The democrat. [volume] (Weston, W. Va.) 1868-1874, 1872-02-05

door Of the chateau, and, in stately FASH
ion, asked him TO make It his home so long
as he would.
'You will not bc entirely alone short
ly," she said. "I am expecting NJ, Alfred
de Ia Lrnye, son Of the Count dc Ia Liraye,
who is fanct to my daughter
She sighed, and looked ut Lucian, who
was gathering flowers to decorate the salon.
"You know him, oheyalierr
"Slightly only"
"Tell me-is he like his father ~
He Is taller"
mean in disposition 7"
Alfred changed colon.
al cannot say. ! am not qualified to
speak about bis father"
"a cold bad man. A selfish man. But
however, | must not weary you with
family affairs. Tell us of your travels
and try to enliven two women who see
nothing oil this world"
Alfred remained month. From time
to time he spoke Of going away; but
Madame dc Courval pressed him to stay.
But one August evening, after dinner,
when Madame de Courval was sitting at
the open window, sound asleep, and
Lucie was with Alfred in the garden, the
end came. lie was reading to her. Look
ing up from his book, he saw that here eyes
were far away. lie stopped suddenly.
Pray 90 on, said Lucie, reused by
the cessation OF bis voice.
"What was | reading last2" be asked
with smile.
She was fairly caught, and had to nc.
knowledge that she was thinking of some
thing else.
$50 was l." said Alfred. I" was think
ing that must co.
You must 90, NJ. de st. Aubin :" she
asked, turning pale.
morrow, nnless-unless-"
/" Unless what, monsieurH
Unless, Lucie, you love me-" ho said
taking her hand" unless you love me, US
| love youn
Lucie answered not for Il moment, but
her hand was in his. The sweet autumn
mir famed her cheeks. The birds in the
trees were bidding each other good night.
The suns last rays touched her head
Her eyes softencd, and filled with tears.
"You must not" she said at last t-"you
must not speak thus to nc. | am be-
trothed."
"But you do not love your betrothed I"
"I hate him. have never seen him."
"Anl, LuCie, if you were not betrothed
IL you were free"
She rose from her seat, and with clear
voice, for she saw no shame, she replied
"lrI were free could-l would love
you. Now, lot me 60"
Alfred caught her in his arms, and press
ed herto bis heart,
"My LnciC-it is possible-it is posi-
BILE"
A light noise started him, 1t was
Madame de Couryal herself, witness to
the scene. Trembling with emotion, he
left Lucie standing shame.iaced, confused,
and took her mothers hand.
MADAME de Courval,n he said, "hcar
inc for one moment.n
q How can I hear YOUR she said
"What can say to you2 Oh, my son,
whom love so much, why should younot
spare my daughters heart"
She sat in the garden seat, and wept
otter tears while Lueie fell at her feet,
and buried her face in hHr hands.
"Dear lady, hear me, | have been
greatly to blame-how much | hardly yet
know; but try and forgive ME. Twenty
one years ago, two children were betroth-
ed. They never saw each other The
time came when they should be married.
The young man was sent into the
country to claim bis bride, not to WOO
her. itseemed to him degrading, insolent,
and barbarum. But he went, because he
had no choice only on the way he changed
bis name, and under a false name he enter
ed the house. And under false name he
saw and loved his bride. Lucien-he
knelt BY her side, and threw his arms
round her neck-"ask with me our moth
er's pardon; for we love each other, and ]
am vour betrothed, Alfred dc Ia L'raye."
What could Madame dc Courval do but
forgive him, and take her weeping daueh.
ter to her heart
Then followed few weeks OF calm,
untroubled Joy during which the gates
Of Eden were thrown open, and the pair
wandered, like Adam and Eve, ina garden
Of all delights. Then the young girl barred
all her soul to her lover, and show ed him
the sweet and tender faucies which lay,
like spring flowers, about her heart.
Alone In the forest they wandered during
the long summer hour, pouring into each
others ears the thoughts that had been
locked up in their hearts. Surely, Of oil
delights In the world, the greatest is the
delight Of reading another natlIre-like
your own, but different.
II was all too sweet to last. GSe day
there came a percmptory letter from the
old marquis. Alfred was to come to bin
at once thing were so bad that he must
20 to England as soon as possible; he was
III, and Alfred must travel with him.
There was no help: ho must 60. lie tore
himself away the next morning, with the
promise that they would follow to Eng
land as soon as possible. And then he took
his father, petulent and irritable, across
the channel. Thero'the old man was laid
up with violent iit Of illness and Alfred,
tied to bis chamberfor months, could only
watch the course Of events, and hope that
the storm would not reach the Chateau
de Courval. But bad news came from
Lucie. They were forbidden to leave the
castle, and went out under sutpdIanet.
That might not mean much. Their lives
were 80 utterly innocent and peaceable,
that no possible hart, hO Thought, could
come to them. But every villasein France
possessed ib aVengor, generally In the
shape Of some truulent ruffian, who made
I the nsdscd, cdibygOns 4 day. an sSeIee ,s loi l0i