it still more this 
 evening by the manner in which she 
 had arranged the crown of wild-flow- 
 ers on her head ; which, rather over- 
 shadowing her brow, had given to 
 Sibylle's blue eyes a deeper and more 
 expressive hue. 
 
 Such was the appearance of Mile, 
 de Fdrias as she entered the great 
 drawing-room of the Hotel de Sauves, 
 on the arm of the Duchess Blanche. 
 
 The toilet had occupied so much 
 time that the greater part of the 
 guests were assembled when they 
 entered the room. At the first glance 
 the young Duchess perceived Eaoul 
 and Clotilde ; they were seated side
 
 80 
 
 THE STOKY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 by side on a divan, and appeared to 
 be engaged in an animated conversa- 
 tion. Blanche, returning in a some- 
 what absent manner the salutations 
 ehe received, immediately crossed the 
 room, with Sibylle on her arm, and 
 went straight towards the enemy. 
 The Baroness de Val-Chesnay, seeing 
 this formidable pair approach, felt a 
 cold sensation in the region of the 
 heart ; and such was the alteration 
 in her countenance that the Count 
 de Chalys, who was talking to her 
 at the moment, turned his eyes in 
 the same direction as her own, and 
 then, for the first time, he perceived 
 Mile, de Farias. Suddenly changing 
 his leaning position for an upright 
 one, " Who is that ? " said he, in a 
 hollow voice. 
 
 Clotilde did not answer him ; she 
 had risen ; Eaoul also rose, and stood 
 at a little distance, while the Duchess 
 and Sibylle shook hands with Clo- 
 tilde. After this ceremony, the young 
 Duchess turned towards the Count, 
 and, addressing Sibylle, said, "The 
 Count Eaoul de Chalys, my cousin." 
 Then, turning again to Eaoul, "My 
 friend, Mile. Sibylle de Ferias." 
 
 Blanche, having accomplished this 
 stroke of policy, well understood the 
 meaning of the profound astonish- 
 ment expressed in the countenance 
 of her cousin; but she was some- 
 what surprised to feel, at the same 
 moment, Sibylle's arm tremble and 
 lean heavily upon her own. She im- 
 mediately led her to the opposite side 
 of the saloon, and looking at her with 
 affectionate curiosity, " My darling," 
 said she, " I do not understand how 
 
 it is you appear to recognize Eaoul 
 after so many years, tell me." 
 
 " I do not know," murmured Si- 
 bylle, " I suppose on account of this 
 mysterious crown you have prepared 
 for me; but who could have told 
 you?" 
 
 "Guess." 
 
 " I cannot ; it is all a mystery." 
 
 " Do you feel able to dance ? " 
 
 "To dance? Why?" 
 
 "To bring back your color; you 
 are too pale." 
 
 Blanche stopped her husband, who 
 was passing, and said, "My friend, 
 Mile, de Ferias wishes to dance with 
 
 you." 
 
 The Duke bowed low, and putting 
 his arm round Sibylle's slender waist, 
 carried her off in the dance, like an 
 eagle bearing a dove. 
 
 The Duchess, satisfied with the 
 success of her plot, began to converse 
 gayly with those around her; but 
 never, for an instant, losing sight of 
 the corner where Clotilde and Eaoul 
 were sitting tte-a-tete. She enjoyed 
 the absent air of her cousin and the 
 evident vexation of the young Bar- 
 oness. She saw that the eyes of the 
 Count were continually fixed upon 
 Mile, de Farias, and that the young 
 girl was the object of his attention, 
 and even the subject of his conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 M. de Chalys was, indeed, deeply 
 moved and surprised by what had 
 occurred. The poetical apparition of 
 Sibylle, and the marked manner in 
 which he had been presented to her 
 by the Duchess, so entirely overcame 
 his habitual coolness and delibera-
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 81 
 
 tion that he fell, like a school-boy, 
 into the awkward mistake of ques- 
 tioning, earnestly, one pretty woman 
 about another. "You know this 
 young lady, madame ? " said he to 
 his neighbor. 
 
 "What young lady?" 
 
 "The one who wears a crown, 
 Mile, de Ferias, I believe." 
 
 " Slightly," replied Clotilde, coldly. 
 " We are from the same part of the 
 country." 
 
 "Ah!" Where is Fe'rias ?" 
 
 " In Normandy." 
 
 " Near the sea ? " 
 
 " Not far from it." 
 
 " Is she intimate with my cousin ? " 
 
 " So it seems." 
 
 " Does she live at Paris ? " 
 
 " I think not ; she is on a visit" 
 
 " For a long time ? " 
 
 " Had you not better ask her your- 
 self?" 
 
 Clotilde now left him, to dance 
 with a young man who just then 
 came to ask her. 
 
 M. de Chalys bore this departure 
 with philosophy, and went over to 
 speak to the young Duchess. 
 
 " Cousin Blanche," said he. 
 
 " Well, cousin, what is it ? " 
 
 " Take pity on a man who is losing 
 his mind, and let me ask you a few 
 questions." 
 
 " I am listening." 
 
 "Did you know, when you pre- 
 sented me to Mile, de Fe'rias, that she 
 was the original of the portrait you 
 had seen in my portfolio ? " 
 
 " Probably I did." 
 
 " And you love her ? " 
 
 " Very dearly." 
 
 Raoul looked at the young woman 
 with a fixed and inquiring expres- 
 sion. " And will you allow me to ad- 
 mire her ? " 
 
 " I command you to," said Blanche. 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " How ? and then ? " 
 
 "What do you command me be- 
 sides ? " 
 
 She turned her eyes towards him, 
 and, putting up her fan, " To be good 
 and happy," said she. 
 
 Eaoul could read in the eyes of 
 his young cousin the sincerity of her 
 generous resolution. He rose, leaned 
 over her, and with all the respect 
 which a man can entertain for a wo- 
 man in the tones of his voice, and 
 in the expression of his eyes, he said, 
 " Blanche, I revere you." 
 
 Sibylle was now near them, and the 
 Duchess said, " Come, cousin, while 
 I attend to the tea, you must enter- 
 tain Mile, de Fe'rias. She has a taste 
 for art ; you will sympathize with 
 each other ; you can talk of painting, 
 of landscapes, of woods, of rocks and 
 fountains, et ccctera." 
 
 Raoul bowed, and, taking the place 
 of the Duchess, said, with an appear- 
 ance of awkwardness and timidity 
 most unusual to him, " I believe, 
 mademoiselle, that about twelve 
 years ago I had the honor of being 
 allowed to kiss your hand, near a 
 rock with water falling from it into 
 a fountain. Do you remember it ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Sibylle, raising her 
 clear blue eyes, with a smile. 
 
 " You remember it ? It seems 
 scarcely possible." 
 
 " It is, nevertheless, quite natural ;
 
 82 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 I have not had many adventures in 
 my life, and my meeting with, you in 
 my grandfather's woods was one of 
 the few." 
 
 " I frightened you a good deal, did 
 I not?" 
 
 " A little at first, yes." 
 
 " I can see you now with your 
 white wand and your singular head- 
 dress, almost the same as the one you 
 now wear, I think." 
 
 " This one," replied Sibylle, raising 
 her head a little haughtily, " I assure 
 you, was not arranged by myself, and 
 when it was done for me, I knew 
 nothing of the surprise I was to en- 
 joy this evening." 
 
 From the beginning of their con- 
 versation Eaoul had been struck with 
 the singular frankness and dignity 
 with which the young girl spoke. 
 The accents of her voice charmed 
 him, and the eye and the soul of the 
 artist were filled with admiration of 
 her exquisite beauty. In short, an 
 irresistible attraction urged him to 
 the resolve that he would seek to win 
 her heart, and he felt that upon his 
 success would depend all the happi- 
 ness of his future life. He ceased 
 speaking on the subject of their 
 former meeting, and began to con- 
 verse upon art, and upon his travels ; 
 he endeavored to pour out all his re- 
 sources of mind, heart, and soul, and, 
 as it were, to lay them at the feet of 
 Mile, de Ferias. Although his con- 
 versation contained not even the 
 shadow of a direct compliment, still 
 it was impossible for Sibylle not to 
 feel that the tone of voice and the 
 expression of the eyes of Eaoul were 
 
 a continual homage to he'r charms ; 
 nor could she fail to comprehend that 
 she herself was the inspirer of the 
 rapturous eloquence with which he 
 confided to her his impressions, his 
 opinions, his discouragements, and 
 his hopes. This delicate flattery 
 could not but touch and please, and, 
 at the same time, a little confuse her. 
 She even feared she must appear 
 silly and childish in his eyes ; while, 
 on the contrary, the few words she 
 uttered seemed to him singularly 
 just and appropriate. Xow, how- 
 ever, Mme. de Vergnes, beginning to 
 feel anxious at the marked attentions 
 her granddaughter was receiving, 
 came to interrupt their tete-d-tete. 
 Sibylle immediately related to her, 
 laughingly, the accidental meeting 
 between herself and the Count de 
 Chalys in the woods of Ferias, and 
 feeling a little more at ease in the 
 presence of her grandmother, she re- 
 plied gracefully to the questions the 
 Count then addressed to her on the 
 subject of Ferias, of her family there, 
 of the impressions of her childhood, 
 and of her visits to fairy land. He 
 listened with the utmost interest and 
 attention, seeming even to divine her 
 thoughts, and almost as if their two 
 lives had always been united by 
 sympathy, and as if the feelings of 
 the soul of the one had always been 
 reproduced in that of the other. 
 
 Clotilde, meanwhile, had not seen 
 this suddenly developed intimacy 
 without endeavoring to interrupt it 
 by sundry artifices ; several times in 
 the intervals of the dance she had 
 stationed herself very near Raoul,
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 83 
 
 and had displayed, with great effect, 
 the beautiful outlines of her figure, 
 and of her head with its magnificent 
 masses of hair ; then she seated 
 herself and endeavored to excite his 
 jealousy ; she called Louis Gandrax, 
 who had just entered the room, to 
 sit beside her, and, under cover of 
 her fan, she so used her magnificent 
 eyes as to make all the icy coldness 
 of- the young scholar needful to pre- 
 vent his heart from melting under 
 the influence of such glances. 
 
 M. de Chalys saw all this by-play, 
 but from the height of his own bliss ; 
 it did not trouble him. At last 
 Sibylle, embarrassed by this marked 
 devotion, proposed to her grand- 
 mother that they should retire. As 
 Mme. de Vergnes rose to go, Eaoul, 
 bowing gravely, said to her, " Would 
 you permit me, madam, to have the 
 honor of paying my respects to you, 
 and of offering to you the portrait I 
 made of Mile, de Ferias twelve years 
 ago?" 
 
 Mme. de Vergnes graciously as- 
 sented, and retired with a presenti- 
 ment that her granddaughter's wed- 
 ding was not far distant. 
 
 The Count de Chalys left the Hotel 
 de Sauves in company with his friend 
 Gandrax. They were both thought- 
 ful, and exchanged but few words. 
 
 Suddenly, after a long silence, M. 
 de Chalys said, abruptly, " What do 
 you think of marriage, Louis ? " 
 
 " What ! already ? " cried Gandrax, 
 laughing ; " well, my friend, I approve 
 of it ; marriage is the safety of the 
 race. The more respect a nation 
 entertains for the institution of mar- 
 
 riage, the nearer that nation ap- 
 proaches the true social idea, which 
 is strength by means of order. 
 Therefore, marriage is right ; and you 
 may, with my entire approbation, 
 marry Mile, de Ferias, if your heart 
 tells you to do so." 
 
 " Had you met her before at my 
 cousin's house ? " asked the Count. 
 
 " Frequently." 
 
 " And how was it that you never 
 spoke to me about her ? " 
 
 "Why should I have .spoken of 
 her?" 
 
 "Is it possible you did not rec- 
 ognize in her the little fairy by the 
 fountain, about whom I have so 
 often talked to you, and also the 
 crowned Sibylle of my portfolio ? " 
 
 " Eeally, is it she ? But how could 
 I have recognized her ? " 
 
 " Because she is the living portrait 
 of her portrait." 
 
 " All imagination ! " said Gandrax, 
 laughing heartily ; " at any rate, my 
 friend, I am delighted that she 
 pleases you ; but I must frankly tell 
 you our tastes differ here. Explain 
 to me her attraction, for I do not un- 
 derstand it." 
 
 Eaoul stopped, and looked at him 
 in astonishment. " My poor Louis," 
 said he, " must I describe it by math- 
 ematical rules, and give exact reasons ? 
 I feel that Mile, de Ferias has been 
 created for me for my eyes, for my 
 soul, for my heart forever ! You 
 know how strangely my meeting 
 with that lovely child occupied my 
 thoughts during so many years. I 
 have confided to you the fanciful 
 reveries which the remembrance of
 
 84 
 
 THE STOEY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 her inspired in me. She was to me 
 like the marble statue of which the 
 sculptor in ancient story became 
 enamored. In my imagination I 
 endowed her with all the graces and 
 all the virtues ; I pictured to myself 
 the gradual development of all her 
 loveliness. I dedicated to her image 
 all the tenderness of my heart, all 
 the ennobling and elevating feelings 
 of my soul. Judge, then, what I 
 experienced to-night when I met her 
 again, when I saw that my dream 
 had been more than realized, when I 
 found her worthy of all the devotion, 
 all the homage,.! could lay at her 
 feet." 
 
 " Be it so ! " said Gandrax. " I love 
 you for telling me all this so frankly, 
 and without any false pride. Marry 
 her, then, and I shall never feel 
 tempted to become your rival. She 
 is handsome, I acknowledge ; but her 
 beauty is like an object of art, which 
 says nothing to me." 
 
 "I suppose," said Eaoul, smiling, 
 "you would prefer Mme. de Val- 
 Chesnay." 
 
 " Yes, sincerely, I would. She is 
 a beautiful woman, the incarnation 
 of matter under the most splendid 
 form. Thus Eve must have appeared 
 to the first man in the virgin soli- 
 tudes of Eden." 
 
 " Louis, you do not know it, but I 
 see you are very much in love. 
 You really, for the first time, speak 
 in poetry. But Eve was a blonde." 
 
 " No," said Gandrax, " Eve was a 
 brunette, and she spoke Sanscrit." 
 
 " And soon you will speak Sanscrit 
 to Mme. de Val-Chesnay." 
 
 "No," replied Gandrax, impres- 
 sively, " I will not, because I do 
 not choose. One can do what one 
 will. My will is to work, and I am 
 going to do it. Good night ! " 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE STUDIO. 
 
 THE next morning when Sibylle, ac- 
 companied by Miss O'Neil, appeared 
 at the breakfast- table, she saw at once, 
 by the expression of her grandfather's 
 face, that he had already been in- 
 formed of the occurrences of the pre- 
 vious evening. In fact, at an early 
 hour the Countess had confided to 
 him the expectations which the de- 
 votion paid to Sibylle by the Count 
 de Chalys had excited in her mind. 
 When Sibylle entered the room, he 
 affected to frown. 
 
 "Do not approach me, mademoi- 
 selle ; do not approach me ! " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " murmured 
 Sibylle, blushing. 
 
 He laughed, and kissed her ; the 
 breakfast hour passed gayly ; and 
 when the servants had left the room, 
 the Count said, " You have no appe- 
 tite this morning, my child ; the sign 
 of a bad conscience. Tell me, Miss 
 O'Neil, did you know it, yes or 
 no?" 
 
 " Know what, sir ? " 
 
 " Did you know that this unprin- 
 cipled young person had exchanged 
 vows of love with an unknown stran- 
 ger in the woods ? " 
 
 " grandfather ! " said Sibylle. 
 
 " Well, that is what I have been
 
 THE STOKY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 85 
 
 told, at least ; happily, marriage can 
 repair everything." 
 
 " Dear grandfather, you are in too 
 great haste." 
 
 " What ! will you not marry him, 
 then ? Miss O'Neil, I compliment 
 you on the morality of your pupil." 
 
 Sibylle put her arms round him. 
 " Do not tease me so," said she. 
 
 " Agreed, if you will promise to 
 marry him." 
 
 "Promise to marry a gentleman, 
 whom I have seen only twice in my 
 life, and whom I may never see 
 again ? " 
 
 " I tell you, you will see him to- 
 day. Is this not your grandmother's 
 day?" 
 
 "He does not know anything 
 about that." 
 
 " He will come, I tell you. I can 
 predict it all for you. He will come 
 between four and five in the after- 
 noon, so as to preserve a happy me- 
 dium between too great eagerness 
 and indifference. He will show you 
 his portfolio, and you will begin to 
 blush, ditto the sensitive Miss O'Neil, 
 as you remark the fidelity of his mem- 
 ory, evinced by his sketch of your- 
 self; he will ask to see your draw- 
 ings, and while you utter a timid 
 refusal, Miss O'Neil will go and fetch 
 them; here the Count will be in 
 ecstacies, the young lady will blush 
 again, ditto Miss O'Neil. Then 
 ah ! then you will begin to speak of 
 his sketches of Eastern travel, of 
 which you have heard so much. He 
 certainly will not fail to beg you, 
 some day as you are passing, to do 
 him the honor and pleasure of visit- 
 
 ing his studio. Miss O'Neil will 
 blush more than ever, and you will 
 look at your grandmother with amia- 
 ble uncertainty. Your grandmother 
 will say that the genius of the Count 
 makes him, as it were, a public char- 
 acter, and that under her wing and 
 protection she considers this visit 
 may be made. In a short time he 
 will solicit the favor of making a 
 portrait of you, and when it is 
 finished he will leave the picture 
 with us, and carry off the original. 
 There is your history, young lady." 
 The Count rose, and pressing his 
 granddaughter to his heart added, in 
 a serious tone : " My dear child, noth- 
 ing would give me greater pleasure." 
 
 "You are a darling grandfather," 
 said Sibylle, " but a very imprudent 
 one. The Count de Chalys really 
 does appear to me the most distin- 
 guished and agreeable man I have 
 met with in society ; but for that 
 very reason you should beware of 
 filling my head with such ideas, for 
 it is quite possible that, notwith- 
 standing his attentions last evening, 
 the idea of marrying me may never 
 have entered his mind." 
 
 " Undoubtedly it is possible. In 
 that case, so much the worse for him ! 
 But I can talk in this way to you 
 because you are a wise little girl, Si- 
 bylle, and I do not think that in one 
 night your predilection for M. de 
 Chalys can have assumed any very 
 formidable proportions. Good by, 
 my child." And the Count went for 
 his walk on the Boulevard and his 
 daily visit at the club, which evo- 
 lutions only the state of his health,
 
 86 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 or an earthquake, would have been 
 sufficient to prevent. 
 
 M. de Vergnes left his granddaugh- 
 ter much more agitated and troubled 
 than it was possible for him to im- 
 agine ; for he knew nothing of the 
 cherished memories and of the pro- 
 found and delicate presentiments 
 which had prepared and increased, 
 between Sibylle and Eaoul, the sym- 
 pathy which he supposed to be only 
 the consequence of their meeting the 
 night before. 
 
 In reality, their souls, both filled 
 with lofty imaginings, and both 
 united by a far-off memory, had, for 
 years past, been drawn together by a 
 mysterious inclination, and their first 
 meeting had caused a shock of emo- 
 tion which naturally kindled the 
 flame of love. 
 
 These instances of sudden attach- 
 ments, which are explained by pow- 
 erful affinities and deep mutual sym- 
 pathies, are, doubtless, exceptional 
 ones ; but neither, on the other hand, 
 are they so rare in real life as not to 
 fall within the province of the nov- 
 elist, since exceptional circumstances, 
 which he can invest with the interest 
 and dignity of truth, are most fre- 
 quently what are required for his 
 task. 
 
 Mile, de Ferias could not herself 
 conceive the depth of the impression 
 which their interview of the previous 
 evening had left upon the mind of 
 the Count de Chalys. To her it ap- 
 peared probable that M. de Chalys 
 would scarcely think again of what 
 might be to him only a trifling inci- 
 dent in the life of a man of the 
 
 world. How she wished she knew 
 his secret thoughts ! Eaoul had the 
 same feelings as Sibylle, and with an 
 additional cause for anxiety. Si- 
 bylle, at least, could have no doubts 
 as to the admiration with which she 
 had inspired M. de Chalys, her 
 womanly instinct could not mistake 
 the fact, although it left her in doubt 
 as to the extent and degree to which 
 it might be carried; but M. de 
 Chalys, who had passed hours in re- 
 calling to himself all the words ut- 
 tered by Sibylle, all the intonations 
 of her voice, all the expressions of 
 her countenance, had, by a process of 
 induction known only to lovers, ar- 
 rived at the absurd conclusion that 
 she had not been pleased with him, 
 and when, at last, he fell asleep, it 
 was in a sorrowful state of mind. 
 
 The next day, however, he took a 
 less gloomy view of matters. His 
 residence was in the street St. 
 Dominique, Saint Germain, and had 
 the advantage of a garden. It was 
 early April ; the trees were in blos- 
 som, and the birds were singing. 
 The Count, too, sang as he gathered 
 some violets, which he threw away. 
 Soon he went to his studio and 
 opened the portfolio w'hich contained 
 the portraits of Sibylle. He com- 
 pleted the likeness of the last one 
 by -a few touches, and then, after con- 
 templating it in silence, he mur- 
 mured, in a low tone, " My wife ! " 
 The word brought a smile to his face, 
 then he grew pensive again ; his 
 foolish fears had returned. 
 
 "Yes," said he to himself, "she 
 certainly did not like me; I ani
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 87 
 
 too old, I suppose. Well, I must 
 work." 
 
 He prepared his palette, singing 
 as he did so. Suddenly he took off 
 the easel the picture on which he 
 had been working, replaced it by a 
 new canvas, and began to sketch a 
 full-length portrait of Mile, de Fe'rias 
 by the rock. 
 
 He had taken pains to ascertain, 
 the night before, that Tuesday was 
 Mme. de Yergnes's day at home ; 
 nevertheless, he determined to delay 
 his visit until the following Tuesday, 
 were it only to display towards Mile, 
 de Fe'rias a magnanimous indifference. 
 However, towards four o'clock he 
 abruptly put down his palette, and 
 proceeded to dress. Twenty min- 
 utes later, he got out of his carriage 
 at the door of the Hotel de Vergnes, 
 his portfolio in his hand. 
 
 Women, even those of the most 
 frank natures, habituated from child- 
 hood to control their feelings and 
 conceal their emotions, have on occa- 
 sions like these a marked advantage 
 over men, even of those who are 
 more experienced in the ways of the 
 world. When M. de Chalys, pale 
 and agitated, presented himself in 
 the drawing-room, where Sibylle was 
 seated between Mme. de Vergnes 
 and Miss O'Neil, he was far from 
 pleased with the appearance of calm- 
 ness and ease with which she re- 
 turned his salutation, although the 
 young girl herself felt as if she 
 could hear the roaring of the ocean 
 in her ears. This painful impression 
 of the Count was only increased in 
 the course of his visit; notwith- 
 
 standing which, the programme 
 which the imagination of M. de 
 Vergnes had sketched in the morn- 
 ing was so fully carried out, that 
 when at last Raoul asked Mme. de 
 Vergnes to favor him with a visit to 
 his studio, Sibylle could not refrain 
 from a glance directed to Miss O'Neil 
 and a slight smile. M. de Chalys 
 perceived this, and it disconcerted 
 him extremely. In vain Mme. de 
 Vergnes promised to come to his 
 studio on her first leisure day; he 
 retired, dissatisfied with the inter- 
 view, with himself, and above all 
 with Mile, de Fe'rias. 
 
 "Well," said he to himself, as he 
 returned home, with a feeling of 
 gloom and depression on his mind, 
 
 " well, it is, I suppose, natural 
 that I should not please her ! if there 
 be only one woman in ten thousand 
 a man desires to please, fate ordains 
 commonly that she dislikes him ; 
 but why I should appear ridiculous 
 to her, why she should laugh at me, 
 
 for I saw the satirical glance she 
 exchanged with her governess, this 
 I do not understand. I hate that 
 mocking spirit in a young girl ; it is a 
 sign of natural malevolence, and of a 
 cold heart. However, it was to be 
 expected this young creature should 
 have some faults, without them 
 she would be too perfect. How 
 beautiful she is ! how graceful and 
 harmonious are all her movements ! 
 It is the poetry of grace ! And 
 withal so superior a mind ! her opin- 
 ions so just and so lucid ! Only the 
 heart is wanting. Well, I must think 
 no more of her, and go to dinner."
 
 88 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 And he went to dine at his club, 
 and in the evening, contrary to his 
 usual habits, he played high, and lost 
 a large sum of money. 
 
 The following evening, after a day 
 which seemed to him interminable, 
 he fortunately happened to remem- 
 ber that Mme. de Vergnes had a box 
 at the opera ; and he went there. 
 
 He soon encountered the eyes of 
 Sibylle, but she turned them quickly 
 away when she perceived him. He 
 resumed a little of his interest in life. 
 They played the Huguenots. He 
 waited until the end of the third act 
 before presenting himself in the box 
 of Mine, de Vergnes, who was alone 
 with her granddaughter. Mile, de 
 Ferias extended her hand with a 
 grave familiarity which delighted 
 him. She said but little, but when, 
 after a short time, he rose to go, 
 "Are you going?" said she, as if 
 surprised. And he remained. 
 
 The fourth act of the Huguenots 
 commenced. 
 
 Although M. de Chalys knew the 
 music by heart, he felt as if he were 
 hearing it for the first time. The 
 melodious strains, so full of grandeur 
 and passion, seemed to reach his 
 soul through the medium of another 
 soul in sympathy with his own, and 
 to fill him with new emotions. 
 Seated behind the chair of Sibylle, a 
 powerful magnetism seemed to unite 
 his being with that of this adorable 
 creature. The tresses which escaped 
 from her comb, the flowers she wore 
 in her hair, the rosy marble of her 
 beautiful shoulders, all seemed in- 
 stinct with the powerful charm which 
 
 drew him to her. Although she had 
 uttered no word to dissipate his 
 doubts and fears of the previous 
 evening, still they had all vanished ; 
 he felt with a strange certainty that 
 he was loved, and all this magnificent 
 music, the voices of the chorus, and 
 the harmonies of the orchestra, were, 
 for him, and for Sibylle also, the echo 
 of the hymn of love which their two 
 hearts were singing. He was there- 
 fore not so much surprised as de- 
 lighted when, towards the end of the 
 act, as the two lovers pour forth 
 their anguish in a celestial melody, 
 Mile, de Ferias suddenly turned to- 
 wards him her beaming eyes, with a 
 sad and almost tender expression, 
 and said, "You are happy, are you 
 not?" 
 
 " From the depths of my soul, 
 mademoiselle," answered he. 
 
 And the expression of his words 
 and looks was such, that Mile, de 
 Ferias turned her eyes again towards 
 the Baoul of the time of Charles IX. 
 
 When the act was over, M. de 
 Chalys took his leave, and retired to 
 meditate alone upon the impressions 
 of the evening. These favorable im- 
 pressions were confirmed by occasion- 
 al little notes, sent him from time to 
 time, by way of encouragement, by 
 his cousin Blanche. He went some- 
 times to see the young Duchess, and 
 on one of these occasions had the hap- 
 piness of meeting Sibylle ; and the 
 manner of the young girl, her timid 
 and pleased expression, her seemingly 
 diminished pride, were even more 
 satisfactory than the mysterious notes 
 of the Duchess. He did not fail to
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 89 
 
 call upon Mine, de Vergnes the fol- 
 lowing Tuesday, and she then prom- 
 ised to visit him the next day with 
 her granddaughter. During the 
 morning Raoul employed himself in 
 decorating his studio with rare flow- 
 ers and tropical plants, which he ar- 
 ranged with the anxiety of a lover 
 'and the taste of an artist. This mag- 
 nificent display enchanted Mme. de 
 Vergnes, and rather appeared to dis- 
 quiet Sibylle, as they entered the 
 perfumed temple. The Count did 
 the honors of his sanctum with the 
 graceful elegance natural to him, and 
 with the simplicity of a man of 
 genius. Mile, de Ferias, wandering 
 among the labyrinth of green, seemed 
 to him like a muse in a sacred grove. 
 Suddenly she perceived the sketch of 
 her portrait in a niche, decorated 
 with flowers almost like a shrine, and 
 she blushed. Eaoul obtained from 
 her a promise to give him some sit- 
 tings in order to finish it. Then 
 they visited the garden of the hotel, 
 where a collation was served under 
 the shade of the trees, and when they 
 parted it was with the best under- 
 standing for the present and the most 
 flattering expectations for the fu- 
 ture. 
 
 Early the next morning Raoul re- 
 ceived from his cousin Blanche a 
 note, inviting him to dine on the fol- 
 lowing Monday with her mother, 
 Mme. de Guy-Ferrand. 
 
 " You will meet," wrote the Duch- 
 ess, "your friend Gandrax, and my 
 friend Sibylle." The truth was, 
 Blanche had confided to her mother 
 her plans for Sibylle and Raoul, and 
 
 Mme. de Guy-Ferrand, who, like most 
 women, considered it a sacred duty 
 to marry as many people as possible, 
 had immediately determined to help 
 on the affair by inviting them to a 
 small and sociable dinner-party. 
 
 In fact, this dinner-party appeared 
 to all the parties interested a sort of 
 a decisive event, in the present state 
 of affairs. 
 
 The visit to the studio had been 
 of a character which could scarcely 
 leave any doubt as to the wishes and 
 intentions of M. de Chalys. A mar- 
 riage between him and Mile, de Fe- 
 rias appeared in every respect so en- 
 tirely suitable, their tastes were so 
 congenial, and their position one 
 which so completely removed all the 
 obstacles which sometimes intervene 
 in such cases, that a speedy conclu- 
 sion to the affair appeared inevitable. 
 Raoul himself felt that candor and 
 respect would not permit him to de- 
 lay much longer a formal declaration 
 of his sentiments, and he was pre- 
 paring to confer with Mme. de Guy- 
 Ferrand upon the steps proper to be 
 taken to secure the hand and heart 
 of Mile, de Ferias. 
 
 Mile, de Ferias, however, notwith- 
 standing this satisfactory state of 
 tilings, was far from feeling perfectly 
 happy. The more she loved, and the 
 more she felt herself beloved, the 
 more she thought of the one obstacle 
 which might have the power of sepa- 
 rating her forever from Raoul. In 
 her elevated although tender nature, 
 passion could never conquer princi- 
 ple. Deeply convinced of the eva- 
 nescent nature of all attachments in
 
 90 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 which the religious element is want- 
 ing, she had resolved never to marry 
 a man who did not partake her re- 
 ligious convictions, and she would 
 have despised herself if the weak- 
 ness of her heart could have induced 
 her to break this solemn determina- 
 tion. What, on these points, were 
 the principles of M. de Chalys, Si- 
 bylle did not know. No one had en- 
 lightened her on the subject, and she 
 had not been in haste to ascertain 
 the truth, whether from some secret 
 presentiment of evil, or from that 
 feeling of trust which endows a be- 
 loved being with all the qualities we 
 desire he should possess; but when 
 she began to see that the love and 
 devotion of Eaoul were likely to end 
 in a speedy declaration and offer of 
 his hand, she began to feel anxious 
 as to her want of information on this 
 point. 
 
 Her apprehensions were allayed 
 when she thought of the noble sen- 
 timents and the generous enthusiasm 
 of the Count. To her the poetical 
 temperament appeared so nearly al- 
 lied to the religious, and the love of 
 the beautiful so much to resemble 
 the love of God, that she could not 
 suspect him of real impiety; only 
 the recollection of his great intimacy 
 with the atheist, Gandrax, when it 
 crossed her mind, gave her a feeling 
 of anxiety of which she could not 
 divest herself. These perplexities 
 cast a shade of sadness over the brow 
 of Sibylle, as, at the table of Mme. 
 de Guy-Ferrand, she took the place 
 reserved for her between the Duke 
 de Sauves and the Count de Chalys. 
 
 Mme. de Guy-Ferrand was a wo- 
 man of a keen and liberal mind. She 
 liked to have around her a circle 
 composed of men distinguished in 
 the world of politics, of science, and 
 of art. Her habitual mode of enter- 
 taining was by giving dinners, when 
 she would assemble such men round 
 her table, and listen to their discus- 
 sions on things divine and human, 
 spiritual and temporal, while her ex- 
 quisite cuisine certainly did not di- 
 minish their enjoyment. 
 
 Louis Gandrax had taken a promi- 
 nent place among her habitual guests, 
 both on account of his own merit 
 and of his great intimacy with M. de 
 Chalys. During the long absence of 
 Eaoul the acquaintance between 
 Gandrax and Mme. de Guy-Ferrand 
 became still more intimate by the 
 constant interchange of letters and 
 news in regard to the absent traveller. 
 Nevertheless, the aunt of Raoul felt 
 towards Gandrax a species of hos- 
 tility which women frequently mani- 
 fest towards scientific men, proba- 
 bly because science, being apart from 
 sensibility and imagination, which 
 are the prominent faculties in wo- 
 men, has nothing to do with love, 
 the most interesting subject in their 
 eyes. In reality, Mme. de Guy-Fer- 
 rand detested, almost as much as the 
 old Duchess de Sauves, the philo- 
 sophical theories of the young scholar, 
 but she liked to hear them discussed, 
 and to refute them herself by some 
 retaliating impertinence. 
 
 She attacked him on this occasion, 
 when the dinner was about half over, 
 on the subject of a late scientific
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 91 
 
 discovery of which he was the author. 
 At first she begged him to explain to 
 her the principles and application of 
 it ; and she listened with a slightly 
 ironical attention to the words of 
 Gaud rax, while he undertook to 
 demonstrate the great results of the 
 new force which it supplied to the 
 use of human industry, and when he 
 had finished she said, " Well, and 
 then ? " 
 
 " How, and then ? Pardon me, 
 rnadame, I do not understand the 
 objection." 
 
 "Will it make this poor world 
 happier, my friend ? " 
 
 " Madame, I presume you agree 
 that two and two make four, and 
 that a progress is a progress." 
 
 " Progress is indefinite," said Mme. 
 de Guy-Ferrand ; " there are different 
 kinds of progress. There may be a 
 fortunate one, a deplorable, or an 
 indifferent one ; I trust, at least, 
 yours may be of the number of the 
 latter." 
 
 Gandrax slightly shook his head 
 with the supreme but irritated con- 
 tempt of a lion stung by an insect. 
 
 " Madame," returned he, " let us 
 understand each other. If your ob- 
 jection be founded upon the want of 
 merit in my invention, I have noth- 
 ing to say ; but if, as I suspect, you 
 do me the honor to attack, in my 
 humble person, science itself, its uses 
 and its benefits, I must beg you to 
 consider the consequences of your 
 reasoning. You must then dispute 
 all the advantages of modern science 
 in its manifold applications to in- 
 dustry and art ; you must repudiate 
 
 the great discoveries which are the 
 honor of the age, you must ignore 
 all that they are continually adding 
 to the happiness and the elevation of 
 our race ; you must boldly proclaim 
 that comfort substituted for hard- 
 ships all over the face of the globe, 
 light replacing chaos, the labors of 
 man lightened, famine conquered, 
 physical life doubled, and intellectual 
 life infinitely multiplied, in fact, 
 that all our glorious civilization, are 
 things indifferent in your eyes ; and 
 that the savage, dwelling in swamps 
 and forests, and the serf of the Mid- 
 dle Ages, a slave to the soil, form 
 your beau ideal of human greatness 
 and felicity." 
 
 The approving murmurs of the 
 assembly appeared to sustain the 
 side of Gandrax ; but Mme. de Guy- 
 Ferrand did not give up. 
 
 " For my part," said she, quietly, 
 " I do not see that railways, electrical 
 telegraphs, or the art of photography, 
 have added to my felicity. The 
 rail way -whistle grates upon my 
 nerves day and night ; the telegraph 
 alarms me whenever I receive a 
 despatch, even if it be intended to 
 reassure me ; and photographs make 
 me look horribly ugly. But you 
 will say I am an aristocrat, and 
 belong to the privileged classes, and 
 that this is a question of the happi- 
 ness of humanity in general, and not 
 of my private convenience. Well, 
 my friend, I am sorry to tell you, 
 that even from this point of view, in 
 the Middle Ages, the masses, as they 
 are called, were much happier than 
 they are at present."
 
 92 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 " Ah, madame," said Gandrax, 
 " allow me to drink to your very good 
 health!" 
 
 " I am convinced of this," repeated 
 Mme. de Guy-Ferrand; "it is my 
 opinion." 
 
 " Your opinion ! Just like a wo- 
 man ; but give me a reason." 
 
 "Well then, in the Middle Ages 
 there were no scholars." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, madame ; the 
 difference was, they burned them." 
 
 " And they did right ! " cried Mme. 
 de Guy-Ferrand, encouraged by the 
 laughter of the company ; " and then, 
 the Middle Ages were times of po- 
 etry and romance." 
 
 " Alas ! my dear madame, if you 
 could resuscitate one of the happy 
 mortals of that romantic and poetical 
 age, and seat him at a modern table, 
 he would think himself in paradise ! " 
 
 "No!" returned Mme. de Guy- 
 Ferrand, quickly; "he would say, 
 take me back to my privations, and 
 to the God who consoled me under 
 them!" 
 
 Sibylle who had listened to this 
 discussion, exchanging smiles with 
 her neighbor Raoul, shook her head 
 approvingly at the last words of 
 Mme. de Guy-Ferrand. Eaoul ea- 
 gerly took the side favored by Mile, 
 de Ferias. He now spoke. " Pardon 
 me, Louis," said he to Gandrax, " but 
 my aunt is right. " 
 
 Gandrax looked at him in aston- 
 ishment. " Are you sure ? " said he. 
 
 "Certainly, it is evident," said 
 Eaoul. " What is my aunt's position ? 
 She does not pretend to deny the 
 material greatness of the present age." 
 
 "Certainly not," said Mme. de 
 Guy-Ferrand. 
 
 " She merely inquires to what ex- 
 tent this greatness has contributed 
 to the real happiness of humanity." 
 
 " That is it." 
 
 " Well, in reality it has contributed 
 to nothing." 
 
 " Horrible ! " said Gandrax. 
 
 " I will convince you of it. Come 
 now, is it not true that physical com- 
 fort and material enjoyments are not 
 only the lowest form of happiness 
 which man can enjoy, but also the 
 kind which satisfies him least, and 
 wearies him soonest ? This you 
 cannot deny without denying the 
 dignity of human nature. Well, all 
 that Science gives us is, the comfort 
 and security of physical well-being, 
 while she takes from us the life of 
 the soul, of sentiment and imagina- 
 tion, which constitutes the true and 
 essential happiness of man. Look 
 fairly at the life of a man of the Mid- 
 dle Ages, even among the class of 
 the very poor. How many moral 
 compensations were there to counter- 
 balance his physical disadvantages, 
 interests, joys, and ecstasies, which 
 are unknown to us, save through 
 the accounts of the ancient chroni- 
 clers. This man possessed, not only 
 in his faith, but even in his super- 
 stitions, an inexhaustible store of 
 hopes, of dreams, of moral emotions, 
 which gave to his life an intensity 
 which we can scarcely conceive. The 
 material world was hard, it is true, 
 but he scarcely lived in it ; he was 
 always escaping from it. If his feet 
 wore chains, his soul had wings. He
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 93 
 
 had ever displayed before his eyes 
 God, the angels, the saints, the mag- 
 nificence of worship, the luminous 
 vision of paradise always half opened 
 above his head ; in him were strongly 
 developed all natural feelings, love, 
 reverence, faith, patriotism. And 
 more than this, his imagination peo- 
 pled the unknown world around 
 him. Around his hearth-stone, in 
 the woods and fields, a company of 
 supernatural beings surrounded him, 
 and made of his life a legend, a 
 romance, a continual poem, of a sweet 
 or terrible interest. Thus, this man, 
 ragged, hungry, weary, must have 
 been happier in life and in death 
 than the well-clothed and well-paid 
 workman of the present time who 
 has lost his faith in God, who be- 
 lieves neither in angels nor fairies, 
 who works on Sunday and perhaps gets 
 drunk on Monday. The former man 
 was happy in this, that he knew 
 nothing of ennui, which poisons the 
 pretended benefits of our generation. 
 Machines can supply daily bread, 
 but not what we most need, the food 
 of the soul." Eaoul at first had 
 spoken in a jesting tone, but he had 
 become warmed by his subject, and 
 his eloquent speech elicited general 
 applause, and especially from Mme. 
 de Guy-Ferrand. 
 
 "A brilliant variation on a para- 
 dox, dedicated to the ladies!" said 
 Gandrax, coldly. 
 
 Eaoul was sufficiently consoled for 
 the ironical reproach conveyed by the 
 tone of his friend, by the delighted 
 expression which he saw in the face 
 of his young neighbor. 
 
 " Nephew," resumed Mme. de Guy- 
 Ferrand, " I not only thank you for 
 the eloquence with which you have 
 sustained my cause, but also for hav- 
 ing removed from my mind a doubt 
 which pained me much. I ask par- 
 don of M. Gandrax. He knows I 
 have a great regard for him, and that 
 I tolerate his impiety with affection- 
 ate compassion, because I consider 
 it a sort of professional infirmity; 
 but sometimes I have feared you 
 might have the same fault, without 
 the same excuse. And now, after 
 all you have just said, I am thank- 
 ful to feel that there is no danger 
 of your being classed with those men 
 who, in these degenerate times, wor- 
 ship nothing, and never pray." 
 
 Raoul at first only answered this 
 appropriate address by an equivocal 
 smile ; but, meeting the cold and se- 
 vere eye of Gandrax fixed upon him, 
 he felt it would be cowardly to allow 
 his friend to bear all the sweeping 
 condemnation of Mme. de Guy-Fer- 
 rand. 
 
 "My dear aunt," said he, "this 
 conversation appears to me inoppor- 
 tune ; however, if you condemn 
 sceptics, I presume you have a still 
 worse opinion of hypocrites, and I 
 fear I should deserve to be called 
 one if I did not endeavor to rectify 
 the conclusions you have drawn from 
 the language I have just used. If I 
 know and deplore the disadvantages 
 of the age, it is because I partake of 
 them myself; and I regret to tell 
 you that I have the same claims as 
 my friend Louis upon your affection- 
 ate compassion. To pretend to wor-
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 ship a Being in whom, unfortunately, 
 I do not believe " 
 
 " Pardon me," interrupted Gan- 
 drax, abruptly rising, " Mile, de Fe"- 
 rias is ill." 
 
 And Raoul, turning towards Sibylle, 
 saw her lying back in her chair, pale 
 as a corpse, and supported by the 
 Duke de Sauves. The ladies rose ; 
 the young girl was carried fainting 
 from the room. Gandrax followed, to 
 give his professional assistance. In 
 a few moments he returned to the 
 drawing-room where the guests, who 
 had left the table, were now assem- 
 bled. To the eager questions which 
 greeted him, he replied with his usu- 
 al coolness, " It is nothing ; a fainting- 
 fit from the heat ; a slight indisposi- 
 tion." 
 
 The general conversation, which 
 had been for a moment suspended 
 by this unfortunate incident, now re- 
 vived; M. de Chalys alone did not 
 join in it. He appeared thoughtful, 
 and when, a little later, Mme. de Guy- 
 Ferrand rejoined the party, he has- 
 tened to approach her. 
 
 " She is better, is she not ? " said 
 he. 
 
 She looked at him, shook her head, 
 and did not reply. 
 
 Eaoul seated himself at a table, 
 and began to turn over the leaves of 
 a book with an absent air. At the 
 end of half an hour, the young 
 Duchess de Sauves also appeared ; 
 she was very pale. She replied 
 smilingly to the questions addressed 
 to her on her entrance ; then she 
 went and took a seat beside Eaoul. 
 
 "Well?" said he. 
 
 "Well, your impiety has ruined 
 everything ; she leaves Paris to-mor- 
 row for Fe"rias. You will never see 
 her again." 
 
 The young Duchess regretted the 
 bitter and angry tone in which she 
 had spoken, when she saw the effect ] 
 her words produced upon the Count. 
 A livid hue overspread his counte- 
 nance, and he gave her a look of in- 
 expressible anguish, then cast down 
 his eyes, while his lips moved con- 
 vulsively. 
 
 " My friend," said she more gently, 
 " can you do nothing to repair this ? 
 A word would suffice." 
 
 "A lie ? " said the young man, 
 looking at her with eyes filled with 
 a gloomy fire. "Never!" 
 
 After a short silence, "Blanche," 
 added he, rising suddenly, " be sure 
 of this, that I shall bless you all my 
 life long for what you have done, 
 and for what you have tried to do. 
 Adieu ! " 
 
 He made a sign to Gandrax, who 
 had been looking anxiously towards 
 him, and quietly left the room. 
 Gandrax rejoined him in the ante- 
 chamber. As they were putting on 
 their overcoats, "You understand 
 it ? " said Eaoul, in a low tone. 
 
 " Yes," replied Gandrax. 
 
 Madame de Guy-Ferrand lived in 
 the Eue Saint Dominique, not far 
 from the Hotel de Chalys. They 
 reached the house without exchang- 
 ing a word. 
 
 "Come in," said the Count, and 
 led the way to the studio. 
 
 The studio was still adorned with 
 plants and flowers, and looked as if
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 95 
 
 prepared for a, fete. Eaoul pushed a 
 chair towards Gandrax, who seated 
 himself, and then he began to pace 
 with a rapid step the vast apart- 
 ment, now and then stopping to 
 pluck a bunch of flowers, and then 
 throwing it on the floor. Suddenly 
 he stopped before the portrait of 
 Sibylle, which appeared like a pale 
 phantom amidst the hanging green ; 
 he seized his palette-knife, and threw 
 it violently against the canvas, which 
 was cut across, and showed a large 
 wound, in the place where the heart 
 would be. Gandrax rose, took the 
 hand of Eaoul, and said, " Do not ! 
 my friend, I beg of you to be calm." 
 
 Eaoul at first angrily repulsed him, 
 then threw himself into his arms, and 
 sobbed. " Ah," said he, " I loved her 
 like a child ! " 
 
 He threw himself into a chair, and, 
 completely overwhelmed, sat for a 
 long time with his head in his hands. 
 
 Then he rose, and briefly said, " I 
 remember this is Monday. I shall 
 go to Mme. de Val-Chesnay's ; will 
 you come ? " 
 
 " And what are you going to do at 
 Mme. de Val-Chesnay's ? " inquired 
 Gandrax. 
 
 " I am going to tell her I love her ; 
 and I will love her ! I need some- 
 thing to divert my mind, and I see 
 nothing better. Therefore I will be- 
 
 gin to-night to pay my court to Clo- 
 tilde ; in two months I will carry her 
 off from her husband ; we will fight 
 a duel, and I will kill him. And I 
 hope the news will reach the pious 
 ears of Mile, de Ferias. Will you 
 come with me ? " 
 
 "Eaoul," said Gandrax, with sin- 
 gular emotion, " if you are my friend, 
 and if you wish to remain so, you 
 will not do this." 
 
 " I swear I will do it ; the moment 
 is badly chosen for moral arguments ; 
 and, Louis, you would waste your 
 time by urging them upon me. I 
 suffer tortures, and why ? Because I 
 aspired to the purest happiness. No ! 
 do not speak to me ; not a word more. 
 I will become the lover of Mme. de 
 Val-Chesnay or of whomsoever I 
 choose, and there is no reason on 
 earth or in heaven which can pre- 
 vent me ! " 
 
 " There is one, I hope," returned 
 Gandrax, " and this is it, I love 
 Mme. de Val-Chesnay." 
 
 " What ! you are in love ! you love 
 her ! " Eaoul had stopped in front of 
 his friend ; he gazed at him as if in a 
 stupor, then answered, calmly, " You 
 are right. That is a reason, the only 
 one ! Love her, then, but I pity 
 you ! " 
 
 Gandrax did not reply ; he pressed 
 the hand of the Count, and left him.
 
 96 
 
 THE STOKY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 i. 
 
 THE RETURN TO FERIAS. 
 
 THOSE who have not forgotten the 
 anxious feelings which filled the 
 mind of Sibylle, when she took her 
 place at the table of Mme. de Guy- 
 Ferrand, will understand with what 
 interest and with what a sensation of 
 relief she had followed the words of 
 Eaoul, in the discussion into which 
 he had been drawn. A mind as pure 
 and upright as was that of Mile, de 
 Fe'rias might well interpret the en- 
 thusiastic although somewhat vague 
 expressions of the Count as the evi- 
 dence of a religious faith, which, even 
 if for the time estranged from the 
 practices of devotion, might easily be 
 led back to the path of duty. At 
 that moment the doubts and fears of 
 the young girl were removed, and she 
 saw in imagination the fulfilment of 
 all her dreams of a happy future. 
 The expressions of an impious non- 
 belief, which immediately afterwards 
 escaped from the Count, fell, there- 
 fore, on her ears, like the sound of a 
 thunderbolt in the midst of the se- 
 renity of a cloudless sky. A single 
 word had opened, between her and 
 the man she loved, an abyss which 
 she had sworn to herself never to 
 cross. The shock was too sudden 
 and violent for her nerves to sustain, 
 and she fainted. 
 
 When, after being carried to the 
 boudoir, her consciousness returned, 
 and she thought of the utter ruin of 
 
 her hopes, she could have wished to 
 close her eyes forever. She did not, 
 however, shed a tear or utter a com- 
 plaint. When left alone with her 
 grandmother and her friend Blanche, 
 she simply said, in a few words, that, 
 with her principles, she could not 
 marry a man who was a stranger to 
 all moral and religious belief, and she 
 begged them to speak to her no more 
 of a marriage which in every other 
 respect could have made her happy. 
 She also expressed a desire to leave 
 Paris next day for the quiet of Fe- 
 rias, where she would be more likely 
 to be able to regain her composure 
 of mind under so bitter a trial. 
 
 When she reached the Hotel de 
 Vergnes, she had to undergo an an- 
 gry reprimand from her grandfather, 
 who pronounced her conduct childish 
 and narrow-minded, and added, that, 
 by her absurd pretensions, Mile, de 
 Ferias would inevitably condemn 
 herself to a single life. 
 
 She calmly and respectfully an- 
 swered, that she much preferred a 
 single life to becoming a deceived 
 and unhappy wife. 
 
 M. de Vergnes grew more angry. 
 " But who has told you he was de- 
 ceiving you? What! a man of so 
 much merit experiences for you an 
 almost absurd passion, and your first 
 idea is that he will deceive you, 
 that he will make you unhappy ! It 
 is unjust and absurd." 
 
 She replied with the same firmness, 
 that a passion not sanctified by re-
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 97 
 
 ligious faith could only be a passing 
 caprice, which she felt sure would 
 not prove a lasting attachment. 
 
 The Count de Vergnes, somewhat 
 touched by this, answered more gen- 
 tly, " Very well, my poor child ; let 
 us say no more about it. It will, I 
 fear, be difficult to find any one to 
 suit you." 
 
 Miss O'Neil understood her better. 
 She had so identified her life with 
 that of her pupil that she shared all 
 the bitterness of her disappointment. 
 Alarmed at the repressed but pro- 
 found sadness of the young girl, she 
 was very desirous that she should re- 
 turn immediately to Fe*rias, and she 
 succeeded, after much opposition, in 
 persuading M. and Mme. de Vergnes 
 to consent to their departure on the 
 following day. Sibylle passed a 
 sleepless night. All her dreams and 
 expectations, and all the past inci- 
 dents of her love, now so cruelly 
 wounded, presented themselves to 
 her mind with a vivid reality and a 
 strange persistence. This love, which 
 in the eyes of others had been of so 
 short a duration, to her dated from 
 her childhood, from the rock at Fe"- 
 rias. It had been the dream of her 
 heart, long almost unknown to her- 
 self. It appeared to her to have 
 filled her life, and now to have left 
 her nothing to take its place. 
 
 With the injustice of passion, she 
 exaggerated the faults of Kaoul, and 
 almost believed his conduct to her 
 had been premeditated, and that he 
 had only in jest played the part of a 
 believer, in order to mock her by 
 showing himself afterwards in his 
 
 true colors as a sceptic. The great- 
 est suffering, to one of so strong a 
 will as this young girl, was to find 
 that her love triumphed over her rea- 
 son, and that this man, whom her 
 judgment condemned, remained mas- 
 ter of her heart. She left early the 
 next morning. Her grandmother's 
 grief at parting with her brought no 
 tears to her eyes. During all the 
 journey she preserved the same cold 
 and calm appearance. In the even- 
 ing her unexpected arrival at Farias 
 filled the Marquis and Marchioness 
 with a surprise mingled with anxiety. 
 She smilingly told them she had ex- 
 perienced a disappointment in conse- 
 quence of her romantic expectations, 
 and that she had come to them for 
 consolation. She begged them to ex- 
 cuse her from saying more at present, 
 but said they would hear all from 
 Miss O'Neil. She inquired with a 
 sort of feverish excitement about 
 people and things at Ferias, and then, 
 pleading fatigue, she coldly received 
 the kisses of her grandparents, and 
 retired. 
 
 The alteration in Sibylle's appear- 
 ance, her icy indifference, and her 
 singular manner of speaking, had 
 filled M. and Mme. de Farias with 
 alarm. They questioned Miss O'Neil 
 with agonized looks. The poor Irish 
 lady could scarcely speak, for her 
 tears ; when she recovered herself 
 sufficiently to give them the history 
 of the brief love-affair of Sibylle and 
 the Count de Chalys, and of the cour- 
 age she had shown in renouncing her 
 happiness to satisfy her conscience, 
 M. de Ferias raised his eyes towards
 
 98 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 heaven. "Poor child!" said he, "I 
 had foreseen it. As always, her dream 
 of perfection ! always the swan ! " 
 
 The next day they manifested their 
 sympathy with Sibylle's grief only 
 by redoubled tenderness and caresses. 
 She appeared to appreciate their re- 
 serve, and made, herself, no allusion 
 to the cause of her sadness. This 
 sadness, however, continued to show 
 itself in a way which alarmed M. de 
 Ferias. It was usually by a gloomy 
 indifference, broken at intervals by a 
 painful attempt at gayety. Her inner 
 life so completely absorbed her mind, 
 that she scarcely appeared even to 
 see the things around her. She felt 
 as if she had been left entirely alone, 
 in some vast desert, where the sound 
 of her own footsteps or her own voice 
 appeared strange to her ears. M. de 
 Ferias said to the Marchioness, "If 
 she would only shed a few tears " ; 
 but nothing seemed to awaken her in- 
 terest or her sensibility. Not even 
 the sight of the gravestones of her 
 parents elicited from her any signs 
 of emotion; and when, a few days 
 after her return, they took her to 
 the parsonage, the tender greeting 
 of the old priest was received by 
 Sibylle with the same cold indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 The Marchioness of Ferias thought 
 of a singular expedient. She secretly 
 sent a servant to inform Jacques 
 Fe"ray, in his solitary hut, that Si- 
 bylle had returned to the castle. 
 Jacques Feray received this message 
 with profound incredulity, and even 
 assumed a threatening attitude to- 
 wards the messenger. The fact was, 
 
 since Sibylle's departure the mis- 
 chievous boys of the neighborhood 
 had been in the habit of amusing 
 themselves by frequently announ- 
 cing to him the return of the young 
 girl, for whom they well knew his 
 extraordinary attachment. Twenty 
 times he had been duped by this 
 story, and, although convinced that 
 it was a falsehood, he never failed to 
 come to the castle to make sure 
 whether it were so or not. This day 
 the same thing happened, and al- 
 though he declared he did not believe 
 mademoiselle had returned, still he 
 took the road to Ferias through the 
 woods, and on his way gathered a 
 quantity of primroses, periwinkles, 
 and wild violets, of which he made an 
 enormous bouquet. The Farias fami- 
 ly were returning in a carriage from 
 the parsonage, when the Marchioness 
 perceived the madman jumping across 
 a ditch to the high road. 
 
 "My child," said she to Sibylle, 
 rt do not show yourself." 
 
 Then, stopping the carriage, she 
 called to Jacques to come to her. 
 He approached slowly, his bouquet 
 in his hand, and looking right and 
 left to see who was in the carriage. 
 " For whom is this beautiful bou- 
 quet, Jacques ? " said the Marchion- 
 ess. 
 
 He did not answer, but shook his 
 head sorrowfully, as if to say, " No, it 
 cannot be ! " When he came , quite 
 near, the Marchioness said to Sibylle, 
 " Look at him." 
 
 The young girl then showed her- 
 self, smiled, and spoke to him. He 
 made a movement as if to present
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 99 
 
 the bouquet to Sibylle, but it escaped 
 from his hand. He fell on his knees, 
 and while his eyes were fixed on Si- 
 bylle, with an expression of ineffable 
 delight, large tears like drops of rain 
 poured down his emaciated face, and 
 left their traces in the dust of the 
 road. 
 
 This unexpected scene moved Si- 
 bylle. She signed to him to give 
 her the bouquet. 
 
 " Thank you, Jacques ! " murmured 
 she, trying to smile ; but her smile 
 was drowned in a torrent of tears. 
 She threw herself back in the car- 
 riage, buried her face in the flowers, 
 and sobbed violently, pressing her 
 hand on her heart. 
 
 The crisis was salutary. The pain- 
 ful rigidity of her features relaxed, 
 and she resumed her former affec- 
 tionate intercourse with her family 
 and her old friends, with her natu- 
 rally sweet and gentle manner, only 
 with a more marked gravity than she 
 had used to manifest. 
 
 She now seemed to take pleasure 
 in recalling the memories of her 
 childhood and early youth, and would 
 visit all the spots associated with 
 them. Nature has a store of conso- 
 lations for the unhappy ; the solitude 
 of the woods, the sight of the rocks 
 and of the ocean, seemed to her filled 
 with a sad sympathy which soothed 
 the bitterness of her grief. 
 
 The true source of her consolation, 
 however, was a higher one. The 
 God to whom she had been so faith- 
 ful did not desert her. 
 
 For those who believe, there may 
 be deep afflictions, but there cannot 
 
 be despair. If happiness be denied 
 them here, they know it is in reserve 
 for them elsewhere ; if the earth re- 
 fuse it, heaven promises it to them 
 forever. Mile, de Farias did not 
 deceive herself as to the extent of 
 her misfortune; she knew her own 
 heart well enough to feel sure that 
 no second attachment would replace 
 the first love of her young life. She 
 recalled all the great gifts of mind 
 and person with which Eaoul was 
 endowed, his distinguished appear- 
 ance, his cultivated and enlarged 
 intellect, his graces of manner, and 
 she felt that her love for him, so 
 cruelly disappointed and deceived, 
 would be the only one of her exist- 
 ence. Therefore, in giving up Eaoul, 
 Sibylle renounced all the charm of 
 a woman's destiny, and it required 
 all the fervor of her piety and her 
 faith to enable her to contemplate 
 with calmness the infinite desert 
 which she saw spread out before her 
 young eyes. 
 
 At first she was strongly tempted 
 by the idea of a convent, but she 
 gave it up, unwilling to afflict the 
 heart of her grandparents merely for 
 her own consolation; but she en- 
 deavored to give to her life a marked 
 religious character. 
 
 In company with the Abbe* Ke*- 
 naud, she visited the poor, the af- 
 flicted, the sick, and the dying. 
 
 M. de Fe'rias aided Sibylle in all 
 these good works, by putting in her 
 hands all the money she needed for 
 her charitable efforts ; and, although 
 fond of quiet and order, he never 
 complained of the crowd of beggars,
 
 100 
 
 THE STOEY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 sick and unfortunate people of all 
 kinds, which the renown of Si- 
 bylle's benevolence drew to the 
 castle. 
 
 He also seconded her plans for the 
 exterior restoration and the interior 
 decoration of the church of Fe'rias, 
 and the old cure was enchanted 
 when a carved pulpit and screen for 
 the choir, carpets for the altar, and 
 beautifully painted windows entirely 
 transformed the little church, which 
 to him was his dwelling, his country, 
 and his world. 
 
 Another delightful surprise awaited 
 him. A fine new organ was sent to 
 him to be placed in the church ; and 
 the following Sunday Mile, de Fe'- 
 rias seated herself in front of it, and 
 1'ent to the public worship the aid of 
 her rare talent. Every Sunday she 
 continued to play on the instrument, 
 to the great delight of the little con- 
 gregation, in whose eyes she appeared 
 almost an angel. 
 
 Mile, de Fe'rias now thought of 
 another plan which was destined to 
 have strange results. She took 
 pleasure in this work of adorning 
 the sanctuary, although she dis- 
 claimed any religious merit in so 
 doing, for thereby, she said, she 
 only gratified her artistic tastes ; and 
 now she wished to have the ceiling 
 and walls of the church painted in 
 fresco. When she timidly confided 
 to her grandfather this new fancy, 
 the good old man began to laugh. 
 
 " Frescos ! " said he ; " very well, 
 provided they do not cost too much, 
 as I am not quite made of gold. 
 Do you know anything about the 
 
 price of fresco painting? Would 
 three or four thousand francs be 
 enough ? " 
 
 " Not quite," said Sibylle. 
 
 "Well, then, eight thousand, but 
 we will not spend more than that ; 
 we must keep something in reserve 
 for the mosaic pavement which I 
 foresee in the distance." 
 
 Since her return to Ferias, Sibylle 
 had kept up a regular correspondence 
 with the young Duchess de Sauves, 
 who was warmly devoted to her. 
 The name of the Count de Chalys 
 was never mentioned by either in 
 their letters ; but, with this excep- 
 tion, there was perfect unreserve 
 between them, and Blanche was de- 
 lighted to execute any little commis- 
 sions for her friend. Sibylle, there- 
 fore, when she had obtained her eight 
 thousand francs, hastened to write to 
 the Duchess, and begged her to try 
 and find some young artist of talent, 
 who might be willing for the price 
 named to undertake the work, send- 
 ing her at the same time the plan 
 and dimensions of the church. 
 
 When the letter reached Blanche, 
 she had been for about a month at 
 the Castle de Sauves ; after reflecting 
 a moment, a smile came to her lips 
 as a feminine idea crossed her mind ; 
 she enclosed the letter in an enve- 
 lope, adding a few lines from her own 
 pen, and directing the whole to the 
 Count de Chalys, who was also now 
 established for the summer at his 
 residence at Fontainebleau, where he 
 lived in great retirement. Eaoul 
 was somewhat surprised at seeing 
 the handwriting of the young Duch-
 
 THE STOKY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 101 
 
 ess, whose note contained these 
 words : 
 
 "Cousin, you know more about 
 these matters than I do. If you can 
 find a young man, let me know." 
 
 Two days later, Blanche received 
 from the Count the following re- 
 
 Pty:- 
 
 " COUSIN BLANCHE : The young 
 man is found ; he will leave in a fort- 
 night. Write to them to have the 
 walls plastered and prepared. I 
 enclose some directions on the sub- 
 ject. Respectfully yours, 
 
 " EAOUL." 
 
 Sibylle immediately complied with 
 the instructions sent by the Duchess, 
 and the preliminary work was en- 
 tirely finished, when one warm June 
 evening the Abb de Re"naud heard 
 a carriage stop before the gate of his 
 garden, and a man about thirty years 
 of age, simply but elegantly dressed 
 as a traveller, and who looked ex- 
 tremely pale, advanced towards him, 
 and with a graceful but somewhat 
 haughty bow said, " Monsieur le curd 
 de Ferias, I presume ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " You expect an artist for your 
 church, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," stammered the cure*, a 
 little intimidated by the distinguished 
 appearance and dignified manner of 
 the stranger; "yes, we expect a 
 young painter, a young artist from 
 Paris." 
 
 " I presume," returned the other, 
 with a cold smile, "the bloom of 
 youth is not an essential condition ; 
 at any rate, sir, I am the painter." 
 
 II. 
 
 EAOUL AT THE PAKSONAGE. 
 
 M. DE CHALYS had passed two 
 miserable months. At another time 
 his dejection would have been con- 
 soled and sustained by the affection 
 and the moral energy of Gandrax; 
 but Gandrax was now in the full tide 
 of one of those absorbing passions 
 which sometimes seize upon the heart 
 and soul of a not very young man 
 for the first time in love. Leaving 
 him entirely to the fascinations of 
 Clotilde, Eaoul left Paris; like Si- 
 bylle, he longed for solitude, but he 
 did not find in it the same consola- 
 tions. Nothing could fill the void in 
 his heart ; his wound seem to grow 
 deeper. He found no relief in occu- 
 pation ; twenty times a day he would 
 take up his brush, and put it down 
 again. The memory of Sibylle, always 
 present to his mind, raised in him a 
 tumult of ideas, in which passion, 
 anger, and regret in turn strove for 
 the mastery. He had looked forward, 
 in the love of this young girl, in their 
 prospective union, in the future which 
 opened before them, to the fulfilment 
 of one of those dreams of peace, 
 integrity, and moral elevation so 
 grateful to minds unquiet and dis- 
 satisfied with themselves. The scru- 
 ples which had caused Sibylle to put 
 an end to this dream, and which he 
 did not perfectly understand, often 
 appeared to him childish, wretched, 
 and even wicked ; but when he had 
 worked himself up to this point, the 
 image of Mile, de Farias would rise 
 before his eyes, with her singular
 
 102 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 grace and frankness, passion and 
 purity, and he would at the same 
 time curse and adore the fascinations 
 of this charming and cruel child. 
 Blanche's note had reached him 
 when he was in this excited state of 
 mind. The young Duchess had only 
 sent it in a spirit of feminine mis- 
 chief, and the extraordinary design 
 it suggested to Eaoul had never even 
 entered her head. Before he had 
 finished reading her note and the one 
 enclosed his resolution was taken. 
 He immediately returned to Paris to 
 make some necessary preparations 
 and some preliminary studies, and 
 set out for Ferias, torn by a thousand 
 different feelings, of which the most 
 frequent and the most prominent 
 was an ironical and bitter despair. 
 
 This harsh feeling was visible in 
 his tone, on the occasion of his first 
 interview with the Abbe Ke'naud ; but 
 his natural kindness of heart was 
 awakened by the sight of the timid 
 and benevolent aspect of the old 
 man, who was soon won towards him 
 by the polite and affectionate deference 
 with which he endeavored to make 
 amends for the haughty manner in 
 which he had first spoken. The poor 
 curd was greatly embarrassed when 
 this elegant stranger asked him to 
 be so kind as to direct him to some 
 hotel in the village where he could 
 find apartments during the time re- 
 quired for the completion of his labors. 
 
 " A hotel, sir ? Marianne, the gen- 
 tleman wants a hotel." 
 
 "If the gentleman wishes for a 
 hotel," said Marianne, " he had bet- 
 ter build one." 
 
 " Marianne, let us see, now. Alas ! 
 sir, we have only a miserable inn in 
 the neighborhood. It is strange I 
 never thought of this. But, sir, I 
 have here in the parsonage a small 
 room, very simple, it is true, but 
 clean. If you would be willing to 
 occupy it and to share my frugal 
 table ? " 
 
 " But, Monsieur le cure, I fear to 
 inconvenience you. It would cer- 
 tainly give me much pleasure to 
 become your guest, and if you will 
 allow me to return your charity by 
 accepting something for the poor " 
 
 " 0, sir ! May I ask your name, 
 sir ? " 
 
 This question, so natural under the 
 circumstances, had not been foreseen 
 by Kaoul ; he hesitated, and in order 
 to answer as nearly as possible to the 
 truth, he took his title. 
 
 " Lecomte," said he. 
 
 "Well, then, my dear Monsieur 
 Lecomte, I am sure we can arrange 
 matters. But perhaps you are hun- 
 gry, M. Lecomte ? " 
 
 "I must confess that I am, sir; 
 you see, I am going to give you 
 trouble already." 
 
 " So much the better, so much the 
 better, M. Lecomte. Marianne, wait 
 a little to prepare the room. Kill a 
 chicken." 
 
 "No, do not take the trouble; 
 give me an omelette. I am sure 
 Mile. Marianne can make a delicious 
 one." 
 
 Soon the Count de Chalys was 
 seated at the little round table of the 
 cure", and an omelette, and some cold 
 meat, a bottle of old wine, and an
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 103 
 
 excellent cup of coffee, were placed 
 before him. 
 
 Eaoul, animated by some secret 
 impulse, so exerted himself to please 
 the cure* that he soon gained the 
 heart of the good old man, and even 
 elicited a smile from the severe coun- 
 tenance of Marianne. The sympa- 
 thetic feelings of the Count for the 
 old man were greatly increased by 
 the enthusiastic manner in which he 
 continually spoke of Sibylle. " Sir," 
 said he to the cure, as they rose from 
 the table, " we shall be good friends, 
 shall we not ? " 
 
 "My dear sir, we are already, I 
 trust." 
 
 " But, M. le cure, I do not wish to 
 deceive you. I am not very devout." 
 
 "Well, M. Lecomte, neither was 
 St. Paul at your age." 
 
 " That is true, M. le cure ; but the 
 times are different. However, will 
 you allow me, M. le cure, to smoke 
 in your garden ? " 
 
 " In my garden, in your room, or 
 in mine, wherever you wish." 
 
 " Even in my kitchen," added Ma- 
 rianne. 
 
 It was now dark ; but a clear moon 
 shed its rays over the garden-walks, 
 and bathed in silver light the spire 
 of the little church built on an ad- 
 joining cliff. Eaoul lighted a cigar, 
 and gazed on this tranquil scene. 
 The abbe was a little behind, when 
 suddenly he turned, and called to 
 him: "M. le cure", do I not hear 
 music? Have you sirens on these 
 shores ? Listen." 
 
 " Ah," said the cure", " it is the or- 
 gan of the church you hear, and 
 
 Mile. Sibylle is playing it. She 
 sometimes comes to practise what 
 she is going to play on Sunday. I 
 am glad she has come to-night, that I 
 may announce to her your safe arri- 
 val." 
 
 " No, no," said he ; "M. le cure", I 
 beg of you not to tell her of my com- 
 ing until I have begun my work. It 
 will be an agreeable surprise to her 
 to see it commenced." 
 
 " As you please, M. Lecomte ; but 
 on Sunday she will certainly come to 
 mass." 
 
 " Well, this is Monday, and I shall 
 have something sketched by that 
 time. And now, with your permis- 
 sion, I will go and take a look at the 
 sea from one of these cliffs. Au re- 
 voir, M. le cure*." 
 
 Eaoul at first moved slowly, but 
 soon after leaving the garden he 
 walked rapidly in the direction of 
 the church, and, guided by the sounds 
 of the organ, he approached one of 
 the side windows. It was high, but 
 he climbed up so as to look into the 
 church. At first his eyes, dazzled by 
 the bright moonlight, could scarcely 
 distinguish anything, but after a lit- 
 tle time he could perceive, by the 
 dim light of the one lamp which 
 hung from the ceiling, the figure of 
 Sibylle, appearing through the dark- 
 ness like a pale vision. Her bent 
 head, her relaxed position, seemed to 
 express a touching melancholy. She 
 appeared to be improvising. Her 
 fingers touched the keys with an un- 
 certain inspiration, which sometimes 
 expressed the enthusiasm of passion, 
 and again a dreamy languor. Sud-
 
 104 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 denly, while the organ was giving 
 forth the tones of fervent aspiration 
 and of painful regret, she raised her 
 head and fixed her eyes on the win- 
 dow in front of her, from which Ea- 
 oul was observing her. The window, 
 being a dark painted one, prevented 
 her from seeing anything but an in- 
 ' distinct form. Nevertheless, the 
 young girl's hands suddenly quitted 
 the instrument. She hastily rose as 
 if astonished, while the sounds of 
 the organ died away. Baoul in- 
 stantly jumped down on the grass of 
 the churchyard ; his heart beat, and 
 his first impulse was to fly, but his 
 pride would not permit him to do so, 
 and, concealing himself in an angle 
 of the building, he waited. In a few 
 minutes he heard the church door 
 close, and almost immediately Si- 
 bylle's gentle voice said, " Is it you, 
 Jacques ? " 
 
 Not receiving any answer, the 
 young girl quietly added, in a low 
 tone, "I must have been dream- 
 ing." 
 
 Eaoul, from the angle in which he 
 stood, could see Mile, de Fe*rias walk 
 away with a slow and uncertain step, 
 her hat in one hand, and with the 
 other holding up the skirt of her 
 long riding-habit. When she reached 
 :the low wall which enclosed the 
 churchyard on the side of the ocean, 
 she stopped, and put on her hat, 
 shaded by a long plume; then she 
 climbed to a high point of the cliff, 
 and stood for some moments gazing 
 
 O O 
 
 into the distance, her pure profile 
 plainly defined in the transparent at- 
 mosphere ; soon, however, she sprang 
 
 lightly down the cliff and disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Eaoul then quitted his place of 
 concealment, and, approaching the 
 wall, he gazed over the cliff; but the 
 young girl had disappeared. He 
 sought for the traces of her footsteps, 
 and picked some pieces of moss, 
 which he carried to his lips. He, too, 
 looked over the plane of ocean spread 
 out before him ; " What did she see 
 there ? " murmured he to himself. 
 " Her God, who never will be mine ! " 
 
 When he returned to the parson- 
 age, the Abbe* Eenaud and Marianne 
 were surprised at the harsh and ab- 
 rupt tone in which he spoke. 
 
 "Artists are capricious," observed 
 the cure", timidly, to his old servant. 
 
 "0, what do I care for his ca- 
 prices ? " said Marianne ; then, raising 
 her voice, "Young man," cried she, 
 "M. Lecomte, do not forget to put 
 out your candle, after you have 
 said your prayers, I mean." 
 
 " Mile. Marianne," answered Eaoul 
 coldly, from the top of the staircase, 
 " you shall be obeyed, as -regards the 
 candle." 
 
 When the Count de Chalys awoke 
 the next morning, the sun was shin- 
 ing through the vines at the window 
 on the walls of his little room. A 
 sensation of cheerfulness and cour- 
 age seemed to fill his heart. He rose, 
 opened his window, and saw the Abbe 
 Eenaud reading his breviary under 
 the shade of a fig-tree. He soon 
 joined him, and they went together 
 to the church, where some workmen, 
 whom the cure" had sent for, erected 
 a scaffolding, under the directions of
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 105 
 
 the Count. In the course of the 
 morning he began his work, and his 
 first outlines showed a master hand, 
 which delighted the cure". He was 
 perfectly enchanted when Eaoul ex- 
 plained to him the plan he had 
 formed for the compositions he was 
 about to make ; the striking events 
 related in the Gospels were to be rep- 
 resented on the sides of the walls ; 
 between the pillars the ceiling was 
 to be painted with scenes taken from 
 the parables ; and just over the altar 
 the figure of the Saviour, in an atti- 
 tude of glory and triumph, was to 
 crown the whole work. 
 
 " My dear M. Lecomte," cried the 
 cure, " if I am permitted to live to 
 see the execution of all this, I shall 
 with all my soul be ready to sing, 
 Nunc dimittis" 
 
 Notwithstanding his own impa- 
 tience, the good old priest endeav- 
 ored to dissuade Eaoul from his ex- 
 cessive application to his painting. 
 M. de Chalys hourly dreaded the 
 appearance of Sibylle, and secretly 
 felt as if the sight of his work might 
 soften the heart of the young girl to- 
 wards him. The curd, from whom 
 he could not conceal his anxiety, 
 without understanding it endeavored, 
 from goodness of heart, to forward his 
 wishes, and employed the most mach- 
 iavelian stratagems to keep Mile, de 
 Farias away from the church and 
 parsonage. All his diplomacy, how- 
 ever, could not suffice to conceal a 
 piece of news so interesting to the 
 whole parish, and the following Sat- 
 urday Sibylle, who had been making 
 some charitable visits in the village, 
 
 was told that a painter from Paris 
 was working in the church, and had 
 already executed beautiful things. 
 Quite astonished at hearing this 
 piece of news, and anxious to ascer- 
 tain the truth of it, Sibylle left to 
 Miss O'Neil the charge of distribut- 
 ing her alms, and hastened towards 
 the church. 
 
 The Count de Chalys had just fin- 
 ished painting the scene of the ado- 
 ration of the Holy Child by the 
 wise men ; the guiding-star shone in 
 the darkest part of the arch, and 
 shed through the interior of the 
 sacred manger a glory around the 
 head of the Virgin Mother, which 
 fell upon the figures kneeling around 
 her ; in the dim distance of the arch 
 was faintly descried an angel holding 
 the star in the sky, like a golden 
 lamp. Raoul had infused into this 
 composition all his genius and his 
 soul; the cure* could not look at it 
 without tears. 
 
 The Count was giving the finishing 
 touches to the pure face of his angel, 
 when suddenly the ladder which 
 rested against the scaffolding was 
 moved, and he heard the rustling of 
 a dress, and the sound of a light foot- 
 step ascending the ladder. His heart 
 almost stopped beating, but he did 
 riot turn around, and affected to be 
 absorbed in his work. Sibylle now 
 stood behind him on the narrow 
 platform; without looking at the 
 painter, she was examining the work 
 with an interest and admiration al- 
 most amounting to stupor. Her cul- 
 tivated taste quickly detected the 
 work of a master hand. Suddenly
 
 106 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 she turned to Eaoul, who was near 
 her in his simple dress and painter's 
 blouse spotted with paint. 
 
 " Sir," she began, in a timid tone 
 of voice. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said Eaoul, grave- 
 ly, rising and looking at her. 
 
 The blood rushed to the face of 
 Sibylle ; her lips half opened as if to 
 speak ; then she became pale as a 
 waxen image, and her blue eyes 
 flashed a proud and indignant glance 
 towards the Count. Without saying 
 a word, she descended from the 
 platform, and immediately left the 
 church. 
 
 On the church steps she met the 
 Abbe Eenaud, out of breath, and 
 wearing a radiant expression of face. 
 " Well, my dear young lady ? " 
 said he. Sibylle's mind was filled 
 with the most bitter resentment at 
 the idea of this audacious attempt 
 against her dignity and her peace of 
 mind. There was in the tones of her 
 voice an almost savage accent of 
 haughty anger, as she answered the 
 cure, designedly speaking loudly and 
 distinctly. 
 
 "Well, my poor cure"! we have 
 been shamefully deceived. You must 
 discharge this man instantly; he is 
 no painter, or, rather, he is the last 
 of painters ; he is a disgrace to your 
 church ; come." 
 
 And she took the path to the par- 
 sonage, the cure following her in 
 consternation. 
 
 The Count de Chalys, from the 
 height of the scaffolding, had lost 
 none of the words of Sibylle. They 
 sent the blood to his brow and con- 
 
 fusion to his heart. The feelings 
 which had prompted his romantic 
 enterprise appeared to him to be 
 judged with an odious harshness. 
 His countenance assumed a dark 
 and determined expression. He left 
 the church, and, leaning negligently 
 against the wall of the churchyard, 
 he began to smoke, quietly gazing at 
 the sea. 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour the 
 sound of footsteps caused him to turn 
 round. The cure was entering the 
 churchyard, accompanied by Miss 
 O'Neil. They both came gravely 
 towards him; Eaoul, with his back 
 against the wall and his cigar be- 
 tween his teeth, waited for them, 
 with his arms crossed over his chest. 
 
 " Monsieur," said the cure", " since 
 you are the Count de Chalys, you 
 ought to understand that you cannot 
 properly remain here any longer." 
 
 " That does not appear to me, M. 
 le cure, to follow as a matter of 
 necessity," replied Eaoul, with cold 
 politeness. " I may be the Count de 
 Chayls without, therefore, being the 
 last of painters, as Mile, de Farias 
 has chosen to call me. You may, 
 indeed, refuse me the honor of your 
 hospitality, but I think you cannot 
 deny my right to finish the work for 
 which I was sent for. An artist is 
 not usually dismissed with such a 
 want of civility." 
 
 "It is understood, sir," said the 
 cure", hesitating, "that you will be 
 indemnified for any loss you may 
 sustain." 
 
 " Pardon me, M. le cure*," returned 
 Eaoul, smiling ; " I am not a merce-
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 107 
 
 nary artist, I work chiefly for fame. 
 I had a fancy for making myself 
 famous by my work on your church, 
 and it appears scarcely proper for 
 you to drive me away. Am I here 
 in the service of Mile, de Ferias ? Is 
 Mile, de Ferias the proprietor of this 
 church? My business here is only 
 with you, M. le cure; and there 
 exists between us an agreement, 
 which you cannot honorably break 
 while I am faithful to my part of 
 the compact. Are you dissatisfied 
 with my work? do you doubt my 
 ability? Let it be examined by 
 competent judges of painting; if 
 they condemn it, I will take my 
 leave ; if not, I will remain. I have 
 finished, M. le cure*." 
 
 "Monsieur," said the cure, "you 
 cannot be in earnest." 
 
 " Perfectly in earnest, M. le cure." 
 
 The Abbe Ke'naud was timid, but 
 when urged too far he had a courage 
 and dignity which none could fail to 
 respect. 
 
 " Monsieur le comte," said he, 
 firmly, " I am sure you will not con- 
 tinue this tone of bravado when you 
 remember you are speaking to women 
 and to an old man." 
 
 Eaoul turned pale. After a pause, 
 he said, " You are right ; I ask your 
 pardon." 
 
 And, turning towards Miss O'Neil, 
 " Can I, mademoiselle, have the honor 
 of speaking a few moments with Mile, 
 de Ferias ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Then, M. le cure*," said Raoul, " I 
 shall immediately go to the Marquis 
 de Ferias, and I promise, on my 
 
 honor, not to prolong my stay here 
 for a single moment without his con- 
 sent." 
 
 He descended the other side of the 
 cliff, bowed gravely, in passing, to 
 Sibylle, and entered the parsonage. 
 
 Sibylle, informed by Miss O'Neil 
 of the result of the conversation, 
 drove home to announce to her 
 grandfather the unexpected visit he 
 was shortly to receive. 
 
 III. 
 
 EAOUL AT THE CASTLE OF FERIAS. 
 
 IN a little more than an hour 
 Eaoul, who had not taken long to 
 exchange his painter's costume for 
 his ordinary dress, was introduced 
 into the great drawing-room of the 
 castle of Ferias, where the Marquis 
 and Marchioness, who were expecting 
 him, received him with an appearance 
 of extreme gravity. After exchangi ng 
 the first salutations, the Count and 
 his hosts looked at each other with 
 deep, although concealed interest. 
 M. and Mme. de Ferias were secretly 
 struck with the mixture of grace and 
 intelligence indicated by the appear- 
 ance of Eaoul, who, at the aspect of 
 the two old people, gentle, but sad 
 and full of dignity, quickly decided 
 upon the manner in which he should 
 address them. 
 
 " Madame le Marquise," said he, 
 in a slightly tremulous tone of voice, 
 " if I had not already come here with 
 feelings of the greatest deference, the 
 sight of you would awaken them. 
 But you probably know that I come
 
 108 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 here only to receive your commands, 
 and that I promise, beforehand, to 
 obey them, merely reserving the 
 right of explaining to you my con- 
 duct." 
 
 " M. le comte," said the Marquis 
 de Ferias, " we cannot refuse you the 
 liberty of doing so ; but no explana- 
 tion can modify the nature, not of the 
 commands, but of the request we must 
 address to you on this subject." 
 
 "M. le Marquis, I trust it may 
 not be so. I can understand that 
 my arrival here should have surprised 
 Mile, de Farias and yourselves ; but 
 the idea of showing any want of 
 respect, either to you or to her, could 
 never enter my mind. You do not 
 know me, M. le Marquis, and your 
 prejudices against me may prevent 
 your trusting me, but I flatter myself 
 that the accents of truth with which 
 I speak may reach your heart. You 
 do know Mile, de Fe'rias, and you 
 may imagine the kind of attachment 
 she would inspire in the soul of a 
 man able to appreciate her. Well, 
 monsieur, I beg you to suppose, for 
 an instant, that I am that man ; that 
 my nature, the bent of my thoughts 
 and feelings, have prepared me to 
 devote to her all the worship of 
 admiration, esteem, and devotion 
 which she deserves, to appreciate, 
 in fact, the fulness of happiness 
 which so noble and perfect a creature 
 would shed over the destiny of the 
 man to whom she might condescend 
 to unite herself. If you deign to 
 remember that the realization of this 
 dream of bliss was for a short time 
 permitted to me as a hope, and that 
 
 suddenly my dream was broken in 
 my heart and soul, I ask if you 
 have no pity for all I must have suf- 
 fered in consequence ! " 
 
 At these last words, which the 
 young man had uttered with manly 
 emotion, the Marquise turned away 
 her head, and coughed slightly. 
 
 " Monsieur," answered the old 
 Marquis, " you express yourself with 
 feeling, and, I am sure, with sincer- 
 ity ; but, in my turn, I must ask you, 
 since you have formed so just an 
 idea of my granddaughter's character, 
 what advantage you can hope for 
 from this enterprise, which I will 
 simply term a romantic one ? " 
 
 " M. le Marquis," returned Raoul, 
 with a sorrowful smile, "you must 
 not exact from a man struggling in 
 the agonies of a shipwreck an entire 
 deliberation of judgment ; a means 
 appeared to offer itself for bringing 
 me again into the society of Mile, de 
 Fe'rias, and I seized it. Neverthe- 
 less, sir, my enterprise was not un- 
 dertaken altogether without reflec- 
 tion. I had a hope, I think I may 
 call it a reasonable and honorable 
 one. As I understand it, it was from 
 scruples of conscience that Mile, de 
 Ferias repulsed my advances. Well, 
 sir, I knew that, notwithstanding the 
 rigorous, perhaps too rigorous, firm- 
 ness of the principles of Mile, de 
 Fe'rias, she has a generous heart. It 
 was to her heart I desired to appeal ; 
 it was her generosity I hoped to 
 touch, in showing to her, at her feet, 
 a man who, as she knows, is not in 
 the habit of humbling himself." 
 
 " I am obliged to you, M. le comte,
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 109 
 
 for your explanation, and I acknowl- 
 edge that, to a certain point, it 
 awakens my interest ; but, you under- 
 stand, this interest cannot make me 
 forgetful of what I owe to the dig- 
 nity and peace of mind of my grand- 
 daughter. I must therefore solicit 
 from you the proof of deference to 
 our wishes which you have been so 
 good as to promise us." 
 
 " Be assured, sir, I will not refuse 
 it to you, if, after reflection, you con- 
 clude that, in depriving me of all 
 hope, you strike only myself ; if you 
 fully approve the principles to 
 which Mile, de Fe'rias sacrifices me ; 
 if you think me really unworthy to 
 enter your family, and to be intrust- 
 ed with the happiness of your child. 
 In a crisis of such solemnity for me, 
 allow me to speak with an entire 
 frankness, permit me to interest in 
 my cause even your solicitude for the 
 being you cherish so deeply, and 
 with such reason. Let me recall to 
 you the fact and Mile, de Fe'rias 
 will not deny it, for she is truth 
 itself that her heart did not re- 
 pulse me. It will be the pride, even 
 if it should prove the despair, of my 
 life, to feel that I was once honored 
 with her sympathy. Well, the sym- 
 pathy of a heart like hers, certainly 
 not lightly yielded, how did I lose 
 it ? For a word, an expression, which, 
 if not misunderstood, was at least 
 most harshly interpreted. I respect 
 and admire the religious principles 
 of Mile, de Fe'rias, but have they not, 
 even in your eyes, sir, something of 
 the intolerance of early youth ? Will 
 the contact of life and of experience 
 
 take nothing from their inflexibil- 
 ity ? May not the resolution they 
 have inspired in your granddaughter 
 ever become a subject of regret ? 
 Will she always think, as she does 
 now, that she has done right in di- 
 viding, in desolating, two lives, the 
 union of which she herself believed 
 to bear a promise of unusual happi- 
 ness, and why ? Because the man 
 who loved her so deeply, and whose 
 love she did not deem unworthy of 
 some return, is a man of the age, 
 with the opinions of the times, and 
 perhaps not one of the worst, for if I 
 am an unbeliever, I am not a blas- 
 phemer. My incredulity is neither 
 aggressive nor triumphant ; it is sor- 
 rowful and respectful. I revere and 
 I envy those possessed of the truth, 
 and I seek it for myself with all the 
 sincerity and in all the bitterness of 
 my soul. It is perhaps natural that 
 Mile, de Ferias, young as she is, and 
 not educated in the world, should 
 believe such a position inconsistent 
 with all virtue, honor, and good faith ; 
 but, sir, I appeal to your greater ex- 
 perience, and to the charity of your 
 age. Can you suppose that an un- 
 believer like myself must be entirely 
 incapable of all honorable and loyal 
 sentiments, that nothing is sacred in 
 his eyes, that he cannot respect and. 
 adore his parents, his wife, his chil- 
 dren ? Ah, if you do believe it, I 
 swear to you, sir, that you are mis- 
 taken; that the highest reverence 
 may exist in the heart of a man in 
 which faith may be wanting." 
 
 M. de Ferias exchanged a look 
 with the Marchioness, and then an-
 
 110 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 swered, in an animated manner, " But, 
 M. le comte, even if I admit that 
 the principles which my granddaugh- 
 ter has made the rule of her life may 
 be considered as in some degree ex- 
 aggerated, still, what can Mme. de 
 Ferias and I do under the circum- 
 stances ? Of course, we cannot use 
 our authority. What can we do, 
 then ? what do you request of us ? 
 I ask you sincerely, for Mme. de 
 Farias and I are disposed, as far as 
 our duty will permit us, to evince to 
 you our sympathy." 
 
 " Well, then, sir," said Eaoul, with 
 a grateful smile, "do not send me 
 away ; that is all I ask of you. Grant 
 me an opportunity to disarm, to soft- 
 en, these scruples which you yourself 
 consider exaggerated. Allow me, 
 like Jacob, to serve seven years, if 
 necessary, to obtain the hand and 
 heart of Eachel." 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," returned the old 
 Marquis, also smiling ; " but the dig- 
 nity of my granddaughter might be 
 compromised by this experiment." 
 
 " How would that be possible, M. 
 le marquis ? Is it not evident that, 
 even if the world should penetrate 
 the mystery with which I surround 
 myself, that it can compromise only 
 myself ? I may be laughed at, ridi- 
 culed, but nothing worse can happen. 
 Do you require anything more ? Must 
 I engage my honor not to seek Mile, 
 de Ferias, if she continue to avoid 
 me ? I will promise that, and also 
 to remain in the neighborhood no 
 longer than the time required for the 
 completion of my work in the church. 
 I must confess that I hope something 
 
 from the success of that work, and 
 even if Mile, de Ferias should re- 
 main inflexible, still, I shall have the 
 consolation of leaving before her eyes 
 the fruits of my labor ; and perhaps 
 sometimes it may recall to her the 
 memory of my love, and my name 
 may be remembered in her prayers, 
 even, perchance, with a tear of re- 
 gret or a sigh of tenderness. Now, 
 sir, I await your commands ; if you 
 exact it, I will go. I will leave im- 
 mediately, this very day; but it 
 will be in despair." 
 
 The Marquis did not answer im- 
 mediately. His eyes were fixed on 
 the floor, and Eaoul thought, from 
 the expression of his face, he was 
 summoning courage to reply in the 
 negative. He rose, and, approaching 
 Mme. de Ferias, said to her with 
 touching dignity, " Mme. la Marquise, 
 do not allow me to be judged and 
 condemned without expressing in 
 words a little of that kindness and 
 compassion which I can read in your 
 eyes. Say one word only, I entreat 
 you, say that your mother's heart 
 feels that I love your child as no one 
 else in the world can ever love her." 
 
 " Alas ! sir," said the Marchioness, 
 putting her handkerchief to her eyes, 
 " can it be that a man who evinces 
 feeling such as yours does not be- 
 lieve in a God ? " 
 
 The Count bowed, and, taking the 
 hand of Mme. de Ferias, he kissed it 
 with deep respect. " If, madame, he 
 had given, or had preserved to me, a 
 mother like you, perhaps I might 
 have believed in him." 
 
 The soft eyes of the Marchioness
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 rested for a moment on the face of 
 her husband. 
 
 " M. le comte," said the Marquis, 
 " you will not, I think, be surprised 
 if Mme. de Ferias and I should re- 
 quire a little longer time to delib- 
 erate before coming to a formal de- 
 cision. "We may still call upon you 
 to keep your promise. At present 
 we cannot sanction, but we will ig- 
 nore, your presence in the neighbor- 
 hood." 
 
 At these words, Eaoul breathed 
 hard, and the blood rushed to his pale 
 face. " I thank you," said he, in a 
 distinct tone of voice, and bowing 
 low to the two old people, he took his 
 leave. 
 
 The Marquis and Marchioness, left 
 alone, looked at each other without 
 speaking. 
 
 At last Mme. de Ferias spoke. 
 " How pleasing he is, my friend ! " 
 said she. 
 
 " Yes, doubtless," replied the Mar- 
 quis, shaking his head; "but he is 
 dangerous." 
 
 " You do not suspect his integrity ? " 
 
 " No, certainly not ; but I could 
 not resist him. Perhaps, leading a 
 different life, surrounded by new in- 
 fluences, he may in time become all 
 we would wish to see him." 
 
 Sibylle now entered the room ; her 
 expressive face questioned M. de 
 Ferias. 
 
 " Well, my child," said the old man, 
 smiling, but somewhat confused, " we 
 have gone over to the enemy." 
 
 "What!" said Sibylle. 
 
 "Do not be uneasy. We have 
 only delayed his banishment. The 
 
 young man merely asks for the priv- 
 ilege of finishing his work, and he 
 promises to respect, scrupulously, 
 your wishes. We could not treat 
 like a criminal a gentleman well 
 born, accomplished, and, above all, un- 
 happy as he is. We will think a lit- 
 tle more about it, my child." 
 
 Sibylle received this communica- 
 tion with her habitual respect for her 
 grandfather, but she was astonished. 
 She considered his decision the re- 
 sult of the weakness of age ; she knew 
 how she had already suffered from 
 the conflict of her feelings, and, un- 
 willing to subject herself to a renewal 
 of such agitation, she determined to 
 take the affair into her own hands. 
 Therefore, under pretext of an errand 
 of charity, she mounted her horse, 
 followed by her old servant, and rode 
 rapidly towards Ferias. 
 
 rv. 
 
 THE EXPLANATION. 
 
 WHEN Raoul re-entered the parson- 
 age, after his interview with the Mar- 
 quis and Marchioness de Ferias, he 
 was in a peaceful, almost a happy, 
 state of mind. He believed he had 
 enlisted their sympathies in his favor ; 
 and, although they had only agreed 
 to tolerate his presence, they almost 
 as he thought, had sanctioned his 
 hopes. And these hopes seemed to 
 him still more precious since he had 
 seen these delightful old people, who 
 had been the guardians and guides of 
 Sibylle's youth. What bliss, should 
 he ever be permitted to become one
 
 112 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 of a family like this I Not finding 
 the cure* at the parsonage, he repaired 
 to the church. The workmen had 
 just removed the scaffolding, so as it 
 might not interfere with the service 
 on Sunday, the following day. Eaoul, 
 therefore, took the opportunity of ex- 
 amining critically what he had al- 
 ready executed, from different points 
 of view. Leaning against one of the 
 stalls of the chancel, he was absorbed 
 in his contemplations, when he heard 
 the church door open and then close, 
 and looking round he saw Mile, de 
 Fe*rias approaching, He bowed. 
 " Shall I retire, mademoiselle ? " said 
 he. 
 
 " No, I have come to speak to you." 
 
 After a moment of silence, she 
 said : " I have come, M. le comte, to 
 ask you to help me to regain my 
 tranquillity and peace of mind, which 
 your presence here disturbs. Must I 
 appeal to your conscience or to your 
 honor ? " 
 
 The words of Sibylle, and yet 
 more the cold and haughty manner 
 in which they were spoken, so cruelly 
 overturned the hopes which Eaoul 
 had begun to conceive, that he be- 
 came deadly pale as he said, " Is it 
 possible ? " 
 
 "Kemember that an honorable 
 man should refrain from persecut- 
 ing a woman who wishes to avoid 
 him." 
 
 " Can you speak so to me ? " said 
 the Count, folding his arms with an 
 expression of sorrowful resignation. 
 
 " And if it is not sufficient to ap- 
 peal to your honor, M. le comte, I 
 ask you, in the name of reason and 
 
 good sense, to give up an attempt 
 which can never succeed. Be as- 
 sured, your presence here, after what 
 has occurred, can only excite in me 
 feelings of dislike and contempt." 
 
 The Count de Chalys pointed to 
 the side of the altar. "Mademoi- 
 selle," said he, " could you speak to 
 me more harshly, if you were one of 
 those stone statues I see before me ? " 
 
 " I speak to you," she answered, 
 quickly, "as a young girl who con- 
 siders your presence here an outrage, 
 and who has no one to whom she 
 can look to defend her." 
 
 At these words a hollow sound 
 came from Raoul's lips ; he went to- 
 wards Sibylle, and looking her in the 
 face, he said, " Go ! " 
 
 Stupefied by the expression of re- 
 pressed rage in his countenance, the 
 young girl did not move. 
 
 " Go," repeated Eaoul, loudly, " or 
 I shall lose my reason ! What, these 
 are your virtues, your charity, your 
 religion, Mile. Sibylle! am I, then, 
 a man without conscience or honor, 
 soul or heart ? and why ? Only be- 
 cause I continue to love you insanely, 
 tenderly, faithfully, notwithstanding 
 your unjust and bitter contempt ! 
 My crime, in your eyes, is, that I do 
 not believe. "Well, then, I tell you I 
 do not accept your anathema, and I 
 believe, if there be a God, he would 
 not sanction it. I, who all my life 
 long have sought the truth with the 
 best efforts of my mind and in the an- 
 guish of my soul, am I a miserable 
 wretch ? Despise, if you will, the in- 
 credulity of indifference and of mock- 
 ery, but respect the incredulity of
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 113 
 
 earnest seeking and of heartfelt suf- 
 fering." 
 
 The young girl, struck dumb at 
 this outburst of passion, still stood 
 immovable. Pointing to the cross 
 above the altar, in a calmer tone, the 
 Count said, " Take there, Mile. Si- 
 bylle, a lesson of justice and of char- 
 ity. Believe me, when I tell you 
 that a sceptic may be a martyr. 
 For my part, I believe that in the 
 eyes of God the sufferings of doubt 
 cannot be a crime, and that to seek 
 him, even in despair, is still to 
 honor him. At least, Sibylle, my 
 impiety does not harden my heart 
 towards my fellow-creatures, it does 
 not command me to sacrifice the hap- 
 piness of others for miserable scru- 
 ples ; it may not have given me all 
 your virtues, but it has given me 
 one which is wanting in you, and 
 that is, kindness of heart. And now 
 you shall be obeyed, and I may add 
 that it will cost me less regret to 
 obey you, now that I know you 
 better." 
 
 And Eaoul turned away. 
 
 Sibylle appeared to hesitate, then ad- 
 vanced slowly towards him. " Raoul ! " 
 said she. 
 
 On hearing her sweet voice pro- 
 nounce his name with a kind accent, 
 the Count turned towards Sibylle 
 with a look of amazement. 
 
 " Raoul," said she, " you too are un- 
 just, and you misunderstand ma Can 
 you really believe that I have sacri- 
 ficed your feelings, and mine also, 
 to these narrow scruples of which 
 you speak ? that I feared by loving 
 you, and devoting my life to you, I 
 
 8 
 
 should offend God ? Try to under- 
 stand me better. To me, if there is 
 one idea more insupportable than 
 another, it is that of one of those 
 unions which spring from the caprice 
 of a day, and will not sustain the 
 effect of time. .The love I coujd have 
 given you was infinite, and I felt it 
 would be eternal; I desired yours 
 should be the same. As a man of 
 the world, you know how transitory 
 are the attachments of people of the 
 world. And can you not understand 
 how the common hope of an endless 
 future must purify and fortify the 
 hearts of those who possess it ? what 
 constancy it would impart to their 
 affection in this life ? Well, this bond 
 of union was wanting in you. You 
 love me in my youth; when it is 
 gone, will you love me still ? As 
 for my soul, you do not believe in 
 it. One day I should be left alone 
 in my love. I was persuaded of this, 
 and rather than experience so horri- 
 ble a misfortune, I have devoted my 
 life to solitude, to abandonment, to 
 regret. I have chosen to crush my 
 heart with my own hand, rather than 
 ever to feel it broken by yours. This 
 is the crime of which I have been 
 guilty, and is it unworthy of your 
 forgiveness ? does it render me un- 
 worthy of your esteem ? " 
 
 Raoul did not immediately answer ; 
 his eyes were fixed in admiration on 
 the young enthusiast, whose beauty, 
 in the dim light of the church, was 
 something almost supernatural. 
 
 " Poor child ! " said he, as if to him- 
 self ; then, raising his voice, he said, 
 " Yes, Sibylle, I forgive you, even in
 
 114 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 my despair, now that you speak to 
 me kindly, that you treat me as a 
 friend. Yes, I thank you. Can we 
 not at least be friends, if a nearer tie 
 be denied us ? Do not fear ; I shall 
 not ask anything more." 
 
 Sibylle, with a faint smile, shook 
 her head as if in doubt. " Ah," said 
 she, "if I could hope even at a 
 far distant day, to see you kneeling 
 here." 
 
 Eaoul smiled in his turn, and said, 
 " I must not deceive you, I think so 
 differently; but if ever this could 
 happen, it would be here, in this 
 beloved church, near this worthy 
 priest, and beside you." 
 
 She looked at him attentively, and 
 then, kneeling down, appeared for a 
 short time absorbed in prayer. 
 
 After a few minutes Sibylle rose, 
 and passing by Eaoul, said, " We will 
 meet again." 
 
 Then gazing a moment at the pic- 
 ture, she turned again, and said, " It 
 is beautiful." 
 
 And Eaoul listened to the retreat- 
 ing sound of her footsteps on the 
 pavement of the church. 
 
 V. 
 
 SIBYLLE'S LOVE. 
 
 SIBYLLE returned to the castle 
 with feelings of anxiety, and yet of 
 greater happiness than she had expe- 
 rienced for a long time. She felt 
 that the compromise with which the 
 interview between Eaoul and herself 
 had terminated had not been quite 
 consistent with her declared opinions ; 
 
 but she said to herself, that sometimes 
 an impulse of the heart counsels us 
 more wisely than the strict rules of 
 reason. She foresaw all the difficul- 
 ties that would now surround her 
 path, and the possible anguish that 
 might await her in the end ; but she 
 accepted them almost with a secret 
 joy. All the tenderness of her feelings 
 towards Eaoul had been reawakened 
 by the sight of him, and she also 
 understood him better and esteemed 
 him more highly ; and it appeared to 
 her that, instead of adhering so closely 
 to the rigid principles upon which 
 she had hitherto acted, it had become 
 her duty to devote herself to the 
 attempt to elevate to a religious 
 standard the character of the man 
 who loved her so deeply. 
 
 She related to the Marquis and 
 Marchioness the particulars of her 
 campaign, which, she said, had ter- 
 minated somewhat ingloriously for 
 her. She ended by submitting to 
 their approbation the treaty of peace 
 she had concluded with M. de Chalys 
 on condition that he should renounce 
 all pretensions to her hand. M. and 
 Mme. de Ferias did not refuse to 
 ratify the preliminaries of the agree- 
 ment, but in reality they considered 
 it, as the old Marquis afterwards 
 expressed it, as only an expedient to 
 save the honor of arms, believing 
 that it would result in the union of 
 their granddaughter with the Count. 
 Towards him they were favorably 
 disposed, from their conversation with 
 him, from the account of Miss O'Neil, 
 and, above all, from the opinion of the 
 Abbe" Ee"naud, who entertained for
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 115 
 
 him a tender admiration, saying that 
 his was not a perverse, but an anxious 
 soul, which might be restored to the 
 favor of Heaven, and whom it would 
 be wrong to abandon to discourage- 
 ment and despair. 
 
 On the following Monday M. de 
 Farias, in company with his grand- 
 daughter and Miss O'Neil, who had 
 gone with him to the village, entered 
 the church, where Kaoul was working 
 on his scaffolding, and, after praising 
 his design, informed M. de Chalys 
 that if he chose sometimes to extend 
 his afternoon walks to the vicinity of 
 the castle, he and Mme. de Ferias 
 would be happy to welcome him 
 there. 
 
 It may well be imagined that the 
 Count did not wait very long to 
 profit by this invitation, although at 
 first he came but rarely. 
 
 The cure*, meanwhile, watched with 
 delight the progress of his labors, and 
 when he was not working they had 
 many a friendly conversation, seated 
 in the churchyard or on the adjoining 
 cliff. 
 
 The Count had also another com- 
 panion. This was Jacques Fe*ray, who 
 had not failed speedily to discover 
 that something unusual was going 
 on in the church. At first he timidly 
 approached at a distance, but having 
 gained sufficient courage to mount 
 the scaffolding, he stood in ecstasy at 
 the sight of the radiant figures which 
 were beginning to appear on the ceil- 
 ing. Raoul, having heard the history 
 of the poor man and of his singular 
 devotion to Sibylle, encouraged him to 
 come, which he finally did, regularly 
 
 every day, taking up his station 
 behind the artist and watching him 
 paint, usually in silence. However, he 
 soon began to reply to the questions 
 of the Count, and Sibylle was fre- 
 quently the subject of their dis- 
 course. 
 
 "You love her very much, my 
 friend," said Eaoul to him one day. 
 
 " And you, too," said Jacques Feray, 
 smiling with an expression of shrewd 
 cunning. <f Do not do her any harm ! " 
 he rejoined, with a severe air. 
 
 The growing confidence of Jacques 
 in his new companion induced him 
 to confide to him a secret trouble, 
 which grieved him deeply. The wife 
 and child of the unhappy man were 
 buried in the churchyard of Ferias. 
 For a long time their graves had 
 been neglected, but since Sibylle's 
 kindness had awakened, in a measure, 
 his intellect and feeling, it had been 
 his greatest interest to plant flowers 
 upon them, renewing them as soon 
 as they began to fade. It was now 
 intended that this part of the grave- 
 yard should be given up to the pub- 
 lic, and the bodies removed. 
 
 The idea was dreadful to the mind 
 of the idiot. He had not yet confid- 
 ed his apprehensions on this point 
 even to Sibylle, but it escaped him 
 in one of his confidential conversa- 
 tions with Raoul. 
 
 The abbe", happening to enter the 
 church at the moment, the Count re- 
 lated to him the particulars, and 
 asked him to purchase this spot of 
 ground for him. 
 
 Then, turning to Jacques Fe"ray, he 
 said, " Do not grieve about these
 
 116 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 graves ; I will arrange it. The ground 
 shall belong to you." 
 
 He returned to his work, but feel- 
 ing a touch, turned round, and saw 
 the madman pressing to his lips a 
 part of the painter's blouse which he 
 wore. 
 
 The Abbe* Eenaud did not fail to 
 relate this incident at the castle, and 
 M. and Mme. de Ferias were so 
 touched by it, that the following day 
 Eaoul received from them an invi- 
 tation to dinner. 
 
 In the interior of their family life 
 Eaoul was surprised at the sweet 
 gayety of Sibylle, whom he had 
 hitherto only seen under the re- 
 straint of the etiquette of the world, 
 and it added still more to his admi- 
 ration for her. 
 
 Sibylle had prepared him for the 
 custom of evening prayer, which was 
 usual at the castle. 
 
 " You can go walk in the garden, 
 when the hour comes," said she. 
 
 "No," said he, "I will not show 
 such a want of respect in your 
 grandfather's house." 
 
 He felt himself repaid by the ex- 
 pression of Sibylle's eyes, and he re- 
 mained during the ceremony a little 
 apart, but with every appearance of 
 respectful attention. 
 
 From this time forward the inter- 
 course between Eaoul and the in- 
 habitants of the castle became more 
 familiar, and more than once he was 
 present at the evening ceremony. 
 The daily sight of the pure life of 
 the cure", and the true piety of his 
 present associates, could not but have 
 a softening and elevating effect upon 
 
 his nature ; it appealed to his imagi- 
 nation, softened his heart, and did 
 not shock his intellect. Doubtless, 
 the artificial life of the world and 
 the habitual contact with so much 
 that is evil do more even than the 
 pride of reason to infuse doubts into 
 the mind, and the association with 
 good and sincere beings, together 
 with the grand and beautiful aspects 
 of nature, have the happiest influence 
 in restoring peace and faith where it 
 has been shaken. Still, these im-. 
 proved dispositions and these poeti- 
 cal aspirations were far from a moral 
 conversion and a positive faith, and 
 Sibylle's upright mind perceived 
 this. The Abbe Ednaud encouraged 
 her. 
 
 "We feel," said he, "rather than 
 prove, the existence of God. Let 
 him once believe that, and I will an- 
 swer for .the rest." 
 
 To Eaoul, Sibylle never alluded to 
 the . subject which constantly occu- 
 pied her thoughts, sometimes with 
 deep discouragement, sometimes with 
 ravishing hope. 
 
 One day she said to the cure", 
 " Sometimes, father, I think if I 
 should die he would believe." 
 
 One day, having seen in the man- 
 ner and words of the Count a satis- 
 factory sign of improvement, she said 
 to the old priest, " Ah, what a dream 
 of bliss, to restore to God the soul of 
 him whom I love so deeply ! " 
 
 This strange life had lasted about 
 two months, when one evening M. de 
 Chalys, who had dined at the castle, 
 was walking on the grounds with 
 Mile, de Ferias.
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 117 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said he, "am I 
 right ? It appears to me, you no 
 longer seek to convert me." 
 
 " Why ? " said she, " because I do 
 not catechise you ? You are mistaken ; 
 I am very desirous of converting 
 you, but I am also very unwilling 
 to displease you." 
 
 " I do not know how you could 
 ever displease me," returned Eaoul ; 
 " but, Mile. Sibylle, would you like to 
 know the state of my soul ? " 
 
 " Yes, if it is better than formerly." 
 
 " It is better." 
 
 " Is it true ? " said the young girl, 
 quickly. 
 
 " It must be very true for me to tell 
 it to you ; for I should be cruel to 
 myself and guilty towards you, did I 
 try for a moment to deceive you on 
 such a subject. Yes, you and those 
 by whom you are surrounded make 
 me doubtful of my doubts. It is so 
 difficult to believe that beings like 
 yourselves can be only material. 
 Every day I seem to see more clearly 
 that there must be a Source from 
 which the soul descends and to 
 which it returns. Yes, for some time 
 past I seem to perceive a God. 
 Doubtless, it is not yet as you per- 
 ceive him. But tell me, Mile. Si- 
 bylle, are you pleased ? " 
 
 " Pleased ! " said she, in a low and 
 feeling voice ; " no, I am not pleased, 
 but I feel heaven in my heart." 
 
 They continued to walk some time 
 under the trees of the avenue. Si- 
 bylle suddenly gave him her hand. 
 " My friend," murmured she. 
 
 He took her hand and pressed it 
 without speaking, and she left him. 
 
 After the happiest night of her 
 life, Sibylle had next day a sorrowful 
 awakening. The Abbe Eenaud came 
 to announce to her that M. de Chalys 
 had received that morning a despatch 
 which obliged him to leave immedi- 
 ately for Paris. He had asked the 
 cure* to give to Mile, de Fe'rias the 
 despatch which called him away. It 
 contained these three words : 
 
 "Come quickly!" 
 
 " GANDRAX." 
 
 On reading this signature Sibylle 
 grew pale. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE LOVE OF CLOTTLDE. 
 
 ON the same day and at the same 
 hour when, under the avenue of trees 
 at Ferias, Sibylle put her hand and 
 her heart in the hand of Eaoul, a 
 very different love-scene was being 
 enacted in the drawing-room of one 
 of those elegant summer residences 
 not far from Paris, on the hills of 
 Luciennes. The Baron de Val-Ches- 
 nay, the proprietor, had that day en- 
 tertained at dinner a guest who had 
 lately become his friend without his 
 exactly knowing how or why it was 
 so. It was Louis Gandrax. To effect 
 his introduction on a footing of inti- 
 macy in the household of the Baron, 
 Gandrax had not found it requisite 
 to resort to any of the artifices some- 
 times employed in such cases, and 
 which it would not have been easy, 
 with his proud nature, for him to 
 practise. The genius of Clotilde had 
 been quite sufficient. She had ob- 
 tained over her husband the ascen-
 
 118 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 dency of a strong mind over a weak 
 one. He had the most entire confi- 
 dence in her. Indeed, he believed 
 her almost a saint, and the best of 
 wives, and his respect for her equalled 
 his love. He loved her, however, so 
 much that he might easily have be- 
 come jealous. Therefore it was with 
 satisfaction that he saw her direct 
 the activity of her mind and thought 
 towards scientific pursuits, under the 
 direction of Louis Gandrax, whose 
 reputation for moral principle was 
 equal to the fame of his talents. 
 
 What first attracted Clotilde to- 
 wards Gandrax was the fact of his 
 great intimacy with Eaoul. By de- 
 grees the influence of the powerful 
 intellect, the manly beauty, and the 
 great celebrity of the young scholar 
 began to exercise over the mind of 
 Clotilde a sort of fascination which 
 she mistook for love ; and in despair 
 at the abrupt departure of M. de 
 Chalys, of whom she heard nothing, 
 she yielded to this new impulse, under 
 pretext of a suddenly developed taste 
 for scientific studies. Sometimes, 
 however, the young woman assidu- 
 ously and sincerely endeavored to 
 share with a real interest the pursuits 
 of Gandrax,. which appeared, if not to 
 redeem the fault of their attachment, 
 at least to lend to it some dignity 
 and elevation. Clotilde had strong 
 passions, but not a degraded mind; 
 but her detestable education had only 
 served to confirm and increase her 
 natural defects. 
 
 Louis Gandrax had always led a 
 strictly ascetic life. Now, overtaken 
 in his maturity by one of those in- 
 
 sensate passions beyond his power to 
 resist, he had compromised with his 
 pride, by the thought that his intel- 
 lectual superiority had won the heart 
 of Clotilde, and what was in reality a 
 proof of his weakness he considered 
 only another triumph of his will. 
 The beauty and fascination of Clo- 
 tilde had stirred the very depths of 
 his soul ; and even the worldly glory 
 of his conquest appeared to him to 
 add a new laurel to his brow. He 
 therefore unreservedly abandoned 
 himself to the raptures of a love 
 which appeared to complete his proud 
 personality, and even thought that 
 his name might go down to posterity 
 in connection with one of those in- 
 tellectual attachments of which we 
 frequently read in history. Now 
 the young materialist trod the earth, 
 which appeared to belong to him, 
 with a still prouder step, and often 
 repeated to himself his favorite axiom, 
 " There is a God ; it is the man who 
 knows and who wills." 
 
 He did not know everything, how- 
 ever, and of this fact he was destined 
 to be convinced this very evening at 
 Luciennes, where he was dining with 
 M. and Mme. de Yal-Chesnay. Un- 
 der the pretext of some scientific ex- 
 periments, he had passed the day 
 with Clotilde, who had organized a 
 small laboratory at her villa. On 
 his arrival she had informed him of a 
 letter she had received from her aunt, 
 Mme. de. Beaumesnil, informing her 
 of the arrival at Farias of the Count 
 de Chalys, and of the singular life lie 
 was leading there; Mme. de Yal- 
 Chesnay was excessively amused at
 
 THE STOKY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 119 
 
 the idea of the Count de Chalys be- 
 ing transformed into a hermit and a 
 choir-boy. Gandrax endeavored to 
 avoid the subject. During the re- 
 mainder of the day Clotilde appeared 
 absent, and at dinner she spoke more 
 than once to the young scholar in a 
 manner which, without making him 
 uneasy, slightly wounded his pride. 
 It was not the first time that a dis- 
 play of Clotilde's violent temper had 
 clouded their felicity, and on such 
 occasions Gandrax was accustomed 
 to treat these passing caprices with 
 the cold sarcasm habitual to him; 
 and he had always found this method 
 so effectual that it had served to 
 confirm his opinion of his own supe- 
 riority, and of the sort of irresistible 
 magnetism with which he believed 
 himself endowed. He was preparing, 
 therefore, as usual, to assert his su- 
 premacy, waiting only until M. de 
 Val-Chesnay, who usually went, after 
 dinner, to smoke in the park or the 
 stables, should leave him tete-a-tete 
 with Clotilde, 
 
 But Clotilde, on her part, was pre- 
 paring a surprise for him. They had 
 passed into the drawing-room, where 
 she reclined on a couch in a careless 
 attitude. As the Baron was about to 
 make his escape, she called to him 
 suddenly, in a caressing voice : " Rol- 
 and, do smoke your cigar here, I beg 
 of you ; I have scarcely seen you to- 
 day." 
 
 M. de Val-Chesnay, little accus- 
 tomed to such attentions, stopped, as- 
 tonished. He murmured some words { 
 of thanks, lighted a cigar, and sat' 
 down in a remote corner of the draw- ! 
 
 ing-room, while Gandrax took a seat 
 near the couch of Clotilde, casting 
 towards her an angry glance. The 
 young woman took no notice of this, 
 but after gazing for a few moments 
 through the open window at the 
 moonlight, she again addressed her 
 husband in the same affectionate 
 tone and manner : " My friend, where 
 are you ? Why do you sit so far off ? 
 I love the smell of your cigar ; come 
 here ! " 
 
 Eoland now drew near, and seated 
 himself on a stool by her side. She 
 laid her white hand on the young 
 man's head, and looking tenderly at 
 him. " How handsome you are ! " she 
 said in a low tone. 
 
 And she leaned back on her couch, 
 still keeping her hand on the head of 
 Eoland. After a short silence she 
 turned suddenly to Gandrax. " Is it 
 not a beautiful evening ? " said she 
 to him. 
 
 "Very beautiful," replied Gan- 
 drax. 
 
 " I love these early autumn even- 
 ings. Your hair is soft like silk, 
 Roland. Gandrax, have you never 
 noticed my husband's hair? It is 
 like a child's." 
 
 " Quite," murmured Gandrax. 
 
 There was another pause. She 
 began to laugh. 
 
 " Come, Roland," said she, " I am 
 keeping you too long. I will allow 
 you to go and see your horses and 
 finish your cigar, but I only give you 
 twenty minutes, not one more; re- 
 member, my friend." 
 
 The young Baron, delighted with 
 such demonstrations of affection,
 
 120 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 kissed his wife's hand, and left the 
 room. 
 
 After he had gone Gandrax rose, 
 and, trying to speak calmly, although 
 his voice trembled with anger, " Clo- 
 tilde," said he, " will you be so kind 
 as to explain to me this scene ? " 
 
 " What scene, my friend ? " replied 
 Clotilde, in a drawling tone. 
 
 " The scene of atrocious coquetry 
 you have just been enacting." 
 
 " What ! I must explain it ? You 
 really do not understand it ? " 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 "0, do not assume your lordly 
 frown ; you will only lose your trou- 
 ble. Well, then, I will explain to 
 you this scene in one word, a word 
 which for a long time has been burn- 
 ing on my lips ; but better late than 
 never ! " 
 
 She drew herself erect on the 
 couch, looked him in the face, and 
 speaking with almost savage energy, 
 " I am tired of you ! Do you under- 
 stand now ? " 
 
 Gandrax at first did not move, then 
 rose suddenly, and as if he had re- 
 ceived a pistol-ball in the head, he 
 staggered a few paces; however, he 
 recovered himself by a strong effort 
 of his will, walked a little away, and 
 then returning to Clotilde, who had 
 followed all his movements with a 
 pitiless eye, "An insult," said he, 
 coldly, "is not an explanation. What 
 is the matter ? What has happened ? 
 Why do you no longer love me ? " 
 
 " Why ? " returned she, in the same 
 harsh and violent tone, " because I 
 have never loved you; because no 
 woman will ever love you ; because, 
 
 with all your learning, you have 
 neither heart, nor soul, nor mind, 
 nothing which can raise a woman in 
 her own eyes, which can ennoble her 
 weakness, hide her faults from her- 
 self; nothing which can make her 
 love appear like a radiant dream, a 
 poetry, an enthusiasm, a religion ! 
 No, I have never loved you ; I have 
 only loved in you the shadow of 
 your friend, whom I adore, whom I 
 always shall adore. And know that 
 what I tell you now has been in my 
 heart from the first ; but I tried to 
 deceive myself, to persuade myself 
 that I loved you, in my despair at 
 losing him. And you believed you 
 had conquered me, that you were my 
 lord and master. Poor man ! do you 
 think I am afraid of you ? I have 
 said enough. I think you under- 
 stand now. At any rate, I do not 
 care whether you understand or not ; 
 all I want is to have it finished. 
 Go, and never let me see you again, 
 for, in plain words, I detest you." 
 And she leaned back on her couch. 
 
 Gandrax went away. While he 
 was walking towards the nearest 
 railway station he stopped from time 
 to time, putting his hand to his fore- 
 head; he felt as if the earth were 
 giving way beneath him. It was 
 eleven o'clock when he reached his 
 home. He entered las laboratory, 
 and threw himself into a chair ; then, 
 as if inaction were insupportable to 
 him, he rose, and began slowly to 
 pace up and down the large room. 
 The heating at his temples sounded 
 in his ears like an alarm-bell. Chaos 
 revolved in his brain. In this brutal
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 121 
 
 awakening from his dream of love, 
 in this tremendous fall from the 
 heights of his pride, he sought con- 
 fusedly for something to sustain him, 
 and he found nothing. His knowl- 
 edge, his fame, his noble poverty, for- 
 ever stripped of the charm which 
 the love of Clotilde had lent to them, 
 1 appeared to him odious. From with- 
 out he found no strength, no conso- 
 lation, no hope, all a blank. He 
 did not weep, for in his soul all the 
 sources from which tears are born 
 were dried up. He continued to 
 march up and down like a spectre, 
 until the dawn of day; when the 
 morning light began to appear, his 
 misery seemed more positive and 
 more poignant, and as to beginning 
 life again with this wound in his 
 heart and this shame on his brow, he 
 could not. 
 
 A presentiment of insanity crossed 
 his mind ; he abruptly took from a 
 shelf against the wall a phial filled 
 with a brown liquid, and, putting it 
 to his lips, drank all the contents. 
 Then, with a mournful gravity, he 
 resumed his walk, his steps becom- 
 ing gradually heavier. Suddenly he 
 stopped, moved his arms convulsively, 
 and fell on the floor. At the noise 
 of his fall some people in the house 
 rushed to his room ; he was carried 
 to a bed, and a physician sent for. 
 After two hours of a delirious stupor 
 he awoke, and summoned sufficient 
 strength to dictate his despatch to 
 EaouL Raoul arrived the same 
 evening, and drove immediately to 
 Gandrax's house. He ascended the 
 stairs without meeting any one. The 
 
 scholar's room was like a cell in a 
 cloister ; a small lamp shed a feeble 
 light. An old woman was reading 
 in a corner. Against the white- 
 washed wall was a small iron bed- 
 stead, upon which Gandrax was lying. 
 His dark hair was pushed back from 
 his broad forehead, which was of an 
 ashen paleness. A smile came to his 
 hollow cheeks and his flaming eyes 
 when he saw Raoul. He made an 
 effort to put out his hand. 
 
 " Ah," said he, in his deep voice, 
 " I am glad to see you again ! " 
 
 " But what is all this ? how long 
 have you been ill ? " 
 
 Gandrax made a sign to the wo- 
 man who was taking care of him; 
 she left the room. He then pointed 
 to the empty phial near the lamp. 
 Kaoul hastily examined it; with a 
 sorrowful look he approached the 
 bed, and looking fixedly at Gandrax, 
 " Clotilde ? " said he. 
 
 "Yes," said Gandrax. And after 
 a pause he added, " The first weak- 
 ness of my life, and the last." 
 
 " Ah ! my unhappy friend, is there 
 no hope ? Where is the doctor ? 
 what does he say ? " 
 
 "I am the doctor. He says that 
 the nervous system is destroyed, and 
 I am lost. I am now nothing but 
 matter which is being transformed." 
 
 " But you may be mistaken," said 
 Raoul, in great agitation. " Let me 
 send for some one ; who shall it be ? " 
 
 " For no one ; it is useless. Do not 
 trouble me ; sit down." 
 
 M. de Chalys fell into a chair at 
 the side of the bed : " Do you suffer 
 much, my friend ? "
 
 122 
 
 THE STOEY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 " Yes, frightfully. I made a mis- 
 take, the dose was too strong ; but I 
 was insane." 
 
 After a moment an ironical ex- 
 pression passed over the contracted 
 lips of Gandrax. 
 
 " And you," resumed he, in a hol- 
 low tone, " I hear you are an acolyte 
 of the church." 
 
 " My friend, do not, I beg of you." 
 
 There was a long silence, during 
 which nothing was heard but the 
 labored breathing of the dying man 
 and the faint ticking of a watch 
 which hung over his pillow. The 
 eyes of Gandrax, however, fixed upon 
 those of Raoul, seemed to express a 
 kind of painful anxiety. 
 
 " Do you wish anything, Louis ? " 
 said Raoul, leaning over Gandrax. 
 
 " Why do you not weep for me ? " 
 
 "My friend, I am in a frightful 
 dream. I am terrified." 
 
 " He does not weep for me," mur- 
 mured Gandrax. 
 
 After another pause he raised 
 his voice again. "What o'clock is 
 it?" 
 
 " Near midnight." 
 
 " What day of the week ? " 
 
 " Thursday." 
 
 " Give me your hand ; give it to 
 me quickly ! " 
 
 Raoul rose hastily, and took his 
 hand. 
 
 " Louis," he said, " have you noth- 
 ing to confide to me, nothing which 
 makes you anxious ? Can you com- 
 mand your thoughts at this terrible 
 moment ? Are you sure, are you 
 quite sure, what you are, and whither 
 you are going ? " 
 
 " Where am I going ? " A fright- 
 ful smile passed over the lips of 
 Gandrax; he half raised himself in 
 his bed, abruptly drew away the 
 hand which Raoul was holding, and 
 pointing to the ground with savage 
 energy, " There ! " he said. 
 
 His hand remained in the same 
 position, his eyes rolled in their 
 sockets, and his head fell back power- ! 
 less on the pillow. 
 
 Raoul looked at him in silent con- 
 templation, hid his face in his hands, 
 and his tears streamed through his 
 fingers, but Gandrax could not see 
 them. 
 
 M. de Chalys watched alone beside 
 the remains of his friend. 
 
 Two days afterwards the funeral 
 ceremonies took place in the church 
 of Saint Sulpice, with a mixture of 
 pomp and austerity suitable to the 
 merited reputation and the worthy 
 poverty of the young scholar. 
 
 On entering the church, Raoul 
 perceived in one of the side aisles a 
 woman dressed in mourning, whose 
 air of youth and elegance struck him ; 
 he shuddered. It was indeed Clo- 
 tilde ; her taste for strong emotions 
 and dramatic situations, and probably 
 a feeling of secret remorse, had brought 
 her to the church. From time to 
 time she wept behind her veil. Her 
 tears were sincere, but she wept even 
 more for herself than for the vic- 
 tim of her cruelty. She dreaded the 
 future. She thought of the joyous 
 days of her infancy, of the country 
 near Fe'rias, and of the peace she 
 had left behind her when she quit- 
 ted it. Among these memories of
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 123 
 
 the past, there was one which haunt- 
 ed her imagination with a singular per- 
 sistence ; it was that of the madman 
 Feray, lying on the pavement of the 
 courtyard at Farias, and raising him- 
 self to shake at her the pieces of 
 iron with which she had adorned 
 him, and seeming to address to her, 
 after the manner of the tragic proph- 
 etesses in Macbeth, a vague threat of 
 misfortune. 
 
 Towards the middle of the day, 
 the Count de Chalys, having accom- 
 plished to the end his painful duty, 
 returned to his hotel. He was sit- 
 ting by himself, when suddenly the 
 door opened, and an old servant said 
 to him, " The lady whom M. le comte 
 expects is here." 
 
 Eaoul rose impatiently. "I do 
 not expect any one ! " 
 
 He had not finished speaking be- 
 fore Mme. de Val-Chesnay entered 
 the room, and the servant hastily 
 left. 
 
 Clotilde stopped motionless in 
 front of Eaoul. Her veil was down, 
 but her pale face and brilliant eyes 
 shone through it. Her mourning 
 dress relieved by ornaments of jet 
 seemed to add to her proud beauty, 
 and to show to advantage her superb 
 figure. Eaoul looked at her with an 
 expression of anger and uncertainty. 
 She threw aside her veil, and raised 
 to his her beseeching eyes. 
 
 " What do you want ? " said the 
 Count, harshly. 
 
 " Your pity, Eaoul." 
 
 " I refuse it to you ! '' 
 
 He turned and walked away ; then, 
 coming back to where she stood, 
 
 " Do you know that he killed him- 
 self ? " said he. " If you do not 
 know, I tell it to you ! If you do 
 know, I think you very daring to 
 present yourself here ! " 
 
 " I did know it," murmured she. 
 
 She threw herself on a sofa, buried 
 her face in the cushions, and sobbed 
 bitterly. 
 
 Eaoul walked a few minutes up 
 and down the apartment, and then, 
 stopping suddenly in front of her, 
 "I beg of you, madame," said he, 
 " to make an end of this ? All this 
 is useless and repugnant to me." 
 
 She looked up. 
 
 " But," said she, " do you "know 
 all that passed ? Had you nothing to 
 do with this misfortune, this crime, 
 which I came here to weep over 
 with you ? Did you not once seek 
 my love, or did I dream it ? and 
 when it had been given to you, did 
 you not torture and humble me by 
 leaving me for another, even before 
 my eyes. And now you refuse me a 
 word of pity or forgiveness. My 
 crime has been that I loved you 
 faithfully through that phantom of 
 love which I had seized in my de- 
 spair, because he spoke to me of you, 
 he loved you. At last I awakened 
 from my dream in horror, and the 
 cry of truth escaped from my heart, 
 and it crushed him. Do not pity 
 him ; I envy him, for he no longer 
 suffers." 
 
 Again she sobbed violently, with 
 her face concealed by her hands. 
 
 "Madame," said Eaoul, gravely, 
 "I indeed reproach myself bitterly, 
 since my inconsiderate conduct has
 
 124 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 produced such consequences. I even 
 ask your forgiveness, if you choose. 
 But you must understand that the 
 deepest abyss now separates us, and 
 that this explanation can neither be 
 renewed nor prolonged between us, 
 under such circumstances. Go, I beg 
 of you." 
 
 She rose, and said gently, " I am 
 going. Will you not give me your 
 hand, Eaoul?" 
 
 Eaoul made a gesture of refusal, 
 and turned away. 
 
 "Ah," said she, in the same be- 
 seeching tone, " how hard you are ! I 
 ask of you so little, I who have 
 given you so much. Will not my 
 love, the only one of my life, win 
 from you\ne word of kindness, of 
 compassion ? I will respect your 
 wishes; but one thing I must tell 
 you before I leave you, probably for- 
 ever. Eaoul," continued she, in the 
 same tone, " I know I am not worth 
 anything, I have not a virtue in 
 the world, not even a belief. Only 
 one thing I can do, I can love. If 
 you had known me better, you would 
 not have despised a heart like mine, 
 for no one on earth will ever love 
 you as I have done. I feel that all 
 is over, and that it would be mad- 
 ness to suppose your heart could ever 
 soften towards me. But what I wish 
 to tell you is, that I shall remain 
 your slave, and that at any day, any 
 hour you wish, at a word or a sign, I 
 will leave all to follow you on my 
 knees, where you will, all over the 
 world. Adieu." 
 
 She seized Eaoul's hand, and 
 pressed it wildly to her lips. He 
 
 disengaged himself almost violently, 
 and said to her in a low tone of com- 
 mand, " I beg you to go." 
 
 She appeared about to faint. " Tell 
 me you pity me," murmured -she, 
 " and I will leave you." 
 
 "Yes, Clotilde, I pity you much. 
 Go." 
 
 She fixed her dark eyes, shining 
 through her tears, upon his face, 
 sighed deeply, and slowly left the 
 room. 
 
 The next day but one M. de Chalys 
 left Paris for Fe'rias. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE SWAN. 
 
 THE Comte de Chalys returned to 
 Ferias in a different frame of mind 
 from that in 'which he had left it. 
 He felt like one awakened from a 
 dream. The contact of real life and 
 of the vices of society, the terrible 
 death of Gandrax, which appeared 
 so purely material, had brought back 
 his feelings of ironical scepticism, 
 and his interview with Clotilde had 
 deeply agitated him. Although he 
 had repulsed her with horror, still 
 her expressions of passionate devo- 
 tion contrasted too strongly with 
 what seemed now the timid and 
 measured love of Sibylle, who, for 
 his sake, could not overcome a few 
 overstrained scruples. 
 
 When he arrived at the parsonage, 
 the Abbe Eenaud, to whom he had 
 written to inform him of his coming, 
 told him that the family at Fe'rias 
 would expect him to dinner. He
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 125 
 
 accordingly drove there, but the af- 
 fectionate welcome he received could 
 not conquer his depression. The 
 sorrrowful events which had trans- 
 pired in Paris appeared to the Mar- 
 quis and Marchioness sufficiently to 
 account for the change in him ; but 
 Sibylle was more keen in her per- 
 ceptions. Raoul's first look, when 
 he took her hand at meeting her, 
 had disquieted her ; for, in her sensi- 
 tive nature, feeling and presentiment 
 appeared almost like divination. 
 She continued to watch him anx- 
 iously throughout the dinner, and 
 she observed that, instead of re- 
 maining, as he had been used to do, 
 in the drawing-room during the hour 
 of evening prayer, he left the room. 
 She did not at all change her manner 
 towards him, but they talked only on 
 indifferent subjects through the even- 
 ing. It was half past ten when he 
 took his leave. As he stopped a few 
 moments on the flight of steps to 
 gaze at the beautiful view spread out 
 before him in the light of a crescent 
 moon, now sinking behind the hills, 
 Raoul sighed deeply. A slight sound 
 caused him to turn round. Sibylle 
 was beside him. " You are sad," said 
 she, in her sweet, grave voice. 
 
 "Could I be otherwise, after the 
 cruel blow I have so ' lately re- 
 ceived ? " 
 
 "Certainly not*, but is there not 
 something more ? Tell me truly." 
 
 He cast down his eyes, hesitated, 
 and raising his head, said, " I would 
 like to speak with you, Sibylle." 
 
 "Now?" 
 
 " Yes, now." 
 
 She seemed to hesitate, and then 
 said, " Wait for me." 
 
 She went back into the vestibule, 
 and reappeared with a white mantle 
 bordered with blue thrown around 
 her, the hood drawn over her head. 
 She took the arm of Raoul; they 
 crossed the court-yard in silence, and 
 entered the park, walking on the 
 broad avenue. Raoul at last spoke, 
 and with a tinge of bitterness in his 
 tone : " Mademoiselle," said he, " I 
 have just passed through one of those 
 fearful scenes in life which recall a 
 man to reality and to his duty. I 
 ask you now to be candid with me, 
 to tell me whether I never shall suc- 
 ceed in obtaining the honor of your 
 hand until I receive grace from on 
 high, which I have not, and which I 
 fear I never shall have. In that case 
 it will be better that I should resign 
 an attachment so utterly without 
 hope, and try to find the sad courage 
 to separate myself from your society." 
 
 Sibylle liad suddenly stopped. " I 
 felt it," said she, in a low tone. 
 
 Without appearing to hear her, he 
 continued in a harsh voice: "Yes, 
 the illusion is over for me. Your be- 
 lief can never be mine. While I live, 
 doubt will flow in my veins with my 
 blood. That is the truth." 
 
 " Pardon me," said Sibylle, in an 
 indistinct tone of voice, " but this is ' 
 so unexpected, after what you said a 
 few days ago, almost at this same 
 hour and on this very spot, that I can 
 scarcely understand it." 
 
 They walked on for some time in 
 silence, and when they reached an 
 open space unshaded by trees, Si-
 
 126 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 bylle raised her eyes to the sky, and 
 Raoul observed her deadly and al- 
 most transparent paleness. 
 
 " You are ill," said he, earnestly. 
 
 She smiled. " A little," said she ; 
 and, pointing to the heavens, " I 
 fall from such a height." After a few 
 minutes she said : " This is my an- 
 swer, I never can be the wife of a 
 man who neither prays nor believes, 
 who has no other god than material- 
 ism, and no hope but annihilation. 
 It would be sinful in me to enter up- 
 on such a union, for I could not con- 
 fer happiness, if I did not receive it. 
 We must then part, but let it not be 
 in anger and bitterness ; let this last 
 page in the romance of my life be a 
 pleasant one, this last evening with 
 you be a happy one." 
 
 He only answered by gently press- 
 ing her arm. After walking a few 
 minutes in silence, she said, " Promise 
 me that, after all, the memory of me 
 will be dear to you." 
 
 " Very dear, yes." 
 
 "Yours will be sacred to me; I 
 shall never see a summer sun, nor a 
 moonlit night, without thinking of 
 you, without blessing you." 
 
 "Blessing me!" said Raoul, bit- 
 terly. 
 
 " Yes, blessing you ; you have 
 caused me, doubtless, some hours of 
 suffering, but I also owe to you the 
 deepest joys and the highest emo- 
 tions which can give delight to the 
 heart of a woman. What happiness 
 was mine on the night before your 
 departure, when I thought your heart 
 was opening to receive the grace of 
 God ! I have feared to appear a bigot 
 
 in your eyes, but you will not think 
 of me in future, will you, in that un- 
 favorable light ? " 
 
 " Do not fear it." 
 
 During this strange dialogue they 
 continued to advance into the depths 
 of the wood, and Raoul understood 
 that Sibylle was leading him towards 
 all the different spots associated with 
 their happiness, and at last they 
 reached the Fairy Rock, where the 
 noise of the water trickling into the 
 basin below broke the silence of the 
 night with a sad clear sound. 
 
 Sibylle cast an earnest look around 
 her. 
 
 " It is here," said she, " I wished 
 to take leave of you. Raoul, you 
 will pardon this weakness of mine, 
 will you not? I am still so much 
 of a child. When I first saw you 
 here, you remember it, it was 
 springtime and sunlight. Now it is 
 autumn and night." 
 
 She uttered these words with a- 
 sort of bewildered air, and stopping 
 suddenly, she plunged her face into 
 the mass of vines and damp moss 
 which covered the rock, and sobbed 
 bitterly. 
 
 Raoul stood motionless, and as if 
 annihilated, gazing at this graceful 
 creature weeping in the shadow, and 
 seeming the melancholy genius of 
 the solitary spot ; then, coming close 
 to the young girl, " Sibylle," said he, 
 in a low tone of suppressed feeling , 
 " ah, what a barbarous game you are 
 playing with me and with yourself ! 
 what a crime you are committing in 
 the name of God. and of religion ! 
 Never two creatures on the earth
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLK 
 
 127 
 
 have loved each other as we do. 
 You weep, and my heart is break- 
 ing ; our happiness is in your hands, 
 and you reject it. Why? Unhap- 
 py child, you scarcely know your- 
 self." 
 
 "'Raoul," said she, suddenly resum- 
 ing her proud, clear tone, "I reject 
 this happiness because it would be a 
 falsehood; because I must be loved 
 as I love myself, and because nothing 
 lasts excepting what has its founda- 
 tion there ! " And she pointed towards 
 heaven. " Ah ! " resumed she, more 
 gently, " I know what you suffer, and 
 I could ask your pardon on my 
 knees for the pain I give you. I 
 too, suffer much, but less than you, 
 for I hope, I expect, to be reunited 
 to you. Yes, Raoul, I confidently 
 expect it. I am certain of it. 
 Adieu ! " 
 
 They took each other's hands, and 
 she walked away. 
 
 Raoul gazed after her; in a few 
 minutes she stopped, and leaned 
 against a tree ; he heard her murmur 
 to herself, " I cannot see." 
 
 He ran towards her. " Take my 
 arm. Fear nothing, I will ask no 
 more ; but you cannot return home 
 alone." 
 
 He felt she was trembling under 
 her mantle, wet with the dampness 
 of the night. She said nothing, but, 
 leaning on his arm, she climbed a 
 hill with difficulty. Then she walked 
 with her head down, as if abandoning 
 herself to his guidance. 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour she 
 was roused from her stupor by Raoul 
 suddenly stopping. She looked around 
 
 her with an astonished expression. 
 " But," said she, " I do not recognize 
 anything ; this mist hides everything. 
 Are you sure you are in the right 
 path ? " 
 
 " I thought so until this moment ; 
 but now I acknowledge I am a little 
 anxious. We cannot see two steps 
 before us." 
 
 In fact, as frequently happens in 
 the vicinity of the sea, a sudden mist 
 had risen and enveloped the whole 
 landscape. It lent to the trees and 
 bushes around them a phantom-like 
 appearance, and seemed to enclose 
 them, at a little distance, like an 
 impenetrable wall. 
 
 The sensation of danger appeared 
 to recall Sibylle to the realities of 
 life, and to restore her wonted self- 
 command. She questioned Raoul as 
 to the route he had taken, hesitated, 
 and then went back in the same 
 direction ; but she soon saw they 
 were wandering still farther from 
 the path. She then decided that 
 their best plan would be to return to 
 the Fairy Rock, trusting that from 
 this point she would be able to guide 
 their steps with more certainty. 
 
 They failed, however, in their attempt 
 to find it, and completely lost them- 
 selves. Soon Sibylle began to think, 
 from some indistinct landmarks, that 
 they had gone beyond the woods 
 which adjoined the park and entered 
 the forest beyond, which extended as 
 far as the high cliffs, two leagues 
 from the castle. 
 
 They continued to walk with a 
 sort of feverish energy, trusting only 
 to chance to guide them. At almost
 
 128 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 every step they ran against trunks of 
 trees, or became entangled in the 
 thickets. They climbed and descend- 
 ed steep declivities, and sometimes 
 crossed deep and wet patches of 
 swamp. Occasionally they stopped 
 for a brief consultation. Sometimes, 
 but rarely, words of discouragement 
 and sorrow escaped from Sibylle. 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, " what will they 
 think at home ? How I am punished 
 for having forgotten them ! How 
 anxious they will be ! " 
 
 Once she sat down as if she could 
 go no farther, shivering with cold ; 
 but soon she bravely resumed her 
 walk. 
 
 Eaoul was in despair. He pre- 
 served a mournful silence. He sup- 
 ported Sibylle with convulsive ener- 
 gy, and with a sort of parental ten- 
 derness. Once, despite her resistance, 
 he raised her in his arms and carried 
 her across a torrent, in which he 
 himself sank to the knees. 
 
 For two long hours did they thus 
 wander through the woods in the 
 fog and in the night, when, on leav- 
 ing a deep valley, they could distin- 
 guish in front of them a high, wooded 
 hill, which rose in the form of an 
 amphitheatre before their eyes, and 
 both at the same moment recognized 
 the ground at the extremity of the 
 forest, adjoining the rocks. Although 
 at a long distance from the castle, 
 still they were encouraged by think- 
 ing they could now find the high 
 road. Sibylle, reanimated by this 
 discovery, began to climb the hill 
 rapidly, and almost joyfully; but 
 when she reached the top she fainted, 
 
 and her head fell on the shoulder of 
 Eaoul. He called to her gently, 
 "Sibylle!" 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 While he supported her with all 
 his remaining strength, his eyes 
 wandered around him, as if he were 
 distracted. All at once his counte- 
 nance brightened; he could distin- 
 guish on the top of the cliff the out- 
 line of a hut inside which a light 
 appeared to be burning, and he saw 
 it was the one occupied by Jacques 
 Feray. 
 
 Eaoul called loudly, " Come to 
 me, Jacques ! Here is Sibylle, Mile. 
 Sibylle. Come quickly ! " 
 
 A sound of footsteps was heard, 
 and the figure of Jacques Feray ap- 
 peared through the fog. 
 
 " Ah, my poor fellow ! " exclaimed 
 Eaoul, in an agitated tone, " how glad 
 I am I have found you ! It seemed 
 as if I should go mad. What a 
 night ! You see she is ill ! Make a 
 fire, quick ! " 
 
 "I have one," said Jacques Fe"- 
 ray, whom nothing ever surprised. 
 " Come." 
 
 Eaoul lifted Sibylle in his arms, 
 and followed the madman to his hut. 
 The remains of a fire were burning 
 upon two large stones, which consti- 
 tuted his fireplace. Jacques Feray 
 threw on it some thorn brooms, and 
 the bright flames which burst out 
 shone upon the walls of this desolate 
 habitation with a strange cheerful- 
 ness. 
 
 Eaoul deposited the unconscious 
 form of the young girl before the fire, 
 still continuing to support her.
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 129 
 
 " Go," said he to Jacques, " and 
 bring some heather and some leaves." 
 
 Jacques went out and came back 
 several times, and soon the floor of 
 the hut was strewn with bunches of 
 heather and of dried leaves, of which 
 Eaoul hastily made a bed, on which 
 he placed Sibylle. In a short time 
 she sighed, and opened her eyes. 
 Seeing Eaoul bending over her, she 
 smiled ; then, as if astonished, 
 " Where are we ? ' said she. 
 
 " With your friend, Jacques Feray," 
 answered he, with a reassuring look 
 and tone. " Fear nothing. As soon 
 as the fog has dispersed a little I 
 will send word to the castle. Keep 
 quiet, and try to sleep ; I shall watch 
 over you." 
 
 " Yes. I am very tired ! " And 
 meeting the anxious and loving eyes 
 of Jacques Feray, " How are you, my 
 Jacques ? " said she, feebly. Then, 
 turning towards the fire, "I am so 
 cold, this does me good." 
 
 Her eyes closed, her head fell back 
 heavily on her pillow of leaves, and 
 she fell asleep. Eaoul ordered 
 Jacques Fe"ray, by a commanding 
 look, to keep silence. Jacques un- 
 derstood him to mean that he was to 
 go outside ; he went and laid himself 
 on the turf a few steps from the hut. 
 In a few minutes he began to sing, 
 in his sweet, melodious voice, one of 
 those chants he used to sing in his 
 watches on board ship, when he was 
 a sailor, and which he afterwards used 
 to repeat beside the cradle of his lit- 
 tle girl. Eaoul, seated on the hearth- 
 stone, and leaning over the sleeping 
 Sibylle, listened with emotion to this 
 
 9 
 
 monotonous song, the sound of 
 which, at such an hour and in such 
 a spot, was touchingly sad. From 
 time to time he cast an anxious 
 glance towards the cliff through the 
 half-opened door, and he was relieved 
 when he observed the fog was be- 
 coming less dense. By the light of 
 the fire he wrote on a sheet of paper, 
 taken from his pocket-book, a few, 
 lines to M. de Farias, informing him 
 of the events of the night, and speak- 
 ing cautiously of the condition of 
 Sibylla Then he went out and gave 
 the note to Jacques Feray, charging 
 him to carry it to the castle as 
 quickly as he possibly could. Jacques 
 immediately set out, with the rapid 
 and uncertain pace habitual to him. 
 
 Eaoul re-entered the hut ; he shiv- 
 ered in his damp clothes. He seated 
 himself on the stool which comprised 
 the whole of the furniture of Jacques 
 Feray. Sibylle continued in a deep 
 sleep. Her lovely face, occasionally 
 lighted by the darting flames of the 
 fire, and surrounded by the white 
 folds of her mantle, wore a peaceful 
 expression ; but it bore fearful traces 
 of the emotions and hardships of the 
 dreadful night she had passed. The 
 eyes of the young girl were marked 
 beneath by bluish circles, her marble 
 paleness was now and then changed 
 to a deep flush, and her labored 
 breathing seemed to raise her chest, 
 over which her hands were crossed. 
 
 Eaoul remained for hours immov- 
 able, without taking his eyes off this 
 lovely face and form, whose pure and 
 crushed beauty brought to his mind 
 the image of the youthful Christian.
 
 130 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 martys. The most painful fears filled 
 his thoughts. 
 
 What passed within him during 
 this sorrowful contemplation he him- 
 self could scarcely describe. A sud- 
 den light sometimes visits the soul of 
 man, which language cannot convey. 
 Suddenly he started, his eyes filled 
 with tears, he fell on his knees, his 
 head raised towards heaven, and it 
 was evident he was praying. After 
 a few moments of abstraction, a slight 
 sound caused him to turn. Sibylle 
 had raised herself on her bed of 
 leaves, and was looking towards him 
 with sparkling eyes. " Raoul," stam- 
 mered she, joining her hands as if 
 uncertain, " you are praying ? " 
 
 " Yes, Sibylle, I am praying ! I 
 believe! I believe that either there 
 is nothing true in this world, or else 
 that you are an immortal angel ! " 
 
 A flood of tears accompanied this 
 cry from his heart. Sibylle had fall- 
 en back upon her couch, as if over- 
 whelmed by a superhuman joy; a 
 smile of ecstasy played around her 
 mouth, and her beaming eyes were 
 fixed upon those of Raoul, whose 
 tears continued to flow silently. The 
 young girl, too deeply moved to be 
 able to speak, looked at him with 
 inexpressible tenderness ; she carried 
 to her lips her hand, bathed with 
 these sacred tears, and kissed it. 
 
 The gray dawn of morning now 
 began to enter the hut, and soon a 
 sound of hasty footsteps was heard 
 upon the cliff; and almost immedi- 
 ately afterwards the Marquis and 
 Marchioness of Farias appeared on 
 the threshold ; Miss O'Neil was with 
 
 them. While the Marchioness and 
 the governess tenderly caressed Si- 
 bylle, anxiously questioning her, M. 
 de Ferias had exchanged a few hasty 
 words with Raoul. 
 
 " My poor child ! " he then said, 
 " My poor, dear child ! " embracing 
 her in an agitated manner. 
 
 " Can you walk to the carrriage, 
 do you think, or shall we carry you ? 
 Monsieur le cornte, will you help 
 me?" 
 
 Sibylle rose with an effort, but 
 said, " yes, I feel as if I could 
 walk to the end of the world." 
 
 Casting a glance at Raoul, and 
 leaning on the arm of her grand- 
 father, she left the hut. 
 
 The sun was breaking through the 
 clouds, and shedding a glory over the 
 whole landscape. Sibylle stopped as if 
 dazzled, then, looking back at Raoul, 
 who was following her, she pointed to 
 the radiant heavens. In a few min- 
 utes she turned again, and said, " You 
 are coming with us in the carriage, 
 are you not ? " 
 
 Her voice was so strong and tran- 
 quil, her face so smiling, and her step 
 so light, that Raoul felt a sudden 
 sense of relief from the excessive 
 alarm which had tortured him for so 
 many hours. 
 
 "No," said he, "I should incon- 
 venience you, and beside, the walk 
 will do me good, for I am chilled. 
 But I will come soon ; and do not 
 doubt me any longer." 
 
 She put out her hand, and he dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 Raoul walked rapidly towards the 
 parsonage, but when, in about half
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 131 
 
 an hour, he reached it, he was sur- 
 prised to see the carriage standing 
 before the garden gate. A servant 
 told him that Mile, de Fe'rias had 
 suddenly become so ill that they 
 could not take her any farther. The 
 Marquis came to meet him, much 
 disturbed, and informed him that a 
 sudden attack of fever had seized 
 Sibylle, and that she was delirious. 
 They consulted together a few mo- 
 ments, and then M. de Chalys drove 
 off in the carriage to the town of 
 
 , which was seven leagues from 
 
 Fe'rias, to bring a physician of some 
 reputation in the country. The Mar- 
 quis had also desired him to send to 
 Paris for another physician, and this 
 town having no telegraphic station, 
 Eaoul was obliged to drive some 
 miles farther to send his despatch. 
 These different excursions, together 
 with the difficulty of procuring fresh 
 horses, took him the whole day, and 
 it was six o'clock in the evening be- 
 fore he returned to the parsonage, ex- 
 hausted in body and mind, and filled 
 with anxiety and impatience. 
 
 As he entered the garden, he met 
 the doctor for whom he had gone in 
 the morning walking slowly and 
 with an anxious face. 
 
 " Well, sir ? " said he. 
 
 " Well, it is a sudden and danger- 
 ous fever, brought on by excessive 
 emotion, and increased by the expos- 
 ure to the miasma and fog of the 
 past night." 
 
 "Is there danger?" 
 
 " Great danger." 
 
 " Ah, sir, save her ! " 
 
 "Be assured, sir, I shall do all in 
 
 my power. If she recovers from this 
 paroxysm, there may be some hope, 
 but it has been very severe. She is 
 beginning to be more calm. She 
 does not scream. We shall see." 
 
 Mine, de Fe'rias and Miss O'Neil 
 appeared on the threshold of the 
 house. He ran towards them. They 
 both took his hands without speaking. 
 
 "Ah, madame, have you nothing 
 to say to me ? " 
 
 " She is a little better," murmured 
 the Marchioness. 
 
 "Ah, what a wretch I have been !" 
 
 " No, no, do not say so ! She told 
 us all, this morning, and we do not 
 reproach you for anything that has 
 happened. It is a common misfor- 
 tune which has overtaken us all; be- 
 sides, for a few minutes past we have 
 some hope." 
 
 The voice of M. de Fe'rias was 
 heard from the staircase. "Come, 
 Louise," said he. 
 
 M. de Chalys, left alone, leaned his 
 burning forehead on his hand, and 
 stopped to listen; but no sound 
 reached his ear. The shades of even- 
 ing were beginning to fall over the 
 little garden. 
 
 In the hope of calming in a meas- 
 ure the intolerable agitation of his 
 mind, he went out and walked in the 
 path which led to the gate. Then he 
 abruptly crossed the heath to the 
 graveyard, and entered the church. 
 When he gazed on the unfinished 
 pictures upon which he had spent 
 so many happy hours, and which 
 brought back so many tender recol- 
 lections, a pang of anguish shot 
 through his heart. He joined his
 
 132 
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 hands in convulsive grief, and throw- 
 ing himself on his knees, with his 
 head on the steps of the altar, he 
 sobbed despairingly. 
 
 He remained there, weeping and 
 praying, until he felt a hand touch 
 his shoulder. He rose, and saw the 
 Abbe* Ee*naud standing beside him, 
 mute and pale. Eaoul took his hand, 
 and, looking him in the face, "Ah, 
 my father ! " cried he, " what have 
 you come to tell me ? Spare me, my 
 father ! She is not dead, is she ? 0, 
 what shall I do without her ? She 
 is not dead, do not tell me she is 
 dead. I beg of you ! I entreat you ! " 
 And he fell at the feet of the priest 
 in an agony bordering on delirium. 
 
 The old man raised him. " My 
 friend, be calm. Put your trust in 
 God. Come, she is asking for you." 
 
 " She is asking for me ? " 
 
 This look of anguish interrogated 
 the cure, whose lips moved faintly ; 
 then he followed him without speak- 
 ing. They crossed the heath in si- 
 lence ; as they ascended the narrow 
 staircase of the parsonage, they met 
 the physician, who pressed Eaoul's 
 hand. " Be a man, sir," said he. 
 
 They entered the little room which 
 Eaoul had occupied. It was there 
 Sibylle had been carried. The Mar- 
 quis de Fe'rias, the Marchioness, and 
 Miss O'Neil were standing together 
 around the bed ; their features, fur- 
 rowed with the traces of tears, were 
 now grave and calm. The first 
 glance of Eaoul met the large blue 
 eyes of Sibylle, directed towards the 
 door with an expression of anxiety, 
 which seemed to be soothed when 
 
 she recognized him. He approached 
 the bed ; Sibylle's countenance, 
 shaded by the flowing masses of her 
 fair hair, breathed a serenity, and 
 even a sort of joy, which at first sight 
 deceived Eaoul. She smiled on him, 
 and feebly shook her head ; then she 
 looked towards the cure", who drew 
 near. 
 
 " Sir," said the old man in a slow 
 and painful but distinct tone of 
 voice, "Mile, de Ferias desired at 
 this solemn moment to be united to 
 you by the nuptial benediction. She 
 did not know, and it became my duty 
 to inform her, that it was not proper 
 for me to perform this ceremony ; 
 but I will do all that my conscience 
 will permit me to do, to afford to the 
 heart which has loved you so deeply 
 a last consolation." 
 
 He paused, and then continued : 
 " Mile, de Ferias, sir, has told me that 
 you now partake her pure faith and 
 her eternal hopes." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Eaoul, " forever ! " 
 
 A ray of joy shone like a flame 
 from the eyes of Sibylle. The old 
 man stopped a moment. " Take her 
 hand," said he. 
 
 Eaoul gently clasped with his 
 hand that of Sibylle. 
 
 The old priest then raised his eyes 
 towards heaven, and in a voice broken 
 by emotion, " My God ! " said he, 
 " God of goodness, thou knowest 
 how they have loved, and how they 
 have suffered ! May their souls, now 
 about to be separated, be one day re- 
 united in eternity. And deign to 
 bless the promise I make them in 
 thy name. Amen." A sound of sob-
 
 THE STORY OF SIBYLLE. 
 
 133 
 
 bing filled the room as the old priest 
 finished his prayer, and he himself 
 could not restrain his tears. Sibylle 
 alone wept not ; her brow and eyes 
 appeared bathed in smiling light. 
 After a moment she summoned the 
 cure* by a look ; he bent over her pil- 
 low, and she spoke to him timidly, in 
 a low tone. 
 
 "Sir," said he, turning to Eaoul, 
 " embrace her." 
 
 Eaoul stooped over the couch, and 
 touched with trembling lips the brow 
 and hair of the young girl. 
 
 A faint blush overspread her fea- 
 tures ; she fixed on Eaoul a look of 
 infinite love and tenderness. Then, 
 suddenly, the delicate color died 
 away, and a mortal pallor succeeded 
 it ; the long eyelashes fell over her 
 eyes ; her lips half opened, and her 
 unaltered beauty was fixed in a 
 radiant immobility. Death took her 
 gently. 
 
 There are now three white tomb- 
 stones in the little graveyard by the 
 cliff. On the whitest one, which is 
 often strewn with wild-flowers, may 
 be read this simple inscription : 
 " Sibylle Anne de Ferias. Nineteen 
 years of age." And below, In 
 ceternum I 
 
 Since the occurrence of the last 
 events of this history, the Comte 
 Eaoul de Chalys lives at the castle 
 of Ferias. In compliance with the 
 wishes of Sibylle, and of the Marquis 
 and Marchioness, who look upon him 
 as a son, he will never leave them. 
 He seems ^also to have inherited the 
 virtues of Mile, de Ferias. The coun- 
 try people, grateful for his beneficence, 
 manifest towards this young man, 
 so grave, so sad, so pious, a reverence 
 bordering on superstition. They 
 scarcely know his name. They call 
 him " the betrothed of Mademoiselle." 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 \J 
 
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 " We are unable to recall aay book of the century, un- 
 less it be Kinglake's ' Eothen,' that so completely and 
 admirably gathers up the past and present, and we 
 had almost said the future of a country and a people 
 as does this volume of Mr. Hay's." Henry Ward Beech- 
 er's Christian Union. 
 
 "A most attractive volume, In which Colonel Hay 
 writes easily and picturesquely of the cities, streets, and 
 buildings, and of the history, politics, and domestic life 
 and character of the inhabitants of that unique, old- 
 fashioned country." London Spectator. 
 
 HOWELLS'S WHITINGS. 
 
 VENETIAN LIFE. $ 2.00. 
 
 " Mr. Howeils deserves a place in the first rank of 
 American travellers. This volume thoroughly justifies its 
 title ; it does give a true and vivid and almost a complete 
 picture of Venetian life." Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 ITALIAN JOURNEYS. $2.00. 
 
 " The reader who has gone over the ground which 
 Mr. Howeils describes will be struck with the life-like 
 freshness and accuracy of his sketches, while he will ad- 
 mire the brilliant fancy which has cast a rich poetical 
 coloring even around the prosaic highways of ordinary 
 travel." JVeio York Tribune. 
 
 WEDDING JOURNEY, nius- 
 
 trated by HOPPIN. $ 2.00. 
 One of the richest of books " Hearth and Home. 
 
 TDITS OF TRAVEL. By H. H. $1.50. 
 
 " Seme one has said, that, if one could open the 
 mail-bags, and read the women's letters, they would be 
 more entertaining than any books. This volume is an 
 open mail-bag, forwarded from Germany or Rome or the 
 Tyrol. The faded wonders of Kurope turn out to be 
 wholly fresh when seen through a fresh pair of eyes, and 
 so the result is very charming." T. W. HIGOINSON. 
 
 " H. H. has gone little out of the beaten track of travel, 
 and yet her sketches are as fresh as though they were 
 Eve's journal in the Garden of Eden." JVeto York 
 Evening Mail. 
 
 TyTOUNTAINEERING IN THE SIERRA 
 
 NEVADA. By CLARENCE Kisa. 8 2 50. 
 " A book bracing in tone, vivid in description, exciting 
 in adventure, and abounding in valuable information. 
 Since Tyndall's volume on the Alps, we have read noth- 
 ing so vigorous and stimulating as Mr. King's narrative 
 of mountain exploration ; and it exceeds Tyndall's in the 
 novelty of its subject. The accounts of the ascent of 
 Mount Tyndall, of Mount Shasta, and Mount Whitney 
 are records of ' brave campaigns into the unknown realm 
 of Nature,' as full of danger as of excitement." E. P. 
 WHIPPLB. 
 
 A RUSSIAN JOURNEY. By EDNA 
 
 f* DEAN PROCTOR. 81.60. 
 
 " Miss Proctor's ' Russian Journey ' is portrayed in 
 that delicious, limpid English of which she is perfect 
 mistress. She is an artist as well as a poet, and the 
 glow of the one and the fine, strong touch of the other 
 are equally perceptible in these pictures of Russia." 
 Brooklyn Union. 
 
 THE LANDS OF SCOTT. By JAMES 
 
 F. HCNNEWELL. 1 vol. 12mo. & 2 50. 
 " It is a delightful epitome of the great author's life 
 and works, the reader being introduced to a detailed ac- 
 quaintance with these, while he is led through the locali- 
 ties which the genius of Scott has celebrated. Those 
 who cannnot cross the ocean will visit the scenes of his 
 living romance in its pages, and those who can may 
 double their pleasure by making this volume their com- 
 pagnon de voyage." Buffalo Courier. 
 
 OLX MONTHS IN ITALY. By GEORGE 
 
 ^ 8 HILLARD. 18mo. 8200. 
 
 " The record of a brilliant episode in the life of a 
 scholar, which has filled his memory with Images alike 
 beautiful and enduring. It is almost minute enough in 
 its descriptions for a guide-book, yet abounds in just and 
 sensible remarks, well-informed criticisms, and varied 
 learning " Putnam's Monthly. 
 
 14 A charming book, which has become a sort of man- 
 ual for travellers who visit Florence and Rome." 
 GEORGE TICKNOR. 
 
 IS OF TRAVEL AND STUDY 
 
 IN ITALT. By CHARLES ELIOT NORTON. 8 1-25. 
 Mr. Norton is no ordinary tourist." Phila. Prea. 
 
 *** For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers, 
 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston.
 
 HOPPIN'S SKETCH- BOOKS. 
 
 UPS AND DOWNS ON LAND CBOSSING THE ATLANTIC. A 
 
 AND WATER. The European Tour in a Series 
 of Pictures. By AUGUSTUS HOPPIN. Oblong Folio. 
 $10.00. 
 
 " ' Ups and Downs on Land and Water,' by Augustus 
 Hoppin, is fairly an outbreak of graphic genius. It con- 
 sists of a pictorial delineation of picturesque places, and 
 humorous characters, seen "r encountered In the Euro- 
 pean tour through England, France, Switzerland, and 
 Germany It is a notable and unique production. With 
 the exception, perhaps, of the humorous sketches of Mr. 
 Richard Doyle, we know of no volume in which the pencil 
 plays such delightful pranks, or any that overflows with 
 so much humor and quaintness. The striking vigor and 
 boldness in the designs, moreover, are entirely admirable, 
 apart from the humorous conceits whish the compositions 
 exhibit. Mr. Hoppin obtains by this book the foremost 
 rank as a graphic and humorous artist." Jlppletons* 
 Journal. 
 
 "These sketches, forty -eight in number, tell the story 
 of a summer tour abroad, as no written words could tell 
 It, though from the wittiest newspaper correspondent who 
 ever handled a pen. For, here in a glance, we get the 
 scenic effect, the ' situations,' the personality which gives 
 us at once more than a dozen paragraphs No news- 
 paper space will allow us ID do justice, step by step, and 
 sail by sail, through this enchanting book of summer 
 travel. And yet, when we have said this word or two, 
 we want to say much more about all the inimitable 
 sketches which make up the forty-eight pictures of this 
 Bummer tour." Providence Journal. 
 
 New Volume of Sketches, similar to and uniform with 
 "Ups and Downs." By AUGUSTUS HOPPIN. 1 vol. 
 Oblong folio, ornamental covers. $ 5.00. 
 
 " If every one who goes abroad were to bring back such 
 pleasant and mirth-provoking recollections as Mr. Augus- 
 tus Hoppin has done, the amount of laughter in this long- 
 faced world of ours would be greatly increased. One 
 pl";isant folio of sketches he gave the public last winter, 
 at the merry Christmas season, christening the volume 
 ' r ps and Downs on Land and Water.' ' Crossing the 
 Atlantic,' his later volume, is characterized by the same 
 genuine humor, the same quick appreciation of the gro- 
 tesque and ludicrous, as its predecessor. Indeed, we 
 believe the general verdict will be that it exceeds the 
 former collection of sketches in the higher qualities of 
 humor and originality by as much, or nearly as much, as 
 the first folio was better than most attempts of the kind." 
 Boston Journal. 
 
 " A more entertaining volume we have rarely encoun- 
 tered than the folio of ' Crossing the Atlantic,' illustrated 
 by Augustus Hoppin. The illustrations constitute the 
 whole work, there being only a list of passengers by the 
 British and North American Koyai Mail steamer Ethiopia, 
 and a modicum of context to explain the different situa- 
 tions. But Mr. Iloppin is so intensely dramatic that we 
 become readily acquainted with his ' swells ' and his 
 beauties, his old gentlemen and his matronly ladies, and 
 enter with a lively sympathy into their joys and sor- 
 rows, as the glass changes from fair to stormy, and the 
 steamer goes bowling along on her course." JVeie York 
 Evening Post. 
 
 % For sale by Booksellers, Newsdealers, and by the Publishers, 
 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.. Boston. 
 
 On Monday, June 17, and daily thereafter, during the Peace Jubilee, MESSRS. JAMES R. OSGOOD & Co. 
 
 published 
 
 "JUBILEE DAYS," 
 
 A four-page sheet, of the size of " Appletons' Journal," containing each day 
 
 TJture JNTe-w Flo-inures, 
 
 Representing the salient features of the Jubilee, its humors, oddities, and notable incidents, drawn 
 expressly for "JUBILEE DAYS" by 
 
 AUGUSTUS HOPPIN, I 
 
 Author- Artist of " Ups and Downs " and " Grossing the Atlantic." Carefully printed on heavy tinted 
 paper. 
 
 Literary articles pertinent to the time and occasion were furnished by a carefully selected staff of 
 writers. 
 
 "JUBILEE DAYS " forms a most entertaining daily record of the picturesque features of the Great 
 Musical Festival, and a delightful soovenir of it. 
 
 Price, Ten Cents a Number. The whole Sixteen Numbers in Paper Cover, $ 1.50 ; 
 In Boards, $ 2.00. 
 
 ** The above for sale by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers, 
 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000 987 582 4