The mountain Democrat., 1865-02-04

a single objection to bs made, unfortun.
iately.'
Yes one that you have never thought
Of, but which is the most powerful of all;
don't like him, and wont have him.
Monsieur Coulancourt rose, and clasp.
ing his daughter to his heart, heaved a
deep sigh Of relief.
Il thought you would want to get mar
ried all young girls are said to want to
get married.
But they have not such father as I
have; now come to breakfast, and make
yourself perfectly easy on the score Of
husbands, for shall never, as long as l
live, leave you.'
Now when Mile. Cecile spoke in this
way, she was telling the truth but not
all the truth, for certainly she was giving
her father to understand that she had
no affection in the world beyond the one
she had for him. and that she never in
tended to marry. NJ. Coulaincourt had
made an idol Of his daughter, after his
wife's death he had consecrated his life
to this child, and gradually he had grown
to look on all who sought to share her
affection with jealousy, such almost as
lover might have felt. But with all this,
NJ. Coulaincourt knew that every girl in
France is expected to be married between
the ages of eighteen and twenty; an old
maid is rara avis in France and all his
wife'S and his own relations were impor.
tunate for him to find match for his
daughter. She was beautiful, young, and
charming, and possessed handsome
dOwry; pretenders were not wanting
N. Coulanccurt felt as If doom threat
ened him. He was afraid to talk to Ce.
cile on the subject, so the positive decla.
ration. he had drawn from his daughter
that morning caused him more happiness
than he had known for many years.
But after all it was an Eve.like, wo-
mahish answer she had given him, she
did love some one better than her father,
and the happiness Of her life depended on
her marriage.
Many years before, Cecile, being then
only six years, as she was sitting in her
fathers carriage, driving along the high
road in a country place where her father
had hired a residence for the summer, had
spied boy three or four years older than
herself, sitting on the wayside crying.
One command from Cecile had stopped
the carriage, and the next minute she
was by the side Of the child, inquiring
into his griefs, and forcing into his hand
the cakes and cherries with which her
little basket was laden.
Monsieur Coulaincourt inquired, how
ever, more particularly into the boys cir
cumstances and condition, and finding him
really an object Of pity, and believing his
story, had taken twenty francs out OF his
pocket to give him. But Cecile stopped
him Indignantly.
Not at all, said she, 'he is going home
with US
And home he had accordingly been
taken. 1t was found that he had the be-
ginning of good education, that he spoke
correctly, and was very we'll behaved
boy, confirming bis own story that he
was the orphan Of gentleman who had
passed his life in writing, the boy could
not say what, and who died suddenly pen
in hand, leaving no indication who he
was beyond a name, and but just enough
money to bury him.
The orphan boy had been turned adrift;
and bewildered and helpless, had wander
ed on until forlorn and weared, he had
sat down by the wayside and wept.
Coulaincourt had Adrian, as he was
called, educated, and now at the time
Coulaincourt was in such trouble about
his daughter, Adrian had taken off his
patrons hands all the responsibility Of his
business, one Of the most important in the
great commercial city Of IIavre.
'Cecile has been blessing to me,
Coulaincourt would say, from the mo
mcnt her aunt laid her in my arms. |
owe the prosperity of my house to her,
for she gave me Adrian
Adrian felt the deepest gratitude to
both the merchant an1 his daughter, his
was fine, generous nature that does not
shrink from obligation; but the sentiment
be felt for father and daughter, as he grew
older, naturally assumed a different as.
pect To both he was devoted; but as he
saw her expand into lovelinsss, both Of
mind and person, he came to love Cecile
passionately, deeply. But he concealed
his passion as he would have hidden a
crime, for he felt it would be the basest
ingratitude, which Is a crime, to seek an
alliance which was so infinitely beneath
what Cecile had every right to expect.
But Cecile had not been as her fatheT
to Adrians feelings, neither was she so
scrupulous as Adrian, for she had made
up her girIish mind to marry Adrian, and
she had by her wonan's tact discovered
his love for her.
On the day Of her explanation with her
father Cecle contrived, on some vain pre-
text-he often undertook commissions for
hero summon Adrian to her presence.
She had determined to make him declare
his sentiment, for she felt that the time
had come when she would have tocombat
all her relations, determined on her mar.
riage, and her father determined on keep.
ing her to himself.
Adrian was so timid in her presence
that she felt she had to encourage him; so
after a little insignificant conversation,
Cecile suddenly asked him if he had seen
the letter addressed TO her father by Col.
Santerre.
Il have
You know the answer?'
M. CoulaincOurt has told me-
That would not have him. l don't
intend to marry at all and | wish people
would leave me alone
'Thev are not likely to do that; you
know, Mile. Cecie, that wherever you go
you excite admiration and love-
Nonsense; do you mean to say, then,
that every man who sees me is in love
with me?'
Every one who is often in your society
Every one! Why, Adrian, you then,
who have known me all your life and see
me every day, are you in love with me ?
'Mademoiselle, that is a cruel question.
| Not at oil Ahrinn Il is nm honest ones.