It was the first time in her life that Mauricette had been humiliated by a blow, and indignant scalding tears coursed down her cheeks. "You are cruel to me, father," she replied, "and I feel that a stranger accused before you is better off than your child; for a stranger would not be struck by his judge." "It ill becomes you, Mademoiselle, to complain of my severity towards you, who make so light of disregarding my express commands. If your brother, Mauricette, had acted as you have dared to do, I should not have stopped at striking him; I should have turned him out of the house.' 66 My brother is an obedient son I know; but perhaps it may be that being always allowed to speak to you and be with you, he has had no occasion to trespass." 66 one would feel certain I had something to do with it, as no one would believe a young girl of sixteen could send or receive letters without her father's knowledge! And even when I myself have declined all solicitation-have refused to take in any letters, of which the handwriting was not known to me, and of which the contents might be suspicious-must you, Mauricette, make me appear wanting to myself in compromising that security, which is the acting upon a fixed rule of stern duty in the responsible position I occupy?" "If you would but hear me, father, you would find I did not receive that letter." "How then did it come into your hands?" "About fifteen days since, on my return from church, I found it in the velvet case I use to put my prayer-book in." "And do you know the person who wrote it to you?" knowing you would be his judge, Agatha wrote to me, and naturally supposing I might have some influence with you, implored me to exert it for her brother." "Know her! Agatha de Rosemadoc! Oh! she was the dearest friend I had in all the convent. The sister of a rebel! She so loves This answer brought a sting to M. Fauvel's her poor brother; and, ignorant of where he is, conscience for the unfatherly rigour he had ex-fearing every minute to hear he is taken, and ercised, and in a tone of voice somewhat less savage, he ordered Mauricette to sit down and attend to him. I shall not waste my time in argument with you as to the motives which induce candour and obedience from your brother towards me, and indocile dissimulation from you. Look upon this letter, which I found in your apartment, and tell me if it is in accordance with the orders I gave you when you first came home? Have you then forgotten what those orders were, Mauricette?" "No, sir, they were too severely enjoined for me even to forget them." "Too severely! too severely!" repeated her father-the bitterness of the words seeming to choke him; "it appears they were not severe enough, since you have presumed to disregard them. I distinctly told you, Mauricette, that with the exception of your brother I forbid correspondence with any person whatever: I have not leisure to read letters addressed to you-nor yours in reply; and, as everything written by a young girl like you is supposed by all to have come under the eyes of her father, and be sanctioned by his approval, there is no saying in these troubled times, and in the situation I fill, what terrible consequences might accrue." 66 Indeed, father, I would die sooner than compromise you!" "And how are you to be a competent judge of what would or would not compromise me? It is because your inexperience should not mislead you that I ordered you to drop all intercourse with your convent friends." "I give you my solemn word, father, I did not write first." "But you received the letter in spite of my express commands. Are you aware of what importance it is to any relative of those rebels we are in search of, to boast that they hold correspondence with some one of my family? I repeat to you, any one and every a "That is exactly what I will never permit. No one has any right to influence the judge. Besides, the criminals have their counsel, who succeed but too well already in making judgment deviate from the course of justice.' "Father, pray do not look at me so terribly, I have not said a word as yet in Monsieur de Rosemadoc's favour." "That is not enough, Mauricette; you should have brought me this letter, that I might have sent it back to the fool who wrote it; that is what a dutiful daughter would have done." Forgive me, father, if the remembrance of my friendship for Agatha caused me to overlook another duty. I knew her writing, and felt assured it must be some very extraordinary motive which could induce her to have recourse to such a mode of conveying her letter to me. I felt there must be something dreadful, and I was right. You know that Agatha has no other relation in the world than this one brother, whom she is perhaps on the eve of losing for ever! I thought of my own, and of what would be my anguish under such circumstances, and could not do other than send one word in answerHope!'" "What! you answered it?" cried the judge, rising in a fury from his chair. "Oh! you terrify me," said Mauricette, as she retreated towards the door. "So, then," continued he, "nothing is sacred to you! You care not for compromising my name? One of two things is certain, Mauricetteeither I am supposed to be a party in your correspondence, or else that I suffer my daughter to write to whomsoever she pleases. Whichever way the point is decided you bring my integrity as a magistrate, or my dignity as a father, in question. You ought to have thought of these things, and doubtless did think of them; but nothing stopped you!" You did not hear, then," replied the trembling Mauricette. "I said that I thought of my own brother-of Edouard, in whom you find so many good qualities to love and admire. I compared Agatha's despair with what I should feel myself, if such a calamity hung over him; and I thought I could not do less than say one word of hope to her whose only reliance was, it seemed, in me; and I will not deny that when I wrote to Agatha to hope, it was not a vain word I used, for I was fully determined to speak to you in favour of her brother; twenty times have I been on the eve of addressing you in his behalf. Oh, father, father! the fear you hold me in must be very great, since it froze the supplication on my lips." "You are very much interested for this young man," then, interrupted the judge. "I am interested for his sister; him I know not. I have never seen him. It is on her account I rejoice that he has hitherto baffled the search made for him; it is for her I tremble lest he should fall into the hands of his enemies." "Of his judges, Mauricette! And so his sister does not know what has become of the rebel?" "No; or she would have written again to tell me." "Very well; then you can give some news of him to Mademoiselle de Roscinadoc. I authorize you to write, and tell her, that her brother has been arrested this day, will be judged to-morrow, and that your intervention makes it a duty with me to be more severe than I might have been if that correspondence had not taken place." "He is taken!" repeated the poor girl, and she extended her clasped hands towards her father in token of supplication. As she spoke there was a violent uproar, as the knocker hammered on the door, and Charlotte ran to give entrance to those who seemed in so much haste. From the balcony, which overlooked the street, Honoré Fauvel beheld a band of soldiers crowding into his hall-door; some of them dragged along in the midst a young man in sailor's uniform, whilst the rest repulsed with their bayonets a crowd of people who appeared, striving to tear their prisoner from them. They however succeeded in gaining entrance, and closed the door upon the mob, who from without commenced an attack upon the windows and walls with whatever missiles came under their hands. CHAP. II. Without troubling himself about the hostile intentions of the populace collected outside, against his dwelling, and to which indeed any magistrate's house was liable in those disastrous times, without taking the trouble to inquire for what purpose an armed band had so unceremo niously taken their position on his premisesHonoré Fauvel, whom nothing could at any time discontent, or win from his habitual selfpossession, and who was not to be intimidated by peril, returned with his accustomed calm severity to the seat he had risen from, and in the same grave tone of voice which he always employed, desired his daughter to retire to her apartment and lock herself in. Mauricette, still trembling from recent agitation, occasioned as well by the fracas of the broken windows as the scene she had undergone with her father previously, slowly quitted the study, and as she mounted the spiral staircase frequently stopped and leaned on the balustrade, urged to do so on the one hand by the weakness arising from an over-wrought system, and on the other by intense curiosity, to obtain if possible a glance of what was passing below. But the measured step of soldiery sounding on the lower staircase, and the sight of her father, who advanced to meet their leader, compelled her to quicken her movements, as she well knew she had nothing to hope from paternal tenderness if she were caught listening. In another moment she was in her chamber, but could not bring herself to the obedience of closing the door, which she left partially open, and placing herself so as to conceal her person, she lent her utmost attention to the clamour of the mob in the street, and the clash of arms in the courtyard, and, above all, to the voices in conversation, which however rose faintly, being overpowered by the din without. She heard, notwithstanding, a few disjointed sentences between her father and the military chief, such as 'taken,' 'criminal,' 'mob,' 'resistance,' 'rescue,' 'obliged retreat,' 'rebel,' &c., &c.; while her father, who had at first spoken too low for her to catch a word of his replies, now raised his voice, and she distinctly heard him say, "I will be answerable for the prisoner, and to-morrow one more rebel will be brought to justice!" So saying, the magistrate gave some directions to the sergeant, and withdrew. Hopeless of learning more, Mauricette closed her door, and placed herself behind her windowcurtain, cautiously raising one corner so as to permit of her seeing what passed in the court below; so anxious did she feel to obtain sight of a prisoner in whom the populace had manifested so much interest; but the falling day, added to the distance, scarcely enabled her to define in the midst of the soldiery a form without halberd or uniform. As the darkness increased, Mauricette beheld Charlotte bringing a quantity of wood and a lantern, with which the soldiers kindled a fire, and having made a stand of their arms, seated themselves around it, as if they intended keeping a long watch. But in spite of the light shed around by the flaming logs, Mauricette vainly endeavoured to gain a view of the prisoner's countenance, although she could plainly distinguish that his hands were firmly tied, and his feet also secured in the same manner. Her thoughts, as well as her eyes, were wholly с occupied with this unhappy culprit, and she looked upon him with a degree of pity which she would not have felt for any common criminal, or one guilty of actual crime; but this was only a rebel! And since the secret message received from Agatha de Rosemadoc had revealed to her what noble hearts beat among the rebels, and how well they merited a sister's love, in the midst even of their rebellion against superior power, her reason had ceased to see criminality in the act, or to dignify with the name of justice the persecution which pursued them. While still fixed in the same position she lamented to herself the fate of the unfortunate captive below; he rising philosophically superior to his misfortune, began singing a couplet from memory "Heaven has sent thee a good gift, Sister, see! "Tis not a lover of fortune and thrift But a brother's love thy guard to be "Yvon thy brother, free of heart, Will in thy orisons crave a part; A thunder of applause from without the walls rent the air, and demonstrated to the prisoner that the populace still indulged a hope of rescuing him, and only waited an opportunity to fall upon the soldiers who formed his guard, and tear him from their power. Loud as were the shouts and applaudings of the crowd, Mauricette heard them not. From the first line of the prisoner's stanzas meeting her ear, she hastily withdrew the hand that held back the curtain, to press it upon her heart; it was not, however, because she recognised the voice of the singer, for that was strange to her; but the air, the words he sang-she knew them as well as her own name-Agatha de Rosemadoc had sung them to her over and over again; and the author of the words, and composer of the air, was her dear and only brother, Yvon de Rosemadoc, the rebel! Was it him, then, for whom she had so recently implored her father's clemency, who now lay a prisoner under her eyes? or could that little refrain be so sung by any other? These were the questions Mauricette asked herself; nevertheless, she could not help associating the name of her dear friend's brother with the prayer she so fervently uttered for the unknown captive who sung Agatha's favourite song. She gently unclosed her casement, in order the better to hear should he sing again; in doing which she perceived two soldiers, preceded by the serjeant, who carried a lantern in his hand, and escorted the prisoner to the common staircase, which led from the court to the interior apartments; while Charlotte, with another light, waited for them on the first steps, and conducted the whole party beyond her sight; on which she rightly conjectured it had been thought advisable to put something more than the massive double gates between the captive and his wouldbe rescuers, who were still heard without the walls in busy hum, like a swarm of bees impatient to get into the hive. She remained at the window long enough to see Charlotte, the serjeant, and the two soldiers redescend: the latter rejoined their comrades round the fire, while the former entered her master's study, where, however, she remained but a moment. As she came out, Mauricette met her on the staircase, and in a low tone, fearing to be heard by any one but the person she addressed-“ My good Charlotte," she said, come up to me for an instant, pray!" "That would take time, Miss Mauricette, and that is just what I hav'n't got." "But one word, Charlotte-I only want to say one word!” 66 Impossible, mademoiselle !” "But I have no light, my taper is gone out." The truth compels us to say, it had never been lighted. Without further colloquy, Charlotte slowly mounted the stairs; and Mauricette, judging that the incidents of the day were sufficiently important to loosen her tongue, hoped to gain some information respecting the prisoner, in whose welfare she felt so deeply interested. So while Charlotte opened her lantern in order to light the taper "Is not this shocking, Charlotte?" she asked in a tone of deep sympathy. "What, Miss? Is not what shocking?" returned the impassible old woman. "What? why all that has occurred to-daydo you not feel quite overcome by it?" "I! no! why should I?" "Why I thought they would have torn down the house over our heads!" "No fear of that, Miss Mauricette." "And the poor young man, you say nothing of him-where is he shut up?” "Young man, miss-what young man?" 66 Why, Monsieur de Rosemadoc," replied Mauricette, almost at her wit's end, and with some pardonable degree of impatience. She dropped the name at a venture, thinking that if Charlotte had heard the prisoner called by any other, she would immediately contradict her. "I fancy his business is settled," returned Charlotte (unthinkingly losing sight of her overwrought caution). "Whose business-of whom do you speak?" "Why the Chevalier de Rosemadoc, to be sure, since you know his name." "Have you heard him named, Charlotte?" "Perhaps I may, miss." "By my father?" "Why not-since you are so well acquainted with it ?" "Then it is he." "But are you quite sure, Charlotte?" "I suppose I may say yes, since you seem to know it already!” "I only thought it might be he." Old Charlotte now trembled from head to foot runs headlong, especially when helped on by feverish excitement, and guided by a young heart. Mauricette had not passed ten minutes in meditation, when her plan was fixed-a plan so daring, that it required not only all the heart and soul she brought to it, but all the inexperience of her age, to give any hope of its accomplishment. If any one asks how she could thus brave the certain anger of her austere parent, and put aside the modest timidity of her nature, by rashly bringing herself in contact with a young man wholly unknown to her as regarded in her turn. "Heavens! then what have I done? and my master so positively forbid me to let you know it." And she sunk on a seat, overcome by her fears; it was as though the block had started into life, for Charlotte to betray an emotion! And Mauricette felt that this was the moment to extract what information she could. Exerting herself, therefore, to the utmost, she pressed her questions, condensing as much as possible, to suit the humble intellect of the frightened Charlotte, aiding her vacancies, and encouraging her temporary illumination, until she elicited from her that Rosemadocwhose steps had been tracked since early morn-himself, we answer that this young man formed ing-was just secured, when they came in such tumult to the magistrate's house, that the populace, who nourished an envenomed hatred against the soldiery sent in pursuit of the rebel gentlemen, all of whom were well known and respected in Nantes, had rallied in large bodies, so soon as they found that one was taken, more particularly Rosemadoc, who had been born and had grown up in the place; that it was determined by Honoré Fauvel he should remain in his safe keeping till the mob had dispersed, and be, if practicable, conveyed to the town gaol at two or three o'clock in the morning; and that as they feared the sound of his voice might convey some signal to those without, they had conveyed him to the dungeon-room, where there were no windows, only a small skylight, and but one door, which opened into a dark gallery running all round the house. That a sentinel was placed outside the door at the foot of the stairs; that conceiving him in perfect security, they had released his limbs from the cords, as they had much galled his wrists and ankles; and finally, that she had delivered up the key to Honoré Fauvel. The old woman, without being aware that all had been drawn from her, started up as the clock struck ten, and finding herself strong enough to walk, now that her fear was over, wished Mauricette good night; and on leaving the room, turned back, begging her to remember that she had not been the first to name Rosemadoc! Thus, then, Mauricette was placed beyond all doubt; it could be no other than Agatha's brother, that brother of whom she had heard so much, whom her friend had appealed to her to save. But in spite of all this, had it not been for the scene in which she had that morning borne so painful a part with her father relative to Agatha's letter, she would have restricted herself to bitterly deploring a misfortune beyond her capability of relieving; as it was, however, her father's unrelenting harshness had awakened a feeling within her unknown before; injustice had roused revolt, and arming her spirit for a struggle, had stirred the timid purpose of a maiden into firm resolve. She sat on the side of her bed, her head pressed tightly between her hands, and absorbed in deep contemplation of the act she meditated, and the means by which she should bring it to bear. Thought is well counselled by silence and night, and imagination no part of her thoughts, but was merely considered as the instrument by which she could afford joy to her dear friend, his sister. But as the moment for action was not near by two good hours, she determined not to think upon her father, or what might occur to herself, and entirely fixed her ideas upon her own beloved absent brother. She pictured to her fancy Edouard in the same peril as Rosemadoc, and what would be the agony of her own reflections if she knew him to be so situated, with none to bring him aid; though in her own noble heart she never for a moment doubted that Agatha would do the same for her brother as she contemplated doing for the Chevalier. The hour of midnight, the hour she had appointed to herself, at length rung out from all points; she rose, and approaching the window, assured herself that the sentinel still remained outside the door which closed in the stairs, while the rest were grouped round the now smouldering fire. The same glance also showed her (by its reflection on the window exactly opposite) that her father's night-lamp alone burnt in his chamber, by which she knew that he was no longer busy with his writing, and concluded he had retired to rest. Fearing lest her steps might alarm his vigilance, she put off her shoes; it was already a great thing that she had opened the door without disturbing any one. She left it standing wide, and glided like a shadow down the long staircase, which was in darkness at this hour; but it was not the darkness she feared the most, and her courage sunk not before it! Arrived in the hall, there began the peril of her enterprise: a door faced her, the door of Honoré Fauvel's study; that door she must open-that chamber she must enter. Mauricette recommended her soul to God, and ere many seconds had elapsed, she stood on the floor of her father's study-but not alone! What she came to seek there was a key, the key which Charlotte had taken to her master, after the prisoner had been secured in the dungeon-chamber opening into the dark gallery-the master-key! Mauricette felt sinking into the earth, and only by a wonderful effort suppressed a scream of terror; for there, before her, sitting in his accustomed place, and in his usual attitude, she beheld the fearful judge himself! The poor young creature's strength failed her, and she dropped on her knees-and pardon! she cried in her heart; but her lips uttered not a word--they were locked by terror. She held her head down, expecting nothing but death! Still no sound was heard, no movement escaped to indicate that there sat a wrathful father, ready to anathematize his kneeling child! be discovered. "For Agatha's sake," she said, "keep silent!" When they reached the limits of the garden, Mauricette showed him an espalier, by which the chevalier soon climbed to the top of the wall; but before letting himself down on the other side, he whispered these few words towards his young deliverer-" For Agatha's sake, Yvon de Rosemadoc consecrates to you the Surprised at the continued silence, Mauricette intently listened, and caught nothing but the measured respiration of deep and tranquil slum-life you have preserved !" ber. She slowly raised her eyes, and saw that Master Fauvel slept! In a moment her heart grew light, hope revived, and with hope came courage; her strength returned, and she rose to her feet. Still, though her agonizing fear was for the moment calmed, the peril was as great as ever. She distinctly saw lying upon the table, where the magistrate leant his arm, the key she had come to fetch; but in order to possess herself of it, she must yet take some steps forward, and draw it towards her, almost from under her father's hand. She cautiously, and almost breathlessly, advanced, stretched out her arm to its utmost power, and made herself mistress of the key. The luck which favoured her entrance attended her departure: the perilous step had been taken successfully, and there could not now be any great obstacle to the prisoner being set at liberty! Mauricette entered the dark gallery, with which she was well acquainted, from the interior of the house, felt along the wall for the door, which she also well knew, and inserting the key, turned it with the least possible noise. "Where are you?" demanded she, in a low tone, of the chevalier. "In the midst of a pleasant dream," answered he, waking up; “and I request your permission to finish it." Why should I? For what purpose?" "If you love your sister, follow me." "That is another thing; but in order to follow you, I must see where you are," observed Rosemadoc, rubbing his eyes--without, however, obtaining any clearer vision. She listened in the utmost auxiety, till assured | he had safely descended into the street; and only breathed freely when his steps died away in the distance. When morning dawned, a letter, directed to Edouard Fauvel, at Paris, left the little village, situated two leagues from Nantes, which ran thus "MY DEAR BROTHER, "I have committed a great fault, but I think it must be a fault deserving pardon, since I cannot repent of it. Nevertheless, it is a very serious one; so much so, that it constrains me to quit my father's house, as I can expect no favour from him! I know not to what dreadful alternative I might have been driven, if I had not thought of you, my dear brother-next to God, my only friend. I am on my way to come to you then; you will, I know, receive me kindly; you will be my comforter, and, if you like, my judge. I am certain beforehand you will not condemn me. Do not let my letter throw any painful surmises into your head; what I have done is not a crime of conscience, but what I would do over again if it were requisite, although I should feel then, as I do now, that I have not the courage to meet my father's eyes; and I should say then, as I do now, Brother, take me in, I have no other home! to-night, and every hour brings me nearer to you; "The Paris diligence passes through this village that you may but get this in time to meet me at the coach and I shall shed no more tears, unless of joy. "Take my hand," continued Mauricette; The "but do not speak-seek not to know who I am; think of your sister; and when once you are safely out, may God guide you!" Rosemadoc perceived it was a woman's voice addressing him; he felt it was a woman's hand offering him deliverance, and gave himself up to her guidance with as much alacrity as gratitude; not, however, without thinking very disobligingly of the darkness, which prevented him seeing his generous liberator. The judge's daughter and the prisoner, conducted by her attained a large garden, closed in by a wall from a bye-street. Mauricette chose the most obscure path, that she might escape the chevalier's eye, who sought to profit by every little gleam of light to gain a view of her face. Their course was a silent one, since Mauricette had a second time implored him from prudence not to speak, lest they should The The "MAURICETTE FAUVEL." (To be continued.) WINTER. BY ADA TREVANION. blue daylight's in the skies, Paul; the fogwreath's on the hill; streets are white with drifted snow, the air is keen and chill: stunted churchyard yews are cased in feathery frost-work cold, And the tall grass in tangled knots waves o'er the frozen mould. Last eve I drew the curtain back, and watch'd the sun go down Behind the factories and spires of this dark, noisy town: And as I viewed the buildings high, the very heavens which screen, I longed so once again to tread the glen and copse The Two wood green. |