be in the way of meeting the Consul for some
short time to come. Is there any garrison duty, or any service away from
Paris, where for a week or so he could remain?"

"I have thought of that, Madame," said the general. "Two of the
regiments in my brigade are to march tomorrow for the east of France,
and I intend my young friend to proceed to Strasburg at once."

"This is not meant for banishment," said she to me, with a look of much
sweetness; "but Bonaparte will now and then say a severe thing, likely
to dwell in the mind of him to whom it was addressed long after the
sentiment which dictated it has departed. A little time will efface all
memory of this sad affair, and then we shall be happy to see you here
again."

"Or events may happen soon, Madame, by which he may make his own peace
with General Bonaparte."

"True, very true," said she, gravely. "And as to that. General, what
advices are there from Vienna?"

She drew the general aside into one of the windows, leaving me alone
with Mademoiselle de Meudon. But a minute before, and I had given the
world for such an opportunity, and now I could not speak a syllable.
She, too, seemed equally confused, and bent over a large vase of
moss-roses, as if totally occupied by their arrangement. I drew nearer,
and endeavored to address her; but the words would not come, while a
hundred gushing thoughts pressed on me, and my heart beat loud enough
for me to hear it. At last I saw her lips move, and thought I heard my
name. I bent down my head lower; it was her voice, but so low as to be
scarcely audible.

"I cannot thank you, sir, as I could wish," said she, "for the service
you rendered me, at the risk of your own life and honor. And though I
knew not the dangers you were to incur by my request, I asked it as
of the only one I knew who would brave such danger at my asking." She
paused for a second, then continued: "The friend of Charles could not
but be the friend of Marie de Meudon. There is now another favor I would
beg at your hands," said she, while a livid paleness overspread her
features.

"Oh, name it!" said I, passionately. "Say, how can I serve you?"

"It is this," said she, with an accent whose solemnity sank into the
very recesses of my heart. "We have ever been an unlucky race; De Meudon
is but a name for misfortune not only have we met little else in our
own lives, but all who have befriended us have paid the penalty of their
friendship. My dear brother kn