tremely opposite to
your mother's. His figure was commanding, his features regular and
expressive; though, on the whole, he was remarked rather for the
uncommon grace and elegance of his deportment, than for any of the
peculiar attributes of manly beauty. His manners were cold, and even
haughty, in his general intercourse with society; but, with those whom
he loved and wished to please, he was gentle and insinuating; and when
he chose to open the resources of his highly gifted mind, his
conversational talents were more versatile and fascinating, than those
of any individual whom I have ever known. There was a cast of deep
thought, almost of melancholy, in his countenance, which was ascribed, I
know not if correctly, to an early disappointment; but it was seldom
banished, even from his smiles, and often increased when all around him
seemed most gay and happy. His feelings, indeed, were never expended in
light and trifling emotions; they were strong, silent, and indelible;
and those who viewed the calmness of his exterior, little dreamed of the
impetuous passions which slumbered beneath, and which he was accustomed
to restrain by the most rigid and habitual self-command. Some of these
traits excited my father's solicitude for the future happiness of his
daughter; but they were overbalanced by so many noble qualities and
shining virtues, that no other eye detected their blemishes. Your mother
believed him faultless; she had given him her affections, with all the
enthusiasm of her guileless heart; and he regarded her with a devotion,
that almost bordered on idolatry."

Madame de la Tour paused, and Lucie, raising her head from the attitude
of profound attention with which she listened, asked, in an accent which
seemed to deprecate an affirmative answer,

"You are not weary, I hope, dearest aunt?"

"Not weary, Lucie," she replied; "but you must sometimes allow me a
moment's respite, to collect and arrange my thoughts. More than twenty
years have passed since these events, yet, child as I then was, they
made too deep an impression on my mind to be effaced by time; and I
cannot, even now, reflect on them without emotion.

"I have dwelt thus minutely on your father's character," she continued,
"that you may be prepared for"--

"For what?" interrupted Lucie; "surely all these happy prospects were
not soon darkened by clouds!"

"We will not anticipate," said Mad. de la Tour, in a voice slightly
tremulous. She again resumed