y, if you will, reverend sir," she replied gayly. "But methinks
this is a strange scene for one of your solemn vocation."

"The true man," replied the mask, "finds something to interest him in
every scene of life. Wherever men and women assemble in crowds, there
is always an opportunity for counsel and consolation. The pious
pilgrim should console the sad; and are not the saddest hearts found
in the gayest throngs?"

"True, true," replied Leonide, with a deep sigh.

"But you, at least, are happy, lady," said the pilgrim.

"Happy! Could you see my face, you would see a mask more impenetrable
than this velvet one I wear. It is all smiles," she whispered. "But,"
she added, laying her hand on her bosom,--

"'I have a silent sorrow here,
A grief I'll ne'er impart;
It heaves no sigh, it sheds no tear,
But it consumes my heart.'"

"Can it be possible!" cried the pilgrim. "You have the reputation of
being one of the gayest of the Parisian ladies."

"Then you know me not."

"I know you by name, Madame Lioncourt."

"Then you should know that name represents a noble and gallant
heart--the life of my own widowed bosom. You should know that
Lioncourt, the bravest of the brave, the truest of the true, lies in
a nameless grave at Austerlitz, the very spot unknown."

"I too was at Austerlitz," said the pilgrim, in a deep voice.

"You were at Austerlitz!"

"Yes, madame, in the--hussars."

"It was my husband's regiment."

"Yes, madame. I was for a long time supposed to be dead. My comrades
saw me fall, and I was reported for dead. Faith, I came near dying.
But I fell into the hands of some good people, though they were
Austrians, and they took good care of me, and cured my wounds; and
here I am at last."

"Ah! why," exclaimed Madame Lioncourt, "may this not have been the
fate of your colonel? Why may not he too have survived the carnage,
and been preserved in the same manner? His body was never recognized."

"Very possibly Lioncourt may still be living."

"Yet St. Eustache told me he was dead."

"He is a false traitor!" cried the pilgrim. "Leonide!" cried he, with
thrilling emphasis, "you have borne bad news; can you bear good?"

"God will give me strength to bear good tidings," cried the lady.

"Then arm yourself with all your energy," said the stranger.
"Lioncourt lives."

"Lives!" said Leonide, faintly, grasping the arm of the stranger to
support herself from falling.

"Courage, madame