erously now, but a shipwreck may
terminate the voyage."

"Not while I have the helm," said the lady. "Listen to me, Brandon.
You know little of the philosophy of life. To command success, we must
seem to have obtained it. To be rich, we must seem so. You have done
well to follow my advice in one particular. You have taken a very
prominent part in the present presidential canvass. There cannot fail
to be a change of administration, and while you have been making
yourself conspicuous in public, I have been electioneering for you in
private. I have been feasting and petting the men who hold the winning
cards in their hands. It is not for mere ostentation that I have
invited to my _soirees_, the Hon. Mr. A., and Judge B., and Counsellor
C."

"I don't see what you're driving at," said the broker.

"O, of course not. But when you find yourself a _millionnaire_, and
all by the scheming of your wife, perhaps, B., you'd think there was
some wisdom in what you are pleased to call my fashionable follies.
But to make the matter plain--a change of administration occurs--you
are the confidential friend of the secretary of the treasury--your
talents as a financier are duly recognized--you have the management of
the most important loans and contracts--you have four years, perhaps
eight, to flourish in, and your fortune is made."

"Ah!" said the broker, doubtfully.

"If such success attends you, and there can be no doubt of it, how
painful would be your reflections, if you thought that you had
sacrificed your daughter's future in an alliance with a petty trader.
I have arranged a brighter destiny for her--a marriage with a foreign
nobleman."

"I'd rather see her the wife of a Yankee peddler."

"Out upon you!" cried the lady. "I tell you, your opposition will have
little weight, Mr. B. Come to my _soiree_ this evening, and I will
present you to Count Alfred de Roseville, an exile from France for
political offences--only think, B., he was the intimate friend of
Henry V."

"And who vouches for this paragon?"

"Our friend, Auguste."

"_Your_ friend, Auguste, you mean."

"I mean M. Charmant, the friend of the family."

"And what does Julia think of this Phoenix?"

"She adores him."

"Alas! how her gentleness of nature must have been perverted! Well,
well, Maria, in spite of myself, I cannot resolve to humble your
pride, or thwart your schemes. I believe you love me and your
daughter. Yet you are playing a desperate game--