LOUIS XV. of France had, by marriage with Maria Leczinska, daughter of Stanislaus, king of Poland, two sons and several daughters. These ladies were the aunts of Louis XVI., of whom we frequently find mention made in the history of that unfortunate monarch.

appointed écuyer to the princess upon the marriage, and consequent resignation, of the Baron de Brignolles.

At the time of his appointment, Saint-Phale was not much more than twenty years of age, the son of a duke, handsome, accomplished, eminently agreeable, and with a name already distinguished in arms. He had himself solicited the appointment, and it had been granted to his own wishes, and the influence Madame Louise, the heroine of our story, was of his father, without demur; Madame Louise, one of the youngest, and was also the one that took when the thing was mentioned to her, making most after her mother in character. Maria Lec- no objection. Indeed she had none. The vicomte zinska was a pious, amiable, tender-hearted woman, was but little known to her; for, avoiding the court and Louise resembled her in these characteristics; festivities as much as her father would permit, and whilst the sort of education she received, being when she did attend them, appearing there rather brought up in the abbey of Fontrevault, tended very as a spectator than a partaker-beyond the general much to increase the seriousness of her natural dis- characters and the personal appearance of the gay position; so that, after she lost her mother, though cavaliers of the court, she knew nothing of them. she continued to reside with her father at Ver- She had always heard Saint-Phale's name coupled sailles, or Paris, or wherever he might be, and so with the most flattering epithets; she had also lived in the court, she was not of it, nor ever im- heard that he was brave, generous, honorable, and bibed a taste for its splendors or amusements, and extravagantly beloved by his father and mother; still less for its dissipations and vices. Notwith- and her own eyes had informed her that he was standing all her virtue and piety, however, Louise extremely handsome. To the latter quality she was a woman still, and a woman with a tender, was indifferent; and the others well fitting him for loving heart; and in a court where there were so his office about her person, she signed his appointmany gay and accomplished cavaliers, it must have ment without hesitation, little dreaming at the been next to impossible for that loving heart to re-moment that she was also signing the fiat of her main untouched. But poor Louise had one safe- own destiny. In due time the Baron de Brignolles guard against love, which, pure and pious as she was, she would willingly have dispensed withshe was deformed. With a lovely and bewitching face, and eyes of inconceivable beauty, her figure was quite distorted, from the consequences of an unfortunate fall in her infancy. Without meaning to derogate from her merit, it is extremely possible that this misfortune may have considerably influenced her character, and led her to seek in heaven those consolations of the heart that she despaired of enjoying on earth.

took his leave, and the vicomte entered on his duties; and it soon appeared evident to everybody that he had not sued for the situation without a motive. The princess' lady of honor was the Comtesse de Châteaugrand, Anatole's cousin; and with her he was, to all appearance, desperately smitten. He wore her colors, as was the fashion of the gallant world at that period, paid her the most public attentions, and seemed determined not only to be violently in love, but that all the world should know it.

There was, however, nothing very surprising in this. The Comtesse de Châteaugrand was a widow with a considerable fortune, and though nearly ten years older than Anatole, she was still extremely handsome; added to which, she was very amiable, much esteemed by her mistress, and she and the young vicomte had always been on the most friendly terms. His passion, therefore, as we have said, excited no surprise in anybody; but whether the lady returned it, was altogether another affair, and was indeed a question that created considerable discussion amongst the curious in these matters.

Of course each of the princesses had a regular suite of servants, and of ladies and gentlemen in waiting; and amongst these, each had also an écuyer and a lady of honor, who were in immediate and constant attendance on their persons. The office of the écuyer was one which placed him in a peculiar situation as regarded his mistress: he placed her chair, opened the door for her, handed her up and down stairs, and accompanied her in her drives and walks, and, in short, wherever she went; so that, were it not for the respect due to royalty, it must have been difficult for a susceptible young man, or a susceptible man of any age, to be in this hourly attendance on a charming princess and retain his heart entire. The deformity of poor Madame Louise, as well as her piety, however, "And why not, when she has every reason to were perhaps thought sufficient defences against be so?" answered the Comtesse de Guiche. "Are any dangers of this description, as regarded either not his attentions unremitting? What can she party; for, without some such confidence, it would desire more?" seem a great oversight on the part of the king to have placed in this necessarily intimate relation with her one of the most fascinating men about the court; for such, by universal admission, was the young Vicomte Anatole de Saint-Phale, who was

"But she looks so happy-so calm!" said the young Duchesse de Lange.

"Ah, true," replied the other; "happy if you will, but calm!”

"Well, and why not calm?" repeated Madame de Guiche.

"Ah, one is never calm when one loves!"'

returned the duchesse, with a little air of affecta- | her turn quite pale with horror at the sight of the tion. vicomte's attentions."

morrow immediately after breakfast, and that no the princess, as she threw herself into the nun's one is to accompany her but you and me."

"There is amongst you, my sisters—that is, if "You are a woman-you were once young she be still alive—a princess, at whose profession yourself, and, as I have heard, beautiful also. I was present, when a child, with my mother," | Judge, now, if I am happy!" said Madame Louise. "Is the friend of Maria Leczinska here ?"

"This amazes me," said Sister Marie, after a pause, whilst her countenance expressed her surAccordingly, whilst all the others retired, Sis-prise as eloquently as words could have done. ter Marie conducted her royal visitor to her little" Madame Louise, the fame of whose devotions apartment. and self-imposed austerities has reached even our "That stool is too inconvenient for your high-secluded ears, are they but the refuge of a mortiness," said she, as the princess seated herself, "I fied"will ask the prioress for a chair."

Vanity," added the princess, as respect again "By no means; it is what I wish," said Ma- caused the nun to hesitate. "Not exactly: dame Louise. "Sit down opposite me-I want I cannot do myself the injustice to admit that altoto talk to you. Nay, nay, sit!" she added, ob-gether, for I was pious before I knew I was deserving the hesitation of the nun. "Sit, in the formed. It was my natural disposition to be so; name of heaven! What am I, that you should and my mother, foreseeing how much I should stand before me? Would to God I was as you need the consolations of religion, cultivated the are!" feeling as long as she lived; and when I was old "How, madame!" said the sister, looking enough to be aware of my misfortune, I felt what surprised. "Are you not happy?" a blessing it was that I had not placed my happi"Friend of my mother, pity me!" exclaimed ness in what seemed to make the happiness of the

women that surrounded me. But it was not to of St. Denis. Louis was at first extremely unspeak of myself that I came here," continued Madame Louise," but to ask a favor of you. Young as I was when you took the veil, the scene made a great impression upon me; and I well remember my mother's tears as we drove back to Paris after she bade you farewell. I remember also, when I was older, hearing a motive alleged for your reso-peated assurance that she was not, nor ever could lution to retire from the world, which, if it would not give you too much pain, I should be glad to learn from your own lips."

"It was," answered the sister, placing her she might meet with from the rest of her family, hand before her eyes.

The effect of this unexpected intelligence on Madame de Châteaugrand was no more than the princess had anticipated. She wept, entreated, and expostulated but the Vicomte de SaintPhale, after standing for a moment as if trans"I see," said the princess, rising: "I com- fixed, fell flat upon his face to the ground. prehend it all!" and then embracing her, she Amazed and agitated at so unexpected a result, added, "Pardon me the pain I have given you: it the princess was only restrained by the grating has not been without a motive. We shall meet which separated them from flying to his assistance; but before she could sufficiently recollect herself to resolve what to do, the prioress, fearing the effect

a private interview with the king, for the purpose of so distressing a scene at such a moment, came of obtaining his permission to join the Carmelites and led her away to her own apartments.

It would be difficult to describe the state of the der. She was then stretched on the earth, covprincess' mind at that moment. The anguish ex-ered with a pall, and the prayers for the dead propressed by Saint-Phale's countenance could not nounced over her. When she arose, the curtain be mistaken. He that she had supposed would which closed the entrance to the interior of the be utterly indifferent to her loss! Why should it convent was lifted, and every eye was fixed on it affect him thus, when he had still with him his as she passed through the opening, to return to love, the chosen of his heart-Hortense de Châ- the world no more. As that curtain fell behind teaugraud? She did not know what to think: but her, a fearful cry echoed through the vaulted roof certain it is, that the resolution which had been so of the abbey, and a gentleman was observed to be unflinching an hour before, might perhaps, but for carried out of the church by several persons who pride, have been now broken. With a bewildered immediately surrounded him. Every one, howmind and a heavy heart she retired to her cell, ever, was too much occupied with his own feelings and there kneeling, she prayed to God to help her at the moment to inquire who it was. On the ear through this last struggle. of the new-made nun alone the voice struck familiarly; or perhaps it was not her ear, but her heart, that told her it was the voice of SaintPhale.

From that time nothing more was known with respect to Madame Louise till six months afterwards, when, her novitiate being completed, she made her profession. On that morning the humble cell inhabited by the princess exhibited a very unusual appearance: robes of gold and silver brocade, pearls and diamonds, and a splendid lace veil, were spread upon the narrow couch. In this magnificent attire she was for the last time to appear before the world, and for the last time her own women were in attendance to superintend her toilet. When she was dressed, everybody was struck with her beauty; and as she wore a superb cloak, the only defect of her person was concealed.

Of course the profession of a daughter of France" was an event to create a great sensation. All Paris turned out to see the show, and the road from thence to St. Denis was one unbroken line of carriages. Mounted officers were to be seen in all directions, the royal guard surrounded the abbey, and the pope's nuncio came from Rome to perform the ceremony.

Louise was a Carmelite; the profligacies of the king and the court proceeded as before; Madame de Châteaugrand, instead of marrying her cousin Saint-Phale, married M. de Rivrement, to whom it appeared she had been long engaged; and Saint-Phale himself, after a long and severe illness, which endangered his life, quitted France for Italy, whither he was sent for the sake of the climate. At length, in 1777, when Lafayette astonished the world by his expedition to America, the vicomte astonished his friends no less by returning suddenly from the south, in order to join it; and in spite of the entreaties of his relations, he executed his design, and there he fell at the battle of Monmouth in the year 1778.

He did not, however, die in the field, but lingered some days before he expired; during which interval he wrote farewell letters to his father and mother; and one also, which he entreated the latter to deliver according to its address, which was to "The Sister Therèse de Saint Augustin, formerly Madame Louise de France."

On this solemn occasion, of course the attendance of the princess' écuyer and lady of honor was considered indespensable, and Louise had prepared As soon as the poor bereaved mother had sufherself to see them both; but instead of Saint- ficiently recovered the shock of this sad news, she Phale, to her surprise she beheld advancing to hastened to St. Denis to fulfil her son's injunction; offer his arm her former attendant, the Baron de and the Sister Therèse, having obtained permisBrignolles. A pang of disappointment shot through sion of the superior, received and opened the letter. her heart he had not cared, then, to see her for The first words were an entreaty that she would this last time, and she should behold him no listen to the prayer of a dying man, who could more! She felt that she turned pale and trembled, never offend her again; and read the lines that foland she could not trust her voice to inquire the lowed. He then went on to say that from his cause of his absence; but De Brignolles took an earliest youth he had loved her; and that it was opportunity of saying, that hearing the vicomte to be near her, without exciting observation, that was too ill to attend, he had requested permission he had solicited the situation of écuyer; but to resume his service for this occasion. Louise knowing that from the inequality of their condibowed her head in silence—she durst not speak. tions, his love must be forever hopeless, he had At that solemn ceremony were present Louis studiously concealed it from its object. No one XVI., then dauphin of France; Marie-Antoinette, had ever penetrated his secret but Madame de the queen of beauty, and the idol of the French Châteaugrand. He concluded by saying, that nation; the Comte de Provence, afterwards when that curtain hid her from his view on the Louis XVIII.; and the Comte d'Artois, who sub- day of her profession, he had felt the world consequently, as Charles X., likewise lost the throne. tained nothing more for him, and that he had ever since earnestly desired that death which he had at length found on the field of battle, and which he had gone to America on purpose to seek; and asking her blessing and her prayers, he bade her farewell forever.

After an eloquent discourse by the Bishop of Troyes, which drew tears from every eye, the princess retired for a few moments, and presently reappeared, stript of her splendor, shorn of her beautiful hair, and clothed in the habit of the or