change in the baptismal name, but he would be no party to
them. One day, a fine lady of the upper circle of society in St.
Sampson, the wife of a rich retired ironfounder, said to Mess Lethierry,
"In future, I shall call your daughter Nancy."

"If names of country towns are in fashion," said he, "why not Lons le
Saulnier?" The fine lady did not yield her point, and on the morrow
said, "We are determined not to have it Deruchette; I have found for
your daughter a pretty name--_Marianne_." "A very pretty name, indeed,"
replied Mess Lethierry, "composed of two words which signify--a husband
and an ass."[4] He held fast to Deruchette.

It would be a mistake to infer from Lethierry's pun that he had no wish
to see his niece married. He desired to see her married, certainly; but
in his own way: he intended her to have a husband after his own heart,
one who would work hard, and whose wife would have little to do. He
liked rough hands in a man, and delicate ones in a woman. To prevent
Deruchette spoiling her pretty hands he had always brought her up like a
young lady; he had provided her with a music-master, a piano, a little
library, and a few needles and threads in a pretty work-basket. She was,
indeed, more often reading than stitching; more often playing than
reading. This was as Mess Lethierry wished it. To be charming was all
that he expected of her. He had reared the young girl like a flower.
Whoever has studied the character of sailors will understand this: rude
and hard in their nature, they have an odd partiality for grace and
delicacy. To realise the idea of the uncle, the niece ought to have been
rich; so indeed felt Mess Lethierry. His steamboat voyaged for this end.
The mission of Durande was to provide a marriage portion for Deruchette.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] A play upon the French words, _mari_ and _ane_.

VIII

"BONNIE DUNDEE"

Deruchette occupied the prettiest room at the Bravees. It had two
windows, was furnished with various articles made of fine-grained
mahogany, had a bed with four curtains, green and white, and looked out
upon the garden, and beyond it towards the high hill, on which stands
the Vale Castle. Gilliatt's house, the Bu de la Rue, was on the other
side of this hill.

Deruchette had her music and piano in this chamber; she accompanied
herself on the instrument when singing the melody which she
preferred--the melancholy Scottish air of "Bonnie Dundee." The very
spirit of night breat