t>.^:-"^ 
 
 
 
 -J
 
 LI B R.AFIY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 or ILLmOIS 

 
 iSGG.
 
 A D E L E. 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 BY 
 
 JULIA KAVANAGH, 
 
 AUTHOE OP 
 
 "NATHALIE," "RACHEL G E A Y," 
 
 &c. &c. 
 
 " She dwelt among the untrodden ways. 
 
 A maid, whom there were none to praiae, 
 And very few to love." — Wobdswoeth. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 HUilST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 1.% GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1858. 
 
 Tilt right 6/ Translation it reseieed.
 
 J. Billing, PiiaUr, 103, Ilatton Garden, London, and Guildford, Surrey.
 
 V.I 
 
 £ 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 ■;^-There is no reason why the Author of this work 
 
 should trouble the public with a preface explanatory 
 
 ^ of a very simple tale ; but she feels bound, in self- 
 
 '>» 
 
 V justice, to state, that, for motives on which she need 
 
 not enter here, she has taken liberties with the 
 
 topography of the Departement de I'iVin, as well as 
 
 s . .... 
 
 with the names of various localities mentioned m 
 
 the following pages. 
 
 r^ 
 
 -\. 
 
 4
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 wijh funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/adletale01kava
 
 A D E L E. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE WILL. 
 
 The funeral was over. The sun shone on the red 
 mould of a new grave in the little and silent church- 
 yard ; and Osborne Lodge, casting by its ten days' 
 gloom, resumed the aspect and the stir of life. 
 
 William Osborne sat in his father's study. He 
 had arrived that morning, unwarned, uncalled-for, 
 and his dead father met him on the threshold. The 
 shock was great ; a dull, silent grief followed it — 
 the grief of a son who was obliged to look back, far 
 into the past, for the time when he received parental 
 affection, and returned filial love. 
 
 He sat, as we said, in his father's study ; and he 
 looked at his father's portrait. Time had not yet 
 touched that room. Sunshine, a glimpse of breezy 
 foliage, a clear blue sky, a sound of singing birds, 
 came in through the open window. It might have 
 been just opened by Mr. Osborne, for he liked sun 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 ADELE. 
 
 heat; and that fresh, dewy landscape cheered him ; 
 his leather armchair, writing table, desk, and worn- 
 out pen, were still there. He might have gone out 
 for a moment to return in another moment, and 
 resume his interrupted labours; the place seemed 
 ever waiting the absent master, by whose image, 
 full length and lifelike, it was still guarded. 
 
 A sunbeam lit that portrait, remarkable as a 
 painting, more remarkable as a representation ; will, 
 energy, life, breathed from that silent canvas, and 
 seemed to defy death and the grave. A gentleman 
 of stately presence had been the late William Os- 
 borne, — with noble and handsome features, with 
 fine, though severe dark eyes, with a manly, though 
 haughty bearing, — and with folded arms and with a 
 long, sad gaze, his elder son looked at that stern coun- 
 tenance, in which he seemed to read the story of his 
 whole past life. Into that past we will not enter ; it 
 was full of bitterness and woe ; — let it sleep. Every 
 thing, and every one, in the life of that dead man, 
 had been sacrificed to commercial ambition; but 
 this tale deals not with him ; let him rest with his 
 faults and his virtues — requiescat in pace. 
 
 ^' "Was that the end ?" sorrowfully thought Wil- 
 liam Osborne, turning away — " was that the end ?" 
 And turning, as we said, he found himself face to 
 face with his stepmother, whom he had not seen for 
 eight years. She had entered the room unheard, and 
 fstood by his side before he was conscious of her 
 presence. 
 
 Wrath, bitterness, had marked their last meeting, 
 for she had helped to estrange the father from his
 
 ADELE. 3 
 
 son, and to alienate the son's duty from his father. 
 They exchanged a long, searching look, — and did not 
 speak. He found her what he had left her — a calm, 
 handsome, fair woman, with quiet blue eyes, and a 
 smooth look. She saw in him, scarcely altered by 
 time, the same man who had ever baffled her silently ; 
 whom she had had the power to injure, but 
 whom she had never been able to deceive or to 
 charm. 
 
 William Osborne was thirty — pale, tall like his 
 father, and remarkably handsome. He had the 
 broad and noble brow, the full dark eye, the curled 
 and raven hair, the handsome features, the free and 
 open bearing of manly beauty, and with them a 
 pure and intellectual cast of countenance, a look 
 benignant, though penetrating, a smile sweet in its 
 irony, that made it impossible to see his face once 
 and forget it. 
 
 Mrs. Osborne held out her hand — and a handsome 
 white hand it was. He silently took and pressed it, 
 but without cordiality. He could forgive ; he could 
 neither forget, nor feign to forget. She sank down 
 on a chair, and sighed. 
 
 " William," she said, in a soft, bland voice, " I 
 am glad you are come before the reading of the 
 will. Eemember, that whatever the contents of that 
 will may be, I know nothing of them." 
 
 ^' And I care nothing for them," said he, with a 
 darkening brow. " My child is rich ; my income is 
 sufficient for the wants of a single man." 
 
 '■ You may marry again," she interrupted. 
 
 He smiled, with some bitterness^ for he was a 
 
 B 2
 
 ADELE. 
 
 widower, and his married life had been full of 
 misery ; but he merely said, — 
 
 *' I may, certainly ; but I am rich enough even 
 for that. My father, besides, was estranged from 
 me in life ; I do not expect him to have remembered 
 me in death. He has, I have no doubt, left the 
 business to Robert, portions to my sisters, and a 
 handsome income to you. Let it be ; it is well." 
 
 " He was, indeed, a most kind and affectionate 
 husband," began Mrs. Osborne, raising her hand- 
 kerchief to her eyes. 
 
 The eulogy was interrupted. The door opened ; 
 and the son and the two daughters of Mrs. Osborne, 
 and a few decorous male friends in black, entered 
 the apartment. The will was going to be read. 
 
 Mr. Osborne left his stepmother's side, and walking 
 away to the .farthest window, he stood there apart, 
 like a spectator, who looks on calmly and dispassi- 
 onately, whilst the drama, in which he has no share, 
 is being acted. 
 
 Robert, a sullen, good-looking youth of twenty^ 
 two, fair, like his mother, sat down and looked what 
 he already felt himself — master of the place. Isa- 
 bella, a fair, handsome, free-looking girl of seventeen, 
 in whose features grief did not exclude an expression 
 of imperious impatience, too habitual to be easily 
 checked, went and stood by the chair of her mother, 
 who was sobbing bitterly. Anna, the elder daughter, 
 a pale, fretful girl, sat down on a couch, where she 
 moaned impatiently, and smelling her vinaigrette, 
 shut her eyes and murmured to herself, but without 
 caring to be heard, —
 
 ADELE. b 
 
 " Oh ! dear, what a noise they do make, — and my 
 head aches so !" 
 
 " Do not talk to me, Isabella," exclaimed Mrs. 
 Osborne, in a voice broken by tears, " do not. I 
 tell you to listen to that voice from the grave." 
 
 " I thought you knew nothing about the will ?" 
 shortly said Isabella. 
 
 Mrs. Osborne withdrew her handkerchief. 
 
 " No ; but I knew him — his goodness, his gene- 
 rosity — and to receive new proofs of both, for on both 
 I am dependent, and he wdll not have forgotten it — 
 overpowers me." 
 
 She spoke low ; but Anna was not far away, and 
 opening her eyes, she answered her mamma rather 
 sharply. ' 
 
 " But why should Pa have been so very generous 
 to you. Ma ? You have your own fortune, you 
 know." 
 
 An angry flush rose to Mrs. Osborne's brow. 
 
 " If you call a hundred and seventy pounds a 
 year a fortune," she began. 
 
 " Oh, dear !" impatiently interrupted Isabella, " I 
 daresay we need not trouble ourselves about it, — 
 that it all goes to the business." 
 
 Here Robert frowned, and turning round, won- 
 dered they could not be silent. The room was 
 large, and the sound, not the substance, of their 
 discourse, had reached his ear. Mrs. Osborne again 
 raised her handkerchief to her eyes. Isabella sat 
 down, and in the midst of a decorous silence, the 
 will was read. 
 
 William Osborne had always been a man of few
 
 6 ADELE. 
 
 words. His will was brief to laconism. He bur- 
 dened it with no useless legacies to wife, children, 
 friends, and dependants. He left all — house, plate, 
 farniture, business, and money, to his elder son, 
 William Osborne ; and to the said William Osborne 
 he solemnly bequeathed the task of providing for 
 his father's widow, and her three children. 
 
 Robert looked blank, and stared incredulously. 
 Isabella indignantly drew up her fine figure; Anna 
 bit her lip and shut her eyes ; Mrs. Osborne sank 
 back in her chair, and fainted outright ; and William 
 Osborne, who had not left the window, but sat there 
 by a table apart — his elbows leaning upon it, his 
 cheek, colourless as marble, resting on his hand — 
 cast his fine dark eyes around the room, and smiled 
 a sad and melancholy smile. 
 
 It was evening. 
 
 Again William Osborne sat alone in his father's 
 study. A lamp burned by him ; around him papers 
 were scattered. His brow was overcast with care ; 
 he gnawed his pale lip with mingled perplexity and 
 trouble. Once he rose ; he went to the window 
 and looked out. The night was clear ; the lights of 
 London burned on the horizon — a faint revelation of 
 Babylon. But Mr. Osborne saw nothing ; — thought, 
 tormenting and anxious, stood by his side, and 
 claimed his ear.
 
 ADELE. 7 
 
 The late Mr. Osborne had been held a rich 
 man. He had married twice ; and his first wife, an 
 heiress, had left her only child, his elder son, a 
 handsome fortune. His second wife had brought 
 him the means of wealth, and trebled his prosperity. 
 Yet, strange to say, Mr. Osborne had died worth 
 very little ; he had left vast property and vast debts ; 
 and the only legacy about which there was no illusion, 
 the only bequest of substance he had made to his son 
 William, was his family. 
 
 Of Robert, of his sisters Isabella and Anna, Mr. 
 Osborne knew very little. They were children when 
 he was estranged from his father ; he had not seen 
 them since then ; he had not corresponded with them ; 
 they were, in all save blood, strangers to him. Mrs. 
 Osborne he knew better ; we may add, he knew her 
 but too well. She was a close, a subtle schemer, a 
 disappointed politician, an ambitious woman, whom 
 ambition had ever deluded. Her first husband, M. 
 Joseph, a French manufacturer, had been fond of 
 her ; he had given her his entire confidence — un- 
 folded all his plans to her. For two years Madame 
 Joseph had been admired as a beauty and a wit in a 
 narrow circle, in a province of France. She had 
 been popular, and deservedly so, if persevering efibrts 
 are a title to popularity. Voltarianism was rife in 
 the little world she wished to rule ; and Madame 
 Joseph had been a Voltairienne of the first water. 
 Monsieur Joseph was a violent Bonapartist, and 
 every one around him shared the disease; but 
 no one could equal Madame Joseph; the bust 
 of the Emperor adorned her boudoir, spite all
 
 8 ADELE. 
 
 the Bourbons miglit have to say. "Waterloo was 
 not to be mentioned to her without insult ; and 
 she never could forgive England, Saint Helena, 
 never. 
 
 Monsieur Joseph died, and left his widow one 
 child, a boy, and a hundred and seventy pounds a 
 year. All was over in France. A military uncle 
 took the boy, who was now a captain in the French 
 army ; and Madame Joseph returned to her native 
 land, and looked out for a second husband. We 
 need not say, that in decorous, church-going, loyal 
 England, glorying in Waterloo, Voltarianism and 
 Napoleonism were dropped. Mr. Osborne offered 
 himself, and was accepted. Scandalous people said 
 the lady made the offer ; and every one agreed that 
 on either side the marriage was a bargain. Mr, 
 Osborne was a Catholic, and of an old Catholic family, 
 too ; and his wife, not knowing much of him, thought 
 at first, that as she had managed Monsieur Joseph 
 through Voltaire, she now might manage Mr. Os- 
 borne through the Church. Her first attempt quickly 
 undeceived her. She thought that William, her 
 husband's son, was eminently fitted for the priest- 
 hood ; he was so handsome, so pious, so amiable, so 
 good. 
 
 *^ My son a priest!" cried Mr. Osborne, in 
 great wrath, " never, madam, with my consent, 
 never V 
 
 A sharp explanation followed. Mr. Osborne 
 wanted his son to be like himself, a man of business. 
 As to religion, he had none — he cared for none. 
 Mrs. Osborne might go to church, or to meeting, for
 
 ADELE. 9 
 
 all tie minded. But one thing he would request of 
 her, never to meddle in his affairs. 
 
 And to his dying day he kept her ignorant; to his 
 dying day he gave her the coldest share in his liking 
 — the most niggardly portion in his esteem and con- 
 fidence. Mrs. Osborne bore with what she could not 
 help : she dropped her Catholic tendencies, and be- 
 came High Church. The portrait of the Prince Re- 
 gent replaced the bust of Napoleon. As to Voltaire, 
 Mrs. Osborne had heard of him, indeed, but she 
 hoped he was not so wicked, so dreadful as people 
 thought. Her own convictions were, she thanked 
 heaven, too firm to be unsettled easily ; and though 
 she had the misfortune not to agree with her dear 
 William on some important points, yet there was one 
 consolation — he had left her her children. 
 
 Yet, spite all this, the world gave Mrs. Osborne 
 but a cold share in its graces. High-Church ladies 
 were shy of her. She was pious, charitable, correct, 
 yet she convinced no one. In vain she laid herself 
 out, in vain she lived in style ; so far her husband 
 gratified her. People danced at her balls, and ate 
 her dinners, and did not care for her. 
 
 There was a feeling abroad, not that Mrs. Osborne 
 was not sincere, not that she was a time-server, who 
 bent to every idol and every worship, but that she 
 had no real, substantial power. Her husband did 
 not care for her ; her stepson had braved her 
 openly ; her children made no account of her ; and 
 the world saw this, and valued Mrs. Osborne accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 Eut no one knew better, and valued Mrs. Osborne
 
 10 
 
 ADELE. 
 
 less, than her stepson. Indeed, he valued her too 
 little, or he despised her too much ; and because she 
 had never deceived him, he concluded, unwisely, 
 that she was not a dangerous enemy and a more 
 dangerous friend. She had no share in the anxious 
 and wearisome thoughts which now absorbed 
 him. 
 
 He had sat down again ; suddenly, without knock 
 or warning, the door opened, and Kobert and his 
 two sisters entered. They came laden with a declara- 
 tion of war. At a glance Mr. Osborne saw it, and 
 he could not help smiling. He wheeled his chair 
 round, and faced the three. 
 
 Isabella stepped haughtily forward. — " I oppose 
 the will,^' she said, dogmatically. " I give you fair 
 warning, William — I oppose it." 
 
 " There never w^as such a cruel, selfish aiFair," 
 fretfully began Anna ; " I shall certainly not allow 
 myself to be despoiled in that way." 
 
 Robert was not remarkable for eloquence ; all he 
 could find to say was the observation, doggedly 
 uttered, of 
 
 " It won't stand, you know— can't." 
 
 Their elder brother gave them a compassionate 
 look. 
 
 " Poor young simpletons !" he said, with more 
 irony than wrath, ^' have you for the last five years 
 been living in this style, with a mansion in town and a 
 lodge in the country ? — with carriages and horses — 
 hounds, too, I believe — with foreign tours, and home 
 splendours ? — with a locust-like array of servants, 
 retainers, and friends ? and have you really thought
 
 ADELE. 11 
 
 that it would last ? I am amazed at your folly, and 
 still more at your blindness I'' 
 
 Severe was his tone as he concluded. A dim re" 
 relation of ruin floated before the three allies, but 
 they would not give in. 
 
 " I tell you I oppose the will !" said Isabella, 
 strongly. 
 
 " Very well \" was the calm reply. 
 
 **I shall not submit,'' said Anna, "on no ac- 
 count." 
 
 " Very well !" 
 
 "It can't stand, and it sha'n't !" growled 
 Robert. 
 
 " Very well !" persisted their phlegmatic brother. 
 
 His coolness, his amused, and yet pitying smile, 
 his absence of wrath, disconcerted them. They 
 exchanged alarmed looks. What more they would 
 have said, we cannot record. Again the door opened : 
 this time it was their mother who entered. She gave 
 them a severe, suspicious glance, but said, with grave 
 gentleness — 
 
 " Robert, Isabella, Anna, my dear, I wish to speak 
 to your brother William alone." 
 
 They obeyed ungraciously, though well pleased 
 in reality to obey. 
 
 There was a pause after their departure. Mrs. 
 Osborne sat down in a deep chair facing her step- 
 son's, and said, softly — 
 
 " William, I hope the children have not annoyed 
 you ?" 
 
 " Oh, no," he calmly answered ; " they are sore 
 because they do not know the truth, and think
 
 12 ADELE. 
 
 themselves harshly used. They will do me, or, 
 rather, their father — for what have I to do in this ? — 
 ample justice yet.'* 
 
 His stepmother looked more disturbed than sur- 
 prised. She gave him a searching, anxious look, 
 which he met with great composure. She was agi- 
 tated, for one habitually so calm, but he was silent ; 
 he made no offer to meet her half way. Compelled 
 to speak, she said, at length — 
 
 '^William, what do you mean ?" 
 
 " I mean," he composedly replied, " that this large 
 inheritance which I have this day received, is left 
 to me in trust ; by no means for my personal use 
 or enjoyment. Surely I need not inform you 
 that it makes me none the richer than I was yester- 
 day." 
 
 Mrs. Osborne seemed to wish to pass lightly over 
 this. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I understand," she said quickly; 
 "your father was too just, too upright — he gave 
 you great power — but it was for the good of his 
 children and their mother. And what have you 
 decided on ?" 
 
 " On nothing as yet," he slowly replied ; " per- 
 haps you are not aware, ma'am," he added, fixing 
 his dark eye on his stepmother, " that my father's 
 affairs were and are in a most embarrassed state.^' 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " Ay, indeed ! But do not misunderstand me ; 
 dishonour cannot reach my father's name. He spent 
 and speculated to rashness ; from disgrace he ever 
 remained free."
 
 ADELE. 13 
 
 She raised her hand to her forehead. 
 
 " Is it ruin ?" she asked. 
 
 " Very nearly so," he calmly replied. 
 
 " What do you mean to do ?" 
 
 " There is nothing to do, but to go on and be 
 ruined outright.^' 
 
 Mrs. Osborne gnawed her pale lip, and looked 
 fixedly before her. 
 
 " But in the meanwhile — " she suggested. 
 
 '' Oh ! in the meanwhile, the only thing is to sell 
 off, pay all debts, and, so far as is possible, provide 
 for you and your children." 
 
 Mrs. Osborne looked alarmed, and tried to smile. 
 
 " Matters cannot be so bad," she said, " your 
 father hoped, or he would not have left the business 
 to you." 
 
 " It was because my father did not hope, that he 
 did leave all to me,^^ said Mr. Osborne ; " he knew 
 that he could trust my honour ; he knew that nature 
 never meant me to be a man of business." 
 
 " No — no ; he thought highly of your talents," 
 exclaimed Mrs. Osborne, with some eagerness ; " be- 
 sides, you were his elder son. It was just/' 
 
 Mr. Osborne did not look convinced, and said 
 very coldly : 
 
 " Excuse me, madam, but how could my father 
 reckon on my doing after his death that which I had 
 refused to do during his lifetime ?" 
 
 Mrs. Osborne's handkerchief was ever that lady^s 
 most useful auxiliary. She raised it to her eyes, 
 and said from behind it : 
 
 " Ah ! William, a voice from the grave."
 
 14 ADELE. 
 
 William frowned and looked bored, but did not 
 answer. 
 
 " And there is still bope," pursued Mrs. Osborne, 
 returning to the practical ; '' all cannot be over in 
 England, and the connection in France is still splen- 
 did. You remember Courcelles ?" 
 
 " I have not forgotten it/' he replied with some 
 emphasis ; and his dark eyes met hers with grave 
 sternness. 
 
 *^ Ah ! there is much to be done there/' she 
 said, *^ much by one who knows the place and the 
 people. My first husband was a Frenchman, as 
 you know, and I shared his confidence and helped 
 his views, and there is much to be done in Cour- 
 celles." 
 
 She paused, waiting for a reply ; but Mr. Osborne 
 preserved the listening attitude of one who receives 
 information and has none to communicate. Mrs. 
 Osborne coughed, and resumed with a sigh : 
 
 " For my own part, I care not what becomes of 
 me : France, a desert, any place would be an accept- 
 able home if, as I fear, Osborne Lodge must be 
 relinquished." 
 
 *^ There is no doubt about that,'' observed Mr. 
 Osborne ; ^' Osborne Lodge, all its appurtenances, 
 must be sold ; the debts." 
 
 " Yes, yes," she interrupted, wincing, " my feeling 
 quite. Honour before all, I said so from the first ; 
 but as I said, any place, any home you appoint will 
 do for me — for the dear girls, who are both the most 
 imselfish, the most devoted of daughters." 
 
 Mr. Osborne smiled.
 
 ADELE. 15 
 
 " My sisters shall be thought of first/' he said, 
 '' and in an hour I shall be able to give you a final 
 answer." 
 
 " We are all in your hands/' she said, with a con- 
 strained sigh. She rose ; he walked with her to the 
 door, closed it upon her and came back ; and for an 
 hour he paced that room, haunted by the Past, 
 hating the Future. 
 
 Mr. Osborne had suffered and got over his suffer- 
 ings. In a careless, dreamy way, he was happy and 
 enjoyed life. What, though the path to happiness 
 was closed, that path which to youth's seeming 
 stretches to the very horizon, and which to man^s 
 knowledge is but a few steps and ends in the barren- 
 ness of the desert ; yet there is more in a man's life 
 than domestic bliss or a woman's love. His intellect 
 remained to him; his love of art, his delight in beauti- 
 ful places and lovely things, and, -srith these and the 
 means of wandering — for his tastes were simple, and 
 required no more — many jDleasures. But take away 
 Liberty, and what was left to the sad and disap- 
 pointed man ? 
 
 With a sense of wrong and injury, Mr. Osborne 
 looked up at his father's portrait. " I resisted him 
 in life," he thought, bitterly, " and dear did it cost 
 me. I obey him in death — I trust in God that it 
 may not cost me dearer yet." 
 
 But his resolve was taken ; he went down to the 
 drawing-room, where his stepmother and her three 
 children were sitting, sullen and silent: they knew 
 all, and felt conquered. Mr. Osborne took a few 
 turns in the room, then he came back to the table,
 
 16 ADELE. 
 
 around which his relatives were seated, and he said 
 calmly — 
 
 " I am going to France in a week. 1 shall ex- 
 plain to Robert what he can do here in my absence. 
 If you are willing to reside in Courcelles with my 
 sisters, I shall be happy to see you there." 
 
 The last words were addressed to Mrs. Osborne. 
 
 " As you please, as you like," she said, graciously. 
 
 " That horrid lake and those horrid mountains 
 will kill me," moaned Anna. 
 
 '^ I hope not," said Mr. Osborne, smiling. 
 
 " I don't care where I go," observed Isabella, 
 tossing her haughty, handsome head ; " I know I 
 was too proud, too independent to be a favourite 
 with Mr. Osborne. He has left me a beggar, but I 
 don't care." 
 
 " I suppo&e you will leave me your instructions,'^ 
 sneered Robert. 
 
 " Of course," briefly replied his elder brother. 
 
 " Oh, what a noise they do make," murmured 
 Anna ; '^ and they know I have a head-ache — so 
 selfish." 
 
 Mrs. Osborne's lip curled, and her blue eyes had 
 a touch of scorn. " Who knows but I can lead 
 him yet ?" murmured ambition in her ear. '* Who 
 knows V 
 
 William Osborne looked at his stepmother, whom 
 he disliked ; at his brother, whom he despised ; at 
 his sisters, whom he did not love, and he bowed his 
 head before inexorable duty, and thought sadly : 
 *^ The soldier must not shrink from the battle-day, 
 the captain must not desert the sinking ship."
 
 IDELE. 17 
 
 He saw tlie conflict, the storm, and tlieir fatal 
 end, and he saw no more. The hours of heavenly 
 repose, the blessings unknown and unwished for, 
 the unsuspected torments and trials that lay behind 
 both in the bosom of the future year, were all alike 
 hidden from his gaze in the Almighty and all- mer- 
 ciful Hand. 
 
 vou I.
 
 18 ADELE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HOW THE WOULD WAS GOING AWAY IN THE 
 MANOR OF COURCELLES. 
 
 *' The world is going away/' said Mademoiselle 
 de Janson, " the world is going away." 
 
 Her melancholy look sought the high ceiling, 
 then wandered over the oak- panelled walls of the 
 old Hall, with its deep windows, until it finally came 
 back to the stone chimney, high iand deep, the 
 smouldering wood fire, and the diminutive figure of 
 her little goddaughter Adele, sitting on a low stool, 
 with her hands clasped around her knees, and the 
 light of the dying flame playing on her wistful young 
 face. 
 
 " Where is the world going to, Cousine ?" she 
 asked, looking up. 
 
 " There it is," exclaimed Mademoiselle de Janson, 
 sitting «p erect in her chair, " the very child asks 
 where to, and who shall venture to answer the mo- 
 mentous question ?"
 
 ADELE. 19 
 
 She sank back with a sigh, and shut her eyes. 
 
 ^' Where can the world be going to ?" thought 
 Ad^le, very much puzzled ; " I ^\'ish she would tell 
 me.^' She looked up at her godmother^ and her 
 thoughts took another turn. 
 
 '^ How pretty she must have been/' she thought ; 
 "how pretty she is still, — n:iore than pretty, beauti- 
 ful ; better than beautiful, lovely." 
 
 " Open the window, child," murmured Made- 
 moiselle de Janson, " it is quite close.'' 
 
 " Of course it is with a fire," thought Adele, but 
 she did as she was told. 
 
 " ]My head aches !" moaned Mademoiselle de 
 Janson, feebly. 
 
 " Are you sure it is your head, Cousine ?" doubt- 
 fully asked Adele. 
 
 '^Well," confidentially replied Mademoiselle de 
 Janson^ "I am not; strange I should not know, is 
 it not ?" 
 
 ^' Yerj/' ,'replied Ad^le, still looking admiringly 
 at her cousin. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Janson had been a fair beauty, 
 with golden hair, blue eyes, and an angelic face, and 
 lovely she was still, at we will not say whnt age. 
 She might be mad, as some said, or only whimsical, 
 as the more indulgent averred ; she certainly was 
 peculiar, capricious to the tip of her fingers, per- 
 verse in her ways, neither amiable nor kind, but she 
 was lovely, and^ever would be. Caprices, folly, 
 faults without number, could not make her lose the 
 gift; she was original, too, independent, and cared 
 for nothing, and no one. Her favourite sentiment
 
 20 ADELE. 
 
 '^ that the world was going away/' gives a fair clue 
 to her position and lier character. A beauty must 
 regret the past ; a nobly-born and impoverished lady 
 cannot look with favour on a new order of thinsrs. 
 
 o 
 
 To be sure, revolutions had nothing to [ do with the 
 late Monsieur de Janson's passion for gambling ; a 
 passion that had left his daughter merely what the 
 law would not allow him to touch — her mother's 
 fortune, namely, the old manor in which she resided, 
 and which she could not afford to keep in repair ; a 
 neglected garden and orchard, a few acres of in- 
 different land, and an object which, though a perfect 
 eyesore to her aristocratic gaze, was, nevertheless, 
 the chief source of her income, a forge let on an 
 endless lease to an English capitalist, to whom, 
 indeed, the whole estate was heavily mortgaged. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Janson had grown accustomed to 
 her poverty — to her' old ruined manor ; but she had 
 never reconciled herself to her plebeian possession, 
 the forge. It was visible, she declared, from every 
 window of her dwelling ; and in whatever room she 
 sat, she could hear, she averred, its clanking. To 
 abuse and hate this enemy had become one of the 
 chief occupations of Mademoiselle de Janson's life. 
 
 Adele had risen ; she was standing in one of the 
 deep windows ; she looked at a wild landscape ; a 
 rugged road wound by a silent lake ; rocks hemmed 
 in her view tp the left ; dark mountains rose to the 
 right, and enclosed the sheet of water ; a vapoury 
 sky of summer blue softened the hues and outlines 
 of tlie scejie ; it Jooked vivid, living ; eternal in its 
 .beauty.
 
 ADELE. 21 
 
 " Cousine/' suddenly said Adele, turning round, 
 " do tell me how you knov/ that the world is going 
 away/' 
 
 " Listen to that forge ! — there, did you hear ? And 
 you ask if the world is going away ! Take your doll, 
 and play, child.'* 
 
 '* I have no doll, Cousine." 
 
 " Well, play all the same. Go to the garden, 
 child. I want to be alone." 
 
 Adele, thus dismissed, quietly left the old hall. 
 As she closed the heavy oak door, she heard Ma- 
 demoiselle de Janson repeating to herself, by the 
 fireside, those ominous words, — " the world is going 
 away." 
 
 '• How hard-hearted I must be," thought Adele, 
 half-remorsefully. " There is Cousine telling me 
 from morninsr till nisrht, from nisrht till mornina:, 
 that the world is going away; and I sleep as 
 well, and eat and di'ink as heartily, and run and 
 laugh, and sing, and enjoy myself, just as much 
 as if the world were standing still the whole 
 time." 
 
 As Adele came to this conclusion respecting the 
 hardness of her heart, she left to her right a heavy 
 wooden staircase that led to the upper part of the 
 house, and passing under a stone porch, reached the 
 head of a flight of broken steps that descended to the 
 yard, or, rather, court, around which the old mansion 
 was built. 
 
 A quiet spot was that flagged and grass-grown 
 court, silent and secluded like a cloister. Shade 
 fleemed to dwell there for evermore j it stole down
 
 ^2 ADELE. 
 
 the grey stone walls that enclosed it, walls massive 
 and rock-builtj with tufts of green ferns or pale pink 
 flowers in every cranny; it lingered around the 
 broken windows that looked down quaint and dark 
 with many a pane gone from its leaden casing ; it 
 slept around the damp old well in the farthest angle, 
 and deepened the gloom of its dark round hole that 
 went down to meet the chill, tremulous water below, 
 where, looking over the broad stone ledge, you ever 
 saw the blue sky reflected in a cold, white circle: 
 But one spot gave light to this gray and quiet picture. 
 A low, arched door stood wide open near the well ; 
 it revealed a stone staircase winding up in obscurity 
 a long, dim passage, a second door also wide open, 
 and beyond it, vividly distinct, a green and sunny 
 garden. 
 
 Whilst we have been describing, Adele was cross- 
 ing the court. She peeped into the well as she went 
 by it^ then passed under the low, arched door, crossed 
 the long, sombre corridor, and came out at the other 
 door. A broad garden, in the old and formal style, 
 lay before her, and beyond it, the outline of blue or 
 wooded hills rose on the noonday sky. On a bench 
 at the foot of a broken statue that had once guarded 
 the entrance of a long gravelled walk, passing be- 
 tween stifi* boxwood hedge-rows, an old peasant 
 woman, dry and brown as a nut, in white round cap, 
 black boddice, and striped woollen petticoat, sat in 
 the sun, spinning her wheel with dazzling rapidity. 
 On seeing Ad^le, she nodded and smiled. The 
 young girl smiled too, and without proceeding fur- 
 ther, sat down on the stone step on which she had
 
 A DELE. 23 
 
 been standing, and resting her el"bow on her knee, 
 and her cheek on her hand, she "v^-atched curiously 
 the swift motion of the old woman's wheel. 
 
 '• How fast it goes, Jeannette," she said. 
 
 " Yes, Mamzelle, very fast." 
 
 A long pause followed these two remarks. Adele 
 de Courcelles was then a small young girl of six- 
 teen ; her figure was childish, but jDerfect ; her face 
 fair — spite her brown hair — and very pretty; for 
 her features, though slight, were clear and distinct 
 in their outlines. She had dark eyebrows, and be- 
 neath them darker azure eyes ; a quick look, a 
 prompt, though graceful bearing, and something in 
 her whole aspect that spoke of a rapidity of thought, 
 speech, and feeling, that seemed not to care for 
 time. 
 
 Her story is soon told. She was an orphan — the 
 last of a noble and fallen line. She lived in the old 
 manor that had been built by her ancestors, and 
 where for ages they had flourished; but she could 
 not call five francs her own; — she was wholly 
 dependant on the kindness of her cousin and god- 
 mother, Mademoiselle de Janson, who, as the 
 daughter of an elder branch, was sole mistress of all 
 that remained of the once splendid patrimony of the 
 Courcelles. Their name, an empty inheritance in 
 modern France, was all Adele possessed. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Janson had taken charge of the 
 little orphan, and reared her ; but as the world was 
 going away, she had spent little on her education. 
 It would have been foolish ; and as the world was 
 going away, where was the use of caring for any-
 
 i24 ADELE. 
 
 thing in it ? Adele had grown up as she pleased, 
 untaught^ unloved, unchecked, and unheeded, and 
 yet happy in her solitary liberty. Even as a wild 
 flower blooms none the less sweetly than the garden 
 blossom, for springing from the stone and growing 
 amongst weeds ; so, to all seeming, even though 
 neglected from her childhood — even though not 
 surrounded by love and kindness from her birth — 
 Adele flourished as gaily and as happily in the 
 shade, as others in the sun. 
 
 To live — to be — to exist — was suflicient, to the last 
 of the De Courcelles. She cared for nothing — not even 
 for herself. Temper, character, story, she asyethadnot. 
 
 Jeannette was the first to speak again. 
 
 ^' "When I was a girl," she said, with a sigh, " I 
 remember seeing the spinning-wheel of Madame la 
 Marquise de Courcelles. It was pure ivory, inlaid 
 with gold." 
 
 " "Was it ?" carelessly said Adele. 
 
 " She was your great grandmother," pursued Jean- 
 nette, with another sigh. 
 
 Ad^le said nothing, but 'pulled out a blade of 
 grass that grew in a split of the stone step on which 
 she sat, and examined it curiously. 
 
 " She was called Adele, like you/' continued Jean- 
 nette. ^'A handsome lady she was; and fine old 
 times were those. Dozens of servants about the 
 house — cooks, scullions, butlers, gardeners, and what 
 not. There was not a stone wrong in the whole 
 manor ; there was not a weed in the whole garden. 
 Sad changes, Mamzelle Adele, sad times." 
 
 " I dare say it is all for the best," philosophically
 
 ADELE. 25 
 
 said Ad^le ; and throwing away her blade of grass, 
 she skipped down the steps, passed by Jeannette 
 with a nod, and ran, swift and light as a deer, along 
 the sunny path. 
 
 Everywhere around her she saw ruin and decay, 
 but she heeded them not. The hedsres nii2:ht run 
 wild, the fountains might cease to play, the statues 
 might be defaced or broken — little mattered it to 
 the careless girl, whilst she had space, air, and li- 
 berty. And none of your modern mock gardens, 
 that would fit in a drawing-room, with a space to 
 walk around, was the garden of Courcelles. It was 
 vast as a park, a sort of provincial Versailles, once 
 famous in its day. The varied and uneven nature 
 of the ground had with great difficulty been over- 
 come by the obscure Le Notre, who designed alley, 
 bosquet and parterre, and adorned every walk with its 
 statues, and every arbour with its fountains ; — but 
 it had been overcome — and the result was a civilized 
 garden in the very bosom of nature ; around it wild 
 hills, clothed with murmuring pine-trees ; and at its 
 feet a silent lake, on which the very wind reposed, so 
 deep and fast seemed its enchanted sleep. 
 
 That little and wild mountain-lake was one of the 
 few friends which the solitary youth of Adele had 
 known, and she never passed it by without giving it 
 a look. Bending over the broken stone balustrade, 
 adorned with vases, where roses and geraniums still 
 bloomed, she now gazed down dreamily. With a low 
 splash the clear green waters washed a flight of white 
 steps leading to the garden — and every time they 
 retreated they left bare and shining the broken stone.
 
 26 ADELE. 
 
 to whicli heavy wet mosses clung. How slow had 
 crept the lazy sunbeams on that smooth, glassy surface. 
 How chill and deep was the dark bed on which the 
 pebbles slept below. And Adele knew them all ; 
 and as long as she could remember, she had seen 
 them lying there, visible and distinct, yet beyond 
 reach of the rudest storm above. But she gave 
 them no more than one look now. The sun was hot, 
 and she longed for shade. She turned to her left, 
 walked on through broad straight alleys, until she 
 reached the boundarj^ of this forsaken garden, — a 
 high trellis, veiled by boxwood, and behind which 
 she entered into a little grassy orchard, full of shade 
 and sunshine. Scattered trees bent to the very earth 
 their fruit-laden boughs, — hidden in their dark 
 branches birds sang their last song ; the blackbird 
 and the speckled thrush leaped along, or ran lightly 
 in the high grass ; bees hummed around their sunny 
 hive, and on an old brown wall, which enclosed this 
 pleasant little spot, ripened peaches of rich mellow 
 bloom. At once Adele stretched forth her hand, 
 plucked the ripest, and sat down in the grass to eat 
 it. It had all_the exquisite flavour and melting lus- 
 ciousness of that delicious fruit, and it satisfied even 
 an epicure of sixteen. As she threw away the stone, 
 Adele indolently sank down in the high grass, which 
 closed over her. 
 
 Above her spread the green branches of an apple- 
 tree, partly shading her from the sun, and partly 
 revealing broad gaps of blue sky. Near her a little 
 brook ran sparkling through the grass, rippling on 
 a few grey stones with a broken murmur. The
 
 ADELE. 27 
 
 warmth and peace of noonday enclosed tliis quiet 
 place, and Adele lay in the grass, happy, like any 
 careless and wild young thing. Suddenly, and as 
 a bird breaks out into song, she began to sing along, 
 monotonous, and ancient ballad, which had not yet 
 died away from the memories of men in this retii'ed 
 province ; and as she sang, she thought, " Oh, no ! 
 the world is not going awav ; it is coming, coming 
 fast."
 
 28 ADELE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TIDINGS. 
 
 " Sad changes and sad times/' thought Jeannette, 
 as she sat spinning in the sun. She looked at the 
 grey old manor frowning above her, at the lonely 
 and ruined garden, and remembering poor little 
 Adele, she sighed. 
 
 " And how is our good old Jeannette to-day ?" 
 asked a soft, sleek voice close by her. 
 
 He who spoke thus was a low-built young man, 
 with a slouching shoulder, a halting gait, and a broad 
 sallow face, free from expression. 
 
 No sooner did she hear and see this unprepos- 
 sessing individual, whom we may as well introduce 
 at once as M. Franpois Morel, foreman, clerk, facto- 
 tum of the forge, than an expression of mingled 
 disdain and wrath flashed over Jeannette's brown 
 visage. But she shut her lips tight, like one 
 resolved not to speak, and spun twice as fast as 
 before.
 
 ADELE. 39 
 
 " And did Jeanette, who is so good and so kind, 
 give our letter to Mademoiselle Adele ?" asked 
 Monsieur Morel, chuckling complacently. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; yes, sir," replied Jeannette, with a 
 sort of gasp, to which she was subject when labour- 
 ing under strong and repressed emotion, " yes, sir ; 
 Mamzelle Jeannette — who is not good old Jean- 
 nette, sir — Mamzelle Jeannette did, I say, give that 
 letter, and here is your answer, sir." 
 
 She drew from her pocket a letter, somewhat soiled 
 and creased by its sojourn there, and disdainfully 
 jerked it on the end of the bench on which she 
 sate. 
 
 The little Chinese eyes of M. Morel sparkled 
 with pleasure. He stretched out his eager hand, 
 and snatched up the letter ; but; no sooner had he 
 glanced at the name written on the back, and recog- 
 nized his own official round-hand, than his counte- 
 nance fell. He next examined the seal, and saw 
 that it had not been broken. For a while, he held 
 the letter in his hand looking at it, then he coolly 
 took from his pocket a piece of whitey-brown paper, 
 carefully wrapped up the letter in it, then put it, 
 thus wrapped, in a larger and somewhat greasy 
 pocket-book, which, after clasping carefully, he re- 
 turned to the place whence it had issued — a deep 
 side pocket. 
 
 " So she returns it unread," he said, looking up 
 and smiling in Jeannette's face. " She had better 
 have read it, Mamzelle Jeannette. She had better 
 have read it. And what is more, she shall read it
 
 so ADELE. 
 
 some day — not now perhaps, but some day or other, 
 Mamzelle Jeannette/^ 
 
 " Oh ! you threaten her, do you, you mean, sneak- 
 ing fellow !" screamed Jeannette, turning pale with 
 fury. " You, you," she added, gasping again ; 
 " you the son of a peasant, of a valet, to think of 
 writing love letters to Mamzelle de Courcelles ; to 
 dream of — of marrying — marrying her !" 
 
 M. Morel raised his eyebrows with seeming sur- 
 prise, and put out his nether lip with great apparent 
 disdain of the fact these words suggested. 
 
 '' Marry — a little beggar like that," he said, "' who 
 has not even five sous in her purse, like the wander- 
 ing Jew ! and who told you I ever wanted to marry 
 her, or that this letter was a love-letter ? Marry her, 
 indeed. No, no, Mamzelle Jeannette ; I hope I can 
 do better than that." 
 
 The cold, cruel disdain of this speech stung Jean- 
 nette. She looked about her for some offensive 
 missile, and finding nothing better than a pail of 
 water, she caught hold of it, and unhesitatingly flung 
 its contents at the head of the offender. 
 
 M. Morel, guessing her kind intentions, stepped 
 back, but so hastily that his foot tripped against a 
 stone ; he fell flat on his back, and in this prostrate 
 condition was deluged from head to foot. Jeannette 
 laughed until the tears ran down her cheek ; but 
 M. Morel rose white with rage, wiped himself with 
 his pocket handkerchief, then said, his uplifted hand 
 shaking as he spoke : 
 
 ^^ Very well, Mamzelle Jeannette, we will remem-
 
 ADELE. 31 
 
 ber this too, and enter it in our little book of 
 accounts/^ 
 
 " That for your book of accounts/' said Jeannette, 
 snapping her fingers with great scorn ; '* and if 
 ever you dare to set your feet here again, you shall 
 get something else. Begone, I say," she added, 
 stamping her foot, and her unappeased wrath again 
 rising. 
 
 " I shall go, because I choose to go,*' deliberately 
 replied M. Morel, turning away, ** and I shall 
 come here to-morrow^ or after to-morrow, if I 
 like." 
 
 " Through the key-hole of the great door ?" sar- 
 castically asked Jeannette, who was portress. 
 
 " Through the great door itself," calmly replied 
 M. Morel. '^ Good morning, Mademoiselle Jean- 
 nette." He bowed with ironical politeness, and left 
 as he had come. 
 
 Jeannette resumed her spinning and broke her 
 thread five times successively, and forgot to note 
 that this was a sign of calamity or death. Her brow 
 was knit, Jier eyes were fixed, her lips tightly com- 
 pressed. 
 
 " What can the wretch mean ?" she soliloquized 
 aloud. 
 
 *•' What wretch, Mamzelle Jeannette ?" asked a 
 qiiavering voice at her elbow. 
 
 This time the speaker was a gaunt, white- 
 headed old servant-man, in a striped waistcoat, and 
 loose pantaloons which he was always hitching ; with 
 strong features, deep wrinkles, and a long ungainly 
 body, that seemed no little trouble to its owner^ for
 
 O^ ADELE. 
 
 he was ever shifting it restlessly from one side to the 
 other, like a burden he could not get rid of. 
 
 " No one," was Jeannette's tart reply to his 
 question ; " gentlemen should not listen. Monsieur 
 Jean." 
 
 ''Then ladies should not speak their thoughts 
 aloud," returned Jean, leaning on an old garden 
 rake, and leering at Jeannette with evident affection* 
 
 A twenty years' flirtation was going on between 
 this ancient pair. In the world people generally 
 tire of this pastime at the end of a few months ; but 
 the longer they carried it on, the better did Jean 
 and Jeannette like it, perhaps because it never 
 brought them any nearer to that end of all flirtation — 
 marriage. 
 
 Honi soit qui mal y pense. We need not say that 
 in feeling, speech or action, Jean never went be- 
 yond the most delicate gallantry, nor Jeannette 
 beyond the most prudish and maidenly reserve. 
 Slander, herself, had respected their ancient loves ; 
 she had sneered, indeed, but she had not dared to 
 belie. 
 
 But Jeannette was not now in the mood for re- 
 partee. She shook her head, heaved a sigh, and at 
 length observed : 
 
 *' Monsieur Jean, I want to speak to you ; well, 
 you need not come and sit by me for that,'-^ she added, 
 snappishly, as, in the simplicity of his heart, Jean did 
 indeed think of seating himself on the end of the 
 bench honoured with bearing her weight. "I do 
 not see/' she stiflly resumed, "any necessity for 
 it."
 
 ADELE. OQ 
 
 " It might liave been a pleasure/* replied Jean, 
 "with, tender reproach. 
 
 Eegardless of his feelings, Jeannette obdurately 
 returned : 
 
 " Pleasure, indeed. We are talking^ of business^ 
 
 ,f Xi^Vi-V^V-^A. », ^ «._V^ ..l^i^xx^s^ 
 
 Jean. Things/' she added, pushing her wheel away 
 ^Tith her foot, and folding her arms across her black 
 boddice ; " things are not going on well at all.*' 
 
 *• Very true, Mamzelle Jeannette." 
 
 " And how do you know ? If I say it, I know it : 
 that wretch Morel has had the insolence to give me 
 a love-letter." 
 
 " A love-letter to you!" interrupted Jean, bouncing 
 and becoming as red as a turkey-cock. 
 
 " Ah ! bah, it was not for me," she pursued, yet 
 she reddened a little. " No, no ; Monsieur Morel 
 flies at higher game, I can tell you. Bless you, the 
 letter was for Mamzelle Adele." . 
 
 Jean stared incredulously. 
 
 " I have seen it coming a long time," resumed 
 Jeannette. *• She cannot endure Monsieur Morel, 
 and just for that reason she is always very civil to 
 him, and the wretch took her civility for fondness. 
 Well, well, I knew we were fallen ; but I did not 
 know we were quite so low as all that. However, 
 I took patience, put his letter in my pocket, and 
 said I would give it. Now I did not do so for two 
 reasons ; one was, that I would as soon put my right 
 hand in the fire as trouble the poor child with this 
 abominable business ; the other reason is, that I 
 know Mademoiselle Adele to be no better than a 
 little Jacobin." 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 ADELE. 
 
 " Too true/' sighed Jean. 
 
 *^ All that I have done, all that Mademoiselle de' 
 Janson has done, has failed in putting in her one 
 atom of proper pride." 
 
 'f Very sad/^ murmured Jean. 
 
 '• Knowing this, and knowing that, instead of 
 crushing the low fellow wdth a look, she would try- 
 to console him or pity him, and treat him as if he 
 were her equal, I felt I could not trust her." 
 
 '^ Quite proper, — quite." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur Jean ; but by letting him think 
 that she returns his letter unread, I may have done 
 some harm. He looked spiteful." 
 
 " Let him." 
 
 " And a pail of water I threw in his face may not 
 make him feel better-tempered. He left me with 
 an odd threat.-" 
 
 Jean looked interrogative, whereupon Jeannette 
 repeated, word for word, the close of her conversa- 
 tion with M. Fran9ois Morel. 
 
 Jean made light of it, but did not succeed in set- 
 ting her uneasiness at rest. 
 
 " I tell you, the wretch meant something," she 
 persisted. " I have it," she cried, starting to her 
 feet and slapping her brown forehead, " I have it — 
 I tell you the English are coming." 
 
 " Coming !" ejaculated Jean ; " we are not, thank 
 Heaven, at war, Mamzelle Jeannette, and the last 
 time the English came as allies of our legitimate 
 sovereign Louis." 
 
 " Ah, bah !" interrupted Jeannette, impatiently ; 
 " do you not understand me. Monsieur Jean? — I
 
 A DELE. 30 
 
 mean, the English of the Forge, tlie blacksmiths," 
 she added, with intense scorn. 
 
 ** Not unlikely, Mamzelle Jeannette ! not un- 
 likely !" said Jean, swaying her long body to and 
 fro ; " indeed, very likely.'^ 
 
 " Holy Virgin !" cried Jeannette, sinking down 
 on the bench and raising her hands above her head, 
 *' what shall we do ?" 
 
 " Come, come, Mamzelle Jeannette, there is a 
 remedy to every evil," kindly said Jean ; and un- 
 checked this time, he sat down by her side, and did 
 his best to comfort her. 
 
 Jeannette's distress requires explanation. 
 
 The Manor, garden, and orchard of Courcelles 
 were the property of Mademoiselle de Janson, but 
 they had been let, along with the land on which the 
 forge was built, to the late Mr. Osborne. Made- 
 moiselle de Janson had, indeed, reserved for her 
 ov/n use a few rooms in the farthest wing of the 
 manor, which could with ease have accommodated 
 half-a-dozen modern families. That wing, howeverj 
 having, for want of proper repair, become decayed 
 and uninhabitable, she had, in the absence of Mr. 
 Osborne and his family, who seldom or ever visited 
 Courcelles, emigrated to another and more comfortable 
 part of the dwelling, but one to which she had no 
 real right. That her mistress should be caught 
 trespassing by her hated English tenants, was the 
 thought that now haunted Jeannette. She did not 
 lose time in pondering over it; regardless of the slow 
 and plausible arguments of her ancient admirer, who 
 proved to her all sorts of impossible things, Jeannette
 
 35 A DELE. 
 
 again started to her feet, and leaving him there, she 
 darted through the door across the court and through 
 the other door, until she reached the presence of 
 Mademoiselle de Janson. 
 
 '' That girl was always hasty," said Jean, nettled 
 at being thus forsaken ; " always." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Janson was not alone ; near her 
 chair, her hand leaning on the back of it, stood a 
 tall and handsome lady of twenty-five, or twenty-six 
 years at the utmost, a handsome and dark woman, 
 with black hair, soft hazel eyes, straight, regular 
 features, and a gentle though grave countenance. 
 
 At once Jeannette recognised Madame Lascours, 
 the wife of an old and wealthy manufacturer, who 
 lived across the narrow lake near which the Manor 
 of Courcelles was built. On hearing the door of the 
 old Hall open, Madame Lascours slowly turned 
 round, and raising her forefinger, she silently warned 
 Jeannette not to enter. 
 
 The old servant withdrew on tiptoe, but not before 
 perceiving that the face of Mademoiselle de Janson 
 v/as buried in her hands. Anxious and uneasy, she 
 remained outside the closed door, and sat down on 
 the last of the oak steps of the massive staircase that 
 led to the upper apartments ; there she waited and 
 listened for a long while, during which the Hall re- 
 mained silent as a grave. At length the door 
 opened, and Madame Lascours came forth, and 
 merely saying, *' You may go in to your mistress, 
 Jeannette," she inquired after Adele, and on hearing 
 that she was in the garden, went to seek her there, 
 whilst Jeannette, burning with curiosity, to say the
 
 ADELE. 37 
 
 truth, again sought the presence of Mademoiselle de 
 Janson. But Mademoiselle de Janson was precisely 
 as usual, fantastic, capricious, wayward, neither in 
 nor out of temper, but something between both. 
 Jeannette's declaration that the English were coming, 
 she received with great indifference. 
 
 " Let them come," she said, and her little mouth 
 indulged in a most unromantic yawn. 
 
 " But, Madame !" exclaimed Jeannette, " I fancy, 
 from what Morel said, tliat tiiey may come to- 
 morrow." 
 
 *^ Let them come by all means," was the impa- 
 tient answer. 
 
 " And the rooms ?" hesitatingly suggested Jean- 
 nette. 
 
 " E-ooms ! what rooms ?" haughtily ashed her 
 mistress ; then in a cool and distant tone she added, 
 *^ Jeannette, you are a fool ! did you for a moment 
 imagine I v»'as here without the knowledge of the 
 late Mr. Osborne ?" 
 
 " Late ! Holy Virgin ! is he dead ?" 
 
 ^' Of course he is — why should he not die ? — ^»Ve 
 all must die. Why should not he ? — He died u 
 fortnight back in England, and I dare say his son 
 is coming to take possession. What about it all, 
 Jeannette ?" 
 
 And sitting back in her chair. Mademoiselle de 
 Janson balanced one of her little feet up and down, 
 and superciliously looked at Jeannette through her 
 half-shut eyes ; and as she saw that Jeannette stared 
 at her in evident bewilderment, she added, with a 
 royal wave of the hand —
 
 38 A DELE. 
 
 ^' You may go, Jeannette." 
 
 And Jeannette, thoroughly disconcerted by the 
 coolness and strange manner of her mistress, with- 
 drew. 
 
 Madame Lascours slowly walked through the old 
 garden until she reached the orchard ; there she 
 paused, looking in vain for Adele. At length she 
 caught sight of some dark object, partly visible 
 through the grass ; she drew nearer, and found the 
 young girl lying under the apple-tree, coiled round 
 like a spaniel, and fast asleep. Madame Lascours 
 was too well acquainted with the wild habits of 
 Ad^le to be much surprised ; yet she half smiled as 
 she looked down at her. In passing through the 
 garden she had plucked a twig of luxuriant box- 
 wood, — she now dropped it on the young girl's face. 
 Adele started up, awake at once. 
 
 ' " Alice, Alice !" she cried, joyfully throwing her 
 arms around the neck of her friend, and embracing 
 her with eager warmth — " Oh ! I am so glad ! I am 
 so glad !" 
 
 She laughed in the fulness of her joy, and her 
 blue eyes sparkled with delight. 
 
 One was but a girl, and the other was a woman,— 
 a woman, too, older and sadder than her years ; they 
 met rarely, and never for any length of time ; their 
 tempers, their very natures differed ; their position 
 had no more in common than had their daily life ; 
 yet strong love bound them, — love all the stronger, 
 perhaps, because it could not be easily indulged. 
 
 M. Lascours was old and eccentric; he covered 
 his wife with jewels; he clothed her in the richest
 
 ADELE. 39 
 
 of attire ; he indulged her every wish ; but though 
 she was young, beautiful, and gentle, he seemed 
 restless and unhappy, and Alice looked grave and 
 sad. They had been married seven years ; but their 
 union was childless, and they lived in solitary state 
 and cheerless splendour, in a modern and luxurious 
 villa, of which Ad^le had never crossed the thre- 
 shold. Its master had never asked her to do so ; and 
 Ad^le, all the prouder that she was so poor, would 
 not go unasked. She did not know that he was 
 scarcely conscious of her existence ; she could not 
 guess the strange and sad reserve in which he and 
 his young bride lived ; a reserve which did not pre- 
 vent affection and strong esteem on either side, and 
 for which there existed two sufficient reasons, — 
 misanthropic sensitiveness on the part of the hus-' 
 band, and excess of submission on that of the wife. 
 He was too proud to say to her — " Love me, and be 
 frank and happy ;" and she was too anxious to fore- 
 stall his least wishes, to guess that he would have 
 wished, above all, to see in her the free and fearless 
 bearing of a happy woman. And thus they went 
 on, not estranged nor yet united. 
 
 For some reason or other, Madame Lascours ima- 
 gined that her husband would not see Adele with 
 }leasure, and thus she never ventured to ask the 
 7oung girl to come and see her. Indeed, it seemed 
 tacitly agreed between the two friends that this 
 Eibject should never even be alluded to between 
 tiem, and it never was. 
 
 '^ This is a pretty place," said Madame Lascours, 
 lo)king around the green and sunny orchard, and
 
 40 ADELE. 
 
 sometliing like sadness passed over her whole coun- 
 tenance^ and lingered in her soft hazel eyes. 
 
 " Come, and look at my peaches," enthusiastically 
 said Adele, passing her arm within that of her friend. 
 
 Madame Lascours shook her head. 
 
 " Not to-day," she replied, with a sigh, ^' not 
 to-day." And she led the way back through the 
 garden. 
 
 " Sit down here,'^ said Adele, leading her to an 
 old broken bench that stood in a ruined arbour, 
 facing a dilapidated fountain. Madame Lascours 
 looked irresolute, but, after a moment's pause, slie 
 turned away. 
 
 "Not here, not to-day," she said. For a few 
 minutes she walked on quickly, then she slackened 
 her pace, and went lingeringly up the sunny avenue. 
 Adele, too impatient for that slow progress, darted 
 around her, gathering flowers, plucking weeds, 
 binding up the hedge, and, above all, talking, whilst 
 Madame Lascours said not one word, but looked 
 ai'ound her in sad silence. At length they reached 
 the quiet court, and there Madame Lascours paused, 
 and said, with some emotion, " I thought to tell you 
 in the orchard, then in the garden, but my heart 
 failed me, and I now must tell you here — ^Adele, T 
 shall come and see you no more." 
 
 " No more !'' exclaimed Ad^le, turning slightl; 
 pale, " and why so ?" 
 
 "Because — because the Osbornes are coming/' 
 said Madame Lascours, in a low tone ; " my husbaid 
 does not like them ; he would say nothing ; he ne"ver
 
 ADELE. 41 
 
 does say anything ; bat he might not like it. — I 
 must not come." 
 
 " Poor Alice P' said Adc-le^ unable to repress the 
 compassionate ejaculation. 
 
 *^ No, nOj you must not pity me/* eagerly said 
 Madame Lascours, and reddening a little ; *' you do 
 not understand the case at all ; you do not under- 
 stand my husband ; he is peculiar — very peculiar ; 
 but he is the best and most generous of men." 
 
 "Are you happy ?" bluntly asked Adele. 
 
 " As happy as a man who is not happy himself 
 can make me," replied Madame Lascours. 
 
 Adele had passed her arm within that of her 
 friend, and as they spoke, they paced the narrow 
 court up and down. 
 
 " Alice, how did you ever make up your mind to 
 marry a man so very much older than yourself?" 
 asked the young girl, for the first time touching on 
 this delicate subject. 
 
 Twice they walked as far as the old wall, and 
 twice came back to a low, grass-grown door facing 
 it, before Madame . Lascours seemed able to answer 
 that question. At length, she said— 
 
 " I was not consulted, Adele. Monsieur Lascours 
 was rich ; we were very poor. He asked my mo- 
 ther, but she did not ask me.'' 
 
 " But the mayor asked you, and the priest asked 
 you ?" objected Adele, opening her eyes, and seem- 
 ing amazed ; '^ why did you not say no, instead of 
 saying yes ?" 
 
 An e:spression of deep discouragement passed
 
 4rC ADELE. 
 
 over the handsome face of Madame Lascours. She 
 bowed her head and sighed. 
 
 " Adele/' she said, " no mother would tell you, 
 ^ child, you are to marry Monsieur so and so, on 
 such a day ;' for though you are little and childish, 
 and though you look careless and light, there is 
 firm purpose in you — purpose and inexorable will. 
 But I, God help me ! I am like the reed, made 
 to bend. I tell you I was born to yield and obey 
 — to be conquered and ever broken." 
 
 With grave and sad wonder, Adele heard this 
 confession, and, looking up in the bent face of her 
 friend as she uttered it, she hesitatingly suggested 
 — " Do you not really think, Alice, you could manage 
 to have a will of your own ?" 
 
 " What should I do Avith it ? Will ! I should not 
 know how to use will !" 
 
 " Oh, it is quite easy, I assure you," eagerly re- 
 plied the young girl ? " only try, and you will see." 
 
 Madame Lascours kindly looked down in the face 
 of her little friend. 
 
 " Have you ever hesitated about anything in your 
 little life ?" she asked. 
 
 " Of course I have. When the pedlar came this 
 spring, I hesitated a good deal between a pink mus- 
 lin and a blue one." 
 
 " Did you really ? And pray for how long ?" 
 
 " Ten minutes." 
 
 " Amazing ! well, I should hesitate ten days, ten 
 months and ten years if you like, and never know 
 "which I liked best; the pink or the blue. Nay, 
 more, whichever I chose I should find ten reasons
 
 ABKLE. 43 
 
 at least for regretting that I had not chosen the 
 other, and I would turn the matter over in my brain 
 until I felt sick and weary of it, and life and every- 
 thing/' 
 
 " Oh ! then," resignedly said Ad^le, " you should 
 get some one to choose for you." 
 
 " And is not that what I do, child, when I let 
 others act for me ? If I did not do so, I should per- 
 plex life away in wondering where my real duty lay, 
 and what path it was God's will that I should take 
 and follow, I have concluded in my own mind, that 
 wlien God gives judgment and strong will, he means 
 both to be exercised ; but that when either one or 
 the other fails, the only safe way left to serve Him 
 is obedience. I have obeyed my mother, I now 
 obey my husband, and humbly do I hope that in so 
 doing I fulfil the daily petition we all utter : ' Thy 
 will be done.' " 
 
 She spoke low, perhaps because, spite her resig- 
 nation, it might sadden her to acknowledge how far 
 her will failed to shape and guide her life, perhaps 
 because she dreaded being overheard from any of 
 the windows that overlooked the court which they 
 still paced up and down. Adele did not seem to 
 heed or hear her, for she came back to the old argu- 
 ment. 
 
 " Alice, I assure you it is not difficult at all. You 
 have only to desire a thing very much." 
 
 " And what if I cannot ? What if some cannot 
 desire ?" interrupted Madame Lascours, with a sad 
 smile. " What if Desire, which is Will's twin sister, 
 belong to a certain warmth of heart and fulness of
 
 44: ADELE. 
 
 being not granted to me ? Where then is the re- 
 medy ? But we must not talk metaphysics/^ she 
 observed, changing the subject of discourse, and 
 evidently not inclined to renew it. ''I know not 
 how I came to talk so much about myself. Besides, 
 we are both forgetting to say what must be said : 
 Good bye." 
 
 She stopped short as she spoke, and laying her 
 hand on the shoulder of Adele, she looked down 
 sadly in her face. Somewhat wistfully Adele re- 
 turned the look. In spite of all Madame Lascours 
 had said, the young girl still did not understand her 
 friend ; so foreign v/ere this helpless Aveakness and 
 unconditional submission to her free and decisive 
 temper. But she kept her wonder to herself, and 
 merely observed : 
 
 " Good by« then, Alice ; I saw you once every 
 three months — when am I to see you now ?" 
 
 This question Madame Lascours did not answer. 
 She gave one sad, very sad look around the court, 
 then sighed, passed underneath the porch, crossed 
 tlie wide hall, and only paused when she reached 
 the front gate, which Adele reluctantly opened. 
 
 The bright, vivid landscape of mountain and sky, 
 with a quiet lake asleep and glittering in the sun, 
 suddenly flashed before them. An avenue of trees 
 once led from the Manor to the margin of the lake, 
 but it had long since vanished, and the rude old 
 dwelling now rose alone and unsheltered, exposed 
 to every blast of the passing winds. 
 
 " Do you see those two large moss-grown stumps ?" 
 said Madame Lascours to her young companion.
 
 adele. 45 
 
 " They were stately trees when I was a child — cen- 
 turies old, tradition said." 
 
 " That was long ago, before my time," gravely 
 answered Adele ; ^' and do you know, Alice, I like 
 the Manor best as it is, half-ruined, without trees, 
 without avenue, a gray, old dwelling. There is not 
 a window but the sun gets in through it and makes 
 the stone 'rooms warm and pleasant. There is not a 
 cranny but some v/ild weed or wilder flower grows 
 in it. A fig then for the cold and gloomy times 
 when trees shut out the sun, and neither weed nor 
 wild flower had room to grow.'^ 
 
 " Good bye,'' said Alice ; " come no farther ; your 
 cousin might not like it. And before I go, let me 
 say a few words : my husband is kind, very kind. 
 If ever you need me, do not wait to send ; come 
 yourself at once ; indeed, never send for me : Come.'"* 
 
 She stooped, kissed the young girl's cheek, then 
 lowered her veil, and quickly walked down to the 
 water's edge. Adele stood looking until she saw her 
 enter a boat, which swiftly shot across the lake. She 
 then re-entered the house, closed the door, and went 
 back to the garden; but in passing through the 
 court she paused a moment. For the first time the 
 shadow of the spot fell on her young heart. 
 
 From that day she never crossed the place, but 
 the sad and handsome face of Alice seemed to rise 
 before her, and she never remembered her friend, 
 but the cloister- like gloom of the solitary court which 
 had heard her melancholy confessions, seemed tt) 
 surround her.
 
 46 ADELE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE TRAVELLER. 
 
 Rude and wild, yet not without beauty, is that part 
 of France which stretches from the deep fastnesses 
 of the Jura to the rich vineyards of sunny Burgundy. 
 It is a land of many hills, and" pastoral valleys, in 
 which countless flocks feed in peace; of forest- 
 covered mountains, yielding stone and iron, more 
 precious than gold to man ; of rapid young rivers, 
 whose rushing waters feed a thousand clattering 
 mills ; a land where the wildness of the desert, and 
 the commerce of the city, meet in peace beneath 
 nature's smile. 
 
 The sun was setting, as Mr. Osborne reached one 
 of the wildest spots of this wild district. The car- 
 riage-road ended with the little town of Angeville. 
 There Mr. Osborne had left his luggage, and ridden 
 on alone, through a narrow valley, that shortened 
 his journey a full half day. He had not re- 
 entered the road more than ten minutes, when a 
 sudden turning brought him within view of a little 
 mountain-lake. He reined in his horse, and stood
 
 ADELE. 47 
 
 Still. Behind and before him stretched hills and 
 their valleys, seen vague and dim in the mild light of 
 grey evening. The wheels of factories and of mills 
 were at rest ; but there was a sound of the rushing 
 of streams coming down from rocky heights, and a 
 low murmur, as of the wind, passing high in the air 
 above them. Below the road lay the lake. It 
 looked both cool and deep. Its still waters, clear 
 and green as emerald, wound away in the shadow 
 of steep mountains. A thousand feet and more they 
 rose above it ; blue mists, softly curling at their 
 feet to lie and sleep there until the coming of the 
 morn, whilst across their pine-clad peaks swiftly 
 passed the sunset's burning glow. 
 
 As Mr. Osborne stood lookin;^ at and admiringf a 
 scene both wild and beautiful, the sound of the 
 evening bell rose from the little belfry of a white 
 church standing across the lake. In Italy, this pious 
 and beautiful custom is called the Ave Maria ; in 
 France it is known as the '• Angelus," from the first 
 word of the prayer, which, on hearing it, the faithful 
 repeat, — the prayer uttered evening after evening 
 by thousands of hearts, to commemorate for ever the 
 wonderful tidings which "the angel of the Lord de- 
 clared unto Mary." 
 
 The sound thrilled through his very heart. It 
 recalled the Ave Maria of his beloved south. The 
 wide Campagna, growing purple and dark beneath 
 the pale starry sky, again spread before him ; he be- 
 held once - more the azure seas of the Neapolitan 
 shores, with those islands, around which the charm 
 of the syren for ever lingers ; then the bright vision
 
 48 ADELE. 
 
 suddenly vanished, and he saw himself in a French 
 valley as rude and wild as any nook of northern 
 scenery in his own land. He slowly rode on ; gloom 
 gathered around his path; the brightness passed 
 from the mountains to the sky, where the last rosy 
 flush soon faded away into space. Above the lake 
 the cry of a bird, wild and melancholy like that of 
 the plover, suddenly broke, wakening into life the 
 dead-like stillness of the spot, but as abruptly died 
 away. The farther the journey er rode on, the wilder 
 grew the scenery around him. At length he began 
 to wonder whether he would soon reach, or whether 
 he had unwittingly passed, the place of his destina- 
 tion — Courcelles. He looked around him with a 
 glance that searched far into the deepening obscurity. 
 The lake still lay to his right, on his left stretched a 
 rugged valley, dark with rustling pines, but human 
 home or dwelling he saw not. " I must have passed 
 it," he thought ; but scarcely had he inwardly ut- 
 tered the words, when he was suddenly dazzled by 
 the ruddy and vivid glow of an open forge blazing at 
 some distance before him, but which a projecting rock 
 had until then completely concealed from his view. 
 He pricked his jaded horse and rode on ; the road 
 was narrow and dark, and the very brightness of the 
 forge seemed to render it darker ; and thus it came 
 to pass, that what with his haste, and what with the 
 darkness, Mr. Osborne rode straight against a peace- 
 able individual, who was quietly walking from the 
 forge towards him, and knocked him down. An 
 energetic oath assured him that the sufferer was not 
 killed; he therefore calmly inquired with what
 
 ADELE. ' 49 
 
 the vivacious French have called le flegnie Britan- 
 nique. 
 
 "Have I hurt your' 
 
 " Hurt me !" exclaimed, with a sort of scream, the 
 injured one, rising and indulging in a volley of 
 fresh oaths ; ** you knock me down, and you say, 
 ' Have I hurt you V Perhaps you have, a little.'' 
 
 " I am sorry for it," drily said Mr. Osborne — and 
 his tone was as even as if he had said, " I am glad." 
 He could not see either the face or figure of the 
 man against whom he had unwittingly stumbled, but 
 the very sound of his shrieking, falsetto voice was 
 antipathetic to him, and being very like a woman in 
 his aversions and his likings, Mr. Osborne disliked 
 the owner of that voice from that night and that 
 hour. 
 
 That unlucky individual, who was no other, in- 
 deed, than M. Fran9ois Morel, was in his turn 
 struck by a slight foreign accent lurking in the tones 
 of Mr. Osborne, who otherwise spoke French like a 
 Frenchman ; and softening down with amazing ra- 
 pidity, and changing his voice from its naturally 
 sharp key to the assumed soft sleekness which, 
 through long habit, had become almost as natural to 
 him as his own tones, he inquired, insinuatingly, — 
 
 *^ Will Monsieur excuse me ? But is not Mon- 
 sieur — perhaps Monsieur Osborne — whom we are 
 all so anxiously expecting at Courcelles ?" 
 
 " AU I" exclaimed Mr. Osborne, " are they come, 
 then?" 
 
 " No one has arrived as yet," eagerly replied 
 Morel, **no one excepting Monsieur. But we were 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 50 ADELE. 
 
 fearing lest, something had happened to Monsieur ; 
 and indeed, I am afraid that I may have been the 
 unfortunate cause of inflicting some injury on Mon- 
 sieur, or perhaps on Monsieur's horse ?" 
 
 " You are more likely to have been the sufferer," 
 impatiently interrupted Mr. Osborne ; " but who 
 are you ? You seem to belong to the place." 
 
 '^ I am Franyois Morel, Monsieur's foreman, to 
 serve him ; and I had the honour to receive a letter 
 from Monsieur the other day, and of answering it, 
 as, perhaps. Monsieur will have the goodness to re- 
 member." 
 
 " I recollect it. This, then, is the forge ; I cannot 
 see the Manor." 
 
 " Will Monsieur allow me to take the bridle of his 
 horse, and to lead him to it at once ?" eagerly asked 
 the complaisant foreman; "the road has not been 
 mended this year, and is scarcely safe." 
 
 This was not true ; but though Mr. Osborne could 
 not see that the road was perfectly safe, and there- 
 fore could not contradict M. Morel's statement, he 
 declined availing himself of his offer, and alighted 
 at once. M. Morel still zealously volunteered to 
 lead the horse, but his new master coldly declined. 
 
 " Then perhaps Monsieur will allow me to show 
 Monsieur the way ?" persisted M. Morel. 
 " Yes — you may do that." 
 
 The way was not long ; scarcely more than a 
 hundred yards did it extend, — for M. Morel did 
 not lead Mr. Osborne to the front gate, but to a 
 garden-door, which was seldom locked, so wild and 
 desolate had the garden become.
 
 ADELE. 51 
 
 " I will fasten tlie horse of Monsieur to the ii'on 
 stanchion here/' said Morelj " and then I shall have 
 the honour of showing Monsieur the way.'^ 
 
 Monsieur did not wait to bestow on him that 
 honour ; two years of his youth had been spent in 
 the old Manor — he knew every inch of the ground 
 and every turning of every staircase. Without hesi- 
 tation he crossed the garden and entered the court. 
 He was ascending the flight of steps that led to the 
 main body of the building, when he was overtaken 
 by Monsieur Morel, who had breathlessly followed 
 on his steps, and now whispered with seeming hesi- 
 tation — 
 
 " May I ask if Monsieur means to sleep here to 
 night?" 
 
 " Why, of course I do ! There is some servant 
 or other in charge of the house ; is there not ?" 
 
 M. Morel coughed dubiously; Mr. Osborne re- 
 iterated his question. 
 
 " Why, the truth is," answered the foreman with 
 great apparent reluctance, '^ that I forgot to tell 
 Monsieur — hem — that two ladies — hem — and their 
 servants have taken possession of the only good rooms 
 in the Manor." 
 
 " Ladies ! w^hat ladies ?" asked Mr. Osborne very 
 much surprised. 
 
 " Did not Monsieur really know ? I am sorry that 
 I mentioned — " 
 
 " What ladies ?" again asked Mr. Osborne, and 
 this time he spoke rather sharply. 
 
 ^' Only Mademoiselle de Janson and her little god- 
 daughter, Sir.'* 
 
 E 2 
 
 LIBRARY — 
 UNiV^RSlT/ OF ILUN0I5
 
 52 ■ ADELE. 
 
 Mr. Osborne impatiently walked up and down the 
 court, and a frown of displeasure, whiclino one could 
 see, gathered on his brow. He was a sensitive, re- 
 served man ; he had come alone to Courcelles, think- 
 ing to find there privacy and solitude, and it could 
 not be much to his taste thus to find two ladies un- 
 expectedly established in his home. 
 
 «f Why did I not know of this earlier ?" he asked 
 stopping short. 
 
 " I thought Monsieur knew." 
 
 " Is there any inn, or place of entertainment near 
 here V 
 
 " There is a very comfortable inn, indeed, th^ 
 Lion d'Argent, of which the hostess is my particular 
 friend, six leagues oiF,'^ meekly replied M. Morel ; 
 " a very good inn indeed." 
 
 " Six leagues ! Then there is no help for it . 
 you must present my compliments to Mademoiselle 
 de Janson, and beg of her to excuse me for appear- 
 ing before her in this state and at this hour ; you may 
 add—" 
 
 Here, with many excuses for interupting Monsieur, 
 M. Morel, spite all his previous obsequiousness, now 
 humbly but positively declined delivering this mes- 
 sage. There was a coolness, an unfortunate coolness, 
 in the motives of which he would rather not enter, 
 between him and Mademoiselle de Janson ; in short, 
 it would not be pleasant for him to intrude on that 
 lady as the bearer of unwelcome tidings, and he must 
 beg, to his infinite regret, to be excused. 
 
 ■ ^ It is not of the least consequence," quietly said 
 Mr. Osborne, surprised, however, at the refusal;
 
 ADELE. 53 
 
 " I suppose I can find a servant to deliver the mes- 
 sage." 
 
 " I am afraid that Monsieur cannot," meekly re- 
 joined M. Morel ; " from my knowledge of the habits 
 of the family, I am afraid that Monsieur will have 
 to proceed himself to the Hall, where Mademoiselle 
 de Janson sits every evening." 
 
 " Very well," impatiently replied Mr. Osborne. 
 '' That can be done.^' 
 
 "And shall I send any one to take charge of Mon- 
 sieur's horse ?" 
 
 " You will oblige me by doing so." 
 
 " And shall I come and take Monsieur's orders 
 to-morrow morning ?" inquired M. Morel. 
 
 " By all means." 
 
 *' Then I have the honour to bid Monsieur a very 
 good night." 
 
 And with a deep bow, M. Morel took his leave. 
 
 " I shall detest that man," thousrht Mr. Osborne. 
 
 He looked around him. 
 
 The moon was slowly rising, and, though not 
 visible, she half filled with gray dawning light the 
 silent court ; the other half was still deep in shade. 
 Mr. Osborne took a few turns up and down, absorbed 
 in sad thoughts, of which a few w^ere not merely sad, 
 but bitter. The aspect of the place had summoned 
 them from the depths of the past; like spectres called 
 np from their long sleep, they gathered around him, 
 murmuring in his ear, " Discontented heart, why hast 
 thou disturbed us from our repose ?" 
 
 With an impatient motion of the head he shook 
 them away, and again ascended the flight of steps.
 
 54 ADELE. 
 
 A ray of light, and the sound of a voice reading 
 aloud, guided him to a half-open door ; he knocked 
 gently, and receiving no reply, he pushed it open, 
 then paused on the threshold and advanced no further. 
 He saw an old Hall, vast and high, with stone walls 
 and dark shadowy roof. On a table apart burned 
 a solitary lamp, and in the vastness of the room it 
 looked like a white and opaque globe of flame ; its 
 light contrasted, but did not blend with that of a 
 ruddy wood fire blazing on the hearth of an old 
 chimney of sculptured stone. To' the right, a dark 
 oak panel gave back the red and vivid glow ; to the 
 left, a range of windows showed, distinct and clear, 
 the sombre outline of mountains on the sky with a 
 quivering star shining above them, far in the blue 
 depths. With a rapid glance, Mr. Osborne embraced 
 these details,- even whilst his eye seemed to rest on a 
 group of four persons, who knelt in a circle, and 
 were evidently engaged in repeating the evening 
 prayer. One was a lady no longer young, but still 
 beautiful, who held a heavy missal, from Avhich she 
 read aloud, in a clear and distinct voice ; near her 
 knelt a girl, Avith a still, young face and childish 
 figure, and further on, two old brown and harsh- 
 featured domestics, a man and a woman, completed 
 the picture. The appearance and half entrance of 
 Mr. Osborne did not seem to have produced the least 
 impression on this kneeling group. Still she who 
 read went on. Desiring to be dissolved and to be 
 with Christ ; praying for the preservation of the just, 
 for the conversion of the sinner, for mariners at sea, 
 for travellers on their journey, for the weary and the
 
 ADELE. 55 
 
 afflicted, for protection througli tlie night, for the 
 guardianship of holy angels, and for guidance to life 
 everlasting, until, closing the book, she added, in a 
 low, faltering voice, the petition which long habit 
 had impressed on her memory, " And may the souls 
 of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, 
 rest in peace." 
 
 " Amen," said the low voice of Adele, and they 
 all rose. 
 
 Mr. Osborne came "forward, and Mademoiselle de 
 Janson advanced a few steps towards him. They 
 had met many years before ; but she recognized him 
 at once, and did not allow him to utter his name. 
 
 " You are William Osborne," she said, as she 
 held out her hand, like one greeting an old friend. 
 
 They looked at one another attentively ; and rather 
 sadly Mademoiselle de Janson smiled. 
 
 " There have been, many changes since we met, 
 have there not ?" she asked. " Well, 'tis no matter 
 now — is it ? Time teaches how to bear all things, 
 and consoles for every sorrow. Adele, child, 
 bid me good-night and go ; and you, Jeannette, see 
 that nothing is wanted in the room I told you to 
 prepare to-day." 
 
 Ad^le held up her cheek for her'^godmother to 
 kiss, then quietly left the room ; the two servants 
 followed her out, Mademoiselle de Janson and Mr. 
 Osborne remained alone. She pointed to a seat, and 
 sank back pale and languid in her own chair 
 
 "And so," she said after a moment's silence, "you 
 have lost your father. After sacrificing you, as he 
 once sacrificed me, to his commercial ambition, he
 
 56 ADELE. 
 
 died. Like the man in the gospel, lie has left house 
 and land behind him. The granary in which he hus- 
 banded his wheat is full, but where is the master of 
 the harvest? Do not think/' she added after a 
 pause, " that I speak in resentment, or in evil 
 triumph. My anger against him was so far dead that 
 I accepted favours from him, else you would not find 
 me here in your house ! Now, however, I need not 
 say, that is over. I shall leave to-morrow." 
 
 '' Not on my account, I hope,'* said Mr. Osborne, 
 speaking for the first time. 
 
 " On your account precisely," replied the lady. 
 " You are too like him ; I never could look at you, 
 but the past would rise before me. But that is not 
 my only motive. Of course his widow and his chil- 
 dren will come here soon — I need not tell you one 
 roof could never shelter me and that woman." 
 
 Mr. Osborne had been pacing the Hall up and 
 down with folded arms and head pensively inclined ; 
 he paused before Mademoiselle de Janson's chair, 
 and with a quiet smile, he said : 
 
 ''Is it so very hard to forgive a scheming 
 woman ?" 
 
 " You are a man," passionately exclaimed Made- 
 moiselle de Janson; "you have the world, life, 
 struggles, hardships, ambitions, hopes, everything 
 to help you to forget. I am a woman — that is to say, 
 I may sit by the fireside and brood over the past, 
 until it becomes a living present, for ever torturing 
 and haunting me. I forgive fully, fully to the 
 seventy times seven : but 1 cannot forget." 
 
 A flush rose to her cheek, then died away until it
 
 ADELE. 57 
 
 settled in a bright burning spot. Mr. Osborne drew 
 his chair close to hers and sat down by her side. 
 
 " And if you leave/' he kindly asked, *' where do 
 you go?" 
 
 " To a convent in Lyons. I went there when she 
 came here five years ago. I shall go early to-mor- 
 row ; so/' she added, rising, " good night and good 
 bye." 
 
 " Good bye, then, since you will have it so !" said 
 Mr. Osborne. " Is there any wish of yours that I can 
 comply with ?" 
 
 *■ None. I am no longer mistress here. Your 
 father paid Jean to attend to the garden, and Jean- 
 nette to attend to the house, but they would insist on 
 considering themselves my servants ; I dare say you 
 can enter into the feeling, and not wonder much at 
 them." 
 
 " I should rather wonder if they thought other- 
 wise." 
 
 " Then once more good night." 
 
 She gave him her hand ; he pressed it with a 
 warmth unusual for him, but the wayward fit had 
 returned to Mademoiselle de Janson, and she looked 
 cold and distant. 
 
 *^ I have a request to make," she said, formally. 
 " May I trust you will comply with it ?" 
 
 "Most certainly, if it be in my power." 
 
 *' I am not likely to ask you to do anything not 
 in your power. I cannot take with me my cousin 
 and god- daughter. Mademoiselle de Courcelles ; she 
 will remain here in some of the rooms which the 
 agreement with your late father made mine. Should
 
 58 ADELE. 
 
 Madame Osborne and her daughters cTioose to see 
 and frequent Adele, I do not oppose it ; it may 
 please her, and it can do her no harm." 
 
 *' Rely upon it she shall meet with every attention 
 and courtesy/' said Mr. Osborne with some warmth. 
 
 '* Thank you," very coldly replied Mademoiselle 
 de Janson, " I ask for nothing of the kind. Pray 
 let the ladies act as they like ; notice or neglect her, 
 it matters very little. My request concerns your 
 behaviour to her.'' 
 
 " Mine !" exclaimed Mr. Osborne, much surprised, 
 
 " Precisely. And my request is this : whatever you 
 may learn, tell her nothing : she knows nothing. She 
 is a good-natured, foolish little thing — a mere child, 
 without will, wish, or desire. I wish her to stay so." 
 
 Mr. Osborne looked surprised, but Mademoiselle 
 de Janson entered into no explanation. Again she 
 extended to him her little hand, and with the inti- 
 mation that Jeannette would do anything for him 
 that he required, she took a majestic leave of Mr. 
 Osborne.
 
 ADELE. 59 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MR. OSBORXE S SUPPER. 
 
 " He is very hand some," thouglit Adele, as she 
 retired ; " almost as handsome as the picture of the 
 Knight of Malta, up-stairs." 
 
 We need not say that the young girl thought of 
 Mr. Osborne, -syith whose appearance she had been 
 much struck. Absorbed in her devotions, she had 
 not perceived him until she rose from her knees ; she 
 then saw him enter the room, — a tall, pale, and 
 handsome man, bareheaded, and -wrapped in a tra- 
 velling-cloak ; and, as it so chanced, that Mr. Os- 
 borne was the first very handsome man, above the 
 class of a peasant, whom the eyes of Adele had be- 
 held, we must not be surprised that these thoughts 
 occurred to her, as she closed the door of the Hall, 
 and even followed her up-stairs to her room. 
 
 It was a favourite axiom with Mademoiselle de 
 Janson, that men and women were not what they 
 had been — an axiom which Adele could not possibly 
 contradict ; for the excellent reason that her expe- 
 rience was limited to men and women present, and
 
 60 ADELE. 
 
 did not deal with men and women past. Still, she 
 had doubts, and very strong ones, that Mademoiselle 
 de Janson might be mistaken ; and these doubts re- 
 curred to her with great force as she sat alone in her 
 room, opposite an old mirror in a tarnished frame. 
 She had begun by thinking Mr. Osborne almost as 
 handsome as the Knight of Malta. She now thought 
 him rather handsomer. Then she wondered — if races 
 did really degenerate — how much handsomer than 
 Mr. Osborne must have been Mr. Osborne^s great- 
 grandfather. But though she sat opposite the mirror, 
 and though it reflected a fair young face, and a light 
 young figure, graceful in its attitude of thought and 
 abandon, she never asked herself how much less or 
 more pretty than her venerable great-grandmother 
 was Adele de Courcelles. 
 
 Yet that y-oung lady knew quite well that she was 
 a pretty girl, for Jeannette told her so every day, and 
 even Mademoiselle de Janson, spite the decay of 
 races in general, and of the human species in parti- 
 cular, had several times given her, in the course of 
 her evening lecture, that piece of information ; but 
 somehow or other the subject could not dwell in her 
 thoughts. She was pretty ; she knew it ; and there 
 was an end of the matter for Adele. 
 
 The entrance of Jeannette broke on her specula- 
 tions ; she burst in, breathless and bewildered. 
 
 " Well, what is the matter ?" asked Adele, with 
 calm surprise. 
 
 Jeannette wrung her hands and shook her head. 
 
 '^ He — he — wants a supper !" she at length gasped. 
 
 Adele looked a little startled and dismayed.
 
 ADELE. 61 
 
 " Supper !" she echoed, — " have you spoken to 
 Marrainne ?" 
 
 " She is in her room.'^ 
 
 Xow, it was a rule in the little household of Ma- 
 demoiselle de Janson, that this lady was never, unless 
 in case of fire, to be intruded upon or disturbed. 
 
 " And she left you no orders ?" 
 
 '' None." 
 
 " And what is there in the larder ?" 
 
 " Xothin^." 
 
 Adele shook her head, and evidently thought this 
 no light matter. 
 
 " And he wants to sup,^^ pitifully said Jeanne tte, 
 '^ and he says he is desperately hungry." 
 
 " Poor fellow !" compassionately exclaimed Adele ; 
 " he must eat, Jeannette/' she added, rising and 
 speaking resolutely. 
 
 Jeannette looked as if she thought this was more 
 easily said than done. But she was accustomed to 
 yield, in great emergencies, to the superior energy 
 and decision of her young mistress, and she now 
 obediently followed her down staii-s. 
 
 Amongst the many peculiarities of the lovely Made- 
 moiselle de Janson, there was one which sometimes 
 proved a source of inconvenience to her household. 
 She either forgot to eat herself, or forgot to provide 
 for the eating of others. Apparently it had not oc-- 
 curred to her on the present occasion, either that 
 Mr. Osborne would need some refreshment, or that 
 there was positively nothing to offer him ; for after 
 giving him the lofty intimation that he had only to 
 ask Jeannette for anything he wanted, in order to
 
 6^ ADELE. 
 
 obtain it, she had retired to her own room, leaving 
 Jeannette to satisfy him as best she might. 
 
 Decision, and that quickness which embraces all 
 things in one rapid glance, now marked the general- 
 ship of Adele. She lightly ran down stairs, pro- 
 ceeded at one to the cold and vacant room, which 
 was Jeannette's pantry, opened the ponderous oaken 
 safe or buffet, and ascertained that, with the excep- 
 tion of two stale loaves^ it was really empty. 
 
 Adele folded her arms, and shook her head French 
 fashion. 
 
 " The world was made out of nothing," she said, 
 in a mock heroic tone ; '^ but how are we to give 
 Monsieur Osborne a supper out of nothing ? Im- 
 possible, is it not, eh, Jeannette ?" she added, turning 
 towards the old servant. 
 
 *' I told you so, Mamzelle," was the sorrowful reply. 
 
 A merry and triumphant smile curled the rosy lip 
 of Adele. She put her hand in her pocket c^nd took 
 out a bright two-franc piece. 
 
 " You see that, Jeannette," she said, holding it up 
 to the height of Jeannette's eyes ; " well, then, take 
 it to widow Catherine, get cream, eggs, and butter, 
 and make one of your own omelets." 
 
 " And I shall say," glibly put in Jeannette, " that 
 the ham is spoiled, and that the chickeiis are too 
 hard for Monsieur." 
 
 Adele reddened; she was not aristocratic or proud, 
 but she had something in her of her ancient blood ; 
 for she was too loyal and too true to like a lie. ' A 
 little haughtily she turned on the old servant, and 
 said, drily, —
 
 ADELE. 63 
 
 " Say nothing, Jeannette. We are poor, and he 
 knows it. And now/' she added, more gaily, " make 
 haste, like a good girl — or, rather, no. I shall make 
 the omelet. You go and fetch a bottle of good wine 
 from the cellar ;. go," she continued, seeing that Jean- 
 nette hesitated. " Marrainne gave me a dozen last 
 year ; so you see I can dispose of one." 
 
 Jeannette shook her head, but obeyed. 
 
 The fire was dying away on the hearth of the old 
 Hall ; Mr. Osborne seated in Mademoiselle de Jan- 
 son's chair, watched its fading embers. He was too 
 tired and too hungry for active thought, but not for 
 memory. Images of the past rose before him, not 
 pleasing or lovely, but absorbing ; he did not heed 
 the opening door, he did not hear a light footstep 
 cross the floor ; he saw and heard nothing until a 
 slender figure stood on the hearth before him ; he 
 then looked up and beheld Adele. 
 
 " Your fire is going out," she said, looking straight 
 in his face with a glance which he liked, for it was 
 open and fearless, and spoke of truth, innocent and 
 strong. 
 
 AVith some cariosity he too looked at her, re- 
 membering the warning he had received concerning 
 this little girl, as at first sight she still seemed, but he 
 had not leisure to look long ; Adele turned away 
 from his gaze, knelt on the earth, gathered together 
 the decaying embers, and with her breath fanned 
 them once more into fiame. She then rose gravely
 
 64 ADELE. 
 
 and turning towards Mr. Osborne, said, very 
 seriously, " How tired you must be !" 
 
 Mr. Osborne did not answer at once — her aspect, 
 her manner took him by surprise ; she was small as 
 a child, but perfect as a woman ; dark and fair, free 
 in speech, modest in look, a creature of contrasts to 
 which native and unsought grace gave harmony. 
 
 " She is extremely pretty," he thought, and it was 
 only after a while that he recollected himself suffi- 
 ciently to reply with a polite acknowledgment that 
 he was rather tired. 
 
 "Your supper is coming," continued Adele, 
 " we can only offer you an omelet with bread and old 
 wine." 
 
 Mr. Osborne smiled, and assured her that, hungry 
 as he then was, bread and wine alone would have 
 been most acceptable. 
 
 " Oh ! but there is an omelet besides," rather 
 jealously observed the young girl, " though I dare 
 say, you are like me — I could eat anything when I 
 am hungry. Why, here is Jeannette !" she added 
 with a start, " and the cloth not laid." 
 
 At once she unfolded and spread on the table a 
 snow-white cloth, which she had put on a chair on 
 entering the room. Jeannette saw the act, and turned 
 crimson. , 
 
 " Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle,'^ she murmured, 
 as she laid down the dish containing the omelet. 
 
 " Ah ! bah !" said Adele, shaking her pretty 
 head, " one is neither more nor less for laying a 
 cloth. Here, Jean," she added turning to the old 
 man, who now appeared bearing on a tray a sub-
 
 ADELE. 65 
 
 stantial bottle covered with cobwebs, an ancient 
 crystal glass, and a silver spoon and fork. From 
 him she turned to Mr. Osborne, and said, frankly : 
 '' We had nothing else to offer you. I am sorry you 
 had to wait." 
 
 Mr. Osborne, who had been watching her nimble 
 and agile motions, with a surprised and pleased 
 glance, assured her, with a smile, that the fare she 
 had so kindly provided, was more than sufficient. 
 
 '^ Well then, good night," she said with a friendly 
 nod, and retiring with Jeannette, she left him alone 
 with the old man. 
 
 At the close of a silent and quickly despatched 
 meal, Mr. Osborne rose, and Jean, divining his 
 wishes with French quickness, led him at once to his 
 apartment. Laying down on a small round table, 
 the old-fashioned brass lamp which he held, he in- 
 quired, in a doleful voice, if Monsieur wanted any- 
 thing, and receiving a brief negative reply, he with- 
 drew. 
 
 The apartment in which Mr. Osborne thus re- 
 mained alone, was on the ground floor of the Manor. 
 It was a vast and dreary room of silent aspect ; the 
 bed was piled up high, and the long white curtains 
 swept from the lofty ceiling to the dark floor. Sha- 
 dows lurked in every corner, and reposed around 
 every piece of antiquated furniture; a long dark 
 mirror stood at the further end, and reflected the 
 dull light of the lamp burning dimly. A half-open 
 door showed Mr. Osborne that this melancholy bed- 
 room communicated with some other apartment. He 
 took the lamp, crossed the floor, and entered a simply 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 ADELE. 
 
 furnished sitting room. He laid down the lanip, and 
 remembering this apartment, he went and opened a 
 French window which led him to a small terrace or 
 balcony, that in its turn led by a flight of steps to the 
 garden. 
 
 The moon hung above a lonely hill ; with alluring 
 and irresistible voice she called him forth. We all 
 love Nature, but different is the intensity of our love, 
 different too, its kind. Fitful and ardent was that 
 of William Osborne, for though the only prose he 
 wrote was letter prose, though of poetry he was 
 guiltless, yet he too was a poet, in all save the pas- 
 sionate desire of utterance, the poet's crowning gift. 
 Never could he have been one amongst the great 
 tribe of geniuses that command the age in which 
 they are born, that rule it with iron will, and thrill 
 it with delight, admiration and terror ; but he might 
 have been one of those sweet and hidden voices that 
 find their echo in a few human hearts, and are heard 
 and blest for evermore. 
 
 But indolence and fastidiousness alike kept him 
 silent. Sufficient was it to him to enjoy the quiet 
 hour, the lovely spot that charm the poet's heart. 
 To others he left both poet's song and poet's fame. 
 And thus on this night, when mountain, lake, and 
 sky wooed him in all their beauty, he troubled not 
 himself to find expression for that which he felt, but 
 heait and soul he surrendered himself to the spell of 
 the place and the hour. 
 
 At length the air grew chill, clouds passed across 
 the sky, the moon waxed pale and dim, white, wreath- 
 ing mists rose from the lake, and turning back,
 
 ADELE. 67 
 
 Mr. Osborne took a slow walk around the old 
 garden. 
 
 The wind was keen, and he walked within the 
 shelter of the ancient Manor. With regret, he no- 
 ticed its decay, and scanned the broken windows 
 and sunken roof. A sound of voices soon diverted 
 his attention. He looked, and perceived that they 
 proceeded from one of the lower rooms ; its windows 
 owned no shutters, and the light of a lamp burning 
 on the table rendered everything within distinctly 
 visible, whilst a broken pane perfidiously allowed 
 every sound to escape out in the night air. The 
 room was wide, but poorly furnished ; the speakers 
 were Jeannette and her young mistress. The old 
 woman sat spinning ; Adele stood opposite her in a 
 musing attitude. Her hands were clasped ; her head 
 was bent; her profile was distinct and clear on the 
 background of brown stone behind her. Suddenly 
 she looked up, and spoke — 
 
 '* He is handsomer than the Knight of Malta, 
 is he not, Jeannette ?" 
 
 Jeannette was confounded ; her wheel paused ; 
 her mouth opened. 
 
 " Holy Virgin, Mamzelle !'^ she said, at length, 
 '^ what can have put such a fancy as that into your 
 head V 
 
 " Fancy ! it is no fancy !" coolly replied Adele, 
 " I am certain of what I say. Did I not look at 
 him ? I tell you I did, and that he is very handsomev 
 What shall we give him for breakfast to-morrow, 
 Jeannette ?*' 
 
 '•'Anything you like, Mamzelle," sharply replied 
 
 r 2
 
 68 ADELE. 
 
 Jeannette, " anything. You have already given him 
 one of your dozen of wine such as there is not in all 
 Burgundy, a dozen that was for your wedding 
 breakfast, as you know very well, Mamzelle. You 
 have spent the little silver you had in buying him 
 eggs and cream/' 
 
 '^ How cross you are with the poor gentleman,^' 
 interrupted Ad^le, smiling ; " was he not a stranger ? 
 must we not practise hospitality, Jeannette ?" 
 
 " Yes, Mamzelle ; but to go and give one of the 
 dozen that was for your wedding day, and which he 
 drank down,'^ says Jean, " as coolly as if it were 
 new milk — " 
 
 '^ I gave him the best I had," again interrupted 
 Adele, " and I would do it again, Jeannette." 
 
 She spoke good-humouredly, but wilfully. Her 
 face was turned towards Mr. Osborne ; he looked at 
 it awhile, struck with its delicate outlines and happy 
 serenity ; then, not caring to hear more of a dis- 
 course which touched on him so closely, he turned 
 away, and passed on.
 
 ADKLE. 69 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 FOREWARN I >'GS. 
 
 The sun was rising bright in his field of blue sky ; 
 he touched with orange light many a golden peak, 
 many a skirt of pine forest ; whilst he left dark and 
 cool the narrow valleys, and did not melt a breath 
 of the blue mists that wandered above the silent lake. 
 With calm delight, Mr. Osborne stood and gazed 
 from the balcony of his sitting-room. The sound of 
 an opening door made him look round. It was Jean 
 bringing in his breakfast. 
 
 " You will not forget, Jean !" whispered a soft, 
 light voice in the passage. 
 
 Mr. Osborne smiled : his little hostess had been 
 busy again. The breakfast was good, though plain. 
 Mr. Osborne poured out his coffee. 
 
 " If Monsieur wishes to breakfast a la fourchetU 
 later ,^* observed Jean, raising his voice so that his 
 words could be heard outside through the half-open 
 door, " he will have the goodness to say so. There 
 is still some wine in the cellar," hesitatingly added 
 Jean.
 
 70 ADEL16. 
 
 " I never take but two meals a day," answered 
 Mr. Osborne. 
 
 ^^ As Monsieur pleases/' 
 
 *' You may go." 
 
 Jean left. 
 
 " Poor little thing !'^ thought Mr. Osborne, " she 
 would actually have given me another bottle of her 
 wine." 
 
 His frugal meal was nearly over, when the sound 
 of voices shrilly screaming made him walk across 
 the room to a window that overlooked the court. 
 
 A slim, sunburnt pedlar, with yellow moustache, 
 jaunty cap, and blue blouse, was spreading his wares 
 on the stone steps of the porch, and he was, holding 
 with Jeannette one of those shrill, bargaining dis-- 
 cussions to which the rapidity of speech, the im- 
 pressive earnestness of gesture, and the vehement 
 manner of the actors, give a dramatic character in 
 the south, which in the north degenerates into coarse- 
 ness and vulgarity. 
 
 "That — that— for twenty-five sous!'* said the 
 pedlar, flourishing aloft a red and yellow handker- 
 chief, " have you no conscience V 
 
 " Plenty P' stoutly said Jeannette. 
 
 " And you want it for twenty-five sous ?" 
 
 " Of course I do, Monsieur Pierre." 
 
 Monsieur Pierre turned up his eyes and stamped 
 his feet, folding up the handkerchief the while, in 
 order to put it away. Then suddenly seeming to 
 alter his resolve, he thrust it in her hand, and with 
 a melodramatic tone and gesture, he said, '' Take 
 it."
 
 ADELE. 71 
 
 " To be sure I shall ; you are glad enough to give 
 it, too." 
 
 Monsieur Pierre rolled his eyes and knit his brow ; 
 then, as if by magic, he smoothed his aspect. He 
 had perceived Adele, who stood smiling in the half 
 gloom of the passage, and courteously,, as any knight 
 of old, did Monsieur Pierre doff his cap, 
 
 " Good morning, Monsieur Pierre," said the 
 young girl, " I am not going to buy, you know^ I 
 have no money. I am only going to look." 
 
 " And I would rather have the looks of a pretty 
 young lady like you," chivalrously replied Mon- 
 sieur Pierre, smoothing his yellow moustache, 
 '^ than the money of others ; so look away. Made- 
 moiselle." 
 
 Without heeding the compliment, Adele availed 
 herself of the permission. Mr. Osborne saw her 
 kneel on the stone flags, and scan with a curious eye 
 the rustic treasures of Monsieur Pierre. He watched 
 her closely ; but though she surveyed admiringly 
 the knives, scissors, thimbles, handkerchiefs of every 
 hue, and scarfs and shawls to match that lay before 
 her, no lurking desire to possess any of them seemed 
 to blend with her admiration. Her freely-expressed 
 enthusiasm flattered the pedlar, who looked on 
 graciously. 
 
 " Monsieur Pierre," continued Adele, '^ I am not 
 going to buy, but I should like to know the price of 
 a few things. What may this blue scarf cost ?" 
 
 " Ah ! that blue scarf,^^ began Monsieur Pierre, 
 smiling happily; ''that lovely blue scarf?" 
 
 " I would not give the five sous in the Wandering
 
 72 ADELE. 
 
 Jew's purse for it,'* cried Jeannette, '* trashy thing ! 
 I hope Mademoiselle does not dream of wasting 
 her money upon it." 
 
 '' Money !" exclaimed Adele, laughing gaily, 
 " why, you know I have no money." 
 
 " Mademoiselle will give you handsomer things 
 any day," cried Jeannette, endeavouring, by the 
 loudness of her voice, tb drown the imprudent con- 
 fession. 
 
 '* Cousine never gives me anything," impatiently 
 said Ad^le, who detested lies of any sort. 
 
 ** She will bring you a handsome silk dress from 
 Lyons,** persisted Jeannette. 
 
 '' "Will she !'" ironically observed Monsieur Pierre, 
 who knew how much chance Adele had of a silk dress. 
 "Well, ladies, good morning; I wish you joy of 
 all the handsome things the other lady will bring 
 you from Lyons," 
 
 He had been gathering his wares, he now shoul- 
 dered his pack, and with a familiar and ironical nod 
 he took his leave. 
 
 " Insolent little jackanapes !" indignantly mut- 
 tered Jeannette. 
 
 Adele laughed gaily. 
 
 " As if I cared a pin for anything he has got in 
 his pack,'' she said. 
 
 She spoke in a tone of perfect sincerity, and spoke 
 as she felt : a careless indifference to all that youth 
 most covets, characterized her. She seemed unable 
 to fill the past with regrets or the future with wishes. 
 She took the present as it was, and rejoiced in it 
 like a bird in sunshine, caring as little for the day
 
 _ ADELE. 73 
 
 that is gone, as for the day that is yet to come ; a state 
 of mind that ever provoked and perplexed Jeannette. 
 " There is no making out that girl," she muttered 
 going away. 
 
 Adele sat down on the last of the stone steps where 
 the wares of Monsieur Pierre had been displayed, 
 and unconscious of the vicinity and observation of 
 Mr. Osborne, she took her work from her pocket 
 and besran to sew. She sat in the cool momine 
 shadow of the court, enclosed with the grim stone of 
 ages, but a golden sunbeam stole down the old wall, 
 Kt up a tuft of grass, and came down with a warm 
 glow on her brown head, and played with changing 
 light on her clear cheek. Her downcast eyes, the 
 serious grace of her childish features, her naive atti- 
 tude, the pure colouring of her young face, and the 
 stem background of grey stone, and solemn gloom 
 of the place, made a fresh and charming picture, on 
 which Mr. Osborne's artist eye rested with vague 
 pleasure. 
 
 "Mademoiselle has dropped this," said Jean, 
 coming out from beneath the porch. 
 
 He stood before her, swaying his awkward body 
 to and firo, and turning round a small morocco case, 
 which he at length handed to her. 
 
 " It is not mine,^^ she began. She said no more, 
 but uttered a cry of wonder and admiration. Her 
 nimble £ngers had touched some secret spring, the 
 case had flown open, and the young girl was dazzled 
 by the sight of a gold thimble, bodkin, and needle- 
 case, exquisitely worked, and enclosed in a second 
 case of ivory.
 
 t4 ADELE. 
 
 " The very halidle of the scissors is of gold," she 
 cried ; " oh, how beautiful I" 
 
 At once she put the thimble on her finger, and 
 holding it up, she surveyed it admiringly. 
 
 " Look, Jeannette," she cried to the old woman, 
 who now made her appearance ; " look, did you ever 
 see anything so beautiful ? I did not think there 
 was anything like it out of a fairy tale." 
 
 " Ah, bah !" said Jeannette, shrivelling up her 
 nose, '^ what is it to the wheel of Madame la Mar- 
 quise de Courcelles, your great grandmother, all in- 
 laid with gold ?" 
 
 " Well, but I have not seen the wheel of my great 
 grandmother, and I have seen this. It must be 
 Pierre who dropped it ; run after him, Jean,-^ 
 run !" 
 
 She hastily took off the thimble from her finger, 
 and replacing it in the case, she put the case in his 
 han<ds with another quick and imperative injunction 
 to run after the pedlar. Jean vanished, for to hear 
 was to obey. 
 
 '' Ah, how beautiful 1" cried Adele, clasping her 
 hands. 
 
 " Ah, bah !" said Jeannette, " a thing that would 
 fit in the hollow of my hand. Ah ! if it were a large 
 rolling wheel !" 
 
 " And I tell you," said Adele, looking very much 
 provoked, " that the wheel of my great grandmother 
 was nothing to it." 
 
 Jeannette drew herself up stifily. 
 
 ^' There never was anything like the wheel of 
 Madame la Marquise, Adele de Courcelles," she
 
 ADELE. ' 75 
 
 said ; " it was presented to her by his Majesty Louis 
 XV., the beloved." 
 
 " I do not care about kings," democratically said 
 Adele. 
 
 " Nor about a gold thimble either," replied Jean- 
 nette ; " you care about nothing, Mademoiselle : 
 your old silver thimble, your steel bodkin, your 
 worn-out scissors, please you just as well." 
 
 ** No, they do not," shortly said Adele ; " I would 
 give anything for a beautiful thing like that. I 
 should work twice as well with it." 
 
 " Ah 1" said Jeannette, turning up her eyes with 
 doleful triumph, " if the old place were only what 
 it was ; if the old family " 
 
 " Oh, how^tiresome you are to-day !" interrupted 
 Adele ; " I like the old place as it is ; and as I am 
 the old family now, and am pleased with my lot, what 
 need you care ?" 
 
 No doubt Jeannette could have given this speech 
 its answer, but Adele had darted away across the 
 court, beneath the arched doorway, into the garden, 
 before Jeannette had time to open her mouth. 
 
 " She is very up and down to-day," thought Jean- 
 nette, " very." She paused, even in her thoughts ; 
 she saw Mr. Osborne standing in his window. His 
 look was fixed on the porch beneath which Adele 
 had vanished, and there was a thoughtful smile on 
 his handsome face, that brought a frown to Jean- 
 nette's brow. She did not like it. Suddenly he 
 looked round, left the window, and crossed the room ; 
 presently she heard his voice conversing with some 
 person wdthin. Comforting herself with the nice
 
 76 ADELE. 
 
 distinction that she was hearing and not listening, 
 Jeannette heard him saying impatiently — 
 
 '^ I tell you I want it to-day .^^ 
 
 To which a voice which Jeannette recognised as 
 that of Monsieur Pierre, submissively replied — 
 
 " But I have had the honour of explaining to 
 Monsieur that this is to show ; that I will procure 
 him—" 
 
 *' I will have this or none : name your price." 
 
 The reply of Monsieur Pierre was inaudible, but 
 Jeannette distinctly heard the chinking of money 
 ^' What can he have been buying ?" thought Jean- 
 nette. Presently she heard the door of Mr. Osborne's 
 room close, and Monsieur Pierre appeared in the 
 passage with a twinkle in his eye and a happy smile 
 on his lip. 
 
 *' May I trouble you for the little morocco case I 
 left ?" he asked, with a good-humoured nod. 
 
 *•' I dare say Jean is up-stairs," drily said Jean- 
 nette. 
 
 Whistling as he went. Monsieur Pierre went up 
 the staircase. Jeannette was assiduously dusting the 
 bannisters when he returned. He touched his cap 
 to her, and walked to the front door ; then suddenly 
 striking his forehead, like one who remembers a 
 thing he has forgotten, he stepped back to Mr. Os- 
 borne's door, knocked, and was admitted. In two 
 minutes he reappeared. With another touch of his 
 cap to Jeannette, he was going to leave the house, 
 when, going up to him, she observed with unusual 
 friendliness, — 
 
 ^^ Did you find what you had lost ?'*
 
 ADELE. 77 
 
 '' Left, not lost," he civilly replied. " Yes, Ma- 
 demoiselle Jeannette, I found it. Good morning !" 
 
 " What a hurry you are in. Let me see it again/^ 
 
 " Impossible ! I gave my word of honour not to 
 show it." 
 
 "But I have already seen it," sharply said Jean- 
 nette. 
 
 " But I did not show it ; so honour is safe/' re- 
 plied Monsieur Pierre, smiling. " Good morning, 
 Mademoiselle." With his politest bow, he vanished. 
 
 "As if I believed a word of that,^^ indignantly 
 muttered Jeannette. 
 
 At once her resolve was taken. She went and 
 knocked at Mr. Osborne's door, and looking in, 
 coolly asked " If Monsieur had rung ?" 
 
 " No ; but come in all the same.^' 
 
 Jeannette entered. She saw a heap of five-franc 
 pieces on the table, but nothing like a morocco case. 
 Mr. Osborne took four pieces of silver, and putting 
 them in Jeannette's hand, he simply said, — 
 
 " I breakfast at eight, and I dine at six." 
 
 And having thus virtually constituted her cook 
 and housekeeper, and empowered her to rule that 
 inner realm of every household — the kitchen — he 
 left the room. 
 
 " With all that money on the table,'^ thought 
 Jeannette, " his father would not have done 
 that." 
 
 And her thoughts were taking a turn decidedly 
 favourable to her new master, when she saw him 
 cross the court and enter the garden. 
 
 " Well, what is he going there for ?" half in^ig-
 
 78 ADBLE. 
 
 nantly thought Jeannette. " Ah ! it will not end 
 well." 
 
 Mr. Osborne had certainly not gone to his own 
 garden, to see Adele ; yet it so happened that he 
 had not walked ten steps before, turning the corner 
 of an alley, the young girl stood before him, waiting, 
 with a mien half shy and half daring, for him to 
 pass. 
 
 She was fresh as a wild rose still bathed in morn- 
 ing dew ; and as she bent her head to Mr. Osborne, 
 with grave courtesy, he could not help smiling. 
 She gave him a sense of quick living freshness, like 
 a breeze from the mountain — like a shower of spring 
 rain sparkling on the grass. 
 
 '^ Good morning !" she said, gravely. 
 
 " Good morning !'* he replied, amused at her 
 quaint manner* 
 
 " Did you sleep well V she pursued. 
 
 Mr. Osborne bit his lip, but gave a reply both 
 courteous and satisfactory. 
 
 With unmoved gravity Adele continued, " I ask, 
 because, when I came to Courcelles, I could not 
 sleep at all. But that was a long time ago ; I was 
 only a little girl then." Without giving him time 
 to make any remark, she observed, as she half 
 turned away, — 
 
 *^ You had a bad breakfast this morning ; but 
 Cousine will see to your dinner.*' 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Janson is gone,^^ said Mr. 
 Osborne. 
 
 Adele looked slightly surprised, and pensively 
 leaned her cheek on her hand ; but she was too
 
 A DELE. 79 
 
 njuch accustomed to be nothing to Mademoiselle de 
 Janson, to say more tlian — 
 
 *^Ah, I would have bid her goodbye if I had 
 known it/' 
 
 " I am going to Lyons soon/' said Mr. Osborne ; 
 '' I shall be very happy to be the bearer of any 
 letter or message for Mademoiselle de Janson with 
 which you may choose to entrust me." 
 
 She smiled, surprised, in his face. She was un- 
 used to courtesy ; she was astonished at the idea of 
 writing to her cousin. 
 
 "You are very kind," she said, *^ but Mademoi- 
 selle de Janson would not like it." 
 
 " But I may say that I left you in good health." 
 
 " Say nothing about me," seriously replied Adele ; 
 '* Cousine does not like to hear about me at all. I 
 am a nuisance to her— poor Cousine," she added, 
 explanatorily. 
 
 But she said it with a smile. She might be a 
 nuisance, but she certainly did not break her heart 
 about it. 
 
 " Truly, God is good to the forsaken," thought 
 Mr. Osborne, " He gives them a light heaj-t." 
 
 Wild as her education was, Adele had innate 
 French politeness. She thought herself bound to 
 keep up the conversation. 
 
 " Do you like Courcelles ?" she asked, as if he 
 were not the master of Courcelles. 
 
 " Very much indeed. Do you ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I was reared here, you know." 
 
 " And so was I," he echoed, turning round, with 
 a smile and a sigh, to look at the old Manor.
 
 80 ADELE. 
 
 Courcelles was not a beautiful building. It had 
 been edified in tbe ages of strength, and it still rose 
 a fortress as well as a dwelling. Broad, high, 
 massive, solid stone, from basement to roof, with 
 turrets at its angles, and no ornaments in its fa9ades, 
 save a few arched windows, it yet commanded at- 
 tention. Its size made it look imposing; the eyp 
 could not rest without some wonder on such a heap 
 of stone, piled to shelter one family ; its hue, of a 
 tawny white, which in the morning sun looked red, 
 was warm and mellow. Flights of steps led from the 
 garden to the ground-floor apartments. One, steeper 
 than the rest, rose to the first floor, and ended in a 
 pretty little gallery, with delicate pillars and graceful 
 arches, which Mr. Osborne admired aloud. Adele 
 did not answer. He looked ; she was gone ; and 
 M. Morel stood before his master in obsequious 
 attitude. The handsome and elegant Mr. Osborne 
 scanned the low brow, the sly Tartar eyes, the 
 flattened nose, and broad unmeaning mouth, of the 
 foreman, as he stood before him, hat in hand, with 
 a repulsion he could not conquer. A cold bend of 
 the head was all the acknowledgment M. Morel's 
 humble obeisance obtained. 
 
 '' I have taken the liberty of intruding on Mon- 
 sieur," said the foreman, in the soft voice which had 
 already irritated and annoyed his fastidious master, 
 " according, however, to the permission which I re- 
 ceived last night from Monsieur, and, indeed, I 
 thought Monsieur would like to know that a large 
 order from Lyons came this morning, and that it is 
 necessary a reply should be returned as early as
 
 ADELE. 81 
 
 possible. I hope Monsieur will have the goodness 
 to excuse me." 
 
 "There is no need," impatiently replied Mr. 
 Osborne. " You did quite right. From whom is the 
 order V 
 
 "From Dubois et Cie. I have brought Mon- 
 sieur the letter, which, owing to the absence of Mon- 
 sieur, was directed to me. I dare say Monsieur is 
 aware, that, owing to the trust and confidence which 
 his late honoured father reposed in me, I was au- 
 thorized to receive and execute orders for Osborne 
 et Cie." 
 
 '•'Yes, I know," replied Mr. Osborne looking up 
 fi:om the letter which he hastily perused, " I remem- 
 ber it. These Dubois ask for credit. Are they 
 safe ?" 
 
 " They have always had credit from Osborne et 
 Cie. But perhaps Monsieur would not mind coming 
 over to the counting house and looking at the 
 books." 
 
 " Very well," impatiently replied Mr. Osborne, 
 whom the word " books " unpleasantly reminded, 
 that, spite smiling sky, mountain and lake, he was in 
 the fangs of business ; " but first of all. Monsieur 
 Dubois, tell me this " 
 
 " Monsieur commits a slight mistake ,• Franpois 
 Morel to serve him, is my name." 
 
 "Well then. Monsieur Morel, can you tell me 
 how my father spent some money on the Manor of 
 Courcelles, and how I find it as it is, a ruin ?" 
 
 " That money must have been spent a long time 
 ago," placidly replied M. Morel. 
 
 TOL. I. G
 
 8^ ADELE. 
 
 " Why so ?" sharply asked Mr. Osborne. 
 
 *' Or it must have been whilst I was in Lyons," 
 continued the foreman ; " though if Monsieur will 
 permit me to express an opinion on the subject, I 
 should say, that, considering the state in which the 
 Manor is now, it has never been repaired at all." 
 
 Mr. Osborne looked at M. Morel very fixedly, 
 but the look did not for a moment discompose a face 
 as placid and as yellow as a sheet of parchment. 
 Still the foreman stood there, hat in hand, waiting 
 the leisure of his master. 
 
 Such coolness is always irritating, and it was with 
 secret impatience that Mr. Osborne intimated to M. 
 Morel his readiness to follow him to the counting- 
 house. With impassible mien the foreman acted as 
 guide, and led his master through the quiet garden 
 and past the noisy forge to the place of business. 
 
 Letters, books, and accounts, were quickly spread 
 before Mr. Osborne. He did not labour under the 
 disadvantages usually incidental to the poetical tem- 
 perament. His mind was clear and firm, and fully 
 equal to any sort of business. He simply hated it. 
 Nature had wholly denied him that love for making 
 money which great commercial nations are fond of 
 calling energy, and which, in persevering obstinacy, 
 almost equals that noble characteristic of the human 
 mind. 
 
 With great clearness and rapidity Mr. Osborne 
 grasped the present state of affairs in the firm of Os- 
 borne et Cie. He found it in France much the 
 same as in England, safe as yet, but involved in 
 many and perplexing speculatipns. Every answer
 
 ADELE. 83 
 
 he received from Monsieur Morel, and that worthy- 
 individual might have been called the Dictionary of 
 Osborne et Cie., so clear and laconic were his re- 
 plies, confirmed Mr. Osborne in this view. Not that 
 M. Morel in any way implied that such too was his 
 opinion; to no opinion of any sort did he give 
 utterance or pledge himself. His business was to 
 know all and tell what he knew, and beyond this 
 he did not go. 
 
 But this he did admirably, as Mr. Osborne could 
 not but acknowledge internally. If he wished for a 
 paper, an account, a reference, he had but to speak. 
 As exact and almost as prompt as the geni slave of 
 the lamp in the Eastern story. Morel noiselessly 
 did his master's bidding, spoke not unless when 
 questioned, nor looked without motive. 
 
 This model of a foreman showed anxiety but on 
 one subject : to be relieved from the heavy responsi- 
 bility that had rested on him during the last four 
 weeks, and to obtain, as far as circumstances allowed, 
 Mr. Osborne's opinion of the course he had held. 
 He begged being excused for showing himself rather 
 importunate on that head, but Monsieur would, he 
 was sure, understand how desirous he felt to be re- 
 lieved from this weight of cares, and to know how 
 far it had been his good fortune to obtain the appro- 
 bation of Monsieur. 
 
 Mr. Osborne had no motive for refusing to comply 
 with this natural request. He did so at once, and 
 the result of the examination was a quiet but hand- 
 some compliment paid by the master of Courcelles 
 to his foreman, and acknowledged by the latter with 
 
 G 2
 
 84 ABELE. 
 
 a short little bow. Mr. Osborne now rose to leave, 
 but M. Morel placing a new packet of letters and 
 papers before him, gently supposed that before going 
 Monsieur would like to look at these. William 
 Osborne resumed his seat without showing any im- 
 patience, and leaving him thus engaged, the fore- 
 man went back to his own desk, where he was soon 
 busy writing. 
 
 The papers over Avhich Mr. Osborne now glanced, 
 related to certain complications of the business not 
 quite so easy to master or to understand, as the sim- 
 pler matters which Morel had, until then, laid before 
 his master. But of all men, Mr. Osborne was the 
 last to relish or to submit to being in the power of a 
 dependant ; and as he entertained, moreover, a strong 
 suspicion that M. Morel had kept back these papers 
 for the end, in order to perplex him and compel 
 him to do something more than put brief questions, 
 Mr. Osborne had the pride or the weakness, which- 
 ever it was, to resolve on conquering alone. He 
 therefore quietly allowed M. Morel to remain at his 
 desk; nay, more, certain matters which he had 
 thought to leave for the morrow, he decided on 
 despatching off at once. Thus he remained engaged 
 until dusk, when the foreman observed meeldy : 
 
 " Jean wishes to know if Monsieur is going in to 
 dinner." 
 
 Mr. Osborne turned rounA and saw the withered 
 old servant standing at the door, and waiting for a 
 reply. 
 
 *^ Send me in some dinner here," he said ; and, 
 without noticing the indignant amazement q£ Jean,
 
 ADELE. 63 
 
 nor even the slight raising of the eyebrow in which 
 M. Morel indulged, he at once returned to his 
 occupation. 
 
 Jean went away grumbling. A whole day had 
 he spent with Jeannette in preparing that despised. 
 dinner ; they had had a serious quarrel concerning 
 a certain sauce ; and they had been mercilessly teazed 
 by the presence and interference of Adele. And 
 that was the end of it : a corner of the counting- 
 house table. The anger and indignation of Jean 
 increased at the close of this unlucky meal, half of 
 which Mr. Osborne had not deigned to touch. 
 
 " You are but an ill-licked bear for all your fair 
 looks," growled Jean, as he retired a second time, 
 leaving Mr. Osborne deep in his papers. 
 
 At eight, M. Morel looked up from his desk, and 
 meekly inquired if Monsieur required his services ; 
 he received a quiet denial ; upon which he leisurely 
 rose, took off his black linen sleeves, folded them 
 neatly, carefully put them away, left not a stray 
 paper to disgrace the propriety of his desk, and 
 finally, having comprised the whole room in a glance, 
 and ascertained that it needed him not, he left with 
 an humble — 
 i "I have the honour to bid Monsieur good-night." 
 
 To which, without raismg his eyes from his desk, 
 Mr. Osborne replied, with a quiet ^* Good-night, 
 Monsieur Morel." 
 
 For several hours he worked on alone ; then, worn 
 and wearied, he pushed away his papers, and rising, 
 slowly walked up and down the counting-house. 
 
 What had he seen or read there, that clouded his
 
 86 ABELE. 
 
 brow ? He had seen that the most secure stand on 
 the verge of peril ; he had read that speculation had 
 been carried to folly and excess'; and he saw and 
 guessed how hard was the task which lay before him, 
 how much harder than it had first seemed. 
 
 Again he sat down and leaned his brow upon his 
 hand ; lone was the spot, silent was the night ; the 
 noise of the forge long had ceased ; the workmen 
 were at rest ; the envied master could scarcely snatch 
 a few moments of repose. Oh! how he regretted 
 his quiet artist life of lonely wandering ! Somewhat 
 drearily he looked around him. 
 
 The lamp burned dim in the dark counting-house. 
 Without, the rushing of a brook was faintly heard. 
 Twelve struck from the belfry of the little church 
 beyond the lake, and every stroke sounded distinct 
 and clear. What brought the troubles and the cares 
 of the world to this peaceful mountain solitude ? 
 
 Suddenly the wind rose; with a wild moan it 
 swept far away among the hills. The sound brought 
 back a storm-vexed sea, a wrecking ship, and a terror- 
 struck crew, of whom Mr. Osborne had once been 
 one ; and as the picture rose before him distinct and 
 clear as reality, he exclaimed with a half-sigh : 
 
 " Oh ! Danger, where art thou not ?"
 
 ADELE. 8T 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 RESTLESSNESS. 
 
 " Jeannette." 
 
 " Mamzelle !" 
 
 " I think it will never be six o'clock." 
 
 Jeannette did not reply; but she paused iu her 
 spinning, and looked extremely grave. 
 
 She sat in the same spot where Adele had found 
 her the day before, and where she had given Mon- 
 sieur Morel his answer. But Adele, instead of sit- 
 ting on the stone step opposite her old friend, hearing 
 her dreaming reminiscences of the past without heed- 
 ing them, stood by her side, restless and impatient, 
 looking at the sky, and wondering why the sun lin- 
 gered so long there, and did not set. These ^igns, 
 besides the exclamation we have recorded, were 
 noted and internally commented upon by Jeannette, 
 who drew her own conclusions, and, as she said her. 
 self, knew or rather did not know, what to think. 
 
 This had been a trying day — a day of unquiet- 
 ness. It might have been pleasant to the culinary 
 feelings of Jeannette to prepare once more a dainty
 
 88 ' ADELE. 
 
 meal, of savoury dishes ; it might, if Jean had not 
 helped and Mademoiselle Adele meddled. With 
 one she quarrelled about a sauce ; with the other 
 she had a warm discussion about a certain cream? 
 which hon gre malgre Jeannette had to make. This 
 settled, Adele amused herself with the task of pre- 
 paring the Hall for its master, whom she persisted in 
 treating as a guest. She altered the place of every 
 chair, settled the table, smoothed the cloth, gathered 
 with her own hands a plate of the best and ripest 
 fruit which the orchard yielded ; and this task over, 
 she returned to the garden, where she found Jean- 
 nette spinning in the sun, as calmly as if the dinner 
 were not cooking alone in the kitchen. Ad^le could 
 not check a remonstance. 
 
 " It is all right," drily answered Jeannette. 
 
 A brief silence followed ; and at length Adele, in 
 her impatience, gave utterance to the remark with 
 which this chapter opened, and announced it as 
 her deliberate opinion that it would never be six 
 o'clock. 
 
 Jeannette looked grave, for she forgot that Adele 
 was sixteen, and led a dull life, to which every in- 
 cident must be an event. Then casting a glance at 
 the mingled sunshine and shadow that gave light and 
 gloom on the walls of the old manor, and indignantly 
 declaring that it was not six, but seven, she despatched 
 Jean, who had approached in the meanwhile, to the 
 counting-house. Jean went, and returned with the 
 information that Mr. Osborne would dine in the 
 counting-house. Adele looked blank ; Jeannette 
 turned scarlet, and folded her arms.
 
 ADELE. 89 
 
 " I wash my hands of him," she said ; '^ not ano- 
 ther dinner of my cooking shall he eat." 
 
 " Jeannette 1" cried Adele. 
 
 " Let him cook himself !" pursued Jeannette. 
 The aristocratic blood of eleven centuries rose to 
 the young girl's brow. With a quiet gesture of her 
 little hand^ she said, " Please never to speak so 
 again." 
 
 But Jeannette, unaccustomed to obey any save 
 Mademoiselle de Janson, now looked so rebellious, 
 and Adele was so haughtily resolute, that Jean has- 
 tened to observe, in a conciliatory tone — 
 
 '' There is a way of settling all that ; for Louise 
 asked me this morning if any one was wanted." 
 
 Here he paused abruptly, aghast at the blunder 
 he had committed. Louise was a spinster of Jean- 
 nette 's own age; they had had a quarrel at fifteen, 
 about precedence in a country ball ; and this mortal 
 wound had never been rightly healed. Rivalry of 
 another kind, but unconfessed, had embittered it. 
 Jean had flirted with Louise some twenty years be- 
 fore, and Jeannette had never forgotten the affront. 
 Most unlucky, therefore, was the suggestion he now 
 made of introducing, in a fashion highly ofiensive to 
 Jeannette's pride, this ancient enemy. 
 
 In a voice tremulous with anger, Jeannette sup- 
 posed that it would indeed be very satisfactory to 
 the feelings of Monsieur Jean to bring Mademoiselle 
 Louise into the house, but she regretted to inform 
 him that her duty to Monsieur Osborne would not 
 allow her to consent to the proposed measure. She 
 could not conscientiously allow a person of Made-
 
 90 ADELE. 
 
 moiselle Louise's character to enter the Manor of 
 Courcelles, and plunder an unfortunate stranger. 
 
 " I am sorry for it," she continued, with cutting 
 sarcasm, " for of course, it would have been pleasant 
 to you. Monsieur Jean, and I should like to oblige 
 an old fellow- servant ; but I cannot. Monsieur Jean, 
 I cannot." And the wheel went round with dazzling 
 rapidity. 
 
 Jean looked extremely piteous, and vainly cast 
 imploring glances at the obdurate Jeannette. Adele, 
 feeling that she would be unable to repress a ten- 
 dency to laugh, and not wishing to yield to it, si- 
 lently left them, and went down the garden. 
 
 She went to the orchard. The golden light of 
 sunset filled it to overflowing; the birds sang 
 sweetly ; soft clouds floated with airy grace in the 
 blue heights of the sky ; Adele watched them till 
 they vanished one by one ; and in watching them, 
 she forgot how provoking it was of Mr. Osborne not 
 to have come in to dinner. 
 
 Sweet to childhood and to youth is the companion- 
 ship of their own thoughts, and never had Adele felt 
 more charmed with her own fancies than on this 
 evening. She lingered in the orchard until the stars 
 came out in the sky, filling it fast, until the dew fell 
 on sleeping grass and flowers, and until Jeannette, 
 uneasy at her long absence, came out to look for her 
 young mistress. 
 
 " What do you want, Jeannette ?" a little impa- 
 tiently asked Adele. 
 
 " Holy Virgin, Mamzelle \ you do not want to 
 sleep in the orchard to-night ?"
 
 ADELE. 91 
 
 " I do not want to sleep anywhere," was tlie cool 
 reply of Adele. *^ Why should I stifle myself up in 
 a close little room ?" 
 
 " AVell, well, it is scarcely a room for a lady of 
 the house of Courcelles," replied Jeannette, fold- 
 ing her arms, and speaking dolefully — and we may 
 as well remark that to be doleful had become the 
 chief enjoyment of her life — " I remember the time 
 when I would scarcely have slept in such a room 
 myself. But everything changes in this world ; the 
 world changes,' and we change along with it. You 
 would not think so, Mamzelle Adele, but I was once 
 reckoned a pretty girl ; and it was only to-day, just 
 after you left us, that Jean, silly old fellow, re- 
 minded me how, walking behind two gentlemen of 
 these parts, the Chevalier d.' Auxern and the Yicomte 
 de Loyes, he heard them talking about the pretty 
 black-eyed girl of Courcelles. Ah, well ! where is 
 the use of thinking of that now ? The world goes 
 round like a spinning-wheel, and cunning are they 
 who can make it stop. Yicomte and chevalier are 
 now but a little heap of dust, and Jeannette will soon 
 be like them.^' 
 
 Here Jeannette, whose eyes had been bent on the 
 earth, raised them with a sigh, and found that she 
 was alone. 
 
 Whilst she spoke, Adele looked on the darkening 
 night, and was seized with an irresistible longing to 
 breathe the cool air — to run unchecked along the 
 silent and lonely alleys seemed the very desire of 
 her heart — a sweet and stolen pleasure. "f(l stay 
 here,^' she thought, " Jeannette will teaze me to go
 
 92 ADELE. 
 
 in." Unlieard, she stole away a few steps ; then, 
 light as a lapwing, and joyous as a bird escaped 
 from its cage, she ran along the first garden path. 
 
 Sweet, indeed, must be liberty, when its image, 
 a moment's release, can be so sweet. The night 
 was dark, but Adele knew no fear; and though 
 the moon hid beneath dark clouds, and shone with 
 watery gleam on the decaying statues, she went on, 
 happy in the very sense of the solitude and desola- 
 tion that reigned around her ; nor did she stop until 
 she reached the limits of the garden most remote 
 from the Manor. A wall and a door had once 
 guarded it on this side, but the door was shattered, 
 and a deep gap yawned in the ivied wall close by. 
 The forge was silent, though the stream rushed down 
 from the mountain with the voice of a torrent ; the 
 sounds of labour had long ceased ; but a light shone 
 like a star in the silent counting-house. Adele 
 stood still and watched it dreamily ; scarcely a few 
 yards divided her from the spot where that light 
 burned. It shone full and clear on Mr. Osborne's 
 grave face. Ad^le sat down on the edge of the 
 wall, and looked at him long and pensively. "Why 
 did he look so anxious '/ "Why did he walk up and 
 down with that restless step, or lean his brow upon 
 his arm with that worn mien ? Was it trouble that 
 ailed him ? She might put the question, for as yet 
 that sad knowledge had not come to her. Her life 
 was like her temper — a genial summer sky without 
 a cloud. 
 
 She hDoked at him again. He now sat facing her ; 
 his look fixed on vacant space, seemed to seek and
 
 ADELE. 93 
 
 meet "hers ; and Ad^le, forgetting that thougli she 
 could see she could not be seen^ returned it with 
 friendliness. " Poor fellow !" she said, half aloud, 
 half to her own thoughts, " what ails you ? You 
 are rich, and I am poor as Job ; yet I am always 
 merry, and you look sad. You are shut up, with 
 heavy books of figures, in that close room ; and I, 
 free as air, run about your garden, on this beautiful 
 night, with nothing but the stars to reckon. Do 
 like me, and be gay as I am." 
 
 " Holy Virgin ! Mamzelle Ad^le, who are you 
 talking to ?" asked Jeannette, coming up, out of 
 breath, behind her young mistress. 
 
 "Why, to myself, of course!" replied Adele, 
 without looking round, — for the habit of talking 
 aloud was one which she had contracted in her solitude. 
 
 "And what are you doing here, Mamzelle?" 
 asked Jeannette. 
 
 " Looking at Monsieur Osborne,'^ said Ad^le ; 
 " one can see him quite well from here." 
 
 Jeannette was confounded, and knew not what to 
 think. 
 
 There are few characters more perplexing than 
 those of the perfectly sincere. Disguise of any sort 
 was so distasteful to Adele, that, right or wrong, she 
 always said whatever she thought and did ; and, 
 accordingly, Jeannette never could tell when her 
 young mistress gave much or little weight to actions 
 so freely confessed. 
 
 " If one could only make her out a bit," thought 
 Jeannette. " Looking at him ! Holy Virgin ! — • 
 what can she want with looking at him ?"
 
 94 ADELE. 
 
 " And do you know, Jeannette, earnestly con- 
 tinued Adele, far from divining the nature of the 
 old woman's thoughts, '' do you know what I think 
 of his face this morning ? It is better than hand- 
 some, Jeannette ; it looks noble and good. And 
 now we will go in," she added, lightly leaping down 
 from the broken wall on which she had been sitting. 
 
 She went in, gaily talking all the way. Jeannette 
 followed, moodily silent. As they reached the 
 Manor, Adele stood still, and looked back. The 
 light in the counting-house was still burning. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" she thought, but not aloud ; and 
 still she stood and looked. There came to her a 
 vague sense of the cares which haunted that lonely 
 vigil, and with it a vague, daring wish to know what 
 trouble and sorrow were like. Imprudent girl ! to 
 wish for the knowledge- which Fate so rarely 
 denies.
 
 ADELE. 95 
 
 CHAPTEK YIII. 
 
 Mr. Osborne went to Lyons, and he had been 
 gone a week. Jeannette sat spinning in the garden 
 by the light of the declining sun ; the walls of the 
 Manor looked warm and brown in the yellow glow ; 
 a soft breeze stirred the green plants that grew in 
 every dark crevice; swallows skimmed in the air 
 with short shrill twitterings, and the wheel of Jean- 
 nette went on with a drowsy murmur. The tasks of 
 Jean in house and garden were long over, yet, still 
 armed with his eternal rake, he scraped the gravel up 
 and down the path ; he plucked a weed and threw it 
 away, then, finding nothing more to do, he leaned 
 on his rake, and stared vacantly at Jeannette. 
 
 He was absorbed in the contemplation, and Jean- 
 nette was absorbed in her task ; neither spoke until 
 a third person disturbed a silence which both en- 
 joyed. M. Morel came up, with his slouching gait, 
 and a siteer on his yellow face, that roused at once 
 all the ire of Jeannette.
 
 96 ADELE. 
 
 " Where is Mamzelle Adt^le ?" he asked, impu- 
 dently. 
 
 Adele was a sensitive subject with both the old 
 servants. Jean swayed his long body to and fro, 
 and looked ireful; Jeannette gave her wheel a jerk, 
 and said, indignantly, — 
 
 " Mamzelle Adele is well where she is, and you 
 are well where you are. Monsieur Morel." 
 
 M. Morel shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Ah ! bah !" he said, " I do not want her — not I. 
 But a promise is a promise ; and as I promised her 
 to-day, that as soon as I knew Monsieur was coming 
 back, I should let her know, I came to tell her that 
 he will be here this evening. You may tell her or 
 not, just as you please; but Mamzelle Adele is 
 pretty anxious about Monsieur Osborne's return, I 
 can tell you ; for she asked me yesterday, and before 
 yesterday ; and she came to me in the counting- 
 house to-day to know if Monsieur Osborne was ever 
 coming back. A pleasant evening to you. Monsieur 
 Jean ; you are more in the good graces of Made- 
 moiselle Jeannette than I am." 
 
 And without waiting for observation or reply, he 
 walked away. The two old servants exchanged looks, 
 of dismay. 
 
 "What can the little thing be thinking of?" 
 groaned" Jeannette ; " and what will he think of it ?" 
 
 " He looks a good gentleman," dubiously said 
 Jean. 
 
 " Good or bagl, what will he think ? Ah, Mon- 
 sieur Jean, that comes of letting young iadies of 
 good family grow up like weeds in a garden.
 
 ADELE. 97 
 
 instead of locking them up until their wedding- 
 day; for, you see, they are proud and haughty, 
 and high-bred, and they will have their way ; and 
 they have fancies, too, that never enter the heads of 
 poor girls ; therefore, I say, lock them up — cage 
 them all." 
 
 Jean gently demurred, and logically proved to 
 Jeannette, that with a little watching, it was difficult 
 that Adele and Monsieur Osborne should meet often, 
 and impossible that they should meet alone ; and 
 whilst he was proving it, that impossible event was 
 taking place in another part of the garden. 
 
 Mr. Osborne reached Courcelles as the sun was 
 near setting ; he entered the counting-house for a few 
 minutes, read the letters which he found there, and 
 was duly informed by Monsieur Morel that the 
 young lady had been very anxious for the return of 
 Monsieur. 
 
 " What young lady ?" coldly asked Mr. Osborne. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Adele. She asked me three times 
 when Monsieur was coming back." 
 
 " Please to answer these letters at once," said Mr. 
 Osborne, leaving the counting-house. 
 
 " I knew he would," muttered Monsieur Morel, 
 as, looking after his patron, he saw him, instead of 
 riding round to the Manor, enter the garden. 
 
 The evening was beautiful, and Mr. Osborne 
 thought of nothing save its beauty. Slowly he 
 walked on, enjoying the serene purity of eve, until 
 he came to an old-fashioned maze, which, since his 
 boyhood, he had loved, partly for its quaint beauty, 
 qjid more, perhaps, for its solitude. On he went, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 ADELE. 
 
 until lie reached the central arbour; a warm and 
 yellow light shone on the close boxwood hedge, and 
 gilded the mutilated statue of Silence that stood in 
 its verdant niche, with its stone finger lightly laid 
 on its mute lips. On the step of the half-broken 
 pedestal Adele sat reading. Her head was bent, 
 her eyes were fastened on the book in her lap, her 
 hands were folded around her knees ; her feet were 
 crossed, her look and attitude expressed a mind 
 absorbed. 
 
 Mr. Osborne stood for a while looking at her 
 curiously; she was evidently unconscious of his 
 presence, and wrapped in her book. He saw her 
 cheek flush, her lip tremble, and finally her tears fall 
 fast and free, like those of a child, on the page over 
 which she bent. 
 
 *' What can she be reading ?" thought Mr. Os- 
 borne. At that moment Adele raised her eyes and 
 saw him. At once her face lit, and with a joyful 
 start, she exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad !" and immediately she added, 
 " I have been longing for you to come back !" 
 
 Mr. Osborne looked at her with slight wonder ; 
 but without giving him time to linger on the feeling, 
 she said, ardently : 
 
 '" Oh ! do tell me all about it. What becomes of 
 Octave, and is Marie dead or not ?" 
 
 Mr. Osborne glanced at the book in her lap and 
 recognized the first volume of a tale he had been 
 reading, and which he had forgotten in the garden, 
 where Adele had probably found it. On thus learn- 
 ing the cause of her great anxiety for his return he
 
 ADELE. 99 
 
 could not help looking down in the young girl's face 
 with a quiet smile. 
 
 " I wish I could gratify you," he said, " but it is 
 unfortunately not in my power. I do not know what 
 became of Mark Antony/' 
 
 " Octave, you mean," she interrupted. 
 
 '^ True. I am ignorant of his fate as well as of 
 that of Marie. And as I have unfortunately left the 
 second volume behind in Paris, I can give you no 
 exact clue to their destiny." 
 
 Adele looked blank. 
 
 " I thought you had taken it to Lyons," she said, 
 " and that I should know everything when you 
 came back ; and instead of that, here I am as much 
 perplexed as ever about the ending." 
 
 '• Why not invent one then V he suggested. 
 
 Adele looked up surprised. He stood leaning 
 against the pedestal at the foot of which she sat. 
 We have already said that Mr. Osborne was hand- 
 some ; but his countenance had other characteristics 
 than those of mere beauty, it was grave and benig- 
 nant: a calm face where unquietness and passion 
 had never dwelt, or whence they had long since 
 passed away. This serenity sometimes degenerated 
 into coldness and even ^into seeming severity, but 
 rarely when he spoke to a woman or a child, and 
 Ad^le had something of both. As he now looked 
 down at her, the half smile of his lips seemed to 
 her to shine from the very depth of his dark eyes. 
 
 '^ Invent an ending ?' echoed Adele. 
 
 " Why not ?" he asked with a smile of which she 
 .felt the kindness, and not the irony. For his nature 
 
 h2
 
 100 ADELE. 
 
 like that of the poet, was double : imaginative and 
 ironical. He was born disappointed, and had he 
 been a poet in speech, as he was in feeling, he would 
 have sung, not through the spirit of content, but 
 with the voice of regret or desire. As it was, if he 
 enjoyed the beautiful with the luxurious keenness 
 which is the privilege of some minds, yet he had 
 also the sad gift, to measure, with a pitiless eye, the 
 shortcomings of men and things. Had he now spoken 
 as he thought, it would have been to demolish the 
 fair edifice which the young fancy of Adele had so 
 readily constructed ; to deride Octave, sneer at 
 Marie, and having laid the senseless idols in the dust, 
 to leave them there. But he did not ; he left the 
 tale as it was, a wonderful tale ; and the hero and 
 the heroine, perfect and beautiful, and still smiling. 
 He said again : 
 
 '' Why care about the end ? Birds sing the same 
 song since the days of Adam and Eve, and man tells 
 the same tale to man, for ever and ever again. I 
 hold that there is but one perfect woman, dark or 
 fair, it matters not ; but one perfect man, strong yet 
 gentle ; and, as a novel is the story of humanity, and 
 as humanity is man and woman, it follows that there 
 is no more than one eternal novel; it may be told 
 with a few changes, it matters not, it is still the same 
 song." 
 
 " That may be," replied Adele, looking disap- 
 pointed. " But I wish I knew the real end for all 
 that!" 
 
 Mr. Osborne did not insist, but, changing the sub- 
 ject, he observed,:
 
 ADELE. 101 
 
 " I had the pleasure of seeing Mademoiselle de 
 Janson in Lyons. She was very glad to learn that I 
 had left you in good health.'* 
 
 " Ah !" abstractedly said Adele. " Was she well 
 herself?" she asked, after a pause. 
 
 " Quite well." 
 
 Adele asked no more questions ; it was plain she 
 expected nothing more. 
 
 " Your cousin requested me to give you this small 
 parcel/' pursued Mr. Osborne^ producing a little 
 packet as he spoke. 
 
 But Adele did not hold out her hand to receive 
 it; she looked not so much surprised as incredulous, 
 and said briefly : 
 
 " That must be a mistake, sir. It cannot be for 
 me!" 
 
 "Why not?" asked Mr. Osborne, looking 
 amused. 
 
 " Xo, no ; it cannot," persisted Adele, with an 
 obstinate shake of the head. 
 
 Mr. Osborne availed himself of the argument of 
 Socrates, physical proof, and stooping, he quietly 
 laid the packet in her lap. The scepticism of Ad^le 
 yielded to facts : her name was certainly written on the 
 back of the parcel, in a hand like that of ^lademoi- 
 selle de Janson. She broke the seal : wrapped in folds 
 of tissue paper, she found a morocco case that drew 
 from her an exclamation of surprise ; for if not the 
 same which she had seen a few days before, it was 
 certainly very like it. She opened it at once, and 
 within she found the case of ivory and all its golden 
 treasures. For a whde Adele remained mute and
 
 102 ADELE. 
 
 breathless with mingled surprise and joy, then she 
 looked up at Mr, Osborne, her cheeks flushed with 
 pleasure, her eyes sparkling with delight. 
 
 " How kind, how very kind of Cousine, is it not ?" 
 she said at length, in a broken voice ; " and I, who 
 thought she did not care about nie ! Oh ! how 
 naughty it was of me, was it not?" 
 
 Tears rushed to her eyes as she made the penitent 
 confession, and deepened their azure already so 
 deep. 
 
 " But is it for me ! really for me !" she added after 
 a brief pause. 
 
 " Really for you,'^ he replied, smiling. 
 
 Adele laughed with pleasure. She took out the 
 thimble and tried it on ; she drew forth the scissors 
 and recklessly clipped her little black apron ; with a 
 real needle, extracted from its case of gold, she drew 
 mimic stitches ; then light and frolicsome as a child, 
 and without troubling herself to bid Mr. Osborne 
 adieu, she threw down the volume that told the 
 fortunes of Octave and Marie, and starting up from 
 the step of the pedestal, she ran off through the 
 maze, calling out in a clear and ringing voice : 
 
 " Jeannette, Jeannette, come and see !" 
 
 ^^ Poor little thing !" thought Mr. Osborne, smiling 
 at her childish joy, and stretching himself down on 
 the low step, warm with the heat of the declining 
 sun, he gazed at the clear and serene vault above 
 him, and soon forgot Adele and her pleasure. 
 
 That he was the author of that pleasure, we need 
 scarcely tell the reader. He had availed himself 
 readily of the first opportunity he had found, of
 
 ADELE. 103 
 
 gratifying one, who, when he came unknown and a 
 stranger, had done her utmost to gratify him. Mr. 
 Osborne had not forgotten her welcome on the 
 evening of his arrival, nor a word of the brief con- 
 versation he had overheard between her and Jean- 
 nette. Hospitable had been her reception of the 
 tired traveller; her little money had been spent 
 to provide for his table, her little store of old wine 
 had been opened to him. It pleased Mr. Osborne 
 to return such kindness as it had been bestowed 
 secretly. Nature had given him the art of persua- 
 sion ; he found the way to persuade Mademoiselle 
 de Janson to send his gift in her OAvn name' to her 
 little god-daughter, and by passing his word that as 
 it had been his first, so it should be his last, he pre- 
 vailed. 
 
 Unconscious of the truth, Adele gaily ran on until 
 she found Jeannette still spinning, but alone, in her 
 favourite place. 
 
 " Look at what Cousine sends me !" triumphantly 
 cried Ad^le, holding up her treasure. 
 
 Jeannette remained amazed and mute. Adele 
 laughed with glee. 
 
 *' Monsieur Osborne brought it," she pursued. 
 
 ^' And what will Mademoiselle do with it ?" drily 
 asked Jeannette. 
 
 " Use it to be sure." 
 
 " It is too fine." 
 
 " Was my great grandmother's wheel too fine ?" 
 
 '' Ah, but those were the good old times." 
 
 " Oh, you are very tiresome !" said Adele, looking 
 provoked, '^ and very croaking. I say it was kind
 
 104 ADELE. 
 
 of my dear godmotlier to send me that beautiful 
 thing, and I shall write and thank her for it this 
 very moment." 
 
 '^ Do, Mamzelle !'* rather eagerly said Jeannette, 
 " and I will post your letter myself." 
 
 " "Well, then, if I write, it must be in the open 
 air," said Adele ; '^ I cannot lock myself up in a 
 close room on this beautiful evening." 
 
 " I shall go and fetch you everything you want," 
 returned Jeannette, with unusual alacrity. 
 
 '' Do, like a good soul/' said Adele ; " I shall spin 
 whilst you are away.'' 
 
 She sat down as Jeannette rose, and murmuring 
 to herself an old ballad of the province, she spun as 
 fast as her old friend, though perhaps not with as 
 much skill. The sound of her own voice prevented 
 her from hearing the step of Mr. Osborne on the 
 gravel path behind her ; and she did not see him 
 until he sat down at the other end of the same bench 
 with her. He did not speak, but looked at her with 
 a kind smile, which Adele returned freely. Never- 
 theless, his gaze bespoke such marked attention, that 
 with her blunt frankness, she asked — 
 
 " Am I like any one you know ?" 
 
 " Not exactly ; but you remind me of my little 
 girl." 
 
 The eyes of Adele opened wide. *^ You have a 
 little girl ?" she said. 
 
 He assented, smiling. 
 
 "And a wife?" 
 
 "I am a widower;" but this time he did not 
 smile.
 
 ADELE. 105 
 
 " And how old is your little girl V 
 
 " How old ? really I have forgotten ; — five — seven 
 —I believe." 
 
 "Is she like you?" 
 
 '^ I am told she is." 
 
 The return of Jeannette with pen, ink, and paper, 
 interrupted the discourse. 
 
 " The bench wiU do for a table," said Adele, " and 
 this stone for a seat." 
 
 To the stone Mr. Osborne silently added the 
 travelling cloak which he held on his arm. Ad^le 
 thanked him, and smiled. He resumed his seat at 
 the end of the bench. Jeannette removed her wheel 
 to some distance, and watched with jealous atten- 
 tion. 
 
 Adele soon laid down her pen, and said — 
 
 " Will your little girl ever come here ?" 
 
 " It is not likely." 
 
 " What a pity ! I should have so liked to see her. 
 I cannot write," she added, after awhile, " the even- 
 ing is too beautiful." 
 
 And she laid her head on the bench, and looked 
 at the sky. 
 
 Jeannette muttered to herself, and shook her 
 head. The look of Mr. Osborne was slowly scan- 
 ning the fa9ade of the Manor. Adele followed his 
 glance, and saw it resting on a dark and ancient 
 square of the building. 
 
 '^ That was the prison," she said. 
 
 ** The prison !" he echoed, surprised ; '' was there 
 a prison here ?" 
 
 " Ay ! and they found bones in it at the revolu-
 
 106 ADELE. 
 
 tion !" replied the young girl, carelessly ; " perhaps 
 that was why they guillotined all the De Courcelles." 
 
 "' Are there none left ?" 
 
 *' Jeannette, are there any Courcelles left ?" asked 
 Adele, looking over her shoulder at the old woman. 
 
 Jeannette's wheel paused, and she said, in mea- 
 sured accents — 
 
 " The De Courcelles were the greatest private 
 family in all Burgundy, for they were descended 
 from the Dukes, who, as every one knows, were of 
 the royal blood of France itself. They were very 
 proud, very insolent, and very cruel, for they were 
 a great family. Mademoiselle de Janson is of the 
 blood ; but Mademoiselle Adele de Courcelles is the 
 last of the name." 
 
 With some surprise Mr. Osborne heard this strange 
 and impartial family genealogist ; then with a half- 
 smile, he looked down on the slight and almost 
 childish girl, the sole living representative of a 
 proud and warlike race. 
 
 She still sat at the foot of the bench, with her 
 elbow resting upon it, and her cheek in her hand. 
 She, too, smiled as she met his gaze, for she guessed 
 his thoughts. 
 
 " Yes/' she said, with her gay frankness, '' I am 
 the last of their name ; what matter V 
 
 " You are not sorry V said Mr. Osborne. 
 
 " Sorry !" echoed Adele, " why should I be sorry ? 
 Let them be extinct ; I say it is well. They were a 
 fierce race in their day, fierce and terrible. Their 
 power and their terror are gone ; their Manor is an 
 appendage to a forge ; their daughter is a poor girl
 
 ADELE. 107 
 
 who sleeps tinder their roof through the charity of a 
 friend — ' each in their turn,' says the proverb." 
 
 " Ah, Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, how can you 
 talk so ?" indignantly groaned Jeannette. 
 
 *^ It is rank heresy!" said Mr. Osborne, smiling; 
 " think of it, Mademoiselle Adele, had Fortune's 
 wheel but given one turn more or less, you might 
 have been a princess." 
 
 "A princess!" here put in Jeannette, with the 
 privileged liberty of a French servant, '' a queen ! 
 Mademoiselle might have been a queen !" 
 
 " A queen ! Mademoiselle Adele, just think of it ! " 
 again said Mr. Osborne. 
 
 But Adele only shook her gay head. 
 
 " I cannot bear a cap," she replied, " what should 
 I do with a crown ? Besides, queens cry more than 
 they sing, 'tis said ; and little Adele de Courcelles, 
 who runs about, and laughs, and sings, like a peasant- 
 girl, is happier, I dare say, than Her Majesty, or her 
 Eoyal Highness. 
 
 Mr. Osborne smiled at her careless philosophy ; 
 but old Jeannette shook her head, and muttered 
 over her wheel : 
 
 *' They were a wicked race ; they feared neither 
 God nor man, I grant it — but they were a great 
 family for all that." 
 
 A long silence followed. 
 
 Mr. Osborne was vaguely enjoying the calm sere- 
 nity of the hour ; Adele was wondering what his 
 little girl was like, and Jeannette was meditating 
 over the faded glories of the fallen race. The long 
 dark figure of Jean emerging from the low door
 
 108 ADELE. 
 
 facing them, and his slow funereal voice disturbed 
 them all three. 
 
 '' Monsieur is wanted," he said. 
 
 " Who wants me ?" asked Mr. Osborne, a little 
 impatiently. 
 
 " Madame Osborne, Mesdemoiselles Osborne, who 
 are just arrived," was the phlegmatic reply. 
 
 Mr. Osborne rose at once, and with a farewell 
 smile to Adele, left the gardens. Adele pouted, and 
 looked provoked. 
 
 " I wish they had not come," she said, a little im- 
 patiently. [ " I was just getting acquainted with 
 Monsieur Osborne, and I like him very much." 
 
 " And I am very glad they are come," observed 
 Jeannette, pursing up her lips. ' 
 
 '^ Why so ?" shortly asked Adele. 
 
 " I am very glad they are come," persisted the 
 old woman, walking away with her wheel. 
 
 " Jeannette is very tiresome to-day," said Adele i 
 "^ what ails her, Jean ?" 
 
 Jean shook his head. 
 
 " She was always an odd girl," he said ; " very 
 odd, Mamzelle Ad^le, no one could make her out." 
 
 " Let her be as odd as she likes," gaily said Adele ; 
 '^ I have something better than my great - grand- 
 mother's wheel. Look, Jean." 
 
 She showed him triumphantly the morocco case ; 
 but Jean was not enthusiastic. 
 
 " Everyone is tiresome to-day !" exclaimed Adele, 
 '^ every one, excepting Monsieur Osborne, who 
 brings me delightful things from Lyons, and who
 
 ADELE. 109 
 
 is the handsomest and most charming man I have 
 ever seen." 
 
 "Ah! if Mademoiselle Jeannette heard that," 
 thought Jean, shaking his head ominously.
 
 110 ADELE. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 DOMESTIC. 
 
 Mrs. Osborne had come. She had come with 
 her two daughters ; with her eldest son, Capitaine 
 Joseph, whom Mr. Osborne did not like, and had 
 not invited, and with seven servants on whom he 
 had not counted. Noise, confusion, soon filled the 
 whole house. To complete Mr. Osborne's annoyance, 
 a visitor, the Baron de Launay, dropped in, spent the 
 evening with the ladies, and flirted with Isabella. 
 With nervous horror^ Mr. Osborne divined in him 
 a future adorer ; and as M. de Launay was his neigh- 
 bour and commercial ally, there would be no keep- 
 ing him away from the devoted dwelling. He was 
 six feet high, a dandy from his wavy, fair hair to the 
 tip of his boot ; he had languid blue eyes, a rolling 
 way of speaking, a blonde moustache, and a plump 
 white hand; he affected English speech, English 
 ways, and called Mr. Osborne, " My dear ;" yet, 
 spite these advantages, and spite, too, some talent, 
 for Monsieur de Launay was not exactly a fool, he 
 horrified William Osborne, who knew no relief until
 
 ADELE. Ill 
 
 the family party broke up, and he could retire to his 
 own rooms and to what he prized scarcely less than 
 their solitude ; their silence — for silence to him was 
 dear as a friend, and sweet as sleep. Eude sounds, 
 many voices, jarred on his nerves, and gave him a 
 sense of pain. 
 
 Not without a purpose did he rise early the next 
 morning and go down to the garden. The fragrance 
 of the night still lingered on the air, the bright gem- 
 like dew still sparkled on the gravelled path and on 
 the leafy hedge ; but vainly had Mr. Osborne hoped 
 for solitude. Scarcely had he walked ten steps, 
 when a fair hand was laid on his shoulder. He 
 turned round and saw his blooming sister Isabella. 
 They exchanged a friendly good morning. Isabella 
 was handsome and truthfal, qualities which her bro- 
 ther was prompt to recognise and appreciate. He 
 was handsome and a gentleman, and Isabella liked 
 beauty in men, and could feel the charm of good 
 manners. 
 
 " How do you like the Baron ?" she asked. 
 
 " Not at all — insufferable coxcomb V 
 
 Isabella withdrew her hand from his shoulder, 
 and broke off a twig from the hedge. 
 
 " By-the-way,'* she said, sharply, " what have you 
 been saying to Anna about a young girl who does 
 nice needlework ?'* 
 
 " What a ridiculous mistake," said Mr. Osborne, 
 impatiently ; " Anna complained of the want of 
 society, and I mentioned to her Mademoiselle de 
 Courcelles."
 
 112 ADELE. 
 
 '' Oh, is that foolish little thing still here ?" in- 
 terrupted Isabella. 
 
 Mr. Osborne had not time to reply ; a short, 
 square, and sallow man, with sallow hair and sallow 
 moustache, clad in the military undress of a French 
 officer, a cigar in his mouth, and his hands in his 
 pockets, was approaching them with a cavalier air. , 
 
 '^Already in business," said Captain Joseph, 
 taking out his cigar to speak, and alluding to a letter 
 which Mr. Osborne held. " Ah, what a pity you 
 do not know chess ! You know that I am carrying 
 on a game by correspondence ?" 
 
 *^ And I," said Mr. Osborne, '' must attend to my 
 correspondence, and bid you good morning." 
 
 '^ Pray make no apologies," said Captain Joseph, 
 in an affable tone, that implied, " Go, my dear fellow, 
 go ; I know that if you could help it you would not 
 tear yourself from my charming society ;" and sitting 
 down on a bench, he crossed his legs, returned his 
 hands to his pockets, and half shutting his eyes, he 
 smoked lazily in the morning sun. Mr. Osborne 
 gave him an ironical look, and was turning away, 
 when Captain Joseph suddenly exclaimed — 
 
 " By-the-way, who is that little thing who sings 
 like a lark ? — She awoke me this morning, — she 
 actually did ; and I looked out and saw her skip- 
 ping in the dew like a rabbit. She is very little, — 
 quite a bird, — and do you know she is very pretty, — 
 positively she is,'^ he added, impressively. 
 
 Mr. Osborne stopped short and looked so vexed, 
 that Isabella, who was rude as well as true, burst
 
 ADELE. 113 
 
 out laughing; but when this merry mood was over, 
 she turned to Mr. Osborne and said in English — 
 
 *^ Pray waste no wrath on him ; he is obtuse, — 
 leave the offender to me." 
 
 So saying, she passed her arm within that of Capi- 
 taine Joseph, and with a sisterly despotism to which 
 he good-humouredly submitted, she led him away. 
 
 But brief was the respite Mr. Osborne thus en- 
 joyed. Scarcely had he walked ten steps, muttering 
 something about insolence, when he heard Anna in 
 the neighbouring maze querulously scolding her 
 French maid. 
 
 " How stupid and how selfish you must be," said 
 Anna ; " I told you to tell my brother, Monsieur 
 Osborne, that I wanted to speak to him. Why did 
 you bring me in this horrid cold garden ?" 
 
 Mr. Osborne did not wait to hear the maid's reply, 
 but hastily made his escape whilst still unseen. 
 "With a sigh he remembered the peace and solitude 
 of the old garden on the preceding evening, and the 
 little reader at the foot of the broken statue cf 
 Silence. Quietness and harmony seemed to have 
 left his home. '' They will scarcely follow mc to the 
 counting-house," he thought, as he proceeded to the 
 place which from a prison seemed likely to become 
 a refuge. 
 
 M. Morel was already bending over his desk ; he 
 raised his eyes on hearing his patron enter, and 
 bowed with his whole body, then resumed his 
 writing. 
 
 Mr. Osborne sank down on his chair, and leaned 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 ADELE. 
 
 his brow on his hand with an aspect of weariness 
 and ennui, that did not escape the foreman. 
 
 " Monsieur does not seem well this morning," he 
 observed. 
 
 "Oh, I am well enough," was the careless reply. 
 " What news ?" 
 
 "Bad news, for it is doubtful, and good news 
 shines like the sun at noonday." 
 
 " But the sun does not shine every day at noon, 
 Monsieur Morel, and therefore your comparison 
 does not hold good." 
 
 M. Morel smiled, and still writing, replied, " Mon- 
 sieur is always in the right." 
 
 " But what is this news V resumed Mr. Osborne, 
 after a slight pause. 
 
 " The news is, that Dubois et Cie. have not yet 
 stopped payment, but that they may do so to-day or 
 to-morrow, especially if Monsieur like. But I have 
 put all the papers on Monsieur's desk." 
 
 Mr. Osborne took up the packet of papers, glanced 
 over them, dropped them from his hand, and leaning 
 back in his chair, he folded his arms and bent his 
 head in an attitude of mingled thought and sadness. 
 
 With him now lay the fate of a great commercial 
 house half a century old. If he proved pitiless, if 
 for the chance of his right he pressed his claim, it 
 was almost certain that the house must fall ; and if 
 he proved clement, if he spared the struggling and 
 the weak, might he not lose ? 
 
 " He cannot make up his mind," thought Mon- 
 sieur Morel, stealthily watching his master ; but Mr. 
 Osborne unluckily caught his eye and returned the
 
 ADELE. 115 
 
 look with one of such grave sternness, that it brought 
 a faint glow of colour to his sallow cheek. 
 
 " Monsieur has no orders to give me i"' he ob- 
 served. 
 
 " None/^ was the laconic reply. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! what a most inopportune moment I 
 have chosen," said a soft voice at the door. 
 
 Mr. Osborne looked round with mingled surprise 
 and displeasure, for he had recognised the tones of 
 his stepmother. But she met his look with a smile 
 of undisturbed complacency. 
 
 "Ah! how many recollections this place recalls !" 
 said she, sinking down on the chair her stepson 
 silently handed her ; " the time when I shared the 
 cares of business with my first husband seems to 
 return." 
 
 She sighed; Mr. Osborne remained silent. Mrs. 
 Osborne resumed. 
 
 "Well, I am a great bore to come here, am I 
 not? but I feel anxious. Business has its diplo- 
 macy, as you know better than I do.'^ 
 
 With a smile he disclaimed the compliment. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you do ; bat to come to the point, what 
 families shall we visit and receive ? — The Mazoi?, 
 the De Launays, the Jolys ?" 
 
 " Pray see whomsoever you please,^^ he courte- 
 ously replied ; " I have nothing to do with it." 
 
 '' My dear William, the diplomacy of business 
 requires a selection. If you will hint to me to whom 
 
 am to pay more or less attention, whom I am to 
 drop or to cultivate, I think I can render you good 
 
 i2
 
 116 ADELE. 
 
 But Mr. Osborne was not to be moved from his 
 indifference. 
 
 ^' I am not a diplomatic man/' lie said, smiling ; 
 " I should commit some sad blunder. I leave all to 
 your tact and good breeding." 
 
 The plain English of which was, that Mrs. Os- 
 borne was to know and be nothing. The spider 
 whom Bruce watched in the peasant's hut was no 
 unfair prototype of Mrs. Osborne. You conld break 
 her web, you could not discourage her. She rose 
 as if to retire, then turned back, coughed, and said^ 
 with a touch of embarrassment— 
 
 '^ I am going to tread on delicate ground. But 
 frankness is best ; shall I call on Madame Las- 
 cours ?" 
 
 "Why not r 
 
 " My dear William, all the world knows why." 
 
 " Why should I object to meet Madame Las- 
 cours ?" he asked, gravely. " She is not, so far as I 
 can remember, a lady to be shunned, and her hus- 
 band is one of the most honourable men of business 
 in the province." 
 
 " Then I may ask them to dine with us next 
 week ?" said Mrs. Osborne. 
 
 Mr. Osbornq, smiled and said : 
 
 ** They are in Paris." 
 
 *' Then I need trouble you no more," she ob- 
 served, reddening slightly. He courteously saw her 
 to the door. She retired beaten, but not conquered. 
 
 The diplomacy of business having left Mr. Os- 
 borne inaccessible, Mrs. Osborne, coolly and imme- 
 diately took possession of the household and Manor
 
 ADELE. 117 
 
 of Courcelles : Jean and Jeannette were at once dis- 
 missed and the new servants appointed to their duties ; 
 in short, by the time Mr. Osborne appeared at dinner 
 a coup d'itat had taken place, and a revolution was 
 all but accomplished. But some bird of the air had 
 conveyed the tidings to the counting-house. Mr. 
 Osborne was not surprised ; he smiled, he said a few 
 words, and the tide of revolution rolled back : Jean 
 and Jeannette were reinstalled and the only conse- 
 quence of Mrs. Osborne's attempt was, that of her 
 seven servants, four at once took their way to Paris. 
 Mrs. Osborne thus practically learned that though 
 her stepson might be passive and careless, he would 
 not, however, allow her to be mayor of the palace. 
 
 That same evening, Jeannette was summoned to 
 her master's room, and intrusted with a packet of 
 books for her young mistress, with Mr. Osborne's 
 compliments. 
 
 " Mademoiselle is going away to-morrow morn- 
 ing," boldly said Jeannette. 
 
 ^^ Take her the books nevertheless," he said 
 smiling. Mr. Osborne could rarely be deceived, 
 and he now read an untruth in Jeannette's brown 
 eyes. 
 
 And, indeed, it was not Adele who went away 
 the next morning, but Mr. Osborne himself. 
 
 Mrs. Osborne and her daughters had something 
 like ten days given them, wherein to recover from 
 the ill humour into which the dismissal of the four 
 servants had thrown them. 
 
 Mr. Osborne returned late one eveninsr. He was 
 passing by the half open door of the Hall without
 
 118 ADELE. 
 
 entering, wlien his vigilant stepmother, who was 
 writing her letters by the crimson-covered table, 
 raised her head, saw him, and at once went out to 
 meet him in the wide entrance. A lamp burning 
 against the wall, feebly lit the staircase winding up 
 in gloom. 
 
 " I have heard from Robert," she whispered con- 
 fidentially. 
 
 " So have I : he has been to a fancy ball, has he 
 not?" 
 
 " Ah ! Why has he not your coolness, your firm- 
 ness — " A loud crash within, followed by a French 
 oath, interrupted the list of Mr. Osborne's qualities. 
 Capitaine Joseph amused himself by playing chess 
 alone in a window, and Isabella by walking up and 
 down the room reading Hugo. Isabella was a fine 
 girl, she occupied some space ; several feet, some 
 inches, did the circumference of her robes measure. 
 As she passed by her brother, a flying flounce 
 hooked a nail; down came table and chessmen. 
 Capitaine Joseph's very moustache quivered, but 
 Isabella only looked grand, and said imperially : 
 
 ''Well!" 
 
 " Well, this is the third time !" cried Capitaine 
 Joseph. 
 
 '•' Oh, what a noise they do make ! " moaned 
 Anna. 
 
 " Come, come, I will have peace. William is 
 come back," said Mrs. Osborne attempting to lead 
 him in. 
 
 " Ah ! bah ! you are actually come back," cried 
 Capitaine Joseph^ recovering his good humour at
 
 ADELE. 119 
 
 once, and going up to Mr. Osborne to bestow on him 
 a cordial shake of the hand. "Ah ! mon cher, •u'hat 
 a life I had of it in your absence ! that foolish De 
 Launay." 
 
 " No, no : I will allow no detraction," interrupted 
 Mrs. Osborne. " 'William, you really must come in. 
 I must speak to you." 
 
 Mr. Osborne yielded, but with evident weariness 
 and ennui. 
 
 " Now do not be alarmed," she said graciously. 
 " I have asked a few friends to dine with us to-mor- 
 row — the de Launays and the Mazois ; and you must 
 not be engaged — no, you really must not. It is only 
 a quiet little dinner/' 
 
 Mr. Osborne gave her a rapid look, but he bowed 
 and gave consent. 
 
 " And now you must really allow me to retire," 
 he said. " I have been riding all day." 
 
 " And that is dreadfully fatiguing," put in Capi- 
 taine Joseph. " I hate cavalry. By the way, what 
 has become of that pretty little girl who awoke me 
 the first morning I was here ? I have not seen her 
 since." 
 
 Mrs. Osborne was struck with the evident interest 
 with which her stepson waited for the reply to this 
 question, but she carelessly said : 
 
 " She is gone. She is something or other to Ma- 
 demoiselle de Janson.^' 
 
 " I am glad she is gone," said Anna. " I do not 
 like her." 
 
 " AU girls are a nuisance,'^ gravely said Isabella, 
 who was not eighteen.
 
 120 ADEL5. 
 
 '^Ah, bah! She is a nice little thing," put in 
 Capitaine Joseph. " But women do not admire each 
 other/' 
 
 " Do men ?" asked Isabella. 
 
 " My dear children,'^ exclaimed Mrs. Osborne, who 
 saw her stepson smiling ironically, "let there be 
 peace I pray you." 
 
 Mr. Osborne was at the door ; he turned round, 
 bade them all good night, and left them to the enjoy- 
 ment of the argument. 
 
 Courcelles was sadly in want of repair, and to the 
 dismay of the ladies, masons made their appearance 
 the next morning and filled the Manor with noise 
 and dust. Needless to say, that Mr. Osborne was 
 in the midst of them. With his hat on, and his coat 
 finely powdered with white, he stood on a scaffolding 
 surveying the beginning of their work, whilst they 
 were taking their frugal breakfast below, when a 
 light rustling sound above, made him look up. With 
 Surprise, he saw Adele. 
 
 She sat on the sill of a small circular window, half 
 in and half out; her feet rested on a sculptured ledge, 
 her hands were clasped around her knees, her look 
 was fixed on the uneven line of mountains before 
 her. Mr. Osborne she did not see; he stood too 
 near the wall. He was going to address her, but she 
 did not give him time. She rose, cast a quick look 
 around, leaped down on the scaffolding light as a 
 squirrel, skipped down a ladder, and was running 
 along a garden path before he had fairly recovered 
 from his surprise. 
 
 Adele never stopped until she reached the flight
 
 ADELE. 121 
 
 of steps that led to tlie lake. The sun had not come 
 there yet; the spot was cool and shady. She sat 
 down on the balustrade, and looking at the clear 
 water beneath her, she fell: into a delightful dream, 
 of which the prevailing feeling was solitude and 
 liberty. 
 
 Spite some petulance and some waywardness, her 
 nature was gentle, but it was also untamed and free. 
 Ignorance often made her too daring; for no sad 
 experience had taught her the virtue of mistrust, 
 but it had also left untouched a native wildness which 
 had grown up with her growth, and which nothing 
 in after-life could efface. Restraint she had never 
 known even in name, for she had never been loved 
 enough to be checked. Mademoiselle de Janson, 
 con-sinced that the world was going away, did not 
 see the necessity of teazing herself and her god- 
 daughter with useless control ; Jeannette did, in- 
 deed, try to interfere, but she only had the limited 
 authority of a faithful servant, and could not rule 
 one whom she was also bound to obey. Natural 
 delicacy, and that innate sense of grace, which is 
 born with some individuals, as it is sometimes with 
 whole races, saved Ad^le from either rude motion 
 or rude speech. Though untaught and wild, she was 
 still a lady and a girl, but at the same time a youth 
 of liberty rendered her unable to bear restraint. 
 It stifled and oppressed her like the close air of a 
 prison. 
 
 In a moment of kindness and generosity, Adele 
 had promised Jeannette to keep out of the way of 
 the English family^ and not to pass the threshold of
 
 122 ADELE. 
 
 certain rooms up-stairs ; but Jeannette, having un- 
 fortunately thought proper to ensure the perform- 
 ance of that promise, by locking her young mistress 
 in, Adele, indignant and angry, considered herself 
 free to break her word, and made her escape. Once 
 in the garden, she only felt the delight and happi- 
 ness of her recovered freedom. 
 
 And it was a day to linger out. Below her lay 
 the lake, cool and green ; around it rose mountains 
 with blue depths of shade and bold projections, 
 basking in the noonday sun. Wild and steep was 
 their aspect ; a savage solitude in which the artist 
 would wander with delight, and where the poet 
 would love to linger. On the lake sailed a boat 
 with a white sail. Adele knew by Jeannette that 
 Mr. Osborne had purchased a boat, though he had 
 not yet been out in it. She slowly followed the 
 slender craft in its track, as it idly skirted the oppo- 
 site bank. 
 
 " How delightful to sail away for ever in a white 
 boat," she thought, *' with the sun always shining, 
 and the shore never reached. Is that his boat ? is 
 he in it?" 
 
 She shaded her eyes with her hand, the better to 
 see ; but a slight sound made her turn her head. 
 She looked, and saw Mr. Osborne behind her. 
 
 " I am glad to see you safe,^' he said. 
 
 At first, AdMe did not understand; then sud- 
 denly she guessed that he had seen her, and she 
 smiled triumphantly. 
 
 '' I can do a great deal more than that,'^ she said ; 
 " I can climb in a tree."
 
 ADELE. 123 
 
 " And perch there like a bird on a bough, very 
 likely ; and, indeed, I thought you had flown away 
 like a bird/' 
 
 The young girl pouted. 
 
 " Jeannette is so tiresome/' she said, " but I will 
 not be a prisoner in those dull rooms np-stairs where 
 I cannot breathe ; I will not sit and sew, and hear 
 what a great family the De Courcelles were. AVhat 
 should I have done but for the books you were so 
 kind as to send me ? Oh, they have made me long 
 to know so many things, and one thing above all I^' 
 
 " Music ? drawing ?" 
 
 " Oh, I misrht as well wish for winsrs !'' 
 
 *^ History is more accessible.'^ 
 
 " Yes, but what should I do with history?" 
 
 " True, you are a contemner of the past." 
 
 " Jeannette calls me a Jacobin .'' 
 
 " I fear Jeannette is in the risrht. But what can 
 you so much desire to know ?" 
 
 '' What a city is like,*' she said, looking in his 
 face with a look that plainly said, " tell me." 
 
 Mr. Osborne looked at the ancient garden so 
 beautiful in its decay; his gaze took in the aspect 
 of the yet more ancient hills ; it reposed on the 
 freshness of their verdure, on the cool surface of 
 the glittering lake, and embraced the whole azure 
 expanse of the summer heavens. " A city," he 
 thought, " a city with its living millions, its swarm- 
 ing streets, its close houses, and ever-clouded sky ! 
 who would wish for a city ?" And here was one 
 who from the very bosom of nature pined for fuller 
 knowledge of the dwellings of man. His mind
 
 124 A DELE. 
 
 repeated to his mind the question, '^ "What is a city- 
 like V It embraced the strange activity of life, and 
 penetrated the mysterious depths of the human 
 hive ; it saw Splendour in her palace, Misery in her 
 hovel, and next to both, the child of one, and the 
 parent of the other — Vice : and he quite forgot Adele 
 and her expecting look. 
 
 ''What can he be thinking of?" she wondered; 
 "he is odd!" 
 
 Longer still she might have wondered, if the ap- 
 proach of M. Francois Morel had not put an end to 
 her expectation, and to the conversation. Mr. Os- 
 borne hastily looked at the packet of papers pre- 
 sented to him by the foreman, then with a clouded 
 brow he turned to Adcle and bade her good morn- 
 ing. At the corner of an alley he met his stepmother 
 returning from an early walk. He signed to M. 
 Morel to go on, and stopped to speak to her. 
 
 *' I have a favour to ask of you," he said. She 
 looked pleased and expectant. He pursued — " I 
 should like Mademoiselle Adele de Courcelles, who 
 is still here, to be one of your dinner guests ; it 
 might amuse or please her." 
 
 " Dear me ! I should be most happy !" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Osborne, smiling ; '' but would it be kind to 
 ask her ?" 
 
 "Why not r 
 
 " Ah, it is so difficult to make men understand 
 these things. But what should the poor girl wear ?" 
 
 " I had forgotten that all-important consideration — 
 dress ; yet I think it would trouble Mademoiselle 
 de Courcelles very little."
 
 ADELE. 125 
 
 *' My dear "William, granting, for the sake of ar- 
 gument, that Mademoiselle do Courcelles is such a 
 little philosopher, would it be right to expose her to 
 a slight, not expressed, of course, but none the 
 less felt ? Remember that this is a small provincial 
 place." 
 
 " You are right, and I am wrong," he inter- 
 rupted — but he looked little pleased — " let it be." 
 
 " Is there any other way in which I can be agree- 
 able to Mademoiselle de Courcelles ?" graciously 
 asked Mrs. Osborne. 
 
 Mr. Osborne coldly replied in the negative. She 
 bowed her head with a sweet smile, and walked on.
 
 126 ADELE, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE DINNER. 
 
 The Manor of Courcelles was in agitation and 
 stir; the quiet little dinner was upsetting every- 
 thing. A first-rate cook had travelled all the way 
 from Dijon ; and he was in what the French call 
 le feu de la composition. The guests, too, were ar- 
 riving ; and from the garden, where he walked im- 
 patient and annoyed, Mr. Osborne could hear their 
 carriage- wheels rolling up the road. He had come 
 there to enjoy peace and silence for a few moments 
 before the coming bore, also to take a general survey 
 of his domain, and see what he had to do there. He 
 was too passionate a lover of nature to be very fond 
 of such triumphs of art as were exhibited in the gar- 
 den of Courcelles ; and yet, as he walked on in a 
 region which he had not visited since his return — for 
 instead of sloping down to the lake, it rose to the 
 foot of a low wooded mountain, that protected the 
 Manor against the keen northern wind — he half re- 
 luctantly found a charm in the antique formality and 
 quaintness of its clipped hedges and trees ; and with
 
 ADELE. 127 
 
 a sort of pity and regret for tlieir decay, he looked 
 at the fallen statues that had been left to encumber 
 the earth — at the green, moss-grown fountains, from 
 which living waters once had played. At length he 
 reached the orchard. With the aspect of this quiet 
 spot there flashed across his memory a bright picture 
 of the past. He saw himself a boy again, stealing the 
 ripe fruit from the tree ; and sitting down on a stone 
 bench near him, he yielded to one of the happiest 
 moods which he had for a long time known. Apart 
 from recollections in which all delight, he loved 
 orchards wild and lone like this, where wild birds 
 sang, and bees hummed, and yellow fruit ripened 
 and reddened in the sun, and hung within reach. 
 He loved Nature in her tame and quiet mood, as 
 well as in her grandeur and wild beauty. He loved 
 a green spot like this enclosed beneath a soft sky, 
 where clouds floated on for ever and ever away, as 
 well as the vastness of a campagna meeting the 
 boundless horizons of azure heavens. Gradually 
 he sank down, reclining on the bench on which he 
 had been sittinsr. The cares of business and of life 
 were forgotten ; plunged in a dream as languid as 
 that of the lotos-eaters of yore, but more sweet, he 
 wandered into far dreamland. He entered lone 
 and enchanted orchards, tasted of enchanted fruit, 
 breathed enchanted air, and still man, though mortal 
 no more, he wooed strange princesses, and was be- 
 loved. Their perfumed breath fell on his brow — their 
 calm, white hands enfolded him on silken laps — their 
 low voices murmured him to charmed slumbers. 
 But truth is better than dreams, any day. He heard
 
 128 ADELE. 
 
 a light step falling on the grass, he heard a light voice 
 singing a gay, capricious warbling like the chirruping 
 of a young bird, and he saw Adele, in plain brown 
 frock and narrow collar, gliding through the trees. 
 
 Though Adele did not know that Anna did not 
 like her, that Isabella thought her a nuisance, and 
 that Mrs. Osborne would rather not have had her in 
 the house, she shunned the English family of her 
 own accord ; and on this, the evening of the dinner, 
 she had retired to the orchard with a volume of 
 poems. But vainly she tried to read. 
 
 Books were made for the shade of quiet rooms, 
 for the stillness of calm and silent cloisters, but not 
 for nature and open sky. The hum of an insect, the 
 passing of the wind, a rustling leaf^ a floating 
 cloud — were more to Adele than the sweetest song 
 of man. She dropped the book for a while, then 
 forgot it, to sit down in the grass and remember 
 nothing save the beauty of the hour. She was un- 
 conscious of the vicinity of Mr. Osborne, until she 
 saw him leaning against a tree opposite that beneath 
 which she was sitting. His look fell on the volume 
 in the grass, and at once Adele exclaimed, 
 
 '* I could not read !" 
 
 " Not read poetry ?" he said, taking up the vo- 
 lume, "incredible I" 
 
 Adele looked abashed for a while ; then suddenly 
 raising her head again, she said, boldly—- 
 
 " Why not ?— if I am stupid !" 
 
 " Ay — if 1 But, sincerely — do you think you are V 
 
 She laughed, and frankly answered, " No !" 
 
 He smiled, pleased with her daring and her can-
 
 ADELE. 159 
 
 dour ; and curious to know what direction her lite- 
 rary tastes took, he opened the volume, and read in 
 measured accents one of those beautiful poems which 
 Lamartine wrote in his youth. She heard him, 
 intent as disciples listened of yore to their teacher 
 in the groves of Academe. 
 
 *^ I like it now," she said. 
 
 " And why not before ?" 
 
 *^ I cannot tell ; perhaps because the day was too 
 bright, and the sky was too blue." 
 
 She picked up a fallen apple in the grass, and 
 making a ball of it, she gaily tossed it up in the air 
 until she was tired. He watched her with quiet 
 pleasure, until the sound of another carriage warned 
 him to go. 
 
 " I envy you," he said ; " you can stay here, and 
 I must go to a hot room, and spend the whole 
 evening there." 
 
 " And is there never pleasure in a hot room then V* 
 asked Adele. 
 
 " For some there is, no doubt ; not for me, I 
 confess it." 
 
 Adele leaned her cheek and her dimpled chin in 
 her hand, and fixed her look like one in a dream. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, it must be pleasant," she half involun- 
 tarily exclaimed ; " the faces, the looks, the talking ; 
 — yes, one would hke to know what it is like. Ah ! 
 bah !" she added, after a brief pause, and quickly 
 consoled, as was the wont of her easy philosophy ; 
 " one is well out here, too. Good evening ! I hope 
 you may enjoy yourself, even in the hot room!" 
 
 She gave him a nod, picked up her apple, and , 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 ADELE. 
 
 resumed her pastime. Soon her light figure vanished 
 among the orchard-trees. Reluctantly he bade adieu 
 to its golden sky and its murmuring boughs through 
 which the breeze passed so sweetly ; reluctantly he 
 exchanged these for the closeness of a drawing-room, 
 and the faces of dinner-guests. 
 
 As he entered the large and old-fashioned, but 
 handsome, red and gold saloon, Mr. Osborne caught 
 a picture of the whole party in one rapid glance. 
 Near the central table stood Mrs. Osborne graciously 
 entertaining Monsieur Mazois, a fat and wealthy 
 manufacturer. Arthur Mazois, his puny son, endea- 
 voured to make himself agreeable to Anna, who 
 shivered on a couch, answered him through her 
 teeth — lest the cold should get in — and looked very 
 like a little wax doll. Madame Mazois, a somewhat 
 overblown beauty, sat in a deep armchair, basking 
 in her own radiance like a sunflower, whilst her three 
 daughters, fine, fresh girls, with black eyes, white 
 teeth, and pink dresses, received such attention as 
 Monsieur de Launay could spare from Isabella, cool, 
 haughty, like a princess, and looking very handsome 
 in her mourning. 
 
 At the further end of the apartment, Capitaine 
 Joseph — yellow, withered, and self-satisfied as usual 
 — entertained — his hands behind his back — a la Na- 
 poleon — a little dry, brown lady, of some sixty years 
 of age — who was no other than Madame de Launay 
 — famous, and justly famous, in the French com- 
 mercial world. Forty years before, she and her 
 brother, Mathieu Delaunay, had opened a poor iron- 
 monger's shop in the town of St. Etienne. They
 
 ADELE. 131 
 
 were an obscure pair, uneducated, either of them ; 
 yet Monsieur le Baron de Launay had died worth 
 some millions ; and Madame de Launay, his sister, 
 was still really, though not ostensibly, the head of a 
 large and honourable house of business. Mathieu 
 had some mechanical talent, and his sister could have 
 ruled an empire. He made a discovery, and she 
 turned it to profit. Subtle, ambitious, persevering, 
 prudent, she never rested until she made a rich man, 
 a baron, and a deputy, of her brother, who had 
 the docility and the good sense to let her do for 
 him what he could never have done for himself. 
 He was dead now, and his only son, Auguste de 
 Launay, rivalled his father in deference and obedi- 
 ence ; Madame de Launay was what she had ever 
 been — the head of the family. Nothing in her 
 manner or appearance justified, however, the position 
 which she held. She was a little, withered old 
 woman, with a quick eye and a short way of speaking. 
 She had educated herself enough to pass in the 
 world, and no more ; and, to all seeming, knitting 
 was the sole passion of her mind, and the chief oc- 
 cupation of her life. She now listened, with short 
 nods, to the speech of Capitaine Joseph. 
 
 The stir produced by Mr. Osborne^s appearance 
 was comparatively slight. The French glide into 
 such things, and do not make a labour of the plea- 
 sures of life. Every one present contrived to become 
 acquainted, without efibrt, with the master of the 
 house ; and Mr. Osborne, who knew that he was iu 
 anything but distinguished society, the ueerless
 
 13^ A DELE. 
 
 baron excepted, admired all the more tliis innate 
 good breeding. 
 
 " I am so disappointed/' whispered his step-mo- 
 ther ; " Monsieur Joly, the Deputy, has sent in a 
 note of excuse.^' 
 
 Mr. Osborne had not time to express a polite 
 regret. Isabella came and took his arm, and led 
 him to the Baron, who stood waiting, and looked 
 magnificent, though affable — a sort of Louis XIV. 
 without the full-bottomed wig. His self-satisfied 
 condescension was insufferable to the silent pride of 
 Mr. Osborne. Vain were the attempts of Isabella to 
 create an impossible sympathy between her brother 
 and her adorer. She assumed, moreover, a bold and 
 grand style ; she tossed her fair curls with a libe- 
 rality ; she rattled with a vehemence, as much put on 
 as real, that highly displeased Mr. Osborne. He saw 
 well enough that she was throwing herself at the 
 head of a man who thought her a fine girl, and 
 stopped there. Mr. Osborne endeavoured to check 
 her, and failed. She would be dashing, original, 
 and brilliant. Seeing this, he coolly left her, and 
 introduced himself to Madame Mazois. 
 
 " And how do you like our little wild nook of a 
 place ?" asked, or rather lisped, that comfortable 
 lady. 
 
 '' I like it greatly." 
 
 *' Is it possible !" cried the three Mademoiselles 
 Mazois, turning up their eyes, and fanning them- 
 selves all at once. 
 
 " Why not?" he enquired. 
 
 They shook their heada, and still fanned them-
 
 ADELE. 133 
 
 selves, whilst tlieir mamma, who did not seem sure 
 of what she ought to say, think, or do, or, indeed, 
 of what she was, gave them a stealthy look. 
 
 "Yes," she said, vaguely, "yes ; but there are — " 
 
 " No ideas," suggested her daughters, in a breath. 
 
 " No ideas,^^ she said, much relieved. 
 
 " No ideas !" repeated her daughters ; and again 
 the three fans went on vigorously. 
 
 " How do people live ?" asked Mr. Osborne. 
 
 '' Live !" exclaimed the three fans, agitatedly, 
 "they do not; they vegetate." 
 
 " They vegetate !" emphatically said Madame 
 Mazois. 
 
 Mr. Osborne glanced at her corpulent person, and 
 thought how comfortable vegetating must be. A 
 side-look at the three plump and buxom Made- 
 moiselles Mazois confirmed him in this opinion ; but 
 of course he condoled aloud with the misfortunes of 
 four such intellectual ladies. The three fans assured 
 him he could have no idea of the horrors they en- 
 dured. 
 
 " None !" echoed their mamma. 
 
 And thus the conversation went on. 
 
 And now these preliminaries are over ; the dinner- 
 bell has rung ; the guests are seated round a most 
 inviting table, in the old stone Hall ; and ]\[rs. Os- 
 borne, glancing at every luxury which the season 
 allows and money can procure, excuses herself for 
 the homeliness of the fare — when a piercing scream 
 is heard. Every spoon dipped in soup is raised aloft 
 in amazement. Madame Mazois — the blooming 
 Madame ]SIazois — has sunk back in her chair, pale
 
 lo4 ADELE. 
 
 as death. She makes the sign of the cross. She 
 once moved in humble life, and has retained popular 
 customs, and agitatedly exclaims — 
 
 " Madame ! we are thirteen at table !" 
 
 She rises in great haste, lest death should overtake 
 her. Her three daughters turn crimson at mamma's 
 vulgarity, and give her reproachful looks, which she 
 does not heed. 
 
 Mrs. Osborne's keen blue eye runs round the 
 table, and reckons quick as thought. It is too true. 
 
 " Ah ! bah !" says Madame de Launay, " what 
 matter 1" 
 
 '^' Yes," says Capitaine Joseph, " what matter !" 
 
 More faintly the Baron echoes : " An idle super- 
 stition." 
 
 " I am so concerned !" says Mrs. Osborne, who is 
 indeed annoyed at Madame Mazois's stupidity. " But 
 the remedy is easy : Capitaine Joseph shall dine at 
 a side table." 
 
 *^ Delighted to do so," cries Capitaine Joseph, 
 starting up with ready gallantry. 
 
 Vain kindness. Madame Mazois^s nerves, though 
 comfortably clothed in flesh, are sensitive; besides, 
 she dreamed last night — her three daughters vainly 
 long for a gag — of a wedding, certain sign of a 
 funeral. In short, it is plain that Capitaine Joseph 
 or some one else must leave the room. 
 
 Mrs. Osborne looked disturbed. She could not 
 turn out her eldest son; she could not disoblige 
 Madame Mazois : suddenly a lucky thought came 
 to her. She whispered a few words to Capitaine 
 Joseph ; he nodded, vanished for a few minutes, then
 
 ADELE. 135 
 
 returned with a significant and satisfied smile, that 
 said, " All right." 
 
 '^In a few minutes," said Mrs. Osborne, "my 
 blunder will be repaired. We shall have a four- 
 teenth guest. Will that be right V 
 
 " Oh ! quite,^^ replied Madame Mazois, whom she 
 addressed, " quite ;" but she would not sit down 
 nor yet eat her dinner before the appearance of this 
 promised fourteenth guest. 
 
 At length the door opened, noiselessly and par- 
 tially ; a little, white hand appeared, then quickly 
 vanished ; then it appeared again and was not with- 
 drawn, then followed a clear, young face, and finally 
 a small, dark-haired girl stood on the threshold of 
 the room. "With the solemn seriousness of a child 
 she looked round the table, detected her vacant place 
 between Madame Mazois and Capitaine Joseph, and 
 glided into it with the dignity of a little duchess. A 
 few looks she got which she received calmly, then 
 she did what everyone else around her was doing : 
 she ate her dinner. 
 
 On recognising Adele, Mr. Osborne gave his step- 
 mother a look of severe surprise. She had done for 
 her personal convenience what she had refused to do 
 at his request. She had conferred a slight where he 
 had meant a kindness. The truth was, that in her 
 wish to oblige Madame Mazois, Mrs. Osborne had 
 completelv forgotten her stepson ; but she was too 
 sensible to try and repair her blunder by apology of 
 look or speech. She returned • his look with her 
 sweetest smile, and let him think what he pleased. 
 His glance ?oon reverted to Adele, opposite whom.
 
 136 ADELE. 
 
 he sat, and who, with a pleased and happy smile, 
 met his bow of recognition. 
 
 No one else minded her. Madame Mazois was 
 too large to see so small an object. Capitaine Joseph 
 was too much engrossed with helping the three pink 
 beauties to every dainty, to give much attention to 
 his little neighbour. The guests became merry ; 
 they talked, they laughed; but no one had a word 
 for the young girl in the brown frock. She was left 
 as much out of the gay speeches, the pretty flirtings, 
 the witty jests and wise remarks that went on around 
 her, as if she had not had eyes to see or ears to hear. 
 The same exclusion followed her in the drawing- 
 room upstairs. She sat in a deep recess, to which 
 Mrs. Osborne had kindly taken her, giving her a 
 book of sketches to amuse herself with ; the book 
 lay on the table, she bent over it engrossed, and no 
 one came near her. Like a statue, she remained 
 forgotten and apart. Yet she was young, prettier 
 than any other girl present, and her quick eye and 
 rosy lips looked as if she too could have taken up 
 and thrown back the merry speech, and reply ; but 
 she wore a poor little brown frock ! Irremissible 
 sin! 
 
 " You were fortunate in finding so soon a four- 
 teenth guest," said Mr. Osborne, turning to Capitaine 
 Joseph who stood near him with his hands behind 
 his back. 
 
 " Yes, was I not?" he complacently replied, taking 
 to himself the whole merit of the transaction ; " and 
 the little thing was delighted to come too. She 
 really is very pretty," he added, giving her a care-
 
 ADELE. 137 
 
 less glance. '^ By the way," he resumed, confiden- 
 tially, " I want you, who are a man of business, to 
 advise me. Now which of the three Mademoiselles 
 Mazois ought I marry ? They are very much alike, 
 and they have the same fortunes, and I really do 
 not care which I have." 
 
 '^ Then find out which of the three will have you,'' 
 drily answered Mr. Osborne. 
 
 Capitaine Joseph stared amazed. " Why, any of 
 them will, any day I ask them," he said, with a smile 
 of happy security ; '' but though I have been looking 
 at them the whole evening, I cannot make up my 
 mind which to take." 
 
 " Very awkward. Have you thought of this 
 long?" 
 
 " Ever since dinner time." 
 
 " And you have not made up your mind yet. I 
 thought you were more decisive." 
 
 " Ah !" answered Caj^itaine Joseph, turning up 
 his eyes with an emphatic smack of his lips, " if one 
 of them were only like the little girl at the table 
 there beyond, I should not be so long about it. To 
 tell you the truth, I like dainty little ladies, who 
 look and sing like wild birds." 
 
 '^ Then why not try your fortune there ? — do you 
 fear a rejection?" 
 
 "A rejection! You are dreaming. She would 
 jump to have me ; but what should I do with her ? 
 She has no money — not a sou." 
 
 Here the attention of Capitaine Joseph was claimed 
 and called away by the Baron.
 
 138 " ADELE. 
 
 " Poor child !" thought Mr. Osborne, compassion- 
 ately looking at Adele. 
 
 He stood by Madame Mazois. Her head had 
 fallen back in her chair ; her mouth was slightly 
 open ; Madame Mazois was fast asleep. Mr. Os- 
 borne smiled, rose, crossed the whole saloon, walked 
 to the table by which the young girl sat, drew a 
 chair nearer hers, and quietly sat down by her side. 
 A rapid blush of pleasure rose to her cheek and 
 overspread her whole face ; her blue eyes beamed 
 again, her whole aspect said, " I did not think you 
 would come ; I am glad." 
 
 At once the act was perceived, and commented 
 upon by the whole rooiii^ The M azois did not like 
 it at all ; Madame de Launay took a pinch of snuff. 
 Anna, already indignant at the presence of Adele, 
 felt peevishly provoked. Isabella gave her brother 
 and the young girl an ironical look, then turned 
 back to Moniseur de Launay, who coloured slightly, 
 and smiled. 
 
 " How do you like my sketches?" asked Mr. Os- 
 borne. 
 
 " Yours, — they are yours?" she exclaimed, amaz- 
 ed ; " oh ! how clever you are ! How wonderful !" 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 "And have you seen all these places ?" she cried. 
 
 *^ Every one of them." 
 
 And pleased to please one whose pleasures were 
 so few — pleased to avenge her of all the slights and 
 insolence she had received — he remained sitting 
 there by her, describing, explaining, answering, and 
 letting his step-mother's guests see how much he
 
 ADELE. 139 
 
 liked what they so fastidiously despised. This Adele 
 did not feel ; but no one had ever spoken to her so 
 before, with intellect, and thought, and suave 
 courtesy, and friendly aspect too. She drank in 
 fascination through every sense. She saw no face, 
 she heard no voice, but his. Mr. Osborne was not 
 so absorbed. He perceived that the guests were 
 deserting the saloon ; they were passing through the 
 little Gothic gallery on to the flight of steps that led 
 to the moonlit garden. 
 
 " Shall we go too ?" he asked, rising. 
 
 She assented eagerly. He wanted to take her 
 arm ; but, unused to these forms of society, and 
 having always felt competent to walk without sup- 
 port, she darted down the steps with her usual viva- 
 city. Mr. Osborne smiled. 
 
 " Dear little creature," said his stepmother, who 
 alone had remained behind. 
 
 *' She is a very charming girl,'^ he replied, coldly. 
 And he, too, descended. 
 
 Mr. Osborne had not time to look for Adele ; he 
 was at once seized upon by Capitaine Joseph, who, 
 taking hold of his right arm, led him into an alley, 
 and asked, in a confidential whisper — 
 
 " Well, which of the three ought I take ? I saw 
 you looking at them." 
 
 " True ; but I must look again. WTiere are they ?" 
 
 '^ In the main alley. Look well this time !" 
 
 He released him ; but scarcely was Mr. Osborne 
 free, when Monsieur Mazois claimed his attention. 
 Mr. Osborne submitted. They walked away in a 
 retired alley, and Monsieur Mazois, after a length-
 
 140 
 
 ADELE. 
 
 ened prelude, spoke ; and Mr. Osborne, with indig- 
 nant surprise, tlius learned what his stepmother had 
 been busy about since her arrival — a business partner- 
 ship between Mr. Osborne and the De Launays — • 
 and a matrimonial alliance between Isabella and the 
 Baron were the theme on which Monsieur Mazois 
 eloquently dwelt. As coldly and as civilly as he 
 could, Mr. Osborne declined both proposals. A 
 little stiffly. Monsieur Mazois begged that he would 
 please himself, and apologizing for having troubled 
 him so long, he let him go. 
 
 Mr. Osborne walked alone along a quiet path, and 
 meditated over the communication he had just re- 
 ceived. " Oh ! weariness of life \" he thought, " wilt 
 thou never cease !" He looked up. How beautiful 
 was the night ! — how serene were those dark blue 
 heavens, where the moon sailed away over and be- 
 yond the mountains ; how calm and pure looked 
 that lake, in which another moon lay and slept, 
 queen of a watery world below, as her sister was 
 queen of the heavenly realm above. With a delight 
 that thrilled through every fibre of his being, he 
 looked from one to the other, and forgot all, save 
 those two fair faces, that both seemed to say, " Leave 
 us if you dare ; — leave us if you dare." The turning 
 of the path he was following suddenly brought him 
 to the spot which, had he been less absorbed, he 
 would surely have shunned — the main alley, where 
 all the guests were gathered in groups. The ladies 
 glided along the moonlit path, and looked light and 
 ethereal; the taller and dark figures of the men 
 moved amongst them like spectral shadows; frag-^
 
 ADELE. 141 
 
 ments of their broken speech, and the sound, of their 
 laughter, reached his ear. But Mr. Osborne neither 
 heard the voice nor saw the figure of Adele. 
 
 " Well, and what are you thinking of, melancholy 
 Jacc[ues ?" said the light voice of Isabella at his side. 
 
 He looked up, saw her, and with her saw the 
 Baron. 
 
 " A most lovely night," said the Baron, giving the 
 evening his unqualified approbation. 
 
 " I want you two to give me a rowing on the 
 lake," resumed Isabella, in her decisive way. " I 
 have never been on a moonlit lake, and on one I 
 must go." 
 
 Whilst she was speaking, Mr. Osborne caught 
 sight of a little figure lingering alone and unheeded 
 in the alley ; and as it passed, he summoned it to his 
 side, with the magic question — 
 
 " Would Mademoiselle Adele like to go on the 
 lake with his sister ?" 
 
 " Oh ! so much !" she exclaimed, eagerly ; and at 
 once she came forward. 
 
 Isabella drew herself up, and shivered, and said 
 something about night air ; but Mr. Osborne quietly 
 overruled her, and though somewhat haughtily, Isa- 
 bella submitted. 
 
 '' Are you really not afraid of the chill breath of 
 the lake ?" objected the baron, who had no great 
 fancy for the task thus laid upon him. 
 
 " I fear nothing," said Isabella, a little indignant 
 at what she considered his effeminacy. 
 
 " Sans peiir et sans reproche,^^ rejoined the Baron, 
 sacrificing himself, with a smile and a bow.
 
 142 ADELE. 
 
 They were within a few steps of the spot where 
 Mr. Osborne's boat lay moored. Soon it was un- 
 fastened. Isabella entered it majestically ; Adele, 
 with less dignity, sat down opposite her ; then the 
 two rowers took their places : a stroke of the oar, 
 and the little craft flew away on the silent lake, and 
 paused on reaching its centre. 
 
 Mountains enclosed them on every side, save that 
 of the Manor. Above them hung the moon, full 
 and clear ; she touched with light a little village and 
 its church, that lay to their left, and shone full on a 
 white house to their right. It was a modern and 
 elegant dwelling, with steps washed by the waters 
 of the lake, and large gardens around it, that filled 
 the night air with their fragrance. Mr. Osborne 
 looked at it fixedly, for a light burned in the draw- 
 ing-room, and it was the house of M. Lascours. 
 The Baron spoke. 
 
 " One of the handsomest women in the whole dis- 
 trict lives there," he said., 
 
 " Yes ; is she not handsome ?" exclaimed Adele, 
 enthusiastically, " and so good, too." 
 
 Even in the pale moonlight Mr. Osborne saw her 
 cheek flush, and he smiled at her ardour. He saw, 
 too, M. de Launay bite his lip and look at her 
 fixedly. A sound of voices rose from the garden. 
 M. Lascours was talking to his wife. 
 
 " Do you wish to stay out, Alice ?" he said. 
 
 *' Which ever you please/' was the low reply. 
 
 '"' Perhaps you would rather stay out." 
 
 " I have no wish either way." 
 
 " Let us go in, then."
 
 ADELE. 143 
 
 And the speakers^ invisible before, now ap- 
 peared walking along the alley that led to the 
 house. 
 
 " I did not know Monsieur and Madame Lascours 
 were come back," said Monsieur de Launay, as the 
 boat once more floated lightly on the waters. 
 
 No one replied ; Mr. Osborne seemed very intent 
 in looking at Adele. She sat in a simple and naive 
 attitude, with her hands folded on her knees, and 
 her look fixed on the floating image of the moon in 
 the;lake. He smiled at her intent gaze, and Isabella 
 saw the look and the smile, and curled her lip with 
 scorn. " What fools men are,'' she thought. Sud- 
 denly Adele started. The bell of the village church 
 had wakened from its sleep, and was telling the 
 hour. 
 
 " Eleven !" exclaimed Adele, amazed when it 
 ceased ; **' can it be eleven ?" 
 
 " Why not ?" asked Mr. Osborne, smiling. 
 
 "But I promised Jeannette to be with her at ten : 
 she will be so tired." 
 
 " We will land you at once," said Mr. Osborne. 
 
 They rowed her to the steps ; 'she alighted first, 
 bade them a hasty good night, and vanished. 
 
 " There goes Cinderella," ironically said Isabella, 
 landing in her turn. " I hope she has left no glass 
 slipper behind." 
 
 *^ Oh, you truants !" said Mrs. Osborne, coming 
 up to them ; "'where have you been, enjoying the 
 delightful moonlight on the lake ?" 
 
 " Delightful, indeed !" enthusiastically echoed the 
 Baron.
 
 •^ 
 
 ^ 4 
 
 144 ADELE. 
 
 " I tliought 'you were cold/' sharply said the fair 
 Isabella. 
 
 Mr. Osborne heard no more : he saw the Mazois 
 coming in a group, and quietly entered a secluded 
 path. 
 
 It was half-past eleven when^ with flushed cheeks 
 and sparkling eyes, Adele entered her room. Jean- 
 nette sat there waiting for her young mistress, and 
 with a promptitude which would have justified the 
 theory of those profound metaphysicians, who have 
 discovered that hypocrisy is natural to the human 
 heart, she assumed an air of sleep and fatigue, that 
 said so plainly, ^^ I am worn out with watching," 
 that Adele exclaimed — 
 
 *^ Poor Jeannette ! why did you wait ?" 
 
 " I did my duty," solemnly replied Jeannette ; 
 ^' I have been forty years in the family, and I hope, 
 I know my duty." 
 
 An expression of mingled alarm and ennui clouded 
 the open face of the young girl. 
 
 " Oh, Jeannette !" she said, " you are going to 
 preach and to be tiresome." 
 
 Jeannette snuffed, and looked highly offended. 
 
 " Mademoiselle need not be afraid," she said ; ** I 
 know my duty ; and since my old tongue troubles 
 the ears of Mademoiselle, it shall be silent. I have 
 only this to say, that never has such an insult been 
 offered to the family of Courcelles as it received on 
 this day, when Capitaine Joseph had the insolence 
 to ask Mademoiselle Adele to sit as fourteenth guest 
 at Madame Osborne's table." 
 
 We once heard it said by a shrewd observer of
 
 ADELE. 145 
 
 life, that the sons and daughters of an ancient race, 
 however humble of spirit or democratic of opinion 
 they may be, never forget their origin. Adele never 
 thought of her birth, did not value it a rush, and 
 fully merited the name of little Jacobin conferred 
 upon her by Jeannette ; but she had heard too 
 often that she was descended from a noble line, that 
 amongst her ancestors she numbered sovereigns, ever 
 to forget facts so obvious. 
 
 " Ah, bah !" she said, gaily ; '^ did I go amongst 
 princes, or was there one there who can go back to 
 Charles the Bold or Philip the Good ?" ' Wherever 
 I sit is the head of the table,' said the O'Donnel, 
 and in the same spirit this little careless girl knew 
 that where she went she conferred, and could not 
 receive honour. 
 
 " Blood is blood, after all," thought Jeannette, 
 struck with this reasoning, and looking admiringly 
 at her spirited little mistress ; but unwilling to give 
 in, she asked aloud if Mrs. Osborne had meant a 
 politeness or an impertinence. 
 
 *' Neither," quietly replied Adele ; " she asked 
 me for her convenience — I went for my pleasure. 
 And oh, Jeannette ! I have so much to tell you." 
 
 Jeannette allowed herself to be mollified. She 
 thought more of the dinner than she chose to say. 
 It was long, indeed, since the kitchen of the Manor 
 had emitted such a fragrance as had been extracted 
 from it that evening by the potent alchemyst, the 
 cook from Dijon. It was long since the old Manor 
 had heard so much rustling of silk as had come to 
 it around the ample persons of Madame Mazois and 
 
 VOL. T. L
 
 146 ADELE. 
 
 her daughters. Not that Jeannette knew much of 
 the latter fact. " Mariette Mazois," as she had in- 
 formed Jean, '^was her nephew's gossip, a little 
 barefoot chit of a thing, who used to run about on 
 errands until old Mazois picked her up." Jeannette 
 united the forefinger and thumb of her right hand, 
 and raised them aloft with profound scorn : " Picked 
 her up, I say, and married her. And now. Monsieur 
 Jean, money rules the world, and because she feels 
 faint and nervous, poor little Mamzelle AdMe must 
 needs sit at the same table with her. Money rules 
 the world." 
 
 And money, or the dazzling glow which money 
 sheds, ruled Jeannette, as well as the world. She 
 longed to know two things : how Mariette Mazois 
 was dressed, her pride had not allowed her to ascer- 
 tain the fact, for herself, and if she still wanted her 
 two front upper teeth, or had got them put in in 
 Lyons. This intelligence Adele could give, and 
 Jeannette condescended to be good-tempered, and 
 to observe that she was glad Mademoiselle had been 
 entertained. 
 
 *' Delighted, Jeannette," eagerly exclaimed Adele ; 
 '^ Monsieur Osborne draws like an angel. I have 
 seen all his sketches ; he has been everywhere. Oh ! 
 what a wonderful man ! And he took me on the 
 lake in his boat." 
 
 " Alone ?" asked Jeannette, frowning. 
 
 "No, with his sister, and the tall, fair man who 
 calls on cousine sometimes." 
 
 " I am surprised Monsieur Osborne found so 
 much time to bestow on Mademoiselle," drily said
 
 ADELE. 147 
 
 Jeannette, ^^ considering there was no less a person 
 present than Madame Mazois.'* 
 
 " Who is she r' 
 
 *' A stout, vulgar-looking woman." 
 
 " I sat near a stout lady, and I think they called 
 her Madame Mazois/' 
 
 '^ Ah ! she was splendidly dressed, I dare say." 
 
 Ad^e did not know ; she had not minded. 
 
 ''And her teeth, '^ j^ersisted Jeannette, '^ did Ma- 
 demoiselle notice her teeth V 
 
 " T\Tiat about them ?" asked Adele, opening her 
 eyes at the question. 
 
 " She wanted two of the upper front ones in my 
 time." 
 
 " She may want them still, for all I can say," 
 carelessly replied Adele ; " but she seemed to make 
 good use at dinner of those she has." 
 
 " She has got them in, no doubt about it," grum- 
 bled Jeannette. " Ah ! well," she added, comforting 
 herself with the reflection, " next year, please 
 Heaven, I shall treat myself to a set of teeth." 
 
 Adele burst into a merry fit of laughter ; Jeannette 
 drew herself up indignantly. 
 
 " Mademoiselle may laugh," she said ; ''bat times 
 are altered, indeed, since Louis the Wicked was 
 master of Courceiles." 
 
 " I hope so," composedly interrupted Adele : 
 '•' Monsieur Osborne, the present master of Cour- 
 ceiles, seems anything but wicked." 
 
 " I am surprised," stiffly said Jeannette, " that 
 Mademoiselle can think of comparing one of her 
 ancestors to a gentleman who can let a Marietta 
 
 l2
 
 148 ADELE. 
 
 Mazois sit at liis tabic. Louis the "Wicked, whom 
 some called Louis the Devil, would have died before 
 he allowed such a thing. Does Mademoiselle re- 
 member the story of his daughter Philippa's marriage ? 
 It is an example to all young ladies of good family." 
 
 *' "What about her, Jeannette ?" 
 
 " She was beautiful, and she was proud. No one 
 was good enough for her — not he — though many 
 were the fine gentlemen who came to woo. Well, 
 at length there came one with whom she fell over 
 head and ears in love. They were wedded and lived 
 happily together, until — how it was found out I can- 
 not tell — my lord, Louis, her father, discovered that 
 his, daughter's husband was the son of a peasant. 
 The husband did not wait for his account, but ran 
 off, and my la.dj Philippa shut herself up in a tur- 
 ret, and vowed never again to see the face of man 
 until her disgrace was avenged, for she had a proud 
 spirit.^' 
 
 " Say a mean one, Jeannette," observed Adele, 
 with a smile of disdain ; " a truly proud woman 
 would be too proud to be ashamed of the husband 
 she had taken, peasant or prince." 
 
 " My Lady Philippa did not think so," drily said 
 Jeannette ; " nay more, my lord, her father, vowed to 
 have no peace until he avenged his daughter. So 
 he took his horse one morning and rode out 
 alone." 
 
 " Like a Prince in the Fairy Tales," put in Adele, 
 who wpvS not without a touch of the mocking French 
 spirit. 
 
 *' I;ike anything Mademoiselle likes," replied
 
 ADELE. ' 149 
 
 Jeannette ; " but I scarcely think princes in the 
 Fairy Tales do what Louis the Wicked did." 
 
 " Oh ! Jeannette, if it is a horrible story do not 
 tell it to me," imploringly exclaimed Ad^le. 
 
 " It is not very horrible," placidly replied Jean- 
 nette, " not at least for Louis the Wicked ; for Made- 
 moiselle surely remembers, that how when he defied 
 and killed in single combat his enemy the Lord of 
 Nantua, he insisted on having his heart." 
 
 ^'^Oh! do not, do not!" exclaimed Adele ; "you 
 know I hate those stories." 
 
 But Jeannette obstinately pursued : 
 
 " Well, my Lord Louis came back at the end of 
 a year and a day, and on his horse, behind him, he 
 carried a bag with which he went up to his daughter's 
 turret. And there "' 
 
 " I tell you I will not hear the rest," cried Adele, 
 angrily, and stopping her ears with her fingers as 
 she spoke. " I will not know what there was in 
 that bag. I hate Philippa and Louis the Wicked." 
 
 '^ He was one of Mademoiselle's ancestors," 
 gravely said Jeannette. 
 
 " I do not care about my ancestors," impatiently 
 replied Adele, " not a pin, and if I am to hear ail 
 the horrible things they did, I shall wish I never 
 had any." 
 
 " If they had been quiet, well-behaved, vulgar 
 people," said Jeannette, speaking, though she little 
 knew it, like a modern school of history, " who 
 would ever have heard about them ? But it was 
 because they were a fierce and cruel and a real
 
 150 A DELE. 
 
 family that to this day m others frighten children 
 with their name.'* 
 
 " Shame on them, then/' cried Ad^le, her eyes 
 sparkling with indignation, " to be remembered as 
 a curse and not as a blessing, by the poor and the 
 weak.'^ 
 
 But Jeannette's prejudices were too deeply rooted 
 to be so easily shaken. 
 
 '' They were a great family, for all that," she 
 said, and in insisting on that point, she forgot to 
 draw, for the benefit of her little mistress, the obvious 
 moral which the story of Philippa offered to all young 
 ladies of good family : a moral of which Adele would 
 never have understood the application to herself and 
 the present evening.
 
 ADELE. 151 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A TRUST. 
 
 Adele rarely dreamed ; she slept with the sound, 
 heavy sleep of youth. But on this night, the ivory 
 gates were opened for her ; she saw herself on the 
 lake again, but alone in the boat with Mr. Osborne ; 
 whilst Alice, with thoughtful aspect and sad eyes, 
 saw them floating away from her. Then the vision 
 vanished ; Italian skies, grey olive forests that 
 skirted azure seas, wild and graceful hills where the 
 orange ripened and the snow never slept, ruined 
 temples by which brown men and women sat 
 dreamily, passed before her, until she awoke with 
 the feeling — *^ How delightful to travel." 
 
 Her second thought was how many things she 
 had to ask of Mr. Osborne when she saw him next. 
 But Mr. Osborne was doubtless very busy. Not for 
 that entire day did Adele see him, nor yet for the 
 whole of the next. "Was he gone again? She 
 questioned Jeannette ; the old servant at once re- 
 plied that Monsieur Osborne was gone to Sain 
 Etienne.
 
 162 ADELE. 
 
 '^How tiresome T^ said Ad^le, " will he soon come 
 back?" 
 
 Jeannette shrugged her shoulders. How should 
 she know ? 
 
 '' I dare say he will not be long away," resumed 
 Ad^le, who rarely looked at the dark side of things ; 
 and whilst waiting for his return, she amused herself 
 with the books he had sent her. 
 
 Ten days had passed away. Adele sat in the maze 
 reading, when a sound of voices in one of the neigh- 
 bouring alleys roused her. Mrs. Osborne was 
 speaking in French to a speaker, like herself, in- 
 visible. 
 
 *^ No, no," she said, in her sweetest tones ; " I 
 connot believe that you are so ignorant. Monsieur 
 Morel; you must know more about this dreadful 
 business." 
 
 To which the soft voice of Monsieur Morel re- 
 plied — 
 
 '* I have had the honour of assuring Madame that 
 I know nothing." 
 
 " Nothing ! yet I always understood you were a 
 very close friend of my son E,obert. My late hus- 
 band said as much to me." 
 
 Monsieur Morel did not answer. 
 
 *^ Monsieur Osborne thought highly ' of your 
 talents," she resumed, " and so does Robert. — In- 
 deed, what am I saying ? — we all think highly of 
 you. And when I think upon it, it seems impossi- 
 ble to me that my son, though young and inexpe- 
 rienced, should be mixed in this dreadful matter. Has 
 Monsieur Osborne ^mentioned the matter to you V
 
 ADELE. 153 
 
 " Surely Madame is aware that Monsieur is too ill 
 for business." 
 
 " That is just why I feel, Monsieur Morel, that 
 whilst my dear son William is so ill, I am in duty 
 bound to interfere; and I know, that with your 
 help—" 
 
 " Madame must excuse me ; I am but a poor 
 clerk — a machine in Monsieur Osborne's hands/' 
 
 " Monsieur Morel," said !Mrs. Osborne, suddenly 
 changing her tone, " you ought to remember that 
 times may change. What, if Monsieur Osborne's 
 fever should take a fatal turn ?" 
 
 *^I shall then be in Madame's hands," was the 
 submissive reply. And as it was uttered, the two 
 speakers entered the last circle of the maze. Several 
 times during this discourse Adele had impatiently 
 looked up from her book, and wished either that she 
 was not where she was, or that the speakers, be- 
 coming conscious of her presence, would talk lower 
 or "go away : but towards the close of their brief 
 dialogue, her book fell on her lap. What ! Mr. 
 Osborne was not gone to Saint Etienne ! What ! 
 he was lying ill — dangerously ill in the house, and 
 she knew nothing of it ! 
 
 " I assure you. Monsieur Morel," resumed Mrs. 
 Osborne, as they entered the arbour — She paused 
 abruptly on seeing Adele sitting on the stone step 
 at the foot of the statue of silence. Pale as death 
 the young girl rose. 
 
 " What ails Monsieur Osborne ?" she said ; ^^ is 
 he ill ? is he in danger ?" 
 
 They both looked at her ; Monsieur Morel with a
 
 154 ADELE. 
 
 Strange smile — Mrs. Osborne with a surprised and 
 half- thoughtful gaze. 
 
 " Monsieur Osborne is better," she said at length. 
 " Good morning, Monsieur Morel !" 
 
 A wave of her white hand dismissed him without 
 much ceremony. Monsieur Morel bent his head, 
 and turned away. Mrs. Osborne went up to Adele, 
 and took her hand, and looked deep into her eyes. 
 
 " Poor little thing !" she said, kindly ; " you are 
 affected ! we have all been sadly tried. My feel- 
 ings " — she raised her handkerchief to her eyes, but 
 only for a moment — " have been such that I must 
 not trust myself to speak on the subject. But you 
 will be pleased to learn that your friend Monsieur 
 Osborne is happily out of danger ; and as he will be 
 prudent, there is, I trust, no fear of a relapse. 
 Come, are you happy ? are you comforted ?" 
 
 Adele did not answer ; she seemed in a dream. 
 Mrs. Osborne kindly patted her cheek, pressed her 
 hand, and with a gentle good morning ! left her. 
 
 " Why did Jeannette deceive me V thought 
 Ad^le ; " what does all this mean ? Is it true that 
 he is safe ?" She had sat down again j she started 
 to her feet, and rapidly crossed the garden. Coming 
 down the flight of steps that led to Mr. Osborne's 
 room, she met Docteur Guitiaume, a brisk, abrupt, 
 dark, white-haired little man, who never said a kind 
 word to a patient, and was nevertheless a sort of 
 universal favourite. Adele knew him well. She 
 sprang towards him, and broke on him with the 
 brusque enquiry — 
 
 " Docteur Guillaume, how is he ?"
 
 ADELE. 155 
 
 " Pooh ! pooli ! it is nothing. How are you, 
 Mademoiselle Adele ? you look wild/^ 
 
 " Oh, I am well ; but what has ailed him ? do tell 
 me, Docteur Guillaume." 
 
 She passed her arm within the old man's, and 
 looked up coaxingly in his face. 
 
 " Do tell me," she entreated. 
 
 " Ah ! bah ! he is well enough now ; he took cold 
 on the lake, and was feverish.'* 
 
 '^ But he is safe now ?'* she asked. 
 
 "Ay, safe enough! I hope you are safe. Made- 
 moiselle Adele I" emphatically added Docteur Guil- 
 laume, withdrawing her arm from his, and walking 
 away. 
 
 She remained amazed ; and it was not until long 
 afterwards that his meaning broke on her. 
 
 Mr. Osborne had taken cold on the lake, and cold 
 had become strong fever. Every one knew it in the 
 house save Adele. Why had Jeannette concealed 
 this from her ? Clear, positive motives she certainly 
 had : she was also out of temper with the whole 
 affair. Louise had been called in to nurse Mr. Os- 
 borne ; and though Jean had prudently asked and 
 obtained a fortnight's leave of absence, Jeannette 
 knew he was at the bottom of it ail. Jeannette felt 
 offended, and not disposed to humour other people. 
 Nay, more, when Adele, after parting from Docteur 
 Guillaume, entered the low store-room, where Jean- 
 nette sat spinning, and, pale with displeasure, asked 
 why Jeannette had dared to deceive her in this, Jean- 
 nette very coolly replied — 
 
 " I knew what I was about."
 
 156 ADELE. 
 
 Reproaches, passionate questions, mild adjurations 
 wrung no more out of her. Still Jeannette said — 
 '' I knew what I was about." Then she rose ; and 
 as evening had set in, she lit the lamp. Soon after 
 this, she left the room. 
 
 " Poor Monsieur Osborne," thought Adele ; '' dear 
 Monsieur Osborne ! how much I love him, though 
 I know him so short a time ! How cruel it was, not 
 to tell me he was ill ! If I could have done no- 
 thing else, could I not have prayed for him to 
 Almighty God, who despises not the meanest crea- 
 ture's prayers ?" 
 
 The return of Jeannette interrupted her reflec- 
 tions. Jeannette's brow was so clouded, that Adele 
 at once cried — 
 
 '* Jeannette, what is it ? — Is Monsieur Osborne 
 worse V 
 
 " Monsieur Osborne is up and well enough,'* 
 drily replied Jeannette; "but I never heard any- 
 thing like it — never." 
 
 '' Jeannette, what do you mean ?" 
 
 '^ Well, then," desperately said Jeannette, " Mon- 
 sieur wants to speak to you." 
 
 "Tome!" 
 
 "Ay, there it is — to you, indeed. What can 
 Monsieur want with Mademoiselle, at this hour, 
 too ?" 
 
 " He would not send for me if he did not want 
 me," observed Adele, decisively; "so let us go at 
 once." 
 
 For some reason or other, Jeannette seemed quite 
 subdued ; and without opposing further resistance,.
 
 ADELE. 157 
 
 she showed her young mistress the way. The night 
 was dark, the garden was silent ; they went along a 
 lonely path until they reached the flight of steps that 
 led to Mr. Osborne's study. Light glowed behind 
 the red curtain that fell to the floor, and excluded 
 the night air. Adele raised it timidly, and without 
 advancing looked in. Mr. Osborne did not see her. 
 He sat writing at his desk ; the light of the lamp 
 fell on his face ; it was pale and haggard, and looked 
 to Adele worn with trouble and care more than 
 fever. 
 
 " May I come in ?" she sa,id, gently. 
 He looked up, saw her, and his face lit with plea- 
 sure. He attempted to rise, but Adele did not give 
 him time. 
 
 " I was so sorry that you had been ill," she said, 
 a little eagerly ; " I am so glad that you are well 
 again." 
 
 But without seeming to have heard her, he said — 
 " I knew you would come ; I knew I could send 
 for you." 
 
 The earnestness of his tone surprised her; she 
 raised her eyes to his, as much as to say " of course," 
 and sat down on the chair near his, to which he 
 pointed. 
 
 Mr. Osborne was going to speak, but looking up, 
 he saw Jeannette standing by the door, and he said 
 quietly — 
 
 " Wait in the next room, Jeannette, I want to 
 speak to Mademoiselle Adele alone." 
 
 Jeannette looked at Adele ; the young girl ratified 
 the order with a smile ; they remained alone. But
 
 158 ADELE. 
 
 Mr. Osborne did not speak ; he sat witli his brow 
 leaning on his hand, and his eyes fixed on vacant 
 space, like one absorbed in thought. " He has for- 
 gotten all about my being here," thought Adele, 
 amused ; but he had not, for at that very moment he 
 looked at her and said with a smile — 
 
 " It seems pleasant to see you again. Mademoi- 
 selle Adele ; have you been well ?" 
 
 *' Oh, I am always well," she replied, gaily. 
 
 " And always gay and merry — happy little thing ! 
 I wish I were like you." 
 
 '* And why are you not ?'' promptly asked Ad^le. 
 
 '^ It would take days to answer that question, 
 and even then you would not understand the true 
 reason." 
 
 " Am I, then, so stupid ?" asked Adele, nettled, 
 
 " Stupid !." echoed Mr. Osborne, looking half 
 shocked ; " my dear child, never use that word 
 in conjunction with yourself." A little blush of 
 pleasure rose to the cheek of Adele ; her blue 
 eyes beamed, her happy lips parted with a half 
 smile. '^^ He thinks me clever," she thought, de- 
 lighted, for she had the weakness, if weakness it 
 be, to love the praise of one whom she admired. 
 Other thoughts occupied Mr. Osborne. He looked 
 at her very earnestly, and with unusual gravity he 
 said — 
 
 " Mademoiselle Adele, I have known you but a 
 very short time, yet this I know of you— you are 
 sincere and true. If you can oblige me in the way 
 I shall mention, you will do so ; if not, you will say
 
 A DELE. 159 
 
 Oblige him ! Adele looked the surprise she did 
 not speak. He smiled, and sighed. 
 
 " Aye, it seems strange/' he said, " and stranger 
 will it seem^ I dare say, when you have heard me 
 out. "What I want of you is this : to find me a 
 trusty messenger who will post this letter for me 
 before to-morrow evening, a messenger on whom 
 you can rely, and who will neither know nor guess 
 by whom the letter is written. I am surrounded by 
 friends, by relatives, and servants ; it seems strange 
 to apply to you, yet necessity leaves me no choice : 
 do you think you can oblige me thus far ?" 
 
 '^I can," deliberately replied Adele, and she was 
 too delicate to add any comments. 
 
 He handed her a sealed letter, which lay on the 
 table before him, and said with a sad smile — 
 
 " I see you wonder — well you may. The expe- 
 rience of a few years will,, however, teach you the 
 value of mistrust. I hope, for your sake, the know- 
 ledge may come late, — very late. If any mischance 
 should prevent your messenger from fulfilling this 
 errand, you need not take the trouble of returning 
 this letter ; burn it — it will be useless. I have but 
 one remark to add : should any one know or suspect 
 the kindness you are going to render me, this letter 
 will never reach its destination." 
 
 *' No one shall know it," decisively said Adele, 
 " not even Jeannette." 
 
 " Who must be wondering at our secret confer- 
 ence," said Mr. Osborne, smiling, '^ and therefore I 
 shall not detain you."
 
 160 ADELE. 
 
 Ad^le rose ; lie leaned back in Ms chair, pale and 
 wearied. She put the letter in her pocket, turned 
 away, and came back. 
 
 " This letter is very important ?'* she said, looking 
 at him fixedly. 
 
 '^ Very important indeed," he gravely replied. 
 
 Ad^le said no more. She called Jeannette, who 
 appeared, looking strangely perplexed. On the 
 threshold the young girl turned to give Mr. Os- 
 borne a significant smile ; then she lightly de- 
 scended the stone steps, and was once more in the 
 garden. 
 
 '' Monsieur did not hold a long conversation with 
 Mademoiselle," said Jeannette. 
 
 " He had little to say," was the brief reply. " How 
 altered he is ; did you notice, Jeannette ?" 
 
 Jeannette. had noticed nothing particular. Of 
 course, when people had been nine days ill with 
 fever, they must be a little altered ; but Jeannette 
 had seen nothing beyond that. Adele did not in- 
 sist, — indeed, she said no more, but went straight 
 up to her own room. 
 
 She locked her door, an unusual precaution, and 
 taking the letter from her pocket, she looked at it 
 earnestly. 
 
 It was a plain letter, with a plain seal, and 
 directed, ^in a tremulous hand, to William Smith, 
 Esq., Farringdcn Street, London. It had been writ- 
 ten on a sick bed, in the vigils of fever, whilst the 
 wearied watcher slept, and in its few lines lay a 
 whole sad tale of mistrust and treachery. ^'Poor
 
 ADELE. 161 
 
 gentleman !" thought Adele ; " is there, indeed, no 
 one in this whole house in whom he can confide ? — 
 No one but me — a little girl!" But her heart beat 
 and her cheek flushed, as she remembered his words : 
 " You are sincere and true." 
 
 vol. L.
 
 162 ADELE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE LETTER. 
 
 A DELE meant to be her own messenger. This 
 resolve was so opposed to all the laws of decorum 
 and etiquette which surround a French girl, that 
 Mr. Osborne never dreamed she would take it. 
 But she did -not merely take it, she acted upon it. 
 
 No great difficulty attended the task. A short dis- 
 tance divided the Manor from the village of Cour- 
 celles, where there was a post-office ; the road was 
 straight and easy ; to go there and come back might 
 take an hour. 
 
 The day, which had been dark from the morning, 
 cleared as it advanced, and the last clouds rolled 
 away from the mountains and left the sun shining 
 in a blue sky when Adele emerged from the Manor 
 on the high road. It was wild and lonely, but safe ; 
 it wound between the mountains and the lake, 
 guarded by the arid peaks of one, and bounding the 
 silent waters of the other. With a light step and a 
 light heart Adele walked on. 
 
 Now and then she turned from her path to climb
 
 ADELE. 163 
 
 up the rocks and gather the gorgeous yellow and 
 purple flowers that grew in their crevices, and she 
 paused for a moment as the turning road showed her 
 views of mountain and lake, wilder and more beau- 
 tiful than those with which she was already familiar, 
 but otherwise she did not linger. She met a few 
 cars laden with long felled trees, from which the 
 yellow leaves drooped half withered ; a few hunters 
 going up to the mountains ; a few peasants trudging 
 along the road. Some passed on without minding 
 her, others looked at her curiously, for she had always 
 lived in such seclusion that her name alone was 
 known ; but Adele heeded neither, and went on her 
 way careless and fearless. She rested but once. A 
 little out of the way stood a solitary dwelling, with 
 doors and shutters closed. Its back was to the 
 mountain, against which it was built ; trees shaded 
 its roof; its front was to a grass-grown path, hemmed 
 in between wild hedges, enclosing on either side 
 wilder patches of neglected garden; desolate was 
 the aspect of the deserted dwelling. 
 
 Adele sat down on a low, flat stone at the 
 angle of the path, and looked at it, and wondered 
 why men reared their homes in sad places, when the 
 beautiful earth had so many lovely spots. She ga- 
 thered a bunch of wild clematis from the hedge, and 
 went on. At length a few straggling houses an- 
 nounced the vicinity of the village. A white-washed 
 inn, with its tempting sign of two stiff", staring men, 
 holding glasses full of red wine, and the enticing 
 invitation " entrons-y, let us go in," written under- 
 neath them, came first ; then a blacksmiths forge
 
 164 A DELE. 
 
 where a patient-looking, grey horse was waiting to 
 be shod, followed. A group of straight, quaint 
 houses, gathered like gossips around an antique wall, 
 next appeared, with the usual accompaniment of 
 women, in short petticoats, standing in the gloom of 
 their ancient doorways, and brown children playing 
 and quarrelling in the sun. Adele passed through 
 them without stopping ; and soon afterwards, she 
 reached and entered the long, winding street called 
 the Bourg of Courcelles. It had been a warlike 
 place when ruled by the warlike men from whom 
 Adele was descended, but like the ancient family, it 
 had dwindled away, and was now little better than 
 an obscure village lost in the activity of a manufac- 
 turing district. 
 
 Picturesque as painter's eye need^wish was that 
 street. It ros€ in stairs, and on either side the un- 
 even outline of its tall houses was cut on a back- 
 ground of barren mountains. Hot sunshine scorched 
 the red-tiled roofs, but dark shadows lurked under 
 every deep gable, and a cool gloom lingered around 
 the stone porches and arched windows below. A 
 few dingy shops caught, without arresting, the eye 
 of Adele ; and when she at length paused before one, 
 it was because that shabby stationer's window, where 
 dingy letter-paper, and faded wax, and yellow quills 
 were vainly spread to make a show, was also the 
 post-office. In the act of holding her letter above 
 the box, Adele gave a glance at the interior of the 
 shop. It was narrow and dark; behind the counter 
 sat a thin and haggard-looking man with a furrowed 
 brow and a sunken eye. He sat back with his hands
 
 ADELE. IGO 
 
 in his pockets, staring with a listless, gloomy air that 
 struck her. But she ^ave him no more than a 
 
 o 
 
 glance — no more than the time it took her to hold 
 her letter above the slit and let it f^\ll into the box. 
 This done, she walked away without looking back. 
 
 ** How easy it was, after all," thought Adele, as, 
 after leaving the village behind her, she walked along 
 the solitary road. " He thought so much of posting 
 that letter, and seemed so anxious about it — why, it 
 was nothing at all." 
 
 A few large round drops of rain on the dusty flails 
 at her feet roused her from these reflections. She 
 looked up ; in a few moments the whole aspect of 
 the day had changed ; a black and heavy cloud was 
 passing across the sky, and with its reflection it 
 darkened the narrow lake and surrounding mountains 
 to her right. To her left rose mountains less steep, 
 but that sloped away in wild, rugged gorges, where 
 green torrents foamed and roared as they broke an- 
 grily over the rocks, or gurgled in the dark and 
 narrow caverns through which they passed. One of 
 these stood but a few yards distant from the road- 
 side. Its overhanging rocks promised shelter during 
 the shower, and Adele was too much of a moun- 
 taineer to fear its yawning gloom, or to care for the 
 hollow murmurs of its invisible waters. She entered 
 it ; and scarcely had she passed its stone threshold, 
 when the white, slanting rain came pouring down 
 behind her. She looked round ; the opposite moun- 
 tains were already clad in mist, and the surface 
 of the still dark lake was troubled and broken with 
 a thousand circles. But not one of the drops that
 
 166 ADELE. 
 
 splashed on the road could reach her : and smiling 
 at her security, Adele sat down on a fragment of 
 rock, and looked up at the swift clouds drifting in 
 the sky above, like storm-beaten ships on a rolling 
 sea. 
 
 She had not sat and looked long when the sound 
 of a slow trudging step on the road, roused her. 
 She peeped out and saw a dark figure coming to- 
 wards her, under the shelter of a large cotton um- 
 brella. At once she drew back, and quietly stepped 
 behind a projection of rock. She had recognized 
 the awkward and slouching gait of M. Fran9ois 
 Morel, and did not care to be seen by him. He 
 passed the cavern without raising his eyes from the 
 earth ; she looked after him until a winding of the 
 road hid him from her sight. He was going from 
 the Manor to- the village whence she had just come. 
 How strange that he could not have been Mr. Os- 
 borne's messenger. " If he does not trust him, why 
 does he keep him ?" thought Adele with the logic 
 and ignorance of youth. She did not think of it 
 long. 
 
 The rain still fell heavily, and the cavern that 
 sheltered her was a strange wild place. She rose and 
 cautiously explored it ; but she soon paused ; it 
 ended in a pit, it might be but a few feet deep, it 
 might pierce the very bowels of the mountains, for 
 all she could see. She knelt down by the brink of 
 its abyss-like chasm and bending — she listened in- 
 tently. She saw nothing below her but darkness, 
 no glimmer of waters shivering through the gloom, 
 nothing but depths, whence rose, like a voice of dis-
 
 ADELE. 167 
 
 content, tlie rush of tlie torrent. She took a pebble 
 and dropped it in ; it splashed "with a hollow sound 
 that echoed again and again until all once more was 
 silent, and Adele heard nothing but the rain rusliing 
 past on the sweeping wind, for it still rained. In 
 vain she looked up at the sky for some light spot, 
 some blue space ; the greyness of the clouds had 
 spread every where, and gloom hung like a dome 
 above the mountains. There was nothing for it but 
 patience, and patiently Adele waited, whilst time 
 passed on, and heavier fell the pouring rain and 
 darker grew the day now drawing to a close. 
 
 " I shall have to walk home through the rain after 
 all," thought Adele, after waiting well nigh an hour. 
 " Ah ! bah ! what matter — I shall be wet, and Jean- 
 nette will grumble, and that will be the worst of it. 
 I wish I had Monsieur Morel's big umbrella." 
 
 Scarcely had the wish crossed her thoughts, when 
 umbrella and owner entered the cavern. 
 
 Adele had that presence of mind which is but 
 another name for courage. She was sitting in the 
 gloom ; Monsieur Morel had not seen and might 
 not see her. To stir was to make a noise and be 
 discovered. She remained perfectly still, quietly 
 relying on the chance of his not turning round ; if 
 he did, he could but see her ; if he did not, all was 
 right. 
 
 But Monsieur Morel seemed to have enough to 
 do in looking at the rain, and grumbling at it, though 
 alone. Next followed the task of shaking his drip- 
 ing umbrella and opening it out to dry ; then, as the 
 rain still continued, he sat down on the same rock, at
 
 168 ADELE. 
 
 the opening of the cavern, where Adele had first sat, 
 and, less patient than she had been, he wiled away 
 the time with looking over the contents of his pocket 
 book. Adele could just catch a glimpse of his bent 
 face, and thought that she had never liked its mean- 
 ing less. By the time Monsieur Morel had leisurely 
 examined the heap of large and small papers which 
 his pocket book contained, the rain had ceased a 
 little ; at once he availed himself of the opportunity. 
 He rose, stamped his wet feet, buttoned up his 
 great coat, seized his umbrella, and once more trudged 
 away. He left the cavern without having once 
 looked round. 
 
 Ad^le had not felt afraid, yet she felt relieved, 
 when he was gone. She left the place where she 
 had been sitting, and walked to the front of the cave ; 
 Monsieur Morel had already disappeared. 
 
 " I wonder why I dislike him,'^ remorsefully 
 \hought Adele, " because he is ugly ! poor fellow ! 
 that is no fault of his ! And it is a shame too, for 
 I think he rather likes me." 
 
 Her thoughts proceeded no further ; a square of 
 paper, lying on the earth at the foot of the rock on 
 which Monsieur Morel had been sitting, caught and 
 at once rivetted her attention. Adele looked at it 
 without moving, and like one in a dream. Surely that 
 was the letter she had, an hour before, put in the post 
 office. She recognized its square shape, its peculiar 
 pale blue English paper, and the direction written 
 in the slanting English hand. She stooped, picked 
 it up, and turned it round. It was the same, soiled 
 by the wet sand of the cave on which it had lain
 
 ADELE. 169 
 
 but still the same letter which Mr. Osborne had 
 trusted to her care, and which she had been so 
 anxious to carry faithfully. 
 
 Adele was not timid, but, for the first time in her 
 life, she felt fear. The treachery, so swift and so 
 sure, which had overtaken that letter when it had 
 scarcely left her hand, filled her with vague but 
 deep terror. She thought of the haggard post- 
 master in his miserable shop, a ready prey for 
 temptation — of Morel and his evil look, and the dark 
 cave, with its darker pit, that would tell no tales ; 
 and caring little for rain or storm, she sprang out on 
 the open road. 
 
 It was solitary, grey, and silent, like the hour. 
 The rain had ceased, but it had left large glimmering 
 pools, above which white clouds passed slowly from 
 the lake to the mountain. No cars passed now, no 
 hunters returning from their sport, no pedestrians 
 going to and fro — nothing but a black speck moving 
 swiftly towards her, and increasing to human size as 
 it approached. Suddenly a thought struck her. 
 What if Monsieur Morel had discovered his loss, 
 and were returning to search for the letter where he 
 had left it ? Scarcely knowing what she did, she 
 sprang down the rocks that rose between her and 
 the lake, and stooped within the shelter of a few old 
 willows. It was the worst place she could have 
 chosen, but it was too late to repair the error. 
 
 She could see through the quivering foliage, and 
 she looked intently in the direction of the figure she 
 had perceived. It was Monsieur Morel. She saw 
 him approach the cave, first cast a long, searching
 
 170 ADELE. 
 
 glance around, then enter it, and look up and down. 
 ''You may look/' triumphantly thought Adele, 
 " you may look." Something, however. Monsieur 
 Morel found, for he held it up to the light, examined 
 it curiously, then put it away, and resumed his use- 
 less search. Spite her position, Adele could not 
 help enjoying his baffled look. At length he gave 
 up the vain task, and stood still on the threshold of 
 the cave, with bent head and folded arms. After a 
 few minutes spent thus, he went forth ; she saw him 
 walk slowly along the road in a bent attitude. The 
 heart of Adele leaped. " He is tracking my foot- 
 steps," she thought ; and scarcely daring to breathe, 
 she watched him intently; but either his heavier 
 steps had effaced all trace of her own, or Monsieur 
 Morel's sagacity was not equal to the task he had 
 undertaken ; for after a sufficiently long search up 
 and down, he gave it up, climbed the highest of the 
 neighbouring rocks, and shading his eyes with his 
 hand, he looked round piercingly. This time Adele 
 thought herself discovered ; a sickening sensation 
 came over her, she shrank back, and closed her eyes. 
 But suspense is worse than the worst reality. Unable 
 to bear the thought of his approach, Adele looked 
 again — Monsieur Morel had vanished ; the road was 
 lonely. 
 
 Which way had he gone, or was he gone at all ? 
 Was he hiding — perhaps watching for her, ready to 
 spring from among his lair in the rocks as soon as 
 she appeared within his reach ? Adele did not stir ; 
 a breath of wind passing among the willows might 
 betray her presence there. Motionless as a statue,
 
 ADKLE. 171 
 
 she remained watching vainly ; but she saw nothing 
 — nothing, save the coming night. Twilight still 
 lingered above the earth ; from the west came a 
 lurid glow ; a few stars shone through the cloudy 
 sky; a troubled and declining moon was slowly 
 rising in the east ; soon she hung above the moun- 
 tains veiled in pale mists, and looking over the whole 
 wild landscape with a sad and dreary face. But 
 Adele had been too early thrown on nature and soli- 
 tude to fear either. The wild spot, the silent eve 
 alarmed her not — she had no dread save of man and 
 man's wickedness, and that was deep. 
 
 That dread, however strong, could not so far pre- 
 vail over her natural fearlessness, as to make her 
 stay where she was. She lightly climbed up to the 
 road, gave a rapid look round, and in a moment her 
 resolve was taken. The little post town of Nantua 
 stood across the lake ; the boat at the ferry would 
 take her there and back in ten minutes ; to that 
 town she would go at once. 
 
 She quickened her step ; in a few minutes she had 
 reached the group of gaunt houses by the well. They 
 were silent and quiet, with here and there a light 
 glimmering in the windows. No one was visible; 
 but the mere aspect of those lights, the mere con- 
 sciousness of human beings nigh her, made Adele 
 quite fearless. She would not have cared had she 
 met Monsieur Morel face to face. Lightly she de- 
 scended the steps cut in the rock that led to the 
 lake, the boatman was asleep on his bench. 
 
 " Quick, boatman ! I am in a hurry," said the 
 light voice of Adele, as she stepped in. He awoke
 
 172 ADELE. 
 
 with a start, and seeing her by the doubtful light of 
 his lantern, he took her for a child. 
 
 " Little girls are always in a hurry," he half 
 o-rumbled. And he rowed her across without another 
 word. 
 
 Adele handed him his money, stepped out on the 
 opposite bank, and found herself in the centre of a 
 small and badly built town ; but she had been there 
 before, and though she missed her way twice, she 
 ended by finding herself opposite the post office. 
 
 A flourishing, gaslit grocer's shop was this, with 
 a florid widow sitting behind the counter. Her 
 weeds set off* her blooming complexion, her frank 
 and open face at once inspired Adele with confi- 
 dence ; her hand was on the door to enter and ask 
 her the hour for the next post, when the sight of 
 Monsieur Morel entering the shop by another door 
 made her start back. 
 
 He went up to the post mistress, with his readiest 
 bow, and was graciously received like a familiar 
 acquaintance, then leaning on the counter, he spoke. 
 Adele saw the widow listen with surprise and alarm 
 in her good-humoured face ; then she clasped her 
 hands and turned up her eyes and shook her head ; 
 finally she rose, took a key from her pocket, opened 
 the letter box and spread . its contents before M. 
 Morel. 
 
 But in vain he turned them all over ; that which 
 he wanted was not among them ; again the widow 
 put them away, but even as she did so, she turned 
 round and spoke. Her look, her whole aspect im- 
 plied an emphatic promise. Monsieur Morel smiled
 
 ADELE. 173 
 
 and bowedj and left by the door by which he had 
 entered. 
 
 The rain had again begun to fall, the street was 
 suddenly deserted, but x'^dele stood still in the same 
 spot, like one charmed or dreaming. "What tale had 
 he told the post mistress, Adele knew not, but she 
 had little doubt of its purport. It could concern 
 nothing but the letter she was carrying ! AVhat to 
 do she could not imagine. She stood irresolute and 
 perplexed, when a light two-wheeled car drove up 
 to the post office. Mechanically Ad^le drew back 
 to let the driver enter the shop. He passed by her, 
 dripping with wet, and she saw by his attire that he 
 was a postman. But wet though he was, her young 
 face, as she stood in the gas light, with her letter in 
 her hand, caught his attention. He saw her standing 
 there like one perplexed, and he thought her troubled 
 about being late. 
 
 '' Put it in the box behind the car,^^ he said, 
 good-humouredly, " and it will go all the same. 
 
 " Where to ?" eagerly asked Adele. 
 
 " That wiU depend upon the direction, my dear," 
 jocularly replied the postman. 
 
 " But where will this car take it ?" 
 
 "To Dijon, to Paris, to the end of the world if 
 you like.^^ 
 
 He entered the shop and closed the door behind 
 him. Adele looked at the car ; it was the govern- 
 ment post. At the back, above a narrow slit, she 
 read, in yellow letters, the intimation that it was for 
 home and foreisrn letters : still she hesitated. 
 
 o 
 
 " Have you not made up your mind yet V asked
 
 174 ADELE. 
 
 the postman, coming out with the bags. " Because," 
 he added, lightly springing on the seat, " I have 
 made up my mind to be off.'^ 
 
 The car rapidly rolled away ; Adele watched it 
 till it vanished, then breathed relieved. Her task 
 was over ; the letter was gone.
 
 A DELE. 175 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE GLOVE. 
 
 The storm was at its height. 
 
 *' Oh ! that horrid lightning !" moaned Anna. 
 
 " Sublime ! magnificent !" murmured Isabella, 
 who stood by one of the windows of the Hall looking 
 on. Her arms were folded, her brow was knit — 
 Isabella was in an attitude, and in one of her grand 
 moods. 
 
 The two sisters were alone, and, as usual, ready- 
 to quarrel. 
 
 " I wish you would shut those shutters," said 
 Anna. 
 
 " Oh ! Night and darkness, ye are lovely," be- 
 gan Isabella, but Anna was in no mood for Childe 
 Harold. She rose and deliberately closed the 
 shutters in her sister's face. Isabella laughed scorn- 
 fully, and did not deign to lose her temper. 
 
 " I tell you I am not going to be used so,'^ said 
 Anna, with sparkling eyes. " I know there is some- 
 thing going on, and that I am kept out of it." 
 
 " There is a storm going on/^ ironically replied
 
 176 ADELE, 
 
 Isabella, " and you shut the shutters ; what about 
 it?" 
 
 '' You understand me well enough*!" resumed 
 Anna, more angrily than before, " and you shall not 
 get out of it so. I tell you there is something 
 going on, and that I am kept out of it." 
 
 " Very wisely," coolly put in Isabella. 
 
 " Wisely or not, I am not going to stand it. I 
 asked William for a twenty-pound note this morn- 
 ing, and I shall know why he would not give me 
 some of my father's money." 
 
 " I thought Pa was dead, and that it was William's 
 money now," observed Isabella. 
 
 Anna darted an angry look at her, but did not 
 reply. Isabella pursued — 
 
 " Poor William ! a nice, pleasant, comfortable time 
 he must have of it. Every one has a pull at him, from 
 Eobert, whose pulls are no trifle, to Anna, who coolly 
 asks for a twenty-pound note." 
 
 *^ Robert ! what has Robert been doing ?" sharply 
 asked Anna. 
 
 " You may as well know it," replied Isabella, 
 with a yawn, — '' Robert has been drawing I know 
 not how many thousands. I know it, because Ma 
 left her desk open, and I saw the letter, in which he 
 said he did not know why there was such a bother 
 made about the money, and that — " 
 
 " I shall thank you not to proceed,'' here said the 
 voice of Mrs. Osborne. She had entered unheard, 
 and stood before her daughters cold and angry. But 
 little cared either the haughty Isabella or the selfish 
 Ann^ for maternal displeasure. And to do the dis-
 
 ADELE. 177 
 
 passionate Mrs. Osborne justice, her displeasure did 
 not last. Having been so foolish as to leave her 
 desk open, she really could not wonder at the liberty- 
 Isabella had taken. The only thing was to be more 
 careful another time, lock her desk, and keep her 
 keys in her pocket. But though she felt no more 
 anger than sui-prise, she thought it proper to assume 
 a dignified wonder. 
 
 " I am astonished !" she began, sitting down, and 
 laying on the table the little portable desk she had 
 brought in with her. *^ I did not think one of my 
 daughters could have stooped to such an action.^' 
 
 " Surely, Ma, you ought to know me by this," 
 began Isabella ; " you know that when I find a thing 
 convenient — " 
 
 " But I want to know what Robert has been doing 
 with our money V interrupted Anna ; " I am not 
 going to be kept in the dark by the whole of you." 
 
 " E-obert," said Mrs. Osborne, in a feeling tone, 
 " has been behaving as I never thought my son could 
 behave. He has been betraying the confidence of 
 the most generous of brothers — " 
 
 ^' You need not. Ma," sarcastically interrupted 
 Isabella — " William is not here." 
 
 A little flush rose to Mrs. Osborne's brow ; to be 
 understood and penetrated was what she could least 
 bear, but she feigned deafness, and went on — 
 
 " Of a brother who is sacrificing his tastes, his 
 health, his private feelings to oui- welfare." 
 
 " And who would not give Anna a twenty- pound 
 note this morning," again interrupted Isabella, de- 
 termined to make a scene. 
 
 TOT.. T. N
 
 178 ADELE. 
 
 *' You have been asking money of William ?" 
 sharply said Mrs. Osborne, turning to her daughter. 
 " Of course I have," sulkily replied Anna, " and 
 so have you." 
 
 Mrs. Osborne bit her lip, and turned scarlet. 
 Anna had, without knowing it, told the truth, and 
 touched on a sore point. 
 
 " Poor William !" ejaculated Isabella, compassion- 
 ately. " I alone, I believe, ask nothing from 
 him." 
 
 Mrs. Osborne turned her cold blue eye on her 
 daughter, and said, frigidly— 
 
 " Isabella, go up to your room, and read your 
 Bible." 
 
 " Thank you. Ma ; but I fear I should not profit 
 by your kind advice.^' 
 
 " I fear so, too," coldly said Mrs. Osborne ; "ne- 
 vertheless, follow the advice, even though you should 
 not profit by it. Both William Osborne and your 
 mother shall prefer you to be so engaged to enter- 
 taining a clandestine correspondence with a man 
 who, if he meant well, would never presume to write 
 to you without the knowledge of your family." 
 
 The lips of Isabella parted to utter a reply, but 
 none came forth; she seemed overwhelmed. Her 
 mother pursued — 
 
 " That the Baron means or intends evil I do not 
 say ; he neither would nor dare ; but he found you 
 free ; and Frenchmen are not accustomed to so much 
 freedom in young girls. It amused him to write to 
 you, and you allowed it ; but William, warned by 
 ine, has put an end to his amusement and to your
 
 ADELE. 179 
 
 folly. The Baron has apologized, withdrawn — and 
 not proposed/' 
 
 The last words, uttered slowly and deliberately, 
 were meant to sting. Rarely did Mrs. Osborne per- 
 mit herself such a display of temper ; but Isabella 
 had irritated her out of her usual calmness ; and it 
 was with something like Tindictive triumph that she 
 turned on her daughter, and taunted her with her 
 defeat. 
 
 '^ AVilliam shall be answerable to me for all this !" 
 cried Isabella, passionately starting to her feet. 
 
 But Mrs. Osborne extended her white hand, and 
 coldly and calmly laying it on her daughter's arm, 
 she said — 
 
 " You shall not go near William ; he has been ill ; 
 iU he is still. His health is too precious to us all to 
 be disturbed by your caprices. I say that you shall 
 not go." 
 
 Her touch was light ; but had physical force been 
 needed to prevent Isabella from going near her bro- 
 ther, Mrs. Osborne would have used it in that hour ; 
 and for once, her will, stronger than her daughter's 
 at aU times, prevailed, and had authority. 
 
 Isabella sat down, red and indignant. !Mrs. Os- 
 borne opened her morocco desk, and Anna queru- 
 lously exclaimed — 
 
 *^ But I want to know about the money ! What 
 has Robert been doing with our money ? I want to 
 know that." 
 
 A flash of lightning and a loud peal of thunder that 
 shook the house, suggested Mrs. Osborne's reply. 
 
 " To-morrow morning will be a better time for
 
 180 
 
 ADELE. 
 
 explanation/^ she said, coldly. "I confess this 
 storm has affected my nerves, so that if I can get 
 through my two letters, I shall think myself fortu- 
 nate.'' 
 
 Anna murmured impatiently to herself, but did 
 not insist. Mrs. Osborne wrote with a rapid pen, 
 folded her letters, sealed and directed them, and 
 having locked up her desk, walked out of the room, 
 Isabella raised her head and listened; the whole 
 house was still ; the storm was dying away ; the far 
 wind alone murmured on the mountains beyond the 
 lake. She looked at Anna ; Anna had fretted her- 
 self into a doze, in her chair. 
 
 Isabella smiled scornfully, rose, and with noiseless 
 step left the room. She went up straight to her 
 •mother's apartment and tapped at the door. She 
 received no reply; unhesitatingly she opened it, a 
 light burned on a table, but the room was vacant. 
 Isabella turned away, descended the staircase, 
 crossed the court, and entered the garden. 
 
 The darkness of night covered the avenue she 
 followed ; rain drops fell on her bare head from the 
 quivering trees ; treacherous pools of wet waylaid 
 her lightly-covered feet : but Isabella heeded no- 
 thing ; on she went, until she reached the foot of 
 the stone staircase that led to her brother's study. 
 There she paused and listened : a sound of subdued 
 voices soon reached her ear. She recognised the 
 low tones of William, the soft voice of her mother, 
 and, without waiting for thought or reflection, she 
 swiftly ascended the flight of steps and paused on 
 the last, on the very edge of the white circle of light
 
 ADELE. 
 
 181 
 
 shed from the lamp within. The rain again began 
 to fall, the distant thunder again rolled in the moun- 
 tains, but Isabella did not care ; the glass door was 
 half open, the red curtain was withdrawn, she could 
 hear and see, and be neither seen nor heard. 
 More she did not want. 
 
 They sat facing one another ; Mrs. Osborne near 
 the door, her stepson opposite it ; between them a 
 table covered ^vith papers. 
 
 " My dear William," she said, in her most per- 
 suasive tones, " you will kill yourself. Remember 
 how positively the doctor has forbidden exertion.'^ 
 
 " I have not left my room yet." 
 
 " Mental exertion, I mean, and he meant too." 
 
 " To write or answer a few insignificant letters 
 cannot be called mental exertion." 
 
 He spoke coldly and briefly. She sighed and 
 resumed : 
 
 " With regard to that most unfortunate matter, 
 about Robert, if you think that my interference 
 could avail, that my maternal advice and remon- 
 strances would produce any eflect — " 
 
 " My dear madam, I am obliged to you. But 
 have we not already discussed this matter ? When 
 the guilt of Robert is proved to us, let us act by all 
 means. To stir before, would be useless. Nay,'^ he 
 added, with a smile of some irony, " it would be 
 unjust to your son and my brother." 
 
 ^f Heaven knows I do not wish to believe my poor
 
 182 A DELE. 
 
 boy guilty," said Mrs. Osborne^ raising her handker- 
 chief to her eyes. 
 
 " And what do we know, after all ?" pursued Mr. 
 Osborne ; " what reports, false perhaps, have told us, 
 or rather you ! Prudence, common justice command 
 ■us not to heed them.^^ 
 
 Mrs. Osborne murmured something about his being 
 all consideration, and beaten on this point, she with- 
 drew her handkerchief. 
 
 " With regard to that matter about Isabella,^' she 
 said, " I know not what to say." 
 
 " Isabella is a fool," impatiently replied Mr. Os- 
 borne, " and she must have her way. For me to inter- 
 fere would be to expose her and make an eclat. If the 
 Baron never writes more dangerous matter than that 
 absurd letter you showed me — where is the harm ? 
 Of course, he. will never marry a girl who has not 
 got a farthing in the way of dot ; but surely Isabella 
 knows that as well as you and I do. And how can 
 I — in common honesty — assume an alarm and an 
 indignation I do not feel ?" 
 
 " Then, you decline interfering ?" 
 
 " I think interference not needed. Isabella's 
 peace "of mind is not menaced ; in every respect I 
 consider her safe, under your keeping." 
 
 ^^ I hope, I trust she is," was the mournful reply ; 
 
 " but I thought that her elder brother ^Well — 
 
 well — " she added, breaking off as she noticed the 
 expression of impatience and ennui that passed over 
 her stepson's face, " I say no more. Isabella must 
 be left to herself. With regard to Robert, I cannot 
 help thinking that my presence might act as a useful
 
 ADELE. 18S 
 
 check, and I have come to the resolve of going to 
 England at once." 
 
 Mr. Osborne looked neither moved nor surprised. 
 His calm, white face betrayed nothing of what he 
 felt, if indeed he felt anything on hearing this an- 
 nouncement. He merely said : 
 
 " Of course, you take my sisters with you ?" 
 
 Mrs. Osborne looked up at him -svith a doubtful 
 glance, that seemed to say : '^ Is there no getting 
 out of that?" 
 
 And his quiet look in the same language, replied : 
 "None." 
 
 A long pause followed. 
 
 "What is she up to now?" thought Isabella, 
 looking at her mother. 
 
 Mrs. Osborne sat looking down with a calm fixed- 
 ness that gave tq, her fair and handsome face the 
 quiet, intent expression which ancient art has be- 
 stowed on Venus fishing. But she soon raised her 
 eyes, and fixing them on Mr. Osborne's face, she 
 said, gently : 
 
 " William, before I leave, I must speak to you on 
 a subj ect of some importance. You will remain alone 
 in this house with a very young girl : Mademoiselle 
 Adele de Courcelles." 
 
 " What about her ?" he sharply asked. 
 
 " Nothing, if the subject be displeasing to you.'* 
 
 Mr. Osborne moved restlessly in his chair, and 
 certainly did not look pleased, but he controlled 
 himself and replied : 
 
 " Pray go on.'' 
 
 Mrs. Osborne looked in his face with a doubtful.
 
 184 ADELE. 
 
 hesitating expression, that gave more force to her 
 words. 
 
 " William, mind I do not put a question, I merely 
 make a remark. If you mean to marry her — " 
 
 She stopped short, silenced at once by the indig- 
 nant severity of her stepson's look. 
 
 " You amaze me," he said, frigidly. " I have yet 
 to learn what part of my conduct towards this 
 young girl, a mere child too, has authorized so ex- 
 traordinary a construction.'" 
 
 " You are angry with me," sweetly said Mrs. Os- 
 borne, " yet without cause. Would I have touched 
 on so delicate a subject, but for the poor motherless 
 child's sake ! She is young ; a mere child, pretty 
 and thoughtless. You have paid her some attention, 
 you have shown her some kindness ; she may con- 
 clude— " ^ 
 
 " That I wish her well," he drily interrupted ; and 
 he more drily added, " Allow me to say that she will 
 conclude nothing else." 
 
 " She will not imagine that you are attached to 
 her?" 
 
 '' I think too highly of her penetration, to fear 
 that.'' 
 
 " But what if she should become attached to you 
 herself ?'' resolutely observed Mrs. Osborne; 
 
 Mr. Osborne was too proud to be vain, he was also 
 tolerably sceptical ; he did not, and he would not 
 think himself a dangerous man; but unable to suppress 
 ^ sarcasm, he replied : 
 
 " Ah ! if I had to deal with one of your over- 
 sensitive girls, like Isabella, I should indeed be care-
 
 ADELE. 185 
 
 ful ; but witli a flinty little thing, like ^Mademoiselle 
 Adele, where is the danger ?" 
 
 Mrs. Osborne smiled a slow, sad smile, and with 
 a gentle shake of the head, she said : 
 
 " Well, William, vanity is not one of your faults." 
 
 But the compliment did not mollify Mr. Osborne ; 
 and with a half frown, and a cold, displeased look, he 
 said briefly : 
 
 " My dear Madam, I like and respect Made- 
 moiselle de Courcelles too much to hear any more on 
 this subject." 
 
 Mrs. Osborne rose, and laying her left hand on the 
 table, whilst her right gathered around her the folds 
 of the heavy shawl in which she was wrapped, she 
 said, with a tone, and in an attitude of calm dignity : 
 
 " Excuse me, William ; you must hear more. I 
 cannot let this matter pass thus. Advice, warnings 
 you deride ; facts, whether you believe them or not, 
 you must hear. I spoke in half speech, out of re- 
 gard to female delicacy — I now speak in plain lan- 
 guage. That young girl loves you P' 
 
 Mr. Osborne gave an indignant start, and with un- 
 usual vehemence he exclaimed : 
 
 " I do not believe it ! It is impossible !" 
 
 " Be it so," coldly said Mrs. Osborne. " Forget 
 my words ; I dreamt what I saw and heard. I spoke 
 under the influence of a delusion, of a design if you 
 will. Proofs I certainly will not give ; say if you 
 like, and think too, that I cannot. Let it be. For 
 the first and last time, we have spoken on this sub- 
 ject. Good night." 
 
 She bent her head with stately grace, moved to- 
 wards a door, and was gone.
 
 186 ADELE. 
 
 " Oh ! my motlier you are a clever woman," ad- 
 miringly thought Isabella. " The fate of business, 
 a sister^s peace could not bait the fish, vanity, a pretty 
 girPs love will do it." 
 
 She drew nearer the glass door and looked in at 
 her brother. He was leaning forward with his 
 brow on his hand ; it was contracted with an anxious 
 thought, and he bit his nether lip. • 
 
 " Ay, she has left him something besides letters 
 and business to think of," murmured Isabella; *^let 
 her and let him fall into the miserable trap, into the 
 hollow delusion that a girl of sixteen is dying for a 
 man of thirty. Let him, I say. I liked him ; alone 
 I asked nothing from him ; and he has repaid my 
 liking with indifference and scorn. I will not utter 
 a word — I will not lift a finger to save him.^' 
 
 She descended the steps, and walked back through 
 the garden, triumphant at all she had heard. 
 
 " 1 will not go to England,'^ thought Isabella, 
 " that's flat ; nor yet will I stay here. There's going 
 to be a crash in the business, that is very clear. What 
 need I care ? they may think what they like ; before 
 it comes I shall be Madame la Baronne." 
 
 " It is impossible," thought William Osborne ; " I 
 cannot, I will not believe it." 
 
 But though it was impossible, though he could 
 not and would not believe it, the words he had 
 heard had left a sting behind, a sting which no 
 hand could pluck away — the sting of doubt and un- 
 certainty. 
 
 He liked Adele — very much did he like her; 
 but from the shadow of any other feeling he was
 
 ADELE. 187 
 
 free. He liked lier as a graceful child, fresh, ori- 
 ginal, and piquant. He liked her own liking for 
 himself, that liking wliich shone in her dark blue 
 eyes at his approach, which spoke in her joyous 
 laugh, and beamed in her whole aspect. But because 
 he liked those things, in themselves both lovely and 
 innocent, was love, the tormentor of youth — was 
 passion, destroyer of the beauty and freshness of 
 life, to come between them ? To both he had long 
 bidden farewell, and of neither did he like to think 
 in conjunction with Adele; for where love reigns, 
 must vanish the light charm of the child ; and though 
 Adele was pretty, and sixteen, never once had Mr. 
 Osborne thought of her as a woman ; never once had 
 he thought of love and her together. It would have 
 seemed cruel to him, cruel and wicked as a profana- 
 tion ; for even as Holiness and Purity surround the 
 Madonnas of Raffaelle, spite all their beauty, so 
 around some being« there flows an atmosphere of 
 careless innocence, sweet like that which breathes 
 around childhood or the wild flower ; a thing beau- 
 tiful, indeed, but too tender and too frail to be 
 plucked, and which seems to say to the outstretched 
 hand — " Gather me not.'^ 
 
 ** It is impossible,'^ he thought again, and impa- 
 tiently he rose and walked about the room ; '^ and 
 even if it were so," replied an inner voice, ^Hhe 
 time of love and faith is for ever gone by for you ; 
 let the young love the young, and leave the wearied 
 to rest." 
 
 Mrs. Osborne knew weU enough that though the 
 thought she had left her stepson might absorb him,
 
 188 ADELE. 
 
 it would lead him to no such dangerous step as mar- 
 riage. He was the last man to be flattered by the 
 love of a girl of sixteen ; he was the last man to 
 allow pity or vanity to delude him. What had he 
 to do with the feelings that agitate only in the spring- 
 time of life ? He had loved, been deceived, and 
 this wreck of the lover's fondness and the husband's 
 trust had left him no wish for a third venture. He 
 liked his life as it was, and there seemed to be no 
 room in his heart for the feelings that bind man to 
 woman, and through woman to home. 
 
 " I know it is not so," he thought ; " but even if 
 it were, is it because I think a flower fresh and beau- 
 tiful that I must gather it? Let it remain on its 
 stem, let it be worn in the bosom of some happy 
 lover ; where love is quick to come, it is quick to 
 depart ; but I will never believe it — never." 
 
 " May I intrude on Monsieur V said a submissive 
 voice. 
 
 Monsieur Morel stood before him^ wet and drip- 
 ping. 
 
 " What news ?" asked Mr. Osborne, sitting down. 
 
 '^I posted the letters Monsieur gave me, and I 
 found none." 
 
 " None ! — That is odd, is it not. Monsieur Morel ?" 
 
 Monsieur Morel shrugged his shoulders, and 
 merely said the word " Patience." 
 
 " But you posted the two letters I gave you ?" 
 resumed Mr. Osborne, after a pause. 
 
 " Monsieur gave me three letters," said Monsieur 
 Morel. 
 
 " Two you mean."
 
 ADELE. 189 
 
 " Monsieur gave me three letters/' persisted the 
 foreman. 
 
 Mr. Osborne gave him a fixed look, but said not 
 one word ; and taking up his pen, he began to write. 
 
 " Two letters. Monsieur Morel/' he said, after a 
 pause. 
 
 '^ Monsieur gave me three letters/' insisted Mon- 
 sieur Morel, with a sickly smile. 
 
 " And pray what did you do with those three 
 letters ?" asked his patron, mistrustfully. 
 
 " I posted two, the third I had the misfortune to 
 lose." 
 
 " How, and where V 
 
 " In the grotto of the Witch. I had entered it 
 to take refuge from the storm ; I opened my pocket- 
 book to feel sure that all was right, and I found the 
 three English letters Monsieur had given me. The 
 rain having ceased, I went on ; when I arrived at 
 the post-office of Courcelles, I found that one of the 
 three letters was missing, accordingly I posted the 
 other two." 
 
 " Which were they ?" interrupted Mr. Osborne. 
 
 *' One was for Johnson and Co., the other for 
 Walker." 
 
 " And the third— the lost one ?" 
 
 " I did not look at the direction of that letter." 
 
 " Why so. Monsieur Morel ? — Why exempt that 
 one, when you so accurately noted the other two ?" 
 
 " Because it was only when the third one was 
 lost that I looked at these two." 
 
 " A great pity. Monsieur Morel — a great pity ; if 
 you had only examined the k'^'ei" a little raore curi-
 
 190 ADELE. 
 
 ously whilst you were in the grotto of the Witch 
 waiting for the rain to stop^ see how useful we might 
 find it now." 
 
 A sarcastic smile curled Mr. Osborne's lip as he 
 spoke, and a scornful light shone in his dark eye. 
 
 " I beg Monsieur's pardon, over and over/' hum- 
 bly said the foreman ; " I have been remiss, negli- 
 gent, but how could I suppose that this unfortunate 
 letter would be lost ? — And yet, let me see — I think 
 I did look at it — ^was it not directed to a certain 
 Smith, Farringdon Street, London?" 
 
 " Perhaps it was," carelessly replied Mr. Os- 
 borne ; and internally he added, " fool that I was to 
 trust my fate into the hands of a careless child ! She 
 has shown or lost the letter, and all is over." But 
 he was too much master of himself, too well pre- 
 pared for treachery to betray any emotion ; he merely 
 said with a slight touch of bitterness in his voice — 
 
 " I wonder, Monsieur Morel, you did not look 
 for that missing letter in the grotto of the Witch on 
 your way back ?" 
 
 Monsieur Morel opened his eyes wide. 
 
 " And does Monsieur suppose I neglected so plain 
 a duty ? — Of course I looked for it." 
 
 ^'But did not find it; of course not. Needless 
 question. 
 
 " Monsieur is displeased with me," humbly said 
 the foreman ; " but let Monsieur remember what a 
 night it has been and is still. Lightning so vivid? 
 and thunder so loud, no one, I suppose, remembers. 
 As for rain," he added, with a shrug, " it is not to 
 boast of my willingness to serve Monsieur that I say
 
 ADELE. 191 
 
 it, but I am wet to tlie bone. But little would I care 
 for that, if I had not had the misfortune " 
 
 " Let it be/' impatiently interrupted Mr. Os- 
 borne ; " I know what to think, Monsieur Morel." 
 
 He fixed on his foreman a look of grave stern- 
 ness, which slightly disturbed the composure of 
 Monsieur Morel. 
 
 *^ And what is more," resumed Mr. Osborne, but 
 without allowing him to proceed, the foreman ob- 
 served — 
 
 " I beg Monsieur's pardon, but there is a matter 
 to which I think it right to call ^Monsieur's attention. 
 On my return, a little while ago, to the grotto of the 
 Witch, I found, not the lost letter, but this.'' 
 
 He drew, as he spoke, a small kid glove from the 
 breast-pocket of his great-coat, and laid it on the 
 table. Mr. Osborne looked at it fixedly. A pre- 
 sentiment of coming evil hung over him like a dark 
 cloud, but he did not speak. Monsieur Morel ^took 
 up the glove, and holding it up for his own survey 
 and that of his master, he resumed, in a slow, cogi- 
 tating voice — 
 
 '' It is, as Monsieur sees, a very small woman's 
 glove, for a small woman's hand. I found it, as I 
 said, in the grotto of the Witch, on the very edge of 
 that dark hole which I dare say Monsieur remem- 
 bers ; all the painters go and paint it, as if it were a 
 beautiful thing, instead of being a black, ugly pit, 
 without a bottom to it. Well, though that glove is 
 sadly soiled with the wet earth, I could almost swear 
 it is one of the pair I had the honour of bringing 
 Mademoiselle Adele de Courcelles two months ago
 
 192 ADELE. 
 
 from Saint Etienne, when I went there for Mon- 
 sieur's business ; but then," added Monsieur Morel, 
 with an incredulous smile, " what should take Made- 
 moiselle Adele out on such a night as this ?" 
 
 Mr. Osborne turned deadly pale. The truth 
 flashed across him. Adele had gone herself with 
 his letter — what had happened to her ? He looked 
 at Morel — that sallow face told him nothing ; he 
 turned from it with a sickening dread of what might 
 have happened, and rang nervously. Jean, who 
 had come back that same day, soon appeared. 
 
 " Where is Mademoiselle Ad^le ?" asked Mr. 
 Osborne, with unusual vehemence. 
 
 '' Mademoiselle Adele !" repeated Jean, hesi- 
 tatingly. " Is it Mademoiselle Adele, Monsieur 
 said?" 
 
 ^* Where is she ? — Quick — answer." 
 
 Jean looked bewildered. 
 
 " Monsieur must excuse me, but how can I tell 
 precisely where Mademoiselle Adele is just now?" 
 
 '^ Is she in the house ? — That you know, I sup- 
 pose.^' 
 
 Jean stared at his master as if he thought that 
 fever had affected his brain, bu the controuled him- 
 self, and replied — 
 
 " Out of the house Mademoiselle Adele cannot be 
 at this hour ; and in her room I will venture to say 
 she is." 
 
 " Go and see at once, and bring me word." 
 
 Jean bent his head and withdrew slowly. Not a 
 word was exchanged between the master and his 
 foreman until the old man's return. At length, his
 
 ADELE. 193 
 
 shuffling step was heard in the corridor. Slowly 
 and leisurely, with the heavy tread of age, he came 
 along, knocked at the door, opened and shut it care- 
 fully, and standing before his master, calmly said — 
 
 " Mademoiselle Adele is in her room." 
 
 " Thank God !" exclaimed Mr. Osborne, breathing 
 like one relieved, " thank God !" 
 
 " Are you sure of it ? have you seen her ?" asked 
 Morel, looking incredulous. 
 
 Jean thought the whole of this inquiry strange 
 and impertinent : he was not, at all events, disposed 
 to answer the questions of one whom he despised 
 and disliked. He pretended deafness. But Mr. 
 Osborne had heard Morel's question, and he anx- 
 iously echoed it. 
 
 " Ay, Jean, are you sure ? have you seen Made- 
 moiselle Adele ?" 
 
 " I have not seen Mademoiselle Adele,^' replied 
 Jean, sulkily, " but I have been to Mademoiselle de 
 Courcelles's room door, and I have seen a light 
 within." 
 
 *' Did she speak to you ? — did you hear her voice ?" 
 impatiently said Mr. Osborne. 
 
 '* Mademoiselle did not speak to me, and I did 
 not hear her voice," drily replied Jean. ^^ I knocked 
 at her door, but got no answer ; Mademoiselle was, 
 I dare say, saying her prayers." 
 
 " Why did you not look in through the keyhole V 
 asked Morel. 
 
 The old man reddened, and gave the foreman a 
 look of silent indignation. Mr. Osborne rose, and 
 half- angrily observed — 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 ' ADELE. 
 
 " I see there is but one way of knowing tlie truth." 
 And having cast a rapid look on the table, to ascer- 
 tain that he left nothing there unfit or unmeant for 
 Morel's eye, he added, briefly and imperatively, in 
 a tone that did not admit of argument or reply — 
 " Jean, show me at once to the room of Mademoi- 
 selle Adele." 
 
 Jean shook his head, but obeyed. Master and 
 servant left together. Monsieur Morel remained 
 behind. In a few minutes Mr. Osborne had reached 
 the young girl's room ; but the light which Jean had 
 seen, was gone ; the door which he had found closed, 
 was open ; the room was vacant. 
 
 '' I suppose Mademoiselle is below," said Jean, 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " Go at once, and look," said Mr. Osborne, pacing 
 the narrow room up and down with feverish impa- 
 tience. 
 
 But Jean did not stir.. 
 
 " Monsieur must excuse me," he said, in a moved 
 voice; "but I cannot go " 
 
 " You cannot !" echoed Mr. Osborne, stopping 
 short, and looking at him amazed ; " why so ?" 
 
 " I cannot go and leave Monsieur here alone in 
 Mademoiselle de Courcelles's room," solemnly said 
 Jean ; ". if Monsieur were to kill me for not doing 
 it, I could not do it." 
 
 " Jean," emphatically said his master, " you are 
 an old fool ; lock the door ; take the key ; do what 
 you like ; but go at once," 
 
 But whilst he gave these orders, Mr. Osborne for- 
 got that he was still in the room, and Jean was going
 
 ADELE. 195 
 
 to remind him of the fact, and further delay would 
 have been the consequence, but for the sudden en- 
 trance of Jeannette. 
 
 '' Mademoiselle !" she exclaimed uneasily, '^ where 
 is Mademoiselle Ad^le? Jean, did you see her? 
 where is she ?" 
 
 '^ When did you see her last ?" hastily asked Mr. 
 Osborne. 
 
 " This afternoon ; but she must be somewhere ? 
 she added, looking round ; " I will never believe the 
 story of that wretch Morel. A vile invention ! The 
 dear child never stirred without me before. Jean, 
 run to the lumber-room ; there were some old books 
 and pictures there, she used to be fond of looking at. 
 Go at once, I say !" she added, angrily, as Jean, 
 amazed at what he heard, did not stir. 
 
 Mr. Osborne took the light from his hand, and 
 went himself. He climbed up a ladder and a broken 
 staircase, but neither books nor pictures had at- 
 tracted Adele there that day ; the garret was empty. 
 Accompanied by Jeannette, he searched over the 
 whole Manor, but in vain. Adele was not found. 
 
 At once Mr. Osborne's resolve was taken. He 
 called Morel, gave him brief and imperative orders, 
 and before five minutes were over, he rode out to 
 search for Adele, accompanied by the foreman and 
 five men from the forge. 
 
 "I tell you," indignantly exclaimed Jeannette, 
 " that it is of no use ; Mamzelle Ad^le gone out, 
 indeed ! She never did such a thing in all her life ; 
 very likely that she should begin on such a night as 
 this ! The wicked child has gone to some nook in 
 
 o 2
 
 196 ADELE. 
 
 the garden, and is hiding there to drive poor old 
 Jeannette out of her wits, and that is alh" 
 
 She spoke in vain : the evidence of the glove, the 
 tormenting suggestions of his own thoughts, were 
 more convincing than her words to Mr. Osborne. 
 Equally vain proved the interference of Mrs. Os- 
 borne. The rumour of the disappearance of Adele 
 reached her in her room where she sat writing. 
 She hastily descended the staircase, and found her 
 stepson in the act of riding out. She ventured in 
 the damp, dark night after him, to remonstrate. 
 
 *^ My dear William !" she said, feelingly, " you 
 cannot be thinking of going out on this dreadful 
 night ?'^ 
 
 " The storm is over," he replied, shortly. 
 
 '^ But the air is keen, the chill is dangerous ! And 
 though I feel, and understand your anxiety about this 
 poor child, still remember, William, that your health 
 and life are precious, very precious to us all." 
 
 One of the men who preceded the little band held 
 a torch ; its light shone on the pale, grave face of 
 Mr. Osborne, and his stepmother could not but notice 
 the bitter smile with which he heard her. But she 
 persisted more feelingly than before. 
 
 " What will the doctor say to such imprudence ? 
 Why, it may bring on a relapse of that dangerous 
 fever." 
 
 '^ Excuse me," he interrupted ; '' time is precious. 
 I cannot linger longer." 
 
 He rode away^ Mrs. Osborne stood on the stone 
 threshold of the Manor, listening to the lessening 
 gound of his horse's hoofs.
 
 ADELE. 
 
 197 
 
 " Poor fellow ! so soon caught !" she thought, 
 with a scornful pity that avenged her of every past 
 sarcasm. 
 
 The night was dark and starless ; the wind was 
 keen, but silent; the dull, heavy outline of the 
 mountains rose on a gloomy sky ; the road vanished 
 like a pale line traced in dark space ; the lake was a 
 sombre spot, a pit silent and fathomless ; and Jean- 
 nette sat on the stone steps of the Manor, moaning 
 and waiting. 
 
 Two hours passed away. At length the tramp of 
 horses was heard ; the light of torches flashed on the 
 rocks, dark figures of horses and their riders appeared, 
 but they rode silently, like spectres in legends. Je- 
 annette could not move ; she sat there, stony and 
 rigid, until the foremost horseman came up. It was 
 Mr. Osborne ; his pale face told all. Jeannette 
 clapped her hands and uttered a loud cry. ^' Lost — 
 lost !" she moaned. Silently he passed on ; Mrs. Os- 
 borne, Isabella appeared. Jean groaning aloud, met 
 him on the threshold; he crossed through them, 
 without a word, on to his study. His stepmother 
 had followed him ; she arrived in time to hear him 
 lock and bolt the door. She stooped and looked 
 through the keyhole. He stood with contracted brow 
 and rigid lip, looking at the little glove of Adele on 
 the table.
 
 198 ADELE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 ALICE. 
 
 Madame Lascotjrs sat in her luxurious boudoir ; 
 the light of the lamp shone white on her handsome 
 face ; a book lay on her lap, but she did not read ; her 
 cheek rested on her hand, her eyes were fixed on 
 vacant space ; she listened to the wind rushing past, 
 and to the rain beating against the window panes, 
 and she remembered an evening when sitting by 
 the fireside in the Manor, she had listened with 
 William Osborne to that stormy wind passing over 
 the lake. 
 
 Monsieur Lascours, a white-haired man with ex- 
 pressive features and quick, brown eyes, sat opposite 
 his wife ; he put down his newspaper with an anxious 
 air. 
 
 " You are listening to that wind," he said, per- 
 ceiving that her book had dropped on her lap ; '' yes, 
 it will ruin all our flowers." 
 
 "What a pity!" abstractedly said Madame Las- 
 cours. 
 
 Her husband rose and walked to the window ; he
 
 ADELE. 199 
 
 raised the silk curtain and gazed on tlie gloom of a 
 stormy night. 
 
 " I must go and see what can be done/' he ob- 
 served, impatiently ; " a few planks might save them. 
 What do you think, Alice ?" 
 
 " I think, like you, that something might be done." 
 She spoke with evident effort, and when her husband 
 left the room, she sank back in her chair, and relapsed 
 into her abstracted mood. 
 
 '^ Happy they," she thought, " who can forget the 
 past, who are not for ever ^haunted by the thought 
 of what is and what might have been. Happy they 
 whose life is a blank, who have nothing to remember 
 save days like other days.^* 
 
 Fiercer grew the night, and louder rose the wind. 
 It blew from the lake, and brought Alice broken 
 sounds of voices, amongst which she distinguished 
 the firm, commanding tones of her husband. Then 
 came the noise of hammering, then a long pause fol- 
 lowed. She rose and went to the threshold of the 
 glass door that opened on the garden. The rain 
 had ceased, the wind was still, and a faint star shone 
 through a white cloud. The chill of the night felt 
 pleasant and soothing. Madame Lascours went out, 
 but she shunned the spot where the glare of torches 
 would have led her to her husband and his men. 
 She entered a solitary alley, that wound by the lake. 
 It ended in a stone balcony that overlooked it. 
 Below and around her all was gloom ; but through 
 the dark shone a solitary light. It burned in the 
 Manor of Courcelles. 
 ^ *^ A\Tiat brought me here ?" thought Alice, turning
 
 200 ADELE. 
 
 away, " what haunts me to-night ? What is going 
 to happen, that I cannot find rest ? — that if the wind 
 blows loud, I must think of her and of him ? He is 
 the last of all men likely to attach himself to a child ; 
 and if he did, or does, what is it now to me ?" 
 
 She turned back; the storm rose again with re- 
 newed might ; a nameless fear seized her ; she sprang 
 on like one pursued, but the wind fled as fast as she 
 did, and rushed by her with a triumphant voice. 
 She stopped short, ashamed of her foolish fear ; 
 light shone through the trees; a few steps more 
 brought her to the side of M. Lascours. 
 
 " Alice, Alice — why did you come ?" he said, in a 
 tone of reproach. 
 
 She did not reply. He drew her to his side, with 
 concern. Her loosened hair was heavy with rain ; 
 her face was white. She trembled, but did not 
 speak. 
 
 *' It is a dreary nighty" he said, " but I have saved 
 some of our flowers." 
 
 Mechanically she turned to the spot to which he 
 pointed. 
 
 " You have done well," she began ; then she broke 
 off and said, in a lower tone, almost a whisper, 
 '' what is that ?" 
 
 Her raised hand pointed to the lake. A dark ob- 
 ject was swiftly coming towards them on its heaving 
 waves ; and before Monsieur Lascours could reply 
 " it is a boat," the light of the torches had shone on 
 the terrified face of the boatman and the bending 
 figure of a woman. They were drifting fast towards 
 the rocky bank ; in another moment their frail skiff
 
 ADELE. SOI 
 
 dashed against it ; tlie man sprang on shore, and the 
 dark waves swallowed the splitting boat. 
 
 Alice closed her eyes and turned her head away. 
 
 " Heaven be praised !" said the boatman, drawing 
 a deep breath — " what a night !" 
 
 '' And the woman !" exclaimed Monsieur Lascour, 
 " where is the woman ?" 
 
 " There never was such a night," said the boat- 
 man, unable, in the selfish instinct of self-preserva- 
 tion, to think of anything save the danger he had 
 escaped. 
 
 Monsieur Lascours no longer heeded him : he had 
 seized a lantern from the hand of a servant, and 
 sprung down the stone steps that led to the lake ; 
 but in vain he looked around him; the foaming 
 waves had kept no trace of their prey. 
 
 " There !" said his wife, who had followed him. 
 
 She pressed his arm, and with her other hand si- 
 lently pointed to some pale object lying in the rocky 
 bank. He took a step forward, stooped and looked. 
 A white, inanimate girl lay within the shelter of the 
 rocks against which the boat had split. The very 
 force of the shock had thrown her there, beyond the 
 reach of the waves. 
 
 " Is she dead, or living ?" asked Alice, breath- 
 lessly. But before her husband could answer, she 
 uttered a cry of distress and pain. " Adele ! Adele ! 
 — it is Adele !" she cried ; and heedless of the waves 
 that still lashed against the shore, she kneeled down, 
 and seizing the young girl in her arms, she at- 
 tempted to raise her. 
 
 At once Monsieur Lascours put his wife aside.
 
 202 ADELE. ^ 
 
 With the promptitude and energy of his character, 
 he had raised Adele, called his servants, given them, 
 rapid instructions, and carried the young girl to the 
 house in less than five minutes. As he laid her 
 down on a couch in his wife's boudoir, she sighed 
 deeply, and opened her eyes. 
 
 Alice raised her up. It was plain that Adele had 
 only been stunned, with the shock of being cast 
 ashore. The blood soon returned to her pale cheek, 
 and life to her v/hole aspect ; but she looked be- 
 wildered, and seemed unable to understand either 
 where she was, or what had brought her there. 
 Alice bent over her friend, and in a moved voice 
 she said — 
 
 ^^ You know me, — I am Alice, You are safe, 
 quite safe." 
 
 Ad^le looked at her fixedly, and said, slowly — 
 '' The letter is gone." 
 
 Then suddenly she remembered the face of Alice, 
 and uttering her name, she threw her arms around 
 the neck of her friend. But scarcely had she given 
 her one embrace, when a fuller and clearer memory 
 of all that had passed rushed to her. She started, 
 and exclaimed, uneasily — 
 
 " Oh ! Alice, I must go ; they will be so uneasy. 
 I must go at once, at once." 
 
 " Child ! you are dreaming. You have but just 
 escaped great danger. You cannot, you shall not 
 go. Why, I cannot even send a message across the 
 lake to let Jeannette know you are here." 
 
 " Poor Jeannette !" said Adele, leaning her cheek 
 on her hand, " poor Monsieur Osborne ! I know
 
 ADELE. 203 
 
 what he will think. It will make him very un- 
 happy, Alice." 
 
 She looked up with dim eyes in the face of her 
 friend; but Madame Lascours did not reply. She 
 said, in a tone of concern : 
 
 " You are wet, quite wet. Can you come up to 
 my room? or shall Monsieur Lascours carry you ?" 
 
 Ad^le laughed at the question, and started up as 
 if nothing had happened to her. She seemed to re- 
 member neither her danger nor her deliverance. 
 She had been out on a stormy night, that was all. 
 Death had passed near her, but invisible had been 
 the spectre on which the eyes of youth so seldom 
 gaze. She had, however, to submit to the kind and 
 anxious control of her friend ; and spite entreaties, 
 and reluctance, and assurances that her clothes were 
 barely wet, she had, too, to enter the large and lux- 
 urious bed of Madame Lascour's luxurious bed-room. 
 
 ''I shall stay with you," said Madame Lascours, 
 sitting down by her side ; " and as soon as the night 
 grows a little calm, a messenger shall cross the lake." 
 
 The assurance pacified Adele, and with the light- 
 ness of her temper, and of her years, she looked 
 around her — vivid carpets, the rarest of woods, 
 costly laces — simplicity in the midst of splendour 
 surrounded her on every side. Her exclamations of 
 admiration and delight drew a sad sigh from her 
 graver friend. What did she care about it all ? But 
 Adele soon changed the theme. 
 
 ** What a pity you do not come to Courcelles now," 
 she said ; " Monsieur Osborne is there now. Oh, 
 how you would like and admire him !"
 
 204: ADELE. 
 
 Madame Lascours did not reply. 
 
 '^ Do you like him so much ?" she asked, at length. 
 
 " I like him,'^ said Ad^le. 
 ' " But so very much ?" persisted her friend. 
 
 '' Alice, what do you mean ? There are not two 
 ways nor two measures of liking. Monsieur Osborne is 
 perfectly kind and handsome. Alice, I like him — 
 more I cannot say." 
 
 Madame Lascours bent her dark eyes on the young 
 face beneath her. Fever and excitement gave the 
 clear cheek of Adele a vivid glow ; her blue eyes 
 shone like stars, her red lips smiled sweetly, her 
 brown hair flowed around her like a veil that showed 
 more than it concealed. She looked very lovely, 
 full of youth, life, and beauty ; the very being to 
 charm away an unwary man's heart. 
 
 " He loves her, or he will love her," thought 
 Alice, rising as if she had been stung. *' It is to 
 be." 
 
 '* What is the matter ?" asked Adele, leaning up 
 on one elbow and looking surprised. At once Alice 
 came back, resumed her place, and taking the young 
 girl's hand within her own, she patiently sat by her, 
 listening to Monsieur Osborne's praises, until at 
 length Adele fell fast asleep. 
 
 She looked at her with a sad and dreamy gaze. 
 ^^ What does all this mean ?" she thought ; " what 
 brought her out on this dreadful night ? What letter 
 did she speak of ? Why can she not utter ten words 
 without bringing in his name ?" 
 
 A low tap at the door roused her from these 
 troubled thoughts; she softly stepped across the
 
 ADELE. 205 
 
 floor, opened the door, and saw the anxious face of 
 her husband. 
 
 "Well," he said. 
 
 '' She is well, and fast asleep,'^ replied Alice. 
 
 '^ How does she feel ? how does she look ?" 
 
 Alice did not reply, but with a smile signed him 
 to look in, and held up the light, so that it shone on 
 the young girl's flushed and sleeping face. 
 
 Monsieur Lascours was a passionate admirer of 
 handsome women, beautiful girls, lovely flowers, and 
 all splendid things. He turned away, shook his head, 
 and said emphatically — 
 
 ** Alice,- your little friend is a blooming rose. Has 
 she any thorns ?" he added, as his wife half closed 
 the door, and followed him out. 
 
 " None, I verily believe," replied Alice, with un- 
 usual warmth. 
 
 " Humph ! what brought her out on this awful 
 night ? Weil, no matter ; 'tis her business, not ours. 
 Have you thought of making the foolish little thing's 
 clothes dry V* 
 
 For the husband of Alice was a thorough French- 
 man, and never forgot the practical. 
 
 Madame Lascours replied with a smile, that she 
 would see to everything, and returned to the bedside 
 of the young girl. Adele was still fast asleep. Alice 
 bent over her, and softly kissed her. '• Let it be," 
 she thought, " let it be."
 
 206 ADELE. 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 ,Adele was tired; she slept without dreaming or 
 wakening until the sun shone full' in her room. She 
 awoke with a sense of joy she at first could not un- 
 derstand, but a moment's reflection soon told her. 
 Mr. Osborne^s letter was gone. " It is in Dijon 
 now/' she thought. " Who knows ? in Paris per- 
 haps." 
 
 Beyond this she would not go. Morel, his treachery, 
 the lonely road, all she had dreaded and undergone, 
 she banished from her mind : the letter was gone. 
 
 She rose, dressed herself quickly, and opened her 
 window. All token of the past night's storm had 
 fled. The vivid green of the mountains rose on the 
 vivid blue of the sky ; the gloom of their rocky base 
 seemed to sink in the very depths of the still, dark 
 lake, and before her rose, in the glow of the morning 
 sun, the verdant gardens and the grey summits of the 
 old Manor of Courcelles. 
 
 " So soon up !" aaid the voice of Alice. 
 
 Adele turned round, behind her stood Madame
 
 ADELE. SOT 
 
 Lascours, handsome, grave, richly dressed. She 
 chid her gently for rising so early, then forestalled 
 her inquiries, by informing her that with dawn a 
 messenger had gone over to the Manor, and in- 
 formed Jeannette of her safety. " And I believe," 
 added Madame Lascours, '' that your old friend her- 
 self will come for you this morning. But Monsieur 
 Lascours is all anxiety to see you safe and well. 
 Will you come down ?" 
 
 They found Monsieur Lascours in the dining- 
 room, all anxiety, as his wife had truly said, about 
 Adele. The kindness and the warmth of his in- 
 quiries touched and amused the young girl. She 
 liked his stately mien, his keen brown eyes, and ex- 
 pressive features, even more than on the evening. 
 " Alice is a happy woman," she thought ; " if he is 
 so kind to me, a stranger, what must he be to her ?" 
 
 After breakfast. Monsieur Lascours would show 
 Adele his garden. It had neither the extent nor 
 the antique charm of that of Courcelles, but in its 
 way it was beautiful ; fine trees, alleys where shade 
 and sunshine blended, verdant lawns, splendid 
 flowers adorned it, and picturesque and varied views 
 gave it an extent it did not owe to nature. Adele 
 admired and praised it enthusiastically. 
 
 " Then you prefer my garden to Courcelles ?*' 
 promptly said Monsievir Lascours. 
 
 As promptly came the reply of Adele. 
 
 " No. I like Courcelles better." 
 
 Her abrupt frankness seemed to please him, for 
 he looked kindly at her ; but he persisted : 
 
 " But my garden is much handsomer than that of
 
 20S ADELE. 
 
 Courcelles ; you have not seen it yet. Come with 
 me." 
 
 He preceded her with a vigorous and rapid pace, 
 which soon made Alice pause with a smile. 
 
 " I cannot go so fast," she said ; " can you ?" 
 
 " Ay, and faster," replied Adele ; and lightly 
 springing forward, she again stood by Monsieur 
 Lascours. 
 
 " What have you got in Courcelles like this ?" he 
 asked, pausing af the entrance of a silent path that 
 wound away through verdure and shade, and closed 
 in a view of mountain and lake seen through azure 
 mists. 
 
 " We have better," she resolutely replied ; '^ we 
 have the broad alley, two hundred feet long and 
 thirty feet wide." 
 
 "Sunburnt — sunburnt — " he replied, quickly; 
 ^'but nothing like this have you got," he added, 
 opening the door of a hothouse, and showing her its 
 splendid exotics. 
 
 Adele looked around her and shook her head. 
 
 " Your flowers are fine," she said ; " but I do not 
 like them. They are shut up from light, life, and 
 air. They are not flowers, but prisoners. Ours 
 bloom in spring and fade in autumn, and are happy 
 and free all the year round.^' 
 
 " Pooh ! they bloom on every hedge, and grow 
 in every garden — common, worthless things." 
 
 "Ah! bah,'' coolly replied Adele. "The Almighty 
 made them, and you cannot say more of yours." 
 
 "Are you a republican?" asked Monsieur Las- 
 cours, frowning with assumed severity.
 
 ADELE. 
 
 Adele shrugged her shoulders, and said she did 
 not know, but that one flower was as good as 
 another. 
 
 Monsieur Lascours was a passionate horticulturist ; 
 he heard her with horror, and, with an abundance of 
 botanical erudition, he clearly proved to her the aris- 
 tocratic superiority of certain flowers over the rest. 
 
 Adele heard him out, and said with a quiet smile : 
 
 " Yery true ; but we have something in the garden 
 of Courcelles, all your exotics could not purchase." 
 
 " What V he quickly asked. 
 
 '' We have a lime-tree of a hundred and flfty years 
 old, that blooms every first of May, and around that 
 lime-tree an ivy plant that has grown and t^vined 
 there, Jeannette says, for more than a hundi'ed 
 years.^^ 
 
 Madame Lascours once more stood by their side. 
 She heard the close of their discourse, and gave her 
 husband an anxious look. His origin was obscure, and 
 his flowers were his hobby ; the reply of Adele might 
 seem to him little better than an attack on these two 
 sensitive points ; but that reply was uttered so simply,. 
 and the whole manner of Adele was so free from 
 pride of descent or voluntary impertinence, that 
 Monsieur Lascours only smiled and confessed him- 
 self beaten. 
 
 "You are right, Mademoiselle Adele," he said. 
 " My garden is but a poor parvenu, and cannot com- 
 pete with your majestic home.^' 
 
 " Then take me back to it/' she said, coaxingly. 
 
 He said she was in a great hurry ; but her request 
 was nevertheless complied with. In a few minutes 
 
 VOT. T. P
 
 210 ADELE. 
 
 Ad^le had bidden Alice adieu, and a "boat with two 
 rowers was carrying her and Monsieur Lascours 
 across the lake. 
 
 Alice looked after them and sighed. Where they 
 were going she could not go; the presence they were 
 seeking was to her forbidden ; an eternal barrier rose 
 between her and past days, when she too was young, 
 and, though never so gay as Adele, light-hearted and 
 free. 
 
 " But never like her," she thought, as the young 
 girl's clear laugh came to her across the still lake ; 
 " never like her. She met death yesterday, and this 
 morning she can laugh. She has known my husband 
 but a day, and she is bolder with him than I after 
 seven years. Ah ! some are made to be blest, to 
 seize and enjoy the golden time ; and others are made 
 to look on, to know what they should do to be happy, 
 and never do it. The will of God be done." 
 
 E-apidly they rowed across the calm lake. Adele 
 was joyous as a bird, and Monsieur Lascours listened 
 and smiled. Strangely enough, his thoughts took 
 the same turn the thoughts of his wife had taken. 
 
 " I am more than three times the little thing's 
 age," he thought ; " yet had I married her, I could 
 have made her a happy woman. Alice, I never 
 could. Sad she was on her wedding-day, and sad 
 she will be until I die." 
 
 These bitter thoughts sent an involuntary cloud 
 on his brow, and he heard, without heeding, the talk 
 of Ad^le, until she suddenly exclaimed : 
 
 " There is Monsieur Osborne in his boat. Oh ! 
 how wrong of him !"
 
 ADELE. 211 
 
 Monsieur Lascours looked, and did indeed see 
 Mr. Osborne's boat, not rowed by him, however, 
 coming towards them. The old man turned to the 
 young girl. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Adele," he said, in a low, ^clear 
 voice, bending the while his keen look on her up- 
 raised face, " you are young, very young, and the 
 world is not always kind to the young. You may 
 need a friend to give you aid, to interfere in your 
 behalf; if ever you do need such a friend, apply to 
 me." 
 
 Surprise kept Adele mute. " A friend," she 
 thought, " what should I want a friend for V And 
 she shook her gay head at life and its trials. But 
 Monsieur Lascours seemed to expect no reply ; his 
 boat now stood alongside with Mr. Osborne^s ; they 
 had exchanged a formal greeting. 
 
 " I am much better, thank you," languidly said 
 Mr. Osborne, in reply to Monsieur Lascour's in- 
 quiry. 
 
 " Ah ! but how ill he still looks," put in Adcle, 
 giving him a compassionate glance, which he returned 
 smiling. 
 
 No more was said ; the two boats rowed on until 
 they reached the stone steps. Adele lightly sprang 
 out, but Monsieur Lascours did not follow her. 
 
 " Good-bye, Mademoiselle Adele," he said, kindly, 
 " remember my words." 
 
 And with a bow to Mr. Osborne, who stood on the 
 lowest step, he sank back in the boat that shot away 
 across the lake. The sunburnt boatman w4 o had 
 rowed Mr. Osborne's boat was tucking up his atriped 
 
 p 2
 
 213 ADELE. 
 
 trowsers to enter the water and fasten the boat 
 to the iron ring that held it, Adele gave him a 
 rapid look, and bending, she whispered to Mr. 
 Osborne : 
 
 " It is gone." 
 
 She said no more, but darted up the steps into the 
 alley. He followed her more slowly. When he 
 stood by her side, Adele again gave a quick, anxious 
 look around her. The spot was secluded, though 
 open ; none could approach unseen and listen, yet 
 her voice sank as she said : 
 
 " Oh ! I have so many things to tell you. The 
 letter is gone, you know. Do not trust Morel ; he 
 is a traitor." 
 " I know it." 
 
 " But do not keep him, — not' an hour." 
 He smiled at her earnestness. 
 *^ I want him,'^ he said. 
 " But he is a traitor,^^ she urged. 
 " It is not the known enemy who is dangerous," 
 he replied. 
 
 " Hear me, and then say that if you like," she 
 persisted. 
 
 As to hear her was precisely what Mr. Osborne 
 most wished, he yielded and looked down at her 
 like one prepared to listen. We know her tale, and 
 need not repeat it. He interruj^ted her but once. 
 
 " What did you feel when you were in those 
 willows ?" he asked. 
 
 " I thought that if he saw me he would kill me," 
 she replied. 
 
 Mr. Osborne took her hand and pressed it.
 
 ADELE. 213 
 
 ■ " He dare not, even in tliought, lie dare not harm 
 you. But God forgive me ! Go on." 
 
 She told him how she had sent the letter. " The 
 rest," she added, simply, " I do not remember well. 
 I got back in the boat. When we reached the 
 middle of the lake there rose a storm that sent tis 
 drifting. I remember the dark sky, the white curl- 
 ing waves, the rush of angry waters ; then a long 
 blank follows, and the kind, handsome face of i\Jice, 
 bendins: over me closes all." 
 
 Mr. Osborne dropped her hand. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Adele," he said, " you are a fear- 
 less little creature. Truly, you do not belie your old 
 heroic blood." ' 
 
 That blood rushed up, red and burning, to her 
 cheek. He pursued : 
 
 " The service you have rendered me I never can 
 repay ; — that letter may save me from ruin ; it will, at 
 least, prolong a hard battle, and give another chance 
 to victory ; it will defeat the treacherous, and teach 
 them that I may be betrayed, but scarcely deceived. 
 To accomplish this, to do me this good work, you 
 have risked your life. Do me the justice to believe 
 I did not contemplate, when I placed the letter in 
 the kind little hand that left its glove in the cave of 
 the Witch, that the shadow of peril could come near 
 vou." 
 
 " Why do you speak of all this ?" she said, smi- 
 ling ; " it is over, — do not think of it.''^ 
 
 " Not think of what I never shall forget !" he 
 said, gravely ; " excuse me, I must think of it." 
 
 " Well, then, do not talk about it ; rather let me
 
 214 ADELE. 
 
 tell you a thing I have to say, though I do not 
 know how to say it." 
 
 Her dark blue eyes were raised up to his with 
 something between daring and shyness, her red lips 
 quivered with a light, hesitating smile; doubt, 
 desire, eagerness, gave to her whole aspect a grace 
 and a charm, which Mr. Osborne felt so keenly, that 
 he could not help prolonging it there by a longer 
 silence than was needed. At length he said — 
 
 " Pray speak." 
 
 " If you would let me write letters for you, I 
 
 would be true, and — I knew you would laugh 
 
 at me !" she cried, reddening as she caught the smile 
 he tried to repress. In vain he protested that he 
 was not laughing at her. Adele persisted : " He 
 thought her foolish, she knew he did." 
 
 " On my word, I do not ; far from it. Mademoi- 
 selle Adele ; the time may even come when I shall 
 remind you of your offer." 
 
 " Yes, but you do not accept it now," she said, in 
 a nettled tone ; " and yet I could be more useful 
 to you than you think. There are fifty-three stone 
 vases in this alley, and in each vase there grows a 
 rose-tree. Say that there are nine roses, and seven 
 buds on each ; how many roses and how many buds 
 for the fifty-three vases ?" 
 
 Mr. Osborne, surprised, hesitated a little ; but 
 Adele merely laid her finger on her lips and stood 
 still awhile, then she looked up, and said, — 
 
 " Four hundred and seventy-seven roses, and 
 three hundred and seventy-one rose-buds." 
 
 He looked amazed. She laughed triumphantly.
 
 ADELE. 215 
 
 " That is an easy one. I can answer more diffi- 
 cult questions. Only try me." 
 
 " On my word, I shall, some day. But in the 
 meanwhile, I, too, have something to say, for which 
 I must entreat your patient hearing. I liked you 
 the first moment I saw you. Mademoiselle Adele. I 
 think you, too, like me. Let us be friends — true 
 friends, I mean — friends in liking, confidence, and 
 trust." 
 
 " Oh, no ! that can never be !" said Adele, looking 
 sagacious, — " it is good; it is like you to say it; but 
 it can never be." 
 
 *' Why not ?" he asked, surprised. 
 
 " Because we should be equal to be what you say ; 
 and you know very well that you are worth ten 
 like me.'^ 
 
 Free, undisguised, was the admiration of the im- 
 prudent girl ; but though it was warm, it was not 
 tender, and did not disturb or alarm its object. 
 
 " Indeed," he said, " I am not going to grant 
 that. There is not one man. Mademoiselle Adele," 
 he added, lightly touching her cheek, " who could 
 stand before Almighty God by the side of a good 
 and innocent little girl like you." 
 
 " Oh ! you will make me feel hot again," said 
 Adele, turning very red ; *^ I am not used to it, and 
 I do not like it." 
 
 " I have taken the liberty of praising you for the 
 first and last time," he said ; '^ yet allow me a few 
 more words. I overheard 3Ionsieur Lascours's oflfer. 
 I trust that before you apply to him in any neces 
 sity, you will remember me."
 
 216 ADELE. 
 
 '^Oh! yes !" she cried, very willingly; ^^I know 
 you longer, and I like you better." 
 
 The warning of his stepmother rushed back to 
 his mind ; but the fearless innocence of the young 
 face on which he gazed, sent it back like a dark 
 spirit into the depths of its native night. Suddenly 
 he^^started, though slightly. He had heard a heavy 
 tread. 
 
 " Monsieur Morel is coming," he said. 
 
 ^^ I will not look at the traitor/' she cried, " I will 
 not." 
 
 She ran off angry and indignant, whilst Mr. Os- 
 borne calmly awaited the approach of his treacherous 
 foreman. 
 
 Even as she ran, Ad^le wondered within herself 
 at Mr. Osborne. How could he wish to be friends 
 with her ? M. Lascours she would not have minded ; 
 but Mr. Osborne she wished to worship, and adore, 
 and admire " like a star."
 
 ADELE. 217 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 jeannette's YorNG. master. 
 
 '' "Will that perverse child never come ?" indig- 
 nantly exclaimed Jeannette. 
 
 She had not time to say more ; a pair of young 
 arms was twined around her neck, warm and ardent 
 lips were pressed on her cheek, and a laughing face 
 looked up into hers. 
 
 Jeannette laughed, then cried, then scolded, and 
 finally holding out her young mistress at arm's length, 
 she began a series of questions. " "WTiat had taken 
 her out ? — ^Yhat had kept her out ? — "NVhy had she 
 never said to Jeannette that she was going out ? 
 
 Adele had found her old friend in the bare stone 
 room where she usually sat ; the window was open ; 
 the joyous morning sun came in ; it fell on Jean- 
 nette's wheel standing idle in a corner. 
 
 " Jeannette," solemnly said i\.dele, " you might 
 as well ask that wheel there to answer you, as to ask 
 me. I cannot — I will not." 
 
 Jeannette^s arms dropped by her side, her lips 
 parted with amazement, then closed again. Adele
 
 218 ADELE. 
 
 had looked so resolutely and so proudly in her face, 
 that Jeannette felt silenced. 
 
 " Does Mademoiselle want anything from me ?" 
 she asked, in a subdued voice. 
 
 " Nothing, Jeannette, thank you," replied Adele, 
 again speaking lightly, " save the news of all that 
 happened whilst I was away." 
 
 " Nothing happened," shortly, said Jeannette ; 
 '^ Mademoiselle was missing, and Monsieur Morel 
 picked up her glove, and Monsieur Osborne went 
 out with five men to look for her." 
 
 " He went out to look for me !" cried Adele, with 
 a start ; " ah, he did not tell me that. How wrong, 
 how very wrong of him, ill as he still looks ; and 
 how kind," she .added, in a low, moved tone. 
 
 *' She has already seen him," thought Jeannette, 
 and internally she commented on the fact. Aloud 
 she merely observed — 
 
 " Louise went this morning ; Monsieur Jean pre- 
 tends to be very glad of it ; but he is very much 
 mistaken if he thinks I care a pin. Madame 
 Osborne and her daughters are going away this 
 evening, I believe; a good riddance of the lot, 
 say I." 
 
 *^ Where are they going?" asked Adele. 
 
 "1 do not trouble myself with the concerns of 
 other people," shortly, said Jeannette ; *' no one has 
 told me, and I have asked no one." 
 
 " But Monsieur Osborne is not going, is he ?" 
 cried Adele, struck with the possibility of the fact. 
 
 '* I cannot say ; but I should not think it un- 
 likely."
 
 ADELE. 219 
 
 " No, no, Jeannette, he is not going, — he is too 
 ill still. Besides, he would have told me/' 
 
 " "VVliy so ?" sharply said Jeannette ; ^' Made- 
 moiselle does not tell me, her old, faithful servant, 
 when she means to take a walk. Why should Mon- 
 sieur Osborne tell Mademoiselle, whom he only 
 knows a few weeks, when he means to take a 
 journey V 
 
 Adele reddened, and looked very much provoked. 
 
 '^ Good bye to you, Jeannette," she said, darting 
 towards the^^door ; " you are too cross this morning/' 
 
 " No, no. Mademoiselle, do not go,'' said Jean- 
 nette, with tears in her eyes, " and do not be angry 
 with me." 
 
 *' But why cannot I mention Monsieur Osborne*s 
 name without your saying something unpleasant ?" 
 asked Adele, still by the door, and pouting a little. 
 
 Jeannette looked very earnestly at her pretty little 
 mistress. 
 
 " I have been forty years and more in the family," 
 she said, with a sigh. " I think I have won the 
 right of plain speech ; and once for all, whether it 
 please Mademoiselle or not, I will speak ^plainly. 
 It has been on my mind since the first day, and it 
 must come out. For the sake of all my faithful ser- 
 vices, I ask but one thing of Mademoiselle — to listen 
 to an old story." 
 
 Adele detested Jeannette 's old stories ; but her 
 naturally kind heart and gentle temper prevailed. A 
 little impatiently she shook her head ; but she sub- 
 dued the feeling, left the door, took a stool, and sat 
 down at Jeannette 's feet, prepared to listen.
 
 220 ADELE. 
 
 " I never told it to any one," said Jeannette, fold- 
 ing her hands on her knees, '' I never thought to 
 tell it ; there's many an old tale like this that goes 
 down to the grave locked in an old heart like mine, 
 and which the sneering world knows nothing about. 
 When the cheek is blooming and the hair is black, 
 all right and good ; but when the brow is wrinkled 
 and the head is white, it is like raking up ashes 
 after a fire is dead and cold/^ 
 
 Adele looked up surprised. She had expected to 
 hear, ^'^ When Louis the Cruel was Lord !^of Cour- 
 celles," with a prolix and horrifying account of the 
 family crimes in which Jeannette took so much pride ; 
 but different was Jeannette's prelude, and different 
 was Jeannette's tale. 
 
 " I was twenty," said Jeannette, " when I went 
 out to service in Normandy. To a fine old chateau 
 I went, to wait on my lady, a widow, who was always 
 ill and languid. There was my young master, too, 
 the Count, just turned sixteen, as tall as Monsieur 
 Osborne, and twice as handsome, but I had nothing 
 to do with him. My lady was fond of me, and kept 
 me about her. She worked, my young master read 
 aloud, and I stood behind her chair and listened. I 
 did not understand half of what he read, and my legs 
 were sadly tired with the standing, but never" in my 
 life was I so happy as I was then, standing behind 
 the chair of Madame." 
 
 " You were very fond of her," said Adele. 
 
 Jeannette sighed and shook her head. 
 
 *' Yes, yes," she said, ^' for she was kind, and so 
 was my young master. If he met me in the orchard
 
 ADELE. 221 
 
 — and somehow or other we often met there — he 
 would pluck the finest fruit, and give it to me with 
 his own hand. If he went to the fair, he brought 
 me back the finest ribbons money could get. If he 
 came down to the broad place where the elms grew, 
 to dance there with the village girls, — I tell no un- 
 truth when I say that he danced twice as often with 
 me as with any other. He had a way, too, of smiling 
 in my face with his handsome blue eyes, and of call- 
 ing me * Petite Jeannette,' that went to my very 
 heart. To serve him I would have 'o^one throusrh 
 fire : I would have laid down and made a footstool 
 of myself, if it could have pleased my young master.-'^ 
 
 " And were you fonder of him than of your mis- 
 tress ?" said Adele. 
 
 Jeannette looked in her eyes, and smiled. 
 
 ^'A little," she replied; "but it was no wonder. 
 He was so kind. I did not know how to read ; no- 
 thing would do but he should teach me. I hated 
 learning ; but what would I not have done to please 
 my dear young master ? Little he guessed, when he 
 called me a clever girl in the morning, that I had sat 
 up half the night studying alone. Unluckily for me, 
 he was called away to his regiment — he was Colonel 
 in the Queen's Musqueteers — before I knew how to 
 read ; so that I have remained where he left me, — 
 that is to say, I can spell, long words excepted. 
 
 Madame had long been ailing, and at length she 
 died. Her son was with her. Night and day had 
 he ridden to see her again, and receive her blessing. 
 He came back from the funeral pale as death, and 
 entering the room where I was crying alone, a room
 
 %X'^ ADELE. 
 
 just like this, lie threw his arm around my waist, laid 
 his head on my shoulder, and said — 
 
 " ' You loved her, Jeannette,' and he cried like a 
 child as he was, for seventeen he had not yet seen. 
 Well, I loved him like my life, and the sight of his 
 grief made me half mad. I forget what I said, but 
 how can I ever forget what I did ? T took his head in 
 both my hands, and I kissed him again and again. 
 I was not a servant then ; he was not the count, my 
 young master, but I was a woman ; I loved him, 
 and he was in trouble ; he grew red, and I remem- 
 bered all. I threw myself at his feet. I said I would 
 go that day. I asked him to forgive me. 
 
 " ' Forgive you, Jeannette, for being fond of me !' 
 said my young master ; ^ what shall I do to my 
 enemies V He raised me, kissed me of his own ac- 
 cord, and did not leave me until I had promised 
 never to forsake him. ' My mother died in your 
 faithful arms, Jeannette,' he said, ' and I want to 
 die there too.' Alas ! alas ! I little thought that as 
 he said, so it would be. 
 
 " Well, time passed. My young master got over 
 his grief, and came and went. He took little notice 
 of me ; but now and then, when he met me in the 
 hall or on the staircase, his blue eyes would look 
 at me in the old way, and in his pleasant voice, he 
 would say, ^ Petite Jeannette.^ More he could not 
 well do, without bringing scandal and suspicion on 
 me ; for he was a man, and I was still young ; 
 and — I may speak of those things now — I had been 
 a pretty girl, and I was reckoned a prettier woman. 
 
 *' Well, whether he was there or not, I was every-
 
 ADELE. 
 
 thing in tlie chateau, and eight years had I been in 
 it in all, when, on a fine summer morning, I met my 
 young master riding out. He was twenty-four then, 
 the handsomest of men. He wore a blue coat laced 
 with gold, and white satin waistcoat, a lace cravat, 
 and a black cocked hat, with just a sprinkling of 
 powder on his yellow hair ; and he rode a milk-white 
 horse, whose eyes shone like fire, and whose coat was 
 bright as satin. I looked at my young master, daz- 
 zled as if I had seen him for the first time ; so gallant 
 was his mien, so sweet and noble his handsome face. 
 ' Petite Jeannette,' he said, ' wish me good luck.' 
 His voice was so soft, his look was so kind, that my 
 very heart was stirred ; and almost without knowing 
 what I said, I answered — ^ May Monsieur le Comte 
 ever succeed in his wishes !* I saw liim again that 
 day ; he had just returned, and he was coming up 
 the staircase as I went down. He did a thing he 
 had never done since the day of his mother's funeral ; 
 he threw his arms around my neck, and kissing me 
 on both cheeks, he said, ^ AVish me joy, Jeannette ; 
 in a w^eek you shall have a new mistress.' Ah, well. 
 Mademoiselle may laugh at me, and think I was but 
 a fool, but if his arms had not been about me, I should 
 have fallen. But it did not last ; I had known all 
 along that it would come to that ; so I curtsied to my 
 master, and I smiled bravely in his face, and said — 
 ^ I wish Monsieur le Comte joy.' And I went away, 
 and told all the servants how happy I was to have a 
 new mistress, until I could get to my own room ; and 
 there — there I cried as if my heart would break."' 
 " Poor Jeannette !" softly said Adele.
 
 224 ADELE. 
 
 " Yes, Mamzelle ; poor Jeannette ! and yet how 
 many \yould tell you : ^ she may thank herself for it all?' 
 But you see I had not meant to be so fond of him ; 
 one never means those things, they come unawares ; 
 and then he was so kind, that the mischief was done 
 before I well knew how. Why had I eyes to see that 
 he was handsome ? or, rather, why had I a heart to 
 feel that he was kind ? Well, well, no matter ; every- 
 thing was as it should be. I felt it, I said it, and I 
 bore it, but it was hard. Well, the day of the 
 wedding came, and I had to see to everything, of 
 course." 
 
 " You !" exclaimed Adele. 
 
 " And does Mademoiselle think I could have let 
 any one else prepare a thing for my young master's 
 wedding-day ?" asked Jeannette, with some pride. 
 ^^ No, no, I loved him dearly, oh, very dearly ! but 
 he was still my master, and I was Jeannette, his 
 faithful servant- woman. I gathered flowers for the 
 dinner-table. I put the velvet cushion in the chapel 
 where the bride was to kneel on the morning after 
 her wedding ; and I smoothed, with my own hands, 
 the pillow trimmed with lace on which her head was 
 to rest beneath my master's roof; and as I did it, I 
 prayed — and I prayed all the better for the fulness 
 of my poor heart — I prayed that my master's wife 
 might ever be blest and beloved. — Beloved! — ah, 
 when 1 saw her, I felt that beloved she must ever be. 
 She was little, very little, s^^ite her red, high heels, 
 and barely fifteen, but so beautiful, so white, so fair, 
 though her hair and her eyes were black, that she 
 looked like a fairy. I overheard some one saying
 
 ADELE. 225 
 
 that in all France there was not another like her ; 
 and I believed it, and wished it so. Who had so 
 good a right as my young master to the most beau- 
 tiful wife ? And I will tell Mademoiselle an odd 
 thing — I was very wretched on the wedding-day of 
 my young master, and yet I was very happy ; for as 
 it was I who had provided and arranged everything ; 
 so every time his young wife looked pleased, he 
 smiled at me if I was there; and I was glad and 
 miserable in a breath. "Well, well, it seems but folly 
 to be raking up such old things. I got over my grief 
 with time. The young Countess, though a little 
 impatient — she had been a spoiled child — was kind 
 to me, and I learned to love her dearly, but never 
 as I had loved my young master.^^ 
 
 She paused. Ad^le had heard her with eager in- 
 terest, and eagerly she asked — 
 
 *' Who was he, Jeannette ? What was his name ?" 
 
 A sad smile stole over the old woraan^s face. 
 
 " Mademoiselle would laugh, if I were to tell her," 
 she said. 
 
 " Laugh ! Xo, indeed, Jeannette. Do tell me." 
 
 " Mademoiselle's mother was from Xormandy," 
 said Jeannette. "I wonder if Mademoiselle can 
 guess whose daughter her mother was, and why old 
 Jeannette thinks there is not such another pair of 
 blue eyes as those of Mademoiselle Adele." 
 
 The blue eyes of Mademoiselle Adele opened 
 wide. 
 
 " My grandfather !" she exclaimed ; " it was my 
 grandfather, Jeannette." 
 
 " Alas, yes," sighed Jeannette. " My young 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 ADELE. 
 
 master was the grandfather of Mademoiselle, whom 
 I received in my arms at her birth, as I had received 
 her mother before her. I dare say Mademoiselle 
 thinks it very strange that a poor girl like me should 
 have ventured to think of a great gentleman." 
 
 " No, no, Jeannette ; but my old grandfather !" 
 
 " Old ! he was not old. I am old and withered, 
 and a generation and more has come and passed away 
 since the things I speak of happened ; but age never 
 withered him. He was not thirty when he died, and 
 he was as handsome as when, standing behind his 
 mother's chair, I wondered in my foolish heart if 
 the world held another like him. He died too, as 
 he had wished to die, in my arms ; for, alas ! his 
 poor little wife was giving birth in the next room to 
 a child which its father never saw and never 
 blessed." 
 
 " Oh ! Jeannette, what a strange, sad story !" said 
 Ad^le, clasping her hands around her knees and 
 looking up wistfully in the old woman's face. 
 
 " I wonder what Mademoiselle would say if sh-e 
 knew the whole of it !" exclaimed Jeannette, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 " Why, what else is there ?" asked Adele, sur- 
 prised. 
 
 " I never thought to tell that to any one ; but I 
 have told you the rest — as well may I tell that too. 
 And, perhaps, Mademoiselle, that will teach and show 
 you more than all I have yet said : — It was the ^ay 
 before my young master died ; I was alone with him 
 and handing him a drink. As he took it from my 
 hand he looked me full in the face, and said : * You
 
 ADELE. 2^7 
 
 have been very fond of me, Jeannette.' ' I have 
 always been Monsieur le Comte's faithful servant/ 
 I replied. * I say that you have been very fond of 
 me/ he said again, ^ and you know what I mean/ 
 I did know it well enough, and though I was a girl 
 no longer, though that foolish time was over, I was 
 still a woman, and my poor face felt all on fire. My 
 young master said again : * Do not think I did not 
 see it — do not think I did not care for it ; the truth 
 is, Jeannette,' he said, speaking quite warmly, ^ that 
 I was much too fond of you myself to wish to bring 
 you to shame.' A word I could not answer ; my legs 
 shook under me. After all, he had liked me. Oh I 
 never — never as I had loved him ! but still he had 
 liked me — as a young man likes a pretty girl, with 
 rosy cheeks and black eyes ; but still he had liked 
 me. My young master sighed, and said again : — 
 ^ Jeannette, I am dying, and the dark days are coming 
 — ^ the revolution was brooding '—and I must leave 
 a poor little wife and child to God alone knows what 
 fate. Jeannette, never forsake them — though the 
 whole world should abandon them, be true to them as 
 you have been true to me. The people will rise against 
 their masters and take sore vengeance for the past ; 
 the servant will betray the hand that gave it bread ; 
 but you, Jeannette, oh ! you will never forget that 
 you have been dear to your master's heart, and 
 sacred as any lady to your master's honour.' He 
 sank back quite tired. I knelt down by his bed, and 
 I kissed the hand of the noble gentleman who had 
 scorned to tempt to sin a fond and foolish girl, a poor 
 peasant's daughter. I vowed^ that as I had loved
 
 228 ADELE, 
 
 him, I would love his wife, his child, and the children 
 of his child, if I lived to see them. And have I not 
 kept that vow ?" cried Jeannette, breaking into pas- 
 sionate sobs and tears. *' His little wife had been the 
 darling of his heart — did she not become the darling 
 of mine. When she lost home and fortune in the 
 Terror, did I not work for her and her baby ? Let 
 her tell him in the next world, where she so soon 
 followed him, let her tell him if, whilst she lived, 
 Jeannette ever suffered toil and labour to stain the 
 little white hand he had been so fond of kissing." 
 
 Jeannette ceased ; a long pause followed ; when 
 the old woman spoke again it was in a wholly altered 
 tone. 
 
 " Does Mademoiselle know," she said sadly and 
 gravely, " why I have told her so old a story ?"
 
 ADELE. 229 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Adele looked up like one wakening from a 
 dream, and said quietly : 
 
 '^ 'No, Jeannette. I do not kno-w — why was it V 
 
 The natural question seemed to embarrass Jeannette 
 considerably ; nevertheless she said : 
 
 *^ Mademoiselle may see that what undid me was 
 my master's kindness. Had he not been so kind he 
 might have been the handsomest of handsome gentle- 
 men, and I would not have cared for him — not 
 otherwise at least than as my master." 
 
 " Of course not/' replied Adele. 
 
 " But kindness — does Mademoiselle know what 
 kindness can do ? It melts a heart, as the spring 
 sun thaws snow ; it makes the strong one weak as a 
 little child.'' 
 
 Adele smiled at something in her own thoughts, 
 and said, softly : 
 
 " Yes, Jeannette, kindness is sweet and warm as 
 the warm sun."
 
 230 ADELE. 
 
 " And the sun is good for age and dangerous to 
 youth," said Jeannette, looking troubled. " Oh ! it 
 will not do for girls to whom gentlemen are kind, to 
 think too much about that kindness. Who would 
 not like to look at a girl of sixteen, with rosy cheeks, 
 blue eyes, dark hair, and a face as bright as that of 
 the morning ? But to look is not to love ! Who 
 would not be kind to a little thing that never harmed 
 a fly, that runs about like a kid, that plays like a 
 kitten and sings like a bird, and laughs so sweetly, 
 that one can never tell which is most pleasant to 
 listen to ; her laugh or her song ! But, oh ! that 
 kindness of a gentleman to a child is not the love 
 of a man for a woman." 
 
 The red lips of Adele parted; her blue eyes 
 opened with amazement. 
 
 '^And then," sadly pursued Jeannette, without 
 looking at her, *^ the liking of some men — ay, and of 
 the best — is often a strange thing. For your all they 
 will give back a little, and stop there. Love you they 
 cannot ; that time is not yet come for them, or it is 
 gone by. Marry you they will not, you are too 
 young or too poor ; but a little through vanity — God 
 help us, we are all weak ! — a little through blindness, 
 a little because they do not know the mischief they 
 are doing, they let you love, and when they marry 
 some one else, or go off with themselves, and never 
 return, they are very sorry for you. But why were 
 you so foolish or so fond ?" 
 
 Ad^le started to her feet, red like a crimson flower. 
 ^^ Hush, Jeannette," she cried, " hush ! no more !" 
 
 And springing through the door, she vanished.
 
 ADELE. 231 
 
 '' Too late !" groaned Jeannette ; '' I should have 
 spoken before — too late !" 
 
 Light as a bird, Adele ran down an alley ; she 
 paused breathless on reaching her usual place of 
 refuge, the statue of silence in the maze ; she sat 
 down on the stone step, and burying her burning 
 face in her hands, she questioned her beating heart. 
 " Am I in love with Monsieur Osborne ?" she asked, 
 trembling. 
 
 " Of course you are," was the pitiless reply ; " you 
 are so fond of him that you can think of nothing and 
 no one else ; that Jeannette sees it, that he sees it, 
 and laughs at you." " No, no, I am sure he does 
 not," she answered, indignantly; " and really," she 
 added, looking up half-angrily, " I do not think I 
 am in love with him, after all. I am sure I am not. 
 I feel, I know I should not like to marry him — oh, 
 no, not at all !" she thought, reddening, and feeling 
 uneasy at the thought, though alone ; ^' but I should 
 like him to marry some one else ; I should be glad 
 to see him look happier than he does sometimes. 
 Ah, if Alice were only single — not a widow — I can- 
 not wish poor Monsieur Lascours to die — how I 
 should like him to know, love, and marry her. How 
 happy I should feel to live here with them both." 
 
 And for a moment she saw a strange vision, keen, 
 distinct as a thing she had seen or was to see. They 
 stood in the HaU of the Manor, Mr. Osborne and 
 Alice ; her eyes were raised to his, as his were bent 
 to hers ; children grew around them ; Adele saw 
 *^ Their unborn faces shine 
 Beside the never-lighted fire."
 
 ADELE. 
 
 And, starting at the vividness of her dreams, she 
 beheld, not Alice, nor Mr. Osborne, but Mrs. Os- 
 borne, who stood looking at her with an expression 
 of mingled pleasure and tenderness on her fair face. 
 
 " My dear, dear child !" she said, extending her 
 white hand, and speaking in her kindest voice, — 
 " how happy I feel to see you once more safe. Oh, 
 the anxiety, the terror of last night were dreadful — 
 dreadful to us all." 
 
 Mechanically, Adele had risen, and laid her hand 
 in that of the lady ; but on hearing this remark, she 
 half withdrew it, and looked mistrustful. She ex- 
 pected open questions or a covert interrogatory ; for 
 what other purpose could Mrs. Osborne be seeking 
 her now ? But Adele was mistaken ; guiltless of such 
 intentions was the cautious lady. Why put impru- 
 dent questions when she all but knew ? She pur- 
 sued — 
 
 " My dear son William was like a madman. In 
 vain I entreated him to remember his recent illness. 
 He could not heed advice, remonstrances, or en- 
 treaties ; but indeed we were all distracted.'* 
 
 Adele looked troubled. 
 
 " I was very sorry indeed," she said, " very sorry 
 to learn that Monsieur Osborne had gone out to look 
 for me. It never occurred to me that he would do 
 such a thing." 
 
 " Because you do not know him/' said Mrs. Os- 
 borne, with a sad smile ; " knowing him, you would 
 wonder at nothing. He is the best, the most gene- 
 rous, the noblest of men,^' she added, in a low, mea- 
 sured voice. " What I and my dear children would
 
 ADELE. 233 
 
 do without him now/' she added, raising her hand- 
 kerchief to her eyes, " heaven alone knows." 
 
 Youth is credulous and true. Adele was touched. 
 Madame Osborne was a good lady, and very fond of 
 her stepson. She drew a step nearer to her, and 
 looked in her face with a friendly look. The hand- 
 kerchief was withdrawn ; the pale blue eyes were 
 fixed on hers ; the thin and delicate though hand- 
 some mouth smiled sweetly. 
 
 '^ You are a dear little thing !" she said ; and she 
 really thought and meant it. She never had had a 
 particle of feminine jealousy in her life ; and hand- 
 some herself, she had always liked the beauty of 
 other women. 
 
 "And a good little thing," she added, after a 
 pause ; " I am sure I can trust in you, that I can 
 speak openly, that you will keep my secret." 
 
 The word secret startled Adele. 
 
 " No, no, pray tell me nothing 1" she exclaimed, 
 " I detest secrets." 
 
 Mrs. Osborne smiled, amused. 
 
 " My dear child, this is scarcely a secret," she 
 said ; " all I wish you is not to tell my son William.*' 
 
 "No, no," interrupted Adele, I will not hear it; 
 tell me nothing I am not to tell him." 
 
 " Well, then, tell him if you please !'* persisted 
 Mrs. Osborne, " I hope you will not ; indeed, I feel 
 sure you will not ; he would not thank me for my 
 interference ; and the sad breach, already too deep, 
 would be widened ; but I lay no restriction on you 
 — none; you may speak or not, at your pleasure. 
 All I ask of you is to hear me."
 
 234 A DELE. 
 
 Adele looked perturbed, and said she would rather 
 hear nothing. But Mrs. Osborne was resolute. 
 
 " My dear child, you must/' she said, assuming 
 the gentle authority of her years ; " you are not more 
 reluctant to hear than I to speak ; but I leave to- 
 night, — I cannot choose — speak I must, and plainly, 
 too." 
 
 Ad^le submitted. 
 
 " I will be brief," said Mrs. Osborne ; *' indeed, I 
 have little to say. You know William, but you 
 cannot know, as I do, all his virtues, and, alas ! his 
 faults, too. He is good, generous, proud, sensitive, 
 honourable to folly ; easily offended, not easily re- 
 conciled ; a little ironical, a little sarcastic, but kind ; 
 above all, ever and under every circumstance, honour- 
 able." 
 
 The portrait, though rapidly sketched, was like, 
 and it struck and interested Adele by its likeness. 
 This Mrs. Osborne saw, and she pursued — 
 
 " Such he is to those that know him thoroughly. 
 For the world he acts the part of a peculiar and 
 handsome man, fitful and restless, who travels and 
 sketches, and casts away to idleness high qualities 
 and rare gifts. And that is true too," added Mrs. 
 Osborne ; *' but there is something else which the 
 world cannot guess, which his dearest friends do not 
 suspect, which he himself knows not, which I alone 
 have fathomed. William has been disappointed in 
 love, and unhappy in marriage, but his heart is 
 ardent, his feelings are deep ; his sense of the beau- 
 tiful is painfully keen ; none, save a lovely woman, 
 can he love ;" and her he will love with idolatrous
 
 ADELE. 235 
 
 affection, Mrs. Osborne would have added, but Adele 
 did not give her time. 
 
 " No, no, I will not hear any more/^ she cried, 
 stopping her ears, " Monsieur Osborne would not 
 like me to know about his feelings, light or deep, 
 and I do not want to know what he can wish none, 
 save God Almighty, to know," she added, with- 
 drawing her fingers from her ears, and looking a 
 little haughtily in Mrs. Osborne^s face. A red spot 
 rose to the lady's brow, but she laughed lightly. 
 
 " You are a loyal little creature," she said, gaily ; 
 " well, I will not say what I meant to say ; I will 
 but add an entreaty which jouv true, kind heart will 
 not refuse to gratify — I went last night to your room 
 for that purpose. By the way, my dear, why do 
 you not have a better room than that little cup- 
 board?" 
 
 " I like my room," shortly, said Adele ; " besides, 
 I am nothing in this house — Monsieur Osborne is 
 master." 
 
 Mrs. Osborne laid her hand on the young girl's 
 shoulder, smiled in her face, and opened her lips to 
 say something which — like one who thinks better 
 of it — she did not say. 
 
 " True, true," she assented, gravely ; '^ well, I 
 will be brief. An unhappy division has sprung be- 
 tween my son Robert and my dear son William." 
 She paused, but Adele made no remark. Mrs. Os- 
 borne sighed and resumed. " All the blame lies on 
 my poor boy's side. I have advised him to throw 
 himself on his elder brother's mercy ; I have got no 
 answer ; I am going to England at once to try the
 
 2o6 ADELE. 
 
 effect of my presence ; but, alas ! it may happen 
 that Robert will have already left. I cannot think, 
 "without terror, of a meeting between him and Wil- 
 liam there in my absence." 
 
 *'Ah, but Monsieur Osborne is so good/' ex- 
 claimed Adele. 
 
 " He is ; but he has been injured in the most 
 sensitive points — his confidence, which has been be- 
 trayed ; his honour, which has been perilled. Oh, 
 my child ! my dear child !" she added, seizing the 
 two hands of Ad^le, and speaking with sudden fer- 
 vour, " promise me that if my poor boy comes in his 
 mother's absence, you will be his good angel ; that 
 your prayers ^' 
 
 *^ Oh, Madame !" cried AdMe, alarmed at the turn 
 her remarks were taking, " how could I interfere ? — 
 Monsieur Osborne would be too kind to laugh at me, 
 but " 
 
 *^ Laugh at you !*' interrupted Mrs. Osborne, " at 
 you, whom he holds so dear !" 
 
 " He does not — he does not," said Adele, red and 
 indignant ; " it would be shameful folly ; and he is 
 good, and wise as he is good.'* 
 
 " You underrate your own merits," said Mrs. 
 Osborne, ironically. 
 
 Adele looked her in the face, and tapped her foot 
 indignantly. 
 
 " I think the whole word is going mad about love," 
 she said, with an amazement that had something 
 comic. " Jeannette thinks I like him too much, and 
 you think him, the word will out, in love with me I 
 One is just as true as is the other," she added, very
 
 ADELE. 237 
 
 scornfully. ""What!" she continued with angry- 
 tears, " I cannot like and adniu*e a good and admi- 
 rable gentleman, but I am thought immodest ? what ! 
 he cannot show kindness to a friendless girl, but he 
 is thought foolish ? Ah ! Madame^ what do you 
 know of him after all V She did not wait for the 
 reply, but walked out of the maze. 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Courcelles is blunt/' thought 
 Mrs. Osborne, not much pleased with the brusquerie 
 of the young girl, nor yet with that intuitive sense 
 of truth which so promptly defeated her. 
 
 Ad^le walked back to Jeannette's room. The old 
 woman gave her a doubtful look, half-beseeching for- 
 giveness. The bright blue eyes that so often re- 
 minded her of her young master, looked kindly on 
 Jeannette ; with a touch of childish dignity the young 
 girl said : 
 
 " I am not angry, Jeannette ; but you must learn 
 to know me better. I like him, but not as the 
 princesses like the princes in Fairy tales ; not at all. 
 I could look in his face any day as I look into yours 
 now, Jeannette." 
 
 Jeannette looked at her little mistress ; the face of 
 Adele was calm and smiling, and the clearness of the 
 brow, the serenity of the look told of maiden peace 
 undisturbed, and told it in language too con- 
 vincing not to be believed. Jeannette breathed 
 relieved. 
 
 " But, Mademoiselle," she observed, hesitatingly, 
 *' you must still be careful ; if the gentleman should 
 think " 
 
 Adele turned on her with sparkling eyes.
 
 ^38 ADELE. 
 
 Never say that again," she cried, angrily; 
 
 
 That same day, Mrs. Osborne, her daughters and 
 her servants, left the Manor of Courcelles.
 
 ADELE. 239 
 
 CHAPTEK XVIII. 
 
 ALCESTIS. 
 
 Who is it that thinks a country life dull ? "VVlio 
 can dread the stillness and the stagnation of its soli- 
 tude ? Vain thought, and vainer dread. Life does 
 not make us, we make life. What we have to spend, 
 must we not spend, be the object what and where it 
 will ? A country life is full of events, for a magi- 
 cian's wand changes the most trifling incident into a 
 thing of delight or into a portentous disaster. It is 
 pregnant with emotions rapid and stormy, for in its 
 peaceful air passion broods like a thunder-cloud, 
 and in its stillness and solitude the heart listens to 
 strange voices lost in the tumult of the city. 
 Treacherous, therefore, like sleeping waters, is the 
 repose that seems so sweet to the unwary ; perfidious 
 the puerile pleasure which they take in childish 
 things. But such serious considerations did not 
 alarm Mr. Osborne. Perhaps, because he felt secure, 
 perhaps because there is a spirit of opposition from 
 which th© best are not exempt, he seemed determined
 
 g40 A DELE. 
 
 to justify the forewarnings of Mrs. Osborne and the 
 suspicions of Jeannette. 
 
 The autumn was beautiful and still ; the sun was 
 warm, the loud winds were at rest ; white mists 
 floated over the mountains in the morning, but they 
 melted away in the noonday glow, and bright an^ 
 burning looked in the setting sun the withering 
 oaks that climbed the mountain side ; at night the 
 moon shone full and clear above the lake. 
 
 Mrs. Osborne and her daughters stayed away ; 
 they were in Paris, and so were the De Launays ; 
 Mademoiselle de Janson seemed to have gone away 
 with the departing world ; the master of the house 
 and the little girl, whose inheritance he possessed, 
 alone remained in Courcelles, and spite of warn- 
 ings, spite perhaps of prudence, they were seldom 
 apart. ';' 
 
 The Manor was large, and its old garden was 
 larger ; why, then, should one spot of Manor or 
 garden ever hold these two? Yet thus it was. 
 Where she was he soon appeared, and from where 
 he was, Adele did not long remain absent. ^ True, 
 they were never alone, for Jeannette lurked around 
 them like an uneasy spirit ; but why should a hand- 
 some and agreeable man of thirty, and a pretty half 
 wild girl of sixteen be so much together ? 
 
 Yet there seemed no real cause for uneasiness. 
 She was pretty, and he liked beauty ; she was merry, 
 and she amused him; she was natural, and she 
 pleased his taste. What of it ? — And what of it with 
 regard to Adele ? He was kind, he lent her books, 
 he read to her, he taught her drawing, and finally.
 
 ADELIi. 241 
 
 he told her wonderful tales of the world of which 
 she was ignorant, of lands which she could never 
 hope to see. Why, then, should she not like to walk 
 with him down the broad alley, or to sit with him in 
 the sunny orchard, or even to haunt his study like a 
 busy elf? His look had never yet told her that she 
 was not welcome there ; far from it — it had ever held 
 another language. But for all that, Jeannette was 
 uneasy. She " did not like it, — it would not end 
 well; no, no, it would not.^^ She watched inces- 
 santly ; night and day her ears were open to hear, 
 her eyes to see ; they heard, they saw nothing, save 
 gay and innocent speeches, save free and fearless 
 looks. The world, indeed, might have misconstrued 
 both, for the world has such sharp eyes, that it can 
 see anything. But its suspicions, its blame, could 
 not reach Mr. Osborne and his little friend. The 
 world had not even a foot in the Manor of Gour- 
 celles. Jean watched like a dragon at the stone 
 gate; M. Morel had been forbidden the garden. 
 The fondest, the most jealous of lovers could not 
 have wished to possess his mistress in a more perfect 
 solitude than that in which Mr. Osborne enjoyed the 
 society of Adele. 
 
 That he really enjoyed it, that he was fond of her, 
 were two facts very apparent to Jeannette ; yet he 
 was not in love, that she saw too. No, it was not 
 love ; Mr. Osborne had been in love before, and 
 what he now felt he had not experienced since his 
 boyish days : this was friendship, sweet as honey, 
 pure as dew ; his first strong, warm affection as a 
 man. There was goodness in him, but tempered by 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 24:2 ADELE. 
 
 mistrust. Thus his good will had shone on all, broad, 
 full, impartial, like the sun at noon. He had had 
 inveterate dislikes and some aversions, but no pre- 
 ferences until he met with this little girl, and for her 
 he conceived and cherished a true and cordial feel- 
 ing, perhaps because in her he could believe en- 
 tirely. " If he would only not be always after her," 
 groaned Jeannette. But Mr. Osborne had no idea 
 of laying himself under such restraint. Thus, he no 
 sooner discovered that every Sunday morning Adele 
 and Jeannette went up to a little church in the moun- 
 tains, than he deserted the parochial church of 
 Nantua to frequent the same little temple, at the same 
 hour. He did not go or return with^ them ; but 
 half way down the wild and solitary path, they found 
 him sitting, waiting for Adele ; as he said it himself, 
 there could be no doubt about it. If he liked it, so 
 did she. She liked to take his arm and walk down 
 the narrow path with him, whilst Jeannette followed 
 behind. She liked to hear him talk of religion, as 
 he often talked to her ; it pleased him to speak, her 
 faith was so fervent, so naive; it pleased her to 
 listen, his views were so broad, so large, so happy. 
 '' Oh, Jeannette," she often said, " I feel good when 
 he talks to me so. His looks, his voice, his words, 
 convince ; persuasion falls from his lips like the 
 pearls and roses from the lips of the good girl in the 
 fairy tale.'^ 
 
 '^ Mademoiselle," began Jeannette, who knew well 
 enough that love is never more dangerous than when 
 he puts on a pious cloak. 
 
 " I tell you he should have been a Priest," pur-
 
 ADELE. 243 
 
 sued Adele ; " he laughed this morning because I 
 told him so, but he should. Oh, why is he not a 
 Bishop, a Missionary, a Martyr ?" 
 
 This rather comforted Jeannette. 
 
 " A Bishop !" she thought ; " there never will be 
 any making out that girl/^ 
 
 She was meditating, however, how best she might 
 put a stop to these delightful Sunday walks, when a 
 much more alarming attempt was made by Mr. 
 Osborne. 
 
 He had just then little to do. He was fond of 
 boating ; he liked to row idly on the lake^ and linger 
 there for hours. Adele would have liked it too, but 
 she virtuously resisted all his invitations, until one 
 day, the temptation proving too strong, [ she said, 
 " Yes, that she would go with him to-morrow." 
 
 Great was Jeannette 's dism.ay on hearing of this. 
 She did not argue with Adele, she went straight to 
 Mr. Osborne and boldly remonstrated with him, and 
 pathetically entreated him not to insist. Mr. Os- 
 borne was annoyed, but he was not offended. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Adele is a mere child," he said > 
 " and no man of my age could think of her othervrise 
 than as a child without folly. She looks, too, more 
 childish than she is ; and the world must be both 
 wicked and mad to have a thought of harm. Besides, 
 you will accompany her, of course.^' He did not add 
 that this first invitation should also be his last ; but his 
 manner convinced Jeannette that he meant as much, 
 and comforting herself as well as she could, she sub- 
 mitted. With her little mistress she did not attempt 
 to remonstrate. Adele was very amiable whilst she 
 
 r2
 
 244 ADELS. 
 
 could have her way > but Adele was apt to be sharp 
 and imperious when she was contradicted ; and Mr. 
 Osborne was a very sensitive subject with the young 
 girl. Any allusion to him and love^ sent the blood 
 up to her cheek, and an angry light to her eyes. 
 Jeannette was therefore satisfied with inquiring where 
 Monsieur Osborne was to take Mademoiselle ? 
 
 '^ I am to choose between the Roche aux Fees and 
 Saint Magloire/' replied Adele, in great glee. '^ Is 
 it not delightful V 
 
 " For Heaven's sake^ Mademoiselle, do not go with 
 Monsieur Osborne to the Roche aux Fees !" ex- 
 claimed Jeannette, much alarmed. 
 
 Adele opened her eyes, and asked why so ? but 
 more urgently than before, Jeannette repeated — " Oh, 
 do not go with Monsieur Osborne to the E-oche aux 
 Fees." 
 
 " Indeed, then, I will, Jeannette, unless you give 
 me a good reason against it.'' 
 
 " Ah, Mademoiselle," groaned Jeannette, " is it 
 possible you do not know the story of that place ? 
 but if you did, you would never dream of going— ^ 
 never !" added Jeannette, shutting her eyes and 
 groaning again. 
 
 The curiosity of Adele was roused ; she insisted 
 upon knowing this singular history, and at length 
 Jeannette spoke. 
 
 "The very name of the Roche aux F6es,^* she 
 said, " shows that it is not a place to go to ; the 
 fairies have been there since the world was made, 
 and they will be there to the end of time." 
 , '^ There are no fairies," said Adele.
 
 ADELE. 245 
 
 ^' Mademoiselle cannot be sure of that. However, 
 this is the story: — A certain fairy — a bad, wicked 
 one, I need not say — fell in love with a gentleman 
 who had a wife ; but unable to get hold of him other 
 wise, she lured him to that Roche aux Fees, which 
 was her favourite haunt, and there she seduced him, 
 and took him away, and he Vv-as never seen on earth 
 again." 
 
 " Was he one of my ancestors V ' demurely asked 
 Adele. 
 
 '' Mademoiselle may laugh ; it is a true story for 
 all that ; and his widow, thinking, poor thing, that 
 he had fallen down into the torrent, and got drowned 
 there, married a sire of Courcelles, from whom Ma- 
 demoiselle is descended." 
 
 Adele laughed gaily, and asked — 
 
 '^ And why should this prevent me from going to 
 the Roche aux Fees with Monsieur Osborne ?" 
 
 " Because the fairy was so well pleased with her 
 success — bad, wicked thing — that she left a spell on 
 the place for ever. Man and woman cannot enter 
 it together without falling straight in love with each 
 other. Age, ugliness, deformity, make no difference ; 
 love they must, and for ever. They may be married, 
 they may be free ; they can no more help loving, 
 than they can help existing." 
 
 She spoke with much solemnity ; but the blue 
 eyes of Adele sparkled with mischievous light. 
 
 " I know how to manage," she said, demurely ; 
 " I will make you and Monsieur Osborne go in to- 
 gether ; so I shall be quite safe." 
 
 Jeannette looked very indignant.
 
 246 ADELE. 
 
 " Mademoiselle is laughing at her old servant," 
 she began, but a kiss interrupted her. 
 
 '^ Do not be angry, Jeannette," said Adele, sooth- 
 ingly, " I do not believe in your story ; but for all 
 that, I promise you that I shall never go to the 
 Roche aux Fees with Monsieur Osborne." 
 
 Jeannette had had her way so far, but her mind 
 was not more at ease. 
 
 " It will not end well," she thought, as she sat 
 with a basket on her knees at the bottom of Mr. 
 Osborne's boat. Keenly she watched them both ; 
 Mr. Osborne was rowing the little skiff across the 
 lake, but he was also looking at Ad^le, perhaps be- 
 cause she sat opposite him, perhaps because he 
 thought that she looked even more than usually 
 pretty on that mellow autumn afternoon, and per- 
 haps for both reasons. Adele looked at him too, 
 and very attentively, but in the still waters of the 
 still lake, where she saw his face reflected. Jeannette 
 saw both looks, and felt sorely disturbed. ^' If they 
 are both fond of one another," she thought, " the 
 harm is not so great; but if it is all of one side, and 
 of the wrong side !" — A groan finished the thought. 
 
 '^ Why, Jeannette, what ails you ?" asked Adele, 
 looking amazed. 
 
 Jeannette was spared the trouble of replying ; they 
 had crossed the breadth of the lake, and were enter- 
 ing a narrow creek, where Mr. Osborne moored his 
 boat, at the foot of a chapel-crowned rock, along 
 which a sweep of sunshine glided down, orange-red. 
 
 The same burning tint lit sky, blue mountain-top, 
 branches of stately pine, slate roof, walls of crumbling
 
 ADELE. 24:7 
 
 stone, and eternal rock. ^"^Tiere it passed, all was 
 ardent and bright, and where it was not, prevailed 
 a cold, dewy freshness and gloom. The antique 
 chapel rose on its lone rock like an oratory built 
 there for Hermit or Cenobite. A half-ruined build- 
 ing attached to it behind might, indeed, have been 
 inhabited once on a time, but the whole had a look 
 of solitude, and seemed consecrated to one thought 
 and one home. From the rock trickled down a chill- 
 looking spring, that chafed and murmured as it went 
 along, passing through shade and through sunshine 
 like an unquiet heart that knows not how to take the 
 mingled woes and blessings of daily life. 
 
 With a few steps they reached the chapel-door — 
 alas ! it was broken, and for ever open to any who 
 might choose to enter. Without, the cross still rose 
 above the porch, but within, the altar was ruined 
 and defaced ; the light burned no more above the 
 shrine ; deserted was the sanctuary, and gone were 
 the worshippers. *^ And is there, then, not a hand- 
 ful of the faithful left in the land to fill again this 
 little house of God ?" thought Mr. Osborne, with a 
 sense of regret. 
 
 The gay, light laugh of Adele roused him from 
 these thoughts. Quick and impatient as ever, she 
 had left his side to wander in the ruin ; and he now 
 heard her saying to Jeannette — 
 
 *^ I will, I will !" Then a sound of feet moving 
 to dancing time followed. He gently pushed the 
 door of what had once been the sacristy, and enter- 
 ing it, he caught sight, through another open door, 
 of a room or hall lit by windows partly overgrown
 
 S48 ADELE. 
 
 with ivy, and with a large oaken table in the centre, 
 that showed it to have been the refectory of the 
 monks. But these details Mr. Osborne scarcely- 
 heeded. 
 
 On that table, where Prior, reverently bending, had 
 once pronounced the pious Benedicite, and around 
 which the austere monks had listened, with bent 
 eyes and folded hands, to the blessing called down 
 on their fare of herbs from the garden, and water 
 from the spring, Adele, with cheeks flushed, and 
 dark hair unloosened by the motion of the dance, 
 was now waltzing in circles so rapid, that Mr. Os- 
 borne, surprised at the novel sight, and dazzled by 
 her swiftness, could scarcely follow the motion of 
 her waving skirts and little flying feet on the table ; 
 for hardly had she reached the centre, when she was 
 at the edge again, and seemed fairly over. In a 
 moment, one step brought her back, but she only 
 reached safety to seek new danger ; and so she went 
 on, evidently as much in her element as sylph in the 
 air or salamander in the flame. 
 
 At length, wearied and breathless, she ceased. 
 She glided down on the floor, and leaning against 
 the edge of the table, she gathered up her fallen 
 hair. As her hands parted it back from her face 
 she saw Mr. Osborne, and no sooner did she see him 
 than she flew like a bird through the ivied window 
 nearest to her. He heard her lightly fall below, 
 lightly run away, then all was still, save the rustling 
 leaves of ivy. Mr. Osborne smiled, but Jeannette 
 looked disconcerted. 
 
 ** Monsieur must excuse her," she said, depre-
 
 ADELE. 249 
 
 catingly ; '^ but slie is a wild little thing, and she 
 was frightened." 
 
 " I was not at all frightened/' said a saucy voice 
 below the window, *' and you are very rude to speak 
 so of me behind my back." 
 
 " That child will drive me wild," exclaimed 
 Jeannette, reddening, 
 
 " It is you who will drive me wild,'* pursued the 
 voice of Adele, without, " and when I die I shall 
 haunt you." 
 
 Jeannette gave it up. With an indulgent smile 
 Mr. Osborne left the chapel, and descending the 
 rock, he found Adele waiting for him below. She 
 did seem half wild with excitement and pleasure. 
 
 " I want my drawing,'' she despotically cried. 
 
 He had promised her a drawing of the chapel^ 
 and brought his sketch-book, and Adele was not 
 going to let him escape his promise. He asked if 
 she would not wait. 
 
 " No^-no. I want my drawing — the sun is 
 setting." 
 
 He sat down by the margin of the chill spring ; 
 above them rose the little ruin in its graceful soli- 
 tude, with its background of sombre and yellow ver- 
 dure and the blue clearness of the sky ; behind them 
 rippled the calm lake, and around them breathed the 
 divine charm of autumn and of noon. It stole with 
 subtle power over the senses of Mr. Osborne. Oh ! 
 this was not a day to draw, to sketch, to act or to 
 live ; it was a day for torpid dreams on mossy banks, 
 around which curled leaves sere and withering ; a 
 day to remember past autumns and lost springs —
 
 250 ADELE. 
 
 springs, alas ! save on such days lost and forgot. But 
 the springs of Adele were before her yet. She was 
 not tired ; she was not dreamy. Autumn told her 
 no tales, awoke no slumbering voices, plunged her 
 in no delightful lethargy of sense and heart. Life 
 was all alive within her, and all impatient, too. 
 
 " Why do you not draw ?" she asked, assuming a 
 frown. 
 
 But he only threw his sketch-book by, and said 
 earnestly : 
 
 '^ Have you ever felt dull ?" 
 
 " Perhaps I have," was her careless answer. " T 
 am not sure — I do not remember." 
 
 " Happy doubt !" he thought, but aloud he merely 
 said, still questioning : "Or sad ?" 
 
 '*Sad ! Why should I be sad?" she asked, with a 
 laugh of joyous surprise. 
 
 " Are you so very happy, then ?" 
 
 " Perhaps I am — I do not know ; I have never 
 thought about it ; but why should I be sad ? I shall 
 be seventeen in May. I have never had the tooth- 
 ache nor any ache whatever. When I lay my head 
 down at night my eyes shut at once and never open 
 till the next morning, and scarcely are they open, 
 when I feel something within me that seems to say : 
 ' Sing and be glad,' I can run like a deer, I can 
 climb like a kid, I can leap like a fish, too. Jean- 
 nette and Jean are fond of me, and no one dislikes 
 me — and the world is pleasant, and God is good. — 
 Why, then, should I be sad V^ 
 
 Her azure eyes laughed down in his face, for he 
 sat reclining on one elbow, and she stood by his
 
 ADELE, 251 
 
 side ; her white teeth shone like pearls behind her 
 parted lips ; his raised look beheld her in all the 
 freshness and the bloom of youthful grace and 
 beauty; it rested on her with a strange and vague 
 delight, which the smile of his handsome mouth be- 
 trayed, for was she not part of the beauty of that 
 autumn : the very spirit of youth, the fairest pro- 
 mise of life, triumphing in the midst of Nature's 
 sadness and decay ? 
 
 "Ah ! what a pity," he thought; "what a mortal 
 pity it would be to fall in love with that girl and 
 marry her !" 
 
 " And so you will not draw ?" she said, in a tone 
 of such regret, that at once he took up his sketch- 
 book, and proceeded to gratify her. 
 
 With breathless interest she looked on — with 
 enthusiastic admiration she admired when he had 
 done. But the sun was setting, a bright glow stole 
 over the mountains and set the dark surface of the 
 lake on fire ; Mr. Osborne looked at his watch. 
 
 ^' Oh ! not yet — pray not- yet," entreated Adele; 
 " we will not go home till the moon is up and the 
 stars are shining in the sky. I have stayed with 
 you — you must stay with me." 
 
 '^ Where ?^' he asked. 
 
 She did not reply, but darted up the rocky path. 
 He followed her swiftly and entered with her the 
 refectory of the ruined convent. A bright fire blazed 
 on the broad stone hearth of the ancient chimney, and 
 Jeannette was pouring oil in an ancient iron lamp. 
 
 " What does all this mean ?" asked Mr. Osborne, 
 turning to Ad^le. She laughed and clapped her
 
 25^ ADELE. 
 
 hands with delight, and threw a heap of dry sticks 
 on the fire ; they burned with a crackling noise. 
 
 " It is cold here in the evening/' she said gaily, 
 " cold and damp." 
 
 " And what is Jeannette doing there V he asked. 
 
 '^ Putting chesnuts to roast in the fire/' was the 
 triumphant reply. 
 
 ^' And what is she pouring into that tin casserole?" 
 
 " Wine, old wine, into which Jeannette will put 
 nutmeg, ginger, cinnamon, and every sweet spice. 
 Oh ! it is so good with the chestnuts — you will see. 
 Jeannette, Jeannette, go for more wood. There is 
 plenty outside," 
 
 The old woman left the room and did not return 
 at once. The darkness of the evening had set in, 
 and through the ivied window the early stars shone 
 with tremulous light ; again the fire fiame had joy- 
 ously sprung up in the old chimney, lighting up all 
 its quaint sculptures : below demons grinned and 
 mouthed, and above them angel faces looked pure 
 and mild. The dancing light fell in full glow on 
 the little figure of Adele, She sat on a log of wood 
 with her arms clasped around her knees, and her 
 look dreamily fastened on the fire. Opposite her^ 
 leaning with folded arms against the sculptured 
 stone, stood Mr. Osborne, Suddenly she looked up 
 in his face, 
 
 " I am Cinderella," she said, *^ Cinderella sitting 
 in the ashes, and you are " 
 
 " The Prince," he suggested, a little perfidiously. 
 
 Adele impatiently shook her head. 
 . *' The PrinQ^, no I tb^ good fairy Godmother, Oh !
 
 ADELE. 253 
 
 how I like that story. It is beautiful ! Poor Cin- 
 derella sitting in the ashes /^ 
 
 " Did she dance on the dinner-table ?" asked Mr. 
 Osborne. 
 
 " Why not V promptly replied Adele ; '* why 
 should not Cinderella dance on the tables— on such 
 tables as this, too ? I have a great mind to dance 
 on it now," she added, starting to her feet. 
 
 He laughed, and said she dared not. 
 
 " Dare not ! dare not !" she cried ; " do you defy 
 me?" 
 
 He did. 
 
 Light as a bird she perched upon the table, and 
 shaking back her curls, she looked at him tri- 
 umphantly ; slowly she began to move to the sound 
 of her own voice, then either, changing her mind or 
 remembering her chesnuts in peril, or perhaps both, 
 she suddenly lighted down, and kneeling on the 
 hearth, she began with dainty and agile fingers to 
 rake them out. He wanted to assist her, but she 
 would not allow it. 
 
 " I am mistress here," she said ; ^' my business is 
 to burn*my fingers, and yours is to eat and drink. 
 There, the wine is hot now.*' 
 
 She took a glass and a plate from Jeannette's 
 basket. The glass she filled with the hot wine, that 
 exhaled a spicy odour ; she handed him the plate 
 on which the chesnuts looked warm and brown, and 
 she gazed up at him with the cordial look of a little 
 hostess to a welcome guest. Jeannette, who had 
 come in, threw more wood on the fire, she poured 
 more oil into the iron lamp, and the sense of a wild.
 
 254 ALELE. 
 
 rugged comfort, mingling with tlie rushing of the 
 autumn wind without, came pleasantly to Mr. Os- 
 borne, as he slowly drank the hot wine, and ab- 
 stractedly looked at little Adele. 
 
 He had forgotten all about going away ; but of 
 her own accord she gave the signal of departure. 
 
 " What a pity to go," she said, with a sigh ; *' but 
 we must ; light the lantern, Jeannette." 
 
 " It has been lit this half-hour, Mademoiselle." 
 
 ^' Has it ? then give it to me ; I shall know the 
 way better than either of you.^^ 
 
 She seized the lantern from Jeannette's hand, 
 and darting out, scarcely gave the two time to follow. 
 Jack-of-the-lantern was a better guide any night 
 than Adele proved down the rocky path. Sharp 
 was the remonstrance of Jeannette as she at length 
 reached the boat, and even Mr. Osborne found 
 something to say. 
 
 " I once saw a play acted," he said, " in which, a 
 cartain sprite played a great many tricks on certain 
 unlucky individuals, but the rocks among which he 
 led them were painted pasteboard, and these are 
 shai'p realities." 
 
 " A play !" exclaimed Adele, eagerly ; ^* oh, do 
 tell me what a play is like." 
 
 Mr. Osborne was rowing his little boat across the 
 lake, the light of the rising moon shone on his calm 
 face, and showed Adele that he smiled. 
 
 " Is there but one play ?" he asked. 
 
 " Ah, there must be a great many, I know ; but 
 still, what is one like ? Tell me, is it true that the 
 floor opens, and that tables come up covered with
 
 ADELE. 255 
 
 dishes, and that people drop down fl-om the ceil- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Oh, there are things more extraordinary still," 
 he answered, gravely ; '• for people die singing, like 
 so many swans, which is little short of a miracle, you 
 know." 
 
 '^ Oh, that I could but see a play !" cried Adele. 
 
 Mr. Osborne was surprised ; had she really never 
 been to a play ? 
 
 ^^ Never : do you not remember that I told you 
 so the other day ?" 
 
 But Mr. Osborne's memory was at fault. 
 
 "We were in the maze," she persisted; but this 
 circumstantial evidence did not help him to remem- 
 ber. " How odd," said Adele. 
 
 '^ And what a pity ; I actually had orders for the 
 play this morning. There is a company now acting 
 at Nantua^ and if I only had those orders, they were 
 for a front box, too, I could have rowed you and 
 Jeannette over in five minutes." 
 
 " Oh, what a pity ! what a pity !" she cried ; 
 " what did you do with them V^ 
 
 Mr. Osborne was not sure whether he had lit a 
 cigar or wiped a pen, but he rather thought it must 
 be the cigar that had consumed them. 
 
 " Ah ! what a pity ! But are you sure ? Perhaps 
 you did not burn them, after all.'" 
 
 He granted the possibility of the fact. 
 
 " Who knows but they are in your pocket still ?" 
 eagerly said Adele. 
 
 " There can be at least no harm in trying," he 
 good-humouredly replied ; and looking in his pocket.
 
 256 ADELE. 
 
 he found, to liis great surprise, that the orders were 
 there. 
 
 " Oh, you are my good angel !" cried Adele, en- 
 thusiastically. 
 
 " Scarcely orthodox, Mademoiselle Adele ; your 
 good angel would never be expected to take you to 
 a play ; and yet you may be sure that your good 
 angel himself would not find a word to say against 
 anything you shall hear or see to-night/^ 
 
 But Jeannette was not going to submit to this ; 
 and she was opening her lips to inform Mr. Osborne 
 that he might throw her into the lake at once, or 
 turn her out of his house the next morning — she 
 kindly left him his choice — but that to the play with 
 her little mistress he should not go whilst Jeannette 
 had the breath of life^ when Mr. Osborne forestalled 
 the objection. 
 
 ^' The orders are for two," he said ; '^ and as I 
 hav6 business in Nantua, I cannot share with you 
 the pleasure of the evening, but I shall, of course, 
 escort you home, and you will tell me all about it 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Sincerely Adele sympathized with his disappoint- 
 ment, and zealously did she promise to tell him 
 every word of every play she was to see. Jeannette 
 was silent — she could not well object; the escort of 
 a faithful female servant is held sufficient for de- 
 corum, even in the proud but homely old French 
 nobility; and the protection of her presence was 
 more than sufficient for poor little Ad^le ; but for all 
 that it could not end well — oh, no, it could not. 
 
 But .they did not dream of evil, no presentiment
 
 ADELE. 257 
 
 warned them of coming sorrow. The evening was 
 clear and still ; a pale sky was reflected in pale 
 waters. Between both, with steep summits cut out 
 in uneven outlines, rose the dark mountains, darker 
 shadows lurking at their feet. The little boat glided 
 on softly, and Mr. Osborne looking around him, en- 
 joyed the calm serenity of the hour. The light ripple 
 of the water, a far star shining in the far sky, the 
 passing of the wind through the pines of the moun- 
 tains, were more to him than all Adele ^ould hope 
 to see. Not so with the young girl. She saw no- 
 thing, save floating images, none of which she could 
 grasp, but all lovely <and splendid. 
 
 At length, the lake was crossed. They landed in 
 the poor little town that faced Courcelles ; they 
 entered a dirty and narrow street, passed a white 
 church, with white stone steps, that shone in the 
 moonlight, and stopped before a small square build- 
 ing like a Doric temple, the theatre of the place. 
 With a beating heart Ad^le read the bill, *' Marry 
 for Love," a vaudeville ; and '' Alcestis,'^ a tragedy. 
 The mere names sent her into a dream, from which 
 she did not waken until she found herself sitting in 
 a narrow box, facing a lit and murmuring house, 
 and a stage with a brightly-painted curtain. It 
 represented palace stairs and noble gardens, with sea 
 and the outline of azure hills on the distant sky. 
 
 *' Is that the play ?" eagerly asked Adele, turning 
 round, but she looked in vain for Mr. Osborne. He 
 was gone, Jeannette said. She had not time to say 
 more. The fiddle in the orchestra struck up with a 
 squeak, the curtain rose, and revealed a gorgeous 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 1258 ADELE. 
 
 ball- room, filled with such lovely ladies and' such 
 gallant gentlemen, that Adele leaned back breathless 
 with astonishment and delight. '* There never was 
 anything like it/' she whispered to Jeannette. Never, 
 indeed, save at sixteen, on the night of a first play. 
 She saw not the painted boards, the tinsel draperies, 
 the shabby dresses. Youth, the marvellous en- 
 chanter, waved his wand ; the boards were shining 
 marble floors ; the miserable gauze skirt was rarest 
 lace ; the J:hreadbare velvet cloak was genoa, double 
 piled ; the diamonds were from the mines of Gol- 
 conda. And oh ! more wonderful still, the quaint, 
 wearied men were cavaliers in all the bloom and 
 ardour of manly beauty, even as the poor, faded 
 girls, whom they courted, were coy amongst maidens 
 and fair amongst women. The vaudeville had many 
 a burlesque incident, with its slight thread of ro- 
 mance ; Ad^le laughed till the tears ran down her 
 cheek, for her sense of the ludicrous was keen ; it 
 had many a little pathetic touch, and Adele leaned 
 her cheek on her hand and wept slowly. It closed 
 with three marriages — all for love — and a tableau, 
 and Adele had never seen anything like it, but Jean- 
 nette had. 
 
 " My young master," she said, ^' once took a fancy 
 to act a play. Ah, how handsome he looked in his 
 white satin coat, and with what an air he offered a 
 nosegay of roses to his wife, who acted the shep- 
 herdess. Biit his cousin, the Marquis, kissed her 
 hand ; and it seems that was not in the play, and 
 so Monsieur would have no more acting ; and I be- 
 lieve, too, it was the cause of his first quarrel with
 
 ADELE. ^59 
 
 Madame, but it did not last. I entered Madame's 
 boudoir unawares, and I found bim on his knees 
 before her ; for a gentleman then was not ashamed 
 of kneeling to a lady, and a husband of being fond of 
 his wife. And now people marry for love;^in plays, 
 and the girl who has no dot may dress Saint Cathe- 
 rine's hair." 
 
 To dress Saint Catherine's hair means in French 
 to be an old maid ; twenty-five is the age fixed for 
 that rubicon of a woman's life. Adele heard, but 
 did not heed her. Once more the curtain had risen 
 — the tragedy had begun. Alcestis had offered her- 
 self for her husband ; her sacrifice had been accepted ; 
 and in dirge-like accents she bade life and love fare- 
 well. Adele did not weep — she could not, but she 
 was thrilled through the very heart ; the blood for- 
 sook her cheek ; her pale lips quivered ; woe, deep 
 woe, filled her being. It was over ; Alcestis was 
 won back from the grave ; once more she blest and 
 was blest ; doubly happy, for she had died, and she 
 could live for him whom she loved. 
 
 The curtain had fallen ; the stage was dark ; the 
 house was emptying; but twice Adele had to be 
 addressed by Jeannette before she moved. She 
 started up like one wakening from a dream, and 
 went down stairs without a word. Mr. Osborne was 
 waiting below. He looked at her from head to foot. 
 — Where was her cloak ? Jeannette uttered a cry of 
 alarm. Mademoiselle's head had been turned by 
 the play : she had left her cloak above, and never 
 should she see it again. At once Mr. Osborne ran 
 up for it.
 
 260 ADELE. 
 
 " Oh, but how can he know the right box ?" — 
 (cloak-room there was none in the theatre of Nantua) 
 — exclaimed Adele. 
 
 Jeannette grumbled that he would know it sure 
 enough, but was pacified by seeing him appear with 
 the cloak on his arm. With a smile he put it around 
 Adele ; and as they went down to the boat, he asked 
 how she had been entertained ? 
 
 " I do not think I have been so happy before,'^ 
 she said, and she seemed unable to say more. She 
 sat in the boat with her head on her knees, and 
 only addressed Mr. Osborne once more ; to bid him 
 good night ! as they parted in the garden, and to 
 say — 
 
 " Oh, I have been so happy to-night ! Oh, what 
 a day it has been !" 
 
 He smiled kindly, pleased with her pleasure, and 
 he entered his study ; what he found there, we may 
 know later. The whole of that long night his lamp 
 burned unextinguished. Alas ! the dark days lulled 
 awhile, had returned, and doubt and care shared 
 that vigil with him. 
 
 And Adele, too, watched; for after so much 
 pleasure, how could she sleep ? Jeannette, indeed, 
 had succeeded in persuading her to go to bed, 
 but she could not make her bright eyes close — she 
 could not make her quick and lively tongue be 
 silent. 
 
 "Jeannette, did you ever see such a beautiful 
 creature as that Alcestis ?" 
 
 *' Beautiful ! -she was not beautiful, Mademoiselle ; 
 and at all events, you are a great deal prettier."
 
 ADELE. 261 
 
 " Oh, Jeannette, you are dreaming !" cried Adele, 
 leaning upon one elbow ; " she was beautiful — beauti- 
 ful ! and then, do you not see how she died for her 
 husband V 
 
 " Mademoiselle does not suppose I believe that." 
 
 " Why not r 
 
 Jeannette answered that it was not the way of the 
 world now-a-days for ladies to wear white dresses 
 and no sleeves, and to die for their husbands. 
 
 Adele sank back, and looked thoughtful. 
 
 " Jeannette," she said, after a tolerably long pause, 
 *' do you think there really are women who do not 
 like their husbands V 
 
 " Plenty, Mademoiselle ! plenty !" 
 
 "Who would not die for them, I mean !" 
 ' " Die for them— not they !" 
 
 Adele sighed, and thought the world must be in a 
 sad state. Jeannette rather shortly asked why the 
 wives were all to die for their husbands, and not the 
 husbands for their wives ? But Adele, without an- 
 swering this plain logical question, exclaimed, with 
 some ardour — 
 
 " Jeannette, I do not think I shall ever have a 
 husband, but if I have, oh ! Jeannette, how I will 
 love him ! how I shall be ready — willing — glad to 
 die for him any day like Alcestis — beautiful Alcestis 1 
 But what a pity," she added, changing her tone, 
 " that her husband was not more like her ! Do you 
 know I thought he looked fat in his tunic. Xow 
 what business had he to be fat, recovering from a 
 severe illness, and losing a good and lovely wife ? 
 I could not help thinking when I looked at him —
 
 26^ ADELE. 
 
 what a pity Alcestis is not married to Monsieur Os- 
 borne." 
 
 But Jeannette, alarmed at this remark, and at the 
 conjugal turn which the thoughts of her young mis- 
 tress were taking, promptly put in — 
 
 " And why should not the husband of Madame 
 Alcestis look fat ? I dare say the poor gentleman had 
 had the dropsy, and if Monsieur Osborne had had it 
 too — '^ 
 
 " You are very tiresome, Jeannette," cried Adele, 
 turning her flushed face towards the wall ; "what 
 put it into your head that Monsieur Osborne was 
 to have the dropsy ? it is quite ridiculous to say 
 so. 
 
 '^ I hope he may never have it, for it would cer- 
 tainly spoil his good looks !" persisted the perverse 
 old woman ; " but Mademoiselle is sleepy, and I am 
 tired ; and I have the honour to bid Mademoiselle 
 a very good night 1"
 
 ADELE. 263 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 BROTHERHOOD. 
 
 Mr. Osborne had found Robert Osborne drinking 
 in his study. "With severe aspect he greeted his 
 younger brother. But Robert had a cool impudence 
 which nothing could move or disconcert. With a 
 self-possession which a diplomatist might have envied, 
 he said, from his chair, as the pale face of Mr. Os- 
 borne, who had entered by the garden, appeared 
 from behind the glass door, " Why, William, where 
 have you been all this time ?" 
 
 In vain Mr. Osborne looked at him with a dark- 
 ening face; in vain, good man as Ad^le thought 
 him — we need not say, once for all, that she exag- 
 gerated his vu'tues as well as his perfections — his 
 lips quivered, and grew white with anger. Robert's 
 nature was thick and impervious. The sternness of 
 his late father, who hated him ; the flattery of his 
 mother, who feared him ; the sharpness of his sis- 
 ters, who laughed at him ; and the severity of his 
 brother William, who despised and disliked him
 
 S64 ADELE. 
 
 as a man without intellect or honour, found Eo^bert 
 equally cool and insensible. E-obert loved himself 
 too tenderly and too fondly, though without romance, 
 to care a farthing about any one. Mr. Osborne sat 
 down, looked at his younger brother, and gravely 
 said — 
 
 " What brought you here, Kobert ?" 
 
 Robert stared. 
 
 " Did you not send for me ?" 
 
 '' I did not." 
 
 " Ma wrote that you did, or that you wanted me 
 here." 
 
 " Had I wanted you, I was equal to the task of 
 writing to you. Mrs. Osborne may have advised 
 you to come ; she can scarcely have written that I 
 required your presence." 
 
 " Capital wine !" said Eobert, pouring himself out 
 a glass. 
 
 Mr. Osborne was leaning back in his chair; — ■ 
 gravely and sternly he looked at Robert. 
 
 '^ You have not answered me. What brought you 
 here 1 I suppose you did not come without some 
 dim intentions of some kind or other." 
 
 But Robert was thick-skinned. Such ■ frail shafts 
 pierced him not. He poured himself out another 
 glass of wine — he had poured himself out a good 
 many in his solitude — tossed it off, and setting down 
 the empty tumbler, he stared at his elder brother ; 
 and instead of the humble confession which Mrs. 
 Osborne had advised — instead of lamenting or ex- 
 cusing the shameless breach of trust of which he 
 had been guilty, he coolly said —
 
 ADELE. 
 
 265 
 
 "Intentions! yes, I have intentions! — I'll be a 
 partner." 
 
 Mr. Osborne laughed disdainfully. 
 
 " I tell you I will !" shouted E-obert ; " reject me 
 if you dare ?* 
 
 " Dare is an awkward word, even between bro- 
 thers," coolly observed Mr. Osborne, not in the least 
 angry. 
 
 " That for the brotherhood !" cried Robert, dash- 
 ing on the floor the contents of his glass, which he 
 had filled again. 
 
 Mr. Osborne had a horror of coarseness and bru- 
 tality ; his brother Eobert was, in every respect, 
 antipathetic to him ; but he controlled himself, and 
 merely observed — 
 
 " You are losing your temper, Robert." 
 
 But Robert's bullying nature was quite up now. 
 
 " I tell you you dare not," he said, more aggres- 
 sively than before, "reject me as a partner, and I'll 
 compete in England. I know more of the business 
 than you do." 
 
 " More of the money, certainly," said Mr. Os- 
 borne. 
 
 *^ And I'll cut the ground under your feet," pur- 
 sued Robert, triumphantly. He struck the table 
 until decanter and glasses rang again. 
 
 The clashing sound jarred on Mr. Osborne's sen- 
 sitive nerves. He started up from his reclining 
 position, and even in that moment, he could not 
 help observing, with ill-repressed impatience : 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Robert, leave the table 
 alone ; hit your chair if you must hit something.'^
 
 266 ADELE. 
 
 " I tell you I'll cut the ground under your feet," 
 screamed Eobert, at the height of passion ; " I'll 
 not be trampled upon by you." 
 
 Indignation, pity, and scorn, passed across Mr. 
 Osborne's pale and expressive face : pity for so much 
 folly, for so low a nature, prevailed. 
 
 "Cut away my poor boy," he said; "you are 
 very welcome." 
 
 The sad significance of his tone startled even the 
 dulness of Eobert ; but he said nothing ; Mr. Osborne 
 resumed. 
 
 " To make your task the easier, I shall withdraw 
 and leave you sole master of the field. What you 
 have made of the English business ; what confidence 
 you will inspire all with ) what trust will be reposed 
 in your sagacity and your honour, after the manner 
 in which you have repaid the trust ^of your elder 
 brother — I need not tell you." 
 
 He spoke with undisguised irony. Robert heard 
 him aghast ; his sallow face turned pure yellow and 
 lengthened visibly. 
 
 " You are jesting," he said at length, giving him 
 a doubtful glance ; " matters cannot be so bad as all 
 that.^' 
 
 " I am in earnest," replied Mr. Osborne, once more 
 raising himself up from his reclining attitude, and 
 speaking with marked sternness ; " I tell you that 
 you have all but ruined me, and that you shall not 
 ruin me outright." 
 
 " Withdraw !" surlily said Robert ; " much you 
 know of business. What if you cannot?" 
 
 Mr. Osborne turned very pale ; his white lips
 
 ' ADELE. 267 
 
 quivered ; for a picture of dishonour and ruin 
 flashed before him. Had Robert been more guilty 
 than he had thought, 
 
 " What do you mean ?" he asked, at length. 
 
 The subtle arts of a deceiver were not Robertas 
 forte : his nature was gross and blunt ; the truth rose 
 to his lips, but Mr. Osborne's white face and angry 
 eyes startled and alarmed him. He thrust his hands 
 in his pockets^ and whistled carelessly. 
 
 " Ah ! bah !'^ he said ; " stay or withdraw — what 
 is it to me." 
 
 " Robert^ are those bonds safe ?" asked Mr. Os- 
 borne. 
 
 *' Oh ! ay, safe enough." 
 
 Asseverations would not have deceived him ; this 
 careless tone could not remove his lurking suspicion. 
 
 '' Robert — Robert/' he said, raising his hand with 
 some menace. *' The rest is nothing — that — no, that 
 I could not forgive.*' 
 
 " Why, what would it be to you V asked Robert, 
 with a sneer. 
 
 " Say, rather what would it be to you I" replied 
 his brother : " a journey to the colonies." 
 
 " Why, who could prove it?" 
 
 '^ I could," said Mr. Osborne. Inexorable looked 
 his clear cut face. 
 
 Robert stared, then burst out into a loud laugh, 
 took another glass of wine, and finally saying he was 
 tired, he rose and withdrew. 
 
 *' Ah! what an inheritance !" groaned Mr. Osborne, 
 as the door closed upon his younger brother. He 
 felt sick and weary of his hard task. Disgust and
 
 £68 ADELE. 
 
 contempt had prevented him from reproaching 
 E-obert with a treason which he had partly accom- 
 plished ; the details were not yet known to Mr. Os- 
 borne, of the object he could have no doubt. Robert 
 had framed a grossly conceived plot to supplant his 
 brother ; a plot which Monsieur Morel had, though 
 with great caution, abetted. He probably thought 
 that the dull and gross Eobert would be a more 
 easily managed master than the proud and keen 
 Mr. Osborne. 
 
 But treason is rarely successful. A fatality, a re- 
 tributive justice, attend it. The temptation of draw- 
 ing too freely had proved too strong for Robert, and 
 had at once betrayed him ; not, indeed, before much 
 mischief was done, but in time to defeat his intended 
 coup d'etat. ' Derisively Mr. Osborne perceived his 
 aim, and promptly, and with the aid of Adele, he 
 defeated it for ever. The business in England had 
 been declining under Robert's rule ; he resolved to 
 let it fall. 
 
 His measures were all taken, when Robert made 
 his appearance in Courcelles, and Robert's threats 
 were therefore mere matter of scorn and laughter to 
 his elder brother, but of a scorn with which weari- 
 ness blended. 
 
 " Ah ! what an inheritance," he thought again, 
 leaning his brow on his hand, and remembering with 
 a sigh his days of careless and wandering liberty. 
 Vain regret ! His duties had but begun ; the thorny 
 path was yet but half cleared : leaving to the Future 
 to reveal the mischances which he felt brooding, 
 Mr. Osborne turned his thoughts to the Present.
 
 ADELE. 269 
 
 For Robert had consented to bring a sort of state- 
 ment of his misdeeds, which Mr. Osborne found on 
 his table. That it was garbled and insincere, he 
 could not doubt ; yet, such as it was, how much it 
 revealed ! He could not sleep. He sat up all night, 
 restless and anxious ; he sat up until the next morn- 
 ing found him the same prey to tormenting suspense. 
 " He dared not have done it," he thought ; '' he 
 dare not." 
 
 Mr. Osborne was pacing his study up and down ; 
 his brow was knit and overcast, his look was weary 
 and sad, when Adele burst in upon him bright and 
 joyous. 
 
 " I know all about them, — I can tell you every 
 word," she cried ; but she paused, silenced by his 
 jDale, worn face ; her tongue was mute, and her wist- 
 ful look that sought his, plainly said, " My friend, 
 what ails you ?" 
 
 " I have had unpleasant news," he said. Adele 
 drew nearer to him. She was sorry, — very sorry. 
 He smiled sadly. *^ I am used to it," he replied ; 
 '' life is made up of toil and cares, of trusts betrayed, 
 and ill-placed confidence; and habit," he added, 
 pausing, " reconciles us to it all." 
 
 ^^ Does it ?" she asked, looking up in his face. 
 
 He gently laid his hand on her head. 
 
 '' May it never reconcile you," he said. 
 
 Ad^le saw that he looked tired ; she saw his
 
 270 ADELE. 
 
 table covered with papers, and she guessed the 
 truth. 
 
 " You sat up all night !" she exclaimed, ^' and I — 
 oh, I slept so soundly." 
 
 He said he was glad of it ; but Adele seemed dis- 
 turbed and sorry. Could she really do nothing for 
 him ? — Write no letters, make up no accounts ? — He 
 did not know how faithful and how secretive she 
 could be. 
 
 " But I can imagine it/^ he said, smiling. 
 
 " Well, then, give me something to do," she 
 asked, ardently. 
 
 *' But there is nothing to do. I have done it all 
 last night," he gently answered. 
 
 " How tiresome ! you do everything for me ; and 
 I — I can do nothing for you." 
 
 " Well, perhaps I may find something for you to- 
 do now, for here is Jean coming with more letters, 
 I suppose." 
 
 Ad^le looked over her shoulder, and saw Jean 
 standing at the head of the little balcony that led to 
 the garden. He gave her a wistful look — why was 
 she there ? — But he brought no letters for his master. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Osborne and her maid are come," 
 he said, in a submissive voice. 
 
 " Ah, how tiresome !" thought Adele, with a sigh ; 
 but Mr. Osborne's clouded brow cleared ; he smiled, 
 and looked pleased. 
 
 " Bring them round this way," he said; "what, 
 will you not stay and see my little girl ?" he added, 
 as he saw AdMe following Jean out of the room. 
 
 At once she turned back ^rith joyous surprise.
 
 ADELE. 271 
 
 " Your little girl !" she cried ; ^* it is your little 
 girl !" 
 
 " Of course it is ; she has lost the aunt with whom 
 I had left her, so 1 have sent for her." 
 
 Adele clapped her hands, and looked delighted. 
 ' "I am so glad!" she cried, "lam so glad! I 
 did so wish for your little girl to come. I am so 
 glad." 
 
 She had not time to dwell on this joj^ous theme : 
 steps were heard on the gravelled garden paths, a 
 childish voice asked in broken French, questions to 
 which mature Parisian tones gave replies. In a few 
 moments more a brown middle-aged woman in white 
 cap, and a serious little girl in deep mourning, ap- 
 peared on the balcony. A natural instinct of de- 
 licacy made Adele retire to the background of the 
 room ; Mr. Osborne advanced ; he took up his child 
 in his arms ; he attempted to kiss her, and was re- 
 ceived with a kick and a scream. 
 
 " The man shall not kiss me !" cried Miss Osborne, 
 desperately ; " he shall not !" 
 
 Adele looked bewildered and alarmed; but Mr. 
 Osborne only laughed. The French bonne argued — 
 it was not a man, it was Mademoiselle's papa ; and 
 at length Lilian held up her cheek, and sulkily sub- 
 mitted, to the paternal caress. Mr. Osborne untied 
 her bonnet-strings, placed her in his chair, and 
 smoothing the hair from her brow, he looked at her 
 attentively. He had not seen her for three years, 
 and he found her altered and improved. She was 
 a dark- haired, dark- eyed child, strikingly like her 
 father, and though a little pale, remarkably beauti-
 
 S72 ADELE. 
 
 ful. As Mr. Osborne looked at this living image of 
 himself, cast in the frail and tender mould of child- 
 hood, his eye softened. He sat down, and taking 
 his little girl on his knee, he caressed her tenderly. 
 The seriousness of Lilian's face partly relaxed, and 
 she condescended to smile, and even to speak. 
 
 '^ Who is that little girl ?" she asked, looking over 
 at Adele, whom her father had forgotten. 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Courcelles is not a little girl," 
 he said, smiling, ^' she is a young lady. How do 
 you like her ?" 
 
 He spoke in French. Lilian gave Ad^le a solemn, 
 attentive look that made her heart beat. What if 
 Monsieur Osborne's child should take a dislike to 
 her? 
 
 " She is very pretty," at length said Miss Osborne, 
 who thereby showed, that like her papa, she had a 
 decided liking for a pretty face. 
 
 Adele was advancing ; she reddened, and half 
 drew back. Mr. Osborne smiled, and persisted — 
 
 '' Do you like her ?" 
 
 *^* Oh, yes," was the cool reply, uttered without 
 enthusiasm; for Miss Osborne was like her papa 
 in that too. She had few strong partialities. Mr. 
 Osborne, nevertheless, asked if she would not give 
 the lady her hand ? and Lilian, attracted perhaps by 
 the fair young face of Adele, did not merely give 
 her her hand, but held up her cheek to be kissed. 
 
 '^ Where are your toys ?" she asked. 
 
 " I have no toys. I am not a little girl I'' 
 rather indignantly replied Adele ; " I am old, quite 
 old."
 
 ADELE. 273 
 
 But Lilian did not mind her. 
 
 " Oh, how pretty !" she cried, touching with her 
 childish finger a little gold brooch which Adele 
 wore in her collar, and which Lilian's feminine eyes 
 had at once spied out. It was very small and very 
 • light ; it was also the only ornament of any kind 
 which Adele possessed : but at once she unfastened 
 it, and pinning it in Lilian's dress, she said, with 
 joyous readiness — 
 
 '^ Take it ; it is yours. ^' 
 
 Lilian had been spoiled, and she accepted the gift 
 very coolly. She was pleased, and she said, ^' Thank 
 you !" but to be presented with what she admired 
 was a matter of course. Lilian's father, however, 
 looked up at the donor, and smiled so kindly, that 
 Lilian's bonne at once concluded Lilian was going 
 to have a new mamma, and though Adele had no 
 such thought, she reddened, half ashamed at a look 
 so friendly. 
 
 '^ Son sang ne pent mentir^^ said Mr. Osborne ; 
 '' you are of a generous race. Mademoiselle Ad^le, 
 and give you must." 
 
 " I am hungry," said Lilian, jumping down from 
 his knee; and, taking the hand of Adele, she evi- 
 dently expected to be led away to where she could 
 find something to eat. 
 
 Mr. Osborne had probably had enough of the pa- 
 ternal, or he had; perhaps, other cares on his mind 
 for he let Lilian go. 
 
 " Are you his little girl ?" asked Lilian, as she de- 
 scended the steps with Adele. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 t74: ADELE. 
 
 '^ But I am not a little girl/' replied Adele, rather 
 vexed. 
 
 '' Mademoiselle is a young lady/^ began the bonne, 
 but Lilian interrupted her. 
 
 " What is your name V she asked. 
 
 " Adele de Courcelles." 
 ^ *' And what are you V continued Lilian. 
 
 They were crossing the garden to re-enter the 
 house. Adele looked around her, and smiled wist- 
 fully. What was she in the home her ancestors had 
 reared ? — where her grandsires and her grandames 
 had flourished ? She stooped over the little stranger, 
 and she softly kissed the future mistress of Cour- 
 celles. 
 
 *' I hope you will be very happy here/' she said. 
 
 But a pettish wish that she had something to eat, 
 was Lilian's only reply. 
 
 ^^Poor little thing, she is hungry !" said Adele. 
 
 At once she led her into the house, and with the 
 same zeal, though without the same necessity which 
 she had showed on the evening of Mr. Osborne's 
 arrival, she superintended the first meal which Lilian 
 took in her father's dwelling. Mr. Osborne looked 
 in whilst Lilian was eating in the Hall, smiled ab- 
 stractedly at the hospitable anxiety Adele showed in 
 heaping the child's plate, and after lingering a few 
 moments, and saying a few kind words, he left them. 
 Ad6le felt disa.ppointed. Monsieur Osborne did not 
 seem to her to be sufficiently fond of liis little girl. 
 She did not think so, when, without seeking it, she 
 suddenly came upon them that afternoon in the gar- 
 den. Lilian had of her own accord gone to seek her
 
 ADELE. 275 
 
 papa ; and Adele thought them both in his study ,when 
 she caught sight of them in one of the many arbours 
 of the garden. Mr. Osborne was sitting on a bench, 
 and Lilian sat on his knee ; her shyness and his cold- 
 ness were all gone. Her arms were clasped around 
 his neck — their two faces were meeting in a fond 
 embrace. He was covering her cheek and her brow 
 with kisses, which Lilian received with childish 
 screams, half of pleasure, half of mimic anger. She 
 said be should not, and he said he would. She 
 slapped him ruthlessly, and he only laughed at her 
 wrath. At length, a treaty of peace was concluded ; 
 he promised to be quiet ; she promised to behave 
 herself. A calm kiss sealed their reconciliation ; 
 gently his lips sank on her cheek ; softly her childish 
 hand stroked and patted his. The heart of Adele 
 swelled and rose ; tears started to her eyes. They 
 had not seen her ; she turned into an alley, and sit- 
 ting down on a bench, she felt very solitary. 
 
 Why was she not loved ? why did no one caress 
 her ? " Happy little girl !" she thought, " happy 
 little girl P' She was not jealous ; Mr. Osborne had 
 been very kind, but nothing in his kindness could 
 have authorised the feeling. She was only a stranger, 
 and his little girl was his flesh and blood. Xo, she 
 was not jealous; she was not envious, either. She 
 would not have robbed Lilian of anything Lilian had, 
 not for the world ; but she felt very solitary ; she 
 felt that it would have been very delightful to have 
 been thus loved ; very pleasant to receive a fondness 
 so endearing. '* Happy little girl V she thought 
 again, ^'oh, yes, very happy," But can sadness
 
 ST6 ADELE. 
 
 linger long with youth ? The song of a bird perched 
 on a neighbouring tree first drew, then diverted, her 
 attention. The day sparkled with mingled dew and 
 sunshine ; the mountains rose clear in the keen blue 
 sky; below, the lake lay calm and still, scarcely 
 rippled by the pure fresh breeze. The very quick- 
 ness of the air gave every object a life more distinct. 
 The old moss-grown statues around her seemed to 
 feel, like her, the genial warmth of the sun ; every- 
 where life prevailed joyous and triumphant. Ad^le 
 shook her tears away. " The very bird sings and 
 rejoices," she thought, and she broke forth into a 
 joyous carol, which the appearance of Mr, Osborne 
 coming towards her quickly interrupted. He was 
 alone; yet with the familiarity of a friend he sat 
 down on the bench by her. 
 
 " Always merry V he said, smiling. 
 
 ^' Not always,'^ replied Adele, 
 ^ " But never sad," he pursued, " at least, so you 
 said yesterday, did you not V 
 
 " Yes, but I feel lonely sometimes, not often, but 
 sometimes. I am glad your little girl is come to 
 Courcelles, for now I know that you will really 
 stay here." 
 
 ^' For some time, at least. '^ 
 
 " For ever," she said, " not for some time.'' 
 
 He smiled, and did not think it likely. The 
 shadow of a cloud passed over the sunny face of 
 Adele, but impatiently shaking her head, she said — 
 
 ^^ Well, well, you are not gone yet." 
 
 ^' I may go any day," said Mr. Osborne, very 
 gravely, " and never return.'' ^
 
 ADELE. 277 
 
 Adele looked disconcerted, then smiled incredu- 
 lously. 
 
 " You are jesting !" she said, quickly, " but I 
 wish you would not — I wish you would not." 
 
 Mr. Osborne looked firmly in her face. 
 
 " On my word I am not jesting," he said; " I am 
 in sober earnest." 
 
 She looked at him mute and stricken. Mr. Os- 
 borne seemed very much troubled. 
 
 " Child," he said, " why are you disturbed ? Life 
 is made up of sorrows and separations, and both 
 have to be borne." 
 
 Adele looked humble and ashamed, and tears 
 trembled on her dark eyelashes ; her downcast eyes 
 were laden with grief. 
 
 " Do not be angry with me," she said. 
 
 '^ Angry!" exclaimed Mr. Osborne, reddening a 
 little ; ^' did I speak with anger ?" 
 
 " I cannot help it," she pursued, " you have been 
 so very kind ; and then what shall I do when you 
 are gone? with whom shall I read, talk, and walk 
 then ?" 
 
 " How did you do before I came ?" he asked, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Ah, I had never had a friend then ; I was like 
 Adam in Paradise — I did not know Eve — I did not 
 care about her." 
 
 " The comparison would be prettier reversed," 
 said Mr. Osborne, unable to repress a little sarcasm, 
 
 " Let us reverse it, then," replied Adele, not a 
 whit discomposed ; " it always comes to the same 
 thing, for you know what I mean."
 
 g78 ADELE. 
 
 This was true enough ; and without pursuing the 
 subject, Mr. Osborne merely said, in his habitually- 
 kind tone, — 
 
 " Providence will send you another friend ; you 
 are too good and too pretty not to marry some day." 
 
 '^ Marry without money!'* interrupted Adele, 
 amazed at the idea, and laughing gaily,- too ; " oh, no ! 
 no one marries without money ; and I have nothing — 
 not a sou," tshe added, with a sort of triumph in her 
 poverty. 
 
 " And do you really mean to say," observed Mr. 
 Osborne, slightly surprised, " that you do not think 
 ever to marry, because you have no money ?" 
 ^ ''I am sure of it," she confidently replied ; " Jean- 
 nette and Cousine both say so, and they ought to 
 know." 
 
 ^ '^ Would' you- wish to marry ?" he pursued, rather 
 earnestly. 
 
 " But since it is no use wishing,'^ she said, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 '' But if it were ?" he insisted. 
 
 "Ah, bah!^^ said Adele, throwing her hand be- 
 hind her shoulder with careless grace, " I shall be 
 seventeen in May; what need I think about all 
 that?" 
 
 He smiled and his brow cleared. " She is but a 
 child," he thought. 
 
 " But I wish you would not go," she said, with a 
 chagrined look ; " I wish you would not." 
 
 '' Well, and perhaps I shall not," he replied ; " it 
 may be [the will of Providence that I should stay 
 here, and in that case I should wish "
 
 ADELE. 219 
 
 What Mr. Osborne -wished Adele never knew ; 
 for Jean interrupted the discourse by bringing his 
 master a packet of letters. 
 
 '* Perhaps he will want me," thought Adele, re- 
 membering his words that morning and though she 
 rose from the bench, she did not leave the alley. 
 
 The mere look of the letters had brought a cloud 
 to Mr. Osborne's brow; he had that morning re- 
 ceived a partial account of Kobert's misdeeds, 'and 
 he now expected a fuller and more severe narrative. 
 He looked at the directions and at the seals of the 
 three epistles, and could not make up his mind to 
 open them. With the horror, with the loathing and 
 disgust, with which meanness, treachery, and cupidity 
 ever inspired him, he at length compelled himself to 
 break the seals, and read the full history. "• 
 
 " How long he is reading those letters !" thought 
 Adele. 
 
 She looked round; he was not reading, but he 
 held a letter in his hand, and he was pale as death. 
 Adele looked without knowing whether to advance 
 or retire : the friendly instinct prevailed. She went 
 up to him, he took her hand within his, and he 
 gave her a look so sad, so dreary, that her heart 
 sank within her. Trembling, she sat down by him, 
 and asked what had happened. Still he kept her 
 hand within his,, still looked at her, and spoke 
 not. 
 
 " You frighten me !'' she cried ; '^ what is it ?'' 
 He did not answer. " Is it a death ?" she added. 
 He shook his head. '^ Have you lost all your 
 money ?"
 
 280 ADELE. 
 
 ^' No, child, I have not." 
 
 '^ Then what can it be ?" 
 
 '^ Never trust a friend/' he replied ; '^ never trust 
 a friend, my little Adele." 
 
 " Never trust a friend \" she repeated after him ; 
 *' and why so ?" 
 
 " Never trust a friend/' he said again, " or the 
 best will deceive and betray you to sorrow/' 
 
 '' I have no friends to trust,'' said Adele, shaking 
 her head with a sad sagacity ; '^ but you had, and 
 they have deceived you, I see. God forgive them ! 
 the bad, the wicked people." 
 
 She spoke with such earnestness, that tears filled 
 her eyes. 
 
 "^ Never love a friend, never serve a friend," he 
 said ; '' he will turn against you in the end. He will 
 be saved, and you will be the victim." 
 
 " But how bad those bad people must have been," 
 cried Adele, indignantly ; " how bad to make you 
 say such cruel things." 
 
 He dropped her hand, and folded his arms a little 
 gloomily. 
 
 " Pray ^"do not look so unhappy," said Adele, 
 drawing nearer to him ; " and pray believe I never 
 could betray you." 
 
 He had not heard her ; he rose, and saying coldly, 
 " Pray excuse me, I must go and speak to my bro- 
 ther Robert," he left her. 
 
 *^Ah! his brother is here!" thought Adele, be- 
 ginning to understand what ailed him. 
 
 Mr. Osborne went straight to his study, Robert 
 was there drinking as on the preceding evening.
 
 ADELE. 281 
 
 Mr. Osborne removed the bottle with a severe hand, 
 
 and faced his brother, stem and .pitiless as Rhada- 
 
 manthus. 
 
 ^- " I know all/' he said. 
 
 A sullen meaning came over Robert's sensual, 
 bloated face. He was not without a sort of dull 
 conscience ; it had been pricking him, and he had 
 been endeavouiing to drown its murmurs in wine. 
 
 " Transport me if you like," he said, doggedly. 
 
 Mr. Osborne bowed his head, folded his arms, and 
 communed with God in strange anguish of spirit and 
 of heart : *^ Help me — guide me," he prayed. " I 
 confess myself a sinner every day before Thee. My 
 wisdom is nought, or I had not fallen into this pit 
 and become the prey of what I despised." He was 
 more calm when he looked up. He went to his cash- 
 box ; he took out a bundle of notes, and placed them 
 in his brother's hand, without a word. But Robert 
 understood him. It was condemnation, reproof, 
 dismissal, forgiveness, all in one. He rose and 
 silently turned away. 
 
 " Good-bye," said Mr. Osborne ; and he held out 
 his hand. 
 
 "Good-bye," said Robert, grasping it half in 
 shame, half in cordiality, " I am sorry about these 
 bonds — I see it cuts you — on my word, I am." 
 
 Mr. Osborne did not answer one word. He knew 
 that over the nature of Robert his nature never could 
 exercise a lasting or beneficial influence ; that his 
 silence was more impressive than would have been 
 the keenest reproof, the mildest preaching.
 
 282 ADELE, 
 
 " You'll think better of me yet/' said Eobert, as 
 he turned away. 
 
 Thus the two brothers parted. The offender 
 slightly affected, yet in reality not much moved ; 
 the offended one silent and cold, though hurt to the 
 very heart. 
 
 Mr. Osborne sank down in his chair. E-uin, dis- 
 grace, dishonour were before him. 
 
 " Oh, God !'^ he groaned, " had I but been spared 
 that; had ruin taken any other form it seems as if 
 
 I could have borne it patiently ; but that Oh ! 
 
 that !" 
 
 He leaned his head on his hand. He looked at 
 the past, at the future. " Oh ! ties of blood !" he 
 thought, " are you not as often a curse as a bless- 
 ing ?" And raising his eyes, he saw Adele standing 
 on the threshold of his room, gazing at him thence 
 with a wistful look, and holding Lilian by the 
 hand.
 
 ADELE. 283 
 
 CHAPTER XX.' 
 
 ABSENCE. 
 
 "With a smile he beckoned them both in. Adele 
 advanced hesitatingly. 
 
 *^ I have brought you your little girl," she said. 
 
 " To comfort me/' he replied ; " why the sight of 
 your face would do that." 
 
 He took Lilian on his knee ; he placed Adele in 
 a chair by his side, and he looked at her with a gaze 
 that had in it something more than fixed attention. 
 If Ad^le had thought of love, she might have fancied 
 that this was a lover's look ; and if she had known 
 anything about love, she would have been very sure 
 that it was not. But she thought nothing. 
 
 " I think you like me," he said, at length. 
 
 " Ah ! you know I do," she cried, warmly. 
 
 " Good, sincere little creature ! Yes, I do really 
 believe that you are fond of me." 
 
 Was he speaking to her or to his own thoughts ? 
 He took her hand in his. 
 
 " Would you like to live here with me, and with 
 my little girl ?" he asked ; " I mean for ever ?"
 
 284 ADELE. 
 
 '^ Will you stay here — will you really stay ?" she 
 asked, with sparkling eyes. 
 
 " I will, but will you ?" 
 
 " Why not ?" she asked, openly meeting his keen 
 and penetrating look. 
 
 His next remark was not much to the purpose. 
 
 *^ When truth leaves her well," he said, " she will 
 borrow Mademoiselle Adele de Courcelles' brown 
 frock. Lilian," he added, turning to his little 
 girl, '^ I am going away ; be good, and let that young 
 lady give me a good account of you when I return.'* 
 
 " Is she good ?" asked Lilian. 
 
 " As good as she is pretty," [he said, rising and 
 looking at his watch. 
 
 But Adele only heard that he was to leave. 
 
 '' You are going ?" she cried, chagrined. ^' Oh ! 
 when will you come back." 
 
 "As soon as I can.'' 
 
 '' Ah ! poor Monsieur Osborne," thought Ad^le, 
 taking Lilian's hand and leading her away, " they 
 will not let him be quiet." 
 
 She went down with the child to the garden, and 
 stayed there until she. heard Jean leading out Joli, 
 Mr. Osborne's bay horse ; she then went with the 
 child to the gate to bid Mr. Osborne adieu. He was 
 not there yet, but Joli saw her and neighed, for they 
 were old friends and true. 
 
 " Poor Joli," said Adele, patting him fondly ; " I 
 have no sugar in my pocket to-day, Jeannette has 
 locked the cupboard. But I will save some for when 
 you come back. Bear your master faithfully, Joli, 
 and bring him back soon, very soon."
 
 ADELt:. > 285 
 
 '' What are you saying to Joli V^ asked Mr. Os- 
 borne's Yoice. 
 
 She turned round ; he stood on the threshold of 
 the Manor ; he saw tears on her face ; they sparkled 
 on her rosy cheeks like dew on a flower. 
 
 " You soft-hearted little thing/' he said, wiping 
 those tears away with a gentle hand. 
 
 " Do not ride Joli too hard," she said; "do not 
 use the spur and the whip. He is faithful, I am 
 sure he is." 
 
 He pushed away the hair from her clear forehead, 
 and he exclaimed, half sorrowfully : 
 
 " Oh ! my little friend, why are you so young ?" 
 
 " The young are true," she said, warmly. " The 
 old betray." 
 
 He pressed her hand ; he kissed Lilian ; and 
 without another word he rode away. But he soon 
 looked back. The Manor was reddening -in the 
 evening sun ; the glass windows glittered bright ; 
 the far snowy mountains shone on the sky ; the mists 
 were curling on the lake ; the road sparkled with 
 dew; and Adele stood on the steps of the Manor 
 looking after its master. Lilian had gone in to play 
 in the garden, but Adele had remained to see him as 
 long as she could. 
 
 A month had passed away. 
 
 The afternoon was wintry and bleak. The wind 
 moaned around the Manor with a low, sad wail ; 
 with a lament it passed through the lonely avenues 
 of the old garden, and died away on the grey lake. 
 
 " Mademoiselle will not think of going out on this 
 cold day,^^ Jeannette had said. Adele had not an-
 
 S86 ADELE. 
 
 swered ; she disliked useless argument, but no sooner 
 was Jeannette's back turned, than she darted out and 
 lightly ran down the broad alley. She paused and 
 looked around her. Strangely altered seemed the 
 aspect of the garden. The evergreen hedges had a 
 nipped look ; the frost of the cold autumn nights had 
 withered the flowers on their frail stems ; they hung 
 their languid heads, all heavy with a chill, white, 
 briny dew, which no ray of sunshine had dried that 
 day. Oh ! for the summer dew and the summer sun 
 to give them a second birth. Vain wish ! No more 
 would they blossom in the fragrance and joy of 
 their being. 
 
 " Poor flowers, poor flowers !" thought Adele, 
 turning away with a sense of pain ; but everywhere 
 sad images met her. The withered leaves gathered 
 around her feet, and the keen wind that passed over 
 her head whirled them along the path with a low, 
 rustling sound ; the statues, in their Grecian robes, 
 green with moss and sullied with mildew, made her 
 shiver. Was this the happy wilderness where she had 
 walked by Mr. Osborne's side, where the sun had 
 felt so pleasant and so warm on the old, broken stone 
 benches in the ancient arbours ? 
 
 ^^ Oh ! how long he has been gone," she sighed ; 
 " how very long I" 
 
 She went on. On reaching the stone balustrade 
 that overlooked the lake, she paused again, and 
 looked down vaguely. She watched the grey clouds 
 that floated within it ; away they went with a sullen 
 mien, to pass above the brown mountain peaks which 
 she saw there too. And other mountains beyond
 
 ADELE. 287 
 
 these stretched along that cloudy sky a snowy ridge 
 with blue and yellow tints^ and broken here and 
 there by white mists that curled around them, pale 
 and thin, and gathered into clouds as they descended. 
 She looked Up and saw the same sad and bleak 
 landscape. Oh ! was this gloomy water the clear 
 green lake which the romantic chapel overlooked ? 
 were those heaps of barren rock the verdant moun- 
 tains that gave it their own cool hue, and shaded it 
 on hot summer noons ? 
 
 '' Oh ! how long — how very long he has been 
 gone," sighed Adele ; " will he never come back ?" 
 
 Fitful and unhappy she turned away. But in vain 
 she wandered in the alleys ; in vain she sought the 
 maze, the orchard — he was still gone, and Adele was 
 still unquiet. 
 
 From the pain of his absence she learned what 
 the delight of his presence had been. It was a want 
 which nothing could supply, not even Lilian, though 
 Lilian was very fond of Adele now, and never so well 
 pleased as when she could be with her. But Lilian 
 could not be dear, like Lilian's father. His good- 
 ness, his kindness had sunk for ever in the heart of 
 Adele. " He is my friend,'^ she often thought; " and 
 I must love my friend. But I wish he would come 
 back,'* she now querulously added. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Lilian," cried the angry voice of 
 the French bonne, " come in directly." 
 
 But Mademoiselle Lilian had seen Adele, and was 
 running gaily towards her ; and Adele, though she 
 received her with a kiss, said that she must go in, or 
 her papa would be angry.
 
 288 ADELE. 
 
 " Papa will never come back/^ g^-il)^ said Lilian, 
 as she was once more surrendered into tlie hands of 
 her bonne. "^ Never — never." 
 
 " Yes he will/' said Adele, a little indignantly ; 
 *^ he has said so." 
 
 Yet she sighed as she turned away and entered 
 the room where Jeannette spun by the warm fire- 
 side. 
 
 Jeannette looked at her little mistress's cold white 
 face ; but no remonstrance^ half-fond, half-angry, 
 passed her lips. She only spun more slowly, whilst 
 Adele sat down on a stool and looked at the bright 
 wood fire on the brown hearth. 
 
 " How long Monsieur has been gone," said Jean- 
 nette. 
 
 " A whole month !" sighed Adele. 
 
 " And he has never written to Mademoiselle ?" 
 ; *^ Ah I why should he take that trouble ?" 
 
 ^' Monsieur has been so very kind to Mademoi- 
 selle." 
 
 " Jeannette, what are you going to say ?" inter- 
 rupted Adele, reddening. 
 
 " Nothing to displease Mademoiselle. But Mon- 
 sieur has been so very kind; for instance, about 
 that pretty ivory thing which he brought from 
 Lyons, after having bought it of Pierre." 
 
 " It was Cousine*s gift I" cried Adele. 
 
 " Bought with his money," persisted Jeannette ; 
 '' I know it — I am sure of it — I can prove it." 
 
 ^' It was he gave it to me/^ cried Adele; "he — 
 he " she seemed unable to say more. 
 
 " Oh, that is not all," continued Jeannette ; " Ma-
 
 ADELE. 239 
 
 demoiselle is fond of reading, and Monsieur lends 
 her books ; but does Mademoiselle suppose that these 
 books come here for his use ? They come for Ma- 
 demoiselle, and go without having been so much as 
 opened by him/' 
 
 " How can you tell ?" 
 
 " I have not dusted them for days, or I have put 
 them in a certain way, and the dust has remained on 
 them, and they have not been moved/' 
 
 " And it is for me he makes those beautiful books 
 come from Paris ? — For me ! for me !" 
 
 " Oh, that is not all," continued Jeannette ; " I 
 might go on for ever ; but one thing more will suf- 
 fice. Mademoiselle has not forgotten the night of 
 the play, and how Monsieur found the orders in his 
 pocket, and how surprised he was to find them there. 
 Ah, Mademoiselle ! Mademoiselle ! the best of gen- 
 tlemen can be very deceitful — very deep. I myself 
 saw a lad on that very morning hand him those 
 orders, and the change of the Xapoleon with which 
 he had bought them at Xantua ; and Monsieur, who 
 did not see me, put them in his pocket very care- 
 fully." 
 
 " Then he had got them for me — on purpose for 
 me !" cried Adele. 
 
 " Perhaps it was for me," said Jeannette, smiling ; 
 " perhaps, too, it was to see how I liked the play ; 
 how I laughed, how I cried, that Monsieur, who 
 had such urgent business in Nantua, sat in a corner 
 of the pit until it was over." 
 
 But Adele had not heard her. She had bowed 
 her head on her knees, and she cried passionately. 
 
 VOL. I. V
 
 S90 ' ADELE. 
 
 '^ Mademoiselle ! Mademoiselle !^' exclaimed Jean- 
 nette, alarmed, for she had never seen her little 
 mistress weep as she wept then. 
 
 Adele looked up. 
 
 " Oh, Jeannette !'^ she said, " it is the kindness — 
 it is the kindness !'* She rose, and walked about the 
 room. " He must not be so kind,^' she said, " or I 
 must not know it, or I shall do or say something 
 foolish that will make him laugh at me, and make 
 me run away ashamed from his sight. No, no; 
 there must be no more of all this, or I shall be 
 undone." 
 
 Jeannette wished she had not spoken. She had 
 not imagined that her little mistress would feel it so 
 strongly. But x\dele, of her own accord, calmed 
 down and laughed at herself. She sat again on her 
 little stool, and clasping her arms around her knee?, 
 she looked at the fire, and smiled. 
 
 " Jeannette," she said, " you told me once that 
 kindness could melt the heart as the sun thaws the 
 snow ; that it made the strong weak as a little child ; 
 and it is true, I feel it now." 
 
 '^ Mademoiselle must not think of that," cried 
 Jeannette, sorely troubled ; *^ she must think that it 
 is not right for even the best of gentlemen to spend 
 money on a young lady who is nothing to him. Jf 
 it were right, he would not hide it so carefully. 
 Does Mademoiselle know how much Monsieur Os- 
 borne has spent to please and amuse her V^ 
 
 Adele did not answer. 
 
 " Three Napoleons for the ivory case and what 
 was in it : no less than five and six francs at a time
 
 AUELE. ' 291 
 
 for carriage of books ; and nine francs fifty centimes 
 for the play. I do not believe that in all. Monsieur 
 can have spent less than five or six gold Xapoleons. 
 Holy Virgin !" added Jeannette, reddening, *^ that 
 any man's money should be spent on Mademoiselle 
 — on Mademoiselle, who is bound to be doubly 
 proud, because she is poor." 
 
 '' You are right there, Jeannette ; but oh, why do 
 you think so much of the money — so little of the 
 kindness — when that is the thing, you know ?" 
 
 Jeannette shook her head. 
 
 " Do you think,^' pursued Adele, looking at the 
 fire, which shone back in her eyes, " do you think 
 that because I am silent, I never think of my strange 
 lot in this world ? I am a noble, and of the noblest. 
 The revolutionists burned our genealogical tree in 
 the court of the Manor, but they could not burn our 
 name from the chronicles of the province, from the 
 history of France." 
 
 The heart of Jeannette swelled. 
 
 " There is not in all France a lady who can crow 
 over Mademoiselle, so far as birth goes," she said, 
 proudly. 
 
 " And what does it avail me ?" asked Adele. " Oh, 
 Jeannette, God has chastised the fierce De Courcelles ; 
 He has humbled their pride in the dust. They were 
 a warlike race who lived but for lighting ; iron was 
 a sword by their side, or a gauntlet in their hand. 
 They were insolent to the strong, and pitiless to the 
 weak ; they sent their daughters into cloisters, and 
 they wedded all their sons, that their name might live 
 for ever. x\nd what has happened ? Iron is turned
 
 292 ADELE. 
 
 into money on their land by a foreign speculator, 
 whom they would have scorned. Their sons have 
 died, and left no posterity ; their name has fallen 
 into distaif, as the old saying is ; all the family hopes, 
 all the family honours, have gathered on one head, 
 and that the head of a woman — of a little girl. 
 Through her they are now humbled into the weak- 
 ness of woman and the carelessness of childhood. 
 She is poor amongst the poor, a little dependant, 
 friendless, and unloved, Why, there is not a pea- 
 sant's son in ail Courcelles that would have her for 
 his wife, for the girl whom he marries has at least 
 an acre of land, a cow, and half-a-dozen hens. And 
 what has Adele de Courcelles ? Not a foot of earth, 
 not a goat on the mountain-side, not a bird in a cage. 
 Do not cry, Jeannette ; God is good to all, and He 
 is just. The sun lights every corner of the earth, 
 but he does not shine on all the whole round earth 
 at once. We might as well ask — why is the earth 
 round ? as wonder why God takes from some to give 
 to others. From me he has taken nothing ; all was 
 gone before I was born ; and that is why, perhaps, 
 I cannot trouble my head much about a rank and a 
 fortune I never really lost. But still, Jeannette, I 
 do remember sometimes that I am alone, friendless,^ 
 poor. I remember it when the sun is shining, when 
 I am singing in the garden ; and if I did not sing 
 twice as fast, I really do think that I should cry. I 
 did almost cry the other day when I saw Mr. Os- 
 borne kissing his little girl. Oh, do not wonder, 
 Jeannette, that when you tell me of one who spends 
 his money to please a little friendless girl, who takes
 
 ADELE. 29S 
 
 the trouble of inventing ways to instruct and amuse 
 her without humbling her pride, who, spite of heavy- 
 business and a world of cares, gives her a place in 
 his thoughts, and a corner in his liking — oh, do not 
 wonder, Jeannette, that I cry from the bottom of my 
 full heart ! It is the kindness — it is the kindness !" 
 " Ah ! Mademoiselle must not think so much of 
 that !" sighed Jeannette ; " she must not allow that 
 great kindness." 
 
 " xA.nd how can I prevent it ?" impatiently asked 
 Adele. 
 
 *' Mademoiselle must keep more to her room, 
 more out of the garden, more out of the gentleman's 
 way ; and when he does not see her, he will forget 
 her." 
 
 Adele looked blank. 
 
 " I cannot — I will not," she said, at length. 
 " Mademoiselle both can and will," insisted Jean- 
 nette ; and seeing her young mistress look up at her 
 with some haughtiness, she added, in a subdued 
 voice : 
 
 " Because it is right." 
 
 Adele hung her head. T\Tien she raised it, her 
 eyes were sad, but in a calm voice she said : 
 
 '''Yes, Jeannette, I will do it — because it is 
 right." 
 
 " It seems hard to Mademoiselle now," resumed 
 Jeannette ; " but later Mademoiselle will not think 
 so much of it ; later she will remember all this as a 
 dream, and feel pleased to think, that when she 
 might have been foolish — like nine young ladies 
 out of ten— she was wise, careful and prudent "
 
 294 ADELE. 
 
 ' " Here lie is !" cried Adele, starting to her feet 
 and clapping her Jiands with joy; "come back — 
 come back !" 
 
 She darted out of the room, leaving Jeannette 
 confounded. '^ Ah !" she thought, with a groan ; 
 " I might have known what such promises were 
 worth. Oh ! it will not end well ; you will see it 
 will not."
 
 A DELE. 295 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 MO>.'SIEUE LASCOURS' PROMISE. 
 
 Whilst Jeannettewas talking, Adelewas listening, 
 not to her prudent speech, but to a loud knocking 
 at the front door, which the moaning of the wind 
 did not prevent her from hearing. Jeannette, how- 
 ever, heard nothing, and Jean was either deaf or 
 asleep, for the knocking was repeated and not at- 
 tended to. It was, it must be, Mr. Osborne returning 
 after his long absence. Prudent resolves, sincere 
 promises, fled by magic. He was come back, her 
 friend, her kind friend, and they did not let him 
 in ! Then she would, her look and her tongue would 
 be the first to bid welcome to the master of Cour- 
 celles. Full of joy at the thought, she sprang out 
 of Jeannette's room, ran up a flight of steps and came 
 down the passage, which a lamp lit. She reached the 
 door as the knocking was repeated a third time; trium- 
 phantly she opened it, and remained mute. She saw, 
 not Mr. Osborne, ^but her cousin and godmother. 
 Mademoiselle de Janson, alighting from a travelling- 
 carriage.
 
 296 ADELE. 
 
 " Is tHe house bewitched V she asked, tartly ; 
 " where is Jean ?" 
 
 " I shall go and look for him at once, Cousine/' 
 said Adele, her glee all over. 
 
 But she was spared the trouble of the search; 
 Jean appeared and Jeannette too. Mademoiselle de 
 Janson took no other notice of them than to bid 
 them make haste and light a fire in the Hall, which 
 she entered at once. 
 
 " And if Monsieur Osborne or the whole lot of 
 them should come back !" thought Jeannette dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 But such paltry considerations moved not her 
 aristocratic mistress. She threw her cloak on Mrs. 
 Osborne's favourite chair, and sank down on the 
 sofa which Anna loved. 
 
 " Would not -Madame prefer one of the rooms up- 
 stairs ?" suggested Jeannette. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Janson raised her languid head 
 and said shortly : 
 
 " Jeannette, you are a fool — do as I bid you. You 
 will not see one of the Osbornes here for days — for 
 weeks." 
 
 Her head sank back, her eyes closed. Jeannette 
 left the room to obey, and Adele remained standing 
 before her godmother, mute and thoughtful. 
 
 " Cousine,'' she said, at length, " you saw Monsieur 
 Osborne — how was he ? — how did he look ?" 
 
 " What is the child saying ?" asked Mademoiselle 
 de Janson, looking up amazed. 
 
 Adele innocently repeated her questions, but the 
 only answer she got was a sharp request to hold her
 
 ADELE. 297 
 
 tongue. " She will tell me nothing," sighed Adele 
 to her own thoughts, " and he will not be back for 
 days — for weeks !" 
 
 Jeannette came in to light the fire, and having 
 succeeded in accomplishing her task, asked if Madame 
 would take no refreshment. 
 
 " What for ?" was the sharp reply, so sharply 
 uttered, too, that Jeannette did not venture to open 
 her lips in a hurry. 
 
 She left the room. 
 
 Adele sat on her low stool and looked at her god- 
 mother. 
 
 " The world is going away," sighed Mademoiselle 
 de Janson, after a while. 
 
 Move she did not, but Adele looked at her and at 
 the fire, listened to the wind, and leaned her cheek 
 upon her hand. The last three months were a dream, 
 her old life in the old Manor had come back. At 
 eight Mademoiselle de Janson rang the bell, the two 
 old servants appeared, and their mistress read the 
 evening prayer. When it was over, Adele held up 
 her cheek for her godmother's cold evening kiss ; 
 but Mademoiselle de Janson said — 
 
 *' Stay, child, I want to speak to you.^' 
 
 Adele obeyed. Her godmother pointed to her 
 stool, and bade her sit down, whilst she resumed her 
 own chair. 
 
 " The world is going away," she said, " and the 
 best and wisest thing we can do is to go away out of 
 the world ; accordingly, I have resolved to leave and 
 relinquish Courcelles altogether.'^ 
 
 The breath of Ad^le seemed gone.
 
 298 ADELE. 
 
 " Yes/^ continued Mademoiselle de Janson, " Cour- 
 celles we must leave. What should we do here any- 
 longer ?" 
 
 Still Adele was mute. 
 
 " When a thing has to be done," continued Made- 
 moiselle de Janson, " let it be done quickly. We 
 leave to-morrow morning before day/' 
 
 " Where do we go to ?" asked Adele, speaking, 
 at length. 
 
 " That is of no immediate consequence/' was the 
 short reply ; " it is sufficient for you to know that 
 we are going, and to get ready." 
 
 ^^ Is it far away ?" asked Adele. 
 ^ " Child, you have had your answer." 
 
 " Cousine, is it very far away ?" the young girl 
 inquired, with a wistful look. 
 
 " Go and get ready." 
 
 Adele rose and stood before h.er godmother. 
 
 " Cousine," she said, with some solemnity, '* is it 
 out of France ?" 
 
 " Go and get ready," was the inexorable reply. 
 
 Adele shook from head to foot, and turned very 
 pale. 
 
 ''Cousine,^' she said, " you cannot mean it; you 
 cannot mean to take me away from home, from 
 country, without even a day's warning. You do not 
 like me — I know it, and I do not complain of it — 
 but still you cannot mean it." 
 
 '^ Child, do not be foolish," was Mademoiselle de 
 Janson's answer ; " I am your best friend, for I wish 
 to remove you from a world of wickedness and 
 cares, and I deal with you as Providence deals with
 
 ADELE. 299 
 
 her cliildreii. I say neither why nor how — I act, 
 and I leave it to the future to justify me." 
 
 " This world may be wicked and fall of woe," 
 earnestly, said Adele ; " but I am young and happy 
 in it. And oh, Cousine ! though you may act 
 secretly like Providence, are you like Provi- 
 dence, all powerful? And can you turn, without 
 fear of mistake, the means you use into one certain 
 end ?" 
 
 " Truly, the world is going away,^' indignantly 
 exclaimed Mademoiselle de Janson, " when a little 
 thing of sixteen questions the wisdom of her god- 
 mother. Go to your room^ at once, and let me hear 
 no more of this." 
 
 But instead of obeying, Adele sank down on the 
 floor at her godmother's feet. She clasped her two 
 arms around Mademoiselle de Janson's waist, and 
 looked up in her face with pathetic entreaty. 
 
 " Do not, Cousine," she said, " do not ; it would 
 break my heart, I assure you it would. I should 
 die of grief, and you would not make me die, would 
 you ?" 
 
 It was one of Mademoiselle de Janson's freaks to 
 act the stern lady now and then, but her light 
 temper rarely allowed her to sustain the part in all 
 its bearings. Instead of indignantly casting Adele 
 from her, and talking grandly of family authority, 
 she looked at her almost kindly ; and, parting the 
 hair from her forehead, she said — 
 
 **You are a pretty girl, Adele, — a very pretty 
 girl." 
 
 Adhle blushed, thea laughed, and said demurely —
 
 300 ' ADELE. 
 
 " If I am so pretty, Cousine, it would be a pity to 
 take me out of the world/' 
 
 " And I think you are happy," 
 
 " Oh, so happy, Cousine. As happy as the day 
 is long." 
 
 Her godmother's brow grew clouded. 
 
 " As you are I was at your age,^* she said. " Look 
 at me now. Oh, that some true friend had taken 
 me in the beauty and happiness of sixteen from a 
 world of sorrow." 
 
 Adele was alarmed at the conclusion, and hastened 
 to administer an antidote. With timid familiarity 
 she unclasped her hands from her godmother's waist, 
 and parted Mademoiselle de Janson's golden hair 
 from her brow. She looked at her godmother as 
 her godmother had looked at her, and archly said, — 
 
 '' Ah, Cousine ! what a difference— I am only 
 pretty — you were beautiful.^' 
 
 " Well, well, there is something in that," replied 
 Mademoiselle de Janson, considerably mollified; 
 *' pretty women are happy — beautiful women are 
 born to grief." 
 
 '* But I am not beautiful,^^ urged Adele, *' I am 
 only pretty. I shall be so happy, Cousine." 
 
 " Oh, but you are very, very pretty,'^ said Made- 
 moiselle de Janson ; '^ and when women are so very, 
 very pretty, it is almost as bad for them as being 
 beautiful." 
 
 " No, no, I am not so very pretty," cried Adele, 
 disturbed ; " I am too little — I am not elegant, like 
 you. My hair is dark, — it is not like yours, bright 
 as gold. Oh, I am not so very pretty ,^^ she added.
 
 ADELE. 301 
 
 vexed at being unable to bring forward some other 
 personal defect in order to support her cause. 
 
 " That will do, child," said Mademoiselle de Jan- 
 son, a little coldly ; '^ get up, and do not forget to be 
 ready by to-morrow morning/' 
 
 Adele rose without a word ; where was the use of 
 remonstrance or entreaty ? But the blood forsook 
 her cheek, and there came a strange light to her 
 blue eyes. 
 
 " Cousine,'^ she said, " my mmd is made up. I 
 "will not go to-morrow morning." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Janson gave a start in her chair, 
 and opened her eyes amazed. 
 
 " And when will you go ?" she asked. 
 
 " I will not go at bII," replied Adele. 
 
 She stood before her godmother, little, pale, reso- 
 lute ; a thing of steel, which a strong hand could 
 snap asunder, but could not bend. 
 
 " Go to your room, child," said Mademoiselle de 
 Janson, in her gentlest tones. 
 
 Adele obeyed. As she closed the door, she heard 
 her godmother exclaiming with a sigh, " The ^orld 
 is gone away !" 
 
 Mademoiselle de Janson long remained absorbed 
 in thought ; at length she awoke as from a dream, 
 stretched her hand, and rang the belL Jean ap- 
 peared. 
 
 *' Let everything be ready," she said, ^' we leave 
 before day."
 
 30£ ADELE. 
 
 " Madame is taking Mademoiselle away," faltered 
 Jean. His mistress stared, but did not answer. He 
 took courage, and resumed — 
 
 *' Mademoiselle is not used to travelling, and this 
 weather — ^' 
 
 "Jean, do as I bid you." 
 
 Jean obeyed silently, and went to impart his 
 troubled thoughts to Jeannette, Vainly he searched 
 for her up and down. Jeannette was in the Hall re- 
 ceiving the orders of her mistress. Mademoiselle 
 de Janson had been unusually prolix concerning the 
 careful packing of an old ebony casket, which she 
 desired might be put in her trunk, so as to receive 
 no injury ; and Jeannette was wondering in her mind 
 whether her mistress meant to depart and return no 
 more, when, without transition, the lady added — 
 
 ^* And when you have done that, go up to the 
 room of Mademoiselle Adele, and pack up her 
 things." 
 
 The arms of Jeannette dropped by her side. 
 
 " Mademoiselle is going ?" she said. 
 
 " Of course she is 1" was the impatient reply. 
 
 But tears streamed down Jeannette's cheeks ; im- 
 ploringly she clasped her hands. 
 
 '^ Oh, leave her here — leave her here 1" she said. 
 
 " Leave her here ! you are dreaming, Jeannette. 
 Go, and pack up her things at once." 
 
 But Jeannette did not move. 
 
 *^ No, no, Madame !" she entreated, "no, no, you 
 will not do that thing. You will not rob an old 
 woman of her child ; I am sure you will not 1" 
 
 " I think the world is not merely going away, I
 
 A DELE. 303 
 
 also think it is goin^ mad 1'^ said Mademoiselle de 
 Janson, sitting up indignantly in her chair. " What ! 
 I cannot take away my own cousin and god-daughter 
 but there is such a wail raised around me, that Kachel 
 lamenting her children never made more noise." 
 
 But with strange persistency Jeannette conti- 
 nued — 
 
 " I am old, but I will work for her ; I am only a 
 servant, but I will protect her against a look. You 
 do not care about her no more than the wind that 
 blows ; and she is the apple of my eye, and the dar- 
 ling of my heart." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Janson looked at the old woman, 
 and Jeannette looked at her ; and in either look 
 there was mistrust. 
 
 " Jeannette/' said the lady, " for the sake of your 
 faithful services, I forgive you this mad talk. And 
 now do as I bid you ; go, and pack up Mademoiselle 
 de Courcelles' wardrobe.'^ 
 
 She spoke grandly ; a bitter smile passed across 
 Jeannette^s face, but she obeyed. When she reached 
 the threshold of the door, she paused, and hokling 
 the half- open door in her hand, she turned and looked 
 at her mistress." 
 
 " I know what is in your heart, Madame," she 
 said, '^ I know it. — God forgive you ! — God forgive 
 you !" 
 
 She closed the door, and sitting down on the last 
 step of the old staircase, she sobbed and moaned 
 wit^ strange passion. 
 
 '• I thought it was all over — all over," she said, 
 half-aloud. " I thought that with old greatness old
 
 304 ADELE. 
 
 wickedness was gone. But there are only two of 
 them left, only two^ and both* are women, and one 
 must torment the other. God forgive her ! — God 
 forgive her ! I cannot." 
 
 She rose, and still weeping as she went, she pro- 
 ceeded to the room of Adele. The door was ajar ; 
 a ray of light stole out on the landing. Jeannette 
 knocked, but received no reply. She knocked again, 
 and still all was silent. 
 
 " She has fallen asleep over one of those books," 
 thought Jeannette. 
 
 She pushed the door open, and entered. A light 
 burned on the table near the bed, where Adele lay 
 dressed, but asleep ; one arm was thrown over her 
 head, the other hung down by the side of the bed, and 
 her hand still held the volume she had been reading. 
 
 " The naughty child will set fire to the house one 
 of these days," muttered Jeannette ; but suddenly 
 remembering on what errand she had come, she sat 
 down, and began to cry. Her sobs and her moans 
 awoke Ad^le ; her eyes opened, and she sat up, ga- 
 thering her fallen hair w^ith vague surprise. 
 
 " What is it, Jeannette ?" she asked, at length. 
 
 " Oh ! my darling, my darling ! how shall I ever 
 part from you ?" she cried, wringing her hands. 
 
 Adele looked at her, but did not speak. 
 
 " God forgive her— God forgive her !" exclaimed 
 Jeannette, the tears streaming down her cheek. 
 
 Nevertheless she rose, and spite her tears and her 
 moans, she opened a chest of drawers and proceeded 
 to empty it of its contents. 
 
 '^ Jeannette^ what are you doing ?" cried Adele,
 
 ADELE. 305 
 
 "Packing up Mademoiselle's things," groaned 
 the old woman. 
 
 ** You need not/^ said Adele, coolly ; " I have 
 made up my mind not to go. I have told Marraine 
 
 "Ah! Mademoiselle, she will make you. Did 
 not her grandmother make her mother marry old 
 and ugly Monsieur de Janson, a gambler, too, who 
 never did but one good thing, and that was to break 
 his mother-in-law's heart with seventeen lawsuits V* 
 
 Adele smiled. 
 
 " Jeannette/^ she said ; " you and Cousine live in 
 the past ; but I, a child of the present, know those 
 days are gone by." 
 
 " And where is Mademoiselle going ?" moaned 
 Jeannette. 
 
 " Nowhere, I tell you," indignantly replied Adele \ 
 " you are very tiresome. Why will you not believe 
 me ?" 
 
 "Because I know the world! Mademoiselle is 
 nothing before the law." 
 
 " The law is very impertinent." 
 
 " Mademoiselle cannot sell or buy. Mademoiselle 
 cannot marry without her godmother^s consent." 
 
 " I can say no, Jeannette," replied Adele, and she 
 set her young face into an expression of such inex- 
 orable and resolute will, that Jeannette was startled 
 and for a moment frightened. 
 
 " Mademoiselle must not look so," she said ; " it 
 is wicked ; it is sinful." 
 
 But even as she spoke the look had vanished; the 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 ADELE. 
 
 face of Ad^le only expressed the graceful and im- 
 patient wilfulness of a child. 
 
 " Then do not teaze me/^ she said, shaking her 
 pretty head ; " I tell you I will stay here. I will, 
 until Monsieur Osborne comes, and he will not let 
 me go." 
 
 " Oh ! Mademoiselle, what can he do ? She hates 
 the Osbornes, She was as beautiful and as sweet as 
 a May morning until the father came and made love 
 to her in the garden — the place is bewitched, I be- 
 lieve — then went off and married another, and do 
 you tliink she would mind the son much ?" 
 
 " Would she mind Monsieur Lascours ?" asked 
 Ad^le, willing to pacify Jeannette ; " he promised 
 to be my friend once. And he will not break his 
 word." 
 
 '^ He promised that ?" cried Jeannette, with spark- 
 ling eyes ; " he really did promise it ?" 
 " He really did." 
 
 " Then Mademoiselle is saved/' said Jeannette, 
 eagerly ; *^ Monsieur Lascours is, perhaps, the only 
 person who has a bit of influence with Mademoiselle. 
 She likes him and she respects him. Oh ! yes, yes, 
 it is all right now.'' 
 
 Adele smiled carelessly. Of course it was all 
 right. She had made up her mind not to go — and 
 go she would not ; but she did not take the trouble 
 of observing as much ; she merely said : 
 
 " Yes, Jeannette, it is all right ; but we must get 
 hold of Monsieur Lascours, and at once too — for 
 Cousine speaks of going before day." 
 
 " Jean shall take Monsieur Osborne's boat, and
 
 ADELE. 307 
 
 cross over in five minutes," said Jeannette, '^ and 
 tell Monsieur Lascours that Mademoiselle wants him 
 at once — at once." 
 
 She spoke with trembling eagerness, and went to 
 the door, then came back. 
 
 " That will not do," she said ; " Mademoiselle 
 must write a letter." 
 
 " Oh ! no," interrupted Adele, looking alarmed ; 
 " I cannot write — I will not.^' 
 
 Jeannette went to the window and opened it. 
 The night was still, the lake lay calm and quiet ; a 
 light burned in a dwelling across it. That light 
 came from Monsieur Lascours' house. She closed 
 the window, and turned round to Adele. 
 
 " Would Mademoiselle be afraid to cross the lake 
 in Monsieur Osborne's boat ?" she asked gravely ; 
 " Jean is as safe a rower as there is in all the country ; 
 and if Mademoiselle tells her own tale to Monsieur 
 Lascours, it will be best ; and it will save time." 
 
 Adele did not look pleased. 
 
 " I do not want to drop in there at night," she 
 said, pouting ; '*' I am not a bat.'' 
 
 '* Ah : if I had thought that Mademoiselle would 
 be afraid," deceitfully observed Jeannette, " I would 
 not have spoken of such a thing." 
 
 " Afraid !" cried Adele, starting to her feet ; 
 " afraid of crossing the quiet lake on a clear night / 
 You know very well, Jeannette, I am not afraid. 
 And since nothing else will please you — why, I will 
 go. Only Monsieur Lascours will laugh at me." 
 
 " Monsieur Lascours will do no such a thing," 
 gravely said Jeannette. " Monsieur Lascours, when 
 
 X 2
 
 308 ' ADELE. 
 
 he gave that promise to Mademoiselle, knew Made- 
 moiselle de Janson, and guessed that she would try 
 and play strange tricks some day." 
 
 Adele was dressing. She turned round and asked : 
 ''What tricks?" 
 
 ^' Ah ! Mademoiselle, the world is in a dreadful 
 state/' groaned Jeannette, " she will make you marry 
 some rich, ugly, cross, old man, who has lost an eye 
 or an arm." 
 
 " Or a leg," interrupted Adele, laughing till the 
 tears ran down her cheek. *' Jeannette, I shall say 
 'no,' so loud, that the priest will drop his book 
 aghast, and the bridegroom shall run away faster 
 than he came.'' 
 
 " Ah ! Mademoiselle, you are not going, and time 
 passes." 
 
 " I am gone," said Adele. She threw her mantle 
 around her and lightly ran down the staircase
 
 ADELE. 309 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 CONFESSIONS. 
 
 Adele found Jean in Jeannette'c room, seated in 
 Jeannette's chair, and staring vacantly at Jeannette's 
 wheel. He had not recovered the dismay with which 
 he had heard Mademoiselle de Janson declare her 
 intention of going away the next morning, or, rather, 
 of taking her god-daughter with her. Adele had 
 some difficulty in making him understand what she 
 wished him to do, and some trouble in convincing 
 him that it was right or proper to do it. 
 
 " Oh, dear !" impatiently cried the young girl, " I 
 do believe the world is going away, as Cousine says. 
 Is it possible, Jean, you do not understand me V 
 
 " Mademoiselle must excuse me,^' agitatedly began 
 Jean, " but my poor head — " 
 
 " What, not gone yet !" cried Jeannette, who now 
 entered the room. " Are you dreaming. Monsieur 
 Jean ? Get up, I say ; my chair is not a boat, and 
 my wheel is not Mademoiselle Adele. Come, quick !
 
 310 ADELE. 
 
 yet stay ; the night is chill ; you had better put this 
 around you." 
 
 And opening her wooden press, she took out a 
 woollen cloakj striped white and black, and threw it 
 on his back. 
 
 '' Mademoiselle Jeannette is too good," murmured 
 Jean, greatly touched with this proof of tenderness 
 and care. He had risen as if by magic on hearing 
 her sharp, abrupt voice, which, much better than the 
 childish tones of Adele, made him understand what 
 he was to do, and that it was urgent that it should 
 be done at once ; but still somewhat confused and 
 wild, as he would have said himself, he walked out 
 of the room, and dropped Jeannette's cloak on the 
 threshold. 
 
 " My new cloak !" murmured Jeannette. " Oh, 
 what fools men are !" she added, turning up her 
 eyes. ^^ Well, well, one must have patience with 
 them, poor things ! — and he will catch his death of cold 
 if I do not let him have it." — ^^ The night is chill, 
 and Jean is old, poor fellow ! and the cloak will out- 
 live us both," said Philosophy — " unless he drops it 
 in the lake," added Prudence, closing the soliloquy ; 
 for Adele had followed Jean out of the room, and 
 Jeannette was walking at a distance after them in 
 the broad alley. 
 
 But Prudence did not prevail; for when Jean- 
 nette, rather out of breath, reached the stone steps 
 at the bottom of which Jean was already unchaining 
 Mr. Osborne's boat, she recklessly threw the cloak 
 at him, and merely saying, sarcastically, '^ Do not drop
 
 ADELE. 311 
 
 it in the lake, if you can help it ;" a recommendation 
 against which Jean could not possibly protest, for 
 the cloak alighting on his head, had fairly hood- 
 winked him. She turned to Adele, who was laugh- 
 ing merrily, and pathetically exclaimed — 
 
 "Ah, Mademoiselle, do not laugh ! do not laugh ! 
 You have cried sorely to-night, and now you are 
 laughing ; my heart misgives me that you will cry 
 again. '^ 
 
 " Perhaps I shall, and perhaps I shall not !'^ 
 saucily replied Ad^le ; " but I know I shall not 
 leave Courcelles. I will stay until Monsieur Os- 
 borne comes back, and I will ask him to let me be 
 his little maid of all work, his little servant ; and he 
 will pay me my wages, and I shall be as happy as the 
 day is long." 
 
 " The boat is ready," said Jean. 
 " Good-bye to you, Jeannette !'* gaily cried 
 Ad^le. 
 
 She lightly sprang down the steps, and lightly 
 entered the boat. With one stroke of the oars, Jean 
 sent it off on the still lake. 
 
 ^' I hope Monsieur Jean will not forget about the 
 cloak," said the voice of Jeannette. 
 
 "I will give you a velvet cloak, trimmed with fur, 
 when I am a queen," replied Adele from the water, 
 '^ a real velvet cloak." 
 
 " A while ago, she was to be a servant — now a 
 queen !" muttered Jeannette, turning away ; " the 
 little thing is mad ! — the whole world is going mad, 
 I believe !"
 
 312 ADELE. 
 
 The lake was still as glass ; the night had lulled 
 into repose the moaning winds. It was a clear, 
 serene nighty without moon, but with a pale sky 
 which a sort of light pervaded. There was a plea- 
 sant chillness in the air — pleasant, at least, to the 
 warm, young blood of Adele ; it made her shiver, 
 but she liked it. *' Leave Courcelles,^' she thought, 
 breathing it in with delight, " leave my little lake, 
 my old garden, my mountains, and my little room — 
 never ! never \'^ 
 
 Ad^le had not been reared in the home to which 
 she clung so ardently, but she had come to it when 
 she was still a child in years ; her happiest days 
 had been spent in its shelter ; she had grown up to 
 girlhood within view of mountain and; lake, and 
 she loved them both with the passion of a moun- 
 taineer. 
 
 '^ Leave Courcelles," she thought again, " never ! 
 never ! Leave Courcelles, and not see Monsieur Os- 
 borne again ? I will not — I cannot !" 
 
 " And how are we to get in V asked the voice of 
 Jean. 
 
 Adele awoke from her reverie ; the lake was 
 crossed ; the boat lay still at the foot of the steps 
 that led to Monsieur Lascours' villa. 
 
 " Get in ?" she gaily echoed, " why, by getting out 
 first, of course." 
 
 She sprang out of the boat on the steps, ran them 
 up, and was down an alley before Jean had recovered 
 from his surprise. 
 
 A light burning through the trees guided Adele
 
 ADELE. 313 
 
 to the house. It proceeded from the boudoir of 
 Alice, and shone, with a wai-m glow, behind red silk 
 curtains, on which Adele, drawing near, saw the 
 profile of only one figure ; and something in its light 
 and elegant lines told her at once that it belonged 
 to her friend. "She is alone," she thought; "so 
 much the better ; I do not much like Monsieur Las- 
 cours^ keen brown eye." But it was necessary to 
 get in, and the house was securely closed. Adele 
 lightly tapped on the panes of the glass door. The 
 figure within gave a start ; she tapped again ; the 
 figure rose, advanced, and withdrew the silk cur- 
 tain. 
 
 " Let me in !" softly said Adele. 
 
 Madame Lascours dropped the curtain, and uttered 
 a cry of alarm. 
 
 " I tell you I am not a ghost !'^ a little indignantly 
 exclaimed the young girl, " let me in, Alice." 
 
 Madame Lascours recovered her self-possession 
 on hearing the well-known girlish voice that did not 
 seem indeed to belong to another world than this, 
 and at once she opened the door to her little friend. 
 Adele stepped in, and dropping the silk curtain 
 which she had raised to enter, she looked at the 
 wondering face of Alice, and smiled. 
 
 " I am not wet this time," she said, gaily, " and I 
 am not come to sleep in your bed.^' 
 
 Madame Lascours took her hand, led her to a 
 chair by the fijre, and looking at her with troubled 
 attention, she said — 
 
 *' Adele, what has happened ?" 
 
 VOL. I. y
 
 314 ADELE. 
 
 " Nothing/' shortly answered Ad^le ; *' but I wish 
 I were not amiable. It is a calamity to be too good, 
 as I am. I have come here against my own will and 
 judgment to please Jeannette. And you receive me 
 with a ^ What has happened ?' Monsieur Lascours 
 will think me mad, of course. Is he in ?" 
 
 *' He is out/' replied Alice, whose wonder had in- 
 creased, " but he will soon be in," she added, look- 
 ing at the handsome clock of the style called roccoco, 
 which adorned the marble mantel-piece. 
 
 " Then I shall wait," coolly said Adele ; ^* I have 
 business with Monsieur Lascours," she added, giving 
 her friend a mischievous look. She had time to say 
 no more ; the door opened, and a quiet, middle- 
 aged woman entered the apartment. She gave Adele 
 a slight, surprised bend of her calm head, then sat 
 down by the fire, and took up a handkerchief which 
 she was hemming. This lady Madame Lascours 
 addressed as Madame Gerard, and Adele remem- 
 bered that Madame Gerard was one of the poor 
 cousins of Alice, who had many ; she remembered, 
 too, that she lived in that dreary house by the lake, 
 near which she had sat and rested on the day when 
 ihe carried Mr. Osborne's letter. 
 
 Madame Gerard was a widow, a pious woman, 
 and quietness was written in her whole aspect. Her 
 extreme stillness silenced Adele like a chill mist ; 
 she had a habit, too, of sighing now and then, that 
 said without speech, *' life is a folly, a dream ;" and 
 Adele found a melancholy philosophy in Madame 
 Gerard's very way of drawing her needle and thread.
 
 ADELE. 315 
 
 She spoke but once ; Madame Lascours had men- 
 tioned the approaching marriage of Monsieur Las- 
 cours' niece. Madame Gerard sighed and suspended 
 her work for a moment. 
 
 ''How can people marry?" she wondered; "life 
 is so short." 
 
 " That is just why they do marry," put in A dele ; 
 " they want to make it long by adding one life to 
 another." 
 
 Madame Gerard gave her a calm, amazed look, 
 and resumed her hemming. At ten this melancholy 
 lady rose, bade Alice and Adele good night, and 
 retired. 
 
 Adele shivered, and petulantly said — ■ 
 
 " Oh, dear ! your cousin has made me feel chill, 
 Alice; but do you think Monsieur Lascours will 
 come back to-night ?" 
 
 " He certainly will, but he sometimes stays out 
 late." 
 
 '' Poor Jean is waiting in the boat, IMay 1 tell 
 him to come into the house?" 
 
 She half rose, but the hand of Alice arrested her. 
 She rang, a servant appeared, received a message 
 concerning the welfare and comfort of Jean, and 
 vanished. 
 
 '' And now, child," said Madame Lascours, sit- 
 ting down by Adele, '' do tell me what all this 
 means." 
 
 " It means — it means,'* ^hesitatingly began Adele, 
 " that Cousine, convinced the world is going away, 
 means to cheat the world by going away out of it first.
 
 316 ADELE. 
 
 and insists upon taking me with her to-morrow 
 morning before dawn." 
 
 " Where to ?" asked Madame Lascours, looking 
 alarmed. 
 
 '' Somewhere out of the^ world," gaily replied 
 Adele ; " but do not look so grave, Alice. I am not 
 going — not I — and I have told her so, too. But 
 Jeannette having little faith in my powers of resist- 
 ance, I suppose, could not be happy unless I came 
 here to-night to ask Monsieur Lascours to interfere 
 in my behalf. He has had the goodness to offer to 
 be my friend, should I need him ; and though I do 
 not know how far he can help me, he will, I know, 
 do his best." 
 
 "But what can Mademoiselle de Janson intend ?" 
 asked Alice, hesitatingly. 
 
 " Who knows ?" carelessly replied the young 
 girl ; " you know she tells me nothing. I fancy she 
 wants to go to some wild new world spot or other." 
 
 " Oh ! no, it is not that," said Madame Lascours, 
 looking sorely troubled ; " it is worse, far worse for 
 you." 
 
 " But since I am not going, Alice." 
 
 " Child, you will yield as others have yielded 
 before you ; yet if you can," she added with a low 
 moan, " be taught by my sad example. Never 
 marry a man whom you do not love." 
 
 Adele gave a start; but she shook her head 
 
 gaily. 
 
 '* Ah ! bah !" she said, " who would have a penni- 
 less gii'l like me ?"
 
 ADELE. 
 
 31T 
 
 '^ You have wliat I had," said Alice, clasping her 
 trembling hands, " youth and beauty, and these are 
 woman's wealth. But, oh ! be firm ; do not yield ; 
 remember that marriage is the bliss of two or the 
 torment of two. Never marry a man who loves you 
 and whom you cannot love. You will be the punish- 
 ment of his heart : he will be the sting of your 
 conscience." 
 
 The eyes of Ad^le sparkled with the generous 
 confidence and pride of youth. 
 
 " If I had married a good man who loved me," 
 she said, " I would love him with my whole heart, 
 and defy Repentance or Regret." 
 
 Madame Lascours looked pained, and leaned her 
 cheek on her hand. 
 
 *'But why talk of all that?" said Adele, calming 
 down ; " no one would have a worthless little thing 
 like me. Cousine is not going to ask me to marry 
 any one, for the world is going away ; and as to 
 making me marry against my will," she added, with 
 a short, defiant laugh ; " why who could do that ?" 
 
 Alice smiled and sighed. 
 
 " You have a strong will," she said, '^ and a 
 changeable temper. You cannot be compelled, 
 but you may alter your mind, for you are fickle, 
 Adele," 
 
 Adele reddened, and bit her lip. 
 
 '^ Fickle or not," she said, " I tell you that only 
 tying me hand and foot shall make me stir out of 
 Courcelles. Fickle or not, I tell you that I would 
 not marry — " 
 
 VCL. I. T
 
 g|g ADELE. 
 
 She did not finish the protest. The door had 
 opened, and Madame Gerard had entered the room 
 with a strange perturhed meaning on her cahu 
 face. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 J. Billing, Fruiter, 103, Hatton Garden, Loudon, and Guildford, Surrey.
 
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