Chapter XXVIII.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XII, Issue 5, 23 May 1884, Page 5

Chapter XXVIII.

Angnst 6tb. I have gone through a great deal since I wrote to you yesterday morning, and now you are going to hear the end of my story. I said a very fervent prayer, and then went down to meet my aunt with a firm step, but a very troubled face. I saw at once that she was in a bad humor, which did sot tend to reassure me. " Good gracious, Stephanie ?" she cried, the moment I appeared, " what on earth is the matter with you ? Such a face ! Are you ill 1 " " No, aunt, there is nothing particular the matter with me," I said ; " I hare a little headache, that's all." " You eeem to have a succession of headaches now-a-days.*' she returned ; " you are not yourself ; you are sad, absent, dreamy. One would think, to look at you, that you were the most unhappy creature in Paris. Such airs do not become a girl like you, by any means." I felt Terr much inclined to cry, but I checked myself. Madame d'Aubecourt does not like anyone to cry when she scolds. " Forgive me, dear annt," I said, with a great effort, "and listen to me : for I want < The Viscount de Sauveterre was announced. For the first time in my life I was glad to see him. He came in scarcely seeming to touch the carpet, fresh and smiling as Aurora, most faultlessly dressed, showing his white teeth, and evidently enchanted with the world in genera], and Monsieur de Sauveterre in particular, dress, figure and all. He kisied my aunt's hand, made me a gallant, lingering bow, awl (km mi down with n air whitfh aid plainly, "Here I tea,

charming, handsome, high-born I — feast your eyes upon me." My aunt received him complacently. He had, as usual, a budget of news, which he began to unfold with little bursts of laughter, little grimaces, and all his pretty, foppish tricks. Very soon Madame d'Aubecourt began to forget her bad humor— a fact which I was very sorry to observe. I would rather she should remain vexed, and scold me ever so badly, if only the viscount came in for a stroke or two. However, he said no word that could displease her, but, on the contrary, pleased and flattered her perfectly. When the viscount is merely a fop, I dislike him ; hut when I see him getting on well and cleverly, I cannot endure him. And he was getting on splendidly yesterday morning. He began to tell how Madame la Dauphine complained that Madame d'Aubecoart had neglected her for some time past. This was pure invention, of course ; but my aunt swallowed it ; for though she assiduously cultivates the favor of the princess, she would fain appear to care nothing about it. Those De Sauveterres know her well. She became more and more amiable to our visitor. " Tell me," she said, " when does your father make his first speech in tbe House ?' " As soon as I have it ready," was the reply. " Good ! What do you mean to speak of ?" " Well, 1 had some excellent considerations to urge against the present shape of hats which I consider frightful ; but my father wished to speak of finances." •• How strange 1" cried my aunt, laughing outright — " and how will you manage about it ?" ** " Perfectly," said the viscount ; " the speech will be made without my losing even one hunting party. Then, I assure you, my father has some very good things to say. The Opposition affirms that two-and-two are three at the utmost, and we will prove that two-and-two are five at the least." By means of all this prattle the viscount gave my aunt to understand that he was no longer a Jacobin, and that he was occupying himself with very serious affairs. He succeeded. I felt myself getting so unhappy that I was again inclined to cry. I longed for some one to come in ; I was mentally speculating on the probability of Mr. de Tourmagne returning when Germain walked in. What a contrast there was between him and the viscount. It seemed as if I had never known the breadth and the depth of the difference between them, until this, perhaps the last opportunity I should ever have of comparing or choosing between them. Though nearly of the same height, Germain looks a full head taller ; but even with his sunburnt forehead, his grave manner, and his quiet words, dropping here and there, just where they are wanted, like ripe wall fruit, Germain seems the younger, There is something battered and worn ont about the viscount's gaiety when you see him beside the vigorous tree of the open air ; or if you like it better, the spaniel by the side of the proud lion. Ah 1 my handsome viscount, most valiant hunter of hares t if you, though already wounded, bad started off in pursuit of two fully armed Druses, who were carrying a poor girl away to their den, what a charming boast it would have been to tell 1 The calm Germain is full of enthusiasm ; the restless viscount has nothing in his brains but chatter and raillery. The veriest butterfly that passes, him is not beneath his notice i he gambols, he is pliant, graceful charming ; Germain is unmoved. But see him when some grand idea is put forward, when the history of some noble action is recounted ; see him when there is question of religion, or politics, or aits, or of the sufferings of the poor, then he speaks. The warm glow spreads over his grand face, his soul wakens up, and his voice, that calm quiet voice of his, rolls and softens again, and trembles lightly at times, till everyone feels his subject, everyone except the viscount ; he holds his tongue, evidently very much bored ; for he is never happy except when he is chattering himself ; you can see it in his face, in his restless eyes and knitted brow ; he frets and fidgets until he gets the public gaze oa himself ones more. Germain is amongst the few people whom my aunt treats with neither patronage nor havteur, in fact, as if they were something out of the common. His very look forbids impertinence of any kind. The viscount himself loads him with civility ; it would never do for his future Seignetirie to lot it be thought he had stooped to be jealous of plain M. Darcet the writer. Had I not known what was passing in Germain's heart, his face would have told me nothing yesterday. You could catch a sad shade on his face as he looked from one to the other of us, that was all ; but in this I thought I read the confirmation of my dread, the assurance that his sacrifice was complete, and that he was indeed going to leave us. Soon after he came into the room my annt asked him how soon he intended starting on his journey, and he answered that he had come to bid us good-bye. I heard him say it ; but I never changed countenance ; I only looked over at him ; and when I saw his eyes fixed on the ground, I knew he was avoiding me. It was evident that he had never guessed at my feelings for him ; so I felt touched at his determination, and I thought how astonished he would be if, perhaps, at some distant, day, he were to learn how I had loved him. The viscount asked him where ha meant to go, and he answered : " Ta the East, as far away as I can go." (To be Continued.')