d the Seigneur, at the same time
rising, and moving towards the door of the inner room, that had
been left ajar by the rude Seraphine, in her indignant exit. Pushing
it slowly open, he beheld Amanda, with half-averted form, seated
upon a chair, her head bowed, but her face wearing an expression
of proud serenity mixed with grief. His first impulse was to retire;
but pity, respect, admiration, and even awe, bound him to the spot,
and he remained gazing till curiosity and commiseration alike
combined to induce him to address a figure so incongruous with that
mean place, and whose majestic sorrow seemed too sacred for
interruption.

"Young lady, by your leave; pray pardon me; but can a stranger be
of service to you?" he at length enquired.

Amanda looked upward. "Oh, if you are, as you seem to be, a gentleman,
do not leave me;" she exclaimed beseechingly, as she slowly rose
and approached him: "do not leave me, but convey me back to
Stillyside, from whence I have been stolen by that man. Oh, sir,
you do not know with what a load of thanks its owner will repay
you, should you rescue me from this base durance."

The seigneur looked enquiringly at Samson, but the latter seemed
more disposed to wait to see how the seigneur regarded the appeal,
than to reply to the tacit question.

"Why have you been brought hither, and against your will?" resumed
the seigneur, respectfully.

"I am as yet ignorant of the cause;" she answered: "I do not know,
I cannot divine, why I am here a prisoner."

"She does know;" fiercely interrupted the sobbing Seraphine, "She
does, she does," she reiterated, and seemed disposed to fly at her
tooth and nail. "She knows she is a bold and wicked creature,--she,
she, she; she is a, a,--I don't know what she is;" she cried, spurting
out the last words in a paroxysm of sorrow and vexation, and flung
herself into a chair sobbing hysterically, with toilet and temper
alike disordered.

"Calm yourself, Seraphine," said the Seigneur.

"Yes, calm thyself, girl," echoed the ponderous Samson. "Why, what
a wild duck thou art, sister, flapping and quacking because an
unshotted barrel has been fired at thee. She is an unshotted gun,
she has no name; and what is a thing without a name? nothing: for
if it were something it would have been called something. What
thing is there--that is a thing--that has not got what a pudding
has? a name," and he laughed till his sides shook, and drawing a
pouch from his pocket