image of another filled
its space. Alas! she had feared this; and again she was roused into
indignation as her mother's stern will was recalled to her--and she
was carried back to the day whereon she had reproached her with
hazarding the eternal welfare of her child. Throwing herself upon her
knees, she prayed for strength--and her prayer was heard. Suddenly, as
if struck with some impulse, she hurried from the window, through the
hall, passed the long suite of apartments, and reached her husband's.
Entering, she closed the door behind her, and rushed forward to M. de
Vaissiere's chair with such passionate rapidity, that one might have
thought she feared to fail in her resolution.

Her sobs and tears had nearly deprived her of utterance, but falling
at her husband's feet, she confessed the momentary infidelity of her
hitherto love-less heart, and besought him to take her from those
scenes of gayety and temptation to some distant, quiet region, that
she might expiate her fault in solitude.

Trembling she raised her eyes to his face. Instead of the fury, the
reproaches she had expected, what was her surprise at seeing the tears
coursing down his cheeks, to feel herself raised and clasped to his
breast.

"My poor child!" said he, tenderly--and it was the first time he had
ever so addressed her--"my poor child! I should have foreseen this; I
should have warned you ere now. It was your mother's fault to marry
you to me, and mine to have placed temptation in your way. But how
could I tear you from those whose years were suited to yours, to shut
you up with an old greybeard! Thus, while I watched over you, my pride
in your success made me forgetful of your safety. It is not yet too
late, my Pauline--all will be for the best. In time you will learn to
love your husband, and to know how devotedly he has loved you since
his stupid eyes were opened to your virtues."

With a smothered cry of joy Pauline threw herself upon his bosom. The
poor stricken dove had at last found a shelter.

The next day, while the whole world was lamenting and wondering over
the determination of the beautiful, brilliant, and courted Pauline de
Vaissiere, to leave the gay metropolis in the midst of its pleasure,
she sat once more in her boudoir. A holy calm had settled on her brow,
peace had entered her heart; and though a deep blush overspread her
features as she heard her husband's step approaching, she rose to meet
him with a grateful look. Putti