ery agitation of his darling child. Ursula went often
to her chamber to look at Savinien, whom she usually found sitting
pensively before his table with his eyes turned towards her window. At
the end of the week, but no sooner, she received a letter from him; the
delay was explained by his increasing love.

To Mademoiselle Ursula Mirouet:

Dear Ursula,--I am a Breton, and when my mind is once made up nothing
can change me. Your godfather, whom may God preserve to us, is right;
but does it follow that I am wrong in loving you? Therefore, all I want
to know from you is whether you could love me. Tell me this, if only by
a sign, and then the next four years will be the finest of my life.

A friend of mine has delivered to my great-uncle, Vice-admiral
Kergarouet, a letter in which I asked his help to enter the navy. The
kind old man, grieved at my misfortune, replies that even the king's
favor would be thwarted by the rules of the service in case I wanted
a certain rank. Nevertheless, if I study three months at Toulon, the
minister of war can send me to sea as master's mate; then after a cruise
against the Algerines, with whom we are now at war, I can go through an
examination and become a midshipman. Moreover, if I distinguish myself
in an expedition they are fitting out against Algiers, I shall certainly
be made ensign--but how soon? that no one can tell. Only, they will make
the rules as elastic as possible to have the name of Portenduere again
in the navy.

I see very plainly that I can only hope to obtain you from your
godfather; and your respect for him makes you still dearer to me. Before
replying to the admiral, I must have an interview with the doctor; on
his reply my whole future will depend. Whatever comes of it, know this,
that rich or poor, the daughter of a band master or the daughter of a
king, you are the woman whom the voice of my heart points out to me.
Dear Ursula, we live in times when prejudices which might once have
separated us have no power to prevent our marriage. To you, then, I
offer the feelings of my heart, to your uncle the guarantees which
secure to him your happiness. He has not seen that I, in a few hours,
came to love you more than he has loved you in fifteen years.

Until this evening. Savinien.

"Here, godfather," said Ursula, holding the letter out to him with a
proud gesture.

"Ah, my child!" cried the doctor when he had read it, "I am happier than
even you. He repairs all h