and the bride, with a convulsive sigh, fell back into the arms of her
mother. Restoratives were procured, and at last she opened her eyes.
They rested on the face of her friend, who hung over her in mute
agony. Forcing a smile, which was taken by M. de Vaissiere for
himself, Pauline arose, and hurried through her farewell. Her husband
handed her into his carriage--and thus Pauline Dumesnil left her
friends and her home.

* * * * *

Years had passed, and Pauline sat alone in her magnificent boudoir,
the presiding deity of one of the finest hotels in Paris. Fortune had
favored M. de Vaissiere. He had lived to rejoice over the downfall of
the mighty Napoleon, and his mournful exile. He had returned to his
beloved France, recovered his vast estates, and presented his young
wife at court. His vanity was flattered at her gracious reception, and
the admiration that followed her; his pride was roused, and, much
against her will, Pauline found herself the centre of a gay circle
that crowded her vast saloons as often as they were thrown open for
the reception of her now numerous acquaintances.

It was on one of these evenings that Pauline sought the silence of her
private apartment ere she gave herself up to her femme de chambre. Her
loose _peignoir_ of white satin was gathered round her, with a crimson
cord tied negligently at the waist, and hanging, with its rich tassels
of silver mixed, to the ground. Her hair had fallen over her
shoulders, giving her a look of sadness that increased her beauty. Her
eyes wandered around the room, and her lips parted into a melancholy
smile, as she contemplated its delicate silk hangings, its heavy,
costly furniture, her magnificent toilette, crowded with perfumes of
every description, beautiful flacons, silver combs, and jewels that
sparkled in and out of their cases. Her thoughts went back to her
mother, whose pride had made her a childless, lonely widow; to Angela,
whom she had so loved; to the misery of the day upon which they
parted, perhaps forever--and her eyes were filled with tears that,
rolling at length over her cheek, startled her as they fell upon her
hand.

"And it was for this that I was sacrificed," murmured she, bending her
head. "My poor mother! could you see me here, _you_ would feel that my
happiness is secure; but, alas! how little you know of the human
heart. This splendor lends weight to my chains, and makes me feel more
desolate than ever! Night afte