THE TOMB OF THE LOVERS.

LYONS, though sometimes frequented by the invalid, has always been the resort of the gay and the affluent : its delicious climate, no less than the varied and picturesque scenery of its neighbourhood, invite to that pleasing dissipation of mind which may be considered as constituting gladness; and as the place has always been distinguished as the scene of harmless pleasure, few visit it but such as can enter freely into its chastened amusements.

A few summers since, the Count and Countess Solenski were recognised as standing at the head of the fashionable world at Lyons; they were natives of Hungary, had moved amongst the best society of Paris and Vienna, and to a polished education added a ready wit and a most amiable politeness: they uniformly acted as if their own happiness was immediately derived from the sight of happiness in others; and these good qualities were the more remarkable from their being enabled fully to indulge in them. The count was a person of consequence in his native country, had been an ambassador to the French court from the sovereign of Austria, and, what some might consider still better, he was immensely rich.

On the north of Lyons stands a venerable but capacious chateau, surrounded by a domain of considerable extent and singular beauty. The grounds are thrown into natural inequalities; and, at this time, were wild and uncultivated-covered, here and there, with lofty trees, and watered by numerous rivers and artificial ponds. The spires of the churches of Lyons were barely visible from the more elevated parts of the dɔmain, and in the recess of a neighbouring wood stood a sombre and quiet convent, from which the nuns had been driven at the period of the revolution.

The chateau itself, independent of the domain, had nothing to recommend it except its convenience: it was spacious; the rooms were large, and afforded accommodation to a numerous retinue. These were

advantages which the count could not find elsewhere in the neighbourhood, and, accordingly, he became the purchaser of the chateau. Once a week he saw company marquees were erected on the green sward before the door; and these artificial saloons were always hung with a gay and delightful profusion of flowers. The taste of the count and the countess was not less remarkable than the splendour of their entertainments, and though the company was always select, it was uniformly numerous.

As might be expected, the count and his lady were great favourites among the fashionable people of Lyons, and their regret was consequently the more sincere and acute when they learned that the count was suddenly recalled to the court of his sovereign. Before his departure, however, he resolved on giving a fête more magnificent than any which had hitherto characterised his entertainments. On the appointed day the good people of Lyons were in motion. It was quite a holiday with them; the grounds were thrown open for their amusement and gratification; and the cards of the hospitable host and hostess lay on tables which had not been previously honoured with such visitants.

At an early hour in the evening the chateau was all life and bustle: the company, joyous and animated, had already arrived; and, under the excitation of the moment, the ladies looked more than usually lovely, and the gentlemen were, as Frenchmen always are, polite and attentive. Amidst the beauties who enlivened, with their presence, the gladsome scene, none more deservedly attracted so much homage as Madame Palowski. She had just attained that age which gives maturity to female charms: her cheek glowed with the ripe, rich flush of perfect beauty; and her figure had attained its most bewitching roundness. Tall, but elegantly proportioned, her dress admirably adjusted to the display of her person. It had the double advantage of being splendid and suitable, and as she moved along

'Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, In every gesture dignity and love.'

She was accompanied by her husband, a young man in the prime of life, dressed in the uniform of the German hussars, to which corps he appeared to belong. They had not been long at Lyons, but, short as the period had been, they excited considerable curiosity: they appeared to be uncommonly eager in the pursuit of pleasure, had splendid equipages, abundance of money, and had the ease and grace of persons accustomed to the best society. As their manners were agreeable, and their appearance something more than respectable, they had but little difficulty in obtaining ingress into the beau-monde at Lyons Their real station in life, however, they seemed in no hurry to ⚫divulge; and, amidst scenes of the greatest gaiety, they betrayed an occasional melancholy, which served to give an increased interest to the mystery in which they had involved themselves. The lady could not help heaving an involuntary sigh even when engaged in the cheering dance; and her husband was subject to fits of abstraction, which seemed to give him, when detected, considerable pain. Their conduct towards each other was of the most tender and affectionate kind: they spoke to each other in a melancholy and subdued tone, and they were miserable if separated, were it only a few minutes. In their eyes, when they looked at each other, was a softened expression, which never failed to elicit from both a deep sigh, in spite of their efforts to suppress it.

The sentimental pitied them; the censorious shook their heads doubtingly; and the good contented themselves with a hope that beings so accomplished and beautiful had not committed any indiscretion that might compromise their future happiness. The mystery, however, which they threw around them irritated the curiosity of all, and although none could penetrate it, their society was courted by persons of fashion in the hope of being the first to unravel a riddle which had perplexed so many.

It was not, however, with so unworthy a view that the Count Solenski had invited them on the present

occasion to his chateau. For the gentleman he had conceived a real esteem, and his lady's presence could not but prove attractive to his fête. During the day the young hussar appeared unusually happy; he laboured, not unsuccessfully, to make himself agreeable, and more than once rallied his beautiful wife on the sombre cast of her countenance. Her constant reply was, Frederick, love, I am glad to see you so joyously inclined; and I assure you the pleasure it gives me disqualifies me, in some measure, for taking part in it.'

The revels were prolonged throughout the night; and the dance was kept up to an advanced hour in the morning. Madame Palowski was engaged in a quadrille, and, on evincing some fatigue, her attentive and watchful husband proffered her some wine and water in a silver goblet. She raised it eagerly to her head, but instantly withdrew it from her lips with an expression of ill-suppressed horror; and, at the moment, her eyes encountered those of the young hussar. He stood fixed to the spot, a picture of the deepest anguish, and looked, imploringly, towards his lovely wife. She appeared perfectly to understand him, and once more attempted to taste the goblet; but the effort seemed to increase her pain: the pupils of her eyes expanded, her aspect was wild and frenzied, and, a servant having relieved her of the cup, she seized, with apparent impatience, the arm of her husband, and both instantly left the saloon.

The conduct of the beautiful stranger did not escape the company, and all awaited her return with considerable anxiety; but an hour elapsed and she did not make her appearance, and this unaccountable absence created some alarm. The count sent his servants to inquire the cause of the delay; but they returned without having been able to discover the retreat of the mysterious strangers. They had searched every room in the house, but without success, and had fruitlessly extended their inquiries into the gardens and adjoining shrubberies. The countess hinted that they had, perhaps, departed for Lyons; but this supposition, not very

creditable to their politeness, was negatived by the fact that their carriage was still amongst the others in waiting.

It was now clear day-light: the morning sun, in the orient brilliancy of the southern sky, shed its effulgence upon the earth, apparently not less joyous than the wellpleased guests of the Count Solenski. The bracing clearness of the air tempted them into the domain, and all gladly embraced the proposal of the happy countess to go in pursuit of the loving fugitives, who, she thought, had indulged in a short walk, in the hope of dissipating the slight illness under which Madame Palowski appeared to suffer.

The domain now echoed with the shouts of gladness as the party kept calling out, with all the gaiety of joyous hearts, to each other, but their mirth was suddenly interrupted by an abrupt and piercing scream from a young lady who had distinguished herself by her vivacity during the morning. Her companions quickly hastened to the spot where she stood; and the cause of her alarm was soon made manifest. At the foot of a large and umbrageous tree, a short distance apart, lay the bodies, apparently lifeless, of the youthful strangers, and the instruments of destruction, a pair of elegant pistols, were placed beside them, in the exact position into which they fell from their suicidal hands. Madame Palowski's fair form, beautiful even in death, but too plainly told that she was no more; her face, upturned, had assumed the sallow hue which succeeds the extinction of life, and appeared, in its sorrowful expressions, as if the shadows of the grave had already passed over it. Her husband lay on his face, and when raised by the humane count, his wounds seemed to bleed afresh: it was even thought that he breathed, and a surgeon being amongst the party, recommended his being forthwith removed to the chateau. The body of his lady was also conveyed thither, but as her spirit had flown, beyond the possibility of recall, the attention of the surgeon was exclusively directed to Monsieur Palowski. The wound, on being examined, did not