of the chapter. It has
been the author's design to portray, in the character of the Duchess, an
accomplished, artful, fascinating and totally depraved woman, possessing
the beauty of an angel, and the heart of a devil--precisely such a one
as could not fail to enslave and victimize such a sensual old wretch as
Mr. Tickels; how far this design has been successful, the intelligent
and discerning reader is left to judge. In the Chevalier Duvall will be
recognized one of those splendid villains, whose superb rascality is
cloaked beneath the mantle of a fine person, elegant address, and the
assumption of every quality likely to interest and please the credulous
people whom he _honors_ with his patronising friendship.

The Duchess hid her face in her hands, and sobbed violently, as if
overcome with shame and affright; while old Tickels, pale and trembling
with fear, (for he was a most detestable coward,) fell upon his knees,
and gazed upon the Chevalier with an expression of countenance that
plainly indicated the terror which froze his blood, and rendered him
speechless--for the position in which he and the Duchess had been
detected, would, he well knew, admit of no explanation--no equivocation.

"God of heaven!" said Duvall, in a voice whose calmness rendered it
doubly impressive and terrible--"am I the sport of some delusion--some
conjuror's trick? Do I dream--or do these eyes actually behold that
which appalls my soul? Speak, Duchess--for sister I will not call
you--and you, white-faced craven--what is the meaning of this scene?"

But neither the Duchess nor Mr. Tickels could utter one word in reply.

"Damnation!" exclaimed the Chevalier, drawing a pistol from his pocket,
and cocking it--"answer me, one of you, and that quickly, or there will
be blood spilled here!"

This brought Mr. Tickels to his senses; he arose from his knees and
stammered forth--

"My dear sir--don't shoot, for God's sake--put up that pistol, and I'll
explain all. I--that is--you know, my dear Chevalier--as a man of the
world--beautiful woman--strong temptation--"

"Hold, sir!" cried the Chevalier--"say no more, in that strain, or you
die upon the instant. Duchess, tell me the meaning of all this."

The lady raised her tearful eyes imploringly to the stern face of her
brother, and said, in a voice rendered indistinct by her sobs--

"Oh, brother! pardon your erring sister, who, in a moment of weakness,
forgot her proud and unsullied name! You