quantity of shell, stick, seed and cake lac that
is sent from the same port in the same time
exceeds four millions of pounds. That last
fact is a flower of statistics, dug out of a
heavy book.

MAHUOT COCQUIEL.

In the reign of Philippe the Good, Duke of
Burgundy and Count of Hainault, or, more
precisely, in the year one thousand four
hundred and forty-two, the neighbourhood of
Tournay in France was ravaged by a gang
of cut-throats, who contrived to set the
gensdarmes of the Count completely at
defiance.

The very evening of the day on which
the burgomaster Van Robec, accompanied by
the magistrates and principal citizens, left
Tournay for the purpose of obtaining an
audience of the duke respecting these
outrages, a cavalier presented himself at one
of the gates of the town, and demanded
entrance. According to the custom of those
troubled times, he alighted from horseback,
and followed to the guard-house the soldier
whose duty it was to arrest his further
progress. The new arrival was doubtless in
possession of an efficient passport of some
kind or other; for he had scarcely entered,
when the officer of the guard motioned the
gatekeeper to allow him to proceed, wishing
him good night at the same time, and treating
him with the utmost deference. It might be
eleven o'clock at night, and the moon illumined
the turrets of the houses, and the steeples of
the town, whose vast shadows stretched out
at full length, and assumed a thousand
fantastic forms as they fell massively on the
neighbouring buildings. All seemed buried
in profound slumber. At least, the silence
which prevailed gave good reason to suppose
so. Nevertheless, in one of the streets,
which led from the principal square to the
ramparts, a bright light shone from behind
one of the lozenged windows of the
burgomaster Van Robec's house. Its owner had
departed to the Duke's camp with a heavy
heart, at the thought of leaving his daughter
alone with the aged governess; who would
be powerless to preserve her from the
assiduities of the gallants who ceaselessly passed
and repassed before the house. It is true
that Jeanne was soon to marry a cavalier
whom her father had authorised to pay her
court—which he never failed to do every
evening—and that this cavalier—who was
known by the name of Philippe du Gardin—
kept sufficient watch over his bride to
intimidate those who were tempted to approach
her.

Philippe had been an hour in company with
Jeanne, when the cavalier, of whom we have
spoken, entered the street. Observing a ring
fixed in the wall of a neighbouring hostelry,
he fastened his horse to it, and moved towards
the house of Van Robec; before which he
placed himself under the shadow of the front
screen of a mercer's shop. There, with his
eye constantly fixed upon the illumined
window, this man watched his prey. His
hand convulsively grasped the pummel of
his sword, which he drew from the
scabbard whenever he perceived that a slight
degree of movement was taking place within
the house. At last the street-door opened;
and Philippe, after having left a kiss upon
the forehead of his bride, proceeded
homewards. The cavalier, quitting his retreat,
advanced towards him.

"Halt, my gentleman!" he said. "I am
not mistaken. You are Philippe du Gardin,
the betrothed husband of the young girl with
whom you have just parted?"

"Before replying, allow me to ask who you
are; and with what object you put that
question?" said Philippe. "I do not know
you, I have never seen you; consequently,
I can have no business with you. Leave
me."

"Oh no," returned the assailant. "I have
not travelled a couple of leagues on purpose
to find you, to return without calling you
to account for your insults."

"Insults?"

"Yes, my dainty primrose," replied the
cavalier. " It was only yesterday that I
heard of your visits to the Dame de Beaufroid,
and you perceive I have not been
slow in—"

"The Dame de Beaufroid!" exclaimed
Philippe with emotion.

"Yes, young man! The Dame de Beaufroid,
with whom I am in love; and whom I
mean to keep to myself. You understand?"

"Your mistress!" shouted the youth,
drawing his sword. "Your mistress! It is
false!"

"A liar, am I?" cried the cavalier coolly,
placing himself in the attitude of defence
before Philippe. "Pray are your visits to
that lady lies?"

"No!" replied the youth.

"And those tender letters which I have
discovered, and which have informed me that,
while you are paying court to her you come
here to marry a bourgeoise?"

"Those letters are true; but all the rest is
false!"

"The lady is mine; and, as I do not choose
that she should belong to anyone else—at
least during my life-time—make use of your
sword."

"Sir cavalier! In what I have spoken
there is a mystery which I am not permitted
to reveal; but, in the teeth of your
accusations, when I hear it said that the Dame
de Beaufroid has a favoured lover, and
that you are that lover; then, in spite of the
happiness which I expect to find in an
approaching and a joyful union, I do not
hesitate to accept your challenge, at the risk
of perishing in the struggle."

No answer was given to these words;