ce, which soon
spread dismay and confusion throughout the garrison.

Madame d'Aulney heard the loud voices, and hurried steps of the soldiers
without, and the quick note of alarum, whose fearful summons could not
be mistaken. These sounds, though long expected, struck heavily on her
heart; and she uttered a fervent petition to the Virgin, to speed the
wanderer on his doubtful way. She heard various reports of what had
taken place, from her attendants; but she prudently waited for the storm
of passion to subside, before she ventured into the presence of M.
d'Aulney, conscious that the utmost effort of self-command would be
necessary to meet his eye with her usual composure.

"Methinks you are tardy this morning, madame!" he said, stopping in his
hurried walk, and looking fixedly on her countenance, as she at length
entered the room where he was alone.

"Our sick child must plead my excuse," she replied; "he still requires a
watchful care, and I am unwilling to consign him to any one less
interested than myself."

"You are a fond mother," said D'Aulney, resuming his walk; "but, there
are few husbands who choose to be neglected for a puling infant."

"The duties of a wife and mother are closely blended," she returned;
"and I trust I have not been deficient in the performance of either."

"You well know," he said, peevishly, "that I have no fancy for the
nursery, with its appendages of children and nurses; and yet, for three
days, you have scarcely condescended to quit it for an instant. Yes, for
three days," he repeated, again stopping and looking earnestly at her,
"you have secluded yourself from me, and your cheek has grown pale, as
if some cherished care, or deep anxiety, had preyed upon your thoughts!"

"And what anxiety can exceed a mother's?" she asked, the tears springing
to her eyes; "what care so ceaseless and unwearied, as her's, who
watches over the helpless being to whom she has given existence; whose
sufferings no other eye can comprehend; whose infant wants demand the
constant soothings of her enduring tenderness, and exhaustless love! And
has this excited your displeasure?"

"My own affairs have chafed me, Adele," he said, more gently; "a
favorite project has miscarried, and the vengeance I have so long
desired is foiled, in the very moment when I believed success undoubted;
all this, too, through my own easy credulity, and a lenity, which its
object ill deserved from me!"

"You have erred on the s