of which looked out upon the gardens of an adjoining
mansion, where the flowers bloomed brilliantly, and the birds sang
joyously. There he spent almost all the time which was not required
by his official duties. A walk in company with his friend, Maxime de
Brevan; a visit to the theatre, when a particularly fine piece was to
be given; and two or three calls a week at Count Ville-Handry's
house,--these were his sole and certainly very harmless amusements.

"A genuine old maid, that sailor is," said the concierge of the house.

The truth is, that, if Daniel's natural refinement had not kept him
from contact with what Parisians call "pleasure," his ardent love for
Henrietta would have prevented his falling into bad company. A pure,
noble love, such as his, based upon perfect confidence in her to whom
it is given, is quite sufficient to fill up a life; for it makes the
present delightful, and paints the distant horizon of the future in all
the bright colors of the rainbow.

But, the more he loved Henrietta, the more he felt bound to be worthy of
her, and to deserve her affections. He was not ambitious. He had chosen
a profession which he loved. He had a considerable fortune of his own,
and was thus, by his private income and his pay as an officer, secured
against want. What more could he desire? Nothing for himself.

But Henrietta belonged to a great house; she was the daughter of a man
who had filled a high position; she was immensely rich; and, even if he
had married her only with her own fortune, she would have brought him
ten times as much as he had. Daniel did not want Henrietta, on the
blessed day when she should become his own, to have any thing to wish
for or to regret. Hence he worked incessantly, indefatigably, waking up
every morning anew with the determination to make himself one of those
names which weigh more than the oldest parchments, and to win one
of those positions which make a wife as proud as she is fond of her
husband. Fortunately, the times were favorable to his ambition. The
French navy was in a state of transformation; but the marine was as yet
unreformed, waiting, apparently, for the hand of a man of genius.

And why might not he be that man? Supported by his love, he saw nothing
impossible in that thought, and fancied he could overcome all obstacles.

"Do you see that d---- little fellow, there, with his quiet ways?"
said Admiral Penhoel to his young officers. "Well, look at him; he'll
check