without a sou of dowry, that she might be
suspected of interested motives. Like many
other mammas, Madame Fischer was of a
precisely opposite opinion to her daughter.
She thought that Coralie was throwing
herself away.

"I have yielded to my child's feelings,"
said Madame Fischer, with dignified emphasis,
"and the least I think I have a right to
expect in return is, that the man for whom
that child sacrifices so much, should willingly
give up his ambitious views, to devote himself
to domestic felicity."

"And how are we to live?" asked Eugene,
in a half-penitent, humble tone.

"As we have hitherto done," said the lady,
in the same tone of injured worth. "I have
duly reflected on the plan I now propose, and
to carry it out, I shall make application to
have my licence transferred to my daughter."
Eugene looked aghast. "As for me—," here
Madame Fischer paused, and raised her
handkerchief to her eyes—" I shall not long be a
trouble or burden to any one." Eugene
laughed out at this assertion, while Coralie
exclaimed,—

"Oh, mamma! how can you say such
unkind words to your poor little Coralie.
Trouble! burden! Oh, mamma! and when
you have done so much for me; for us." Then
forcing back the tears tilling her eyes, she
smiled, and lifting off her mother's pretty
little cap, gave to view Madame Fischer's
profusion of glorious black hair. Tenderly
smoothing, and kissing the black braids, she
said. "No, not one tiny, tiny silver line to
be seen, look Eugene, is there? and mamma
talking as if she were eighty."

"Foolish child," replied Madame Fischer,
replacing the cap and its coquelicôt ribbons.
"What can my hair have to do with Eugene's
giving up the army? " Coralie shook her
head, and looked as if it had, but only said:
"No, no, we will have no giving up of
anything. Time enough when Eugene is bald
and grey-headed for him to sell tobacco and
snuff; and, who knows, mamma," continued
the brave girl, "but Eugene may live to be a
general. Wouldn't you like to see me a
general's wife, mamma, a grande dame, and
going to Court," and Coralie held up her
end, and curtsyed gracefully, coaxing the
mamma not to say again, that Eugene's love
for his profession was no great proof of his
love for his betrothed.

The day came at last, when there was no
longer any time for discussing the matter. It
had been supposed that the regiment, only
lately returned from foreign service, would
remain at home for some months. Now,
however, it was suddenly ordered to Algiers.
Passionately as Eugene desired military
distinction, as he now saw all Coralie's
unselfish devotion, he felt almost inclined to
relinquish every ambitious hope for her dear
sake.

"You must go, Eugene," she said, when
he expressed some feeling of this kind.
"You must go—we have delayed too long
for any other decision now. My brave
Eugene, as brave as Bayard himself, must
be like him, not only sans peur, but sans
reproche. I could not love Eugene as I do,
mother," turning to Madame Fischer, who
was murmuring some opposition, "if I said
otherwise."

"Wounded? Maimed? did you say? Ah!
well, so that he comes back, I will be his
crutch, bâton de sa viellesse," and she pressed
her lover's strong arm on hers, flushing over
brow and bosom with the effort to subdue
natural yearnings, natural fears. Catching
up a terrible word whispered by the mother,
she flung her arms round his neck, crying.
"No, no, he will not die—he cannot die: but,
even so, it is a soldier's duty to die for his
country, and Eugene will do his duty, and
Coralie will do hers." Poor heart, how it
quivered, and how the tongue faltered, as it
spoke these brave words. No one knew the
hard victory over self Coralie had won. She
—herself, only realised it when the fight was
over, and she was left to long days of alternate
anxiety and hope.

Madame Fischer had prophesied more
truly of herself than she had intended. After
what seemed a mere cold, she almost
suddenly died. The reversion of her licence had
only been talked about, and not secured, so
Coralie, at eighteen, found herself alone in
Paris, her whole dependence, a few, very few,
pounds, the poor mother had pinched herself
for years to lay by for her child's dôt.

The brave-hearted Coralie went at once to
those ladies who had befriended her mother.
She told them of her engagement, she was
very proud of being the promised wife of
Eugene Peroud. She knew how willingly he
would have given her his thousand francs a-
year, but she would rather try and support
herself, until she actually became his wife.
Her mother's savings Coralie wished laid
aside to be used as that dear lost one had
meant.

The ladies applied to their nieces or
daughters, at Madame Sévèré's, and through
their exertions Coralie was received as sous-
maîtresse. For four years had Coralie brushed
hair, picked out mis-shapen stitches, heard
unlearned lessons stammered through, and
corrected incorrigible exercises. A letter
from Eugene sufficed to cover all her head
and heart weariness. What a delight the
first letter had been—she peered at every
word, till she learned the trick of every letter,
how he crossed his t's and dotted his i's—the
handwriting, indeed, seemed to her different
from all other handwritings. Countless wore
the times the thin paper was unfolded, to
make sure that he had really put that fond
word where she thought, and carefully was
it refolded, and not parted with night
nor day, until another and another no less
dear followed, each in turn usurping its