THE carriage which contained the unfortunate Blanche bowled steadily along for several hours, and in the excitement occasioned by this novel journey, the lovely child hardly remembered her former fears. After living in the most absolute retirement, shut up for years in a single room except at meal times, it seemed like a dream to find herself in a carriage in the middle of the night, and alone journeying into the wide world, she knew not whither. However, the noise of the wheels and of the horses' feet, mingled with the cracking of the postilion's whip, as he sought to increase the speed of his horses, which were already going like the wind, and the rocking of the vehicle as it swayed from side to side alarmed her very much and persuaded her of the reality of her situation.

"I am going to see Urbain," said the trembling traveller to herself, "I am going to rejoin him; I should not give way to my fears, we are going to be so happy. Why, since we are about to be united forever, should I feel anything but pleasure at hastening the moment? But then, I had hoped to travel with Urbain and everything has turned out so differently. Poor Urbain, it's not his fault; but why did he fight? Oh, I am so anxious to be with him!—and Marguerite didn't even say good-by to me. It seems as though everybody had abandoned me."

The sweet girl dried the tears which had moistened her eyes, then she looked out of the windows, but the darkness prevented her from seeing anything; she sighed and sank back in the carriage.

"Where are we? I don't know, but it seems to me they are going very fast. Well, so much the better, I shall be the sooner with Urbain."

As soon as day began to break, Blanche, who kept looking out of the windows, could partly distinguish trees, fields, and houses. Presently the mist was entirely dissipated, and the young traveller admired the glory of the dawn, and the varied scenes which seemed to fly before her. Soon the carriage rolled along a road bordered only by trees and hedges; the branches of some old trees from time to time brushed the top of the carriage, and this unexpected sound made the inexperienced traveller tremble. All of a sudden the view extended widely; the road was edged with meadows and rich fields. The laborers were already going to their work; already the furrows made by the plough could be seen, and the spade had newly broken the sweet-smelling earth. The trees were still bare of foliage, but the tips of the branches were reddened and about to break into bud. Everything announced the return of spring. Farther on they passed through a village, the early rising inhabitants of which could be seen at their doors or their windows, hastening to watch the carriage passing so rapidly. Contentment and health were pictured on the face of each peasant; it was their only ornament, for cleanliness and neatness are not distinguishing traits of the country people, whose children play on the manure heap, pell-mell with the ducks and geese. But nature is not always pleasing, and it is not in the outskirts of Paris that one must seek for the shepherds of Florian, the herdsmen of Bertin, the seductive villagers of our comic operas.

Country scenes always please the pure and simple mind, and Blanche, as she passed the villages and farms, and hamlets, exclaimed,—

"How delightful to live here, to walk, to run in the fields and in the woods! Oh, how happy I shall be with Urbain!"

Indeed, the fields and the woods bore a more smiling aspect than the Rue des Bourdonnais, and the barber's gloomy house.

The carriage did not stop; the postilions had orders to speed straight to the chÂteau, though the horses should die at the journey's end. Blanche did not know how far from Paris was Urbain's house and country, besides, she did not remember ever before being in a carriage, and it seemed to her that in moving so quickly they must have gone a very long way. About an hour after midday they passed through the pretty town of Grandvilliers, where a great number of manufactories afforded work and means to the inhabitants; but they did not stop there, and the carriage, turning to the right, crossed a wide plain and diverged towards a building which could be seen at a little distance, and which was justly called the wonder of the country side. It was the ChÂteau de Sarcus, of which the elegant faÇade could be discerned in the distance. Blanche perceived the chÂteau, but she was far from thinking that her journey would terminate there, though she gazed at that magnificent dwelling and, as the carriage rolled nearer, she could easily distinguish the sculptures and admire the work of artists who had surpassed themselves in order to merit the approbation of that gallant monarch, who patronized the arts as much as he admired beauty.

At last they reached the front of the chÂteau, and the carriage, in place of passing, entered the confines of this handsome domain.

"Well, now, what is the matter?" said Blanche trying to open the door. "This is not the place, this cannot be right; Urbain hasn't a big house like this—the coachman is mistaken."

However, the carriage stopped in a spacious courtyard. A servant in rich livery opened the door, and with a respectful air offered his hand to help Blanche alight.

"Oh, no, I don't wish to get down," said the innocent child, looking at the servant in astonishment, "this is not the place I was coming to; certainly they are mistaken, this is a chÂteau, it cannot be Urbain's house; besides, he would have been very prompt to meet me."

"No, madame, they are not mistaken," answered Germain, the marquis's valet, who had arrived two hours before the carriage, in order that he might give instructions to the house porter, and have rooms prepared for Blanche. "Your journey terminates here, and everything is in readiness to receive you."

"Here?" said Blanche, as she lightly stepped from the carriage, and looked around her in surprise, "but where is he?"

"He has not yet arrived, madame," said Germain, who had received strict orders to name nobody and to answer the young girl in conformity with the ideas she had formed in regard to her journey.

"What, he's not here yet? and I believe he started before me. He hasn't come here directly, then? Oh, I understand! fearing lest he be pursued, he has been obliged to hide and to make some detours."

"That's it, I am quite sure," answered the valet, smiling, "and I don't think he can get here before evening."

"Poor Urbain, how tiresome to have to wait until this evening."

"If madame desires to follow me, I will lead her to the apartments which have been hastily prepared for her."

"I'm not madame, my name is Blanche. We are not yet married, but as soon as he arrives I hope to be his wife. Show me the way, monsieur, I will follow you."

The man entered a spacious vestibule and mounted a marble staircase, then he led Blanche through some superb galleries, along one side of which were windows of stained glass, while upon the other the walls were adorned with pictures representing the most pleasing mythological subjects. In viewing all that met her sight, Blanche could not restrain her astonishment. She paused and said to Germain,—in a voice which she tried to render still more touching,—

"Monsieur, I beg of you, tell me the truth,—does this superb dwelling belong to him?"

"Yes, mademoiselle, indeed this chÂteau does belong to him."

"Ah, I thought it was a chÂteau! and he said he had only a little house, and this one appears to me immense; he must be very rich to have a chÂteau like this, and Urbain sometimes regretted that he had not a large fortune to share with me."

"Perhaps he wished to surprise you, mademoiselle."

"That was wrong of him; rich or poor I should love him just as much. Mon Dieu! how large it is, these galleries, these beautiful rooms, we shall be lost here; and how surprised Marguerite will be. Monsieur, are there cows and rabbits here?"

"There shall be everything here that you desire, mademoiselle."

"Urbain has promised me a beautiful cow, and I should like to milk her and to make butter and cheese, that would be so amusing."

Germain turned away to hide his smiles, because the country taste of the young girl appeared very singular to the servant of the great nobleman, but soon he opened a door saying,—

"This is the apartment which they have prepared for you, mademoiselle; if it does not please you, you will choose any other in the chÂteau and they will hasten to execute your orders."

"Oh, I like this above everything," said Blanche, as she entered a richly furnished room, adorned with full-length mirrors, "It is very fine here," said she, examining the hangings, draperies and candelabras which ornamented the apartment. She then passed into a second room, decorated with the same sumptuousness, in which was a bed hung with silk curtains, with silver fringe.

"If he were here," said Blanche, sighing, "all this would please me much better. And these windows, what do they look on?"

Germain hastened to open the windows which were all provided with vast balconies. Blanche advanced, and could not restrain an exclamation of pleasure on perceiving a lake which bathed the walls of that part of the chÂteau in which her apartments were situated. The lake extended into the middle of a wide meadow, and finally lost itself in some rocks, where the water fell in a cascade into an immense basin. On the right of the meadows one could see woods and shrubberies, and on the other side the view extended itself, far and wide, over a country dotted with hills which afforded a charming landscape.

"Oh, how charming it is," cried Blanche, "what a beautiful view!"

"Mademoiselle can hardly have an idea of what the view is when the fields are covered with verdure."

"But I should like very much to walk in all these places which I see, to run in those meadows and to go on that lake, whose waters bathe these walls and seem to me so pure."

"That is very easy, mademoiselle, for the park belonging to this chÂteau extends as far as you can see. When you wish to visit the gardens, run about the park, or boat on the lake, I will hasten to attend you."

"What! does all that I see belong to Urbain?"

"Yes, mademoiselle, all that pertains to the chÂteau."

Each word of Germain augmented Blanche's surprise. She could not conceive that her beloved could have deceived her so far. However, she had not the least suspicion of the treason of which she was the victim. The servant pulled the bell and a young country woman came into the room and awkwardly curtseyed to Blanche, who returned her salutation with good will.

"Mademoiselle, this young girl is at your orders. She will serve you as chambermaid if you are willing to accept her services."

"Oh, I can do everything for myself very well; I do not need anybody, I thank you."

"In any case, Marie will come as soon as you ring. Mademoiselle must need rest after the fatigue of the journey; we will retire."

"Yes, since he will not come until evening I will try to sleep a little. The time will seem shorter."

Germain made a sign to Marie, who after having made two other curtseys, left, followed by the marquis' valet. Left alone in her new apartment, Blanche glanced around her with surprise. All that had happened to her since the evening before seemed like a dream. She paused before the furniture, the mirrors, and murmured, sighing,—

"All this belongs to him, but why this mystery? He feared, perhaps, to be loved only for his fortune. Ah, dear Urbain, it is you only whom I love, and I should very quickly leave this fine chÂteau if it were necessary for me to dwell in it without you. But we shall be very happy here together, although it will be rather large for us two."

Fatigued by her journey, Blanche threw herself upon the bed. Soon slumber closed her eyes, she rested tranquilly, believing that she was under Urbain's roof.

It was four o'clock when the young girl awakened. Her first care on rising from the bed was to go and look at a clock on the mantelpiece.

"Evening is still far distant," said she sighing, "and what can I do until then? It seems to me that I'm lost in this fine chÂteau. If only Marguerite were here, we could talk about Urbain, that would make the time pass quicker."

In glancing about the chamber she perceived a little door which she had not remarked before; she opened it and found herself in a dressing-room where everything was gathered that could be agreeable to a woman of fashion, but Blanche looked indifferently at a handsome dressing-case furnished with rarely beautiful objects. In her plans for a happy future she had seen only a small farm, a stable, a dovecot, and a garden, and her mind could not become accustomed to replace it by the chÂteau. She left the dressing-room and returned to the first room, where she saw a table covered with all that could tempt the appetite.

"How attentive they are," said Blanche, "really they treat me like a queen. Urbain must have told them to take every care of me."

Blanche rang and Marie answered, but she was followed by Germain, who did not wish to lose sight of the chambermaid before the arrival of his master for fear she might inform Blanche of that which he still wished to conceal.

"Was this table laid for me?" said Blanche.

"Yes, mademoiselle," answered Germain, "I thought you would need some breakfast. Excuse me if I offer you nothing but that, but not being forewarned—"

"Nothing but that! You are laughing, no doubt. There is enough here to suffice ten persons, and at M. Touquet's we never had more than two dishes for our dinner."

Blanche seated herself at the table. Germain remained at some distance, and Marie served her without opening her mouth, but curtseyed to her every time that she handed her a dish. So much ceremony fatigued the young girl, who was accustomed to a simple, frugal life. She soon left the table and evinced a desire to walk in the park. Germain immediately led her through a gallery and several passages to a staircase, at the foot of which was an entrance to the gardens. Blanche breathed more freely in the meadows than under the sculptured ceilings of the chÂteau. She left the borders of the lake, crossed a little wood and found herself presently in what was designated as the English park, of which the paths crossed each other and formed a thousand detours, but when Blanche turned she always saw Germain in the distance, who had never lost sight of her.

"He's no doubt afraid that I shall lose myself," said she, "this is all so vast that it would be easy to lose one's way."

Blanche returned to the chÂteau; Germain led her back to her apartments, and then asked at what hour she wished to dine.

"I would much rather wait and sup with Urbain, for he will come this evening, will he not, monsieur?"

"I think so," answered the valet, bowing, and he departed, leaving her sad and thoughtful, for these words, "I think so," did not seem positive enough for her. She stationed herself on one of the balconies which looked on the lake and there, her eyes fixed on the horizon, gave herself up to her thoughts, and invoked the night which should reunite her with her lover. Soon her eyes could not distinguish distant objects, a light mist seemed to rise and obscure the scene; presently the perspective diminished, the horizon dosed in; finally, she could see only a few steps before her, and Blanche left the balcony, saying,—

"Night is here, he will come."

Germain entered the room and lighted several candles.

"As soon as he arrives," said Blanche to the man, "do not fail to tell him I am here—that I am waiting for him."

"His first care will be to seek you, mademoiselle," answered the valet smiling, and he departed, inviting Blanche to ring if she should desire anything else.

Had not Urbain's face been incessantly before the mind of the young girl, perhaps she would have experienced some fear on finding herself alone at night in a place which she hardly knew, in the middle of a room which seemed to her immense in comparison with the little room which she had occupied at the barber's, but love is the best remedy against fear, and the young girl, who would not go down into the cellar without trembling, although she had a light in her hand, would willingly go there without a candle were she sure of finding her lover. The clock struck nine.

"He cannot be much later," said Blanche, "provided nothing has stopped him on the way, for M. Touquet told me he would be here before me."

She sighed, and opening a window went on to the balcony to contemplate the reflection of the moon on the tranquil surface of the lake; she was astonished at the silence which reigned in the chÂteau, where everything seemed as still as the moonlit landscape. This profound quietude did not indicate the arrival of Urbain, and at that moment Blanche wished to hear some sound which would at least break the solitude of the night. She tried to console herself by saying,—

"My rooms are probably distant from the entrance to the chÂteau; this house is so big I cannot hear what passes in other parts of it."

An hour rolled by, and the uneasiness, the sadness, which had taken possession of the young girl caused her to pass alternately from her room to the balcony. Sometimes she opened the door of her room and ventured into the gallery.

Joy and hope no longer animated her beautiful eyes, and she could hardly restrain her tears. At last she dropped into an immense easy chair and said in a broken voice,—

"What new misfortune could have happened to him?"

Suddenly a loud noise was heard. Blanche rose, listened, and thought she distinguished the sound of carriage wheels, the hoofs of horses, and the barking of dogs. Presently the opening and shutting of doors was heard.

"He is come," cried the young girl, and she was about to pass along the gallery to go and meet her lover, but there was no light, she did not know the way and would become lost in all these immense rooms; it would be much better to wait for him in her own. She still listened. The sound of wheels had ceased, but she occasionally heard steps and voices.

"Somebody surely has arrived," said Blanche. "It can be nobody but Urbain; but why does he not come to me?"

She ran to the bell and pulled the cord several times. Nobody came. Greatly astonished at this, she was about to take a light and venture into the gallery when hasty steps approached.

"Here he is at last," exclaimed she, running immediately to the door, and remaining motionless with surprise and fear on seeing before her the stranger who, on the preceding night, had visited the barber's house.

The marquis paused on the doorsill. He bowed to Blanche with a look at once tender and respectful. The latter had hardly recovered from her surprise, and looked anxiously into the gallery, saying to the marquis in a touching voice,—

"Is not Urbain with you?"

Blanche's accents were so sweet, her voice expressed so much anxiety of mind, that Villebelle felt profoundly moved, and for the first time, perhaps, experienced some remorse at the pain which he was about to cause the young girl. Blanche repeated her question in a supplicating tone, and the marquis answered, turning away his eyes,—

"I came alone."

"O monsieur, in mercy tell me what has happened to him!" exclaimed Blanche, approaching the marquis and extending her arms towards him in her anxiety.

Villebelle looked at her and in that moment the various feelings which agitated the charming child, rendered her still more seductive. Her eyes were more animated than usual, her lips, half opened, disclosed two rows of pearls, and her hair falling in disorder over her forehead, gave a new expression to her angelic face. The marquis felt his remorse vanish at the sight of so many charms. Habituated, besides, to treat virtue as a chimera and constancy as a folly, he flattered himself that he would soon be able to dissipate Blanche's grief, and now, wishing to undeceive her, he fell on his knees, saying,—

"Deign to forgive me, lovely girl; this chÂteau belongs to me. You are not in Urbain's house, but in the house of a man who adores you and will use every means to promote your happiness."

Blanche seemed as though she did not comprehend him; she looked at him affrightedly, repeating,—

"I am not at Urbain's house? But, monsieur, where is he then?"

"I'm not very uneasy about that, and I should advise him not to come here to seek you."

"But it is with Urbain that I should be, monsieur. They were mistaken in bringing me here, I said so at the time; I knew Urbain could not have such a grand house. You are going to make them take me away immediately, are you not, monsieur?"

"No, my dear child, it was I who caused you to be abducted and I will yield you to nobody."

"Abducted?" she cried, "what are you saying? Urbain had fought a duel and had to flee, that is why I started in the middle of the night."

"It was necessary to tell you that, in order that you might leave willingly."

"O my God! could that be so? But, no, it was my protector, it was M. Touquet himself, who put me in the carriage."

"Yes, adorable Blanche, it was your protector, it was the honest Touquet who aided my plans and gave you up to my love."

The frightful truth flashed into her mind, her knees failed her, the color left her cheeks, and without uttering a single cry she was about to fall upon the floor. Happily the marquis received her in his arms, he laid her on the bed and rang the bell violently. Germain immediately appeared.

"Call someone, call for help," said the marquis, greatly agitated, "she has lost consciousness. Is there not a woman here in the chÂteau?"

"Pardon me, monseigneur." Germain called Marie, and the stout country girl came running.

"Give all your care to this young girl," said the marquis to the woman, "and do not leave her for an instant. If she is long in coming to her senses, send me word."

"Very well, monseigneur," said Marie, curtseying, and Villebelle left the room with Germain.

The marquis, fatigued by his rapid journey from Paris, threw himself upon a lounge as soon as he reached his apartment, and while Germain relieved him of his travelling dress he inquired as to what Blanche had said and done since her arrival.

"Monseigneur," said Germain, "she believed that she was at the house of M. Urbain, and following your orders I have not undeceived her."

"She appears to love him more than I had believed," said Villebelle, sighing.

"'Tis but the love of a young girl, monseigneur, a fierce fire, which soon burns itself out."

"May what you say be true, but Blanche bears no resemblance to other women whom I have seen up to this day. There is about her a candor, a frankness, finally, a something, I know not what, which commands respect. I cannot explain to you the feeling with which she inspires me. Her tears sear my heart. I wish to win her love by the attentions which I shall lavish upon her. It will take some time, perhaps; but no matter, I feel capable of restraining my passion, of submitting to everything which she may exact of me. You see, Germain, that I am truly in love, for I no longer recognize self, and near Blanche I feel as timid as a child."

"We must see if that will last, monseigneur."

"Ah, you don't understand what I experience. Germain, you must start tomorrow morning for Paris; I will give you what money is necessary, and you will bring back everything you can find of the prettiest and newest in ornaments, stuffs, and jewels. Spare nothing, that we may find something to please Blanche."

"Rely on me, monseigneur."

"How many servants are in the chÂteau?"

"The old porter, who never leaves his door, believing himself the guardian of a citadel; his daughter Marie, whom monseigneur saw just now, and who is the only woman I found at the chÂteau."

"Is she capable of waiting on Blanche?"

"Oh, yes, monseigneur, she's rather stupid, rather awkward, but very faithful and obedient. Her father answered to me for that; besides, Mademoiselle Blanche seemed to prefer to do without a chambermaid."

"Well, go on."

"The gardener, an old idiot, who knows nothing except plants. As to the country people whom we employ, they never come inside the house. Oh, I forgot, an old cook and cellarman, very drunken, so far as I can see, but he is never permitted to leave his kitchen and, in the absence of his masters, shuts himself up in the cellars."

"That is well, but it is necessary to have some people here who can watch Blanche or else she will doubtless find some way to escape, if, in time, she should form such a plan, and I brought from Paris two lackeys who will acquit themselves perfectly in this employment. Ah, Germain, if I can only make Blanche love me, how happy I shall be; but I am anxious to have news of her, go down and call Marie, I cannot remain in this anxiety."

Germain went down, but soon returned with the young peasant, who had already left Blanche.

"Well, how is she?"

"That young lady, monseigneur?"

"Certainly."

"Oh, she returned to her senses some time ago, monseigneur."

"And what did she say then?"

"On my word, monseigneur, lots of things that I couldn't understand—Oh, wait, I remember, she asked me if you were master of the chÂteau, and as soon as I said 'Yes,' she began to cry."

"She wept?"

"Oh, yes, monseigneur, she did nothing else, and then she asked me your name."

"What did you answer?"

"Mercy, I said that you were called monseigneur le marquis."

"She asked you no other questions?"

"No, monseigneur."

"And why did you leave her?"

"Monseigneur, it was because she told me she would like me to leave her."

The marquis signed to them to leave him. He did not wish anyone to witness the emotion which he felt. It gave him satisfaction to know that Blanche was within his walls, but the sorrow which she showed disturbed his content. He dared not go back to her yet, deeming it wiser to allow her time to recover from the first pangs of her grief. He threw himself upon his bed, but he could not sleep. The image of Blanche was incessantly before his eyes, and with her came the remembrance of the many errors of his youth which he wished in vain to drive from his mind.

While Villebelle endeavored to account for his insomnia and agitation by attributing it to love, Blanche passed in tears that night which she had awaited with so much impatience. Convinced at last that she was in the power of the man to whom the barber had delivered her, she felt all the horror of her situation; but accustomed by Marguerite to put all her confidence in a Supreme Being, and to have no doubt of His power, she prayed and besought Heaven to reunite her with Urbain. Upon her knees, her hands raised toward Heaven, and her eyes bathed in tears, she passed part of the night, and morning found her still so occupied.

Marie came to take her orders. Blanche wished for nothing, she desired nothing but her liberty, and, in answer to that request, Marie brought her breakfast. An hour later the marquis entered the room. Blanche did not see him; she was seated with her head supported by one of her hands and appeared absorbed in sorrow.

Villebelle signed to Marie to leave them, and looked for some moments in silence at this young girl who had been, since the evening before, reduced to despair because she was pretty and had had the misfortune to please a rich and powerful man, who thought that she should be only too happy to be the object of his passion. However the change which had taken place in Blanche's features, her eyes reddened and still filled with tears, made a painful impression upon the great nobleman. He would have preferred reproaches rather than this silent grief. He drew nearer, that his victim might perceive his presence.

Blanche raised her eyes and looked at the marquis, showing only a slight uneasiness, and let her head fall again upon her hand. Villebelle had expected complaints and reproaches. Surprised at this silence he took a chair, and seated himself near Blanche, who remained silent and continued to weep.

"Are you so very unhappy then?" said the marquis at last, with emotion; and Blanche answered sobbing, but with the sweet tone which never left her,—

"Yes, monsieur."

"Can you regret the barber's gloomy house where you never had any pleasure?"

"It is not the house that I regret, monsieur."

"Here there is nothing to hinder you from being the most happy woman; all your desires shall be laws here, you shall have the most beautiful ornaments, the richest jewelry."

"I don't wish for them, monsieur."

"You will not always think so, my dear child. Formed to please, to attract homage, one day by your features and your toilets you will eclipse the most seductive ladies of Paris."

"I don't understand you, monsieur."

"Forget the years passed in retirement and commence a new life. This dwelling shall become a place of delight; parties and pleasures shall succeed each other here without interruption as soon as your beautiful eyes repay my efforts with a smile. The barber did not deserve your friendship; the wretch would not have brought you up had it not been for his interest to do so; you may dismiss all thoughts of gratitude from your heart. As to the young man to whom he wished to marry you, he is but a boy, somebody has told me, and will soon forget you."

"Urbain forget me!" cried Blanche, starting convulsively. Then she said in a calmer tone, falling back in her chair,—

"No, monsieur, Urbain will not forget me, for I feel sure I shall love him always, and our hearts had but a single thought."

The marquis rose, greatly annoyed, and walked about the room. In a moment he said,—

"It is, however, useless, mademoiselle, to nourish a sentiment which must henceforth be hopeless, for you shall never more see this Urbain, whom I hate without knowing."

Blanche looked supplicatingly at the marquis, approached him and threw herself on her knees, saying, in a voice broken by sobs,—

"Monsieur, what have I done to you that you should punish me like this? If, unknowingly, I have been guilty of any fault, forgive me, I beg of you, but do not separate me from Urbain."

"Rise, I beseech you," said Villebelle, who yielded in spite of himself to the emotion which he felt. "No, you are not guilty, lovely girl, it is I, I alone; yes, I am a monster to make you shed tears. Ah, why did I ever see you—but you are so pretty!"

"Monsieur, has any one the right to shut up a girl because she is pretty? If you punish me by shutting me up a prisoner in your chÂteau, that should be forbidden. Is it permitted to a great nobleman to torment poor people at his will? O my God! and the talisman which Marguerite gave me to preserve me from all danger! O poor Marguerite! if she only knew how unfortunate I am."

"Oh, well," said he, leaning towards Blanche, "since you hate me, since I am only an object of dislike to you—"

"I hate you!" said the innocent child, raising her sweet eyes to his. "Oh, no, monsieur, don't believe that; despite all the grief you have caused me, I don't know how it is, but I feel that I should like to forgive you, I feel that I could even love you."

"You could love me, delightful girl," exclaimed the marquis, intoxicated by these words. "O heavens, she could love me and I was just about to consent—oh, never; rather would I die than lose you or yield you to another. You have given me a foretaste of so much happiness that the idea of it alone transports me. Blanche, Blanche, I shall do everything to merit the love which you allow me to hope for, but to renounce you—ah, that is henceforth impossible. I must leave you, that I may not see those tears which make me detest my love."

Villebelle left precipitantly. Blanche looked after him in surprise, understanding nothing of the transport which he had shown. She was far from conceiving that she had riveted her chains in confessing to the marquis that she had a feeling of friendship for him. Her pure heart did not know how to feign, and the feeling which she wished to give to the marquis was so different from the love she had for Urbain that she saw no harm in allowing it to appear. But Villebelle did not know how to read this ingenuous heart. He imagined that Blanche was about to respond to his love, and did not doubt but that he should, in time, cause her to forget Urbain.

The day rolled by without the marquis again approaching Blanche. The latter tried to summon her courage, but could not persuade herself that the marquis had any intention except to keep her prisoner, and she had recourse to her talisman, hoping by means of it to abridge her sojourn in the chÂteau. In the afternoon, Blanche asked Marie the way into the park, and the stout peasant hastened to lead her to the entrance, where she left her, making a curtsey. Despite her innocent air, the country girl understood that her lord was in love with the young damsel. Marie had remarked Blanche's red eyes, and heard her deep sighs, and, while leaving her, she said to herself,—

"Zooks! if monseigneur was in love with me, that would not make me cry; far otherwise."

Although she was alone in the park, Blanche did not even conceive the idea of seeking to recover her liberty. She did not know the way, and was ignorant as to what place she was in, and how far from Paris. She felt that it would be impossible to leave without again falling into the power of the marquis, and she resigned herself to wait until he should send her to her lover. She did not suppose the marquis capable of keeping her always a prisoner, and did not yet divine all the dangers which surrounded her in the chÂteau.

Villebelle, learning that Blanche was in the park, hastened to join her there, and the young girl received him almost smiling, and although her features still wore a plaintive expression, she chatted with him on the objects which surrounded them, and answered him with her accustomed sweetness and grace. This conduct appeared so extraordinary to the marquis that he regarded Blanche with as much astonishment as love. However, far from emboldening him, he felt for her a most profound respect, and dared not speak of his love, and, not understanding the power which the child exerted over him, he remained for some time silent and thoughtful, walking at her side.

The next day Marie carried into Blanche's room the things which Germain had brought from Paris; an infinite quantity of those charming nothings invented so that rich men may more easily spend their money. The stout peasant looked on each object with ecstasy, while Blanche hardly took the trouble to look at them.

The marquis came to see his young captive, and perceived that she had not touched his presents.

"Do you disdain that which I am so happy to offer you?" said he to Blanche.

"I don't wish for any of those things," answered she, sighing. "I do not need all of these ornaments in order to please Urbain. What would he say if he saw me in them?"

"Still thinking of Urbain? Have I not told you, mademoiselle, that you will not see him again?"

"Yes, but I don't think you're so wicked as you wish to appear. How would it help you always to vex me so?"

"Blanche, have you not confessed that you were not far from loving me?"

"Yes, and I still feel the same. With Urbain and you I should be very happy."

"May I not hope by the ardor of my attentions, my love, that I may cause you to forget a first fancy, and that I alone shall occupy your heart?"

"You don't understand me, monsieur. I love Urbain as my lover, my husband; and you—I should like—I don't know, it seems to me that I could with pleasure call you my brother—or my father."

This confession did not entirely satisfy Villebelle, but he hoped everything from time and the constancy of his attentions.

Towards evening Blanche again went into the park, and as on the previous evening the marquis joined her. He walked near her, feeling his love increase every moment. The marquis could not recognize himself. This libertine, this seducer, who had triumphed over the most rebellious beauties, had become timid and fearful before a child who had no other safeguards than her innocence and her virtue.

Twelve days had passed since Blanche had come to the ChÂteau de Sarcus, and had wrought no change in the situation. Every morning the marquis paid her a visit, but when, yielding to the grief which she experienced on being separated from him she loved, the sweet child allowed her tears to flow, the marquis left her abruptly. In the evening they walked together in the park, but often in silence or exchanging only a few words. Blanche dreamed of Urbain, and Villebelle, satisfied in being near her, had not yet conceived guilty designs.

At the end of this time, a message from Paris apprised the marquis that his uncle was very ill, and desired to see him before he died. Villebelle, the sole heir of this relative, who was very rich, was obliged to go to him, and decided, although with regret, to leave Blanche for some days. He took Germain with him, but the men servants whom he left at the chÂteau had received their instructions; besides the sad Blanche had no idea of escaping. The marquis judged it better not to forewarn the young girl of his departure; and he left the chÂteau more in love than ever, and vowing to hasten his return.