Jean Duroc, who was the first to meet his guest, accosted him with an air of much friendly sympathy. It did him good, he said, to see monsieur looking so well, though he feared (as he pointed to the stick on which Henri leant) that all was not quite right with him yet.

"Mais ça," he added, "c'est un de ces petits malheurs que le bon Dieu nous envoie, de temps en temps, pour nous faire rappeler que c'est lui qui a fait les membres dont nous sommes si fiers."

He then, after the fashion of his class, related how he had once been laid up for six weeks, in consequence of his hatchet having slipped while he was felling a tree in the forest; and having expatiated on that accident, and the resignation with which he had borne it, changed the topic to Monsieur de Gourville's affairs, and informed him that he had been turning over in his mind the subject of the money, and had come to the conclusion that, as it was a matter of some importance, he had fixed upon the conducteur who was to return from Luxembourg on the morrow as the fittest person to take charge of the order on the banker at Liége.

"You can supply me with the means of writing, I suppose ?" said Henri, "for I have only my pencil and sketch-book in my knapsack.""

Jean Duroc smiled. "If it depended," he said, "upon the use I make of them, you have but a poor chance of finding anything fit for the purpose at Champlon. I can employ my hands for any kind of hard labor, to get an honest living, but writing is rather beyond me; I leave that to my daughter. She was taught at the school of the reverend fathers at St. Hubert, and can use her pen as well as any one in this part of the country; it is she who writes for all I require at distant places, so I make no doubt she can furnish you with what is necessary. Time, however, does not press about that, only when it suits the convenience of monsieur he can prepare the letter.

teously, or, it may be, with more sincerity.

Alone, in the midst of the Ardennes, with the lovely girl to whom he had suddenly lost his heart! How could Fate be more propitious to Henri de Gourville? And prudence and forbearance? Ah! they were clean forgotten. When was it ever otherwise?

Throughout that delicious autumn morning, with the bright sun streaming full upon him, Henri rested upon a rustic sort of a bench that was placed beneath the windows outside the auberge, but not to muse in silence on the tranquil beauty of the scene. Like Desdemona in the midst of her "house affairs," the aubergiste's daughter would come and linger near where he sat to listen to what he had to say, which, if not quite so full of moving incidents as the discourse of Othello, had in it matter to her of nearly as much interest. But notwithstanding the charm of the situation, her manner was not so free from restraint as it had been on the previous evening: on the contrary, there was an embarrassment, at moments almost to coldness, in her words, which Henri-who was really doing his best-could not at all account for.

"Antoinette," he said-for he had speedily taken advantage of the privileges of an inn to call her by her Christian name

"I am afraid you must think me a great bavard to talk to you so much about myself, and not have paid you the compliment of asking your own history and that of your father, for though you are almost alone here in the forest, your lives cannot have passed without something to tell of, and-I don't know why, but I can scarcely fancy that Monsieur Duroc has been always an inn-keeper; there is that about him which seems to say he was formerly accustomed to more active pursuits. Am I right in my conjecture ?"

Antoinette's cheek had turned very pale during a part of this address, bnt she recovered herself before Henri had ended his speech, though she answered with some hesitation.

few people come to-to stay with us-that that nothing, you know, can happen." "I don't quite agree with you," said Henri, smiling; now here am I-alto

66

gether unknown to you yesterday, and your guest to-day-feeling myself quite at home with your excellent father and your pretty self. When I go away, perhaps you will tell the next traveller the same story, that nobody comes here."

"When you go away!" exclaimed Antoinette, again turning deadly pale "ah, that indeed is what I want to speak of. You are not able to do so now-your foot still gives you pain ?"

"Mon Dieu!" returned Henri, in a tone of pique, "you do not wish me gone already?"

"No-no,-yes—yes,-oh, what can I say? You may never have so good an opportunity. Why should you wish to remain ?"

"Why, Antoinette? Can you ask that question? Because," he went on rapidly, seizing her hand as he spoke "because, Antoinette, I love you; you must have seen it in my eyes, have known that my lips were trembling to tell it. Yes, beautiful girl, I swear to you that my heart has been filled with your image from the first moment I saw your heavenly face."

"Ah, would to Heaven, monsieur, that you had never seen it! But this will never do. You have said so much, that I, in my turn, must speak. Whatever happens this evening, however friendly my father may appear, be constantly on your guard: above all, drink no more of his wine."

"I cannot understand you, Antoinette. You surely do not mean

The quick jingling of bells was suddenly heard, and a cloud of dust arose from the road that led into the forest.

"It is the diligence from Liége," said Antoinette. "I cannot, I dare not say more;-but be warned."

The diligence came in sight before she had done speaking, and drew up. The conducteur, a tall, spare, sallow man, who looked double his real age, got down and crossed over to the auberge.

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Bonjour, Mam'selle Antoinette," he said: "I saw Monsieur Duroc in the forest just now, close to the new bridge over the Wane, and we walked up the hill together. He told me of a message for Liége. Ah, 'scusez, monsieur, you perhaps are the gentleman who is to send it ?" "I am," replied Henri. "You know Monsieur Hénaux, the banker, in the Rue St. Lambert ?"

"Oh, perfectly monsieur. I often carry

sums of money to his house from Arlon, Marche, and other places. If your letter is ready to-morrow on my return, I will take charge of it and bring back the answer. Good day, sir. Adieu, Mam'selle Antoinette; your father said he should soon be home."

The conducteur then hastily rejoined the diligence, which drove off amid another cloud of dust, and Henri, who was all anxiety to renew the conversation with the aubergiste's daughter, turned round to interrogate her; but she had silently disappeared. He called to her by name, but received no answer, and was left to meditate upon the sudden communication she had made. The adventure in which he was involved was strange and full of mystery. Antoinette's agitation, which so strikingly contrasted with her previous placid manner, was evidently caused by some strong motive.

"It must," he thought, "be a very powerful one to induce her to raise doubts in my mind to the prejudice of her own father! Of what am I to suspect him? A design upon my purse? Her emotion respecting the wine can only mean that, and something of the kind must have happened here before, or why should she warn me against it? Still, if his object was to intoxicate me, he might have tried the experiment last night. Ah, but I forgot: he had already heard me say I was without money. It is true the proposi tion about sending to Liége originated with me. Yet his opposition was very faint, and disappeared entirely before his own suggestion. Yes, I begin to see the matter pretty clearly; he wishes to make me a bird worth plucking. I can quite understand being robbed by an innkeeper; it is their métier to fleece everybody; but this girl seemed in such terror when she spoke, and I remember how pale she grew when I talked of going away. She cannot have been privy to anything worse than robbery! Ma foi! this would make a fine situation for Eugène Sue! I must mind, though, what I am about, for this is an awkward part of the world to be caught in a trap. Ah, here comes Monsieur le bon Dieu' himself, with a hare in his hand and a gun over his shoulder; a braconnier, I suppose, as well as an aubergiste. I am safe, however, for the present, and must look out for the future. Above all he must not perceive that I suspect him."

Accordingly, when John Duroc drew near, after congratulating him on the success of his sport, Henri mentioned having seen the conducteur, and proposed that he should now write to the banker at Liége. The aubergiste was overjoyed that monsieur felt sufficiently recovered to be capable, as he innocently said, of undertaking that labor, and proceeded with alacrity to fetch the writing materials from his daughter's chamber. Henri, who still declared himself very lame, was then assisted by Monsieur Duroc into the salon, and, after a few minutes' consideration, wrote as follows:

"I think I have turned the difficulty," said Henri, after reading what he had written. "Monsieur Duroc can scarcely be so needy a rogue as to be tempted by a paltry two hundred francs to practise against me. That sum appears quite enough for my alleged purpose, and as to whether I have much or little remaining in the bank of M. Hénaux, my worthy host, in case he should take the liberty of peeping into my letter, will not be greatly enlightened. I suppose I must leave that consideration to his honor, as sealing wax does not seem to be amongst the epistolary 'properties' of Mademoiselle Antoi

nette."

With an involuntary sigh, conjured up by her name, Henri then rose, and, taking his sketch-book, limped out of the salon to add the exterior of the auberge—all unattractive as it was, in an artistical point of view-to his collection. He was met at the door by Monsieur Duroc, to whom he gave the letter, and who, after again promising to place it in the hands of the conducteur, insisted on being permitted to support him to the spot where he proposed to make the sketch, declaring at the same time that monsieur did his humble abode far too much honor. The aubergiste then returned to the house to assist, he said, in preparing dinner. What else he did may also be briefly told.

His first proceeding was to open the letter, and, although he professed to be no great clerk, he very soon mastered its contents.

"Notre voyageur," he muttered, "est assez fin: cependant, il saura un de ces jours qu'il y en a de plus rusés que lui.”

He then gave a glance at the spot where Henri was seated, and observing that he was closely occupied with his drawing, went up-stairs to the room in which the young man had slept. Taking down Henri's knapsack from the peg where it hung, he immediately began to examine it. A pocket-book met his view, in which were some letters. He glanced hastily at the superscriptions, and fixing upon one which bore the Paris post-mark, and was addressed to Monsieur de Gourville at Mézières, tore it open and rapidly read it through. "Three thousand francs," he exclaimed; "that is something worth having. Mon bon monsieur, nous allons faire un petit changement à votre insu;" saying which, he quickly replaced the letter in the pocket-book, repacked the knapsack, restored it to its place, and descended to the lower part of the house in search of his daughter. He found her standing before one of the windows of the auberge that looked out upon the road.

"Ma fille," he said, "bring those writing things into my own apartment; I have something for you to do."

Antoinette obeyed, and followed her father into a small room at the back of the house, where she remained closeted with him for half an hour. At the expiration of that time they both came out again. The bright eyes of Antoinette were dimmed with tears, and the wellformed mouth of Jean Duroc wore not the most amiable expression.

III.

Ir wanted about half an hour to sunset, and Henri de Gourville was just putting the finishing touch to his sketch when a miller, with a sack of flour hanging across the loins of his horse, rode up to the auberge and inquired for Monsieur Duroc. A miller is a man who has generally a full budget of news to deliver wherever he goes, and the aubergiste having asked him in, he fastened the rein of his animal to a hook in the door-post, and willingly obeyed the invitation.

It would seem that for some such opportunity as this Antoinette had been waiting, for no sooner were the miller and her father seated to discuss the news over a chopine of wine, than, quietly stealing out of the house, she crept to a clump of trees on one side, from whence she was able to attract Monsieur de Gourville's attention without being overheard within. He approached her with a far quicker step than a sprained ankle usually permits, and observing the agitation she was in, eagerly demanded the cause. "It concerns yourself," she said, "and narrowly. I have already warned you against my father; I have more reason than ever to do so now. You recollect the letter you gave him when you left the house ?"

"Certainly. What of it ?"

"Since than I have been shut up with him in his private room, when he compelled me, in spite of all the objections I made, to rewrite that letter. There are many acts of connivance on my part which I repent, though till this hour I never guessed to what they might extend. At present I tremble to think I comprehend their entire wickedness. My father has resolved to possess himself of all the money which the banker at Liége has received for you. He has learnt, by some means, how much that is. Three thousand francs is the sum. My father has a terrible power at his will. It was vain for me to resist: I did what he commanded. The letter is again written, but more briefly. It tells M. Hénaux to send by the bearer the whole of the value, naming the amount, which he had for you from Paris. But this is not all. I could read a darker purpose in his countenance. To rob you is not- -"Antoinette gasped for breath-" is not enough!"

"Gracious Heavens!" exclaimed Henri, "what villainy! But I can resist it. Happily, at this moment, a new comer is here, who shall aid me to arrest this misérable."

"Beware of what you do!" returned Antoinette, laying her hand on his arm. "That new comer is no stranger here. He knows more, I fear, of my father's secrets than even I suspect. That I should call him my father! Listen patiently to what more I have to say, which, indeed, must be quickly said. I now perceive to what end other travellers have been stupefied by his wine. At first I laughed at it as a joke of which I could not guess the

meaning. But one day my father took out a purse which I remembered having seen in the hand of one of these travellers a short time before. I spoke of it, and he said the auberge was but a poor thing by itself. I then understood that a robbery had taken place, and I cried— bitterly. My father promised me gold ear-rings if I would dry my tears and forget what had happened. Alas! I agreed. That was my first fault: others followed. I degraded myself to wear fine clothes. But one thing always caused me great surprise. After the travellers went to bed I saw them no more. When I asked what had become of them, my father always replied that they went away very early, and I did not dare to question him further. Ah! but now it is too clear-they never went at all!"

She paused for a moment to recover from her emotion, while Henri remained perfectly speechless.

"It is," she went on, "to save you from their fate-I care not at what cost to others—that I am here. My father's purposes respecting your money being effected, I foresee what will follow. He will have recourse to his wine. Do not refuse what he offers. I have the means of rendering the attempt harmless. You must feign to be overcome by that which you shall be given to drink, but let it only appear by very slow degrees. This will give time for what else I meditate for your rescue. Whichever way we turn there is peril. If you were to offer a show of resistance at present, or let it appear that you entertained any suspicion, it would be fatal. Only have courage-as I must have-and great courage too-for it is my father I sacrifice."

She hurried away, and entered the house by the side-door from whence she had issued, leaving Henri de Gourville in no very enviable state of mind. A murderer for his host, and Antoinette the daughter of such a man, not altogether guiltless; his own danger, too, so near! It was the latter circumstance, however, which roused him.

Apparently the conversation between. Jean Duroc and his friend had not ended without a bargain, for the latter came out of the auberge, unloaded his beast, and carried the flour inside: there was then a somewhat boisterous leave-taking at the door, and the miller rode off, observing as he did so that he should call for his sack

on his way home that night, if he had time. Monsieur Duroc then came up to Henri, who had returned to his old place, and seeing him about to close his book, begged permission to see the sketch.

"It was wonderful," he said. "He never could comprehend how such things were done, but the bon Dieu bestowed abilities wherever he thought fit, and it was not for man to question his will. If he might ask so great a favor, it would be that monsieur would kindly make him a copy of the drawing next day, that he might hang it up in his salon as a perpetual remembrance of monsieur's visit to Champlon-so fortunate for him. But he came to announce that dinner was quite ready. Might he offer his arm across the road?" This politeness Henri declined, for although he had made up his mind to follow Antoinette's instructions as far as possible, he could not at once bring himself to walk arm in arm with the man who, he had reason to believe, intended to send him out of the world that very evening. "He could lean upon his stick," he said; and notwithstanding the "desespoir" of Monsieur Duroc, he persisted in doing so. The meal was served with even more attention to Henri's comfort than on the previous night. "They were quite unprepared yesterday," the aubergiste said, "for a guest of monsieur's distinction, and his visit to the farm that morning was chiefly to see what he could add to the bill of fare. Luckily he had met with some success, and he hoped monsieur would do justice to his efforts. Monsieur liked the vin de Bordeaux of yesterday? It was good, no doubt, but he had even better, which he trusted monsieur would do him the honor to taste. Ah, he was charmed to think that monsieur condescended to praise his wine!"

This speech was the herald of a certain cobwebbed bottle which he now produced. Having uncorked it, he placed it on the table beside Henri, pronouncing it to be d'un fameux crû. At that moment Antoinette, who had followed her father into the salon suddenly exclaimed,

"Is that the noise of horses' feet? The miller, perhaps, left something behind."

The aubergiste ran to the window to look out, and quick as thought Antoinette exchanged the bottle on the table for one exactly like it which she drew from beneath her apron, and with one rapid sign to Henri turned towards the door.

"There is no one there," said Jean Duroc, coming away from the window. "Ah, je me suis trompée donc," replied Antoinette, quietly, as she quitted the

room.

"It is, indeed, excellent wine," said Henri, setting down his glass, which he had purposely filled at that moment to withdraw Monsieur Duroc's attention from his daughter. "So good, that I hope you will presently assist me in drinking it."

"Monsieur," replied the aubergiste, “I should be the happiest person in existence if I durst accept the honor I propose; but, unfortunately, I am forbidden to touch wine. It always causes me a rush of blood to the head, and for three years past I have never tasted any thing but waternot even a glass of bière de Louvain."

"You will oblige me then to make a long evening over this bottle," said Henri, for it certainly ought not to go away empty."

"It will do you all the good in the world, monsieur," returned the aubergiste; "to-morrow you will be quite a different person."

Henri looked steadfastly at his host, but there was not the slightest indication of an arrière-pensée in his words. His countenance was as calm as if he had been offering up a prayer for his guest's health. Antoinette now re-entered the room to remove the remains of the dinner, and took occasion to say in Henri's hearing:

"I heard to-day, mon père, that the wife of François, the wood-cutter of La Fosse, who conducted monsieur here last night, is very ill. I must go and see her this evening. I can have the grey horse, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes, my child; there is nothing to prevent that: you will be the shorter time gone. If we have anything will do the poor thing good, do not hesitate to take it with you. I would go myself, only women understand each other's ailments best. It is our duty, monsieur, is it not, to aid the poor as far as our means permit us? Le bon Dieu intended that when he assigned to every one his portion."

Having delivered himself of this pious sentiment, the aubergiste withdrew with his daughter.

It was a great relief to Henri to be once more alone, that he might consider the danger of his position, and prepare, as well as he could, to meet it. A quick