ooked
upon the white-headed suitor as a most eligible husband for the young,
the blooming, the beautiful Pauline.

M. de Vaissiere settled a _dot_ upon his _fiancee_, and ordered a
_trousseau_ and a _corbeille_, not forgetting the _cachemire_. The
preliminaries were arranged, the day hinted at, and Pauline was
informed with a flourish of trumpets that her destiny was fixed.

She listened to her mother's rhapsodies over the admirable _parti_
Providence had enabled her to provide for her child in the wilderness
of America; she heard her enlarge upon her own excellence as a parent,
of the favor she had conferred upon her in bringing her into the
world; of her consequent obligations, and the gratitude she owed her
mother when she recollected that not content with giving her life, she
had clothed, fed, and supported her until now. All this Pauline
received in a silence that resembled stupor; but when M. de Vaissiere
was again mentioned, she fell, with a scream of terror, at her
mother's feet.

In vain she wept and entreated; in vain she protested against the
disparity of age, the utter want of congeniality, the absence of all
affection, Madame Dumesnil was too much incensed to reply. With a
gesture that Pauline well understood, (for it was used to express
maledictions of every description,) she left the room, and locking the
door, kept her daughter prisoner for the rest of the day.

She treated this resistance to her will as one of the unhappy
consequences of living in a republican country. She suspected Angela
of communicating American ideas of independence to her daughter, and
would have added to her wretchedness by forbidding further intercourse
between the two friends. But Jeannette again interfered; she knew that
Pauline's doom was sealed, and that it would be more than cruel to
deprive her of the companion she loved. She herself carried the note
that conveyed the intelligence of Pauline's coming fate to the
indignant Angela, and extended her walks that her poor young lady
might derive what consolation she could from her friend's willing
sympathy. Many were the tears she shed, many the sighs that burst from
her oppressed heart, as the poor old creature followed behind them.
Once she had summoned courage sufficient to expostulate with her
mistress upon the cruelty of her conduct to her daughter; but she was
haughtily dismissed.

Every effort had been made, and at length Angela appealed to Pauline.
She entreated he