should have the right, the duty to lavish upon her; I pictured her fears calmed, her confidence, her sleep; I said to myself that this fortunate night, if it did not give me the love of this dear girl, would at least assure to me her most lasting esteem.

As I abandoned myself with all the egotism of passion to my secret ecstasy, some reflection of which was perhaps painted on my face, I was suddenly roused by these words, addressed to me in the tone of affected tranquillity: "Monsieur le Marquis de Champcey, have there been many cowards in your family, before you?"

I rose, but fell back again upon my stone seat, turning a stupefied look in the direction where I saw the vague outline of the young girl. One idea alone occurred to me, a terrible idea, that fear and anxiety had affected her brain that she was becoming crazy.

"Marguerite!" I cried, without knowing even that I spoke. This word completed her irritation, doubtless. "My God! How odious he is!

repeat it, what a coward!"

What a coward!

Yes, I

The truth began to dawn upon me. I descended one of the steps. "Well, what is the matter?" said I, coldly.

-

"It is you," she replied with vehemence, "you who have bribed this man or this child to imprison us in this tower. To-morrow I shall be lost-dishonored in public opinion and I can belong only to you - such is your calculation, is it not? But this plan, I assure you, will not succeed better than the others. You know me very imperfectly if you think I shall not prefer dishonor, a convent, death all to the disgrace of uniting my hand, my life, to yours. And when this infamous ruse had succeeded, when I had had the weakness as certainly I shall not have to give you my person, and what is of more importance to you, my fortune in return for this beautiful stroke of policy. What kind of a man are you? to wish for wealth, and a wife, acquired at such a price as this? Ah, thank me still, monsieur, for not yielding to your wishes; they are imprudent, believe me, for if ever shame and public derision shall drive me into your arms, I should have so much contempt for you that I should break your heart! Yes, were it as hard, as cold as stone, I would draw tears of blood from it."

"Mademoiselle," said I, with all the calmness I could assume, "I beg you to recover yourself, your reason. I assure you, upon my honor, that you insult me. Will you please to reflect? Your suspicions have no probable foundation. I could not have possibly arranged the base treachery of which you accuse me, and how have I given you the right to believe me capable of it?"

"All that I know of you gives me this right," cried she, cutting the air with her riding-whip. "I will tell you for once what has been in my soul for a long time. You came to our house under a borrowed name and character. We were happy, we were tranquil, my mother and I. You have brought us trouble, disorder, anxiety, to which we were before strangers. In order to attain your end, to repair the loss of your fortune, you have usurped our confidence - you have been reckless of our repose you have played with our purest, truest, most sacred feelings. You have broken our hearts, without pity. That is what you have done or wished to do - it matters little which. I am very weary of it all, I assure you. And when, at this hour, you come and pledge me your honor as a gentleman, I have the right not to believe it and I do not believe it!"

I was beside myself; I seized both her hands in a transport of vehemence, which controlled her. "Marguerite, my poor child, listen! I love you, it is true, and never did love more ardent, more disinterested, more holy, enter into the heart of man. But you also, you love me; you love me, unfortunate! and you kill me! You speak of a bruised and broken heart. Ah! what have you done with mine? But it is yours; I leave it with you. As to my honor, I will keep it it is untouched. And soon I will force you to acknowledge it. And upon this honor, I swear to you that, if I die, you will weep for me; that if I live, never, adored as you are were you on your knees before me never will I marry you, till you are as poor as I, or I as rich as you! And now pray; ask God for miracles, it is time!"

I pushed her away from the embrasure of the window, and sprang upon the upper step; I had conceived a desperate plan, and I executed it with the precipitation of actual madness.

As I have before said, the tops of the beeches and oaks, growing in the moat, reached the level of the window. With the aid of my bent riding-whip, I drew toward me the extremity of the nearest branches; I seized them on a venture, and leaped into space; I heard above my head my name, "Maximilian!" uttered suddenly, with a distracted cry. The branches to which I was clinging bent with their whole length toward the abyss; then there was a crashing sound; the tree broke under my weight, and I fell heavily to the ground.

The muddy nature of the earth lessened the violence of the shock; for, though I was wounded, I was not killed. One of my arms had struck against the sloping masonry of the tower, and I suffered such sharp pain in it that I fainted. I was roused by Marguerite's frightened voice: "Maximilian! Maximilian! For pity's sake! In the name of the good God, speak to me! Forgive me!"

I rose, I saw her in the opening of the window, in the full moonlight, with her head bare, her hair disheveled, her hand grasping the arm of the cross, and her eyes earnestly fixed upon the ground below.

"Fear nothing," said I to her. "I am not hurt. Only be patient for an hour or two. Give me time to go to the château; it is the surest. Be certain that I will keep your secret, that I will save your honor as I have saved mine."

I got out of the moat with difficulty, and went to mount my horse. I suspended my left arm, which was wholly useless and very painful, with my handkerchief. Thanks to the light of the moon, I easily found my way back, and an hour later I reached the château. I was told Doctor Desmarests was in the saloon: I went in at once, and found there some dozen persons, whose countenances wore an expression of anxiety and alarm.

"Doctor," said I, gaily, on entering, "my horse took fright at his own shadow, and threw me on the road, and I am afraid my left arm is sprained. Will you see?”

"How, sprained!" said M. Desmarests, after unfastening the handkerchief. "Your arm is broken, my poor boy."

Madame Laroque gave a little cry, and approached me. "This is then a night of misfortune," said she.

I feigned surprise. "What else has happened?" I cried.

"Mon Dieu! I fear some accident has happened to my daughter. She went out on horseback at three o'clock, and it is now eight, and she has not yet returned."

"Mademoiselle Marguerite? Why, I saw her —"

"How? Where? At what time? Forgive me, monsieur; it is the egotism of a mother."

"I saw her about five o'clock on the road.

We met. She told me she thought of riding as far as the tower of Elven." "The tower of Elven! She must be lost in the woods. We ought to go there promptly. Let orders be given.”

M. de Bévallan at once ordered horses to be brought out. I affected a wish to join the cavalcade, but Madame Laroque and the doctor positively prohibited it, and I allowed myself to be easily persuaded to seek my bed, of which, in truth, I felt great need.

Doctor Desmarests, after having applied a first dressing to my injured arm, took a seat in the carriage with Madame Laroque, who went to the village of Elven, to wait there the result of the diligent search that M. de Bévallan would direct in the neighborhood of the tower.

It was nearly ten o'clock when Alain came to announce to me that Mlle. Marguerite was found. He recounted the history of her imprisonment, without omitting any details, save, be it understood, those which the young girl and I would alone know. The account of the adventure was soon confirmed by the doctor, then by Madame Laroque herself, and I had the satisfaction to see that no suspicion of the exact truth entered the mind of any one.

I have passed the night in repeating, with the most fatiguing perseverance, and with the oddest complications of fever and dreams, my dangerous leap from the old tower window. I cannot become accustomed to it. At each instant the sensation of falling through space rises to my throat, and I awake breathless. At length the day dawned, and I became calmer. At eight o'clock Mlle. de Porhoet came and installed herself by my bedside, her knitting in her hand. She has done the honors of my room to the visitors who have succeeded each other all the day. Madame Laroque came first after my old friend. As she held with a long pressure the hand I had extended to

her, I saw two large tears roll down her cheeks. Has she then been taken into her daughter's confidence?

Mlle. de Porhoet has informed me that M. Laroque has kept his bed since yesterday. He has had a slight attack of paralysis. To-day he cannot speak, and his state causes great anxiety. It has been decided to hasten the marriage. M. Laubepin has been sent for from Paris; he is expected to-morrow, and the marriage contract will be signed the day following, under his supervision.

I have sat up some hours this evening; but if I am to believe M. Desmarests, I am wrong to write with my fever, and I am a great blockhead.

October 3.

It really seems as if some malign power took the trouble to devise the most singular and the cruelest temptations and to offer them by turns to my conscience and my heart! M. Laubepin not having arrived this morning, Madame Laroque asked me for some information which she needed in order to determine upon the preamble of the contract which, as I have said, is to be signed to-morrow. As I am condemned to keep my room for several days longer, I begged Madame Laroque to send me the titles and private papers, which were in the possession of her father-in-law, and which were indispensable to me in order to solve the difficulties that had been pointed out. They soon brought me two or three drawers filled with them, that had been secretly taken out of M. Laroque's cabinet, while the old man was asleep, for he had always shown himself very jealous of his private papers. In the first which I took up, the repetition of my own family name caught my eye, and appealed to my curiosity with irresistible force. This is the literal text of the paper:

"TO MY CHILDREN.”

"The name that I bequeath to you and that I have honored, is not my own. My father's name was Savage. He was manager of a plantation of considerable size in the island, at that time belonging to France, of Saint-Lucie, owned by a wealthy and noble family of Dauphiny, that of the Champceys d'Hauterives. My father died in 1793, and I inherited, although still