recovering it. That Ernest loved me, I felt convinced; but why not confess it? What was the barrier between us? We were equals in wealth and station; our ages, our tastes, our tempers, perfectly assimilated: I was free, and never had I, either from Ernest himself, or from my husband, heard of any legitimate tie that could bind him; as to any other, my knowledge of his strict principles, not only of morality, but of religion, assured me it would be an insult to suspect the existence of such, and I racked my brain, day and night, to discover the cause of his avoidance of me, the secret contained in that speech which at the time I hardly heard or comprehended, but which, afterwards, came back to me, word by word, tone by tone, with all the energy of grief with which it was spoken. One day I was sitting alone on the garden-seat, where we had parted, and which was not my favourite resort, when the sound of horses' hoofs, entering the court, struck on my ear. How short a time before had the same sound, at the same spot, so cruelly dashed to the ground the last drop of hope and happiness that Ernest's presence left me, and, insignificant as was the circumstance, it struck home to my heart! In a few moments more, the echo of approaching footsteps caused me to turn my head, and I beheld—the beloved object of my meditations-Ernest himself, no longer pale and with contracted brow, but radiant with joy, hope, and affection, advancing towards me! I could but pronounce his name, extend my hand, and bursting into a flood of tears, sink into the arms that were opened to receive me! That day I became his affianced wife, and he explained to me the cause of his grief, his self-reproaches, and his mysterious avoidance of me, from the moment he became conscious of the nature of his feelings towards me. The history was brief, and is best related in his own words. "I must tell you, my Hortense," he said, "a tale which L will not, I fear, raise my good sense or judgment in your estimation, and will show you how weak, how vain, and how easily deceived men may be by an artful and ambitious woman. "About four years ago, I became acquainted with a M. Latour, un ancien militaire, of high character and proved courage, but who, notwithstanding his acknowledged services and many wounds, was, with his only child, living in very straitened circumstances, in a small appartement in Paris. "Having had it in my power to render him some trifling service, through my uncle, who was then Ministre de la Guerre, our acquaintance became more intimate, and he introduced me to his daughter. Eugénie Latour was one of the handsomest girls I have ever seen; slight, graceful, fair, with large blue eyes, now full of melting softness, now sparkling with arch espièglerie; her voice, a rich contralto, went straight to the heart, and being a first-rate musician, it was modulated with as much skill as sentiment. Struck by her beauty and the charm of her music, I returned again and again. I was not in lovenay, smile not incredulously, my Hortense I admired her, I thought her amiable and clever, and there was an attraction about her face and her voice, and her lithe figure, that I acknowledged, and yet I felt she was not the woman for whom I could feel that deep, earnest, confiding love, which alone is worthy the name; there was a something studied even in her grace, a want of depth in her sentiment, of steadiness in her opinions; in short, of reality in all that she did and said, that I was sensible of, without taking the trouble to analyse my feelings; and I continued to visit at the house, and to listen to her music, without ever entertaining a serious thought concerning her. "One summer evening I had dropped in, and after I had been conversing some time with her father, Eugénie went as usual to the piano, and began to sing at his request; the music and the heat producing a soporific effect on the old soldier, his head dropped on his breast, and seeing that our conversation was at an end, I approached the piano. As Eugénie swept her white fingers languidly over the cords, and sung some old ballad slowly and dreamily, her blue eyes swimming with that peculiar softness they sometimes assumed, her lips parted, her cheek, somewhat pale from the heat, but transparently fair, her wavy golden hair pushed back from her brow for coolness, I could not but gaze on the beautiful girl with an admiration that partook more of sentiment than it had ever done before. She looked up and caught my gaze riveted upon her, and in an instant the blood mounted to her cheek and brow, and running her fingers rapidly over the instrument, she began to play a brilliant march. That evening I went home, feeling for Eugénie a warmer, a softer sentiment, than I had ever thought it possible she could inspire in my breast; that look, that blush of hers, had for me a natural eloquence far more speaking than all the studied graces I had beheld unmoved; and beside this caused a more anxious feelingdid not her emotion betray a consciousness, and not a disagreeable one, of my admiration? - "I resolved at once to diminish the frequency of my visits, not to encourage in my breast this sentiment, which I knew, if not nurtured, would prove but a passing one, but which, if fed by a constant intercourse with its fair object, might perhaps affect her peace and mine; and for the next fortnight I did not approach the house. "At the end of that time I received your letter, my Hortense, requesting, on your husband's part, my attendance here, and meeting M. Latour in the street, and being gently reproached by him for my absence, I promised to call on the following day, and kept my word. I found Eugénie alone on my entrance; she sprang from the piano, and with a tremor of manner, and a blushing consciousness far different from her usual self-possession, requested me to be seated, as her father, who was for the instant engaged, would come to me in a moment: she was going to seek him, when, assuring her that my time was in no way occupied, and that I would willingly wait his leisure, she resumed her seat; and taking up some work, a somewhat embarrassing silence ensued. "Wishing to break it, I said I feared this was the last occasion I should have of seeing her for some time, as I was going into the country for an indefinite period, to remain with a sick relative. 'Vous partez!' she exclaimed. The work fell from her hands; and as I, to hide my confusion, and — shall I confess it? some emotion, hastened to present it to her, our hands met, and fixing her full blue eyes upon me with a look of deep reproach, she burst into tears! "What I said, what I did, I hardly know; the tears of the lovely girl fell like the spring rain on the bud of tenderness that had already laid its germ in my heart, and—must I own it?my vanity perhaps, even more than my affection, was roused and flattered; and in a few moments I had poured out a glowing confession of my new-born passion, and was seated by the side of the now blushing and smiling Eugénie, when her father, entering the room, stood an astonished spectator of the scene. It was soon explained to him; and as the good old man shook my hand with tearful eyes and reiterated blessings, I felt I had, at all events, secured his happiness. "As I considered it a sacred duty to keep my engagement to your husband, notwithstanding the new one I had formed, and as a variety of circumstances combined to render the performance of our marriage for some time difficult, it was agreed that our engagement should be kept secret for the present, and I came down here, as you know, and remained till the death of my poor cousin, and the arrangement of his affairs left me at liberty to return to my fiancée. I found her more beautiful, more radiant than ever, and her reception was as warm as the most eager lover could desire. Some weeks passed away, and I saw no reason to regret my choice, if choice a contract into which I had so unexpectedly been hurried could be called, but at the end of that time, the old feeling of a something wanting in Eugénie began to return; her expressions of affection were constant and oft repeated, but in this, as in all else, there was the same absence of that assurance of depth and sincerity that alone can give the confidence of true regard. I tried to think I wronged her, tried to believe her words were true, always returned to the scene which had sealed our destiny, to convince myself that her feelings were genuine, and her affection what I then was persuaded it was, but in vain. Still the arrangements for our marriage advanced, and it was fixed to take place just a year from the time of our engagement, when a sudden event put a stop, for the time, to the carrying out of our plans. M. Latour was seized with a violent illness, and expired after a few days of severe suffering; and Eugénie, whose only relative was an aunt, who resided at Tours, was obliged to go there till the period of her mourning should have so far expired as to enable our marriage to be solemnised. "Absent from Eugénie, away from the sight of her beauty, from the fascination of her charms, the exquisite music of her voice, I felt more acutely than ever, that apart from these attractions there was nothing more solid, more lasting, more deep, to cling to; I could not call to mind one sentiment, one expression of hers, that I could recall with pride or pleasure; one taste, except that for music, congenial with my own and then, Hortense, in spite of myself, I compared my fiancée with you; I asked myself, Would she, were I ill and suffering, tend me as you tended the husband who, instead of being the lover |