come and steal away my pet, my puss, and
leave me weeping alone."

"Papa," said Geraldine, " a bargain.
I'll never marry, if you won't."

"Nonsense, pet," said the colonel.

"Papa, come here." (She drew him
towards a mirror that reflected their figures,
full length.) " What do you see?"

"A tall gaunt old gentleman, with scant
grizzled locks and a scar on his left cheek-
bone," replied the modest colonel (he might
have added, with truth, with a feeble
expression about the handsome mouth that
belied the stately carriage).

"You see, papa," said Geraldine,
indignantly, " what I see—a glory of a man!
as good as he is handsome, as brave as he is
good—a dear loving papa, who believes his
silly puss wise enough to choose her own
way of happiness, and that is to remain
always—yes, always— with him, and
minister to his."

Her father turned, and clasped her to his
heart. But he made no other answer.

As the colonel, in his early canter next
morning, passed through the neighbouring
village, a thought struck him. He pulled
up at the door of Monsieur Hyppolite
Meritort (called by the English customers
Merrythought), barber and gossip agent
of the district. Gentlemen shaved, gentlemen
partly shaved, and gentlemen waiting
to be shaved, were abandoned to
Madame Meritort and the assistant, and the
barber came bustling forth, The colonel
gave him some unimportant order, then
carelessly added:

"Mon Port, I hear, has got a tenant."

"An excellent one. my colonel," said the
little barber, rubbing his hands; "a lady
beautiful, rich, owning we know not what
of rents, to trade a benevolence, to the poor
an angel of pity. Already madame has
commanded twelve silk dresses from our
neighbour, Mademoiselle Brefcomte, and
soup at discretion, all the Saturdays, for
the poor."

"Ah!" said the colonel, pondering.
"Soup, eh? and silk? Meritort," he
added, "it is not my habit to ask questions
about my neighbours; still, I have reasons
for wishing to know something of this
lady. My daughter —-"

M. Meritort could not say from whence
she had come. The question had been
pointedly put to madame's maid (that so
remarkable person, who would have been a
negro, only that she was white), and the
singular answer returned was—what?

"De la mer."

"Aha! A mermaid!" laughed the
colonel.

Monsieur Hyppolite respectfully copied
the laugh.

"It is possible. Monsieur knows that the
baptismal name of madame is Melusina."

Colonel Fonnereau remembered having
read of those "monstres bizarres,"
described by the old French mariners as at
once terrible and attractive—ferocious and
love-inspiring—and acknowledged, in his
own mind—that there were not wanting
features of resemblance. He nodded to the
little barber, and rode on.

"A siren—with a white nigger for lady's
maid! The enigma thickens," thought
the colonel. " I must see more of this
lady of the sea. Good to the poor, eh?
A sympathetic nature. There is something
strangely appealing in her face. Seems to
have known sorrow. Perhaps the deceased
merman was a scamp—drank, or flirted
with other sea-belles. Inexcusable, with a
si-belle wife of his own!" (The colonel
smiled at his own infant pun.) " By Jove,
there she is!"

He had arrived nearly opposite a little
cottage, from the door of which, at that
moment, issued a female figure. In spite
of a very homely dress, the colonel at once
recognised Mrs. Magniac. She paused,
shyly, concealing something under her
cotton shawl, and seemed disposed to let
him pass; but Fonnereau, quickly alighting,
greeted and shook hands with her.
Now, for the first time, he scrutinised her
countenance. She appeared to him about
twenty-six or twenty-seven. A brighter
complexion, more perfect brows, whiter
teeth, could hardly be conceived. Silk
could not rival her glossy hair. Her large
hazel eyes certainly had a gleam in them,
which might be pronounced green; but
there burst from them, at intervals, a lustre
little short (the gazer thought) of
supernatural.

That she was a singularly beautiful
woman, the colonel felt it would be insane
to deny; and, as she tripped along by his
side, closing up to him occasionally with a
pretty terror of that rare and redoubtable
animal, the horse, he took himself severely
to task for having affected any doubt at all
upon the subject. As to her humble dress,
which, somehow, sat upon her exquisite
figure. like robes upon a queen, she laughingly
apologised:

"La Pareuse (my maid) scolds me dreadfully,
I assure you, for going out 'that
figure,' but what would you have? One