said:" The affection I bear towards you, my dear child, would make me very happy that you should remain in this house, but have you consulted well your own inclinations? Before I subscribe to the desire your parents have tunt you should take the veil, my tenderness for you demands that I should enlighten you respecting the consequences of so serious an engagement, which will bind you for your whole life. Ever since you have been with us I have carefully sought to discov r your inclinations and your tastes; I think I have read your thoughts, and I waited for this moment to come to an explanation with you. All conspires to assure me that you are not intended for a cloister, that your sentiments are inimical to that mode of life, and I will not be accessary to the sacrifice of your liberty. Open your heart then to me, my beloved Alphousine, with the frankuess my affection for you merits.”—“I will not couccal from you," sorrow fully answered Alphonsine," that my wishes do not agree with the state I am com

nion to perceive that her affections had undergone any alteration. She gave her a long account of all that had happened to be since their separation, much less out of convidence than through the ill-natured pleasure of displaying before her a happiness of which ske could never partake. The article of lovers was not forgotten; this theme gratified her vanity and consoled her for the beauty of Al phonsine. Of all those she mentioned M. de Morsaing was the one she praised the most, and she finished by owning that she was greatly prejudiced in his favour. "But why," added she, "should I talk to you of these things? your fate will prevent your ever becoming acquainted with them, and I really pity you for being handsome. Farewell, my dear friend, ause yourself in your retreat with those little minutiæ reserved for the cloister; you will always enjoy a calm serenity, you will never experience the hopes, the fears, and the tor ments of love. While I reflect on these I feel inclined to envy your solitude; but born with great expectations, compelled to hold an ex-pelled to embrace; but i have suflicient sense alted rank in society, to spend my days in the midst of grandeur, I am obliged to yield myself to the whirlwind by which I am enveloped, at the risk of perhaps spending my days with much less peace and happiness than you." After this interview Mademoiselle de Fienne soon returned to Paris, leaving Alphonsine in a very melancholy state of mind.

Shortly after this the time arrived when our fair heroine was to prepare herself to cominence her noviciate. As this period ap proached her repuguance to a secluded life seemed to increase. Since her arrival at the Abbey of Reigny, no marks of affection, or even of remembrance, had arrived from her parents to mitigate the grief she felt at being so cruelly forgotten by those to whom nature ought to have rendered her infinitely dear. The woman who had accompanied her to the courent was the only person by whom she could trace out her relatives; she came to see her regularly once a year to pay for her board, and to deceive her, by displaying before her a false picture of the many advantages she would enjoy by becoming a nun. Convinced, after mature reflection, of the necessity she was under of yielding to her destiny, and reproaching herself for her weakness and want of resignation, she, after a severe struggle with her feelings, resolved to repair to the Abbess, by whom she was tenderly beloved, and to fix the day on which she would commence the pious exercises previous to her cutering her poviciate.

and firmness to consent with resignation to what you know, my dear Madam, to be inevitable."-"Alas, my child!" returned the Abbess, 'you know not the weight of these shackles when it is our good sense alone that assists us in bearing them. There is up haste, we will wait a little longer."

About this period a sister of Madame de Rohan, who had lost her husband, came to pass her widow hood at the Abbey. This lady, who was called Madame St. Clare, was struck with the appearance and manners of our heroine, and on learning her particular situation was much interested for her. Madame St. Clare had no children, and the death of her husband without a will had been the cause of some law discussions with his relations, which called her to Paris just at that period when the king's marriage drew thither all the nobility and people of rank.

This circumstance, joined to the des ́re the sisters bad of ushering their young favourite into the world, d termined Madame St. Clare to press the Abbess to confide Alphonsine to her care for a few weeks. The Abbess consented, and in a few days they set out for the capital.

At the first stage they were met by the Count de Puymarais, who had been obliged to stop on account of the breaking down of his carriage. He was acquainted with Madame St. Clare, and learning that she proposed passing the night in the same in, seat to request she would allow him to wait upon her; she

On hearing her request, Madame de Roban readily consented: and after the first inqui

accident that had detained him, and complain-Count. "I have seen," added she, "many

Mada ze St. Clare, without blaming the deli-dressed him, saying:-" Approach, Sir, and cacy of hery ryoung friend's sentiments, however thank Mademoiselle d'Argeunes for the wishes

"Dear

descension with which you treat the Count de

consider himself unfortunate, as he would seek to please you without hope. Alas! Mademoiselle, I can no longer conceal my affection, you would throw me into the most acute despair were you to reject my suit; and can I doubt that you would, when my unhappy fate gives me the Count de Puymarais for a rival."

she has expressed in your favour." Madam," interupted the embarrassed Alphon- || Puymarais, any one who would love you might sine, "you are going to make Monsieur de Fontange believe that he is more indebted to me than to all those arround us, who were equally desirous of seeing him conquer." "What," replied he, "is it nothing that you should have felt some interest in my success? but I presume you are unwilling that I should owe you any gratitude, as every one on beholding you must feel a much livelier sentiment." Madame St. Clare, who perceived the confusion which this speech had produced in her young friend, endeavoured to change the conversation by speaking of the elegance of the || festivals and the amusements of the day; but the Chevalier always returned to the same point, and with so much delicacy that Alphonsine could not mistake the impression she had made on him.

Alphonsine, who neither expected this declaration, nor the Chevalier's reproaches; was so much affected by them, that yielding to the favourable sentiments she entertained for him,-" No, Sir," she replied with an enchanting smile, “you do not think he is preferred to you, or even that he is your rival ?" The joy she now beheld in the Chevalier's expressive eyes, warned her of what she had just declared, and she blushed deeply. How amiable did her confusion appear to Fontange, and how easily did he divine what had occasioned it! The thanks with which he overwhelmed her contributed to increase it; and delighted with the confession he had obtained, he took his leave through motives of delicacy, as he saw how much the conversation embarrassed Mademoiselle d'Argennes.

The ladies now entered their carriage, and the Chevalier flew to his aunt, to inquire who Mademoiselle d'Argennes was, how long she had been at Paris, and how she came to be with Madame St. Clare? She related to him all she knew respecting her birth and the fortune of Monsieur d'Argennes; and did not conceal from him that the Count de Puymarais || was greatly smitten with her. This intelligence was a severe blow to the Chevalier; he could not however dissemble his sentiments for her. Madame de Ligny strove to combated she, "shall I be able to support the eyes them, but Fontange replied that they were too deeply rooted for him not to employ every means of gaining the young lady's affection.

The next day his assiduities at Madame St. Clare's were equal to those of the Count. They were not long in discovering each other to be rivals, and were minute observers of each other's conduct; but their dispositions were widely different. The Count de Puymarais, naturally haughty, and filled with conceit, wished the world not only to applaud, but to be interested in all his transactions. The Chevalier de Fontange, on the contrary, only prized his reputation as it was supported by the testimony of an approving conscience. He was the most charming man in existence when he wished to be so; but he did not throw away his friendship indiscriminately on all, but reserved it for those who were worthy of his esteem.

||

When alone, how severely did she reproach herself; how vexed was she to have allowed her secret to be discovered. "How," exclaim

of the Chevalier in presence of the Count? How can I behave to the latter as I have done till now, after having acknowledged to the former that he had nothing to fear from him? They will both read my thoughts; what opinion will they have of me? Alas! this is the fruit of my imprudent behaviour! whither will it lead me? Many women whose conduct has been the most criminal, have not been more guilty than myself in the outset.—Ah! let me fly before I fall into the same suares; let me for ever renounce the frivolous hope of being settled in the world; if I had well thought, how could I have flattered myself?— Heavens! how great has been my error! I will return to the peaceful retreat of my convent; there my heart will regain its lost tranquillity; I shall not have to reproach myself; I shall be free from my present cruel reflections, and the fear of falling again into similar errors."

This resolution taken, Alphonsine was re

Alphonsine's heart secretly gave him the preference; but on that account, from pru-pairing to Madame St. Clare's apartment to dential motives, she treated him with more coldness than his rival. The Chevalier, who did not divine her thoughts, was in despair at ber conduct. "Ifl may judge," said he, to her, in one of their interviews, "by the con

request her permission to put it in practice, when Mademoiselle de Fienne was announced, who had the day before arrived from the country, where she had spent several months. Our heroine was not sufficiently vain to wish to

make a parade of the hearts she had gained, and indeed her late conduct was a powerful motive for her to be silent on that subject, even towards her whom she still thought her earliest friend. She said that it was rather through duty that she had yielded to the desires Madame St. Clare had expressed of keeping her so long from her convent; but that it was now time for her to leave Paris, and that in a very few days she intended returning to the Abbey of Reigny." Ah my friend," exclaimed Mademoiselle de Fienne, "what a sad trick you wish to play me; what, you would be so unkind as to leave me at this time?-No, my dear, you must stay if you please, you would not refuse to be present at my marriage. I must add to the happiness of espousing my lover, that of enjoying the presence of my friend."-"You are going to be married?"— "Yes, in eight days I shall no longer bear the name of Fieune."-" The Count de Morsaing is then the happy man.'-"Yes, it is he, and yet it is not he, for that was a false title my lover had assumed; I have heard the reason of his adopting it, but paid little attention to it; the person who bore it remains, and that is all I care about. It is not then the Count de Morsaing who is to be my husband, but the Chevalier de Fontange. He is not, however, yet acquainted with his happiness. It is the day after to-morrow that the ceremony of the interview is to take place; his father and mine have settled every thing with the greatest secrecy, and we are come to Paris to celebrate the marriage."

myself were I to rob you of their charms even for a moment."

Thus terminated this painful conversation, which probably will be thought rather illnatured. Mademoiselle de Fienne retired, and Alphonsine shut herself up in her chamber. She had not been there long when Madame St. Clare came:"I was right, my dear child," said she, "to think you would make your fortune, for now I believe it to be secure. The Count de Puymarais has just left me; I will not tell you all the fine things he has been saying of you, but I must not conceal from you that he has made you an offer of his hand, that his felicity depends on your accepting his suit; and his ardent desire is that you will deign to accept from him a rank and fortune which he longs to lay at your feet. But how is this! you do not answer me; you cast your eyes on the ground-you really astonish me. Is there any thing to reflect on so flattering a proposal, and which ought to surpass your expectation? Do you doubt the Count's ho nour?"-" I feel, Madame that since he has explained himself to you, I have no right to judge otherwise than favourably of him," replied Alphonsine;" and yet I must own that I am not satisfied. The great disparity which exists between the Count and myself, hurts much more than it flatters me. The more I feel it my duty to be grateful, the more I dread being under the necessity of being so."—" Why should this sentiment be so painful to you towards a man who, as you acknowledge, possesse your esteem, and who is justly considered one of the worthiest of mortals?-Come, my dear, be sincere, agree that you would have less hesitation if the same proposals came from the Chevalier de Fontange -Am I not right?" "Ah, Madam, I entreat you forgive me, and be not so unjust towards me. The Chevalier entertains no affection for me, he never has; I should have been much deceived bad I sup posed he ever bestowed a thought on me.-Mademoiselle de Fienne, who has just left me, informed me that he is on the eve of marriage with her, and that already." "Well!" Before termi-interrupted Madame St. Clare, "you have theu a double motive for accepting the hand of the Count, that of enjoying all the advantages which he offers you, and that of punishing the Chevalier for having wished to deceive you into a belief that he loved you."

What a blow was this intelligence for Alphonsine! none could have been more dreadful. It was now that the imprudence of her 'conduct struck her with tenfold weight. A man to whom she had had the weakness to shew her partiality was on the point of marriage with another; this reflection over: whelmed her with grief, and her pride was greatly hurt. It was a severe struggle for her to conceal her agitation; but her resolution to leave the capital was now a thousand times stronger than before, and she determined to set off the next day if possible. nating this interview, our poor heroine could not help shewing a little of the vexation she had endured.-"Go," said she, "Mademoiselle de Fienne, and enjoy the happiness which awaits you. I should be cruel were I to detain you any longer. I thank you for what you have confided to me; it is more precious to me than you are aware of. But friendship should forget all her rights when Love and Hymen are about to triumph. I should be angry with

This idea of revenge had some weight with Alphonsine. A woman will seldom agree exactly that she is not beloved; she may fear it, but it is seldom that she can be persuaded of it. Notwithstanding the affection Made