beneath their notice!....I may be wrong,
though, Morin may not be aware that this
preux chevalier courts his daughter! I will
see him before I decide."

V.

WHILE Richard Devaux was debating
within himself what course he should take to
bring the question to issue, a visitor was
announced. He had hardly time to crumple
up and thrust into his pocket the letter he
had just read, when Monsieur Morin entered.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "I see you have
despatches for me."

"Which," replied Devaux, "I was about
to take to your house."

"I am glad I came. We might have
missed each other, and time is precious to us
both. Permit me to read them here."

"Certainly."

Monsieur Morin was soon deeply absorbed
in his letters. Richard Devaux tried also to
occupy himself with what was before him;
but he could not bend his mind to business.
The knowledge he had just acquired
distracted his thoughts from every other
consideration, and he remained closely watching the
countenance of his visitor, as if to gather
from its expression something to guide him
in the proceedings he meditated. His feverish
impatience made him long for the moment to
begin; but, when the time arrived, he felt it
had come too soon.

"It is much as I expected," said Monsieur
Morin, folding up the last letter. "They
cannot move without money. Monsieur de
Grandmesnil writes to say, that a remittance
of five thousand pounds must instantly be
sent to Rotterdam, the amount to be placed
to his credit with the house of Van Orley
and Company, of that city."

Richard Devaux made no reply: he had
risen while the other was speaking, and now
paced the room with gloom upon his brow.

"But," said Monsieur Morin, "you do not
hear me, my good friend. A sum of—"

"I hear you, sir," interrupted Devaux, "I
hear you plainly; but, before we enter upon
that subject, I have something else of more
importance to speak of."

"Of more importance!" repeated Monsieur
Morin, in surprise.

"At least, to me," said Devaux.

"Ah! that is different. Whatever is
important to you, will be of interest to me."

Richard Devaux came closer to Monsieur
Morin. His cheek, usually so pale, was
flushed, his lips trembled, and his words were
hardly articulate.

"Monsieur Morin," he said, "I wish to
speak to you about your daughter."

The listener was astonished; but he waited
for more before he replied.

"Yes," continued Devaux, "what I have
to say, concerns Mademoiselle Morin—and
myself. Sir, I love her! I ask her of you in
marriage."

"Young man!" said Monsieur Morin, "do
you know what you ask?"

"Perfectly," returned Devaux. "I repeat
my request. Will you bestow on me the
hand of your daughter?"

Monsieur Morin, in his turn, asked a
question:

"Have you spoken to Adelaide herself?"

"I have—spoken—to her," he replied, in a
faltering voice.

"And what was her answer?"

"You," said Devaux, evading the question,
"were my father's oldest friend. How he
prospered in life you know. All he had
he left to me. I am a rich man, Monsieur
Morin. I can place your daughter in a
position beyond the reach of those accidents
of fortune to which she—or yourself—may,
in these troublous times, be exposed. Your
authority would have weight against what
is, perhaps, only the young lady's natural
timidity."

"Mademoiselle Morin has, then, refused
you?"

Richard Devaux remained silent.

"Surely, my good friend," continued the
refugee, "you do not wish me to force my
daughter's inclinations. This is a passing
fancy of yours, which meets with no return.
Forget it. Look rather at the state of public
affairs; which, at this crisis, call for every
man's attention. Even were my daughter so
disposed, the thing is impossible. That sacred
blood is not yet dry upon the executioner's
axe, the stones of Paris still cry aloud for
revenge, our souls are all bent on one great
enterprise; and can we turn from it, at this
hour, to think of our own affairs? No. I say
again, wake from your idle dream! Adelaide
cannot be yours."

"Is this, sir," said Devaux, slowly, "your
final decree ?"

"As final, my friend,—nay, do not look
angrily. I mean everything in kindness—as
final,—well, well,—it cannot be altered."

"And have you stated all your reasons?"
asked Devaux, with an irrepressible sneer,
which did not escape the quick Frenchman's
observation. "Because," he continued, before
the latter could say a word, "if any remain
behind they had better be rendered at once,
that I may be able to meet them with some
that I have to offer of my own."

"You are now speaking a language," said
Monsieur Morin, "which I do not comprehend."

"Let me make my meaning clearer, then.
Are you sure, in coming to the conclusion,
which you declare so unalterable, that you
have decided favourably for those projects
which affect you more, as you allege, than
any domestic interest ?"

"Again, I cannot understand you."

"Friends should not lightly be cast aside.
At a time like this they may be doubly
useful. My services have their value."

"You set a price upon them? You make