The Face in the Glass


MY name is Charlotte Alixe La Baume de Lascours Carteret. I was born and educated in France, at a chateau belonging to my mother’s family in the province of Bain Le Duc, where the De Lascours family once had large possessions. I am, however, of a noble English family on my father’s side, and the heiress of an immense estate. Both my parents died during my infancy ; and my father bequeathed me to the care of his nephew, Mr. Huntingdon, with the proviso that I was never to marry without his consent, and was not to go to England until I had attained my eighteenth year. I lived, therefore, in the chateau with my aunt, Madame de Renneville, and the Abbée Renauld, to whom my guardian (Mr. Huntingdon) had confided my education.

I had no relations in the world except my aunt and this English cousin, who was the son of my father’s only and elder brother. I never saw him during my childhood, nor did my aunt; and, as he never held any communication whatever with either of us, addressing the only letters he ever wrote to our avocat in Paris, M. Baudet, he scarcely seemed to me a real personage, or one who possessed so strong a claim upon me as that with which our relationship and my father’s commands had invested him.

Life had gone on very happily with me for fourteen years, — very happily, and very quietly also; and so little was said to me about my English possessions and my English guardian, that I had almost forgotten the existence of any ties out of France, when, on my fourteenth birthday, an event occurred which, for the first time, made me feel how strong they were.

I had been spending the day (a lovely one in the latter part of October) in the forest, at some distance from the chateau, and was returning late in the afternoon, laden with nuts, pebbles, wild-flowers, and other rural treasures, when I was met by a servant, who had come to tell me that my aunt desired my presence, and that of M. l’Abbé (who was with me) in the drawing-room. I went thither hastily, and with some curiosity. My aunt was seated in her chair by the fire ; a table covered with parchments and writing materials stood before her, and on the opposite side of the fireplace, with his weazen face and sharp eyes directed to the door, was a little old gentleman, whom I at once supposed to be M. Baudet.

“ This,” said my aunt, as I approached her, “ is Mademoiselle Carteret. Charlotte, you remember M. Baudet, — do you not? ”

I courtesied to M. Baudet, and sat down, wondering very much what he could possibly have to say to me. My aunt continued : —

“You must reply, my dear, to all the questions put to you by M. Baudet.” M. Baudet now sat down. “It appears, Mademoiselle,” said he, “ that your cousin and guardian, M. Huntingdon, has had a letter in his possession ever since the death of Monsieur your father, which, in accordance with certain instructions, he was to open on the first day of the month in which you would attain your fourteenth year. M. Huntingdon accordingly opened it on that day, and found it to contain, among sundry business charges with which I will not trouble you, an especial command that you should be kept absolutely secluded from all society until M. Huntingdon should see fit to present you. Another command is that you are never to see or converse with any gentlemen except myself, M. l’Abbé, and such reverend fathers as you may have to consult in regard to your spiritual welfare, until M. Huntingdon presents to you men of your own rank. Now, Mademoiselle, I am directed by M. Huntingdon to ask you certain questions to which you will, if you please, reply without fear.”

He rose, and, taking from the hand of M. 1’Abbé a copy of the Gospels, extended it to me. I clasped it in my hands, and waited for the questions.

“ Mademoiselle, recollect, if you please, that you are answering before your God. Have you passed your entire life in this chateau ?”

“ Yes, Monsieur.”

“ Have any visitors ever been resident here ? ”

“ No, Monsieur.”

“ Have you ever had any playmates of your own age ? ”

“ No, Monsieur.”

“ Have your only companions been Madame de Renneville, M. l’Abbé, and your bonne? ”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“ Have any young gentlemen ever been presented to you?”

“ No, Monsieur.”

“ Do you, Mademoiselle, know any gentlemen by sight or otherwise ?”

“ No, Monsieur.”

“ That is enough, Mademoiselle ; resume your seat.”

I sat down.

“ Now, Mademoiselle,” said M. Baudet, rustling the papers which lay on the table, and finally selecting one, “ I am about to put to you a very important question, and that is whether you will so far conform to the wishes of Monsieur your father as to sign this paper, which has been drawn up by M. Huntingdon, and which contains a promise on your part never, voluntarily or otherwise, to accept the attentions of any gentleman, or to permit the present seclusion of your life to be in any way broken in upon, until you are released from your pledge by M. Huntingdon himself. I am also charged with a letter from M. Huntingdon, Mademoiselle, enclosing one from Monsieur your father, which it seems he wrote and delivered into M. Huntingdon’s keeping shortly before his death.” Saying this, he put his hand into the pocket of his coat, and, after some difficulty, selected from thence a thick packet, with armorial bearings on the seal.

“Pour vous, Mademoiselle,” said he, bowing.

I opened the letter, — my first, — and read: —


M. Baudet, your solicitor, will acquaint you with the peculiar and painful nature of the subject upon which I am reluctantly compelled to address you. You are aware that I, then a lad of eighteen, had the melancholy and inestimable privilege of closing my uncle’s eyes in death. It was but a few moments before he died, and shortly after the news of your birth reached him, that he declared his intention of making me your guardian when I should come of age, and wrote, with the last effort of his failing strength, two letters, — one addressed to, and to be opened by, me when you should have attained your fourteenth year ; the other, and the last, to yourself, with the request that I would retain it in my possession until I opened and read my own. Having done so, I have arrived at a very definite idea of my duty, which is to forward to you the enclosed epistle, and to express to you my regrets that your dear father’s anxiety on your account should have led him to place me in a position which is so painful to myself, and which can scarcely be less so to you. Yet I should be false to my trust were I to conceal from you the fact that I hold myself bound to fulfil his injunctions to the letter; and, in the event of your declining to comply with the demands which M. Baudet will make of you in my name, I shall be compelled unwillingly, but also unhesitatingly, to resort to legal measures to secure your acquiescence. I am, of course, aware that the latter alternative will not be forced upon me by a Carteret, and that your reverence for the memory of your parents, and the confidence which I trust you feel in my devotion to your interests, will induce you to affix your signature to the paper in M. Baudet’s possession. I ought further to add, that I am fully aware of the fidelity with which Madame de Renneville has observed the instructions of your late father in regard to your education ; and that, although at so great a distance, I have been, and am, so perfectly informed of your mode of life, that the questions which M. Baudet will put to you by my direction are a mere form, and no more. It is otherwise with the paper which he will submit for your signature.

I am, my dear Charlotte, Your attached cousin, HARRINGTON CARTERET HUNTINGDON.

To Mademoiselle de Lascours Carteret, Chateau Lascours, Province Bain le Duc.

I read this letter through, once, twice, and was folding it up, when my eye fell upon that of my father, which lay unopened in my lap. The ink in which it was superscribed was faded, the paper yellow with age, and a strange chill crept through my heart as my fingers trembled on the seal. That father whose face I had never seen, whose voice I had never heard, whose very existence seemed to me a dream, was to speak to me now from his far-off grave. I opened it. It was dated at Castle Carteret on the 10th of November, 17—, and was written in a trembling irregular hand. It consisted of onlythree lines : —


Obey the wishes of your cousin, Harrington Carteret Huntingdon, in all things. Never deviate from his commands ; if you do, I cannot rest in my grave.

Your father,


I rose, when I had finished reading this letter, and walked to the window. The setting sun bathed the ruined wing of the chateau, which was opposite, and the woods, in a golden glow. A few late flowers were blooming in the court, a brown bee hovering over them, and, a little beyond, my greyhounds were gayly gambolling. I looked at this pretty, peaceful scene through the rising tears which filled my eyes, looked without seeing it then, though I have remembered it ever since, as I suppose the sailor who goes down among the sea waves would, if there were remembrance in death, recall, even in his watery grave, every blade of grass on the hillock which he last saw. I stood there long, weeping silently, and with an overpowering dread of the fate which seemed closing round me, and from which I saw no escape. I felt all this then without at all defining my sensations ; for I was too young, and had led too happy and sheltered a life, to apprehend the possibility of all that awaited me. I never dreamed, either, of refusing my signature to the paper which M. Baudet held in his hand, for I knew that there was no alternative for me ; but I wanted to delay the decisive moment, and therefore I continued to weep.


BUT I could not linger long; already the gates of childhood were closing behind me, already its joyous carelessness had faded from my heart; and as I obeyed my aunt’s summons, and turned reluctantly from the window, I took the first step to meet my doom. M. Baudet looked up as I approached the fireplace.

“Well, Mademoiselle,” said he, dryly, “are you prepared to hear the paper ? ”

“ I must listen to it, I suppose,” said I, bitterly.

“It certainly is necessary that you should, Mademoiselle,” and he read it.

I cannot now remember how it was worded, although it was in substance what my father had distinctly stated in his letter, and what Mr. Huntingdon had hinted in his, and comprised a very careful, minute, and complete renunciation of my will in favor of that of my guardian, and made me a prisoner within the chateau and grounds of Lascours. When he had finished reading, M. Baudet laid it before me.

“ Are you prepared to sign it, Mademoiselle?” said he.

I looked at my aunt, but her face was averted. She was gazing gloomily into the fire.

“ I suppose I must sign it,” said I, bursting into fresh tears as I took up the pen ; “ but I think papa was very cruel, and I hate my cousin Huntingdon.”

As soon as I had signed it, M. Baudet gathered up his papers, summoned his carriage, took a ceremonious leave of my aunt, M. l’Abbé, and myself, and departed. Many years passed by before I again saw him. When he had departed, my aunt went to her oratory, M.l’Abbé to the chapel, and I ran into the court, and summoned my greyhounds for a game of play before the night closed in.

From that day my life was changed. Secluded I had always been, but free as air; now I was so no longer; my guardian’s commands, my dead father’s wishes, closed me in day by day. Subtle and strong, — strong as death, — my general promise seemed to apply to every action of my life. I seemed to have lost, all in a moment, the feelings, the hopes, the happiness of childhood ; and, as was natural, I grew restless, irritable, and morbid.

No captive pining in his cell, no slave toiling in the galleys, ever longed for liberty as I did. I watched the peasants at their work, the shepherds on the hillside, the very beggars at the door, with bitter envy and pain ; and thus in solitude, weariness, and restlessness my young years dragged slowly on. No sharp pain tortured, no tangible grief oppressed me ; but I would have welcomed even an agony if it would have broken in upon the monotony of my life, — a life which admitted of no hope since my guardian’s control might extend to its end. Miserable days those were, — days in which I learned much of woe, but they were bright compared with what has passed since. I have heard of the torture which was inflicted in ancient times by letting water fall drop by drop on the victim’s head ; I have felt that. The chateau where we lived was ancient and beautiful, the lands were wide, and I was free to wander through them, — everything was mine but liberty; and that liberty seemed insensibly to remove itself further and further from me. Day by day the choking sense of stagnation increased. Day by day, side by side with the undefined dread of my guardian, grew the burning wish to propitiate one who held such boundless power over me ; yet sometimes, when I thought of his coming, I mounted the tower, and looked out upon the valley and far distant hills, and wished, and longed, and almost determined, to leave name and fame and wealth behind me, and be a beggar, if need be, but free ; and then like a gloomy refrain came my father’s warning, “ Never deviate from his commands ; if you do, I cannot rest in my grave.” I dared not violate his last sleep, and so I waited and endured.

No one can have an idea of the deep solitude of those days ; no visitors ever came near us ; the old servants went noiselessly about the house ; it seemed to me, at times, as if the very birds sang lower since that fatal day when M. Baudet took away my freedom.

At the close of my eighteenth year M. 1’Abbé died, and was succeeded by Father Romano, — an old and devout Italian priest whom I had known all my life. His age and infirmities prevented his accompanying me as regularly in my walks as M. l’Abbé had done, and left me, therefore, something like freedom, though I was still a prisoner within the grounds immediately surrounding the chateau.

So quietly and wearily the years crept on until the summer of 17—, in the autumn of which year I was to complete my twenty-first year. The 30th of August was my aunt’s féte, and it had always been my custom to decorate her oratory with flowers. I therefore went out quite early in the day to gather them, and was returning, laden with them, when I was attracted by some climbing roses which grew in the avenue. I could not reach them, however, and, after several futile efforts, pursued my way to a gate which led into another part of the grounds. Here I met with another disappointment, as the gate resisted all my attempts to open it; and I was just turning away, when a hand appeared from behind me, and threw it open. I turned hastily.

Behind me stood a tall and noblelooking man, whose air and dress alike indicated his high rank. With one hand he removed his hat; the other was full of wild roses.

“ Pardon, Mademoiselle,” said he, in good French, but with a slight foreign accent; “ I have alarmed you, I fear, but it was impossible to resist coming to your assistance.”

I faltered out some confused thanks.

The stranger smiled slightly, as he replied: “Indeed, I must confess to having been a spy upon your movement for some moments, Mademoiselle. I had but just entered the park, hoping to see this fine old chateau, when I beheld you in the avenue, seeking to gather some roses. I ventured to steal some in your behalf; will you do me the honor to accept them ? ”

I hesitated a moment, but then took them from his outstretched hand.

“ Allow me to suggest, Mademoiselle,” he continued, “that you at once add them to your wreath. These wild roses fade quickly, and are already drooping.”

I looked down at my flowers, and, while I was wavering between the desire to go and the equally strong desire to stay, he had taken the basket from my hand, had placed me on the bank, and stood before me, holding my flowers. As I fastened them one by one into my wreath, I took several furtive glances at the stranger’s face. He was still uncovered, and his blond hair — not golden, or flaxen, but blond — was closely cut, and fell in one large wave across his forehead. His complexion was fair and pale, his features perfectly regular, his eyes a clear, cold blue. A calm, relentless, cruel face it was; but I did not see that then. I thought only how tall, how graceful, and handsome he was, as I put the last rose in my wreath, and turned to go.

“ Will Mademoiselle grant me a favor?” said the soft voice again, as he held the gate open for me.

“If I can, Monsieur,” said I, pausing.

“ Mademoiselle has already granted me the honor of plucking some roses for her wreath ; will she grant me the still greater honor of beholding it upon her head ? ”

My straw hat was hanging from my neck by the strings, and, as I began involuntarily to loosen them, with a bow and a “Permit me,” he lifted my wreath, and dropped it lightly on my head. I felt myself blush deeply as I met his glance of admiration, and longed to escape from it, but still lingered in spite of it.

“ Thanks, Mademoiselle,” said he, with a profound bow. “ I have seen several queens, but none so lovely as the queen of the Chateau Lascours.”

“ I must go now, I think,” said I, more embarrassed than ever. “ Adieu, Monsieur.”

“ Au revoir only, I hope, Mademoiselle,” said he, with a slight smile ; but he made no further effort to detain me, and I returned to the chateau, dwelling all the way upon this strange, exciting, and to me delightful, interview. I spent most of the morning in arranging my flowers, and then read to my aunt until it was time to dress for dinner. After I was dressed, I went, as I usually did, to the window looking into the court; and, as I stood there, I saw a travelling-carriage, laden with luggage, drive in, and stop at the grand entrance. M. Baudet— I recognized him instantly — alighted ; and, with a miserable feeling of terror and dread, I turned away from the window.

A few moments after, my aunt’s maid entered. “ Dinner is deferred an hour, Mademoiselle, and Madame begs that you will put on your white muslin and your pearls, and come as soon as possible to the drawing-room ; M. Baudet is here, and he remains to-day for dinner.”

All the while Jeannette was dressing me I pondered upon the means of concealing the morning’s interview from M. Baudet; and it was with the question still undecided that I at length descended, and entered the drawingroom.

“ You remember Mademoiselle Carteret,— do you not, M. Baudet?” said my aunt, as I paused before him and courtesied.

“ Mademoiselle has become very beautiful since I last had the pleasure of beholding her,” said he, bowing, and handing me a chair ; and, as I sat down, he added, “ Before we go to dinner, Mademoiselle, I must ask you a few questions.”

“ Yes, Monsieur,” said I, in a low voice.

“ We will then proceed to business,” he answered, drawing a paper from his pocket as he spoke. “ This, you perceive, Mademoiselle, is the paper signed by your own hand,” he continued, turning it over so that I could see the signature.

“ Yes, Monsieur.”

“You remember the several injunctions contained in this paper, Mademoiselle ? ”

“ Yes, Monsieur.”

“ You have fulfilled your promises, Mademoiselle, to the letter?”

“Yes, Monsieur,” said I ; a burning blush rising to my cheeks as I spoke.

“ No visitors have been received at the chateau ? ”

“ None, Monsieur.”

“ You have confined your walks to the limits of the estate, Mademoiselle?”

“ Yes, Monsieur.”

“Your acquaintances are confined to Madame de Renneville, Father Romano, and myself? ”

“Yes, Monsieur.” I rose from my seat as I said this, for I felt an actual oppression at my heart, and as if the atmosphere were stifling ; and I dreaded inexpressibly any reference to my morning’s adventure.

“ Pardon, Mademoiselle,” said M. Baudet, fixing his small keen eyes upon me, as if he would read to my very soul, “ I have yet a few questions to ask before I shall have fulfilled the instructions of M. Huntingdon.”

“ I detest the name of Mr. Huntingdon,” said I, in a burst of anger. “ I think he is very cruel, and you too, M. Baudet.”

“ Calm yourself, Charlotte, I entreat you,” said my aunt, hastily. “ Such a display of temper may result in making you even more unhappy than you are at present.”

“ I cannot be so,” said I, sullenly; “ I am a slave.”

“ Mademoiselle,” interrupted M. Baudet, “ I must still trouble you for a moment.”

I looked at him. I longed to defy him, to leave him ; but I dared do neither, and I remained silent.

“ My questions have so far been answered satisfactorily. I have but one more,” he continued : “ Are you, Mademoiselle, prepared to swear that you have never seen, spoken to, or been addressed by any man of your own rank ? ”

I dared not reply to this ; I dared not tell the truth, and I still less dared to tell a lie.

“Well, Mademoiselle,” said M. Baudet, after a moment’s pause, “ you cannot answer that question? You have violated that part of your agreement ? ”

I glanced up for some sign of relenting in his face, and almost involuntarily faltered out: “No, Monsieur; I have not.”

M. Baudet hesitated. “Are you quite sure, Mademoiselle ? Shall I not repeat my question in a different form ? ”

“ No,” said I, resolutely, “ I have no other answer to give.”

“This then is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, Mademoiselle ? You are prepared to swear that it is so ? ”

“ Yes,” stammered I, almost inaudibly.

“ You are quite sure, Mademoiselle ? ” said M. Baudet, regarding me doubtfully. “ I regret to say that I — ”

“ M. Baudet, we will suspend any further questioning,” said a clear and low voice behind me. “ Mademoiselle has already been sufficiently annoyed, and for any violation of her agreement I alone am responsible.”

I recognized those musical tones, that slight foreign accent; and as I turned, the blood rushing over my face and neck, I saw, through the tears of shame and mortification which filled my eyes, the gentleman whom I had met in the morning. He had exchanged his travelling-suit of gray cloth for evening dress, but still wore a wild rosebud in his button-hole. Alarmed and confounded, believing not only that my lie was discovered, and the violation of my agreement known, but that some dreadful punishment would follow, I stood silent and motionless.

The stranger had already bowed to my aunt, and kissed her hand. He now turned to M. Baudet, saying, “Will you present me to my ward ? ”

“Mademoiselle Carteret,” said M. Baudet, advancing, “ I have the honor to present to you your cousin and guardian, M. Huntingdon.”

“ Pardon me,” said Mr. Huntingdon, drawing my arm within his, and leading me to a window at the farther end of the drawing-room,—“pardon me, my fair cousin, the annoyance I have caused you. As for me, I cannot feel otherwise than flattered by your reception of me this morning, nor can I regret that I myself proved stronger than my own commands.”

“You must believe, Mr. Huntingdon,” said I, haughtily, “that I only yield obedience to those commands as to my father’s.”

“I am but too happy to find that you so entirely understand me,” said he, bowing; “ I cannot tell you, Charlotte, how much I have feared lest your natural dislike to orders so stringent should have led you to blame me only; I have been your fellow-sufferer, I assure you.”

The conversation was most unpleasant to me, and I was perversely resolved not to continue it. I therefore rose, and leaned out of the window. Mr. Huntingdon, bending over me, gazed out also. How I longed to escape from him ! but as I put my hand on the window, intending to step out on the terrace, he spoke.

“A lovely night indeed, Charlotte; you are still agitated, I see, and I know the surprise of seeing me must have been great ; you need a turn on the terrace, and I am never weary of breathing the soft air of your native France. Come.” He pushed back the window as he spoke, and offered his arm. What I indeed most wished was to escape from his presence ; but I took his arm, and walked out into the calm starlit night.

He did not speak at first, and after several moments I looked up at him. We were standing at the end of the terrace then, and the silver light of the moon shone full upon his pale face and clearly chiselled lineaments. How cold they were ! How like a statue he stood, his relentless blue eyes looking straight before him !

“ Mr. Huntingdon,” said I, at length, " I — ”

“ Speak in English,” said he, looking at me with a smile. “ You look altogether away from England, Charlotte; and yet your future life lies there ; and do you call me Mr. Huntingdon ? You do not recognize me as a cousin, it seems, and — ” he paused for a moment, and then added, “ your father’s dearest friend, you know.”

“ I cannot accustom myself to call you — ”

“ Harrington ? It was your father’s name, Charlotte. No,” he added as I made a movement to re-enter the drawing-room, “you must not enter, ma belle cousine, until you have granted me this favor.”

“And suppose I do not choose to grant it ? ” I replied.

“ In that case I must avail myself of the authority vested in me, and remind you that I am your guardian, and — ”

“ That is unnecessary,” said I, coldly. “ I have not been a prisoner for so many years in vain. I must call you Harrington, since you wish it.”

“ Let us take another turn,” said Mr. Huntingdon, again offering his arm. Then, fixing his eyes on me, he said, “ I have at least been gratified, Charlotte, by seeing that that imprisonment has told so little on you that you are able to receive strangers with such singular openness and ease.”

“ Indeed, indeed,” said I, bursting into tears, — “indeed, it was the first time.”

A smile, beautiful as contemptuous, curled his finely chiselled lips as he answered, “ O, you need not tell me that; I am perfectly aware of that fact, Charlotte.”

“ You believe me, — do you not ? ” said I, looking up.

“ Do I believe you ? ” said he ; “ certainly I believe you, but your assurance was unnecessary; I was previously perfectly well informed of the truth of what you say.”

A shudder passed over me as he said this,—just such an involuntary, undefined feeling of dread as I had experienced when I read his first letter years before.

“You are not angry, Harrington?” I persisted.

“ I am never angry,” he answered, coldly ; “ and this I can promise, Charlotte, that you will never make me so.”

He raised the window as he spoke, and admitted me into the drawing-room just as dinner was announced. A11 through dinner he addressed his conversation principally to me, invariably speaking in English.

I cannot describe the peculiar fascination of his quiet manner, for it was fascinating ; nor can I explain the immediate control he acquired over all who approached him. It was magnetism, I suppose, which subdued even M. Baudet, who in his presence was no longer his quick and keen self, but silent, and, if I may so express it, tarnished.

When my aunt and I were in the drawing-room alone again, and I sat at my embroidery-frame, I saw still before me the face of my cousin, his soft musical tones still vibrated on my ear, and I seemed still to breathe the delicate perfume which his dress exhaled. At length I heard a rustle in the diningroom, and, a moment after, the gentlemen entered. Mr. Huntingdon came first; and, as he approached me, I again experienced the strange sensation of the morning,—a sort of terror or repulsion which prompted me to avoid, and an attraction which drew me toward him. I rose to meet him, however, with a question which had been hovering on my lips ever since he had made himself known.

“ Harrington ! ” I began.

“ You wish to ask me why I accosted you in the park this morning, instead of waiting until the evening, and then presenting myself in form ? ”

“ I did,”said I,astonished ; “but — ”

“The answer, Charlotte. I am not yet prepared to give, although the day is not far distant when I may do so.”

There was something in his manner which repelled any further questioning, and I sat quietly down to my embroidery.

“ Ah, Mademoiselle ! ” said M. Baudet, as he came and bent over me, “ your work is really superb ; and you are so diligent that I doubt not that, if I should have the happiness of coming to Lascours in December, I should find that you had completed several pieces like that.”

“ Mademoiselle Carteret will not be at Lascours next December,” said Mr. Huntingdon, calmly; “she will be in England at that time.”

Now, just before, I had told my aunt that I should not go to England ; but I only locked up in his face, and said, “ When am I to go ? ”

“ Very shortly,” he replied, as he walked away, and sat down by my aunt. I noticed that she asked him no questions about my departure for England. Although he had been so short a time at Lascours, he was already felt to be absolute. He did not again address me until the close of the evening, when he approached me, and, raising my hand to his lips, said, “ We part tonight, Charlotte, for some time; when I next return, it will be to conduct you to England. Meanwhile bear a little longer with your father’s commands.”

“I will, indeed,” said I ; “but will you not tell me when you will return ? ”

“ I cannot tell you at present; but your affairs will be in perfect train by that time, — indeed, they are almost so now. Au revoir.”

“ Au revoir.”

And we parted. At five o’clock the next morning I was awakened by a noise in the court-yard, and, going to the window, saw M. Baudet and Mr. Huntingdon drive away.