one of the troubles scattered upon the last two years of her
childhood,--years that were rich in treasures now buried forever in
her heart.

The vision brought her suddenly to that morning, that ravishing
morning, when in the grand old parlor panelled and carved in oak,
which served the family as a dining-room, she saw her handsome cousin
for the first time. Alarmed by the seditions in Paris, her mother's
family had sent the young courtier to Rouen, hoping that he could
there be trained to the duties of the magistracy by his uncle, whose
office might some day devolve upon him. The countess smiled
involuntarily as she remembered the haste with which she retired on
seeing this relation whom she did not know. But, in spite of the
rapidity with which she opened and shut the door, a single glance had
put into her soul so vigorous an impression of the scene that even at
this moment she seemed to see it still occurring. Her eye again
wandered from the violet velvet mantle embroidered with gold and lined
with satin to the spurs on the boots, the pretty lozenges slashed into
the doublet, the trunk-hose, and the rich collaret which gave to view
a throat as white as the lace around it. She stroked with her hand the
handsome face with its tiny pointed moustache, and "royale" as small
as the ermine tips upon her father's hood.

In the silence of the night, with her eyes fixed on the green silk
curtains which she no longer saw, the countess, forgetting the storm,
her husband, and her fears, recalled the days which seemed to her
longer than years, so full were they,--days when she loved, and was
beloved!--and the moment when, fearing her mother's sternness, she had
slipped one morning into her father's study to whisper her girlish
confidences on his knee, waiting for his smile at her caresses to say