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Brussels. Get me a sheet of paper, andling her gloves, " that it is the sister who I will answer it."

gave you this whom you are going to In silence the man gave him one, with see?” taking up the little anchor which which he had evidently come prepared. still lay on the table. "Cécile," reading

Instinctively Monsieur Armand took out the name. “You had better put it hold of his watch-chain in search of the back on your chain,” holding it out, “or little pencil, but it was no longer there. you will forget it again; and you see," A bewildered expression crossed his face, laughing, “there is no use trusting to my and he turned his perplexed eyes to his memory.' servant; but in a moment Dorothy, not- “ The last time I went that journey,” ing the look, interpreted and answered it. he said a moment later, rather irrelevantly,

* I have it,” she exclaimed; "you lent“ I was with her — Cécile; I was bringing it to me, don't you remember?” search her also to spend the day here from the iog her pocket," and I never gave it you Sacré Cœur.” back. I found it after I got home. 1 “How very extraordinary !” ejaculated meant to give it to you directly I saw | Dorothy. “Do tell me about it. How you,” flushing a little, “but I quite forgot old was she? Did she enjoy it?” it. I am so sorry!”

“She was about sixteen also. But I “Well, you remembered it, after all, at remember she told me when I took her the most opportune moment,” he said back, that it was the most miserably dis. kindly, taking it and writing rapidly. appointing day she had ever spent. But

" There !” turning to the servant, “send then, you see, she had not been four years that off directly - and tell

in a convent." He hesitated for half a second, glanc- “ Ah! that would make a difference." ing from the clear, frank eyes of the child “I was her guardian,” he added.

“ Poor to the tall, soldierly figure, then

Cécile!" “ Tell her to wait,” he said; 6 I will “Of course I don't know what you may come.”

have been like all those years ago,” Miss The man turned away, but paused a Vyse vouchsafed, " but I should imagine moment to say significantly, “ At once.” you would have made rather a nice guar

“ At once,”repeated Monsieur Armand. dian.”

As the servant disappeared, “Mon. • Looking back,” he went on, pursuing sieur,” said Dorothy quickly, "you have bis own train of thought more than an. been sent for — I could not help hearing swering her, “one can see so clearly bow the message; I have finished my supper. much better one might have been.” It was very good of you to wait, for I am Yes,” she assented; "even I, though afraid you are in a hurry."

I can only look back a little way, often The little slip of paper the man had wish I had done differently. It does given him was still between his fingers; seem such a pity, doesn't it,” she added, written across it, in a trembling woman's " not to bave done it the right way at the hand, were a few words.

time?

?" • After all, I cannot let you go without “ Well, if you, with your little scrap of saying good-bye. Come.” He looked at experience, have felt that, what would it again, then tore it into tiny scraps. you think of one as old as I am, who, on And turning to the girl, " It is my sister,” looking back, saw that everything ought be said a little abruptly. “She sends to have been done differently - that his word she wishes to see me to say good. whole life had been one huge mistake?bye. I hoped to have seen her yesterday, "Oh, but no one could think that,” she but I did not do so."

replied confidently, “ unless they had been “ To say good-bye,” repeated Dorothy. very wicked; and then, of course, all they

Yes. I am on my way to Brussels to have to do is to be sorry and try to be meet a friend there, and after that I am better." going - oh, hundreds of miles away.”. “ Yes,” he answered. His dark eyes

“Where?” she questioned; and then were lifted to hers, looking gravely at bier. her young eager eyes falling, "I beg your Yes, you are quite right; that is the only pardon 1; she began.

thing to be done. But I often think that “No, don't,” he interrupted; "it was a for those kind of people — wicked people, very natural question. I am going to you know — the worst part of the looking Algeria."

back is that they see how, if they had “You are a soldier ?” she questioned. been better themselves, those whom they “Yes,” he assented.

loved would perhaps have been better “I suppose,” she began, whilst button. I also.”

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“Well,” she said, " I have never met a pleasantest part of my day would have wicked person, never,” reflectively; “but been left out if I had missed it." I think, if I ever did, I should like to tell She moved a step nearer, and her voice him that he would be far happier if he was sinking a little, " And I know,” she addgood. I don't mean only in heaven, 1 ed, “ that you only came to give me pleas. mean here. Sometimes I have been ut- ure. It was very kind, and I wish I could terly miserable, but it has always come do more than say thank you." from doing wrong."

“I am very glad I came,” he replied, “That is a very good piece of advice, “and I also say thank you,” with a bow, mademoiselle; I will remember it, and which included all the party; then, with give it to the first person who seems to a little especial good-night to Dorothy, require it.”

he turned away; but after a hesitating He had picked up the pencil, but his step or two, came back, and held out bis efforts to fasten it on his chain were not hand. crowned with success. It slipped through “Good-bye,” was all he said; but Dor. his fingers and disappeared on to the floor, othy felt there was a certain significance where, after much searching, it was dis. in the action, because to all the others he covered at Dorothy's feet.

had simply said, “Good-night;” but to “Even hope, you see, mademoiselle, is her, his friend, on this eventful day, he trying to escape me to-night. I feel quite had said “Good-bye,” in token that they superstitious." First I lost it, and never two alone knew that the parting was final, even missed it; and then, when I try to She watched his tall, slight figure till put it back into its accustomed place, it he had disappeared from view; at the escapes me again. It is evidently going door he looked back, and meeting her to forsake me.”

eyes, smiled, and bowed again. “But it shall not,” said Dorothy determinately. “ You shall have nothing to do A little later, they were all walking with it; I will put it back.”

back through the narrow, roughly paved “Well, perhaps you may bring better streets of Sérizay that led from the Casino luck."

to the hotel. In that primitive spot cabs He took off his watch and handed the were not to be had for the asking. They chain to her, and she put the little orna. were always specially ordered luxuries. ment back into its place.

Madame de Croye leaning on the arm “There !” she cried triumphantly, “it of her new friend; Uncle Henri and is as firm as possible,” giving it back to Monsieur de Mornay behind; and Dorohim.

thy, wrapped in a day-dream of her own, He put it on and smiled.

pursuing her solitary way. “ Thank you, mademoiselle, I feel the But arrived at the hotel, good-nights good effects already."

were exchanged, and they separated – The tall man was still standing making the two ladies going up to their own conversation to Madame de Croye, and rooms, whilst Monsieur de Croye lingered she still striving to hear all he said, at to smoke a cigar with his friends before the immense distance which an unpropi. parting from them. tious fate had placed between their two “Well

, Dorothy," questioned madame, heads, when Monsieur Armand took back when they stood in the bright little French his young companion to her friends. drawing-room, " I hope you enjoyed your

Uncle Henri was still gazing as if mes self. Are you very tired ?” merized at the gambols of those below, “Oh no, aunt, not in the least; and I which had now taken the form of a partic. have enjoyed myself. It was good of you ularly wild cotillon.

sending for ine.' It was Monsieur de Mornay who moved Madame de Croye, who was divesting to make room for them.

herself of numerous wraps, wherewith she “I am not able to stay any longer,” had striven to counteract the evil influ. Monsieur Armand said. I have brought ences of night air, came across the room, mademoiselle back, and I am sorry to say and kissed the girl kindly. I have not even time to wait for a turn in “I am very glad you enjoyed it, dear. the cotillon. But we had our waltz, and I only wish we could have done more for you enjoyed it, mademoiselle," he went you. But never mind, at Clementine's on, addressing himself to the girl, who marriage you shall have as many partners had not seated herself, but was still stand as you can wish for. I hope Monsieur ing beside him.

Armand

not that his name? "Enjoyed it !” emphatically. " The waltzed well.”

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“ Perfectly," cried the girl enthusiasti- but he said he must go to the Casino first. cally. “It was a treat! Was it not curi. He had promised ous his being there? It was the same “How heartless!” madame remarked. man, you know, that I told you about this • It is disgraceful,” Monsieur de Croye morning, who was so kind to me in the went on. “ My first thought was thank. train."

fulness that that stuck-up Mademoiselle “Yes, of course,' replied madame, a de Villeron would not let De Mornay inlittle absently, folding up her many wraps. troduce her fiancé. Of course he was one “I have been wondering about your of that party vulgar, fast set. I have bridesmaid's dress, dear. Have you any no doubt his sister was with him!” particular choice? I think it would be “That,” madame remarked, better for you to come to Paris a short scarcely likely, under the circumtime before the wedding, so that you can stances.” have what

you
like best."

" What circumstances ? " inquired mon. Into this new important topic, her sieur testily. " She has left her hus. thoughts being thus diverted, Dorothy band,” he went on; “ we all know tbat.” plunged with great energy; and when it “Henri !” exclaimed madame in tones had been discussed at much length, the of horror, “ do not forget the child is in door opened, and Monsieur de Croye made the room.” his appearance.

He stopped abruptly, and turned to“ Not in bed !” was his exclamation on wards the corner where Dorothy, with entering. “My dear child, what shock wide-open grey eyes, in her white muslin ingly late hours you are keeping!”. gown, was staring at him.

" It is only once in a way,” she pleaded. • What has he done?” she questioned, “And I wanted to see you before I went, coming a step nearer. to tell you how very much I have enjoyed “Done ? " repeated monsieur, still in. myself.

censed at the contaminating presence “Even at that poor attempt at a ball ?” that, all unknown, had been so near to he said kindly.

him ; "he has done nearly everything he “ Yes, indeed, it was too delightful.” should not have done. Ruined, obliged

“ Though you only danced once, did to leave his regiment, penniless, — when, you not? — for you can scarcely count my fifteen years ago, he had as fine a fortune attempts, or De Mornay's.”

as any man could wish for; and then a “Yes, only once," she repeated ; “but duel to wind up with. The wounded man all the same, I don't think I ever spent a lying in Paris not expected to live, and he more delightful evening."

idling about a casino. That, I think, “You are a very good, grateful girl," pretty well shows the kind of man he is. be replied kindly; "I hope I shall be But women are all alike. I believe An. able to do more for you one of these nette would say something in his favor if days.”

she could.” " Annette,” – the tones of his voice “No, Henri,” she began doubtfully, “ I altering, - and turning to his wife, “ fancy suppose he is a very bad man. I have who was in the Casino to-night! the always heard he is; still this duel, I was Comte de Rivaulx."

told, was forced upon him, that he was “Comte de Rivaulx !” echoed madame, insulted most openly." pausing in her tidying; "why, what was “ I dare say, I dare say. Still he need he doing there ?"

not go flaunting about as if he were proud • Yes, what? But there is a man down- of bis heartlessness — and with his sisstairs who is at the Lion d'Or, and has ter, lost to all sense of shame, living with just been telling us all about it. It seems D'Elvas." he is staying there, though apparently not “ Henri !” exclaimed madame, “ I insist under his own name. This man, a friend upon your changing the subject, or waitof De Mornay's, Frédon by name, was in ing until Dorothy has gone to bed.” his room with the door open, when, at Her husband was silent a moment, and about ten o'clock, he saw a lady heavily she asked a little curiously, “What kind veiled go past, and knock at the next door of a looking man is he? I wish I had to bis.

seen him." “A servant came out, and she said very “ Frédon says that he thinks he saw quickly; 'Is the Comte de Rivaulx in? him go down, and that he never saw a I must see him. Has he started?' face which bore so plainly the distinguish.

" • Not that naine,' the servant replied. ing marks of the kind of man he is. The And then added, “I wish he had started, expression was horrible, so he says.”

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UNDER A GREEN BOUGH.

“What is he like?" questioned Dor. Of the voice that had said that hope othy gently. She was gathering her was forsaking him, but that her young wraps together, preparatory to departing, innocent band should give it back to him.

• His looks don't matter much," replied And it seemed to Dorothy, standing her uncle. “Suffice it that I consider him in the bare French room, with the moon. to be the wickedest man in Paris.” light falling across the uncarpeted floor,

Having made this sweeping assertion, that, of a sudden, a great window had Uncle Henri's feelings seemed a little been flung open before her, out of which, relieved; for, " He is not handsome," he gazing, she saw, for the first time, all added; "at least I have always heard the sin and sorrow that there is in the that his fascination does not lie in his world. good looks."

“Does he dance well ?” Dorothy hazarded, lighting her candle.

Monsieur de Croye laughed. His good temper seemed restored.

From Blackwood's Magazine. " His dancing," he said, “to quote Frédon down-stairs, is historical."

Much as I appreciate summer weather, "Well," put in madame soothiogly, I am afraid that soft, balmy days are not “perhaps he could not resist going to the favorable to the doing of laborious work, ball, if he is so fond of dancing."

whether of body or mind. I find them, " That's right, Annette," remarked her however, highly conducive to the act of husband; "hear how bad he is, and then mind which we call musing; and, upon make excuses for him. And you, Dor. reflection, I do not see why a man should othy, you hear also, - and only regret, I not, at convenient times, drop the-reins see, that you had not a chance of knowing upon the neck of his fancy, and suffer himhim."

self to be spirited about according to her But Dorothy did not answer, did not pleasure. This is dead against the teachsmile at his light words, but said " Gooding of the profound Locke, who, if I re. night," and taking up the candle, went to member rightly, in his “Conduct of the her own room. ·

Understanding,” insists that the mind She was not thinking of the doubtful must always be at the service of its owner, hero of many Paris escapades of whom and must never be allowed to take the her uncle had spoken, - of the man who lead and to carry him off wool-gathering. had run through a large fortune, wasting Locke, like some other great thinkers, his patrimony on the idle amusements is almost too severe for mortals of only which his life had suggested, — of the ordinary strength. Nay, it may perhaps, man who, in disgrace and ruin, had without profaneness, be made a question thought it advisable to leave his country, whether nine-tenths of us could ai all enand strive to carve out a fresh career as dure the mental discipline which he thinks a nameless soldier in another land, whilst wholesome and improving. I will even go he, with whom he had fought, lay hover. a little farther than this, and say that if ing between life and death in Paris. a man were strictly able to follow out

No; ber innocent, girlish thoughts Locke's precept, and to assign to his mind were with some one very different; some its "daily stage of duty,” he might, while one who had been kind and helpful to always following after good and worthy her when she had been perplexed and objects, miss and come short of objects anxious – who had smoothed many diffi: more original and more adapted to his culties in her path, which had threatened powers and disposition. Working ear. to interfere with her happiness — and nestly but in set grooves, he might travel had, at the cost of trouble to himself, very near to, yet never see, some treasure given her the crowning joy of her holiday. which a roaming imagination would be

Some one who had looked at her with sure to light upon. Such observations as dark, grave eyes, and told her the bitter. these ought, however, as I know, to be est punishment of wrong-doing is to find offered and received with extreme cau. out we have been a bad guide to those tion; because it is easier to loosen than to we love, - some one who had placed in control the mind, and wandering thoughts, her hands the little symbol which had if freely indulged, often object to one tak. served as the connecting link between ing the road back into prescribed study. brother and sister, whose love, formed of Even were the argument for dreaming the threefold cord, no dividing sin and much weaker than it is, I think that i shame could sever.

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serious. The turf is so fresh and green, understands his business much better than the air is so scented and soothing, it is so I do; still, is it wise of him when he delightful " under the shade of melancholy wants people's good-will — their patron. boughs,” that even if I were to force my- age, as he expresses it - to fool them by self to a task, the chances are that, having representing his plaguy advertisements as once done so, I should treat resolution matters of importance ?" The feeling and come here again miching for an hour which he has aroused in me is simply or two. It is a favorite conceit of mine irritation at the fright he gave me; and í when I thus make holiday, that I am the am very unlikely, while feeling thus ag. victim of a retiarius, the cause of the con- grieved, to go to see him myself or to rec: ceit being nothing stronger than that I lie ommend him to any one else. He had in a net-hammock wondrously adapted for much better have sent his programme repose, where I look probably as much without any trickery, and let it take its like a cabbage as a gladiator. Certainly chance with my impartial judgment. Then I do not feel like a victim as I revel in the it would in due course bave - humph ! far niente, forgetting the world and trust. perhaps it might not have been brought ing that I am for the present by the world to me at all, or, having been discovered on forgot. I am not, in my hours of ease, my desk at a busy moment, would have one bit uncertain or hard to please : I been chucked into the waste-basket. Yes, know what I like very well — and that is, he has by his “ dodge ” caused me to read to be let alope.

his announcement and to think about it, The feet of him that brings tidings although he has aroused my ire. To se. (good or bad) to my retreat are not beauti- cure attention by any means was evidently ful to me; and I feel an emotion only too his object; to secure it inoffensively if he like hatred against that person in buttons could, but to impress with a pany rather who carries something ominously resem: than not to impress at all. I am thinking bling a letter in his hand, athough he about the fellow, that is certain; I shall comes only from a sense of duty towards probably think again of him; and I already

This unreasonable enmity is another see the foreshadow of an event which, for proof that I am not in the frame of mind the sake of others, though not for my own recommended by Locke; I confess to sake, may be exactly according to his de. being uncharitable, and I mentally make sire.' I may condone before Wednesday, spiteful cominents on the nuncio as he and take a party of four to his perform. draws pear. I suspect him of exaggerat- ance, which I should not have done if the ing his chest with a sponge or something advertisement had been delivered in an of the sort, and decide that he has the unpretending cover. most offensively conceited strut ever seen Yes, charlatanry is justified of her chil

all this because of my belief that the dren. Quacks, as to some matters, know letter is considered important and will us a great deal better than we know ourcruelly interrupt, if it does not bring to an selves. What a weak thing, then, is the eod, this swing in my net.

human mind with all its grand pretenBut when I open the despatch my coun. sions! Even the sage Locke would have tenance clears, my heart is once more in been easier to be played upon than a pipe the right place. I behold a page of be. by a professor of this quality. The weakcoming gait, and with a bosom in strictness is not confined to this or that person, proportion to the other parts of his frame. neither does it affect us only at certain I address him in a sweetly benevolent times of the moon. Our infirmity is gentone as compensating for the mental injury eral, and is at all times exposed to attack, that I had done him; for though the billet as is evident by the immense number of was marked "immediate," and had been persons, from the pretended halt, maimed, otherwise commended to the household as and blind, up to the profoundest imposdemanding instant attention, these are but tors, from fortune.tellers and thimble. the devices of a mountebank for advertis. riggers to financial and political swindlers, ing his entertainment. Nobody is at this who practise daily upon universal cremoment intrud on my laziness; I need dulity. What quantities of wealth are not, and I shall not, determine just now made change hands continually by means whether or not I will form one of the audio of imposture pure and simple, or of de. ence of the prosessor (as he calls himself) vices not wholly chimerical in themselves, on Wednesday next; and I once more but puffed and advertised with impudent “ daff the world aside and bid it pass.” audacity! Caution, in these cases, seems

“That professor," I reflect, as I sub- to be in the inverse ratio of the magniside into delicious placidity, "probably tude and effrontery of the imposture.

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