utable resolution she was
driven by a power more forcible than either fear, contempt, or even
dislike,--it was a species of repugnance almost amounting to horror.

After a painful silence of some duration, M. d'Harville passed his hand
across his moist eyelids and said, in a voice of bitterness:

"Let me entreat your pardon for the unintentional mistake I have made.
Oh, refuse not to forgive me for having ventured to believe that
happiness could exist for me!"

And again a long pause ensued, broken at last by D'Harville's
vehemently exclaiming, "What a wretch am I!"

"Albert," said Clemence, gently, "for worlds would I not reproach you;
yet is my promise of being unto you the most loving and affectionate of
sisters unworthy any estimation? You will receive from the tender cares
of devoted friendship more solid happiness than love could afford. Look
forward to brighter days. Hitherto you have found me almost indifferent
to your sorrows; you shall henceforward find me all zeal and solicitude
to alleviate them, and eager to share with you every grief or cause of
suffering, whether of body or of mind."

At this moment a servant, throwing open the folding doors, announced:

"His Highness the Grand Duke of Gerolstein."

M. d'Harville started; then, by a powerful effort, recovering his
self-command, he advanced to meet his visitor.

"I am singularly fortunate, madame," said Rodolph, approaching Clemence,
"to find you at home to-night; and I am still more delighted with my
good fortune, since it procures me the pleasure of meeting you, also, my
dear Albert," continued he, turning to the marquis, and shaking him
cordially by the hand.

"It is, indeed, some time since I have had the honour of paying my
respects to your royal highness."

"If the truth must be spoken, my dear Albert," said the prince,
smilingly, "you are somewhat platonic in your friendships, and, relying
on the certain attachment of your friends, care very little about either
giving or receiving any outward proof of affection."

By a breach of etiquette, which somewhat annoyed Madame d'Harville, a
servant here entered the room with a letter for the marquis. It was the
anonymous epistle of Sarah, accusing Rodolph of being the lover of
Madame d'Harville.

The marquis, out of deference for the prince, put away with his hand
the small silver salver presented to him by the servant, saying, in an
undertone:

"Another time,--another time."

"My dear Alb