uite a good appearance.

She would quiet her conscience, which occasionally reproached her for
this constant extravagance, by saying, "I am so unhappy!"

The unhappiness was that this luxury cost her dear, very dear.

After having sold the rest of her rents, the countess first mortgaged
the estate of La Verberie, and then the chateau itself.

In less than four years she owed more than forty thousand francs, and
was unable to pay the interest of her debt.

She was racking her mind to discover some means of escape from her
difficulties, when chance came to her rescue.

For some time a young engineer, employed in surveys along the Rhone, had
made the village of Beaucaire the centre of his operations.

Being handsome, agreeable, and of polished manners, he had been warmly
welcomed by the neighboring society, and the countess frequently met
him at the houses of her friends where she went to play cards in the
evenings.

This young engineer was named Andre Fauvel.

The first time he met Valentine he was struck by her beauty, and after
once looking into her large, melancholy eyes, his admiration deepened
into love; a love so earnest and passionate, that he felt that he could
never be happy without her.

Before being introduced to her, his heart had surrendered itself to her
charms.

He was wealthy; a splendid career was open to him, he was free; and he
swore that Valentine should be his.

He confided all his matrimonial plans to an old friend of Mme. de la
Verberie, who was as noble as a Montmorency, and as poor as Job.

With the precision of a graduate of the polytechnic school, he had
enumerated all his qualifications for being a model son-in-law.

For a long time the old lady listened to him without interruption;
but, when he had finished, she did not hesitate to tell him that his
pretensions were presumptuous.

What! he, a man of no pedigree, a Fauvel, a common surveyor, to aspire
to the hand of a La Verberie!

After having enumerated all the superior advantages of that superior
order of beings, the nobility, she condescended to take a common-sense
view of the case, and said:

"However, you may succeed. The poor countess owes money in every
direction; not a day passes without the bailiffs calling upon her; so
that, you understand, if a rich suitor appeared, and agreed to her terms
for settlements--well, well, there is no knowing what might happen."

Andre Fauvel was young and sentimental: the insinuati