■'^/(iHci^
 
 CAPTAIN MARRYAT'S NOVELS 
 
 The ''King's Oivn" Edition 
 
 YALEEIE
 
 VALERIE 
 
 AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
 
 BY 
 
 CAPTAIN MARRYAT 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 E. J. WHEELER 
 
 INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 W. L. COURTNEY, M.A., LL.D. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, Limited 
 
 Broadway, Ludgate Hill 
 
 1898 
 
 {Author's Edition)
 
 Priuted liy Ballanttne, Hanson «5r* Co. 
 At the liallaiityne Tress
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Writing on August 20, I845, to ins friend Mrs. S , 
 
 Marryat says : 
 
 " I really wish you ■would write your confessions. I will 
 publish them. I have a beautiful opening in some memo- 
 randa I have made of the early life of a Frenchwoman, 
 that is, up to the age of seventeen, when she is cast upon 
 the world ; and I would work it all up together. Let us 
 commence, and divide the ' tin ' ; it is better than doing 
 nothing." And at the end of the same letter he adds : 
 " I have told Ainsworth that I have commenced this 
 * Mdlle. Virginie,' and that he may perhaps have her for 
 the Ncir Munl/i/i/." 
 
 Later Mr. Ainsworth himself writes : 
 
 " By all means go on with ' Mdlle. \^irginie ' ; we shall 
 soon be ready for her in the Ncn' MonthJi/." 
 
 Mrs. S , however, refused to add her confessions to 
 
 those of the young Frenchwoman, and Marryat himself was 
 only able to write the first two volumes and part of the 
 third ; for, while the story was still running in the Magazine, 
 the first symptoms appeared of the illness which proved 
 fatal to him, and " Mdlle. Virginie " was finished by another 
 hand. At the last moment, the title was changed to 
 " Valerie." 
 
 Ostensibly an autobiography, it is not easy to decide 
 whether " Valerie " was originally inteiulcd for children or 
 for grown-up peo2)le. Although it belongs to the period
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 when Marryat lived at Langham ami wrote exclusively for 
 the former, yet " Valerie " is not altogether a child's book. 
 Rather it would appear to be pre-eminently fitted to supply 
 the literary needs of " the young person/' a book that they 
 will read -with pleasure and j^erhaps some profit, the auto- 
 biography of a girl, wholesome, health}', and very readable, 
 — but — nothing more. 
 
 It was the last book that Captain Marryat ever wrote ; 
 and his spirit of fun and humour had left him long since, 
 but not his easy happy style, or his power of delineating 
 character, and of drawing a ra])id picture with a few light 
 
 touches. Lady R , the page Lionel, Monsieur Gironac, 
 
 and Madame Bathurst are all clever sketches of natural 
 lifelike people in whom, if we cainiot always feel interest, 
 \\c can, at all events, recognise the living creature. 
 
 Unfortunately, as in " The Privateersman," it is easy to 
 detect in "Valerie" the book-m<aking, or rathei', in this 
 
 case, the magazine-filling element. The story of Lady R 
 
 and of Lionel's parentage, though doubtless romantic, is 
 very hackneyed, and if not an absolute blot on the book, is 
 certainly an inartistic excrescence. 
 
 Valerie herself, by Mr. Hannay called the "Japhet in 
 petticoats," is a determined plucky girl, who makes an 
 honest struggle to defy circumstance. Marryat has not 
 succeeded in presenting her to us as a very lovable person ; 
 she is too cold, too calculating, and a most decided misan- 
 thrope ; yet he endows her with an unusual power of attract- 
 ing people, and she has always numbers of friends to whom 
 she can turn when her employers abuse or dismiss her. And 
 indeed, from the recital of the slights and humiliations to 
 which she is subjected, as she treads the thorny path of the 
 governess and companion, it would appear that the lot of 
 these unfortunate individuals was even worse in the early 
 forties than it is at present. Yet surely Valerie must have
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 been as peculiarly unfortunate in the selection of her patrons, 
 as in her mother, a monster of cruelty, such as even the most 
 vindictive of stepmothers could hardly rival. 
 
 Although a persistent and successful match-maker for 
 her friends, Valerie's views against marriage for herself are 
 of the strongest. Here are some of them. " For my part, 
 I would not ci'oss the street for the best man that ever was 
 created. As friends, they are all very well ; as advisers, in 
 some cases they are useful ; but when you talk of marrying 
 one and becoming his slave, that is quite another affair." 
 This to Adele Chabot, who is about to marry a man whom 
 she knows does not cai'e for her, in the hope of winning his 
 love. And again — " What is it in women that I do not feel, 
 which makes them so mad after the other sex .'' Instinct, 
 certainly, for reason is against it. Well ! I have no objec- 
 tion to seeing others conunit the folly, provided that I am 
 not led into it myself." When Valerie is awaiting the arrival 
 of her brother Auguste, from whom she has been separated 
 for mar»y years, and to whom she is devoted, these lines 
 occur — " I thought of the future. ' Yes,' thought I, ' marry 
 I never will. That is decided. Nothing should ever in- 
 duce me ! ' " 
 
 We have heard, of course, of other girls who have made 
 like resolutions, and have lived to break them ; but surely 
 Marryat meant to leave Valerie a ha])py old maid, a pic- 
 ture of an independent, self-reliant woman, earning her 
 own living, and asking help from no one. Must it not be 
 the "other hand" who is responsible for the marvellous 
 Count de Chavannes, who appears at the end of the book } 
 Marryat would never have drawn so immaculate a man ; 
 he would not have believed in him. Such chivalry, right- 
 mindedness, and tact are not found in ordinary human beings, 
 and if they were, would be too far above us to be attractive. 
 However, the Count appears, instantly fascinating every one,
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 including Valerie, whom he carries off in triumph as his 
 wife, and they together, with most of the other characters, 
 are left " to be happy ever afterwards." 
 
 Doubtless, the sole reason that " Valerie " was written, 
 was the desire for " tin," as Captain Marryat himself suggests 
 
 in his letter to Mrs. S . Unfortunately, as is the case 
 
 with so many writers, very many of his books owe their 
 existence to this need alone. It is diflicult for an author 
 to do justice, either to himself or to his work, under these 
 circumstances; but Valerie, although far from the best of 
 Marryat's "pot-boilers," is not the worst. It has the re- 
 deeming feature of a wholesome freshness both of plot and 
 style, and it is more consistent than many of his greater 
 works. 
 
 W. L. C. 
 
 April 1898. 
 
 vni
 
 Y A L E R I E 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 1 HAVE titled these pages with nothing more than my 
 baptismal name. If the reader finds sufficient interest in 
 them to read to the end, he will discover the position that I 
 am in, after an eventful life. I shall, however, not trespass 
 upon his time by making many introductory remarks ; but 
 commence at once with my birth, parentage, and education. 
 This is necessary, as although the two first are, perhaps, of 
 little comparative consequence, still the latter is of import- 
 ance, as it will prepare the reader for many events in my 
 after-life. I may add, that much depends upon birth and 
 parentage ; at all events, it is necessary to comjjlete a perfect 
 picture. Let me, therefore, begin at the beginning. 
 
 I was born in France. My father, who was of the ancieniie 
 noblesse of France, by a younger branch of the best blood, and 
 was a most splendid specimen of the outward man, was the 
 son of an old officer, and an officer himself in the army of 
 Napoleon. In the conquest of Italy lie had served in the 
 ranks, and continuing to follow Napoleon through all his 
 campaigns, had arrived to the grade of captain of cavalry. 
 He had distinguished himself on many occasions, was a 
 favourite of the Emperor's, wore the cross of the Legion of 
 Honour, and was considered in a fair way to rapid promotion, 
 when he committed a great error. During the time that his 
 squadron was occupying a small German town, situated on 
 the river Erbach, called Deux Fonts, he saw my mother, fell 
 desperately in love, and married. There was some excuse 
 for him, for a more beautiful woman than my mother I never 
 beheld ; moreover, she was highly talented, and a most 
 
 1 A
 
 VALERIE 
 
 perfect musician, of a good family, and with a dower by no 
 means contemptible. 
 
 The reader may say that, in marrying such a woman, my 
 father could hardly be said to have connnitted a very great 
 error. This is true, the error was not in marrying, but in 
 allowing his wife's influence over him to stop his future 
 advancement. He wished to leave her with her father and 
 mother until the campaign was over. She refused to be left, 
 and he yielded to her Avishes. Now, Napoleon had no objec- 
 tion to his officers being niarried, but a very great dislike to 
 their wives accompanying the army ; and this was the fault 
 which my father committed, and which lost him the favour 
 of his general. My mother was too beautiful a woman not to 
 be noticed, and immediately inquired about, and the know- 
 ledge soon came to Napoleon's ears, and militated against my 
 father's future advancement. 
 
 During the first year of their marriage, my eldest brother, 
 Auguste, was born, and shortly afterwards my mother pro- 
 mised an increase to the family, which was the occasion of 
 great satisfaction to my father, who, now that he had been 
 married more than a year, would at times look at my mother, 
 and, beautiful as she was, calculate in his mind whether the 
 possession of her was indemnification sufficient for the loss of 
 the brigade which she had cost him. 
 
 To account for my father's satisfaction, I must acquaint 
 the reader with circumstances which are not very well 
 known. As I before observed. Napoleon had no objection 
 to marriage, because he required men for his army ; and 
 because he required men, and not women, he thought 
 very poorly of a married couple who })roduced a plurality 
 of girls. If, on the contrary, a woman presented her 
 husband with six or seven boys, if he was an officer in the 
 army, he was certain of a pension for life. Now, as my 
 mother had commenced with a boy, and it is well known 
 that there is every chance of a woman continuing to pro- 
 duce the sex which first makes its appearance, she was much 
 complimented and congratulated by the officers when she so 
 soon gave signs of an increase, and they prophesied that 
 she would, by her fruitfulness, in a few years obtain a 
 pension for her husband. My father hoped so, and thought 
 that if he liad lost the brigade, he would be indemnified 
 
 2
 
 VALERIE 
 
 hy the pension. My mother was certain of it ; and declared 
 it was a boy. 
 
 Rut prophecies, hopes, and declarations wei*e all falsified 
 and overthrown by my unfortunate appearance. The dis- 
 appointment of my father was great ; but he bore it like a 
 man. My mother was not only disappointed, but indignant. 
 She felt mortified, after all her declarations, that I should 
 have appeared and disj)roved them. She was a woman of 
 violent temj)er, a discovery which my father made too late. 
 To me, as the cause of her humiliation and disappointment, 
 she took an aversion, which only increased as I grew up, and 
 which, as will be hereafter shown, was the mainspring of all 
 my vicissitudes in after life. 
 
 Surely there is an error in asserting that there is no 
 feeling so strong as maternal love. How often do we witness 
 instances like mine, in which disappointed vanity, ambition, 
 or interest, have changed this love into deadly hate ! 
 
 My father, who felt the inconvenience of my mother 
 accompanying him on forced marches, and who, perhaps, 
 being disappointed in his hopes of a pension, thought that 
 he might as well recover the Emperor's favour, and look for 
 the brigade, now proposed that my mother should return 
 with her two children to her parents. This my mother, who 
 had always gained the upper hand, positively refused to 
 accede to. She did, however, allow me and my brother 
 Auguste to be sent to her parents' care at Deux Ponts, and 
 there we remained Avhile my father followed the fortunes of 
 the Emperor, and my mother followed the fortunes of my 
 father. I have little or no recollection of my maternal 
 grandfather and gi'andmolher ; I remember that I lived with 
 them, as I remained there with my brother, till I was seven 
 years old, at which period my patei-nal grandmother offered 
 to receive my brother and me and take charge of our educa- 
 tion. This offer was accepted, and we both went to Luneville, 
 where she resided. 
 
 I have said that my paternal grandmother offered to re- 
 ceive us, and not my paternal grandfather, who was still 
 alive. Sjch was the case ; as, could he have had his own 
 way, he would not have allowed us to come to Luneville, for 
 he had a great dislike to children ; but my grandmother had 
 property of her own, independent of her husband, and she 
 
 3
 
 VALERIE 
 
 insisted upon oiu* coming, ^'^cry often^ after we had been re- 
 ceived into her house, I would liear remonstrance on Iiis part 
 relative to the expense of keeping us^ and the reply of my 
 grandmother, which would be, " Kh hicii, ^lousicur Chatoneuf, 
 cent man argent que je dcpensc." I must describe Monsieur 
 Chatenceuf. As I before stated, he had been an officer in 
 the French army ; but had now retired upon his pension, 
 with the rank of major, and decorated with the Legion of 
 Honour. At the time that I first saw liim, he was a tall, 
 elegant old man, with hair as white as silver. I heard it 
 said that, when young, he was considered one of the bravest 
 and handsomest officers in the French army. He was very 
 quiet in his manners, spoke very little, and took a large 
 quantity of snuff. He was egotistic to excess, attending 
 wholly to himself and his own comforts ; and it was because 
 the noise of children interfered with his comfort that he 
 disliked them so much. We saw little of him, and cared less. 
 If I came into his room when he Avas alone, he promised me 
 a good whipping. I therefore avoided him as much as I 
 could ; the association was not pleasant. 
 
 Luneville is a beautiful town, in the department of Meurthe. 
 The castle, or rather palace, is a very splendid and spacious 
 building, in which formerly the dukes of Lorraine held their 
 court. It was afterwards inhabited by King Stanislaus, who 
 founded a militaiy school, a libraiy, and an hospital. The 
 palace was a square building, with a handsome facade facing 
 the town, and in front of it there was a fountain. There was 
 a large square in the centre of the palace, and behind it an 
 extensive garden, which was well kept up and carefully 
 attended to. One side of the palace was occupied by the 
 officers of the regiments quartered in Luneville ; the opposite 
 side by the soldiery ; and the remainder of the building was 
 appropriated to the reception of old retired officei's who had 
 been pensioned. It was in this beautiful building that my 
 grandfather and grandmother w'ere established for the re- 
 mainder of their lives. Except the Tuileries, I know of no 
 palace in France equal to that of Luneville. Here it was 
 that, at seven years old, I took up my quarters ; and it is 
 from that period that I have always dated my existence. 
 
 I have described my grandfather and my residence, but 
 now I must introduce my grandmother ; my dear, excellent 
 
 4
 
 VALERIE 
 
 grandmother, wliom 1 loved so much when she was Hving, 
 and whose memory 1 shall ever revere. In person she was 
 rather diminutive, but although sixty years of age, she still 
 retained her figure, which was remarkably pi'etty, and she 
 was as straight as an arrow. Never had age pressed more 
 lightly upon the human frame ; for, strange to say, her hair 
 was black as jet, and fell down to her knees. It was con- 
 sidered a great curiosity, and she was not a little proud of it, 
 for there was not a grey hair to be seen. Although she had 
 lost many of her teeth, her skin was not wrinkled, but had a 
 freshness most remarkable in a person so advanced in years. 
 Her mind was as young as her body ; she was very witty 
 and co(|uettish, and the officers living in the palace were 
 continually in her apartments, preferring her company to 
 that of younger women. Partial to children, she would join 
 in all our sports, and sit down to play "hunt the slipper" 
 witli us and our young companions. But with all her vivacity, 
 she was a strictly moral and religious woman. She could be 
 lenient to indiscretion and carelessness, but any deviation 
 from truth and honesty, on the part of my brother or myself, 
 was certain to be visited with severe punishment. She 
 argued, that there could be no virtue where there was deceit, 
 which she considered as the hotbed from which every vice 
 would spring out spontaneously ; that truth was the basis of 
 all that was good and noble, and that every other branch of 
 education was, comparatively speaking, of no importance, and, 
 without truth, of no value. She was right. 
 
 My brother and I were both sent to day-schools. The 
 maid Catherine always took me to school after breakfast, and 
 came to fetch me home about four o'clock in the afternoon. 
 Those were happy times. With what joy I used to return to 
 the palace, bounding into my grandmother's apartment on 
 the ground-floor ; sometimes, to frighten her, leaping in at 
 the window and dropping at her feet, the old lady scolding 
 and laughing at the same time. My grandmother was, as I 
 observed, religious, but she was not a devotee. The great 
 object was to instil into me a love of truth, and in this she 
 was indefatigable. When I did wrong, it was not the fault I 
 had committed which caused her concern, it was the fear that 
 I should deny it which worried and alarmed her. To pre- 
 vent this, the old lady had a curious method — she dreamed 
 
 5
 
 VALERIE 
 
 for my benefit. If I luul done wrong, and she suspected me, 
 she would not accuse me until she had made such incjuiries 
 as convinced her that I was the guilty person; and then, 
 perhaps, the next morning, she would say, as I stood by her 
 side: "Valerie, I had a dream last night; I can't get it out 
 of my head. I dreamt that my little girl had forgotten her 
 promise to me, and when she went to the storeroom had 
 eaten a large piece of the cake." 
 
 She would fix her eyes upon me as she naiTated the events 
 of her dream, and, as she proceeded, my face would be 
 covered with blushes, and my eyes cast down in confusion ; 
 I dared not look at her, and by the time that she had finished, 
 I was down on my knees, with my face buried in her lap. 
 If my oilence was great, I had to say my prayers, and implore 
 the Divine forgiveness, and was sent to prison, that is, locked 
 up for a few hours in my bedroom. Catherine, the maid, had 
 been many years with my grandmother, and Avas, to a certain 
 degree, a privileged person ; at all events, she considered 
 herself warranted in giving her opinion, and grumbling as 
 much as she pleased, and such was invariably the case when- 
 ever 1 was locked up. " Toujours en prisuii, ccfte paiivrc petite. 
 It is too bad, madame ; you must let her out." My grand- 
 mother would quietly reply, " Catherine, you are a good 
 woman, but you undei'stand nothing about the education of 
 children." Sometimes, however, she obtained the key from 
 my grandmother, and I was released sooner than was origi- 
 nally intended. 
 
 The fact is, that being put in prison was a very heavy 
 punishment, as it invariably took place in the evenings, after 
 my return from school, so that I lost my play-hours. There 
 were a great many officers with their wives located in the 
 palace, and, of course, no want of playmates. The girls used 
 to go to the husquet, which adjoined the gardens of the 
 palace, collect flowers, and make a garland, which they hung 
 on a rope stretched across the court\ard of the })alace. As 
 the day closed in, the jiarty from each house, or apartments 
 rather, brought out a lantern, and having thus ilhnuinated 
 our balh-oom by sulxscription, the l)oys and girls danced the 
 ru)idc', and other games, until it was bedtime. As the window 
 of my bedroom looked out upon the court, whenever I was 
 put into prison, I had the mortification of witnessing all 
 
 6
 
 VALERIE 
 
 these joyous games without being permitted to join in 
 them. 
 
 To pro\'c the effect of my grandmother's system of dream- 
 ing upon me, I will narrate a circumstance which occurred. 
 My grandfather had a landed property about four miles from 
 Luneville. A portion of this land was let to a famner, and 
 the remainder he farmed on his own account, and the produce 
 was consumed in the housekeeping. From this farm we re- 
 ceived milk, butter, cheese, all kinds of fruit, and indeed 
 everything which a farm produces. In that part of France 
 they have a method of melting down and clarifying butter 
 for winter use, instead of salting it. Tv is not only preserves 
 it, but, to most people, makes it more pali table ; at all events, 
 I can answer for myself, for I was inordinately fond of it. 
 There were eighteen or twenty jars of it in the stoi'eroom, 
 which were used uj) in rotation. I dared not take any out of 
 the jar in use, as I should be cei'tain to be discovered ; so I 
 went to the last jai', and by my repeated assaults upon it, 
 it was nearly empty before my grandmother discovered it. 
 As usual, she had a dream. She commenced with counting 
 over the number of jars of butter; and how she opened sucii 
 an one, and it was full ; and then the next, and it was full ; 
 but before the dream was half over, and she was still a long 
 way from the jar which I had despoiled, I was on my knees, 
 telling her the end of the dream, of my own accord, for I 
 could not bear the suspense of having all the jars examined. 
 From that time, I generally made a full confession before the 
 dream was ended. 
 
 But when I was about nine years old I was guilty of a very 
 heavy offence, which I shall narrate, on account of the peculiar 
 punishment which I received, and Avhich might be advanta- 
 geously ])ursued by the parents of the present day, who may 
 happen to cast their eyes over these memoirs. It was the 
 custom for the children of the officers who lived in the palace, 
 that is, the girls, to club together occasionally, that they 
 might have a little /?/c in the garden of the palace. It was 
 a sort of picnic, to Avhich every one contributed : some would 
 bring cakes, some fruit ; some would bring money (a few 
 sous) to purchase bonbons, or anything else which might be 
 agreed upon. 
 
 On those occasions, my grandmother invariably gave me 
 
 7
 
 VALERIE 
 
 frtiitj a very liberal allowance of apples and pears, from tiie 
 storeroom ; for we had plenty from the orchard of the farm. 
 But one day, one of the elder oirls told me that they had 
 plenty of fruit, and that I nmst bring some money. I asked 
 my grandmother, I)ut she refused me ; and then this girl pro- 
 posed that I should steal some from my grandfather. I ob- 
 jected ; but she ridiculed my objections, and pressed me until 
 she overcame my scruples, and I consented. But when I 
 left her, after she had obtained my promise, I was in a sad 
 state. I knew it was wicked to steal, and the girl had taken 
 care to point out to me how wicked it was to break a promise. 
 I did not know what to do : all that evening I was in such a 
 state of feverish excitement that my grandmother was quite 
 astonished. The fact was, that I was ashamed to retract my 
 promise, and yet I trembled at the deed that I was about to 
 do. I went into my room and got into bed. I remained 
 awake ; and about midnight I got up, and creeping softly 
 into my grandfather's room, I went to his clothes, which 
 were on a chair, and rifled his pockets of — two sous ! 
 
 Having effected my purpose, I retired stealthily, and gained 
 my own room. What my feelings were when I was again in 
 bed, I cannot well describe — they were horrible — I could not 
 shut my eyes for the remainder of the night, and the next 
 morning I made my ajipearance, haggard, pale, and trembling. 
 It ])roved, however, that my grandfather, who was awake, 
 had witnessed the theft in silence, and informed my grand- 
 mother of it. Before I went to school, my grandmother 
 called me in to her, for I had avoided her. 
 
 "Come here, Valerie," said she; "1 have had a dream — 
 a most dreadful dream — it was about a little girl, who, in the 
 middle of the night, crept into her grandfather's room " 
 
 I could bear no more. I threw myself on the floor, and, 
 in agony, screamed out — 
 
 " Yes, grandmamma, and stole two sous." 
 
 A paroxysm of tears followed the confession, and for more 
 than an hour I remained on the floor, hiding my face and 
 sobbing. My grandmother allowed me to remain there — she 
 was very much annoyed — I had committed a crime of the 
 first magnitude. My punishment was severe. I was locked 
 uj) in my room for ten days : but this was the smallest portion 
 of the punishment : every visitor that came in, I was sent for.
 
 VALERIE 
 
 and on my making my appearance, my grandmother would 
 take me by the hand, and leading me up, would formally 
 present me to the visitors. 
 
 " Permettez, madame (ou monsieur), que Je vous presente 
 Mademoiselle Valerie, qui est enfermee dans sa chambre pour 
 avoir vole deux sous de son grand-pere." 
 
 Oh ! the shame, the mortification that I felt. This would 
 take place at least ten times a day ; and each succeeding 
 {)resentation was followed by a burst of tears as I was again 
 led back to my chamber. Severe as this punishment was, the 
 effect of it was excellent. I would have endured martyrdom 
 after what I had gone through before I would have taken 
 what was not my own. It was a painful, but a judicious and 
 most radical cure. 
 
 For five years I remained under the care of this most 
 estimable woman, and, under her guidance, had become a 
 truthful and religious girl ; and I may conscientiously add, 
 that I was as innocent as a lamb — but a change was at hand. 
 The Emperor had been hurled from his throne, and was shut 
 uji on a barren rock, and soon great alterations were made in 
 the French ai-my. My father's regiment of hussars had been 
 disbanded, and lie was now aj)pointed to a dragoon regiment, 
 which was ordered to Luneville. He arrived with my mother 
 and a numerous family, she having presented him witli seven 
 moi-e children ; so that, with Auguste and me, he had now 
 nine children. I may as well here observe that my mother 
 continued to add yearly to the family till she had fourteen in 
 all, and out of these there were seven boys; so that, had the 
 emperor remained on the throne of France, my father would 
 certainly liave secured the pension. 
 
 The arrival of my family was a soui'ce both of pleasure and 
 pain to me. I was most anxious to see all my brothers and 
 sisters, and my heart yearned towards my father and mother, 
 although I had no recollection of them ; but I was fearful 
 that I should be removed from ni}' grandmother's care, and 
 she was ccpially alarmed at the chance of our separation. 
 Unfortunately for me, it turned out as we had anticipated. 
 My mother was anything but gracious to my grandmother, 
 notwithstanding the obligations she was under to her, and 
 very soon took an opportunity of quarrelling with her. The 
 cause of the quarrel was very absurd, and proved that it was 
 
 9
 
 VALERIE 
 
 predetermined on the part of my motlier. My grandmother 
 had some curious old carved fin-niture, which my mother 
 coveted, and requested my grandmother to let her have it. 
 This my grandmother would not consent to, and my mother 
 took offence at her refusal. I and my brother were immedi- 
 ately ordered liome, my mother asserting that we had been 
 both very badly brought up ; and this was all the thanks that 
 my grandmother received for her kindness to us, and defray- 
 ing all our expenses for five years. 
 
 I had not been at home more than a week when my father's 
 regiment was ordered to Nanci ; but, during this short period, 
 I had sufficient to convince me that I should be very miser- 
 able. My mother's dislike to me, which I have referred to 
 before, now assumed the character of positive hatred, and I 
 was very ill-treated. I was employed as a servant, and as 
 nurse to the younger children ; and hardly a day passed with- 
 out my feeling the weight of her hand. We set off" for Nanci, 
 and I thought my heart would break as I quitted the arms of 
 my grandmother, who wept over me. My father was very 
 willing to leave me with my grandmother, who promised to 
 leave her property to me ; but this offer in my favour enraged 
 my mother still more ; she declared that I should not remain ; 
 and my father had long succumbed to her termagant disposi- 
 tion, and yielded implicit obedience to her authority. It was 
 lamentable to see such a fine soldier-like man afraid even to 
 speak before this woman ; but he was completely under her 
 thraldom, and never dared to contradict. 
 
 As soon as we were settled in the barracks at Nanci, my 
 mother commenced her system of pei'secution in downright 
 earnest. I liad to make all the beds, wash the children, carry 
 out the baby, and do every menial office for my brothers and 
 sisters, who were encouraged to order me about. I had very 
 good clothes, which had been provided me by my grand- 
 mother ; they were all taken away, and altered for my 
 younger sisters ; but what was still more mortifying, all my 
 sisters had lessons in music, dancing, and other ;iccomj)lish- 
 ments, from various masters, whose instructions I was not 
 permitted to take advantage of, although there Avould have 
 been no addition to the expense. 
 
 "Oh, my father," cried I, "why is this.'' What have I 
 done.'' Am not I your daughter — your eldest daughter.''" 
 
 10
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " I Avill s])eak to your mother/' replied he. 
 
 And he did venture to do so ; but, by so doing, he raised 
 up such a tempest, that he was glad to drop the subject, and 
 a]K)logise for an act of justice. Poor man ! he could do no 
 more than pity me. 
 
 I well remember my feelings at that time. I felt that I 
 could love my mother, love her dearly, if she would have 
 allowed me so to do. I had tried to obtain her goodwill, 
 but I received nothing in return but blows, and at last I 
 became so alarmed when in her presence, that I almost lost 
 my reason. My ears were boxed till I could not recollect 
 where I was, atul 1 became stupefied with fear. All I thought 
 of, all my anxiety, at last, Avas to get out of the room where 
 my mother was. My terror was so great that her voice made 
 me tremble, and at the sight of her I caught my breath, and 
 gasped from alarm. My brother Auguste was very nearly as 
 much an object of dislike to my mother as I was, chiefly 
 because he had been brought up by my grandmother, and, 
 moreover, because he would take my part. 
 
 The great favourite of my mother was my second brother, 
 Nicolas ; he was a wonderful musician, could play upon any 
 instrument, and the most ditticult music at sight. This talent 
 endeared him to my mother, who was herself a first-i'ate 
 musician. He was permitted to order me about just as he 
 2)leascd, and if I did not please him to beat me without 
 mercy, and very often my mother would fly at me and assist 
 him. But Auguste took my part, and Nicolas received very 
 severe chastisement from him, but this did not help me ; on 
 the contrary, if Auguste interfered on my behalf, my mother 
 would jiounce upon me, and I may say that I was stunned 
 with her blows. Auguste appealed to his father, but he 
 dared not interfere. He was coward enough to sit by and 
 see his daughter treated in this way Avithout remonstrance ; 
 and, in a sliort time, I was fast api^roaching to what my 
 mother declared me to be — a perfect idiot. 
 
 I trust that my own sex will not think me a renegade 
 when I say tliat if ever there was a proof that woman Avas 
 intended by tlie Creator to be subject to man, it is, that once 
 j)lace power in the hands of women, and there is not one out 
 of a hundi'cd Avho Avill not abuse it. We hear much of the 
 rights of Avomen and their Avrongs ; but this is certain, that 
 
 11
 
 VALERIE 
 
 in a family, as in a State, thtM-c can be no divided rule — no 
 e(iualit\'. One must be master, and no family is so badly 
 managed, or so badly brought up, as Avliere the law of nature 
 is reversed, and we contemplate that n)ost despicable of all 
 lusi 7iatura' — a henpecked husband. To proceed, the conse- 
 quence of my mother's treatment was to undermine in me all 
 the precepts of my worthy grandmother. I was a slave, and 
 a slave under the continual influence of fear cannot be 
 honest. The fear of punishment produced deceit to avoid it. 
 Even my brother Auguste, from his regard and pity for me, 
 would fall into the same error. "Valerie," he would say, 
 running out to me as I was coming home with my little 
 brother in my arms, "your mother will beat you on your 
 return. You must say so-and-so." This so-and-so was, of 
 course, an untruth ; and, in consequence, my fibs were so 
 awkward, and accompanied by so much hesitation and blush- 
 ing, that I was invariably found out, and then punished for 
 what I did not deserve to be ; and when my mother obtained 
 such triumphant proof against me, she did not fail to make 
 the most of it with my father, Avho, by degrees, began to 
 consider that my treatment was merited, and that I was a 
 bad and deceitful child. 
 
 My only hapjHness was to be out in the open air, away 
 from my mother's presence, and this was only to be obtained 
 when I Avas ordered out with my little brother Pierre, whom 
 I had to carry as soon as I had done the household work. 
 If Pierre was fractious, my mother would ord'^r me out of 
 the house with him immediately. This I knew, and I used 
 to pinch the poor child to make him cry, that I might gain 
 my object, and be sent away, so that to duplicit}' I added 
 cruelty. Six months before this, had any one told me that I 
 ever would be guilty of such a thing, with what indignation 
 I should have denied it ! 
 
 Although my mother flattered herself that it Avas only in 
 her own domestic circle that her unnatural conduct towards 
 me was known, such was not the case, and the treatment 
 which I received from her Avas the occasion of much sym- 
 pathy on the part of the officers and their Avives, Avho were 
 quartered in the barracks. Some of them ventured to re- 
 monstrate with my father for his consenting to it ; but 
 although he Avas coAvcd by a Avoman, he had no fear of men, 
 
 12
 
 VALERIE 
 
 and as he told them candidly that any future interference in 
 his domestic concerns must be answered by the sword, no 
 more was said to him on the subject. Strange, that a man 
 should risk his life with such indiiierence rather than remedy 
 an evil, and yet be under such thraldom to a woman ! — that 
 one who was always distinguished in action as the most 
 forward and the most brave, should be a trembling coward 
 before an imperious wife ! But this is a world of sad con- 
 tradictions. 
 
 There was a lady in the barracks, wife to one of the 
 superior officers, who was very partial to me. She had a 
 daughter, a very sweet girl, Avho was also named Valerie. 
 When I could escape from the house, I used to be constantly 
 with them ; and when I saw my namesake caressing and 
 caressed, in the arms of her mother, as I was sitting by on a 
 stool, the tears would run down at the thoughts that such 
 pleasm-e was debarred from me. 
 
 " Why do you cry, Valerie .'' " 
 
 " Oh ! madam, why have I not a mother, like your Valerie .'' 
 Why am I to be beat instead of being caressed and fondled 
 like her ? What have I done ? — But she is not my mother — 
 I'm sure she cannot be — I never will believe it." 
 
 And such had really become my conviction, and in conse- 
 quence I never would address her by the title of mother. 
 This my mother perceived, and it only added to her ill- 
 will. Only permit any one feeling or passion to master you 
 — allow it to increase by never being in the slightest degree 
 checked, and it is horrible to what an excess it will carry 
 you. v\bout this time, my mother pi'oved the truth of the 
 above observation by saying to me, as she struck me to the 
 ground — 
 
 " I'll kill you ! " cried she ; and then, catching her breath, 
 said in a low determined tone, " Oh ! I only wish that I 
 dared." 
 
 13
 
 VALERIE 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 One day, a short time after this, I was walking out as usual 
 with my little brother Pierre in my arms ; I was deep in 
 thought ; in imagination I was at Luneville with my dear 
 grandmother, when my foot slipped, and I fell. In trying to 
 save my brother, I hurt myself very much, and he, poor child, 
 was unfortunately very much hurt, as well as mj'self. He 
 cried and moaned piteously, and I did all that I could to 
 console him, but he was in too much pain to be comforted. 
 I remained out for an hour or two, not daring to go home, 
 but the evening was closing in, and I returned at last. The 
 child, who could not yet speak, still moaned and cried, and 
 I told the truth as to the cause of it. My mother flew at 
 me, and I received such chastisement that I could be patient 
 no longer, and I pushed my mother from me ; I was felled to 
 the ground, and left there bleeding profusely. 
 
 After a time I rose up and crawled to bed. I reflected upon 
 all I had suffered, and made up my mind that I would no 
 longer remain under my father's roof. At daybreak I dressed 
 myself, hastened out of the barracks, and set off" for Luneville, 
 which was fifteen miles distant. I had gained about half the 
 way when I was met by a soldier of the regiment who had 
 once been our servant. I tried to avoid him, but he i*ecog- 
 nised me. I then begged him not to interfere with me, and 
 told him that I was running away to my grandmother's. 
 Jacques, for that was his name, replied that I was right, and 
 that he would say nothing about it. 
 
 "But, mademoiselle," continued he, ''you will be tired 
 before you get to Luneville, and may have a chance of a 
 conveyance if you have money to pay for it." 
 
 He then slipped a five-franc piece into my hand, and left 
 me to pursue my way. I continued my journey, and at last 
 arrived at the farm belonging to my grandfather, which I 
 have before mentioned as being about four miles fi'om the 
 town. I was afraid to go direct to Luneville, on accotnit of 
 my grandfather, who, I knew, from motives of parsimony, 
 would be unwilling to receive me. I told my history to the 
 
 14
 
 VALERIE 
 
 farmer's wife, showing licr my face covered witli bruises and 
 scars, and entreated her to go to my granchiiother's and tell 
 her wliere I was. She ])iit me to bed, and the next morning 
 set off' for Luncville^ and acquainted my grandmother with 
 the circumstances. The old lady immediately ordered her 
 char-a-baiic and drove out for me. There was proof positive 
 of my mother's cruelty, and the good old woman shed tears 
 over me when she had pulled oft" the humble blue cotton 
 dress which I wore and examined my wounds and bruises. 
 When we arrived at Luneville, we met with much opposition 
 from my grandfather, but my grandmother was resolute. 
 
 "Since you object to my receiving her in the house," said 
 she, " at all events you cannot prevent my doing my duty 
 towards her, and doing as I please with my own money. I 
 shall therefore send her to school, and ]iay her expenses." 
 
 As soon as new clothes could be made for me, I was sent 
 to the best peuslon in Luneville. Shortly afterwards my father 
 arrived ; he had been desjiatched by my mother to reclaim 
 me and bring me back with him ; but he found the tide too 
 strong against him, and my grandmother threatened to appeal 
 to the authorities and make an exposure ; this he knew would 
 be a serious injury to his character, and he was therefore com- 
 pelled to go back Avithout me, and I remained a year and a 
 half at the. petis'wit , very happy, and improving very fast in my 
 education and my personal ajipcarance. 
 
 But I was not destined to be so happy long. True it was, 
 that during this year and a half of tranquillity and happiness, 
 the feelings created by my mother's treatment had softened 
 down, and all animosity had long been discarded, but I was 
 too happy to want to retui'n home again. At the expiration 
 of this year and a half, my father's regiment was again ordered 
 to shift their quarters to a small town, the name of which I 
 now forget ; but Luneville lay in their route. My mother had 
 for some time ceased to imj)ortune my father about my return. 
 The fact was, that she had been so coldly treated by the other 
 ladies at Nanci, in consequence of her behaviour to me, that 
 she did not think it advisable ; but now that they were about 
 to remove, she insisted ujion my father taking me with him, 
 promising that I should be well treated, and have the same 
 instruction as my sisters ; in fact, she jn*omiscd everything ; 
 acknowledging to my grandmother that she had been too 
 
 15
 
 VALERIE 
 
 hasty to me, and was very sorry for it. Even my brother 
 Augiiste thought that she was now sincere, and my father, 
 my brother, and even my dear granthnother, persuaded me 
 to consent. My mother was now very kind and affectionate 
 towards me, and as I really wanted to love her, I left the 
 peusio7i and accompanied the family to their new quarters. 
 
 But this was all treachery on the part of my mother. Re- 
 gardless of my advantage, as she had shown herself on every 
 occasion, she had played her part that she might have an 
 opportunity of discharging an accumulated debt of revenge 
 which had been heaped up in consequence of the slights she 
 had received from other people on account of her treatment 
 of me. We had hardly been settled in our new abode, before 
 my mother burst out with a virulence again which exceeded 
 all her former cruelty. But I was no longer the frightened 
 victim that I had been ; I complained to my father, and in- 
 sisted upon justice; but that was useless. My brother 
 Auguste now took my part in defiance of his father, and it 
 was one scene of continual family discord. I had made many 
 friends, and used to remain at their houses all day. As for 
 doing household work, notwithstanding her blows, I refused it. 
 One morning my mother was chastising me severely, when 
 my brother Auguste, who was dressed in his hussar uniform, 
 came in and hastened to my assistance, interposing himself 
 between us. My mother's rage was beyond all bounds. 
 
 " Wretch," cried she, " would you strike your mother } " 
 
 "No," replied he, "but I will protect my sister. You bar- 
 barous woman, why do you not kill her at once .'' — it would be 
 a kindness." 
 
 It was after this scene that I resolved that I would again 
 return to Luneville. I did not confide my intentions to any 
 one, not even to Auguste. There Avas a great difficulty in 
 getting out of the front door without being perceived, and my 
 bundle would have created suspicion ; by the back of the 
 house the only exit was through a barred Avindow. I was then 
 fourteen years old, but very slight in figure. I tried if my 
 liead would pass through the bars, and succeeding, I soon 
 forced my body through, and seizing my bundle, made all 
 haste to the diligence office. I found that it was about 
 to start for I^uneville, which was more than half a day's 
 journey distant. I got in very quickly, and the condncleur, 
 
 IG
 
 VALERIE 
 
 knowing me, thought that all was right, and the diligence 
 drove off". 
 
 There were two peoj)le in the coupe with me, an officer 
 and his wife ; before we had proceeded far, they asked me 
 where I was going ; I replied, to my grandmother's, at 
 Luneville. Thinking it, however, strange that I should be 
 unaccompanied, they questioned, until they extracted the 
 whole history from me. The lady wished me to come to 
 her on a visit, but the husband, more prudent, said that I 
 was better under the cave of my grandmother. 
 
 About mid-day we stopped to change horses at an auberge 
 called the Louis d'Or, about a quarter of a mile from Lune- 
 ville. Here I alighted without offering any explanation to 
 the couducieur ; but as he knew me and my grandmother well, 
 that was of no consequence. My reason for alighting was, 
 that the diligence would have put me down at the front of 
 the palace, where I was certain to meet my grandfather, who 
 passed the major portion of the day there, basking on one of 
 the seats; and I was afraid to see him until I had communi- 
 cated with my grandmother. I had an uncle in the town, 
 and I had been very intimate with my cousin Marie, who was 
 a pretty, kind-hearted girl, and I resolved that I would go 
 there, and beg her to go to my grandmother. The difficulty 
 was, how to get to the house without passing the front of 
 the palace, or even the bridge across the river. At last I 
 decided that I would walk down by the river side until I was 
 opposite to the hoxtjiief, which adjoined the garden of the 
 palace, and there wait till it was low water, when I knew 
 that the river could be forded, as I had often seen others 
 do so. 
 
 When I arrived opposite to the bosquet I sat down on my 
 bundle, by the banks of the river, for two or three hours, 
 watching the long feathery weeds at the bottom, which 
 moved gently from one side to the other with the current of 
 the stream. As soon as it was low water I pulled off" my 
 shoes and stockings, put them into my bundle, and raising 
 my petticoats, I gained the opposite shore without difficulty, 
 I then replaced my shoes and stockings, crossed the bosquet, 
 and gained my uncle's house. My uncle was not at home, 
 but I told my story and showed my bruises to Marie, who 
 immediately put on her bonnet and went to my grand- 
 
 17 B
 
 VALERIE 
 
 mother. That night I was again installed in my own 
 little bedroom, and most gratefully did I pray before I went 
 to sleep. 
 
 This time my grandmother took more decided steps. She 
 went to the commandant of the town, taking me with her, 
 pointing out the treatment which I had received, and claiming 
 his protection ; she stated that she had educated me and 
 brought me up, and that she had a claim upon me. My 
 mother's treatment of me was so notorious, that the com- 
 mandant immediately decided that my grandmother had a 
 right to detain me ; and when my father came a day or two 
 after to take me back, lie was ordered home by the com- 
 mandant, with a severe rebuke, and the assurance that I 
 should not return to a father who could permit such cruelty 
 and injustice. 
 
 I was now once more happy ; but as I remained in the 
 house, my grandfather was continually vexing my grand- 
 mother on my account ; nevertheless, I remained there more 
 than a year, during which I learnt a great deal, particularly 
 lace work and fine embroidery, at which I became very 
 expert. But now there was another opposition I'aised, which 
 was on the part of my uncle, who joined my grandfather in 
 annoying the old lady. The fact was, that when I was not 
 there, my grandmother was very kind and generous to my 
 cousin Marie, who certainly deserved it ; but now that I was 
 again with her, all her presents and expenses Avere lavished 
 upon me, and poor Marie was neglected. 
 
 My uncle was not pleased at this ; he joined my grand- 
 father, and they pointed out that I was now more than 
 fifteen, and my mother dare not beat me, and as my father 
 was continually writing for me to return, it was her duty not 
 to oppose. Between the two, my ])oor grandmother was so 
 annoyed and perplexed that she hardly knew what to do. 
 Thej' made her miserable, and at last they worried her into 
 consenting that I should return to my family, which had now 
 removed to Colmar. I did not know this. It was my grand- 
 motiier's birthday. I had woi'ked for her a beautiful sachet 
 in lace and embroidery, which, with a large bouquet, I 
 brought to her as a present. The old lady folded me in 
 her arms and burst into tears. She then told me that we 
 must part, and that I must return to my father's. Had a 
 
 18
 
 VALERIE 
 
 dagger been thrust to my heart, I could not liave received 
 more anguisli. 
 
 " Yes, dear Valerie," continued she, ")'ou must leave me 
 to-morrow ; I can no longer prevent it. I have not the health 
 and spirits that I had. I am growing old — \'ery old." 
 
 1 did not remonstrate or try to make her alter her de- 
 cision. I knew how much she had been annoyed and 
 worried for my sake, and I felt that I would bear everything 
 for hers. I cried bitterly. The next morning my father 
 made his appearance and embraced me witli great affection. 
 He was nnich pleased with my personal improvement. I 
 was now fast budding into womanhood, although I had the 
 feelings of a mere child. I bade farewell to my grand- 
 mother, and also to my grandfather, whom I never saw 
 again, as he died three months after I quitted Luneville. 
 
 I trust my readers will not think that I dwell too long 
 upon this portion of my life. I do it because I consider it is 
 necessary they should know in what manner I was brought 
 up, and also the cause of my leaving my family, as I aftei- 
 wards did. If I had stated merely that I could not agree 
 with my mother, who treated me cruelly, they might have 
 imagined that I was not warranted, in a moment of irritation, 
 in taking such a decided step ; but when they learn that my 
 persecutions were renewed the moment that I Avas again in 
 my mother's power, and that nothing could conquer her 
 inveteracy against me, neither time, nor absence, nor sub- 
 mission on my part, nor remonstrance from others, not even 
 a regard for her own character, nor the loss of her friends 
 and acquaintances, they will then acknowledge that I could 
 have done no otherwise, unless I preferred being in daily 
 risk of my life. On my arrival at C'olmar, my mother 
 received me graciously, but her politeness did not last long. 
 I now gave a new cause of offence — one that a woman, ])roud 
 of her beauty and jealous of its decay, does not easily forgive. 
 I was admired and paid great attention to by the officers, — 
 much more attention tiian she received herself. 
 
 '■' M. Chatencjeuf," the officers would sa)% " you have be- 
 gotten a daughter much handsomer than yourself." My 
 mother considered this as a polite way to avoid saying that 
 I was much handsomer than she was. If she thought so, 
 she did herself a great injustice, for I could not be compared 
 
 19
 
 VALERIE 
 
 to what slie was when she was of my age. She was even 
 then a most splendid matron. But I had youth in my 
 favour, which is more than half the hattle. At all events, 
 the remarks and attentions of the officers aroused my mothei*'s 
 spleen, and she was more harsh in language than ever, 
 although I admit that it was but seldom that she resorted 
 to blows. 
 
 I recollect that one day, when I was not supposed to be in 
 hearing, one of the officers said to another, " Ma foi, el/e est 
 jolie — elle a besom de deux ans, ct elle sera par fait e." So 
 childish and innocent was I at that time, that I could not 
 imagine what they meant. 
 
 " Why was I to be two years older ? " I thought and 
 puzzled over it till I fell fast asleep. The attentions of the 
 officers, and the flattery he received from them on my 
 account, ajjpeared to have more effect on my father than I 
 could have imagined. Perhaps he felt that I was somebody 
 to be proud of, and his vanity gave him that courage to 
 oppose my mother which his paternal feelings had not roused. 
 I recollect one instance particularly. There was a great 
 ceremony to be performed in the church, no less than the 
 christening of the two new bells, previous to their being 
 hoisted up in the belfry. The officers told my father that I 
 must be present, and on his return home he stated to my 
 mother his intention of taking me with him on the following 
 day to see the ceremony. 
 
 "She can't go — she has no clothes fit to wear," cried my 
 mother. 
 
 "Why has she not, madam .^ " replied my father stei'nly. 
 "Let her have some ready for to-morrow, and without fail." 
 
 My mother perceived that my father was not to be trifled 
 with, and therefore thought proper to acquiesce. Pity it 
 was that he did not use his authority a little more, after he 
 had discovered that he could regain it if he pleased. 
 
 On the following day I accompanied my father, who was 
 one of the officers on duty in the interior of the church, and 
 as he stood in advance of his men, I remained at his side, 
 and of course had a very complete view of the whole cere- 
 mony. I was very neatly dressed, and my father received 
 man}^ compliments upon my appearance. At last the cere- 
 mony began. The church Avas lined with troops to keep 
 
 20
 
 VALERIE 
 
 back the crowd, and the procession entered tlie church, the 
 bishop walking under a canopy, attended by the priests, then 
 the banners, and pretty children, dressed as angels, tossing 
 frankincense from silver censers. The two bells were in the 
 centre of the church, both of them dressed in white petti- 
 coats, which covered them completely, ornamented with 
 ribbons, and a garland of flowers upon the head of each — if 
 I may so designate their tops. The godmothers, dressed in 
 white as on baptismal ceremonies, and the godfathers in 
 court suits, stood on each side. They had been selected 
 from the elite of the families in the town. The organ and 
 the military band relieved each other until the service com- 
 menced. The bishop read the formula ; the godmothers 
 and godfathers gave the customary security ; the holy water 
 was sprinkled over the bells, and thus were they regularly 
 baptized. One was named Eulalie and the other Lucile. It 
 was a very pretty ceremony, and I should have liked to have 
 been present at their "premiere communiun," if it ever took 
 place. 
 
 My English readers may consider this a ])iece of mummery. 
 At the time I did not. As a good Catholic, which I was at 
 that time, and a pretty Frenchwoman, I thought that nothing 
 could be more correct than the decoration des belles. I believe 
 that it has always been the custom to name bells — to con- 
 secrate them most certainly — and if we call to mind what an 
 important part they perform in our religion, I do not wonder 
 at it. By being consecrated, they receive the rites of the 
 Church. Why, therefore, should they not receive the same 
 rites in baptism .'' But why baptize them .'' Because they 
 speak to us in many ways, and with their loud tongues express 
 the feelings, and make known the duties imposed ujion us 
 Is there cause for the nation to I'ejoice — their merry notes 
 proclaim it from afar ; in solemn tones they summon us to 
 the house of prayer, to the lifting of the Host, and to the 
 blessing of the priest ; and it is their mournful notes which 
 announce to us that one of our generation has been sum- 
 moned away, and has quitted this transitory abode. Their 
 offices are Christian offices, and therefore are they received 
 into tlie Church. 
 
 %l
 
 VALERIE 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 An elder sister of my mother's resided at Colmar, and I 
 passed most of my time with her during our stay. When my 
 father's regiment was ordered to Paris, this lady requested 
 that I might remain Avith her ; but my mother refused, telling 
 her sister that she could not, conscientiously as a mother, 
 allow any of her daughters to quit her care for any worldly 
 advantage. That this was mere hypocrisy, the reader will 
 imagine ; indeed, it Avas fully proved so to be in two hours 
 afterwards, by my mother telling my father that if her sister 
 had offered to take Clara, my second sister, she would have 
 consented. The fact was that the old lady had promised to 
 dower me very handsomely (for she was rich), and my mother 
 could not bear any good fortune to come to me. 
 
 We passed through Luneville on our road to Paris, and I 
 saw my dear grandmother for the last time. She requested 
 that I might be left with her, making the same offer as she 
 did before, of leaving me all her property at her death ; but 
 my mother would not listen to any solicitation. Now, as our 
 family was now fourteen in number, she surely might, in 
 either of the above instances, have well spared me, and it 
 would have been a relief to my father; but this is certain, 
 she would not spare ine, although she never disguised her 
 dislike, and would, if she had dared, have treated me as she 
 had formerly done. I was very anxious to stay with my dear 
 grandmother. She had altered very much since my grand- 
 father's death, and was evidently breaking up fast ; but my 
 mother was inexorable. W'e continued our route, and arrived 
 at Paris, where Ave took up our quarters in the barracks close 
 to the Boulevards. 
 
 My mother Avas as harsh as ever, and now recommenced 
 her boxes of the ear — Avhich during the time we were at 
 Colmar had but seldom been applied. In all my troubles I 
 never Avas Avithout friends. I noAV made an acquaintance with 
 the Avife of the colonel of the regiment, Avho joined us at 
 Paris. She had no children. I imparted all my troubles to 
 her, and she used to console me. She Avas a very religious 
 
 23
 
 VALERIE 
 
 woman, and as I liad been brought up in tlie same way by 
 my grandmother, she Avas pleased to find piety in one so 
 young, and became much attached to me. She had a sister, 
 a widow of large fortune, who lived in the Rue St. Honoi-e, 
 a very pleasant lively woman, but very sarcastic when she 
 pleased, and not caring what she said if her feelings prompted 
 her. I constantly met her at the colonel's house, and she 
 Invited me to come and see her at her own ; but I knew that 
 my mother would not permit me, so I did not ask. As the 
 colonel was my father's superior officer, all attempts to break 
 off my intimacy with her, Avhich my mother made, were un- 
 availing, and I passed as usual all my time in any other house 
 except my home. 
 
 I have now to record but two more beatings. The reader 
 may think that I have recorded enough already ; but as these 
 were the two last, and they were peculiar, I must beg him to 
 allow me so to do. The first beating was given me for the 
 following cause : — A very gentlemanlike young officer in the 
 regiment was very particular in his attentions to me. I liked 
 his company, but my thoughts had never been directed to- 
 wai'ds mari'iage, for I was too childish and innocent. One 
 morning it appeared that he proposed to my father, who 
 immediately gave his consent, provided that I was agreeable, 
 and this he ventured to do without consulting my mother. 
 Perhaps he thought it a good opportunity to remove me from 
 my mother's persecution. At all events, when he had made 
 known to her what he had done, and requested her to sound 
 me on the subject, she was in no pleasant humour. When 
 she did so, my reply was (he being a very dark-complexioned 
 man, although well-featured), " Non^ maman, je ne veiix pas. 
 11 est trap noir." 
 
 To my astonishment, my mother flew at me, and I received 
 such an avalanche of boxes on the ears for this vepl}', that I 
 was glad to make my escape as fast as I could, and locked 
 myself up in my OAvn i-oom. Now I really believe that I was 
 almost a single instance of a young lady having her ears well 
 boxed for refusing to marry a man that she did not care for 
 — but such was my fate. 
 
 The treatment I received in this instance got wind in the 
 barracks, and my cause was Avarmly taken up by every one. 
 Finding myself thus supported, I one day ventured to refuse 
 
 23
 
 VALERIE 
 
 to do a very menial and unpleasant office, and for this refusal 
 I received the second beating. It -was the last certainly, but 
 it was the most severe ; for my mother caught up a hearth- 
 brush, and struck me for several minutes such a succession of 
 severe blows, that my face was so disfigured that I was hardly 
 to be recognised, my head cut open in several places, and 
 the blood pouring down me in every dii'ection. At last she 
 left me for dead on the floor. After a time I recovered my 
 recollection, and when I did so, I sjirang away from the 
 servants who had been supporting me, and with my hair 
 flying in the wind, and my face and dress streaming with 
 blood, I ran across the barrack-yard to the colonel's house, 
 and entering the room in which she was sitting with her 
 sister, sank at her feet, choking with the blood which poured 
 out of my mouth. 
 
 "Who is it.^" exclaimed she, springing up in horror and 
 amazement. 
 
 " Valerie — pauvre Valerie," moaned I, with my face on the 
 floor. 
 
 They raised me up, sent for the servants, took me into a 
 bedroom, and sent for the surgeon of the regiment, who lived 
 in the barracks. As soon as I was somewhat recovex'ed, I 
 told them that it was my mother's treatment ; and I became 
 so excited, that as soon as the surgeon had left the house, I 
 cried — 
 
 " Never, madam, will I again enter my father's house ; 
 never while I live. If you do not protect me — or if nobody 
 else will — if you send me back again, I will throw myself in 
 the Seine. I swear it as I kneel." 
 
 "What is to be done, sister?" said the colonel's wife. 
 
 " I will see. At all events, Valerie, I will keep you here a 
 few days till something can be arranged. It is now quite 
 dark, and you shall stay here, and sleep on this bed." 
 
 " Or the bed of the river," replied I ; " I care not if it 
 were that, for I should not rise up to misery. I have made a 
 vow, and I repeat, that I never will enter my father's house 
 again." 
 
 " My dear Valerie," said the colonel's wife, in a soothing 
 tone. 
 
 " Leave her to me, sister," said the other, who was busy 
 arranging my hair, now that my wounds had stojjjjed bleed- 
 
 24
 
 VALERIE 
 
 ing, " I will talk to her. The colonel will be home directly, 
 and you must receive him." 
 
 Madame Allarde, for that was the colonel's wife's name, 
 left the room. As soon as she was gone, Madame d'Albret, 
 her sister, said to me, " Valerie, I fear that what you have 
 said you will adhere to, and you will throw yourself into the 
 river." 
 
 " Yes, if I am taken back again," replied I. " I hope God 
 will forgive me ; but I feel I shall, for my mind is over- 
 thrown, and I am not sane at times." 
 
 " My poor child, you may go back again to your father's 
 house, because my sister and her husband, in their position, 
 cannot prevent it, but believe me, you shall not remain there. 
 As long as I have a home to offer, you shall never want one ; 
 but you must listen to me. I wish to serve you, and to 
 punish your unnatural mother, and I will do so ; but, Valerie, 
 you must well weigh circumstances before you decide ; I 
 say that I can offer you a home, but recollect life is uncertain, 
 and if it pleases God to summon me, you will have a home 
 no longer. What will you do then .'' — for you will never be 
 able to return to your father's house." 
 
 "You are very kind, madam," replied I, " but my resolu- 
 tion is formed, and I will work for my daily bread in any 
 way that I can rather than return. Put me but in the way 
 of doing that, and I will for ever bless you." 
 
 " You shall never work for your bread while I live, Valerie; 
 but if I die, you will have to do something for your own 
 support, and recollect how friendless you will be, and so 
 young." 
 
 " Can I be more friendless than I am at home, madam "i " 
 said I, shaking my head mournfully. 
 
 " Your father deserves punishment for his want of moral 
 courage, as well as your mother," replied Madame d'Albret. 
 " You had better go to bed now, and to-morrow give me 
 your decision." 
 
 "To-morrow will make no change, madam," answered I, 
 "but I fear that there is no chance of my escape. To- 
 morrow my father will arrive for me as usual, and — but I 
 have said it. You may preserve my life, madam, but how 
 I know not ; " and I threw myself down on the bed in 
 despair. 
 
 25
 
 VALERIE 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 About an hour afterwards Madame d'Albret, who had left 
 me on the bed while she went down to her sister, came up 
 again, and spoke to me ; but from weakness, occasioned by 
 the loss of blood and from excitement, I talked for many 
 minutes in the most incoherent mannei", and Madame 
 d'Albret was seriously alarmed. In the meantime the colonel 
 had come home, and his wife explained what had happened. 
 She led him up to my room just at the time that I was 
 raving. He took the candle, and looked at my swelled 
 features, and said — 
 
 " I should not have recognised the poor girl. Mort de ma 
 vie ! but this is infamous, and Monsieur de Chatenoeuf is a 
 contemptible coward. I will see him to-morrow morning." 
 
 The colonel and his wife then left the room. By this time 
 I had recovered from my paroxysm. Madame d'Albret came 
 to me, and putting her face close to mine, said, "Valerie." 
 
 " Yes, madam," replied I. 
 
 " Are you more composed now .'' Do you think that you 
 could listen to me .'' " 
 
 " Yes, madam, and thankfully," replied I. 
 
 " Well, then, my plan is this. I am sure that the colonel 
 will take you home to-morrow. Let him do so ; in the 
 morning I will tell you how to behave. To-morrow night 
 you shall escape, and I will be with a. fiacre at the corner of 
 the street ready to receive you. I will take you to my house, 
 and no one, not even my sister, shall know that you are with 
 me. They will believe that you have thrown yourself into 
 the Seine, and as the regiment is ordered to Lyons, and will 
 leave in ten days or a fortnight, there will be no chance, if 
 you are concealed till their departure, of their knowing that 
 you are alive." 
 
 "Thank you, thank you, madam, you know not how happy 
 you have made me," replied I, pressing my hand to my heart, 
 wliich throbbed painfully with joy. " God bless you, Madame 
 d'Albret. Oh, how I shall pray for you, kind Madame 
 d'Albret ! " 
 
 26
 
 VALERIE 
 
 Madame d'Alljret shed tears over me after I liad done 
 speaking, and then, wishing me good night, told me tliat she 
 woidd see me in the morning, and let me know what was 
 going on, and then give me further directions for my conduct. 
 She tlien left me, and I tried to go to sleep ; but I was in 
 too much pain. Once I did slumber, and dreamt that my 
 mother was beating me again. I screamed with the pain 
 that the blows gave, and awoke. I slept no more that night. 
 At daylight I rose, and, as may be supposed, the first thing 
 that I did was to look into the glass. I was terrified ; my 
 face was swelled so that my features were hardly distinguish- 
 able ; one eye was closed up, and the blood had oozed out 
 through the handkerchief which had been tied i-ound my 
 head by the sui'geon. I was, indeed, an object. The servant 
 brought me uj) some coffee, Avhich I drank, and then remained 
 till the colonel's wife came up to me. 
 
 It was the first and only time that I ever beheld that good 
 woman angry. She called from the top of the stairs for her 
 husband to come up ; he did so, looked at me, said nothing, 
 but went down again. About half-an-hour afterwards Madame 
 d'Albret and the surgeon came up together. The latter was 
 interrogated by her as to the effects of the injuries I had 
 received, and after examination, he replied, that although it 
 would take some days for the inflammation and marks of the 
 blows to go away, yet he did not consider that eventually I 
 should be in any way disfigured. This gave me great pleasure, 
 as I suspect it would have done any other pretty girl in my 
 situation. Madame d'Albret Avaited till the surgeon was 
 gone, and then gave me some further instructions, which I 
 obeyed to the letter. She also brought me a black veil, in 
 case I had not one of my own. She then left me, saying, 
 that the colonel had sent for my father, and that she wished 
 to be pi'esent at the interview. 
 
 My father came, and the colonel, after stating the treat- 
 ment which I had received, loaded him with reproaches ; 
 told him liis conduct was that of a coward, to allow his Avife 
 to be guilty of such cruelty towards his child. Then he sent 
 Madame d'Albret to bring me doAvn ; Avhen I entered, my 
 father started back with surprise ; he had ansAvered the 
 colonel haughtily, but Avhen he beheld the condition I was 
 in, he said — 
 
 27
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " Colonel, you are right ; I deserve all you have said, and 
 even more ; but now do me the favour to accompany me 
 home. Come, Valerie, my poor child, your father begs your 
 pardon." 
 
 As my father took my hand to lead me away, Madame 
 d'Albret said to the colonel — 
 
 " i\Iy dear Allarde, do you not incur a heavy responsibility 
 in allowing that girl to go back again .'' You know Avhat she 
 said yesterday." 
 
 " Yes, ma chcre, I have been told by your sister, but it 
 was said in a state of excitement, and I have no doubt that 
 kindness Mill remove all such ideas. Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, 
 I am at 3'our orders." 
 
 I never said a word during all this interview. Madame 
 d'Albret tied the black veil round my head and let it fall, 
 to conceal my features, and I was led home by my father, 
 accompanied by the colonel. We went into the room where 
 my mother was sitting. My father lifted the veil from my 
 face. 
 
 " Madam," said my father, m a severe tone, " do you see 
 the condition to which your barbarity has reduced this poor 
 girl ? I have brought Monsieur Allarde here to tell 3'ou, 
 before him, that your conduct has been infamous, and that 
 mine has been unpardonable in not having protected her 
 from your cruelty ; but I now tell you, that you have bent 
 the bow till it has broken, and your power in this house is 
 ended for ever." 
 
 My mother was so much astonished at this severe rebuke 
 before witnesses, that she remained with her mouth open 
 and her eyes staring. At last she gave a sort of chuckling 
 laugh. 
 
 " Madam, I am in earnest," continued my father, " and you 
 shall find that in future I command here. To your room, 
 madam, immediately ! " 
 
 The last word was pronounced in a voice of thunder. My 
 mother rose, and as she retired, burst into a passionate flood 
 of tears. The colonel then took his leave, saying to my 
 father — 
 
 "Tenez-vous la." 
 
 My father remained a quarter of an hour with me, con- 
 soling me and blaming himself, and promising that in future 
 
 28
 
 VALERIE 
 
 he would see nie done justice to. I lieai'd him without 
 reply. The tears started in my eyes at his kind expressions, 
 but I felt there was no security for his adhei'ing to all he 
 promised, and I trembled as I thought so. He left me 
 and Avent out. My mother, who had been watching, as 
 soon as she saw that he had left the house, hastened down- 
 stairs from her room, and came into the one where I was 
 sitting alone. 
 
 " So, mademoiselle," said she, panting, and apparently 
 striving to contain herself, "my power in this house is gone 
 for ever, and all through you. Ha, ha, ha ! we shall see, 
 we shall see. I^ ye hear me, creature .'' " continued she, 
 with her clenched hand close to my face. "No, not yet," 
 said she, after a pause, and then she left the room. 
 
 If my father's kindness had somewhat staggered my re- 
 solution, this conduct of my mother's confirmed it. I felt 
 that she was right in what she said, and that in a month 
 she would regain her sway, and drive me to desperation. 
 During the whole of that day I made no reply to anything 
 that was said to nie by my brothers and sisters, who came 
 in by stealth to see me. In this I followed the advice of 
 Madame d'Albret, and at the same time my own feelings 
 and inclinations. The servants who offered me dinner, and 
 coaxed me to take some nourishment, could not get any 
 answer from me, and at last one of them, who was a kind- 
 hearted girl, burst out into tears, crying that mademoiselle 
 was foUe. My father did not come home to dinner ; my 
 mother remained in her room till he came in the evening, 
 and then he went up to her. It wanted but half-an-hour 
 of the time that I had agreed to meet Madame d'Albret. 
 I waited that time, during which I heard sounds of high 
 altercation above stairs. I was quite alone, for my mother 
 had prevented the children coming to me, and as the clock 
 struck, I dropped my veil over my face, and quietly walking 
 out of the house, made for the rendezvous agreed. 
 
 I found the fiacre with Madame d'Albret waiting for me, 
 and stepping into it, I was in a few minutes safely lodged 
 in her splendid, comfortable apartments. Madame d'Albret 
 put me in a little cabinet inside of her own room, so that 
 no one, except one servant whom she could trust, knew of 
 my being on the premises. There I was left to recover from 
 
 29
 
 V^ALERIE 
 
 niv bruises, and regain, if possible, my good looks. On the 
 lol lowing day she rej)aired to the barracks, and remained 
 with her sister till the evening, when she returned, and 
 came up to me. 
 
 "All has happened as I wished," said she, as she took off 
 her bonnet ; "you are nowhere to be found, and they have 
 not tlie least suspicion tliat you are here. When you were 
 first missed, they thought you had I'etui'ned to the colonel's, 
 and your father did not tliink it advisable to make inquiry 
 until the next morning, when to his surprise he learnt that 
 you had never been there. The dismounted hussar, who 
 was sentry during the evening, was then examined ; and 
 he replied, that about half-past eight o'clock, a young person, 
 who by her figure he presumed to be Mademoiselle Chate- 
 nanif, had gone out of the gates, but that she had a thick 
 veil over her face, and he could not see it. When your 
 father and the colonel had interrogated the man and dis- 
 missed him, my poor sister burst into tears and said, * Alas ! 
 alas ! then she has kept her word, and has thrown lierself 
 into the Seine. Oh, ^Ionsieur Allarde, my sister said you 
 would incur a heavy responsibility by sending that poor 
 girl back, and now it has proved but too true : poor dear 
 Valerie ! ' Your father and the colonel were almost as much 
 distressed as my sister, and it was just at that moment that 
 I came in. 
 
 " ' Sister,' cried Madame Allarde to me, ' Valerie has left 
 the barracks.' 
 
 "'What!' exclaimed I. ' When .^ oh, m}' fear was too 
 true ! ' said I, clasping my hands ; and then taking out my 
 handkerchief, I covered my face and sobbed. I tell you, 
 Valerie, that nothing but my affection for you would have 
 induced me to be so deceitful ; but under the circumstances 
 1 hope I was justified. My assumed grief and distress quite 
 removed any suspicion of your being here, and shortly after- 
 wards the colonel made a sign to your father, and tliey both 
 left the barracks ; I have no doubt they went down to the 
 Morgue, to ascertain if their fears had already been proved 
 correct." 
 
 "What is the Morgue, madam.?" said I. 
 
 "Do you not know, my child.? It is a small building by 
 the side of the Seine, where all bodies which are found in 
 
 30
 
 VALERIE 
 
 the river are laid out for the examination of the friends of 
 those who are missing. Below the bridges there is a large 
 strong net laid across^ which receives all the bodies as they 
 are swept away by the tide ; that is, it receives many^ if not 
 most of them ; but some are never found again." 
 
 Madame d'Albret did not fail to return to the barracks on 
 the next day, and found that a general excitement prevailed, 
 not only among the officers, but the men. My supposed 
 suicide had been iii.ade knoAvn. My father had visited the 
 Morgue a second time, and the police had been on the searcli 
 without success. My mother dared not even show herself at 
 the window of her apartments, and found herself avoided even 
 by her own children. As for my father, he was half mad, 
 and never met her but to load her with reproaches, and to 
 curse his own folly in having so long submitted to her im- 
 perious will. 
 
 "At all events, one good has arisen from your supposed 
 death, Valerie," said Madame d'Albret, " which is, that your 
 fother has completely resumed his authority, and I do not 
 think will ever yield it up again." 
 
 " My poor father," replied I, shedding tears, " I feel for 
 him." 
 
 " He is certainly to be pitied," replied Madame d'Albret ; 
 "but it is his own conscience which must be his greatest tor- 
 mentor. He was selfish enough not to feel for you during 
 your years of persecution, and rather than have his own 
 comforts invaded by domestic brawls for a short period, he 
 allowed you to be sacrificed. But observe, Valerie, if you have 
 still a wish to return to your jiarents, it is not too late. The 
 regiment does not leave Paris till next Thursday." 
 
 " Oh no, no," cried I, " my mother would kill me ; don't 
 mention that again, madam," continued I, trembling. 
 
 " I will not, my child ; for to tell you the truth, you would 
 not appear in so favourable a light, if you were now to return. 
 You have caused much grief to my sister and her husband, and 
 they would not receive you w-ith cordiality after having thus 
 triried with their feelings. It would also be a victory for your 
 mother ; and I doubt not but that in a short time she would 
 again recover that powder which for the present she has lost. 
 You never can be happy in your family after what has passed, 
 and I think that what has been done is for the best. Your 
 
 31
 
 VALERIE 
 
 father can well spare one cliikl out of fourteen, having little 
 more than a long sword for their support. Your supposed 
 death -will be the cause of your father retaining his lawful 
 authority, and preventing any of the remaining children re- 
 ceiving such injustice as you have done ; and remorse will 
 check, if it does not humanise your mother, and I trust that 
 the latter will be the case. I had well weighed all this in my 
 mind, my dear \'alerie, before I made the proposal, and I 
 consider still that for your sake and for the sake of others, it 
 is better that you should be the sacrifice. Nevertheless, I 
 repeat, consult your own feelings, and if you repent the step 
 which you have taken, there is yet time for you to return." 
 
 " My dear madam, return I never will, unless I am taken 
 by force. All I feel is, that I should like that my father's 
 bitter anguish was assuaged by his knowledge of my being 
 still in existence." 
 
 "And so should I, Valerie, were it possible that the com- 
 munication could be made, and the same happy results be 
 arrived at; but that cannot be, unless it should please Heaven 
 to summon your mother, and then you might safely inform 
 your father of your existence." 
 
 " You are right, madam." 
 
 " Yes, I think I am, Valerie ; foi", after all, your father duly 
 deserves his severe penance, which is, to visit the Morgue 
 every day ; but painful as is the remedy, it is necessary for 
 the cure." 
 
 "Yes, madam," replied I, sobbing, "all you say is true; 
 but still I cannot help weeping and pitying my poor father ; 
 not that it alters my determination, but I cannot command 
 my feelings." 
 
 " Your feelings do you honour, Valerie, and I do not blame 
 you for your grief Do not, however, indulge it to excess, 
 for that is turning a virtue into a failing." 
 
 There were still three days remaining previous to the depar- 
 ture of the regiment for Lyons. I was sorely distressed during 
 this time. I pictured to myself my father's remorse, and would 
 gladly have hastened to the barracks and thrown myself into 
 his arms ; but my mother's image rose before me, and her last 
 M-ords, " We shall see if my power is gone for ever," rung in 
 my ears, her clenched hand was apparently close to my face, 
 and then my i-esolution remained fixed. "The swelling of my 
 
 32
 
 VALERIE 
 
 features had now subsided, and I had in some degree recovered 
 my good looks ; still my eye and cheeks were tinged black 
 and yellow in various places, and the cuts on my head not 
 quite healetl. However, I was satisfied that the surgeon of 
 the regiment was correct in his assertion that I should not be 
 the least disfigured by the treatment a\ hich I had received. 
 
 '- I have news for you," said Madame d'vVlbret, as she 
 returned from the barracks, Avhere she had been to see her 
 sister off on her journey. " Your brother Auguste, whom you 
 know has been awaj-, has returned to rejoin his regiment, but 
 has since obtained his rank in another, which is stationed at 
 Brest." 
 
 " Why has he done so, madam .'' do you know } have you 
 seen him .'' " 
 
 " Yes ; he was at the colonel's ; he stated that he could 
 not remain in the regiment if his mother continued with 
 his father ; that he should never be able, after what had 
 happened, to treat his mother with common courtesy, still 
 less with the duty of a son, and therefore he preferred leaving 
 the regiment." 
 
 " And my father, madam ? " 
 
 " Your father allows him to act as he pleases ; indeed, he 
 feels the force of what your brother says, and so does my 
 brother-in-law, who has given his assent, as commanding 
 officer, to your brother's exchange. Auguste laments jou very 
 much, and the poor fellow looks very ill. I think he has done 
 right, although it is a severe blow to your mother ; but for 
 her I have no compassion." 
 
 " My mother never liked Auguste, madam." 
 
 " No, I believe that ; but what annoys her is the cause of 
 his leaving his regiment, as it is open condemnation of her 
 conduct." 
 
 " Yes, I can understand that feeling on her part," replied I. 
 
 "Well, Valerie, I did not return until the I'egiment was 
 gone, and the barracks cleared. You know tlie commandant 
 always goes the last. I saw my sister safe off, and now I am 
 here to tell you that you are no longer a prisoner, but may 
 make yourself comfortable by roving through my apartments. 
 But the first affair which we must take in hand is your ward- 
 robe. I am rich enough to fui-nish you, so that shall be seen 
 to immediately. And, Valerie dear, let me now say once for 
 
 33 c
 
 VALERIE 
 
 all, what I do not intend to repeat in words, but I hope to 
 prove by my actions. Look iijion me as your mother, for I 
 have not taken you away from your family without the reso- 
 lution of supi)lying, as far as I can, not the mother you have 
 lost, but the mother which in your dreams you have fancied. 
 I love you, my child, for you are deserving of love. Treat 
 me, therefore, with that unlimited confidence and affection 
 which your young and pure heart yearns to pour out." 
 
 " Bless you, madam, bless you," cried I, bursting into tears, 
 and burying my face in her lap ; " I feel that now I have a 
 mother." 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 _r OR several days I remained quiet in the little ante- 
 chamber, during which Madame d'Albret had been busy 
 every morning driving in her carriage, and ordering me a 
 wardrobe ; and as the vai'ious articles came in, I was as much 
 surprised as I was pleased at the taste which had been 
 shown, and the expense which must have been incurred. 
 
 " My dear madam/' cried I, as each parcel was opened, 
 " these are much too good for me ; recollect that I am but a 
 poor soldier's daughter." 
 
 " You Avere so," replied Madame d'Albret ; " but you for- 
 get," continued she, kissing my forehead, "that the poor 
 soldier's daughter was di'owned in the Seine, and you are 
 now the protegee of Madame d'Albret. I have already 
 mentioned to all my friends that I expect a young cousin 
 from Gascony, whom I have adopted, having no children of 
 my own. Your own name is noble, and you may safely 
 retain it, as there are no want of Chatenoeufs in Gascony, and 
 there have been former alliances between them and the 
 d'Albi-ets. I have no doubt that if I were to refer back to 
 family records, that I could prove you to be a cousin, some 
 three Inmdred times removed, and that is quite enough. As 
 soon as you are quite well, and I think in a week all vestiges 
 of your ill-treatment will be effaced, we will go down to my 
 chateau for a few months, and we will return to Paris in the 
 season. Has Madame Paon been here.?" 
 
 34
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " Yes, my dear madams she has, and has taken my measure 
 for the dresses ; but don't scold me. I must cry a little, for 
 I am so happy and so grateful. My heart will burst if I do 
 not. Bless you, bless you, dear madam ; little did I think 
 before I saw you, that I should ever cry for joy." 
 
 Madame d'Albret embraced me with much affection, and 
 allowed me to give vent to my feelings, which I did, bedew- 
 ing her hands with my tears. A week afterwards, every- 
 thing was ready, and we set off for the cha.teau in Brittany, 
 travelling in Madame d'Albret's post-chariot, with an avanl- 
 couricr, and without regard to expense. 
 
 And now I must make the reader somewhat better ac- 
 quainted with my kind protectress. I little thought at the 
 time that she offered me her protection, that she was a per- 
 sonage of such consequence ; but the fact was, that her sister 
 having made a very inferior match to her own, she, out of 
 delicac}', while the colonel and his wife were at Paris, avoided 
 anything like state in paying them a visit, and I supposed 
 that she was 'much in the same rank and society as they 
 were ; but such was not the case. 
 
 Madame d'Albret had married into one of the highest and 
 most noble families of France. Her husband had died three 
 years after their marriage, and having no children, had left 
 her a large revenue entirely at her own disjjosal during her 
 life, and wishing her to marry again, had the property 
 entailed upon her children, if she had any ; if not, after her 
 death, it was to go to a distant branch of the d'Albret 
 family. I was informed that her income amounted to 60,000 
 livres per annum, besides her chateau in the country, and 
 the hotel in the Rue St. Honore, which belonged to her, 
 although she only occupied a portion of it. Her husband 
 had now been dead more than ten years, and Madame 
 d'Albi'et had not been persuaded by her numerous suitors 
 to marry again. She Avas still handsome, about thirty-four 
 years of age, and I hardly need say, was in the very best 
 society in Paris. Such was the person who came to the 
 barracks in so unassuming a manner, and whose protection I 
 was so fortunate as to obtain. 
 
 I could dwell long upon the happy days that I passed at 
 the chiiteau. There was no want of society, and the relations 
 were charming; and being in the country, I was allowed to 
 
 35
 
 VALERIE 
 
 join them, liaving been formally introduced by Madame 
 d'Albret to all her visitors as her cousin. My time was fully 
 occupied. Madame d'Albret, perceiving that I had great 
 talent for music, and a fine voice, had jirocured me good 
 masters ; and wishing to prove my gratitude b)^ attention, I 
 was indefatigable, and made so rapid a ])rogress that my 
 masters were surprised. Music and embroidery, at which I 
 have before mentioned I was very expert, were my only 
 occupations — and on the latter my talents were exerted to 
 please Madame d'Albret, by offering her each piece as they 
 were successively taken from the frame. So far from wish- 
 ing to return to Paris, I was unhappy at the idea of leaving 
 the chateau. Indeed, if the reader will recall what I have 
 narrated of my former life, he will at once perceive that I 
 could but be in a state of perfect happiness. 
 
 Until I was received by Madame d'Albret, I had lived a 
 life of persecution, and had not known kindness. Fear was 
 the passion which had been acted upon, and which, I may 
 say, had crushed both mind and body : now all was kindness 
 and love. Praise, which I had never before received, was 
 now lavished upon me, and I felt my energies and talents 
 roused, and develoj)ing themselves in a way that astonished 
 myself I had not known what I was, or what I was capable 
 of I had had no confidence in myself, and I had believed 
 myself to be almost as incapable as my mother would have 
 persuaded me and everybody else. This sudden change of 
 treatment had a most surprising effect. In the course of a 
 few months I had grown nearly three inches taller, and not 
 only my figure, but my features had become so improved, 
 that, although not vain, it was impossible for me not to 
 believe what every one said, and what my glass told me, that 
 I was very handsome, and that I should make a great sensa- 
 tion when I was introduced at Paris. But although I believed 
 this^ I felt no desire. I was too happy as I was, and would 
 not have exchanged the kindness of Madame d'Albret for the 
 best husband that France could produce ; and when anything 
 was mentioned by ladies who visited Madame d'Albret to 
 that effect, and they talked about my future establishment, 
 my reply invariably was, " Jc ne veux pas." I had always 
 exi)ressed my regrets that we should be obliged to go to Paris 
 for the season, and Madame d'Albret, who of course had no
 
 VALERIE 
 
 wish to part with me so soon, and who felt that I was still 
 young enough to remain for some years single, made me very 
 happy by telling me that she did not intend to stay long in 
 the capital, and that although I should appear at her jjarties, 
 she did not intend that 1 should be much at public places. 
 And so it proved ; we went to Paris, and the best masters 
 were procured for me ; but I did not go out with Madame 
 d'Albret, except occasionally in her morning drives, and once 
 or twice to the opera and theatres. My music occupied the 
 major portion of my time, and having expressed a wish to 
 learn English, I had a good master ; but I had another 
 resource from an intimacy having arisen between me and 
 Madame Paon, Avhom, I believe, I have before mentioned as 
 the first milliner in Paris. 
 
 This intimacy was brought about in the following manner. 
 Being very clever with my needle, and having a great taste 
 for dress, I used to amuse myself at the clnlteau with invent- 
 ing something new, not for myself, but for Madame d'Albret, 
 and very often surjmsed and pleased her by making altera- 
 tions or additions to her dresses, which were always admired, 
 and declared to be in the best taste. On our arrival at Paris, 
 Madame Paon was visited, of course, that the new fashions 
 might be ascertained, and she immediately remarked and 
 admired my little inventions. I was therefore consulted 
 whenever a new dress was to be made for Madame d'Albret, 
 and as Madame Paon was a very ladylike and superior person, 
 of a decayed but good family, we soon became very intimate. 
 We had been at Paris about two months, when one morning 
 Madame Paon observed to Madame d'Albret that, as I was 
 learning English, it would not be a bad plan if Madame 
 d'Albret was to drop me at her establishment when she took 
 her morning airing, as she had two highly respectable English 
 modi.stcs in her employ, who she found were necessary for her 
 English customers, and that I should leai-n more English by 
 an hour's conversation with them than a master could supjily. 
 Madame d'Albret agreed with her ; I was pleased at the idea, 
 and consequently three or four mornings in the week were 
 passed at Madame Paon's. 
 
 But the reader must be introduced to the establishment of 
 Madame Paon, or he may imagine that it was too condescend- 
 ing for a young lady in my position to visit at a milliner's. 
 
 37
 
 VALERIE 
 
 Madame Paon was the first milliner at Paris, and, as is gene- 
 rally the case, was on the most intimate terms with all the 
 ladies. She made for the court, and, indeed, for every lady 
 to whom she could dedicate her time, as it was almost a 
 favour to be permitted to be one of her customers. Her 
 establishment was in the Rue St. Honore, — I forget the 
 name of the hotel, but it was one of the largest. 
 
 The suite of apartments was magnificent. You passed from 
 one room to another, each displaying every variety of rich 
 and graceful costume. In every room Avere demoiselles, well 
 dressed, to attend to the customers, and everything bespoke 
 a degree of taste and elegance quite unparalleled. At last 
 you arrived at the reception-room of madame, which was 
 spacious and most superbly furnished. There were no men 
 in the establishment, except in one room, called the Comptoir, 
 in which were six clerks at their desks. When I add that 
 Madame Paon was elegant in her manners, and handsome 
 in her person, very tall and majestic; that she was rich, kept 
 several servants, a handsome carriage, and had a maison de 
 campagne, to which she retired every Saturday afternoon, 
 the reader may acknowledge that she was a person whom 
 Madame d'Albret might permit me to visit. 
 
 This intimacy soon became very great. There was a certain 
 degree of eclat at my being so constantly in the house ; and, 
 moreover, as I had a decided taste for dress, I often brought 
 forward some new invention which was not only approved of, 
 but a source of profit to Madame Paon. Everything was 
 submitted to my judgment, as Madame Paon more than once 
 observed, " What a first-rate modiste you would make, made- 
 moiselle ; but, unfortunately for the fashions, there is no 
 chance of your being so employed." 
 
 At last the Paris season was neai-ly over, and truly glad 
 was I when Madame d'Albret mentioned the day of our 
 departure. I had very much improved in my music and my 
 Engh.'ih during our residence at Paris. I had not been out, 
 except to small parties, and had no Avish whatever to go out 
 at all. I was satisfied with Madame d'Albret's company, and 
 had no wish to leave her. I may say that I was truly happy, 
 and my countenance was radiant, and proved that I was so. 
 My thoughts would occasionally revert to my father and my 
 brother Auguste, and make me melancholy for the time ; 
 
 38
 
 VALERIE 
 
 but I felt that all was for the best, and I built castles, in 
 which I imagined my suddenly breaking in upon them, 
 throwing myself in my father's arms, and requesting to share 
 the wealth and luxury with which I fancied myself to be 
 endowed. 
 
 I was now nearly eighteen years old. I had been one 
 year under the protection of Madame d'Albret, and the old 
 dowagers who visited us at the chateau were incessantly 
 pointing out to Madame d'Albret that it was time to look 
 out for an establishment for me. Madame d'Albret was, to a 
 certain degree, of their opinion ; but she did not wish to 
 part with me, and I was resolute in my determination not 
 to leave her. I had no wish to be married ; I had reflected 
 much upon the subject ; the few married lives I had wit- 
 nessed were not to my taste. I had seen my kind-hearted, 
 amiable grandmother thwarted by a penurious husband ; I 
 had witnessed my father under the control of a revengeful 
 woman ; and when I beheld, as I did every day, the peace 
 and happiness in the establishment of Madame d'Albret, 
 as a single woman, I felt certain that marriage was a 
 lottery in which there were thousands of blanks to one 
 prize. When, therefore, any of Madame d'Albret' s ac- 
 quaintances brought up the subject, when they left the 
 room I earnestly implored Madame d'Albret not to be in- 
 fluenced by their remarks, as I had made up my mind to 
 remain single, and that all I asked was to remain with her 
 and prove my gratitude. 
 
 " I believe you, Valerie," replied Madame d'Albret, " but 
 I should not be doing my duty if I permitted you to act 
 upon your own feelings. A girl like you was not intended 
 by Heaven to pine away in celibacy, but to adorn the station 
 in life in which she is placed. At the same time I will not 
 press the matter ; but if an advantageous offer were to be 
 made, I shall then consider it my duty to exert my influence 
 with you to make you change your mind ; but, at the same 
 time, I will never use anything more than persuasion. I am 
 too hajipy with you as a companion to wish to part with you, 
 but, at the same time, I should be very selfish if I did not 
 give you up when your own interest told me that such was 
 my duty." 
 
 " Well, madam, I thank Heaven that I have no fortune, 
 
 39
 
 V'ALERIE 
 
 ami thai Avill, 1 trust, be a bar to any i)roposals from the in- 
 terested gentlemen of the present day." 
 
 " That may not save yoii, Valerie/' replied Madame 
 d'Albret, laughing; "gentlemen may be satisfied with ex- 
 pectancies ; nay, it is possible that one may be found -who may 
 be satisfied with your own pretty self, and ask no more." 
 
 " I rather think not, madam," replied I. " You have too 
 good an opinion of me, and must not expect others to view 
 me with your partial eyes ; all I can say is, that if such a 
 gentleman could be found, his disinterestedness would make 
 me think more highly of him than I do of the sex at present, 
 although not sufiiciently well to wish me to change my 
 present condition." 
 
 " Well, well, we shall see," replied Madame d'Albret ; 
 "the carriage is at the door, so bring me my bonnet and 
 cashmere." 
 
 A few weeks after our return to the chateau, a Monsieur 
 
 de G , of an old family in Brittany, who had been for the 
 
 last two years in England, returned to his father's house, and 
 called upon Madame d'Albret. She had known him from 
 childhood, and received him most cordially. I must describe 
 him fully, as he played no small part in my little drama. He 
 was, I should think, nearly thirty years of age, small in 
 person, but elegantly made, with a very handsome but rather 
 effeminate face. His address and manners were perfect. 
 He was very witty, and apparently very amiable. His de- 
 portment towards our sex was certainly most fascinating — so 
 tender and so respectful. I certainly never had befoi*e seen 
 so polished a man. He sang well, and played upon several 
 instruments ; drew, cai'icatured — indeed, he did everything 
 well that he attempted to do ; I hardly need say that with 
 such (jnalifications, and being so old a friend, he was gladly 
 welcomed by Madame d'Albret, and became a daily visitor at 
 the chateau. I was soon intimate with him, and partial to 
 his conij)any, but nothing more ; indeed, his attentions to 
 Madaujc d'Albret were quite as great as to me, and there 
 was nothing to permit any one to suppose that he was ])aying 
 his court either to her or to me. Madame d'Albret thought 
 otherwise, because we sang together, and because he talked 
 to me in English ; and she as well as others rallied me in 
 consequence. 
 
 40
 
 VALERIE 
 
 After two months had passed away, Monsieur dc G 
 
 was supposed to be payinj^ his attentions more partieidarly 
 to me, and I thought so myself; Madame d'Albret certainlv 
 did, and gave him every opportunity. He was the heir to 
 a large property, and did not require money with liis wife. 
 About this time an English lady of the name of Bathurst, 
 who was travelling with a niece, a little girl about fourteen 
 years old, had accepted an invitation from Monsieur de 
 
 G 's father to pass a week with them at their chateau, 
 
 which was about five miles from that of Madame d'Albret, 
 and this lady was introduced. She Avas apj)arently very 
 amiable, and certainly very distingucc in her maimers, and we 
 saw a great deal of her, as she was a great favourite with 
 Madame d'Albret. 
 
 A few weeks after the introduction of this English lady, I 
 was one day on the terrace alone, when I was accosted by 
 
 Monsieur de G . After a remark or two upon the beauty 
 
 of the autumnal flowers, he observed — 
 
 " How different are the customs of two great nations, with 
 but a few leagues of Avater between them — I refer to the 
 French and the English. You would be surprised to see how 
 great they are, if you were ever to go to England — in none, 
 perhaps, more so than in the affairs of the heart. In Fi-ance 
 we do not consult the Avishes or the feelings of the young 
 lady ; we apply to her parents, and if the match is considered 
 equally advantageous, the young lady is told to prepare her- 
 self for changing her condition. In England the very re- 
 verse is the case ; we apply to the young lady, gain her 
 affections, and when certain of them, we then request the 
 sanction of those who ai*e her guardians. Which do you 
 think is the most natural and satisfactory, Mademoiselle de 
 Chatena'uf .'' " 
 
 " I have been brought up in France, Monsieur de G , 
 
 and I prefer the mode of France ; our parents and our 
 guardians are the people most able to decide upon the 
 propriety of a match, and I think that, until that point is 
 ascertained, no affections should be engaged, as, should the 
 marriage not be considered advisable, much pain and disap- 
 pointment will be prevented." 
 
 " In some instances I grant that such may be the case," 
 replied he ; " but still, is it not treating your sex like slaves 
 
 41
 
 VALERIE 
 
 to permit no love before marriage ? and is it agreeable for 
 ours that we lead to the albir a person who may consent from 
 a sense of duty, without having the least regard for her 
 husband, nay, ]ierhaj)S feeling an aversion?" 
 
 " I do not think that any kind parents would force their 
 child to marry a man for whom she felt an aversion," re- 
 plied 1; "and if there is not much love before marriage, 
 there may be a great deal after ; but the fact is, it is a 
 subject upon which I am not able, nor do I wish, to give 
 my opinion." 
 
 " As you disagree with me. Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf," 
 replied he, " I fear you will not be pleased at my courting 
 you in the E,nglish fashion ; and previous to addressing my- 
 self to Madame d'Albret, making known to you my sincere 
 regard for you, and my humble hopes that I am not indifferent 
 to you." 
 
 " I will answer you very plainly, Monsieur de G ; and, 
 
 perhaps, it is as Avell you have taken this unusual step, as it 
 will save you the trouble of making any application to Madame 
 d'Albret. Flattered as I am by your compliment, I beg to 
 decline the honour you propose ; and now that you know my 
 feelings, you will of course not be so ungenerous as to make 
 any application to Madame d'Albret." 
 
 " Certainly, mademoiselle," I'eplied he, with great pique, 
 **but on one condition, which is, that you will pi'omise me 
 that you will not mention to Madame d'Albret what has now 
 passed between us." 
 
 "That I willingly promise. Monsieur de G , as I may 
 
 consider it as your secret." 
 
 "And I trust," continued he, "that you will not discard 
 me from your friendship, but receive me as before." 
 
 " I shall always be happy to receive the friends of 
 Madame d'Albret," replied I ; "and now I wish you a good 
 morning." 
 
 I went to my own room, and reflected upon what had 
 
 passed. I was angry with Monsieur de G for what I 
 
 considered the unwarrantable liberty he had taken, the 
 greater, as he must have known my utter dependence upon 
 Madame d'Albret, and how unlikely it was that I would form 
 any such engagement without her knowledge and sanction. 
 
 That I had no love for Monsieur de G was certain, 
 
 42
 
 ■■^rinUdiiRiris
 
 VALERIE 
 
 although I was pleased with his company and conversation. 
 I was sorry, on reflection, that I had given my promise not 
 to mention what had passed ; but having made the promise, 
 although hastily, I resolved to adhere to it. 
 
 I took it for granted that he would gradually withdraw 
 himself, and that we should see little more of him ; but in 
 this I was mistaken ; he was as frequent in his visits as 
 before, dividing his attentions between Madame d'Albret 
 and me. This annoyed me, and I avoided him as much as I 
 could, and the consequence was that he was oftener with 
 Madame d'Albret than with me. At first, when Madame 
 d'Albi'et perceived this, she appeared to be vexed, as she 
 had evidently set her mind upon the match, and expected 
 daily to receive a formal proposal from him in my behalf; 
 but gradually, why I know not, it gave her no further concern, 
 and I Avas pei'mitted to leave the room and do as I pleased 
 without being subjected to any remarks. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs when the Pai'is season drew 
 near. Madame Bathurst had been induced to i-emain in 
 Brittany, and was continually with us. She had often asked 
 me to come over to England and pass a few weeks with 
 them, and I had jokingly replied that I would. One morn- 
 ing Madame d'Albret said to me — 
 
 " My dear Valerie, Madame Bathurst has again requested 
 me to allow you to go to England with her. Now if you 
 think that you would like to pass a short time with her, 
 instead of remaining at Paris during the season, I really have 
 no objection, if it would give you pleasure." 
 
 " Aly dear madam, I was only joking when I said so." 
 
 " Well, you have made Madame Bathurst think you were 
 in earnest, my dear," replied she; "and I thought so too, 
 and have this morning promised that you shall go with her. 
 I thought you would perfect yourself in English, and it would 
 be a good o])portunity of relieving you for a short time of 
 your constant attendance upon me ; so, my dear Valerie, I 
 advise you to go. It will amuse you, and a little change will 
 do you good : besides, my dear, I perceive that the attentions 
 
 of NIonsieur de G are not agreeable to you, and it is as 
 
 well to break it off by a short absence." 
 
 " I shall not dispute your wishes, madam," replied I 
 mournfully, for my heart misgave me, why I knew not ; "but 
 
 43
 
 VALERIE 
 
 if I do ijo, it will be to oblige yo'^ Jind not because I really 
 wish it." 
 
 " My dear \'alerie, I think it will be for the best, and 
 therefore you will oblige nie. I have promised for you, and 
 I should be sorry to have to recall my promise — so consent, 
 my dear, and I will write to Madame Bathurst, that she may 
 be prepared to receive you." 
 
 "Certainly, madam," replied I, "your wishes will ever be 
 a law to me ; " and so saying I left the room, and going to 
 my own chamber, I threw myself down on the bed and wept 
 bitterly, without knowing why. 
 
 About ten days after this, Madame Bathurst called for me 
 
 to take me to the chateau of Monsieur de G 's father, 
 
 where I was to remain till the next morning, when we were 
 to post to Paris. It was with great pain that I quitted 
 Madame d'Albret ; but her kindness to me appeared to have 
 increased rather than diminished, after the proposal of our 
 short separation. " God bless you, my dear Valerie," she 
 said ; " you must write to me twice a week ; I shall be most 
 impatient for your return." I parted from her with many 
 tears, and did not leave off weeping till we arrived at the 
 chateau at which Madame Bathurst resided. 
 
 I was received with formal politeness by the old gentleman, 
 
 and Monsieur de G , who was also at home, and in an 
 
 excessively gay humour. " Alas, mademoiselle," cried he, 
 " what a desert you will leave behind you ! It is too cruel 
 this travelling mania on your part. We never shall see you 
 again." 
 
 There was so much irony in his face as he said this, that I 
 hardly knew what to make of it; but it made me feel anxious 
 and dissatisfied. I would have given much to have abandoned 
 the journey ; but Madame d'Albret's wishes were a law to me. 
 To avoid reflection, which was painful, I talked with Caroline, 
 the niece of Madame Bathurst, and as we were to set off at 
 daylight, we retired early. The following morning we set 
 off, and in due time arrived at Paris, where we remained 
 but one day, and then proceeded to Boulogne, where we 
 embarked. 
 
 It was now November, and half-way across the Channel we 
 were enveloped in a fog, and it was with difficulty that we 
 made the harbour. We set off for London ; the fog continued 
 
 44
 
 VALERIE 
 
 iliirin_£f the ■whole (lay, and on our arrival at the suburbs it was 
 thicker than ever, and the horses were led through the streets 
 by peoj)le carrying flambeaux. I had heard that England 
 was a Iristc pcii/s, and I thought it so indeed. At last I ob- 
 served to Madame Bathurst, " Eat-ce qiiil )i'i/ a jamais dc .soldi 
 dans ce pai/s, vuuhnnc ? " 
 
 "Oh yes," replied she, laughing, "and a very beautiful 
 sun too." 
 
 The next day we set off for Madame Bathurst's country seat, 
 to pass the Christmas. Before we were three miles out of 
 London the fog had disappeared, the sun shone out brilliantly, 
 and the branches of the leafless trees covered with rime glit- 
 tered like diamond wands as we flew past them. What with 
 the change in the weather, and the rapid motion produced 
 by the four English post-horses, I thought PLngland beautiful ; 
 but I must say that the first two days were a trial, the more 
 so as I was very despondent from having quitted Madame 
 d'Albret. I was delighted with Madame Bathurst's country 
 seat, the well-arranged gardens, the conservatories, the neat- 
 ness displayed in everything, so different from France, the 
 cleanness of the house and furniture: the London carpets 
 over the whole of the rooms and staircases were, in my 
 opinion, great improvements ; but I cared little for the 
 society, which I found not only dull, but it appeared to me 
 to be selfish. I found a lively companion in Caroline, and 
 Ave sat up in a little boudoir, where we were never in- 
 terrupted. Here I j^ractised my music, and, at Madame 
 Bathurst's request, spoke alternately English and French with 
 my little companion, for our mutual improvement. 
 
 I had written twice to Madame d'Albret, and had received 
 one very kind answer ; but no mention was made of my re- 
 turn, although it was at first arranged that my visit was to be 
 three weeks or a month. A fortnight after my arrival at 
 Fairfield, I received a second letter from Madame d'Albret, 
 kind as usual, but stating, to my great grief, that she was not 
 well, having had an attack on her chest from having taken a 
 violent cold. I answered the letter immediately, requesting 
 that I might be permitted to return home and nurse her, for 
 I felt very uneasy. For three weeks, during which I had no 
 reply, I was in a state of great anxiety and distress, as I 
 imagined that Madame d'Albret must have been too ill to
 
 VALERIE 
 
 write, and I was in a fever of suspense. At last I received a 
 letter from her, stating that she had been very ill, and that 
 she had been recommended by the physicians to go to the 
 south of France for the winter. At the same time, as she 
 could not put off her departure, she wrote to Madame 
 Hathurst, requesting, if not inconvenient, that she would 
 allow my visit to be extended till the spring, at which 
 season she expected to I'eturn to Paris. Madame Batlun-st 
 read her letter to me, and stated how happy she should be 
 for me to remain. I could do no otherwise but thank her, 
 although I was truly miserable. I wrote to Madame d'Albret, 
 and stated what my feelings were ; but as she had, by what 
 was said in her letter, already left for the south of France, I 
 knew that my letter would arrive too late to enable her to 
 alter her determination. All I requested was, that she would 
 give me continual intelligence of her health. 
 
 I was, however, much consoled in mj^ distress by the kind- 
 ness of Madame Bathurst, and affectionate manners of her 
 niece Caroline, who was my constant companion. There was 
 a great deal of company not only visiting, but staying in the 
 house ; but although there was much company, there was 
 very little society. Horses, dogs, guns, were the amusements 
 of the gentlemen during the day ; in the evening we saw 
 little of them, as they seldom left the dinner-table before 
 Caroline and I had retired to our rooms ; and the ladies 
 ai)pcared to me to be all afraid of each other, and to be con- 
 stantly on the reserve. 
 
 Christmas had passed, and I had not heard again from 
 Madame d'Albret, which was a source of great vexation and 
 many bitter tears. I fancied her dying in the south of 
 France, without any one to take care of her. I often spoke 
 to Madame Bathurst on the subject, who offered all the 
 excuses that she could devise ; but I thought at the same 
 time appeared to be very grave, and unwilling to continue 
 the conversation. At last I thought of Madame Paon, and I 
 wrote to her, inquiring whether she knew how Madame 
 d'Albret was, detailing to her how I had come to England, 
 and how Madame d'Albret had been seriously indisposed, 
 stating my fears from not having received any reply to my 
 last letters. The day after I had Avritten to Madame Paon, 
 Caroline, who was sitting with me in the boudoir, observed, 
 
 40'
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " I heard Mrs. Corbet say to my aunt that she had seen 
 Madame d'Albret at Paris about ten days ago." 
 
 " Impossible ! " repHed I ; " she is in the south of France." 
 
 "So I understood," repHed CaroHne ; "but she did say so, 
 and my aunt immediately sent me out of the room on a 
 message. I am sure it was to get rid of me^ that she might 
 talk to Mrs. Corbet." 
 
 "What can this mean.-^" exclaiiTied I. "Oh, my heart 
 forebodes evil ! Excuse me, Caroline, but I feel very miser- 
 able ; " and I laid my face down on the table, covering it 
 with my hands, and tears trickled fast through my fingers. 
 
 " Speak to my aunt," said Caroline consolingly ; " do not 
 cry, ^'^alerie ; it may be all a mistake." 
 
 " I will at once speak to Madame Bathurst," said I, raising 
 my head, "it will be the best ])lan." 
 
 I went into my room, bathed my eyes, and then sought 
 Madame Bathurst, whom I found in the conservatory, giving 
 directions to the gardenei*. After a time she took my arm, 
 and we walked down the terrace. 
 
 " Madame Bathurst," said I, " I have been made very 
 miserable by Caroline stating that Mrs. Corbet had told 
 you that she met Madame d'Albret at Paris. How can 
 this be ? " 
 
 " I cannot imagine more than yourself, my dear Valerie," 
 replied Madame Bathurst, "except that Mrs. Corbet was 
 mistaken." 
 
 " Do you think it was, madam .'' " 
 
 " I cannot say, Valei'ie ; but I have written to Paris to 
 ascertain the fact, which is to me incomprehensible. A few 
 days will let us into the truth ; I cannot believe it — indeed, 
 if it were true, I shall consider that Madame d'Albret has 
 treated me ill ; for much as I am pleased to have you here, 
 she has not been candid with me in proposing that you 
 should remain the winter, upon the plea of her being obliged 
 to go to the south, when she is still at Paris. I cannot 
 understand it, and until confirmed, I will not believe it. 
 Mrs. Corbet is not an acquaintance of hers, and may, there- 
 fore, be mistaken." 
 
 "She must be, madam," replied I ; "still it is strange that 
 I do not hear from her. I am fearful something is wrong, 
 and what it can be I cannot surmise." 
 
 47
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " Let us talk no more about it, my clear Valerie. A few 
 tiays will decide the point." 
 
 A few days did decide the point, for I received an answer 
 from NLadanie Paon, in which she said : — 
 
 " Mv DEAR Mademoiselle Cmatenceuf, — You may imagine 
 mv sin-prise at receiving your letter, and I fear you must pre- 
 pare yourself for unpleasant intelligence. Madame d'Albret 
 is in Paris, and has never been in the south of France that 
 I have heard. When she first called, I inquired after you. 
 The reply was, that you were on a visit to a lady in England ; 
 that you had left her ; that you had a manie pour I' /higldcrre : 
 and so saying, she shrugged up her shoulders. I was about 
 to inquire more particularly, but she cut the conversation 
 short by asking to see a new pelisse, and I perceived at 
 once that there was something wrong, but wdiat I could not 
 comprehend. I did not see her till four or five weeks aftex*- 
 wards, when she called, accompanied by a Monsieur de 
 
 G , a person well known in Paris, where he bears a 
 
 very indifferent character, as a desperate gambler, and a man 
 of very bad disposition concealed under a very polished 
 exterior ; but his character is better known in England, 
 which country, I am told, he was obliged to quit in conse- 
 quence of some gaming transaction, anything but honour- 
 able. I again made inquiries after you, and this time the 
 
 reply was given by Monsieur de G , who replied that 
 
 you were an ingrate, and your name must not be in future 
 mentioned by any one to Madame d'Albret. 
 
 " The handsome face of Monsieur de G was changed 
 
 to that of a demon when he made this remark, and fully 
 proved to me the truth of the report that he was a person of 
 very bad disposition. INLadame d'Albret made no remark, 
 except that she should be careful how she ever engaged a 
 demoiselle de co}>ipag>iic again. I was struck at this remark 
 from her, as I always considered that you were (and, indeed, 
 I know you were at one time) viewed in a very different 
 light, and I was quite mystified. About a fortnight after- 
 wards Madame d'Albret called upon me, and announced her 
 
 intended marriage to Monsieur de G , and requested me 
 
 to make her wedding dresses. Here the whole mystery was 
 
 out ; but why, because she marries Monsieur de G , you 
 
 48
 
 VALERIE 
 
 should lose her protection, and why Monsieur de G • 
 
 should be so inveterate against you, is more than I can tell. 
 I have now, my dear mademoiselle, given you a detail of all 
 I know, and shall be most happy to hear from you if you will 
 please to write to me, &c., &c. 
 
 "Emilie Paon, nee Merge." 
 
 Here was a solution of the whole mystery. I read the 
 letter, and fell back on the sofa, gasping for breath. It Avas 
 some time before I could recover myself. I was alone in my 
 bedroom, my head and eyes swimming ; but I staggered to 
 the washing-stand, and obtained some water. It was half- 
 an-hour before I could recall my astonished senses, and then 
 everything appeared as clear to me as if it had been revealed. 
 
 Monsieur de G 's double attentions ; his spiteful look at 
 
 my refusal ; his occupying himself wholly with Madame 
 d'Albret after I refused him ; her wishing to get rid of me 
 by sending me to England with Madame Bathurst, and her 
 subsequent false and evasive conduct. Monsieur de G— — 
 had had his revenge, and gained his point at the same time. 
 He had obtained the wealth of Madame d'Albret to squander 
 at the gaming-table, and had contrived, by some means or 
 another, to ruin me in her good opinion. I perceived at 
 once that all was lost, and when I considered the awkward- 
 ness of my position, I was almost in despair. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 x\S I continued for more than an hour on the sofa, gloomily 
 passing in revicAV my short career, my present position, and 
 occasionally venturing a surmise upon the future, a feeling 
 which I had not had before — one which had hitherto been 
 latent — pride, gradually was awakened in my bosom, and as 
 it was aroused, it sustained me. I have before observed, 
 that fear had been my predominating feeling till I had 
 ({uitted my parents ; love and gratitude had succeeded them ; 
 but now, smarting under injustice, pride, and with j)ride, 
 many less worthy passions were suumioned uji, and I ap- 
 
 -19 D
 
 VALERIE 
 
 peared in the course of two short hours to be another 
 being. I felt confidence in myself, my eyes were opened 
 all at once, as it were, to the heartlessness of the world; the 
 more I considered the almost hopeless condition in which 
 I was, the more my energy was roused. I sat down on the 
 6ofa a confiding, clinging girl ; I rose up a resolute, cleai*- 
 sighted woman. 
 
 I reflected, and had made up my mind that Madame 
 d'Albret would never forgive one whom she had injured as 
 she had me. She had induced me to break off all family and 
 parental ties (such as they were) ; she had made me wholly 
 dependent upon her, and had now cast me off' in a cruel and 
 heartless manner. She had used deceit, because she knew 
 that she could not justify her conduct. She had raised 
 calumnies against me, accusing me of ingratitude, as an 
 excuse for her own conduct. Anything like a reconciliation, 
 therefore, was impossible, and any assistance from her I was 
 determined not to accept. Besides, was she not married to 
 
 Monsieur de G , whom pique at my refusal had made my 
 
 enemy, and who had, in all probability, as he })ressed his own 
 suit, perceived the necessity, independent of the gratification 
 it afforded him to be my ruin, of removing me as a serious 
 obstacle to Madame d'Albret's contracting a new alliance .'' 
 From that quarter, therefore, there was nothing to be ex- 
 pected or hoped for, even if it were desired. And what was 
 my position with Madame Bathurst .'' On a visit. At the 
 termination of which I was houseless. 
 
 That Madame Bathurst would probably offer me a tem- 
 porary asylum, for she would hardly turn me out of doors, I 
 felt convinced ; but my new-born pride revolted at the idea 
 of dependence upon one on whom I had no claim whatever. 
 \\'hat, then, was to be done .'' I examined my ca])ital. I 
 was handsome, but that was of no use to me ; the insidious 
 conduct of Monsieur de G had raised to positive dis- 
 like the indifference that I felt for his sex, and 1 had no 
 inclination to make a market of my personal advantages. 
 I could sing and j)lay well. I spoke French and English, 
 and understood Italian. I could embroider and work well 
 with my needle. Such were my capabilities, my stock-in- 
 trade, with which to commence the world ; I was therefore 
 competent, to a certain degree, to give lessons in music 
 
 50
 
 VALERIE 
 
 and in French, or to take a governess's place, or to become 
 a viodiste. 
 
 I thought of Madame Paon ; but when I reflected in what 
 manner I had visited her, the respect and homage, I may 
 say, Avhich liad been ofTered up to me, and how ditterent my 
 reception and treatment would be if I entered the estabhsh- 
 ment as one of themselves, the reflection was too mortifying, 
 and I determined, that if I were driven to such an employ- 
 ment for my livelihood, it should be where I was not known. 
 After much consideration, I decided that I woulil see Madame 
 Bathin'st, make known to her my intentions, and ask her 
 assistance and reconnnendation to procure me a situation. I 
 arranged my hair, removed all traces of my late agitation, 
 and went down to her. I found her alone, and asking her 
 whether she could spare me a few minutes of her time, I 
 handed to her the letter which I had received from Madame 
 Paon, and then made her accjuainted with that portion of my 
 history with which she had been unacquainted. As I spoke^ 
 my courage revived, and my voice became firm — I felt that 
 1 was no longer a girl. 
 
 " Madame Bathurst, I have confided this to you, because 
 you will agree with me that there can be nothing more 
 between Madame d'Albret and me ; for even if she made 
 an offer, I would never accept it. I am now in a very 
 false position, owing to her conduct. I am here on a 
 visit, supposed by you to be the protegee of that lady, and 
 a person of some consequence. Her protection has been 
 taken away from me, and I am now a beggar, with nothing 
 but my talents for my future support. I explain this to 
 you frankly, because I cannot think of remaining as your 
 visitor ; and if I do not ask too much, all that I wish of 
 your friendship is, that you will give me such a recom- 
 mendation as you think I deserve, by which I may obtain 
 the means of future livelihood." 
 
 "My dear Valerie," replied Madame Bathurst, "I will not 
 hurt your feelings. It is a heavy blow, and I am glad to 
 perceive, that instead of being crushed by it, you aj)pear to 
 rise. I have heard of Madame d'Albret's marriage, and the 
 deceit which she has been practising evidently to get rid of 
 you. Not many days ago I wrote to her, pointing out the 
 variance between what she stated in her letters, and her 
 
 51
 
 VALERIE 
 
 actual position, and requesting to know wliat Avas to be done 
 relative to you. Her answer I have received tliis da}'. She 
 states that you have cruelly deceived her ; that at the very 
 time that you professed the utmost gratitude and affection, 
 you were slandering her, and laughing at her behind her 
 
 back, particularly to Monsieur de G , to whom she is now 
 
 married ; and that, however she might be inclined to forgive 
 
 and overlook your conduct herself, Monsieur de G is 
 
 resolute, and determined that you never shall come again 
 under his roof She has, therefore, transmitted a billet of 
 five hundred francs to enable you to return to your father's 
 house." 
 
 " Then," replied I, " it is as I suspected ; Monsieur de 
 G is the cause of all." 
 
 " Why did you trust him, Valerie, or rather why were you 
 so imprudent, and I must add, ungrateful, to speak of Madame 
 d'Albret as you did t" 
 
 " And you believe it, Madame Bathurst, you believe that 
 I did so ? I can only say, that if such is your belief, the 
 sooner we part the better." 
 
 I then told her what I had omitted in my narrative, how 
 I had refused Monsieur de G , and, explaining his char- 
 acter, showed that he had acted thus out of interest and 
 revenge. 
 
 " I believe it all now, Valerie, and I must beg your pardon 
 for having supposed that you had been ungrateful This 
 explanation relieves me, and enables me to make you the 
 offer which I had thought of doing, had I not been checked 
 by tiiis calumny against you. I say, therefore, for the present, 
 m}^ dear Valerie, remain here. You ai'e quite equal to be 
 governess to Caroline, but I prefer you should remain with 
 me more as a friend than as a governess. I say this, because 
 I fear you will be too proud to remain as a dependant, 
 without making yourself useful. You know that I did 
 intend to take a governess for Caroline as soon as we went 
 to London. I will now take you, if you will consent, and 
 shall feel the obligation on my side, as I shall not only 
 have retained a capable person, but shall also not lose a 
 dear young friend." 
 
 " I thank you for the offer, my dear madame," replied I, 
 rising and courtesying ; " I trust, however, that you will allow 
 
 52
 
 VALERIE 
 
 me a little time for reflection before I decide. You iTiust 
 admit that this is a most critical epoch in my life, and I must 
 not make one false step if it is possible to prevent it." 
 
 " Certainlj'," rejilicd Madame Bathurst, "certainly. You 
 are right, Valerie, in reflecting well before you decide ; but 
 I must say that you are rather haughty in your manner 
 towards me." 
 
 " I may have been, my dear Madame Bathurst, but if so, 
 take my excuses. Recollect, the Valerie of yesterday, who 
 was your visitor and young friend, is not the Valerie of to- 
 day ! " and with these words I took up the cheque for five 
 hundred francs which Madame Bathurst had laid on the table, 
 left the room, and returned to my own apartment. 
 
 I returned to my room, and was glad to be once more 
 alone ; for although I bore up well under the circumstances, 
 still the compressed excitement was wearying to the frame. 
 I had resolved to accept the offer of Madame Bathurst at the 
 time that she made it, but I did not choose to appear to jump 
 at it, as she probably expected that I would. I felt no confi- 
 dence in any one but my own self, after the treatment of 
 Madame d'Albret, and I considered that Madame Bathurst 
 would probably dismiss me, as soon as my services were no 
 longer required, with as little ceremony as had Madame 
 d'Albret. That I was capable of taking charge of and instruct- 
 ing Caroline, I knew well, and that Madame Bathurst would 
 not easily procure a governess so cajiable of singing and music 
 as myself. There would be consequently no obligation, and I 
 resolved that I would I'eject her terms if they were not favour- 
 able. I had some money, for I had spent but a small portion 
 of twenty sovereigns which Madame d'Albret had given me 
 in a purse when I quitted her. I had, therefore, the means 
 of subsistence for some little time, should I not come to 
 terms with Madame Bathurst. 
 
 After an hour's reflection, I sat down and wrote a letter to 
 Madame Paon, stating what had occurred, and my determina- 
 tion to obtain my own livelihood, and adding, that as I was 
 not sure whether I should accept of Mndame Bathurst's offer, 
 I wished her to give me a letter of inti'oduction to some 
 French acquaintance of hers in London, as I was an utter 
 stranger to everything, and, without advice, should probably 
 be cheated in every way. As soon as this letter was finished 
 
 53
 
 VALERIE 
 
 I commenced .inother to Madame d'Albret, which was in the 
 following words : — 
 
 " My dear Madame, — Yes, I will still say my dear 
 madame ; for although you will never hear of me again, you 
 are still dear to me, more dear perhaps than you were, when 
 I considered you my patroness and my more than mother. 
 And why so ? — because when those we love are in misfortune, 
 when those who have benefited us are likely to soon want 
 succour themselves, it is then the time that we should pour 
 out our gratitude and love. I do not consider it your fault, 
 my dear Madame d'Albret, that you have been deceived by a 
 base hypocrite, who wears so captivating a mask ; I do not 
 blame you that you have been persuaded by him that I have 
 slandered and behaved ungratefully to you. You have been 
 blinded by your own feelings toAvards him and by his con- 
 summate art. I am also to blame for not having communi- 
 cated to 30U that he made me a proposal of marriage but a 
 short time previous to my departure, and which I indignantly 
 rejected, because he had taken such an unusual step without 
 any previous communication with you on the subject — not 
 that I would have accepted him, even if you had wished it, 
 for I knew how false and unworthy he was considered to be. 
 I should have told you, my dear madame, of this offer of 
 marriage on his part, but he requested me as a favour not to 
 mention it to you, and I did not then know that he was a 
 ruined man, a desperate gambler, and that he had been 
 obliged to quit this countr}- for dishonourable practices at the 
 gaming-table, as you may easily discover to be true ; for even 
 Madame Paon can give you all the necessary information. 
 And into this man's hands have you fallen, my dear Madame 
 d'Albret. Alas, how you are to be pitied ! my heart bleeds 
 for you, and I fear that a few months will sufhce to prove to 
 you the truth of what I now write. That I am a sufferer by 
 
 the conduct of Monsieur de G is true. I have lost a kind 
 
 patroness, an indulgent mother, and am now left to obtain 
 my own livelihood how I can. All my visions, all my dreams 
 of happiness with you, all my wishes of proving my gratitude 
 and love for your kindness have vanished, and here I am, 
 young, alone, and unprotected. But I think not of myself; 
 at all events I am free — I am not chained to such a person
 
 VALERIE 
 
 as Monsieui' de G ; and it is of yon, and all that you will 
 
 have to suffer, that my thoiii^hts and heart are full. I return 
 you the cheque for five hundred francs — I cannot take the 
 
 money. You are married to Monsieur de G , and I can 
 
 accept nothing' from one who has made you believe that 
 Valerie could be calumnious and ungrateful. Adieu, my 
 dear madamc ; I shall j)ray for you, and weep over your 
 misfortunes. — Yours ever gratefully, 
 
 " Valerie de Chaten(EUF." 
 
 That there was a mixed feeling in this letter I confess. 
 As I said in it, I really pitied Madamc d'Albret and forgave 
 her her unkindness ; but I sought revenge upon Monsieur de 
 
 G , and in seeking that, I planted daggers into the heart 
 
 of Madame d'Albret ; but 1 did not at the time that I Avrote 
 reflect upon this. What I wished to do was to vindicate 
 myself, and that I could not do without exposing Monsieur 
 
 de G , and exposing him in his true colours was, of 
 
 course, awakening Madame d'Albret to her position sooner 
 than she would have been, and filling her mind with doubts 
 and jealousy. That this was not kind, I felt when I perused 
 what I had written previous to folding the letter ; but I felt 
 no inclination to alter it, probably because I had not quite so 
 wholly forgiven Madame d'Albret as I thought that I had. 
 Be it as it may, the letter was sealed and despatched by that 
 night's post, as well as that written to Madame Paon. 
 
 I had now only to arrange with Madame Bathurst, and I 
 went down into the drawing-room, where I found her alone. 
 " I have considered, my dear Madame Bathurst," said I, 
 "your kind proposal. I certainly have had a little struggle 
 to get over, as you must admit that it is not pleasant to sink 
 from a visitor in a family into a dependant, as I must in 
 future be if 1 remain with you ; but the advantages of being 
 with a person whom I respect as much as I do you, and of 
 having charge of a young person to whom I am so attached 
 as I am to Caroline, have decided me on accepting your offer. 
 May I know then what may be the terms upon which I am 
 received as governess } " 
 
 "Valerie, I feel that this is all pride," replied Madame 
 Bathurst, " but still it is not disreputable pride, and though I 
 shall yield to it, I Avould have made no terms, but retained 
 
 55
 
 VALERIE 
 
 you as a dear friend, my purse and everything in the house 
 at vour command, and I hoped that you would have allowed 
 me so to do. But as you will not, I have only to say that I 
 should have expected to pay any governess whom I might 
 have retained for Caroline a salary of £100 per annum, and 
 that I offer you the same." 
 
 "It is more than sufficient, my dear madame," replied I, 
 "and I accept your offer if you will take me on trial for six 
 months." 
 
 " Valerie, you make me laugh, and make me angry at the 
 same time ; but I can bear much from you now, for you have 
 had a heavy blow, my poor child. Now let's say no more on 
 the subject ; all is settled, and the arrangement will remain 
 a secret, unless you publish it yourself" 
 
 " I certainly shall make no secret of it, Madame Bathurst ; 
 I should be sorry to show false colours, and be supposed by 
 your friends to be otherwise than what I really am. I have 
 done nothing that I ought to be ashamed of, and I abhor 
 deceit. Whatever may be my position in life, I trust that I 
 shall never disgrace the name that I beai', and I am not the 
 first of a noble name who has had a reverse in fortune." 
 
 How strange that I now, for the first time in my life, began 
 to feel pride in my family name. I presume because when 
 we have lost almost everything, we cherish more that which 
 remains to us. From the time that Madame Bathurst had 
 first known me till the last twenty-four hours, not a 
 symptom of pride had ever been discovered in me. As the 
 protegee and adopted daughter of Madame d'Albret, with 
 brilliant j^rospects, I was all humility — now a dependant, 
 with a salary of £100 per annum, Valerie was as proud as 
 Lucifer himself Madame Bathurst perceived this, and I 
 must do her the justice to say, that she was very guai'ded 
 in her conduct towards me. She felt sympathy for me, 
 and treated me with more kindness, and I may say with 
 more respect, than she did when I was her visitor and 
 her equal. 
 
 The next day I informed Caroline of the change in my 
 prospects, and of my having accc})ted the office of governess ; 
 that was to say, on a six months' trial. I pointed out to 
 her that it would now be my duty to see that she did not 
 neglect her studies, and that I was determijied to do justice 
 
 5ii
 
 VALERIE 
 
 to Madame Bathurst's confidence reposed in nie. Caroline, 
 who was of a very amiable and sweet disposition, rejilied, 
 "That she should always look upon me as her friend and 
 companion, and from her love for me, would do everything 
 I wished," and she kept her word. 
 
 The reader will agree with me, that it was impossible for 
 any one to have been lowered down in ])osition more gently 
 than I was in this instance. The servants never knew that 
 I had accepted the offer of governess, for I was invariably 
 called Valerie by Madame Bathurst and her niece, and was 
 treated as I Avas before when a visitor to the house. I be- 
 stowed much time upon Caroline, and taught myself daily, 
 that I might be more able to teach her. I went back to 
 the elements in everything, that I might be more capable 
 of instructing, and Caroline made rapid progress in music, 
 and promised to have, in a few years, a very fine voice. We 
 went to town for the season, but I avoided company as 
 much as possible — so much so, that Madame Bathurst com- 
 plained of it. 
 
 " Valerie, you do wrong not to make your appearance. 
 You retire in such a way that people natui-ally put questions 
 to me, and ask if you are the governess, or what you are." 
 
 " I wish them to do so, my dear madame, and I want j^ou 
 to reply frankly. I am the governess, and do not like any- 
 thing like concealment." 
 
 " But I cannot admit that you are what may be called a 
 governess, Valerie. You are a young friend staying with 
 me, who instructs my niece." 
 
 "That is what a governess ought to be," replied I, "a 
 young friend who instructs your children." 
 
 "I grant it," replied Madame Bathurst; "but I fear if 
 you were to take the situation in another family, you would 
 find that a governess is not generally so considered or so 
 treated. I do not know any class of people who arc more 
 to be pitied than these young people who enter families as 
 governesses; not considered good enough for the drawing- 
 room, they are too good for the kitchen ; they are treated 
 with hauteur by the master and mistress, and only admitted, 
 or suffered, for a time to be in their company ; by the servants 
 they are considered as not having claims to those attentions 
 and civilities, for which they are paid and fed ; because re- 
 
 57
 
 VALERIE 
 
 ceiving salaries, or ' \vai;re.s like themselves,' as they asseri:, 
 thcv are not entitled in their opinion to be attended upon. 
 Thus are they, in most houses, ne<i;lccled by all parties. 
 Unhappy themselves, they cause ill-will and dissension, and 
 more servants are dismissed, or give warning, on account of 
 the governesses than from any other cause. In the drawing- 
 room they arc a check upon conversation ; in the school- 
 room, if they do their duty, they are the cause of discontent, 
 pouting, and tears ; like the bat, they are neither bird nor 
 beast, and they flit about the house like ill omens ; they lose 
 the light-heartedness and spring of youth ; become sour from 
 continual vexation and annoyance, and their lives are miser- 
 able, tedious, and full of repining. I tell you this candidly ; 
 it is a harsh picture, but I fear too true a one. With me I 
 trust you will be haj)py, but you will run a great risk if you 
 were to change and go into another family." 
 
 " I have heard as much before, my dear madame," replied 
 I ; " but your considerate kindness has made me forget it. 
 I can only say that it will be a melancholy day when I am 
 forced to quit your roof." 
 
 Visitors announced, interrupted the conversation. I have 
 before mentioned the talent I had for dress, and the kind- 
 ness of Madame Bathurst induced me to exert all that I 
 possessed in her favour. Every one was pleased, and ex- 
 pressed admiration at the peculiar elegance of her attire, 
 and asked who was the modiste she employed, and Madame 
 Bathurst never failed to ascribe all the merit to me. 
 
 Time passed on rapidly, and the season was nearly over. 
 Madame Bathurst had explained to her most intimate friends 
 the alterations which had taken place in my prospects, 
 and that I remained with her more as a companion than 
 in any other capacity. This procured me consideration and 
 respect, and I very often had invitations to parties ; but I 
 invariably refused ; except, occasionally, accepting a seat 
 in the box at the oj^era and French plays, I was content 
 to remain quiet. 
 
 Madame Paon had, as I requested, sent me a letter of in- 
 troduction to a friend of hers, a Monsieur Gironac, who lived 
 in Leicester Sijuare. He was a married man, without family. 
 He obtained his livelihood by giving lessons on the flute, on 
 the guitar, and in teaching French during the day, and at 
 
 58
 
 VALERIE 
 
 night was engaged as second violin in the orchestra of the 
 Opera House ; so that lie had many strings to his bow, 
 besides those of his fiddle. His wife, a pretty little lively 
 woman, taught young ladies to make flowei's in wax, and 
 mended lace in the evenings. They were a very amiable 
 and amusing couple, always at good-natured warfare with 
 each other, and sparring all day long, from the time they 
 met until they parted. Their battles were the most comical 
 and annising I ever witnessed, and generally ended in roars 
 of laughter. They received me with the greatest kindness 
 and consideration, treating me with great respect, until our 
 extreme intimacy no longer required it, and our friendship 
 increased more than it could have done from Caroline ex- 
 pressing a wish to learn to model flowers, and becoming the 
 pupil of Madame Gironac. Such were the state of affairs 
 when the London season was over, and we once more 
 returned to the country. 
 
 The time flew away rapidly. Madame Bathurst treated 
 me with kindness and respect, Caroline with affection, and I 
 was again quite happy and contented. I was earnest in my 
 endeavours to improve Caroline, and, moreover, had the 
 satisfaction to feel and hear it acknowledged that my 
 attempts were not thrown away. I looked forward to re- 
 maining at least till Caroline's education was complete, 
 which it could not be under two or three years ; and feeling 
 security for such a period, I gave myself little thought of the 
 future, when a circumstance occurred which put an end to 
 all my calculations. 
 
 I have stated that Caroline was the niece of Madame 
 Bathurst ; she was the daughter of a younger sister who had 
 contracted an unfortunate marriage, having eloped with a 
 young man who had not a shilling that he could call his own, 
 and whose whole dependence was upon an uncle without a 
 family. This imprudent match had, hoAvever, i-aised the in- 
 dignation of his relative, who from that moment told him he 
 was to expect nothing from him either before or after his 
 death. The consequence was, that Madame Bathurst's sister 
 and husband were in a state of great distress, until Madame 
 Bathurst, by exerting herself in his behalf, procui*ed for him 
 a situation of .£."00 per annum in the Excise. Upon this 
 sum, and the occasional presents of Madame Bathurst, they 
 
 59
 
 VALERIE 
 
 contrived to live, but haviiifj two boys and a girl to educate, 
 Madame Bathurst took charge of the latter, who was 
 Caroline, promising that she would either establish her in 
 life, or leave her a sufficiency at her death. Madame 
 Bathurst had a very large jointure, and could well afford to 
 save up every j'car for Caroline, which she liad done ever 
 since she had taken charge of her, at seven yeai's old. At 
 the time that I have been speaking of, it appeared that the 
 uncle of the fjither of Caroline died, and notwithstanding his 
 threat bequeathed to his ne])hew the whole of his large 
 propcrt}', by which he became even more wealthy than 
 Madame Bathurst. The consequence was, that Madame 
 Bathurst received a letter announcing this intelligence, and 
 winding up with a notification that Caroline was to be imme- 
 diately taken back to her father's house. In the letter — 
 which I read, for Madame Bathurst, Avho was in great 
 distress, handed it to me, observing at the time, " This con- 
 cerns you as well as me and Caroline "—there were not any 
 expressions of gratitude for the great kindness which they 
 had received from her hands ; it was an unkind, unfeeling 
 letter, and I Avas disgusted when I had gone through it. 
 
 " Is this all the return that you receive for what you have 
 done for your sister and her husband.^" observed I; "the 
 more I see of this world, the more I hate it." 
 
 " It is indeed most selfish and unfeeling," replied Madame 
 Bathurst : " Caroline has been so long Avith me, that I have 
 looked upon lier as my oAvn child, and noAv she is to be torn 
 from me Avithout the least consideration of my feelings. It 
 is very cruel and very ungrateful." 
 
 Madame Bathurst, after this remark, rose and left the 
 room. As I afterAvards discovered, she replied to the letter, 
 pointing out hoAv long she had had charge of Caroline, and 
 now considered her as her daughter, and requesting her 
 parents to alloAV her to return to her after she paid them a 
 visit ; pointing out how unkind and ungrateful it Avas of them 
 to take her away, now that their circumstances Avere altered, 
 and hoAv very j)ainful it Avould be for her if they did so. To 
 this appeal on her part she received a most insulting ansAver, 
 in Avhich she Avas requested to make out an account of the 
 expenses incurred for the education and maintenance of her 
 niece, that they might be reimbursed forthAvith. On this 
 
 (50
 
 VALERIE 
 
 occasion, for the first time, I saw Matlame Bathurst really 
 aii<jjry, and certainly not without good cause. She sent for 
 Caroline, who as yet had onl}' been informed that her father 
 and mother had succeeded to a large inheritance, and put the 
 letter into her hands with a copy of her own, requesting that 
 she would read them, watching her countenance with the 
 severest scrutiny as she complied with the injunction, as if 
 to discover if she inherited the ingratitude of her parents. 
 Such was not the case ; for poor Caroline sunk, covered her 
 face with her hands, and then rushing to Madame Bathurst, 
 fell on her knees before her, and burying her face in her 
 aunt's lap, cried as if her heart would break. After a few 
 minutes, Madame Bathurst raised up her niece, and kissed 
 her, saying — 
 
 " I am satisfied, my dear Caroline at least is not ungrateful. 
 Now, my child, you must do your duty, and obey your 
 parents — as we must part, the sooner we part the better. 
 Valerie, will you see that everything is ready for Caroline's 
 going away to-morrow morning ? " 
 
 Saying this, Madame Bathurst disengaged herself from 
 Caroline, and quitted the room. It was a long while before I 
 could reason the poor girl into anything like composure. I 
 could not help agreeing with her, that the conduct of her 
 parents was most ungracious towards Madame Bathurst; but 
 at the same time I pointed out to her how natural it was, 
 that having but one daughter, her ])arents would wish for 
 her return to their own care ; that the resigning her to 
 Matlame Bathurst must have been a severe trial to them, 
 and that it could only be from consulting her advantage that 
 they could have consented to it. But, notwithstanding all 
 that I could urge, Caroline's indignation against her parents, 
 of whom she knew but little, was very great, and her dislike 
 to return home as strong. However, there was no help for 
 it, as Madame Bathurst had decided that she was to go, and 
 I persuaded her to come with me and pre])are her clothes 
 ready for packing up. We did not meet at dinner that day, 
 Madame Bathurst sending an excuse that she was too much 
 out of spirits to leave her room ; Caroline and I were equally 
 so, and we remained whei*e we were. In the evening, 
 Madame Bathurst sent for me ; I found her in bed, and 
 looking very ill. 
 
 61
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " Valerie/' said she, " I wish Carohne to start early to- 
 morrow muniiii!;, that, as you accompany lier, you may be 
 able to return here before night. I shall not be able to see 
 her to-morrow morning. I must, therefore, bid her farewell 
 this night ; bring her here, and the sooner it is over the 
 better." 
 
 I went for Caroline, and a bitter parting it was. I hardly 
 know which of the three cried the most, but after half-an- 
 hour Madame Bathurst signed to me to take Caroline away, 
 which 1 did, and afterwards put her into bed as soon as I 
 could. Having remained with her till she had sobbed her- 
 self to sleep, I went down to the servants, and gave Madame 
 Bathurst's directions for the next morning, and then retired 
 myself. Worn out as I was with such a day of anxiety and 
 distress, I could not close my eyes for some time, reflecting 
 upon what might be the issue of this breaking up of the con- 
 nection to myself. I had been engaged as governess to 
 Caroline, and I could not well expect that Madame Bathurst 
 would wish to retain me now that Caroline was removed from 
 her care ; neither, indeed, would my pride permit me to 
 accept such an offer if made, as I should become a mere 
 dependant on her bounty, with no services to offer in return. 
 That I must leave Madame Bathurst was certain, and that I 
 must look out for some other situation. I took it for granted 
 that Madame Bathurst would not permit me to leave imme- 
 diately, but allow me a short time to look out for a suitable 
 situation; but whether I should decide upon taking the situa- 
 tion of a governess after what Madame Bathurst had told 
 me, or what situation I should seek, was the cause of nuich 
 thought and indecision. At last I could make no mind up, 
 and decided that I would trust to Pi-ovidence, and having so 
 far come to a conclusion, I fell asleep. 
 
 After an early breakfast, I set off in the carriage with 
 Caroline in charge, and before noon we arrived at her father's 
 house. The servants, dressed in very gaudy liveries, ushered 
 us into the library, where we found her father and mother 
 waiting to receive her. A first glance satisfied me that they 
 were swelled with pride at the change in their fortunes. 
 Caroline was not received with great cordiality. There was 
 a stiffness on the part of her parents which would have 
 checked any feelings of affection on her part, had she been 
 
 62
 
 VALERIE 
 
 inclined to show them, which I was sorry to perceive she 
 did not ; indeed Iier feelin<rs ai)pearcd rather those of resent- 
 ment for the conduct they had shown to her aunt. After 
 the saUitation of meeting, CaroHne sat down on a sofa, 
 opposite to her father and mother. I remained standing, 
 and when the pause took place, I said — 
 
 " I was deputed by Madame Bathurst to convey your 
 daughter safe to you, and as soon as the horses are baited, I 
 am to return home." 
 
 "Who may this person be, Caroline.''" demanded her 
 mother. 
 
 " I must apologise to Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf for not 
 having introduced her," replied Caroline, blushing with 
 annoyance. " She is a very dear friend of mine and my 
 aunt's." 
 
 " Latterly I have been the governess of your daughter, 
 madam e," said L 
 
 "Oh ! "said the lady. "Will somebody ring the bell ?" 
 
 I presumed by this somebody, it was intended to convey 
 to me that I was to perform that office ; but as they had not 
 had the common civility to ask me to take a chair, I took no 
 notice. 
 
 " Will you ring the bell, my dear ? " said the lady to her 
 husband. 
 
 The gentleman complied ; and when the servant entered, 
 the lady said, " Show the governess into the small breakfast- 
 room, and tell the coachman to put up his horses and bait 
 them. He must be round again in an hour." 
 
 The man stood with the door in his hand, waiting for me 
 to follow him. Not a little indignant, I turned to Caroline, 
 and said to her, " I had better wish you good-bye now." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, Valerie, you had," replied Caroline, rising 
 from the sofa, " for I am ashamed to look you in the face, 
 after such treatment as you have received. W^ill you," 
 continued she, with great spii-it, " accept my apology for 
 the behaviour of my parents towards one who is of a much 
 higher family, and much higher breeding, than they can 
 boast of" 
 
 "Hush! Caroline," said I; "recollect " 
 
 " I do recollect, and shall continue to recollect, the insults 
 to my dear aunt in the first place, and now the insult to you, 
 
 63
 
 VALERII?. 
 
 my dear Valerie," retorted Caroline, who then put her arms 
 
 rouiul mv neck, and kissed me several times ; having so done, 
 she darted from me, threw herself on the sofa, and burst into 
 tears, while I hastened to follow the servant, to escape from 
 such an unpleasant scene. 
 
 I was shown into a small room, where I remained some 
 little time, thinkinjr how true were Madame Bathurst's 
 observations as to what I might expect in the position of a 
 governess, when a servant came in, and in a condescending 
 manner, asked if I did not wish to have some lunch. I 
 replied in the negative. 
 
 " You can have a glass of wine if you choose," continued he. 
 
 "You may leave the room," I replied calmly; "I wish 
 for nothing." 
 
 The man went out, slamming the dooi', and I was again 
 alone. I reflected upon the scene I had just been witness 
 to, and I own that I was surprised at Caroline's conduct, 
 who had always ajipeared so mild and amiable ; but the fact 
 appeared to me to be, that when parents give up their 
 children to the care of another, they surrender at the same 
 time all those feelings wliich should exist between parent 
 and child to the party who undertakes the charge of them. 
 The respect and love which by nature belonged to them 
 were now transferred to her aunt, to whom Caroline was 
 always obedient and attached. The insult to me was resented 
 by Caroline as if it had been offered by perfect strangers to 
 her; Caroline not feeling herself at all checked by filial 
 duty. There appeared to be little prospect of any addition 
 to the happiness of either of the ])arties by the return of 
 Caroline to her father's house ; and how it would end I 
 could not surmise. 
 
 At last my reverie was interrupted by the servant coming 
 in and telling me that the carriage was at the door. I 
 immediately followed him, and set off on my return, during 
 which I resolved that I Avould not leave my own expectations 
 any longer in doubt, but come immediately to an under- 
 standing with Madame Bathurst. 
 
 As it was late when I arrived, I did not see Madame 
 Bathurst that evening, but she came down to breakfast the 
 next morning, when I informed her of all that had occurred 
 at her sister's, and the unceremonious manner in which I had
 
 VALERIE 
 
 been treated ; and having done so, I then observed, that of 
 course I did not expect to remain with her now that Carohne 
 was gone, and begged she would give me her advice and 
 assistance in procuring anotlier situation. 
 
 " At all events, do not be in a hurry, Valerie," rejilied 
 Madame Bathurst ; "I trust you will not refuse to be my 
 visitor until you are suited to your liking. I will not ask 
 you to stay with me, as I know 30U will refuse, and 1 do 
 not pay unnecessary compliments. And yet, Avhy should 
 you not ? I knoAV you well, and am attached to you. I 
 shall feel the loss of Caroline severely. Why not i-emain.''" 
 
 "Many thanks, my dear madame," replied I, "for your 
 kind wishes and exj:)ressions, but you know my resolution 
 has been made to earn my own livelihood." 
 
 " I know that ; but a resolution may be altered when 
 circumstances demand it. Madame d'Albret was no more 
 related to you than I am, and yet you accepted her offer." 
 
 "I did, madame," replied I bitterly, "and you know 
 the result. I would have staked my life upon her sincerity 
 and affection, and yet how was I cast away ? With every 
 feeling of gratitude, my dear madame, I cannot accept your 
 offer, for I never will put myself in a similar position a 
 second time." 
 
 " You do not pay me a very great compliment by that 
 remark, Wilerie," said Madame Bathurst, somewhat harshly, 
 
 " Indeed, my dear madame, I should be sorry if any- 
 thing I have said should annoy one who has been so kind 
 and considerate to me as you have been ; but I know that 
 I should be miserable and unhappy if not independent, and 
 I never can risk a second shock, like that I received from 
 the conduct of Madame d'Albret. I entreat as a favour 
 that you will not continue the subject." 
 
 " Well, Valerie, I will not ; perhaps had I been treated 
 as you have been, I might feel the same. What then do 
 you propose to seek .'' Is it the situation of a governess } " 
 
 " Anything in preference, my dear madame ; I was suffi- 
 ciently humiliated yesterday. I should prefer that of a lady's 
 maid, although I hope not to descend quite so low." 
 
 "There are so few situations for a person educated as 
 you have been. There is a companion for a lady, which I 
 believe is anything but pleasant : there is that of amanuensis, 
 
 65 E
 
 VALERIE 
 
 but it is seldom required. You might certainly go out and 
 give lessons in music, and singing, and in the French 
 language ; but there are so many French masters and 
 mistresses, and for music and singing a master is always 
 preferred, why, I do not exactly know. However, I think 
 something may be done when we go to town, but till then 
 all that we can do is to talk the matter over. Perhaps 
 something may turn up when we least expect it. I will, 
 however, now that I know your decision, make every inquiry, 
 and give you all the assistance in my power." 
 
 I expressed my thanks and gratitude, and the conversation 
 ended. 
 
 I did not, however, trust altogether to Madame Bathurst. 
 I wrote a letter to my acquaintance, Madame Gironac, in 
 Leicester Square, stating what had occurred, and what my 
 ideas and intentions were, requesting her to give me her 
 advice and opinion as to the best plan I could follow. In 
 a few days I received from her the following reply, which 
 I insert as characteristic of the party. 
 
 " My dear Mademoiselle, — Your letter gave great pain 
 to me, and as for my husband, he was quite furious, and 
 declared that he would not live a minute longer in such an 
 abominable world. However, to oblige me, he has not yet 
 made away with himself. It really is dreadful to see a 
 young lady like you in such an awkward position from the 
 weakness and follies of others ; but we must submit to what 
 the hon Dicu disposes, and when things come to the worst, 
 hope that a change will take place, as any change must 
 then be for the better. I have consulted my husband about 
 what you propose, but he negatives everything. He says 
 you are too good for a governess ; would be thrown away 
 as a companion to a lady ; that you must not be seen in a 
 cab, going about giving lessons — in fact, he will listen to 
 nothing except that you must come and live with us. I 
 can only say, my dear mademoiselle, that I join in the latter 
 request, and that it would make me perfectly happy, and 
 that the honour and pleasure of your company would be 
 more than a compensation. Still, it is but a poor home to 
 offer to you, but at all events one that you might condescend 
 to take advantage of rather than remain to be mortified 
 
 66
 
 VALERIE 
 
 by those who think, as they do in this country, that money 
 is everythin<:f. Do, })niy, then come to us, if you feci in- 
 clined, and then we can talk ovei* things quietly, and wait 
 upon Providence. My husband has now hardly time to eat 
 his dinner, he has so many pupils of one kind and the other; 
 and I am happy to say that I have also most of my time 
 occupied ; and if it pleases God to continue us in good 
 health, we hope to be able to put by a little money for a 
 rainy day, as they say in this coinitry, where it is always 
 raining. Assure yourself, my dear mademoiselle, of our love, 
 respect, consideration. Annette Gironac." 
 
 We went to town earlier than usual, Madame Bathurst feel- 
 ing lonely in the country after the departure of Caroline, from 
 whom she had not received a line since her quitting her. 
 This of course was to be ascribed to her parents, who thus 
 returned all Madame Bathurst's kindness as soon as they 
 no longer required her assistance. I know not how it Avas, 
 but gradually a sort of coolness had arisen between Madame 
 Bathurst ancl me. Whether it was that she was displeased at 
 my refusing her offer to remain with her, or thought proper 
 to wean herself from one who was so soon to quit her, I know 
 not. I did nothing to give offence : I was more quiet and 
 subdued, perhaps, than before, because I had become more 
 reflective ; but I could not accuse myself of any fault or error, 
 that I was aware of. 
 
 We had been about a week in London, when an old ac- 
 quaintance of Madame Bathurst's, who had just returned from 
 Italy, where she had resided for two years, called upon her. 
 
 Her name was Lady R : she was the widow of a baronet, 
 
 not in very opulent circumstances, although with a sufficiency 
 to hire, if not keep a carriage. She was, moreover, an author, 
 having written two or three novels, not very good I was told, 
 but still, emanating from the pen of a lady, they Avere well 
 paid. She was very eccentric, and rather amusing. When a 
 woman says everything that comes into her head, out of a 
 great deal of chaff there will drop some few grains of wheat ; 
 and so sometimes, more by accident than otherwise, she said 
 what is called a good tiling. Now, a good thing is repeated, 
 
 while all the nonsense is forgotten ; and Lady R was 
 
 considered a wit as well as an author. She was a tall woman ; 
 
 67
 
 VALERIE 
 
 I should think very near, if not past, fifty years of age, with 
 the remains of beauty in lier countenance ; apjjarentl}', she 
 was strong and healthy, as slic walked with a sj)ring, and was 
 lively and (|uick in all her motions. 
 
 '' Cni-a m'ut," exclaimed she, as she was announced, running 
 up to Madame Bathurst, "and how have you been all this 
 while — my biennial absence in the land of poetry — in which I 
 have laid up such stores of beauteous images and ideas in my 
 mind, that I shall make them last me during my life. Have 
 you read my last .^ It's surprising, every one says, and proves 
 the effect of climate upon composition — quite new — an Italian 
 story of thrilling interest. And you have something new 
 here, I perceive," continued she, turning to me ; " not only 
 new, but beautiful — introduce me : I am an enthusiast in the 
 sublime and beautiful. Is she any relation .'' No relation ! — 
 Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf! — what a pretty name for a 
 novel. I should like to borrow it, and paint the original from 
 nature. Will you sit for your likeness } " 
 
 That Lady R allowed no one to talk but herself was 
 
 evident. Madame Bathurst, who knew her well, allowed her 
 to run on ; and I, not much valuing the dose of flattery so 
 unceremoniously bestowed upon me, took an opportunity, 
 
 when Lady R turned round to whisper something to 
 
 Madame Bathurst, to make my escape from the room. The 
 following morning, Madame Bathui'st said to me — 
 
 " Valerie, Lady R was very much pleased with your 
 
 appearance when she made her visit yesterday ; and as she 
 told me, after you had left the room, that she wanted just 
 such a person as yourself as a companion and amanuensis, I 
 thought it right to say that }'ou were looking out for some- 
 thing of the kind, and that you were remaining under my 
 protection until you could procure it. We had more conver- 
 sation on the subject, and she said, before she left, that she 
 woulil write to me on the subject. Her note has just been 
 put into my hands ; you can read it. She offers you a salary 
 of one hundred pounds per annum ; all your expenses paid 
 except your dress. As far as salary goes, I think her terms 
 
 liberal. And now, as to Lady R . My opinion of her is 
 
 in a few words. You saw her yesterda}', and I never knew 
 her otherwise ; never more or less ratiemal. She is an oddity, 
 but she is good-natured ; and, I am told, more liberal and 
 
 68
 
 VALERIE 
 
 charitable than many others who can afford it better. Now 
 you know all I can tell you about her, and you must decide 
 for yourself. Here is her note ; you need not give me an 
 answer till to-morrow morning." 
 
 I made one or two observations, and then left the room. 
 The note was very kind, certainly, but it was as flighty as 
 her manners. I hastened to my own bedchamber, and sat 
 down to reflect. I felt that I was not exactly comfortable 
 with Madame Bathurst, and certainly was anxious to be in- 
 dependent ; but still, I could not exactly make up my mind 
 
 to accept the offer of Lady R . She was so different 
 
 from those I had been accustomed to live with. I was still 
 deliberating, when Madame Bathurst's maid came into my 
 room, telling me it was time to change my dress for dinner. 
 As she was assisting me she said — 
 
 "And so, Miss Chatenotuif, you are about to quit us, I find. 
 I am so sorry — first Miss Caroline— now you. I hoped you 
 would stay with us, and I should soon have become an expert 
 milliner under your directions." 
 
 " Who told you. Mason, that I was going to leave you ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Bathurst told me so, and not a quarter of an hour 
 ago," replied the woman. 
 
 "Well," replied I, "she told you truly, Mason; such is 
 the case ; " for this information of Mason's decided me upon 
 
 accepting the offer of Lady R ; for Madame Bathurst, 
 
 it apjieared to me, had certainly decided it for me by making 
 such a premature communication to her servant. 
 
 The reader may suj)pose, that when I made this discovery, 
 I felt little pain at tiie idea of parting with Madame Bathurst; 
 and the following morning, I coolly announced my intention 
 
 of accepting the ofl^er of Lady R . Madame Bathurst 
 
 looked at me very hard, as if surprised at not hearing from 
 me any regrets at leaving her, and expressions of gratitude 
 for all favours ; but I could not express what I really did not 
 feel at the time. Afterwards, I thought that I had been 
 wrong, as, to a certain degree, I was under obligations to 
 her ; not that I think, had she been ever so inclined to get 
 rid of me, she could have well tinned me out of the house, 
 althougii I had been foisted upon her in such a way by 
 Madame d'Albret. Still I was under obligations to lier, and 
 should have expressed myself so, if it had not been for the 
 
 69
 
 VALERIE 
 
 communication made tt) me by the maid, which jiroved that 
 her expressions to me were not sincere. 
 
 "Well then," replied Madame Bathurst at last, "I will 
 
 write to Lady R immediately. I presume I may say 
 
 that you are at her commands as soon as she can receive 
 you ?" 
 
 " Yes, madame, at an hour's notice," replied L 
 
 " You really ajipear as if you were anxious to quit me, 
 mademoiselle," said Madame Bathurst, biting her lip. 
 
 '• I certainly am," replied L " You informed Mason that 
 I was to go, previous to having my decision ; and therefore I 
 gladly witlidraw myself from the company of those who have 
 made up tlieir minds to get rid of me." 
 
 " I certainly did tell Mason that there was a prospect 
 of your quitting me," replied Madame Bathurst, colouring 
 up ; " but — however, it's no use entering into an investiga- 
 tion of what I really said, or catechising my maid : one 
 thing is clear, we have been mutually disappointed with 
 each other, and, thei-efore, it perhaps is better that we 
 should part. I believe that I am in your debt, Made- 
 moiselle de Chatenoeuf. Have you reckoned how long you 
 have been with me .'' " 
 
 " I have reckoned the time that I instructed Caroline." 
 
 " Miss Caroline, if you please. Mademoiselle de Chate- 
 ncEuf " 
 
 " Well then, madame. Miss Caroline, since you wish it ; 
 it is five months and two weeks," replied I, i-ising fi-om my 
 chair. 
 
 "You may sit down, mademoiselle, while I make the 
 calculation," said Madame Bathurst. 
 
 "It is too great an honour for a Chatenoeuf to sit in your 
 presence," replied I quietly, remaining on my feet. 
 
 Madame Bathurst made no reply, but calculating the sum 
 of money due to me on a sheet of note-paper, handed it to 
 me, and begged me to see if it was correct. 
 
 " I liave no doubt of it, madame," replied I, looking at it, 
 and then laying it down on the desk before hei'. 
 
 Madame B.ithurst put the sum in bank-notes and sove- 
 reigns down bclore me, and said — 
 
 "Do me the favour to count it, and see if it is correct;" 
 and then rising, said, " Your wishes will be complied with by 
 
 70
 
 VALERIE 
 
 my servants as usual, mademoiselle, as long as you remain 
 under my roof. I wish you farewell." 
 
 The last words were accompanied with a low courtesy, and 
 she then quitted the room. 
 
 I replied with a salute as formal as her own, and mortified 
 at the treatment I had received, I sat down, and a few tears 
 escaped ; but my pride came to my assistance, and I soon 
 recovered myself. 
 
 This scene was, however, another proof to me of what I 
 must in future expect ; and it had the effect of hardening 
 me, and blunting my feelings. " Miss Caroline ! " said I to 
 myself; "when the protegee of Madame d'Albret, and the 
 visitor of Madame Bathurst, it was Caroline, and dear Valerie. 
 She might have allowed me to quit her without pointing out 
 to me, in so marked a manner, how our relative positions have 
 been changed. However, I thank you, Madame Bathurst ; 
 what obligations I may have been under to you are now 
 cancelled, and I need not regret the weight of them as I 
 might have done. Ah ! Madame d'Albret, you took me from 
 my home that I might not be buffeted by my mother, and 
 now you have abandoned me to be buffeted by the whole 
 world. Well, be it so, I will figlit my way, nevertheless ; " 
 and as I left the room to pack up my trunks, I felt my 
 courage rise from this very attempt on the part of Madame 
 Bathurst to humiliate me. 
 
 The letter of Madame Bathurst to Lady R brought 
 
 the latter to the house that afternoon. I was up in my room 
 when I was informed by the servants that she waited below 
 to see me. When I entered she was alone, Madame Bathurst 
 having gone out in her carriage, and as soon as she saw me, 
 she rushed into my arms almost, taking me by both hands, 
 and saying how happy she was that she had acquired such a 
 treasure as a friend and companion ; Avished to know whether 
 I could not come with her immediately, as her carriage was 
 at the door, and went on for nearly ten minutes without a 
 check, asking fifty questions, and not permitting me to 
 answer one. At last I was able to reply to the most im- 
 portant, which was that I would be happy to come to her 
 on the fallowing morning, if she would send for me. She 
 insisted that I should come to breakfast, and I acceded to 
 her request, as Madame Bathurst, who was not an early riser, 
 
 71
 
 VALERIE 
 
 would not be down at the hour mentioned, and I wished to 
 leave the house without seeing her again^ after our formal 
 adieu. Having arranged this, she appeared to be in a great 
 hurry to be off, and skipped out of the room before I could 
 ring the l)ell to order tlic carriage. 
 
 I completed mj^ prepai'ations for departure, and had some 
 dinner brought into my own room, sending down an excuse 
 for not joining Madame Bathurst, stating that I had a bad 
 headache, which was true enough. The next morning, long 
 before Madame Bathurst was up, I was driven to Baker 
 
 Street, Portman Square, where Lady R resided. I found 
 
 her ladyship in her robe de chambre. 
 
 " Well," said she, " this is delightful. My wishes are 
 crowned at last. I have passed a night of uncertainty, 
 rolling about between hopes and fears, as people always 
 do when they have so much at stake. Let me show you 
 your room." 
 
 I found a very well-furnished anartment prepared for me, 
 looking out upon the street. 
 
 " See, you have a front view," she said, " not extensive, 
 but still you can rise early and moralise. You can see 
 London Avake up. First, the drowsy policeman ; the tired 
 cabman, and more tired horse, after a night of motion, seeking 
 the stable and repose ; the housemaid, half-awake, dragging 
 on her clothes ; the kitchen-wench washing from the steps 
 the dirt of yesterday ; the milkmaid's falsetto, and the dust- 
 man's bass ; the bakers' boys, the early post-delivery, and 
 thus from units to tens, and from tens to tens of thousands, 
 and London stirs again. Thei'e is poetry in that, and now 
 let us down to breakfast. I always breakfast in my robe de 
 cliambre ; you must do the same, that is, if you like the 
 fashion. Where's the page .'' " 
 
 Lady R rang the bell of the sitting-room, which she 
 
 called a boudoir, and a lad of fourteen, in a blue blouse and 
 leather belt, made his appearance. 
 
 "Lionel, breakfast in a moment. Vanish, before the 
 leviathan can swim a league — bring up hot rolls and butter." 
 
 "Yes, my lady," replied the lad ))crtly, "I'll be up again 
 before the chap can swim a hundred yards ; " and he shot 
 out of the room in a second. 
 
 " There's virtue in that boy ; he has wit enough for a prime 
 
 72
 
 VALERIE 
 
 minister, or a clown at Astley's. I picked hinj^up by a mere 
 chance ; he is one of my models." 
 
 What her ladyship meant by models I could not imagine, 
 but I soon found out. The return of the lad with breakfast 
 put an end to her talking for the time being. When we had 
 finished, the page wvas again summoned. 
 
 " Now then, Lionel, do your spiriting gently." 
 
 " I know," said the boy ; " I'm not to smash the cups and 
 saucers as I did yesterday." 
 
 The lad collected the breakfast things on a tray with 
 great rapidity, and disappeared with such a sudden turn 
 round, that I fully anticipated he would add to yesterday's 
 damage before he was down the stairs. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, Lady R coming up to me, 
 
 said — 
 
 "And now let me have a good look at you, and then I 
 shall be content for some time. Yes, I was not mistaken, 
 you are a perfect model, and must be my future heroine. 
 Yours is just the beauty that I required. There, that will 
 do, now sit down and let us converse. I often have wanted 
 a companion. As for an amanuensis, that is only a nominal 
 task ; I write as fast as most people, and I cannot follow my 
 ideas, let me scribble for life, as I may say ; ami as for my 
 writing being illegible, that's the compositor's concern, not 
 mine. It's his business to make it out, and therefore, I 
 never have mine copied. But I wanted a beautiful com- 
 panion and friend — I wouldn't have an ugly one for the 
 world, she would do me as much harm as you will do me 
 service." 
 
 " I am sure I hardly know how I am to do you service, 
 Lady R , if I do not write for you." 
 
 " I dare say not ; but when I tell you that I am more than 
 repaid by looking at you when I feel inclined, you will ac- 
 knowledge that you do me service ; but we will not enter 
 into metaphysics or psychological questions just now, it 
 shall all be explained by-and-by. And now the first service 
 I ask of you is, at once to leap over the dull fortnight of 
 gradual approaching, which at last ends in intimacy. I have 
 ever held it to be a proof of the suspiciousness of our natures, 
 and unworthy. You nuist allow me to call you V'alerie at 
 once, and I must entreat of you to call me Sempronia. Your 
 
 73
 
 VALERIE 
 
 name is delightful, fit for a first-class heroine. My real 
 baptismal name is one that I have abjured, and if my god- 
 fathers and godmothers did give it to me, I throw it back to 
 them with contempt. What do you think it Avas .'' — Barbara. 
 Barbara, indeed ! ' My mother had a maid called Barbara,' 
 Shaks])eare says, and such a name should be associated with 
 brooms and yellow soap. Call me Sempronia from this time 
 forward, and you confer a favour on me. And now I must 
 write a little, so take a book and a seat on the sofa, for at 
 the opening of this chapter my heroine is exactly in that 
 position, 'in maiden meditation, fancy free.' " 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 ijADY R sat down before her writing materials, and I 
 
 took my seat on the sofa, as she had I'equested, and Avas 
 soon occupied Avith my reading. I perceived that, as she 
 Avrote, her ladyship continually took her eyes off her paper 
 and fixed them upon me. I presumed that she Avas de- 
 scribing me, and I Avas correct in my idea, for, in about half- 
 an-hour, she threw doAvn her pen, and cried — 
 
 "There, I am indebted to you for the best picture of a 
 heroine that I ever drcAv ! Listen." 
 
 And her ladyship read to me a most flattering de- 
 scription of my SAveet person, couched in very high-flown 
 language. 
 
 " I think. Lady R ," said I, Avhen she had finished, 
 
 " that you are more indebted to your OAvn imagination than 
 to reality in draAving my portrait." 
 
 " Not so, not so, my dear Valerie. I may have done you 
 justice, but certainly not more. There is nothing like 
 having the living subject to Avrite from. It is the same 
 as painting or draAving : it only can be true Avhen draAvn 
 from nature ; in fact, Avhat is Avriting but painting Avith 
 the pen ?" 
 
 As she concluded her sentence, the page, Lionel, came in 
 Avith a letter on a Avaiter, and hearing her observation, as he 
 handed the letter, he impudently observed — 
 
 74
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " Here's somebody been jjainting your name on the out- 
 side of this paper ; and as there's sevenpenee to pay, I think 
 it's rather dear for such a snnidge." 
 
 " You must not judge from outside appearance, Lionel," 
 
 repUed Lady R ; " the contents may be worth pounds. 
 
 It is not prepossessing, I grant, in its superscription, but may, 
 like the toad, ugly and venomous, wear a precious jewel in 
 its head. That was a vulgar error of former days, Lionel, 
 which Shaksjjeare has taken advantage of." 
 
 "Yes, that chap painted with a pen at a fine rate," replied 
 the boy, as Lady R opened the letter and read it. 
 
 " You may go, Lionel," said she, putting the letter down. 
 
 " I just wanted to know, now that you've opened your 
 toad, if you have found the jewel, or whether it's a vulgar 
 error .-^ " 
 
 "It's a vulgar letter, at all events, Lionel," replied her 
 ladyship, "and concerns you; it is from the shoemaker at 
 Brighton, who requests me to pay him eighteen shillings for 
 a pair of boots ordered by you, and not paid for." 
 
 " Well, my lady, I do owe for the boots, true enough ; but 
 it's impossible for me always to recollect my own affairs, I 
 am so busy with looking after yours." 
 
 " Well, but now you are reminded of tlipm, Lionel, j^ou had 
 better give me the money, and I will send it to him." 
 
 At this moment Lady R stooped from her chair to 
 
 pick up her handkerchief. There were some sovereigns 
 lying on the desk, and the lad, winking his eye at me, 
 
 took one up, and, as Lady R rose up, held it out to her 
 
 in silence. 
 
 " That's right, Lionel," said Lady R — ; " I like honesty." 
 
 " Yes, madame," replied the impudent rogue, very de- 
 murely ; " like most people who tell their own stories, I Avas 
 born of honest but poor parents." 
 
 " I believe your jiarents were honest ; and now, Lionel, to 
 reward you, I shall pay for your boots, and you may keep 
 your sovereign." 
 
 "Thank your ladyship," replied the lad. "I forgot to say 
 that the cook is outside for orders." 
 
 Lady R rose, and went out of the room ; and Mr. 
 
 Lionel, laughing at me, put the sovereign down with the 
 others. 
 
 75
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "Now, I call that real honesty. You saw nie borrow it, 
 and now you see nie pay it." 
 
 " Yes ; but suppose her ladyship had not piven you the 
 sovereign, how would it have been then?" said I. 
 
 " I should have paid her very honestly," replied he. " If 
 I wished to cheat her, or rob her, I might do so all day 
 long. She leaves her money about everywhere, and never 
 knows what she has ; besides, if I wanted to steal, I should 
 not do so with those bright eyes of yours looking at me 
 all the time." 
 
 "You are a very saucy boy," replied I, more amused than 
 angry. 
 
 " It's all from reading, and it's not my fault ; for her lady- 
 ship makes me read, and I never yet read any book about 
 old times in which the jiages were not saucy ; but I've no 
 time to talk just now — my spoons are not clean yet;" so 
 saying, he quitted the room. 
 
 I did not know whether I ought to inform her ladyship of 
 this freak of her page's ; but as the money was returned, I 
 thought I had better say nothing for the present. I soon 
 found out that the lad was correct in asserting that she was 
 careless of her money, and that, if he chose, he might pilfer 
 without chance of discovery ; and moreover, that he really 
 was a good and honest lad, only full of mischief and very 
 
 impudent ; owing, however, to Lady R 's treatment of 
 
 him, for she rather encouraged his impudence than other- 
 wise. He was certainly a very clever, witty boy, and a 
 very quick servant ; so quick, indeed, at his work, that 
 it almost appeared as if he never had anything to do ; 
 and he had plenty of time for reading, which he was very 
 fond of 
 
 Lady R returned, and i-esumed her writing. 
 
 "You sing, do you not.-' I think Mrs. Batlnu'st told me 
 you were very harmonious. Now, Valerie, do me a favour : 
 I want to hear a voice carolling some melodious ditty. I 
 shall describe it so much better if I really heard you sing. 
 I do like reality. Of course, you nnjst sing without music; 
 for my country girl cannot be crossing the mead with a piano 
 in one hand and a j)ail of water in the other." 
 
 "I should think not," replied I, laughing; "but am I not 
 too near ? " 
 
 76
 
 Hnntedi?! ftins
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " Yes, ratlier ; I should prefer it on the stairs, or on the 
 first floor ]<uuHn<>- ; but I could not be so rude as to send you 
 out of" the room." 
 
 "But I will go without sending," replied I; and I did 
 so, and having arrived at my station, I sang a little French 
 refrain, which I thought would answer her ladyship's pur- 
 j)ose. On my return her ladyship was writing furiously, and 
 did not appear to notice my entrance. I took my seat 
 quietly, and in about ten minutes she again threw down 
 the pen, exclaiming — 
 
 " I never wrote so effective a chapter ! Valerie, you are 
 more precious to me than fine gold ; and as Shy lock said of 
 his ring, ' I would not change thee for a Avilderness of 
 monkeys.' I make the quotation as expressive of your 
 value. It was so kind-hearted of you to comply with my 
 wish. You don't know an author's feelings. You have 
 no idea how our self-love is flattered by success, and that 
 we value a good passage in our works more than anything 
 else in existence. Now, you have so kindly administered 
 to my ruling passion twice in one morning, that I love you 
 exceedingly. I dare say you think me very odd, and people 
 say that I am so ; I may ask you to do many odd things 
 for me, but I shall never ask 3'ou to do what a lady may 
 not do, or what would be incorrect for you to do, or for 
 me to propose— that you may depend upon, Valerie ; and 
 now I close my manuscript for the present, being well 
 satisfied with the day's work." 
 
 Lady R rang the bell, and on Lionel making his ap- 
 pearance, she desired him to take away her writing materials, 
 put her money into her purse — if he knew where the purse 
 was — and then asked him what were her engagements for 
 the evening. 
 
 "I know ire have an engagement," re])lied the boy; "I 
 can't recollect it, but I shall find it in the drawing-i'oom." 
 
 He went out, and in a miiuite returned. 
 
 " I have found it, my lady," said he. " Here's the ticket : 
 Mrs. Allwood at home, nine o'clock." 
 
 " Mrs. Allwood, my dear Valerie, is a literary lady, and her 
 parties are very agreeable." 
 
 The page looked at me from behind Lady R 's chair, 
 
 and shook his head in dissent. 
 
 77
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " Shall we go ? " continued Lady R . 
 
 "If you please, niadame," replied I. 
 
 " Well then, we will take a drive before dinner, and 
 the evening after dinner shall be dedicated to the feast of 
 reason and the flow of soul. Dear me, how I have inked 
 my fingers ! I must go upstairs and wash them." 
 
 As soon as Lady R left the room. Master Lionel 
 
 began — 
 
 "^ Feast of reason and flow of soul; I don't like such 
 entertainment. Give me a good supper and plenty of cham- 
 pagne." 
 
 " Why, what matter can it make to you ? " said I, laughing. 
 
 " It matters a good deal. I object to literary parties," 
 replied he. " In the first place, for one respectable carriage 
 driving up to the door, there are twenty cabs and jarveys, so 
 tliat the company isn't so good ; and then at parties, Avhen 
 tliere is a good supper, I get my share of it in the kitchen. 
 You don't think we are idle down below. I have been to 
 Mrs. AUwood's twice, and there's no supper, nothing but 
 feast of reason, Avhich remains upstairs, and they're welcome 
 to my share of it. As for the drink, it's negus and cherry- 
 water ; nothing else, and if the flow of soul is not better 
 than such stuff, they may have my share of that also. No 
 music, no dancing, nothing but buzz, buzz, buzz. Won't 
 you feel it stupid r " 
 
 "Why, one would think you had been upstairs instead of 
 down, Lionel." 
 
 " Of course I am. They press all who have liveries into 
 the service, and I hand the cakes about rather than kick for 
 hours at the legs of the kitchen-table. I hear all that's said 
 just as well as the company, and I've often thought that I 
 could have given a better answer than I've heard some of 
 your great literaries. When I hand the cakes to-night, take 
 them I point out to you — they'll be the best." 
 
 " Why, how can you tell .'' " 
 
 " Because I try them all before I come into the room." 
 
 " You ought to be ashamed to acknowledge it." 
 
 " All comes of reading, miss," replied he. " I read that in 
 former times great people, kings and princes and so on, 
 always had their victuals tasted first, lest there should be 
 poison in them ; so I taste upon that princijile, and I have 
 
 78
 
 VALERIE 
 
 been half-poisoned sometimes at these cheap parties ; but 
 I'm gettinj;- cunning, and wlien I meet a suspicious-looking 
 ])iece of pastry, I leave it for the company ; but I can't wait 
 to talk any longer, miss, I must give coachman his orders." 
 
 "I never asked you to talk, Mr. Lionel," said L 
 
 "No, you didn't; but still I know you like to hear me, 
 you can't deny that. Now, to use my lady's style, I am to 
 tell the coachman to put a gii'dle round the Park in forty 
 minutes ; " so saying, the lad vanislicd, as he usually did, in 
 a second. 
 
 The lad was certainly right when he said that I did like to 
 hear him talk, for he amused me so much that I forgave his 
 impudence and fixmiliarily. Shortly afterwards, we went out 
 in the carriage, and having driven two or three times round 
 the Park, returned home to dinner. At ten o'clock we Avent 
 to Mrs. Allwoods partv. I was introduced to a great many 
 literary stars, whom I had never before heard of; but the 
 person who attracted the most attention was a Russian count, 
 who had had his ears and nose cut off by the Turks. It 
 certainly did not add to his beauty, however it might have 
 to his interest. However, Lionel was right. It was a very 
 stupid party to me ; all talking at once, and constantly on 
 the move to find fresh listeners ; it tvas all buzz, buzz, buzz, 
 and I was glad when the carriage was announced. Such 
 were the events of the first day which I passed under the 
 roof of Lady R . 
 
 Indeed, this first day may be taken as a sample of most 
 others, and a month passed rapidly away. Each day, how- 
 ever, was marked with some peculiar eccentricity on her 
 part ; but these diverted me. I was often requested to do 
 strange things in my position as a model ; but with all her 
 
 oddities Lady R was a gentlewoman in manner and in 
 
 feeling ; and what I should certainly ha\e refused to any 
 one else, I did for her without reluctance. I now called 
 lier Sempronia, as she requested, and, moreover, I became 
 very intimate with Master Lionel, who would be intimate, 
 
 whether or no, and who, like Lady R , was a source of 
 
 great amusement. At times, when I was alone and com- 
 muned with myself, I could not help surveying my peculiar 
 position. I was engaged at a large salary — for wliat ? to 
 look handsome, to put myself in attitudes, and to do nothing. 
 
 79
 
 VALERIE 
 
 This was not flatterin^f to my talents (such as I had), but 
 still I was treated with kindness and confidence ; was the 
 companion of her ladyship ; was introduced and taken to 
 all the parties to which she was askcd^ and never made to 
 feel my dependence. I had already imbibed a strong friend- 
 ship for Lady II , and I was therefore content to remain. 
 
 One morning she said to me — 
 
 " My dear \'alerie, do me the favour to tighten the laces 
 of my stays." 
 
 She was, as usual, writing in her dressing-gown. 
 
 " Oh, tighter yet ; as tight as you can draw them. That 
 will do nicely." 
 
 " Why, you can hardly breathe, Sempronia." 
 
 " But I can Avrite, my dear child, and, as I before observed, 
 the mind and the body influence each other. I am about to 
 write a strictly moral dialogue, and I never could do it unless 
 I am strait-laced. Now I feel fit for the wife of Cato and of 
 Rome." 
 
 A few days afterwards she amused me st'U more. After 
 writing about half-an-hour, she threw down her pen — 
 
 " I never can do it ; come upstairs, my dear Valerie, and 
 help me off with my stays. I must be a rabmidoti." 
 
 I followed her, and having removed these impediments, 
 we returned to the boudoir. 
 
 "There," said she, sitting down, "I think I shall manage 
 it now : I feel as if I could." 
 
 " Manage what ? " inquired I. 
 
 " My dear, I am about to write a love scene, very warm 
 and impassioned, and I could not do it, confined as I was. 
 Now that I am loose, I can give loose to the reins of my 
 imagination, and delineate with the arrow of Cupid's self. 
 My heroine is reclining, with her hand on her cheek ; put 
 yourself in that attitude, ni}' dear, dear Valerie, as if you 
 were meditating upon the prolonged absence of one dear to 
 you. Exactly — beautiful— true to nature — but I forgot, a 
 page enters — don't move, I'll ring the bell." 
 
 Lionel answered quickly, as usual. 
 
 " Here, Lionel, I want you to ))lay the page." 
 
 " I've no time for ))lay, my lady ; I'm page in earnest. 
 There's all the knives to clean." 
 
 " Never mind the knives just now. Observe, Lionel, you 
 
 "so
 
 VALERIli 
 
 are supposed to be sent ;i message to that lovely girl, who is 
 sitting absorbed in a soft X'everie. You enter her presence 
 unperceived, and are struck with her beauty ; you lean 
 against a tree, in a careless but graceful attitude, with 
 your eyes fixed upon her lovely features. Now lean 
 against the door, as I liave described, and then I shall be 
 able to write." 
 
 I could not help smiling at the absurdity of this scene, 
 the more so as Lionel, just jxissing his fingers through his 
 hair, and then pulling up his shirt collar, took his position, 
 saying — 
 
 " Now, Miss \^alerie, we'll see who performs best : I 
 think you will be sooner tired of sitting than I shall be of 
 looking at you." 
 
 " Excellent, Lionel ! — exactly the position that I wished," 
 
 said Lady li , scribbling as fast as she could; "that 
 
 stare of yours is true to nature — Cymon and Iphigenia — 
 a perfect tableau ! — don't move, I beg ; I only require ten 
 minutes." 
 
 I looked up at Master Lionel, and he made such a grimace^ 
 that I could hardly keep my countenance, and I did not 
 exactly feel satisfied at thus performing, as it were, with a 
 servant ; but still, that servant was Lionel, who was very un- 
 like other servants. In ten minutes, as promised, we were 
 released, much to my satisfaction. Lionel went off to clean 
 his knives, and I took up my book, and really, when I per- 
 ceived the delight of Lady R , at what she called her 
 
 success, I no longer felt anything like annoyance at having 
 complied with her wishes. 
 
 One morning, when Lady R had walked out, and 
 
 the page, Lionel, was in the room, I entered into con- 
 versation with him, and asked how it was that he had 
 been so much better educated than were lads in his position 
 in general. 
 
 "That's a question that I often ask myself. Miss Valerie," 
 replied he, "as they say in some autobiographies. The 
 first recollection I have of myself was finding myself, walk- 
 ing two-and-two, in a suit of pepper-and-salt, along with 
 about twenty other very little boys, at a cheap preparatory 
 school, kept by the Misses Wiggins. There I remained 
 — nobody came to see me : other boys talked of their papas 
 
 81 F
 
 VALERIE 
 
 and mammas — I liad none to talk about ; they went liome 
 at the holidays, and brought back toys and plumcakes — I 
 enjoyed my holidays alone, scraping holes in the gravel, 
 for want of better employment, between my meals, and 
 perhaps not opening my mouth, or hearing the sound of 
 my own voice, more than three or four times in the twenty- 
 four hours. As I had plenty of time for reflection during 
 the vacations, as I grcAv bigger, I began to imagine that 
 somehow or another I must have had a father and mother, 
 like the other boys, and began to make very impertinent 
 (as I Avas told) inquiries about them. The Misses Wiggins 
 gave me a good wigging, as they call it, for my unwarranted 
 curiosity, jwinting out the indelicacy of entering upon such 
 subjects; and thus was my mouth stopped. 
 
 " At last I grew up too big for the school, and was not 
 to be managed by two old maids, and I presume it was 
 through their representations that I was at last honoured 
 by a visit from an old housekeeper, a woman above fifty, 
 whom I never saw before. I ventured to put the for- 
 bidden questions to her, and she replied that I had neither 
 father nor mother ; that they were both dead, and that I 
 was educated by the kindness of a great lady whose de- 
 pendants they had been, and that the great lady would 
 call and see me perhaps, or if she did not w'ould send 
 for me, and do something for me. Well, about four 
 years ago (I was then twelve years old, I was told, but 
 my idea is that I am older than they say), I was sent for 
 
 by Lady R , and at first I was dressed in a turban 
 
 and red jacket, and sat on the floor. I was told that I 
 was to be her page, and I liked it very much, as I did 
 nothing but run messages and read books, which I was 
 
 very fond of, and Lady R took some pains with me ; 
 
 but as I grew bigger, so did I fall off from my high estate, 
 and by degrees descended from the drawing-room to the 
 kitchen. 
 
 " My finery was not renewed ; at first I had a ^ilain 
 suit, and did my work under the footman ; and two years 
 ago, when the footman was sent away, rather than be 
 under the orders of another I volunteered to do the work, 
 which 1 have done ever since, and now receive high wages, 
 and wear sugar-loaf buttons, as you perceive. Now, Miss 
 
 82
 
 VALERIE 
 
 Valerie, that's all I knoAV of myself, but I suspect that 
 
 Lady II knows more; still, it may be that wliat the 
 
 old woman told )ne was correct, and that I was the child 
 of one of her favourite dependants, and was educated by 
 her in the manner that I was, for you know how many 
 odd things she does." 
 
 " What is your otlier name, Lionel ? " 
 
 " Bedingfield, I am told, is my name," replied he. 
 
 " Have you ever spoken to Lady R ," inquired I, 
 
 "relative to your parents?" 
 
 " I once did ; but she said they were Sir Richard's people, 
 not hers (that is, her father's, the late baronet's), and that 
 she knew nothing about them, except that my father Avas 
 a steward or bailiff to him in the country, and that he 
 had left directions that she should do something for me. 
 Her ladyship did not appear to be inclined to talk about 
 them much, and sent me away as soon as she had told me 
 what I now repeat to you ; however, I have found out 
 something since that — but there's her ladyship's knock ; " 
 so saying, Lionel vanished. 
 
 Soon after her ladyship's return, Madame Gironac, who 
 had called upon me two or three times, was ainiounced. 
 I Avent out of the room, and Avhen I met her in the dining- 
 parlour, she told me that she had brought some of her 
 imitations of floAvers on Avax, to show them to her lady- 
 ship. I immediately Avent up, and asked Lady R • if 
 
 she Avould like to see them ; to which projiosal she assented. 
 When Madame Gironac displayed her performances, Avhich 
 were very natural and beautiful, her ladyship Avas delighted, 
 and purchased several of them, after Avhich I again Avent 
 downstairs, and had a long conversation Avith my Avarm- 
 hearted little friend. 
 
 " I don't like this situation of yours, mademoiselle," said 
 she, "nor does my husband. Now I Avas thinking, Made- 
 moiselle de Chatcnccuf, that it Avould not be a bad plan if 
 you Avere to learn hoAV to make those HoAvers. I Avill teach 
 you for nothing ; and I Avill teach you Avhat I never teach my 
 pu))ils, Avhich is, hoAv to prepare the Avax, and a great many 
 other little secrets which are AA'orth knoAving." 
 
 " I shall be very glad to learn, my dear madame," rej)lied 
 I ; " but I can afford to pay you for your time and trouble, 
 
 83
 
 VAI.EUIR 
 
 and must insist upon doing so ; if not, I will not be your 
 pupil." 
 
 "Well, veil, we nuist not quarrel about that. I know 
 that no one likes to be under an obligation, especially one 
 like you. But learn you must — so let us arrange for the 
 lessons." 
 
 I did so; and from that day until I quitted Lady R , 
 
 I a])plied mvself so assiduously to the art, that, with the 
 unreserved communications of Madame (Jironac, I became a 
 proficient, and could equal her own performances — Madame 
 Gironac declared that I excelled her, because I had more 
 taste. But to return. 
 
 After I had j^arted with Madame Gironac, I went upstairs, 
 
 and found Lady R sitting at the table, looking at the 
 
 purchases she had made. 
 
 " My dear \'alerie," cried she, " you don't know how you 
 have obliged me by introducing that little woman and her 
 flowers. What a delightful and elegant employment for a 
 heroine to undertake — so ladylike ! I have determined that 
 mine shall support herself by imitating flowers in wax. I 
 am just at the point of placing her in embarrassed circum- 
 stances, and did not well know how she was to gain her 
 livelihood, but, thanks to you, that is selected, and in a 
 most charming and satisfjictory manner. It is so hard to 
 associate povei'ty with clean hands." 
 
 About a fortnight afterwards, after some other conversa- 
 tion, Lady R said — 
 
 " My dear Valerie, I have a surprise for you. The season 
 is nearly over, and, what is more important, my third volume 
 will be complete in a fortnight. Last night, as I was wooing 
 Somnus in vain, an idea came into my head. I proposed 
 going to pass the autumn at Brighton, as you know, but 
 last night I made up my mind that Ave would go over the 
 water ; but whether it is to be Havre, or Dieppe, or Paris, 
 or anywhere else, I cannot say, but certainly La Belle 
 France. Mow do you like the idea.'' I think of making 
 a sort of sentimental journey. We will seek adventures. 
 Shall we go like Rosamond and Celia ? I with 'gallant 
 curtal axe,' dressed as a youth. Shall we be mad, Valerie .'' 
 What say you ?" 
 
 I hardly knew what to sav. Lady R appeared to 
 
 84
 
 VALERIE 
 
 have a most unusual freak in her head, and to be a little 
 more odd than usual. Now I had no wish to go to France, 
 as I might fall in with people wlioni I did not wish to 
 see ; and, moreover, from wliat I had heard of her ladyshij)'s 
 adventures in Italy, I was convinced that she was one of 
 many, I may saj^, who fancy that they may do as they please 
 out of their own country, and I certainly did not wish to 
 figure in her train. I therefore replied — 
 
 " I knoAV my own country well, Lady R , and there 
 
 cannot be a less eligible one for a masquerade. We should 
 meet with too many dcsagrcmens, if unprotected by male 
 society, and our journey would be anything but senti- 
 mental. But if you do go to France, does Lionel accom- 
 pany you .'' " 
 
 " Well, I do not know, but I should like him to learn 
 the language. I think I shall take him. He is a clever 
 boy." 
 
 *' Very," replied I ; "where did you pick him up?" 
 
 "He is a son of my late father's — ('a son of,' exclaimed 
 I) — tenant, or something, I was going to say," continued 
 
 Lady R , colouring ; " but I could not recollect exactly 
 
 what the man was. Bailiff, I think. I know nothing about 
 his father, but he was recommended to me by Sir Richard 
 before he died." 
 
 " Recommended as a servant .'' " replied I ; " he appears 
 to me to be too good for so menial a position." 
 
 " I have made him above his jiosition, Valei'ie ; not that 
 he was recommended as a servant, but recommended to 
 my care. Perhaps some day I may be able to do more 
 
 for him. You know that we are to go to Lady G 's 
 
 ball to-night. It will be a very brilliant affair. She gives 
 but one during the season, and she alwa3's does the thing in 
 good st)'le. Bless me, how late it is ! Tlie carriage will be 
 round in two minutes ; I've a round of visits to Jiay." 
 
 " Will you excuse me ? I have promised to take a lesson 
 of Madame Gironae." 
 
 " V^ery true ; then I must enter upon my melancholy task 
 alone. What can be so absurd as a rational and innnortal 
 soul going about distributing pasteboard ! " 
 
 We went to Lady G -'s ball, which was very splendid. 
 
 I had been dancing, for all hough I was not considered,
 
 VALERIE 
 
 probably, good enough among the young aristocrats to be 
 made a partner for Hfe, as a partner in a waltz or quadrille 
 I was rather in recpiest, for the odium of governess had not 
 yet been attached to my name, having never figured in that 
 capacity in the metro])olis, where I was unknown. I had 
 
 but a short time taken my seat by Lady R , when the 
 
 latter sprang off in a great hurry, after what I could not 
 tell, and her place was immediately occupied by a lady, 
 
 whom I immediately recognised as a Lady M , who had, 
 
 with her daughters, composed a portion of the company at 
 Madame Bathurst's country seat. 
 
 "Have you forgotten me. Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf .'' " 
 said Lady M , extending her hand. 
 
 " No, my lady, I am glad to see you looking so well. I 
 hope your daughters are also quite well .'' " 
 
 " Thank you ; they look very well in the evening, but 
 rather pale in the morning. It is a terrible thing a London 
 season, very trying to the constitution ; but what can we 
 do ? We must be out and be seen everywhere, or we lose 
 caste — so many balls and parties every night. The fjict is, 
 that if girls are not married during the three first seasons 
 after they come out, their chance is almost hopeless, for all 
 the freshness and charm of youth, which are so appetising 
 to the other sex, are almost gone. No constitution can 
 withstand the fatigue. I've often compared our young 
 ladies to the carriage-horses — they are both worked to death 
 during the season, and then turned out to grass in the 
 country to recover themselves, and come up fresh for the 
 next winter. It really is a horrible life ; but girls must be 
 got off. I wish mine were, for what Avith fatigue and 
 anxiety, I'm worn to a shadow. Come, Mademoiselle de 
 Chatenanif, let us go into the next room. It is cooler, and 
 we shall be more ([uict ; take my arm : perhaps Ave shall 
 meet the girls." 
 
 I accepted her ladyship's invitation, and we went into the 
 next room, and took a seat u])on a sofa in a recess. 
 
 " Here we can talk without being overheard," said Lady 
 
 M . " And now, my dear young lady, I know that you 
 
 liave left Madame Rathurst, but why I did not know. Is it 
 a secret ? " 
 
 " No, mj' lady ; when Caroline W'cnt away, I Avas of no 
 
 86
 
 VALERIE 
 
 further use, and therefore I did not wish to remain. You 
 may, perliaps, know tliat I went to Madame Bathurst's on 
 a visit, and that an unforeseen change of circumstances 
 induced nie to remain for some time as instructress to 
 her niece." 
 
 " I heard something of that sort — a kind of friendly 
 arrangement, at which Madame Bathurst had good cause to 
 be content. I'm sm-e I shoukl have been, had I been so 
 
 fortunate ; and now you are residing with Lady II : may 
 
 I inquire, without presuming too nnich, in what capacity 
 you are with Lady 11 .''" 
 
 " I went there as an amanuensis, but I have never written 
 a line. Lady R is pleased to consider me as a com- 
 panion, and 1 must say that she has behaved to me with 
 great kindness and consideration." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it," replied Lady M ; " but still 
 
 it appears to me (excuse the liberty I take, or ascribe it to 
 
 a feeling of goodwill), that your position with Lady R 
 
 is not quite what those who have an interest in you would 
 wish. Every one knows how odd she is, to say the least of 
 it, and you may not be perhaps aware, that occasionally her 
 tongue outruns her discretion. In your presence she of 
 course is on her guard, for she is really good-natured, and 
 would not willingly offend any one or hurt their feelings ; 
 but when led away by her desire to shine in company, she 
 
 is very indiscreet. I have been told that at Mrs. W 's 
 
 dinner-party the other day, to which you were not invited, 
 on your name being brought uj), she called you her charm- 
 ing model, I think was the phrase, and on an explanation 
 being demanded of the term, she said you stood for her 
 hei'oines, putting yourself in postures and positions while 
 she drew from nature, as she termed it ; and that, moreover, 
 on being complimented on the idea, and some of the young 
 men offering, or rather intimating, that they would be de- 
 lighted to stand or kneel at your feet, as the hei'o of the 
 tale, she replied that she had no occasion for their services, 
 as she had a page or footman, I forget which, who did that 
 portion of the work. Surely this cannot be true, my dear 
 Mademoiselle de Chatentruf ?" 
 
 Oh ! how my blood boiled when I heard tliis. 
 
 How far it was true, the reader already knows ; but 
 
 87
 
 VALERIE 
 
 the manner in ■which it was conveyed by Lady M 
 
 quite horrified nie. I coloured up to the temples, and 
 replied — 
 
 " Lady M , that Lady R has very often, Avhen I 
 
 have been sitting, and she has been writinjr, told me that 
 she was taking me as a model for her lieroine, is very 
 true ; but I have considered it as a mere whim of hers, 
 knowing how very eccentric she is. I little thought from 
 my having good-naturedly yielded to her caprice, that I 
 should have been so mortified as I have been by what 
 you have communicated to me. That she must have 
 been indiscreet is certain, for it was known only to herself 
 and me." 
 
 "And the footman." 
 
 " Footman, my lady .'' There is a boy — a sort of page — 
 there." 
 
 " Exactly ; a lad of fifteen or sixteen, a precocious, pert 
 
 boy, who is much indulged by Lady R , and if report 
 
 says true, is nearer related to her than she is willing to 
 acknowledge. Did you never observe that there is a strong 
 likeness } " 
 
 " Good heavens, my lady, you surprise me." 
 
 " And, I fear, have also annoyed you. But," continued 
 
 Lady M , laying her hand on mine, "I thought it kinder 
 
 to let you know your peculiar position than to sneer and 
 ridicule, as others do, behind your back. This is a sad 
 wf)rld in one respect ; if there is any scandal or false report 
 sj)read against us, it is known to every one but ourselves. 
 We cannot find, but rarely, a friend who is so really our 
 friend as to tell us of it. The poison is allowed to circulate 
 Avithout the power being given to us of applying an anti- 
 dote — so hollow is friendship in this world. My dear 
 mademoiselle, I have done otherwise ; whether you thank 
 me for it or not, I cainiot tell ; perhaps not, for those 
 who communicate unpleasant intelligence are seldom looked 
 kindly upon." 
 
 " Lady M ," rcj)lied I, " I do thank you most heartily. 
 
 I do consider that 3'ou have acted a friendly part. That I 
 have been dreadfully shocked and mortified, I admit," con- 
 tinued I, wiping away the tears that foi'ced their passage ; 
 " but I shall not give an opportunity for future unjust 
 
 88
 
 VALERIE 
 
 insinuations or remarks, as I liave made up my mind that I 
 shall leave Lady H as soon as possible." 
 
 " My dear mademoiselle, I did not venture to make you 
 accjuainted with what I knew would, to a person of your 
 sensitive mind, be the cause of your quitting the protection 
 
 of Lady 11 without having considered whether an 
 
 equivalent could not be offered to you ; and I am happy 
 to say that 1 can offer you a home, and I trust comfort 
 and consideration, if you will accept of them. The fact 
 is, that had I known that you had any idea of quitting 
 Madame Bathurst, I should have made the offer then — 
 now I do so with all sincerity ; but at })resent you are 
 agitated and annoyed, and I Avill say no more. If I 
 send the carriage for you to-morrow at two o'clock, will 
 you do me the favour to come and see me .'' I would call 
 
 upon you, but of course the presence of Lady R would 
 
 be a check to our free converse. Say, my dear, will you 
 come } " 
 
 I replied in the affirmative, and Lady M then rose, 
 
 and giving me her arm, we walked back to the bench which 
 
 I had left, where I found Lady R in a hot dispute with 
 
 a Member of Parliament. I sat down by her unnoticed, 
 
 and Lady M having smiled an adieu, I was left to my 
 
 own reflections, which were anything but agreeable. My 
 
 head ached dreadfully, and I looked so ill that Lady R 's 
 
 warm antagonist j^erceived it, and pointed it out to her, 
 saying — 
 
 "Your prot<^gt'e is not well, I fear. Lady R ." 
 
 I replied to Lady R , "that I had a violent headache, 
 
 and wished to get home, if it were possible." 
 
 She immediately consented, and showed great concern. 
 As soon as we were home, I need hardly say that I hastened 
 to my room. 
 
 I sat down and pressed my forehead with my hands : my 
 knowledge of the world was increasing too fast. I began 
 to hate it — hate men, and women even more • than men. 
 What lessons had I learnt within the last year. First 
 Madame d'Albret, then Madame Bathui-st, and now Lady 
 
 R . Was there no such thing as friendshi]) in the world 
 
 — no such thing as generosity .'' In my excited state it 
 appeared to me that there was not. All was false and 
 
 8J)
 
 VALERIE 
 
 hollow. Self was the idol of mankind, and all worshipped 
 at its altar. After a time I became more composed ; I 
 thought of little Madame Gironac, and the i-ecollection of 
 her disinterested kindness put me in a better frame of mind. 
 Mortified as I was, I could not help feeling that it was only 
 
 the vanity of Lady 11 , and her desire to shine, to which 
 
 I had been made a sacrifice, and that she had no intention 
 of wounding my feelings. Still, to remain with her after 
 
 ■what had been told to me by Lady M was impossible. 
 
 And then I reflected upon what steps I should take. I 
 
 did not like to tell Lady R the real grounds of my 
 
 leaving her. I thought it would be prudent to make some 
 excuse and part good friends. At last it occurred to me 
 that her intention of going to France would be a good 
 excuse. I could tell her that I was afraid of meeting my 
 relatives. 
 
 Having decided upon this point, I then canvassed the 
 
 words of Lady M . What could she offer me in 
 
 her house .'' She had three daughters, but they were all 
 out, as the phrase is, and their education supposed to be 
 completed. This was a mystery I could not solve, and I 
 was obliged to give up thinking about it, and at last I 
 fell asleep. The next morning I woke up, jaded in mind, 
 and with a bad headache, but I dressed and went down 
 
 to breakfast. Lady R asked after my health, and then 
 
 said — 
 
 " I observed you talking very confidently with Lady 
 
 M . I was not aware that you knew her. Between 
 
 ourselves, Valei'ie, she is one of my models." 
 
 "Indeed," replied I, "I do not think that her ladyship is 
 aware of the honour conferred ujion her." 
 
 " Very likely not ; but in the last Avork she was portrayed 
 
 to the life. Lady M is a schemer, always plotting; 
 
 her great object now is to get her three daughters well 
 marded." 
 
 " I believe that most mothers wish that, Lady R ." 
 
 " I grant it, and ])erhaps manoeuvre as much, but with 
 more skill than she does, for every one sees the game that 
 she is playing, and the consequence is that the young men 
 shy off, wliich they probably would not if she were quiet, 
 for thev arc really clever, unaffected, and natural girls, very 
 
 90
 
 VALERIE 
 
 obliging, and without any pride. But how came you to be 
 so intimate with Lady M ?" 
 
 " Lady M and her eldest daughter were staying for 
 
 some time with Madame Bathurst in the country when I 
 was there." 
 
 "Oh, I understand, that accounts for it." 
 
 " I am going to call upon Lady M , if she sends 
 
 her carriage for me," replied L "She told me that she 
 would, if she could, at two o'clock. She has proposed 
 my paying her a visit ; I presume it will be after she leaves 
 town." 
 
 " But that you will not be able to do, Valerie ; you forget 
 our trip to France." 
 
 "I did not think that you were serious," replied I; "you 
 mentioned it as the resolution of a night, and I did not 
 know that you might not think differently upon further 
 consideration." 
 
 "Oh no, my resolutions are hastily formed, but not often 
 given up. Go to Paris we certainly shall." 
 
 " If you are determined upon going. Lady R , I am 
 
 afraid that I cannot accompany you." 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed her ladyship in surprise. "May I 
 ask why not .'' " 
 
 "Simply because I might meet those I am most anxious 
 to avoid ; there is a portion of my history that you are not 
 
 acquainted with. Lady R , which I will now make known 
 
 to you." 
 
 I then told her as much as I thought necessary relative 
 to my parents, and stated my determination not to run the 
 
 risk of meeting them. Lady R argued, persuaded, 
 
 coaxed, and scolded, but it was all in vain ; at last she 
 became seriously angry, and left the room. Lionel soon 
 afterwards made his appearance, and said to me, in his usual 
 familiar way — 
 
 " What's the matter. Miss Valerie ? The governess is in a 
 rage about something ; she gave me a box on the ear." 
 
 " I suppose you deserved it, Lionel," replied I. 
 
 "Well, there may be differences of ojiinion about that," 
 replied the boy. " She went on scolding me at such a rate 
 that I was quite astonished, and all aljout nothing. She 
 blew up cook — didn't she — blew her half up the chimney —
 
 VALERIE 
 
 and tlien she was at me ajrain. At last I could bear it no 
 longer, and 1 said, ' Don't flare up, my lady.' 
 
 '■ 'Don't my lady me,' cried she, 'or I'll box your ears.' 
 
 " Well, then, as she is always angry if you call her my 
 lad}', I thought she was angry with me for the same reason, 
 so I said, * Sempronia, keep your temper,' — and didn't I get 
 a box on the ear." 
 
 I could not help laughing at this recital of his cool im- 
 pudence, the more so as he narrated it with such an air 
 of injured innocence. 
 
 "Indeed, Lionel," said I at last, "you well deserved the 
 
 box on the ear. If you ever quit the service of Lady R , 
 
 you will find that you must behave with proj^er respect to 
 those above you ; if not, you will not remain an hour in any 
 
 other house. Lady R is very odd and very good- 
 
 temj)ered, and permits more liberties than any other person 
 would. I will, however, tell you why Lady R is dis- 
 pleased. It is because she wishes me to go to France with 
 her, and I have refused." 
 
 " Then you are going to leave us ? " inquired Lionel 
 mournfully. 
 
 " I suppose so/' replied I. 
 
 "Then I shall go, too," said the boy. "I'm tired of it." 
 
 " But why should you go, Lionel ? You may not find 
 another situation half so comfortable." 
 
 " I shall not seek one. I have only stayed here with the 
 hope that I maj'^ find out from her ladyshij:) who and what 
 my parents Avere, and she will not tell me. I shall live by 
 my wits, never fear ; ' the world's my oyster,' as Shakspeare 
 sa^s, and I think I've wit enough to ojjcn it." 
 
 I had not forgotten the observations of Lady M 
 
 relative to Lionel, and what the lad now said made me 
 surmise that there was some mystery, and on examination 
 of his countenance, there jvas a family likeness to Lady 
 
 R . I also called to mind her unwillingness to enter 
 
 upon the subject when I brought it up. 
 
 " But, Lionel," said I, after a ])ause, "what is it that makes 
 
 you suppose that Lady R conceals who were your 
 
 jiarents.'' When we last talked on the subject, you said j'ou 
 had found out something : she told me that your father was 
 a bailiff or steward to Sir Richard." 
 
 92
 
 VALERIA 
 
 " Which I have proved to be false. She told me that my 
 father was Sir Richard's butler ; tliat I have also discovered 
 to be false ; for one day the old housekeeper, who called 
 upon me at school, came here, and was closeted with Lady 
 
 R for half-an-hour. When she went away, I called a 
 
 hackney-coach for her, and getting behind it, went home 
 with her to her lodgings. When I fov.nd out where she 
 lived, I hastened back innnediately, that 1 might not be 
 missed, intending to have made a call upon her. The next 
 day Lady R gave me a letter to put in the twopenny- 
 post ; it was directed to a Mrs. Green, to the very house 
 where the hackney-coach had stopped, so I knew it was for 
 the old housekeeper. Instead of putting the letter in the 
 post, I kept it till the evening, and then took it myself 
 
 " ' Mrs. Green,' said I, for I found her at home with 
 another old woman sitting over their tea, ' I have brought 
 
 you a letter from Lady R .' This is about a year ago. 
 
 Miss Valerie. 
 
 " ' Mercy on me ! ' said she, ' how strange that Lady R 
 
 should send you liere.' 
 
 " ' Not strange that she should send a letter by a servant,' 
 said I, 'only strange that I should be a servant.' 
 
 " I said this. Miss Valerie, as a random throw, just to see 
 what answer she Avould make. 
 
 "'Why, who has been telling you anything.''' said she, 
 looking at me through her spectacles. 
 
 "'Ah,' replied I, 'that's what I must keep to myself, for 
 I'm under a promise of secrecy.' 
 
 " ' Mercy on me ! it couldn't be — no, that's impossible,' 
 muttered the old Avoman, as she opened the letter and took 
 out a bank-note, which she crumpled up in her hand. She 
 then commenced reading the letter. I walked a little way 
 from her, and stood between her and the window. Every 
 now and then she held the letter up to the candle, and when 
 the light was strong upon it I could read a line from where I 
 stood, for I have been used to her ladyship's writing, as you 
 know. One line I read was, ' remains still at Culverwood 
 Hall ;' another was, 'the only person now left in Essex.' I 
 also saw the words 'secrecy' and 'ignorant' at the bottom 
 of the page. The old woman finished the letter at last, but 
 it took her a good while to get through it. 
 
 93
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " ' Well/ sa\-s she, ' have you anything more to say ? ' 
 
 "No/ says I; 'you are well paid for your secrecy, Mrs. 
 Green.' 
 
 " ' What do you mean .'' ' said she. 
 
 '"Oh, I'm not quite so ignorant as you suppose,' replied I. 
 
 " ' Ignorant,' said she, confused ; ' ignorant of what ? ' 
 
 " ' When were you last in Essex .'' ' said I. 
 
 '"When, Avhy ? — what's that to you, you impudent boy .'*' 
 
 "'Nay, then I'll put another question to you. How long 
 is it since you were at Culverwood Hall .'■' 
 
 " ' Culverwood Hall! What do you know about Culver- 
 wood Hall ?— the boy's mad, I believe ; go away, you've done 
 your message: if you don't, I'll tell her ladyship.' 
 
 " ' Certainly, Mrs. Green,' said I. ' I wish you a good 
 night.' 
 
 " I left the room, slamming the door, but not allowing the 
 catch to fall in, so that I held it a little ajar, and then I 
 heard Mrs. Green say to the other woman — 
 
 '"Somebody's been with that boy; I wonder who it can 
 be ? He's put me in such a flurry. Well, these things will 
 out.' 
 
 " ' Yes, yes, it's like murder,' replied the other ; ' not 
 that I know what it's all about, only I see there's a secret — 
 perhaps you'll tell me, Mrs. Green ? ' 
 
 " ' All I dare tell you is that there is a secret,' replied Mrs. 
 Green, ' and the boy has got an inkling of it somehow or 
 another. I must see my lady — no, I had better not,' added 
 she ; * for she is so queer that she 11 swear that I've told him. 
 Now there's only one besides myself and her ladyship who 
 knows anything, and I'll swear that he could not have been 
 with the boy, for he's bedridden. I'm all of a puzzle, and 
 that's the truth. What a wind there is; why, the boy has 
 left the door open. Boys never shut doors.' 
 
 " Mrs. Green got up and slammed the door to, and I 
 walked off; and now, Miss Valerie, that's all that I know of 
 the matter. But why I should be sent to a good school and 
 wear pepper-and-salt, and be taken away to be made first 
 a page, and now a footman, I can't tell ; but you must 
 acknowledge that there is some mystery, after what I have 
 told you." 
 
 "It certainly is strange, Lionel," replied I, "but my 
 
 94
 
 VALERIE 
 
 advice is, that you remain patiently till you can find it out, 
 which by leaving Lady II you are not likely to do." 
 
 " I don't know tiiat, Miss Valerie ; let me get down to 
 Culverwood Hall, and I think I would find out sometliing, 
 or my wits were given me to no purpose. But I hear her 
 ladyship coming upstairs ; so good-bye, Miss Valerie." 
 
 And Lionel made a hasty retreat. 
 
 Lady R slowly ascended the stairs, and came into the 
 
 room. Her violence had been exhausted, but she looked 
 sullen and moody, and I could hardly recognise her ; for I 
 must do her the justice to say, that I had never before seen 
 her out of temper. She sat down in her chair, and I asked 
 her whether I should bring her her Avriting materials. 
 
 "A pi-etty state I am in to wi'ite/' replied she, leaning her 
 elbows on the table, and })ressing her hands to her eyes. 
 " You don't know what a rage I have been in, and how I 
 have been venting it upon innocent i^eople. I struck that 
 poor boy — shame on me ! Alas ! I was born with violent 
 passions, and they have been my curse through life. I had 
 hoped that years had somewhat subdued them, but they will 
 occasionally master me. What would I not give to have had 
 your placid temper, Valerie ! How much unhappiness I 
 should have been spared ! How much error shoulcl I have 
 avoided ! I was going to say, how much crime." 
 
 Lady R was evidently more talking to herself than to 
 
 me when she said the last words, and I therefore made no 
 reply. A silence of more than a quarter of an hour followed, 
 which was broken by Lionel coming in, and announcing the 
 carriage of Lady M . 
 
 "That woman is the cause of all this," said Lady R- 
 
 " I am sure that she is. Pray do not wait, Valerie. Go 
 and see her. I shall be better company when you come 
 back." 
 
 I made no reply, but left the room, and putting on my 
 
 bonnet, was driven to Lady M 's. She received me witli 
 
 great cordiality, and so did her daughters, who were in the 
 room ; but they were dismissed by their mother, who then 
 said, "I told you last night, my dear Mademoiselle dc Chate- 
 nceuf, that I wished you to reside with me. You may say in 
 what capacity, and I acknowledge that I hardly know what 
 answer to give. Not as governess, certainly, for I consider it 
 
 95
 
 Valerie 
 
 an odious position, and one that I could not offer you ; in- 
 deed,, my girls do not require teacliing, as they liave finished 
 their studies ; in only one thing you could be of advantage to 
 them in that respect, which is in music and singing. But I 
 wish you to come as their companion, as I am convinced that 
 they will gain much by your so doing. I wish you, therefore, 
 to be considered by others as a visitor at the house, but at 
 the same time I nuist insist, that from the advantages my 
 girls will derive from your assisting them in music and sing- 
 ing, you will accept the same salary per annum which you 
 
 have from Lady 11 . Do you understand me .'' I wish 
 
 you to I'emain with me, not as a model after the idea of 
 
 Lady R , but as a model for my girls to take pattern by. 
 
 I shall leave it to yourself to act as you please. I am sure 
 my girls like you already, and will like you better. I do not 
 think that I can say more, except that I trust you will not 
 refuse my offer." 
 
 There was a delicacy and kindness in this proposal on the 
 
 part of Lady M which I felt gratefully ; but it appeared 
 
 to me, that after all it was onlj' an excuse to offer me an 
 asylum without any remuneration on my part, and I stated 
 my feeling on that point. 
 
 " Do not think so," replied Lady M . " I avoided 
 
 saying so, because I would not have you styled a music- 
 mistress ; but on that one point alone you will more than 
 earn your salary, as I will prove to you, by showing you the 
 annual payments to professors for lessons ; but you will be 
 of great value to me in other points, I have no doubt. May 
 I, therefore, consider it as an ajfaire arraiigee ?" 
 
 After a little more conversation, I acquiesced, and having 
 
 agreed that I would come as soon as Lady R went to 
 
 the Continent, or at all events, in three weeks, when Lady 
 
 M quitted London, I took my leave, and was conveyed 
 
 back to Lady R in the carriage which had been sent 
 
 for me. 
 
 On my return, I found Lady R seated where I had 
 
 left her. 
 
 "Well," said she, "so you have had your audience; and 
 I have no doubt but that you were most graciously' received. 
 Oh ! I know the woman ; and I have been reflecting upon 
 it during your absence, and I have discovered what she 
 
 96
 
 VALERIE 
 
 wants you for; but this she has not mentioned, not even 
 hinted at. She knows better; but when once in her house, 
 you will submit to it, rather than be again in seai-ch of a 
 home." 
 
 " I really do not know what you mean, Lady R ," 
 
 said L 
 
 " Has not Lady M asked you to come as a visitor, 
 
 without specifying any particular emploj^ment .'*" 
 
 " No, she has not. She has proposed my staying in the 
 house to give lessons to her daughters in music, and to be 
 their companion; but there is nothing stated as to a fixed 
 residence with her." 
 
 "Well, Valerie, I know that I am odd; but you will soon 
 find out whether you have gained by the change." 
 
 " Lady R , I reall}' do not consider you should be so 
 
 sarcastic or unkind towards me. I do not like to go to 
 France with you, for reasons which I have fully explained, 
 at the expense of disclosing family affairs which I had much 
 rather not have mentioned. You leave me by myself, and 
 I must seek protection somewhere. It is kindly offered by 
 
 Lady M , and in my unfortunate position I have not to 
 
 choose. Be just and be generous." 
 
 " Well, well, I will," said Lady R , the tears starting 
 
 in her eyes ; " but you do not know how much I am annoyed 
 at your leaving me. I had hoped, with all my faults, that 
 I had created in you a feeling of attachment to me — God 
 knows that I have tried. If you knew all my history, Valerie, 
 you would not be surprised at my being strange. That 
 occurred when I was of your age, which would have driven 
 some people to despair or suicide. As it is, it has alienated 
 me from all my relations, — not that I have many. My 
 brother, I never see or hear from, and have not for years. 
 I have refused all his invitations to go down to see him, 
 and he is now offended with me ; but there are causes for 
 it, and years cannot wipe away the memory of Avhat did 
 occur." 
 
 " I assure you. Lady R , I have been very sensible of 
 
 your kindness to me," replied I, " and shall always remember 
 it with gratitude ; and it" you think I have no regard for you, 
 you are mistaken ; but the subject has become painful — pray 
 let us say no more." 
 
 97 G
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " Well, Valerie, be it so ; perhaps it is the wisest plan." 
 
 To change the conversation, I said — " Is not your brother 
 the present baronet ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Lady R . 
 
 " And where does he reside ? " 
 
 " In Essex, at Culverwood Hall, the seat of all my mis- 
 fortunes." 
 
 I started a little at the mention of the place, as it was the 
 one which the reader may remember was spoken of by 
 Lionel. I then turned the conversation to other matters, 
 
 and by dinner-time Lady R had recovered herself, and 
 
 was as amiable as ever. 
 
 From that day until Lady R set off for Paris, there 
 
 was not a word said relative to Ladj^ M . She was 
 
 kind and polite, but not so warm and friendly as she 
 had been before, and in her subdued bearing towards 
 me, was more agreeable. Her time was now employed in 
 making preparations for her tour. Lionel was the only 
 one who was to accompany her except her own maid. At 
 last she fixed the day of her departure, and I wrote to 
 
 Lady M , who returned an answer that it suited her 
 
 exactly, as she would go to the country the day after. The 
 
 evening before Lady R was to start, was passed very 
 
 gloomily. I felt great soitow at our separation, more than 
 I could have imagined ; but when you have been associ- 
 ated with a person who is good-tempered and kind, you 
 soon feel more for them than you would suppose until you 
 are about to quit them. 
 
 Lady R was very much dispirited, and said to me, 
 
 " Valerie, I have a presentiment that we never shall meet 
 again, and yet I am anything but superstitious. I can truly 
 say that you are the only person to whom I have felt real 
 attachment since my youth, and I feel more than I can 
 describe. Something whispers to me, ' Do not go to France,' 
 and yet something impels me to go. \ alerie, if I do come 
 back, I trust that you will consider my house your home, 
 if at any time you cannot place yourself more to your 
 satisfaction ; I will not say more, as I know that I am not 
 exactly a lovable person, and my ways are odd ; but do 
 pray look upon me as your sincere friend, who will always 
 be ready to serve you. I have to thank you for a few happy 
 
 98
 
 VALERIE 
 
 months^ and that is sayinj:^ niiich. God bless you, my dear 
 V^alerie." 
 
 I was moved to tears by what Lady R said, and I 
 
 thanked her with a faltering voice. 
 
 "Come now," said she, "I shall be off too early in the 
 morning to see you ; let us take our farewell." 
 
 Lady R put a small packet into my hand, kissed me 
 
 on the forehead, and then hastened up to her own room. 
 
 That people love change is certain ; but still there is a 
 mournfulness connected with it, even in a change of resi- 
 dence ; the packing up, the litter attending it, the corded 
 trunks and packages, give a forlorn appearance to the house 
 itself To me it was peculiarly distressing ; I had changed 
 so often within the last year, and had such a precarious 
 footing wherever I went ; I felt myself to be the sport of 
 fortune, and a football to the whims and caprices of others. 
 I was sitting in my bedroom, my trunks packed but not 
 yet closed down, thinking of Lady R 's last conversa- 
 tion, and very triste. The packet was lying on the table 
 before me unopened, when I was roused by a knock at 
 
 the door. I thought it was Lady R 's maid, and I said, 
 
 "Come in." 
 
 The door opened, and Lionel made his appearance. 
 
 " Is it you, Lionel ? What do you want } " 
 
 " I knew that you were up, and I recollected, as we leave 
 before you do to-morrow, that you would have no one to cord 
 your luggage, so I thought I would come up and do it for 
 you to-night. Miss Valerie, if it is ready." 
 
 " Thank you, Lionel, it is very considerate of you. I will 
 lock the trunks up, and you can cord them outside." 
 
 Lionel took out the trunks and corded them in the pas- 
 sage. When he had finished he said to me — 
 
 "Good-bye, Miss Valerie; you will see me again very 
 soon." 
 
 " See you very soon, Lionel ! I am afraid there is no 
 
 chance of that, for Lady R intends to stay abroad for 
 
 six months." 
 
 " I do not," replied he. 
 
 " Why, Lionel, it would be very foolish for you to give up 
 such a good situation. You have such unusual wages : twenty 
 pounds a year, is it not ? " 
 
 99
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "Yes, Miss Valerie. I should not get half that in another 
 situation, but that is one reason why I am going to leave. 
 Why should she give me twenty jwunds a year? I must find 
 out why, and find out I will, as I said to you before. She 
 don't give me twenty pounds for my beauty, although she 
 might give you a great deal more, and yet not pay you half 
 enough." 
 
 " Well, Lionel, I think you have been here long enough. 
 It is too late to sit up to pay compliments. Fare you 
 well." 
 
 I shut my door upon him gently, and then went to bed. 
 As usual after excitement, I slept long and soundly. When 
 I awoke the next morning, I found it was bi'oad day, and 
 nearly ten o'clock. I rang the bell, and it was answered by 
 the cook, who told me that she and I were the only people 
 in the house. I rose, and as I passed by my table, I per- 
 ceived another package lying b}^ the side of the one which 
 
 Lady R had given me. It was addressed to me, and I 
 
 opened it. It contained a miniature of Lady R when 
 
 she was about my age, and very beautiful she must have 
 been. It was labelled " Sempronia at eighteen. Keep it 
 for my sake, dear Valerie, and do not open the paper 
 accompanying it until you have my permission, or you hear 
 of my being no more." 
 
 I laid the miniature down, and opened the first packet 
 
 given me by Lady 11 . It contained bank-notes to the 
 
 amount of one hundred pounds, nearly double the salary 
 due to me. The contents of both these packets only 
 made me feel more melancholy, and I sighed heavily as 
 I put them in my dressing-case ; but time ran on, and I 
 
 had agreed to be at Lady M 's at one o'clock, when 
 
 the carriage would be sent for me. I therefore hastened 
 my toilet, closed the remainder of my lug^;age, and went 
 down to the breakfast which the cook had prepared for 
 me. While I was at breakfast, a letter was brought by 
 the post. It had been directed to Madame Bathurst, and 
 
 was redirected to Lady R 's address. It was from 
 
 Madame Paon, and as follows : — 
 
 " My dear Madlle. de Chaten(Euf, — As I take it for 
 granted that you do not see the French papers, I write 
 
 100
 
 VALERIE 
 
 to tell you that your predictions relative to Monsieur 
 
 G have all proved correct. A nioiiih after the marriage, 
 
 he neglected Madame, and spent his whole time at the 
 gaming-table, only returning home to obtain fresh sujjplies 
 from her. These were at last refused, and in his rage 
 he struck her. A suit for separation of person and jn'operty 
 was brought into court last week, and terminated in fa\our 
 of Madame d'Albret, who retains all her fortune, and is 
 rid of a monster. She came to me yesterday morning, and 
 showed me the letter which you had Avritten to her, asking 
 me whether I did not correspond with you, and whether 
 I thought that, after her conduct, you could be prevailed 
 upon to return to her. Of course I could not give any 
 opinion ; but I am convinced that if you only say that 
 you forgive her, that she will write to you and make the 
 request. I really do not well see how you can do other- 
 wise, after the letter which you wrote to her, but of 
 course you will decide for yourself. I trust. Mademoiselle, 
 you will favour me with a speedy answer, as Madame 
 d'Albret is here every day, and is evidently very im- 
 patient. — I am, my dear Mademoiselle, yours, 
 
 ''Emilie Paon, nee Merce." 
 
 To this letter I sent the following re})ly by that day's 
 post : — 
 
 " Mv DEAR Madame Paon, — That I sincerely forgive 
 Madame d'Albret is true ; I do so from my heart ; but 
 although I forgive her, I cannot listen to any proposal to 
 resume the position I once held. Recollect that she has 
 driven all over Paris, and accused me among all her friends 
 of ingratitude and slander. How then, after having been 
 discarded for such conduct, could I again make my appear- 
 ance in her company ? Either I have done as she has 
 stated, and if so, am unworthy of her patronage, or I have 
 not done so, and therefore have been cruelly used : made 
 to feel my dej)endence in the bitterest way, having been 
 dismissed and thrown upon the Avoild with loss of character. 
 Could I ever feel secure or comfortable with her after 
 such injustice? or could she feel at her ease on again 
 presenting one as her protegee whom she had so ill-treated ? 
 
 101
 
 VALERIE 
 
 Would she not have to bhisli every time that she met 
 with any of our former mutual friends and acquaintances ? 
 It would be a series of humiliations to us both. Assure 
 her of my forgiveness and goodwill, and my Avishes for 
 her happiness ; but to return to her is impossible. I 
 would rather starve. If she knew what I have suffered 
 in consequence of her hasty conduct towards me, she 
 would pity me more than she may do now ; but what is 
 done is done. There is no remedy for it. Adieu, Madame 
 Paon. Many thanks for your kindness to one so fallen 
 as I am. — Yours truly and sincerely, Valerie." 
 
 I wrote the above under great depression of spirits, and 
 it was with a heavy heart that I afterwards alighted at 
 
 Lady M 's residence in St. James's Square. If smiles, 
 
 however, and cordial congratulations, and shakes of the 
 hand, could have consoled me, they were not wanting on 
 
 the part of Lady M and her daughters. I was shown 
 
 all the rooms below, then Lady M 's room, the young 
 
 ladies' rooms, and lastly my own, and was truly glad 
 when I was at last left alone to unpack and arrange my 
 things. 
 
 The room allotted to me was very comfortable, and 
 better furnished than those in which the young ladies 
 slept, and as far as appearances went, I was in all respects 
 treated as a visitor, and not as a governess. The maid 
 who attended me was very civil, and as she assisted and 
 laid my dresses in the wardrobe, made no attempt to be 
 familiar. I ought to have informed the reader that Lady 
 
 M was a widow. Lord M having died about two 
 
 years before. Her eldest son, the present Lord M , 
 
 was on the Continent. Dinner was announced ; there were 
 only two visitors, and I was treated as one of the company. 
 In fact, nothing could be more gratifying than the manner 
 in which I was treated. In the evening I played and 
 sang. The young ladies did the same ; their voices were 
 good, but they wanted expression in their singing, and I 
 perceived that I could be useful. 
 
 Lady M asked me, when we were not overheard, 
 
 " What I thought of her daughters' singing .'' " 
 
 I told her frankly. 
 
 102
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " It is impossible to doubt the truth of what you say, my 
 dear Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf, after having heard your 
 performance. I knew that you were considered a good 
 performer, but I had no idea of the perfection which you 
 have arrived at." 
 
 " If your daughters are really fond of music, they would 
 soon do as well, my lady," replied I. 
 
 " Impossible," exclaimed her ladyship ; " but still they 
 must gain something from listening to you. You look 
 fatigued. Do you wish to go to bed ? Augusta will go up 
 with you." 
 
 " I have a nervous headache," replied I, " and I will 
 accept your ladyshij/s considerate proposal." 
 
 Augusta, the eldest daughter, lighted a chamber-candle, 
 and went up with me into my room. After a little conver- 
 sation, she wished me good night, and thus passed the first 
 day in St. James's Square. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 As arranged by Lady M , the next day we went €o 
 
 Harking Castle, the family seat, in Dorsetshire, and I was 
 not sorry to be again quiet, after the noise and bustle of a 
 
 London season. As Lady M had observed, the young 
 
 ladies were sadly jaded with continual late hours and hot 
 rooms, but they had not been a week in the country be- 
 fore they were improved in appearance and complexion. 
 They certainly were amiable, nice girls, clever, and Avithout 
 pride, and I soon became attached to them. I attended 
 to their music, and they made great progress. I also taught 
 them the art of making flowers in wax, which I had so lately 
 learnt myself This was all I could do, except mildly remon- 
 strating with them when I saw what did not aj)pear to me 
 to be quite correct in their conduct and deportment. Lady 
 
 M appeared quite satisfied, and treated me with great 
 
 consideration, and I was in a short time very happy in my 
 new position. 
 
 For the first montn there were no visitors in the house ; 
 
 103
 
 VALERIE 
 
 after that, invitations were sent out. Lady M had said 
 
 tliat slie -rtould have a month's quiet to recover herself from 
 the fatigues of the season, and 1 had no doubt but that she 
 also thought her daughters would be much benefited, as 
 they really were, by a similar retirement. It was on Monday 
 that company was expected, and on Friflay Lady M de- 
 sired Augusta, the eldest daughter, to put on a new dress which 
 had just been made l)y the two lady's-maids, and come down 
 in it that she might see it on. When Augusta made her 
 appearance, and her inother had surveyed the dress, she said — 
 
 " I do not quite like it, Augusta, and yet I do not exactly 
 know where it's wrong; but something requires to be 
 altered ; it does not hang gracefully." 
 
 As she said this, I was reading a book, and I naturally 
 looked up, and immediately perceived the alteration which 
 the dress required. I pointed it out, and with a few pins 
 made the dress sit well. 
 
 " Why, this is a new talent, my dear Mademoiselle de 
 Chatenoeuf, one that I had no idea that you possessed ; 
 although I admit that no one dresses more elegantly than 
 
 you do," said Lady M . " How much I am obliged to 
 
 you for taking so much trouble." 
 
 " I am most happy to be of any service, Lady M , and 
 
 you may always command me," replied I. " I have the 
 credit of being a very good millinei'." 
 
 " I believe you can do anything," replied Lady M . 
 
 " Augusta, go up to Benson and show her the alterations that 
 are required, and tell her to make them directly. After all," 
 
 continued Lady M to me, "it is bad economy making 
 
 dresses at home ; but I really cannot afford to pay the ex- 
 travagant prices charged by Madame Desbelli. My bills are 
 monstrous, and my poverty, but not my will, consents. Still 
 it does make such a difference in the appearance, being well 
 dressed, that if I could, I never would have a dress made at 
 home ; but the saving is astonishing — nearly two-thirds, I 
 assure you." 
 
 " If you will allow me to interfere a little, my lady," 
 replied I, " I think you can have them as well made at home 
 as by Madame Desbelli. I think I can be useful." 
 
 " You are very kind. Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf, but it 
 will be taxing you too nmch." 
 
 104
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "Not at all, Lady M , if I have your sanction." 
 
 "You shall do just as you please, my dear," replied Lady 
 
 M ; " I give you full authority over the whole household, 
 
 if you wish it ; but, indeed, I think Benson -will be much 
 obliged to you for any slight hint that you may give her, and 
 I am sure that I shall. But the carriage is at the door — do 
 you drive to day ? " 
 
 " Not to-day, I thank you, Lady M ," replied L 
 
 "Well, then, I will take Hortense and Amy with me, and 
 leave Augusta with you." 
 
 After Lady M 's departure, I went up to the room 
 
 whei'e the maids were at work. I altered the arrangement 
 of Augusta's dress so as to suit her figure, and cut out the 
 two others for Llortense and Amy. Wishing to please Lady 
 M , I worked myself at Augusta's dress, and had it com- 
 pleted before Lady M had returned from her drive. It 
 
 certainly was now a very different aflliir, and Augusta looked 
 remarkably well in it. She was delighted herself, and 
 hastened down to her mother to show it to her. Wlien I 
 
 came down to dinner. Lady M • was profuse in her 
 
 acknowledgments ; the two other dresses, when finished, 
 gave equal satisfaction, and from that time till the period 
 
 of my quitting Lad}' M , all the dresses, not only of the 
 
 young ladies, but those of Lady M , were made at home, 
 
 and my taste and judgment invariably afjjiealed to, and most 
 cheerfully given. I felt it my duty to be of all the use that 
 I could be, and perhaj)s was not a little gratified by the 
 compliments I received upon my exquisite taste. Time 
 passed on; during the shooting season, Augusta, the eldest 
 daughter, received a very good offer, which was accepted ; 
 and at the Christmas festivities, Hortense, the second girl, 
 accepted another proposal, which was also very favourable. 
 Lady M was delighted at such success. 
 
 " Is it not strange, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf, 
 that I have been fagging two seasons, night and day, to get 
 husbands for those girls, and now alone here, in solitude and 
 retirement almost, they have both obtained excellent estab- 
 lishments ? I do really declare tliat I believe it is all owing 
 to you, and the delightful manner in which you have dressed 
 them." 
 
 "I should rather think that it is owing, in the first place, 
 
 105
 
 VALERIE 
 
 to their having so much improved in personal appearance 
 since they have been down in the country/' rej)Hed I ; " and 
 furthei", to the gentlemen having now an opportunity of 
 discovering their truly estimable qualities, which they were 
 not likely to do at Almack's or other parties during a London 
 season." 
 
 " You may think so/' replied Lady M , " but it is my 
 
 conviction that all is owing to their being so tastefully 
 dressed. Why, every one admires the elegance of their 
 costume and requests patterns. Well, now I have only Amy 
 on my hands, and I think that her sisters' high connections 
 will assist in getting her off." 
 
 "She is a sweet girl. Amy," replied I, "and were I you, 
 Lady M , I should be in no hurry to part with her." 
 
 " Indeed, but I am," replied Lady M ; " you don't 
 
 know the expense of girls, and my jointure is not so very 
 large. However, I must not complain. Don't you think Amy 
 looks better in lilac than any other colour.''" 
 
 " She looks well in almost any colour," replied I. 
 
 " Yes, with your taste, I grant," replied Lady M . 
 
 " Are you aware that we go to town in a fortnight .'' We 
 must look after the trousseaux. It was arranged last night 
 that both marriages shall take place in February. Amy will 
 of course be one of the bridemaids, and I trust to you, my 
 dear Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf, to invent something very 
 distingue for her on that occasion. Who knows but that it 
 may get her off.'' But it's late, so good night." 
 
 I could not admire Lady M 's apparent hurry to get 
 
 rid of her daughters ; but it certainly was the one thing 
 needful which had occupied all her thoughts and attention 
 during the time that I had been with her. That it was 
 natural slie should Avish that her children were well estab- 
 lished, I granted ; but all that she apjieared to consider was 
 good connection and the means of living in good style ; 
 every other point as to the character of the husbands being 
 totally overlooked. 
 
 A fortnight after Chi-istmas we all went to London, and 
 
 were, as Lady M had observed, very busy with the 
 
 trousseaux, when one day the butler came to say that a 
 young gentleman wished to see me, and was waiting in 
 the breakfast - parlour below. I went down, wondering 
 
 106
 
 VALERIE 
 
 who it could be, when, to my surprise, I found Lionel, 
 
 the p;ige of Lady 11 , dressed in plain clothes, and 
 
 certainly looking very much like a gentleman. He bowed 
 very respectfully to me when he entered, much more so 
 than he had ever done when he was a page with Lady 
 R , and said— 
 
 " Miss Valerie, I have ventured to call upon you, as 
 I thought, when we parted, that you did me the honour 
 to feel some little interest about me, and I thought you 
 would like to know Avhat has taken place. I have been 
 in England now four months, and have not been idle during 
 that time." 
 
 " I am certainly glad to see you, Lionel, although I am 
 
 sorry you have left Lady R , and I hope you have been 
 
 satisfied with the result of your inquiries." 
 
 " It is rather a long story. Miss Valerie, and if you wish to 
 hear it, you will oblige me by sitting down while I nai'rate it 
 to you." 
 
 " I hope it will not be too long, Lionel, as I shall be 
 
 wanted in an hour or so to go out with Lady M , but 
 
 I am ready to hear you," continued I, sitting down as he 
 requested. 
 
 Lionel stood by me, and then commenced : — " We arrived 
 at Dover the evening of the day that we left. Miss Valei'ie ; 
 
 and Lady H , who had been in a state of great agitation 
 
 during the journey, was so unwell, that she remained there 
 four or five days. As soon as she was better, I thought it was 
 advisable that she should settle my book, and pay me my 
 wages before we left England, and I brought it to her, stating 
 my wish, as the sum was then very large. 
 
 " ' And what do you want money for } ' said she, rather 
 angrily. 
 
 " ' I want to place it in safety, my lady,' replied I. 
 
 "'That's as much as to say that it is not safe with me.' 
 
 " ' No, my lady,' replied I. ' But suppose any accident were 
 to happen to you abroad, would your executors ever believe 
 that you owed more than £"2,5, besides a year's wages, to a 
 page like me .'' They would say that it could not be, and 
 would not pay me my money ; neither would they believe 
 that you gave me such wages.' 
 
 "'Well,' she replied, 'there is some truth in that, and it 
 
 107
 
 VALERIE 
 
 will perhaps be bettei* that I do pay j-ou at once ; but where 
 will you put tlie money, Lionel ? ' 
 
 " ' I will ket'p the cheque, my lady, if you please.' 
 
 '''Then I will write it to order, and not to bearer,' replied 
 she, ' and then, if you lose it, it will not be paid, for it will 
 require your own signature.' 
 
 " ' Thank you, my lady,' replied L 
 
 "Having examined my accounts and my wages due, she 
 gave me a cheque for the full amount. The next morning, 
 the packet was to sail at nine o'clock. We were in good 
 
 time, and as soon as Lad}' R was on board, she went 
 
 down into the cabin. Her maid asked me for the bottle 
 of salts which I had j)urposely left under the sofa-pillow 
 at the Ship Hotel. I told her that I had left it, and as 
 there was plenty of time would run and fetch it. I did so, 
 but contrived not to be back until the steamer had moved 
 away from the pier and her paddles were in motion. I 
 called out, ' Stop, stop,' knowing of course that the}^ would 
 not, although they were not twenty yards away. I saw 
 
 Lady R 's maid run to the captain and speak to him, 
 
 but it was of no use, and thus I was left behind, Avithout 
 
 Lady R having any suspicion that it was intentional 
 
 on my ]iart. 
 
 " I waited at the pier till the packet was about two miles 
 off, and then walked away from the crowd of people who 
 were bothering me with advice how to proceed, so that I 
 might join my mistress at Calais. I returned to the hotel 
 for a portion of my clothes which I had not sent on boai'd 
 of the packet, but had left in charge of the boots, and 
 then sat down in the tap to reflect upon what I should 
 do. My first object Avas to get rid of my sugar-loaf 
 buttons, for I hated liver}'. Miss Valerie ; perhaps it was 
 pride, but I could not help it. I walked out till I came 
 to a slopseller's, as they call them at seaports, and went 
 in ; there Avas nothing hanging up but seamen's clothes, 
 and on reflection, I thought I could not do better than 
 to dress as a sailor ; so I told the man that I wanted a suit 
 of sailor's clothes. 
 
 " ' You want to go to sea, I suppose,' said the man, not 
 guessing exactly right, considering that 1 had just refused to 
 embark. 
 
 108
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " Howevei*, I bargained first for a complete suit, and then 
 sold him my liveries, exclianging my dress in the back- 
 parlour. I then returned to the tap, obtained my other 
 clothes, and as soon as the coach started, t^ot outside and 
 arrived in London. I called upon you at this house, and 
 found that you were in the country, and then I resolved that 
 I would go down to Culverwood llall." 
 
 " And now you must leave off, Lionel, for the present," 
 said I, " for I must go out with Lady M . Come to- 
 morrow early, and I shall have leisure to hear the rest of 
 your story." 
 
 The following morning Lionel returned, and resumed his 
 history. 
 
 " Miss Valerie, little things often give you more trouble 
 than greater ; and I had more difficulty to find out where 
 Culverwood Hall was than you may imagine. I asked many 
 at the inn where I put up, but no one could tell me, and at 
 such places I was not likely to find any book which I could 
 refer to. I went to the coach-offices and asked what coaches 
 started for Essex, and the reply was ' Where did I want to 
 go?' and when I said Culverwood Hall, no one could tell 
 me by w'hich coach I was to go, or which town it was near. 
 At last, I did find out from the porter of the Saracen's Head, 
 who had taken in parcels with that address, and who went to 
 the coachman, who said that his coach passed within a mile 
 of Sir Alexander Moystyn's, who lived there. I never knew 
 her ladyship's maiden name before. I took my jilace by the 
 coach, for I had gone to the banker's in Fleet Street, and re- 
 ceived the money for my cheque, and started the next morning 
 at three o'clock. 
 
 " I was })ut down at a village called Westgate, at an inn 
 called the Moystyn Arms. I kept to the dress of a sailor, 
 and when the people spoke to me on the coach, kept np the 
 character as well as I could, which is very easy to do when 
 you have to do with people who know nothing about it. I 
 shivered my timbers, and all that sort of thing, and hitched 
 up my trousers, as they do at the theatres. The coachman 
 told me that the inn was the nearest place I could stop at, 
 if I wanted to go to the Hall, and taking my bundle, I got 
 down and he drove off. A sailor-boy is a sort of curiosity in 
 a country village, Miss Valerie, and I had many questions put 
 
 109
 
 VALERIE 
 
 to iTie ; but I answered them by putting others. I said that 
 my friends were formerly hving at the Hall in the old 
 baronet's time, but that I knew little about them, as it was 
 a long while ago ; and I asked if there were any of the old 
 sei'vants still living at the place. The woman who kept the 
 inn told me that there was one, old Roberts, who still lived 
 in the village, and had been Jwdriddai for some years. This 
 of course was the jierson I wanted, and I incjuired what had 
 become of his family. The I'cply Avas, that his daughter, who 
 had married Green, was somewhere in London, and his son, 
 who had married Kitty Wilson of the village, had gone to 
 reside as gamekeeper somewhere near Portsmouth, and had 
 a large ftimily of children. 
 
 " ' You're right enough,' replied I, laughing, ' we are a 
 large family.' 
 
 " ' What ! are you old Roberts' grandson ? ' exclaimed the 
 woman. ' Well, we did hear that one of them, Harry, I 
 think, did go to sea.' 
 
 " ' Well, now, perhaps you'll tell me where I am to find 
 the old gentleman ? ' replied L 
 
 " ' Come with me,' said she ; ' he lives hard by, and glad 
 enough he'll be, poor man, to have any one to talk with him 
 a bit, for it's a lonesome life he leads in bed there.' 
 
 " I followed the Avoman, and when about a hundred j^ards 
 from the inn, she stopped at the door of a small house, and 
 called to Mrs. Meshin to 'go up and tell old Roberts that 
 one of his gi'andsons is here.' A snuffy old woman made her 
 appearance, peered at me through lier spectacles, and then 
 stumped up a pair of stairs which faced the door. Shortly 
 afterwards I was desired to come up, and did so. I found an 
 old man with silver hair lying in bed, and the said Mrs. 
 Meshin, with her spectacles, smoothing down the bedclothes 
 and making the place tidj'. 
 
 " ' What cheer, old boy ? ' said I, after T. P. Cooke's style. 
 
 " ' What do you say ? I'm hard of hearing, rather,' replied 
 the old man. 
 
 " ' How do you find yourself, sir ? ' said I. 
 
 "'Oh, pretty well for an old man; and so you're my 
 grandson Harry ; glad to see you. You may go, Mrs. 
 Meshin, and shut the door; and, do you hear, don't listen 
 at the keyhole.' 
 
 110
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " The stately lady, Mrs. Meshin, growled and then left 
 the room, slamming the door. 
 
 " ' She is very cross, grandson/ said the old man, ' and 
 I see nobody but her. It's a sad thing to be bedridden 
 this way, and not to get out in the fresh air, and sadder 
 still to be tended by a cross old woman, who won't talk 
 when I want her, and won't hold her tongue when I 
 want her. I'm glad to see you, boy. I hope you won't 
 go away directly, as your brother Tom did. I want some- 
 body to talk to me, sadly. And how do you like being 
 at sea ? ' 
 
 "'I like the shore better, sir.' 
 
 " ' Ay, so all sailors say, I believe ; and yet I would 
 rather go to sea than lie here all day long. It's all owing 
 to my being out, as I used to do, night after night, watching 
 for poachers. I had too little bed then, and now I've too 
 much of it. But the se«a must be grand. As the Bible 
 says, " They who go ujion the great waters, they see the 
 wonders of the deep." ' 
 
 " I was glad to find that the old man was so perfect in 
 all his mental faculties, and after having listened to, rather 
 than re])lied to, observations about his son and my supposed 
 brothers and sisters, by which I obtained a pretty accurate 
 knowledge of them, I wished him good-bye, and promised 
 to call and have a long talk in the morning. 
 
 " On my return to the inn, I was able to reply to all 
 the interrogatories which were put to me relative to my 
 sui)posed relations, thanks to the garrulity of old Roberts, 
 and put many questions relative to the family residing at 
 the Hall, which were freely answered. As the evening 
 advanced, many people came in, and the noise and smoking 
 was so disagreeable to me, that I asked for a bed and 
 retired. The next morning I repaired to old Roberts, who 
 appeared delighted to see me. 
 
 " ' You are a good boy,' said he, ' to come and see a poor 
 bedridden old man, who has not a soul that comes near 
 him perhaps in a week. And now tell ntie what took place 
 during your last voyage.' 
 
 " ' The last vessel 1 was on board of,' replied I, ' was a 
 packet from Dover to Calais.' 
 
 "'Well, that must be pleasant ; so many passengers. 
 
 Ill
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " ' Yes, sir ; and who do you think I saw on board of 
 the packet the other day ? — somebody that you know.' 
 
 " ' Ay, who ? ' 
 
 "'Why, I-ady R ,' rejilied I, 'and that young gentle- 
 man who, I heard say, once Uved with her as her servant.' 
 
 " ' Ay ! ' said the okl man, ' indeed I then she has done 
 justice at last. I'm gkid on it, Harry, gkid on it, for it's a 
 rehef to my mind. I was bound to the secret, and have 
 kept it ; but when a man is on the brink of the grave, he 
 does not Hke to have a secret Hke that upon his mind, 
 and I've more than once talked to my daughter about ' 
 
 " ' What, Aunt Green } ' 
 
 " ' Yes, your Aunt Green ; but she would never listen to 
 me. We both took our oath, and she said it was binding ; 
 besides, we were paid for it. Well, well, I thank God, for 
 it's a great load off my mind.' 
 
 " ' Yes, sir,' replied I, ' you need not keej:) the secret 
 any longer now.' 
 
 " ' And how has he grown up } ' said the old man ; ' is 
 he good-looking } ' 
 
 " ' Yevy much so, sir,' replied I, ' and looks very much 
 like a gentleman.' " 
 
 I could not help laughing at this part of Lionel's story, 
 although I could not but admit the truth. Lionel observed 
 it, and said — 
 
 " You cannot be surprised at my giving myself a good 
 character. Miss Valerie, for, as they say in the kitchen, it's 
 all that a poor servant has to depend upon." 
 
 "Go on," replied I. 
 
 "'He was a very fine child while he lived with us; but 
 he was taken away at six years old, and I have never seen 
 him since.' 
 
 "'Some people say that he is very like Lady R .' 
 
 " ' Well, why should he not be } Ay, she was once a very 
 beautiful young person.' 
 
 " ' Well, grandfather, I have never heard the rights of that 
 story,' said I, 'and now that you are at liberty to tell it, 
 perhaps you will let me have the whole history.' 
 
 " ' Well,' said the old man, ' as there is no longer a secret, 
 I do not know but that I may. Your Aunt Green, you know, 
 
 was nurse to Lady R , and remained in the family for 
 
 112
 
 VALERIE 
 
 years afterwards; for old Sir Alexander Moystyn was con- 
 fined to his room for years with gout and other comjilaints, 
 and your Aunt Green attended him. It was just as Sir 
 Alexander had recovered from a very bad fit that Miss 
 
 Ellen, who was Lady R 's sister, and years younger than 
 
 she was, made her runaway match with Colonel Dempster, 
 a very fashionable, gay young man, who had come down 
 here to shoot Avith the ])resent baronet. Every one was 
 nuich surprised at this, for all the talk was that the match 
 
 would be with the eldest sister, Lady R , and not the 
 
 youngest. They went oS' somewhere abroad. Old Sir 
 Alexander was in a terrible luifF about it, and was taken 
 
 ill again ; and Lady R , who was then Miss Barbara, 
 
 appeared also much distressed at her sister's conduct. Well, 
 a year or more passed away, when, one day. Miss Barbara 
 told your Aunt Green that she wished her to go with her 
 on a journey, and she set off in the evening with four post- 
 horses, and travelled all night till she arrived at South- 
 ampton. There she stojjped at a lodging and got out, 
 spoke to the landlady, and calling my daughter out of the 
 chaise, desired her to remain below while she went u])Stairs. 
 My daughter was tired of staying so long, for she remained 
 there for five hours, and Miss Barbara did not make her 
 appearance ; but they appeared to be very busy in the house, 
 running up and down stairs. At last a grave person, who 
 appeared to be a doctor, came into the parlour, followed by 
 the landlady — in the parlour in which my daughter was 
 sitting. 
 
 "'"It's all over, Mrs. Wilson," said he; "nothing could 
 save her ; but the child will do well, I have no doubt." 
 
 " ' " What's to be done, sir .'' " 
 
 " ' " Oh," replied the doctor, " the lady above-stairs told 
 me that she was her sister, so of course we must look to her 
 for all future arrangements." 
 
 " ' After giving a few directions about the infant, the 
 doctor left the house, and soon after that Miss Barbara came 
 downstairs. 
 
 "'"I'm quite worn-out, Martha," said she; "let us go to 
 the hotel as fast as we can. You sent away the carriage, of 
 course. I would it had remained, for I shall hardly be able 
 to walk so far." 
 
 113 H
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " ' Slie took her arm, and as the landhuly opened the door, 
 she said — 
 
 tt(sci y^^[\\ (..jii to-morrow, and give directions about the 
 infant, and everything which is necessary. I never went 
 through such a trying scene," said Miss Barbara ; " she was 
 an ol(l schoolfellow of mine, who entreated me to come to 
 her in her distress. She died giving birth to her infant, and 
 it was, I presume, with that presentiment that she sent for 
 me, and entreated me, on her death-bed, to protect the un- 
 fortunate child, for she has been cast away by her relations 
 in consequence of her misconduct. You have never had the 
 small-pox, Martha, have you ? " 
 
 "'"No, miss," she replied, "you know I never have." 
 
 " ' " Well, it was having the small-pox at the same time 
 that she was confined that has caused her death, and that 
 was the reason why I did not send for you to come up and 
 assist." 
 
 " ' My daughter made no answer, for Miss Barbara was 
 of a haughty temper, and she was afraid of her ; but she 
 did not forget that the doctor had told the landlady that 
 Miss Barbara had stated the lady to be her sister. My 
 daughter had thought it very odd that Miss Barbai'a had 
 not told her, during their journey, where she was going, 
 and whom she was going to see, for Miss Barbara had 
 wrapped herself up in her cloak, and pretended to be 
 asleep during the whole time, only waking up to pay the 
 postboys ; but Miss Barbara was of a very violent temper, 
 and had, since her sister's mari'iage, been much w'orse than 
 before ; indeed, some said that she was a little mad, and 
 used to walk at moonlights. 
 
 "'When they arrived at the hotel. Miss Barbara went to 
 bed, and insisted upon her sleeping in the same room, as 
 she was afraid of being alone in an hotel. My daughter 
 thought over the business as she lay in bed, and at last 
 resolved to ascertain the truth ; so she got up early the 
 next morning, and walked to the lodging-house, and when 
 the door was opened by the landlady, pretended to come 
 from her mistress to inquire hoAv the infant was. The reply 
 was that it was doing well ; and then a conversation took 
 place, in which my daughter found out that the lady did 
 not die of the small-pox, as Miss Barbara had stated. The 
 
 114
 
 V^ALERIE 
 
 landlady asked my daughter if she would not like to come 
 up and look at the corpse. My daughter consented, as it 
 was what she was about to request, and when she went up, 
 sure enough it was poor Mrs. Dempster, Miss Ellen that 
 was, who had run away with the colonel. 
 
 " ' " Ain't it a pity, ma'am," said the landlady ; " her 
 husband died only two months ago, and they say he was so 
 handsome a man ; indeed he must have been, for here's his 
 picture, which the poor lady wore round her neck." 
 
 " ' When your aunt had satisfied herself, and cried a little 
 over the body, for she was very fond of Miss Ellen, she went 
 back to the hotel as fast as she could, and getting a jug of 
 warm water from the kitchen, she went into Miss Barbara's 
 room, and had just time to throw off her bonnet and shawl, 
 when Miss Barbara woke up and asked who was there. 
 
 "'"It's me, miss," replied my daughter; "I've just gone 
 down for some warm water for you, for it's past nine o'clock, 
 and I thought you would like to be up early." 
 
 "'"Yes, I must get up, Martha, for I intend to return 
 home to-day. It's no use waiting here. I will have break- 
 fast, and then walk to the lodgings and give directions. 
 You may pack up in the meantime, for I suppose you do not 
 wish to go with me." 
 
 "'"Oh no, miss," replied your aunt; "I am frightened 
 out of my wits at having been in the house ah-eady, now 
 that I know that the lady died of the small-pox." 
 
 "'Well, Miss Barbara went away after breakfast, and re- 
 mained for two or three hours, when she returned, a servant 
 bringing the baby with her. My daughter had packed up 
 everything, and in half-an-hour they were on the road back, 
 the baby with them, in my daughter's arms. Now, you see, 
 if it had not been for the accidental remark of the doctor 
 in your aunt's presence, she would have been completely 
 deceived by Miss Barbara, and never would have known 
 whose child it was ; but your aunt kept her own counsel — 
 indeed, she was afraid to do otherwise. 
 
 '"As they went home, Miss Barbara talked a great deal 
 to your aunt, telling her that this Mrs. Bedingfield was a 
 great friend of hers, w^ith whom she had corresjxmded for 
 years after they had left school ; that her husband had been 
 killed in a duel a short time before ; that he was a gambler 
 
 115
 
 VALERIE 
 
 and a man of very bad character ; nevertheless^ she had 
 promised Mrs. Bedingficld before she died that she voidd 
 take care of the child, and that she would do so. She then 
 said, "Martha, I should like your mother to take charge of 
 it ; do 30U think that she would ? but it must be a secret, 
 for my father would be very angry with me, and besides 
 there might be unjileasant reports." Your aunt replied, 
 that she thought tliat her mother would, and then Miss 
 Barbara proposed that your aunt should get out of the 
 chaise when they stopped to change horses at the last 
 stage, when it was dark, and no one could pei'ceive it, and 
 walk with the infant until she could find some conveyance 
 to my house. 
 
 "'This was done, the child was brought to your grand- 
 mother, who is now in heaven, and then your aunt made 
 known to us what she had discovered, and whose child it 
 was. I was very angry, and if I had not been laid up at 
 the time Avith the rheumatism, would have gone right into 
 Sir Alexander's room and told him who the infant was ; but 
 I was overruled by your grandmother and your aunt, who 
 then went away and walked to the Hall. So we agreed that 
 we would say exactly what Miss Barbara said to us when she 
 came over to us on the next da}-.' " 
 
 " Well, then, Lionel, I have to congratulate you on being 
 
 the son of a gentleman and the nephew of Lady 11 . 
 
 I wish you joy with all my heart," said I, extending my 
 hand. 
 
 "Thank you. Miss Valerie. It is true that I am so, but 
 proofs are still to be given ; but of that hereafter." 
 
 " Lionel, you have been standing all this while. I think 
 it would be most uncourteous if I did not request you to 
 take a chair." Lionel did so, and then proceeded with the 
 old man's narrative. 
 
 "'About a month after this. Sir Richard R came 
 
 down, and after three weeks Avas accejjted by Miss Barbara. 
 It was a hasty match, every one thought, especially as the 
 news of Mrs. Dempster's death had, as it was reported, 
 been received by letter, and all the family had gone into 
 mourning. Poor old Sir Alexander never held up his head 
 afterwards, and in two months more he was carried to the 
 family vault. Your aunt then came home to us, and, as 
 
 116
 
 VALERIE 
 
 you Iic'ive heard, inarried poor Green, who was killed in a 
 poaching business about three months after his marriage. 
 Then came your ])oor grandmother's death of a quinsy, and 
 so I was left alone with your Aunt Green, who then took 
 charge of the child, who had ))een christened by the name 
 of Lionel Bedingfield. Thei'e Avas some talk about the 
 child, and some wonders Avhose it could be ; but after the 
 death of Sir Alexander, and Miss Barbara had gone away 
 with her husband, nothing more was thought or said about 
 it. And now, boy, I've talked enough for to-day, to-morrow 
 I'll tell you the rest of the history.' 
 
 " Perhaps, Miss Valerie, you think the same of me, and 
 are tired of listening," observed Lionel. 
 
 " Not at all ; and I have leisure now, which I may not 
 have another time ; besides, your visits, if so frequent, may 
 cause inquiries, and I shall not know Avhat to say." 
 
 "Well, then, I'll finish my story this morning. Miss 
 V^alerie. The next day old Roberts continued : ' It Avas 
 about three months after Sir Alexander's death, Avhen her 
 brother, the new baronet, came doAvn to Culvcrwood Hall, 
 that Miss Barbara made her appearance again as Lady 
 
 R . Your grandmother Avas just buried, and poor Green 
 
 had not been dead more than a month. Your aunt, Avho 
 Avas much .afflicted at the loss of her husband, and was of 
 course very grave and serious, began to agree with me that 
 it would be very Avicked of us, knoAving whose child it Avas, 
 to keep the secret. Moreover, your aunt had become very 
 fond of the infont, for it in a manner consoled her for the 
 
 loss of her husband. Lady II came to the cottage to 
 
 see us, and Ave then both told lier that Ave did not like to 
 keep secret the child's parentage, as it Avas doing a great 
 injustice, if injustice had not been done alread)\ Lady 
 
 R Avas very much frightened at what we said, and 
 
 begged very hard that Ave Avould not expose her. She Avould 
 be ruined, she said, in the opinion of her husband, and also 
 of her own relations. She l)egged and prayed so hard, and 
 made a solemn j)romise to us that she Avonld do justice to 
 the child as soon as she could Avith prudence, that she over- 
 came om- scrujiles, and Ave agreed to say nothing at present. 
 She also put a bank-note for X.^O into my daughter's hands 
 to defray expenses and })ay for trouble, and toltl her that 
 
 117
 
 VALERIE 
 
 the same amount would be paid every year until the child 
 was taken away. 
 
 " ' I believe this did more to satisfy our scruples than 
 anything else. It ought not to have done so, but we were 
 poor, and money is a great temptation. At all events, we 
 
 were satisfied with Lady R 's promise and with her 
 
 liberality ; and from that time till the child was seven years 
 old we received the money and had charge of the boy. He 
 was then taken away and sent to school, but where we did 
 
 not know for some time. Lady R was still very liberal 
 
 to us, always stating her intention of acknowledging the 
 child to be her nephew. At last my daughter was summoned 
 
 to London, and sent to the school for the boy. Lady R 
 
 stating it to be her intention of keeping him at her own 
 house, now that her husband was dead. This rejoiced us 
 very much ; but we had no idea that it was as a servant 
 that he was to be employed, as your aunt afterwards found 
 out, when she went up to London and called unexpectedly 
 
 upon Lady R . However, Lady R said that what 
 
 she was doing was for the best, and was more liberal than 
 usual ; and that stopped our tongues. 
 
 " ' Three years back your aunt left this place to find em- 
 ployment in London, and has resided there ever since as a 
 clear-starcher and getter-up of lace ; but she often sends me 
 down money, quite sufficient to pay for all the few comforts 
 and expenses required by a bedridden old man. There, 
 Harry, now I've told you the whole story ; and I am glad 
 that I am able to do so, and that at last she has done justice 
 to the lad, and there is no further a load upon my conscience 
 which often caused me to lay down my Bible, when I was 
 reading, and sigh.' 
 
 " ' But,' said I, ' are you sure that she has acknowledged 
 him as her nephew ? ' 
 
 " ' Am I sure ! Why, did not you say so ? ' 
 
 " ' No ; I only said that he was with her, travelling in her 
 company.' 
 
 "'Well, but — I understood you that it was all right.' 
 
 " ' It may be all right,' replied I, ' but how can I tell } I 
 
 only saw them together. Lady R may still keep her 
 
 secret, for all I can say to the contrary. I don't wonder at 
 its being a load on your mind. I shouldn't be able to sleep 
 
 118
 
 VALERIE 
 
 at nights ; and as for my reading my Bible, I sliould think 
 it wicked to do so with the recolkction always before me 
 that I had been a party in defrauding the poor boy of liis 
 name, and perhaps fortune.' 
 
 " ' Dear me ! dear me ! I've often thought as much, 
 Harry.' 
 
 " ' Yes, grandfather, and, as you say, on the brink of the 
 grave. Who knows but you may be called away this very 
 night ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, yes, who knows, boy ? ' replied the old man, looking 
 rather terrified ; ' but what shall I do ? ' 
 
 " ' I know what I would do,' replied I. ' I'd make a clean 
 breast of it at once. I'd send for the minister and a 
 magistrate, and state the whole story upon affidavit. Then 
 you will feel happy again, and ease your mind, and not 
 before.' 
 
 " ' Well, boy, I believe you are right ; I'll think about it. 
 Leave me now.' 
 
 "'Think about your own soul, sir — think of your own 
 danger and do not mind Lady R — — . There can be but 
 a bad reason for doing such an act of injustice. I will come 
 again in an hour, sir, and then you will let me know your 
 decision. Think about what the Bible says about those 
 who defraud the widow and orphan. Good-bye for the 
 present.' 
 
 " * No, stop, boy ; I've made up my mind. You may go 
 to Mr. Sewell, the clergyman, — he often calls to see me, and 
 I can speak to him. I'll tell him.' 
 
 " I did not wait for the old man to alter his mind, but 
 hastened as fast as I could to the parsonage-house, which 
 was not four hundred yards distant. I went to the door, 
 and asked for Mr. Sewell, who came out to me. I told 
 him that old Roberts wanted to see him immediately, as he 
 had an important confession to make. 
 
 " ' Is the old man going, then } I did not hear that he 
 was any way dangerously ill .'' ' 
 
 " ' No, sir, he is in his usual health, but he has something 
 very heavy on his conscience, and he begs your presence 
 immediately, that he may reveal an important secret.' 
 
 " ' Well, my lad, go back to him and say that I will be 
 there in two hours. You are his grandson, 1 believe ? '
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " ' I will go and tell him, sir/ replied I, evading the last 
 question. 
 
 " I returned to old Roberts, and informed him that the 
 clergyman -would be -with him in an hour or two ; but I 
 found the old man already hesitating and doubting again. 
 
 " ' You didn't tell him Avhat it was for, did you ? for 
 perhaps ' 
 
 " ' Yes, I did. I told him you had an important secret to 
 communicate that lay heavy on your conscience.' 
 
 " ' I'm sadl}' puzzled,' said the old man, musing. 
 
 "'Well,* replied I, 'I'm not puzzled; and if you don't 
 confess, I must. I won't have my conscience loaded, poor 
 fellow that I am ; and if you choose to die with the sin 
 upon you of depriving the orphan, I will not.' 
 
 " ' I'll tell — tell it all — it's the best way,' replied old 
 Roberts, after a pause. 
 
 " ' There now,' said I, ' the best thing to be done is for 
 me to get paper and pen, and write it all down for Mr. 
 Sewell to read when he comes ; then you need not have to 
 repeat it all again.' 
 
 " ' Yes, that will be best, for I couldn't face the clergy- 
 man.' 
 
 " ' Then how can you expect to face the Almighty } ' 
 replied I. 
 
 " ' True — very true : get the paper,' said he. 
 
 " I went to the inn and procured writing materials, and 
 then returned and took down his confession of what I have 
 now told you. Miss \'alerie. When Mi*. Sewell came, I had 
 just finished it, and I then told him that I had written it 
 doAvn, and handed it to him to read. Mr. Sewell was much 
 surprised and shocked, and said to Roberts, ' You have done 
 right to make this confession, Roberts, for it may be most 
 important ; but you must now swear to it in the presence of a 
 magistrate and me. Of course you have no objection ? ' 
 
 " ' No, sir ; I'm ready to swear to the truth of every 
 word.' 
 
 " ' Well, then, let me see. Why, there is no magistrate 
 near us just now but Sir Thomas Moystyn ; and as it concerns 
 his own nejihew, there cannot be a more proper person. I 
 will go up to the Hall immediately, and ask him to come 
 with me to-morrow morning.' 
 
 120
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " Mr. Sewell did so ; and the next day he and Sir Tliomas 
 Moystyn came down in a phaeton, and went up to old 
 Roberts. I rather turned away, that my uncle, as he now 
 proves to be, might not, when I was regularly introduced 
 to him, as I hope to be, as his nephew, recognise me as the 
 sailor lad who passed off as the grandson of old Robei'ts." 
 
 "Then you admit that you have been playing a very 
 deceitful game ? " 
 
 "Yes, Miss Valerie. I have a conscience; and I admit 
 that I have been playing what may be called an unworthy 
 game ; but when it is considered how much I have at stake, 
 and how long I have been defrauded of my rights by the 
 duplicity of others, I think I may be excused if I have beat 
 them at their own weapons." 
 
 " I admit that there is great truth in your observations, 
 Lionel ; and that is all the answer I shall give." 
 
 " I remained outside the door while old Roberts signed 
 the paper and the oath was administered. Sir Thomas 
 put many questions afterwards. He inquired the residence 
 of his daughter, Mrs. Green, and then they both went 
 away. As soon as they were gone, I went in to old Roberts 
 and said — 
 
 " ' \\'ell now, sir, do you not feel happier that you have 
 made the confession ? ' 
 
 "^Yes/ replied he, 'I do, boj^ ; but still I am scared when 
 
 I think of Lady R and your Aunt Green ; they'll be so 
 
 angr\-.' 
 
 " ' I've been thinking that I had better go up to 
 Mrs. Green,' I said, 'and prepare her for it. I can pacify 
 her, I'm sure, when I explain matters. I must have gone 
 away the day after to-morrow, and I'll go up to London 
 to-morrow.' 
 
 "'Well, perhaps it will be as well,' replied old Roberts; 
 'and yet I wish you could stay and talk to me — I've no one 
 to talk to me now.' 
 
 "Thinks I, I have made j'ou talk to some purpose, and 
 have no inclination to sit by your bedside any longer ; how- 
 ever, I kej)t up the appearance to the last, and the next 
 morning set off for London. I arrived three days before I 
 saw you first, which gave me time to change my sailor's 
 dress for the suit I now wear. I have not yet been to 
 
 121
 
 VALERIE 
 
 Mrs. Green, for I thoujjjlit I would just see you, and ask 
 your advice. And now, Miss \alerie, you have ni_v whole 
 history." 
 
 " I once more congratulate you, with all my heart," replied 
 I, offering my hand to Lionel. He kissed it respectfully, 
 and as he was in the act, one of the maids opened the door, 
 
 and told me that Lady M had been some time waiting 
 
 to see me. I believe I coloured up, although I had no 
 cause for blushing ; and wishing Lionel good-bye, I desired 
 him to call on Sunday afternoon, and I would remain at 
 home to see him. 
 
 It was on Thursday that tliis interview took place with 
 Lionel, and on the Saturday I received a letter from Lady 
 
 R 's solicitor, by which I was shocked by the information 
 
 of her ladyship having died at Caudebec, a small town on 
 the river Seine, and begging to know whether I could 
 receive him that afternoon, as he was anxious to communi- 
 cate with me. I answered by the person who brought the 
 letter, that I would receive him at three o'clock ; and he 
 made his appearance at the hour appointed. He informed 
 
 me that Lady R had left Havre in a fishing-boat, 
 
 with the resolution of going up to Paris by that strange 
 conveyance ; that having no protection from the weather, 
 she had been wet for a Avhole day without changing her 
 clothes ; and on her arrival at Caudebec, had been taken 
 with a fever, which, from the ignorance of the faculty in 
 that sequestered place, had proved fatal. Her maid had 
 just written the intelligence, enclosing the documents from 
 the authorities substantiating the fact. 
 
 " You are not, perhaps, aware. Miss, that you are left 
 her executrix ?" 
 
 " I her executrix ! " exclaimed I, with astonishment. 
 
 "Yes," replied Mr. Selwyn. "Before she left town she 
 made an alteration in her will ; and stated to me that 
 you would be able to find the party most interested in 
 it, and that you had a document in your hands which 
 would explain everything." 
 
 " I have a sealed paper which she enclosed to me, desiring 
 I would not open it, unless I heard of her death, or had 
 her permission." 
 
 " It must be that to which she refers, I presume," replied 
 
 122
 
 VALERIE 
 
 he. "I have the will in my pocket: it will be as well 
 to read it to you, as you are her executrix." 
 
 Mr. Selwyn tlien produced the will, by which Lionel 
 Dempster, her nephew, was left her sole heir; and by a 
 codicil she had, for the love she bore me, as she stated 
 in her own handwriting, left me £500 as her executrix, 
 and all her jewels and wearing aj)parel. 
 
 " I congratulate you on your legacy. Miss de Chatenceuf," 
 said lie ; " and now, perhaps you can tell me where I can 
 find this nephew ; for I must say it is the first that I 
 ever heard of him." 
 
 " I believe that I can point him out, sir," replied I ; 
 "but the most important proofs, I suspect, are to be found 
 in the paper which I have not yet read." 
 
 " I will then, if you please, no longer trespass on you," 
 said Mr. Selwyn ; " when you wish me to call again, you will 
 oblige me by sending word or writing by post." 
 
 The departure of Mr. Selwyn was quite a relief to me. I 
 longed to be alone, that I might be left to my own reflec- 
 tions, and also that I might peruse the document Avhich had 
 
 been confided to me by poor Lady R . I could not help 
 
 feeling much shocked at her death — more so, when I con- 
 sidered her liberality towards me, and the confidence she 
 reposed in one with whom she had but a short acquaintance. 
 
 It was like her, nevertlieless ; who but Lady R would 
 
 ever have thought of making a young person so unprotected 
 and so unacquainted as 1 was with business — a foreigner to 
 boot — the executrix of her will ; and her death occasioned 
 by such a mad freak — and Lionel now restored to his position 
 and his fortune — altogether it was overwhelming, and after 
 a time I relieved myself with tears. I was still with my 
 
 handkerchief to my eyes when Lady M came into the 
 
 room. 
 
 " Crying, Miss Chatenceuf," said her ladyship ; " is it at the 
 departure of a very dear friend ? " 
 
 There was a sort of sneer on her face as she said this ; and 
 I replied — 
 
 " Yes, my lady, it is for the departure of a dear friend, for 
 Lady R is dead." 
 
 " Mercy ! you don't say so ; and what are these gentlemen 
 who have been calling upon you .'' " 
 
 123
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " One is her solicitor, madam/' replied I, " and the other is 
 a relative of hers." 
 
 " A relation ! hut Avhat has the solicitor called upon you 
 for, if it is not an intrusive (piestion ?" 
 
 " No, my lady ; Lady R has appointed me her exe- 
 cutrix." 
 
 " Executrix ! well, I now do helieve that Lady R was 
 
 mad !" exclaimed Lady M . "I wanted you to come up 
 
 to my boudoir to consult you about the pink satin dress, but 
 I fear your important avocation will not allow you at present, 
 so I will leave you till you are a little recovei'ed." 
 
 " I thank you, my lady," said I ; " I will be more myself 
 to-morrow, and will then be at your disposal." 
 
 Her ladyship then left the room. I was not pleased at lier 
 manner, which was very different from her usual courtesy 
 towards me ; but I was not in a state of mind to weigh well 
 all that she said or how she said it. I hastened to my room 
 
 to look for the paper which Lady R had enclosed to me 
 
 previous to her departure. I will give the whole contents to 
 my readers. 
 
 " My dear Valerie, — I will not attempt to account for 
 the extreme predilection which I, an old woman in com- 
 parison, immediately imbibed for you before we had been an 
 hour in company. Some feelings are unaccountable and 
 inex])licable, but I felt a sympathy, a mesmeric attraction, if 
 I may use the term, which was uncontrollable at our first 
 meeting, and which increased every day during our residence 
 together. It was not the feeling of a mother towards a 
 child — at least I think not, for it was mingled with a certain 
 degree of awe and presentiment of evil if ever we parted 
 again. I felt as if you were my fate, and never has this 
 feeling departed from me. On the contrary, now that we 
 separate, it has become stronger than ever. How little do 
 we know of the mysteries of the mind, as well as of the 
 body ! We know that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, 
 and that is all. That there are influences and attractions 
 uncontrollable and unexplained, I feel certain. Often have 
 I reflected and wondered on this as I have lain in bed and 
 meditated ' even to madness,' but have been unable to re- 
 move the veil. [Alas, poor Lady R ! thought I, I doubt 
 
 124
 
 VALERIE 
 
 it not ; you were madder than I thought you were.] Imagine, 
 then, my grief and liorror when I found that you had de- 
 termined to leave me, dear Valeric. It was to me as the 
 sentence of death ; but I felt that I could not resist ; it was 
 my fate, and who can oppose its decrees ? It Avould indeed 
 have pained your young and generous heart if you knew how 
 I suffered and still suffer from your desertion ; but I con- 
 sidered it as a judgment on me — a visitation upon me for the 
 crimes of my early years, and which I am now about to con- 
 fide to you, as the only person in whom I feel confidence, 
 and that justice may be done to one whom I have greatly 
 injured. 1 would not die without reparation, and that i-e- 
 paration I entrust to you, as from my own pen I can explain 
 that without which, M^ith all my good intentions tov.ards the 
 party, reparation might be difficult. But I must fii'st make 
 you acquainted Avith the cause of crime ; and to do this you 
 must hear the events of my early life. 
 
 " My father. Sir Alexander Moystyn, had four children, 
 two sons and two daughters. I Avas the first-born, then my 
 two brothers, and afterwards, at an interval, my sister ; so 
 that there Avas a difference of eight years between me and 
 my sister Ellen. Our mother died in giving birth to Ellen ; 
 we grew up ; my brothers Avent to Eton and college. I 
 remained the sole mistress of my father's establishment. 
 Haughty by natui'e and my position, the power it gave me, 
 the respect I received — and if 30U Avill look at the miniature 
 I enclose with this, I may Avithout vanity add, my beauty — 
 made me imperious and tyrannical. I had many advan- 
 tageous oflfers, which I rejected, before I was twenty years 
 of age. My power with my father was unbounded ; his 
 infirmities kept him for a long time a prisoner in his room, 
 and my Avord Avas Liav to him, as well as to the Avhole house- 
 hold. My sister Ellen, still a child, I treated Avith harshness 
 — first, I believe, because she promised to rival me in good 
 looks ; and secondly, because my father showed greater aff^ec- 
 tion towards her than I liked. She Avas meek in temj)er, 
 and never complained. Time passed — I refused many offers 
 of marriage. I did not like to resign my position for the 
 authority of a husband, and I had reached my tAventy-fifth 
 year, and my sister Ellen Avas a lovely girl of seventeen, Avhen 
 it was fated that all should be changed. 
 
 125
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "A Colonel Dempster came down with my eldest brother, 
 who was a captain in the same regiment of guards — a more 
 prepossessing jierson I never beheld, and for the first time I 
 felt that I would with pleasure give up being at the head of 
 my father's establishment to follow the fortunes of another 
 man. If my predilection was so strong, I had no I'eason to 
 complain of want of attention on his part. He courted me 
 in the most obsequious manner, the style most suited to my 
 haughty disposition, and I at once gave way to the feelings 
 with which he had inspired me. I became fervently in love 
 with him, and valued one of his smiles more than an earthly 
 crown. Two months passed, his original invitation had been 
 for one Aveek, and he still remained. The affair was con- 
 sidered as arranged, not only by myself, but by everybody 
 else. My father, satisfied that he was a gentleman by birth, 
 and being able to support himself by his own means in so 
 expensive a regiment, made no inquiries, leaving the matter 
 to take its own course. But although two months had 
 passed away, and his attentions to me were unremitting, 
 Colonel Dempster had made no proposal, which I ascribed 
 to his awe of me, and his diffidence as to his success. This 
 rather pleased me than otherwise ; but my own feelings now 
 made me wish for the affair to be decided, and I gave him 
 every opportunity that modesty and discretion would permit. 
 I saw little of him during the mornings, as he went out w-ith 
 his gun with the other gentlemen ; but in the evenings he 
 was my constant and devoted attendant. I received many 
 congratulations from female acquaintances (friends I had none) 
 upon my having conquered one who was supposed to be in- 
 vulnerable to the charms of our sex, and made no disclaimer 
 Avhen spoken to on the subject. Every hour I expected the 
 declaration to be made, when, imagine my indignation and 
 astonishment at being informed one morning when I arose, 
 that Colonel Dempster and my sister Ellen had disappeared, 
 and it was reported that they had been seen in a carriage 
 driving at furious speed. 
 
 " It was but too true. It appeared that Colonel Dempster, 
 who had been informed by my brother of my temper and 
 disposition, and wdio was aware that without paying court 
 to me his visit would not be extended, and who had 
 fallen in love with Ellen almost as soon as he saw her, 
 
 126
 
 VALERIE 
 
 had practised bis dissiimdation towards me to enable liim, 
 without my knowledge, to gain my sister's affections ; that 
 his mornings were not spent in shooting with my brother, 
 as was supposed, but in my sister Ellen's company ; my 
 brother, to whom he had acknowledged his attachment, 
 conniving with him to deceive me. A letter from the 
 colonel to my father, excusing himself for the step he had 
 taken, and requesting him to pardon his daughter, was 
 brought in the same morning and read by me. 'Very foolish 
 of him/ said my father ; ' what is the use of stealing what 
 you may have for asking. He might have had Ellen if he 
 had spoken to me, but I always thought that he was courting 
 you, Barbara.' 
 
 "This letter, proving the truth of the report, was too 
 much for me. I fell down at my father's feet in a violent 
 fit, and was carried to my bed. The next day I was 
 seized with a brain fever, and it was doubtful if ever my 
 reason would return. But it did gradually, and, after a 
 confinement to my room of three months, I recovered both 
 health and reason, pai'tially, I may say, for I doubt not but 
 that the shock I then received has had a lasting effect upon 
 me, and that it has caused me to be the unsettled, rest- 
 less, wandering thing that I now am, only content when in 
 motion, and using my pen to create an artificial excitement. 
 I believe most people are a little cracked before they begin 
 to write. I will not assert that it is a proof of madness, but 
 it is a proof that a very little more would make them mad. 
 Shakspeare says, 'The lover, the lunatic, and the poet, are 
 of an imagination all compact.' It matters little whether 
 it is prose or poetry ; there is often more imagination and 
 more poetry in prose than in rhyme. But to proceed. 
 
 " I arose with but one feeling — that of revenge ; I say 
 but one feeling. Alas ! I had forgotten to mention hatred, 
 the parent of that revenge. I felt myself mortified and 
 humiliated, cruelly deceived and mocked. My love for 
 him was now turned to abhorrence, and my sister was an 
 aversion. I felt that I never could forgive her. My father 
 had not replied to the colonel's letter; indeed, the gout 
 in his hand prevented him, or he would probably have 
 done so long before I left my room. Now that I was 
 once more at his side, he said to me— 
 
 127
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " ' Barbara, I think it is high time to forgive and forget. 
 I would have ansAvered the colonel's letter before, but I 
 could not. Now we must write and ask them to come and 
 pay us a visit.' 
 
 "I sat down and wrote the letter, not according to dic- 
 tation, -which was all kindness, but stating that my father 
 would never forgive him or my sister, and requested all cor- 
 respondence might cease, as it would be useless. 
 
 " ' Read what you have said, Barbara.' 
 
 " I read the letter as if it was written according to his 
 wishes. 
 
 "'That will do, dearest — they'll come back fjist enough. 
 I long to have Ellen in my arms again. She was very 
 precious to me, that child, for she cost the life of your 
 dear mother. I want to ask her why she ran away. I 
 really believe that it was more from fear of your anger 
 than of mine, Barbara.' 
 
 "I made no reply, but folded the letter and sealed it. 
 As I alwaj's opened the post-bag, I prevented my father 
 from ever receiving the many letters written by my poor 
 sister imploring his forgiveness, and did all 1 could to excite 
 his anger against her. At last I found out from her letters 
 that they had gone to the Continent. Months passed. 
 My poor father fretted sadly at the silence of Ellen, and 
 the supposed rejection of his kind overtures. His un- 
 happy state of mind had evidently an effect upon his body ; 
 he grew weaker and more querulous every day. At last 
 a letter arrived from Ellen, which I now blush to say gave 
 me inexpressible joy. It announced the death of her hus- 
 band — a trifling wound on the thumb having terminated in 
 lockjaw and death. 
 
 "'He is dead, then,' thought I; ' if I lost him, she has 
 no longer possession of him.' 
 
 " Alas ! what a demon had taken possession of me ! The 
 letter further said, that she was coming over directly, and 
 that she expected to be shortly confined. This letter was 
 addresised to me, and not to ni}' father. The death of 
 her husband did not diminish my hatred against my sister ; 
 on the contraiy, I felt as if I had her now in my 
 power, and that my revenge upon her was about to be 
 accomplished. After meditating u{)on what course I should 
 
 12S
 
 VALERIE 
 
 pursue, I determined to write to her. T did so, statinp^ 
 that my lather's anger was not to be appeased ; that I had 
 tried all I could to soften his wrath, but in vain; that 
 he was grooving weaker every day, and 1 thought her rash 
 conduct had been the cause of it ; that I did not think 
 that he could last much longer, and I would make another 
 apj)eal to him in her favour, which the death of her husband 
 would probably occasion to be more successful. 
 
 " In a fortnight I had a reply, in which my poor sister 
 invoked blessings on my head for my supposed kindness, 
 and told me that she was in England, and expected every 
 hour to be confined ; that she was ill in body and in spirits, 
 and did not think that she could get over it. She begged 
 me by the remembrance of our inother, who died giving 
 her birth, that I Avould come to her. Surely I might have 
 forgotten my enmity after all the poor girl had suffered ; 
 but my heart was steeled. 
 
 " On consideration, I now thought proper to tell my 
 father that Colonel Dempster was dead, and my sister re- 
 turned to England, adding her request that I would attend 
 her in her confinement, and my willingness so to do. My 
 poor father was much shocked, and begged me in a tremu- 
 lous voice to set off' immediately. I promised so to do, 
 but requested that he would not say a word to any one 
 as to the cause of my absence until he heard from me, as 
 it would occasion much talk among the servants, and per- 
 haps ill-natured remarks might be made. He promised, and 
 I departed, with a maid who had been ni}'^ nurse, and upon 
 whose secrecy I thought I could rely. What my intentions 
 were, I can hardly say ; all I knew Avas, that my re\enge 
 was not satiated, and I would leave no opportunity of 
 wreaking it that offered. 
 
 " I found my sister in the very pangs of labour, heart- 
 broken at the supposed resentment of my father, and his 
 refusal of his forgiveness. I did not alleviate her misery 
 by telling her the truth, which I n)ight have done. I was 
 indeed a demon, or jiossessetl by one. 
 
 "She died giving birth to a boy. I then felt sorrow, until 
 I looked at the child, and saw that it was the image of the 
 colonel — the man who had caused me such misery. Again 
 my passions were roused, and I vowed that the child should 
 
 J29 I
 
 VALERIE 
 
 never know its father. I made my maid believe that the 
 lady I visited was an old schooliellow, and never mentioned 
 my sister's name — at h-ast 1 thoii^irlit so at the time, hut 1 
 afterwards fouiul that I had not deceived her. I persuaded 
 her to take the chikl to her father's, saying that 1 had 
 promised my friend on her death-bed that 1 would take 
 care of it, but that it must be a secret, or invidious remarks 
 would be made. I then returned to C'ulverwood Hall, 
 dropping my nurse and the child on nij' 'way, and re- 
 ported to my father my sister's death, of course conceal- 
 ing that the child was living. Sir Alexander -was much 
 affected and wept bitterly; indeed, from that day he rapidly 
 declined. 
 
 " I had now satiated my revenge, and was sorry when I 
 had done so. Until then 1 had been kept up by excitement, 
 and now all excitement was over, and I had time for reflec- 
 tion. I was miserable, and in a state of constant warfare 
 with my conscience, but in vain ; the more I reflected, the 
 more I was dissatisfied with myself, and would have given 
 worlds that I could recall what I had done. 
 
 "At this time Sir Richard R came down on a visit. 
 
 He admired me, proposed, and was accepted, chiefly that 
 I might remove from the Hall than for any other cause. 
 I thought that new scenes and change of place would 
 make me forget, but I was sadly mistaken. I went away 
 with my husband, and as soon as I was away I was in a 
 constant fright lest my nurse should betray me to my 
 father, and begged Sir Richard to shorten his intended 
 tour and allow me to return to the Hall, as the accounts 
 of my father's health were alarming. My husband con- 
 sented, and I had not been at the Hall more than a fortnight 
 when my father's death relieved me from further anxiety 
 on that score. 
 
 " Another fear now possessed me. I saw by my father's 
 will that he had left £5000 to me, and also to my sister ; 
 in case of one dying, the survivor to have both sums ; but 
 the same cause of alarm w'as in my great-aunt's will. My 
 great-aunt had left £10,000 to me and .£10,000 to my sister 
 Ellen, to be settled upon us at our marriage, and in case 
 of either dying without issue, the survivor to be legatee. 
 Thus in two instances, by concealing the birth of the 
 
 130
 
 VALERIE 
 
 child, I was depriving; it of its projierty, and obtaining 
 it for myself. Tiiat I was ignoi-ant of these points is 
 certain, and unfortunate it was that it was so, for had I 
 known it, I would not have dared to conceal the birth 
 of the child, lest 1 should have been accused of having 
 done so for pecuniary considerations ; and I well knew 
 that if betrayed by my nurse, such would be the accusa- 
 tion made against me. I would willingly, even now, have 
 acknowledged the child as my nephew, but knew not 
 how to do so, as my husband had possession of the money, 
 and I dared not confess the crime that I had been guilty 
 of. If ever retribution fell upon any one, it fell upon me. 
 My life was one of perfect misery, and when I found that 
 my nurse and her father objected to keeping the secret 
 any longer, I thought I should have gone distracted. I 
 pointed out to them the ruin they would entail upon me, 
 and gave my solemn promise that I would see justice 
 done to the child. This satisfied them. For several years 
 I lived an unhappy life with my husband, until I was at 
 last relieved by his death. You may ask how it was that 
 I did not acknowledge the child at his death ; the fact 
 was that I was afraid. I had put him to school, and he 
 was then twelve or thirteen years old. I removed him 
 to my own house with the intention of so doing, and 
 because my nurse and her father reminded me of my 
 promise ; but when he was in my house I could not see 
 my way, or how I could tell the story without acknow- 
 ledging my guilt, and this pride prevented. 
 
 " I remained thus irresolute, every day putting off the 
 confession, till the boy, from first being allowed to remain 
 in the drawing-i'oom, sank doAvn into the kitchen. Yes, 
 Valerie, Lionel, the page, the lacquey, is Lionel Dempster, 
 my nephew. I said that I could not bear to make the 
 avowal, and such is the case. At last I satisfied myself 
 that what I did was for the boy's good. Alas ! how easy 
 we satisfy ourselves when it suits our views. I had left 
 him my property, I had educated him, and I said, by 
 being brought up in a humble position, he will be cured 
 of j)ride, and w'ill make a better man. Bad reasoning, I 
 acknowledge. 
 
 " Valerie, I have left you my executrix, for even after 
 
 131
 
 VALERIE 
 
 my death, I -would as much as possible avoid exposure. I 
 would not be the talk of the town, even for a fortnight, 
 and it certainly will not helj) Lionel when it is known to 
 all the world that he has served as a footman. My solicitor 
 knows not who my nephew is, but is referred to you to 
 produce him. In a small tin box in the closet of my bed- 
 room you will find all the papers necessary for his identifi- 
 cation, and also the names and residence of the parties 
 who have been my accomplices in this deed ; also all the 
 intercepted letters of my poor sister's. You must be aware 
 that Lionel is not only entitled to the property I have 
 left him, but also to his father's propert)', which, in default 
 of heirs, passed away to others. Consult with my solicitor 
 to take such steps as are requisite, without inculpating me 
 more than is necessar}' ; but if required, let all be known 
 to my shame, rather than the lad should not be put in 
 possession of his rights. 
 
 '• You will, I am afraid, hate my memory after this sad 
 disclosure ; but in my extenuation recall to mind how madly 
 I loved, how cruelly I was deceived. Remember, also, that 
 if not insane, I was little better at the time I was so 
 criminal ; and may it prove to you a lesson how difficult 
 it is, when once you have stepped aside into the path of 
 error, ever to recover the right tx'ack. 
 
 " You now know all my sufferings, all my crimes. You 
 now know why I have been, not without truth, considered 
 as a pers'on eccentric to follj^, and occasionally on the verge 
 of madness. Forgive me and pity me, for I have indeed 
 been sufficiently punished by an ever-torturing conscience ! 
 
 " Barbara R ." 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 i PUT the papers do^^■n on the table as soon as I had finished 
 them, and for a long while was absorbed in meditation. 
 
 " Is it possible," thought I, " that love disappointed can 
 turn to such fury — can so harden the heart to all better 
 feelings — induce a woman to shorten the days of her parent 
 
 1 [)2
 
 VALERIE 
 
 — to allow a sister to remain in painful error on lier death- 
 bed, and wreak vengeance upon an innocent being, regard- 
 less of all justice ? Grant, then, that I may never yield to 
 such a passion ! Who would have ever imagined that the 
 
 cai'eless, eccentric Lady R had such a load of crime 
 
 weighing her down, and daily and hourly remijided of it 
 by the pi-esence of the injured party ? How callous she 
 must have become by habit, to still delay doing an act of 
 justice — how strange that the fear of the world and its 
 opinion should be greater than the fear of God ! " 
 
 This last remark proved how little I yet knew of tlie 
 world, and then my thoughts went into another direction. 
 As I have already said, I had been brought up as a 
 Catholic ; but, after my grandmother's death, I had little 
 encouragement or example shown me in religious duties. 
 Now, having been moi'e than two years in England, and. 
 continually with Protestants, I had gone to the established 
 Protestant church with those I resided with at first ; because 
 I considered it better to go to that church, although I 
 knew it to be somewhat at variance with my own, rather 
 than go to no church at all, and by habit I Avas gradually 
 inclining to Protestantism. But now the idea came across 
 
 my mind, if Lady R had confessed as we Catholics do, 
 
 this secret could not have been kept so long ; and, if she 
 withheld herself from the confessional, had her agents been 
 Catholics, the secret would have been divulged to the priest 
 by them, and justice Avould have been done to Lionel. And 
 having made this reflection, I felt, as it were, that I was 
 again a sincere Catholic. 
 
 After a little more reflection, I put away the papers, 
 wrote a letter to Mr. Selwyn, the solicitor, requesting that 
 he would call upon me the following morning, and then 
 went down to Lady M . 
 
 " I suppose that we shall not have much of the pleasure 
 of your company, Miss de Chateno-uf," said her Iad3shi2i, 
 " now that you have such a novel occupation .'' " 
 
 "It is a very distressing one," replied I, "and I wish 
 
 Lady R had not paid me such a com.i)liment. Might 
 
 I trespass upon your lachship's kindness to request the loan 
 of the carriage for half-an-hour to obtain some papers from 
 
 Lady R 's house in Baker Street .'' " 
 
 133
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "Oh, certainly," replied her ladyship. "Pray, have you 
 seen Lady R 's will ? " 
 
 " Yes, madam." 
 
 " And how has she dis])osed of her property .'' " 
 
 "She has left it all to her nephew, Lady M ." 
 
 " Nephew ! I never heard her speak of a nephew before. 
 Sir Richard had no nephews or nieces, for he was an only 
 son, and the title has now gone into the Vivian branch, 
 and I never heard of her having a nephew. And what 
 has she left you, mademoiselle, if it is not asking too 
 much ? " 
 
 " Lady R has left me £500, my lady." 
 
 " Indeed ! well, then, she pays you for your trouble. But 
 really. Miss de Chatenoeuf, I do wish you could put off 
 this business until after the marriages. I am so hurried 
 and worried that I really do not know which way to turn, 
 and reall}' I have felt your loss these last two days more 
 than you can imagine. You are so clever and have so 
 much taste, that we cannot get on without you. It's all 
 your own fault," continued her ladyship playfully; "you 
 are so good-natured, and have made us so dependent upon 
 you, that we cannot let you off now. Nothing in the 
 trousseaux is approved of unless stamped by the taste of 
 Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf. Now a week cannot 
 make a great difference, and lawyers love delay : will you 
 
 ol)lige me, therefore, by leaving Lady R 's affairs for 
 
 the present } " 
 
 " Certainly, Lady M ," replied I. " I will stop a 
 
 letter I was about to send to her solicitor, and Avrite an- 
 other to the effect you wish, and I will not repeat my 
 request for the carriage until after the marriages have 
 taken place." 
 
 " Many thanks," replied her ladyship ; and I went out, 
 took my letter from the hall-table, and wrote another to 
 Mr. Sehvyn, stating that I could not enter into any business 
 until the following week, when I should be prepared to 
 receive him. 
 
 I wrote another to the same effect to Lionel, requesting 
 liim not to call again, but that I would write and let him 
 know where to meet me as soon as I was more at leisure. 
 
 Indeed, I was glad that Lady M had made the request, 
 
 134
 
 VALERIE 
 
 as the trouble, and chattering, and happy faces -whic-li were 
 surrounding the trousseaux, and the constant employment 
 and appeals made to me, drove away the melancholy 
 
 which Lady R 's afl'airs had occasioned me. I succeeded 
 
 to a great degree in recovering my spirits, and exerted 
 myself to my utmost, so that everything was comj)lete and 
 satisfactory to all parties two days before the wedding was 
 to take place. 
 
 At last the morning came. The brides were dressed, 
 and went down into the drawing-room, frightened and 
 perplexed, but their tears had been shed above. The pro- 
 cession of carriages moved on to Hanover Square ; there 
 was a bishop of course, and the church was filled with gay 
 and tastefully-dressed women. The ceremony was per- 
 formed, and the brides were led into the vestry-room to 
 recover, and receive kisses and congratulations. Then came 
 the banquet, which nobody hardly tasted except the bishop, 
 who had joined too many couples in his lifetime to have 
 his appetite at all affected by the ceremony, and some two 
 or three others who were old stagers on the road of life, 
 and who cared little whether it was a wedding-breakfast or 
 refreshments after a funeral. 
 
 At last, after a most silent entertainment, the brides 
 retired to change their dresses, and, when they reappeared, 
 they were handed into the carriages of their respective 
 bridegrooms as soon as they could be torn away from the 
 
 kisses and tears of Lady M , who played the part of a 
 
 bereaved mother to ])erfection. No one to have seen her 
 then, raving like another Niobe, would have imagined that 
 all her thoughts, and endeavours, and manoeuvres for the 
 last three years, had been devoted to the sole view of get- 
 ting them off; but Lady M was a perfect actress, and 
 
 this last scene was well got up. 
 
 As her daughters were led down to the carriages, I 
 thought that she was going to faint ; but it appeared, on 
 second thoughts, that she wished first to see the girls 
 depart in their gay equipages; she therefore tottered to 
 the window, saw them get in, looked at Newman's greys 
 and gay postillions — at the white and silver favours — the 
 dandy valet and smart lady's-maid in each rumble. She 
 saw them start at a rattling pace, watched them till they 
 
 135
 
 VALERIE 
 
 turned the corner of the square, and then — and not till then 
 — fell senseless in my arms, and was carried by the atten- 
 dants into lier own room. 
 
 After all, the poor woman must have been very much 
 Avorn-out, for she had been for the last six weeks in a 
 continual worry lest any contretemps should happen, which 
 miijht have stopped or delayed the happy consummation. 
 
 The next morninj^ her ladyship did not leave her room, 
 but sent doAvn word that the carriai^e was at my service ; 
 but I was fatigued and worn-out, and declined it for that 
 day. I wrote to Lionel and to Mr. Selwyn, desiring them 
 to meet me in Baker Street at two o'clock the next day, 
 and then passed the day quietly in comjiany with Amy, 
 
 the third daughter of Lady M , whom I have before 
 
 mentioned. She was a very sweet, unaffected girl ; and I 
 was more partial to her than to her sisters, who had been 
 just married. I had paid great attention to her, for she had 
 a fine voice, and did credit to my teaching, and there was 
 a great intimacy between us, arising on my part from 
 ray admiration of her ingenuous and amiable disposition, 
 which even her mother's example to the contrary could not 
 spoil. 
 
 After some conversation relative to her sisters and their 
 husbands, she said — 
 
 " I hardly know what to do, Valerie. I love you too well 
 to be a party to your being ill-treated, and yet I fear that 
 you will be pained if I tell you what I have heard about 
 you. I know also that you will not stay if I do tell you, 
 and that Avill give me great pain; but that is a selfish feel- 
 ing Avhich I could overcome. What I do not like is hurting 
 your feelings. Now, tell me candidly, ought I to tell you 
 or not t" 
 
 "1 will give you my opinion candidly," replied L "You 
 have said too little or too much. You speak of my being 
 ill-treated ; certainly, I should wish to guard against that, 
 although I cannot imagine who is my enemy." 
 
 ''Had I not heard it, I could not have believed it eitlur," 
 replied she. " I thought that you had come here on a visit 
 as a friend ; but what makes me think that I ought to tell 
 you is, that there will be something said against your char- 
 acter, which I am sure must be false."
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "Now, indeed, I must re{]uest that you will tell nic every- 
 thing, and soften nothing down, but tell nie the whole truth. 
 Wlio is it that intends to attack my character ? " 
 
 " I am sorry — very sorry to say, it is mamma," replied she, 
 wiping away a tear. 
 
 " Lady M ! " exclaimed L 
 
 "Yes," replied she; "but now you nuist listen to all 
 I have to say. I am sure that I am doing right in telling 
 you, and therefore nothing shall prevent me. I love my 
 mother — what a sad thing it is that I cannot respect 
 her ! I was in the dressing-room when my mother was 
 lying on the sofa in her bedroom this morning, when her 
 great friend, Mrs. Germane, came up. She sat talking 
 with my mother for some time, and they appeared either 
 to forget or not to care if I heard them, for at last your 
 name was mentioned. 
 
 "'Well, she does dress you and your girls beautifully, I 
 must say,' said Mrs. Germane. ' Who is she ? They say 
 that she is of a good family ; and hoAv came she to live with 
 you as a milliner .'' ' 
 
 " ' My dear Mrs. Germane, that she does live with me as 
 a milliner is ti*ue, and it was for that reason only I invited 
 her to the house ; but she is not aware that I retain her 
 in that capacity. She is, I understand from Mrs. Bathurst, 
 of a noble family in France, thrown upon the world by 
 circumstances, very talented, and very proud. Her extreme 
 taste in dress I discovered when she was living with Mrs. 
 Bathurst ; and when I found that she was about, through my 
 
 management, to leave Lady R , I invited her here as a 
 
 sort of friend, and to stay with my daughters — not a word 
 did I mention about millinery ; I had too much tact for that. 
 Even when her services were required, I made it appear as 
 her own offer, and expressed my thanks for her condescen- 
 sion, and since that, by flattery and management, she has 
 continued to dress my daughters for me ; and, I must say, 
 that I do believe it lias been owing to her exquisite taste 
 that my daughters liave gone off so well.' 
 
 "'Well, you have managed admirably,' rej)lied Mrs. 
 
 CJermane ; ' but, my dear Lady M , what will you do 
 
 with her now .'' " 
 
 "'Oh,' replied Lady M , 'as Amy will now come out, 
 
 137
 
 VALERlt: 
 
 1 shall retain her in my employ until she is disposed of, and 
 then ' 
 
 " ' Yes, then will be the difficulty/ replied Mrs. Germane ; 
 'after having allowed her to live so long with you as a visitor, 
 I may say, how will you get rid of her ? ' 
 
 " ' ^Vhy, I was puzzling myself about that, and partly 
 decided that it should be done by mortifying her and 
 wounding her feelings, for she is very proud ; but, fortu- 
 nately, I have found out something which I shall keep to 
 myself until the time comes, and then I can dismiss her at 
 a moment's warning.' 
 
 "'Indeed!' said Mrs. Germane; 'what could you have 
 found out ? ' 
 
 '"Well, I will tell you, but you must not mention it 
 again. My maid entered the room the other day, when 
 mademoiselle was receiving a young man who called upon 
 her, and she found them kissing.' 
 
 " ' You don't say so ! ' 
 
 " ' Yes, a kiss was given, and my maid saw it. Now, I can 
 easily make it ap})ear that my maid never mentioned it to 
 me till the time that it may be convenient to make use of 
 it, and then I can send her away ; and if any questions are 
 asked, hint at a little impropriety of conduct.' 
 
 " ' And very properly too,' replied Mrs. Germane. ' Had 
 I not better hint a little beforehand to prepare people .'' ' 
 
 " ' Why, it may be as well, perhaps ; but be cautious, very 
 cautious, my dear Mrs. Germane.' 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, I am sorry that I am 
 obliged, in doing my duty to you, to expose mamma," said 
 Amy, rising up from her chair ; " but I am sure that you 
 could not be guilty of any impropriety, and I will not allow 
 you to be accused of it, if it is to be prevented." 
 
 " Many thanks," replied I. " My dear Amy, you have 
 behaved like a kind friend. I have only, in duty to myself, 
 to clear up the charge against me of impro2)riety. You 
 must not imagine me guilty of that. It is true that your 
 mother's maid did come in when a young lad of seventeen, 
 who was grateful to me for the interest I took in his welfare, 
 and who was taking leave of me at the time, did raise my 
 hand to his lips and kiss it; and had he done so before your 
 mothei", I should not have prevented it. This was the kiss, 
 
 138
 
 VALERIE 
 
 which, as your mothei* asserts, passed between us, and this 
 is the only impropriety that took place. Oh, wliat a sad, 
 treacherous, selfish, wicked world this is ! " cried I, throwing 
 myself on the sofa and bursting into tears. 
 
 Amy was making every attempt to console me, and 
 blaming herself for having made the communication, when 
 Lady M came downstairs into the room. 
 
 " What is all this .'' What a scene ! " exclaimed she. 
 " Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, have you had any bad 
 news ? " 
 
 " Yes, my lady," replied I, " so bad that I am under the 
 necessity of leaving you directly." 
 
 " Indeed ! may I inquire what has happened .'' " 
 
 " No, my lady, it is not in my power to tell you. I have 
 only to repeat, that I must, with your permission, leave this 
 house to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Well, mademoiselle," replied her ladyship, " I do not 
 want to pry into your secrets, but this I must say, that 
 where there is concealment there must be wrong ; but I 
 have lately discovered so much, that I do not wonder at 
 concealment, nor am I, indeed, surprised at your wish to 
 leave me." 
 
 " Lady M ," replied I haughtily, " I have never done 
 
 anything during the time that I have been under your roof 
 which I have to blush for, nor indeed anything that requires 
 concealment. This I can proudly say. If I conceal now, 
 it is to spare others, and I may add, to spare you. Do not 
 oblige me to say more in presence of your daughter. It 
 will be sufficient for me to hint to you, that I am now aware 
 why I was invited to your house, and what are your plans 
 for dismissing me when it suits you." 
 
 " Eavesdropping, then, is a portion of your character, 
 
 mademoiselle," cried Lady M , colouring up to the 
 
 temples. 
 
 " No, madam, such is not the case, and that is all the 
 answer 1 shall give ; it is sufficient for you that you are 
 exposed, and I do not envy your present feelings. I liave 
 only to rejieat, that I shall leave this house to-morrow 
 morning, and I will not further trouble your ladyshi}! with 
 my company." 
 
 I then walked out of the I'oom, and as I passed Lady 
 
 139
 
 VALERIE 
 
 M , and observed lier confusioji and vexation, I felt that 
 
 it was she who was liiimihated, and not nie. I went up to 
 my room and connnenced my preparations for immediate 
 departure, and had been more tlian an liour busy in packing 
 up, when Amy came into my room. 
 
 "Oh, \'alerie, how sorry I am ; but you have behaved just 
 as I think that you ought to have done ; and how very kind 
 of you not to sa}' that I told you. My mother was so angry 
 after you left ; said that the maids must have been listening, 
 and declares she will give them all warning ; but I know 
 that she will not do that. She spoke about your meeting a 
 young man, and kissing going on ; but you have already 
 explained all that." 
 
 "Amy," replied I, "after I am gone, take an opportunity 
 
 of saying to Lady M that you mentioned this to me, 
 
 and tell her that my reply was, if Lady M knew who 
 
 that young man was, how he is connected, and how large a 
 fortune he will inherit, she would be very glad to see him 
 kiss one of her daughter's hands with a different feeling from 
 that which induced him to kiss mine." 
 
 " I will, depend upon it," said Amy ; " and then mamma 
 Avill think that she has lost a good husband for me." 
 
 " She will meet him some of these days," replied I ; " and 
 what is more, he will defend me from any attack made on 
 that score." 
 
 "I will tell her that also," said Amy; "it will make her 
 careful of what she says." 
 
 One of the servants then knocked at the door, and said 
 that Lady M wished to see Miss Amy. 
 
 "Wish me good-bye now," said I, "for you may not be 
 permitted to see me again." 
 
 The dear girl embraced me cordially, and, Avith tears in her 
 eyes, left the room. I remained till I had finished packing, 
 and then sat down. Shortly afterwards her ladyship's maid 
 came in, and delivered me an envelope from her ladyship, 
 enclosing the salary due to me, Avith Lady M 's compli- 
 ments written outside. 
 
 I saw no more of Lady M or her daughter that even- 
 ing. I went to bed, and, as in my former changes, I 
 reflected what steps I should take. As for the treatment I 
 had received, I was now to a certain degree hardened to it, 
 
 140
 
 VALERIE 
 
 and my feelings certainl}^ were not so acute as when, the 
 first time, I had received a lesson of what I might expect 
 through life from the heartlessness and selfishness of the 
 world ; but in the present case there w;is a difficulty which 
 did not exist in the former — I was going away without know- 
 ing where I was to go. After a little thought, I determined 
 that I would seek Madame Gironac, and ascertain whether 
 she could not receive me until I had decided upon my future 
 plans. 
 
 My thoughts then recurred to other points. I recollected 
 that I had to meet Mr. Selwyn and Lionel in Baker Street, 
 and I resolved that I would go there with my effects early 
 the next morning, and leave them in charge of the cook, 
 who was taking care of the house. I calculated also the 
 money that I had in possession and in prospect. I had such 
 a good stock of clothes when I came to England with 
 Madame Bathurst, that I had no occasion, during the two 
 years and more" that I had now been in England, to make 
 any purchases of consequence — indeed, I had not expended 
 more than the twenty pounds I had brought with me. 1 
 
 had received some few presents from Lady M and 
 
 Madame Bathurst, and a great many from Lady R . 
 
 Altogether, I calculated that I had about two hundred and 
 
 sixty pounds in my desk, for Lady R had given me one 
 
 hundred pounds for only a portion of the year ; then there 
 was the five hundred pounds which she had left me, besides 
 her wearing apparel and trinkets, which last I knew to be of 
 value. It was a little fortune to one in my position, and I 
 resolved to consult Mr. Selwyn as to the best way of dispos- 
 ing of it. Having wound up my meditations with the most 
 agreeable portion of them, I fell asleep, and in the morning 
 woke up refreshed. 
 
 Ijidy M 's maid, who had always been partial to me, 
 
 for I had taught her many things valuable to a lady's-maid, 
 came in early, and said that she knew that I was going 
 away, which she regretted very much. I replied that I 
 should leave as soon as possible, but I wanted some break- 
 fast. This she brought up to my room. 
 
 I had not finished when Amy came into the room and 
 said, " I have permission to come and wish you good-b^c, 
 Valerie. I told mannna Avhat you said about the person who 
 
 IH
 
 VALERIE 
 
 was seen to kiss your hand. She acknowledges now that 
 it was your hand that was kissed, and she was so astonished, 
 for she knows that you never tell stories : and, what do 
 }'ou tliiiik, she desired me to find out what was the young 
 gentleman's name that had so large a fortune. I said I 
 would if I eould, and so I will by asking you outright, not 
 by any other means. I don't want to know his name," 
 continued she, laughing, " but I'm sure mamma has in her 
 mind fixed upon him for a husband for me, and would now 
 give the world that you were not going away, that through 
 you he might be introduced to her." 
 
 " I cannot tell you, my dear," replied I. " I am not at 
 liberty to mention it at present, otherwise I would with 
 pleasure. I am going now. May God bless you, my dearest, 
 and may you always continue to be the same frank and 
 amiable creature that you are now ! I leave you with regret, 
 and I pray eai'nestly for your happiness. You have made me 
 very hajijiy by telling me that your mamma acknowledges 
 that it was my hand that Avas kissed ; after that, she will 
 hardly attempt to injure me, as she proposed." 
 
 '^ Oh no, Valerie ; I think she is afraid to do so now. 
 This young man of fortune has made her think differently. 
 He would, of course, protect you from slander, and expose 
 her if she attempted it. Then, good-bye." 
 
 We embraced, and then I ordered a hackney-coach to be 
 called, and drove with my luggage to Baker Street. The 
 cook welcomed me, saying that she expected my coming, as 
 
 Mr. Selwyn had called to tell her of Lady R 's death, 
 
 and that when she asked to whom she was to look for her 
 wages, he had told her that I was the person who was to 
 settle all her ladyship's affairs, as everything was left on 
 my hands. She showed me a letter from Martha, Lady 
 
 R 's maid, by which I found that they would probably 
 
 arrive in Baker Sti-eet that vei-y day, with all her ladyship's 
 effects. 
 
 "I suppose you will sleep here, miss?" said the cook; 
 *"' I have aired your bed, and your room is all ready." 
 
 I replied that I wished to do so for a night or two, at all 
 events, as I had a good deal to attend to, but that Mr. 
 Selwyn would call at one o'clock, and that I would speak to 
 him on the subject. 
 
 142
 
 VALERIE 
 
 I had requested Lionel to call at twelve, an hour previous 
 to Mr. Selwyn, that I nii^ht make him actjuainted with the 
 
 contents of Lady R 's paj)ers addressed to me. He 
 
 was punctual to the time, and I shook liands with him, 
 saying, " Lionel, I congratulate you at now having proofs 
 
 of your being the ncj)hew of Lady R , and also at her 
 
 having left you considerable property. You will be surprised 
 to hear that she has ap])ointed me her executrix." 
 
 " I am not at all sin-prised," replied Lionel ; " I am sure 
 she has done a wise thing at last." 
 
 "That is more than I am," replied I ; "but I appreciate 
 the compliment. But, Lionel, there is no time to be lost, 
 as Mr. Selwyn, the lawyer, is coming here at one o'clock, 
 
 and before he comes I wish you to read over Lady R 's 
 
 confession, if I ma}^ so call it, which will explain the motives 
 of her conduct towards you. I am afraid that it will not 
 extenuate her conduct ; but recollect that she h;>s now 
 made all the reparation in her j)ower, and that we nmst 
 forgive as Ave hojie to be forgiven. Sit down and read 
 these papers, while I unpack one or two of my boxes 
 upstairs." 
 
 "The last time that we were here, I corded them up for 
 you, Miss Valerie ; 1 hope that you will allow me to assist 
 you again." 
 
 "Thank you, but you will have no time to read what 
 Lady R has said, and the cook and I can manage with- 
 out you." 
 
 1 then left the room and went upstairs. I was still busy 
 in my room when a knock at the sti-eet-door announced 
 the arrival of Mr. Selwyn, and I went down into the drawing- 
 room to meet him. I asked Lionel, who was walking up 
 and down the room, whether he had finished the papers, 
 and he replied by a nod of the head. The ])oor lad appeared 
 very miserable, but Mr. Selwyn entered, and I could not 
 say more to him. 
 
 " I hope I have not kept you waiting. Mademoiselle de 
 Chatenteuf," saitl he. 
 
 " No, indeed. I came here at ten o'clock, for I have left 
 
 Lady M , and I may as well ask at once whether there 
 
 is any objection to my taking a bed in this house for a few 
 nights .'' " 
 
 143
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "Objection! Why, mademoiselle, you are sole executrix, 
 and everything is at present yours, in fact, for the time. 
 You have, therefore, a right to take possession until he 
 appears, and the will is proved." 
 
 "The hero is before you, Mr. Sehvyn. Allow me to 
 introduce you to Mr. Lionel Dempster, the nephew of 
 Lady R ." 
 
 Mr. Selwyn bowed to Lionel, and congratulated him upon 
 his accession to the property. 
 
 Lionel returned the salute, and then said, " Mademoiselle 
 de Chatenceuf, I am convinced that in this case Mr. Selwyn 
 must be made a party to all that has occurred. The reading 
 of these papers has rather disturbed me, and it would be 
 painful to me to hear everything repeated in my presence. 
 With your permission, I will walk out for an hour, and leave 
 you to explain everything to Mr. Selwyn, for I am sure that 
 I shall need his advice. Here is the confession of old 
 Roberts, which I shall leave for his perusal. Good morning, 
 then, for the present." 
 
 So saying, Lionel took up his hat and quitted the room. 
 
 " He is a very prepossessing young man," observed Mr. 
 Selwyn. "What a fine eye he has \" 
 
 " Yes," replied I ; " and now that he has so large a pro- 
 perty, others will find out that he is a prepossessing young 
 man with fine eyes. But sit down, Mr. Selwyn, for you have 
 to listen to a very strange narrative." 
 
 When he had finished it, he laid it down on the table, 
 saying, " This is perhaps the strangest history that has ever 
 come to my knowledge during thirty years of practice. And 
 so she brought him up as a footman. I now recognise him 
 again as the lad who has so often opened the door for me ; 
 but I confess I never should have done so if I had not heard 
 what you have now communicated." 
 
 " He was always much above his position," replied L 
 " He is very clever and very amusing ; at least I found him 
 so when he served me in his menial capacity, and certainly 
 was much more intimate with him than I ever thought I 
 could be with a servant. At all events, his education has 
 not been neglected." 
 
 "Strange! very strange!" observed Mr. Selwyn, "this 
 is a curious world ; l)ut I fear that his history cannot be 
 
 114
 
 VALERIE 
 
 kept altogether a secret; for you must recollect, made- 
 moiselle, that his father's property must be claimed, and 
 no doubt it will be disputed. I must go to Doctors' 
 Commons and search out the will at once of Colonel 
 Dempster ; he intends, as I presume he docs by Avhat he 
 said just now, to employ me. After all, it will, if known, 
 be but a nine days' wonder, and do him no harm ; for he 
 proves his birth by his appearance, and his breeding is so 
 innate as to have conquered all his disadvantages." 
 
 "When I knew him as a servant, I thought him an in- 
 telligent and witty lad, but I never could have believed that 
 he would have become so improved in such a short time ; 
 not only his manners, but his language is so different." 
 
 " It was in him," replied Mr. Selwyn ; "as a domestic, 
 the manners and language of a gentleman would have 
 been out of place, and he did not attempt them ; now 
 that he knows his position, he has called them forth. We 
 must find out this Mrs. Green, and have her testimony 
 as soon as possible. Of course, after the deposition of old 
 Roberts, Sir Thomas Moystyn will not be surprised when 
 
 I communicate to him the confession of Lady R , and 
 
 the disposition of her property. In fact, the only difficulty 
 will be in the recovery of the property of his father. Colonel 
 Dempster, and " 
 
 A knock at the street door announced the return of 
 Lionel. When he entered the room, Mr. Selwyn said — 
 
 " Ml'. Dempster, that you are the nej)hcw of Lady 
 
 R , to whom she has bequeathed her jjroperty, and 
 
 what was your own, is sufficiently established in my opinion. 
 I will therefore, with your permission, read her ladyship's 
 will." 
 
 Lionel took a seat, and the will was read. When it was 
 finished, Mr. Selwyn said — 
 
 " Having been Lady R 's legal adviser for many years, 
 
 I am able to tell you, within a trifle, what property you 
 will receive. There are £.57,000 three per cents. ; this house 
 and furniture, which I purchased the lease of for her, and 
 which is only saddled with a ground-rent for the next forty 
 years; and I find a balance of .£1200 at the banker's. Your 
 father's property, Mr. Dempster, of course I know nothing 
 about, but will ascertain this (o-morrow by going to Doctors' 
 
 145 K
 
 VALERIE 
 
 Commons. I think I may venture to assure the executrix 
 that she will run no risk in allowing you to take any sum 
 of money you may require from the balance in the bank, 
 as soon as the will is proved, which had lictter be done 
 to-morrow, if it suits Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf." 
 
 " Certainly," replied I ; " I am anxious to get rid of my 
 trust as soon as possible, and give Mr. Dempster possession. 
 There is a tin box of papers, Mr. Selwyn, which I cannot 
 
 get at till the return of Lady R 's maid, as the keys are 
 
 with Lady R 's effects, which she is bringing home with 
 
 her." 
 
 "Yes, they will no doubt be important," replied Mr. 
 Selwyn ; " and now, Mr. Dempster, if you are in want of 
 any ready cash, I shall be your banker with pleasure till 
 you can have possession of your own." 
 
 " I thank you, sir, I am not in want of any," replied 
 Lionel, " for the present ; but, as soon as I may be per- 
 mitted to have money from the bank, I shall be glad, as 
 it is not my intention to remain in England." 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed I. 
 
 "No, Mademoiselle Valerie," said Lionel. "I am but 
 too well aware of many deficiencies which must arise from 
 the position I have been so long in, not to wish to remedy 
 them as soon as possible ; and, before I appear as the heir 
 
 of Ladv R , it is my intention, as soon as I can, to 
 
 go to Paris, and remain there for two years, or perhaps, 
 until I am of age; and I think in that time to improve 
 myself, and make myself more what the son of Colonel 
 Dempster should be. I am young yet, and capable of in- 
 struction." 
 
 " You propose a vei*y proper step, Mr. Dempster," said 
 Mr. Selwyn; "and during 3'our absence all legal proceed- 
 ings will be over, and, if the whole affair is made public, 
 it will be forgotten again by the time that you propose 
 to return. I am sure that the executrix will be most happy 
 to forward such very judicious arrangements. I will now 
 take my leave, and beg Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf to 
 meet me at Doctors' Commons at three o'clock to-morrow ; 
 that will give me time to look for Colonel Dempster's 
 will. Good morning, mademoiselle ; good morning, Mr. 
 Dempster." 
 
 146
 
 VALERIE 
 
 Mr. Selwyn went out, and left us alone. 
 
 " May I askj Miss Valerie, whether you have left Lady 
 M ? '• 
 
 " Yes," replied I ; and I told him what had passed, 
 adding, " I stay here for a night or two, and shall go then 
 to Madame Gironac's." 
 
 " Why not stay here altogether } I hope you will. I 
 shall go abroad as soon as possible." 
 
 " Yes, and you are right in so doing. But, Lionel, you 
 forget that my duty as executrix will be to make the best 
 of the estate for you until you are of age, and this house 
 must be let furnished ; Mr. Selwyn told me so while you 
 were away ; besides, I am not a young lady of fortune, but 
 one most unfortunately dependent upon the caprices of 
 others, and I must submit to my fate." 
 
 Lionel made no reply for some little while, and then he 
 said — 
 
 " I am very glad that Lady R has shown the high 
 
 opinion she had of jou ; but I cannot forgive her treatment 
 of my mother. It was too cruel ; but I had better not talk 
 aiiy more about it ; and I am sure, Miss Valerie, you must be 
 anxious to be alone. Good afternoon. Miss Valerie." 
 
 " Good-bye, Lionel, for the present," replied L " By-the- 
 bye, did the cook recognise you .'' " 
 
 " Yes ; and I told her that I had given up going out to 
 service." 
 
 " I think that you had better not come here, Lionel, till 
 
 I have dismissed Lady H 's maid, which I shall do the 
 
 day after her arrival. I will meet you at Mr. Selwyn's 
 office — it will be better." 
 
 To this Lionel agreed, and we parted. 
 
 The next day the will was proved, and Mr. Selwyn then 
 informed us that he liad found the will of the late Colonel 
 Dempster, which had left his property to his child unborn, 
 as might be supposed, with a jointure on the estate, which 
 was entailed. The will, in consequence of the supposed 
 non-existence of Lionel, had been proved by the next of 
 kin, a gentleman of large property, and of whom report 
 spoke highly. It was the intention of Mr. Selwyn to 
 communicate with him directly. The probate duty, Sec, 
 had required a large portion of the £1200 left in the 
 
 147
 
 VALERIE 
 
 bank, but there was still enough to meet all Lionel's wants 
 for a year, if he wished to go abroad immediately ; and 
 another dividend would be due in a month, so that there 
 could be no difficulty. Mr. Sclwyn explained all this as 
 we drove to his chambers, where I signed some papers at 
 his request, and Lionel received a cheque on the bank, and 
 I sent, by Mr. Sehvyn, instructions to meet his drafts for 
 the future. 
 
 This affair being arranged, Lionel stated his intention 
 of quitting immediately for Paris. He said that he would 
 go for his passport that afternoon, as there was time enough 
 left for him to give in his name at the office ; and that 
 he would call to-morrow afternoon to bid me farewell. 
 He then took his leave, and left me with Mr. Selwyn, with 
 whom I had a long conversation, during which I stated to 
 him that I had some money of my own, as well as what 
 
 liad been left me by Lady R , which I w-ished to put 
 
 in safety. He recommended that I should lodge what I 
 tlien had at a banker's, and, as soon as I had received the 
 rest, he would look out for a good mortgage for me. He 
 then handed me into a coach, and bade me farewell, 
 stating that he would call on the day after the morrow, 
 
 at three o'clock, as by that time Lady R s maid must 
 
 have arrived, and I should have obtained possession of the 
 key of the tin box, the papers in which he was anxious to 
 examine. 
 
 On my return to Baker Street, I found that Lady R 's 
 
 maid had arrived, and I of course immediately took posses- 
 sion of everything. I then ])aid her her wages, and dis- 
 missed her, giving her permission to remain and sleep in 
 the house, and promising her a character. It appeared very 
 summary to dismiss her so soon, but I was anxious she should 
 not see Lionel, and I told her that, as executrix, I was not 
 warranted in keeping her a day longer than was necessary, 
 as I was answerable for all expenses. Having now the key.s, 
 I was able to examine everything. I first found the tin box, 
 with various papers in it; among others, a packet, on which 
 was written, " Papers relative to my sister Ellen and her 
 child." I thought I would not open them till Mr. Selwyn 
 was present, as it might appear as if I was curious ; so I laid 
 them aside. I then despatched the cook with a note to 
 
 148
 
 VALERIE 
 
 Madame Gironac, requesting that slie would come and spend 
 the evening with me, as I had mucli to communicate to her. 
 Indeed, I felt (hdl ah)ne in sucli a large house, and I also 
 felt the want of a sincere friend to talk with. 
 
 Having nothing better to do, I opened the various 
 drawers and cupboards which contained the apparel, <!vc., of 
 
 Lady R , and found such a mass of things that I was 
 
 astonished. In her whimsical way, she had at times pur- 
 chased silks and various jewels, wliich she had never made 
 use of, but thrown on one side. There Avere more studs 
 for making up dresses than dresses made up, — I should 
 say nearly double. I found one large bundle of point-lace, 
 some of it of great beauty, which I presume had belonged 
 to her mother, and of other laces there was a great quantity. 
 The jewels which she had taken abroad with her wei'c 
 very few, and such as she wore in common ; her diamonds, 
 and all that was of value, I knew she had sent to her 
 banker's a day or two previous to her departure, and I 
 thought I would wait till I had seen Mr. Selwyn again 
 before I claimed them. 
 
 Madame Ciironac came as requested, and I then com- 
 municated to her all that had taken place. She was 
 delighted at my good fortune, and said she hoped that 
 I would now come and live with them, as I had the means 
 of living, without being subject to the caprices of others ; 
 but I could give no answer till I knew what my property 
 might amoinit to. All I could promise was, to go to her 
 as soon as I had finished my business in Baker Street, and 
 then I would afterwards decide Avhat steps it would be 
 advisable for me to take. 
 
 After a long conversation, during which Madame Gironac 
 was as lively as ever, we separated, Madame Gironac 
 promising to come and pass the next day with me, and 
 
 assist me in looking over Lady R 's wardrobe. During 
 
 the afternoon I had selected a good many of Lady R 's 
 
 dresses, and some which did not please my taste, or had 
 been much worn, I gave to her maid, on the following 
 nu>rning, before her departure. This pleased her very 
 much, as she knew that her mistress's wardrobe had been 
 bc(|ueathed to me, and did not expect to obtain any jjorlion 
 of it ; but the drawers aiul closets were so loaded, that I 
 
 14.9
 
 VALERIE 
 
 could well afford to be generous. Madame Gironac came 
 to breakfast the next morning, accompanied by her hus- 
 band, •who was dflighted to see nie, and having as usual 
 quarrelled, after their fasliion, he bounced out of the room 
 declaring that he never would see that odious little woman 
 any more. 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur Gironac, you forget you promised to come 
 and dine here." 
 
 " Well, Avell, so I did ; but, Mademoiselle Valerie, that 
 promise has prevented a separation." 
 
 " It is very unlucky that you asked him. Mademoiselle 
 Valerie," replied his wife, " all my hopes are destroyed. 
 Good-bye, Monsieur Gironac, and be grateful that you have 
 been prevented from conunitting a folly ; now go, we are 
 to be very busy, and don't want you." 
 
 " I will go, madame ; and hear me," said Monsieur 
 Gironac, with a mock solemnity, " as I live, I Mill not 
 return — till dinner-time." 
 
 He then bounced out of the room. We then proceeded 
 to sort and arrange. Madame Gironac, who was a good 
 judge, stated the lace to be worth at least £200, and the 
 other articles, such as silks, &c., with the dresses and lace, 
 at about £100 more. The laces and silks not made up 
 she proposed selling for me, which she said that she could 
 to various customers, and the dresses and lace she said 
 could be disposed of to a person she knew, who gained her 
 livelihood by remaking up such things. 
 
 We were thus employed when Lionel called. He had 
 obtained his passport, and had come to wish me good-bye. 
 When he rose to say farewell, he said — 
 
 '•' Miss Valerie, I can hardly say Avhat my feelings are to- 
 wards you. Your kindness to me when I was a supposed 
 footman, and the interest you always took in anything con- 
 cerning me, have deeply impressed me with gratitude ; but I 
 feel more. You are much too young for my mother, but I 
 feel the I'cvei'cnce of a son, and if I did dare to use the ex- 
 pression, I feel towards you, what I think are the feelings 
 that a brother should have towards a sister." 
 
 " I am flattered by your saying so, Lionel," replied I. 
 "You are now in a much higher position, or rather, soon 
 will be, than I shall ever obtain in this world, and that you 
 
 150
 
 VALERIE 
 
 have such feeHngs towards me for any little kindness I have 
 shown to you is highly creditable to your heart. Have you 
 any letters of introduction to any one in Paris ? but now I 
 think of it, you cannot well have." 
 
 " No," replied he ; " I may have by-and-by, but how could 
 I possibly obtain one at present ? " 
 
 A thought struck me. 
 
 " Well, Lionel, you do not know my history ; but I was 
 once very intimate with a lady at Paris, and although we 
 parted bad friends, she has since written kindly to me, and 
 I believe her to have been sincere in so doing. I will give 
 you a letter of inti-oduction to her ; but do not blame me 
 if I have been deceived in her a second time." 
 
 I went to the table and wrote the following short note : — 
 
 " My dear Madame D' Albret, — This letter will be pre- 
 sented to you by a Mr. Lionel Dempster, a young English- 
 man of fortune, and a great friend of mine. He is going 
 to reside at Paris, to improve himself, until he becomes of 
 age ; and I give him this introduction to you for two reasojis : 
 the first, because I want to prove to you that, although my 
 feelings would not permit me to accej)t jour last kind offer, 
 I have long forgotten and forgiven any little injustice you 
 did me ; and the second, because I feel convinced that in 
 your society, and that which you keep, he will gain moie 
 advantage than perhaps in any other in Paris. — ^'ours with 
 esteem, Valerie de Ciiaten(euk." 
 
 " There, Lionel, this may be of use to you ; if not, write 
 and let me know. You will, of course, let me hear from you 
 occasionally ?" 
 
 " May Heaven preserve you. Miss Valerie ! " replied Lionel. 
 " I only hope the time may arrive when I may be able to 
 prove my gratitude." 
 
 Lionel kissed my hand, and the tears rolled down his 
 cheeks as he quitted the room. 
 
 " He is a charming young man," said Madame Gironac, as 
 soon as the door was shut. 
 
 " He is a very superior young man, in my opinion," rej>lied 
 I; "and I am most anxious that he should do well. I did
 
 VALERIE 
 
 not think it possible that I ever could have written again to 
 Madame d'Albret, but my goodwill towards him induced 
 me. There is Monsieur Gironac's knock ; so now for a 
 quarrel, or a reconciliation — which is it to be ? " 
 
 '• Oh, we must reconcile first, and then have a quarrel 
 afterwards ; that is the established rule." 
 
 Monsieur Gironac soon joined us. We passed a very 
 lively evening, and it was arranged that I should in three 
 days take u{) my quarters at their house. 
 
 The next day Mr. Selwyn called at the time appointed, 
 and I made over to him the box and papers. He told me 
 that he had seen Mrs. Green, and had had her full confession 
 of what took place, in corroboration of all that was stated 
 
 by Lady R and old Roberts, and that he had written 
 
 to Mr. Armiger Dempster, who had succeeded to the pro- 
 perty of Lionel's father. 
 
 I then told him that I wished to go with him to the bank, 
 
 to lodge the money I then had, and to obtain Lady R 's 
 
 jewel-case, which Avas deposited there. 
 
 " Nothing like the time present," said Mr. Selwyn ; " my 
 carriage is at the door. I will have the ])leasure of taking 
 you there and then returning with you. But I have another 
 appointment, and must be so impolite as to request that you 
 will hurry your toilet as much as possible." 
 
 This was done, and in an hour I had lodged my money 
 and obtained the jewel-case. 
 
 Mr. Selwyn took me back again, and, having put the tin 
 box into the carriage, wished me farewell. 
 
 I told him that I was about to take up my residence 
 with the Gironacs, gave him their address, and then we 
 parted. 
 
 That evening I opened the jewel-case, and found it well 
 stocked. The value of its contents I could not possibly be 
 acquainted with ; but that so many diamonds and other 
 stones were of value I knew well. I placed the other 
 
 caskets of Lady R in the case, and then proceeded to 
 
 make up my packages ready for transportation to Madame 
 Gironac's, for there were a great many trunks full. I 
 occupied myself with this for the remainder of the time 
 that I was in Baker Street, and when Monsieur Gironac 
 and his wife called according to promise, to take me to 
 
 152
 
 VALERIE 
 
 their home, it required two eoaclies, and well loaded, to 
 take all the luggage ; a third conveyed Monsieur and 
 Madame Gironac, myself, and the jewel-case. I found a 
 very cheerful room jjrepared for me, and I had the })leasant 
 feeling, as we sat down to our small dinner, that I had a 
 home. 
 
 Madame Gironac was indefatigable in her exertions, and 
 soon disposed of all the laces and wardrobe that I had de- 
 cided upon parting with, and I paid the sum that they 
 realised, viz., £310, into the banker's. The disposal of the 
 jewels was a more difficult affair, but they were valued by a 
 friend of Monsieur Gironac's, who had once been in the 
 trade, at £6"0. After many attempts to dispose of them 
 more favourably, I succeeded in obtaining for them the sum 
 of £570. 
 
 Mr. Selwyn had called upon me once or twice, and I had 
 received my legacy with interest; deducting the legacy-duty 
 of £50, it came to £4-5S. I had, therefore, the following 
 sums in all : £230 of my savings, £310 for the wardrobe 
 and laces, £570 for the jewels, and £458 for the legacy ; 
 amounting in all to £15()8. Who would have imagined, 
 three months before, that I should ever have possessed such 
 a sum ? I did not, certainly. 
 
 Mr. Selwyn, as soon as he knew w hat sum I had to dispose 
 of, viz., £1500, for I i-etained the £68 for my expenses, pro- 
 cured me a mortgage at five per cent, on excellent landed 
 security; and thus did the poor forlorn Valerie possess an 
 income of £75 per annum. 
 
 As soon as this was all arranged, I felt a tranquillity I 
 had not known before. I Avas now independent. I could 
 work, it is true, if I felt inclined, and had an opportunity. 
 I could, however, do without work. The Gironacs, finding 
 that I insisted upon paying for my board, and knowing 
 that I could now afford it, agreed to receive forty pounds 
 per annum — more they would not listen to. Oh ! what a 
 balm to the feelings is the consciousness of independence, 
 especially to one who had been treated as I had been. 
 There were two situations to which I had taken a violent 
 abhorrence^that of a governess, and now that of a milliner; 
 and I thanked Heaven that I was no longer under any fear of 
 being driven into either of those unfortunate employments. 
 
 153
 
 VALERIE 
 
 For the first month that I remained vitli the Gironacs, I 
 absohitely did nothing but enjoy my emancipation ; after 
 that I began to talk over matters Avith Monsieur Gironac, 
 who pointed out to me, that now that 1 could live upon my 
 own means, I should endeavour to increase them, so as to 
 be still more at my ease. 
 
 " What do you propose that I should do, then, monsieur ? " 
 replied I. 
 
 " I shall propose that you establish yourself as a music- 
 mistress, and give lessons on the pianoforte and singing. By 
 degi-ees you will get a connection, and you will still be your 
 own mistress." 
 
 "And when you have nothing else to do, mademoiselle, 
 you must make flowers in wax," said Madame Gironac. 
 " You make them so well, that I can always sell yours when 
 I cannot my own." 
 
 " I must not interfei'e with you, Elise," said I ; " that 
 would be very ungrateful on my part." 
 
 " Pooh — nonsense — there are customers enough for us 
 both." 
 
 I thought this advice to be very good, and made up my 
 mind to follow it. I had not money sufficient to purchase a 
 piano just then, as it would be five months before the half- 
 year's interest of the mortgage would be due ; so I hired one 
 from a dealer with whom Monsieur Gironac was intimate, 
 and practised several hours every day. Fortune appeared 
 inclined to favour me, for I obtained employment from four 
 different channels. 
 
 The first and most important was this : I w-ent every 
 Sunday to the Catholic Chapel with Madame Gironac, and 
 of course I joined in the singing. On the third Sunday, 
 as I was going out, I was touched on the arm by one of 
 the priests, who requested to speak with me in the vestry. 
 Madame Gironac and I followed him, and he requested us 
 to sit down. 
 
 " Whom have I the pleasure of addressing .'' " said he 
 to me. 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, sir," replied I. 
 
 " I am not aware of your circumstances, mademoiselle," 
 said he, "but the name is one well known in France. Still, 
 those who hold our best names are very often not in affluent 
 
 154
 
 VALERIE 
 
 circumstances in this country. I trust, let it be as it may, 
 that you will not be offended, but the fact is, your singing 
 has been nuich admired, and we would wish for your service, 
 gratuitous, if you are in good circumstances, but well paid 
 for, if you are not, in the choir." 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Chatena'uf is not, I am sorry to say, in 
 good circumstances, monsieur," replied Madame Gironac. 
 
 "'J'lien I will promise that she shall be well rewarded for 
 her exertions, if she will consent to sing in the chapel — but 
 do you consent ? " 
 
 " I have no objection, sir," replied I. 
 
 " Allow me, then, to call the gentleman who presides 
 over the choir," said the priest, going out. 
 
 " Accept by all means. Mademoiselle Valerie. It will 
 be an introduction for you as a music-mistress, and very 
 advantageous." 
 
 "I agree with you," replied I, "and I like singing sacred 
 music." 
 
 The priest returned with a gentleman, who told me that 
 he had listened with great pleasure to my singing, and 
 begged, as a favour, that I would sing him a solo, which 
 he had brought with him. 
 
 As I could sing at sight, I did so. He was satisfied, and 
 it was agreed that I should come on Saturday at twelve, to 
 practise with the rest of the choir. The following Sunday 
 I sang with them, and also sang the solos. After the 
 service was over, I received three guineas for my per- 
 formance, and was informed that a similar sum would be 
 given to me every Sunday on which I sang. My voice 
 was much admired ; and when it was known that I gave 
 lessons, I very soon had engagements from many Catholic 
 families. My charges to them were moderate, — five shillings 
 a lesson of one hour. 
 
 The next channel was through Monsieur and Madame 
 Gironac. He recommended me to a gentleman whom he 
 taught, as a music-mistress for his sisters and daughters, 
 and she to all her various customers and employers. I soon 
 obtained several pupils by her exertions. The third was 
 from an intimacy I had formed with an acquaintance of 
 Madame Gironac, a Mademoiselle Adele Chabot, who was 
 of a good French family, but earning her livelihood as 
 
 155
 
 VALERIE 
 
 a French teacher in one of the most fashionable schools at 
 Kensington. 
 
 'rhrmigli lier reconinienclation, I obtained the teaching 
 of the young ladies at the school,— but of her more here- 
 after. The fourth channel was through the kindness of 
 Mr. Selwyn, the lawyer, to whom I shall now again revert. 
 I had several visits from Mr. Selwyn after I had left Baker 
 Street, and on one of these he informed me, that upon 
 the proofs of Lionel Dempster's identity being examined 
 by the legal advisers of Mr. Dempster, of Yorkshire, they 
 were considered so jjositive, that the aforenamed gentle- 
 man immediately came to terms, agreeing to give up the 
 property to Lionel, provided, in consequence of the great 
 improvements he had made, he was not come upon for 
 arrears of income arising from it. That Mr. Selwyn advised 
 this offer to be accepted, as it would prevent any exposure 
 
 of Lady R , and the circumstances under which Lionel 
 
 had been brought up, from being made public. Lionel 
 had written to say that he was anxious that any sacrifice 
 should be made rather than the affair should be exposed ; 
 and the terms were consented to, and Lionel came into 
 possession of further property to the amount of X9OO per 
 aiuium. As we became more intimate, Mr. Selwyn asked 
 me many particulars relative to myself, and, by his habit 
 of cross-examining, soon gained the best portion of my 
 liistory: only one point I did not mention to him, — that 
 my family supposed that I was dead. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 vJNE day he came, accompanied by Mrs. Selwyn, wno 
 joined him very earnestly in requesting me to pass a day 
 or two with them at their country house at Kew. I ac- 
 cepted the invitation, and they called for me in their 
 carriage on their way down. It was summer time, and 
 I was very glad to be out of London for a day or two. 
 I found a charming family of two sons and three daughters, 
 grown up, and who appeared very accomplished. Mr. 
 
 156
 
 VALERIE 
 
 Selwyn then, for the first time, asked me whether 1 was 
 settled or not. 
 
 I told him no, — that I was giving lessons in music — 
 that I sang at the chapel, and that I was laying by 
 money. 
 
 He said I was right, and that he hoped to be able to 
 [procure me jnipils. " But now," said he, " as I did not 
 know that you had a voice, I must be permitted to hear 
 it, as otherwise I shall not be able to make my report." 
 
 I sat down immediately and sang, and he and Mrs. 
 Selwyn, as well as the daughters, were highly pleased 
 with my performance. During my stav Mr. Selwyn treated 
 me in, I may say, almost a parental manner, and ex- 
 tracted something more from me relative to my previous 
 life, and he told me that he thought I had done wisely 
 in remaining independent, and not again trusting to Lady 
 
 M or Madame d'Albret. I went afterwai-ds several 
 
 times to their town house, being invited to evening parties, 
 and the people who were there and heard my singing 
 sent for me to teach their daughters. 
 
 In six months after I had taken up my residence with 
 the Gironacs I was in flourishing circumstances. I had 
 twenty-eight pupils, ten at five shillings per lesson, and 
 eight at seven shillings, and they took lessons twice a 
 week. I had also a school, for which I received about 
 five guineas per week, and the singing at the chapel, for 
 which I received three. In fact, I was receiving about 
 eighteen pounds a week during the winter season ; but it 
 must be confessed that I worked hard for it, and expended 
 two or three pounds a week in coach-hire. Nevertheless, 
 although I now spent more money on my appearance, 
 and had purchased a piano, before the year was over, I 
 liad paid £2.50 into Mr. Selwyn's hands to take care of 
 for me. When I thought of what might have still been 
 my position had it not been for the kindness of poor Lady 
 
 R ; when I reflected how I had been cast upon the 
 
 world, young and friendless, by Madame d'Albret, and that 
 I was now making money rapidly by my own exertions, 
 and that at such an early age (for 1 was but little past 
 twenty years old), had I not reason to be grateful .'' I 
 was so, and most truly so, and, moreover, I was happy, 
 
 157
 
 VALERIE 
 
 truly happy. All my former mirlh and vivacity, which 
 had been checked during my sojoiu-n in England, returned. 
 I improved every day in good looks, at least so everybody 
 told me but Mr. Sehvyn ; and I gained that which to a 
 certain degree iny figure required, more roundness and 
 expansion. And this was the poor Valerie, supposed to 
 have been drowned in the river Seine ! 
 
 I forgot to say, that about three weeks after Lionel 
 went to Pai'is, I received a letter from Madame d'Albret, 
 in which she thanked me warmly for my having introduced 
 the young Englishman to her, as slie took it as a proof 
 of my really having forgiven her what she never should 
 forgive herself. She still indulged the hope that she might 
 one day embrace me. With respect to Lionel, she said 
 that he appeared a modest, luiassuming young lad, and 
 that it should not be her fault if he did not turn out 
 an accomplished gentleman ; that he had already the best 
 fencing and music masters, and was working very hard at 
 the language. As soon as he could speak French tolerabl}', 
 he was to commence German and Italian. She had pro- 
 cured him a pension in an excellent French family, and 
 he appeared to be very happy. 
 
 I could not help reflecting, as I read the contents of 
 this letter, upon the change which had taken place in 
 Lionel Dempster, as soon as he found himself established 
 in his rights. From an impudent, talkative page, he at 
 once became a modest, respectful, and silent young man. 
 What could have caused this change.'' Was it because, 
 when a page, he felt himself above his condition ; and 
 now that he had gained a name and fortune, that he felt 
 himself beneath it.'' I decided, when I remembered how 
 anxious he was to improve himself, that such was the 
 case ; and I fiu'ther inferred that it showed a noble, 
 generous, and sensitive mind. And I now felt very glad 
 that I had written to Madame d'Albret, and all my objec- 
 tions to seeing her again were removed. Why so } because 
 I was indejiendent. It was my dependence that made 
 me so proud and unforgiving. In fact, I was on better 
 terms with the world, now that I had somewhat raised 
 myself in it. I was one day talking over my life with 
 Mr. Selwyn ; and after pointing out how I had been taken 
 
 1 58
 
 VALERIE 
 
 in by my ignorance and confidence, how nnicli wiser I 
 had become ah'eady from experience, and my liopes that 
 I should one day cease to be a dupe, he replied — 
 
 " My dear Miss Valerie, do not say so. To have been a 
 dupe is to have lived; we are dupes when we are full of 
 the hope and warmth of youth. I am an old man ; my 
 profession lias given me great knowledge of the world ; 
 knowledge of the world has made me cautious and in- 
 different ; but this has not added to my happiness, although 
 it may have saved my pocket. No, no ; when we arrive 
 at that point, when we warm before no affection, doubting 
 its truth ; when we have gained this age-bought experience, 
 which has left our hearts as dry as the remainder biscuits 
 after a long voyage — there is no happiness in this, Valerie. 
 Better to be deceived and trust again. I almost wish that 
 I could now be the dupe of a woman or a false friend, for 
 I should then feel as if I were young again." 
 
 "But, sir," replied I, "your conduct is at variance with 
 your language ; why else such kindness shown to me, a 
 perfect stranger, and one without claims u{)on you ? " 
 
 " You overrate my little attention, my dear Valerie ; 
 but that proves that you have a grateful heart. I speak 
 of myself as when in contact with the world. You forget 
 that I have domestic ties to which the heart is ever fresh. 
 Were it not for home and the natural affections, we men 
 should be brutes indeed. The heart, when in conflict with 
 the world, may be compared to a plant scorched by the heat 
 of the sun ; but, in the shade of domestic repose, it again 
 recovei's its freshness for the time." 
 
 I have stated that, through the recommendation and 
 influence of a Mademoiselle Adele Chabot, I taught music 
 at an establishment for young ladies at Kensington. It 
 was what is called a finishing-school. The ternas were 
 very high, and the young ladies did not always sit down 
 to boiled mutton ; but, from what I learned from Adele, 
 in other points it was not better than schools in general ; 
 but it had a rejnitation, and that was sufficient. 
 
 One day, I was informed by Mrs. Bradshaw, the pro- 
 prietress of the establishment, that I was to have a new 
 pupil the next quarter, which was very near ; and when 
 it did arrive, and the young lady was brought in, who 
 
 159
 
 VALERIE 
 
 should it be but Caroline, my former companion and pupil 
 at Madame Bathurst's ? 
 
 '•Valerie ! " exclaimed she, rushing into my arms. 
 
 "My dear Caroline, this is an unexpected pleasure," said 
 I ; " but how came you here ? " 
 
 " I will tell you some day," replied Caroline, not wishing 
 to talk about her family while the teacher, who came in 
 with her, was present. 
 
 " I hope Madame Bathurst is well .'' " inquired I. 
 
 " Quite well, when I saw her last," said Caroline. 
 
 " Well, my dear, we must work, and not talk, for my time 
 is valuable," said I ; "so sit down, and let me hear whether 
 you have improved since I last gave you a lesson." 
 
 The teacher then left the room, and Caroline, having run 
 over a few bars, stojiped, and said, " I never can play till I 
 have talked to you, ^'alerie. You asked me how I came 
 here. At my own request ; or, if a girl may use such lan- 
 guage, because I insisted upon it. I was so uncomfortable 
 at home, that I could bear it no longer. I must speak 
 against my father and mother — I cannot help it; for it is 
 impossible to be blind ; they are so strange, so conceited, so 
 spoiled by prosperity, so haughty and imperious, and so 
 rude and uncouth to any whom they consider beneath them, 
 that it is painful to be in their company. Servants will 
 not remain a month in the house — there is nothing but 
 exchange, and everything is uncomfortable. After having 
 lived with my aunt Bathurst, whom you will acknowledge 
 to be a lady in every respect, I really thought I was in an 
 Hopital des Fous. Such assumption, such pretension, such 
 absurdities, to all which they wished to make me a party. 
 I have had a wilderness of governesses, but not one coidd 
 or would submit to the hinniliations which they were loaded 
 with. At last, by rebelling in every way, I gained my 
 point, and have escaped to school. I feel that I ought not 
 to speak disparagingly of my parents ; but still I must speak 
 the truth to you, although I would say nothing to othei'S ; 
 so do not be angry with me, V^alerie. ' 
 
 " I am more sorry that it is so than that you should tell 
 me of it, Caroline ; but from what I saAv during my short 
 visit, I can fully give credit to all you have said." 
 
 " But is it not a hard case, Valerie, when you cannot 
 
 160
 
 VALERIE 
 
 respect your parents ? " replied Caroline, putting her handker- 
 chief to her eyes. 
 
 " It is, my dear ; but still, on the whole, it is, perhaps, 
 for the best. You were taken from your parents, and were 
 well brought up ; you return to them, and find tliem many 
 degrees below you in the scale of refinement, and therefore 
 you cannot respect them. Now, if you had never left 
 them, you would of course have remained down at their 
 level, and would have respected them, having imbibed the 
 same opinions, and perceiving nothing wrong in their con- 
 duct. Now, which of the two would you prefer if you had 
 the power to choose .''" 
 
 "Most certainly to be as I am," replied Caroline; "but 
 I cannot but grieve that my parents should not have been 
 like my aunt Bathurst." 
 
 " I agree with you in that feeling ; but what is — is, and 
 we must make the best of it. You must excuse your 
 parents' faults as much as you can, since your education 
 will not permit you to be blind to them, and you must treat 
 them with respect fi-om a sense of duty." 
 
 "That I have always done," replied Caroline; "but it 
 too often happens that 1 have to decide between the re- 
 spect I would show to my parents, and a sense of justice, 
 or a love of truth opposed to it — that is the greatest 
 difficulty." 
 
 "Very true," replied I, "and in such cases you must act 
 according to the dictates of your own conscience." 
 
 "Well," replied Caroline, "I think I have done wisely in 
 getting away altogether. I have seen little of my aunt 
 Bathurst since you took me to my father's house ; for, 
 although some advances were made towards a reconciliation, 
 as soon as my aunt was told that my father and mother 
 liad stated that I had been most improperly bi'ought up 
 by her, she was so angry at the false accusation, that all 
 intercourse is broken off, I fear, for ever. Oh, how I have 
 longed to be with my aunt again ! But, Valerie, I never 
 heard Avhy you left her. Some one did say that you had 
 gone, but why was not known." 
 
 " I went away, Caroline, because I was no longer of any 
 use in the house after you had been removed, and I did 
 not choose to be an encumbrance to your aunt. I preferred 
 
 161 L
 
 VALERIE 
 
 gaining my livelihood by my own exertions, as I am now 
 doing, and to which resolution on my part I am indebted 
 for the pleasure of our again meeting." 
 
 " Ah, \'alerie, I never loved you so much as I did after 
 I had lost you," said Caroline. 
 
 "That is generally the case, my dear," rej)lied I; "but 
 now, if you please, we will try this sonata. We shall 
 have plenty of time for talking, as we shall meet twice 
 a week." 
 
 Caroline played the sonata, and then dropping her fingers 
 on the keys, said, " Now, Valerie, do you know what was 
 one of my wild dreams which assisted in inducing me to 
 come here ? I'll tell you. I know that I shall never find 
 a husband at my father's house. All well-bred people, if 
 they once go there, do not go a second time, and whatever 
 may be the merits of the daughter, they have no time to 
 find them out, and leave the house with the sup])osition that 
 she, having been educated in so bad a school, must be 
 unworthy of notice. Now I mean, if I can, to elope from 
 school, that is, if I can find a gentleman to my fancy — not 
 to Gretna Green, but as soon as I am married, to go to 
 my aunt Bathurst direct, and you know that once under a 
 husband's protection, my father and mother have no control 
 over me. Will you assist my views, Valerie .'' It's the only 
 chance I have of happiness." 
 
 " A very pretty confession for a young lady not yet 
 eighteen," replied I ; " and a very pretty question to put to 
 me who have been your governess, Caroline. I am afraid 
 that you must not look to me for assistance, but consider it, 
 as you tei'med it at first, a wild dream." 
 
 " Nevertheless, dreams come true sometimes," replied 
 Caroline, laughing ; " and all I I'equire is birth and character : 
 you know that I must have plenty of money." 
 
 " But, my dear Caroline, it is not people of birth and 
 character who prowl round boarding-schools in search of 
 heiresses." 
 
 " I know that ; and that was why I asked you to help me. 
 At all events, I'll not leave this place till I am married, or 
 going to be married, that's certain, if I stay here till I'm 
 twenty-five." 
 
 " Well, do not make rash resolutions ; but surely, Caroline, 
 
 162
 
 VALERIE 
 
 you have not reason to complain of your parents' treatment ; 
 they are kind and affectionate towards you." 
 
 " Indeed they are not, nor were they from tlie time that 
 I returned to them with you. They try by force to make 
 nie espouse their own incorrect notions of right and wrong, 
 and it is one scene of daily altercation. They abuse and 
 laugh at aunt Bathurst, I believe, on purpose to vex me ; 
 and, having never lived with thena from my infancy, of 
 course, when I met them I had to learn to love them. 
 I was wilHng so to do, notwithstanding their unkindness 
 to my aunt, whom I love so dearly, but they would not 
 let me ; and now I really believe that they care little 
 about me, and would care nothing, if I Avere not their 
 only daughter, for you know, perhaps, that both my brothers 
 are now dead .'' " 
 
 " I knew that one was," replied I. 
 
 " The other, William, died last year," replied Caroline ; 
 " his death was a release, poor fellow, as he had a com- 
 plaint in the spine for many years. Do you know what 
 I mean to do .'' I shall write to aunt Bathurst to come and 
 see me." 
 
 "Well, I think you will be right in so doing; but will not 
 your father and mother come to you ? " 
 
 " No, for the)' are very angry, and say that until I come 
 to my senses, and learn the difference between people 
 who are somebodies, and people who are nobodies, they 
 will take no notice of me ; and that I may remain 
 here till I am tired, which they think I shall soon be, 
 and write to come back again. The last words of my 
 father when he brought me here and left me, were, ' I 
 leave you here to come to your senses.' He was white 
 with anger ; but I do not wish to talk any more about 
 them." 
 
 " And your time is up, Caroline, so you must go and 
 make room for another pupil. Miss Greaves is the next." 
 
 Shortly after my meeting with Cai'oline, I received a 
 letter from Lionel, stating that it was his intention to 
 come over to England for a fortnight, and asking whether 
 he could execute any commissions for me in Paris, jirevious 
 to his departure. He also informed me that he had 
 received a very kind letter from his uncle the baronet, 
 
 \63
 
 VAT^ERIE 
 
 who had had several interviews with Mr. Selwyn, and 
 who was fully satisfied with his identity, and acknowledged 
 him as his nephew. This gave me great pleasure. I 
 replied to his letter, stating that I should be most happy 
 to see him, but that as for commissions, I was too poor 
 to give him any. Madame d'Albret had sent her kind 
 souvenirs to me in Lionel's letter, and I returned them 
 in my reply. Indeed, now that I was earning a liveli- 
 hood, and, by my own exertions, I felt that I was every 
 day adding to my means and future independence, a great 
 change, I may safely say for the better, took place in 
 me. My pride was lessened, that is, my worst pride was 
 superseded by a moi*e honest one. I had a strange re- 
 vulsion in feeling towards Madame d'Albret, Madame 
 
 Bathurst, and Lady M , and I felt that I could forgive 
 
 them all. I was no longer brooding over my dependent 
 jiosition, fancying, perhaps, insults never intended, or irri- 
 tated by real slights. Everything was couleur cle ruse with 
 me, and that couleur was reflected upon everything. 
 
 " Ah, Mademoiselle Valerie," said Madame Gironac to 
 me one day, " I had no idea when I first made your 
 acquaintance that you were so witty. My husband and 
 all the gentlemen say that you have plus d'esprit than any 
 woman they ever conversed with." 
 
 " When I first knew you, Annette, I was not happy ; 
 now I am happy, almost too happy, and that is the reason 
 I am so gay." 
 
 "And I don't think you hate the men so much as you 
 did," continued she. 
 
 " I am in a humour to hate nobody," replied L 
 
 " That is true ; and. Mademoiselle Valerie, you will marry 
 one of these days ; mind," continued she, putting up her 
 finger, " I tell you so." 
 
 "And I tell you, no," replied L " I think there is only 
 one excuse for a woman marrying, which is, when she 
 requires some one to support her ; that is not my ease, 
 for I thank Heaven I can support myself." 
 
 " Nous verrons," replied Madame Gironac. 
 
 Caroline did, however, find the restraint of a school 
 rather irksome, and wished very much to go out with me. 
 When the holidays arrived, and the other young ladies 
 
 164
 
 VALERIE 
 
 had gone home, I spoke to Mrs. Bradshaw, and as she 
 was very partial to me, and knew my former relations 
 witli Caroline, she gave her consent. Shortly afterwards, 
 Mrs. Hradshaw accepted an invitation to pass three weeks 
 with some friends, and I then proposed that Caroline 
 should pass the remainder of the holidays with me, to 
 which Mrs. Bradshaw also consented, much to Caroline's 
 delight. Madame Gironac had made up a bed for her in 
 my room, and we were a \ery merry party. 
 
 A few days after Caroline came to the house, Lionel made 
 his appearance. I should hardly have believed it possible 
 that he could have so improved in appeai-ance in so short a 
 time. He brought me a very kind letter from Madame 
 d'Albret, in which she begged, as a proof of my having 
 forgiven her, that I would not refuse a few presents she had 
 sent by Lionel. They were very beautiful and expensive, 
 and, when I had had some conversation with Lionel, I made 
 up my mind that I would not return them, which certainly 
 I at first felt more inclined to do than to keep them. When 
 Lionel took leave, promising to come to dinner, Caroline 
 asked me who that gentlemanly young man was. I replied, 
 that it Avas a Mr. Lionel Dempster, the nephew of Lady 
 
 R ; but further conversation was interrupted by the 
 
 arrival of young Mr. Selwyn, who came with a message 
 from his fother inviting me to Kew. I declined the in- 
 vitation, on the plea of Caroline being with me. Mr. 
 Selwyn remained some time conversing with me, and at 
 last inquired if I should like to go to the next meeting at 
 the Horticultural Gardens, at the same time offering me two 
 tickets. As I was anxious to see the gardens, I accepted 
 them. He told me that his father would call for us, and 
 his mother and sisters were to be there, and then he took 
 leave. 
 
 "Who is Mr. Selwyn.-^" inquired Caroline. 
 
 I told her. 
 
 *'WcIl," said she, "I have seen two nice 3'oung men this 
 morning; 1 don't know which I like best, but 1 think Mr. 
 Selwyn is the more manly of the two." 
 
 "I should think so, too, Caroline," re])lied I; "Mr. 
 Selwyn is twenty-four years old, I believe, and Mr. Dempster 
 is younger, I think, than you are." 
 
 165
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " I did not think he was so young ; but, Valerie, are we 
 not to go to the National Gallery ? " 
 
 " Yes, when Monsieur Gironac comes home to escort us ; 
 we may as well put on our bonnets, for he will be here in 
 a few minutes." 
 
 " Oh, Valerie, how fortunate it was that I came to 
 Mrs. Bradshaw's," said Caroline, "and that I met you! 
 I should have been moped, that is certain, if I had not ; 
 but now I'm so happy — that's Monsieur Gironac's knock, 
 I'm sure." 
 
 But Caroline was wrong, for it was Mademoiselle Chabot, 
 of whom I have before spoken, who made her appearance. 
 Mademoiselle Chabot was an acquaintance of Madame 
 Gironac, and it w'as through my having become intimate 
 with her, that I obtained the teaching at Mrs. Bradshaw's. 
 Adele Chabot was a very pretty person, thoroughly French, 
 and dressed with great taste. She was the resident French 
 teacher in Mrs. Bradshaw's establishment ; and, although 
 tw'enty-five years old, did not look more than eighteen ; she 
 was very amusing and rather wild, although she looked 
 very demure. I never thought that there was anything 
 wrong in Adele, but, at the same time, I did not consider 
 that Caroline would derive any good from her company, as 
 Caroline required to be held in check as it w^as. But, as 
 is usually the case, the more I attempted to check any 
 intimacy between them, the more intimate they became. 
 Adele was of a good family ; her father had fallen at 
 Montmartre, when the allies entered Paris after the battle 
 of Waterloo ; but the property left was very small to be 
 divided among a large family, and consequently Adele had 
 first gone out as a govex'ness at Pai-is, and ultimately 
 accepted the situation she now held. She spoke English 
 remarkably well, indeed, better than I ever heard it 
 spoken by a Frenchwoman ; and everybody said so as well 
 as me. 
 
 " Well, Adele, I thought you were at Brighton," said 
 Caroline. 
 
 " I was yesterday, and I am here to-day ; I am come to 
 dine with you," re2)lied Adele, taking off her bonnet and 
 shawl, and smoothing her hair before the glass. " Where's 
 Madame Gironac } " 
 
 166
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " Gone out to give a lesson in flower-making," replied I, 
 
 "Yes, she is like the little busy bees, always on the wing, 
 and, as the hymn says, ' How neat she spreads her wax ! ' 
 And Monsieur, where is he ? " 
 
 "Gone out to give a lesson, also," replied I. 
 
 "Yes, he's like the wind, always blowing, one hour the 
 flute, another the French horn, then the bassoon or the 
 bugle : always blowing and always shifting from one point 
 to the other ; never a calm with him, for when he comes 
 home there's a breeze with his wife, a raimahle, to be 
 sure." 
 
 " Yes," replied Caroline, " always blowing, but never coming 
 to blows." 
 
 "You are witty, Mademoiselle Caroline," said Adele, "with 
 your paradox. Do you know that I had an adventure at 
 Brighton, and I am taken for you by a very fashionable 
 young man ? " 
 
 " How can you have been taken for me ? " said Caroline. 
 
 "The gentleman wished to find out who I was, and I 
 would not tell him. He inquired of the chambermaid of 
 the lodging-house, and bribed hei-, I presume, for the next 
 day she came up to my i-oom and asked me for my card, 
 that her mistress might write my name down correctly in 
 the book. I knew that the mistress had not sent her, as 
 I had, by her request, entered my own name in the book 
 three days before, and I was therefore certain that it was 
 to find out who I was for the gentleman who followed me 
 everywhere. I recollected that I had a card of yours 
 in my case, and I gave it to her veiy quietly, and she 
 walked off with it. The next day, when I was at the 
 library, the gentleman addressed me by your name ; I 
 told him that it was not my name, and requested that 
 he would not address me again. When I left Brighton 
 yesterday, I discovered the chambermaid copying the ad- 
 dresses I had put on my trunks, which was your name, 
 at Mrs. Bradshaw's; so now I think we shall have somfe 
 fun." 
 
 " But, my dear Adele, you have not been prudent ; you 
 may compromise Caroline very much," said I; "recollect 
 that men talk, and something unpleasant may occur from 
 this want of discretion on your part." 
 
 167
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " Be not afraid, Valerie ; I conducted myself with such 
 prudery that an angel's character could not sutter." 
 
 '• I do not mean to hint otherwise, Adele ; but still 
 you must acknowledge that you have done an imprudent 
 thing." 
 
 " Well, I do confess it ; but, Valerie, every one has not 
 your discretion and good sense. At all events, if 1 see or 
 hear any more of the gentleman, I can undo it again, — but 
 that is not veiy likely." 
 
 " We have had two gentlemen here to-day, Adele," said 
 Caroline, "and one dines with us." 
 
 " Indeed ; well, I'm in demi-toiletle, and must remain so, 
 for I cannot go all the way back to Mrs. Bradshaw's to 
 dress." 
 
 " He is a very handsome young man, is he not, Valerie .'' " 
 
 *'Yes," replied I, "and of lai'ge fortune, too." 
 
 "Well, I shall not have a fair chance, then," said Adele, 
 "for go back I cannot." 
 
 " Now, Adele, you know how much more becoming the 
 deini-toilette is to you than the evening dress," replied Caroline, 
 "so don't pretend to deny it." 
 
 " I deny nothing, and I admit nothing," replied Adele, 
 laughing, " except that I am a woman, and now draw your 
 own inferences and conclusions — ce vi'est cgal." 
 
 We had a very pleasant dinner-party. Adele tried to flirt 
 with Lionel, but it was in vain. He had no attentions to 
 throw away, except upon me ; once he whispered, " I should 
 not feel strange at being seated with others, but to be by 
 your side does make me awkward. Old habits are strong, 
 and every now and then I find myself jumping up to change 
 your plate." 
 
 " It's a great pleasure to me, Lionel, to find you in the 
 position you are entitled to from your birth. You will soon 
 sit down with people of more consequence than Valerie de 
 Chatenoeuf." 
 
 " But never with any one that I shall esteem or respect so 
 much, be they who they may," replied Lionel. 
 
 During dinner, I mentioned that Mr. Selwyn had called and 
 engaged Caroline and me to go to the horticultural fete. 
 
 " I wish Madame Gironac was going," continued I, " she 
 is so fond of flowers." 
 
 168
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "Never mind, iiiy dear Valerie; I will stay at home and 
 earn some money." 
 
 " Madame," cried Monsieur Gironac, pretending to be very 
 angry, and striking with his fist on the table so as to make 
 all the wine-glasses ring, "you shall do no such thing. You 
 shall not always oppose my wishes. You shall not stay at 
 home and earn some money. Y'ou shall go out and spend 
 money. Yes, madame, I will be obeyed ; you shall go to 
 the horticultural fete, and I invite Monsieur Lionel and 
 Mademoiselle Adele to come with us, that they may witness 
 that I am the master. Yes, madame, resistance is useless. 
 You shall go in a remise de ver, or glass-coach, as round as 
 a pumpkin; but you shall not go in glass slippei's, like 
 Cinderella, because they are not pleasant to walk in. How 
 Cinderella danced in them has always been a puzzle to me, 
 ever since I was a child, and of what kind of glass they 
 were made." 
 
 " Perhaps isinglass," said Lionel. 
 
 " No, sir, not isinglass ; it must have been fairy glass ; 
 but never mind. I ask you, Madame Gironac, whether 
 3'ou intend to be an obedient wife, or intend to resist my 
 connnands ?" 
 
 " Barbare," replied Madame Gironac, " am I then to be 
 forced to go to a fete ! Ah, cruel man, you'll break my 
 heart ; but I submit to my unhappy destiny. Yes, I will go 
 in the remise de ver : pity me, my good friends, but you don't 
 know that man." 
 
 " I am satisfied with your obedience, madame, and now I 
 permit you to embrace me." 
 
 Madame Gironac, who was delighted at the idea of going 
 to the fete, ran to her husband, and kissed him over and 
 over again. Adele and Lionel accepted Monsieur Gironac's in- 
 vitation, and thus was the affair settled in Monsieur Gironac's 
 queer way. 
 
 The day of the horticultural fete arrived. It was a lovely 
 morning. We were all dressed and the glass-coach was 
 at the door, when Mr. Selwjn arrived in his carriage, and 
 Caroline and I stepj)ed in. I introduced Caroline, who 
 was remarkably well tiressed, and very pretty. Mr. Selwyn 
 had before told me that he was acquainted with Madame 
 Bathurst, having met her two or three times, and sat by her 
 
 169
 
 VALERIE 
 
 at a dinner-party. He appeared much pleased with CaroHne, 
 but could not make out how she was in my company. Of 
 course he asked no questions before her. 
 
 On our arrival at the gardens, we found young Mr. Selwyn 
 waiting at the entrance to take us to Mrs. Selwyn and his 
 sisters, who had come from their house at Kew. About 
 half-an-hour afterwards we fell in with Monsieur Gironac, 
 madarae, Adele, and Lionel. Mr. Selwyn greeted Lionel 
 warmly, introducing him to his family ; and on my pre- 
 senting the Gironacs and Adele, was very polite and 
 friendly, for he knew from me how kind they had been. 
 Adele Chabot never looked so Avell ; lier costume was 
 most becoming ; she had put on her oir mutine, and was 
 admired by all who passed us. We were all grouped 
 together close to the band, when, who should appear 
 right in front of us but Madame Bathurst. At that time 
 Caroline was on the one arm of Mr. Selwyn, and I on the 
 other. 
 
 "Caroline !" exclaimed Madame Bathurst, " and you here ! " 
 turning to me. 
 
 While she remained in astonishment, Caroline ran up and 
 kissed her. 
 
 " You recollect Mr. Selwyn, aunt, do you not } " 
 
 " Yes," said Madame Bathurst, returning the salute of Mr. 
 Selwyn, "but still I am surj)rised." 
 
 " Come with me, aunt, and I will tell you all about it." 
 
 Caroline then walked to a seat at a little distance, sat 
 down, and entered into conversation with Madame Bathurst. 
 In a few minutes Madame Bathurst rose, and came up to 
 our party, with Caroline on her arm. 
 
 She first thanked Mr. Selwyn for his kindness in bring- 
 ing her niece to the fete, and then turning to me, said 
 with some emotion, as she offered her hand, " Valerie, I hope 
 we are friends. We have mistaken each other." 
 
 I felt all my resentment gone, and took her offered 
 hand. 
 
 She then led me aside, and said, " I must beg your pardon, 
 Valerie, I did not " 
 
 " Nay," replied I, interrupting her, " I was too hasty and 
 too proud." 
 
 " You are a good, kind-hearted girl, Valerie — but let 
 
 170
 
 VALERIE 
 
 us say no more about it. Now introduce me to youi* 
 friends." 
 
 I did so. Madame Bathurst was most gracious, and 
 appeared vei*y much struck with Adcle Chabot, and entered 
 into convei'sation witli her, and certainly Adele would not 
 have been taken for a French teacher by her appearance. 
 There was something very aristocratic about her. While 
 they were in converse, a very gentlemanlike man raised 
 his hat to Madame Bathurst, as I thought, and passed on. 
 Adele coloured up, I observed, as if she knew him, but did 
 not return the salute, which Madame Bathurst did. 
 
 " Do you know that gentleman. Mademoiselle Chabot .-^ " 
 inquired Caroline. " I thought he bowed to you, and not 
 to aunt." 
 
 " I have seen him before," replied Adele carelessly, " but 
 I forget his name." 
 
 "Then I can tell you," added Madame Bathurst; "it is 
 Colonel Jervis, a very fashionable man, but not a very great 
 favourite of mine ; not that I have anything to accuse him 
 of jvu-ticularly, except that he is said to be a very worldly 
 man." 
 
 " Is he of good family ? " inquired Adele. 
 
 " Oh yes, unexceptionable on that point ; but it is time 
 for me to go. There is my party coming down the walk. 
 Caroline, dear, I will call upon you to-morroAv at three 
 o'clock, and then wc will make our arrangements." 
 
 Madame Bathurst then bade adieu to Mr. Selwyn and 
 the rest, saying to me, " Au rcvoir, Valerie." 
 
 Shortly afterwards Ave agreed to leave. As Mr. Selwyn 
 was returning to Kew, I would not accept the offer of his 
 carriage to take Caroline and me to London, the glass-coach, 
 round as a pumpkin, would hold six, and we all went away 
 together. 
 
 I was very much pleased at thus meeting with Madame 
 Bathurst, and our reconciliation, and quite as much so for 
 Caroline's sake; for although she had at first said that she 
 would write to her aunt, she had put it ofl' continually, for 
 reasons which she liad never expressed to me. I rather 
 think that she feared her aunt might prove a check on 
 her, and I was, therefore, very glad that they had met, as 
 now Madame Bathurst would look after her. 
 
 171
 
 VALERIE 
 
 During the evening, I observed that Adele and Caroline 
 had a long conversation sotto voce. I susj^ected that the 
 gentleman, at whose appearance she had coloured up, -was 
 the subject of it. The next day Madame Bathurst called, 
 and heard a detailed account of all that had passed from 
 Caroline and from me since we had ])arted. She said, that 
 as Caroline was put to the school by her father, of course 
 she could not remove her, but that she would call and see 
 her as often as she could. She congratulated me upon my 
 little independence, and trusted that we should ever be on 
 friendly terms, and that I would come and visit her when- 
 ever my avocations would permit me. As there were still 
 three weeks of the holidays remaining, she proposed that 
 we should come and pass a portion of the time with her 
 at a villa which she had upon the banks of the Thames. 
 
 She said that Caroline's father and mother were down at 
 Brighton, giving very gay parties. Having arranged the 
 time that the carriage should come for us on the following 
 da}', she kissed us both affectionately, and went away. 
 
 The next day we were at Richmond, in a delightful 
 cottage ornee ; and there we remained for more than a 
 fortnight. To me it was a time of much happiness, for it 
 was like the renewal of old times, and I was sorry when 
 the visit was over. 
 
 On my return, I found a pressing invitation for Caroline 
 and me to go to Kew, and remain two or three days, and 
 as we had still time to pay tlie visit, it was accepted ; but 
 before we went, Adele came to see us, and after a little 
 general conversation, requested that she might speak to 
 me in my own room. 
 
 " Valerie," said Adele, as soon as we were seated, " I 
 know that you think me a wild girl, and perhaps I am so ; 
 but I am not quite so wild as I thought myself; for now 
 that I am in a critical position, I come to you for advice, 
 and for advice against my own feelings, for I tell you 
 frankly that I am very much in love, and moreover, 
 which you may well supjiose, most anxious to be relieved 
 from the detestable position of a French teacher in a 
 boarding-school. I now have the opportunity, and yet I 
 dread to avail mvself of it, and I therefore come to you, 
 who are so prudent and so sage, to request, after you have 
 
 172
 
 VALERIE 
 
 heard what I have to impart, you will give me yo"r real 
 opinion as to what I oiip^ht to do. You recollect that I 
 told you that a gentleman had followed nie at Jirighton, 
 and how for mere frolic I had led him to suppose that I 
 was (ai-oline Stanhope ; I certainly did not expect to see 
 him again, but I did three days after I came up from 
 Brighton. The girl had evidently copied the address on 
 my trunk for him, and he followed me up, and he accosted 
 me as I was walking home. He told me that he had 
 never slept since he had first seen me, and that he was 
 honourably in love with me. I replied that he was mis- 
 taken in supposing that I was Caroline Stanhope ; that my 
 name was Adele Chabot, and that now that I had stated 
 the truth to him, he would alter his sentiments. He de- 
 clared that he should not, pressed me to allow him to call, 
 which I refused, and such was our fii'st interview. 
 
 " I did not see him again until at the horticultural fete, 
 when I was talking to Madame Bathurst. He had told me 
 that he was an officer in the army, but he did not mention 
 his name. You recollect what Madame Bathurst said about 
 him, and who he was. Since you have been at Richmond, 
 he has contrived to see me every day, and I will confess 
 that latterly I have not been unwilling to meet him, for 
 every day I have been more pleased with him. On our 
 first meeting after the fete, I told him that he still supposed 
 me to be Caroline Stanhope, and that seeing me Avalking 
 with Caroline's aunt had confirmed him in his idea; but I 
 assured him that I was Adele Chabot, a gii*l without fortune, 
 and not, as he supposed, a great heiress. His answer was, 
 that any acquaintance of Madame Bathurst's must be a 
 lady, and that he had never inquired or thought about my 
 fortune. That my having none would prove the dis- 
 interestedness of his affection for me, and that he required 
 me and nothing more. I have seen him every day almost 
 since then ; he has given me his name, and made proposals 
 to me, notwithstanding my reiterated assertions that I am 
 Adele Chabot, and not Caroline Stanho})e. One thing is 
 certain, that I am very much attached to him, and if I do 
 not mai-ry him I shall be very miserable for a long time ; " 
 and here Adele burst into tears. 
 
 " But why do you grieve, Adele ? " said I ; " you like 
 
 173
 
 VALERIE 
 
 him, and he offers to marry you. My advice is very simple, 
 — marry him." 
 
 "Yes," repHed AdMe, "if all vas as it seems. I agree 
 with you that my course is clear ; but, notwithstanding 
 his repeated assertions that he loves me as Adele Chabot, 
 I am convinced in my own mind that he still believes me 
 to be Caroline Stanhope. Perhaps he thinks that I am 
 a romantic young lady who is determined to be married 
 pour ses beaux yeux alone, and conceals her being an heiress 
 on that account, and he therefore humours me by pretend- 
 ing to believe that I am a poor girl without a shilliug. 
 Now, Valerie, here is my difficulty. If I were to marry 
 him, as he proposes, when he comes to find out that he 
 has been deceiving himself, and that I am not the heiress, 
 will he not be angry, and, perhaps, disgusted with me — 
 will he not blame me instead of himself, as people always 
 do, and will he not ill-treat me .'' If he did, it would 
 break my heart, for I love him — love him dearly. Then, 
 on the other hand, I may be wrong, and he may be, as 
 he says, in love with Adele Chabot ; so that I shall have 
 thrown away my chance of happiness from an erroneous 
 idea. What shall I do, Valerie ? Do advise me." 
 
 " Much will depend on the character of the man, Adele. 
 You have some insight into people's characters, what idea 
 have you formed of his } " 
 
 " I hardly can say ; for when men profess to be in love, 
 they are such deceivers. Their faults are concealed, and 
 they assume virtues which they do not possess. On my 
 first meeting with him, I thought that he was a proud 
 man — perhaps I might say a vain man — but, since I have 
 seen more of him, I think I was wrong." 
 
 " No, Adele, depend upon it you were right ; at that 
 time you were not blinded as you are now. Do you think 
 him a good-tempered man } " 
 
 " Yes, I firmly believe that he is. I made a remark 
 at Brighton : a child that had its fingers very dirty I'an 
 out to him, and as it stumbled jmnted the marks of its 
 fingers upon his white trousers, so that he was obliged 
 to return home and change them. Instead of pushing 
 the child away, he saved it from falling, saying, ' Well, 
 my little man, it's better that I should change my dress 
 
 174
 
 VALERIE 
 
 than that you should have broken your head on the pave- 
 ment.' " 
 
 "Well, AdMe, I agree with you tliat it is a proof of great 
 good temper." 
 
 "Well, then, Valerie, what do you think .^ " 
 
 " I think that it is a lottery ; hut all marriages are 
 lotteries, with more blanks than prizes. You have done 
 all you can to undeceive him, if he still deceives himself. 
 You can do no more. I will assume that he does deceive 
 himself, and that disappointment and irritation will be 
 the consequence of his discovery, that 30U have been tell- 
 ing the truth. If he is a vain man, he will not like to 
 acknowledge to the Avorld that he has been his own dupe. 
 If he is a good-hearted man, he will not long continue 
 angry ; but, Adele, much depends upon yourself. You 
 must forbear all recrimination — you must exert all your 
 talents of pleasing to reconcile him to his disappointment ; 
 and, if you act wisely, you will probably succeed ; indeed, 
 unless the man is a bad-hearted man, you must eventually 
 succeed. You best knoAv your own powers, and must decide 
 for yourself." 
 
 " It is that feeling — that almost certain feeling that I 
 shall be able to console him for his disappointment, that 
 impels me on. Valerie, I will make him love me, I am 
 determined." 
 
 " And when a woman is determined on that point, she 
 invariably succeeds in the end, Adele. This is supposing 
 that he is deceiving himself, which may not be the case, 
 Adele ; for I do think that you have sufficient attrac- 
 tions to make a man love you for yourself alone ; and 
 i*ecollect that such may be the ease in the present instance. 
 It may be that at first he followed you as an heiress, 
 and has since found out that if not an heiress, you are a 
 very charming woman, and has in consequence been un- 
 able to resist your influence. However, there is only one 
 to whom the secrets of the heart are known. I consider 
 that you have acted honourably, and if you choose to risk 
 the hazard of the die, no one can attach blame to you." 
 
 " Thank you, Valerie ; you have taken a great load off 
 my heart. If you think I am not doing -svrong, I will risk 
 everything." 
 
 175
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "Well, Ad^le, let you decide how you may, I hope you 
 will prosper. For my part, I would not cross the street 
 for the best man that ever was created. As friends, they 
 are all very well ; as advisers, in some cases, they are use- 
 ful ; but when you talk of marrying one, and becoming 
 his slave, that is (juite another affair. What were you and 
 Caroline talking about so earnestly in the corner.''" 
 
 " I will confess the truth, it was of love and marriage, 
 with an episode about Mr. Charles Selwyn, of whom Caroline 
 appears to have a very good opinion." 
 
 " Well, Adele, I must go down again now. If you wish 
 my advice at any future time, such as it is, it is at your 
 service. You are making 'A Bold Stroke for a Husband,' 
 that's certain. However, the title of another play is ' All's 
 Well that Ends Well.' " 
 
 "Well, I will follow out your playing upon playSj Valerie, 
 by saying that with you ^Love's Labour's Lost.' " 
 
 " Exactly," replied I, " because I consider it ' Much Ado 
 about Nothing.' " 
 
 The next day, Lionel came to bid me farewell, as he 
 was returning to Paris. During our sojourn at Madame 
 Bathurst's, he had been down to see his uncle, and had 
 been very kindly received. I wrote to Madame d'Albret, 
 thanking her for her presents, which, valuable as they 
 were, I would not retui'n after what she had said, and 
 confided to Lionel a box of the flowers in wax that I was 
 so successful in imitating, and which I requested her to 
 put on her side table in i-emembrance of me. Mr. Selwyn 
 sent the carriage at the time appointed, and we went down 
 to Kew, where I Avas as kindly received as before. 
 
 What Adele told me of the conversation between Caroline 
 and her made me watchful, and before our visit was out, 
 I had made up my mind that there was a mutual feeling 
 between her and young Mr. Selwyn. When we were going 
 away, this was confirmed, but I took no notice. But al- 
 though I made no remark, this commencement of an attach- 
 ment between Caroline and him occupied my mind during 
 the whole of our journey to town. 
 
 In Caroline's position, I was not decided if I would 
 encourage it and assist it. Charles Selwyn Avas a gentle- 
 man by birth and profession, a very good-looking and very 
 
 176
 
 VALEIilJ-: 
 
 talented young man. All his family were amiable, and 
 he hixuself remarkably kind-hearted and wcll-disj)osed. 
 That Caroline was not likely to return to her father's 
 house, where I felt assured that she was miserable, w-as 
 very evident, and that she would soon weary of the 
 monotony of a school at her age was also to be expected. 
 There was, therefore, every probability that she would, if 
 she found an opportunity, run away, as she stated to me 
 she would, and it was ten chances to one that in so doing 
 she would make an unfortunate match, either becoming the 
 prey of some fortune-hunter, or connecting herself with some 
 thoughtless young man. 
 
 Could she do better than marry Mr. Selwyn ? Certainly 
 not. That her father and mother, who thought only of 
 dukes and earls, would give their consent, was not very 
 likely. Should I acquaint Madame Bathurst ? That would 
 be of little use, as she would not interfere. Should I 
 tell Mr. Selwyn's father ? No. If a match at all, it must 
 be a runaway match, and Mr. Selwyn, senior, would never 
 sanction anything of the kind. I resolved, therefore, to 
 let the affair ri])en as it might. It would occupy Caroline, 
 and prevent her doing a more foolish thing, even if it 
 were to be ultimately broken off by unforeseen circum- 
 stances. Caroline seemed as much absorbed by her own 
 thoughts as I was during the ride, and not a syllable was 
 exchanged between us till we were roused by the rattling 
 over the stones. 
 
 " My dear Caroline, what a reverie you have been in," 
 said I. 
 
 "And you, Valerie." 
 
 " Why, I have been thinking ; certainly, when I cannot 
 have a more agreeable companion, I amuse myself with my 
 own thoughts." 
 
 " Will you tell me what you have been thinking about." 
 
 " Yes, Caroline, provided you will be equally confiding." 
 
 "I will, I assure you." 
 
 " Well, then, I was thinking of a gentleman." 
 
 " And so Avas I," re})lied Caroline. 
 
 " Mine was a very handsome, clever young man." 
 
 " And so was mine," rej)lied she. 
 
 " But I am not smitten with him," continued I. 
 
 177 11
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "I cannot answer that question," replied Caroline, "because 
 I do not know who you were thinking about." 
 
 " You must answer the question as to the gentleman you 
 were thinking of, Caroline. I repeat that I am not smitten 
 with him, and that his name is Mr. Charles Selwyn." 
 
 " I was also thinking of Mr. Charles Selwyn/' replied 
 Caroline. 
 
 '' And you are not smitten with him any more than I am, 
 or he is with you t " continued I, smiling, and looking her 
 full in the face. 
 
 Caroline coloured, and said — 
 
 " I like him very much from what I have seen of him, 
 Valerie ; but, recollect, our acquaintance has been very 
 short." 
 
 " A very proper answer, my dear Caroline, and given with 
 due maidenly decorum — but here we are ; and there is 
 Madame Gironac nodding to us from the window." 
 
 The next day Caroline went back to Mrs. Bradshaw's, and 
 I did not see her till the music-lesson of Wednesday after- 
 wards. Caroline, who had been watching for me, met me at 
 the door. 
 
 " Oh ! Valerie, I have a great deal to tell. In the 
 first place, the establishment is in an uproar at the dis- 
 appearance of Adele Chabot, who has removed her clothes, 
 and gone off without beat of drum. One of the maids 
 states that she has several times seen her walking and 
 talking -svith a tall gentleman, and Mrs. Bradshaw thinks 
 that the reputation of her school is ruined by Adele's flight. 
 She has drunk at least two bottles of eau-de-cologne and 
 water to keep off the hysterics, and is now lying on the 
 sofa, talking in a very incoherent way. Miss Phipps says 
 she thinks her head is affected." 
 
 " I should think it was," replied I. " Well, is that all ? " 
 
 " All ! why, Valerie, you apjjear to think nothing of an 
 elopement. All ! why, is it not horrible .'' " 
 
 " I do not think it very horrible, Caroline ; but I am glad 
 to find that you have such correct ideas on that point, as it 
 satisfies me that nothing would induce you to take such 
 a step." 
 
 "Well," replied Caroline quickly, "what I had also to 
 communicate is, that I have seen my father, who informed 
 
 178
 
 VALERIE 
 
 me that on their return from Brighton in October, they 
 expect that I will come home. He said that it was liigh 
 time that 1 was settled in life, and that I could not expect 
 to be married if I remained at a boarding-school." 
 
 " Well, and what did you say ? " 
 
 " I said that I did not expect to be married, and I did not 
 wish it ; that I thought my education was far from complete, 
 and that I wished to improve myself." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " Then he said that he should submit to my caprices no 
 longer, and that I should go back in October, as he had 
 decided." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 "Well, I said no more, and he went away." 
 
 Having received all this intelligence, I went upstairs. I 
 found Mrs. Bradshaw crying bitterly, and she threw herself 
 into my arms. 
 
 "Oh, Mademoiselle Chatenoeuf ! — the disgrace ! — the ruin ! 
 — I shall never get over it," exclaimed she. 
 
 " I see no disgrace or ruin, Mrs. Bradshaw. Adele has 
 told me that a gentleman had proposed marriage to her, and 
 asked my advice." 
 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bradshaw. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Well, that alters the case; but still, why did she leave 
 in this strange way } " 
 
 " I presume the gentleman did not think it right that 
 she should marry out of a young ladies' establishment, 
 madam." 
 
 "^ erj' true ; I did not think of that." 
 
 " After all, what is it } Your French teacher is married — 
 surely that will not injure your establishment.^" 
 
 " No, certainly — why should it } — but the news came upon 
 me so abruptly, that it quite upset me. I will lie down a 
 little, and my head will soon be better." 
 
 Time went on ; so did the school. Miss Adele, that was, 
 sent no wedding-cake, much to the astonishment of the 
 young ladies ; and it was not till nearly three weeks after- 
 wards that I had a letter from Adele C'habot, now Mrs. 
 Jervis. But, before I give the letter to my readers, I 
 must state that Mr. Selwyn, junior, had called upon me 
 
 179
 
 VALERIE 
 
 the day before Caroline went to school, and had had a 
 long conversation ■with her, while I went out to speak with 
 Madame Gironac on business ; further, that Mr. Selwj'n, 
 junior, called upon me a few days afterwards, and after a 
 little commonplace conversation, a I'Anglai.sc, about the 
 weather, he asked after Miss Caroline Stanhope, and then 
 asked many questions. As I knew what he wished, I 
 made to him a full statement of her position, and the un- 
 pleasant predicament in which she was placed. I also 
 stated my conviction that she was not likely to make a 
 happy match, if her husband was selected by her father 
 and mother ; and how much I regretted it, as she was 
 a very amiable, kind-hearted girl, who would make an 
 excellent wife to any one deserving of her. He thought 
 so too, and professed great admiration of her ; and having, 
 as he thought, pumped me sufficiently, he took his leave. 
 
 A few days afterwards, he came upon some pretended 
 message from his father, and then I told him that she 
 was to be removed in October. This appeared to distress 
 him ; but he did not forget to pull out of his pocket a 
 piece of music, sealed uj), telling me that, by mistake, 
 Caroline had left two pieces of music at Kew, and had 
 taken away one belonging to his sister Mary ; that he 
 returned one, but the other was mislaid, and would be 
 returned as soon as it was found ; and would I oblige him 
 so far as to request Miss Stanhope to send him the piece 
 of music belonging to his sister, if she could lay her hand 
 upon it .'' 
 
 " Well, I Avill do your bidding, Mr. Selwyn," replied I ; 
 " it is a very proper message for a music-mistress to take ; 
 and I will also bring back your sister's music, when 
 Caroline gives it me, and you can call here for it. If I 
 am out, you can ask Madame Gironac to give it to you." 
 Upon which, with many thanks and much gratitude for 
 my kindness, Mr. Selwyn withdrew. 
 
 Having made all this known to the reader, he shall now 
 have the contents of Adcle's letter. 
 
 180
 
 VALERIE 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 V\ E must now read Adele's letter. 
 
 " My dear Valerie, — The die is cast, and I liave now 
 a most diHicult game to play. I have risked all upon it, 
 and the happiness of my future life is at stake. But let 
 me narrate what has passed since I made you my confi- 
 dante. Of course, you must know the day on which I 
 was missing. On that day I walked out with him, and 
 we were in a few minutes joined by a friend of his, whom 
 he introduced as Major Argat. After proceeding about 
 one hundred yards farther wc arrived at a chapel, the 
 doors of which were open, and the verger looking out, 
 evidently expecting somebody. 
 
 "'My dear angel,' said the colonel, 'I have the licence 
 in my pocket ; I have requested the clergyman to attend ; 
 he is now in the chapel, and all is ready. My friend will 
 be a witness, and there are others in attendance. You 
 have said that you love me ; trust yourself to me. Prove 
 now that you arc sincere, and consent at once that our 
 hands as well as our hearts be united.' 
 
 "Oh! how I trembled. I could not speak. The words 
 died away upon my lijis. I looked at him imploringly. 
 He led me gently, for my resistance was more in manner 
 than in effect, and I found myself within the chapel, the 
 verger bowing as he preceded us, and the clergyman wait- 
 ing at the altar. To retreat appeared impossible ; indeed 
 I hardly felt as if I wished it, but my feelings were so 
 excited that I burst into tears. What tlie clergyman may 
 have thought of my conduct, and my being dressed so 
 little like a bride, I know not ; but the colonel handed 
 the licence to his friend, who took it to the clergyman 
 while I was recovering myself. At last we went up to 
 the altar : my head swam, and I hardly knew what Avas 
 said, but I repeated the responses, and I was — ^a wife. 
 When the ceremony was over, and I was attempting to 
 rise from my knees, I fell, and was carried by the colonel 
 
 181
 
 VALERIE 
 
 into the vestrV;, "where I remained on a chair trembling 
 witli fear. After a time, the colonel asked nie if I was well 
 enough to sign my name to the marriage register, and he 
 put the pen in my hand. I could not see where to sign ; 
 my eyes were swimming with tears. The clergyman guided 
 my hand to the place, and I wrote Adele Chabot. The 
 knowledge what the effect of this signature might possibly 
 have upon my husband quite overcame me, and I sank 
 my head down upon my hands upon the table. 
 
 '' ' I will send for a glass of water, sir,' said the clerg}Tnan, 
 leaving the vestry to call the verger, or clerk : 'the lady is 
 fainting.' 
 
 " After he went out, I heard the colonel and his friend 
 speaking in low tones apart. Probably they thought that I 
 was not in a condition to pay attention to them, — but I had 
 too much at stake. 
 
 " ' Yes,' replied the colonel, ' she has signed as you say, 
 but she hardly knows what she is about. Depend upon it, 
 it is as I told you.' 
 
 " I did not hear the majoi-'s reply, but I did what the 
 colonel said. 
 
 " ' It's all the better ; the marriage will not be legal, and 
 I can bring her parents to my own terms.' 
 
 " All doubt was now at an end. He had married me 
 convinced, and still convinced, that I was Caroline Stanhope, 
 and not Adele Chabot, and he had married me supposing 
 that I was an heiress. My blood ran cold, and in a few 
 seconds I was senseless, and should have fallen under the 
 table, had they not perceived that I was sinking, and ran 
 to my support. The arrival of the clergyman with the 
 water recovered me. My husband Avhispered to me that 
 it was time to go, and that a carriage was at the door. I 
 do not recollect how I left the church ; the motion of the 
 carriage first roused me up, and a flood of tears came to my 
 relief How strange it is, Valerie, that we should be so 
 courageous and such cowards at the same time. Would 
 you believe, when I had collected myself, with a certain 
 knowledge that my husband had deceived himself — a full 
 conviction of the danger of my position when he found 
 out his mistake, and that my future happiness was at stake 
 — I felt glad that the deed was done, and would not have 
 
 182
 
 VALERIE 
 
 been unmavriecl again for the universe. As I became more 
 composed, I felt that it was time to act. I wiped away my 
 tears and said, as I smiled upon my husband, who held my 
 hand in his, ' I know that I have behaved very ill, and very 
 foolishly, but I was so taken by surprise.' 
 
 " ' Do you think that I love you the less for showing so 
 much feeling, my dearest.''' he replied; 'no, no, it only 
 makes you still more dear to me, as it convinces me what a 
 sacrifice you have made for my sake.' 
 
 " Now, V^alerie, could there be a prettier speech, or one 
 so apparently sincere, from a newly married man to his 
 bride, and yet recollect what he said to his friend not a 
 quarter of an hour before, about having my parents in his 
 power by the marriage not being legal .'' I really am in- 
 clined to believe that we have two souls, a good and an 
 evil one, continually striving for the mastery — one for this 
 world, and the other for the next — and that the evil one 
 will permit the good one to have its influence, provided 
 that at the same time it has its own or an equal share in 
 the direction of us. For instance, I believe the colonel was 
 sincere in what he said, and really does love me, supposing 
 me to be Caroline Stanhope, with the mundane advantages 
 to be gained by the marriage, and that these better feelings 
 of humanity are allowed to be exercised, and not interfered 
 with by the adverse party, who is satisfied Avith its own 
 Mammon shai*e. But the struggle is to come when the evil 
 spirit finds itself defrauded of its portion, and then attem])ls 
 to destroy the influence of the good. He does love me 
 now, and will continue to love me, if disappointment shall 
 not tear up his still slightly rooted affections. Now comes 
 my task to cherish and protect it, till it has taken firm root, 
 and all that woman can do shall be done. I felt that all 
 that I required was time. 
 
 " ' Where ai-e we going ? " said I. 
 
 " ' About twenty miles from London,' replied my husband, 
 'after which, that is, to-morrow, you shall decide upon our 
 future plans.' 
 
 " I care not where,' replied I ; ' with you, place is in- 
 different, only do not refuse nie the first favour that I request 
 of you.' 
 
 " ' Depend upon it I will not,' replied he. 
 
 IS'S
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " ' It is this, dearest — take me where you will, but let it be 
 three months before we return or come near London. You 
 must feel my reason for making this request.' 
 
 '"I grant it with pleasure/ replied he ; ' for three 
 months I am yours, and yours only. We will live for one 
 another.' 
 
 "'Yes, and never let us mention anything about future 
 prospects, but devote the three months to each other.' 
 
 "'I understand you,' replied the colonel, "^ and I promise 
 you it shall be so. I will have no correspondence even 
 — there shall be nothing to annoy you or ve.x you in 
 any way.' 
 
 '" For three months,' said I, extending my hand. 
 
 " ' Agreed,' said he ; ' and to tell you the truth, it 
 would have been my own feeling, had it not been yours. 
 When you strike iron, you should do it when it is hot, 
 but when you have to handle it, you had better wait 
 till it is cool ; you understand me, and now the subject 
 is dropped.' 
 
 " My husband has adhered most religiously to his word 
 up to the present time, as you will see by the date of this 
 letter. We are now visiting the lakes of Cumberland. 
 Never could a sj^ot be better situated for the furtherance 
 of my wishes. The calm repose and silent beauty of 
 these waters must be reflected upon the mind of any one 
 of feeling, which the colonel certainly does not want ; and 
 when you consider that I am exerting all the art which 
 poor woman has to please, I do hope and pray to Heaven 
 that I may succeed in entwining myself I'ound his heart 
 before his worldly views are destroyed by disappointment. 
 Pray for me, dear Valerie — pray for one who loves you 
 dearly, and who feels that the whole happiness of her 
 life is at stake. — Yours, Adele." 
 
 " So far all goes well, my dear Adcle," thought I ; " but 
 we have yet to see the end. I will j^i'-iy foj* you with 
 all my heart, for you deserve to be happy, and none can 
 be more fascinating than you, when you exert yourself. 
 What is it in women that I do not feel M'hich makes 
 them so mad after the other sex } Instinct, certainly ; 
 for reason is against it. Well, I have no objection to help 
 
 184
 
 VALERIE 
 
 others to commit the folly, provided that I am not led 
 into it myself." Such were my reflections as 1 closed the 
 letter from Adele. 
 
 A few (lays afterwards I received a note from Mr. Selwyn, 
 junior, informing me that his father had been made a puisne 
 judge. What that was I did not know, except that he 
 was a judge on the bench of some kind. He also stated 
 his intention of calling upon me on the next day. 
 
 "Yes," thought I, "to receive the music from Caroline. 
 Of course she will return it to me when I give her a lesson 
 to-day." 
 
 I was right in my supposition. Caroline brought me a 
 piece of music with a note, saying, " Here is the music 
 belonging to Miss Selwyn, Valerie ; will you take an 
 02)portunity of returning it to her ? Any time will do ; 
 I presume she is in no hurry;" and Caroline coloured up 
 when her eyes met mine. 
 
 To punish her, I replied, " Oh no, there can be no 
 hurry; I shall be down at Kew in a fortnight or three 
 weeks ; I Avill take it with me then." 
 
 " But my note, thanking Mr. Selwyn, will be of very 
 long date," replied Caroline, "and I want the other piece 
 of music belonging to me which I left at Kew." 
 
 " Well, Caroline, you cannot expect me to be carrying 
 your messages, and going to the chambers of a handsome 
 young Chancery barrister. By-lhc-bye, I had a note from 
 him this morning, telling me that his father is advanced 
 to the bench. What does that mean ? " 
 
 "That his father is made a judge. Is that all he said?" 
 replied Caroline carelessly. 
 
 "Well, now I think of it, he said that he would call 
 upon me to-morrow, so I can give him this music when 
 he calls." 
 
 At this intelligence, Caroline's face brightened up, and 
 she went away. Mr. Selwyn called the next day, and 1 
 delivered the music and the note. He informed me that 
 he had now all his father's private as well as Chancery 
 business, and wished to know whether he was to consider 
 himself my legal adviser. I replied — 
 
 "Certainly; but that he could not expect the business of 
 a teacher of music to be very profitable." 
 
 185
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "No, nor do I intend that it shall be; but it will be a 
 great pleasure," replied he, very n;allantly. " 1 hope you 
 have some money to put by." 
 
 "Yes/' replied 1, " I have some, but not quite enoucfh ; by 
 the end of the year I hope to have £500." 
 
 " I am glad that you have told me, as a profitable invest- 
 ment may occur before that time, and I will secure it for 
 you." 
 
 He asked permission to read Caroline's note, and then 
 said that he would find the other piece of music, and leave 
 it at Monsieur Gironac's in the course of a day or two — 
 after which he took his leave. I received that evening 
 a letter from Lionel, which had a great effect upon me. 
 In it he stated that at the fencing-school he had made 
 accpiaintance with a young officer, a Monsieur Augusta 
 de Chatenoeuf, — that he had mentioned to him that he 
 knew a lady of his name in England ; that the officer had 
 asked him what the age of the lady might be, and he had 
 replied. 
 
 " ' Strange,' said the officer ; ' I had a very dear sister, 
 who was supposed to be di'owned, although the body was 
 never found. Can you tell me the baptismal name of the 
 lady you mention ? ' 
 
 "It then occurred to me," continued Lionel, "that I 
 might be imprudent if I answered, and I therefore said that 
 I did not know, but I thought you had been called by your 
 friends Annette." 
 
 " ' Then it cannot be she,' replied he, ' for my sister's 
 name was Valerie. But she may have changed her name — 
 describe to me her face and figure.' 
 
 " As I at once felt certain that you were the party, and 
 was aware that the early portion of your life was never 
 referred to by you, I thought it advisable to put him off the 
 scent, until I had made this communication. I therefore 
 replied, 'That (excuse me) you were very plain, Avith a pug 
 nose, and very short and fat.' 
 
 "'Then it must be somebody else,' replied the officer. 
 * You made my heart beat when you first spoke about her, 
 for I loved my sister dearly, and have never ceased to 
 lament her lo.ss.' 
 
 "He then talked a great deal of you, and gave me some 
 
 186
 
 VALERIE 
 
 history of your former life. I took the opportunity to ask 
 whetlier your unnatural mother was alive, and he said, 'Yes, 
 and that your father was also alive and well.' 
 
 " I did not dare to ask more. Have I done right or 
 wrong, my dear Mademoiselle Chatenoeuf .'' If wrong, I 
 can easily repair the error. Your brother, for such I 
 presume he is, I admire very much. He is very different 
 from the officers of the French army in general, quite 
 subdued, and very courteous, and there is a kind spirit in 
 all he says, which makes me like him more. You have 
 no idea of the feeling he showed, when he talked about 
 you — that is, if it is you — which I cannot but feel almost 
 certain that it is. One observation of his I think it is 
 right to make known to you, which is, that he told me 
 that since your supposed death, your father had never held 
 up his head ] indeed, he said that he had never seen him 
 smile since." 
 
 The above extract from Lionel's letter created such a 
 revulsion, that I was obliged to retire to my chamber to 
 conceal my agitated feelings from Madame Gironac. I 
 wept bitterly for some time. I thought of what my poor 
 father must have suffered, and the regrets of poor Auguste 
 at my supposed death ; and I doubted whether I was 
 justified in the act I had committed, by the treatment I 
 had received from my mother. If she had caused me so 
 nuich pain, was I right in having given so much to others 
 who loved me ? Aly poor father, he had never smiled 
 since ! Should I permit him to wear out his days in sorrow- 
 ing for my loss — oh no ! I no longer felt any animosity 
 against others who had ill-treated me. Surely, I could 
 forgive even my mother, if not for love of her, at all events 
 for love of my father and my brother. Yes, I would do so ; 
 I was now independent of my mother and all the family. 
 I had nothing to fear from her ; I could assist my family if 
 they required it. 
 
 Such were my first feelings — but then came doubts and 
 fears. Could not my mother claim me ? insist upon my 
 living with her ? prevent my earning my livelihood } or if 
 I did employ myself, could she not take from me all my 
 earnings? Yes, by the law of France, I ihought she could. 
 Then again, would she forgive me the thret; years of re- 
 
 "187
 
 VALERIE 
 
 morse ? the three years during which she had been under 
 the stigma of havings by her barbarity, caused her child 
 to commit self-destruction ; tlie three years of reproach 
 Avhich she must have experienced from n)y fatiicr's clouded 
 brow ? Would she ever forgive me for having obtained 
 my independence by the very talents which she would not 
 allow me to cultivate? No, never, unless her heart was 
 changed. 
 
 After many liours of reflection, I resolved that I would 
 make known my existence to Auguste, and permit liim 
 to acquaint my father, under a promise of secrecy, but 
 that 1 would not trust myself in France, or'; allow my 
 mother to be aware of my existence, until I could ascertain 
 what her power might be over me. But before I decided 
 upon anything, I made up my mind that I would make 
 a confidant, and obtain the opinion of Judge Selwyn. 
 By the evening's post I wrote a note to him, requesting 
 that he would let me know Avhen I might have an inter- 
 view. 
 
 An answer arrived the next day, stating that Judge Selwyn 
 would call and take me down with him to Kew, where I 
 should sleep, and return to town with him on the following 
 morning. This suited me very well, and as soon as the 
 carriage was off the stones, I said that I Avas now about to 
 confide to him that portion of my life with which he was 
 unacquainted, and ask his advice how I ought to proceed, 
 in consequence of some intelligence lately communicated by 
 Lionel. I then went into the whole detail, until I arrived 
 at my being taken away from the barracks by Madame 
 d'Albret ; the remainder of my life he knew sufficient of, 
 and I then gave him Lionel's letter to read, and when he 
 liad done so, I stated to him what my wishes and what 
 my fears were, and begged him to decide for me what was 
 best to be done. 
 
 " This is an eventful history, \"alerie," said the old gentle- 
 man. " I agree with you in the propriety of making your 
 existence known to your brother, and also to your father, who 
 has been sufficiently punished for his cowardice. Whether 
 your father will be able to contain his secret, I doubt very 
 much ; and from what you have told me of your mother, 
 I should certainly not trust myself in France. I am not 
 
 188*
 
 VALERIE 
 
 very well informed of the laws of the country, but it is my 
 im])rcssion tiiat children are there under the control of their 
 parents until they are married. Go to France I therefore 
 would not, unless it were as a married woman : then you 
 will be safe. When does Lionel come over ? " 
 
 " He will come at any time, if I say I wish it." 
 
 "Then let him come over, and invite your brother to come 
 with him, then you can arrange with him. I really wish you 
 were married, Valerie, and I wish also that my son was 
 married ; I should like to be a gi'andfather before I die." 
 
 " With respect to my marrying, sir, I see little chance of 
 that ; I dislike the idea, and, in fact, it would be better to 
 be with my mother at once ; for I 2:)refer an old tyranny to 
 a new one." 
 
 " It does not follow, my dear Valerie ; depend upon it, 
 there are many happy marriages. Am I a tyi*ant in my own 
 house } Does my wife appear to be a slave } " 
 
 "There are many happy exceptions, my dear sir," re- 
 I^lied I. " With respect to your son's marrying, I think 
 you need not despair of that ; for it is my opinion that 
 he very soon will be — but this is a secret, and I must say 
 no more." 
 
 "Indeed !" replied the judge. "I know of no one, and 
 he would hardly marry Avithout consulting me." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I think that he will, and I shall advise him so 
 to do — as it is necessary that nothing should be known till 
 it is over. Trust to me, sir, that if it does take place, you 
 will be quite satisfied with the choice which he makes ; but 
 I must have your })ledge not to say one word about it. You 
 might spoil all." 
 
 The old judge fell back in his carriage in a reverie, which 
 lasted some little while, and then said — 
 
 "Valeric, I believe that I understand you now. If it is 
 as I guess, I certainly agree with you that I will ask no 
 more questions, as I should for many reasons not wish it to 
 appear that I know anything about it." 
 
 Soon afterwards we arrived at Kew, and, after a pleasant 
 visit, on the following morning early, I returned to town 
 with the judge. I then wrote to Lionel, making known 
 to him as much as was necessary, under pledge of secrecy, 
 and stating my wish that he should follow up my brother's 
 
 189
 
 VALERIE 
 
 acquaintance, and the next time that he came over, per- 
 suade him to accompanj' him ; but that he was not to say 
 anything to him relative to my being his sister, on any 
 account whatever. 
 
 Young Selwj-n called the same day that I came from 
 Kew, with the piece of music which was missing. I made 
 no remarks upon the fact, that the music might have been 
 delivered to me by his sister, because I felt assui'ed that 
 it contained a note more musical than any in the score ; 
 I gave it to Caroline, and a few days afterwards, observing 
 that she was pale and restless, I obtained permission for 
 her to go out with me for a day. Mr. Selwyn happened 
 to call a few minutes after our arrival at Madame Gironac's, 
 and that frequently occurred for nearly two months, when 
 the time arrived that she w'as to be removed from the 
 school. 
 
 The reader Avill, of course, perceive that I was assisting 
 this affair as much as I could. I admit it ; and I did so 
 out of gratitude to Mr. Selwyn's father, for his kindness 
 to me. I knew Caroline to be a good girl, and well suited 
 to Mr. Selwyn ; I knew that she must eventually have a 
 very large fortune ; and, provided that her father and 
 mother would not be reconciled to their daughter after 
 the marriage, that Mr. Selwjn had the means, by his 
 practice, of supporting her comfortably without their assist- 
 ance. I considered that I did a kindness to Cai'oline and 
 to Mr. Selw3'n, and therefore did not hesitate ; besides, I 
 had other ideas on the subject, Avhich eventually turned out 
 as I expected, and proved that I was right. 
 
 On the last day of September, Caroline slipped out and 
 follow'ed me to Madame Gironac's ; Mr. Selwyn was ready 
 with the licence. We walked to church, the ceremony 
 was performed, and Mr. Selwyn took his bride down to 
 his father's house at Kew. The old judge was somewhat 
 prepared for the event, and received her very graciously. 
 Mrs. Selwyn and his sisters were partial to Caroline, and 
 followed the example of the judge. Nothing could pass 
 off more quietly or more pleasantly. For reasons which 
 I did not explain, I requested Mr. Selwyn, for the present, 
 not to make known his marriage to Caroline's parents, 
 as I considered it would be attended with great and 
 
 190
 
 VALERIE 
 
 certain advantage ; and he promised nie tliat he would not 
 only be silent upon the subject^ but that all his family 
 should be equally so. 
 
 If Mrs. Bradshaw required two bottles of eau-de-cologne 
 and water to suj)port her when she heard of the elopement 
 of Adtle Chabotj I leave the reader to imagine liow many 
 she required when an heiress entrusted to her charge had 
 been guilty of a similar act. 
 
 As Caroline had not left Avith me^ I was not implicated, 
 and the affair was most inscrutable. She had never been 
 seen walking, or known to correspond with any young 
 man. I suggested to Mrs. Bradshaw that it was the fear 
 of her fiither removing her from her protection A^hich had 
 induced her to run away, and most probably she had gone 
 to her aunt Bathurst's. Upon this hint, she Avrote to Mr. 
 Stanhope, acquainting him with his daughter's disappear- 
 ance, and giving it as her opinion that she had gone to 
 her aunt's, being very unwilling to return home. Mr. 
 Stanhope was furious ; he immediately drove to Madame 
 Bathurst's, whom he had not seen for a long time, and 
 demanded his daughter. Madame Bathurst declared that 
 she knew nothing about her. Mr. Stanhope expressed his 
 disbelief, and they parted in high words. 
 
 A few^ days afterwards, the colonel and Adele came to 
 town, the three montlis acceded to her wishes having 
 expired ; and now I must relate what I did not know till 
 some days afterwards, when I saw Adele, and who had the 
 narrative from her husband. 
 
 It appeared that as soon as the colonel arrived in London, 
 still persuaded that he had married Caroline Stanhope, 
 and not Adele Chabot, without stating his intention to 
 her, he went to Grosvenor Square, and requested to see 
 Mr. Stanhope. This was about a fortnight after Caroline's 
 elopement with Mr. Selwyn. He was admitted, and found 
 Mr. and Mrs. Staidiope in the drawing-room. He had 
 sent up his card, and Mr. Stanhope received him with great 
 hauteur. 
 
 "What may your pleasure be with me, sir.-* [Looking at 
 the card.] Colonel Jervis, I thiid<; you call yourself.'' " 
 
 Now, Colonel Jervis was a man well known about town, 
 and, in his own opinion, not to know him argued yourself 
 
 191
 
 VALERIE 
 
 unknown ; he was therefore not a little angry at this recep- 
 tion^ and being a really well-bred man, was also much 
 startled with the vulgarity of both parties. 
 
 " My name, Mr. Stanhope, as you are pleased to observe/' 
 said the colonel, Avith hauteur, " is Jervis, and my business 
 with you is relative to your daughter." 
 
 " My daughter, sir } " 
 
 " Our daughter ! Why, you don't mean to tell us that 
 you have run aw^ay with our daughter .'' " screamed Mi's. 
 Stanhope. 
 
 "Yes, madam, such is the fact; she is now my wife, and 
 I trust that she is not married beneath herself" 
 
 "A colonel! — a paltry colonel ! — a match for my daughter! 
 Why, with her fortune she might have married a duke," 
 screamed Mrs. Stanhope. " I'll never speak to the wretch 
 again. A colonel, indeed ! I suppose a militia-colonel. I 
 dare say you are only a captain, after all. Well, take her 
 to barracks, and to barracks yourself. You may leave the 
 house. Not a penny — no, not a penny do you get. Does 
 he. Stanhope ? " 
 
 " Not one half a fai-thing," replied Mr. Stanhope pomp- 
 ously. " Go, sir ; Mrs. Stanhope's sentiments are mine." 
 
 The colonel, who was in a towering })assion at the treat- 
 ment he received, now started up, and said, " Sir and 
 madam, you appear to me not to understand the usages of 
 good society, and I positively declare, that had I been 
 aware of the insufferable vulgarity of her parents, nothing 
 would have induced me to marry the daughter. I tell 
 you this, because I care nothing for you. You are on the 
 stilts at present, but I shall soon bring you to your senses ; 
 for know, sir and madam, although I did elope with and 
 man-ied your daughter, the marriage is not legal, as she 
 was married under a false name, and that was her own 
 act — not mine. You may therefore prepare to recei\e 
 your daughter back, when I think fit to send her — dis- 
 graced and dishonoured ; and then try if you can match 
 her with a duke. I leave you to digest this piece of 
 information, and now wish you good morning. You have 
 my address, when you feel inclined to apologise, and do 
 me the justice which I shall expect before a legal marriage 
 takes place."
 
 VALERIE 
 
 So saying, the colonel left the house ; and it would be 
 difficult to s;iy which of the three parties was in the 
 greatest rage. 
 
 The colonel, who had become sincerely attached to Adele, 
 who had well profited by the time which she had gained, 
 returned home in no very pleasant humour. Throwing him- 
 self down on the sofa, he said to her in a moody way — 
 
 " I'll be candid with you, my dear ; if I had seen your 
 father and mother before I married you, nothing would 
 have persuaded me to have made you my wife. When a 
 man marries, I consider connection and fortune to be the 
 two greatest points to be obtained : but such animals as 
 your father and mother I never beheld. Good Heaven ! 
 that I should be allied to such people ! " 
 
 " May I ask you, dearest, to whom you refer, and what is 
 the meaning of all this ? My father and mother ! Why, 
 colonel, my father was killed at the attack of Montmartre, 
 and my mother died before him." 
 
 " Then who and what are you ? " cried the colonel, jumping 
 up; "are you not Caroline Stanhope?" 
 
 " I thank Heaven I am not. I have always told you that 
 I was Adele Chabot, and no other person. You must admit 
 that. My father and mother were no vulgar people, dearest 
 husband, and my family is as good as most in France. Come 
 over with me to Paris, and you will then see who my 
 relatives and connections are. I am poor, I grant ; but 
 recollect that the Revolution exiled many w-ealthy families, 
 and mine among the rest, although we were permitted 
 eventually to return to France. What can have induced 
 you to fall into this error, and still persist (notwithstanding 
 my assertions to the conti*ary) that I am the daughter of 
 those vulgar upstarts, who are }M'overbial for their want of 
 manners, and who are admitted into hardly any society, rich 
 as they are supposed to be ? " 
 
 The colonel looked all amazement. 
 
 " I'm sorry you are disappointed, dearest," continued 
 Adele, " if you are so. I am sorry that I'm not Caroline 
 Stanhope with a large fortune ; but if I do not bring you a 
 fortune, by economy I will save you one. Let me only 
 see that you are not deprived of your usual pleasures and 
 luxuries, and I care not what I do, or how I live. You 
 
 193 N
 
 VALERIE 
 
 will find no exacting wife in me, dearest, troubling you 
 for expenses you cannot afford. I will live but to please 
 you, and if I do not succeed, I will die — if you wish to be 
 rid of me." 
 
 Adele resumed her caresses with the tears running down 
 her cheeks, for she loved her husband dearly, and felt what 
 she said. 
 
 The colonel could not resist her : he put his arms round 
 her and said, " Do not cry, Adele ; I believe you, and, 
 moreover, I feel that I love you. I am thankful that I 
 have not married Caroline Stanhope, for I presume she 
 cannot be very different from her parents. I admit that 
 I have been deceiving myself, and that I have deceived 
 myself into a better little wife than I deserve, perhaps. I 
 really am glad of my escape. I Avould not have been 
 connected with those people for the universe. We will do 
 as you say : we will go to France for a short time, and you 
 shall introduce me to your relations." 
 
 Befoi'e the next morning, Adele had gained the victory. 
 The Colonel felt that he had deceived himself, that he might 
 be laughed at, and that the best that could be done was to 
 go to Pai'is and announce from thence his marriage in the 
 papers. He had a sufficiency to live upon, to command 
 luxury as well as comforts, and on the whole he was now 
 satisfied that a handsome and strongly attached wife, who 
 brought him no fortune, was preferable to a marriage of mere 
 interest. I may as well here observe that Adele played 
 her cards so well that the colonel was a happy and con- 
 tented man. She kejit her promise, and he found with her 
 management that he had more money than a married man 
 required, and he blessed the day in which he had married by 
 mistake. And now to return to the Stanhopes. 
 
 Although they were too angry at the time to pay much 
 heed to the colonel's parting threats, yet when they had 
 cooled, and had time for reflection, Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope 
 were much distressed at the intelligence that their daughter 
 was not legally married. For some days they remained 
 quiet ; at last they thought it advisable to come to terms, 
 to save their daughter's honour. But during this delay on 
 their part, Adele had called upon me, and introduced her 
 husband, and made me acquainted with all that had passed.
 
 VALERIE 
 
 They stated their intention of proceeding to Paris imme- 
 diately, and although I knew that Adcle's relations were 
 of good family, yet I thought an introduction to Madame 
 d'Albret would be of service to her. I therefore gave her 
 one, and it proved most serviceable ; for the colonel found 
 himself in the first society in Paris, and his wife was well 
 received and much admired. When, therefore, Mr. Stan- 
 hope made up his mind to call upon the colonel at the 
 address of the hotel where they had put up, he found they 
 had left, and nobody knew where they had gone. This 
 was a severe blow, and Mi*, and Mrs. Staidiope were in a 
 state of the utmost uncertainty and suspense. Now was 
 the time for Mr. Selwyn to come forward, and I despatched 
 a note to him requesting him to come to town. I put 
 him in possession of Adele's history, her marriage with 
 the colonel, and all the particulars with which the reader 
 is acquainted, and I pointed out to him how he should 
 act when he called ujion Mr. Stanhope, which I advised 
 him to do immediatel}'. He followed my advice, and thus 
 described what passed on his return. 
 
 " I sent up my card to Mr. and Mrs. Stanhojje, and was 
 received almost as politely as the colonel. I made no 
 remark, but taking a chair, which was not offered to me, 
 I said, ' You have my card, Mr. Stanhope ; I must, in 
 addition to my name, inform you that I am a barrister, 
 and that my father is Judge Selwjn, who now sits on 
 the King's Bench. You })robably have met him in the 
 circles in which you visit, although you are not acquainted 
 with him. Your sister, Madame Hathurst, we have the 
 pleasure of knowing.' 
 
 "This introduction made them look more civil, for a judge 
 was with them somebody. 
 
 "'My object in coming here is to speak to you relative to 
 your daughter.' 
 
 "'Do you come from the colonel, then.?' said Mrs. Stan- 
 hope sharply. 
 
 "'No, madam. I have no accjualnlance with the colonel.' 
 
 " 'Then how do you know my daughter, sir?' 
 
 "'I had the pleasure of meeting her at my fatlier's. 
 She stayed a short time with my faniil}' at our country seat 
 at Kew.' 
 
 195
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " ' Indeed ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Stanhope ; ' well, I had no 
 idea of that. I'm sure the judge was very kind ; but, 
 sir, you know that my daughter has married very unfortu- 
 nately.' 
 
 " ' That she has married, madam, I am aware, but I trust 
 not unfortunately.' 
 
 " ' Why, sir, she has married a colonel,— a fellow who came 
 here and told us it was no marriage at all ! ' 
 
 " ' It is to I'ectify that mistake, madam, Avhich has induced 
 me to call. The colonel, madam, did hear that your 
 daughter was at Mrs. Bradshaw's establishment, and wished 
 to cany her oif, sujiposing that she was a very rich prize ; 
 but, madam, he made a slight mistake — instead of your 
 daughtei', he has run away and married the French teacher, 
 who has not a sixpence. He has now found out his mistake, 
 and is off to Paris to hide himself from the laughter of 
 the town.' 
 
 " This intelligence was the cause of much mirth and 
 glee to Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope ; the latter actually cried 
 with delight, and I took care to join heartily in the 
 merriment. As soon as it had subsided, Mrs. Stanhope 
 said — 
 
 " ' But, Mr. Selwyn, you said that my daughter was 
 married. How is that } ' 
 
 " ' Why, madam, the fact is, that your daughter's affec- 
 tions wei'e engaged at the time of this elopement of the 
 colonel's, and it was her intention to make known to you 
 that such was the case, presuming that you would not 
 refuse to sanction her marriage ; but when the elopement 
 took place, and it was even reported that she had run 
 away, her position became very awkward, and the more 
 so, as some people declared (as the colonel asserted) that 
 she was not legally man-ied. On consulting with the 
 gentleman of her choice, it was argued thus : If Miss Stan- 
 hope goes back to her father's house after this report 
 that she is not legally married, it will be supposed that 
 the colonel, finding that he was disappointed in his views, 
 had returned her dishonoured upon her jiarents' hands, and 
 no subsequent marriage would remove the impression. It 
 was, therefore, considered advisable, both on her parents' 
 account and on her own, that slie also should elope, and then 
 
 iy6
 
 VALERIE 
 
 it would be easily explained that it was somebody else who 
 had eloped with the colonel, and that Miss Stanhope had 
 married in a secret way. Miss Stanhojie, therefore, was 
 properly married in churcli before respectable witnesses, and 
 conducted immediately afterwards by her husband to his 
 father's house, who approved of what was done, as now no 
 reflection can be made, either upon Miss Stanhope or her 
 respectable parents.' 
 
 "'Well, let us all know the person to whom she is 
 married.' 
 
 "'To myself, madam ; and your daughter is now at Judge 
 Selwyn's, where she has been ever since her marriage, 
 with my mother and sisters. My father would have ac- 
 companied me, to explain all this ; but the fact is, that 
 his lordship is now so much occupied that he could not. 
 He will, however, be happy to sec Mr. Stanhope, who is 
 an idle man, either at his town house, or at his country 
 seat. I trust, madam, as I have the honour to be your 
 son-in-law, you will j)ermit me to kiss your hand .'' ' 
 
 "'Caroline may have done worse, my dear,' said the 
 lady to her husband, who was still wavering. ' Mr. Selwyn 
 may be a judge himself, or he may be a Lord Chancellor, 
 recollect that. Mr. Selwyn, you are welcome, and I sliall 
 be most happy to see his lordship, and my husband sliall 
 call upon him when we know when he will be at leisure. 
 Oh, that colonel ! but he's rightly served — a French teacher. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! ' and Mrs. Stanhope's mirth was communicated 
 to her husband, who now held out his hand to me in a 
 most ])atroiiising manner. 
 
 '"Well, sir, I give you joy. I believe you have saved 
 my daughter's character ; and, my dear,' added he, very 
 pompously, 'we must do something for the young ])eople.' 
 
 " ' I trust, sir, I bear your forgiveness to Caroline.' 
 
 "'Yes, you do, Mr. Selwyn,' said the lady. 'Bring 
 her here as soon as you please. Oh, that colonel .' Iia, 
 ha, ha! and it is capital. A French teacher. Ha, ha, 
 ha ! ' " 
 
 Such was the winding-up of this second maniagr. Il.id 
 not Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope been nuich suixlucd by tlie 
 intelligence received from the colonel of the marriage 
 being illegal, and had they not also been nuich gratified 
 
 197
 
 VALERIE 
 
 at the mistake of the colonel, things might not have gone 
 off so pleasantly. I have only to add, that Mr. Stanhope, 
 who appeared to obey his wife in everything, called uj)on 
 the judge, and their interview was very amicable. Mr. 
 Stanhope, upon the judge stating that his son had sufficient 
 income, immediately became profuse, and settled X2000 
 per annum upon his daughter, during his life, with a promise 
 of much more eventually. Caroline was graciously received 
 by her mother, and presented with some splendid diamonds. 
 The judge told me that he knew the part I had taken in 
 the affair, and shook his finger at me. 
 
 Thus ended this affair ; and Madame Gironac, when she 
 heard how busy I had been in the two elopements, said — 
 
 " Ah, Valerie, )'ou begin by marrying other people. You 
 will end in finding a husband for yourself." 
 
 "That is quite another thing, madam," I replied; "I 
 have no objection in assisting other people to their wishes, 
 but it does not follow that therefore I am to seek for 
 myself what I do not wish." 
 
 " Valerie, I am a prophetess. You will be "married some 
 time next year. Mark my words." 
 
 " I will not forget them, and at the end of the year we 
 shall see who is rifjht and who is wronfj." 
 
 After all this bustle and turmoil, there was a calm, which 
 lasted the whole winter. I followed up my usual avoca- 
 tions. I had as many pupils as I could attend to, and 
 saved money fast. The winter passed away, and in the 
 spring I expected Lionel with my brother Auguste. I 
 looked forward to seeing my brother with great impatience ; 
 not a day that he was out of mj^ thoughts. I was most 
 anxious to hear of my father, my brothers, and sisters, 
 and every particular connected with the family ; even my 
 mother was an object of interest, although not of regard; 
 but I had forgiven all others who had ill-treated me, and 
 I felt that I forgave and forgot, if she would behave as 
 a mother towards me. I had received kind letters from 
 Madame d'Albret and Adele ; the letters of the latter 
 were most amusing. Madame Bathurst had called upon 
 me several times. I was at peace with all the world and 
 with myself. At last I received a letter from Lionel, 
 stating that he was coming over in a few days ; that he 
 
 198
 
 VALERIE 
 
 had great difficulty in persuading my brother to come 
 with him, as he could not afford the expense out of his 
 own means, and did not like to lie under such an obli- 
 gation. At last he had been overruled, and was coming 
 with him. 
 
 "Then I shall see you again, dear Auguste !" thought I; 
 "you who always loved me, always protected me and took 
 my part, and who so lamented my supposed death;" and 
 my thoughts turned to the time when he and I were with 
 my grandmother in the palace, and our early days were 
 passed over in review. " My poor grandmother, how I loved 
 you ! and how you deserved to be loved ! " And then I 
 calculated what I might have been, had I been left with 
 my grandmother, and had inherited her small projierLy ; 
 and, on reflection, I decided that I was better off now 
 than I probably should have been, and that all was for the 
 best. I thought of the future, and whether it was likely 
 I ever should marry, and I decided that I never would, but 
 that if I ever returned to my family, I would assist my 
 sisters, and try to make them happy. 
 
 "Yes," thought I, "marry I never will — that is decided — 
 nothing shall ever induce me." 
 
 My reverie was interrupted by the entrance of a stranger, 
 who, apologising to me, stated that he had come to seek 
 Monsieur Ciironac. 
 
 I replied that he Avas not at liome, and probably it would 
 be half-an-hour before he returned to dinner. 
 
 "With your leave, mademoiselle," said he, gracefully 
 bowing, " i will wait till he returns. I will not, however, 
 trespass upon your time, if it is disagreeable ; perhaps the 
 servant will accommodate me with a chair elsewhere ?" 
 
 I requested that he would be seated, as there was no fire 
 in any other room ; and he took a chair. He was a French- 
 man, speaking good English ; but he soon discovered that 
 I was his countrywoman, and the conversation was carried 
 on in French. He informed me that he was the Comtc 
 de Chavannes. But I must describe liiin. He was rather 
 small in stature, but elegantly made ; his features were, if 
 anvthing, effeminate, but very handsome ; ihey would have 
 been liandsome in a woman. The etleminacy was, liowcver, 
 relieved by a pair of moustaches, soft, silky, and curling. 
 
 W9
 
 VALERIE 
 
 His manners wei'e peculiarly fascinating, and his conversa- 
 tion lively and full of point. I was much pleased with 
 him durin<>- the half-hour that we were together, during 
 which we had kept up the convei'sation with much spirit. 
 The arrival of Monsieur Gironac put an end to our tete-d- 
 telc, and having arranged his business with him, which was 
 relative to some flute-music, which the comte wished to be 
 published^ after a few minutes' more conversation, he took 
 his leave. 
 
 " Now, there's a man that I would select for your husband, 
 Valerie," said Monsieur Gironac, after the comte had left. 
 "Is he not a very agreeable fellow .'' " 
 
 " Yes, he is," I replied ; " he is very entertaining and 
 very well bred. Who is he ? " 
 
 " His history is told in few words," replied Monsieur 
 Gironac. " His father emigrated with the Bourbons ; but, 
 unlike most of those who emigrated, he neither turned 
 music-master, dancing-master, hair-dresser, nor teacher of 
 the French language. He had a little money, and he 
 embarked in commerce. He went as supercargo, and then 
 as travelling partner in a house, to America, the Havannah, 
 and the West Indies ; and after having crossed the Atlantic 
 about twenty times in the course of the late war, he amassed 
 a fortune of about £40,000. At the restoration he went 
 to Paris, resumed his title, which he had laid aside during 
 his commercial course, was well received by Louis XVIII., 
 and made a colonel of the Legion of Honour. He returned 
 to this country to settle his affairs, previous to going down 
 to Brittany, and died suddenly, leaving the young man 
 you have just seen, who is his only son and heir, alone 
 on the wide world, and with a good fortune as soon as 
 he came of age. At the time of his father's death, he 
 was still at school. Now he is twenty-four years old, and 
 has been for three years in possession of the property, 
 which is still in the English funds. He appears to like 
 England better than France, for most of his time is passed 
 in London. He is very talented, very musical, composes 
 well, and is altogether a most agreeable young man, and 
 fit for the husband of Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenteuf. 
 Now you have the whole history : the marriage is yet to 
 take place." 
 
 200
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " Your last observation is correct ; or rather it is not, for 
 the marriage will never take })lace." 
 
 "^^ Mais, que voiilcrj-voKs, mademoiselle?" cried Monsieur 
 Gironac ; "must we send for the angel (iabriel for you ? " 
 
 "No," replied 1; "he is not a marrying man, any more 
 than I am a marrying woman. Is it not sufficient that 
 I admit your count to be very agreeable ? — that won't 
 content you. You want me to marry a man whom I have 
 seen for one half-hour. Are you reasonable, Monsieur 
 Gironac ? " 
 
 " He has rank, wealth, good looks, talents, and polished 
 manners ; and you admit that you do not dislike him ; what 
 would you have more ? " 
 
 " He is not in love with me, and I am not in love with 
 him." 
 
 " Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf, you are wic cvfant. 
 I will no longer trouble myself with looking out for a 
 husband for you. You shall die a sour old maid ; " and 
 Monsieur Gironac left the room, pretending to be in a 
 passion. 
 
 A few days after the meeting with Count de Chavannes, 
 Lionel made his appearance. My heart beat quick as I 
 welcomed him. 
 
 "He is here," said he, anticipating my question; "but I 
 called just to know when we should come, and whether I 
 was to say anything to him before he came." 
 
 " No, no, tell him nothing — bring him here directly — how 
 long will it be before you return ?" 
 
 " Not half-an-hour. I am at my old lodgings in Suffolk 
 Street, so good-bye for the present ; " and Lionel walked 
 away again. 
 
 Monsieur and Madame Gironac were both out, and would 
 not return for an hour or two. I thought the half-liour 
 would never pass ; but it did at last, and they knocked 
 at the door. Lionel entered, followed by my brother 
 Auguste. I was surprised at his having grown so tall and 
 hajidsome. 
 
 "Madame Gironac is not at home, mademoiselle?" said 
 Lionel. 
 
 "No, Monsieur Lionel." 
 
 " Allow me to present to you Monsieur Auguste de 
 
 201
 
 VALERIE 
 
 ChatencEufj a lieutenant in the service of his Majesty the 
 King of the French." 
 
 Auguste bowed, and as I returned the sahite, looked 
 earnestly at me and started. 
 
 " P^xcuse me, mademoiselle," said lie, coming up to me, 
 and speaking in a tremulous voice ; " but — yes, jou must 
 be Valerie." 
 
 " Yes, dear Auguste," cried I, opening my arms. 
 
 He rushed to me and covered me with kisses, and then, 
 staggering to a chair, sat down and wept. So did I, and so 
 did Lionel, for symj^athy and company. 
 
 "Why did you conceal this from me, Lionel.''" said he, 
 after a time ; " see how you have unmanned me ! " 
 
 "I only obeyed orders, Auguste," replied Lionel; "but 
 now that I have executed my commission, I will leave you 
 together ; for you must have much to say to each other. 
 I will join you at dinner-time." 
 
 Lionel went out and left us together ; we renewed our 
 embraces, and after we were more composed, entered into 
 explanations. I told him my historj'^ in as few words as 
 possible, promising to enter into details afterwai'ds, and then 
 I inquired about the family. Auguste replied — 
 
 " I will begin from the time of your disappearance. No 
 one certainly had any suspicion of Madame d'Albret having 
 spirited you away ; indeed, she was, as you know, con- 
 stantly at the barracks till my father left, and expressed 
 her conviction that you had destroyed yourself. The out- 
 cry against your mother was universal ; she dared not show 
 herself, and your father was in a state to excite compassion. 
 Four or five times a day did he take his melancholy walk 
 down to the Morgue, to ascertain if your body was found. 
 He became so melancholy, morose, and irritable, that j^eople 
 were afraid lest he would destroy himself. He never went 
 home to your mother but there was a scene of reproaches 
 on his part, and defiance on hers, that was a scandal to 
 the barracks. All her power over him ceased from that 
 time, and has ceased for ever since ; and perhaps you know 
 that he has retired } " 
 
 " How should I know, Auguste .'* " 
 
 " Yes ; he could not bear to look the other officers in the 
 face ; and he told me that he considered himself, from his 
 
 202
 
 VALERIE 
 
 weakness and folly, to have been the murderer of his child ; 
 that he felt himself despicable, and could no longer remain 
 with the regiment. As soon as the regiment arrived at 
 Lyons, he sent in his retirement, and has ever since been 
 living at Pau, in the south of France, upon his half-pay, 
 and the other property which he possesses." 
 
 " I\Iy poor father ! " exclaimed I, bursting into tears. 
 
 '' As for me, you know that I obtained leave to quit the 
 regiment, and have ever since been in the 51st of the line. 
 I have obtained my grade of lieutenant. I have seen my 
 father but once since I parted with him at Paris. He is 
 much altered, and his hair is grey." 
 
 " Is he comfortable where he is, Auguste .''" 
 
 " Yes, Valerie ; I think that he did wisely ; for it was 
 ruinous travelling about with so many children. He is 
 comfortable, and, I believe, as happy as he can be. Oh ! 
 if he did but know that you were alive, it would add ten 
 years to his life." 
 
 "He shall know it, my dear Auguste," exclaimed I, as 
 the tears coursed down my cheeks. " I feel now that I 
 was very selfish in consenting to Madame d'Albret's proposal, 
 but I was hardly in my senses at the time." 
 
 " I cannot wonder at your taking the step, nor can I 
 blame you. Your life was one of torture, and it was torture 
 to others to see what you underwent." 
 
 " I pity my father, for weak as he v/as, the punishment 
 has been too severe." 
 
 " But you Avill make him happy now, and he will rejoice 
 in his old days." 
 
 "And now, Auguste, tell me about Nicolas; he never 
 liked me, but I forgive him ; how is he ? " 
 
 " He is, I believe, well ; but he has left his home." 
 
 " Left home ? " 
 
 " You know how kind your mother was to him — I may say, 
 how she doled upon him. Well, one day he announced his 
 intention of going to Italy with a friend he had picked up, 
 who belonged to Naples. His mother was frantic at the 
 idea, but he actually laughed at her, and behaved in a very 
 unfeeling manner. Your mother was cut to the heart, and 
 has never got over it ; but, Valerie, the children who are 
 spoiled by indulgence, always turn out the most ungrateful." 
 
 203
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " Have you heard of him since ? " 
 
 " Yes, he wrote to me telling me that he was leading 
 an orchestra in some small town, and advancing rapidly — 
 you know his talent for music — but not one line has he 
 ever written to his mother." 
 
 "Ah me!" sighed I, "and that is all the return she has 
 for her indulgence to him. Now tell me about Clara." 
 
 " She is well married, and lives at Tours : her husband is 
 an employe, but I don't exactly know what." 
 
 "And Sophie and Elisee .^ " 
 
 "Are both well, and promise to grow up fine girls, but 
 not so handsome as you are, Valerie. It was the wonderful 
 improvement in your person that made me doubt for a 
 moment when I first saw you." 
 
 " And dear little Pierre, that I used to pinch that I might 
 get out of the house, poor fellow ? " 
 
 " Is a fine boy, and makes his father very melancholy, and 
 his mother very angry, by talking about you." 
 
 " And now, Auguste, one more question. On what terms 
 are my father and mother, and how does she conduct 
 herself.''" 
 
 " My father treats her with ceremony and politeness, but 
 not with affection. She has tried every means to resume 
 her empire over him, but finds it impossible, and she has 
 now turned devote. They sleep in separate rooms, and he 
 is very harsh and severe to her at times, when the fit 
 comes on him. Indeed, Valerie, if you sought revenge, 
 which I know you do not do, you have had sufficient, for 
 her brow is wrinkled with care and moi-tification." 
 
 "But do you think she is soi*ry for what she has done .''" 
 
 " I regret to say I do not. I think she is sorry for the 
 consequences, but that her animosity against you would be 
 greater than ever if she knew that you were alive, and if 
 you were again in her power she would wreak double 
 vengeance. Many things have occurred to confirm me in 
 this belief. You have overthrown her power, which she 
 never will forgive, and as for her religion, I have no faith 
 in that." 
 
 " It is, then, as I feared, Auguste ; and if I make known 
 my existence to my father, it must be concealed from my 
 mother." 
 
 204
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "I agree with you that it will be best, for there is no 
 saying to what point the vengeance of an unnatural mother 
 may be carried. But let us quit this subject, ior the present 
 at least ; and now tell me more about yourself." 
 
 "I will, but there is Lionel's knock; so I nuist defer it 
 till another opportunity. Dear Auguste^ give me one more 
 kiss, while we are alone." 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 XN a few minutes after Lionel's return, which he had 
 considerately postponed until Monsieur Gironac's dinner- 
 hour had all but arrived, my good host first, and then 
 kind, merry little madame, made their appearance, and a 
 little while was consimied in introductions, exclamations, 
 admirations, and congratulations, all tinctured not a little 
 by that national vivacity which other folks are in the 
 habit of calling extravagance, and which, as my readers 
 well know already, the good Gironacs had by no means 
 got rid of, even in the course of a long scjour in the matter- 
 of-fact metropolis of England. 
 
 Fortunately, my friends were for the most part an fail 
 to the leading circumstances of my life, so that little ex- 
 planation was needed. 
 
 And more fortunately yet, like tide and time, dinner 
 waits for no man ; nor have I ever observed, in all my 
 adventurous life, that the sympathy of the most sentimental, 
 the grief of the most woe-begone, or the joy of the happiest, 
 ever induces them to neglect the summons of the dinner- 
 bell, and the calls of the responsive a])petite. 
 
 In the midst of the delight of madame at having at last 
 to receive the brother of cclle chcrc Vdlcrie, and that brother, 
 too, .si bcl liouime el brave nfficier, el d'laie ressemhhoicc si parfaile 
 (i la chantHuile sccur, dinner was luckily announced ; and 
 the torrent-tide of madame's hospitality was cut short by 
 her husband's declaration that we were all, like himself, 
 dying of hunger, and that not a word more must be sjioken, 
 touching sympathies or sentiments, until we had partaken 
 
 205
 
 VALERIE 
 
 of something nutritious, de qiioi soulniir V epidsemcnt des emotions 
 si dicliininlcs. 
 
 Madame laughed, declared that he was uii harhare, un 
 malheiireiu sans grandeur de I'dme, and taking possession of 
 Auguste, led him away into the dining-room, where, though 
 she told nie afterwards that she was au comhle de desespoir at 
 having to set us down to so every-daj' a meal, we found 
 an excellent dinner, and spent a very pleasant hour until 
 coffee was served; when, with it, not a little to my surprise, 
 nor very much to my delight, Monsieur de Chavannes made 
 his appearance. 
 
 There was a quizzical look on Monsieur Gironac's face, 
 and a roguish twinkle in his e3'e, which led me to believe 
 that what was really a matter of surprise to me was none 
 to my worthy host ; for the Count de Chavannes had never 
 visited the house before in the evening, nor, from what I 
 had understood, was he on terms of particular intimacy Avith 
 the Gironacs. 
 
 I was foolish enough to be, at first, a little put out at 
 this ; and having manifested some slight embarrassment 
 on his first entrance, which I learned afterwards did not 
 escape his eye, though he was far too well-bred to show 
 it, I made the matter worse by calling my pride to my 
 aid, incited thereto by Madame Gironac's glance and smile 
 at my blushing confusion, and certainly in no respect con- 
 tributed to the gaiety of the evening. Nothing, however, 
 I must admit, could have been more gentlemanly, or in 
 better taste than the whole demeanour of Monsieur de 
 Chavannes, and I could not help feeling this, and comparing 
 it mentally with the inferior bearing of others I had seen, 
 even in the midst of my fit of hatdeur and frigidity. 
 
 He neither immediately withdrew himself on learning that 
 my brother, whom I had not seen for many years, had but 
 just arrived, as any half-bred person would have done under 
 the like circumstances, with an awkward apology for his 
 presence, tending only to make every one else more awkward 
 yet; nor made set speeches, nor foolish compliments, on a 
 subject too important for such trifling. 
 
 He did not trouble me with any attentions, which he 
 perceived would be at that moment distasteful, but ex- 
 hibited the most marked desire to cultivate the acquaintance 
 
 206
 
 VALERIE 
 
 of Auguste, to whom he showed a degree of deference, 
 though liimself somewhat the senior, ns to a military man, 
 that flattered his csprll dc corps, mingled with a sort of 
 frank cordiality, which, except from countryman to country- 
 man in a foreign land, would perhaps have been a little 
 overdone : but, under the actual circmnstances, it could not 
 have been improved. 
 
 For the short time lie remained, he conversed well and 
 wittily ; yet with a strain of fancy and feeling blended with 
 liis wit, whicli rendered it singidarly original and attractive ; 
 and perfectly succeeded, though I know not whether he 
 intended it or not, in directing the attention of the company 
 from my altered and somewhat unamiable mood. 
 
 Amoug other things, I remember that, in the course of 
 conversation, while tendering some civilities to Auguste, 
 the use of his riding-horses, his cabriolet, or his services 
 in showing him some of the lions of London, he observed 
 that Monsieur de Chatenoeuf must not consider such an 
 offer impertinent on liis part, since he believed, if our 
 genealogy were pro})erly traced, some sort of cousinship 
 could be established ; as more than one of the De Chavannes 
 had intermarried in old times with the Chatenanifs of 
 Gascony, when both the families, like their native })rovinces, 
 had been acting in alliance with the English Plantagenets 
 against the French kings of the house of Valois. 
 
 A few words were said in connection with this, touching 
 the singularity of the fact that it would seem as if England 
 had something to do with the associations of the two families ; 
 but I do not think the remark was made by De Chavannes, 
 and whatever it was it was not sufficiently pointed to be in 
 any way offensive or annoying. 
 
 On the whole, hurt as I was in some sort by the idea 
 which had taken hold of me, that the Gironacs, through 
 a false and indelicate idea of advancing my welfare, were 
 endeavouring to promote a liking between myself and the 
 count, I cannot deny that the evening, on the whole, was 
 a pleasant one, and that, if at first it had been my im- 
 pression that De Chavannes was agreeable, entertaining, 
 and well-bred, I was now prepared to admit he had excellent 
 taste, and delicate feelings into the bargain. 
 
 Still I felt that I did not like him, or jjcrhaps 1 should 
 
 207
 
 VALERIE 
 
 rather say his attentions — though in fact he had paid me 
 none, — -and was rather relieved when he made his bow 
 and retired. 
 
 Siiortly al'terwards, Auguste observed tliat I seemed dull 
 and tired, and Madame Gironac followed suit by saying 
 that it was no wonder if the excitement and interest created 
 by the unexpected arrival of so dear a brother had proved 
 too much for my nerves. 
 
 Thereupon, after promising to return early in the morning, 
 so that we might have a long talk about the past, and a long 
 consultation about the future, Lionel and Auguste bade us 
 good-night also ; but not before Lionel had said to me as 
 he was taking leave — 
 
 " I think, mademoiselle, that it will be no more than 
 proper that I should drive down to Kew to-morrow morning, 
 and wait upon Judge Selwyn, who has always been so kind 
 to me — have you any message for him .'' " 
 
 "Oh yes. I beg you will tell him that Auguste has 
 come, and that I request he will let me know when we may 
 wait on him." 
 
 " And the answer will be, mademoiselle, his waiting upon 
 you. Is that what you desire ? " 
 
 " I only desire what I state — to know when and how we 
 may see him, for I know very little of Auguste's heart, if he 
 does not wish to return thanks to one who, except our dear 
 friends here, has been poor Valerie's surest confidant and 
 protector. But you will find the judge's family increased 
 since you saw him. His son has persuaded my j)retty little 
 friend Caroline Stanhope to become his wife, and she is living 
 with the judge's family at present." 
 
 Lionel expressed his surprise and pleasure at the news ; 
 but I thought at the moment that the pleasure was not 
 real, though I have since had reason to believe that the 
 gravity which came over his face as he spoke was the 
 gravity of thought, rather than that, as I fancied at the 
 time, of disappointment. 
 
 Nothing more passed worthy of record, and after shaking 
 hands with Lionel, and kissing my long-lost brother, I was 
 left alone with the Gironacs, half-expectant of a playful 
 scolding. 
 
 "Well, Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenceuf," began mon- 
 
 208
 
 VALERIE 
 
 sieur, as soon as the ii^entlenu'ii had left us, "is it because 
 you have found out that you have <rot a handsome brother, 
 that you are determined to drive all other handsome youn<jf 
 men an dcscspoir ? — or is it that you wish to break the heart, 
 especially of this pauvre Monsieur de Chavaniics, that you have 
 treated us all with an air si /iautai?ie, si liautainc, that if you 
 had been the queen of France, it could not have been 
 colder? " 
 
 " I told you once before. Monsieur Gironac," I replied, 
 " that your Count de Chavannes does not care a straw how 
 I treat him, or with what air ; and if he did, I do not. He 
 is simply a civil, agreeable gentleman, who looks upon me as 
 he would upon an}^ other young lady whom he is glad to talk 
 to when she is in the humour to talk ; and whom, when she 
 is not, he leaves to herself, as all well-bred men do. But I 
 repeat, I do not care enough about him to think for one 
 moment whether he is hautaiiie or not. And he feels just 
 the same about me, I am certain." 
 
 " What brings him here, then, eh .'' — where he never 
 came before to-night.^ — not for the beaux yetix of madame, 
 I believe," with a quizzical bow to his wife, "or for the 
 grand esprit of myself. I have an eye, I tell you, as well as 
 other people, and I can see one petit peu." 
 
 " I have no doubt you can, monsieur," I answered 
 rather pettishly; "for 1 suppose you asked him yourself; 
 and if you did so on my account, I must beg you will 
 omit that proof of kindness in future, for I do not wish 
 to see him." 
 
 " Oh ! Monsieur Gironac, for shame ! you have made 
 her very angry with your ridiculous badinage^ — you have 
 made her angry, really, and I do not wonder. Who ever 
 heard of teasing a young lady about a gentleman she has 
 never seen, only three times, and who has never declared 
 any preference ? " 
 
 " iNladame," replied her husband, in great wrath, either 
 real or simulated, " vous eles utic iiigrale — une — uuc — words 
 fail me to express what I think of your enormous and 
 unkind ingratitude. I am homme iveompris, and Made- 
 moiselle here — Mademoiselle is either uiie enfant, or she 
 does not know her own mind. Shall I give the Comle de 
 Chavannes his conge, or shall I not ? I shall not, — for if 
 
 209 O
 
 VALERIE 
 
 she be mtc eiifinil, it is fit her friends look after her ; if 
 she does not know her own mind, it is u;ood she liave some 
 one who do! — voild tout. Here is why I sliall not go 
 congedier monsieur le Comte. Why, rather, I shall request 
 him to dine with me to-morrow, the next day, the day 
 after. If he do not, I swear by my honour, foi de Gironac, 
 I will dine at home again never more." 
 
 I could not help laughing at this tirade of the kind- 
 hearted little man, on the strength of which he patted 
 me on the head, and said I was bonne enfant, if I ■were 
 not si diahlement entctee, and bade me go to bed, and sleep 
 myself into a better humour ; a piece of advice which 
 appeared to me so judicious, that I proceeded at once 
 to obey it, and bidding them both a kind good-night, 
 betook myself to my own room to ponder rather than 
 to sleep. And, in truth, I felt that I had need of reflec- 
 tion ; for with the return of Auguste, a tide of feelings, 
 which had long lain dormant rather than dead within me, 
 had almost overwhelmed me ; and the hardness which 
 had its origin in the bitterness of conscious dependence, 
 and which had gained strength from the pride of self- 
 acquired independence, began to thaw in my heart, and to 
 give way to milder and gentler feelings. 
 
 The thoughts of home, the desire for my country, the 
 love for my father, who, though weak and ahnost iml^ecile, 
 had ever been kind to me in person, the craving affection 
 for my brothers and my sisters, nay, something approach- 
 ing to pity, or regret, for the mother who had proved 
 herself but a step-mother towards me, all revived in in- 
 creased and reinvigorated force. 
 
 By-and-by, too, I began to feel that I should be very 
 wretched after the parting with my beloved brother at 
 the end of so brief a i-enewal of love and intimacy ; to 
 be aware of what I had scarcely felt before, in the self- 
 confidence of the position I had won — that it is a sad 
 and lonely thing to be a sojourner in a foreign land, with 
 no natural friends, no kind kindred, on whom to rely in 
 case of sickness or misfortune ; — and to consider how dark 
 and grave a thing must be solitary old age, and perhaps a 
 solitaiy death-bed, far from the home of one's youth, the 
 friends of one's childhood. 
 
 210
 
 VALERIE 
 
 Then there arose another thought, connected with the 
 preceding by that extraordinary and inexplicable chain, 
 which seems to run through the whole mind of man, 
 linking together things apparently as far asunder as the 
 poles, which have, however, in reality, a kindred origin. 
 That thought was, wherefore should ni}- life be solitary ? 
 Why should I stand apart and alone from my race, rely- 
 ing on myself only, and depriving myself, for the sake of a 
 perhaps imaginary independence, of all the endearments 
 of social life, all the sweet ties of family ? 
 
 Perhaps the very presence of my brother had opened 
 my eyes to the truth, that there is no such thing in the 
 world as real independence. To realise that possession, 
 most coveted, and most unattainable, one must be a 
 Robinson Crusoe, alone on his desert island, — a sort of 
 independence which no one, I should think, would practi- 
 cally desire to enjoy. 
 
 Before sleep came, I believe that I began to muse 
 about Monsieur de Chavanncs : but it Avas only to think 
 that I did not care in the least about him, nor he about 
 me ; and that, so far as he was concerned, I had seen no 
 cause to change my decided resolution that I would never 
 marry. All this was, perhaps, in reality, the best of proofs 
 that I did already care something about him, and was 
 very likely before long to care something more ; for some 
 one has said, and he, by the way, no ordinary judge of 
 human nature, that if he desired to win a woman's fancy 
 or affection, his first step would be to make her (Jibik 
 about him — even if it were to hate him ! anything before 
 the absence of all thought, the blank void of real absolute 
 indifference. 
 
 Indeed, I believe it is nearly true, tiiat a woman rarely 
 begins to think oflen of a man, even if it be as she fancies 
 in dislike, but when, however she may deceive lierself, 
 she is on the verge of loving him. Was such the case 
 with me ? 
 
 At least, if it were so, I was then so far from knowing 
 it, that I did not even ask myself the question. But I 
 remember that when I fell asleep, I dreamed that I was 
 standing at the altar with the Count de Chavannes, when 
 a band of all those who had ever wronged me, — my 
 
 211
 
 VALERIE 
 
 mother, Madame d'Albret, Madame Bathurst, the Stan- 
 hopes, Lady M , nishcil between us, and tore us for- 
 cibly asunder ; and 1 wept so loud that my sorrow awoke 
 me, and it was some time before I was sure it was a 
 dream. 
 
 Early the next morning, Auguste came again to see 
 me ; and as Monsieur Gironac was abroad, giving lessons 
 on the flute and guitar, while madame either was, or 
 pretended to be, excessively busy with her wax-flowers, 
 we had the whole day to ourselves until luncheon-time, 
 and we profited by it so well, that before w'e were inter- 
 rupted, we had Httle to learn on either side concerning 
 the passages of our lives, and tlie adventures which both 
 we and all our family had gone through. And if I had 
 been a little inclined to be proud of myself before, and to 
 give their full value to my energy and decision of character, 
 I certainly now stood in no small danger of being spoiled by 
 Auguste's praises. 
 
 For now, half-crying at my trials and troubles, now 
 
 laughing at Lady R 's absurdities, — now bursting into 
 
 vehement invective against my enemies, — he insisted that 
 I was a perfect heroine — the bravest and most accomplished 
 of women, as well as the dearest of sisters. 
 
 But when I had finished my own story, which I did not 
 begin until I had extracted from him every particle of 
 information about my family — 
 
 " Well, my little Valerie," he said caressingly, as he put 
 his arm about my waist, "you have told me everything — 
 all your little sorrows, and trials, and troubles — all your 
 little pleasures and successes — all your little schemings 
 and mana?uvrings in the love-afffiirs of other people — and 
 all about the great little fortune which you have accumu- 
 lated — quite a millionaire, upon my word, with your twenty- 
 five hundred livres de rente — but not one word have you 
 told me about your own little affaires de cceur. I am afraid, 
 little sister mine, you are either a very great hypociute, or 
 very cold-hearted ; Avhich is it, dearest Valerie .'' " 
 
 "Very cold-hearted, I believe, brother. At least I 
 certainly have no affaires de ccvur to relate. I cannot 
 pretend to say whether it is my fault or that of other 
 people ; but certainly no one ever fell in love with me, 
 
 212
 
 VALERIE 
 
 if it were not that odious Monsieur G ; and most 
 
 certainly I have never fallen in love with any one at all." 
 
 Auguste gazed earnestly in my face for a moment, as if 
 he Avould have read my heart ; but I met his eyes with 
 mine quite steadily and calmly, till at length I burst into 
 a merry laugh, which I could not restrain. 
 
 "Quite true, little sister.?" he said at last, after my 
 manner had in some sort convinced him. 
 
 "Quite true, Auguste, upon my honour," I replied. 
 
 "Well, Valerie, I suppose I must believe that earnest 
 face, and that honest little laugh of 3'ours." 
 
 "You may just as well do so, indeed," I replied; "for 
 no one w'as ever in love with me, I assure you. And I 
 do not think," I added, with a touch of the old pride, 
 '• that a De Chatenceuf is likely to give away a heart that 
 is not desired." 
 
 "It is all very strange," he added. "And this Monsieur 
 Lionel Dempster " 
 
 " Is a little older than poor Pierre, Avhom I used to pinch 
 when I wanted to get out of ni}^ mother's reach ; and 
 regards me very much as he would a much elder sister — 
 almost, indeed, as a mother." 
 
 " A mother, indeed, Valerie ! " 
 
 " He once told me something of the kind ! He is a very 
 fine jonng man, certainly, full of talent and spirit, and will 
 make you a very good and agreeable friend — but he is no 
 husband for me, I assure you. He would do much better 
 for Sophia, or Elisee, if he ever should see and like either 
 of them." 
 
 " Always busy for others, Valerie ! And for yourself — 
 when will you think for yourself.''" 
 
 " I think I have thought, and done, too, for myself, pretty 
 well. You forget my twenty-five hundred Hvres de rente." 
 
 " But twenty-five hundred livres de rente are not a husband, 
 Valerie." 
 
 " I am not so sure about that. I daresay they would 
 buy one at a pinch," I replied, laughing; "at least in our 
 jwor country, where every one you meet in societ)^ is not 
 a millionaire, like these cold islanders." 
 
 "I think you have grown almost as cold yourself, little 
 sister, and as calculating." 
 
 213
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "To be sure I have/' I made answer; "and to punish 
 me. Monsieur Gironac swears that 1 shall die a sour old 
 maid." 
 
 " And what do you say ? " 
 
 " An old maid, verj' likely ; but not a sour one, at all 
 events. But hark ! there is a carriage at the door — let me 
 see Avho it is." 
 
 And I jumped up, and, running to the window, saw the 
 Selwyn liveries, and Lionel, en cavnlier, beside the carriage 
 window. 
 
 In a moment the steps were let down ; and Caroline 
 speedily made her apjiearance, commissioned, as she said, 
 by her motlier-in-law, to take immediate possession both 
 of myself and Augusta, and to bring us down straightway 
 to Kew. Her husband, she said, would certainly have 
 called on Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, and the judge also, but 
 that, the courts being all in session, they were both so 
 completely occupied that, except after dinner, they had not 
 an hour of the twenty-four disengaged. 
 
 She was commanded, moreover, she added, to invite Mon- 
 sieur and Madame Gironac to cUne at Kew on the following 
 day. Me, moreover, and Augusta, she was to carry down 
 forthwith in the carriage. 
 
 " So now," she said, " get you gone, Valerie, and pack up 
 as quickly as possible all that you require to make yourself 
 beautiful for a week, at least." 
 
 " And Avhat do you say to all this, messieurs ? " said I, 
 laughingly, to my brother and Lionel ; " for there is nuich 
 more necessity to consult you lords of the creation, as you 
 call j'ourselves, who are in reality vainer by half, and care 
 five times as much about your toilettes as we much- 
 calumniated women — what do you say about this summary 
 packing up and taking flight ? can it be accomplished ? " 
 
 "It is accomplished," replied Lionel ; "in so far, at least, 
 that I have promised, on my own part, and for Monsieur 
 Auguste de Chatenoeuf in the bargain, to overlook the 
 preparation of his kit as well as my own, and to bring them 
 down in a cabriolet, while you and your brother are rolling 
 smoothly along in the judge's venerable coach." 
 
 " All that is arranged, then," said I, " and I will not 
 detain you above ten minutes, during which time I will 
 
 214
 
 VALERIE 
 
 send Madame Gironac to amuse you, and you can delivrr 
 your own message to her." 
 
 And then, without waiting for any answer, I hurried 
 upstairs to inake my traveUing toilette, and to put up things 
 for a week's visit to my good friends. 
 
 In the meantime Madame Gironac, who had always been 
 a great favourite of Caroline's, had taken my place ; and l)y 
 the merriment which I could hear going on, I could not 
 doubt tliat, on the whole, the party had been a gainer by 
 the exchange. 
 
 Before I was quite ready to make my reappearance, there 
 came a smart double knock at the door ; and then, after a 
 minute or two, I could distinguish a gentleman's footstep 
 ascending the staircase to the dining-room. 
 
 My own I'oom looked towards the back of the house, so 
 that I had no means of seeing for myself who the new- 
 comer was ; and I did not choose to ask any questions of 
 the servant-girl, who was bu.stling in and out of the door 
 with trunks and travelling-cases innumerable. 
 
 So I finished my toilette with a heart that beat, I must 
 confess, a little faster than usual, though I should certainly 
 have been puzzled to explain why ; put on my liat and 
 shawl, perhaps a little coquettishly, and went downstairs, 
 half-im])atient, half-embarrassed, yet fully persuaded in my 
 own mind that I had not the least expectation of seeing 
 anybody in particular. 
 
 I found all the company assembled round the luncheon 
 table when I entered, and busily engaged with the coleleties 
 (i la Maintcnon and green peas. Among those present was 
 Monsieur le Comte de Chavannes, whom I certainly did not 
 expect to see. 
 
 He rose immediately from the table as I entered, and 
 advanced a step or two to meet me, with a graceful inclina- 
 tion, and a few well-chosen words, to the intent that he had 
 called in order to invite Monsieur dc Chatenctuf to go out 
 and take a promenade a cheval with him, in order to see the 
 parks and the beauty of London. 
 
 All this was said with the utmost frankness, and in the 
 most unatlected manner in the world ; and assureilly there 
 was nothing either in the words, or in the manner in which 
 they were uttered, which should have thrown me into a 
 
 215
 
 VALERIE 
 
 confusion of blushes^ and rendered me for a moment almost 
 incapable of answering him. 
 
 It must be remembered, however, that I liad been rallied 
 very much concerning him of late by Monsieur (iironac, and 
 I could scarcely avoid perceiving that this exceeding assiduity 
 in doing the honours to Auguste could not but be attributed 
 to some more potent cause than mere civility to a fellow- 
 countryman. 
 
 My confusion produced, for a second or two, a slight 
 similar embarrassment in the count, and the blood mounted 
 highly to his foi'chead. Our eyes met, too, at the same 
 instant ; and though the encounter was but momentary, 
 from that time a sort of secret consciousness was established 
 between us. 
 
 This scene passed in less time than it takes to describe 
 it ; and, becoming aware that ever}' one's eyes were upon 
 us, I rallied instinctively, rejilied by a few civil words of 
 thanks, and took a place at the table, which had been left 
 vacant for me, between my brother and Lionel Dempster. 
 This little interruption at an end, the conversation returned 
 to the course it had taken before I came in, and there was 
 a good deal of very agreeable talk ; as is sure to be the 
 case whenever four or five pleasant and clever people are 
 thrown together under circumstances which create a sudden 
 and unexpected familiarity, each person desirous of amusing 
 and rendering himself pleasant to his companions of an 
 hour ; but not so anxious to make an impression, as to be- 
 come stiff, stilted, or affected. 
 
 Lionel, as I have said long ago, was remarkably witty and 
 clever by nature, and had pi'ofited greatly by his oppor- 
 tunities in France; so much so, that I have rarely seen a 
 young man of his age at all comparable to him. The count 
 was likewise a person of superior abilities and breeding, with 
 a touch of English seriousness and soundness engrafted on 
 the stock of French vivacity; and my brother Auguste was 
 a young, ardent soldier, full of gay youth, high hopes, and 
 brilliant aspirations, all kindled uj) l)y the excitement of thus 
 visiting a foreign country, and finding himself in the company 
 of a long-lost and much-beloved sister. 
 
 Caroline Sclwyn was quick, bright, and lively; Madame 
 Gironac was a perfect mine of life and vivacity ; and I, 
 
 2lG
 
 VALERIE 
 
 desirous of atoninc; for my folly of tlie past evening, did my 
 best to be agreeable. 
 
 I suppose I Avas not wholly unsuccessful, for every time 
 I raised my eyes, I was sure to find those of Monsieur de 
 Chavannes riveted on my face with a deep, earnest gaze, 
 which, though it was instantly averted, even before our 
 glances met, showed that he was in some sort interested 
 either in myself, or in my words. 
 
 Before luncheon was finished. Monsieur Gironac made his 
 entree, and it was finally arranged that he and madame should 
 join us at Kew on the following evening ; and befoi'e we set 
 oft", Caroline expressed a hope to the Count de Chavannes 
 that he would call upon his friend Monsieur de Chatenceuf 
 while he was staying at the judge's, explaining that it was 
 impossible for Mr. Selwyn or the jwdge to wait on him for 
 some days, until the courts had done sitting, when she 
 assured him that they would do so Avithout I'ail. 
 
 He promised innuediatcly, without a moment's hesitation, 
 that he would do so; and I believe a riding party Avas made 
 up on the spot between himself, Lionel, and Auguste, for 
 tlie second or third day. 
 
 As soon as everything was settled, Caroline huri'ied us 
 aAvay, saying that her mother-in-laAV Avould think she had 
 run off; and a short agreeable drive carried us doAvn to the 
 judge's pleasant villa, Avhere I was received almost as one 
 of the famil}', and Auguste rather as an old friend, than as 
 a stranger and a foreigner. 
 
 The time passed aAvay pleasantly, for it Avas the height 
 of the loveliest spring weather ; the situation of the villa 
 on the banks of the Tliames Avas in itself charming; and 
 for once the English month of May Avas Avhat its poets have 
 described it — that is to say, Avhat it is once in every hundred 
 years. 
 
 Every one Avished to please and to be pleased, and the 
 Sehvyns Avere of that very rare class of people, Avhom you 
 like the more the more you see of them — the very reverse 
 of the Avorld in general — nothing could be more delightful 
 than the week which we passed there. 
 
 From the judge I had no concealments ; and regarding 
 him almost in the light of a second father, Avhile Auguste 
 Avas prepared to love him for his love to me, Ave had 
 
 217
 
 VALERIE 
 
 many long conversations and consultations concerning my 
 affairs, and the propriety of disclosing my existence to my 
 father. 
 
 This I was resolved upon, and both the judge and Augusta 
 appi'oving, it was decided that it should be done. 
 
 The only question, then, which remained to be disposed 
 of, Avas, how far my disclosures should be caiTied, and 
 whether it would be practicable, and if practicable, safe, 
 that I should return to France at present, or indeed at all 
 while in my present condition. 
 
 Auguste gave me his opinion, as he had done repeatedly, 
 that my mother never had laid aside, and never would lay 
 aside, her rancour towards me ; and that she would grasp 
 at the first oppoi'tunity of taking any vengeance upon me 
 which my presence should afford her. 
 
 He did not believe, he said, that my father would be 
 able long to preserve from her the secret of my being alive, 
 and of my having raised myself to a condition of comparative 
 affluence ; nor did he feel by any means assured that, while 
 labouring under the revulsion of feelings which the happy 
 tidings would work upon his mind, my mother would not 
 recover her ascendency over him. 
 
 Beyond this he could say nothing ; for as a young French- 
 man, and more especially a young French soldier, he knew 
 even less about the laws of France, and the rights of parents 
 over children, than did Judge Selwyn ; only, like the judge, 
 he was inclined to the opinion that I had better not trust 
 myself within the limits of any jurisdiction which might 
 be called upon to hand me over to the parental authority, 
 until such time as I should be completely my own mistress 
 as regarded them, which probably could only be effected 
 by ceasing to be my own mistress as regarded some one 
 else. 
 
 "For be assured, Valerie," he added, "that the possession 
 of yotn* person for the purpose of annoying you, and aveng- 
 ing herself on you for all the sufferings she has undergone 
 in consequence of your supposed suicide, will become the 
 darling object of her life, so sure as she learns that 3'ou are 
 in the land of the living ; and the fact of your having 
 secured to yourself a little fortune will not act as a check 
 upon her inclinations." 
 
 218
 
 VALERIE 
 
 I sighed deeply ; for although I felt and knew the truth 
 of all he said, and expected that he would say it, his 
 words seemed to extinguish the last spark of hope in 
 my heart ; and it is a bitter and painful thing in any case 
 for a daughter to feel that she shall in all probability 
 never again be permitted to see the authors of her life, 
 or the companions and scenes of her childhood ; but it is 
 doubly so when she feels it to be the fault of the wicked- 
 ness or weakness of those whom she would fain love and 
 esteem, but cannot. 
 
 The good judge marked my emotion, and laying his 
 hand kindly on my shoulder, said, " You must not give 
 way, my dear girl ; you have done all that is right and true 
 and honest ; and the course which you have taken has been 
 forced ujion you. To yield now, and return home to be 
 tortured and despoiled of the little all which your own 
 good sense and your own good conduct have procured you 
 — for, apart from good sense and good conduct, there is 
 no such thing in the world as good fortune — would not 
 only be positive insanity, but positive ingratitude to the 
 Giver of all good. My advice to you, therefore, is to 
 remain altogether passive, to pursue the career which you 
 have chosen, and, without yourself taking any steps to 
 disclose your present situation, to authorise your brother 
 fully to reveal to your father so much of it as shall appear 
 necessary and desirable to him when on the spot. I should 
 not recommend that your place of residence, or exact cir- 
 cumstances, should be communicated even to him, at least 
 for the present ; and should he desire to write to you, the 
 letters should pass through your brother's hands, and be 
 forwarded under cover to me, which will prevent the gain- 
 ing of intelligence through the post-ofhce. The rest we 
 must leave to the effects of time, and of that Providence 
 which has been displayed so singularly in your behalf 
 already, and which never deserts those who believe humbly, 
 and endeavour sincerely to deserve Divine favour. So this," 
 he added with a smile, "is the end and sum total of an 
 old lawyer's counsel, and an old man's sermon. And now, 
 think over what I have said between you ; for I believe 
 you will find it the best course, although it may now hardly 
 suit your excited feelings ; and in the meantime }et us go 
 
 219
 
 VALERIE 
 
 on the lawn and join the ladies, who seem to have got some 
 new metal of attraction." 
 
 " Indeed, judge," I replied, " I am quite convinced of 
 the wisdom of what you propose, and 1 thank yc" sincerely 
 for your advice as for all your other goodness towards me. 
 No father could be kinder to an only daugliter than you 
 have been to me ; and God will bless you for it. But to 
 say the truth, I do feel very sad and downcast just at this 
 moment, and am not equal to the joining that gay party. 
 I will go up to my own room," I added, "for a little while, 
 and come down again so soon as I can conquer this foolish 
 weakness." 
 
 " Do not call it foolish, Valerie," returned the old man, 
 with a benignant smile. " Nothing that is natural can be 
 foolish — least of all, anything of natural and kindly feeling. 
 But do not yield to it — do not yield to it. The feelings 
 are good slaves, but wretchedly poor masters. Do as you 
 will, my dear child, but come to us again as soon as you 
 can. In the meantime. Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, let us go 
 and see who are these new-comers." 
 
 And with these words he turned away, leaning familiarly 
 upon my brothei''s arm, and left me to collect myself, and 
 recover from the perturbation of my feelings as well and 
 as soon as I could, — which was not perhaps the more quickly 
 that I had easily i-ecogniscd in the new arrival the person 
 of the Count de Chavannes. 
 
 I have entered perhaps more fully into the detail of 
 my sentiments at this period of my life, for two reasons 
 — one, because of an eventful life, this was upon the whole 
 the most eventful moment — the other, that having hitherto 
 recorded facts and actions rather than feelings or principles, 
 I am conscious that I have represented myself as a some- 
 what harder and more worldly person than I feel myself in 
 truth to be. 
 
 But the hardness and the worldliness were pi'oduced, if 
 they existed at all, by the hardness of the circumstances 
 into which I was thrown, and the worldliness of the persons 
 with whom I was brought into contact. 
 
 Adversity had hardened my chai'acter, and perhaps in 
 some sort my heart also. At least, it had aroused my j^ride 
 to the utmost, had set me, as it were, upon the defensive, and 
 
 220
 
 VALERIE 
 
 led me to reirard every stran<^er Avith suspicion, and to look 
 in him for a future enemy. 
 
 Good fortune had, however, altered all this. All who 
 had been my enemies, who had injured or misrepresented 
 me, were disarmed, or subdued, or repentant. 1 had for- 
 given all the world — was at peace with all the world. I 
 had achieved what to me was a little competence ; I was 
 loved and esteemed by those whom I could in return love 
 and esteem, and of whose regard I could be honestly ])roud. 
 I had recovered my brother — 1 still li()})ed to be reconciled 
 to my parents — and — and — why should I conceal it.'' — I 
 was beginninsr to think it by far less improbable that I 
 should one day marry — in a word, I was beginning to like, 
 if not yet to love. 
 
 All these things had been by degrees effecting a change in 
 my thoughts and feelings. I had been gradually thawing, 
 and was now completely melted, so that I felt the necessity 
 of being alone — of giving way — of weeping. 
 
 I went to my own chamber, threw myself on my bed, and 
 wept long and freely. 
 
 But these were not tears of agony such as I shed when I 
 first learned Madame d'Albret's cruel conduct towards me — 
 nor tears of injured pride such as Madame Bathurst had 
 forced from me by her effort to humiliate me in my own 
 eyes — nor yet tears of wrathful indignation such as burst 
 
 from me when I detected Lady M in her base endeavour 
 
 to destroy my charactei*. 
 
 These were tears of affection, of softness, almost of joy. 
 They flowed noiselessly and gently, and they relieved me, 
 for my heart was very full ; and, when I was relieved, I 
 bathed my face, and arranged my hair, and descended the 
 staircase, almost merrily, to join the merry company in the 
 garden. 
 
 I found, on my joining them, that the Count de Chavannes 
 had already completely gained the good graces, not only of 
 Caroline and her young sisters-in-law, but of Mr. Selwyn and 
 the judge also. 
 
 lie had come down to Kew with the particular purpose of 
 engaging my brother and Lionel to accompany him, on the 
 next day but one, to Wormwood .Scrubs, where there was 
 to be a grand i*eview, in honour of some foreign prince or 
 
 221
 
 VALERIE 
 
 other, of two or three regiments of hght cavalry, witli horse- 
 artillery aiul rockets. It was to coucliule with a sham 
 fight, which he thought would interest Auguste as a militaiy 
 man, and especially one who had connnenced his service in 
 the hussars, though he had been subsequently transferred 
 into the line. 
 
 This plan had been discussed and talked over, until 
 the ladies, having expressed a laughing desire to see the 
 spcclach', it was decided that Caroline, the two Miss Selwyns, 
 and mj'self, escorted by Lionel in the rumble, should go 
 down to the review in the judge's carriage, Auguste and 
 the count accompanying us en cavalier; and that after the 
 order of the day should be concluded, the whole party, 
 including the count, should return to dinner at Kew. 
 
 On the day following, as I did not think it either wise 
 or correct to neglect my pupils, my chapel, or Mrs. Brad- 
 shaw's school, although I had sent satisfactory reasons for 
 taking one week's leave of absence, we were all to return 
 to town ; I to good Monsieur Gironac's, Auguste and Lionel 
 to the lodgings of the latter in Suffolk Street. 
 
 Monsieur de Chavannes did not stay long after I made 
 my appearance, not wishing either to be, or to appear, 
 de trop on a fii'st visit ; nor had he any opportunity of 
 addressing more than a few commonplace observations 
 to me, had he desired to do so. Still I observed the 
 same peculiarity in his manner towards me, as distinct 
 as possible froui the sort of proud humility, half badin- 
 age, half earnest, which he put on in talking Avith other 
 ladies. 
 
 To me he observed a tone of serious softness, with 
 something of earnest deference to everything that fell from 
 my lips, however light or casual, for which he seemed to 
 watch with the utmost eagerness. 
 
 He never joked with me, though he was doing so con- 
 tinually with the others ; not that he was in the least 
 degree grave or formal, much less stiff or afl'ected ; but 
 rather that he seemed desirous of ))roving to me that 
 he was not a mere butterfly of society, but had deeper 
 ideas, and higher aspirations, than the everyday world 
 around us. 
 
 When he was going away, he for the first time put out 
 
 222
 
 VALERIE 
 
 his hand to me h rA/ighiise, and as I shook hands with 
 him, our eyes met once more, and I believe I again bluslied 
 a little ; for though he dropped his gaze instantly^ and 
 bowed low, taking off' his hat, he pressed my fingers very 
 gently, ere he let them fall, and then turning to take 
 his leave of the judge and Mr. Selwyn, who had just 
 joined us, mounted his horse — a very fine hunter, by 
 the way, which he sat admirably — again bowed low, and 
 cantered off", followed by his groom, as well mounted as 
 himself. 
 
 He was not well out of sight before, as usual, he became 
 the topic of general discussion. 
 
 "What a charming person!" said Caroline: "so full of 
 spirit and vivacity, and yet so evidently a man of mind 
 and good feeling. Where did you pick him up, Valerie .'' " 
 
 " He is an old friend, I told you, of Monsieur Gironac's, 
 and was calling there by accident when he met Auguste, 
 and since that he has been exceedingly kind and civil to 
 him. That is the whole I know about him." 
 
 "Well, he is very handsome," said Caroline; "don't you 
 think so, Valerie .'' " 
 
 '■' Yes," I answered, quite composedly, " very handsome, 
 a little effeminate-looking, perhaps." 
 
 "Oh! no, not in the least," said Caroline: "or if he 
 is, so quick and clever and spirited-looking that it quite 
 takes all that away." 
 
 " Caroline," said Selwyn, laughing, " you have no right 
 to have eyes to see, or ears to hear, or mind to compre- 
 hend, beauty, or wit, or any other quality, in any one 
 save me, your lord and master." 
 
 " You ! you monster ! " she replied, laughing gaily. " I 
 never thought you one bit handsome, or witty, or dreamed 
 that you had one good quality. I only married you, you 
 know as well as I do, to get away from school, and from 
 the atrocious tyranny of my music-mistress there. You 
 need not look fie ! at me, Valerie, for I'm too big to be 
 put in the corner, now, and he won't let you wiiip me." 
 
 " I think he ought to whip you himself, baby," replied 
 the judge, who had grown very fond of her; and, in truth, 
 she was a very lovable little person in her way, and made 
 her husband a very happy man. 
 
 223
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "Now, Judge Selwyn/' interposed I, ''do you remember 
 a conversation we once had together, in which you en- 
 deavoured to force me to beheve that men in general, 
 and you in particular, were not tyrants to your wives 
 and families, and now do I hear you giving your son 
 such advice as that ? Alas ! what can make women so 
 insane ?" 
 
 " Don't you know ? Can't you guess, Mademoiselle 
 \'alerie ? " asked the old judge, smiling slyly, and with the 
 least possible wink of his eye, when some of the others 
 ■were looking at us ; and then he added in a lower voice, 
 " Perhajjs it will be your turn soon. I think you will soon 
 be able to go to France without much fear of your mother's 
 persecution. Come," he continued, offering me his arm, 
 as the others had now moved a little way apart, "come 
 and take a turn with me in the cedar-walk till dinner's 
 ready ; I want to talk to you, for who knows when one 
 will get another opportunity .'' " 
 
 I took his arm without re|)ly, though my heart beat very 
 fast, and I felt uncomfortable, knowing as I did perfectly 
 well beforehand what he was going to say to me. 
 
 We tiM'ncd into the ccdar-Avalk, which was a long shadowy 
 aisle, or bower, overhung with magnificent cedars of Lebanon, 
 running parallel with the banks of the noble river, and so 
 still and secluoled that no more proper jilace could be found 
 for a private consultation. 
 
 " Well," said the old man, speaking gently, but not 
 looking at me, perhaps for fear of embarrassing me by 
 his eye, "you know I am in some sort, not oidy your 
 legal adviser, but your self-constituted guardian, and father 
 confessor — so now, without further preamble, who is he, 
 Valerie ? " 
 
 "I will not affect to misunderstand you, judge, though, 
 upon my word, you are entirely mistaken in your con- 
 jecture." 
 
 •' Upon your word ! entirely mistaken ! I think not — I 
 am sure not." 
 
 " You are indeed. I have not seen him above four times, 
 nor spoken fifty words to him." 
 
 " Never mind, never mind — who is he ? " 
 
 "An acquaintance of Monsieur Gironac's — Monsieur le 
 
 224
 
 VALERIE 
 
 Comte de Chavannes. His father emigraletl hither during 
 the Revohition, engaged in commerce, and made a fortune 
 of some £10,000. At the restoration, tlie old count re- 
 turned to France, and Avas made by Louis X\'IIL a colonel 
 of the Legion of Honour, and died shortly afterwards. 
 There is an estate, I believe, in Brittany, but Monsieur de 
 Chavannes, who was at school here, and has passed all his 
 younger days in tliis country, is more an Englishman than 
 a Frenchman, and only visits France at rare intervals. 
 That is all I know about him, and that only by accident, 
 Monsieur Gironac having told me, in his lively way, what 
 I should not have dreamed of inquiring." 
 
 " Verj'^ proper, indeed — and very good so far, but one 
 would like to know something definite about a man before 
 taking him for one's husband." 
 
 " I should think so, indeed, judge ; but as I am not 
 going to take him for my husband, I am quite contented 
 with knowing what I do know of him." 
 
 "And what do you know? — of yourself I speak, of your 
 own knowledge ? No hearsay evidence in the case." 
 
 "Nothing more than that he is lively and agreeable, 
 that he has very good manners, and seems very good- 
 natured — I might say, he has been very good-natured to 
 Auguste, poor fellow." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! Yes," answered the judge. " But men 
 are very apt to be good-natiu-ed to poor felloAvs who have 
 got nice sisters, with whom they are in love." 
 
 " I dare say, judge. But to reply in your own phraseology 
 — that is no case in point ; for granting that Auguste's 
 sister is nice, which I will not be so modest as to gain- 
 say. Monsieur de Chavannes is not the least in love with 
 her." 
 
 '" Perhaps not." 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 "Well, be it so. What else do you know about him ?" 
 
 "Nothing, Judge Selwyn." 
 
 " Nothing of his character, his principles, his morals, or 
 his habits ? " 
 
 " Really, judge, one would think, to hear you, that I was 
 going to hire a footman — which I am much too poor to 
 do — and that Monsieur de Chavannes had applied for the 
 
 225 P
 
 VALERIE 
 
 place. \Vhat on earth have I to do with tlie young 
 gentleman's character or principles ? I know that he is 
 very gentlemanlike, and is neither a coxcomb nor a pedant, 
 which is refreshing in these days." 
 
 " And, as Caroline says, very handsome, eh ? " 
 
 "Yes, I think he is handsome," I replied. ''But that 
 has nothing to do with it." 
 
 "Not much, truly," said the judge dryly. "And this is 
 all you know .''" 
 
 " Or desire to know. It seems to me quite enough to 
 know of an acquaintance of a few days' standing." 
 
 " Well — well," he answered, shaking his head a little. 
 "Well. He is all that you say. A very fine young man, 
 he seems. I like him. Well, I will make inquiries." 
 
 "Not on my account, I entreat. Judge Selw3'n," said I, 
 interrupting him eagerly. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenceuf," he said dryly, 
 though half in jest, "my head is an old one, yours a very 
 young one. I know young folks are apt to think old 
 heads good for nothing." 
 
 " I do not, I am sure," interrupted I, again. " I do not 
 indeed." 
 
 "Nor I, \^alerie," he answered, interrupting me in 
 his turn, with a good-natured smile. " So you shall let 
 me have my way in this matter. But, to relieve you, 
 my dear, permit me to observe that I have two daughters 
 of my own, and one young son, besides Chai'les, who is 
 old enough to take care of himself; and though I am 
 very glad to ask a young man to dine in my house who 
 has, as you observe, very good manners, and is neither 
 a fool nor a coxcomb, I am not at all willing that he 
 should become what you call an hahiliie, until I know 
 something of his character and principles. And now, as 
 the dressing-bell has rung these ten minutes, and it will 
 take you at least half-an-hour to beautify your little person, 
 I advise you to make the most of your time. And by 
 all means, Valerie, stick to your resolution — never marry, 
 my dear, never marry ; for all men are tyrants." 
 
 One might be very sure that I profited by this dismissal, 
 and ran across the lawn as fast as I could, glad to escape the 
 far-sighted experience of the shrewd old lawyer. 
 
 226"
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "He has seen it, then/' I thoiiirlit to myself. "He 
 has observed it even in this little space ; even in this one 
 interview ; and he has read it^ even as 1 read it. I wonder 
 if he has read my heart, too. No, no," I continued, com- 
 muning with myself, " that he cannot have done, for 1 know 
 not yet myself how to interpret it." 
 
 Little thought I then, that whenever our feelings are 
 deeply interested, or when strong passions are at work, 
 even in embryo, we are for the most part the last persons 
 who discover the secrets whicli are transparent enough. 
 Heaven knows, to all persons but ourselves. 
 
 I do not know, nor did I inquire, whether the judge 
 pursued his inquiries concerning the count as lie had 
 promised to do ; much less did 1 learn what was their 
 result. But I do know that the following morning the 
 yoimg gentleman called again at the gate with a led 
 horse for my brother ; but did not ask if we were at 
 home, merely sending his compliments to the ladies, and 
 recjuesting Monsieur de Chatenoeuf to accompany him for 
 a ride. 
 
 Lionel was absent in the city on business ; so that 
 Auguste and the count rode out alone, and did not return 
 until it was growing dark, when there was scarcely time 
 to dress for dinner, the latter again sending in an apology 
 for detaining my brother so long, and retiring without 
 getting ofl' his horse. 
 
 This gave me, 1 confess, more pleasure than it would 
 have done to see him, though that Avould have given me 
 pleasure, too ^ for I saw in it a proof of something more 
 than mere tact, of inental delicacy, I mean ; and an anxiety 
 not to obtrude either upon the hospitality of the Selwyns, 
 or upon my feelings. 
 
 Auguste, on his return, was in amazing sjiirits, and did 
 nothing all dinner time but expatiate upon the companionable 
 and amiable qualities of De Chavannes, whom he already 
 liked, he said, more than any person he had ever seen 
 for so short a time — so clever, so high-spirited, so gallant. 
 Everything, in a word, that a man could desire for a friend, 
 or a lady for a lover. 
 
 "Heyday!" said the judge, laughing at this tirade. 
 "This fine count with his black moustaches seems to have 
 
 227
 
 VALERIE 
 
 made one conquest miglity quickly. I hope it will not 
 run in the company, or we shall have more elopements " — 
 with a sly glance at Caroline. " Mademoiselle Valerie, 
 here," he continued, "is a terrible person for promot- 
 ing elopements, too. But we must have none from uiy 
 house." 
 
 We continued "^to be very gay all dinner-time. After 
 dinner we had some music, and the judge was just pressing 
 me to sing, when Lionel's servant came into the room, 
 having hurried down from London in pursuit of his master, 
 in consequence of the sudden-arrival of a large package 
 of letters from Paris, endorsed " Immediate, and to be 
 delivered with all speed." 
 
 This incident broke up the party for the moment ; and 
 indeed threw a chill over us all for the whole evening, 
 when it appeai*ed that the principal letter was one to 
 my brother from the commandant of Paris, of which city 
 his regiment formed a part of the garrison, reluctantly 
 revoking his leave of absence, in consequence of some 
 expected cmeulc, and intimating that his presence would 
 be expected at headquarters on or before the third day 
 of June, an order which it was, of course, impossible to 
 think of neglecting or disobeying, while it would leave 
 him at the furthest but a single w^eek to give to us in 
 London. 
 
 It was a bitter disapjjointment to be separated after so 
 brief a communion ; but we consoled ourselves by the re- 
 collection that the Straits of Dover are not the Pacific 
 Ocean, and that Paris and London ai'e not a thousand leagues 
 asunder. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 i HERE never was a finer morning in the world than that 
 ;i|)p()inted for the review. It was just the end of Ma}', and 
 all the scenery, even in the very suburbs of the great city, 
 was brilliant with all the chai-acteristic beauty of an English 
 landscape. 
 
 The fine horse-chestnut trees and the thick hawthorn 
 
 228
 
 VALERIE 
 
 hedges were all in fall l)looin, and the air was perfeetly 
 scented with perfumes from the innumerable nursery-grounds 
 wliich hedge in that side of London with a belt of flowers. 
 
 The parks and the suburban roads were crowded with 
 neatly-dressed, modest-looking nurses and nursery-maids, 
 leading whole troops of rosy-cheeked, brown-curled, merry 
 boys and girls to enjoy the fresh morning air ; and Auguste 
 was never tired, as we drove along, of admiring everything 
 that met his eyes in quick succession. 
 
 The trees, the flowery hedges, the gay parterres, the 
 glimpses of the noble Thames white with the sails of in- 
 numerable craft, the beautiful villas with their small highly 
 cultivated pleasure-grounds, the pretty nursery-maids, and 
 haj)py English children, all came in for a share of his 
 rapturous admiration ; and so vivacious and original were 
 his comments on all that he saw, that he in some sort 
 communicated the infection of his merry humour to us 
 also, and we were all as gay and joyous as the season 
 and the scene. 
 
 When we came to the ground destined for the review, my 
 brother was silent, and I saw his cheek turn ])ale for a 
 moment ; but his eye brightened and flashed as it ran over 
 the splendid lines of the cavalry, which, at the moment 
 we came upon the ground, were parading jjast the royal 
 personage in honour of Avhom the review was given, and who 
 was on horseback, by the side of a somewhat slender elderly 
 gentleman, dressed in the uniform of a field-marshal, whose 
 eagle eye and aquiline nose announced him, at a glance, the 
 iminqueur tlu vauiqiieiir de la terre. 
 
 " Mdgni/iq/ie ; mais c'esl vraivient magni/ique," muttered my 
 brother to himself, as the superb Life Guards swept along, 
 with their polished steel helmets and breastplates glittering 
 like silver in the sunshine, and their plumes and guidons 
 flashing and twinkling in the breeze. " Dicii dc d'leu ! quils 
 sonl gcanls les cavaliers, qii'i/s soul colossaiix Ics chevaux. Et 
 Ic.s allures si lesles, si gracicuscs, comme s'ils iictaiciit que des 
 jumenis. Mais c'est mi spectacle magni/ique !" 
 
 A moment afterwards, a regiment of lancers passed at a 
 trot, with their pennons fluttering in the In'ccze, and their 
 l.mce-heads glimmering like stars above the clouds of dust 
 which rose from under their horses' hoofs ; and these were 
 
 229
 
 VALERIE 
 
 followed by several squadrons of hussars, with their crimson 
 trousers and their G;aily-furred pelisses ; and then troop after 
 troop of horse-artillery elattering alon<;-, the hii;h-!)red horses 
 whirlinjr the heavy <;uns and caissons behind them as if they 
 had been mere playthings. 
 
 It certainly was a beautiful and brilliant pageant, and 
 the splendid military music of the cavalry bands, the clash 
 and clang of the silver cymbals, the ringing roll of the 
 kettle-drums, and the symphonious cadences of the cornets, 
 horns, and trumpets at the same time, delighted and excited 
 me to the utmost. 
 
 But I confess, that to me the calm old veteran, sitting 
 unmoved amiilst all that pomp and clangour, and evidently 
 marking only the very smallest niinutine of the men, the 
 accoutrements, the movements, was a more interesting, a 
 more moving sight, than all the pageantry of uniform, than 
 all the thrill of music. 
 
 I thought how he had sat as cool and impassive under 
 the iron hail of battle, with thousands and thousands of 
 the best and bravest falling around him, the fate of nations 
 hanging on a balanced scale in those fights of giants — I 
 thought how he, alone of men, had faced, undaunted and 
 self-confident, that greater than Hannibal, or Alexander, 
 that world-conqueror. Napoleon — I thought how he had 
 quelled the might of my own gallant land, and my blood 
 seemed to thrill coldly in my veins, as it will at the recital 
 of great deeds and noble daring — and I kncAV not altogether 
 whether it was the shudder of dislike, or the thrill of 
 admiration that so shook me. 
 
 Had he looked proud, or self-elate, or triumphant, I felt 
 that I could have hated him ; but so impassive, and withal 
 now so frail and feeble, yet with an eye so calmly firm, an 
 expression of rectitude so conscious, I could not but per- 
 ceive that if an enemy of my Belle France was before me, 
 it was an enemy who had been made such by duty, not 
 by choice — an enemy who had done nought in hatred, — all 
 in honour. 
 
 I acknowledged to myself that I was in the presence of 
 the greatest living man; and though I could neither love 
 nor worship, I felt subdued and awed into a sort of breath- 
 less horror, as one might fancy humanity to be in the 
 
 2o0
 
 VALERIE 
 
 presence of some superior intelligence, — some being of 
 another world. 
 
 'I'he girls observed my riveted and almost fascinated eye, 
 as it dwelt on that mighty soldier, and began to w'hisper to 
 one another with a sort of very natiu'al pride at the evident 
 interest which we took in their favourite hero. 
 
 Their tittering attracted my brother's attention, and 
 following their eyes he was not long in discovering what 
 it was that had excited their mirth, and he looked at me 
 for a moment with something like a frown on his forehead. 
 But it cleared away in a moment, and he smiled at his own 
 vehemence, perhaps injustice. 
 
 At that moment, the different regiments began wheel- 
 ing to and fro in long lines, and open columns of troops, 
 and performing an infinity of manoeuvres, which, though 
 I of course did not in the least degree comprehend 
 them, were very fine and beautiful to look at, from the 
 rapidity of the movements, the high spirit of the horses, 
 and the gleam and glitter of the arms, half seen among 
 the dust-clouds. My brother, however, began, as I could 
 see, to be vehemently excited, and his constant com- 
 ments and exclamations of surprise and admiration, bore 
 testimony to the correctness with which every movement 
 was executed. 
 
 Then came the roar of the artillery, as the guns retreated 
 before the charging horse, and even I could com])rehend 
 and appreciate the marvellous celerity with which flash 
 followeil flash, and roar echoed roar, from the same piece, so 
 speedily that it was scarcely possible to comprehend how^ 
 the gun should have been loaded and re-loaded while the 
 horses were at full gallop. 
 
 By this time all the gentlemen had become so much in- 
 terested and excited by the scene, that, Lionel having got 
 upon his horse, which had been led down to the ground by 
 his servant, they asked our permission to leave us for a 
 short time, and ride nearer to the spot where the artillery 
 were manoeuvring. 
 
 As we had several servants about us in the first place, and 
 as in the second there is not the slightest danger of ladies 
 being treated with incivility by an English crowd, unless 
 through their own fault or indiscretion, of course no objec- 
 
 231
 
 VALERIE 
 
 tion was made, and our cavaliers jj^alloped away, promisinor 
 to return witliin a quarter of an liour. 
 
 Scarcely were they out of sight, before I observed a tall, 
 handsome, soldierly man, though in plain clothes, ride past 
 the carriage on a very fine liorsc, followed by a groom in 
 a plain dark frock, with a cockade in his hat. 
 
 It seemed to me, on the instant, that I had seen his face 
 somewhere before, and that I ought to know him ; for the 
 featm*es all seemed familiar, although, had it been to save my 
 life, I could not have said where I had met him. 
 
 I was torturing my memory on this head in vain — for he 
 Avas evidently an Englishman, and I had no acquaintance 
 with any English officer — when he i*ode past a second time, 
 and seemed to be engaged in endeavouring to decipher the 
 arms on our carriage, and his object appeared to be the 
 discovery of who / was ; at least, I could not but observe 
 that he looked at me from time to time with a furtive glance 
 from under the brim of his hat, as if he, too, fancied that 
 he knew or remembered me. The same thing happened 
 yet a third time ; and then he called his servant to his 
 side, and I saw the man ride up a second afterwards to 
 Judge Selwyn's footman, -who was standing at a few yards' 
 distance from the carriage, and ask him some question, 
 which he answered by a word or two, when the groom 
 rode away. 
 
 The gentleman, on receiving the reply, nodded his head 
 quietly, as if he would have said, " I thought so," and then 
 he looked at me steadily till he caught my eye, when he 
 raised his hat, made a half-military bow, and trotted slow'ly 
 away. 
 
 Caroline's quick eye caught this action in an instant, and 
 turning to me suddenly, she cried quickly — 
 
 " Ah ! Valerie, who is that ? that handsome man who 
 bowed to you .'' — Where have I seen him before .'' " 
 
 "The ver\' question which I was asking myself, Caroline. 
 I am quite sure that I have seen his face, and yet I cannot 
 remember where. It is very strange." 
 
 "Very!" replied a strange, sneering voice, close to my 
 ear, with a slightly foreign accent. "Can you say where 
 you have seen mine, bigrate?" 
 
 I turned my head as quick as lightning ; for in answering 
 232
 
 VALERIE 
 
 Caroline, avIio sat on the side of the carriage next to the 
 military spectacle, I had leaned a little inward ; and there, 
 with his eircmiiiate features actually livid with rage, and 
 writhing with impotent malignity, stood Monsieur G — — , 
 the infamous divorced husband of Madame d'Albret, and 
 the first cause of almost all my misfortunes. 
 
 I looked at him steadily, and replied with bitter but calm 
 contemjit — 
 
 " Perfectly well, Monsieur G . And very little did I 
 
 suppose that I should ever see it again. I imagined, sir, 
 that you were in your proper place, — the galleys ! " 
 
 It was wrong, doubtless, in me so to answer him— un- 
 feminine, perhaps, and too provocative of insult ; but the 
 blood of my race is hot, and vehement to repel insult ; and 
 when I thought of the sufferings I had endured, the trials I 
 had encountered, and the contumely which I had borne on 
 account of that man, my every vein seemed to overflow with 
 passion. 
 
 " Ha ! " he replied, grinding his teeth with rage, and 
 becoming crimson from the rush of blood to his head, while 
 he grasped my wrist hard with his hand, and shook it 
 furiously. "Ha! to the galleys yourself — Chiciine ! Ligralc! 
 Per/id e ! Traitresse ! c'cst aux galcrcs que jai era tc rcncontrcr 
 — OH pliilot h la -" 
 
 What further atrocity the ruffian was about to utter, I 
 know not, for while his odious voice was yet hissing in my 
 ear these atrocious epithets, before the footman, who was 
 standing, as I have said, a few yards off at the other side 
 of the carriage, had time to interfere, I heai'd the sound of 
 a horse at full gallop, and the next instant he was dragged 
 forcibly away, and I saw him quivering in the furious grasp 
 of the Count de Chavannes, who had, it seems, been returning 
 to join us when the assault was conniiitted. 
 
 To gallop to my side, to spring to the ground, to collar 
 the ruffian, drag him from the carriage, and lash him with 
 his whole strength with a rough jockey-whip till he fairly 
 screamed for mercy, were but the work of a moment. 
 
 And I could not but marvel afterwards to think how 
 much power and nervous energy his indignant spirit had 
 lent to his slight frame and slender limbs, for in size he 
 
 was by no means superior to G , whom he, nevcrthe- 
 
 233
 
 VALERIE 
 
 less, handled almost as if he had been a child of five 
 years old. 
 
 Want of breath at last, rather than want of will, com- 
 pelled him to pause in his exercise ; and then turning 
 towards us with an air as com])()sed and smiling as if he 
 had been mei*ely dancing a quadrille, he took off his hat, 
 saying — 
 
 " I must implore your pardon, ladies, yours more espe- 
 cially. Mademoiselle \'alerie, for enacting such a scene in 
 your j)resence. Mais c'ctait plus fori (jite moi!" he added, 
 laughing. *' I could not contain myself at seeing a lady 
 so infamously insulted." 
 
 Caroline and the Misses Selwyn were so much frightened 
 by the whole fracas, that they were really unable to 
 answer, and I was for the moment so much taken by 
 surprise, that I could not find words to reply. At this 
 moment, covered with dust and blood, for the whij) had 
 cut his face in several places, without his hat, and with all 
 
 his gay attire besmeared and rent, Cir again came up 
 
 towards the carriage. 
 
 He was very ])ale, nay white, even to the lips, but it was 
 evidently not with terror but with rage, as his first words 
 testified. 
 
 "Monsieur le Comte de Chavannes," he said slowly, "car 
 je vous connais, et vous me connaitrez aussi, je vous le jure ; 
 vous m'avez frappe, vous me rendrez satisfaction, n'est-ce 
 pas } " 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " I exclaimed, before he could answer, 
 clasping my hands eagerly together. " Oh, no, no ! not on 
 my account, I implore you. Monsieur le Comte — no life on 
 my account — above all, not yours." 
 
 He thanked me by one expressive glance, which spoke 
 volumes to my heart, and perhajjs read volumes in return 
 in my pale face and trembling lips, then turned with a 
 calm smile to his late antagonist, and answered him in 
 I'.nglish. 
 
 " I do not know in the least, sir, who you are, and I 
 do not sup[)ose that I ever shall know. 1 chastised you, 
 five minutes since, for insulting this lady most grossly " 
 
 " Lady ! " interrupted the ruffian, with a sneer. " Lady. 
 
 Lady of ])lea " 
 
 234
 
 VALERIE 
 
 But the count went on without pausing or seeming to 
 hear him — " which I should have done at all events, whether 
 1 had known you or not, and which I shall most assuredly 
 do again, should you think fit to proceed fiu-ther with 
 your infamies. As for satisfaction^ if I should be called 
 upon in a proper way, I shall not refuse it to any person 
 worthy to meet me." 
 
 "Which this person is not, sir," interposed yet a third 
 voice ; and, looking up, I recognised the officer w-ho had 
 bowed to me; '^ which this person is not, I assure you, and 
 my word is wont to be sufficient in such cases — Lieutenant- 
 Colonel Jei-vis," — he added, Avith a half-bow to me, — "late 
 
 of his Majesty's light dragoons. This person is the 
 
 notoi'ious Monsieur G , who was detected cheating at 
 
 ccartc at the ' Travellers ' ; was a defaulter on the St. Leger 
 in the St. Patrick's year ; has been warned off every race- 
 course in England by the Jockey Club, besides being horse- 
 whipped by half the Legs in England. He can get no 
 gentleman to bring you a message, sir ; and if he could, 
 you must not meet him." 
 
 Gnashing his teeth with impotent rage, the detected 
 impostor slunk away, while the count, bowing to Colonel 
 Jervis, replied quietly — 
 
 " I thank you very much, colonel. I am Monsieur de 
 Chavannes ; and I have no doubt what you say is perfectly 
 correct. No one but a low ruffian could have behaved as 
 this fellow did. It was, I assure you, no small offence which 
 caused me to strike a blow in the presence of ladies." 
 
 " I saw it, Monsieur le Comte," answered Jervis, " I saw 
 it from a distance, and was coming up as fast as I could 
 make my horse gallop, when you anticipated me. Then, 
 seeing that I was not wanted, I stood looking on with 
 intense satisfaction ; for, uj)on my word, I never saw a 
 thing better done in my life. No offence, count, but by 
 the way you use your hands, I think you ought to have 
 been an Englishman rather than a Frenchman, which I 
 suppose from your name — for you have no French accent — 
 you are." 
 
 " I was at school in England, colonel," answered the count, 
 laughing, "and so learned the use of my hands." 
 
 "That accounts for it — that accounts for it; for on my 
 
 235
 
 VALERIE 
 
 life I never saw a fellow more handsomely horsewhipped — 
 and I have seen a a;ood many, too. Did 3-011, Mademoiselle 
 Valeric de Chateiui'iif ; — for 1 believe it is you whom I have 
 the honour of addressing ? " 
 
 "I have been less fortunate than you, Colonel Jervis ; for 
 I never saw any one horsewhipped before, and sincerely hope 
 I shall never see another." 
 
 "Don't say that, my dear lady, don't say that. I am sure 
 it is a very pretty sight, Avhen it is well and soundly done. 
 Besides, it seems ungrateful to the count." 
 
 "I would not be ungrateful for the world," I replied; 
 "and I am sure the count needs no assurance of that fact. 
 I am for ever obliged by his prompt defence of me ; but it 
 is nothing more than I should have cx2iected from him." 
 
 "What, that he would fight for you, V'alerie ?" whispered 
 Cai'oline maliciously, in a tone which, perha{)s, she did not 
 intend to be overheard ; but, if such was her meaning, she 
 missed it, for all present heard her distinctly. 
 
 I replied, however, veiy coolly — 
 
 " Yes, Caroline, that he would fight for me, or you, or 
 any lady who was aggrieved or insulted in his presence." 
 
 " Mille graces for your good opinions ! " said De Chavannes, 
 with a bow, and a glance that was far more eloquent than 
 words. 
 
 " A truce to compliments, if you will not think me imper- 
 tinent, count," said the colonel ; " but I wish to ask this fair 
 lady, if she will pardon me one question — had you ever a 
 friend called " 
 
 "Adele Chabot!" I interrupted him; "and I shall be 
 most enchanted to hear of her, or better still to see her, as 
 Mrs. Jervis." 
 
 " You have anticipated me ; that is what I was about to 
 say. We arrived in town last night ; and she commissioned 
 me at once to make out your whereabouts for her. The 
 Gironacs told me that you were staying at Kew " 
 
 " Yes, at Judge Selwyn's. By the way," I added, a little 
 mischievously, I confess, "allow me to make known to one 
 another Mrs. Charles Sclwyn, once Caroline Stanhoj^e, and 
 Colonel Jervis." 
 
 Jervis bowed low, but his cheek and brow burned a little, 
 and he looked sharply at me out of the corner of his eye ; 
 
 236
 
 VALERIE 
 
 but I j)reserved such a ilenuirc face, that he did not quite 
 know whether I was an fait or not. 
 
 Carohne, to do her justice, behaved exceedingly Avell. 
 Her character, inderd, which had been quite unformed before 
 her marriage, had gained soHdity, and her mind, judgment 
 as well as tone, since her introduction to a family so superior 
 as that of the Selwyns. And she now neither blushed nor 
 tittered, nor, indeed, showed any signs of consciousness, 
 although she gave me a sly pinch, while she was inquiring 
 in her sweetest voice and serenest manner after Adcle, 
 whom she said she had always loved very much, and longed 
 to see her sincerely in her new station, which she was so 
 admirably qualified to fill. "I hear she was vastly admired 
 in Paris, colonel ; and no wonder, for I really think she was 
 the ver}'^ prettiest creature I ever saw in my life. You are 
 a fortunate man, Cohmel Jervis." 
 
 " I am, indeed," said he, laughing. " Adele is a very good 
 little creature ; and the people were so good-natured as to 
 be very civil to her in Paris, especially your friend Madame 
 d'Albret, Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf Nothing could ex- 
 ceed her attentions to us. We are very much indebted to 
 yea ^or her acquaintance. By the way, Adele has no end 
 of letters and presents of all sorts for you from her. When 
 can you come and see Adele .'' " 
 
 "Where are you staying, Colonel .lervis ? " 
 
 "At 'J'homas's Hotel, in Berkeley Square, at present, until 
 we can find a furnished house for the season. In August 
 we are going down to a little cottage of mine, in the High- 
 lands. And I believe Adele has some plan for inducing you 
 to come down and bear her company, while I am slaughter- 
 ing grouse and blackcock." 
 
 " Thanks, colonel, both to you and Adele. But I do not 
 know how that will be. August is two whole months distant 
 yet, and one never knows what may happen in the course 
 of two months. Do you know I was half thinking of paying 
 a visit to France myself, when my brother, who is on a visit 
 to me noAv, returns to join his regiment." 
 
 " Were you, indeed .'' " asked De Chavannes, more earnestly 
 than the subject seemed to warrant. " I had not heard of 
 that scheme before. Is it likely to be carried into effect, 
 mademoiselle .'' " 
 
 237
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " I hardly know. As yet it is little more than a distant 
 dream." 
 
 " But you have not yet answered my question. Made- 
 moiselle de Chatenoeuf," said the colonel. " You have not 
 yet told me when you will come and see Adele." 
 
 " Oh ! pardon me, colonel. I return to town to-morrow, 
 and I will not lose a moment. Suppose I say at one 
 o'clock to-morrow, or two will be better. Caroline, the 
 judge was so good as to say that he Avould let his carriage 
 take me home ; I dare say it can drop me at Thomas's, can 
 it not ? " 
 
 " Certainly jiut, \ alerie ! There, don't stare now, or look 
 indignant or surprised. It served you perfectly right ; what 
 did you expect me to say ? Or why do you ask such silly 
 questions ? Of course, it can take you wherever you please, 
 precisely as if it were your own." 
 
 "Then at two o'clock, I will be at Thomas's to-morrow, 
 colonel; in the meantime, pray give Adele my best love." 
 
 " I will, indeed. And now I will intrude upon you no 
 longer, ladies," he added, raising his hat. " In fact, I owe 
 you many apologies for the liberty I have taken in introduc- 
 ing myself. I hope you will believe that I would not have 
 done so under any other circumstances." 
 
 We bowed, and without any further remarks, ]ie put spurs 
 to his horse and cantered away. 
 
 "A very gentlemanly person," said Caroline; "I think 
 Adele has done very well for herself." 
 
 "You had better not let Mr. Charles Selwyn hear you say 
 so, under all circumstances, or I think that very likely the 
 whipping we were talking about in fun, yesterday, will be- 
 come real, cara mia ! " 
 
 " Nonsense ! for shame, you mischievous thing ! " said 
 Caroline, blushing a little, but not painfully. 
 
 " Who is this Colonel Jervis .'' " asked the Count de 
 Chavannes. " I was a little puzzled, or rather not a little ; 
 for at first none of you seemed to know him ; and, after a 
 little while, you all appeared to know him quite well. Pray 
 explain the m3'stery." 
 
 " He is a very gentlemanly person, count, as Mrs. Selwyn 
 justly observes, and, as you can perceive, a very handsome 
 man. Further than that, he was colonel of one of his 
 
 238
 
 VALERIE 
 
 Majesty's crack rcf^iincnls as they call them, and is now on 
 half-pay. He is, moreover, a man of hi<i;li fashion, and of 
 the first standini^ in society. And, last of all, which is the 
 secret of the whole, he is the husband of a very charming 
 little Frenchwoman, a particular friend of Caroline's and 
 mine, one of the prettiest and nicest persons on earth, with 
 whom he ran away some six months since, fancying her 
 to be " 
 
 "Valerie !" exclaimed Caroline, blushing fiery red. 
 
 "Caroline!" replied I quietly. 
 
 "What were you going to say .''" 
 
 " Fancying her to be a very great heiress," I continued, 
 " but finding her to be a far better thing, a delightful, 
 beautiful, and excellent wife." 
 
 " Happy man ! " said De Chavannes, with a half-sigh. 
 
 "Why do you say so, count.''" 
 
 " To have married one for whom you vouch so strongly. 
 Is that any common fortune ?" 
 
 "It is rather common, count, just of late I mean," said 
 Cai'oline, laughing. " You do not know that among Valerie's 
 other accomplishments she is the greatest little match-maker 
 in existence. She marries off" all her fi'iends as fast^ — oh ! 
 you cannot think how fast." 
 
 " I hope, — I mean to say I think," he corrected himself, 
 not without some little confusion, "that she is not quite so 
 bad as you make her out. She has not yet made any match 
 for herself, I believe. No, no. I don't believe she is quite 
 so bad." 
 
 " I would not be too sure, count, were I you," she 
 answered, desii'ous of paying me off a little for some of the 
 badinage with which I had treated her. " These ladies, 
 with so many strings to their bow " 
 
 It was now my time to exclaim " Caroline ! " and I 
 did so not without giving some little emphasis of severity 
 to my tone ; for I really thought she was going beyond 
 the limits of propriety, if not of persiflage ; and I will 
 do her the justice to say that she felt it herself, for 
 she blushed very much as I spoke, and was at once 
 silent. 
 
 The awkwardness of this pause was fortunately broken 
 by the return of Auguste and Lionel, at a sharp canter; for 
 
 239
 
 VALERIE 
 
 the review was now entirely at an end, and they had now 
 
 for the first moment remembered that, havincj promised 
 to return in a quarter of an hour, tliey had suffered two 
 hours or more to elapse, and that we were probably all 
 alone. 
 
 Caroline immediately began to rally Lionel and Auguste ; 
 the former, witli whom she was very intimate, pretty 
 severely, for their want of gallantry in leaving us all alone 
 and unprotected in such a crowd. 
 
 " Not the least danger — not the least ! " replied Lionel 
 hastily. " Had we not known that, we should have returned 
 long ago." 
 
 " In proof of which vo danger, we have been all frightened 
 nearly to death ; Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf has 
 been grievously affronted, and I am not sure but what she 
 would have been beaten by a French ChevaVier d' Industrie, had 
 it not been for the gallantry of the Count de Chavannes." 
 
 And thereupon out came the whole histor}' of Monsieur 
 
 G , his horscAvhipping, the opportune ajipearance of 
 
 Colonel Jervis, and all the curious circumstances of the 
 scene. 
 
 I never in my life saw any one so fearfully excited as 
 Auguste. He tui-ned white as ashes, even to his very lips, 
 while his eyes literally flashed fire, and his frame shivered 
 as if he had been in an ague fit. " // me le paicra 1 " he 
 muttered between his hard-set teeth. " // 7ue le patera, le 
 scclerat ! Ma pauvrc scetir — ma paitvre petite Jalcrie ! " 
 
 And then he shook the hand of Chavannes with the 
 heartiest and warmest emotion. " I shall never forget this," 
 he said, in a tliick, low voice ; " never, never ! From this 
 time forth, De Chavannes, we are friends for ever. But I 
 shall never, never be able to repay you." 
 
 " Nonsense, vioii c/ier, nonsense," replied Chavannes. " I 
 did nothing — positively nothing at all. I should not have 
 been a man had I done otherwise." 
 
 This had, however, no effect at all in stopping Auguste's 
 exclamations and professions of eternal gratitude ; nor did he 
 cease until Monsieur de Chavannes said quietly, " Well, well, 
 if you will have it so, say no more about it ; and one day or 
 other I will ask a favour of you, which, if granted, will leave 
 me your debtor." 
 
 240
 
 VALERIE 
 
 "//granted! — it is granted/' exclaimed Auguste impetu- 
 ously. "What is it? — name it — I say it is- granted." 
 
 "Don't be rash, inon c/icr," replied the count, laughing; 
 "it is no sliglit boon which I sliall ask." 
 
 "Do not be foolish, Auguste," I interposed; "you are 
 letting your feelings get the better of you strangely ; and, 
 Caroline, if you do not tell the peo})le to drive home, you 
 will keep the judge waiting dinner — a proceeding to which 
 you know he is by no means partial." 
 
 " You are right, as usual, Valerie ; always thoughtful for 
 other people. So we will go home." 
 
 But, just as we were on the point of starting, the groom 
 with the cockade, wdiom we had seen following Colonel 
 Jervis, ti'otted up, and touching his hat, asked — 
 
 " I beg your paixlon, gentlemen, but is any one of you the 
 Count de Chavannes ? " 
 
 "I am," replied the count; "what do you want with 
 me, sir ? " 
 
 " From Colonel Jervis, sir," replied the man, handing him 
 a visiting card. "The colonel's compliments, count, and he 
 begs you will do him the favour, in case you hear anything 
 more from that fellow as you hoi'sewhipped, count, to let 
 him know at Thomas's at once ; for you must not treat him 
 as a gentleman, nohow, the colonel says ; and if so be he 
 gives you any trouble, the colonel can get his flint fixed — 
 the colonel can ! " 
 
 "Thank you, my man," replied the count; "give my com- 
 pliments to your master, and I am much obliged for his 
 interest. I shall do myself the honour of waiting on the 
 colonel to-morrow. Be so good as to tell him so." 
 
 " I will, sir," said the man ; and I'ode away without another 
 word. 
 
 " You see, Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, you must not dream of 
 noticing the fellow as a gentleman," said the count. 
 
 " Impossible ! " Lionel chimed in, almost in the same 
 breath ; and all the ladies followed suit with their absolute 
 " Impossible ! " 
 
 A rai)id drive brought us to the judge's house at Kew, 
 where we found dinner nearly ready, though not waiting ; 
 and the events of the day were the topic, and the count 
 the hero, of tiie evening. 
 
 241 Q
 
 VALERIE 
 
 The next morniii«]f we returned to town — Augiiste and 
 myself, I mean; Monsieur de Chavannes having driven up 
 from Kew in liis own cabriolet after dinner. 
 
 I called, according to my promise, and found Adele alone, 
 and delighted to see me, and in the highest possible spirits. 
 She was the ha})piest of women, she said ; and Colonel Jervis 
 was everything that she could wish — the kindest, most affec- 
 tionate of husbands ; and all lliat she now desired, as she 
 declared, was to see me established suitably. 
 
 "You had better let matters take their course, Adele," 
 I answered. "Though not much of a fatalist, I believe 
 that when a person's time is to come, it comes. It avails 
 nothing to hurry — nothing to endeavour to retard it. I 
 shall fare, I doubt not, as my friends before me, dear 
 Adele ; and if I can consult as well for myself as I seem 
 to have done for my friends, I shall do very well. Caro- 
 line, by the way, is quite as happy as you declare yourself 
 to be, and I doubt not are ; for I like your colonel amaz- 
 ingly." 
 
 " I am delighted to hear it. He also is charmed with 
 you. But who is the Count de Chavannes, of whom he 
 is so full just now } He says he is the only Frenchman 
 he ever saw worthy to be an Englishman — which, though 
 we may not i-egard it exactly as a compliment, he considers 
 the greatest thing he can say in any one's favour. Who 
 is this Count de Chavannes, Valerie ? " 
 
 I told her, in reply, all that I knew, and that you know, 
 gentle reader, about the Count de Chavannes. 
 
 " Et puis ? — Et ptiis ? " asked Adele, laughing. 
 
 " Et jmis, nothing at all," I answered. 
 
 " No secrets among friends, Valerie," said Adele, looking 
 me earnestly in the face ; " I had none with you, and you 
 helped me with your advice. Be as frank, at least, with 
 me, if you love me." 
 
 " I do love you dearly, Adele ; and I have no secrets. 
 There is nothing concerning which to have a secret." 
 
 " Nothing ? — not this gay and gallant count .'' " 
 
 " Not even he." 
 
 "And you are not about to become Madame la Com- 
 tesse .'' " 
 
 "I am not, indeed." 
 
 242
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " Indeed — in very deed ? " 
 
 " In very — very deed." 
 
 " Well, I do not understand it. By what Jervis told me, 
 I presumed it was a settled thing." 
 
 "The colonel was mistaken. There is no thing, settled 
 or unsettled." 
 
 " And do you, really, not like him } " 
 
 " I really do like him, Adele, as a very pleasant companion 
 for an hour or two, and as a very perfect gentleman." 
 
 " Yes, he told me all that. But if you like him so well, 
 why not like him better.'' Why not love him ?" 
 
 " I will be |)lain and true with you, Adcle. I do not 
 choose to consider at all whether I could, or could not, 
 love him. He has never asked me, has never spoken of 
 love to me ; and putting it out of the question that it is 
 unmaidenly to love unasked, I am sui'e it is unwise." 
 
 " I understand, I understand. But he uill ask you, that 
 is certain ; and, when he does ask, what shall you say } " 
 
 " It will be time enough to consider when that time 
 shall come." 
 
 " Another way of saying, ' I shall say yes ! ' But come, 
 Valerie, you must promise me that if you need my assist- 
 ance, you will call upon me for it. You know that anything 
 I can do for you will be done without a thought, but how 
 I best may serve you ; and Jervis will do likewise, since 
 he, as I do, considers that under Heaven, we owe our 
 happiness to you." 
 
 " I promise it." 
 
 " Enough ; I will ask no more. Now come up to my 
 room, and I will give you Madame d'Albret's letters, and 
 some pretty presents she has sent you. Do you know, 
 Valerie, nothing could exceed her kindness to us. I be- 
 lieve she repents bitterly her unkindness to you. I cannot 
 repeat the terms of praise and admiration which she applied 
 to you." 
 
 " And do you know, Adele, that it wns her infamous 
 
 and miserable husband, Monsieur G , whom the count 
 
 horsewhipped this very day for insulting me }" 
 
 " Indeed ? was it indeed ? That man's enmity to you 
 will never cease so long as he has life. No, Jervis did 
 not tell me who it Avas, thinking, I fancj', that neither 
 
 243
 
 VALERIE 
 
 you nor I would have so much as known his name. But 
 never care about the wretch. Here is madame's letter." 
 
 It was as kind a letter as could be written, full of thanks 
 for the favour I had sliown her in introducing my friends 
 to her, and of hopes that we should one day meet again, 
 when all the past should be forgotten, and I should 
 resume my own place and station in the society of my 
 own land. She begged my acceptance of the pretty 
 dresses she sent, which she said she had selected, not for 
 their value, but because they were pretty; and, in her 
 postscript, she added what of course outweighed all the 
 rest of her letter, both in interest and importance, that 
 she had recently been informed, through a strange channel, 
 and, as it were, by accident, that my mother's health was 
 failing seriously, and that, although not attacked by any 
 regular disorder, nor in any immediate danger, it was not 
 thought probable that she could live much longer. " In 
 that case, Valerie," she continued, "for, although no one 
 could be so unnatural as to wish for a mother's death, how 
 cruel and unmotherly she might be soever, it cannot be 
 expected that you should regard her decease with more 
 than decent observation, and a proper seriousness, I shall 
 look to see you dwelling again among us, and spending 
 the little fortune, which I understand you have so bravely 
 earned, in the midst of your friends, and in your own 
 country." 
 
 " That I shall never do," I said, speaking aloud, though 
 in answer partly to her letter, partly to my own words; 
 "that I shall never do. Visit France I may, once and 
 again ; but in England I shall dwell. France banished 
 and repudiated me like a stepmother — England received 
 me, kinder than my own, like a mother. In England I 
 shall dwell." 
 
 " Wait till you see the lord of your destinies ; and 
 learn Avhere he shall dwell. You will have to say, 
 like the rest of us, ' Your country shall be my country, 
 and your God my God,' " observed Adele, interrupting 
 my musings. 
 
 " The first perhaps — the last never ! never ! Catholic 
 I was born, Catholic I will die. I do not say that I will 
 never marry any but a Catliolie, but I do say that I will 
 
 244
 
 VALERIE 
 
 never marry but one who will approve my adoring my 
 own Godj according to my own conscience." 
 
 " Is the Coinit de Chavannes a Catholic ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I know not. But he is a Breton, and the 
 Bretons are a loyal race, both to their king and their 
 God." 
 
 I now turned to finish my reading, which had been for 
 the moment interrupted. 
 
 " Indeed, my dear Valerie," she concluded her letter, 
 " I have long felt that although we were certainly justified 
 by the circumstances of your situation in taking the steps 
 we did at that time, we have been hardly pai'donablc 
 in persisting so long in the maintenance of a falsehood 
 which has certainly been the cause of great pain and 
 suffering to both your parents, the innocent no less than 
 the guilty. I know that your mother can never forgive 
 me for aiding you in your escape from her authority ; but 
 for my part, I am Avilling to bear her enmity, rather than 
 persist in further concealment, so that you need not in 
 any degree consider me in any .steps which you may think 
 it wise or right to take towards i-evelation and reconcilia- 
 tion. Indeed I think, Valerie, that if it can be done with 
 due regard to your own safety and happiness, you ought 
 to discover yourself to both your parents, and, if j)ossible, 
 even to visit the most unhappy, because the guiltier of 
 the two, before her dissolution, which I really believe to 
 be now very near at hand. Every one knows so well 
 what you have undergone, that no blame will attach to 
 you in the least degree. Allow me to add, that should 
 you return to France, as I hope you will do, I shall 
 never forgive you if you do not make my house your 
 home." 
 
 This postscript, as will readily be believed, gave me more 
 cause for thought than all the letter beside, and rendered 
 me exceedingly uneasy. If I had felt ill-satisfied before 
 with my condition and my concealment, much more was 
 I now discontented with myself, and uidiappy. I was 
 almost resolved to return at all hazards w ith Auguste ; 
 and, indeed, when I consulted with Adele, she leaned 
 very much towards the same opinion. I would not, how- 
 ever, do anything rashly, but I determined to consult 
 
 245
 
 VALERIE 
 
 not only with my brother, but witli the judge, in whose 
 wisdom I hud no less confidence than I had in his friend- 
 ship and integrity. 
 
 Things, however, were destined to occin*, which in some 
 degree altered and hastened all my proceedings ; for that 
 very evening, when the Gironacs had retired, on my be- 
 ginning to consult Auguste, " Listen to me a moment, 
 before you tell me about your letters from France, or 
 anything about returning ; and I entreat you answer me 
 truly, and let no false modesty, or little missish delicacy, 
 prevent 3'our doing so. Many a life has been rendered 
 miserable by such foolishness, I have heard say ; and being, 
 as it were, almost alone in the world, as if an only brother 
 with an only sister, to whom, if not to one another, should 
 we speak freely } " 
 
 " You need not have made so long a preamble, dear 
 Auguste," I replied, with a smile; "of course I will 
 answer you ; and when I say that, of course I will answer 
 truly." 
 
 " Well, then, A'alerie, do you like this Count de 
 Chavannes ? " 
 
 *' It is an odd question, but — Yes. I do like him." 
 
 " Do you love him, Valerie ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Auguste — that is not fair. Besides, he has never 
 spoken to me of love. He has never — I do not know 
 whether he loves me — I have no reason to believe that he 
 does." 
 
 "No reason!" he exclaimed, half-surprised, half-indignant 
 — " no reason ! I should think — but never mind — answer 
 me this ; if he did love you, do you love him, or like him 
 enough to take him for your husband f " 
 
 " He has spoken to you, Auguste — he has spoken to 
 you ! " I exclaimed, blushing very deeply, but unable to 
 conceal my gratification. 
 
 " I am answered, Valerie, by the sparkle of those bright 
 eyes. Yes, he has spoken to me, dearest sister ; and asked 
 m}' influence with you, and my permission to address you." 
 
 " And you replied ? " 
 
 " And I replied, that my permission was a matter of no 
 consequence, for that you were entirely your own mistress, 
 and that my influence would be exerted only to induce you 
 
 246
 
 VALERIE 
 
 to follow your own judgment and inclinations, and to consult 
 for your own happiness." 
 
 " Answered like a ffood and wise brother. And then 
 
 " Askedj whether I could form any opinion of the state 
 of your feelings. To which I replied, that I could only say 
 that I had I'eason to suppose that your hand and heart 
 were neither of them engaged, and that the field was open 
 to him if he chose to make a trial. But that I had no 
 opportunity of judging how you felt towards liim. I also 
 said that I thought you knew very little of each other, and 
 that his attachment must have groM'n up too rapidly to 
 have taken a very strong root. But there I found I was 
 mistaken. For he assured me that it was fi'om esteem of 
 your character, and admiration of your energy, courage, and 
 constancy under adversity, not from the mere prettiness of 
 your face, or niceness of your manners, that he first began 
 to love you. And I since ascertained that there is scarce 
 an incident of your life with which he has not made him- 
 self acquainted, and that in the most delicate and guarded 
 manner. I confess, Valerie, that it has raised him greatly 
 in my estimation, to find that he looks upon marriage as a 
 thing so serious and solemn, and does not rush into it from 
 mere fancy for a pretty fsice and ladylike accomj)lishments." 
 
 "I think so too, Auguste," I replied. "But I wish we 
 knew a little more about him. His character and principles, 
 I mean." 
 
 Auguste looked at me for a moment, in great surprise. 
 " What an exceedingly matter-of-fjict girl you are, Valerie ; I 
 never knew any one in the least like you. Do you know 
 
 I am afraid you are a little " and he paused a moment, 
 
 as if he hardly knew how to proceed. 
 
 " A little hard and cold, is it not, dear Auguste .'' " said I, 
 throwing my arms about him. " No, no, indeed I am not ; 
 but I have been cast so long on my own sole resources, and 
 obliged to rely only on my own energy and clear-sighted- 
 ness, that I always try to look at l)oth sides of the question, 
 and not to let my feelings overpower me, until I have 
 proved that it is good and wise to do so. Consider, too, 
 Auguste, that on this step depends the whole happiness or 
 misery of a girl's existence."
 
 VALERIE 
 
 " You are riglit, \'alerie, and I am wrong. But tell me, 
 do you love liim ? " 
 
 " I do, Auguste. I like him better than any man I have 
 ever seen. He is the only man of -whom I could think as a 
 husband — and I have for some time past been fi'arful of 
 liking him — loving him, too much, not knowing, though I 
 did believe and hope, that he reciprocated my feelings. 
 And now, if I knew but a little more of his principles and 
 character, I would not hesitate." 
 
 " Then you need not hesitate, dearest Valerie ; for, as if 
 to obviate this objection, he showed me, in the most delicate 
 manner, private letters from his oldest and most intimate 
 
 friends, and especially from Mr. , a most respectable 
 
 clergyman, who lives at Hendon, by whom he was educated, 
 and with whom he has maintained constant intercourse and 
 correspondence ever since. This alone speaks very highly 
 in his favour ; and the terms in which he writes to his pupil 
 are such as prove them both to be men of the highest char- 
 acter for worth, integrity, and virtue. He has proposed, 
 moreover, that I should ride down with him to-morrow, to 
 
 Hendon, to visit Mr. , and to hear from his own lips 
 
 yet more of his character and conduct, that is to say, if I 
 can give him any hopes of ultimate success." 
 
 " Well, Auguste," I replied, " I think, w'ith you, that 
 all this speaks very highly in favour of your friend ; and 
 I think that the best thing you can do is to take this 
 ride which he proposes, and see his tutor. In the mean- 
 time, I will drive down to Kew, and speak with our good 
 friend Judge Selwyn on the subject. To-morrow evening 
 I will see the count, and hear whatever he desires to say 
 to me." 
 
 This was a verj^ matter-of-fact way of dealing with the 
 affair, certainly; but what Auguste had said was in some 
 sort true. I was in truth rather a matter-of-fact girl, and 
 I never found that I suffered by it in the least; for I 
 certainly was not either worldly or selfish, and the feelings 
 do, as certainly, require to be guided and controlled by 
 sober reason. 
 
 After coming to this conclusion, I showed Madame 
 d'Albret's letter to Auguste, and we came to the decision, 
 also, that under the circumstances Auguste should, imme- 
 
 248
 
 VALERIE 
 
 diately on his return, communicate the fact of my beinji 
 aHve, and in good circumstances, to my father ; leaving it 
 at his discretion to inform my mother of the facts or not, 
 as he miglit judge expedient. 
 
 At a very early hour next morning, I took a glass coach 
 and drove down to Kew, where I arrived, greatly to the 
 astonishment of the whole family, just as they were sitting 
 down to breakfast ; and w hen I stated that I had come to 
 speak on very urgent business with the judge, he desired 
 my carriage to return to town, and proposed to carry me 
 back himself, so that we might kill two birds, as he ex- 
 pressed it, with one stone, — holding a consultation in his 
 carriage^ while on his ^^ ay to court. 
 
 As soon as we got into the coach, while I was hesitating 
 how to open the subject, which was certaiidy a little awk- 
 ward for a young girl, the judge took up the discourse — 
 
 " Well, Valerie," he said, " I suppose you want to know 
 the result of the inquiries which you were so unwilling that 
 I should make about the Count de C'havannes. Is not that 
 true .-^ " 
 
 " It is perfectly true, judge — though I do not know how 
 you ever have divined it." 
 
 "It is lucky, at least, that I consulted my own judgment, 
 rather than your fancy ; for otherwise I should have had no 
 information to give you." 
 
 " But as it is, judge } " 
 
 "Why, as it is. Mademoiselle Valerie, you may marry him 
 as soon as ever he asks you, and think yourself a very lucky 
 young lady into the bargain. He has a chai'acter such as 
 not one man in fifty can produce. He is rich, liberal with- 
 out being extravagant, never plays, is by no means dis- 
 .sipated, and in all respects is a man of honour, ability, and 
 character ; such is what I have learned from a quarter where 
 there can be no mistake." 
 
 I was a good deal affected for a moment or two, and was 
 very near bursting into tears. The good judge took my 
 hand in his, and spoke soothingly and almost caressingly, 
 bidding me confide in him altogether, and he would advise 
 me as if he were my own father. 
 
 I did so accordingly ; and while he approved highly of 
 all that I had done, and of the delicate and gentlemanly 
 
 249
 
 VALERIE 
 
 manner in which the count had acted, he fully advised 
 me to deal frankly and directly with him. " You like him, 
 I am sure, \alerie ; indeed, I believe I knew that before 
 you did yourself, and I have no doubt he will make you 
 an admirable husband. Tell him all, show him this letter 
 of your friend Madame d'Albret's about your mother, and 
 if he desires it, as I dare say he M'ill, marry him at once, 
 and set out together with Auguste, for France, when his 
 leave of absence is expired, and go directly to Paris with 
 your husband. As a married woman, your parents will 
 have no authority of any kind over you, and I think it is 
 your duty to do so." 
 
 I agreed with him at once ; and when, in the evening, 
 Auguste returned with the count from a visit to his former 
 tutor, Avhich had been in all respects satisfactory, and left 
 me alone witli Monsieur de Chavannes, everything was de- 
 termined without difficulty. 
 
 Love-scenes and courtships, though vastly interesting to 
 the actors, are always the dullest things in the world to 
 bystanders ; I shall therefore proceed at once to the end, 
 merely stating that the count ivas all, and did all, that 
 the most exigcmitc of women could have required — that 
 from the first to the last he was full of delicacy, of tender- 
 ness, and honour, and that after twelve years of a happy 
 life with him, I have never had cause to repent for a 
 moment that I consented to give him the hand which he 
 so ardently desired. 
 
 The joy of Madame Gironac can be imagined better than 
 described, as well as the manner in which she bustled about 
 my trousseau and my outfit for France, as it was determined 
 that the judge's plan should be adopted to the letter, and 
 that we should start directly from St. George's to Dover 
 and Calais. 
 
 Never, perhapS;, was a marriage more rapidly organised 
 and completed. The law business was expedited with all 
 speed by Charles Selwyn ; Madame Bathurst, the Jervises, 
 the Gironacs, and the Selwyns, were alone present at the 
 wedding ; and though we were all dear friends, there was 
 no affectation of tears or lamentable partings ; for we 
 knew that, in Heaven's pleasure, we should all meet again 
 within a few months, as, after our wedding tour was ended, 
 
 250
 
 VALERIE 
 
 Monsieur de Chav.vnnes proposed to take up his abode in 
 England^ the land of his choice, as of his education. 
 
 There was no bisho]) to perform the ceremony, nor any 
 duke to give away the bride. No k)ng array of liveried 
 servants, with favours in their buttons and in their hats — no 
 pompous paragraph in the morning papers to describe the 
 beauties of the high-bred bride and the dresses of her 
 aristocratic bridemaids — but two hearts were united as well 
 as two hands, and Heaven smiled upon the union. 
 
 A ([uick and pleasant passage carried us to Paris, where 
 I was received with raptures by my good old friend 
 Madame Paon, and with sincere satisfaction by Madame 
 d'Albret, who was proud to recognise her old protegee in 
 the new character of the Comtesse de Chavannes, a character 
 which she imagined reflected no small credit on her tuition 
 and patronage. 
 
 The thi'eatened emeiite having passed over, Auguste easily 
 obtained a renewal of his leave of absence, in order to 
 visit his family at Pau, and as he preceded us by three 
 days, and travelled with the utmost diligence, he outstri])ped 
 us by nearly a week, and we found both my j)arents pre- 
 pared to receive us, and both rcalli) ha})py at the prosperous 
 tidings. 
 
 My poor mother was indeed dying ; had we come two 
 days later, we should have been too late, for she died in 
 my arms on the day following our arriv-al, enraptured to 
 find herself relieved from the heinous crime of which she 
 had so long believed herself guilty, and blessing me with 
 her dying lips. 
 
 My father, who had always loved me, and Avho had eiTed 
 through weakness of head only, seemed never to weary of 
 sitting beside me, of holding my hand in his, and of gazing 
 in my face. With Monsieur de Chavannes' consent, the 
 whole of my little earnings, amounting now to nearly 
 £3500, was settled on him for his life, and then on my 
 sisters ; and the income arising from it, though a mere 
 trifle in England, in that cheap region sufficed, with what 
 he possessed of his own, to render his old age aflhient and 
 hajipy. 
 
 Thus all my trials ended : and if the beginning of my 
 career was painful and disastrous, the cares and sorrows of 
 
 251
 
 VALERIE 
 
 Valerie de Chatenoeuf have been more than compensated by 
 tlic liappiness of Valerie de Chavannes. 
 
 I may as well mention here, that a few years afterwards, 
 Lionel Dempster married my second sister, Elisee, a very 
 nice and very handsome girl, and has settled very close 
 to the villa which the count purchased on his return from 
 France, near Windsor, on the lovely Thames, ministering 
 not a little by their company to the bliss of our happ}', 
 peaceful life. 
 
 My eldest brother, Auguste, is now a lieutenant-colonel 
 of the line, having greatly distinguished himself in Algeria ; 
 Nicolas, who never returned to France, has acquired both 
 renown and riches by his musical abilities; and all the 
 younger branches of the family are happily provided for. 
 
 I have three sweet children, one boy and two little girls, 
 and the difficulties and sorrows I experienced, owing to an 
 evil and injudicious course of education, have been so far 
 of use, that they have taught me how to bring up my own 
 children, even more to love and honour than to obey. 
 
 Perfect happiness is not allotted to any here below ; but 
 few and short have been the latter sorrows, and infinite 
 the blessings, vouchsafed by a kind Providence to the once 
 poor and houseless, but now rich and honoured, and, better 
 than all, loved Valerie. 
 
 Printed by Baixanttne, Hanson &* Co. 
 Edinburgh Sr" London
 
 The New Knebworth Edition of 
 
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