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doctor, thoughtfully, his natural penetration becoming clearer in spite of himself. Is not that a symptom contrary to your conviction?”
    “Ah! you cannot understand people who are governed by a passion for the sea!” cried the lady, petulantly. “You did not know my sister-in-law. She had an heroic nature, capable of sacrificing her dearest and best without a murmur, in her country’s service. She has bequeathed her spirit—”
    “There is the more merit in making similar sacrifices, when one has not that passion.”
    “Oh, as for me, everybody knows that if I sacrifice myself, it is not without protestation!” said Madame Caoudal, laughing. “ I am not one of the race of stoics. But Hélène is one of those who could smile on the altar of sacrifice. But, joking apart, she is a generous and courageous soul, worthy to be the wife of my René.”
    These conversations were repeated again and again. The excellent lady, thinking herself so perspicuous, was quite unaware of the amount of useless suffering she was inflicting on the unfortunate doctor in making him, perpetually, the confidant of her hopes. Others were less blind, and, if the doctor had overheard the confidential talk of two young girls, whose white dresses appeared and disappeared at the end of the lawn, between the great poplars, perhaps he would have carried a lighter heart back with him to his lonely home.
    Hélène Rieux and Mademoiselle Luzan loved each other dearly, and, excepting the secrets that concerned other people, concealed nothing from each other.
    The two girls looked charming under the summer sun, having, at the age of twenty, no fears for their healthy complexion from his rays, and presenting the traditional contrast of brunette and blonde, which, though it has long served to adorn the bindings of books and the lids of sweetmeat boxes, is none the less pleasant to look at. Bertha Luzan was tall and slender, with something noble and classical in her blue eyes, regular features, fair head, and statuesque arms. Hélène was dark, delicately formed, less tall, but equally graceful.
    “There is that poor doctor going home, looking so melancholy,” said Bertha.
    “Well, you don’t hold me responsible for that, do you?” said Hélène, rather impatiently, feeling as if a reproach underlay her friend’s words.
    “Shall I say what I think? I do not recognize your usual generosity in your treatment of him.”
    “Then what can I do to please you?”
    “Acknowledge the delicate reserve of a man whom you honour,” said Mademoiselle Luzan, gravely, “and who is the only one—”
    “The only one—?”
    “That you will ever marry,” added Bertha, smiling.
    “It will be in spite of himself, then,” said Hélène. “Confess, now, that it would be impossible to manifest less eagerness than he does.”
    “As if you did not know as well as I, that it is your fortune that paralyzes him, to say nothing of your aunt’s plans for you, which are no secret from any one.”
    “That would be a very good reason; reasonable enough for any one but Stephen, who has heard us a dozen times, Ren6 and me, explain ourselves clearly on that point. As to the mere accident of dowry or fortune, it is unworthy of such a man as he to attach such importance to it,”
    “Do not say so, Hélène,” replied Mademoiselle Luzan, gently. “You cannot know how odious it would be to a proud man to appear calculating in such a matter.”
    “But if I do not believe he would be calculating, what does it matter what other people think?”
    “Still, I think you ought to let him know.”
    “In other words, I am to make advances to him? Never! If he has n’t the courage to overcome such a miserable obstacle,—well, we must remain apart. He is of no less value in my eyes for being without a fortune, and I feel no more inclined to propose marriage to him, than I should to no matter what great personage.”
    “Brave heart! “ said Bertha, embracing her; “but take care,