myself how matters stood there.

I arose with this intention. As I was dressing, my eye fell upon a
letter that lay upon the table. It bore no postmark, but the writing
was in a female hand, and I guessed whence it came.

I tore open the seal, and read:--

"_Monsieur_!

"_To-day, by the laws of Louisiana, I am a woman,--and none more unhappy
in all the land. The same sun that has risen upon the natal day of my
majority looks down upon the ruin of my fortune_!

"_It was my design to have made_ you _happy: to have proved that I am
not ungrateful. Alas! it is no longer in my power. I am, no more the
proprietor of the plantation Besancon_,--_no more the mistress of
Aurore! All is gone from me, and Eugenie Besancon is now a beggar. Ah,
Monsieur! it is a sad tale, and I know not what will be its end_.

"_Alas! there are griefs harder to hear than the loss of fortune. That
may in time be repaired, but the anguish of unrequited love_,--_love
strong, and single, and pure, as mine is_,--_must long endure, perchance
for ever_!

"_Know, Monsieur, that in the bitter cup it is my destiny to drink,
there is not one drop of jealousy or reproach. I alone have made the
misery that is my portion_.

"_Adieu, Monsieur! adieu, and farewell! It is better we should never
meet again. O be happy! no plaint of mine shall ever reach your ear, to
cloud the sunshine of your happiness. Henceforth the walls of_ Sacre
Coeur _shall alone witness the sorrows of the unfortunate but grateful_.

"Eugenie."

The letter was dated the day before. I knew that that was the birthday
of the writer; in common parlance, the day on which she was "of age."

"Poor Eugenie!" reflected I. "Her happiness has ended with her
girlhood. Poor Eugenie!"

The tears ran fast over my cheeks as I finished reading. I swept them
hastily away, and ringing the bell I ordered my horse to be saddled. I
hurried through with my toilet; the horse was soon brought to the door;
and, mounting him, I rode rapidly for the plantation.

Shortly after leaving the village, I passed two men, who were also on
horseback--going in the same direction as myself, but riding at a slower
pace than I. They were dressed in the customary style of planters, and
a casual observer might have taken them for such. There was something
about them, however, that led me to think they were not planters, nor
merchants, nor men whose calling relates to any of the ordinary
industries of li