Alain. There now. I think everything is pretty well arranged here, so run away all of you and see to the preparations outside. [Exeunt servants.] 'Pon my life I'm nearly done up. All of a sudden to change a house that has, for the last five months appeared like a mourning coach, into a dandified, bright-looking mansion prepared for a marriage fete, requires more inventive genius than ever I shall get credit for. If I could only extend my transforming powers to the faces of the family, I should be much gratified, for such a grim-looking household exists not in Brittany at this moment. There's M'lle Marguerite. The nearer the time approaches for the marriage, the paler she grows. Madame Laroque does nothing but freeze and shiver, Mons. Manuel is absent for days together, and Madame Aubrey weeps a good tea-cup full about every two hours. Cheerful work, very.

Enter Mademoiselle Helouin.

Mlle H. Alain go and tell Monsieur Manuel I wish for a few moments' conversation with him.

Alain. Monsieur Manuel, M'lle? Why, bless you, he's been at Largeot for the last three days.

Mlle H. He has returned. I saw him ride into the court-yard some fifteen minutes since.

Alain. Where shall I tell him to come to you, Mademoiselle?

Mlle H. Are all your preparations made here?

Alain. Yes, Mademoiselle. I have sent the servants to other work.

Mlle H. Request, Mons. Manuel, then, to see me here, and to come instantly, as it is important I should speak to him at once.

Alain. Very well, Mademoiselle.

[Exit.

Mlle Helouin goes to Arches and ascertains that no one is near to listen.

Mlle H. And now, Manuel Marquis de Champcey, we will try the issue. How often and how vainly do I question my own heart. Were Manuel other than he is, should I pursue him thus? What motive sways my action? Is it love? Ambition? Both? I know not, and will not reflect. There lies the path. Some resistless impulse urges me along, nor will I, can I swerve, till all is won or lost.

Enter Manuel.

Man. Mademoiselle, good evening. Alain informs me that you wish to speak with me.

Mlle H. For a few moments. Your stay at Langeot has been shorter than usual.

Man. I returned a day earlier than I had intended. Respect for the family suggests that I should not be absent on an occasion like the present.

Mlle H. An occasion that gives you an opportunity of showing that you possess moral, as well as physical courage, of no common order.

Man. You are pleased to be enigmatical.

Mlle H. I shall indulge in no enigma that you cannot speedily solve. And now. Manuel, take good heed of what I say, but I warn you do not judge me by a common standard. My nature and my sad dependant lot, place me beyond the pale of those born for a happier fate. From the first hour we met, my heart was drawn insensibly towards you. Still that heart was safe. A mere spark existed, which reason and reflection might have killed; you yourself, in defining the bond of sympathy between us, raised from that spark a flame.

Man. Madame, in justice to myself, I must interrupt you. Never by word or deed have I—

Mlle H. Go on sir, pray do not spare me. Never have you encouraged, you would say. Well, I grant it. Be it so. Your reserve and coldness could not alter me. What fire but burns the fiercer in the frosty air? And yet if you have pride, so too have I, and I will confess that something more exists to keep the flame alive than love. Ambition, and the hope to triumph over one who is a rival. These, I am free to own, would be incentives enough for me, if love existed not.

Man. Mademoiselle, at the risk of appearing vain, I must tell you you are most fortunate.

Mlle H. Indeed sir, how so?

Man. In saying all this to a gentleman.

Mlle H. Oh, sir, of that I'm well aware, by birth—

Man. And principle. I do not affect to despise the one, but I take more pride in the other. The first, is for the present, buried. Therefore, if you have any appeal to make, let it be to the last.

Mlle H. I have an appeal to make, but, even though compelled to differ with so sage an adviser, I shall make it to an ally more powerful than either.

Man. And what is that?

Mlle H. Self interest.

Man. You think so?

Mlle H. I'm sure of it.

Man. Will you permit me to suggest that an important ceremony is to take place in this room to-night, and the hour approaches.

Mlle H. Well, then, if I appear abrupt, attribute it to your delicate reminder, and not to my own desire. You love Marguerite Laroque—

Man. Mademoiselle, this is beyond—

Mlle H. You love Marguerite Laroque. That love is hopeless. Everything is prepared for the ceremony you speak of, and if a shade of doubt as to her destiny existed, it can live no longer now. I possess a secret which, if given to the world, will compromise your honesty as a man, your honor as a gentleman, and sink the proud name you bear to a depth that even the despised governess could look down upon with pity. Manuel Marquis de Champcey, give me the title she can never bear, and I am silent. A wife none the less devoted because, at first, unsought—a friend none the less sincere, though newly found.

Man. Mademoiselle, you are a singular instance of a well known fact.

Mlle H. And what may that be, sir?

Man. That the cleverest people sometimes do the silliest things. Had you been a simple, uneducated rustic, you would have reflected seriously before you lowered yourself in the opinion of the man you professed to love. But, as you are—accomplished, shrewd, and resolute, you have taken the worst road by which to gain the end you coveted. Nay more; you have allowed impulse to snatch the reins from principle, and those unbroken steeds, Passion and Ambition, have taken the bit in their mouths, galloped off with common sense, and I very much fear it will cost you some time and trouble to come up with them. I need hardly add, Mademoiselle, that I decline continuing this conversation.

[Exit.

Mlle H. [After a pause.] Be it so. The sooner ended the sooner to my work. I swear, the thought of the revenge I'll take on this proud fool, makes me all but rejoice in failure. [Music heard without.] The guests are arriving. I must not be found here.

[Exit.

Mad. L. [to servants.] That will do, you may retire.

[Exeunt Alain and servants.

Des. Before you proceed to business, Monsieur Nouret, I will make a few preliminary remarks, if you will allow me.

Mons. Nouret. Certainly, Doctor. Pray speak.

Des. For the information of those friends of the family who are yet unacquainted with the facts, I wish to state that, before the death of M. Laroque, he wrote a letter to be given to me, his oldest friend, when he was no more. I shall read a short extract. [Reads.] "For these reasons it is my earnest desire, nay positive injunction, that my grand-daughters' marriage shall take place within six months of my death, with the same ceremonies and rejoicings as though I were still living, and the reading of the will shall immediately succeed the marriage." And now, Monsieur, before proceeding, it is necessary for you to state that all is ready for the reading of the will immediately on our return.

Mons. N. I trust all will be ready, Doctor; but, at present, I cannot say it is so, for although I find the will and codicils of the deceased to be in the most perfect order, and numbered in regular succession, I have, thus far, been unable to discover the first of the series, marked No. 1. All the rest are here—2, 3, 4, and 5—but 1 is wanting. Now the legacies are, with the exception of a few to the old servants, entirely to Mons. Laroque's blood relations.

Mad. A. [Weeps.] Oh!

Mons. N. Be comforted Madame, he was indeed a kind man. His blood relations have all been thought of.

Mad. A. But I'm not a blood relation. Oh!

[Weeps.

Mlle H. Is it not possible that the missing paper may contain—

Mad. A. No doubt of it, no doubt of it. And that is burnt.

All. Burnt!

Mlle H. You saw Mons. Manuel, the steward, burn a paper. You found the envelope, and gave it to me?

Mad. A. I did, but I never—

Mlle H. Silence! [Gives envelope to Mons. Nouret.] Examine that, sir.

Mons. N. It is the hand-writing of the deceased, and the envelope of the peculiar size and make of all the others.

[All look at Manuel.

Mad. L. Monsieur Manuel, what have you to say to this?

Bev. Speak, sir.

Man. The lady is right, I did burn the paper.

Mad. L. Great Heavens!

[All rise.

Man. But she is mistaken as to the purport of the document.

Bev. Upon my soul this is a little too strong.

Mad. L. Oh, Monsieur Manuel, do not tell me you have so far abused our confidence. Do not tell me that one whom I had begun to love almost as a son, has fallen low enough to commit so vile an act. I am an old woman, sir, and in the course of nature, you must outlive me. My child is provided for. You shall share with me while I live, and all I have shall be yours at last if you will but refute this, if you will but give me the joy of knowing you are innocent.

Mons. N. Come sir, this painful matter may be set at rest, perhaps, if you will tell us the content of that paper.

Des. Manuel, my son.

Mad. L. Oh! for my sake!

Man. [Looks at Marguerite and says.] I will not speak.

[Exit Desmarets.

Mad. L. [After a short pause.] Then sir, much as it pains me, you must, clearly understand that we can live no longer under the same roof.

Man. [Going.] I know it, madame.

Mar. And [He turns at the sound of her voice,] have you nothing, not one word to say in your defence?

Man. Not one word.

[Exit.

Mad. L. Oh Marguerite, my joy on this occasion is lost in this most unhappy discovery.

Mar. [Aside.] And my misery doubled. Do not follow me, dear mother, I will rejoin you directly.

[Exit.

Mad. A. Oh!—

[Weeps.

Bev. My dear madame, I beg to remind you that this is my wedding day. Pray reserve your tears till after the ceremony. [Re-enter Desmarets.] My friends, if you will adjourn to the reception room, the carriages will be ready immediately.

[Exeunt guests and Madame Aubrey.

Des. [To M'lle H.] Mademoiselle, you do not appear as much shocked as we are by this unfortunate discovery.

Mlle H. Simply, Doctor, because, knowing the gentleman, I am not surprised.

Des. You are not?

Mlle H. Not at all.

[Exit.

Des. Umph! Bevannes, my dear fellow, I'm loth to delay an event which, by a popular but pleasant fallacy, is supposed to be the happiest in a man's life, but I must request, before we go to the chapel, that you will give me a few moments of your attention.

Bev. Certainly Doctor; the evening's before us. Pray vary the entertainment according to your own taste.

Des. My dear madame, I must also request your presence, and, as what I am about to say is important, and guests are still arriving, this apartment will soon become too public for our purpose, therefore, with your permission, we'll retire to the library which, as the works it contains are purely instructive, is about the last place our fashionable friends are likely to visit.

Mad. L. Had we not better wait until we return from—

Des. By no means. What I have to say must be said at once, and so, madame, permit me.

[Offers arm.

Bev. Doctor, that's a remarkably nice young man you recommended for steward.

Des. Never mind him. We'll talk about him to-morrow.

[Exeunt.

Enter Manuel, dressed for traveling.

Man. For her, for her, this bitter, bitter trial. Oh, let that thought sustain me. Falsely I had imagined that the change from the sweet dreamy days of my youth, to the stern realities of my manhood, had created for me that tower of strength to the unfortunate—endurance. But, no, no; too truly do I feel that, until this moment, I have not known what utter misery is—one last, last look at scenes made sacred by her presence; at objects hallowed by her touch, and then, and then—

[He sinks into a chair.

[Enter Marguerite. She comes down slowly.]

Mar. Manuel!

Man. Marguerite!

Mar. Hush! move not, nor speak till you have heard me. I am here to ask forgiveness.

Man. Forgiveness?

Mar. Now, now, I know your truth, too late, oh, Heavens! too late late I know your pure, unselfish heart. You bore suspicion, insult, scorn, but I believed you not. How nobly you risked life for honor; yet I believed you not.

Man. At last then—

Mar. At last, conviction came; that letter you mislaid—

Man. Relating to my sister—

Mar. Aye, and not to me. I know it now, Desmarets told me all.

Man. And could you think—

Mar. I did, I did. Oh, do not scorn me, but grant my prayer, the first, the last you'll ever hear from Marguerite. There is some mystery hidden beneath your refusal to speak of the paper you destroyed—some reason which refers to me. Do not deny it, for I know it. You cannot deceive the watchful eyes of love—for I love you, Manuel. We must part, and forever. My word is pledged already for my marriage with Bevannes. But by the love which you professed for me, for your dear sister's sake, for mine, [she kneels,] clear your good name of this foul stain. Oh, Manuel! Manuel! do it in pity for the rash, unhappy girl, who, with ruin staring at her from the fatal rock, suspicion, spite of reason, spite of warning, wildly, madly dashed herself upon the shore and made her heart a wreck.

[Enter M'lle Helouin.]

Mlle H. Good. I could not have wished it otherwise. [To Mad. Laroque and Desmarets who appear with Mad. Aubrey, guests and Mons. Nouret.] Look, Madame! Look, sir! Observe the faithful, loyal steward, who, not content with fraud and betrayal of his trust, still lingers on the scene of his disgrace. Behold the proud gentleman, who completes his list of honorable actions by ensnaring the affections of that unthinking girl—the betrothed wife of another, the daughter of his benefactress. [Madame Laroque and Desmarets raise Marguerite, who is almost fainting.] Well, you hear all this; you witness it—you are men and stir not—your friend is betrayed—an aged lady insulted in your presence, yet there stands the man, erect and fearless. Will you bear this, I say, or will you cast him forth like the dog he is?

[The gentlemen make a movement toward Manuel.

Des. Stop. Before Mons. Manuel departs, I have a piece of intelligence to communicate, which it is important for him, as well as you, to hear. You will the better comprehend it, if I request your patience while I read a portion of this paper, left in my care by Mons. Laroque, with discretionary power to destroy or reveal its contents as my judgment should dictate. Under present circumstances I choose the latter course. This is in the old man's own handwriting, and you will admit, is an important episode in his history. The events described occurred in the West Indies. [Reads.] "On the approach of hostilities between the French and English, my father, Pierre Laroque, who was steward to the then Marquis de Champcey, received orders to sell immediately, the magnificent estates on the island, and then to join the Marquis (who commanded a small French fleet) and to bring with him the money realized from the sale. The estates were sold for a very large sum. With this money my father and myself started to join the Marquis, but, on our way were interrupted by an English frigate and taken prisoners. My father died defending himself. I was promised my life, and permission to escape with whatever money we had with us when taken, if I would reveal the hiding place of the French fleet. How shall I write the words? I yielded. A large English force attacked them. The Marquis was killed, and I came to France a wealthy, but dishonored man." Such is the confession left in my hands. Such is the confession which makes the present Marquis de Champcey master of this and all the property the old man left, and such is the duplicate of the paper which that young man destroyed.

Mlle H. [To Madame Aubrey.] Hark'ye Madame—

Mad. A. Oh! go away, you nasty thing. You've made a pretty mess of it. You've caused me to do mischief enough. I won't be corrupted by you any more.

[She goes to Manuel and shakes hands with him violently.

Mlle H. [Aside.] Baffled. Foiled at every turn. [Enter Bevannes.] Ah! no. One hope is left. Mons. de Bevannes, you are well arrived. In good time to defend your honor, which is greviously in peril here. That man, the steward, by a strange reverse of fortune, has become master of this great estate.

Bev. So I have already been informed.

Mlle H. Well, look there. Have you eyes?

Bev. Madame, you wound my vanity.

Mlle H. Do you not see that the new master here is likely to become lord where you alone should reign? Will you tamely submit and give her up?

Bev. Madame, you just now reflected on my person, now you do worse; you attack my heart. Do you think I am the man to step between two devoted young creatures for my own selfish ends? No! The moment I found the dear girl was penniless, I destroyed the contract, and in the most generous manner, gave her back her word.

Mad. L. I won't go near her. I do believe she'd bite me. Doctor, will you have the goodness?

Des. [To Mlle Helouin.] Mademoiselle, you were very anxious just now for somebody to turn out—I don't wish to be ungallant—but what is going to take place here will coincide so little with your arrangements, that the ladies think—that perhaps—

Mlle H. Enough, sir. [To Manuel.] If I am criminal, you shall not call me hypocrite. I go, and as a parting gift, take from me such wishes for your future, as bitter scorn and baffled hate may leave.

[Exit.

Bev. A very nice young person that.

Des. But come, come, what the deuce are you all standing here for?

[Enter Alain.]

Alain. Please Madame, the grounds are lit up, the carriages ready and all the country folks are waiting.

Des. Come. The bride and bridegroom. Come along.

Mar. Now—at once? Oh, Doctor.

Des. Now—at once? Of course; do you think all our pretty preparations are to go for nothing?

Bev. Mademoiselle, I've got myself up utterly regardless of expense, and if somebody ain't married, I shall withdraw my consent.

Mad. A. Oh, Mons. de Bevannes do not let that deter you, if you meant what you said the evening Mons. Laroque died.

Bev. I!

Mad. A. Why, be it so.

Bev. Be it so? Be it what, Madame?

Mad. A. I will dispense with further courtship.

Bev. You may, for an indefinite period.

[They go up.

Des. So, as soon as Manuel has changed his dress—

Mar. Nay, dear Manuel, you shall not change it. For the last time, obey the headstrong girl. In that dress you often bore her taunts and insults; in that same dress you shall receive her vows of love and duty.

Man. Let it be so then. I will but ask one ornament—the bud you wear upon your breast. [She detaches it from her dress.] Look at it, dearest. It lacks the rich color and the gorgeous blush of one you gave me once before. But that was lost and trampled under foot. There let it fade, and typify the errors and misfortunes past, whilst this, just putting forth its beauty into life, shall be an emblem of dear hopes and happiness to come.

THE END.