"night's sweet bird, your tears dropped "with its falling dew, and your sigh stole "on the stilly interval of its unfrequent Then I dared to approach,

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gales.

"and-"

The profound, the tender, the impassioned, emotion of Imogen arose with every word; her colour varied, her heart throbbed: not knowing what she did, she half arose from her chair, then again sat down. At that moment a page approached, and presented refreshments. Imogen still bewildered, still confused, poured out a glass of wine, and presented it to the duke. Without taking it from her hand, he grasped it in his: the glass shook, for the hands which held it had communicated a The reciprocal tremor to each other. last draught which Imogen had presented to the baron de Montargis was in the camp of Laon: the recollection of that circumstance rushed with mutual influence to their minds; till, obedient to the immutable law of sympathy, the power of at

traction, they felt they remembered together, and on the glowing surface of memory the images of riper passion succeeded to those of infant love, the hero of Laon and his enamoured captive to the Minstrel of Provence and the Novice of St. Dominick.

Their looks alone supported the communion of soul. "That moment," with impassioned emotion at last exclaimed the duke, "when faint and wounded I re"ceived the elixir of life from-"

Imogen endeavoured to extricate her hand the glass was crushed in the exertion in that of the duke; the blood flowed from his fingers, and the fragments of the glass fell to the ground. In a moment a crowd gathered round him: all offered their assistance, but the trembling Imogen had already entwined her handkerchief round the wounded hand The chevalier enquired into the cause of the accident: the duke took his arm, and they both walked away. Imogen still remain

ed seated in the attitude in which the duke had left her; her air involved, abstracted, her eyes swimming in languor, her bosom throbbing, and an unconscious smile playing round her lips. At that moment the marquis de Sancy approached: he had watched her at a distance during the whole of her conversation with the duke; he now took his station at the back of her chair. "It is," said he pointedly, "in the absence of the sun, that planets of inferior "order dare to betray their feeble beams." "What is your allusion?" demanded Imogen with a blush and a smile.

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"Were you to ask what was my illusion, I could answer you," said the marquis; but for my allusion-"

"You are problematic," returned Imo

gen.

"And yet that blush seems to under"stand me," replied he. "The duke de "Beauvilliers-"

"What of him?" asked Imogen, again. changing colour.

"That he is gone saturated with bliss, " and I now venture to approach and pick up the crumbs which fall from the rich "man's table,"

"And was his absence requisite for "to approach ?"

you

Certainly; for I have not the self-de"nial of the philosophic chevalier, who, "like the saints of old, seems to expose "himself to trials merely to shew his for"titude in supporting them."

₹

Imogen had so long been accustomed to hear the name and character of her amiable guardian the sport of satyrical wit or playful raillery, that what at first irritated and disgusted her, now from habit was heard without emotion. While she perfectly understood the pointed allusion of de Sancy, she endeavoured to give a new turn to the conversation by asking if he had engaged at primero during the evening.

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No," said he; "but if you have a "mind to throw the gauntlet I will pick it

Imogen flung down her glove; the marquis raised it, impressed it with a kiss, and, gallantly hanging it in his bosom, took her hand, and led her to a table. Imogen disliked play-she was yet as great a novice at it as when she first lost her money at the hotel de Guise. She had, however, continued to pursue the dangerous occupation with avidity, and with invariable had success, merely because she wanted some more interesting engagement; she was borne away by the tide of fashion, and wooed it in every possible form that it presented itself. Her gaming debts already amounted to a considerable sum; but, as she had hitherto lost chiefly to her female friends, she felt but little uneasiness from the circumstance.

The marquis de Sancy was one of the best primero players in France-Imogen perhaps the very worst; and now, wholly involved in the delightful cogitations of