"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 happy 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, madame, I thank Heaven that I have no fortune, and that will, I trust, be a bar to any proposals from the interested gentleman of the present day."

"That may not save you, Valerie," replied Madame d'Albret, laughing, "gentlemen may be satisfied with expectancies; 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, madame," 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 sufficiently 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 deportment towards our sex was certainly most fascinating—so tender and so respectful. I certainly never had before seen so polished a man. He sang well, and played upon several instruments; drew, caricatured—indeed, he did everything well that he attempted to do; I hardly need say that with such qualifications, and being so old a friend, that 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 company, but nothing more; indeed, his attentions to Madame d'Albret were quite as great as to me, and there was nothing to permit any one to suppose that he was paying 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.

After two months had passed away, Monsieur de G—was supposed to be paying his attentions more particularly to me, and I thought so myself; Madame d'Albret certainly did, and gave him every opportunity. He was the heir to a large property, and did not require money with his 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 was apparently very amiable, and certainly very distinguee in her manners, 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 water 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 France we do not consult the wishes 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 herself for changing her condition. In England the very reverse 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 are her guardians. Which do you think is the most natural and satisfactory, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf?"

"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 disappointment 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 to permit no love before marriage? and is it agreeable for ours, that we lead to the altar a person who may consent from a sense of duty, without having the least regard for her husband; nay, perhaps 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," replied I; "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 English fashion; and previous to addressing myself 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 well 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," replied he, with great pique, "but on one condition, which is, that you will promise 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, 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'Albret 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 was permitted to leave the room, and do as I pleased without being subjected to any remarks.

Such was the state of affairs when the Paris season drew near. Madame Bathurst had been induced to remain 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 morning 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."

"My dear madame, 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 opportunity 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 Monsieur 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, madame," replied I, mournfully, for my heart misgave me, why I knew not, "but if I do go, it will be to oblige you, and not because I really wish it."

"My dear Valerie, I think it will be for the best, and therefore you will oblige me. 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, madame," 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 excessive 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 during the whole day, and on our arrival at the suburbs it was thicker than ever, and the horses were led through the streets by people carrying flambeaux. I had heard that England was a triste pays, and I thought it so indeed. At last I observed to Madame Bathurst, "Est-ce qu'il n'y a jamais de soleil dans ce pays, madame?"

"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, glittered 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 England 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 neatness displayed in every thing 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 we sat up in a little boudoir, where we were never interrupted. Here I practised 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 return, 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 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 Bathurst, requesting, if not inconvenient, that she would allow my visit to be extended till the spring, at which season she expected to return to Paris. Madame Bathurst 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 my distress by the kindness 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 appeared to me to be all afraid of each other, and to be constantly 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 anyone 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 written to Madame Paon, Caroline, who was sitting with me in the boudoir, observed, "I heard Mrs Corbet say to my aunt that she had seen Madame d'Albret at Paris about ten days ago."

"Impossible!" replied I; "she is in the south of France."

"So I understood," replied Caroline; "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?" exclaimed I. "Oh, my heart forebodes evil! Excuse me, Caroline, but I feel very miserable;" 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, Valerie, it may be all a mistake."

"I will at once speak to Madame Bathurst," said I, raising my head, "it will be the best plan."

I went into my room, bathed my eyes, and then sought Madame Bathurst, whom I found in the conservatory, giving directions to the gardener. 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 Madame?"

"I cannot say, Valerie, 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, therefore, be mistaken."

"She must be, madame," 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."

"Let us talk no more about it, my dear Valerie. A few days will decide the point."

A few days did decide the point, for I received an answer from Madame Paon, in which she said:—

"My dear Mademoiselle Chatenoeuf,—You may imagine my surprise at receiving your letter, and I fear you must prepare 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 l'Angleterre; 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 what I could not comprehend. I did not see her till four or five weeks afterwards, 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 consequence of some gaming transaction anything but honourable. 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 anyone 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. Madame d'Albret made no remark, except that she should be careful how she ever engaged a demoiselle de compagnie 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 afterwards 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 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, etcetera, etcetera.

"Emile Paon, nee Merce."

Here was a solution of the whole mystery. I read the letter and fell back on the sofa, gasping for breath. It was 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 awkwardness of my position, I was almost in despair.



CHAPTER SIX.

As I continued for more than an hour on the sofa, gloomily passing in review 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 quitted my parents, love and gratitude had succeeded it, but now, smarting under injustice, pride, and, with pride, many less worthy passions, were summoned up, and I appeared 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 in, the more my energy was roused. I sat down on the sofa a confiding, clinging girl. I rose up a resolute, clear-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 pressed 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 expected 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 temporary 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. What, then, was to be done? I examined my capital. I was handsome, but that was of no use to me; the insidious conduct of Monsieur de G—had raised to positive dislike the indifference that I felt for his sex, and I had no inclination to make a market of my personal advantages. I could sing and play well. I spoke French and English, and understood Italian. I could embroider the 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 and in French, or to take a governess's place, or to become a modiste.

I thought of Madame Paon, but when I reflected in what manner I had visited her, the respect and homage, I may say, which had been offered up to me, and how different my reception and treatment would be if I entered the establishment as one of themselves, the reflection was too mortifying, and I determined that if I were driven to such an employment for my livelihood, it should be where I was not known. After much consideration, I decided that I would see Madame Bathurst, make known to her my intentions, and ask her assistance and recommendation 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 acquainted 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 I 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 recommendation 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 crashed by it, you appear 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 actual position, and requesting to know what was to be done relative to you. Her answer I have received this day. 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, that Monsieur de G—is resolute, and determined that you never shall come again under his roof. She has, therefore, transmitted a billet of 500 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."

"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 character, 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 this calumny against you. I say, therefore, for the present, my dear Valerie, remain here. You are 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 dependent, 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 courtseying; "I trust, however, that you will allow me a little time for reflection before I decide. You must 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."

"Certainly," replied 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 500 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 confidence in anyone 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 instructing Caroline, I knew well, and that Madame Bathurst would not easily procure a governess so capable in singing and music as myself. There would be consequently no obligation, and I resolved that I would reject her terms if they were not favourable. 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 determination to obtain my own livelihood, and adding that as I was not sure whether I should accept of Madame Bathurst's offer, I wished her to give me a letter of introduction 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 I commenced another 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 towards him and by his consummate art. I am also to blame for not having communicated to you 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 country 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 suffice 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 as Monsieur de G—, and it is of you, and all that you will have to suffer, that my thoughts and heart are full. I return you the cheque for 500 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 madame; I shall pray for you, and weep over your misfortunes.

"Yours ever gratefully,

"Valerie de Chatenoeuf."

That there was a mixed feeling in this letter, I confess. As I said in it, I really pitied Madame 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 I did not at the time that I wrote 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 had 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 dependent, as I must in future be, if I 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 would have made no terms, but retained you as a dear friend, my purse and everything in the house at your 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 pounds 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 bear, 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 prospects, I was all humility—now a dependent, with a salary of 100 pounds 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 guarded 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 accepted 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 determined to do justice to Madame Bathurst's confidence reposed in me. Caroline, who was of a very amiable and sweet disposition, replied, "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 position 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 was before when a visitor to the house. I bestowed 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 complained of it.

"Valerie, you do wrong not to make your appearance. You retire in such a way that people naturally 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 you to reply frankly. I am the governess, and do not like anything 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 are 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 receiving salaries, or 'wages like themselves,' as they assert, they are not entitled in their opinion to be attended upon. Thus are they, in most houses, neglected by all parties. Unhappy themselves, they cause ill-will and dissension, and more servants are dismissed, or given warning, on account of the governesses, than from any other cause. In the drawing-room they are 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 miserable, 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 happy, 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 kindness of Madame Bathurst, induced me to exert all that I possessed in her favour. Every one was pleased, and expressed 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 alteration 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 Opera and French plays I was content to remain quiet.

Madame Paon had, as I requested, sent me a letter of introduction to a friend of hers, a Monsieur Gironac, who lived in Leicester Square. 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 night was engaged as second violin in the orchestra of the Opera House; so that he had many strings to his bow, besides those of his fiddle. His wife, a pretty little lively woman, taught young ladies to make flowers 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 amusing 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 expressing a wish to learn to model flowers, and becoming the pupil of Madame Gironac. Such was 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 remaining 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, however, raised the indignation 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, procured for him a situation of 300 pounds per annum in the Excise. Upon this sum, and the occasional presents of Madame Bathurst, they contrived to live, but having 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 year for Caroline, which she had done ever since she had taken charge of her, at seven years old. At the time that I have been speaking of, it appeared that the uncle of the father of Caroline died, and notwithstanding his threat bequeathed to his nephew the whole of his large property, 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 immediately taken back to her father's house. In the letter—which I read, for Madame Bathurst, who was in great distress, handed it to me, observing at the time, "This concerns 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 was 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 with me, that I have looked upon her as my own child, and now she is to be torn from me, without 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 afterwards discovered, she replied to the letter, pointing out how long she had had charge of Caroline, and now considered her as her daughter, and requesting her parents to allow her to return to her after she paid them a visit; pointing out how unkind and ungrateful it was of them to take her away, now that their circumstances were altered, and how very painful it would be for her if they did so. To this appeal on her part she received a most insulting answer, in which she was requested to make out an account of the expenses incurred for the education and maintenance of her niece, that they might be reimbursed forthwith. On this occasion, for the first time, I saw Madame Bathurst really angry, and certainly not without good cause. She sent for Caroline, who as yet had only 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 parents should wish for her return to their own care; that the resigning her to Madame 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 prepare 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 where we were. In the evening, Madame Bathurst sent for me; I found her in bed and looking very ill.

"Valerie," said she, "I wish Caroline to start early to-morrow morning, that, as you accompany her, 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 I did, and afterwards put her into bed as soon as I could. Having remained with her till she had sobbed herself 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 connection 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 dependent 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 immediately, but allow me a short time to look out for a suitable situation; but whether I should decide upon taking the situation of a governess after what Madame Bathurst had told me, or what situation I should seek was the cause of much thought and indecision. At last I could make no mind up, and decided that I would trust to Providence, 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 inclined to show them, which I was sorry to perceive she did not; indeed, her feelings appeared rather those of resentment for the conduct they had shown to her aunt. After the salutation of meeting, Caroline 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, madame," said I.

"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. Will you," continued she, with great spirit, "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, my dear Valerie," retorted Caroline, who then put her arms round my 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, thinking 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 door, 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 appeared 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 which 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 parties 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 would not leave my own expectations any longer in doubt, but come immediately to an understanding 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 been treated, and having done so, I then observed, that of course I did not expect to remain with her now that Caroline was gone, and begged she would give me her advice and assistance in procuring another situation.

"At all events, do not be in a hurry, Valerie," replied 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 you will refuse, and I do not pay unnecessary compliments. And yet, why should you not? I know you well, and am attached to you. I shall feel the loss of Caroline severely. Why not remain?"

"Many thanks, my dear madame," replied I, "for your kind wishes and expressions, 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, Valerie," said Madame Bathurst somewhat harshly.

"Indeed, my dear madame, I should be sorry if anything 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 sufficiently 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, 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 bon Dieu 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 by those who think, as they do in this country, that money is everything. Do, pray, then come to us, if you feel inclined, and then we can talk over 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 country, 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 feeling 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 was, but gradually a sort of coolness had arisen between Madame Bathurst and 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 acquaintance 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 authoress, having written two or three novels, not very good I was told, but still, emanating from the pen of a lady, they were 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 thing. Now, a good thing is repeated, while all the nonsense is forgotten; and Lady R—was considered a wit as well as an authoress. She was a tall woman; I should think very near, if not past, fifty years of age, with the remains of beauty in her countenance: apparently, she was strong and healthy, as she walked with a spring, and was lively and quick in all her motions.

"Cara mia," 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 on 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 Bathurst 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 you were looking out for something of the kind, and that you were remaining under my protection until you could procure it. We had more conversation on the subject, and she said before she left, that she would 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 few words. You saw her yesterday, and I never knew her otherwise; never more or less rational. She is an oddity; but she is good-natured; and, I am told, more liberal and 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 independent; 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 Mrs 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 Chatenoeuf, 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 appeared to me, had certainly decided it for me, by making such a premature communication to her servant.

The reader may suppose, that when I made this discovery, I felt little pain at the idea of parting with Madame Bathurst; and the following morning I coolly announced my intention of accepting the offer 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 turned me out of the house, although I had been foisted upon her in such a way by Madame d'Albret. Still I was under obligations to her, and should have expressed myself so, if it had not been for the communication made to me by the maid, which proved 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 I.

"You really appear as if you were anxious to quit me, mademoiselle," said Madame Bathurst, biting her lip.

"I certainly am," replied I. "You informed Mason that I was to go, previous to having my decision; and therefore I gladly withdraw myself from the company of those who have made up their 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 investigation of what I really said, or catechising my maid: one thing is clear, we have been mutually disappointed with each other, and therefore it perhaps is better that we should part. I believe that I am in your debt, Mademoiselle 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 Chatenoeuf."

"Well, then, madame, Miss Caroline, since you wish it; it is five months and two weeks," replied I, rising from 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 have no doubt of it, madame," replied I, looking at it and then laying it down on the desk before her.

Madame Bathurst put the sum in bank-notes and sovereigns down before 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 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 fight 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; wished 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 important, which was, that I would be happy to come to her on the following 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, would not be down at the hour mentioned, and I wished to leave the house without seeing her again, after our formal adieux. 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 bell to order her carriage.

I completed my preparations 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 apartment 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 wake 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 dustman's bass; the baker's boys, the early post delivery, and thus from units to tens, and from tens to tens of thousands, and London stirs again. There is poetry in that, and now let us down to breakfast. I always breakfast in my robe de chambre; 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, pertly, "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 minister or a clown at Astley's. I picked him 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 was 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; and 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 companion 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 daresay not, but when I tell you that I am more than repaid by looking at you when I feel inclined, you will acknowledge that you do me service; but we will not enter into metaphysics or psychological questions just now, it shall all be explained by-and-bye. 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 must allow me to call you Valerie at once, and I must entreat of you to call me Sempronia. Your name is delightful, fit for a first-class heroine. My real baptismal name is one that I have abjured, and if my godfathers and godmothers did give it to me, I throw it back to them with contempt. What do you think it was?—Barbara. Barbara, indeed. 'My mother had a maid called Barbara,' Shakespeare 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 SEVEN.

Lady R—sat down before her writing materials, and I took my seat on the sofa, as she had requested, and was soon occupied with my reading. I perceived that, as she wrote, her ladyship continually took her eyes off her paper, and fixed them upon me. I presumed that she was describing me, and I was correct in my idea, for, in about half-an-hour, she threw down her pen, and cried:

"There, I am indebted to you for the best picture of a heroine that I ever drew! Listen."

And her ladyship read to me a most flattering description of my sweet person, couched in very high-flown language.

"I think, Lady R—," said I, when she had finished, "that you are more indebted to your own imagination than to reality in drawing 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 write from. It is the same as painting or drawing, it only can be true when drawn from nature; in fact, what is writing but painting with the pen?"

As she concluded her sentence, the page, Lionel, came in with a letter on a waiter, and hearing her observation, as he handed the letter, he impudently observed:

"Here's somebody been painting your name on the outside of this paper; and as there's 7 pence to pay, I think it's rather dear for such a smudge."

"You must not judge from outside appearance, Lionel," replied 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 Shakespeare 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 them, Lionel, you 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 demurely; "like most people who tell their own stories, I was born of honest, but poor parents."

"I believe your parents 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.

"Now, I call that real honesty. You saw me borrow it, and now you see me pay it."

"Yes; but suppose her ladyship had not given 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 ladyship makes me read, and I never yet read any book about old times in which the pages 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 otherwise. 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 resumed her writing.

"You sing, do you not? I think Mrs Bathurst 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 must sing without music, for my country girl cannot be crossing the mead with a piano in one hand, and a pail of water in the other."

"I should think not," replied I, laughing; "but am not I too near?"

"Yes, rather; I should prefer it on the stairs, or on the first floor landing, 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 purpose. 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 Shylock said of his ring, 'I would not change thee for a wilderness 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 daresay 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 you 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 appearance, 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 we have an engagement," replied the boy; "I can't recollect it, but I shall find it in the drawing-room."

He went out, and in a minute 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.

"Shall we go?" continued Lady R—.

"If you please, madame," 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 champagne."

"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 that the company isn't so good; and then at parties, when there 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 Allwood's twice, and there's no supper, nothing but feast of reason, which 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!"

"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 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 in 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 principle, and I have been half-poisoned sometimes at these cheap parties, but I'm getting cunning, and when I meet a suspicious-looking piece 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 I.

"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 girdle round the park in forty minutes;" so saying, the lad vanished, 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 familiarity. 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 went to Mrs Allwood's party. I was introduced to a great many great 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 was 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, however, 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 have refused to anyone else, I did for her without reluctance. I now called her 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 communed with myself, I could not help surveying my peculiar position. I was engaged at a large salary—for what? to look handsome, to put myself in attitudes, and to do nothing. This was not flattering 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 asked, and never made to feel my dependence. I had already imbibed a strong friendship for Lady R—, and I was, therefore, content to remain. One morning she said to me, "My dear Valerie, 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 write, 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 still 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 l'abandon."

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, my 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 play the page."

"I've no time for play, my lady; I'm page in earnest. There's all the knives to clean."

"Never mind the knives just now. Observe, Lionel, you are supposed to be sent a message to that lovely girl, who is sitting absorbed in a soft reverie. 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 have 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 passing his fingers through his hair, and then pulling up his shirt collar, took his position, saying, "Now, Miss Valerie, 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 R—, 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 unlike 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 perceived 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 conversation 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 walking 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 and mammas—I had none to talk about: they went home at the holidays, and brought back toys and plum-cakes; 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 grew 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 was told) inquiries about them. The Misses Wiggins gave me a good wigging, as they call it, for my unwarranted curiosity, pointing 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 forbidden 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 dependents they had been, and that the great lady would call and see me perhaps, or if she did not, would 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 plain 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 I have done ever since, and now receive high wages, and wear sugar-loaf buttons, as you perceive. Now, Miss Valerie, that's all I know of myself; but I suspect that Lady R—knows more; still it may be that what the old woman told me was correct, and that I was the child of one of her favourite dependents, and was educated by her in the manner that I was, for you know how many odd things she does."

"What is your other 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 was 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 announced. I went out of the room, and when I met her in the dining-parlour, she told me that she had brought some of her imitations of flowers on wax, to show them to her ladyship. I immediately went up, and asked Lady R—if she would like to see them, to which proposal she assented. When Madame Gironac displayed her performances, which were very natural and beautiful, her ladyship was delighted, and purchased several of them, after which I again went downstairs, and had a long conversation with my warm-hearted little friend.

"I don't like this situation of yours, mademoiselle," said she, "nor does my husband. Now I was thinking, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, that it would not be a bad plan if you were to learn how to make those flowers. I will teach you for nothing; and I will teach you what I never teach my pupils, which is how to prepare the wax, and a great many other little secrets which are worth knowing."

"I shall be very glad to learn, my dear madame," replied I, "but I can afford to pay you for your time and trouble, and must insist upon doing so; if not, I will not be your pupil."

"Well, well, we must 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."