music-room, and if there are any who "wish to witness my apotheosis"-she paused abruptly, and cast a glance of smiling, though blushing, invitation on the duke de Beauvilliers. A glance only was the reply; a deeeper blush, a sweeter smile, confessed the eloquence of the silent communion. She extended her hand, de Sancy seized it, and led her to the musicroom; the few who surrounded her followed; the duke and the chevalier were of the number, the rest were engaged with primero and scandal. De Servin was an excellent improvisatore; he took up a lute, and, after striking a few chords, sung an address to his charming hostess, in which the strongest flattery was chastened by the most delicate taste. The theme was sufficient to elicit the most boundless plaudits to the song; and the poet and his subject were equally complimented by the auditors; inspiration seemed awakened; de Sancy took the offered lute from de Servin, and sang an extempore replication

to his strains, then presented it to the duke de Beauvilliers. "I do not touch the lute,' said he, returning it.

"But the harp," murmured Imogen. "The harp," repeated de Beauvilliers, fixing his eyes on her face. In a moment the instrument was drawn towards him; the duke for a moment paused, Imogen's eyes were cast on the earth, de Beauvilliers' on her. The silence of expectation flung around its stilly spell: from the harp of the Minstrel arose the strain of passion, from his lips ascended the song of the soul; it was the song whose witching mur murs first awakened the slumbering spirit of harmony in the bosom of the Novice of St. Dominick, when love stole its existence from the union of sentiment and sound, the latter thrilling on her senses, but the former reaching her heart. Now awakened the associating principle of feeling and thought in the breast of the lady de St. Dorval; memory rushed like lightning through each sweet interval of bliss;

the present faded on the mind, fancy presented only the joys of the past; and Imogen of Montmorell again hung entranced upon those strains of which she had been the inspiration and the theme. The duke ceased: the room rung with applause, the countess de St. Dorval alone was silent; the duke was overwhelmed, but not by the repeated bursts of approbation, for he heard them not.

After a long, an eloquent pause, Imogen raised eyes, and found that of the groupe which surrounded her the duke only remained; the rest were taking refreshments from the hands of the pages, who had just entered laden with the choi→ cest and most luxurious delicacies.

"You have lost nothing of that charm"ing art in which you formerly excelled," said Imogen in a tremulous voice.

"Formerly excelled," repeated the duke emphatically; "do you then deign to re"call that formerly to your mind?"

"That is," said Imogen in a voice still less articulate, "since I first heard you: "since"-she paused abruptly.

"I remember the time well," said the

duke. "It was in the tapestry room of "the chateau de Montmorell. I was sum"moned to the presence of the lady Mag"delaine: yes, she is now before me; the

formality of her air, the rigid severity "of her looks, relaxing into a smile of en

couragement. She was surrounded by "her women; the simple cast of their "countenances, the grotesque fashion of "their habits: while you! you were seat"ed apart when I entered, your head drooping over a frame. It was placed "near an open casement, through which "the sun cast its last red beam as it sank "behind the forest of Champagne.

I

thought you blushed when your eye met mine, but perhaps it was only the sun's beamy glow which flushed your cheek beyond its own rich tint, for your veil "had fallen on your shoulders, and the

"beams of heaven played like a glory "" round your head."

"And then," continued Imogen, while her heart beat, and every pulse throbbed with delicious violence, "and then the

lady Magdelaine made you one of her "classic speeches, and commanded an ex"ertion of your charming art; you bowed "and obeyed, while I-"

Imogen blushed deeply; the duke signed and continued: "At the conclusion "of my song we parted; but again we "met. The moon had just risen above the "vale of Nogent; its paly light trembled "on the waves of the Aisne: a nightin66 gale had taken its station beneath the "branches of a linden-tree which shaded "the terrace of the castle whither I had "directed my steps to inhale the evening "breeze. I beheld you leaning over a palisade; the melting murmur of your "voice flowed with the pensive strain of