deceived your husband? I know everything-everything, I repeat! Is this the fruit of my care and of my teaching!-the recompense of my tender solicitude! Only five months after your marriage-day to so far forget your duty as to treat an honest man-for your husband is an honest man, and you have no reproach to make against him—in the manner you have! Oh! it is dreadful!"

"I do not understand you," murmured Madame Chaudieu, at the same time, however, dropping her eyes, which were usually so confident in their expression. 66 Oh, you don't understand me! Well, I will make myself understood. You have flirted with a man without principle and without honour-the unworthy and base M. Laboissière !"

"It is false !" cried Adolphine energetically.

Mademoiselle Bailleul replied by an insulting laugh. "You say it is false. At present, perhaps, it may be; but, were I not here to save you in spite of yourself, would it be false to-morrow? Is it false that this man has the key of the garden? Is it false that this very night-in a few minutes, even, he may be outside your window? Is that false? Answer!"

On discovering that her secret was known to her aunt, Adolphine lost all her self-possession, and, as she had previously said in jest, became in reality, a little child. She buried her hot forehead and reddened cheeks in her hands, and appeared to await her aunt's words like a criminal expecting sentence.

After a moment's silence, Mademoiselle Bailleul, who seemed to revel in the agitation of Adolphine, spoke again, with a redoubled severity and authority of tone.

"We will speak of this further to-morrow. At the present moment I have a more urgent duty to perform. You must remain here and await my return." "Where are you going?" timidly inquired the young wife.

"To receive this man," answered Mademoiselle Bailleul.

"No, no! it is impossible!" said Adolphine, rushing towards the door.

Mademoiselle Bailleul had, doubtless, foreseen this act; for she promptly grasped her niece by the arm, and led her back into the centre of the chamber. "I command you to remain here," she said, in a tone which admitted neither of resistance nor reply.

Before the young woman could recover from the stupor which overcame her after the violent conduct of her aunt, Mademoiselle Bailleul had rushed out of the apartment had locked and double-locked the door-and, by way of additional precaution, had taken out the key. She descended once more to her niece's apartment; and her first act, on entering, was to examine the windows, which, however, she found firmly closed and barred.

"Everything must be prepared," she muttered to herself, as she unbarred the window-shutters. This done, she lit a small lamp that was on the table, from her own, and turned it down so that the flame was hardly visible. She next took her seat in the darkest corner of the dimly-lighted apartment, and remained with her eyes fixed on the time-piece, immoveable and watchful as the hunter waiting for his prey. A half-hour, which, to her, appeared a half-century, passed thus. During this time, on the upper storey, an incident was taking place which promised to still further complicate a situation already sufficiently involved.

From the moment that he had retired to his study, instead of applying himself to the business he had represented to be so urgent, Benoit Chaudieu never ceased

to stride backwards and forwards in the apartment, with the air of a man who is absorbed with some very grave project. He several times examined the small slip of paper which had been inclosed in the letter sent to him from Marseilles, and carefully compared the writing with a number of other documents he had taken from the secret drawer of his desk. This examination appeared to afford him the highest satisfaction, for, as he resumed his walk, he rubbed his hands with considerable vigour. His solitary exercise had continued for about two hours, when he stopped suddenly

"If I carry out this scheme without speaking to any one, my conduct will appear inconsiderate, not to say churlish. I have, moreover, no desire to be accused of dissimulation, or want of courtesy. My wife's aunt is the autocrat of this family. She must be the person to share my secret; and that at once, for I must take my departure before she leaves her bed to-morrow morning, She retires to rest very late, I know; I have no doubt she is awake yet."

Accordingly, Chaudieu, a few minutes before midnight, quietly left his study, and directed his steps towards Mademoiselle Bailleul's apartment. On reaching the door, he knocked very quietly; but the prisoner within, whose disquietude was greatly increased by the incident, took care to make no reply.

"It is I!" said he, in a whisper, after having knocked several times. "Open the door. I have something important to say to you."

But when Adolphine recognized her husband's voice, instead of answering, she held her breath.

"She is asleep early to-night!" muttered Chaudieu, annoyed at his disappointment.

He was on the point of returning, when his eye caught the light, which shone through the empty keyhole of the door. This discovery changed his first idea.

"She is not asleep, or her light would be extinguished," he said; "for she never burns a light, except when ill; and I know how much she dislikes the habit of reading in bed. She is out; but where can she be? She must have gone to Adolphine's apartment. Well, so much the better. My wife will also hear what I have to say."

He immediately descended to the ground-floor, and went towards his wife's apartment. He had already placed his fingers on the handle of the door, when the voice of a man, most unexpectedly heard at such an hour, arrested his hand. Although greatly surprised at the occurrence, Chaudieu never lost his calm selfpossession; he cautiously blew out the candle he held in his hand, and placed himself near the door, which, being very thin, permitted him to hear everything that passed within. At the first words, he recognized the voice of Mademoiselle Bailleul, and learnt also that Adolphine was not in the room. Although he could not account for her absence, he controlled his first feelings of misapprehension; but his curiosity remained unabated. Never had a popular drama a more attentive auditor than Benoit Chaudieu, who, stationed outside, drank in the terms of the stormy conversation that was taking place within-a conversation which gives to this narrative a fresh interest.

"Be a god, and hold me with a charm;

Be a man, and fold me with thine arm."-BROWNING.

ON the 25th of May, 1837, a beautiful spring day, the young Princess Helen of Mecklenburg-Schwerin crossed the frontier and entered France, the betrothed bride of the Duke of Orleans, eldest son of Louis Philippe, King of the French. From the moment of leaving her birthplace, the old castle of Ludwigslust, her whole journey had been a demonstration of the respect and affection of peasant and prince. The great landowners of Mecklenburg sent deputations offering their wishes for her happiness; as she stepped forth, at daybreak, from her old home, the domestics and companions of her youth flocked about her, anxious to receive a farewell glance from their beloved Princess; she entered her carriage from a path strewn with flowers; at Potsdam the King of Prussia received her, surrounded by the Royal Family and his Ministers; on nearing the limits of her fatherland,

an escort of the highest personages of the French nation met her, and her entrance into the land of her adoption was made under a triumphal arch, on which the word "France" was inscribed in large letters formed of flowers.

Youth, beauty, the highest accomplishments, were hers; born a royal lady, she was about to become the wife of a Prince, the eldest son of a King, and heirapparent to the throne of a mighty and polished nation. Her future husband, brave, handsome, and generous, awaited her arrival, in company with the best and highest in France, at Fontainebleau. Regal, military, and national pomp and ceremony were about to herald her coming; and Fontainebleau only required her presence to be again the scene of a splendid and striking spectacle.

The object of such universal homage, with such a brilliant future before her, surely this beautiful Princess-in all the exuberance of her twenty-three summerswhose nature is described as being keen and vivid as those of the Southern races, with the depth and constancy of her German ancestry, was experiencing unalloyed joy? Alas, no! She was agitated by conflicting emotions, and regrets for her old home and her native country were mingled with her hopes; but, more than all, she was possessed with a vague, unconscious fear-with a sad presentiment! A sad presentiment! yes, that was the pervading idea of her last days of maidenhood, just as it was of her married life. How unerring was the instinct which gave it birth we shall presently learn; and, perhaps, in glancing at the circumstances of her early years, we may divine whence it sprang.

Helen Louisa Elizabeth, Princess of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, was born at the Castle of Ludwigslust, on the 24th of January, 1814. Her father, Louis Frederic, was Hereditary Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin; Caroline of Weimar, her mother, was his second wife, and was remarkable for her beauty and accomplishments, as well as for being the daughter of one of the noblest of German Princes, Duke Karl Auguste, the friend of Göthe and Schiller. The wife of this last distinguished Prince, the Duchess Louisa, was that Princess of whom Madame de Staël wrote, "she was the true model of a woman destined by Nature to the most illustrious rank; free alike from pretension and from weakness, she inspired equal confidence and respect. The heroism of a chivalrous age had tempered her spirit, without depriving her of any of the softer qualities of her sex"--a portrait for which her granddaughter might have sat.

When the little Princess Helen was only two years old her mother died. With her last breath she entreated her husband to replace her loss by making her cousin, the Princess Augusta of Hesse-Homburg, the future mother of her children. This Princess became the Grand Duchess in 1816, and, on being left a widow soon afterwards, devoted her life to her cousin's children. She was especially attached to the little Princess Helen, who returned her affection with all the force of her unselfish nature.

The education of the orphan family was, henceforth, to be the sole occupation of this estimable woman's life; and, in order to discharge the trust she had undertaken, she withdrew entirely from the world. The young Princess was brought up in the midst of a small circle of learned and eminent men and excellent ladies. There she displayed a tender susceptibility and an ardent love of knowledge. At twelve years of age she lost a friend who had been the companion of her early years, and her partner in every study and simple enjoyment. So intense was her grief that she became seriously ill, and it is said that her countenance for the first

time assumed that melancholy expression which did not naturally belong to it, but which the events of after years rendered habitual.

Early in the year 1827, the Grand Duchess took her, for the first time, to the court of Weimar. Her appearance there impressed the courtiers as though they had seen a poetical and charming vision.

"I see her still," wrote one," clad in rose-colour, without any ornament in her fine brown hair, light as a bird, yet full of nobleness in all her movements; and I remember with what a tender and just pride the old Grand Duke of Weimar fixed his eyes upon her."

The French Revolution of 1830 saw her a tender, gifted, susceptible, and highly-sagacious maiden. All her sympathies were with the people and with the fortunes of the House of Orleans. She became an enthusiastic lover of France and liberty. She copied the articles which most delighted her from the French newspapers, and she watched events that passed with as much interest as though they formed the immediate circumstances of her own secluded life. With a strange presentiment of her future destiny, the fortunes of the family of Orleans formed the first occupation of her thoughts. That destiny was fixed when, a short time after, she visited Töplitz with the Grand Duchess, who was seriously ill. The King of Prussia, who was allied to her family by marriage, now saw her for the first time, and, attracted by her personal charms and great accomplishments, was inspired with that affection for her which was, later, to make him the untiring advocate of her union with the Duke of Orleans. Five years after, when the Duke of Orleans and his brother visited him at Berlin, the King mentioned the Princess Helen as the most suitable spouse for his distinguished guest. The conduct of the Royal Frenchman did honour to his head and heart. Imbued with too much feeling to regard marriage merely as a duty to his family and nation, he looked upon it as the first affair of his life. Without attempting to disregard the conditions his rank imposed upon him, he was nowise ready to forget the claims of domestic happiness and intimate union. It was not till the Duke had ascertained how perfectly the nature of the Princess Helen gave the promise of a future happiness as his bride, that he authorized M. Bresson, the French Minister, to demand, officially, her hand in marriage. We have seen with what interest the young Princess herself regarded the Orleans family; the Royal suitor possessed all the qualities to captivate the imagination of a sympathetic woman. She was ready to accept the noble Prince as her husband. But the Mecklenburg family were strongly disinclined to the union, and hesitated ere they gave their relative to a Prince the fortunes of whose house had hitherto been so fatal. They remembered the career of the grandfather and the father of the proposed husband of their beloved Helen-the death of the first, the rash but honest Philippe Egalité, who had perished by the guillotine during that wild political storm he had contributed to raise the exile, the wanderings of the father, who had only been recalled to France after having spent his youth and early manhood in foreign lands, a fugitive. Her own readiness to accept the Duke of Orleans as her husband, joined to the extreme anxiety of the King of Prussia for the union, overcame the reluctance of the heads of the Mecklenburg family. The marriage-contract was signed on the 5th of April, 1837; ten days later she quitted Ludwigslust, accompanied by the Grand Duchess, and set out for France.

May we not surmise that it was the recollection of her relatives' opposition to