natural grace, which came in aid of her modest accomplishments; and these things, combined with the certainty of a small fortune hereafter, made Marie Caron a partie eagerly sought by the young farmers, and others of that grade, in the neighbourhood of Croisset.

But the young beauty was not satisfied with the courtship of her equals. She was ambitious, and aimed at something better-as she thought-than a marriage which would still keep her chained, as it were, to her native soil. She aspired to be the wife of a gentleman, and, consequently, turned a deaf ear to all the tender speeches that were made by the enamoured youths who followed her to fete and mass, to touch her hand in the dance, or murmur their prayers at the same shrine.

Accident, and the bent of her own inclinations, at length decided her destiny.

Early in the autumn of the year 1841 there appeared in the forest of Roumare a stranger sportsman, who took up his shooting quarters at the Croix Blanche in the village of Croisset. He appeared at that time to be about eight-and-twenty years of age; none could deny him good looks, though many said they did not like the expression of his countenance; and all agreed that he spent his money like a prince. To be young, handsome, and have a reputation for generosity, are qualities with which many unseen virtues are associated; and M. de Vilette, the new-comer, soon became well endowed in this respect. He was, moreover-as the prefix to his name implied-a gentleman, and in a Norman village this distinction is, after all, not without its value. Amongst the earliest to recognise the merits of "le beau Monsieur" was Marie Caron. He used to shoot over her father's land, and sometimes stop at "Les Vignes," as the farmer's dwelling was called, to ask for a draught of water to refresh him during his sport, though, to say the truth, he preferred Madame Caron's excellent home-made cider-the wine of Normandy-to the simpler element, and never refused it at her hospitable hands. On one of these visits-which might, perhaps, have had an ulterior purpose-he first saw Marie Caron. M. de Vilette seemed struck with her appearance, and, on her part, a sensation of real pleasure was awakened when he reappeared on the same evening, to offer the tribute of his day's sport, in requital for Madame Caron's hospitality. In the course of a short time, M. de Vilette's visits became more frequent, and lasted longer; he seemed much less solicitous to ascertain which were the best covers for game than to learn the favourite haunts of the beautiful Marie, or "Mademoiselle des Vignes," as he laughingly called her; and when he found, or guessed, by that intuition which is generally a sure guide in these matters, that the banks of the Seine, where a long avenue of lofty poplars, terminated by a small chapel, which was dedicated to "Notre Dame de Bon Secours," witnessed the evening walk of Marie Caron,-thither his footsteps were henceforward regularly bent when the sun was sinking behind the côteaux that, on the western side, hem in the winding river.

When a young man goes out of his way to meet a beautiful girl, and when the fair one does not go out of hers to avoid him, there can be but one inference-that their society is agreeable to each other. Some might have thought that these quiet walks boded no good to the future peace of mind of Marie Caron; and, not unnaturally, the gossips of the

village, who soon became aware of the fact, hesitated not to say so-the difference of rank between the two, on which they much insisted, being considered. But the danger which they apprehended, strange to say, did not arise from that cause. To the surprise of every one, except Marie, M. de Vilette made no secret of his love; he frankly declared that his object was marriage, and added, that he should esteem himself only too fortunate if he obtained the hand of one so deserving of his esteem and affection. "Loyal avant tout" was the maxim he avowed, and that there might be no doubt about his intentions, he waited upon the parents of Marie, and fairly laid before them the condition of his heart and the state of his affairs.

For the first they took their daughter's word-for the second his own -though to enforce it M. de Vilette exhibited a Gascon pedigree, and several scrolls of parchment attesting to extensive possessions on the other side of the Garonne, a little encumbered, he admitted, by his father and grandfather, but affording still the revenue which enabled him to live like a gentleman born, whose only expensive ideas were connected with the sports of the field.

"And these," said Mathieu Caron to his wife, believing that two pointers, a double-barrelled gun, a cor de chasse, and a game-bag, were the only things necessary to make a sportsman-and they go a great way towards it in France-" these can never ruin a fine property like that of M. de Vilette. Besides, Marie will soon wean him from la chasse, and then our grandchildren will inherit our écus, together with their father's châteaux."

Entertaining these opinions, and never doubting the veracity of documents duly engrossed and ponderously sealed, the old couple gave a ready consent to the union of their daughter with M. de Vilette. The civil contract was made at the Mairie of Rouen, the religious ceremony performed by the curé of Croisset, at the beautiful church of St. Ouen, and all that pertained to the marriage of the descendant of a noble Gascon family was scrupulously observed; and Marie Caron, now Madame de Vilette, left her native village the envy of all who dwelt in it, and herself the happiest bride that, within the memory of the oldest inhabitant, the marguillier, Jacques Bourdon, had ever heard the joy-bells ring since his hands had been accustomed to set them in motion.

III.

M. DE VILETTE did not take his wife into Gascony: the distance was great, and the season of the year-it being now winter-was unpropitious. He chose rather to make a halt in Paris, and as the capital was altogether new to Marie, she gladly welcomed the proposal. She knew nothing about the fashionable quartiers, and was perfectly willing to believe that a large apartment, au premier, in the Rue de Sèvres, was the fitting residence of a gentleman of M. de Vilette's position and connexions. Those connexions, however, with whom she was speedily made acquainted-for they introduced themselves in a very free-and-easy manner-had something about them which was far from agreeable to her tastes, and little consonant with her habits. Though country-bred, Marie had instinctive notions of what should be the manners of a better class,

and could not reconcile herself to the tone of her new society. She spoke of it to her husband, but he only laughed, and told her that when she had seen more of the world she would know better than to quarrel with goodfellowship. It was in vain that Marie tried to argue with herself that there might be a difference between the language and amusements of simple peasants and those of people in a higher sphere, which she was not qualified to criticise; but however true this may be, she could not hesitate as to which class, in her opinion, had the advantage. The villagers of Croisset were not card-players nor dice-throwers; they did not sit up all night drinking and smoking; if their conversation was not absolutely refined, it was at least free from coarse oaths-their patois was not a jargon that had no intelligible meaning, and their intercourse with each other, though often rude, was, at all events, marked by frankness and honesty attributes which, to her thinking, by no means distinguished her husband's friends.

In her husband himself Marie soon began, also, to discover that she had greatly erred in her estimate of what constituted a gentleman. He drank as deep, swore as loud, and played as high as any of the rest, and as the restraint wore off, which her presence had at first imposed, appeared rather to lead than follow the manifestly vicious courses of his companions. She discovered, too, that his was a temper which would not bear control, and that there was a lurking fierceness in his disposition, which threatened to break out whenever she attempted to thwart his inclinations.

He bore her remonstrances well enough, as long as he continued to be a winner, but when that luck on which a gambler relies turned irrevocably against him; when, night after night, he rose from the table a heavy loser; the evil that was in his nature came forth, and Marie found, to her sorrow, that he could be as brutal towards her as he had previously seemed kind. The few thousand francs which had been her portion soon disappeared before his excesses, and he turned to her for more, excusing his first application by a vague statement concerning his distant estates. Marie-compelled to explain herself as vaguely-obtained a sum of money from her parents, which quickly followed the first, and when she hesitated to apply to them a second time, her husband heaped upon her the bitterest reproaches. Again-from a mistaken sense of duty, and still colouring the cause, as her husband desired her-Marie drew from her father's diminishing stores; but at last the old farmer refused to make any further advances.

"If Paris was so expensive," he wrote, "why did not Monsieur de Vilette retire to his château, where he could have no difficulty in living as cheaply as he pleased. For his own part, he was resolved to part with no more of his hardly-earned gains." But with this denial there came another bag of écus from Marie's mother, with the strict injunction, however, that it was to be solely applied to her daughter's own use.

Marie's position was now one of great difficulty. She feared to communicate her father's refusal, and she was equally unwilling to disobey her mother-not from any desire to keep the money, but because she feared the purposes to which it would be devoted. But while she hesitated what course to adopt, her husband spared her the trouble of coming to a decision; for during her temporary absence from home one day, he broke open her private commode, and forcibly possessed himself of the

contents. He was still standing with the letter in one hand, and the bag of crowns in the other, when Marie re-entered the apartment. She saw at a glance what had happened, and stood thunderstruck.

"Don't stare at me like an owl, ma chère," was his cool observation; you play at hide-and-seek, it appears. Quite useless, ma mignonne, to try to humbug me. As for this letter, mon enfant, je m'en fiche," and he threw it into the fire; " your father may look for my château-tel him to hold it fast when he finds it. The money," he added, jingling it," is a different affair; we must send these crowns flying. Au revoir, petite!" With these words he put on his hat and left the house.

Marie did not see her husband again for several days; but before he returned, she learnt more concerning him than she had ever heard before. It was from the lips of a woman-of whose degraded calling there could be no doubt-who came to the Rue de Sèvres in search of him, ignorant that since she last saw him he had married. This woman's violence was excessive, when she found that Marie was her paramour's wife. "Set yourself up with your Monsieur de Vilette!" she cried; "he's a scoundrel, who never had any other name than what was given him at the galleys-not even a Christian name—a fellow picked out of the mud of Paris!"

And then she launched out into a furious invective against the absent man, which sufficiently opened Marie's eyes to the nature of the marriage she had imprudently contracted.

Marie had no words to reply, and could only shed a flood of tears. The woman-like many of her unfortunate class-was not insensible to better feelings; meeting with softness, instead of angry opposition, she became less violent in her manner, and, changing her intemperate language to words of pity, ended by offering the deceived wife now near upon becoming a mother-a rude sort of consolation. But the only effect which the attempt produced was to convince Marie still more of her husband's infamy; and when she was once more left alone, it was with a weight of misery on her mind that was well-nigh insupportable, and the heavier because she had once-nay, still loved this man.

Although misled by a vain dream in seeking to wed herself above her condition, pride had no real hold on Marie's truly pious nature; and it was with unfeigned and repentant humility that she bowed herself in prayer to obtain forgiveness for her fault, while at the same time she asked, with earnest heart, for the means of reclaiming her husband from his dissolute courses. In the contemplation of such a future as she pictured to herself might yet be their mutual lot, she became calmer, and strove to school herself to bear her lot.

She had need of all her patience and resignation; for when Vilette at length came back-it would be idle now to add the prefix to his name --it was indeed in an altered mood, but one that boded little of good augury. He had left her in a tone of jeering mirth-he returned with gloom on his brow. The money he had so basely acquired was all spent -how, he did not choose to tell; he only said that it was gone, and that he must have more. Marie replied to his demand with quiet courage. To get more money from her parents, she told him was impossible; all that it was in their power to bestow had been given, freely at first, in the joy of their hearts, and if sparingly since, only so because of inadequate

means. She was not, she said, above working for a livelihood, though her present condition ill fitted her for exertion; and she would cheerfully toil for him, provided he promised to abandon the habits which had proved so ruinous, and forsake the society which she knew was so dangerous. Let them dispose of many of the superfluities that surrounded them-such ornaments as she had she would gladly sacrifice, and remove to some quiet place in the banlieue, where they might begin a new life of honest, steady labour. In time, she added, they might recover themselves; when the drain upon her father had ceased, his means would improve, he would give them assistance if they required it, and eventually all he possessed would be for them and their children.

There were some points in Marie's answer that seemed to make some impression upon her husband.

"You are right," he said; "what is the use of all these nicknacks, when one is in want of money? Ma tante would lend a good round sum upon that cross, and those ear-rings; and for other matters, I know a fripier with whom I could deal as much upon the square as with any of the tribe. Yes, yes, we must get rid of all our useless things, and with what they fetch we can begin again."

Marie hardly knew whether or not these words implied conversion to her arguments; but, in the hope that such was the case, she at once placed in his hands every valuable she possessed. He took them, and departed, promising a speedy return. But his notions of time were as loose as his ideas about right and wrong, for that night and the whole of the next day passed by, and still he was absent. Late on the second night, while she was still watching, he reappeared, with empty pockets and the flush of intemperance on his hollow cheek. He had drunk and gambled away every sou he had raised on his wife's ornaments, and again he came back with the cry of the daughter of the horseleech, "Give! give! it is not enough!"

But poor Marie had nothing now left to give, and what share she had of Norman spirit awoke when she saw that she had been made her husband's dupe. Some men, when they drink, are passively good-natured, and try to extenuate their fault; others are brutally excited, and prone to acts of violence. Vilette belonged, unfortunately, to the latter class. He replied to her just reproaches with insult and anger, and, finally-heedless of her condition, which alone should have stayed his arm-struck her a violent blow, that laid her senseless on the floor. When she at length recovered, he was gone.

IV.

THREE years elapsed, and Marie heard no tidings of her husband. Although reduced by his excesses and misconduct to utter poverty, and left to shift for herself how she might, there was still a home for her at Croisset. But the thought of returning like an outcast to the place which she had quitted as a happy bride, was more than she was equal to ; for though she felt that she could endure privation, she feared to encounter shame and derision.

She wrote, therefore, to her mother immediately after the departure of Vilette, and, without telling her all that had happened, spoke of her situation as arising from an inevitable misfortune which had compelled her