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 just fit for the husband of Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenœuf. Now you have the whole history, the marriage is yet to take place." "Your last observation is correct; or rather it is not, for the marriage will never take place." "Mais, que voulez vous, mademoiselle?" cried Monsieur Gironac, "must we send for the angel Gabriel for you ?" 66 "No," replied I, "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, talent, 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 Chatenœuf, you are une enfant. 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 this meeting with the 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 any thing 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-by 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 hour 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 handsome. “Madame Gironac is not at home, mademoiselle," said Lionel. "No, Monsieur Lionel." "Allow me to present to you Monsieur Auguste de Chatenœuf, a lieutenant in the service of his majesty the King of the French." Auguste bowed, and as I returned the salute, looked earnestly at me and started. "Excuse me, mademoiselle," said he, coming up to me, and speaking in a tremulous voice, “but—yes, you 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 sympathy 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 history in as few words as possible, promising to enter into details afterwards, 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, constantly at the barracks till my father left, and expressed her conviction that you had destroyed yourself. The outery 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 your body was found. He became so melancholy, morose, and irritable, that people 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 defence 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." if “How should I know, Auguste ?" "Yes; he could not bear to look the other officers in the face; he told me that he considered himself, from his weakness and folly, to have been the murderer of his child, that he felt himself despicable, and could not 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." 66 My poor father!" exclaimed I, bursting into tears. my "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 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 gray." "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," replied 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." you. "I cannot wonder at your taking the step, nor can I blame 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 was, the punishment has been too severe. "But you days." will make him happy now, and he will rejoice in his old "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 home." "Left home!" "You know how kind your mother was to him-I may say, how she doated 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." 66 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." 66 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 employé, but I don't exactly know what.' "And Sophie and Elisée ?" "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 often 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?" 66 '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 mortification." "But do you think she is sorry 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." 66 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, for the present at least, and now tell me more about yourself." "I will-but there is Lionel's knock; so I must defer it till another opportunity. Dear Auguste, give me one more kiss, while we are alone." A TALE FROM THE SPEAKING SECRET. EL SECRETO À VOCES,' 99 BY CALDERON DE LA BARCA. BY JOHN OXENford, Esq. CHAP. I. ALL the efforts of a court devoted to her amusement, and all the natural beauties by which her palace was surrounded, were insufficient to divert the melancholy of Flerida, the beautiful Duchess of Parma. The cause of this melancholy none of her courtiers could fathom. In the month of May, when various amusements were carried on for the vain purpose of enlivening the sorrowful princess, Enrico, the young Duke of Mantua, arrived at her court, in disguise. He had heard much of her beauty and accomplishments, and had come in person to test the truth of the rumours which had reached him. His intimacy with Federigo, the private secretary to the duchess, enabled him to obtain the introduction he required, and he brought a letter, which represented him as being no more than a younger member of the ducal house of Parma. Flerida received him courteously, but insisted that he should make no allusion to any project of marriage between her and the duke. Such a project had been under consideration, although the duke and duchess were personally unknown to each other, but Flerida always testified a strong aversion from the proposed union. Federigo, the secretary, was scarcely more happy than his mistress. He was deeply enamoured of Laura, one of the ladies of the court, and was beloved by her in return, but they were both forced to keep their passion a secret, as Laura was betrothed by her father, Ernesto, to a young nobleman named Lisardo. One of the amusements with which Flerida tried to recreate her mind, was the proposing of questions, the answers to which should tax the ingenuity of the court. She established one of these trials of skill in the presence of her new guest, Enrico. It was carried on in this way: Flerida,-Be seated: now the sun, by clouds o'erspread, Here, ladies, take your places. You, Ernesto, [The ladies sit on one side, the gentlemen stand on the other.] Ernesto. Though my hoary head May well excuse me, yet it shall not serve Flerida (to Enrico).—You answer first. Enrico. Flerida. Your turn comes first. Enrico. I? As you are a guest, Two great advantages • Our play-going readers will at once recognise in this piece the foundation of the French drama, an adaptation of which was lately played at the Princess's Theatre, under the title of Love's Telegraph.-J. O. Feb.-VOL. LXXIX. NO. CCCXIV. I choose the torment I endure myself— Flora (an attendant).—Ñay, nay, I feel there is a greater pain— 'Tis that of hating. Lisardo.- I, for-hopeless love. Federigo.- Laura. Nay, methinks To show that love return'd is cause for pain. Flora. And hence it is the greatest pain of love For he who loves, and meets with nought but hate Nay, though I grant To know we suffer for the cause of love. Lisardo.-Those who, when hated, love, and those who hate Not so the jealous man-his pain is caus'd But not by absence-that's the death of love. And she who, most ador'd, then hates the most; And she who with the grief of absence mourns— He knows no hope, nor tells his want of hope. |