ousseau, it
was agreed that the wedding should take place there, instead of at
Bellefonds, as had been first projected,--an arrangement the more
desirable, that a press of business rendered Monsieur de Chaulieu's
absence from Paris inconvenient.

Brides and bridegrooms in France, except of the very high classes,
are not much in the habit of making those honeymoon excursions so
universal in this country. A day spent in visiting Versailles, or
St. Cloud, or even the public places of the city, is generally all
that precedes the settling down into the habits of daily life. In
the present instance, St. Denis was selected, from the circumstance
of Natalie's having a younger sister at school there, and also
because she had a particular desire to see the Abbey.

The wedding was to take place on a Thursday; and on the Wednesday
evening, having spent some hours most agreeably with Natalie, Antoine
de Chaulieu returned to spend his last night in his bachelor apartments.
His wardrobe and other small possessions had already been packed
up, and sent to his future home; and there was nothing left in
his room now but his new wedding suit, which he inspected with
considerable satisfaction before he undressed and lay down to sleep.

Sleep, however, was somewhat slow to visit him, and the clock had
struck one before he closed his eyes. When he opened them again,
it was broad daylight, and his first thought was, had he overslept
himself? He sat up in bed to look at the clock, which was exactly
opposite; and as he did so, in the large mirror over the fireplace,
he perceived a figure standing behind him. As the dilated eyes
met his own, he saw it was the face of Jacques Rollet. Overcome
with horror, he sank back on his pillow, and it was some minutes
before he ventured to look again in that direction; when he did
so, the figure had disappeared.

The sudden revulsion of feeling which such a vision was calculated
to occasion in a man elate with joy may be conceived. For some
time after the death of his former foe, he had been visited by
not infrequent twinges of conscience; but of late, borne along by
success and the hurry of Parisian life, these unpleasant remembrances
had grown rarer, till at length they had faded away altogether.
Nothing had been further from his thoughts than Jacques Rollet
when he closed his eyes on the preceding night, or when he opened
them to that sun which was to shine on what he expected to be the
happiest day