exclamation, and raising it to his lips-"My child! my child! oh, it was indeed she-it was indeed her dear hand that traced these characters!"

Jerome turns toward the inn; he enters. From the sad aspect of every one, he sees that the wounded man is no better. A servant points the way to the low

The letter M. Guerreville read in a voice interrupted chamber in which Edward lies, telling him, "If you by his sobs:

"Pardon me, my dear father; your Pauline was very guilty, but heaven has already sufficiently punished her. I am a mother. I have just been delivered of a daughter. Love her as you loved me—and if I should never see you again—”

"Poor child! her hand could write no more. She is dead-dead-and without my embrace!"

M. Guerreville was about to surrender himself, to a new despair, when Jerome takes him by the arm and says:

"Sir-sir, do you forget that your Pauline is not altogether dead-that she has left a daughter-another self."

"In truth, Jerome-but this child

"This child? This child I took care of myself. I treated her as if she had been my daughter-her mother having died without leaving any information of her family. This poor child! What would have became of her? But Jerome was there-and do you not divine that this little Zizine

"Can it be possible?"

"Yes, sir, she is the daughter of your poor Pauline. I never told any one that I was not her father-but it was for her good that I consented to part with her. I thought it was for her good, and I had no right to refuse.".

66

wish to see him, you must be quick, for the physician says that he cannot live through the day."

Jerome gently enters the chamber. Near a window sat Madam Dolbert, trying to console Stephanie, who was weeping bitterly; for in confessing to the woman he was about to have married, all his past faults, and even the attempt which he had just meditated, Edward had been able by his repentance to reanimate the love which she had once felt for him; but what most moves the Auvergnese, is to see the little Zizine on her knees before the bed of the wounded man.

"Approach, poor littte thing," says Edward, in a feeble voice; "I did not love thee-I never spoke a kind word to thee. But to-day, I know not why, I see thee with pleasure. Zizine, thou also wilt pardon me, and pray heaven to show me mercy."

The child wept, as she raised a silent prayer. At this moment Jerome advances and makes a sign to Madam Dolbert to retire with Stephanie. It was with difficulty that the good lady could induce her to withdraw from the inn, that she might be spared the sad spectacle of the death of him who was to have been her husband.

When Madam Dolbert and her daughter had retired, Jerome approaches Edward, and pointing to Zizine, who is still on her knees, says to him in a low voice: "May heaven in its mercy forgive you all the wrongs

Jerome, my dear Jerome--ah, you have been a you have inflicted on her mother!" good angel for me."

M. Guerreville opened his arms to the Auvergnese, who rushed into them, and they remained some moments locked in this embrace.

At length, the first emotion passed, they try to compose themselves-to recover themselves. M. Guerreville wishes to rise at once to go in search of Zizine, but the doctor prevents him; the invalid, however, is not content till Jerome promises to set out immediately, in a carriage, for Beaumont, to bring back Zizine.

"But," says M. Guerreville, "if this Edward is still alive, do not tell him that this child is his daughter. The wretch who abandoned the mother is not worthy to take her daughter to his arms."

"Oh! be tranquil," says Jerome, "it is not to him that I would commit my dear little charge. It is not for him that I have brought her up, and taken care of her for nine years."

The stout Auvergnese does not wish to delay any longer. George went in search of a carriage, and by order of his master accompanied Jerome. The coachman knows that he will receive just what he asks, if he only drives at full speed; and at eleven in the forenoon they arrive at Beaumont.

Jerome stops the carriage before the dwelling of Madam Dolbert. He is about going in, when the porter stops him and says:

"The ladies are at the inn of the village. M. Edward Delaberge is there, who has been wounded in a duel. He is very ill-so ill, that they were afraid to move him. The ladies are taking care of him." "And Zizine ?"

"She is with the ladies."

"Her mother!" mutters Edward-" Good heavens! Can it be? This child—"

He had not strength to say more; he seized one of Zizine's hands, and was about raising it to his lips, when his eyes closed never again to open.

Jerome takes the little girl in his arms and hurries from the inn. He goes at once to Madam Dolbert, and informs her of Edward's death.

"Now," says Jerome, in an air of triumph, "I am going to carry Zizine to her father."

"To her father!" exclaim Madam Dolbert and Stephanie at the same moment; whilst the child passes its arms around the neck of the Auvergnese, and cries— "But you are my father! Are you unwilling that I should be your daughter?"

"My dear little girl, I love you as well as if you were my own child--but it is now necessary that you should know the truth. I am not your father-I took care of you in your infancy-you have repaid me by your caresses and your love, Zizine. I had seen your mother die, and I had no means of discovering your relations. It was very natural then that I should call myself your father. But to-day Heaven has permitted me to discover him. Your mother, my dear-your mother was the daughter of this good M. Guerreville, who was our benefactor; he sought for her, he wept for her, for nine years. But he has not lost everything; for he has discovered you. You shall replace his lost Pauline-for you also are his daughter; and you will love him dearly-will you not? Try, by your affection, to restore the happiness of which he has been so long deprived."

"Oh, yes, I love M. Guerreville very much," says

Zizine, in tears; "but I want that you should always | ris. Among kind-hearted people, acquaintance and atbe my father."

NOTES AND ANECDOTES,

Political and Miscellaneous-from 1798 to 1830-Drawn from the Portfolio of an Officer of the Empire; and translated in Paris, from the French for the Messenger.

THE MISTRESS OF THE PRETENDER.

"Sir," said he, "the woman whom you charged me to converse with, is simply a cunning jade—I know her perfectly, she has nothing concealed from me. She is, to describe her whole character, quite a good looking young woman, who visited Poland in the hopes of drawing some money from the nobles of that country. She found them all ruined, and returns here in the hope of doing better."

"It would seem your knowledge has progressed rapidly, if she has already confided such secrets to your ear."

The Comte de Provence (Louis XVIII) was in Poland, where the police caused all his movements to be carefully watched. It was a short time after the conspiracy of Georges, and the establishment of the empire. Sud- "It was not without difficulty that I led her to that denly information was transmitted to Paris, that a lady point; but she wants money; and she believes me a who had lived on terms of intimacy with the Comte de rich and powerful seigneur. Moreover she has never Provence, was about to return to the French capitol. even seen the person of the Compte de Provence." They gave her the title of Mistress of the Pretender, "Yet she was seen to enter the house which he inwhich was enough to have rendered the story itself sus-habits." picious. Nevertheless it was necessary to ascertain what this lady had done in Poland, and what she was going to do in Paris.

An agent was chosen, witty, intelligent and extremely handsome. His instructions were given to him, with money necessary for his voyage, and he set off for the country. The police had been informed of the name under which the lady travelled, of the day, and the probable hour of her arrival, and of the hotel at which she proposed to lodge.

On the day designated, the agent set off from Nanterre in a cabriolet de porte, taking with him many very heavy trunks, and arrived at the hotel at which the lady was expected to descend. Many apartments were vacant. He retained them all for his family, whom he preceded but by a few days.

In the course of the evening another carriage stopped at the door of the hotel-it was that of the lady in question. She exhibited a good deal of dissatisfaction on learning that not a single apartment remained, which could be given her. "There are many unoccupied," said the landlord, "but a great foreign nobleman has retained them all for his family, which he is expecting in a few days." All that he could do for the purpose of saving her the inconvenience of seeking a lodging at so late an hour, was to inquire of this noble foreigner, who appeared to be much of a gentleman, if he would consent to give up to a lady, for a single night, one of the apartments he had rented, but which he did not yet occupy.

The stranger, the gentleman, contrived to cause himself to be a little solicited. He was told that the lady was handsome-this consideration decided him. He hastened to descend to offer her his hand, and to place at her disposal all the apartments, even his own. He did more the lady arrived a good deal fatigued; having given no orders in advance for supper, she would be forced to wait some time. He begged her to partake of his own. She hesitated-two or three times politely refusing--but at last consented.

Placing themselves at table, they converse, approach each other, and a short time only elapsed before an intimacy is established between them. Towards midnight their intimacy was already such, that every apartment might have been returned to the owner of the hotel, with the reservation of but a single chamber. The next morning the agent presented himself at the audience of his chief.

"Then it was not on his account, but to visit some valet de chambre.”

"She may be playing a part for the purpose of deceiving us ?"

"She must then be a woman who carries her devotion to great lengths. If you think proper, I will continue to see her."

"Yes: a woman does not communicate the first day, or the first night, everything that she has in her mind. Continue to visit her;-give yourself out as an enemy of the government, speak to her adroitly of the Bourbons; lead her then, if possible, to some confidences."

The stranger returned to the hotel, seemed more and more attracted by the lady, and showed her the greatest attention. Both, dreading the arrival of his family, which was expected every moment,-deploring in advance their inevitable separation, endeavored to console themselves by making the most of their time at the theatres and fétes.

Eight days passed in this way. The agent finally paid another visit to his chief; but he was not longer so gay and light-hearted as before.

"I told you," he said, addressing his employer, "that the woman in question was a jade. I will add that she is a wicked one-I will answer that she knows nothing; but if she was not driven from Poland, it would be well, at least, to send her from France." "How, why?"

"I told you eight days since, that she had concealed nothing from me. You replied that a woman did not always communicate the first day or even the first night, everything she possessed :-you were right, and I was wrong. She did conceal one thing from me; and I have since learnt what it was; you must give me leave of absence for a month. Should you hereafter have any other commission of the same kind, entrust it, I pray you, to another person."

THE ROYALIST MOVEMENT IN 1814.

Louis XVIII states, I do not know where, (perhaps in the preamble to his charte octroyée) that he had been recalled by the unanimous wishes of the French people. A year after, Napoleon was recalled from the island of Elba, by the unanimous wishes of the same French people; and a hundred days had scarcely elapsed before, once more, the same unanimous wishes

were declared in favor of Louis XVIII! In the event of an accession to the throne, these unanimous wishes are the easiest thing in the world to obtain. Some few interested persons, an imperceptible minority, make themselves heard. The rest, that is the majority, keep silent from prudence or fear;-to this silent majority the principle that silence gives consent is applied, and the voice of the minority thus becomes the unanimous voice of the people.

I trust I shall be pardoned the sentiment of disgust which the reading of such a publication cannot fail to inspire. I have been compelled to transcribe it, as a matter of history-besides I had a concession to make. It is true, that during the passage of the avant-garde of the enemy, while the tri-colored flag still floated over Paris, some white cockades were exhibited, some cries of vive Louis XVIII were heard, some royalist proclamations were posted in the streets. This is, perhaps, Louis XVIII and his family had been absent twenty what has been called, what Louis XVIII spoke of as two years from France when Napoleon was dethroned. the unanimous wish of the French people. Does any one The generation which had been contemporary with the desire now to know the real number of the French, Bourbons, no longer existed in 1814, with the excep- who, unanimously, re-called Louis XVIII? I do not tion of a few individuals, some of whom were engaged speak at hazard-I am on sure ground. The list has in the service of the empire, and others (the majority) been printed in connection with a historical notice of the living in a retired way at their country seats, far from event. A notice of which, copies enough were printed public affairs, and from the world. Nearly all had for- to be presented to the illustrious monarchs, and to Louis gotten the Bourbons. The generation of the revolution XVIII. They were-SIXTY-SIX: and yet, many, who and of the empire was entirely ignorant of their exist- had no agency in the matter, obtained the inscription of ence. I belong, on my father's side, to a family which, their names on the list, as certain deputies had their before the revolution of 1789, had been attached to the names subscribed to the famous protest of the Chamber service of the Count d'Astois. I had often heard this of Deputies, in July 1830, which, if I am not mistaken, Prince spoken of, without ever thinking to inquire if he had originally fifteen signatures, at the most. (See evistill existed; and when towards the end of the cam-dence No. 1, at the end of the manuscript.) paign of France, an Austrian officer called to me from The royalist movement of 1814, was, so far as Paris the left bank of the Iser, where he commanded a post was concerned, much such an affair as the conspiracy opposed to mine, which was on the right, and announ- of Mallet. I subjoin what I know and can prove on ced that peace was concluded, and that Louis XVIII the subject. would return to France, I did not know, I frankly confess it, of whom he spoke.

In 1814 the Bourbons caused themselves to be thought of, and it was well that they did, for otherwise scarcely any one would have dreampt of them.

Yet, I shall be told, that the moment that the foreign troops arrived in Paris, white cockades were exhibited, and cries of vive le roi, vive Louis XVIII, were heard in the city. On the 31st of March 1814, a royalist proclamation was placarded on the walls of Paris. I know it; I have even a copy in my possession, perhaps the only one existing, of this unsigned proclamation. I will

transcribe it.

TO THE INHABITANTS OF PARIS. Inhabitants of Paris!

The hour of your deliverance has arrived; your oppressors are deprived forever of the power of injuring

you.

Your city is saved!

Return thanks to Providence, and exhibit the evidence of your gratitude to the illustrious monarchs and their brave armies, who have been so basely calumniated. It is to them you are indebted for the peace, the repose, and the prosperity of which you have been so long deprived.

Let your feelings, kept under for so many years, show themselves in cries, a thousand times reiterated, of vive le roi! vive Louis XVIII! vivent nos généreux libérateurs!

Let the most tender union and the most perfect order reign among you, that the crowned heads about to honor your walls with their presence, received as saviors, may learn that Frenchmen, and above all, that Parisians, have preserved in their hearts respect for the laws, and love for the monarchy.. Paris, 31st of March, 1814.

Towards the month of December 1813, a M. de Semallé, an old page of Louis XVIII, had been sent to Paris for the purpose of confirming the relations of the Bourbons with their ancient partizans. M. de Semallé first addressed himself to the chiefs of the party. He was unsuccessful with them. He was obliged to descend, and consequently to encounter men who had nothing to lose and everything to gain. These persons listened to his propositions, and a royalist committee, timid and frightented, organized itself at Paris. The members agreed to meet at the house of one of the committee, named Lemercier, in the rue de l'Echiquier, No. 36. This Lemercier had been a banker, and becoming embarrassed in business, had turned a man of letters. M. de Semallé had the rare good luck not to address himself to any agent, or any friend of the police. The meetings of the committee were kept secret. The Duke of Rovigo had no suspicion of their existence; and remained ignorant of everything connected with the committee, till the 31st of March. He confesses the fact in his Memoirs.

Among M. de Semallé's recruits there was a M. de L*******, a man of great energy, a captain, and a chef d'escadron during the imigration. He was afterwards a colonel in la Vendée, and was the last of the Vendean chiefs to consent to treat with the First Consul. This man (I cannot name him for he is yet living) has frequently told me that he would willingly have served the republic, but that he had sworn hatred even to death against Napoleon, from the moment that he saw him assume the imperial crown. This man, to whom the restoration was odiously ungrateful, was the main-spring of, indeed the only man of action concerned in, the royalist conspiracy of 1814. I am indebted to him for all the facts I am about to reveal. In support of his recital he has shown me the most authentic evidence, such as the certificates of the mayors of Paris,

Fate had decided. The imperial crown was to fall from the head of the great man. It was in vain, that in this unfortunate campaign, he worked every miracle that genius could produce. In vain he exerted in every combat all the resources of his super-human activity. His hour was arrived. The enemy threatened the capital left without defence. A capitulation had just been accepted, and the next morning a Prussian avant-particularly so of the national guard. At this time M. garde was to enter Paris.