f, baby," replied the Judge, who
had grown very fond of her; and, in truth, she was a very loveable
little person in her way, and made her husband a very happy man.

"Now, Judge Selwyn," interposed I, "do you remember a conversation we
once had together, in which you endeavoured to force me to believe that
men in general, and you in particular, were not tyrants to your wives
and families, and now do I hear you giving your son such advice as that?
Alas! what can make women so insane?"

"Don't you know? Can't you guess? Mademoiselle Valerie?" asked the old
Judge, smiling slily, and with the least possible wink of his eye, when
some of the others were looking at us, and then he added in a lower
voice, "perhaps it will be your turn soon. I think you will soon be
able to go to France without much fear of your mother's persecution.
Come," he continued, offering me his arm, as the others had now moved a
little way apart, "come and take a turn with me in the cedar-walk till
dinner's ready; I want to talk to you, for who knows when one will get
another opportunity."

I took his arm without reply, though my heart beat very fast, and I felt
uncomfortable, knowing as I did perfectly well beforehand what he was
going to say to me.

We turned into the cedar-walk, which was a long shadowy aisle, or bower,
overhung with magnificent cedars of Lebanon, running parallel with the
banks of the noble river, and so still and secluded that no more proper
place could be found for a private consultation.

"Well," said the old man, speaking gently, but not looking at me,
perhaps for fear of embarrassing me by his eye, "you know I am in some
sort, not only your legal adviser, but your self-constituted guardian,
and father confessor--so now, without farther preamble, who is he,
Valerie?"

"I will not affect to misunderstand you, Judge, though, upon my word,
you are entirely mistaken in your conjecture."

"Upon your word! entirely mistaken! I think, not--I am sure, not."

"You are, indeed. I have not seen him above four times, nor spoken
fifty words to him."

"Never mind, never mind--who is he?"

"An acquaintance of Monsieur Gironac's, Monsieur le Comte de Chavannes.
His father emigrated hither during the revolution, engaged in commerce,
and made a fortune of some 40,000 pounds. At the restoration, the old
Count returned to France, and was made by Louis XVIII a Colonel of the
Legion of Honour, and died shortly afterwards. There is