Alain. Now really I do thank Madame for deputing me to wait more especially on Monsieur Manuel. Steward or no steward, he's a perfect gentleman; of that there can't be a doubt. What a pity it is that Mademoiselle Marguerite and he don't like one another. When he says white, she says black. When she goes one way, he goes another, yet everybody else likes him. M'lle Helonin, our Governess, is absolutely in love with him, and the wonderful influence he has obtained over old Mons. Laroque, in this short time, is unaccountable. He has hardly been here three months, and they say that all the money will be left according to his advice—but that's going rather far, even for gossip. Well, now, his drawing materials are all ready for him, and—here he is to employ them.

Enter Manuel.

Man. Alain, did you, by chance, pick up a half finished letter anywhere in my room?

Alain. No, sir.

Man. Strange! I commenced it yesterday, and left it on my table, intending to finish it this morning. I have searched the room thoroughly, and it is nowhere to be found.

Alain. Was it of much importance?

Man. Merely inasmuch as it related to family and business matters. It was for the Doctor, in case he should call when I was from home. However, let it go. I'll write another when I return. [Sits down and prepares drawing materials.] Did not Mademoiselle Marguerite go out on horseback yesterday alone?

Alain. Yes, sir.

Man. How was it you did not follow her, as usual?

Alain. Oh, sir, she often goes without me. She's a capital rider, and she says, to be alone sometimes, makes her feel more self-dependent, and you know, sir, it won't do to contradict her, for though a charitable, kind-hearted, young lady, she's rather wilful, and terribly proud.

Man. Somewhat, perhaps, but her general manner appears to me more the result of a sad and gloomy thoughtfulness, than mere pride.

Alain. Ah, well, I suppose, sir, that, like most young ladies of her age, she's a little bit in love.

Man. In love?

Alain. Yes, sir, Monsieur de Bevannes has been paying her great attention for some time past, and it would be a grand match, for, after Monsieur Laroque, he is the richest gentleman in the neighborhood, and of excellent family. Ah, sir, what a pity it is you are not rich.

Man. Why so, Alain?

Alain. Because—no matter. Have you any orders for me, sir?

Man. Merely to have a good look for that letter when you go to my room.

Alain. I certainly will, sir.

[Exit.

Man. Married—married—and to him. Well, and why not? Fool that I am! Despite of all that should preserve and fence my heart as with a wall of steel, from every impulse which could induce forgetfulness of my bitter lot, and the one sacred object of my life, still will that coward heart indulge in dreams—wild dreams of one day laying its most precious offerings at the feet which would but spurn them.

Enter M'lle Helouin, with basket.

But I will conquer yet, and if the struggle be hard, the victory will be the more worthy.

Mlle H. [Aside.] He is alone. Hitherto, I have kept his secret well; whether I will continue silent, depends upon himself. Courage, and the poor hireling may yet be a Marchioness. [Comes down to him.] Oh! Monsieur Manuel, how beautiful that is! You see, while you have been painting the woods, I have been gathering flowers. You know we have a ball to-night.

Man. Indeed? I was not aware of it.

Mlle H. You positively don't seem to know or care about anything that goes on. You are worse than indifferent, you are unsociable—

Man. Pardon me, not unsociable. But I know my station, and think it better not to risk being reminded of it.

Mlle H. [After a pause.] Monsieur Manuel—

Man. Mademoiselle—

Mlle H. Have I ever offended you?

Man. No, indeed.

Mlle H. I have been vain enough to think, at times, that you had some friendly feeling for me.

Man. And so I have. It is but natural. Our fortunes and positions are the same, or nearly so. Both dependent on the caprices of those who employ us, both alone, friendless. This should create sympathy at least, if not friendship.

Mlle H. You would not fear, then, to tell me of my faults?

Man. Not if you desired it.

Mlle H. Indeed I do desire it.

Mlle H. But I only know of one.

Mlle H. Pray name it. Nay, I shall receive it as a kindness.

Mlle H. Well, then I think you admit and encourage somewhat too great a familiarity with the family in whose employment we are. Your motives may be, indeed, I'm sure they are, perfectly innocent; still they will not be so considered, for in this world, the unfortunate are always suspected.

Mlle H. True, true. Spoken with a delicacy and candor all you own—I thank you sincerely—and you will always continue as now—my true friend?

Man. I shall feel honored in the title.

Mlle H. A true—a dear friend?

Man. [Aside.] What is she driving at?

Mlle H. A friend that loves me?

Man. [Aside.] Hallo! we're getting tender!

Mlle H. A friend that loves me, ardently—do you hear?

Man. Distinctly.

Mlle H. And do you comprehend?

Man. [Half aside.] I'm afraid I do.

Mlle H. Do you remember the old nursery rhyme—

Come, now, let us see if you know which line should be yours. Shall I commence?

Man. If you please.

Mlle H.

Man. I respectfully decline."

Mlle H. [Throwing away the flower, which she has been picking to pieces] Then, sir—

Sees Bevannes, who enters.

Indeed, I could look at it all day, it is so beautiful—but I positively must go. Monsieur, an revoir. [Aside to Manuel, as she goes.] You have misunderstood me.

[Exit.

Man. Have I? Then I must be a greater fool than I thought.

Bev. [Aside.] Pretty close quarters. What the deuce is that governess after? And now for a little scientific pumping. [Comes down.] Ah, Monsieur Manuel, at your drawing, eh? Beautiful, beautiful, indeed.

Man. You flatter.

Bev. Not at all—but to change the subject—by the by, do, I interrupt your work?

Man. Not in the least.

Bev. Well, I was going to compliment you on the vast affection and confidence you have inspired in poor old Laroque.

Man. I believe he really has a kindly regard for me.

Bev. Regard! my dear sir—you are absolutely wound around his heart. His affection for his grand-daughter is very great, but no one has the influence over him that you have. Now, in the strictest confidence, I'm going to be very frank with you—and mark me well, you will not find it to your disadvantage hereafter, if you are equally frank with me.

Man. Really, I don't quite—

Bev. No; but you will presently. Without flattery, I think you—

Man. [Referring to his picture.] Too green.

Bev. Eh? Oh, exactly. I was about to say I think you, in every way, a gentleman, therefore I don't hesitate to confide in you the fact that yesterday, after dinner, I was just—

Man. [To picture.] A little blue.

Bev. Eh? Oh precisely. I was just on the point of proposing to Madame Laroque for her daughter's hand, when it suddenly struck me that I should possess a double claim, if I could, in the first place, influence you enough in the young lady's favor to make it certain that the bulk of Monsieur Laroque's property would be left to her.

Man. Monsieur de Bevannes, you really very much over-rate—

Bev. Pray forgive me, but you hardly know yourself, the importance of your good offices in this matter. I was going on to say that my marriage with Marguerite is all but a settled affair, and, of course, it is my duty to promote her interests in every possible way. I think you must concede that?

Man. Surely, but—

Bev.Permit me. Now I wish to call to your mind that Madame Laroque, though a worthy excellent woman, is one of very simple tastes and habits, and, should too large a portion of the property be left to her, it would tax and embarrass her to an extent that would be painful to my feelings. I hope you appreciate my disinterestedness in the matter.

Man. Oh, thoroughly! But I am still at a loss to imagine where my interference would be either necessary or effectual.

Bev. My dear friend—

Man. [Aside.] Now he's getting tender!

Bev. One word from you as to the proper disposition of the money would—

Man. Monsieur de Bevannes, let me end this at once, by telling you that, in my opinion, any interference from me in the family affairs of M. Laroque, would be a gross and unseemly abuse of his confidence.

Bev. And this is the return you make for mine?

Man. I did not solicit it, sir.

Bev. Sir, permit me to take your hand.

Man. Really—

Bev. You have stood the test, you are a noble fellow. You are—

Enter Madame Aubrey.

[Aside.] There's Mrs. Waterspout, by jove! [Aloud.] You seem puzzled at my manner—I will take another opportunity of explaining. Suffice it now to say you have misunderstood me.

[Exit.

Man. My understanding seems to be terribly at fault to-day.

Mad. A. [Aside.] De Bevannes has left him. A good opportunity for me. [Comes down.] Beautiful! Exquisite indeed!

Man. Madame—

Mad. A. Truly, each new picture you finish, is more lovely than the last. Oh!

[Weeps.

Man. What is the matter?

Mad. A. The painting of that sheep's head—

Man. Yes, Madame—

Mad. A. Reminds me of my own portrait, taken in happier years, long passed away.

Man. But there are as happy ones in store for you, I hope.

Mad. A. That will depend greatly upon you, Monsieur Manuel.

Man. On me?

Mad. A. Yes. Do you know, Monsieur Manuel, that I find my poor cousin Laroque very much changed,—

Man. Indeed he is.

Mad. A. And for the worse. In fact, he appears to me to be sinking fast.

Man. I'm afraid such is the case.

Mad. A. How fond he is of you—you, it is well known, possess his entire confidence.

Man. I have been fortunate enough to make my poor services acceptable to him.

Mad. A. Now, just between ourselves, in the strictest confidence; do you happen to be aware how the property will be left?

Man. I do not, Madame.

Mad. A. I am in a state of painful apprehension, lest the dear old gentleman should over-estimate the desires and requirements of Madame Laroque, and should, therefore, curtail any little legacy coming to me, to make her portion larger, which would be absolutely throwing money away. I hope you understand my entire want of selfishness in this matter?

Man. I think I do.

Mad. A. I was sure you would. Now, if you will use your power and settle this affair to my advantage, all I can say is, so noble an action would not go unrewarded.

Man. I should hope not.

Mad. A. You will find me substantially grateful; you understand me?

Man. Entirely.

Mad. A. And I you?

Man. Not quite; but in order that you may—I must tell you, Madame—that when you offer me money to rob your benefactor, and mine, you entirely and totally mistake the person you are addressing.

Mad. A. Oh! oh!

[Weeps.

Man. It grieves me to be so abrupt, but—

Mad. A. It is not that, it is not that—but, to be thought capable of such—to be accused—oh, sir! you have cruelly misunderstood me.

[Exit, weeping.

Man. Another misunderstanding! That makes three friends I have secured this morning. One or two more of the same sort, and my business here will be soon finished.

Enter Mlle Helouin.

Man. Here comes the first misunderstanding again.

Mlle H. M. Manuel, I thought you might like to know that the Doctor has just arrived—

Man. Thank you—I'll go to him at once.

[Exit.

Mlle H. So eager to avoid me. Have a care, my lord Marquis—spite of my insignificance, you may learn to rue the day you made me conscious of it.

Enter Bevannes.

And here is one on whom, if I don't very much mistake, I may rely for aid.

Bev. Upon my honor, Mademoiselle, you make quite a pretty picture—a wood nymph's reverie; sweet subject, now, for the pencil of our friend, the steward.

Mlle H. Our friend, the steward, as you term him, has loftier subjects for his pictures, either aerial or substantial.

Bev. Really!

Mlle H. And in the former quality his aspirations are sublime.

Bev. Mademoiselle, you are an entertaining person, but I never guessed a conundrum in my life.

Mlle H. In plain terms, then, this romantic gentleman aspires to create an interest in the heart of Marguerite.

Bev. O come! I can stand a great deal, but that's rather too good.

Mlle H. But if I can prove it?

Bev. The thing is too absurd.

Mlle H. I have just parted from Madame Aubrey.

Bev. I congratulate you.

Mlle H. You jest, M. de Bevannes, but you may one day wake to find the steward rather a dangerous person. Madame Aubrey has picked up a letter of his, which was blown out of the window of his room, into the park. Would you like to see it?

Bev. Mademoiselle, I don't pretend to more virtue than my neighbors, but if I can only get at facts by reading another man's letters, I'm afraid I shall remain in ignorance.

Mlle H. Marguerite is coming. Would you like to hear the communication I have to make?

Bev. The contents of the letter?

Mlle H. No, but still a somewhat startling discovery.

Bev. On the whole, I think I'll take my departure; for when there's mischief to be concocted, and two women to brew it, it would be the grossest vanity in any man to think he could improve the cookery.

[Exit.

Mlle H. Now if I can instill but one small drop of the poison called suspicion, her proud, impetuous spirit, will complete the work itself.

Enter Marguerite.

Mar. Really, a very touching scene. The affection existing between the good doctor and our steward is remarkable. If he had been M. Manuel's father, he could hardly have been more cordially received.

Mlle H. And I assure you that M. Manuel's father could not serve him at this moment as the doctor can.

Mar. My dear governess, you seem to know more of this young man than you choose to reveal. I remember well your mysterious words to me the day he first rode and conquered that horse.

Mlle H. Perhaps I have been to blame for having remained silent so long. But right or wrong, I have, until now, looked upon it as a duty to keep this person's secret inviolate.

Mar. His secret!

Mlle H. Nor would I reveal it now, but that his base intentions are no longer doubtful, and silence would be criminal. However, I must exact your promise that the knowledge of it shall remain, for the present, between ourselves.

Mar. You have my word. Proceed.

Mlle H. Four years ago, when you were in Paris—you are aware that I was in the habit of visiting some of my old friends at my former school?

Mar. I remember.

Mlle H. Well, I often saw there this very M. Manuel. He visited the school to see his little sister. His father was the well known Marquis de Champcey.

Mar. Ah!

Mlle H. It was the talk of the school that the family were even then much reduced. Now, they are totally ruined. The father is dead, and the son has, through the good offices of a friend, been placed in a position to regain the fortune he has lost. By what means I leave to your penetration to discover.

Mar. And is it so! [A pause.] But, after all, the conduct of this young man in no way justifies suspicion. I see him but seldom. In truth, he actually avoids me.

Mlle H. Of course he does. Reserve creates inquiry, inquiry, interest. Oh, he has been well tutored.

Mar. Enough. I thank you sincerely for the warning. But relieve your mind of all anxiety; I shall know how to deal with this conscientious gentleman, be assured.

Mlle H. Indeed I feel the happier that I have at last confided this fact to you. Ah, my child, to what snares, what treachery, what deceit, does the possession of wealth expose the innocent. The thought of them makes the poor governess almost contented with her humble lot. Come, shall we walk towards the house? As we go, I shall be able to bring to your recollection many circumstances, trifling in themselves, but which, when considered in connection with what I have now told you, will serve to bring full conviction to your mind.

[Exeunt Marguerite, leaving her basket of flowers on the bank.

Enter Manuel.

Man. And now, having enjoyed the honor of a tete-a-tete with each of those most interested in inquiring into matters upon which I'm strictly determined to be silent, I presume I shall be permitted to continue my work undisturbed.

[He has reseated himself at his drawing.

Man. Really, her manner is more than haughty. 'Tis almost rude. [He picks up the flower.] I suppose now, she'd grudge me this poor flower, yet who, though loving wildly and hopelessly as I do, would not think it a fair prize? No, I will return it. I will not be guilty of one action which shall give my heart the power to whisper "Thus should'st thou not have done."

Re-enter Marguerite.

Mar. [Aside.] As I supposed. Have the kindness, sir, to return me that flower. I am not in the habit of presenting boquets to—gentlemen.

Man. Under which conviction, Mademoiselle, I was on the point of bringing it to you.

Mar. [Aside.] Oh! for some way to make him feel how I despise him. Do you know, M. Manuel, seeing so little of you, lately, I was under the impression that death had deprived us of another steward—

Man. Highly flattered that you should condescend to be under any impressions concerning so insignificant a person.

Mar. I thought that so gifted a gentleman could hardly do anything without a motive, and now I am informed that your absence is attributable to the fact that you spend all your evenings with our noble relative, Mademoiselle Delonnais.

Man. I certainly do, and I deny myself that pleasure the less because the lady happens to be old enough to be my grandmother. Her ancestors reigned here formerly, and she—the last of a noble race—poor and infirm, bears so well the dignity of her name, her age, and her misfortunes, that I feel almost a filial affection for her. Besides, it was your mother who first introduced me to her.

Mar. Oh! no one means to reproach you; on the contrary, I dare say Madame Laroque is obliged to you for your attention to the good old lady.

Man. You may remember, too, it was your wish—

Mar. Oh, if you want praise or admiration from me, you must be content to wait. Though young, I have some experience of life. I know that there are two motives to most human actions. I know that M'lle Delonnais has a small independence. I know she has no heir, therefore a little extra attention and—

Man. Mademoiselle, permit me to express for you my sincere pity.

Mar. Sir!

Man. Permit me to express for you my sincere pity.

Mar. Your pity?

Man. Yes, madame—if unjust suspicion be the bitter fruit of experience in one so young. Nothing can merit more compassion than a heart withered by misbelief, almost before it has begun to exist.

Mar. Are you aware of what you say, sir? Are you aware to whom you speak?

Man. Entirely conscious, Mademoiselle, of both.

Mar. [Bitterly.] Perhaps you expect me to ask your pardon?

Man. Assuredly I do. Wealth can afford to humble itself—poverty cannot.

Mar. [As she is going, turns with a haughty humility.] Then, sir, I ask your pardon.

[Exit.

Man. Oh! my sister, my darling Rose! It needs all my love for thee to make endurance of these insults less than cowardice! Coldness and antipathy have increased to absolute hate and persecution. She is determined to drive me hence. She will succeed at last, and then—

Enter Doctor Desmarets.

Ah! my dear Doctor!

Des. I've eaten some lunch, had the dust brushed off, and now I'm going to brush some more on.

Man. How so?

Des. Just got a letter—patient very sick—twenty miles ride there and back. Pleasant life, a doctor's.

Man. Where is it?

Des. About four miles beyond the ruins of Elfin.

Man. The ruins of Elfen.

Des. Yes; but what's the matter with you? you look feverish and queer. Anything wrong between you and the family?

Man. Why, no. But—

Des. But—what? They tell me you're quite a great man here—old Laroque can't live without you—angry because you don't spend all your evenings at the Chateau—and the ladies, without exception, are crazy about you.

Man. Pardon me—there's one important exception—Mlle Marguerite.

Des. What the devil! You don't mean to tell me you can't agree with her.

Man. I do assure you—she loses no opportunity to humiliate, and even openly insult me. Indeed, it has lately become insufferable—so that I am going to tax your friendship once more, to seek for me some other employment.

Des. Now don't be hasty, my dear boy. By Jove! here she comes—no she don't—she perceives you—and there she goes. She don't escape me though.

Man. Nay, my dear doctor, I beg of you—

Des. Stuff! nonsense! I'll just give her a piece of my mind.

[Exit.

Man. I very much fear the Doctor's zeal in my cause will lead him into trouble with this proud girl—but I am resolved. Here, I will not, can not remain. Rose, my darling, thy marriage dowry must be sought and won elsewhere. I will at once visit my poor old friend, and say farewell. Marguerite I will see no more—no faltering now—a good resolve once taken, action should be speedy. To-night the horse I have almost learned to love, because she would one day ride him, shall bear me for the last time.

[Exit.

The Doctor and Marguerite are heard outside—then enter.

Des. Can't help it, if I do offend you. The young man is my friend—

Mar. Doctor—

Des. My friend, Mademoiselle—and I never desert a friend, even though he has incurred the displeasure of your proud ladyship.

Mar. Do you not regard me as a friend?

Des. I should rather think so; known you since you were a baby; disposition altered since then—

Mar. For the better?

Des. Don't know that. When you are angry now it's a storm—then it was only a squall.

Mar. This is no jesting matter. Doctor Desmarets, I have always considered you a man of honor.

Des. Much obliged to you. I've been under the same impression myself.

Mar. What then is the meaning of this plot!

Des. Plot!

Mar. This young man, this steward you have so kindly supplied us with, he has been recognized. He is known!

Des. Well, suppose he is; what of it?

Mar. Why does he bear a false name?

Des. He don't.

Mar. Doctor—

Des. Manuel is his Christian name. I suppose he may make what use of it he pleases. Whether he puts it first or last, is nobody's business but his own.

Mar. His motive?

Des. His motive, Mademoiselle, is worthy of himself, and proceeds from a sense of honest pride, which many would do well to imitate. He is a gentleman, and a man of honor, reduced to sudden poverty, and compelled to labor for a livelihood. Now, I'm not acute enough to perceive any plot in all this. But I do perceive that you are doing your best to drive him from this place.

Mar. Doctor, your word is enough. I believe you, and I thank you. Oh, it is so sad to look only on the gloomy side of things. I thank you so much, and never liked you half so well as I do to-day.

[While speaking this speech, she searches for the rose she has taken from Manuel, and, on finding it, places it in her bosom.