gave him enthusiasm. Of what had belonged to Madame de Warens, a picture of herself alone remained. She had a charming face, and ought to have been loved by a nobler nature than that of the author of "Héloïse,"

On our arrival in Paris, we heard of the dangerous illness of Madame de Meilhan. I offered I offered my services to nurse her, but was haughtily refused by Marguerite, and I contented myself by driving every day to inquire about the Baronne's health; I was seldom admitted to her presence. Her illness lasted a month, then she breathed her last, and to my utter astonishment, on the night of her death, my husband brought his sister home. A suite of apartments was given to her, and I think for nearly two months I scarcely saw her. At last, whether tired or not of her loneliness, she joined us at our meals, where she sat like a beautiful statue, without ever opening her lips.

About that time I had a most unexpected visit from a person whose existence I had never heard of. It was Major Aymar, a distant cousin of my father's, who, when marching with his regiment through Blois, had met with an accident. As chance would have it, he was taken to the house of Doctor Joinville, who kept him until his recovery, and hearing his name, concluded he was a relation of mine. But whatever his reason, he never mentioned the fact to me in his letters. Major Aymar being in Paris, called, and I was delighted to welcome the last relative I had on my side. He was very handsome, and his manners

were charming; his conversation not less so. My husband was immensely pleased with him, so that he became a daily guest in our house. At first Marguerite absented herself from meals; then she gradually came back, and at last I discovered that the haughty, cold, aristocratic beauty was in love with my cousin. I saw it with infinite regret, for his sake; I had a presentiment that some disagreeableness would arise from it, but little suspected what the dénouement would be. Often Marguerite would be in the drawing-room when he came, and was so amiable that Major Aymar soon reciprocated the feelings of the fair patrician.

Two months passed thus, when one evening, my husband being out, I had retired-not feeling well-into the second salon, separated from the first by heavy velvet curtains; and I heard most of the conversation which took place between my cousin and Marguerite. The latter confessed her love, after hearing the avowal of that of the Major; but added she could never marry him. Long and imploring were the prayers of the officer; still Marguerite seemed inflexible, and at last both separated. I did not see either of them that night, and went to my bedroom. Célestine, in undressing me, said that Mademoiselle de Meilhan had been sobbing in her room, so I concluded that there had been a terrible inward struggle in her heart. But she was not one to yield long to her feelings; at least, I fancied so. I told M. de Meilhan on his return, and he expressed his regret that Major Aymar should have fallen in love with his sister.

"I know Marguerite well," he said; "and she would sacrifice the man she loves—and even her own liferather than act against the principles my mother inculcated in her. She is cold by nature; yet, loving once, the intensity of her love would be very great-beyond all that one can imagine."

The next morning was bitterly cold; ice had covered the courtyard, like a mirror, but the heavily-laden sky portended a fall of snow. Already large flakes lazily chased one another, ascending and descending till they fell, either to melt or become crisp on the frozen ground. I was amusing myself by watching the little birds that were picking up some food thrown to them by the groom, when Célestine entered with a note in her hand, saying,

"Mademoiselle de Meilhan's maid has just given me this. The former was to be found nowhere this morning. I went to the lodge to inquire, and it appears that at about six o'clock the 'cordon' was asked, so I suppose Mademoiselle went out."

Marguerite was in the habit of going to early mass every morning, though later than that, and was always accompanied by her maid, a young deaf and dumb girl she had taken from charity and brought with her to the Hotel de la Fère. Célestine had learnt the alphabet in order to be able to speak to her, and therefore was able to interrogate her; however, the girl knew nothing. I opened the note; it was very laconic, and ran as follows:

"MY DEAR MATHILDE,

"I have left your house for ever.

Seek not to find me, and accept all my thanks for your kindness to me, and tell my brother that it is with infinite regret that I leave without bidding him farewell. "MARGUERITE."

When I went down to breakfast I gave the note to Edouard.

"I know full well what step she has taken," said he; "she is gone into some convent; but how to find the right one will be rather difficult. You may depend she must have been desperately in love with Aymar, poor girl; and now she will bury love and pride, or at least imagine she will be able to do so. I must call upon the Major this morning, and inquire whether she said anything to him which might lead to her discovery."

There are times when the mind is oppressed by strange feelings which one cannot account for, and I felt thus as soon as my husband had gone, as I sat listless by the fire, watching the flames and the fanciful shapes taken by the wood as it burnt with a crackling noise. I could not say that I thought of anything in particular, but I was sad and could have cried; it would have relieved my heart. The hours passed slowly, and still M. de Meilhan returned not. I felt extremely fidgety, and leaving the room I passed through the long corridor leading to Marguerite's Claudine, the deaf and dumb girl, was alone there, seemingly greatly puzzled as she showed me

rooms.

several little packets in a drawer, addressed to Marguerite's friends, and a letter to herself-she could not read-in which it said that all her wardrobe was to be given to Claudine, and that she hoped she would be taken care of. In looking out of the window I perceived M. de Meilhan crossing the yard, and I returned to the drawing-room to wait for him. He looked extremely pale when he entered, and his voice faltered when he addressed me.

"You have some bad news to tell me what is it?" He hesitated a moment, then said,

"It is no use hiding the fact from you, as sooner or later you must know the truth. It is very sad; therefore, my dear Mathilde, be prepared for the worst." He paused for a moment, then continued,-" Your cousin is dead!"

"Dead!" I exclaimed, scarcely being able to believe my ears; "then it must have been suddenly?"

"I grieve to say he committed suicide. Last night, on his coming back home, he wrote several lettersone to you among them-stating he could never be happy since the only woman he had ever loved refused him, and therefore, cowardly as it might seem, he was unable to live without her. He would have faced a hundred fights, but was as weak as a child before a woman's scorn, though he knew she loved him as much as he loved her. *** Towards two o'clock the report of a pistol had been heard in his room; the servant had immediately forced his door open, but it was too late-life was extinct.