wish, and encouraged him to think how best and most prudently it might be
fulfilled; never doubting, as I have said, that he and his cousin were
troth-plighted.

"But when I went to Madame de Crequy--after he had imparted his, or
rather our plan to her--I found out my mistake. She, who was in general
too feeble to walk across the room save slowly, and with a stick, was
going from end to end with quick, tottering steps; and, if now and then
she sank upon a chair, it seemed as if she could not rest, for she was up
again in a moment, pacing along, wringing her hands, and speaking rapidly
to herself. When she saw me, she stopped: 'Madame,' she said, 'you have
lost your own boy. You might have left me mine.'

"I was so astonished--I hardly knew what to say. I had spoken to Clement
as if his mother's consent were secure (as I had felt my own would have
been if Urian had been alive to ask it). Of coarse, both he and I knew
that his mother's consent must be asked and obtained, before he could
leave her to go on such an undertaking; but, somehow, my blood always
rose at the sight or sound of danger; perhaps, because my life had been
so peaceful. Poor Madame de Crequy! it was otherwise with her; she
despaired while I hoped, and Clement trusted.

"'Dear Madame de Crequy,' said I, 'he will return safely to us; every
precaution shall be taken, that either he or you, or my lord, or
Monkshaven can think of; but he cannot leave a girl--his nearest relation
save you--his betrothed, is she not?'

"'His betrothed!' cried she, now at the utmost pitch of her excitement.
'Virginie betrothed to Clement?--no! thank heaven, not so bad as that!
Yet it might have been. But mademoiselle scorned my son! She would have