As my negotiations with Monsieur le Tellier concerning the resignation of the governorship had been carried on too rapidly to admit of my writing to Monsieur de Villardin by any of the ordinary couriers, my arrival at the PrÉs VallÉe was unexpected; and when, from the windows of the library, he beheld his daughter leaning on the arm of a young cavalier, whose face he could not distinguish in the grey of the evening as we crossed the terrace, his surprise was so great that he came out to the steps of the chÂteau to meet us. His pleasure appeared hardly less than his astonishment when he recognised me; and Lise having entered the house, the tidings soon spread through the household; so that, while Monsieur de Villardin was giving me a glad welcome, I had my little page Clement de la Marke, old Jerome Laborde, and half a dozen of the ancient domestics, turned out upon the terrace to greet my arrival, not knowing that Monsieur de Villardin himself had come forth to do me that honour.

The Duke smiled when he saw them; and, still holding my hand, which he had taken at our first meeting, he led me in, saying,--"You see what a favourite you are, my dear boy: but I will have my turn now; and, indeed, I am almost jealous of Laura, for having forestalled me in giving you welcome."

His manner was that of an affectionate father receiving a well-beloved son after a long absence; and as, notwithstanding the propensity of human nature to presume upon kindness, I never entirely forgot that I had been a friendless orphan, destitute and lonely, it may be easily imagined what feelings such tenderness inspired. When we had entered the library, Monsieur de Villardin seated himself at the table, with Laura by his side, and with his hand leaning on her shoulder; and they both gazed upon me so intently, as I sat opposite to them, as almost to make me smile.

"Well, well," said Monsieur de Villardin, at length, "you are not much changed since I saw you; though a good deal, I dare say, in the eyes of Laura."

Mademoiselle de Villardin, however, declared that I was not changed in the least; and, indeed, would fain have persuaded her father that I was exactly the same in appearance as when I had saved her from drowning at Dumont, some eight or nine years before.

"It has come upon you gradually, Laura," replied her father; "but now, tell me, De Juvigny, how came you here, and in whose hands have you left your government?"

I explained to him the whole particulars; which, as he well knew the grasping spirit of Mazarin, did not at all surprise him: nor did the arrangement, I believe, displease him at heart; for, after a comment or two on the injustice of the proceeding, and a promise to use his influence in order to obtain for me something equivalent to that which I had lost, he added,--"But I will take care that it shall be nothing that will separate us again; for your absence has been a loss to me which I scarcely thought anything could now prove, at least in such a degree. That I should feel it deeply, however, is not at all astonishing; for I think, De Juvigny, it is now between nine and ten years since first we met; and, during that time, we have never before been separated for many months, except when you were in prison at Stenay. I think, too, that during that time, you have accumulated upon my head more obligations than ever one man before conferred upon another. You have been my confidant, my adviser, my friend, and my constant companion; so that I may well feel your absence as a loss which the society of even my dear child can scarcely compensate."

"There now, my dear brother," cried Laura, using an epithet which she often employed towards me; "have I not a right to be jealous of you? and, indeed," she added, "I should almost be jealous of your little page, too, who has completely supplanted both my father's other pages in his affection, were I not as fond of the dear boy myself."

Almost as she spoke, Clement himself entered the library, bounding up to my knee with that sort of bold and undismayed step, which showed me clearly upon what very unceremonious terms he had established himself in the family of Monsieur de Villardin. He was greatly changed in his appearance since I had last seen him, though he was still as fine a boy as ever I beheld; and as tall, as strong, and as well proportioned as many boys of eleven or twelve, although he could not be, at that time, so much as nine years old. There was, too, in his whole appearance, an air of graceful ease--a sort of natural dignity--which was extraordinary in one so young; and I felt very sure, from his whole demeanour, that he had been informed by some one, that his rank and station in society was equal to that of those with whom he was called to mix. The time he had spent at the PrÉs VallÉe had certainly not been thrown away; for I soon found that my little page was already a more accomplished scholar than myself; and I easily perceived, from the manner in which he executed all that he had learned of military exercises, that he wanted but habit, discipline, and experience to become eventually one of the best soldiers of the day.

I had always been kind to him during the few months we spent together every year; and, looking upon him but as a younger son of the same adventurous family with myself, I had treated him perhaps as a favourite brother. This had, of course, rendered him fond of me; and his manner towards me was everything that I could desire. There was no want of respect, though it was the respect of affection and esteem; and, though he was frank and bold, telling me at once his thoughts, his opinions, and his wishes, yet it was done with that air of natural confidence and candour that rendered it infinitely pleasing; while, at the same time, he yielded to my wishes or my arguments as if he felt a pleasure in doing what I bade him, and in giving up his mind to my direction. Whether the affection of my mind that he gained upon his side was vanity, self-love, or any more noble feeling, I cannot tell, but certainly he wound himself completely round my heart; though, to say the truth, during the six weeks that I remained at the PrÉs VallÉe, I was very little with him.

Other feelings and other pursuits gradually took possession of me altogether;--feelings which I did not understand, and would not examine,--pursuits, the tendency of which I did not perceive, and the result of which I dared not calculate. From some early prejudice, Monsieur de Villardin had the utmost hatred at the very thought of a gouvernante for his daughter; and though, for the form's sake, he had often declared that he must procure one,--though many of his female relations had reasoned with him upon the subject, and had held up before his eyes all the customs and respects of the world which require such a proceeding,--yet no step had been taken to that effect; and Laura de Villardin, now in her sixteenth year, remained in her father's house with no other female attendants than Lise, her principal maid, and two or three ordinary tiring-women. Masters for all sorts of accomplishments visited her from Rennes every morning; but from two o'clock till the hour of repose, her time was all her own; and it was now divided between her father and myself. The vigour, however, of Monsieur de Villardin was beginning to be impaired; and, though he was still a strong and powerful man for his time of life, yet a degree of inactivity, when no great excitement prompted to exertion, showed that years began to lay as a burden upon him. Thus the walks and rides of Laura de Villardin, before my arrival, had often been taken alone, or only followed, when on horseback, by some servants, or, when on foot, by her attendant Lise. Now, indeed, the matter was changed, and I became her constant companion in the rambles which before might be considered as solitary. It never seemed to strike Monsieur de Villardin that any feeling which might be dangerous to his other views, or to our peace, could spring out of such constant association. Doubtless he thought that, having grown up together from very early years, our feelings would ever remain those of a brother and sister; or, perhaps, he never thought about it at all. No impediment, however, did he ever throw in our way; but, on the contrary, whenever he felt any indisposition himself, he was the first to send me with her on any excursion that she proposed to take, and more than once reminded me that, at a very early age, I had pledged myself to be her protector and defender throughout the years of youth.

Thus it was that, during the six weeks that I now stayed at the PrÉs VallÉe, I was, for at least one half of each day, in the constant society of Laura de Villardin. A considerable portion, indeed, of that time was spent in company with her father; but I may say, no day passed without her being alone with me, either wandering with her arm in mine through the fair scenes round us, or reading together some tale of ancient lore, or sitting at the foot of some tree, and enjoying the beautiful spring for at least two or three hours.

It must not be thought that knowingly and wilfully I took advantage of these opportunities to steal the heart of the young heiress of such broad lands and splendid possessions. I have before said that I did not and would not examine what I was doing, or what was likely to be the result either with herself or me. There was no calculation in the business, no consideration, no forethought. The fascination was too strong for reflection. Her society was delightful to me, as it always had been; and I enjoyed it as I had ever done, without knowing that it could become dangerous. The only thing, I am confident, that even for a moment could have caused a suspicion in either her bosom or mine of what was really passing in our hearts, were the feelings which accompanied our first meetings in the mornings. It had always been her custom--a custom sanctioned by the universal habits of France--after turning from her father's salutation and embrace, to welcome me in the same manner: and whenever we had been in the same dwelling, from our childhood up to that hour, not a day had passed without my lips being pressed upon her cheek, while her fair hand rested in mine, and her sweet voice gave me the good-morrow.

Now, however, I perhaps experienced feelings, at the moment of our morning meeting, which should have told me more. A thrill passed through me as her hand touched mine; my heart beat as our eyes met, and I ought to have felt that the kiss was no longer that of a brother. But it is wonderful how blind people become under such circumstances, and, I say the truth, upon my honour, when I say that I did not know that deep and passionate love was growing up in my heart towards Laura de Villardin. If Monsieur de Villardin calculated at all upon the same feelings which had animated us in infancy remaining still unchanged, he calculated not only most wrongly, but upon false grounds altogether. Such might have been the case had we never been separated; but now,--at the same time that our youthful affection had prepared our hearts to receive gladly every new feeling that bound us to each other--we had been of late years absent from each other for so many months, that each renewal of our intercourse came with the freshness of a new acquaintance, and at length, when I returned after a more prolonged separation still, I found the sweet girl, who was already so dear to me, sprung up into womanhood: I found her the most lovely and engaging creature I had ever beheld, while admiration was heightened and softened by a thousand tender memories, and long habits of endearing intimacy.

Still, we neither of us knew how rapidly love was gaining on our hearts--still, neither of us made the slightest effort to resist his power, or to avoid his influence. Our lonely walks were the sweetest of our lives; and, though we were very frequently accompanied by Lise, who probably divined more of our own feelings than we did ourselves; yet, I must confess that she was the most discreet and friendly of suivantes, and contrived to throw no restraint upon our conversations. What those conversations were heaven knows. They were a whirl of bright things; a mixture of dreams, and thoughts, and feelings, the blendings of passion and imagination, which might altogether form many a page of wild but brilliant nonsense, if I could write down an exact transcript of all that passed.

We were in love with the world, and all that it contained; and, from the bright feelings that had sprung up within us, e very thing around us seemed bright. Our whole sensations were a panegyric upon all that we beheld: the sunshine was gayer than ever sunshine had been before; the trees were greener--the fields more sweet and fresh; for us the breeze was loaded with perfume; for us each flower had some new beauty--some brighter grace. We found it inexhaustible to praise and to admire; for everything around offered us the reflex of that happiness, which had so lately arisen in our own bosoms.

Be it remarked, however, that, amongst all the subjects of conversation which we now enjoyed--and they were as varied as the shapes of summer-clouds--that we never talked of love. We spoke of ancient tales, and bright, unexampled friendship--the arts and graces of Greece--the virtues and the might of Rome. We spoke of modern days--of gallant deeds in the field--of sad and tragic events--of stories of interest and of anecdotes of wit. We spoke of the beauties of nature, and of all the fair varieties of the world's face. We spoke of ourselves, and our interests, and our feelings, and our tastes. We spoke of our many associated memories in the past, and we looked forward to many a hope and pleasure together in the future; but still we never spoke of love. It might be a deep, hidden, eternal, unavowed consciousness, concealed from our own eyes as well as from the rest of the world, that made us avoid--I must call it scrupulously--the most distant approach to that one subject, amongst all the rest of which we spoke. It might be that, by some sort of instinctive perception, we trod lightly, because we found that our feet were upon a volcano.

The fire, however, went on within our hearts, though silently. We drank the intoxicating cup to the dregs, without knowing that it was wine. There was none to open our eyes--there was none to warn us; and, like all other persons in the same situation, we woke not from our dream till it was too late.

Such might not have been the case, had not the only member of the family who was likely to have given us warning and counsel--to have felt for all our feelings, and foreseen all our danger--had he not been absent during the whole of my stay at the PrÉs VallÉe. I allude to Father Ferdinand, who, only two days before my arrival, had set out for Dumont. He did not return as soon as had been expected, and I more than once proposed to ride over to Dumont, and see him; but there was a fascination at the PrÉs VallÉe which detained me with a power not to be resisted, and I put off my expedition from day to day, till at length an order arrived for Monsieur de Villardin and myself to resume our military duties, and we were obliged to prepare for our departure.

The summons came nearly a month sooner than we had expected, and of course caused no small bustle and confusion, especially as Monsieur de Villardin, yielding to the degree of corporeal inactivity, which, as I have before said, was creeping over him, determined to travel to Paris in his carriage, instead of on horseback; and consequently the time consumed on the journey was likely to be much greater than usual.

I had on a former occasion promised little Clement de la Marke to take him with me in the next campaign, and although I now felt some scruple at exposing a boy of his tender age to all the dangers and fatigues of a camp, yet he pressed me so vehemently to keep my word with him, that I at length consented; remembering how much more severe had been the hardships that surrounded my own early youth, and believing that the hard school in which my education had commenced had been ultimately of infinite benefit to me through life.

The day appointed for our departure speedily approached, and as it came nearer, the hours spent with Laura became doubly dear; nor indeed did she look less lovely, or less interesting, from a shade of melancholy that spread more and more over her fair face, as every minute that fled took something from the small space of time that we had yet to dream away in each other's society. She never loved parting from her friends, she said; and she knew not why, but she felt more apprehensive for her father than she had ever before done on his departure for the army. She besought me to be watchful of him, and to persuade him, as much as possible, to keep out of all unnecessary danger; but she said not a word of caution on my part. A thousand little traits, however, let me feel that she was not indifferent to my safety either, and she took great pains to show me how ungenerous and unkind it was towards friends and relations for any soldier to expose himself rashly and carelessly.

At length the day arrived; the horses were put to the carnage, and Monsieur de Villardin, myself, and little Clement, one by one took our leave of Laura, and departed. The tears streamed over her cheeks as she bade us adieu, but there was certainly nothing to point out that those tears flowed more painfully than her separation from her father under such circumstances might well justify. Monsieur de Villardin took his seat in one corner of the coach, and I in the other, and little Clement placed himself in the portiere, where he could more easily see what was passing around. Two other pages accompanied us, and a few attendants on horseback followed, while a number of servants had been sent forward with our chargers, in order to reach the capital by easy journeys. The Duke, silent and grave as usual, soon fell into a fit of thought, which lasted uninterrupted during the greater part of the day. The two pages, on the opposite side of the carriage, were as mute as mice, and little Clement, in his portiere, was too busily occupied with all the new objects that passed before his eyes, to break in upon our silence by anything more than a casual exclamation of wonder or pleasure, or by some question, which he generally answered himself, fully to his own satisfaction, before any one else could reply.

My thoughts were busy enough upon subjects which were destined to grow more and more painful under reflection. The first feelings to which I gave way were those of pure sorrow at parting with Laura de Villardin; and I felt, for the first time in my life, that faint sickness of heart, which I suppose every one feels in separating from a being so dear--that sensation of a deprivation and a void--that oppressive sense of the uncertainty of fate, which may ever throw so many obstacles in our way, ere we can again behold those that we so deeply love. Such feelings are painful enough in themselves; but I soon began to inquire their cause. I had been longer negligent in examining my own heart, and in tracing the latent causes of all that was working in it, than I had been for many years; but the magic which had withheld my thoughts from every other subject, and which had cast a veil over every other sensation, was now lost; and my mind naturally turned to inquire what was the real cause of all those new and mingled feelings, which, for six weeks, had been a source of such joy, and which now had left me full of sad thoughts and melancholy forebodings. The truth was no longer to be concealed: the very pain I felt at quitting Laura de Villardin told me that I loved her--the very depression of spirits, and distaste for the career before me--a career which had formerly occupied all my thoughts and wishes--now showed me where my hopes and pleasures all centred; and repeated, in language that I could not doubt, that I loved, and loved too deeply ever to forget.

Such a certainty, under some circumstances, might have so mingled hope and expectation with all the anxieties and apprehensions which follow every strong passion, that the whole would still have remained a pleasant dream to cheer me on upon the path of exertion and enterprise; but, situated as I was, the tardy discovery alone exposed to my sight a prospect of disappointment and despair. What could I hope?--what could I expect? I, a poor adventurer, with but the two recommendations of personal courage and noble birth; I, whose whole possessions on earth were owing to the generosity of others--whose way to fame and distinction had been opened by their kind endeavours--could I hope to win the heiress of one of the noblest houses and of the most splendid fortunes in all France; I, who had been her father's page; who owed him everything--fortune, station, and the means of gaining renown. Oh! what I would have given at that moment to have had the power of changing her I loved into the daughter of some poor gentleman, who would have gladly bestowed her without a portion.

Perhaps for a single instant one of the idle visions of hope broke in with a ray of light, as I remembered to what stations many young men, situated precisely as myself, had arisen by energy and good fortune; and especially when I thought of Mondejeu, afterwards MarÉchal de Shulemberg, whom I myself recollected an unnoticed page in the house of the Duc de Bouillon, and who, by that time, had become governor of the important city of Arras, and was in the road to the highest honours of France. But such dreams were speedily at an end; for every way I turned my eyes, some new circumstance presented itself, to prove my situation more and more hopeless. The final stroke of all, however, was when I considered what would be the feelings of Monsieur de Villardin, if ever he discovered that I had dared to raise my hopes to the hand of his daughter; and still more, if he were to find that I had attempted, by any means, to win her affection. Would he not have a right, I asked myself, to accuse me of the basest ingratitude?--would he not be entitled to charge me with deceit and hypocrisy? Had I not already in some degree betrayed his trust, unconsciously, indeed, but still most foolishly? Ought I not to have looked into my own heart long before; and, judging by what I felt myself, have taken every care to guard against the slightest attempt to inspire the same feelings in the daughter of my benefactor?

I could not but acknowledge that if I had acted wisely or prudently, if I had been as watchful for his interests and for his peace as gratitude and affection ought to have made me, I should have played a different part, and avoided the society of her that I loved. I trusted, however, that it was not too late to remedy my folly. Whatever I had inflicted on myself, however irremediable was the state of disappointment and despair to which I had condemned my own heart, I hoped and believed that Laura's feelings had been less interested. If, indeed, there had been anything farther in her sentiments towards me than mere sisterly affection, I trusted that it would soon pass away; and I determined never to see her again till I could command my own demeanour, and behave to her in a very different manner from that in which I had conducted myself of late.

I would try to conquer my passion, I thought, or die. I am afraid the idea of death was uppermost from the beginning, for before we had reached the end of our first day's journey, a dream, of a bright but painful nature, flitted frequently before my imagination. The path of glory and honour I thought was before me, and in the same path lay death, who, with his icy hand, would soon cool all the feverish burning of my heart. How bright, then, would it not be, I asked myself, to out-do in the field all that man had ever done, and to have it told to Laura de Villardin, that I had won immortal honour, and died upon the bed of glory? She would weep for me, I fancied, and her father would weep; and if the love I bore her were ever discovered, it would then but serve to shed a brighter light upon my memory, rather than throw a shadow on my name.