had had a fever, which had left him in a low,
desponding state. Madame Tremordyn would
not spare Agnes,—she could not do without
her. She told her she would never consent
to her marriage with her son, and that she
must submit to her lot like a Christian, and
nurse Achille like a sister; which she had no
objection to consider her. The sight of
Achille, gaunt and worn with illness, made
Agnes thankful to stop on any terms.

Achille was greatly changed; he was
irritable, nervous, and full of strange fancies.
He clung to Agnes as a child to its mother.
Her calm and tender gentleness soothed him,
and she could rouse him from the fits of
gloom and depression to which he was
subject. His mother lamented over the wreck
he had become; but the love of Agnes
became stronger and deeper. The nature of it
had changed, but his need of her had a more
touching charm than when, in his brilliant
days, she had looked up to him as a
something more than mortal, and wondered, in
her humility, what he saw in her to attract
him. Gradually he seemed to recover his
health. The shadow that lay upon him was
lifted off, and he became like his old self.
He was not, however, able to return to the
army. He retired, with the grade of captain
and the decoration of the Legion of Honour.

Madame Tremordyn's fortune was small,
and consisted in a life-rent. There would
be little or nothing at her death for her
son. It was necessary he should find
some employment. Through the influence
of some relatives, he obtained a situation in
the Customs. The salary was modest, but it
was enough to live upon in tolerable
comfort. He again announced to his mother his
intention of marrying Agnes; and, this
time, he met with no opposition—it would
have been useless. Agnes was presented to
friends and relatives of the clan Tremordyn
as the betrothed of Achille. It was half
settled that Agnes should pay a visit to her
aunt and cousin whom she had not seen for
near four years; but Mrs. Tremordyn fell ill,
and could not spare her. The visit was
postponed till she could go with her husband; and,
in the meanwhile, letters of love and
congratulation came from them. The whole
Tremordyn tribe expressed their gracious
approbation of the young English girl their kinsman
had chosen, and made liberal offerings of
marriage gifts. The good Raymonds furnished
the trousseau, and Agnes could scarcely
believe in the happiness that arose upon her
life. Once or twice she perceived a strangeness
in Achille. It was no coldness or estrangement,
for he could not bear her out of his
sight. He was quite well in health, and, at
times, in extravagantly good spirits. Yet he
was unlike himself: he appeared conscious
that she perceived something, and was restless
and annoyed if she looked at him. The
peculiarity passed off, and she tried to think
it was her own fancy.

The wedding-day came. The wedding
guests were assembled in Madame
Raymond's best salon; for Agnes was their
adopted daughter, and was to be married
from their house. Neither Achille nor his
mother had arrived. Agnes, looking lovely
in her white dress and veil, sat in her room
until she should be summoned. The time
passed on—some of the guests looked at their
watches—a carriage drove up. Madame
Tremordyn, dressed magnificently, but looking
pale and terror-stricken, came into the
room, her usual stately step was now tottering
and eager.

"Is my son, is Achille here?" she asked
in an imperious but hollow voice.

No one replied. A thrill of undefined terror
passed through all assembled.

"Is he here, I ask? He left home two
hours ago."

"He has not been here. We have not seen
him," replied the eldest member of the family.
"Calm yourself, my cousin, doubtless he will
be here soon."

There was an uneasy silence, broken by the
rustling of dresses, and the restless moving of
people afraid to stir; feeling, as it were
under a spell. The eldest kinsman spoke
again.

"Let some one go in search of him."

Three or four rose at this suggestion.
Madame Tremordyn bowed her head, and
said "Go!" It was all she had the force to
articulate. The guests who remained looked
at each other with gloomy forebodings, and
knew not what to do. At last the door
opened and Agnes entered. A large shawl
was wrapped over her bridal dress, but she
was without either veil or ornaments; her
face was pale, her eyes dilated.

"What is all this? Let me know the
worst—what has happened? "  She looked
from one to the other, but none answered her.
She went up to Madame Tremordyn, and
said, "Tell me, mother."

But, Madame Tremordyn put her aside,
and said:

"You are the cause of whatever ill has
befallen him."

A murmur rose from the company; but the
poor mother looked so stricken and miserable
that no one had the heart to blame her
unreason. Everybody felt the position too
irksome to endure longer; and, one after another,
they glided noiselessly away; leaving only
Agnes, Madame Tremordyn, and the good
Raymonds. The hours passed on, and still no
tidings. The suspense became intolerable.
M.Raymond went out to seek for information,
and also to put the police in motion. Agnes,
who had sat all this while still and calm,
without uttering a word or shedding a tear,
rose and beckoned Madame Raymond to
come out of hearing.

"I must change this dress and go home
with her; we must be at home when he is
brought back."