t iw a wMiai i i M WiW i i i ii i iiiiiiiiiMWBii^^ Pre Dai Fri ^iAr^ \l THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GIFT OF The California ^tate Library Sec regis takei sliall son i brar; bene alitccounts for injuring such boolcs or otherw.se. SEC 15 Books may be taken from the Library by the ' members of the Legislature anU its officers during the r SJin of the same, and at any time by the Governoi.xnd ib? otacers of the Executive Department of this Stat( who S-e reVired to keep their offices at the seat of rovernment, the Justices of the Supreme Court, the At- roxney-General and the Trustees of the Library. \ NATHALIE A. TALE. BY JULIA KAVANAGH, AUTHOR OF "woman IX FKANCE," "MADELEINE," KTC. A creature not too pure or good For human nature's daily food ; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, I lame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. Wiml*ufunh NEW YORK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 649 k 551 BROADWAY. 1872. PREFACE. The singular interpretations to wbicli works of fiction are sometimes subject, render a Preface a matter of necessity. In writing the following tale, I think it, therefore, neces- eary to state that I had no other definite object in view than to draw two very opposite characters, and show as truthfully as I could how those characters attracted, repelled, and influ- enced each other. I by no means intend to imply that these pages contain no other moral; I hope they do : but I cannot slaim the merit of having made any peculiar moral ray aim. A mo^al, unless when based on a very broad truth, seldom fails to prove fatal to works of art. Such being the case, I make no apology for having chosen two very imperfect characters for my heroine and hero. I am too well aware of their deficiencies to imagine that they run any chance of being considered a.s models, or even of being mistaken as embodiments of the author's conceptions of !noral beauty. J. K NATHALIE. -«♦♦- CHAPTER I. " Bring iu the llglit, and tell Mademoiselle Nathalie that it is my desire to speak to her instantly." Mademoiselle Dantin uttered her commands in a sharp, imperative tone. A timid-looking servant, in conical Norman cap, and short petticoats of startling fulness, vanished as if to hear were to obey, and the old schoolmistress stiffly sank back in her chair, with arms folded on her breast and a frown upon her brow. It was a chill Norman evening — almost cool enough for England, and, in the deepening twilight, the room looked well- nigh dark. Through the narrow panes of a low glass door pen- etrated a faint gleam of lingering light, and the shadowy out- lines of a few tall trees were dimly visible in the garden be- yond. Thus seen, without light or fire, in the gathering gloom of evening, with pale maps and shadowy globes, long sombre curtains, and straight-backed chairs, the apartment looked most comfortless ; but the withered features and rigid figure of Mademoiselle Dantin made her look by far the most dreary object it contained. She was thin, wrinkled, and hard-favored ; she wore no amiable look, nor was she very amiable in reality ; being dog- matic and imperious, she rather liked teaching ; it was power — authority, and turned out, moreover, to be as good a way as any of fastening her own peculiar opinions — more strongly marked than varied — on others. But then, as misfortune would bavo it, she had a decided antipathy to children and young 8 NATHALIE. girls, so that between her delight in the tuition and her gene ral aversion for the objects taught — an aversion which, as usu- al, was most heartily returned — Mademoiselle Dantin and her pupils had rather an uncomfortable life of it, and might not have got on at all, had there happened to be another school and schoolmistress in the town of Sainville. Sainville — we cannot advise the reader to look for it on tho map — is a quiet little place buried in the very bosom of Nor- mandy. This province is perhaps the prettiest, and certainly is the greenest nook in all the pleasant land of France. It has many low hills, many shallow little valleys, with bright glanc- ing streams and a clear blue sky ; above all, it has picturesque old towns of quaint and venerable aspect, that seize on the imagination with a peculiar and mysterious charm. Dark, lonely, and rather misanthropic-looking, these quiet places contrast strikingly with the cheerful verdure and soft pastoral beauty of the surrounding scenery ; they look like morose her- mits, who have at least chosen pleasant spots wherein to do penance. But though their quaintness strikes the eye, and their monastic gloom awakes the fancy, they are cold and cheer- less — they cannot win the heart ; we feel that there life glides away in too dull and monotonous a flow ; we look, wonder linger for a while in narrow, winding streets, with crazy wood- en houses rising high on either side, and then pass on, feeling we have left a human prison behind us. Sainville was one of those little moral islands; it had no trade, no commerce, no life, and was, moreover, shut out from the great and busy world by a barrier of aristocratic chateaux rising on the slope of the surrounding declivities, or enjoying the shade and silence of the neighboring valleys. In these lux- urious abodes, life was as gay and pleasant as heart could wish, and some of the best of French society could make it. Balls, pla3's, concerts, fishing excursions, and hunting parties, seemed to be ever renewing for the amusement of the privi- leged owners and guests of the chateaux. Many a time did the inhabitants of Sainville, who all belonged to the smaller bour- geoisie, and who had not wealth, importance, or talent to rise above their station, comment, with the puritanic severity of the excluded, on the sin and folly transacted in those abodes whence ever proceeded the sounds of merriment and pleasure; and many a time did they grumble more morosely still, when wakened in the early morning by some gay cavalcade clattering away along the silent streets. NATHALIE. V Tliid exclusion, in which she shared like her fellow citiztus. had not improved the mind or temper of Mademoiselle Dantin She had accustomed herself to think of nothing save her school, its propriety, its ceremonious routine, above all its immaculate purity ; and on this subject she had grown to be somewhat se- vere and irritable. She was so in a peculiar degree on the day when this story opens. This was, however, a day which gene- rally found and left her in a singular state of good humor, be- ing neither more nor less than that appointed for the annual distribution of prizes among her pupils. On the morning of this eventful ceremony the room had been hung with white draperies, ornamented with green wreaths. Mademoiselle Dan- tin opened the proceedings by seating herself on a sort of throne erected at the upper end of the room, from which deviat- ed position she looked down triumphantly on the curled heads and white robes of the pupils, who demurely sat in rows in the centre of the apartment, whilst their friends and relatives form- ed a semicircle around them. After making a little speech, Mademoiselle Dantin. holding an eye-glass in her right hand, and a paper in her left, senteutiously read aloud the names of the pupils on whom she had resolved to confer the distinction of a prize. Each of the girls thus designated then left her place and walked up to a tight, lively-looking little gentleman, in a dark wig, the professor of dancing, who sat alone between two tables, one covered with books, the other with wreaths, took from his hands the volume adjudged to her, and stooped to receive the laurel wreath which, with prompt and courteous grace, he rose to place on her head, whilst delighted papas and mammas shed tears, and Mademoiselle Dantin looked on and felt in her glory. When there were no more prizes or wreatlis to give, Mademoiselle Dantin rose, and the company dispersed, the children all going home for their holidays. As soon as every one had departed, the schoolmistress gave prompt orders for the taking down of hangings and wreaths : in a few mi- nutes all was over ; the room was empty, the walls were bare, and the school, instead of being filled with the murmuring hum of pupils conning over their les.sons, fell into a deep and unna- tural stillness, destined to last six weeks. But though the ceremony had passed off in the best possible manner, the tri- umph of this day was soon clouded by a discover}- which filled the mind of the schoolmistress with indignant wrath. What that discovery was will be seen farther on. A few minutes had elapsed since she had, in a tone of omi 1* IC NATIIALrE. nous severity, given, with regard to chc appearance of " Made moiselle Nathalie," the order recorded in the first lines of this chapter, when the door of the room where she sat opened, and Marianne, the servant, entered, bearing a lighted tallow candle in an old plated candlestick, which she placed on the table be- fore her mistress. " Well ?" observed Mademoiselle Dantin. with inquiring sharpness. " Mademoiselle Nathalie is not in her rooi..," was the low reply. '• Not in her room ! and what is she allowed a room of her own for unless to be in it?" exclaimed the schoolmistress, with L-tibdued irritation. " Perhaps she's gone to breathe a little fresh air in the gar dx^n," timidly suggested Marianne. " Not at this hour, Marianne," majestically replied Made- moiselle Dantin ; " no, I will not admit that any member of my establishment, however faulty in other respects," she feel- ingly added, '• could, against my well-known rule, be out in the garden at this hour." " Shall I go and see. madame?" " No, Marianne, I cannot allow that ; to allow it would be to admit such a thing as possible, and this I never will ; look for her in the class." Marianne silently left the room, but the door did not close behind her. For the head and wig of the '• Professor" who had played so important a part in the morning's ceremony, suddenly made their appearance in the dai-k aperture, smiled and nodded at Mademoiselle Dantin with mingled familiarity and respect, and lisped in a tone of soft entreaty : " May I come in ?" " Yes, Monsieur le Chevalier, you may come in," replied the schoolmistress, half rising from her seat ; her tone was gracious and mollified, and a faint smile passed over her faded face. Thus encouraged, the Chevalier, a middle-aged little man with a thin, sallow visage, quick eyes, and an aquiline nose, entered the room with erect bearing and elastic tread. He was proceeding to shut the door with a prompt decision natural to him, Avhen Mademoiselle Dantin shook her head_ and admonishingly observed : •' The door, 5lonsieur le Chevalier." " Ah ! yes, the door," he sighed, and left it open. " Rules must be obeyed," continued the schoolmistress. KATHAT.IE. . 11 "Yes, rules must be obeyed," answered the CIie\'a]icr, re pressing a shiver as the keen drauglit came full upon him. It was a rule in Mademoiselle Dantin's establishment for no lady to converse with a gentleman, not her father or bro- ther, in a closed room. The mistress was the first to set the example, and obey the rule in all its severity. To say the truth, she generally sat facing the door ; and the male visitor, whoever he might be, had his back turned to it, so that all the hardship of this rule could not be said to fall upon her; but what gentleman would complain, when feminine modesty was at stake ? assuredly not so devoted a squire of dames as the Chevalier Theodore de Muranville-Louville. No mummery ever yet existed without some special adviser or other in male shape, and what a father confessor might have been to an abbess and her gentle sisterhood, the Chevalier was to Mademoiselle Dantin and her fair pupils. He was the only individual of his sex attached to the establishment, for the salic law still holds good with regard to the tuition of dancing. To this law Mademoiselle Dantin, who, if she could, would have efiaccd the masculine gender from dictionary and gram- mar, very indignantly submitted. But the gentle blood of the Chevalier, who, though of an impoverished family, had an au- thentic claim to the noble names he bore, and his title of Knight of the Legion of Honor, bestowed upon him for saving a drowning man, but which many considered a government re- ward for his invention of a new pas ^ called the Sainville />a.s, a rumor he rather favored — above all, his chivalrous devotednesa to the fair sex, had conquered the antipathy and subdued the obdurate heart of the schoolmistress. Woman was indeed sacred as woman to the gallant little Chevalier ; he cherished a platonic and universal passion for the whole sex, and rever- enced a petticoat in its earliest and latest stages ; ho believed neither in little girls nor in aged dames ; he took oiF his hat to young ladies of six, and flirted with ladies of sixty, and did Doth with equal grace. But though thus gentle to tho.«c whon^ he called " earthly angels," the Chevalier was to his own sex stern and somewhat haughty. Having taken the scat which Mademoiselle Dantin conde- eceudingly designated, the Chevalier could not but notice the gloom which ovcrshndowod the features of the fair schoolmis- tress. In a neat little speech, he immediately expressed his sympathy with the regret she naturally felt at the temporary separation between herself and her beloved pupils Mademoi ■elle Dantin tossed her head. 12 XATllALIE. " As if I cared for the little flirts !" she said, almost iudig- nantly. The Chevalier looked distressed. Flirts ! there were nc flirts in his creed. '•' A set of forward coquettes !" continued she. " Oh ! Madame !" he exclaimed, raising his hands implor. " And of deceitful minxes, as all girls are," she persisted The Chevalier was shocked. He gently endeavored to re- monstrate, and ventured to remind her, " That though women were tender flowers at every age, they were frail, very frail rosebuds in their youth." " Well, then, one of the rosebuds is going to get a nipping," retorted Mademoiselle Dantin, looking as dark and chill as a wintry breeze. She rang the bell as she spoke, and Marianne promptly made her appearance. '• Ts Mademoiselle Nathalie coming or not ?" asked the schoolmistress. " Yes, madame ; she said she would come directly." •' Pray where did you find her?" The girl hesitated. '• In the garden, reading," she replied at length. Mademoiselle Dantin rose. " Chevalier," she said, with great state, " be good enough to leave me. I have a duty to perform ; — an act of justice and authority to exercise. I must be alone." The Chevalier rose, looked dismayed, but retired on tiptoe, without so much as remonstrating. He knew that Mademoi- selle Dantin's justice was always administered privately, and with a strictness of secrecy that, like the Vehmgericht, only rendered it more awful to the apprehension of the uninitiated. " What has our pretty southern flower done ?" he poeti- cally inquired, as Marianne closed the door and followed him out ; but the girl only shook her head in reply, and seemed struck with consternation. As soon as she was alone, Mademoiselle Dantin walked up to the glass door that led into the garden, and stood there for a few seconds, peering through the narrow panes with sharp attention. There was a peculiar smile on her face as she turned away and resumed her seat. Scarcely had she done BO when the glass door opened. The schoolmistress heard it very well, but did not choose to look up ; a light step glided NATHAMJE. 1,1 m, Btili slio remained motionless and grim, looking straight before her. It is the culprit that must seek the glance of tho judge, and not the judge that must look at the culprit. Made- moiselle Dantin vras a true Normande, litigious in spirit, and versed in legal knowledge ; besides the rules which she merci- Icssly imposed on others, she had certain rules for her own use. which she rigidly obeyed : one of these rules was to give a judicial form to almost every thing she did. " Did you wish to speak wath me, madame ?" asked a clear, cheerful voice at her elbow. Tlie schoolmistress made no reply, but slowly raised her head, and turned it with a keen and severe glance in the direc- tion whence the voice had proceeded. A handsome, slender girl of seventeen or eighteen years of age, very simply attired in black, but dark-haired, dark-eyed, and with animated fea- tures of southern symmetry, was standing by her side. This was Nathalie Montolieu, chief and only resident teacher in the establishment of Mademoiselle Dantin. She was scarcely above the middle height of woman, but of a light and erect figure. Freedom and careless grace marked her look, her bearing, and her attitude, even whilst she stood there quietly by the chair of the old schoolmistress. As she turned slightly to hear Mademoiselle Dantin's expected reply, with an air too easy to be dignified, but not free from the quick, impatient pride of youth, the light which fell full on her wliole person, leaving all dark behind it, gave to the outline of her graceful figure, and to her clear and well-defined profile a vivid distinctness, still further heightened by the shadowy background of the ill-lit room. The brow open and poetic, with wavy hair braided back ; the dark eyes soft and deep through all their fire ; the short upper lip and curved chin told a daughter of the sunny south ; and the innate southern grace of her half-averted head and listening attitude would have been the very desire of a sculptor's eye. Yet hers was not the still beauty of cold art; it had the light from within which is to a countenance as is tlie lambent flame to the alabaster lamp in which it burns ; the warm ray which reveals, though it may not create, its beauty. And in her that ray seemed, from the ever-varying expression of her mobile features, to burn with a light as changeful as it was clear. She had not the soothing and almost divine calm of perfect loveliness. Her beauty charmed because it was so liumau with the light and bloom of youth, and all the genial warmth of her ripening years. It waa J 4 NATHAI,IE. neither serene nor angcl-like, but fervent and living ; not idealj though highly poetic. Indeed, to look upon her as she stood there, to see her in- telligent forehead and arched eyebrows, to meet her look, gentle though fearless, and seldom veiled by drooping eyelids, to mark the flexibility, denoting both courage and a temper easily moved, of her delicately chiselled features, above all to note tho light, capricious smile of her sensitive and half-parted lips, — these lips of the south averse to silence, and which express so quickly and so significantly frankness, impatience, good- humored raillery, or angry disdain, — was to know her as one in whom blended both the highest and the weakest attributes of an imaginative and impulsive woman ; from the energy, passion, and devotion of the heart to the caprice and endless mobility of temper destined to render life as changeful as an April day. " Did you wish to speak to me ?" she asked again, in a quick, impatient tone, which rendered the fulness of her southern voice and its rapid accent still more apparent. She glanced down somewhat impatiently as she spoke, and the life and warm coloring of her whole countenance contrasted strikingly with the stony look and pale, rigid features of Made- moiselle Dantin. " I did wish to speak to you ; I sent for you for that ex- press pui'pose, and you will soon know why," replied the school- mistress, in the long, nasal drawl of Normandy : " but first, may I ask why, against my express rule, you were out in the garden at this' late hour ?" " I did not think the rule applied to the holidays," quietly replied the young girl. " Then I beg to inform you that it does." An expression of much annoyance passed over the features of Nathalie, but she subdued it, and merely said, " Very well, madame." " Indeed," resumed Mademoiselle Dantin, '• I think it strange that you should like the garden at this hour, and I should feel inclined to make some remarks on the subject, did I not remember that as a Provenqal, that is to say, a native of that southern part of France wliich has never been remarkable for the observance of feminine propriety, you are entitled to in- dulgence." A kindling light passed in the dark eyes of the southern girl, but the schoolmistress never noticed it. and resumed in the same ceremonious, legal tone : NATHALIE. 15 " Ma}- 1 ask what you were doing in the garden at this lata hour ?" " I was rcadin''" " Some pernicious romance, of course. Must I ever keep telling you that it is dangerous and improper to feed your mind with the absurdities which abound in such works ? Must I keep assuring you that no character is so ridiculous as that of a romantic young lady?" " Romantic !" echoed Nathalie, with a gesture of impa- tience ; " and what has one in my position to bo romantic about, madame ? The realities of my life are surely suf&i^ient to drive all romance away." '• True. Besides, you are so sensible and so prudent. Will you favor me, however, with the name of the book you were reading? " It was a very harmless book." " Was it a fiction ?" " An innocent one at least." " Which was, of course, the reason vfhy you hid it in your pocket before coming in V said the school-misti-ess, closing up her thin lips with an ironical smile, and triumphantly straight- ening her meagre neck. Nathalie gave her a quick look, dropped her eyes, and smiled demurely. " I assure you, madame," she slowly observed, " that the book is a harmless book. Interesting, however, for the charac- ter of the hero, though somewhat stern, is original and striking. I confess I like him ; the whole story is, no doubt, melo-dra- matic, but " " How did you get it ?" interrupted Mademoiselle Dantin, with a sort of sudden jerk in her look and speech, which she held infallible for the detection of deceit. '• I found it in the garden, where it had been left by one oi the pupils," quietly answered the young girl. " One of the pupils ? Good Heavens ! And this is what goes on in spite of all my vigilance. Give me that book, Mad- emoiselle 3Iontolieu ; give me that book," she repeated, with a sort of desperate calmness that seemed to say she was quito ready to obtain it, no matter what the cost might be. ISathalie smiled again, this time rather scornfully, but the book was produced and laid on the table. Mademoiselle Dan- fin took up the vohune, drew the light nearer, looked, and laying down the book, gave the young teacher a glance of ?'^ dignant wi*ath. IT) NATHALfE. The dangerous fiction was a volume of romantic fairy tales Nathalie's face beamed with pleasure and mischief as she met Mademoiselle Dantin's look of exasperation ; but the lady soon recovered, and merely observed in a sharp key : " I really wonder, Mademoiselle Montoiieu.you will persist in losing your time with such foolish reading.'' " I took up the book by chance. I fell on a story which, I acknowledge it, interested me. The chief character, though dark, is not without a mysterious power of attraction." " Mademoiselle Montolieu," inquired the schoolmistress, with slow and dignified amazement, " do you imagine I asked you to come here in order to hear your opinion of a fairy tale ? You are guilty of the strangest absurdities ! I suppose ladies in the south talk in that heedless, flighty manner. Remember that in Normandy it will not do. I beg, therefore, that you will — if it is indeed possible — restrain your southern vivacity for a few moments. May I ask if you remember the condi- tions we made when you entered this house three years ago ?" " I remember. I was to teach French, music, geography." " I do not speak of that." " History, arithmetic, &c., for the sum of three hundred francs a year." " Mademoiselle Montolieu. you wilfully misunderstand me." " Board and lodging included." " Mademoiselle Montolieu !" exclaimed the schoolmistress, folding her arras, " will you be so good as to remain silent." Nathalie looked all innocence, but a furtive smile lurked around the corners of her mouth. " If I spoke, madame," she composedly replied, " it was oecause you asked if I remembered the conditions." " I alluded to moral conditions ; not to those paltry condi- tions of money, board, and lodging, on which your mind is always running." " And yet, madame, you say I am romantic." " The moral part which passed between us when you en- tered this house three years ago," resumed Mademoiselle Dan tin, without heeding the young teacher's last remark, and closing her eyes to speak v/ith more effect, "related to the morality, the propriety, the purity, " " I think I had better take a scat to hear you," quietly observed Nathalie, and she took one as she spoke, seating her- self so as to receive the full benefit of the awful glance the natiiamk. i? schoolmistress immediatel}' directed towards her 13ut the young girl, leaning lier elbow on tlie table, and resting her chin on the palm of her left hand, eyed her stern mistress without impertinsnce, though very composedly. Her look, always ex- pressive, was now particularly so; it said in plain language: '' I have been called in for a quarrel — I know it — I am used to it ; I have tried to avoid it, but since I cannot, go on ; I am ready." Mademoiselle Dantin resumed : " The moral part or series of- moral conditions — I hold part to be quite as correct an expression, but shall use ' series' for the sake of clearness — the series of moral conditions I alluded to bore reference to the propriety, the purity, the womanly reserve of your conduct." ^ " In what have I failed ?" asked Nathalie, with an impetu osity that showed patience did not rank amongst her peculiar virtues. " Strict womanly propriety and discretion," continued the shoolmistress, "were to be your chief attributes. Without modesty " A flush crossed the brow of Nathalie ; her voice trembled as she spoke : " Your hints are becoming insulting. Madame, beware !" ' " If you had condescended to hear me to tlie end," said Mademoiselle Dantin, with irritating coolness, " there would have been no necessity for this uijfeminine burst of temper. And this reminds me of another remark I wish to make to you: you are in Normandy, not in Provence; pray remember it. You must please to drop that rapid and startling mode of epeecli, to talk a little lower, to laugh less, and to keep your southern blood and temper rather more under your control. What may have been only an agreeable vivacity in your native province, is unladylike and repulsive here." Nathalie eyed her very quietly. " You were talking about modesty," she said, in a tone calm enough for the most phlegmatic Normande. " I was, and if you will be so good as not to interrupt me [ mean to give you a definition of that virtue. Modesty 1 .conceive to be the strict guard which a Avoman of principle keeps over her looks and demeanor with persons of the opposite Bex. In that reserve you liavc failed." " IIow 80?" asked Nathalie, whose voice had already lost some of its calmness. 18 NATHALIE. '■■ Mademoiselle Montolieu," frigidly observed the sufiool mistress, " I have begged, I now implore you not to interrupt me. I will tell you how you have failed : you are vain ; you think yourself handsome ; you flirt, as w^ell as you can, with every man you meet. Oh ! you need not give me that basilisk look ; it is so. Your alluring ways in a certain quarter have not escaped me. If you were only ambitious, I should not mind ; but the immodesty of the thing revolts me." " For heaven's sake, niadame," exclaimed Nathalie, tapping her foot with uncontrollable impatience, " be so good as to say at once the ill-natured thing you have been aiming at all along." '• Mademoiselle Montolieu," reproachfully said the school- mistress, " have you really no idea of that beautiful feminine composure which subdues the manifestation of every thing ap- proaching emotion ? If you would only remember that the most bitter quarrel can and ought to be conducted like a logical discussion ; if, instead of speaking in that vehement way, you had only said quietly, ' Will you be so good, madarae, as to come to the point?' or something of the kind. Made- moiselle Montolieu," she feelingly added, " there is a form in every thing, and your want of form will break my heart." She looked and felt distressed. If she tormented Nathalie, the young teacher certainly tormented her almost as much. They were antipathetic by nature, temperament, and birth ; theirs was the old quarrel of the northern and southern races, — a quarrel which has endured for ages, and will endure ages Btill. The schoolmistress kept the teacher because she was full of intelligence and talent, and much loved by the pupils ; the teacher remained because she was poor and needed a home. The Dantin discipline had failed to subdue her vivacity of spirit and temper : she was still the gay and yet ardent Pro- vencal girl, with all the fire and impulsiveness of her race. But though to others she might seem like the beauties of a kindred land, with *5 Heart on her lips and soul within her eyes, Soft as her cUme, and sunny as her skies ; the unhappy schoolmistress, who felt like the keeper of some young and half-wild thing, unhesitatingly pronounced her a proud, passionate, vindictive southern, who would never know any thing about the beauties of feminine propriety. After a moody pause, she now abruptly observed : NATHALIE. 15 " May 1 ask how long you have been acquainted with ouf neighbor V "What neiglibor?" inquired Nathalie, with evident sur- prise. " Our next-door neighbor. I ask you how Tong you have been acquainted with him?" " I have seen him at a distance, but never spoken to him. I think your question strange." " No matter. Will you be good enough to be frank for once, and tell me what you know of our neighbor?" Nathalie looked irritated beyond measure at this pertina- city, but she controlled herself, and replied : " I know nothing of Monsieur de Sainville, save that he is, as you say, our next-door neighbor, — a gentleman of ancient birth and large property. I have seen him once or twice at a distance, and should not even know him again ; I care nothing about him. I scorn your insinuations." Her face grew flushed as she spoke. " She scorns my insinuations !" ejaculated the schoolmis- tress ; " scorns what insinuations ?" she added resignedly. " I am not aware I made any with regard to Jlonsieur de Sainville." Nathalie looked round, to see her better. '• On whom, then," she abruptly said, '• do you accuse me of practising my powers of seduction ?" " Your powers of seduction !" iudignantly echoed Made- moiselk Dantin, who detected the disdainful curl of the lip with which the words had been uttered ; " I certainly did not accuse you of practising what you thus unblushingly allude to on Monsieur de Sainville, — a grave, experienced man, on whom girlish arts or graces are not very likely to take effect. I was not alluding to him, though of course you did not know this, but to his nephew, — Monsieur Charles Marceau." " Oh ! his nephew," slowly repeated Nathalie. " Yes ; but of course you do not know him ; of course you have never seen or met him, though he lives next door ; of course you do not linger in the garden in the evening in order to be seen or admired by him — oh, no !" " I was not prepared," ironically replied Nathalie, " to find my evening walks thus interpreted ; but let it be a comfort to you to reflect that the garden wall is high enough in all rea Bon to protect M. Charles Marceau." " You need not say that with that triumphant look," re XO NATHALIE. turned the schoolmistress, fairly exasperated ; your beauty ia not quite so dangerous as all that ; as for garden-walls, their height is of little consequence when servants can be bribed to convey messages or letters." " Madame," said Nathalie, in a low tone, " I am not pa- tient by nature ; I believe you know it ; I warn you that on some points, and this is one, I will not be patient. I exact that you unsay what you have said, or give me proof that it is true." She spoke in a subdued key, but with more real aiiger and haughtiness than she had yet displayed. '• Proof," answered Mademoiselle Dantln, with a smile of conscious triumph ; " pray what do you call this ?" She drew forth a letter from her pocket as she spoke, placed it on the table before Nathalie, and significantly laid the forefinger of her right hand upon it, like one who had all along been preparing her little coup de theatre, and knew its value well. " Nathalie looked surprised, but took up the letter and read it without any apparent sign of emotion. " Well," said she, coolly laying it down again, " what about that letter, madame ?" Mademoiselle Dantin clasped her hands, turned up her eyes, and shook her head. " The next thing," said she, with wrathful calmness, '•' will be that you will declare your right to receive such letters. Or maybe I do you injustice, maybe you do not see the impro- priety, because your extreme innocence prevents you from un derstandlng such matters. Poor little thing ! she reads fairy tales in the garden." Nathalie eyed her with a firm, clear glance. " My innocence," said she, very calmly, " is guarded by something more powerful and secure than ignorance. I for one shall not feign to misunderstand that which is as clear as day. By sight, at lea3t, I know well the person who wrote this letter ; the nephew of our proud neighbor. I have met him not once but many times. He has followed me when I nave gone to see my sister Rose, down in Sainville, and ho has stood at a distance when I took the pupils for a walk on the road to Marmont. When I have been in the garden of this house, he has generally been on the terrace of his uncle's garden by which it is overlooked. I confess that I have not given up going to Sainville, or walking into the country, pro NATHALIE. 2i tccted by the presence of twenty persons. I have not given up walking in the garden protected by a substantial wall. And now, madame, you know as much as I do of the encour- agement given by me to this M. Charles Marceau, who, after honoinng me with impertinent attentions, honors me with a still more impertinent declaration of what I must. I suppose, oall his love." " At whicli I dare say you felt very much ofi'ended when you received it," sneered Mademoiselle Dantin. •' It is no doubt very presumptuous for me to be offended at any thing," replied Nathalie, with some bitterness, '-but that is not the question. When I asked for proofs of your accusa- tions, you produced this letter. You now say, ' When you re- ceived it :' I beg to say that I received it from your hands for the first time." '• I found it in your room, in your drawer," said the schoolmistress, severely. "And pray," asked Nathalie, angrily, looking up, '-what took you to my room, or made you look into my drawers?" For a moment Mademoiselle Dantin seemed embarrassed, but for a moment only. '• It was my duty," she confidently replied : '• I suspected, I knew there was something wrong." '• But the letter was sealed ; you broke the seal, and accuse n'le of having read it first. I do not mean to say that I should not have read it, but I would have mentioned the matter to you to complain of the insolent servant who had become the messenger of this vain and presumptuous young man." '• Admitting that you have not read this letter," inflexibly resumed the schoolmistress," it is still disgraceful to have received it. Such a thing never before happened in my estab- lishment. This letter would never have been addressed to a strictly modest female. Men, bad as they are, do not act with- out some encouragement. But there are artful, designing creatures, ever ready to driw into their nets any silly young man of family and fortune. I owe it to the character of my house to suffer no such persons in it. I consent to bury the past in oblivion," she added, with a magnanimous bend of the head ; " but on the express and clearly understood condition, that certain individuals I need not mention by name, will henceforth observe that purity and reserve which ought to characterize their sex. Should this timely hint fail in its effect, a disreputable dismissal must ino.itablybe the conso 22 NATHALIE. quericc. Such were the remarks I wished to offer to you, Mademoiselle Montolieu, And now I have a few accounts to settle, you may retire." Nathalie rose ; her slender figure was drawn up, her cheeks crimsoned with shame, then grew pale with indignant anger ; her dark eyes were dilated and flashed proudly ; her lip curled with disdain ; ire was in her hearing, her accent, and her look, as she spoke. " Madame I " said she, with the passionate vehemence nat- ural to her, and which she new no longer strove to repress, " I have resided three years under your roof; I have during that time been tasked beyond endurance, — been daily insulted and oppressed. Never, however, did you dare to venture so far as you have ventured to-day. I scorn your insinuations ; they are false, mean, and you know it well. You threaten to tarnish my name ; know, then, that strong in the sense of my own purity, I defy both your power and you." There was a deep silence. Mademoiselle Dantin changed color, and from pale turned yellow ; then bit her lips, and said in a quivering voice : " Mademoiselle, after this i-asolent speech, I need not ob- serve that you must cease to belong to my establishment. In a month you leave." Nathalie haughtily bent her head in token of assent, turned away, and opening the glass door, stepped out into the garden followed by the angry and lowering glance of the schoolmis- tress. CHAPTER 11. The evenine, though chill, was clear. The moon had risen in the east, and her calm light fell over the narrow garden. A wide beech-tree spread its sombre yet graceful masses in the .'ihade, whilst its silvery trunk ancl foremost boughs received the slanting and tremulous rays of the moon. Beyond rose a group of slender poplars, distinct and dark on the cloudless sky, and casting their long line of waving shadow on the green riward, now of a pale gray hue, in the cool moonlight. Nathalie was bare-headed and lightly clad, but she did not heed the cool and penetrating breeze which fanned her fevered NATHALIE. 23 brow. She had entered the garden because it was the nearest pUice to which she could escape from Mademoiselle Dantin's presence ; she now remained in it, regardless of the faint mist which rose from every group of trees or mass of shrub, and of the falling dew which made the grass damp beneath her feet. She walked along, not knowing whither she went, her cheek still burning, her warm blood still flowing in a more free and rapid tide, her whole being roused and excited by the spirit of indignant defiance. Her mind was crowded with tumultuous thoughts and feelings. The sense of freedom won and tri- umph achieved predominated. She went on in a sort of dream, unconscious of any thing around her, exulting recklessly over her dearly-bought independence. She paused on reaching the garden wall, and this simple physical barrier subdued at once her haughty mood. She turned back, and slowly retraced her steps, with a grave and altered mien. A wooden bench stood in the deep shadow of the beech-tree, she lingered for awhile near it, motionless and pensive, and at length sat down, looking before her in the same abstracted mood. The garden of Mademoiselle Dantin was a mere grassy slope, extending at the back of the low and white-walled school- house. The parlor which Nathalie had left, looked almost dark, and a solitary light burned upstairs in the sleeping room of the pupils, for a few still remained in vacation time. She abstractedly watched their shadows moving to and fro across the curtains, until the light was suddenly extinguished, and the whole building relapsed into gloom. Beyond the school, at some distance from it and on a commanding eminence, stood the chateau of Sainville, a gray, turreted, lordly-looking man- sion, embosomed in stately repose, amidst a dark mass of firs and evergreens, over which the moon now hung mild and pale in the deep blue sky of evening. The chateau was, however, by no means a largo edifice. Although flanked by stone turrets capped with the conical slate roofs so frequently met with in Normandy, it had evidently never been intended as a place of feudal strength. The light and graceful porch, the ornamental facade, belonged to tlie style of the Reyiaissayicc, and showed it to be what it really was, — an elegant and luxurious abode, no more. But if the edifice did not lead back the beholder's mind to those far times when stern barons remained aloof in their fortress holds, it possessed a charm and stateliness of its own. The days of the gay and chivalrous Francis the First returned with the light 24 NATHALIK. aud bx'ulptured balcoules, with the paved court and marble vases, with the broad lawn, the garden terraces, and the sweep- ing avenues of the surrounding grounds. It was such a dwell- ing as the royal lover might, in a fond mood, have bestowed on l)iana of Poictiers ; a place well suited to the courtly revels of a period celebrated for its wealth, magnificence, and volup- tuous art. It had indeed been erected under the reign of that gay prince by a Sire de Sainville, whose escutcheon, with the motto, ung f,eul desir, was conspicuously displayed over the whole building. This " only desire " was said by some to have been the possession of a certain beautiful damsel ; others as- serted that it alluded to the remarkable firmness or obstinacy hereditary in the blood of the Sainvilles. Of this peculiarity the last descendant of that ancient race, who was also the ac- tual owner of the chateau, had, according to general report, given abundant proof. Left alone in extreme youth with a broken patrimony, and a name taraished by the profligacy and extravagance of his father, he had gone to foreign lands, en- gaged in successful speculations, and, after many years of ar- duous toil, lately returned in the possession of considerable wealth, with which he had satisfied the creditors of his father, effaced the stain of bankruptcy from his escutcheon, and repur- chased his paternal mansion and estates. Little was known of his character, save the pertinacity of purpose indicated by this trait. Nathalie had heard him described as a grave and severe man, of cold and haughty manners. Such he had seemed to her when she had seen him at a distance. She now gazed on the small, though handsome chateau as it rose before her in the moonlight, with a feeling akiu to bitterness. A son of that house, conscious of superior rank and wealth, had thought fit to press on her attentions which he would never have presumed to offer to a woman of a higher station. The consequence to her of this caprice was to cast her unfriended and alone on a world of which she knew nothing, save that it was harsh and severe to the poor. Passing her hand across her brow, Nathalie endeavored to banish the gloomy thoughts her position suggested. But she could not do sc. The mood which had urged her to defy Mademoiselle Dantin, which had made her rejoice in her liber- ty, was over. She was free, true ; but she felt she had ex- changed the imperious rule of one mistress for that of another more tyrannical still. Poverty. There had been a time when the meaning of this word was to her like a dream — poverty in NATHALIE. 26 die warm south is divested of half its horrors — but she undcr- etood it now. This had been a hard lesson to learn for one whose natural temper was as genial and sunny as her own Provence. Brought up by au old relative in almost un- restrained liberty, she had suddenly found herself cast, by the death of that relative, on her own resoui^s. A half-sister, residing in Sainville, had procured her the situation of teacher in Mademoiselle Dantin's school. The change from the south to the north, from freedom to dependence and routine, from affection to freezing indifference, had thrown a chill upon the young girl's temper, from which it had never recovered. The sliade of doubt had fallen on her hopeful faith ; the time was gone when she could feel in herself the native buoyancy that subdues apprehension and fear. The more genial the temper, the more it will dread and feel loneliness, and Nathalie was alone ; she had no relatives, save her half-sister, a dependant like herself; no friends, and no money. There were no other schools in the little town of Sainville. one of the most insignifi- cant places in all Normandy ; no families she could enter as governess ; no pupils she could teach, save those who came to Mademoiselle Dantin's. Her future looked so blank and so dreary that her heart involuntarily sank within her. " What on earth shall I do ?" she asked herself, with an inward shud- der. One moment she thought of making her submission to the schoolmistress, but her whole pride rose against it. Any fate seemed preferable to that humiliation. A low, grating sound near her aroused Nathalie from these reflections. She started to her feet, and turned round hurried- ly, with a vague consciousness of the nature of that sound, and of the spot whence it proceeded. No building intervened between the chateau of Sainville and the school ; a wall sepa- rated the wide grounds of the one from the narrow garden of the other ; the little tenement now occupied by Mademoiselle Dantin had formerly belonged to the gardener of the la*o Monsieur de Sainville, and the strip of land attached to it had been the kitchen garden of the great house. A door of communication still existed between the two gardens ; it stood within a few steps of the beech-tree, and, though she knew that it was always carefully locked on Mademoiselle Dantin's Bide, Nathalie now felt certain that from it proceeded the Hounds she had heard. She turned round — it was so : the door was opening slow- I3' and cautiously ; 'a strnnger, in whom slio had no difficulty o 26 NATHALIE. to recognize Charles Marceau, stepped iu, aud, leaving the door ajar, turned quietly towards her, apparently neitlief abashed nor discomposed at the audacity of his intrusion. Nathalie looked at him silently, petrified with amazement. He returned he^Jook. and like her did not speak, as if willing to give her time u) recover. Although she had frequently met him, Nathalie had never yet beheld her admirer so nearly ; and notwithstanding her anger, surprise, and irritation, she could not help scanning him with a rapid and scrutinizing glance. Charles Marceau was scarcely above the middle height, v/ith a slight but well-knit frame. He looked upwards of twenty-five ; he was in reality some years younger, but his features, though remarkably handsome, were thin, sallow, and careworn. Nathalie was struck with their sharp decisive out- lines, as he stood before her on the moonlit sward, his glance fixed upon her, and his pale countenance, half turned towards her, rendered more pale by the Sark mass of hair which fell around it. The look which she gave him lasted but a moment ; the next she turned away, and was stepping into the path that led to the school, when, by a sudden and dexterous movement, the young man anticipated her, and, though scarcely appeax-- ing to do so intentionally, effectually impeded her passage by standing before her. " I hope," said he, in a respectful tone, and in a low, though singularly harmonious voice, " that I have not alarmed you." Nathalie had turned to give him a quick, fearless look ; the silent curl of her lip spoke of a feeling very difi'erent from fear. " I see yoa are deeply offended," he resumed, eyeing her at- tentively ; " be so good " ' Be so good as to let me pass," sharply said Nathalie. ^ But one word, and I depart," he humbly continued. " Did you receive my letter ?" " Ay, sir, from the hands of Mademoiselle Dantin." A slight raising of the eyebrow, a brief projection of the nether lip, and the word " Indeed !" cooly uttered, were tho only marks of surprise or annoyance the young man mani" fested. " Then I suppose the girl has betrayed me, after all," he composedly observed, casting an inquiring glance towards Na thalie. NATHALIE. 2T Her color ro^o ; she looked as if she -would give iiim an an- nihilating reply ; then drew back, turning her head away as il in scorn of speech. She would have moved on ; once more ho stepped before her and spoke, but now with downcast look and beseeching tone. " Do not — pray do not turn away so indignantly. Allow nic but one word more. Did that letter offend you V " No questions, sir," said Nathalie, angrily ; " leave me ero I summon assistance." Her tone was indignant, though subdued. The young man met her irritated glance as she stood close by him in the clear moonlight, pausing ere she once more endeavored to pass by ; he marked the angry flush which crimsoned her cheek and brow, and his own countenance expressed more vexation and surprise than alarm at the threat she had issued. " Nay, heaven forbid you should be placed under any such necessity," he somewhat sharply replied ; '• could I have formed some other method of meeting you, I would never have adopt ed this. But remember, you seldom go out ; you are always accompanied ; I may look, but never speak ; if I write, my let- ters are seized. Was I then to trust to chance, or presump- tuously hope that, meeting me so often, you would at length guess why I ever lingered around your path?" He had begun almost haughtily, but his voice had a low and harmonious cadence as he concluded. ■'' Will you let me pass, or not ?" imperatively asked Natha- lie. He bit his lip. but bowed and stepped back a few paces in silent humility. Nathalie very unceremoniously passed by him ; he followed, observing, in a low apologetic tone : " Believe me, but for the tyranny of Mademoiselle Dantin, I should never ■• "Go on, sir, go on," exclaimed a shrill and exasperated voice behind him ; "it is charming to hear you. I am delight- ed. Mademoiselle Montolieu, to find you so pleasantly engaged." Charles Marceau turned round hastily. Mademoiselle Dantin, who had approached, unheard and unseen, was stand- ing close by him. For a moment, the young man looked dis- turbed. Nathalie, thougli she knew well the consequences of this new misfortune, stood ready to meet them, resolute, though motionless and pale The schoolmistress, her tall and thin frame drawn up to its fall height, her arms folded acro.ss her breast, eyed them both with a moody glance, slowly nodding her head with vindictive triumph. S8 NATHALIE. a Well,*' said she, sharply, '• why don't you go ou '? why don't you continue your interesting conversation ? I hope 1 don't prevent you." She did not seem very likely to prevent Charles Marceau for, turning once more towards Nathalie, he coolly resumed from where he had left off. " I should never have presumed to act as I have acted. This imprudence has injured me — ^justly, perhaps — in your good opinion ; yet may I hope that you will forgive me ?" He looked up into her face, as if anxiously waiting for her reply. Mademoiselle Dantin, astounded at his coolness, and at the impertinent disregard with which he seemed to treat her presence, glared at him in speechless wrath. When she spoke at length, the whole torrent of her indignation was poured forth on Nathalie. "I am delighted," said she, with a short exasperated laugh, " pleased beyond measure, to perceive that Mademoiselle Mon- tolieu, that pattern of propriety, that model of virtuous indig- nation, entertains no great objection to a quiet evening rendez- vous. By moonlight too ; — how sentimental ! They are fond of the moonlight in the south ; here we think it cool." Nathalie gave her a kindling look, but did not answer. " Pray forgive me : I feel it was wrong, very wrong, in- deed, to penetrate here, without your permission," said Charles Marceau, addressing Nathalie, but half glancing towards the schoolmistress. " I hope," exclaimed Mademoiselle Dantin, in a shrill tone, •■ I sincerely hope Mademoiselle Montolieu will attempt no use- less or absurd justification. Mademoiselle Montolieu knows I am not to be duped. She knows the garden door was not only locked, but bolted on this side of the wall, and that by some individual on this side of the wall," she added, raising her voice, " the bolt must therefore have oeen withdrawn. I con- sider this as clear a proposition as any in the ' Grammairo Logique,' or any legal case I ever heard of" "Madame," said Charles Marceau, turning towards her with something like hauteur," I pledge you my word that Ma- demoiselle Montonlieu is free from all blame ; — that I alone am guilty." The schoolmistress shut her eyes, and turned up her nose, with a short, disdainful sniff; but she deigned him neither reply nor answering look. He resumed : " I hope, therefore, that the innocenee of Mademoisello Montolieu " NATIIAUE. 29 "Sparc }Ourself the task of its justikcation, sir," coldly Interrupted Nathalie. '• I need none, if Mademoiselle Dantin has overheard all." " I did," triumphantly answered the schoolmistress, nod- ding her head, as she spoke, " I heard every word. I hear every thing in this establishment, Mademoiselle Montolieu." " Then surely you know I am not to blame," observed Na- thalie, with some impatience. '■ Oh, no ! Of course not at all !" «aid Mademoiselle Dan- tin, gently inclining her head, and eyeing Nathalie, through her half-shut eyes. " Do you mean to hint that this gentleman is here with my connivance V exclaimed Nathalie, with that impetuosity which always gave so much advantage to her opponent. " Oh, no !" replied Mademoiselle Dantin, '• by no means. You admit him ! Impossible ! It was I let him in, cer- tainly." Indignation and contempt struggled for mastery in Natha- lie's expressive countenance. Her head drooped ; she raised her hand to her forehead. When she spoke, her tone was altered and low. " May heaven forgive you ; you are more unjust, — aye, and far more cruel, than I thought you." This speech did not tend to pacify the schoolmistress, who, to do her justice, thought the young girl guilty ; perhaps be- cause she wished to think her so ; and though she had wit- nessed the meeting at a distance, had only overheard the observation in which Charles Marceau so unluckily introduced her name. She now loftily observed : " You need not give yourself such airs of injured inno- cence ; a pure-minded woman, who regarded either her health or her reputation, would never have stayed out in the open air until this hour." " I think, madame," interposed Charles Marceau, " that I already explained " " 13e so kind as to understand that the month's notice I gave you this evening is rescinded," continued Madcmoiscllti Dantin, totally disregarding the young man's attempted expla- nation. " After your disgraceful conduct, you cannot remain another night under the shelter of this uncontaminated roof" " Madame," impatiently observed Charles Marceau, '■ havo I not pledged you my word of honor that I alone am to blame — that this lady is wholly innocent ?" 30 NATHALIb. He spoke politely still, but with the authoritative surpris<» of a superior addressing a person of inferior rank. The school- mistress eyed him from head to foot, then raised her looi again until it met his. '• Sir," said she, at length, '■ I forgive your presumption, on account of your extreme youth ; but you will please to re- member I am mistress of these premises. Be so kind as to f|uit them instantly." Without heeding her, the young man turned towards Nathalie. '• Mademoiselle," said he, in a submissive tone, which con- trasted with the superciliousness he had displayed towards the schoolmistress, " words could not express the penitent sorrow I feel." " I dare say not," cried Mademoiselle Dantin, with a short, hysterical laugh. " Will my presence here be of the least use to you ?'•' he earnestly continued. " Say but a word ; and though this should expose me to the most bitter mortifications, I shall remain." " Remain !" echoed the schoolmistress, with shrill indig- nation. " Monsieur will remain to protect mademoiselle ! Well, I should like to see that. Remain !" Not heeding her words more than the breeze which swept by him, Charles Marceau kept his eyes fixed on Nathalie, si lently awaiting her reply. The young girl shrugged her shoulders, and tapped her little foot with evident impatience. " You may go, sir," she said, in her hasty way. " Your presence, though quite able to produce mischief, is powerless for good." '• Oh ! he may go, may he ?" sharply ejaculated Mademoi- selle Dantin. '• How fortunate mademoiselle permits her knight to depart ! There is no knowing, however, that I, though neither young nor pretty, might not have found means to effect the same marvel." The young man heeded her not ; he was looking at Natha- lie, and his gaze had something of offended pride, anger, sad- ness, and reproach. But his glance fell at length ; he bowed in silent submission, and folding his arms across his breast, slowly turned down the path. The sound of the door, which closed behind him, revealed that he had left the place. Not satisfied with this evidence. Mademoiselle Dantin threw a keen look around her. On per- NATHALIE. 3 1 oeiving tliat he was really gone, she went and bolted the door carefully, then returned to the spot where Nathalie was still ptanding. CHAPTER III. The young girl did not change her attitude ; she stood or the sward, erect and calm. The heech-trec threw its dark shadow behind her, but the clear moonlight fell on her face. She looked pale, though sedate ; one hand supported her cheek, the other was rather nervously stripping a neighboring shrub of its leaves. Her heart, perchance, beat fast within her as she saw ruin and disgrace so near, but her brow was as fearless as her look was steady ; her lips were firmly com- pressed as if she had resolved not to speak inconsiderately, though by no means to remain silent. She looked not unlike the mariner who sees the shore on which he must be wrecked ere long, but who beholds it with unquailing eye and heart unappalled by danger. As her glance met that of the school- mistress its resolute meaning roused all her ire ; she eyed her for awhile with sour sternness. " You have heard me," she said at length. ''What have I heard?" " That you must leave to-night." " Why so ?" Different as their voices were, they both spoke in the same iaterjectional and rapid tone, exchanging looks that boded not peace. '• Why so ?" again asked Nathalie, and she drew herself up haughtily, as if to rej^el with all her might the expected accu- sation and insult. "Because, the schoolmistress steadily replied, "we area calm phlegmatic race, and decidedly object to moonlight walka and meetings ; because this is Normandy, not Provence, where such things are, I suppose, a matter of course." AVhenever Mademoiselle Dantin wished to rouse the young girl, she taunted her with her mother's birth. TiiG urOiV of Nathalie flushed directly. '• You are right, madame," she quickly answered ; '• no, we are not in Provence : for there men have chivalrous honor 32 NATHALIE. and women warm, generous hearts, unknown to this land ol lawyers, lawsuits, and narrow feeling." " Oh ! you may give me your killing looks," said Mademoi selle Dantin, shaking her head, " I am not afraid, though 1 have heard that your Provenqal and Basque girls regularly wear a stiletto, instead of a busk to their stays, like those shocking Spanish women." " Madame," replied Nathalie, shrugging her shoulders, after the French fashion, with disdainful impatience, " we are wan- dering from the point." '• The point," sharply said the schoolmistress, " is that you must leave this very night." " I again ask why ?" inquired Nathalie, eyeing her steadily. " Because your behavior has been improper, unwomanly, immodest." Nathalie's lips quivered, her color rose and died away, until it settled in a bright burning spot on either cheek. Shame, indignant anger, proud resentment of wrong were in her bear- ing and her look. Dignity vainly whispered to turn away with silent scorn ; Nathalie was too unsophisticated to yield to its promptings ; if ever she was or seemed dignified, it was because her mood led her to be so ; but now she recked not of eflfect ; insult had stung and roused her, as only insult can sting and rouse ; passion was strong and would speak. " I am not unwomanly or immodest," she passionately ci-ied, her dark eyes flashing through tears, her voice broken by ill-repressed sobs ; " I am not, but you are a very bad and cruel woman. To dismiss me is nothing, but to ruin my repu- tation and fair name is abominable. I did not let that young man in ; I did not know he was coming ; you must, you do know that." The most evil are not all pitiless, and Mademoiselle Dan- tin, who was not a cruel, but an inflexible formalist, perhaps began to suspect that she had wrongly accused the young girl ; perhaps her threat of instant dismissal had only been held out to give rise to an appeal for mercy ; it may even be that some vague feeling of compassion induced her to relent. Whatever was the reason, she at least now said something about permit- ting her to spend the night in the house ; she even hinted that, provided a proper submission were made to her ofi"ended majesty, she might be induced not to speak of the meeting sh« bad detected. But Nathalie was in no placable mood ; sh< resented this seeming concession as another implied insuU. but to be repelled with haughty disdain. NATHALIE. 33 "Never!" she exclaimed, with true southern energy; " submit when I am innocent, — when I have done no wrong. Never ! As for spending the night in this house, after the words you have uttered, I will not. In my country," she add- ed, emphatically, "we are either at peace or 'at enmity. Now I tell you that I am not at peace with you, that I will not sleep beneath your roof." '•She is positively getting blue with anger." cried Mademoi- selle Dantin. with a bewildered look. " I have borne with ill-temper," continued Nathalie, " with petty annoyances, not patiently — I am not patient — but tvith- out more than passing anger. I considered that your years — " " My 3'ears !" " Your early disappointments jad naturally soured your temper." " Mademoiselle Montolicu, if by early disappointments you allude to my not being married " " I allude to nothing, but I say that when you attack my honor I will resent it with all my might ; that when you turn against me the stiletto, called slander, I will not be your guest, eat your bread, touch your salt, or sleep beneath your roof I shall spend this night at the inn, and be on my road to Paris or Provence to-morrow. Say of me all you can say ; I do not, I will not fear you." She abruptly turned awa^', and when Mademoiselle Dantin recovered from the stupor into which this daring speech had thrown her, Nathalie had almost reached the end of the garden. " Good heavens ! what a tongue!" exclaimed the schoolmis- tress, drawing in a long breath. She slowly returned to the house which she re-entered by a Bide door, whilst Nathalie stopped for a while near the glass door of the parlor. The reaction of passion had come — she was weeping; but the weakness was brief; she shook her tears away, smiled to herself and entered the " salon," as it waa called, where a solitary light still burned on the table. Sho was passing rapidly through the room, when an anxious voice exclaimed : '' 3Iadcmoisclle Natlialie, what mean those pearly drops?" Nathalie turned quickly round and stopped on beholding the little Chevalier, whom she had not perceived. He briskly stepped forward and eyed with evident emotion her flushed f&oe, on which indignant tears still glistened. 2» 84 NATHALIE. " I have been insulted, Chevalier," she said in her rapid way." " Insulted by whom ?" he asked, with a frown. " By a certain neighbor of ours, who imagined, no doubt, 1 had been pleased with impertinent attentions, and by a certain lady of this house who chose to share this belief" The Chevalier looked grave. He might in a lady's defence call out a gentleman, but he could not exactly call out another lady. " This must be a mistake," he at length observed ; " mia- takes will occur even between amiable ladies, especially when there is southern vivacity on one side and northern prudence on the other. There must be an {idaircissemcnt." Nathalie shook her head. " Chevalier," she said, calmly enough, for her anger was as brief as it was vehement ; " I grant that Mademoiselle Dantiu is mistaken ; that if she has tormented me, I have provoked her ; but no ^claircisscmcnt could now make me stay here. We agree like fire and water, with this difference that she cannot quench me. Faulty I may be, but she is not the one by whom I can be changed. She will do me justice in this matter later ; I hope and think so ; if not, let it be ; my own conscience acquits me ; I care little for verdict. I am going this very night — adieu." The little dancing-master drew back with a step expressive of dismay. " Mademoiselle !" he exclaimed ; " going ! No, allow me : ray feelings will not admit it — it cannot be." He seemed filled with so much consternation that Nathalie could not repress a smile. He appeared to hesitate ; but at length decisively observed : — ■" Will Mademoiselle Montolieu allow me a question : that — that gentleman V His look finished the sentence. She colored a little and said : — " Well, Chevalier, what about that gentleman ?" The little dancing-master coughed : it was so delicate a subject, and he had such a deep, almost painful respect for female delicacy, of which Mademoiselle Dantin had contributed to give him the most refined idea. " Did he venture on language, too — too — ardent V he ob- acrved with a frown. " Oh ! no," quietly replied Nathalie, '• it was much worse." " Much worse !" echoed the Chevalier, and visions of a kisg NATHALIE. 33 Stolen from the fair hand of the Provencal jrirl, rendered tho modest little man mute and abashed with indignation. " Yes. much worse," decisively replied Nathalie ; " what da I care about the courtesy or reserve of manner, when the actions are bold and insulting ? He has followed me, written to me, and finally contrived a meeting in the garden, all with- out any encouragement save what he derived from his owu presumption." She looked indignant as she spoke. The Chevalier was no doubt devoted to the ladies, but still he was a man, and could, in matters of the heart, feel for his own sex ; he could, as he expi-essed it with a sigh, "sympathize with the follies and delirium of youthful passion ;■' and, pro- vided that profound respect due to every woman were not in- fringed, he could tolerate almost any extravagance of conduct. It was, Iw contended, one of the rights and privileges of the fair sex, to make men act extravagantly ; and the greater the folly the deeper the love. He now charitably endeavored to convince Nathalie of this truth. No doubt her admirer had been much to blame, but it was all the fault of his bewildering passion ; he had endeavored to make that passion known by looks, writing and speech. " And as for his getting in by the door," feelingly added the dancing-master, '• is it not much better than scrambling over the wall, as so many, unable to control their feelings, would have done in his place ? a pro- ceeding certainly more ofi'cnsivc to a lady's delicacy than that which he adopted." Nathalie heard him with a patient smile. She liked the gentle Chevalier with his old-fashioned courtesy of bygone times, with his reverence for love, passion and women. Made- moiselle Dantin invariably drew forth the least amiable points in her character, but the Chevalier had the power to soften her down to girlish gentleness and grace. She quietly clasped her hand upon his arm, and looking down into his face, said softly : — "You do not think me prudish, do you?" '• No, no," he warmly replied ; " it is the beautiful, the sen- eitive delicacy of woman." " No, it is not that," said the young girl, smiling and draw- ing up her slender figure, '• it is pride ;" and there was pride in her dark eye, curling lip. and erect bearing. " But surely not a pride that forbids you to pity the un- happy passions you have inspired ?" urged the tender-hearted Chevalier. 36 NATHALIE. " What passion ? He has seen me a few times, never so much as spoken to me before to-night ; what passion can he feel ?" The ChcTalier, too delicate to speak more openly, shook his head and sighed in the direction of the looking-glass over the mantle-shelf Nathalie looked at first unconscious of his meaning, but as she saw her own image reflected back in the shadowy depths of the mirror^ she blushed, and smiled at the compliment. " Well, I suppose he finds me pretty," she said, resolutely conquering a little hesitation at speaking so frankly; "but how can I esteem the man who likes me for my face, without so much as knowing my heart, mind, or temper ? You would not act or feel thus." " Mademoiselle Montolieu," seriously replied the Chevalier, laying his hand upon his heart, and looking down as he spoke, " must appeal to some less sensitive judge. I cannot, alas f but confess the power of beauty. I may also venture to hint to her that there are roy.^teries as yet unrevcaled to her heart ; that love conveys, in the slightest glimpse, an accurate know- ledge of the beloved object ; and that a particular friend of mine onee received from the sight of a foot an impression never to bo erased." "A foot !"' exclaimed Nathalie, laughing men-ily, " why how can this be ?" But the Chevalier remained quite grave, and assured he? that in a man of delicate feelings and sensitive heart such a passion was perfectly natural. As to the particular process by which the first impression ripened into love, he bashfully de- clared that speech was powerless to describe it, and, as Nathalie laughingly insisted, he quietly begged to change the subject. The young girl perceiving that his modesty was getting alarm- ed, immediately became serious ; he resumed their previous conversation by saying : " Let me also observe, in favor of the unhappy young man — I call eveiy man unhappy who sufi"ers from a lady's dis- pleasure — that his uncle, Monsieur de Sainville, is generally considered a man of singular coldness and pride; a man whose haughty will " Nathalie interrupted him, and said briefly : '• The man, sir, who dares not confess such feelings open- ly, is not worthy of having them returned. This Monsieur Marceau sought, for his owu sake, a concealment which haa rfATHALIS. 37 eeriously injured me. He dared not have acted so -witli a great lady ; but I was poor and obscure — therefore he ventur- ed. There might have been something like courage in hi? conduct had I the stern father, uncle, or guardian, of a heroine of romance to brave ; but I had not. and therefore is his action paltry. I am alone, undefended, and he showed me that he knew it." " No, not alone, not undefended, whilst Theodore ie Meran- ville-Louville has the breath of life and the heart and arm of a roan," fervently exclaimed the gallant little dancing-master, half kneeling at her feet in a transport of chivalrous ardor. In her surprise Nathalie stepped back. She knew not the powerful impression her words had produced on the gentla and generous nature of the Chevalier. He beheld her, a young and lovely girl, in need of protection, and saw nothing better than to offer himself with prompt zeal for the defence of her person and honor. It was not the little man's fault if he came in this world ages after chivalry had gone out of fashion ; still less his fault, if nature and fortune, whilst giving him the soul and illusive name, had denied him the shape and profession of knight. Nathalie promptly understood him ; she was both amused and touched, and smiled down on the dancing-master through gathering tears. " Rise, Sir Chevalier," she said, holding out her hand to him, and entering with southern mirth and vivacity into the spirit of the tone he assumed ; " if ever I need defender or knight, I will have none save you." Enraptured at this promise, the Chevalier kissed the tips of her fingers, and rose with the triumphant mien of a knight received into the favor of a fair lady, whilst with a smile that gradually became more arch, she continued : " But I need not remind a man of your worldly tact, that the time is gone when ladies sought or accepted the vindica- tion of their honor from the strong arm of man." "And why should it be gone 7" he somewhat jealously ex claimed ; " why should not the strong arm of man, as you so justly observe, be stretched forth to protect innocence and beauty ?" " Because the world is a slanderous world," replied Nathalie with a serious face, but mirth and mischief in her eyes ; " be cause it would be sure to say that nothing save the most violent passion could impel the Chevalier to take, so energetically, tbfl defenoe of Mademoiselle Montolieu." §S NATHALIE. " Well, then," he exclaimed, with much entrainemetU * since you have perceived my folly, I confess it ; yes, I am your slave." He spoke in a very exited tone, and stood with folded arms before her. At first Nathalie remained stunned. " Is the poor little man actually in love with me ?" she thought, with dismay ; but her fears vanished when she re* raembei-ed how eloquently he had pleaded the cause of Charles Marceau. The truth was, that the too sensitive Chevalier was in love with every woman he knew, from Mademoiselle Dantin down to Marianne, and consequently with Nathalie, as well as the rest ; her unprotected and painful position — h:g half-ac- cepted offer of becoming her knight had fired his brain, and, for the moment, he certainly felt a most violent passion, which he was not far from thinking returned. At the same time, he was somewhat dismayed at the boldness of his avow- al. Nathalie was too much amused to look angry, and too kind-hearted to laugh ; she feigned deafness, and said, quietly : " I need not tell you how injurious to a lady's reputation any such eclat would be ; therefore, my good knight, I, your liege lady, lay on you my sovereign commands not to hurt or molest, in any manner whatsoever, the individual named Charles Marceau." " May I not speak to his uncle ?" asked the Chevalier, a little crest-fallen, for he was not quite the dupe of Nathalie's deafness. " By no means ; the uncle has the name of a most disn^ greeable, haughty man — I care no more for him than I do for his nephew." " But, Mademoiselle, something must be done, — what will you do ?" '• Leave this house to-night," was the calm reply. " That only makes the matter worse ; — I must speak to Mademoiselle Dantin." " And what can you say to her that she does not know? If, finding me alone in the garden with a young man, sho chooses to believe I brought him there, who shall prevent her ?" " I certainly cannot prevent her," replied the dancing-mas- fcr, with something like dignity, but there is such a thing aa protesting against an injustice. If Mademoiselle Dantin will he unjust to a young and unprotected lady, I shall and must break with her." NATHALIE. 39 lie spoke very decisively. Nathalie looked at him with Bonie emotion. " Monsieur le Chevalier," said she, gently, " yoii were ill last year." The Chevalier looked very rueful. " You have not many friends in Sainville,"*hc continued ;" and then ] believe you had but one." " Yes," he replied, thoughtfully, rubbing his aquiline nose, " heaven forbid I should ever forget or deny a lady's favors. Mademoiselle Dautin certainly showed herself a kind lady ; the medicines she sent me were rather bitter, but wonderfully fine, I have no doubt : she also sent me some very excellent confitures and jellies when I was getting better — these were sweet." " My friend," kindly said Nathalie, '• you must not break with a woman who has done this, who would do it again, and who, if she has a gentle feeling in her breast, has it for you. Besides, it would be useless — nothing shall make me stay here ; I have been insulted — I must go : be quite easy about me, God is good to all, and kind to the young." The little Chevalier slapped his forehead distractedly, and paced the room with hasty steps and agitated air. He felt grateful for both medicines and jellies ; and the " gentle feel- ing" of which Nathalie spoke, moved him strangely. He could not, with any delicacy, inquire into the exact nature of Mademoiselle Dantin's weakness, and, indeed, felt rather alarmed at tiie prospect of ascertaining how far it had gone. JBut touched and grateful as he felt, it was impossible to forget that he was the sworn knight of another lady now in sore dis- tress. For a moment his fertile and excited imagination represented him as standing between two fair dames, — one certainly lovely, and the other intellectual — is not intellect beauty? — and not knowing on which side to turn. But at length he took a truer and calmer view of the subject, smoothed his wig, composed himself, and magnanimously resolved to abide where gratitude cast her chains around him. Nathalie smiled when he announced his resolve with a rue- ful sigh ; she bade him a clieerful adieu, and gayly assured him he was none the less her knight. The dancing-master took her hands within his own — an unwonted freedom — and looked at her silently. " Mademoiselle Montolieu," he said at length, in a moved tone, " you are young, pretty, and very charming, but you have something far better than all that — a good, kind heart. Hap- 40 NATHALIE. py the man who is to have you, and may God bless him and you !" Tears stood in his eyes, and in Nathalie's too, as they parted. She went up to her room with a light, cheerful heart. Nothing had occurred to change her position ; but her tempei* had led her to yield to every impression of the moment, and her present impressions were light and pleasant. Resting her curved chin in the palm of her hand, she paced the room up and down in meditative mood. A smile was on her lips, and the look of her dark eyes was bright and hopeful. " I am glad I am going," she thought, " truly glad. This perverse woman would positively end by making me enjoy a quarrel. I have enjoyed it — I know I have," she added, a lit- tle ruefully ; " but I dare say all this is for the best : I could scarcely have left her otherwise, but now I must go, of course ; and where shall I go, I wonder ?" She stopped short, and looked grave and disturbed. She was a stranger in Sainville ; her only friend was her sister, and she was now at Rouen, with the old aunt under whose protection she resided. The town inn seemed the only place open to the young girl. It was a quiet, decent house, where few travellers ever came, yet the thought of going there was extremely disagreeable to Nathalie ; she now regretted not having agreed to spend the night in the school. But this was a trifling consideration in comparison to another which oifered itself to her attention under the following startling form : '' Mademoiselle Dantin will say I contrived a meeting with that young man in the garden. I did not : but will the world believe her or me?" She endeavored to chase the thought away, but it would return, and with it the growing conviction that her own version of the story would not be that most favorably received. Disgrace, whether it bo merited or not, is hard to bear, in youth especially. Nathalie was one of those impatient spirits who resent injustice in word and feel- ing. She had never submitted to Mademoiselle Dantin's ty- ranny ; she now felt indignant and amazed that a chain of circumstances, over which she seemingly had no power, should have produced results so galling to her pride and so fatal to her welfare. She was young and handsome, therefore she was to be suspected ; poor, therefore unfriended and alone ; inno- scViC. but not the less disgraced. " Is this possible ?" she asked of herself with incredulous surprise. She thought of Charles, but with increased bitter- KATHAIJE 4] ncss and indignation, and as the cause of al! her avoc. Why Jiad he persecuted her with attentions so fat?l, which had tar- nished her name, and cast on it a stain she would find it so hard to efface? She found an insult not only in the boldnes* of his actions, but also in the coolness and composure which characterized them. She recalled with irritation every parti cular of this interview. " He is not handsome," she ejaculated inwardly ; " I looked at him well, and it was not so dark but what I could see : I like neither his face nor his look ; one is too old in feeling, and the other too keen and watchful in ex- pression. His whole conduct was heartless and cruel ; he shall find himself mistaken if he imagines it has placed me in his power !" The mere idea roused her; she also remembered it wa.^ time to act — not merely to think of her departure, but to pre- pare for it. Ere long her drawers were emptied, and their contents transferred to her trunk. She was cording it up, when a low, timid knock was heard at the door. Nathalie knew it was Marianne, the servant. She bade her enter, and, merely glancing round, resumed her task. The girl obeyed, closed the door with nervous haste, then remained standing near it without speaking. She had a good- natured face, fresh and full ; but her e3'es, of a pale blue, Tad a startled and bewildered look, as if she were in a state of con- stant alarm. "Well, Marianne^ what is it?" asked Nathalie, in her quick, cheerful way, rising as she spoke to face the girl. But Marianne, on perceiving the corded trunk, uttered a faint scream. Nathalie gave her a look of surprise. " Oh, mademoiselle !" exclaimed Marianne, still short of breath, " I have done it ! — You are going ! — I have done it !" '• You, Marianne !" quickly said Nathalie, looking very vexed. " Do you mean to say you let that young man in ?" Marianne hung down her head and wrung her hands. " Answer me," imperatively said Nathalie ; '• did you do it ornot?" "I thought there was no harn* " said Marianne, feebly. " No harm !" " I mean that you would not bo angry." This did not mend the matter. " And pray what made you think so ?" dryly asked Nathalie. ■'I thought 1 am sure I do not know — but he was bo handsoni'j." i'Z MATIIALIE. " He is not," was the sharp reply ; " but he is very insolen^ Marianne." " Oh, is he 1" said Marianne, looking rather bewildered. " 1 am very sorry, but I thought that, being so rich and handsome as I imagined," she added, correcting herself, and so fond of you too ■' — Nathalie's lip curled disdainfully — " I fancied I know I ought not to have done it ; but Mademoiselle Dantin always says I am so wicked, and I suppose I am," she added, disconsolately. Nathalie's resentment was as readily appeased as it waa easy to awaken. She knew Marianne was a poor weak and nervous creature, whose little original spirit had long been broken by the redoubtable Mademoiselle Mantin. She believed, moreover, that she was attached to her, and had probably thought to serve her by her indiscreet conduct. She now sought to console her by assuring her of her forgiveness ; but on hearing this, Marianne began to sob and moan very drearily, calling all the saints of heaven to witness that she had meant no harm. " Very well," rather abruptly said Nathalie, who was more kind-hearted than patient; " come, Marianne, here is the Jichu I have cut out for you ; you have nothing to do but to hem it." u3ut as this recalled to Marianne the many similar kind- nesses she had received from the young girl, it only added tc her grief. Nathalie perceiving that she was getting hysterical, made her sit down, and laying her hand on the girl's shoulder, kindly looked into her face, whilst she said with some gravity; " You have cried enough, and tears are of no earthly use. You did wrong, meaning well ; a common mistake. I have forgiven you, let us hear no more about it ; indeed, the sooner you leave this room the better. On reflection, I think it is quite useless your mistress should know what has passed. She would not exonerate me, but say we were accomplices ; only Marianne, if another teacher should come in my place, do not let young men get into the garden. And now, what was it you came up here to tell me ?" " Holy Virgin !" cried Marianne, much startled, " I quite forget it ! The sight of that trunk — " " What was it ?" " A message from Mademoiselle Dantin." " She might have spared herself that trouble," quickly ex- claimed Nathalie, coloring very much, as she spoke ; " I have Qo wish to stay, T am quite ready to go ; Marianne, you may NATHALIE. 43 toll her so," she added, putting on her shawl and tying her bonnet-strings. " Oh ! mon Dieu, Mademoiselle," said Marianne, " it was not that at all, — but you are so quick ! just like a milksoup,^ — up directly." '• Well, what was it then?" " Why I believe it is a strange lady below who wishes to Gpeak to you." " A lady !" said Nathalie, looking up with much surprise ; " and wlio is she, Marianne ?" Marianne did not know. The lady's face was turned from her when slie answered her mistres&''3 ring, and it was not she who had let her in. Nathalie felt puzzled to imagine who tho stranger might be, for she was acquainted with no one in Sain- ville ; but without losing much time in conjecturing or accept- ing Marianne's offer of knowing from the other servant, she re- solved to go down and learn. She paused for a moment on reaching the door of the par- lor ; it stood ajar, and a ray of liglit glided from the opening into the dark corridor. She had thought to hear the stranger's voice, and thus learn who she was, but if the room had been vacant it could not have been more silent. With an indefinite feeling between hope and uneasiness, Nathalie pushed the door open and entered. Mademoiselle Dantin was seated, as when we first saw her, before the table which had been Natlialie's bar of judgment. She looked discomposed : and an angry spot sat on either of her sallow cheeks, as she fanned herself indignantly with a coarse colored pocket-handkerchief At a little distance from her, with her back to the door, stood a lady, who quickly turned round on hearing Nathalie enter. She was tall, erect, and very richly attired ; she looked be- tween forty and fifty ; she might have appeared, and she per- haps was, younger, but for the careworn expression of her countenance. Her features were more regular than pleasing ; Ihe brow was too low, and tlic upper lip had a haughty curl, yet the whole face was far from repulsive ; many would have pro- uounced it handsome. Natlialie looked at lior and vaguely felt that she had seen her before, but where or liow, she could not remember. " Tlie young lady, I presume," said the stranger, giving Nathalie a keen look, and addressing Mademoiselle Dantin, in a rich harmonious voice that seemed familiar to the young 44 j^ATHALIE. girl's car. The schoolmistress gave a short disdainful nod as the lady turned once more towards Nathalie and ol> served, with an inclination of the head, between pride and courtesy : " I am come. Mademoiselle Montolieu, to express my great regret for the indiscretion of which my son rendered himself guilty towards you this evening. — I regret it exceedingly/' she added, slightly drawing herself up. Nathalie bowed silently. She now recognized the speaker as their neighbor Madame Marceau. The lady continued : " I am really distressed that a son of our house — that my son — should have acted so. I understand too there is a ser- vant in the case ; — it is positively shocking." She raised a richly-chased vinaigrette to her nose, as li ty purify the very idea. "Shocking!" exclaimed Madcmois'elle Dantin, ircfully ; '•' it is more, madame, I " — drawing herself up — " I call it abomina- ble ! To bribe my servant ; — but I shall teach the bold crea- ture her place yet," she added, rising to give the bell-rope a violent pull. " Not now, madame, — not now," said Madame Marceau waving her right hand with a haughty grace, that did not mis become her, whilst her left maintained the vinaigrette in its position ; — " not now, I pray. I have no doubt, from what my son has told me, the girl is guilty ; I should certainly dismiss her. At the same time, I am sure your ready tact will suggest to you the impropriety of any such explanation at present. You may go," she added, directing a stately nod towards Ma- rianne, who had appeared at the door with her usual bewil- dered air ; " your mistress does not want you yet. Go. my good girl,— go." Mademoiselle Dantin was no submissive person, yet some- how or other she now resumed her seat, and allowed Marianne to depart in silence. Madame Marceau bore her down com- pletely. It was not the lady's wealth or station effected this wonder, for the schoolmistress, to do her justice, never stooped save where there was some advantage to be derived, and in the present case there was none ; but though she could not exactly understand why, she now felt entirely ttirown into the shade. Madame Marceau's stately person and grand ways, her figure, full yet graceful — her dress of rich silk and ample folds, — her Indian shawl, negligently draped around her, as if it were a thing of no price, — ay, even her bonnet, with the waving plums NATHALIE. 45 tliat rose and fell with every motion of the wearer's head, failed not in their effect, and hushed the wrath of the school- mistress. Being, however, a woman of very great spirit, she soon rallied, and was preparing for an outbreak of which the exordium would have been relative to the propriety of some people giving orders to their own servants, and other people not going to be trodden upon, when Madame Marceau, per- ceiving her intention, intei'fered. '• By-and-by, my good Mademoiselle Dantin," said slie, with a patronizing smile, '• by-and-by ; allow me first to ex- plain the case to this young lady. I am distressed, extremely so indeed," she continued, addressing her discourse to Natha- lie ; " I positively am, at all that has happened. I have been explaining the whole matter to Mademoiselle Dantin, who now understands her mistake," — the schoolmistress was preparing for an. indignant denial, but was not permitted to open her lips, — " by-and-by, when I have explained every thing to Ma- demoiselle Montolicu. At the same time," resumed Madame Marceau, again addressing Nathalie, '■ I have no difficulty in understanding that for many reasons you may object to re- main even one day longer beneath her roof Will you accept of the hospitality which, when I had confided to him what my son had confided to me, my brother begged of me to offer you? But pray," she added, very graciously, " receive this proposal in the same spirit in which it is made, — as a favor to be con- ferred upon us. We really shall not be easy unless you afford us this opportunity of repairing my son's deplorable indiscre- tion. Nathalie made no reply; she evidently hesitated. JNIa- dame Marceau gave an anxious look. " I hope,'' said she, somewhat uneasily, " the offer is not displeasing. I am sure I bhould be quite grieved What is it, madame ?" The latter words came out very sharply, and were ad- dressed to Mademoiselle Dantin, who, on hearing Madame Marccau's altered tone and language, had thought proper to recline back in her chair, close her eyes, and give utterance to a disdainful " Bah !" ''What is it, madame?" again asked Madame Marccaii, drawing up her fine figure, and wrapping hei-self with ex- treme majesty. " Nothing, madame," shortly replied the schoolmistress. Madame Marceau eyed her very slowly, then turned once more towards Nathalie, evidently waiting for her reply. The young girls resolve was already taken. She did not 4*5 1%'ATHALiL. think that between tlic Inn or the chateau of Sainville there was much cause to hesitate; she could, moreover, detect a great difi'erence in the tone with which Madame Marceau ad- dressed her, from that in which she spoke to Mademoiselle Dantin ; the distinction gratified her wounded pride. But composed as she endeavored to seem, there was a feeling she could not help betraying, and this feeling was surprise. She knew that the step Madame Marceau now took was the ver^ last any of the bourgeoise ladies of Sainville wouid have adopted in similar circumstances. Madame Marceau, who was looking av her very attentively, smiled with a sort of quiet triumph, that seemed to say: "Yes, my dear child, it is so; no Y\ti\e parve- mie would act thus ; but I am a great lady of that old noblesse which has courtesy and chivalry of feeling still. Our titles are nothing ; our wealth is gone, but that remains to distin- guish us for ever from those of plebeian blood and race." It was thus at least that Nathalie rapidly interpreted the meaning of the dark and handsome, though haughty face, on which she now gazed ; but she subdued her momentary sur- prise and replied, with a gravity and composure unusual to her: " Madame, I sincerely thank you for your offer. I will not say that I accept it, because the circumstances you allude to with so much regret leave me no other choice ; my motives are, I trust, of a higher order. The insinuations which Made- moiselle Dantin has thrown out against me would, I confess it, seem to be justified by my abrupt departure from her estab- lishment, where, nevertheless, I have no wish to remain — no, not one hour longer," she added, giving the schoolmistress a reproachful glance ; " but if I leave her house for yours," she continuf^d, again addressing Madame Marceau, " her protection for your protection, I believe that my bitterest enemies, if 1 have indeed any, must needs bo silent ; these, and these only, are my motives." She spoke with quiet pride, almost coldly, for she was jeal- ous of not compromising her dignity. " Whatever they may be," very graciously replied Madame Marceau, " I am too happy at the result, not to think them excellent ; and I feel sure Mademoiselle Dantin shares my gratification at so agreeable a conclusion of an unpleasant mat- ter." Madame !" replied the schoolmistress, darting an angry look towards her, and speaking in a tone that quivered with anger NATHALIE. 47 " I might say much, but will confine myself to one remark . for no consideration would I suffer under my roof, as you soera inclined to suffer under yours, such things " '• What things ?" asked Madame Marceau. " Such things as a modest woman does not care to mention.'' Madame Marceau carried her vinaigrette to her nose with extreme dignity. " Upon my word, Mademoiselle Dantin," said she, quietly, " you astonish me. What ideas ! for an instructress of youth too ; you do astonish me. I believe you are ready. Mademoi- selle Montolieu," she added, addressing Nathalie. '• Will you be kind enough to take my arm ? A servant shall come round for your trunks this evening." Nathalie silently obeyed, but felt somewhat mortified on re- collecting that she was leaving only one trunk behind ^er. They had reached the door, when Madame Marceau turned round, and coldly observed : " Good evening, Mademoiselle Dantin. I think it right to observe to you, that Mademoiselle Montolieu being now under my protection, I shall consider any remark derogatory to her as a personal insult to me." She drew herself up, and turned away. Nathalie followed her example, but not without first casting a look oyer the gloomy room, with the globes, the maps, the cheerless hearth, the com- fortless furniture, the ungracious and withered figure of the schoolmistress, as she sat rigidly in her chair, and feeling, with a sense of inexpressible relief, that she was leaving them all for ever. A new page in the history of her life was indeed turned over. CHAPTER IV. The chateau of Sainville stood on the brow of an eminence which overlooked tlie quiet town of Sainville. gathered up be- low within the shallow compass of a little Norman valley. A broad road, shaded by trees on either side, wound its wav up the steep ascent, passed before the narrow door of the Bchool-house and the iron gateway of the mansion, then ab- ruptly descended the other .side of the eminence, and extended 48 NATHALIE. far away into the open country, among yellow stubble-fields and green meadows, with here and there a solitary dwelling. Of this prospect, which looked gay and pastoral in the sun- shine, nothing was visible on the present evening ; the moon was obscured by light clouds that slowly passed over her disk, following one another along the gloomy sky, like ships sailing in the same track, until they vanished in the distant depths of heaven ; a chill breeze had risen, and its vague murmurs blended with the rustling sound of the withered leaves which it swept away from the lonely road. On leaving the school-house, the two ladies turned away from the lingering household lights which still burned in the vale at their feet, and walked along in silence until they reached an avenue of old and majestic elms on their left. At the end of that avenue rose the old chateau. The iron gate stood open ; they entered, walked to the end and ascended a flight of steps that led to the porch. Their approach seemed to have been witnessed and expected, for the door noiselessly opened to admit them. Nathalie caught a glimpse of a tall servant in black, standing in a respectful attitude in the spacious and lighted hall, a wide and majestic flight of marble steps with railings of rich iron filagree extended beyond. They entered. " Where is my son ?" asked Madame Marceau. '• Monsieur Charles left very shortly after madame." " Has she asked this that I may know he is gone?" quick- ly the ught Nathalie. She glanced around ; the air of grandeur which pervaded all she saw, the obsequious tone and downcast eyes of the servant, the stately dignity of Madame Marceau as she crossed the hall with her haughty mien and her rust- ling robe, showed her how difi"erent was the atmosphere she was entering from that of the world she had left. She was not awed, but could scarcely help feeling impressed. They as- cended the staircase in silence. Madame Marceau paused on reaching the first floor landing. In a recess stood the dark bronze statue of a female slave bearing a pale, transparent lamp, which shed around a soft and subdued light. The elder lady turned towards her companion, and laying her hand on the gilt door-handle of a wide folding-door, she observed, in her rich, full voice, looking down at Nathalie as she spoke, •' I must beg leave to introduce you to my aunt the Canoness ; she is very old, a little infirm, and rather deaf I feel confi- dent she will be charmed to know you. Pray do not feel un- easy ; she is a very simple person — extremely so. Perhaps we NATHALIE. 49 sLall also see my brother, Monsieur de Sainville ; but pray bo quite at your ease.'' She spoken so graciously that Nathalie felt vexed at the trepidation which drew forth so much condescension. Daring as she was when roused by injustice, the young girl was never- theless shy with strangers ; she now felt doubly so. What would the old Canoness, probably a rigid old devotee, think of her ? How could Monsieur de Sainville, that grave and, if report spoke truly, morose man, consider the obscure girl who had attracted his nephew's attention 1 Yet with this feeling of un- easiness there blended a strong share of curiosity to obtain a nearer view of one who, whether in good or ill, had excited much attention since his return to Sainville. Madame Marceau, who was eyeing Nathalie keenly, ap- peared far from annoj^ed at what she could read of those feel- ings in the young girl's veiled countenance. Complacently patting the hand which rested on her arm, she once more exhorted her to banish all uneasiness, and opening the door, she led the way into a large, old-fashioned drawing-room, with a lofty ceiling and deep windows, now screened by thick crim- son curtains that fell to the ground. Several large mirrors gave additional vastncss to the apartment, and reflected in their shadowy depths the light of a lamp suspended from the ceiling. In contrast to its soft, pale rays, was the ardent glow of the wood-fire that burned on the hearth, and shone back with a deeper and more burning red from the polished surface of the surrounding furniture. The walls were hung with pic- tures in heavy gilt frames ; they were chiefly old family por- traits, and had all the mellow tones of age. There was warmth and richness in the coloring of the whole room. Nathalie at first shrank behind Madame Marceau and scarcely raised her eyes from the floor. She felt as if Monsieur de Sainville's keen look, of which she had often heard, were fastened upon her ; when she at length looked up, blushing and slightly confused, she perceived at the further end of the apartment a very diminutive old lady, seated in a deep arm-chair, by the fire-side, and knitting with extreme rapidity. She did not pause in her occupation or take any notice of their entrance. With mingled relief and disappoint- ment, Nathalie perceived that Monsieur de Sainville was not there. Madame Marceau, still keeping the young girl's arm within her own, and nodding in her encouraging manner, led her along the room at a slow and stately pace. As they ad' 50 NATHALIE. vanced towards the tire-place, the large mirroi' over it reflected her fine figure, rich attire, and waving plumes ; on the vpholfi she looked very majestic. They paused on reaching the old lady's arm-chair, and gently touching the arm of her relative. Madame Marceau said in a key higher than her usual tones : " Aunt, — dear Aunt Radegonde." The Canoness slowly raised her head. Nathalie was capti- vated at once by the look of her mild blue eyes, still deep in color, and by the kind and benignant smile which played on her features as she beheld them. A devotee she might be, but she certainly did not seem a rigid one. Her hair, of a silvery white, was parted and smoothed beneath a close lace cap ; she wore a dress of black silk brocade, very full and autique in fashion, but fitting her extremely well. On her bosom glit- tered a large gold cross, the sign of the gay and worldly order to which she belonged. She was evidently very old, but her neat and slender little figure had not suffered from years, or lost the nicety of its proportions ; she sat and knitted in a very erect fashion. Nathalie thought she had never beheld a being who realized so completely her childish beau ideal of the benevolent fairy. " I have brought vou Mademoiselle Montolieu," said Ma- dame Marceau, again addressing her aunt. " I am very glad to see her," cheerfully replied the Canon- ess ; " the poor child looks hot ; well, it is perhaps early to have a fire ; for my part I think the heat a good thing at all times ; besides, I am subject to rheumatism, and this old draw- ing-room is so cold and chill of an evening. Pray take off your bonnet and shawl, my dear, and sit here by me." There was in her manner a kindness free from Madame Marceau's patronizing courtesy as she now took Nathalie's hand, and with a smile made her sit down on a low luxurious seat by her side, eyeing her all the time with evident and naive curiosity. Not satisfied with the imperfect glimpse which she thus obtained, she rose, and declaring that '• the poor child was still too warm," she very decisively divested Nathalie of both bonnet and shawl, and remained silent and wondering before her. Nathalie was always pretty, but now the warm fire-light gave so deep a bloom to her cheek, to her eyes a light so soft, and to the clear outlines of her whole eountenance so vivid and dazzling a brightness, heightened by her dark hair and sombre attire, that Aunt Radegonde could not but look at her with a mute surprise, which soon subsided NATHALIE. 51 into the smillug complacency the sight of youth and beauty in- spires in those whoin old age has mellowed, not soured. The language of her admiring glance was one beauty learns to read early, and a smile, half-shy, half-pleased, trembled on Natha- lie's parted lips. The Canoness turned towards her niece, and. raising herself on tiptoe to reach her ear, she mysteriously whispered, with a shrewd nod in the direction of Nathalie : " She is very pretty." The young girl colored deeply and stooped as if to arrange her hair. Madame Marceau did not reply. She too looked at Nathalie with a surprise verging on admiration, but far from implying pleasure. '• I cannot blame poor Charles so much," continued the Ca- noness, in the same audible key which she mistook for the lowest whisper. " Hush, aunt," said her niece, with imperious tone and dark- ening brow. "■ We shall see whether our critical Armand will find fault ■with that face," added the indiscreet Canoness, with visible triumph. Nathalie looked very much disconcerted. ♦Armand was the christian name of Monsieur de Sainville. Madame Marceau pressed the arm of her aunt, and ."^lightly apologized to the young girl, reminding her that her relative was, as she had in- formed her, a little deaf She spoke with a significant look, and in a loud key. '•Deaf!" echoed Aunt Radegonde, much nettled. "Indeed I hear as well as most people ; every one is more or less deaf: the only difiercncc is in the quantity. Then as to what I said, I do not think it was so oft'ensive that you need have pinched my arm, llosalie. In my time, young girls liked to be thought pretty, and when they were prettj^, young n»eu were very apt to find it out too." With a haughty nod, that implied '• take that," to her niece, the Canoness walked back to her arra-diair, stiffly sat down, and rapidly knitted away, ei*eet and dignified. Madame Marceau's lip curled as she looked down at her aunt for a mo- ment; but her glance soon reverted to Nathalie, whom she keenly eyed from head to foot, without seeming to notice that the young girl returned her scrutinizing look. The lady stood facing her, near the fire-jilacc, bareheaded, but with the Indian shawl that seemed as a portion of her dignit}!-, still negligently iraped around her person. Nathalie was struck with th.n rn 52 NATHALIE. seuiblance her handsome features bore to those of her son ; but the same sharpness of outline and careworn expression marred their beauty. The look which she now cast on the young girl was fixed and moody, but when their eyes suddenly chanced to meet, she smilded very blandly. " Aunt," said she, addressing her relative in a most gra- cious tone ; " would you believe that this terrible old school- mistress would scarcely let me see mademoiselle !" " Indeed !" exclaimed Aunt Radegonde, forgetting her re- sentment. She quickly looked round at Nathalie, suspended her knitting, cast her head up sideways, in an interrogative listening sort of fashion, probably rendered imperative and habitual by her infirmity and short stature, and thus displayed the profile of a little Gallic nez retrousse^ strongly indicative of inquisitiveness. " Mademoiselle Dantin was irritable this evening," quietly said Nathalie, feeling a reply was expected. '• Is she often so V promptly asked the Canoness. '• Yes, pretty often," answered Nathalie smiling. "Then you did not like her?" '•'• We did vtcii agree : — our tempers were different." She spoke coldly ; she did not love Mademoiselle Dantin, but she scorned to attack her. '• Ah !" slowly said Aunt Radegonde, who seemed to expect more. " Indeed !" she ejaculated, after a pause ; but as this produced nothing, she quietly resumed her knitting. '• There is much to try tlie temper of persons in Mademoi- selle Dantin's dependent position," charitably observed Madame Marceau. " She is, I suppose, neither better nor worse than most individuals of her class. Mademoiselle Montolieu, let mo hope that you will have some refreshment." Without waiting for objection or reply, she rang the bell. Almost immediately a servant entered, bearing a tray covered with delicacies. Madame Marceau carelessly signed him to place it on a small table near Nathalie. As soon as he retii-ed, she politely pressed her guest to take something; when the young girl complied, to please her, she retired to a low settee, where she reclined majestically, supported by a pile of cushions, not exactly looking at Nathalie, but keeping her within view. But inexperienced as she was, Nathalie had the finesse of a southern and a woman. She felt that she had been introduced into that stately drawing-room, with emblazoned ceiling, and antique furniture, gleaming in the red fire-light, in order to be NATHALIE. ba dazzled by the sight of unaccustomed magniflcencc. She had been a little disconcerted at first ; now she felt quite composed. •How sorry I am," observed Madame Marceau, casting a gracious look towards her guest, " that my brother. Monsieur de Sainville, does not spend this evening with us. He would I am sure have been charmed to see Mademoiselle Montolieu. Besides," she thoughtfully added, " when one is so happy as to have a brother, and every one is not so fortunate " " Have you got a brother, my dear V interrupted her aunt, addressing "Nathalie with her interrogative air. " No, madanie ; I have only a sister." '•Does she live in Sainville?" asked the Canoness. "Generally she does: but now Rose is at Roueii, for a week." '• Rose ! what a pretty name ! May I ask to know yours , there is much meaning in names ; mine is Radegonde, from Sainte Radegonde, one of our earliest queens. Yours is — Nathalie ! Ah !" And the Canoness became suddenly medita- tive. " Nathalie !" carelessly observed Madame Marceau, who had however been listening with evident attention ; '• Nathalie ! Did we not know a lady of that name at Marseilles, aunt?" " Marseilles !" echoed Aunt Radegonde, '• why, are you from the south, my dear V she suddenly asked, as if the idea had not occurred to her before. " I am a Provencal." " I might have known it, by your quick, piquant way of speaking, so unlike our long nasal Norman accent ; you have got a touch of the southern tongue, and very pleasant it is too," she added, smiling. " Nathalie Montolieu !" abstractedly observed her niece ; " yes, the name is decidedly southern." " Montolieu ! is that your other name, my dear ? why Ro- salie, how can you call tlat a southern name? I am sure, now you mention it, that it is a Sainville name ; have you for- gotten the Doeteur Montolieu, who attended on my poor Lu- cile, and who, when 3'ou became a widow, wished so much to marry you ?" Madame Marceau gave her aunt a rapid and indignant look, while Nathalie quietly observed . " That Doeteur Montolieu was my father ; he left Sainville after the death of his first wife, and went to Aries, where he married my mother." 54 NATHALIE. Madame Marccau looked thunderstruck at the unoxpectod revelation, which so suddenly lessened the distance between herself and the daughter of the man who had formerly aspired to the honor of her hand. She had been many years away fi'ora Sainville, and did not so much as know of the doctor's second marriage. Mademoiselle Dantin bad dryly informed her, that Nathalie was a Provencal, and pretended to know no more ; this fact, confirmed by the young girl's southern accent, had completely misled her. Curious, however, to know who her guest really was, she had, accordingly to her usual tactics, when there was a secret in the way, put her aunt on the track ; the result had far surpassed her wishes and expectations. Indeed there was now something pitiable in her consternation ; in the nervous tremor with which she used her vinaigrette, and in the hurried affectation of pleasantry with which she treated her aunt's assertion, and strove to check the torrent of her voluble astonishment at this coinci- dence. " Yes, I remember Docteur Montolieu ; a good honest man, as you say, aunt — very strange coincidence — extremely so Mademoiselle Montolieu, I can see you are oppressed with fatigue ; allow me to show you to your room." Nathalie rose, but the Canoness would kiss her very affec- tionately before she went, and holding her hand, ask her how long her father had been dead ; tell her what a very clever man he was ; how he had attended her during a long illness, and hint mysteriously that if Rosalie j^d only wished, she might now have been her — Nathalie's — mamma ; to all of which her haughty niece was compelled to listen with power- less indignation, until at length, unable to bear more, she hur- ried the young girl out of the apartment. She smoothed her brow, and resumed all her composure, as the drawing-room door closed upon them, and drowned the sounds of Aunt Rad- cgonde's voice. Graciously requesting Nathalie to follow her, she led the way up another flight of the wide staircase. The shadowj height of the ceilings, the statues and objects of art which adorned every recess, and the breadth of the stairs, impressed Nathalie with a certain grandeur of design which belongs to old mansions. On reaching the second-floor landing, lit liko the first, they turned into a long and narrow passage or galle- ry, as the lady called it, with doors on either side. These, as Madame Marceau informed the young girl, in an impressive NATHALIE. 55 tone, — these were the doors of the sleeping apartmenta of the chateau ; they had been inhabited in turn by the whole of the family since the edifice was first erected. "And this is your room, Mademoiselle Montolieu," she added, opening the last door, and entering a small octagon room, hung with blue damask, somewhat faded, and lit by a crystal lamp suspended from the low ceiling. " We are now in one of the four turrets of the chateau," she continued, nod- ding and smiling at the young girl. Her look, tone, and bear- ing bespoke inward complacency. '' How fine the view must be !" cried Nathalie, charmed with her apartment. " All the views are fine from the chateau of Sainville," re- plied the stately lady ; '• indeed, I may say, they are cele- brated. My room is close to yours ; I mention this, lest you fihould imagine yourself secluded like some chatelaine of old, in this ' blue room of the western tower,' which has received more than one real chatelaine. Indeed. I hope you are not afraid of spirits : it is said to be haunted."' Then followed a legend of two beautiful sisters, C'onstance and Adelaide de Sainville, who had successively tenanted this apartnieut, and both died there in the last century. Constance had fitted it up as her oratory, and retired to it daily for meditation and prayer ; she died young, pifi-e and happy. After her death, it became the sleeping apartment of Ade- laide, a gay and voluptuous lady, who caused the walls, left bare by the asceti^Constance, to be hung with soft silken damask, and introduced the downy couch, the mirror and crystal lamp, presei'ving only the plain wooden 2^ric-dieu as a token of her sister's presence. She, too, it seemed, had died young, but neither resigned nor happy. On the last day of her life si e caused herself to be attired in all the gorgeous splendor of the old court costume, surveyed herself in the mirror, and with many sighs and tears, bade youth and beauty farewell. Her restless spirit was said to haunt the spot. Madame Marceau smilingly assui-ed the young girl this was only an idle report. But though she spoke of the blue room of the western tower, and of the family legends, with seeming carelessness, her studied fluency of speech, as she recalled those associations of the past, betrayed her secret satisfac- tion and inward pride. She seemed gratified at Nathalie's attention. "It is wrong in me." she said, "to be detaining you from 56 NATHALIE. your rest; good night, Mademoiselle Moutolieu ; may yonz lirst night's sleej:) under the roof of our house be peaceful and happy." She spoke with the stately courtesy of a real chatelaine, drew the young girl towards her, stooped — for she was much taller — imprinted a kiss on her forehead, and glided out of the room. It was not until the sound of her steps died away in the passage, and on the distant staircase, that Nathalie ■^elt herself alone. She sat down on a low couch, and leaning back, looked around her with naif and childish interest. The bed stood before her in a deep recess, shrouded by curtains of the clear- est muslin ; near it stood the wooden jxrie-dieu of the devout Con.stance, and not far from it, on a low cabinet of carved eb- ony, the gleaming oral mirror, with its tarnished frame, in which her more earthly sister surveyed herself before she died. These reminiscences charmed the romantic mind of Nathalie. The quaint old china which adorned the mantel-shelf, the pic- tures of shepherds and shepherdesses in hoops, and even a discolored mother-of-pearl table and work-bos, gave a new in- terest to every thing around her ; the sight of her trunk, un- perceived till then, suddenly recalled her from the past to the present. This day ba(! been one of the few eventful days in her quiet life, and it now returned to her in its minutest incidents, with the fuss of the morning ; the prize ceremony, at which she laughed, but which amused and interested^er, in spite of her laughing ; the breaking up, and the parting from a few pet pupils, who crowded around her, and gave her many a farewell kiss. She remembered how, when all was over, she had gone up to h ?r room, and watched from the window a carriage, which bore away a gay young creature of sixteen, who was to return no more to school ; how sad she felt, as that carriage wound along the dusty road, and vanished in the distance ; how long- ingly she looked at the unknown regions of happiness and pleasure that extended beyond those green hills, and felt like a lady of romance, captive in her solitary bower, guarded by the Bantin dragon. How she wept a little at her loneliness, and then dried her tears, and read till dusk, when she went down to the garden to dream away an hour, until called in fo? quarrel, reproach, and dismissal. The interview with Charles Marceau, the scene with Mademoiselle Dantin, the meeting with the little Chevalier, the sudden appearance of Madams NATHALIE. 57 Marceau, — all came back to her with the vividness of reality, until at length recurred the most startling remembrance of all ; she, the poor, dependent girl, was now a guest in the cha teau of Sainville. She looked around her, and smiled to her self, then rose, and opened the window, a real Gothic casement, with lozenge panes in lead casings. The night was dark ; she could see nothing, save a bright light burning in the turret facing her. Through the glass panes and thin muslin curtains appeared the figure of a man, slowly pacing the room up and down. He looked taller than Charles Marceau, who, moreover, was not at home. Nathalie's heart beat a little ; for though the distance was too great for her to distinguish his features, she felt that she was gazing on the master of Sainville. She softly closed the window, and after a little fit of musing, ex- tinguished the lamp, and took possession of the downy bed which had formerly received the beautiful Adelaide. As the young girl sank into her voluptuous couch, and, by the faint, glimmering light which the dying lamp still shed, gazed on the antique, but not ungraceful, furniture of her apartment, she asked herself if some Arabian genie had not transported her there from the bare room she occupied at Mademoiselle Dan- tin's. None but pleasant visions now flitted before her; every thing seemed bright and hopeful as a fairy tale ; the sense of security and rest, after the storms and chances" of the day, was blended with the pleasurable sensations of her luxurious couch. As she abandoned herself to this indolent repose, thought gradually became less distinct ; but her bed faced the window ; the light still burned in the turret opposite, and every now and then she caught a glimpse of the dark figure, moving to and fro in its monotonous promenade. The sight exercised an irre- sistible and mysterious fascination upon her ; every time tho figure came within view, her look followed it until it vanished. At length, opi)ressed with fatigue and sleep, her eyes closed ; the light still shone opposite, but she heeded it not ; dreams, hopes, and mysterious imaginings had faded away ; her head reclined on her pillow ; her hands lay folded on her bosom ; ebc had fallen into deep and peaceful slumber. 58 NATHALTF CHAPTER V. The sun liad risen ; the sky was serene and blue, and the birds sang on a group of tall poplars near her window, when Nathalie awoke on the following morning. She rose quickly, and merely throwing a shawl around her, she hastened to open the window with childish impatience. Though she prudently kept in the background, lest she might be seen from the gar- den, or any part of tlie building, she could still enjoy the cool morning breeze, and the greater portion of the fine prospect below her. It was a calm morning, silent, and somewhat chill ; the sky, of a pale blue, was still tinged with the gray of early morn, save in the east, where the soft, rosy light of dawn siill lingered. The trees, some of them already sere and yellow, were seen through a hazy mist, that glittered in the long hori- sontal rays of light ; the freshness of earth and sky told the earliness of the hour. Beneath her, Nathalie beheld tlie garden, with its tliree terraces, the last of which descended to the very edge of the shallow river that wound along Sainville ; this garden now look- ed a small space in the midst of the surrounding grounds. Her glance rested for a while on its gravel walks, trim boxwood hedges, grassplots, and marble statues ; then wandered over the grounds, laid out with graceful clumps of trees and groves of stately pine. At a distance, she beheld a little artificial lake, with its dark waters, that seemed to lie sleeping in the solemn shadow of a wide-spreading and melancholy cedar ; far- ther on, in a still more secluded spot, rose a white temple, gleaming amidst the dark foliage of surrounding firs. Save on the side of Mademoiselle Dantin's school, the gardener's art had succeeded in concealing every trace of a boundary. Natha- lie could only estimate the extent of the grounds by the land- scape beyond ; it spread far away on the other side of the wind- ing road ; and a fair Norman landscape it was, with low, swell- ing hills, secluded hamlets in green valleys, and silvery streams, glancing in the morning sun, now gliding visible through fer- tile plains, or winding far away in dark and overhanging woods. Nathalie looked long and eagerly. " This cool Normandy is beautiful, after all," she thought, whilst her heart filled with admiration and joy. True joy is XATIIAME. 59 almost always religious ; and it was before that open window, her hands clasped, her eyes still fixed on the glorious works of God, the cool breeze fanning her brow, that Nathalie slowly repeated her morning orisons. The house was still silent; slie dressed leisurely, with more than nsual care, and hesitated long between two very simple muslin dresses, one blue, the other pink ; the pink was chosen as most becoming. During the progress of her toilet she never looked at the glass : 3Iadc- moiselle Dantin forbade all such toys of vanity to the teachers of her establishment, and long habit enabled Nathalie to do without their aid, but when slie had seen that not one ungrace- ful fold disfigured the light drapery of her attire, that her hair, in spite of its becoming negligence, was quite secure, she turn- ed towards the mirror, and wondered with a smile, " if Adelaide de Sainville had been so v-ery much more beautiful." Unlike those heroines who are as unconscious of their own loveliness as is a lamp of the light it diffuses, Nathalie knew very well that she was handsome, and often 'rejoiced in the con- sciousness of her fresh and youthful beauty, which, though it had failed to soften the morose schoolmistress, rendered her. and this also she knew, very pleasant and delightful in the eyes of others. But personal vanity was, after all, her least defect ; phe had other faults far more serious, far more fatal to herself and others, and without which this story need never have been written. A thin, sallow but smartly-attired femme-de-chambrc, in fantastic cap and extravagantl}' small apron, disturbed hor re- flections. " Mon Dieu !" she observed with the fluency of speech and elegant precision of accent of the Parisan, '• I hope I have not disturbed mademoiselle. Madame would bo in despair. Ma- dame only sent me to know whether madcmQisellc needed my assistance, and would breakfast in her own room or in the sallo- a-manger." She spoke thus with a rapid look that comprised every thing in the room from the least straggling article of dress down to Nathalie's solitary trunk. The young girl thanked her quietly, said she would breakfast below, and followed down stairs the polite femme-de-chambre, who offered to show her the way. She found the Canoness and her niece alone in the dining-room, a wide and cheerful-looking apartment on the ground floor, witli a large glass door that led into a small quad- rangular court, beyond which extended the garden. Aunt 50 NATHALIE Radegonde nodded to Nathalie with smiling -vireleome ; Ma dame Marceau did not see or appear to see her until she stood by her side. She then exclaimed: " Mademoiselle Montolieu !" with an apologetic start, half rose from her chair, held out the tips of her fingers to Natha- lie with stately grace, and, sinking back in her seat, " hoped she had slept well." She hoped with a tone and look that said every one did sleep well, or ought to sleep well in the chateau of Sainville. With a smile Nathalie thanked her : " her sleep was always good.'' " Indeed i" said Sladame Marceau, with a peculiar look ; perhaps she thought it vulgar, as it no doubt is, to sleep soundly ; at ail events she drew out and applied the vinaigrette. Good breeding and refinement, or rather the externals of these qualities, are generally considered as wholly precluding those vulgar manifestations of ill-temper, rudeness, imperti- nence, and similar feelings, which the unsophisticated display with such perfect frankness. But it does not thence follow that the well-bred and refined have not their little spites, little envious feelings, little assumptions of consequence to gratify ; indeed they do gratify them very freely ; all the difference lies in the manner ; for there is a finish, a delicacy of touch in the polite impertinence of the well-bred which the under-bred may envy, but must never hope to attain. The slight that can be conveyed in a glance, in a gracious smile, in a wave of the hand, is often the ne plus rdtra of art ; what insult is so keen or so keenly felt as the polite insult which it is impossible to resent ? Madame Marceau, without being a very clever woman, had some talent and proficiency in this amiable accomplishment. She could put down any one, especially another woman, in the most gracious, manner. She never was rude ; indeed she was alwiys studiously polite, courteous and stately, as so great a lady snould be. Her manner was easy, her speech was fluent, her voice was soft ; but her grace was onl}'' manner ; her cour- tesy sprang from jealous pride. When the fortunes of her family were at their lowest ebb, Rosalie de Sainville had mar- ried a rich plebeian merchant of Havre, whose speedy ruin and death left her the bitter regret of a useless oiiesalliance. The sudden restoration of family dignity effected by her brother, awoke in all its strength her embittered and long-repressed pride. In spite of her long line of ancestors she had stilj something of the parvcmic ; she felt more jealous of her origi NATHALIE, 61 nal position tlian if she had never descended from it ; others might aiford to be simple and careless of rank ; she felt that she could not, especially with Nathalie. Two sins lay at the young girl's door : she had attracted the attention of Charles Marceau ; worse still, she was the daughter of a man who, iv Madame Marceau's fallen fortunes and humbled state, had without undue presumption, hoped to make her his wife. The breakfast, at which Monsieur de Sainville did not ap- pear, was a plain meal. Madame Marceau held bourgeois abundance in horror ; but it was served in costly Sevres porce- lain, on silver salvers, with the crest of the SaiuA^illes. Nathalie bore the studied politeness of her hostess with perfect calm- ness ; she received the courtesy as genuine, and allowed the impertinence to drop all harmless at her feet. The repasi^ though thus converted into a sort of tilt avcc amies coiirioiscs, was quiet enough. The naive curiosity and garrulousness of the Canoness amused Nathalie, but evidently provoked her niece, who colored, and bit her lip at every fresh indiscretion of Aunt Radegonde. As soon as breakfast was over, Madame Marceau proposed a walk in the garden, to Nathalie, who readily assented. The Canoness seemed willing to accompany them, but her niece reminded her, in her kindest tones, " tliat those early walks always fatigued her so much." Aunt lladc- gonde yielded, with evident regret. The garden was laid out in the stately style of Lo'\;« XIV's reign. Broad gravel walks surrounded quaintly-shaped plots of flowers ; low hedges of box-wood, cut close, with niches for statues of heathen deities, crossed one another in intricate windings, or extended into little avenues, ornamented on either side with long rows of stiff orange-trees, in their green boxes, and a sparklingjei d^eau rose into the air from a large marble fish-pond in the middle of the first terrace. Notwithstanding the monotony of this style of gardening, which made it quite a relief when they came to a secluded grass-plot, with its solitary nymph, Nathalie was struck with its antique majesty and gran- deur of design, both of which at once seemed to carry her back to the stately age of the magnificent Louis XIV. Madame Marceau, who paced the broad walks with slow step and erect majesty of bearing, smiled complacently at her frankly-express- ad admiration. '•Yes," she carelessly observed, "this old gardening is. an you say, very characteristic. This garden was designed by the famous Le Notre. It suits the style of the chateau ; JRenaU' 52 NATHALIE, iance, as jou know, of course. Ou the spot ■which the preseul building occupies, once stood a rude Gothic pile, erected by Hugo, first sire of Sainville ; for wo never had a title in our family ; we are the De Saiuvilles — no more." '• Like the old Kohans of Brittany," demurely said Nathalie, quoting the old motto, " Roi ne puis ; Prince ne daigne ; Rohan je suis." " Precisely." replied Madame Marceau, much gratified. " You have quite a knowledge of history, Mademoiselle Mon- tolieu, and you are right ; titles are the gifts of kings, but what court favor can bestow blood and race "3" " 1 wonder where you got your plebeian name of Marceau?" thought Nathalie, glancing at the proud lady, who continued: " Armand do Sainville erected, under the reign of Francis I, the present chateau, on which his scutcheon and motto stil appear." "Pray what is the true sense of that motto'?" asked Nathalie. Madame Marceau shook her head and smiled. " A sensitive point. Mademoiselle Montolieu — a sensitive point," she significantly replied. " The vulgar legend, which you have no doubt heard, says that this only desire was one of love, but it is not so." '• Indeed !" " No, Mademoiselle Montolieu, it is not so. The truth is,'' she added, with great candor, "• that we are the most obstinate. tetic race in all Normandy. When we wish for a thing, no matter what — say a horse, a picture, a piece of land, any thing, in short, — we must have it, no matter at Avhat price ; indeed, we will have it. It is just the same when we .oppose a thing ; that thing cannot take place ; all our energies go against it ; we oppose that thing, in short." '' Extraordinary firmness," said Nathalie, with ill-concealed irony. " No, Mademoiselle Montolieu ; I beg your pardon ; no, it is not firmness," said Madame Marceau, with dignified denial. " Heaven forbid that I should thus screen our fatal hereditary failing. No ; it is mere obstinacy, mere haughty will — the will of the De Sainvilles." " Why, madam, you will make me feel quite timid," ob- served Nathalie, smiling. " Nay, nay, I hope not," graciously rejoined the elder lady ; " I assure you we are far from wishing to inspire such NATHALIE. 63 feelings ; besides, you must not think that we are merely obstinate. No, my clear Mademoiselle Montolieu," she add- ed, bending her dark and searching glance on the young girl's frank face, '-we can indeed be enemies ; but we must be pro^ voked : and, believe me, to those who confide in us, we can be friends, — true friends." She familiarly drew Nathalie's arm within her own, and Boftly laid her handsome hand, all sparkling with jewels, on the young girl's, as she thus addressed her, with much emo- tion. The look, tone, and gesture were so significant, that Nathalie felt as if a reply were expected ; but as she did not happen^to be in a mood to answer so much condescension suitably, she remained silent. They had reached by this the end of the first terrace, and were going to descend a flight of steps that led to the second, when Madame Marceau, who kindly attributed the young girl's silence to timidity, paused, to let her look at the fine prospect over the surrounding grounds. She listened to her expressions of admiration with as much complacency as if she had been the exclusive mistress of all they beheld. "AVe are making great improvements," said she, speaking, as usual, in the plural number, and in her own stately way ; " planting trees, whose growth we shall never see ; but as the property remains in the family, that is not of much conse- quence." " I had always understood," heedlessly observed Nathalie, " that Monsieur de Sainville was the last of his name." Madame Marceau bit her lip. but drew herself up with cool hauteur. " Monsieur de Sainville may be the last of his name," she dryly replied ; " but though he has no child, and does not in- tend marrying, he has a nephew, Mademoiselle Montolieu, who succeeds, of course, not only to the family property, but, what is far more important, to the family name. Well. Andre, what is it?" she added, somewhat sharply. This question was addressed to a sun-burnt looking man, a gardener, seemingly, and who now stood before Madame Mar- ceau in a respectful attitude. " I have taken the liberty of addressing madamc," said he, in a submissive tone, " in the hope that madame would be kind enough to intei'cede for me." " Well, what is it ?" said the lady, smiling encouragingly. " Oil ! if I only knew it. I assure madame that I should not complain ; but it is hard to be dismissed for neglect of orders G'l NATHALIE. without so much as knowing what order has been neglected Yet if madame would only speak for me, monsieur would per haps relent for the sake of my wife and children." Madame Marceau looked disconcerted for a moment; but she soon recovered with a cough, and observed, with dignified gravity : " Andre, you know us ; we are just, liberal masters, but we require, we exact obedience. I verily believe we would sooner forgive dishonesty itself than neglect of orders. I think I told you so expressly when you entered our service ; I feel sorry for you, but you must leave." " But surely, madame will feel how hard it is to ^o this very day ; to be sure monsieur has been extremely liberal, and told the steward to give me not only my due, but much more ; still it is hard to leave one's work unfinished ; there is a whole plantation that another will only spoil, I am sure. If I could only have had longer notice, and if monsieur had not been so strict in saying that I must leave this very day " " Impossible, Andre," interrupted Madame Marceau ; '-it is our maxim, our settled principle, — rather to pay double what we owe than to keep a servant with whom we feel dissatis- fied. You have been treated on that principle ; I feel sorry for you ; but we cannot break through such rules for any indi- vidual case." " But perhaps madame, who knows all about it, will be good enough to tell me what orders I have neglected," per- sisted Andre. "I should have asked monsieur himself if he had not left the chateau so early ; and the steward assured me monsieur had only said ' neglect of orders.' I should al- ways feel grateful if madame would only tell me." Madame Marceau drew herself up with mysterious ma- " We are not in the habit of giving explanations," said she, coldly ; " you can go, Andre ; we wish to continue our walk. Tell your wife to speak to Amanda before she leaves ; Amanda will, I dare say, have something for her. We v/ish you well, Andre, but our rules and principles must be carried out." A wave of the hand told the supplicant that he was dis- missed. " Poor fellow !" ejaculated Madame Marceau, as he left them ; " I really compassionate his case, but some faults are positively quite unpardonable." A quick step in the gravel walk behind them caused Ma NATHALIE. 65 dame Marceaii to look round as she spoke thus. The new comer was the elegant lady's maid. " Madame." said she, hastily addressing her mistress. " Amanda," severely interrupted Madame Marceau, '• hovt is this ? Have I not made it a particular request that my morning walk should never be interrupted ? But this is not the only recent instance of neglect of orders I have discovered. AVhy it was only this morning I perceived the thing I had ex- pressly asked you to do had been omitted. Amanda, I may say, and you probably know it, every one indeed knows it, that justness mingled with due strictness is our family peculi- arity. We are kind masters, we pay well, but obeyed we will be. Amanda, why did you not put the Valenciennes lace quilling around my morning gown ?" " I am sure," aemurely said Amanda, " that disrespect of madame's orders was the last thing I intended ; but I would not put on the quilling until I had appealed to madame's ex- cellent taste. For as I was saying, my late mistress, Madame la Comtesse d'Onesson, would never allow me to put any quill- ing to her morning gowns. She would not hear of such a thing, even in her last illness." '•Madame d'Onesson had her way and I have mine," fri- gidly said Madame Marceau ; " I beg that in future you will attend to my orders ; there is Andre, whom we have been compelled to dismiss for similar negligence. It is extraordi- nary, but really servants do not seem to understand that we have them to do that which we request to haVe done. And now. may I know why, in spite of my prohibition, you have interrupted my walk?" " Only to give madame this letter," modestly replied Amanda, respectfully handing a letter to her mistress as she spoke ; '• and I am sure, if the man who brought it had not said it was from Monsieur Charles, and very important, I should never have taken the liberty of breaking through madame's express rules ; for, as I was saying, we all know that madame is as strict as she is generous." Madame Marceau coughed a mollified cough, and slightly apologizing to Nathalie, she opened and read the letter. Her countenance darkened as she perused the contents. "Where is the man who brought this?" she asked, in her eharpest tones. " In the hall, waiting for madame's answer." '•Mademoiselle Montolieu, will you excuse me? I find I 86 NATHALIE. nmst go in. and it would be a sin to ask you to return to th« house on so fine a morning." Nathalie having declared that she would indeed greatly prefer continuing her walk, she was left alone. She thought- fully descended the steps leading to the second terrace, wonder- ing why the letter from her son had annoyed Madame Marceau so much, and whether it bore any reference to herself. She found that this second terrace was laid out in the sama antique style which distinguished the first. A low wall covered with ivy, and partly concealed by a semicircle of evergreens, extended between the flights of steps that led down to the terrace on either side. Attracted by a low plashing sound, Nathalie stepped within the space thus inclosed. She found herself in a narrow grass-plot, with a plain stone fountain in the centre A clear, slender jet of water rose into the air, and fell down again into its shallow basin with the sound she had heard. In a low, broad niche, hollowed out of the ivied wall, reclined the figure of a sculptured nymph. One arm supported her head, the other hung down loosely by her side ; her eyes were closed ; her marble features expressed the serenity of sleep ; the whole attitude was one of deep repose. A beehive stood close by. Nathalie paused, and wondered as she looked, in what consisted the charms of this narrow spot. In its seclu- sion, and the sense of solitude by which it was accompanied — in the dark and melancholy foliage of those northern trees — in the fair image of sleep, hallowing all around, and seemingly lulled to its deep slumbers by the low sound of falling waters and t'le bee's murmuring hum — lay that charm, unexplained, thougn deeply felt. Another flight of steps led Nathalie to the end of the gar- den, if garden it might be called, being now a mere grassy slope bounded by the river, and extending without further barrier into the grounds. On her left, she beheld at a distance the wall which divided Monsieur de Sainville's property from Ma- demoiselle Dantin's garden. On her right she could see nothing save wide lawns, with groves of spreading beech-trees, dai-k masses of the pyramidal pine, and the little lake shining in the distance. As she walked down to the water's edge, stepping into the high and waving grass which filled the air with its wild fra- grance, a whole crowd of tiny winged insects arose on her path. She paused near the hollow trunk of a decayed willow ; near her a group of silver-leaved aspens trembled in the sun with a NATHALIE. 67 low rustling sound ; the water flowed quietly in its pebbly bod; whilst around was heard the ceaseless hum of the bees from tho neighboring hive. On the opposite bank, formed by the wide arch of two large beech-trees, whose spreading shadow slept over the dark yet transparent waters of the river at her feet, extended a rural landscape of calm loveliness. A narrow pas- ture valley, sheltered by green hills ; a herd of cattle grazing quietly in the cool morning shade ; the light mist fading away before the early sun ; no human dwelling visible, but every thing wrapped in the silence and repose of the hour, — formed a scene 60 tranquil and so fair that it instantly reminded Nathalie of a picture by Claude Lorraine which she had seen as a child in an old chateau of Provence. The absence of all ungraceful ob- jects — the clear, golden-colored light — the deep and almost holy serenity of his favorite scenes — marked every thing she now saw. She was turning away from this lovely prospect with re- gret, when slie suddenly stopped short, as if rooted to the earth. Charles Marceau stood before her. With the exception that this was daj-, and that it was even- ing when she saw him before, Nathalie might have imagined this to be the continuation of their former interview. The young man looked as cool and composed as when in Mademoi- selle Dantin's garden ; more so, indeed, he could not look. He stood in the same attitude, witli his face turned towards Natha- lie. His features, thin, pale, and yet strikingly handsome, looked thinner and paler from the mass of dark hair which fell down almost to his shoulders. The expression of the brow and mouth instantly reminded Nathalie of Madame Marcf au ; but the eyes, large, clear, and hazel, like her's, had another look. This might be from the eyelids, which drooped rather too much, or from the nearness and fixedness of the pupils, which now rendered it dilEcult for Nathalie to meet his glance, and made her feel not so much that he was looking at her, as that he looked in the direction in which she stood. In return to his deep salutation, she gave him a frigid bow. He stood so ex- actly before her that it was not easy for her to walk on. " I see you are still deeply offended," said he, in that low and musical tone wliich, in spite of her- anger, had struck lier on the preceding evening; "alas ! can penitence for a past error avail nothing ?" He ]iaus(Ml. as if expecting an answer. Nathalie, however, witli serious mien and downcast look, gave him none. •' Pray remember," he continued, "how I stood placed. Wf 68 NATHALIE. often met: I might look, but never speak; I might write, yel hope for no reply ; I loved you, but might not tell it." Nathalie colored, and hastened to interrupt him. " I will forgive last evening's intrusion," said she, coldly, " on condition that it is never mentioned again." " You forgive me," he replied ; " is that all ?" Nathalie looked up with surprise. She met his look ; it had now the keen and watchful expression which had already struck her. Seeing that she did not speak, he continued, '' We are told to forgive our enemies. Is there, for those hat love us, no other feeling than forgiveness ?" " I understand you, sir," said Nathalie, eyeing him with a firm, clear look ; " but I am not bound to answer a feeling I never sought, nor to feel gratitude " " Gratitude !" he interrupted, with something like scorn ; '• who speaks of gratitude ? I detest gratitude — it is only fit for slavish souls, whom benefits can win. It is a feeling I have never known, and care not to exact — least of all from you — you," he added, in a lower tone, " who inspire me with another ambition, and far other hopes." Nathalie looked annoj'ed and disdainful. " I believe," quietly continued Chaflcs Marceau, " that by speaking thus I impress you unfavorably. Forgive me ; 1 must speak as I feel, and that is within no sphere of conven- tional or formal rules. You may think me presumptuous, yet trust me, I do not mistake your present feelings. I will not say that you hate me, that I am disagreeable to you ; I be- lieve I am totally indifferent to you, and that, compara- tively speaking, you care no more for me than for the grass beneath your feet." The last words were uttered with much bitterness ; yet, to Nathalie's surprise, the young man composedly resumed : " I am content it should be so ; I am content to find you proud and disdainful, if such is your whim. A hundred times sooner would I see you thus, than find you yielding a feeble return to feelings you will never understand until the day ar- rives when you fully share them." " And that day, sir," sharply replied Nathalie, who felt irritated at the tone he had ta£:en, " is, I promise you, still fai distant." Charles did not seen\ alarmed at this threat. He smiled again. " Once more," said he, " I must beg of you to forgive me if my speech is not conf led within conventional limits. NATHALIE. 69 Nothing is further from my intention than to utter a word calcuLated to oifend you. If, cold as you are now, I yet ex- press a belief in your future affection, that belief is not founded on my own merits. I trust to the depth and fervor of ray lovo for return." " We will not argue that point," coldly said Nathalie ; "Madame Marceau is waiting for me. Be s? good as to allow me to proceed." " One moment more, I beseech you," submissively said Charles Marceau ; " I depart to-day for Paris : many months must elapse before I behold you again. Whilst 5-our thought and image remain ever present to me, may 1 hope you will sometimes remember me ?" Nathalie, highly indignant at this request, could not re- press the taunt which rose to her lips. " Sir," said she, with an ironical smile, destined to punish his presumption, " you have so much faith and hope at your command, that yon can well dispense with so paltry an aux- iliary as memory." " You are severe," bitterly replied Charles Marceau, whilst his cheek took a sallower tinge ; '• but," he added, with a fixed look, which made her color rise, " you cannot and shall not prevent me from loving you, and that with a passion and fervor which, could they be revealed by words, would not. per- haps, leave you quite so calm and cold as I leave you now." lie turned away without another word or look. -•♦< CHAPTER yi. Natitatje remained standing in the same place as if rooted to the spot by indignant amazement. Her color rose and she bit her lip, alike vexed and astonished at herself, for having allowed the young man to proceed so far unchecked. The incident of the letter recurred to her as particularly significant : she could not doubt that it was the means Charlen Marceau had taken to meet her. The concealment of which he made use showed licr very plainly the light in which hie family viewed his attachment. " They need not fear." slie tlionght. with secret scorn , 70 NATHALIE. " the poor teacher of Mademoiselle Dantin's school will not Snd it so hard to live -without the heir of the great Sainvillo race, who, though so daring with her, can, it seems, be timid enough with them." Not caring for a longer walk, she returned to the chateau. She would willingly have proceeded to her own room at once, but the Canoness meeting her on the staircase made her enter the drawing-room ; Madame Marceau was not present. Aunt Radegonde took her usual place, made the young girl sit down on the low seat by her side, began to knit, and asked how she liked the garden. '•'■ Yes," she thoughtfully observed, when Nathalie had said how much she liked it: "yes, our old chateau is a pleasant place; here was I born and bred, and so were Armand and Rosalie; and here I lived until my poor brother died, when Armand said at once the place must be sold to help to cover his fatiier's debts, and passed his word to the creditors to work out the rest, no matter at what cost. He went away for years, — wo had to go to Havre ; yet I never have understood how Sainville could be sold." "And was it sold?" asked Nathalie. " 1 suppose so ; for other people came and we left ; but they changed nothing. This room looks just as it looked on the day when I stood at the door and turned round to take a last glance." " How glad you must have been to return," said Nathalie, touched at her simplicity and frankness. The Canoness laid her little hand on the young girl's shoulder, and looked wistfully into her face " My dear child," she sadlj' replied, "may you never know how sad the place we once loved best may become. Sorrowful as I was when I left, I left not alone ; but I was alone when I returned. I found nothing but gaiety going on. — but it was mirth that saddened me ; the house was full of company, — to me it seemed vacant." She looked around her, and her eyes filled with tears ; but age loves not to dwell on sorrowful recollections, — the cloud soon passed away from the cheerful features of the Canoness. Slie urged Nathalie to speak, and peremptorily forbade her to call her Madame, which she pronounced much too formal. " Though, to be sure," she added, drawing herself up, " I have a right to the title, being a Canoness. I am not made- moiselle, — which would be ridiculous at my age, — but Madame Radegonde de Sainville, and so the servants, whom T keep a1 NATHALIE, 71 a great distance, always call me ; but you, — let me sec, — do you miad calling me Marraine ? I might very well be your godmother. Indeed, I feel almost confident that if your poor father had married some one of Saiuville, instead of going oif to Provence for a wife, I should have been your godmother. Well shall it be Marraine, or is your real godmother still living?" '• No. she was my aunt, and died three yeara age in Prov- ence." '• And have you no friends in Sainville, Petite ?" " None, save my sister, who was brought up here," replied Nathalie, smiling at the familiar name the Canoness had already found for her. '• But your sister is very fond of you, I am sure," shrewdly rejoined Aunt liadegonde, with an air of mingled bonhomie and finesse. '• Oh ! I know what an elder sister is," she added. as Nathalie smiled in reply. '• When your aunt died in Prov- ence, and you must have been very young then, for indeed you are a child still," — Nathalie looked a little indignant. — •• our good sister Hose took the little orphan, and became to her more like a second mother than like a strange sister ; only I cannot understand why she let her be at that sour Mademoiselle Dan tin's?" " Because Bose is a dependent, like myself," replied Na- thalie, " and resided with an aunt far more sour than Made- moiselle Dantin; all she could do was to find me in her school a situation I was glad to get." '• Depend upon it. Petite, your sister acted for the best ; yes, your sister Bose is your friend," she eiuphaticallv added. " She is, indeed ; and though she so often linds fault with me, I never can foel angry." '• What does she say then ?" '• That I am proud, rebellious, and resentful ; that I lovo impossibilities and disdain the real." '• Your sister is a little severe," said the Canoness. giving Nathalie a puzzled look, " but thougli she of course means well, all this is not quite correct, is it V '• Indeed it i.s," frankly replied Nathalie ; " but then Bose has a right to be severe ; she is nearly perfect herself." '• It is quite proper you should think so," decisively said the Canoness ; '• but for my part, I do not dout on perfect people. I know a person of that sort, one who seldom or ever does wrong ; but for all that you cannot love that person. That person, my dear, never scolds, never gets into a passion. 72 NA'lHALIli. never says a cross word, but just acts ia a quiet, underhand sort of way that is perfectly chilling. You never know how you are getting on with that person ; by which I do not mean to say that person is deceitful. No, but that person is just like a looking-glass ; look in front as long as you like, it is all very well ; but attempt to turn round, to peep behind, you see — • nothing. You must not imagine, my dear," added the Canon- ess, after a brief pause, and looking at Nathalie very fixedly, " that I am talking of any one in this house — no," she shrewdly observed, " that person is far away." This assertion was ut- tered quite triumphantly. " That person must be very remarkable," thoughtfully said Nathalie, attentively looking at Aunt Radegonde as she spoke. " liemarkable ! well no, not at first sight, at least ; and yet that person is no common individual." " You said perfect," quickly rejoined Nathalie. '■ Well, perfect was perhaps too strong a word. Yet it is difficult to find fault with that person : and a person who in spite of all you can say manages to be always in the right is very nearly perfect. Only it is a provoking sort of perfection ; I do not like it," very emphatically added Aunt Radegonde ; "do you?" " Not at all," replied Nathalie, quite as heartily. Here the voice of Madame Marceau was heard on the land- ing, talking to one of the servants. Aunt Radegonde looked alarmed, bent down, and exclaimed in a hurried whisper : — " My dear child, do not let Madame Marceau know I spoke to you about that person." "Is Madame Marceau that person?" rapidly thought Na- thalie, as the lady entered the room ; but the aspect of the ruf- fled brow, and the sound of the sharp irritated voice as she recorded the delinquency of some servant, did not give the idea of one who never spoke a cross word, or never scolded. " Really," she said, with any thing but a bland voice, " ser- vants do not seem to appreciate the privilege of living in a family like this ; they will not obey." '• When we had but one servant " began Aunt Rade- gonde. " The dismissal of Andre has produced no efi"ect," quickly interrupted her niece. " Andre ! Do you say Andre is dismissed 1" Madame Marceau majestically seated herself, and senteu- NATHALIE. 73 tiously replied in answer to the eager look and inquiry of her aunt, '• that Andre was dismissed." '•Why so V asked the Canoness, looking much chagrined ; "he is 80 honest and industrious." '• Very true, aunt, but we require obedience in our ser- vants." " What order has he neglected? I am sure the poor fellow will only be too glad to repair his fault." "We are not in the habit of entering into explanations with our servants," replied her dignified niece. " But what has he done, Kosalie?" Madame Marceau looked mysterious. " Ay, there it is !" ironically exclaimed Aunt Raiegonde, rocking herself in her chair ; " the man is sent away, he does not know why, — I do not know why, — do not believe you know why, — nobody knows, in short. You call that will, I call if tyranny. You may tell any one I said so if you like ; if others are afraid, I warn any one who likes to hear, that I am not." She spoke loudly and looked defiant. "Aunt," patronizingly said her niece, '-you surely ought to be accustomed to the manifestations of our family peculiarity — tvill, though you do not possess so much of it." " I have as much will as any one," sharply interrupted the Canoness. '• Be it so," replied Madame Marceau, with a gracious smile and an Olympic inclination of the head, '• be it so, dear aunt ; but as I was saying, you ought to be accustomed to the mani- festations of our family peculiarity — will. You know my im- partiality ; I do not justify this inexorable will ; — I deplore it. But such we are, and all I can say is, I feel truly sorry for those who unfortunately sufl'er from this peculiarity." A daughter of the Atrida) could not have lamented with more solemn dignity the melancholy fatality attending her race. " I tell you," testily rejoined Aunt Iladegonde, '• it is not will, but the despotism and caprice I know of old. — There !" With this last bold defiance she resumed her knitting. ''My good aunt," replied Madame Marceau, becoming more polite and more cool, " excuse me : energy is not despotism : justice ia not caprice. These qualities have restored our fami- ly to its pristine splendor ; — they will keep it there. We may regret that those inflexible virtues should interfere with tho happiness of any person, howsoever humble that person may 4 74 NATHALE. be ; we may also regret to be misunderstood, by our own rela tives especially, but we really cannot help it."' " I never meant — " beaian Aunt Radeo;onde, looliinsj flup ried. " Pray, do not mention it ; it is quite immaterial," kindly interrupted Madame Marceau. And having thus put down her aunt she turned towards Nathalie, asked how she had liked the garden : was sure she would like the grounds ; informed her that the domain of Sainville was mueh admired, and hoped to have many pleasant walks over it with Mademoiselle Mon- tolieu. The Canoness joined in the hope, and looked at her niece, who looked at the wall. But Aunt Radegonde, who seemed anxious to be restored to favor, persisted. •' Yes," she said. " we shall have many pleasant walks, all three, or rather all four together ; for Armand will accompany us, and he talks so well ! Ah ! Petite, you should hear him and his sister, sometimes !" " My brother is indeed a man of varied acquirements," con- descended to observe Madame Marceau, without, however, looking at her aunt. " I regret that he should be gone to Mar- mont ; but he is to be home at five. I have no doubt he will be greatly pleased to become acquainted with Mademoiselle Montolieu." " How long is this to last?" impatiently thought Nathalie, who began to feel heartily wearied of Madame Marceau's pro- tecting grandeur and strained courtesy. It lasted the whole day, which appeared to the young girl one of the longest she had ever spent. Madame Marceau was not one of those talkers who tire out by their inexhaustible volubility ; her language was not trite, common-place, or ridi- culous ; but she had a way of spreading out her wealth, her state, her lineage, as if these were to be worn at full length, like the robe and ample train of her grandmother. The little she said — for she did not speak much — was all on the theme, more implied, however, than expressed, of her greatness. If Nathalie looked out of the window and admired the fine ave- nue of trees leading to the chateau, she was told of how many centuries was their growth, and by which of the Sainvilles they had been planted ; if she glanced at a picture, she was inform- ed how long it had been in the family, or if it was a portrait, which of the Sainvilles it represented. In short, the past and present glory of the Sainville race evidently reigned supreme ui the lady's thought. Aunt Radegoade knitted assiduously NATHALIE, 75 and spoke very little. She did indeed let out one or two in- discreet observations, but a look, and a '• dear aunt/' from her niece silenced her eftectually. " What a cheerless day !" she observed towards evening, and she laid down her knitting with a slight yawn. " Very cheerless indeed," said Nathalie ; and glad of some excuse to leave her seat, she rose and went up to one .of the large and deep windows that looked on the avenue. It had been raining all the afternoon, and it was raining still. The sky was dark, dreary, and obscured by gloomy clouds that cliased each other rapidly along. Gusts of wind bowed the tall trees of the avenue, and the winding road and landscape beyond it could be seen only through the torrents of slanting rain. " What dreadful weather Armand has for his ride home," observed Madame Marceau, in a tone of concern. " Perhaps he will not come," said the Canoness. " My dear aunt," replied her niece, in her sententious way, " we never break a promise ; Armand left word that he would be home at five, and at five we must expect him. As for the weatlier, he has been so great a traveller that I really think he ft- 3ls indifferent to it." No more was said until the clock struck five. '• That is strange !" said Madame Marceau, with stately sur- prise. " Chere Petite," observed Aunt Eadegonde turning towards N-'ihalie, "you will take cold near that window." " I am only looking at the clouds," carelessly replied Na- thalie ; " they run along the sky so fast that they look like liv- ing things." She lingered a while longer near the window, before resum- ing be- seat by the Canoness. " Oh ! there comes Monsieur de Sainville," said Madame Marceau, as the clatter of a horse's hoofs was heard in the ave- nue below. She looked at the clock impatiently, and when a few minutes had elapsed, left the room. There was a brief silence, " You willspoil your sightwith that embroidery ; there is no light," at length observed the Canoness. addressing Nathalie, whose glance seemed rivetted to her work. •' Thai\k you, I am used to it," she replied in a low and somewhat flurried tone. A step was heard on the staircase : she laid down lier work on her lap, then took it up again nei'- vouslv. 7Q NATHALIE. The door opened, and Madame Marceau eutered alone. Her Drew seemed slightly overcast. " Mademoiselle Montolieu," said ehe, addressing the young girl in a tone ■which sounded sharp and irritated, through all its softness and courtesy, " my brother is very anxious to see you. Would you mind accompanying me to the library." Nathalie rose in some trepidation. '• Where are you taking her?" asked the Canoness, " Armand wishes to speak to Mademoiselle Montolieu." " What does he want with her ?" pettishly inquired Aunt lladegonde. " My brother. Monsieur de Salnville, wishes to speak to Mademoiselle Montolieu, his guest," replied Madame Marceau, drawing Nathalie's arm within her own, and speaking with one of her grand airs. " He could speak to her here," returned the Canoness, who could be pertinacious enough when she chose ; "and I do not see why he will have her in the library — unless it be to scare her, as he scares every one," she added, under her breath. Madame Marceau gave her aunt a look, which made the little Canoness fidget in her chair. '• lleally, dear aunt," said she with an affected gayety, that was intended to conceal a good deal of irritation, "one might think I was leading our young friend to the anh-e of some ogre. Fortunately," she added, with a keen look at Nathali«, " Mademoiselle Montolieu does not share your apprehensions." The Canoness looked corrected and penitent, and did not venture to breathe another syllable, as the two ladies left tho room. " I suppose," thought Nathalie, as they silently proceeded towards the library, " that Monsieur de Sainville is a second edition of his sister, — a tall, fine man, very stately, very court- eous, and very patronizing." She glanced at her companion as she came to this conclu- sion, and the lowering expression of Madame Marceau's brow led her to believe that this interview was little to the lady's taste. The library was situated on the ground-floor, and the entrance to it faced the door leading to the dining-room. It was soon reached ; and as Madame Marceau's hand rested on the bronze door-handle, Nathalie felt the mingled shyness and curiosity of her years blending with a disagreeable feeling of uneasiness, caused by the prospect of meeting one of whom. VATIIAME. 77 whether rightfully or not, she had not been led to conceive a very favorable opinion. Ilcr companion smiled, and gave her an encouraging look. '• Pray, Mademoiselle Montolieu," said she, in a low and emphatic tone, "do not feel any uneasines.s. We arc your friends ; we mean you well." She pressed her hand, and opened the door as she apohe. The library was a wide apartment very simply furnished, with shelves of books, busts, and a few picture ?. A vase filled with choice flowers stood on a large table covered with papers ; near it burned a lamp with a cleari'cheerful light. A large glass door revealed the garden beyond, with its distant trees now bending before the autumn blast ; in the dark sky above already shone a pale and watery moon, ever and anon obscured by passing clouds. The dreary aspect of nature heightened the air of warmth and comfort of every thing within. As the two ladies entered, a gentleman, who was standing near the fire-place, turned round and advanced to receive them. Madame Marceau walked up to him, leading Nathalie by the hand, and addressing him as her "dear Armand," introduced her companion to him. with great statelincss. She then caused Nathalie to be seated, stood by her chair, uttering in lier smooth tones a few common-place remarks, framed a plausible excuse, and retired, leaving the young girl alone with her brother. " This is very childish," thought Nathalie, as she felt her heart beating rapidly and her cheeks gradually covering over with a crimson flush ; and she found her emotion tlie more in- excusable that a look had told her there was nothing so singu- lar in Monsieur de Sainville's appearance as to excite feelings of uneasiness or alarm. The master of Sainvillo did not in the least fulfil the idea which, from the distant glimpses she had formerly obtained of him. and still more from her own recent conjectures, the young girl had formed of his appearance. She had thought to find a tall, dark man. sallow, harsh-featured, rather handsome, but of a severe, forbidding aspect, and long past middle ago. But as he stood by tlie table, near which she sat, eyeing her witli a ,]uict yet penetrating glance, speaking in a rich, harmonious voice, which seemed the gift of the family, and addressing her with that indescribable French case which in his ease was united to great simplicity of manner, she was compelled to confess that nothinc: could bo more different from what sho 78 NATUALIt:., had anticipated or imagined, — nothing especially more opi^osed to the showy but unpleasing Madame Marceau. Monsieur de Sainville was not much above the usual height, and of a spare figure, in which there was nothing to strike the eye. Still less did his countenance seem likely to attract attention ; it was neither plain nor handsome ; Nathalie was surprised at seeing only a serious face, intellectual indeed, but pale and mild, and still further softened by hair of a light chestnut, and a slight moustache of the same hue. Without being young, he was still in the prime and vigor of life, and evidently much younger than his sister. " And is this Monsieur de Sainville ?" thought Nathalie, looking at him again with inward disappointment. Yet this second glance, though it beheld no more than the first, im- pressed her very differently. There was something in the settled pallor of the features, in the breadth and calmness of the brow, in the clear glance of the dark-blue eyes, in the decisive arch of the nose, in the firmly-compressed lips and curved chin, and above all, in the well-defined though not harsh outlines of the whole counte- nance, which no longer gave Nathalie the idea of gentleness. The mild expression which had first struck her, now resembled more a settled and unruffled calm, the result, perhaps, of a dis- position serene by nature, and not easily disturbed by outward events, or, as she felt more inclined to think, the only external sign of a strong and silent will at rest. The whole face forci- bly reminded her of a medallion of Bonaparte in her possession ; not in beauty, for Monsieur de Sainville was by no means handsome ; not in the cast of the features, for his were essen- tially northern ; but in innate power and marble-like repose. Indeed that countenance, which had at first seemed so quiet in character, now looked to Nathalie fraught with meaning, but with a meaning she vain'y sought to read. She looked and felt baffled ; like one who beholds an inscription engraved in unknown cliai-acters on a stone tablet; it is there visible, in- deed, to the eye, but inscrutable to thought, and though seen, not the less a mystery. YvHiilst these thoughts passed rapidly through the young girl's mind, her host continued to address her; he was regret- ting, in courteous speech, the business which had prevented him from meeting her sooner. To her surprise, he was quite aware of her parentage, and mentioned her father, whom he remembered, in terms of respect and esteem, that gratified her NATHALIE. 79 deeply. Indeed he seemed bent ou placing her at hei' ease When he had succeeded in dispelling her first embarrassment he gradually dropped into a more business-like manner, polite still, but which, as Nathalie felt, was destined to lead them to the real object of this interview. " Apologies are weak," said he, addressing her with grave earnestness, " yet I must apologize — I must express my deep regret for what has happened. Until yesterday evenitg I lit- tle suspected that you had been subjected to annoyance from a, member of my family ; I should still be as ignorant, had I not met my nephew, as he left Mademoiselle Dantin's garden. To Madame Mareeau, his mother, and my sister, I entrusted, as was most fitting, the task of relieving you from an unplea- sant and unmerited position. I know this is a delicate sub- ject — perhaps I ought to leave it wholly to JIadame Mareeau ; but I have a principle, from which I do not lightly swerve, always to do that myself which I can really do. If I allude, however, to these circumstances, it is, in the first place, to as- sure you of my sorrow at the disagreeable consec[uences of my nephew's imprudence ; in the second, to hope that you will be so good as to consider this house your home, until a niore eligible one oifers for your acceptance.'" He spoke in a brief, business-like tone, yet with a quiet simplicity, evidently meant to dispel every sense of oblig^ation. Nathalie did not the less feel bound to thank him ; he quick- ly interrupted her. " Nay," said he, politely still, but quite decisively, '• so commonplace an act of duty requires no acknowledgments." Nathalie made no reply. A short, eml^arrassed pause suc- ceeded. Monsieur de Sainville seemed to wish to say some- thing more, yet he remained silent ; he left his place, returned to it again, jjut did not speak. Nathalie felt intuitively that he was looking at her. She glanced up — it was so ; but though his look was both fixed and thoughtful, it caused, her no embarrassment : this protracted silence became, however, Bomewhat awkward. " I fear, sir," said she, half rising from her scat, '-that I am intruding on 3'our leisure." " No, no," he quickly replied. '• To tell you the truth," he fedded, more leisurely, " our conversation is not yet ended." Nathalie felt and looked uneasy. '•Some matters," he resumed, in his business-like way, "'require frankness; it is then — as, indeed, it almost always is BO NATHALIE. --the most honorable, the most easy course to pursue. 1 should not have troubled you to come here, Mademoiselle Montolieu, since I could have had the pleasure of seeing you in the pres- ence of my aunt and sister, had I not felt myself bound to communicate to you certain facts which you probably do not know, but which you certainly ought to know. But first I must assure you that over my nephew and his feelings I claim not the least authority. You will therefore understand that, so far as ho is concerned, I do not seek, I do not wish to interfere. Nor do I presume to inquire into your private feelings ; I only feel that you are my guest, that it is my duty not to allow you to be deceived, even indirectly. All I wish to state is, that my sister has for some time planned a marriage between her son and a friend of hers. Mademoiselle de Jussac ; that after agreeing, he has now refused to marry that lady, and that his mother has declared she will never give her consent — with which the law will not yet allow him to dispense — to his mar- riage with any other woman. She is determined not to yield, and so is he, for they are much alike in person and in temper ; if he has, therefore, deceived himself, so far as to state the con- trary to you, believe me he is 'wholly mistaken. My perfect knowledge of this, the advantage I have over you in years and experience, my position as your host, entitle me, perhaps, to consider myself as standing towards you, for some time at least, in the relation of guardian and a friend. I have there- fore entered into these explanations, iu order that you may know how to guide your actions. You can now weigh the exact cost of what, at your age, is called the happiness of life, of what is often only the dream of a day. You will have time to discriminate the caprice of youth from its sincere feeling. If you doubt, you can easily look on the past as null ; if your faith is strong, you can wait, and refuse to let any authority, any human being stand between your feelings and you." He ceased. Nathalie had heard him in profound silence. Reclining back in her chair, with her hands clasped on her knees, and her eyes fastened on the floor, she had remained as motionless as a statue. But her color, which came and went, and the irrepressible working of her features, showed that this calmness Avas only apparent. Yet when she looked up, and met Monsieur de Sainville's eye with a glance as clear and steady, though not so calm as his own, and when, after a brief pause, she answered him, there was in her whole bearing a ?oinpo3ure and feminine dignity she seldom displayed, and NATHALIE. 8t wliioli were perhaps drawn forth by the presence of a stranger, not of her own sex, perhaps also by the quiet, business-like manner in which she had been addressed. ■' Sir," said she, calmly, "you mean well, — kindly, I should say, and I thank you sincerely ; but allow me to observe, that this advice, however excellent — that these explanations, how- ever clear, — were both unnecessary in my case. That Mad- ame Marceau should wish to marry her son tn a lady, and that he should refuse to marry that lady, are family matters of no moment to me." Her color deepened, and her eyes kindled with rising pride, as she concluded. Monsieur de Sainville gave her a look as searching as it was brief " Indeed," said he, slowly ; then I confess I no longer understand in what relation you stand towards my nephew." " In none whatever," she replied, with laconic haughtiness. " Monsieur Marceau's attentions were never encouraged by me ; yet he presumed so far as to write to me, asking for a favorable reply." '•Did you give him any reply?" quietly asked Monsieur de Sainville. " No ! sir," sharply answered Nathalie ; " but desirous, I suppose, of exacting an answer. Monsieur Marceau found means of entering the garden of the school. I was requesting him to retire, when Mademoiselle Dantin came up." Monsieur de Sainville's calm countenance assumed a pecu- liar expression : it was not anger, nor yet scorn, but something between both. It lasted for a moment only ; it had vanislied when he raised his look towards Nathalie, and said, somewhat briefly : " And this was all." He spoke more as if announcing a fact than as if putting a question. But Nathalie felt that her silence might be construed into assent ; she hesitated, and looked embarrassed, conscious of his fixed and scrutinizing gaze. " Sir," she said at length, " I do not wish to leave you under a false impression : in one sense this is not all, for I met Monsieur Marceau in the garden of this house, this morning, by chance." '• By chance !" incredulously echoed Monsieur de Saniville. " By chance on my part, at least," she warmly replied. Monsieur do Sainville ej'ed her quietly, whilst a subdued 4* 82 NAT HAL tE. smile, which annoyed Nathalie more than his supposed insina ation, played for a moment around his severe mouth. " I assure you," said he, " that I never meant to hint any thing likely to wound your delicacy ; but that this meeting was accidental I cannot believe. I regret that even here you should not have been free from annoyance. I shall see," ho added with a slight frown, " that it occurs not again." " I believe," observed Nathalie, with some hesitation, " that Monsieur Marceau wished to apologize." Monsieur de Sainville smiled again. " Permit me to doubt," said he quietly, " that your accept- ance of an apology was the only result he hoped from this in- terview." " Which had no other result, sir," rejoined Nathalie in a quick,. nettled tone. " Nor did I imply that it had," he calmly answered. Still Nathalie felt anxious to explain. " It had not even that result, having lasted only a few min- utes. Indeed, Monsieur Marceau left me in a fit of pique, be- cause," she added, coloring, as she felt this explanation had been unsolicited, and was perhaps unneeded, " because, in short, I did not sympathize with that which I really could not understand." Monsieur de Sainville stroked his chin, and looked down. "T regret," said he, after a pause, " having labored under an impression which has evidently been disagreeable to you ; but the truth is, I plainly understood that the only obstacle to my nej)hew's attachment rested with his mother." Indignant amazement kept Nathalie silent for a few secoixls, during which her color deepened, xmtil it covered her features with a burning glow. " He said so — he dared to say so !" she passionately exclaim- ed ; but tears of anger and shame rose to her eyes, her lips trembled, and she could say no more. Monsieur de Sainville waited for several minutes, during which he allowed Nathalie's excitement to subside, and watched her attentively. " I should regret this frankness," he said at length, '-did I not feel you have a right to know the truth." He spoke with emphasis. Nathalie turned towards him. looking, as she felt, — touched, and grateful. " You have been kind, sir," said she, with that spontaneous- noss which is so well expressed by the untranslatable French word effusion^ " very kind ; I thank you truly." NATHALIE. 83 '^ Are you quite sure of that ?" said he eyeing her compos- edly ; " because, he continued, answering her quick, startled look, " your countenance is more frank than you imagine ; its meaning, if I read it rightly a while ago, was that the spirit of my observations was far from being acceptable to you. Now I assure you that I was not actuated by the indiscreet wish of ascertaining anything you might think fit to conceal, but by the simple desire of doing you justice ; for, indeed," he continued, after a brief pause, " I may say that the manner in which you listened to the explanations I then thought myself justified in offering, -had already convinced me of that which your words have confirmed ; namely, that my nephew had mistaken his own hopes for your acquiescence." There was something in this speech that jarred on Nathalie's ear. She fancied, in her sensitive pride, that Monsieur de Sain- villc was i bo much pleased at there being no tie between hi? nephew and herself Desirous of showing him that she was quite as ready and anxious as he could be to repudiate the idea, she said, somewhat proudly : '• May I ask, sir, if Madame Marceau labors under this im- pression ?" " It shall be my care to undeceive her," he briefly replied. '• But. sir," continued Nathalie, " I beirin to feel doubts as to the propriety of accepting even your kind offer." " Why so ?" he composedly inquired. " I feel as if my presence here could scarcely be agree- able." " And pray how can this be ?" he asked, with a smile. " Madame Marceau will perhaps be reminded — I mean to say - -indeed, I should not like to be the cause " She stopped short, bit her lip, and looked vexed at having begun that which it was not quite easy for her to conclude. There was a pause, for Monsieur de Sainville took his time to observe, with that smile, half kindly, half ironical, which had already annoyed the young girl : " I believe you allude to my nephew ; but he is now pre- cisely where it is best for him to be — in Paris, prosecuting hia legal studies. If he is wise, he will remain there." Still Nathalie seemed willing to raise some objection. Mon- fiieur de Sainville anticipated her. " Believe me," said he, gravely, " it shall be my care that nothing or no one annoys you under this roof" He said not in plain speech " this is my house, and you are 84 NATHALIE. my guest;" but his look and mauuer implied it; and Nathalie felt a strange mixture of pleasure and embarrassment to think that it was so. She felt that there was kindness in that calm face, which now looked down upon her, a kindness she knew not how to acknowledge. She was little aware that there was no need of acknowledg- ment ; that the most finished and graceful thanks would not have been so expressive as the look, half shy, half confident, which she now turned towards Monsieur de Sainville ; for the charm of the ingenuous embarrassment of youth is seldom lost on those of maturer years, nor did it seem to be lost on him, as he eyed the young girl with a sedate, thoughtful glance ; and though he did not smile now, his grave features were softened and relaxed. Nathalie felt intuitively that the interview had lasted long enough, and she rose from her seat. " I am sure, sir, that you are very kind," said she, hesitat- ingly, and coloring at the earnest tone, as well as at the home- liness of the compliment ; " and I feel truly grateful," she add- ed, after a pause. Perhaps as she said this, her manner became constrained, or it may be that the last word broke the charm ; for as it was uttered. Monsieur de Sainville's countenance suddenly altered back to the old expression. " Pi'ay let there be no undue sense of obligation," said he, with his cold politeness ; and, perceiving her wish to depart, he led her out of the room. CHAPTER VII. " So tins is Monsieur de Sainville," thought Nathalie, as she closed the door of tlie library behind her and walked up stairs. She felt disappointed ; for there was nothing, as she had expected there would be, singular in her host. She also felt chilled and repelled. At first she thought this was because he had questioned her too closely. On reflection she perceived that he had put only one question to her; what she had said had been mentioned of her own accord. With haughty sur- prise she now asked herself why'? Had his frankness been Buch as to win frankness in return? Nay, for he had told her exactly what he had wished to mention from the first ; not one word more. He had laid facts before her, without comment without advice, without giving her any clue to his own feelings. How he felt with regard to his nephew's conduct, how he would view an engagement between Charles Marceau and herself, were matters of which she was as ignorant now as before she entered the library. She had said much, but had learned nothing save that the providential interference of which Madame Marceau had so freely taken the merit, was in reality attributable to her brother, a gentleman serious in aspect, in manner calm, if not cold. She wondered if he was always so, and if this was all. The Canoness and her niece were both in the drawing-room, when she entered it, and both looked at her with evident curiosity. She silently sat down by thearm-chai? of the elder lady. " You see, aunt," observed Madame Marceau, with an as- sumed gayety, that did not in Nathalie's opinion become her quite so well as the airs de grande dame she so often took ; " you see that Mademoiselle Montolieu has come back to us safe and not looking scared." " Oh ! no ; not yet," shortly answered the Canoness. " Which implies that she will be so one day. What is Mademoiselle Montolieu's own opinion?" She bant an inquiring glance on the young girl as she spoke ; but Nathalie was not inexpert in the little femiuino manceuvre of eluding a question : she replied, with a smile : " Mademoiselle Dantin never could scare me, madamc, from which I conclude I am invulnerable." No more was said on the subject. When dinner-time came, it was Nathalie who helped tho Canoness down stairs : for though she never confessed it, Aunt lladegonde was somewhat infirm. Monsieur de Sainville was already in the dining-room ; he had not seen his aunt that day, and as she entered leaning on Nathalie's arm, he came up to her and kissed the little hand, still white and delicate, which she extended towards him ; she received this courtesy with cool dignity, merely observing : " You had bad weather for your ride home, Armand." '' It was rather wet," he coolly replied. " Rather wet !" thought Nathalie, who could hear the rain still pouring down in torrents. "And a little windy," he added as a keen blast rushed up the avenue and swept round the old chateau, dying away witb a moaning sound. 86 NATHALIE. ''I wundel' what be considers really wet and windy weather," inwardly pursued Nathalie, who had all the asperity of a chill/ southern against the dreary north. " But it was not too wet for poor Andre to go," dryly ob- served Aunt Radegonde, as her nephew led her to the table. '• Oh ! he is gone then !" said he quietly. " Yes. and I think it a great pity," she observed, drawing herself up very decisively. Monsieur de Sainville made no reply. "A great pity for his family," said the Canoness, with slight hesitation. " Did you speak, Armand ?" she added after a pause. '• No aunt, but I agree with you : it is a pity." " He is hard," thought Nathalie, half indignantly. The meal was formal and silent. Monsieur de Sainville spoke little ; Madame Marceau seemed enveloped in her own dignity ; the Canoness was mute. But when dessert was brought up and the servants had retired, she turned towards !ier nephew, near whom she sat, suddenly observing : " Armand, why did you dismiss that poor Andre ?" '• For neglect of my orders, aunt." '• Because, you see," she continued, in a half apologetic tone, as if willing to explain her abrupt inquiry, " I know the man to be so sober, honest, and industrious ; at least, I think so," she added, gradually shrinking, like many an advocate, from the cause of her protege. " You are quite right, aunt," quietly said Monsieur de Sainville, "Andre is all that." " Then, why dismiss him ?" asked the Canoness once more, quite confident. " For neglect of my orders, aunt," he answered, exactly in the same tone as before. " I understand," sagaciously said Aunt Radegonde, " it was something very important." " Only a tree he neglected to fell," carelessly replied her nephew. " You dismiss him for that !" " Not for the order neglected, aunt, but for having neglect- ed the order." '' Why not tell him again ?" " Because I never keep servants to whom I must repeat tho eame order twice. I waited three days to see whether he would ©r not do as I had told him, and waited uselessly. I paid him NATHALIE. S? about double what 1 owed him to get rid of him at once. He will easily find another situation ; I have done him no wrong." '• Ay," said Radegonde in a low tone, " that is how people have servants who never love them, Armand." Monsieur de Sainville was reclining back in his chair with folded arms. Pie looked down at his aunt and smiled a little ironically. " Aunt," said he, '• we pay servants to serve, and not to love us ; and they serve us, not for love, but for wages. There is no obligation on either side ; it is a contract, a bargain — no more. As for explanations between master and servant, they will not do ; the servant would only learn to argue, a right he has given up, instead of obeying ; the master ,in speaking to the hireling, would forget the man ; in short, we should have the contemptible and odious characters of rebel and tyrant face to race ; one of which characters seldom exists, indeed, unless in presence of the other." " Come," thought Nathalie, " a few more snch conversa- tions, and I think I shall begin to understand you." But as she looked up, she met the keen look of Monsieur de Sainville, opposite whom she sat. She remembered what he had told her, concerning the frankness of her face, and with some trepidation, she resolved to be more on her guard for the future. Madame Marceau now opened her lips in sententious speech. " Authority, my dear aunt," said she, addressing the Can- oness, '• cannot be thus cast away. The power to rule is the test of mind. But few, very few," she emphatically added, " possess that lofty power." No one replied ; dinner was over. Monsieur de Sainville retired to the library ; the ladies went up to the drawing- room. Seated on her low seat, for the place by Aunt Kadegonde DOW seemed hers, with her work lying neglected on her lap, her look fastened on the burning embers, Nathalie was lulled into a reverie, by the mingled sound of wind and rain. She was soon roused by the Canoness, who asked whether she played or sang, and eagerly requested her to sing something, when with a smile she replied that she could do both. Ma- dame Marceau declared she would be charmed to hear her; she spoke as if Nathalie could neither touch the rnstruracnt, nor open her lips, without her majestic encouragement. ee NATHALIE. Nathalie rose, and silently seated herself before the piauo her fingers wandered aAvhile over the keys, as she played the prelude to a gay romance : but something iu the murmurs of this chill evening awoke the memory of old times ; the strain changed suddenly, and she sang an old sailor's hymn to the Virgin, which she had often heard and sung in her native pro- vince. The human voice is the most spiritual expression of music, that poetry of sense, and never does it rise so much above Avhat is earthly, as when giving utterance to religious melody : the voice of Nathalie was not of the highest quality or extent, but it was clear, flexible, and expressive ; especially on this evening, when the memory of early youth, and home, was with her as she sans. Aunt Radegonde was all attention, with her head thoughtfully inclined on one side, and her Jcnit- ting at rest. " Well," said she, when the strain had ceased, " I should not have thought you sang religious music." " What sort of music did you think then_I sang ?" promptly asked Nathalie. " Something like yourself, — pretty and gay." " And frivolous," added Nathalie iu a nettled tone. She looked up as she spoke from the instrument, and in the large mirror behind it she perceived the figure of Monsieur de Sain- ville, whose entrance she had not heard. He was standing near his aunt, and appeared to have been listening. '•Pray sing us something else," said the Canoness. "We shall be happy to hear Mademoiselle Montolieu again," observed Madame Marceau, with stately grace. Nathalie hesitated. She wondered whether Monsieur dc Saiuville was a judge of music, and whether he would join his entreaties to those of his aunt and sister ; but he remained silent, and to all appearance uninterested. After some more hesitation, the young girl complied with Aunt Radegonde's request ; she sang an Italian piece, and though her voice was at first slightly tremulous, she felt that she sang it well. " My dear child," emphatically said the Canoness, '= you are a little prodigy." "Mademoiselle Montolieu sings charmingly," observed Madame Marceau. Her brother said nothing, and as Nathalie left the instru- ment to resume her seat, he began to walk slowly up and down the room ; an exercise that appeared to be customary to him. To all appearance the young girl was absorbed by hci NATHALIE. S5 frork, but in truth lier thoughts -were verj differently engaged. She felt extremely nettled, in sj^ite of herself, at her host's in difference. '• How morose he must be, not to like music," she thought, without acknowledging to herself, that it was his want of ad- miration for her music, that vexed her; "and Italian musiq too ! But how indeed could it touch a northern icicle like him ?" Monsieur de Sainville stopped short as she came to this indignant conclusion, with a sort of coincidence to her thought ihat somewhat startled her; he said briefly: '• Do you not come from the south. Mademoiselle Mon- lolieu?" Nathalie assented. " I thought so. I was once on the MediteiTanean in a storm, and all the sailors sang that hymn you sang just now. I had never heard it since then." He walked up to the end of the room, and as he came back once more, he again addressed her : " May I inquire from what part of the south you come 1" '• From Aries, in Provence." " Aries !" said the Canoness, catching the word ; •' Aries," she repeated. " Chere Petite, what is Aries so very celebrated for ?" Nathalie knew, but did not care to say. '• Antiquities, I believe," observed Madame Marceau. " No, it is not antiquities," decisively said the Canoness ; '• Petite, you smile, I am sure you know." " We have so many good things at Aries," replied Nathalie, coloring as she caught Monsieur de Sainville's look eyeing her keenly ; " excellent ham, for instance." " Petite, I am sure it is not ham." " Aries is celebrated for the beauty of its women," quiet- ly observed Monsieur de Sainville ; '• they are held to be be- yond doubt the handsomest women of France." He had paused for a moment, and resumed his walk as he concluded. '• There," cried the Canoness, with great triumph, - I knew Aries was celebrated for something remarkable. Armaud, da tell us what these handsome women are like." She looked shrewdly at Nathalie, who, conscious perhaps that she was no unfair specimen of Arlesian beauty, blushed deeply and bent over her work. But there was no need to blush 90 NATHALIE. _ " Beauty must be seeu and felt, — not described," coldlj said Monsieur de Sainville. Aunt Radegonde looked disappointed; Nathalie felt slight- ed, and thought her host a very disagreeable man ; Madame Maneau, sitting in lonely majesty on a couch facing her, al- lowed her lip to curl with a haughty smile. Of all this, Mon- sieur de Sainville seemed to heed nothing. In passing by the table he had perceived and immediately taken up a card lying upon it. He read the name, and looked at his sister very fixedly. Nathalie had seen that card in the course of the day, aid been struck to perceive that the name engraved upon it was that of Madame Marceau de Sainville, as if the owner rs- pudiated. as much as in her power lay, the plebeian alliance, and, despite of custom, claimed back the patrician name of her birth. She now watched her brother with breathless, though stealthy attention, as he stood with the card in his hand. He laid it down silently ; she looked triumphant. " Rosalie," he abruptly asked, " was not your husband re- lated to tliG celebrated republican General Marceau?" " There was a very distant relationship," replied she, much disturbed. " I congratulate you," he briefly said ; " our military annals hold not' a name more stainless or more noble ; for he, the champion of modern freedom, the man of to-day, had yet in- herited the soul of the past, the spirit of truth and old chivalric honor. Years ago, passing by Coblentz, I saw the pyramid beneath which he then lay, not far from the spot where he fell in his glorious youth. Why have they removed him ? Those are trophies we should ever leave to the soil of the foe."* * Byron who loved true heroism, has bestowcil a noble eulogy on tba memory of tlie heroic Marceau. By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, There is a small and simple pyramid. Crowning the summit of the verdant mound ; Beneatli its base are heroes' ashes hid, Our enemy's — but lot that not forbid Honor to Marceau ! o'er whose early tomb Tears, big tears, gush'd from the rough soldier's lid. Lamenting and yet envying such a doom, ■ i'alhng lor France, whose rights he battled to resume. Brief, brave, and glorious was his young career, His mourners were two lioats, his friends and foes ; NATHALIE. 91 As lie spoke thus, a flush crossed his pale brow, and for a moment his calm look kindled. There was an awkward attempt on the part of Madame Marceau to look interested and sympathetic, but in spite of all her efforts her brow was overcast, and Nathalie could see her biting her lip, like one striving in vain against some bitter disappointment. Her brother retired early, and she left soon after him. As Nathalie was dressing herself on the following morning, sle chanced to open the upper drawer of the ebony cabinet; scarcely had she done so when her eye fell on a letter lying within it. Her first impulse was to draw back, her next to return to the drawer, take up the letter, read the superscrip- tion, examine the seal, and, after keeping it some time in her baud, to replace it exactly where she had found it. She then closed the drawer, and without thinking of her unbraided hair, which fell down loosely on her shoulders, she stood motionless, with her eyes on the floor, her chin resting on the palm of her hand, — her whole attitude expressive of deep thought. This meditative mood was interrupted by the entrance of Amanda, who made her appearance with an apologetic curtsey and her usual inquisitorial look. " Madame had sent her to see whether she could not assist mademoiselle in her toilet." Nathalie coldly declined. But timidity was not one of Amanda's faults. " She felt convinced that she could do something with mademoiselle's fine hair She officiously brought a chair forward as she spoke ; N athalie looked displeased, but suddenly altering her mind, she seated herself. Amanda's white hands were imme- diately busy with her dark tresses. " How delightful !" she enthusiastically exclaimed ; " it is so long since I had such an opportunity of exercising my talents. Madame Marceau is the best of mistresses, but she will let me do nothing with her head ; whereas Madame la Comtesse d'Onesson made me dress and undress her hair five And fitly may the stranger, lingering here, Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose ; For he was freedom's champion, one of those, The few in number, who had not o'erstepped The charter to chastise, wluch she bestows On such as wield her weapons ; he had kept The whiteness of his souL and thus men o'er him wept. Ch'dde Harold, st. 46, 41, Caato TIL t>2 NATHALIE. or six times a da}-. It was such good practice, and gave ms such lightness of touch. Does mademoiselle keep her poma- tum in the upper drawer of that cabinet ?" " There is nothing in that upper drawer for which I have the least value," drily replied Nathalie. '• Well, as I was saying," composedly resumed Amanda. " a woman without hair is like a man without a moustache, — no- thing. Twice did that fatal point, the want of a moustache in the opposite party, prevent me from marrying very advan- tageously. Now, tlaough Monsieur Charles is so handsome, — and having lived in the /lew des pais of the French nobles?e, I ouo;ht to know something about handsome men, — he had not my approbation until he allowed his moustache to grow ; but, as I was saying, madame's son is as good as he is handsome, and yet he has a fault ; — yes, the greatest fault man can have. She paused. Nathalie said nothing. " No man can have a greater fault," decisively continued Amanda. Still Nathalie remained silent. " Well, as I was saying," resumed Amanda, who had always been saying something she wished to say ; " it is incomprehen- sible : at his age, — at any age. I do not understand women- haters. Some would say he refuses to marry a charming lady, young, rich, and handsome, on account of some previous at- tachment, but those who have a little experience of the world know that previous attachments are not so strong as all that ; there must be woman-hating in the case. Now, though other people may have been disappointed in love, and may feel bitter, and so forth, and never even look civilly at a woman, which they might do if they are too grand to talk, — though as to talk- ing, people quite as grand have done it ; now, as I say, that is no reason why young men, who cannot be supposed to have gone through the same disappointments, should take up those shocking principles, and act up to them, and make their mo- thers unhappy, and cause charming young ladies to be well- nigh broken-hearted, — all because they are women-haters ! If there was, indeed, a previous attachment in the case, will mademoiselle look at herself now V added Amanda, breaking off suddenly. Nathalie rose, looking at herself in the glass, and frankly acknowledged Amanda's skill. '* You are a real artist," she said ; " the back hair is brought forward in a moat original manner." NATHALIE. 93 •' It is, — it is/' enthusiastically cried AniaiiJa. with a kin- dling glance : " Mademoiselle has the eye of a master. That tour is my own creation. ' Amanda,' said Madame la Conitessc d'Onesson to mc, rising, one afternoon, 'I go, in three days, to the Russian Ambassador's ball ; all Europe will be there. I must have something novel. Eemcmber that I have spared your feelings ; I have not appealed, even on urgent occasions, to the most illustrious professors ; but, entre nous, my child, your style is monotonous ; I fear you are worn out. Unless you produce some brilliant composition, I shall be compelled to consign you to the ordinary duties of the toilet, and submit to the vulgar prejudice which gives up the head of woman to the clumsy hands of man.' Let mademoiselle imagine my feel- ings ! I spent two days in the library, looking over books anJ engravings ; but I could neither invent nor borrow. I went to bed in despair ; my reputation was lost. At length an im^pira- tion came ; I saw this admirable tour, rose and went to ma- dame's room. Though greatly fatigued from having danced all night, she rose with angelic sweetness. The effect was so ad- mirable, that madanr.o embraced me, and presented me with this ring on the spot. Ah ! if mademoiselle would only be kind enough to accept of my services occasionally? ' " Provided you do not meddle with my upper drawer," quietly replied Nathalie. Amanda smiled demurely. When Nathalie looked in the evening the letter had vanished. It was then on its way to Paris, inclosed in an ill-spelt but well worded billet, addressed by Mademoiselle Amanda to Monsieur Charles, and in which that lady assured him Mademoiselle Montolieu's indiiference ■was only too apparent. A little P. S. likewise informed Mon- sieur Charles that Mademoiselle Amanda, actuated by the most disinterested zeal in his cause, had undertaken to dress Mademoiselle Montolieu'a hair for the express purpose of dis- posing her heart more in favor of Monsieur Charles. The morning passed quietly. Nathalie sate in the drawing- room with the Canoncss and Madame Marceau ; the former was voluble as usual ; her niece looked unwell, and complained of a sharp pain in her side. Towards noon the sound of carriage- wheels was heard in the avenue. Nathalie detected the hasty look of annoyance Madame Marceau directed towards her. " Who is it?" asked Aunt Radegonde. "The De Jus,sac3, I suppose. Mademoiselle Montolieu. I hope you arc not going to leave the room." 94 NATHALIE. This was uttered in as faint a tone of entreaty as polite ness permitted. " Oh ! no," coolly answered Nathalie, " but I feel too warm here." She looked flushed as she rose and retired to one of the window-recesses. The visitors entered ; the young girl's look was not once raised from her embroidery, but she felt, if she did not see, that Madame Marceau had placed herself so as to keep her in the shade. This was scarcely needed, for the long drapery of the crimson curtains shrouded her completely from view. The drawing-room was large ; Madame de Jussac and her daughters sat with their hostess at the other end of the apartment ; their conversation reached Nathalie in broken sentences ; she cared not for it ; she had laid by her work, her glance was bent on the avenue below, but she saw it not, for her pride, always watchful, was now roused and indignant. She looked round ; no one heeded her ; she left the apartment unperceived. The garden looked so warm and sunny from the landing window, that instead of going up to her own room, as she first thought to do, she went down stairs. The symmetrical gardens loved in the olden time, though now so long out of fashion, have still a rare charm of their own. The airy marble balustrade and graceful stone vases filled with fresh flowers, the broad flight of stately steps, the smooth gravel walks, trim hedges, green grass-plots and varie- gated parterres, statues of fawns and laughing nymphs, and gay fountains sparkling in the sun, have all the cheerfulness and genial warmth of tiie pleasant south. Here there is ver- dure without damp, and spreading shade without treacherous mists or winding alleys of melancholy gloom. The whole as- pect of the place is light, joyous and sunny ; it speaks of azure skies, of shelter from the fervid sun of noon, and pleasant walks on the clear moonlight ; of those days when lovely Italy from the greatest had become the most pleasant land in all Christendom ; when gallant cavaliers and fair dames met for revel and pastime in every gay villa, and wiled the hours away with dance and song, or, resting 'neath the shade within the sound and freshness of falling waters, heard and told many a tale of love and old romance. The pleasant aspect of the garden of Sainville on this au- tumn morning, the verdure of all around, the blue serenity of the sky, the sunny warmth of the hour, charmed Nathalie, whose mind had all the elasticity of her years. She had nevoi NATHALIE 95 seen a spot like this in Provence, and yet by a train of subtle associations it did remind her of Provence and of old familiar things. This was enough to soothe her ruffled mood ; she lightly walked along the sunny path, — now loitering near a yoor statue in its sequestered niche, where it had grown green with the gathered damp of many winters, — now looking at the fountain with its sparkling jet (Veau^ — now pausing to admire a group of pale and bending china asters, or to watch a proud peacock perched on the top of a marble column rising in the centre of a grass-plot, and on which it stood like some enchanted bird of rare plumage, until, by approaching, the young girl broke the spell, and opening its wings it flew away with a dis- cordant scream. It was some time before Nathalie reached the end of the first terrace. She was descending one of the flights of step.s that led to the second, when she heard the sound of a footstej) in the gravel walk behind her. Without reflecting why she did so, she hastily stepped into the sanctuary of the sleeping nymph. The sound drew nearer; an erect figure descended the flight of steps ; it was Monsieur de Sainville. A row ol yews and evergreens screened Nathalie from observation ; her dark dress could scarcely be discerned through the gloomy foliage of the trees near which she stood, but she could soe whilst thus unseen, and she bent eagerly forward as Monsieui de Sainville passed close to her retreat. He looked exactly as on their first interview : calm, grave, and thoughtful. In stooping to see him better she made a slight noise ; he paused and threw a quick, penetrating look towards the spot where she stood : but the glance lasted only a second ; his look was once more bent on the earth as with folded arms and thought- ful mien he passed on. Nathalie breathed more freely. She had felt confident of being discovei'cd, and had no wish for a lonely meeting with her severe-looking host. When after some time she left her retreat, she therefore entered the grounds instead of proceed- ing to the river side ; but she was not fortunate, for the first path she took brought her in presence of Monsieur de Sain- ville, who was slowly walking along in the same direction. She looked shy and embarrassed ; he greeted her with hia calm and self-possessed courtesy. " Do you like the recess where you were a while ago ?" he suddenly asked after some desultory conversation. " Yes. very much." hesitatingly answered Nathalie. " So 96 NATHALIE. he knew I was tliere," she thought, wondering whether he alao knew she liad been examining him so closely. '•Few like it," lie continued; " indeed, it does not agree with the cheerful character of all around. The ivy and yews give the place a dark and melancholy aspect." Nathalie did not answer, and Monsieur de Sainville spoke no more. They walked along in silence, and soon reached a fine lime-tree avenue, which extended from one of the wings of the chateau into the grounds. As they entered it Nathalie felt relieved to perceive Madame Marceau and the Canoness seated on a wooden bench which stood within the cool shadow of the largest tree. The younger lady eyed Nathalie with a sort of haughty surprise. " My dear Armand," said she, addressing her brother with stately concern, "you have missed seeing Madame de Jussac and her daughters ; did you not see the carriage V '■ I heard it," was the laconic reply. " I assure you they were quite disappointed." Monsieur de Sainville looked supremely indifferent. ■ " They are such charming girls," continued Madame Mar- ceau ; '-perfect specimens of Norman beauty — Adele especial- ly." She looked at Nathalie, but addressed her brother. " Yes. she is good looking," he answered. " Good looking !" repeated Madame Marceau, looking vexed ; " I think she is by far the prettiest girl I have ever seen." Monsieur de Sainville smiled one of his peculiar smiles. " I have no wish," he coldly said, " to depreciate Mademoi- selle de Jussac's attractions, of which, indeed, I am no fair judge, not happening to admire blue eyes or golden hair." " But you admired them once, Armand," replied his sister, with a short irritated laugh. Monsieur de Sainville eyed her for a moment with a sort of calm sternness that assorted well with the unmoved yet severe expression habitual to his countenance. Though the look lasted for a second only, Madame Marceau had not yet re- covered from the evident ti-epidation into which it threw her, when her brother resumed, in his usual tone : " Beauty is of little worth ; Mademoiselle de Jussac pos- sesses woman's greatest charm in a gentle, submissive disposi- tion." " And that IS woman's greatest charm, is it V thought Na- thalie, a little nettled. NATHALIE. 97 "Mademoiselle Montolieu," said Madame Marceau, in a patronizing tone, " why did you leave the drawing-room so pre eipitately ? Are you timid V '• Not at all, madame," dryly replied Nathalie ; '• nor gen- tle," she longed to add, as she detected a half smile on Mon- sieur de Sainville's countenance, but the temptation was ^^ru- dently checked. " Will you not sit down, Petite?" here observed the Cau- on933. " Amanda said she saw you going into the garden, and I caused this stool to be brought for you." She spoke as if she felt the slight the young girl had re- ceived, and wished to atone for it. Nathalie silently seated herself by her side. Monsieur do Sainville declined his sister's offer of a seat on the bench. '• I prefer this," said he, walking up and down the avenue. '• I think you prefer any thing to remaining quiet," impa- tiently thought Nathalie, whom this monotonous promenade annoyed considerably. " Petite," continued the Canoness, seeing the conversation languish, " will you read us something from the last number of the Kevue ?" Nathalie assented, and took the volume. "What shall I read?" she asked. '• Here is a tale entitled Mystere." "Let us hear Mj'stere, by all means, said the Canoness, with great alacrity, " and mind you do not read too loud on my account. Nathalie hesitated to begin ; she was wondering whether it was Monsieur de Sainville's intention to listen. " We are quite ready," majestically said Madame Marceau, nodding to the young girl, who sate on her low stool, with the book on her lap, one hand keeping it open, whilst the other supported her inclined brow. Nathalie smiled a little disdainfully at finding her hesita- tion thus interpreted, but she complied, and began. The story was mysterious enough in feeling, for in incident nothing could be more clear. It professed to relate the fate and sorrows of a handsome and modest girl, madly in love with a profligate sharper, and clinging to him still, in spite of his anworthiness. The only impropriety in the tale was in the subject, but it annoyed Nathalie to be reading it aloud. When she came to the most impassioned passages, she skipped freely ; likewise, whenever Monsieur de Sainville drew near, she read 5 98 NATHALIE. faster, aud slightly lowered ber voice, to raise it again when ha had gone by. This she did several times. At length he sud- denly paused in his walk, to say, in bis cold, polite way : " Pray, mademoiselle, do not raise your voice on my ae- ■ count. I bear distinctly when I am farthest, and when you read in your lowest key." Nathalie colored, as she perceived her little feminine ma- noeuvre thus detected. To add to her embarrassment, Aunt Radegonde observed, with evident wonder : " What a strange author, Petite ; I never heard such ab- rupt transitions." " Nor I," briefly said her nephew, in a tone that convinced Nathalie he knew very well by whose agency the abrupt tran- sitions had been effected. At length, and to her great satisfaction, the story conclud- ed with an impassioned letter, of which she did not venture to omit one word, addressed by the tender-hearted heroine to her fascinating sharper. "A romantic story, is it not. Mademoiselle Montolieu .^" carelessly observed Madame Marceau, who bad been half-re- clining in an attitude of total indifference all the time. " I think it unnatural, madame," replied Nathalie, closing the book. '• Oh! you do? How so ?^' Nathalie hesitated to reply. She felt that the under-cur- rent of Madame Marceau's bland manner was sharp and irri- tating. She looked unwell. Was it pain rendered ber thus, or something relative to Monsieur de Sainville, or perhaps even to herself? " How so ?" again said Madame Marceau, as if determined to make her answer. "Is it not unnatural, madame," answered Nathalie, " that a woman, represented as pure aud good, should care for that worthless man?" " Oh ! that is only romantic," answered Madame Marceau, with a cold smile ; " and romantic girls are capable of any fol- ly. Do not color up so, my dear child ; you are not at all ro- mantic, I am sure. What struck me as most improbable," she sententiously added, " was, that two such persons, stand- ing at the extremities of the social scale, should meet. But, though you do not of course think so, novels are so false. Ma- demoiselle Montolieu. I know you will support me there, Ar- mand," she added, turning towards her brother, who now stood near them ; '■' you are nn friend of romance." NATHALIE. 09 Nathalie, who felt greatly offended at the uuwarrunted in- Binuations Madame Marceau chose to throw out, prepared her- self to be still more offended at Monsieur de Sainville's reply. " If by romance you mean the illusions of youth," he quiet- ly answered, " it is not because I have outlived their day, that* I quarrel with them." Madame Marceau looked annoyed. " My dear Armand," she exclaimed, with a short laugh, " I beg 3'our pardon ; I thought you were a professed skeptic." '•' The character of skeptic," said he, very coldly, " is not one I respect, or to which I lay claim." " Oh ! then I have been mistaken all along," resumed his sister ; " I thought — but no matter ; — is there any harm, Ar- mand, in asking you in what you still believe?" '• In two things, without which this world, evil as it is, would be much worse, — in God and honor." He spoke gravely, and looked displeased. "And in nothing else?" ironically inquired Madame Mar- ceau. Perhaps he did not hear her — perhaps he thought this ca- techising had been carried far enough ; he did not, at least, reply ; and Nathalie could see Aunt Radegoude looking unea- sily at her niece. "Well," resumed Madame Marceau, somewhat bitterly, "I suppose we agree on one point at least, Armand, — novels are unreal." The slight shade of displeasure had completely passed away from Monsieur de Sainville's brow, when he replied — " Their reality is not that of the every-day world, Rosalie, and why should it be ? Their task is to deceive, — let them only deceive us well. When real novels are by chance written, who reads them ? Youth lays them down with all the scorn of its fervent faith, and age, unless when grown cynical, has had enough of truth. Fictions are revelations not of truth, for they are most unreal, but of that which the soul longs to be true ; they are mirrors not of actual human experience, but of human dreams and aspirations, of the eternal, though most un- availing desires of the heart." " At that rate, that foolish Mystere was too real." " Real," echoed Monsieur de Sainville, " I think, like Mademoiselle Moutolieu, that it was a false, unnatural story. What pure woman could love that vulgar sharper? Either he is a better man, or she is a worse woman, than we find hero 100 NATHALIE. represented ; either he, with all his vices, has something ori ginallj noble, or she, with all her seeming virtue, is corrupt at heart. There is no surer test of a woman's character than the man she prefers." * "I thought caprice was the great guide." " Not if there is judgment." " But if there is not judgment." pertinaciously resumed IMadame Marceau. " Then, of course, the character is imperfect and hope- less." Nathalie thought that he spoke as if weary of the discus- sion. '• Yes, but where there is judgment," slowly and emphati- cally said Madame Marceau, " how calm, passionless, and al- most godlike is the character ; — with what magnificent indif ference does it stand aloof, and survey jvery thing external." " Is this irony or flattery ?" thought Nathalie, looking up, and wondering how Monsieur de Sainville would receive this speech, and the " calm, passionless, godlike," &c. He was standing near the bench on which his sister sat, but his un- moved countenance gave no clue to his feelings. '• Those minds are the minds," pursued Madame Mar- ceau ; "with them no undue feeling can exist, — reason reigns supreme." '• What has reason to reign over, if there is no undue feel- ing to subdue?" coldly asked her brother. " Passionless characters are worthless in good or in cril : their gentleness is inability to feel anger; their virtue inabili- ty to do wrong. They know not how to hate, because they kni w not how to love. If there has been no temptation, there can be no merit ; if there has been no struggle, there can be no victory." Nathalie gave him a quick scrutinizing glance, but it was instantly detected by his look, and there was something in that cold and somewhat haughty gaze which completely baf- fled her scrutiny. She was more successful with Madame Marceau, who vainly endeavored to look unconcerned. " I am afraid you are not well, Rosalie," said her brother, addressing her in a low altered tone, after eyeing her for a few moments, '' a walk would do you good." Madame Marceau hesitated, but at length rose, and ac- cepted her brother's offer. " Will you not accompany us over the grounds, Mademoi eelle Montolieu?" he asked, turning towards Natha.lie. NATHALIE. 10 i Madamo Marccau looked haughty and displeased. Na thalie decliued, under the plea of remaining with the Can- oness. '• No," decisively said Aunt Radegonde, " you have not seen the grounds yet, and you must see them ; but, beforo you go, you will perhaps arrange my shawl about me. Petite," she hurriedly whispered, as Nathalie rose, and wrapped her up in a vast shawl, '• never refuse any little civility Armani may offer you ; cold as he looks, he can be the best friend in the world. They are waiting ; go." " Why,«what sort of a pasha is this host of mine, that so commonplace an act of politeness is construed into a high favor," thought Nathalie, as she slowly fallowed Monsieur de Sainville and his sister. But his quiet, unassuming manner was by no means that of one who has conferred a favor. Na- thalie had leisure to contrast it with that of Madame Marceau, who, as if anxious to impress the young girl with the fact, that she and her brother could agree as well as jar, now expatiated, in her lofty way, on divers subjects, all skilfully chosen, as Nathalie thou2;ht, so as to draw forth no contradiction. But this was not destined to be a fortunate day with Madame Marceau. It was not long before they reached a part of the grounds where several men were engaged in clearing away a group of trees, which had been found to injure, instead of improving the prospect. Several trees lay felled on the grass ; a few dark yews and a sickly-looking poplar alone remained standing. •' The yews are to remain," said Monsieur de Sainville, ad- dressing the chief of the workmen, who had approached to re ceive his orders ; " but that poplar looks unsightly ; I ordered Ar.dre to fell it several days ago." " Yes, sir, but Monsieur Charles said it was to stay." " What !" incredulously exclaimed Monsieur de Sainville. " Monsieur Charles told him it was to stay, sir," repeated the man, raising his voice. There was a brief silence. Nathalie could see a slight frown contract Monsieur de Sainville's brow, and Madame 3Iarceau turning pale as she beheld it. " You will fell the poplar-tree, to-morrow," quietly resumed her brother, and he walked on. The silence that followed seemed uncomfortable to all. Nathalie lingered behind. Madame Marceau gave her a hasty look, and, probably thinking she was out of hearing, ad- dressed her brother in a low tone : 102 NATHALIE. '■ I hope, Arinand, the imprudence of Charles " " We will not mention it," he interrupted; "let him uoi act so again." " I am sure Andre must have misunderstood him." "I agree with you, that Andre misunderstood him ; and as he committed a mistake, not a fault, he shall be welcome to return, if he chooses." " I am sure he will be quite grateful," said Madame Mar- ceau, biting her nether lip. " Why so ! for having been unjustly treated, and abruptly dismissed. The fact is, Andre never suspected ha was diso- beying me ; he concluded no one would give such an order unautliorized by me — I concluded no one would presume to do so." Bladame Marceau made no answer, and the silence was not broken, until Monsieur de Sainville turned towards Na- thalie, and observed : " May I ask your opinion on a matter that occupios me just now ?" Nathalie came up with a half-startled look. " It is only a gardening question," said he, smiling. " I am lamentably ignorant of gardening, sir," she hur- riedly answered ; " I shall utter some solecism." " And the courage of being mistaken with a good grace is not the courage of your age ; but experience will teach you some day to utter a genuine, honest blunder, with suitable unconcern. In the mean while, pray let me have your opinion. Shall this grassy plot remain as it is, or shall we enliven it with a few flowers?" " I should pronounce in favor of the flowers, sir." " Why so ?" " They are so beautiful." " But of a frivolous, transient beauty. Yet your sugges- tion shall be adopted. Taste must have its feminine element, and I have been giving these grounds too dark and severe an aspect. What is the matter, Rosalie?" said he, addressing his sister, who, after listening to him with evident irritation, and frequently applying the vinaigrette, was now turning away with indignant majesty. " I feel unwell, Armand," said she, coldly. " Then let us go in, and take aunt en xxissantP Madame Marceau retired to her room for the rest of the day. Wlicn her brother came down to the drawing-rooni in •NATHALIE. - i03 tlie evening, Nathalie felt luucli p'iqued at the mixture of politeness and indifference with which he treated her presence. " Did he mean to awe her ? He might find himself mistak- en !" But alas ! it was only too apparent that to awe her or produce any effect upon her was the last of Monsieur de Sain- ville's thoughts. Half out of curiosity, half out of pique, she ventured to differ from him once or twice, just to see how he would take it. He took it very well indeed — smiled — seemed a little surprised, and a little amused — heard her politely, but without giving her arguments great weight — and treated her, in short, with the good-humored forbearance which a man of his years and experience might be expected to display towards a young and somewhat presumptuous girl. In vain she looked cold, dignified and displeased. Monsieur de Sainville would not notice her vexation or acknowledge her claims, but pej- fiisted. in treating her with the most provoking and gentleman- like courtesy. " Petite." said the Canoness, when he was gone, " how hot you look ! Is the room close ?" Nathalie gave her a searching glance, but there was no mistaking the innocent simplicity of her look. More than she said, she evidently did not mean. '■ Yes," answered Nathalie, " the room is very close." The lamp was still unlit when she went up to her room, but a ray of light from the opposite turret fell on the polished oak floor. The young girl looked out — the light came from Monsieur de Sainville's window, and she could see him pacing his room up and down in a regular and monotonous pro- rrenade. " He seems restless enough, for one so quiet-looking,'" thought Nathalie, as she stood by her window, watching him before she allowed, the curtain which she held back with her hand to drop once more ; "but impenetrable and mysterious as he chooses to appear, it shall go hard if I do not learn to read and understand him yeV 104 NATHALIE. CHAPTER VIII. "Made.moisflle Montolieu, liow demure you look to-day,'' said a soft, bland voice behind Nathalie, as she stood on the fol lowing morning working in the embrasure of the drawing-rooia window. A fair hand, spaidding with jewels, was lightly laid on her shoulder. Nathalie turned round, and beheld Madame Marceau. Her cheek had a hectic tinge, deepened by the reflection from the crimson curtain near which she stood ; her eyes were feverish and restless, her lips parched and dry ; but she smiled down very graciously on the young girl, whose passive hand she took within her own. " You are not privi- leged to be grave, like me," she continued ; " you see, ray child, I have not always met those in whose honor and strong sense I could trust. I must sometimes misunderstand motives and actions ; but I have been speaking to Armand this morning : he has made clear that which seemed obscure — there is no misunderstanding now." She spoke significantly, and pressed her hand. Nathalie did not answer. The lady eyed her keenly. " Mademoiselle Montolieu," said she, drawing herself up with melancholy dignity, " certain positions are dearly bought. Others can be unwell — can heed their sufferings ; we belong not to ourselves ; we must act a part ; but we are human — the reaction inevitably follows." " And I fear you were very ill yesterday," said Nathalie. "111!" sharply echoed the lady; "no, I was only nervous ; my health is excellent. Aunt," she added, turning towards the Canoness, " have you been telling Mademoiselle Montolieu that I am ill ?" '• I, Rosalie ! no : but Armand said yesterday evening he would send Doctor Laurent to you." '• He is too kind — I am quite well," said her niece, whilst ?, forced smile parted her pale lips. Aunt Radegonde. laying down her knitting, began a grave lecture on the danger of neglect; but Madame Marceau angrily exclaimed, '• I tell you I am not ill, aunt." The Canoness coughed dubiously, but held her peace. A week passed away. 3Ionsieur de Sainville was away at Marmont ; his sister dropped her patronizing tone, and treated NATHALIE. 105 her young guest with much politeness and consideration. Na- thalie was beginning, however, to feel a touch of ennui at the stately routine of her new existence, when one morning she unexpectedly learned that her sister had returned. She resolved to call upon her immediately ; but she had promised to join the Canoness in the drawing-room, and, in passing by, she entered it to excuse herself Neither Aunt Radegonde nor Madame Marceau occupied their usual seats ; but the room was not lonely, for, standing with his back towards her, Nathalie perceived Monsieur de Sainville. She had not so much as suspected his return from Marmont. Her first impulse was to retire; but he looked up. saw her in one of the large mirrors, and turned round com- posedly. Though he could scarcely repress a smile as he detected her look of annoyance, he greeted her with his accus- tomed politeness. Nathalie looked cold and reserved, and remained standing; near the door. '• I am fortunate in meeting you thus," said he, quietly •'for I very much wished to speak to you." Nathalie came forward half-hesitatingly. He wanted hei to be seated, but she declined, '• she preferred standing." She did not look shy, but proud, and, though she knew it not, half offended. Her whole bearing said, " I do not intend thia interview to last very long." " I believe you are going out," said Monsieur de Sainville. " and I do not wish to detain you. I have only one question to ask : may I hope you will do me the favor of answering it? You have beer about a week in Sainville: do you like your sojourn here?'' Nathalie had not anticipated this question. She hesitated, sought for a proper reply, and found none so suitable as the plain one, '• very much, sir." He looked pleased. " I am gratified to hear you say so, in that frank way, for to say the truth, 1 feared that at your age, and with the tastes natural to youth, this house must prove very dull. Do you think," he added, after a pause, '• you would like to dw^U here for some length of time?" Nathalie looked embarrassed. " I believe I should." she at length replied ;- — " but—" " I am not asking you to bind yourself to any thing," inter- rupted 3Ionsieur de Sainville ; " indeed, the latter question wai 105 NATHALIE. perhaps premature ; but I am bappy to learn Sainville is nol disagreeable to you." With this the conversation ended. Nathalie left the room wondering what Monsieur de Sainville meant, and so much oc- cupied with this thought that she wholly forgot her intended apology to the Canoness, and even passed by Mademoiselle Dantin's door without remembering that she had once lived there. The town of Sainville was irregularly built on a declivity ; its steep, narrow, and ill-paved streets overhung with high, pro- jecting houses, most of them built of wood, rendered it one of the most picturesque and gloomy little places in all Normandy. It had been an abbey town before the first French revolution, and a sort of perpetual twilight and monastic silence shrouded it still. A few dull shops scarcely relieved the monotony of the well-like streets, with their gaunt old houses rising in dark outlines against the bright blue sky. When Nathalie had firbt 'come from her gay sunny Provence to this gloomy town of the north, she had candidly wondered at the human beings who, without any seeming necessity, could resign themselves to in- habit this misanthropic-looking spot. Even now, accustomed to it as she had grown, she found, after leaving the light and airy old chateau, that the very houses along which she passed had an air of greater dreariness and enmd than ever. Madame Lavigne, the aunt of Rose, resided at the other extremity of the town, in a retired little court, or rather alley, lying within the deep shadow and sanctified gloom of the old abbey. Gray, vast, and imposing, it rose facing a row of nar- row houses, on the other side of the pathway, which had been used as a passage to a side-door of the edifice, in former times, when the abbey was in its pride, and devout pilgrims thronged Sainville at the yearly and gorgeous festivals of its patron saint. But a neighboring railroad had reduced the little town to com- plete insignificance ; the faithful had fallen ofi" in zeal and num- bers ; the side entrance had long been closed up, dust gathered through years, and carved stone ornaments fallen from a neigh- boring and half-ruined tower, lay heaped up against the wooden door ; the long grass grew freely on the worn out, but now untrodden threshold, and between the damp flags of the lonely court. E-ooks had made their nests in the ruined tower, where they cawed all day long, whilst gray swallows skimmed about at twilight, and twittered beneath the eaves .of the low- walled and abandoned cloisters. A wild pear-tree, growing in NATHAMK 107 ilie neglected grounds within, overhung the low roof and nar row court in which it shed its pale blossoms every spring, and russet leaves every autumn ; beneath it, in a sheltering angle of the building, stood a small stone cross and well ; the gift to the town of some pious burgher, of that age of faith when an idea of sanctity seems to have been linked with clear and flow- ing waters. The well-worn steps attested it had once been greatly frequented, but none, save the inhabitants of the court, came to it now ; another fountain twice as large, profusely gilt and bronzed, with a gay nymph instead of the lowly and faith- ful cross, stood in the neighboring thoroughfare. Little heed- ing the changes of human caprice or creed, clear and sparkling as ever, the pure water flowed on, and fell into its little stone basin with a low cheerful murmur, like a bountiful soul that gives freely still, in spite of all the neglect and ingratitude of man. It was opposite this fountain that the house of Madame Lavigne stood. Nathalie gave a low knock at the door ; it opened ere long, and an elderly, morose-looking female ap- peared on the threshold. Without uttering a word, or opening the door an inch wider than strict necessity required, she ad- mitted Nathalie, closed and bolted the door, pointed up a dark spiral staircase, and entering a low kitchen, in which there seemed to reign a sort of doll twilight, she resumed her culi- nary avocations. Nathalie ascended the staircase, paused on the first-floor landing, and, opening a door before her, entered without knocking. The apartment in which she found herselfwas wide and ex- tremely low ; it was one of those unhealthy entresols now met with only in old-fashioned houses ; it was scrupulously clean, but every thing, from the antiquated furniture of dark walnut- tree wood, the dingy looking-glass over the mantel-shelf, and the low ceiling, down to the cold bees-waxed floor, had an air of gloom and discomfort. A doubtful and yellow light seemed to penetrate slowly through the narrow and discolored panes of a solitary window, but it won no reflection back from the dark surface of surrounding objects,' heavy curtains of sombi*e hue, which fell from the ceiling to the floor in long folds, added to the austere and meditative gloom of the place. Partly shrouded by the dark folds of one of those curtains, and seated within the narrow circle of light which came from the window, Bppeared a quiet female figure : pale, thin, and motionless, she bent over her work in subdued harmony with all around her. 108 NATHALIE. She did not raise lior head, or tarn round on hearing Nathalie but Uid down her work, carefully put it by, and rose so slowlj that she had not yet left her place, when the young girl stood by her side. This was Rose Montolieu, the sister of Nathalie. It would have been diiEcult to find two beings more differ- ent than the two sisters as they now stood together, in the dull light of the narrow window, and exchanged a quiet greeting Dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a figure rounded, though grace- ful and slender, with the soft bloom of health upon hercheekSj and the clear light of youth in her eyes, Nathalie looked as gay and sunny a vision as any to which her own native Provence ever gave birtli. Not all the chill and gloom of the cold room could mar that fresh and poetic beauty : the warmth and brightness of the southern sun were around her still. But the mournful austerity of the nortliern home in which her lonely youth had been spent, had fallen early on Rose Montolieu. She had worked and sewed as a child in the dull light of that window, and in that dreary-looking room ; the court below, the bubbling fountain, the ancient abbey, and the half-ruined tower had daily met her view for years, and for years the farthest wall of the cloister and an old church-yard which it inclosed, but where none were buried now, had bounded her narrow horizon. Unless on Sundays and holy days, when she heard mass and vespers in the abbey church, Rose seldom or ever went out. Traces of this sedentary life were impressed on her whole appearance. She was not ugly, nor was she handsome, for either would have been striking, and she I ^oked pale and colorless like a flower reared in the shade. Stie was tall, rather thin, and she stooped habitually ; her figure would have been good but for its total want of grace ; her features were regular, but sallow and deficient in character or marked expression. The brow indeed told of intelligence, and the mouth, closed and quiet, of reserve ; but the general outlines were pale and dim. Flaxen-colored hair and light blue eyes added to the sickliness of her appearance. This eflFect was increased by the best point in her face, teeth ot dazzling whiteness and purity, but which only added to the wanness of her whole aspect, when her pale lips parted in a faint smile of rare occurrence. She looked upwards of thirty, though she was in reality a few years younger. Never waa the name of Rose bestowed on one whose pallid look was more likely to suggest a painful contrast to the bloom and beauty it implies. NATHALIE 100 She took Nathalie's extended hand, stooped to imprint a kiss on her forehead, then sat down again and resumed her work. Nathalie took off her bonnet and scarf, seated herself bv her sister's side, and was the first to speak. " Well, Rose, how are you V she asked, in her gay, cheer- ful tones. " Very well," slowly answered Eose, and the grave melan- choly cadence of her low voice contrasted as strikingly with that of her sister as did her personal appearance. She worked va silence for a few minutes, then looked up and said, '• I saw Mademoiselle Dantin yesterday." "But you do not judge me from her account?" very quickly returned Nathalie. " No, I shall judge you from your own." Rose laid down her work, and looked up as she spoke thus. This was a trying moment for Nathalie. She respected her sister more than she loved her, — she knew so little of her. and she felt so differently. She complied nevertheless with the desire of Rose, and related to her all that had happened before and since her departure from Mademoiselle Dantin's school. " I suppose it could not be helped," thoughtfully said her sister when she had concluded. " How do you like your pre-, sent position?" " Very much indeed, Rose ; it is a pleasant change to live- in that fine old chateau, with its quaint garden and pleasant grounds ; to be mistress of my time, and not to be teased by tiresome Mademoiselle Dantin." Rose glanced at the limited horizon beyond her narrow window, then at the room so dark and dreary, and finally at her handsome sister. " Yes," she said, in her low tone, '• that place must suit your fancy well ; but how do you like your hosts ?" " They are kind, though a little peculiar ; the Canoness is simple ^d charming ; she calls me Petite, though I could make two of her. Her niece, the grand lady, was proud and patronizing at first, but has much improved since she under- stands that I have no ambitious designs on the heir of the Sainville race. There is also a certain impertinent and yet artistic femme-de-chambrc — in short, all is wonderfully differ- 3nt from the next-door house." " And Monsieur de Sainville ?" '• I have seen little of him." no NArHALIB. " But what do you think of him ?" " I do not think of him at all." She spoke coldly. Rose eyed her with slow surprise. '• What do you think of his nephew ?" she resumed. '• That he is handsome, cool, and confident," replied Na thalie, smiling. " You think him handsome ?" " Yes, indeed ! And you look wonderfully alarmed, Rose." " Do you love him ?" asked Rose, almost quickly. "■ Love him !" echoed Nathalie, much offended. " I mean, do you think you will like him some day ?" " Really I cannot tell." " You make me feel anxious," said Rose, nervously laying down her work ; " you are so heedless, and that young man seems to me so unprincipled. Were his intentions ever honor- able V '• He dared not have had any other ; he dared not, Rose,' cried Nathalie, almost angrily ; her look kindled, and her cheek flushed in a moment. " You defend him." '• I defend myself. Rose !" Rose fixed her mild, earnest glance on that gay, handsome face, over which still lingered the flush of wounded pride. '■ I will not advise you," she said, " for you do not follow advice ; but I have seen that Charles Marceau. Handsome as he is, I like him not. I like not his eye nor his look. Oh ! Nathalie, to the woman he loves, that man, so young in years, so old in aspect, will bring nothing but sorrow, and to the wo- man who loves him nothing but tenfold woe. Besides, that family is so proud ! Oh ! sister, do not love him ; do not, even were he an angel of light." " And he is more like an angel of darkness. Come, Rose, do not loak gi'ave. I am here, he is in Paris ; and as I happen to be as proud as all the Marceaus and the Be Sainvilles, I promise you that, even were he an angel of light, thi# danger ous Charles Marceau shall be nought to me." Rose looked more easy. There was a pause. " Bo you like Monsieur de Sainville ?" she resumed, ab- i5tractedly. '•' What matter. Rose, whether I do or not ? it will not trDuble him much." " Bo you like him ?" Nathalie colored, hesitated. •' No," she at length resolutely replied. NATHALIE. 1 1 i " And why not ?" gravely asked her sister. " Because I do not like hira." " But I want to know why." " Well then because he is disagreeable and proud." " Do you mean ill-tempered ?" " No, he rules his temper, as he rules every thing, — with tha iron hand, in the velvet glove." '• Then what do you dislike him for?" " Dislike is a strong word. I care not for him. He may be harsh and proud ; it is nought to me." " Harsh and proud ! this argues little with the noble story of his youth." " And pray," asked Nathalie, smiling somewhat ironically, " what do you see so very noble in the character of one who devotes the best part of existence to the ambitious task of win- ning back a lost wealth and position, and who, whilst paying his father's debts, does not lose the opportunity of making a very handsome fortune ?" " Have you lost your old admiration for the heroic, or is this mere perversity ?" asked Rose, a little indignantly. '■ Monsieur de Sainville is only too good to think about you." " Which is not at all, Rose ; take my word for it." " I see," quietly said Rose, " he has hurt your pride, or rather your vanity. Foolish girl ! Do you know he took the trouble to call on Mademoiselle Dantin and explain this matter to her ? She told me herself, and confessed she had been much too hasty. At the same time she said you were the most fiery and vindictive littlQ thing she had ever met with." " Which amiable character she no doubt gave to Monsieur de Sainville," observed Nathalie, coloring and looking vexed. " 1 am very much obliged to him for calling on my greatest enemy, and fishing out my faults from her." " Fishing out your faults," said Rose compassionately ; '• child, what interest can a man of his years and experience take in the faults, or good points, of a girl of eighteen?" " Very well," rpolied Nathalie, evidently nettled, " the girl of eighteen cares little for cither his years or experience ; that is one comfort." " Early this morning," continued Rose, '• Desiree told mo a gentleman wanted me below. I came down ; it was Monsieur do Sainville, sitting where you are sitting now." Nathalie remained mute. Her sister resumed : ' He came to me. as your only relative, to apologize and 112 NATHALIE explain. I told him I feared your sojourn at the chateau would excite some attention, upon which, though not without much hesitation, he suggested that you should remain as his aunt's companion. Still I objected, but when he asked if your sudden disappearance from the town of Sainville would not give rise to more disagreeable conjectures, I could not but confess it : and you unfortunately know too well that I have no home to offer you. You must stay there a few months at least." Nathalie looked very thoughtful. '• Kose," she said at length, " I retract ; he is kind to mo at least. You called me perverse. Oh ! if you only knew how I long sometimes to yield reverence and homage. But enough of this : how is your aunt ?" " Irrecoverably blind, and she knows it. She is coming down." Nathalie did not say how little she desired to meet Ma- dame Lavigne. She rose, turned towards the window, and leaning her brow against the glass pane, looked out. The brightness of the blue noonday sky beyond, seemed to render the court more dark and dull than usual, yet a streak of sun- shine from behind the old abbey, gleamed through the thin foliage of the pear-tree, whilst its light shadow waved to and fro over the little fountain. Nathalie thought of the warm old garden of Sainville, and the thought made both court and fountain look more cold and chill than ever. She glanced at her sister. Rose was bending once more over her task, silent and motionless. " And this," thought Nathalie, " is her home, her life ; and were she to live another century, I verily believe she would b^ found in that same place ; the patient slave of that old tyrant." The door opened, and Madame Lavigne entered, sup- ported by Desiree, who, near her mistress, looked gentle and benignant. It was not age, th'^ugh she was old, that gave so harsh and repulsive a look to the aunt of Rose. The Ioav brow needed not the furrows of years to be stern and forbidding; and wrinkles could scarcely add to the sour expression of the mouth, with its downward and contemptuous curve: notwith- standing the dulness of the sightless eyes, the expression of the whole face was acute and shrew'd ; but it was the shrewd- ness of cunning, not of intellect. On seeing her enter, Rose got up, drew a large arm-chair forward, and helped her to be seated. rC.ATHALIE 113 " Do cot handle me,'' snappishly cxchtimcd Madaiao Lj»- ngne ; "you know I cannot endure it." Rose withdrew in silence. " You might give mc the pillow whilst you were about it," said her aunt, in the same ill-tempered tone ; " but that is like you — officious and doing nothing." Rose took a pillow from a chair, shook it, and placed it behind her aunt, who only waved her impatiently away. " Enough," she briefly said, "I hate fondling; I know what it means. Desiree," she added in a soft civil tone, as the patient Rose returned to her seat, and resumed her work, " is my chop ready V " Not yet," was the reply, more laconic than respectful. " I shall be glad of it, when it is ready : not that I mean to hurry you, but I shall be glad of it." " Of course," returned Desiree, with a disdainful toss of the head ; but she did not go, or seem in any hurry. She loitered about the place, wiped away a few particles of dust from the furniture with her apron, opened the window, closed it again, and at length condescended to leave the room. Nathalie turned round to resume her seat: in an instant the features of the blind woman were alive with a strange expression of min- gled anger and alarm : " Who is that? You have got some one with you, Rose. Who is that?" Nathalie laughed gayly. " Oh ! merry little Nathalie, who is always laughing, and always makes one laugh," said Madame Lavigne, with an attempt to smile graciously ; '' where is she?" " Here," replied Nathalie, rising, and approaching her. "Ay, here she is," continued the blind woman, stretching out her hand towards the young girl ; " here she is, with that cheerful voice, which does one good to hear. Oh ! dear child, if you were my niece, you would amuse mc in my old age, with- out interested motives. But there is one comfori," she added after a pause, " I have only an annuity which dies with me ; let those think the contrary who will." Nathalie glanced at her sister, but if Rose had been as devoid of hearing as her aunt was of sight, she could not have vemained more unmoved. " I suppose," thought Nathalie. " poor Rose la accustomed to it." "Well," said the blind woman, in a slightly impatient taii^j 114 NATHALIE thougli it was conciliatory still, '-how will my merry little Nathalie amuse her poor old friend to-day ? Will she sing ono of the funny Provencal songs, or take off that cross Mademoi- selle Dantin ? Oh ! I forget that she is at the chateau now, — companion, governess, what is it? Then I suppose it is that odd Monsieur de Sainville she will take off; come, let us hear." She assumed a listening attitude ; but Nathalie briefly replied : " Monsieur de Sainville is not at all odd ; and as he hap- pens to be my best friend now, I shall not take him off." She turned to move away, but the blind woman held her fast. " So he is your best friend," she said, with a peculiar smile. " Ah ! Well, girls of eighteen might choose older men for their best friends." Nathalie colored, but did not deign to reply. " And is that best friend of yours very kind V continued Madame Lavigne. " Very kind." " True: best friends of thirty-five or forty — that is his age, is it not ? — are always kind, especially " " Madame Lavigne," interrupted Nathalie, '• you will please not to talk so. I will not hear it." The blind woman laughed — a short, sour laugh. " Little spitfire, that is how you used to go on with poor Mademoiselle Dantin ; that is how you will go on with the best friend ere long. Heaven help him, poor man ! Oh ! you need not tap your foot so impatiently, I know I am teazing you ; but, child, you are nothing unless you are teazed : I know, when I could see, yoi^ never looked half so pretty as at those times. Ah ! I dare say you are smiling now ; but you need not, you foolish child; the beauty of southern women never lasts : they are old at twenty-five. Now, if you were like Rose," she added, after a pause, " pale, ugly " " Rose is not ugly," angrily interrupted Nathalie ; '• she is pale ; but if she had only exercise and fresh air, she would be quite blooming. She has what an aunt of hers never had, — nice, gentle features. Of me you may say what you like ; but I warn you I will not hear a word against Rose, who has enough to endure from your tyranny." She spoke hotly, and her eyes sparkled, half with anger, half with tears. The ill-tempered spite of Madame Lavigne against poor Rose, though familiar to her, always inspired her NATHAl tE. 115 with the same indignant surprise ; for to a generous heart, in- justice, however old, seems ever new. The vehement reproaches of the young girl, uttered in a rapid tone, which rendered her southern accent more apparent, only drew a sarcastic smile from the blind woman. " So, I am a tyrant," she said, as if rather flattered by the imputation. "I am; I know it: from a child I would have my way. Rose can leave me if she likes, and she re- mains " " Because she is too good," roundly interrupted Nathalie. " Oh ! she is, is she? Well, talking of the best friend has put you out of temper. Sing me one of the Basque songs, whilst waiting for that chop, which I think Desiree will never bring." Pity for Madame Lavigne's infirmity, and the desire of lessening the weary burden Rose had to bear, generally induced Nathalie to endure with good-humored patience the covert irony concealed under the blind woman's kindness ; but on this day, instead of complying with the request of Madame La- vigne, whose side she had left, she turned her flushed face to- wards the window, and remained obstinately silent. " So we are offended," said Madame Lavigue, after waiting awhile ; " we do not like allusions to the best friend. Ah ! well " The entrance of Desiree, bringing in the long expeoto>T. chop, checked what she was going to add. Rose took the tray from the servant, placed it on a small table, cut the meat, ar- ranged every thing, and. having brought the table near to her aunt's chair, resumed her own seat in silence. Madame Lavigne ate a few morsels, and frowned. '• It is not done enough," said she, crossly. This remark having elicited no corresponding observation, she added, in a sharper tone : "Did you hear, Rose ? My chop is not done enough.'"' "Will you have another, aunt?" " Another, when meat is at the price it is ! Another chop ! Is the girl mad ?" " Then what is to be done, aunt ?" " Time to ask, indeed ! What is to be done? You might Bay what should have been done ?" Rose made no reply. Madame Lavigne ate a few morsels more, then laid down her plate indignantly. 116 iXATHALIi;. "You have the worst heart in the world." she exclaimed, with a sort of snarl ; " here I keep telling you that my chop iff not done enough, which implies that I shall feel miserable foi the whole day, and you never so much as say you are sorry for it. Did I adopt and rear you up at my own expense for this, you ungrateful thing? To punish you, I shall not touch a morsel more ; I shall not eat another bit to-day. There, take the plate away ; and ring the bell." llose complied. The sour-faced Desireo made her ap* peai'anco. "Well," said she sharply, "what am I rung up for? I warn you," she added, turning towards her mistress, " I am not going to trot up and down at your pleasure. What do you want ?" "There, do not be cross," soothingly said Madame La- vigne ; " but you see, Desiree, the chop was very good, — very good indeed, only not quite done." "Not done enough?" indignantly echoed the servant " You dare tell me I do not know how to cook a chop — a mut- ton chop ! Then depend upon it that is the last chop I shall cook for you." " My dear Desireo !" " And we shall see how matters will go on when I am away. How much more candle will bo burned in tiie week ; how much more wood it will take to fill the cellar ; with oil for the lamp, and money for every thing. Go your ways ; another shall cook your chops soon ; ay, and help to eat them too." " Desiree !" exclaimed Madame Lavigne, utterly distressed at this lamentable picture of household ruin, " you must not go. I cannot afford to let you go. You are the most honest creature breathing ; I could trust you with every cupboard in the house." " Every cupboard !" ironically ejaculated Desiree, " as if there was what would fatten a mouse in any of your cupboards." " Give me the chop," submissively said Madame Lavigne ; " I will eat it." " Eat it ! Do not ; it would poison you. Ah ! well, my chops will not trouble you long." Madame Lavigne wrung her hands. " Eose ! Nathalie, my dear child !" she exclaimed, " do some- body give me that chop : I want it ; I have not had my dinner. There," she added, with a sigh, as Rose complied, and she ate hastily what was on the plate ; " there, I am sure you cannot nora plain of me, Desiree." :