d abbe, and altered his own to suit their devious course, looking
for obstructions that might trip his uncle's feet and guiding him to
a smoother way, could not fail to recognize in Emmanuel de Solis the
generous nature which makes the human being a divine creation. There
was something noble in the love that never criticised his uncle, in
the obedience that never cavilled at the old man's orders; it seemed as
though there were prophecy in the gracious name his godmother had given
him. When the abbe gave proof of his Dominican despotism, in their own
home or in the presence of others, Emmanuel would sometimes lift his
head with so much dignity, as if to assert his metal should any other
man assail him, that men of honor were moved at the sight like artists
before a glorious picture; for noble sentiments ring as loudly in the
soul from living incarnations as from the imagery of art.

Emmanuel had accompanied his uncle when the latter came to examine the
pictures of the House of Claes. Hearing from Martha that the Abbe de
Solis was in the gallery, Marguerite, anxious to see so celebrated a
man, invented an excuse to join her mother and gratify her curiosity.
Entering hastily, with the heedless gaiety young girls assume at times
to hide their wishes, she encountered near the old abbe, clothed in
black and looking decrepit and cadaverous, the fresh, delightful face
of a young man. The naive glances of the youthful pair expressed their
mutual astonishment. Marguerite and Emmanuel had no doubt seen each
other in their dreams. Both lowered their eyes and raised them again
with one impulse; each, by the action, made the same avowal. Marguerite
took her mother's arm, and spoke to her to cover her confusion and
find shelter under the maternal wing, turning her neck with a swan-like
motion to keep sight of Emmanuel, who still supported his uncle on his
arm. The light was cleverly arranged to give due value to the pictures,
and the half-obscurity of the gallery encouraged those furtive glances
which are the joy of timid natures. Neither went so far, even in
thought, as the first note of love; yet both felt the mysterious trouble
which stirs the heart, and is jealously kept secret in our youth from
fastidiousness or modesty.

The first impression which forces a sensibility hitherto suppressed
to overflow its borders, is followed in all young people by the same
half-stupefied amazement which the first sounds of music produce upon a
c