hem--so--and compelled her shame, her
pride, her shyness, all to yield to a little bit of determined Will--now
where is she? How can I get at her?"

Opening my chamber door I walked down into the kitchen.

"Who brought the packet?" I asked of the servant who had delivered it to
me.

"Un petit commissionaire, monsieur."

"Did he say anything?"

"Rien."

And I wended my way up the back-stairs, wondrously the wiser for my
inquiries.

"No matter," said I to myself, as I again closed the door. "No
matter--I'll seek her through Brussels."

And I did. I sought her day by day whenever I had a moment's leisure,
for four weeks; I sought her on Sundays all day long; I sought her on
the Boulevards, in the Allee Verte, in the Park; I sought her in Ste.
Gudule and St. Jacques; I sought her in the two Protestant chapels; I
attended these latter at the German, French, and English services, not
doubting that I should meet her at one of them. All my researches were
absolutely fruitless; my security on the last point was proved by the
event to be equally groundless with my other calculations. I stood
at the door of each chapel after the service, and waited till every
individual had come out, scrutinizing every gown draping a slender form,
peering under every bonnet covering a young head. In vain; I saw
girlish figures pass me, drawing their black scarfs over their sloping
shoulders, but none of them had the exact turn and air of Mdlle.
Henri's; I saw pale and thoughtful faces "encadrees" in bands of brown
hair, but I never found her forehead, her eyes, her eyebrows. All the
features of all the faces I met seemed frittered away, because my eye
failed to recognize the peculiarities it was bent upon; an ample space
of brow and a large, dark, and serious eye, with a fine but decided line
of eyebrow traced above.

"She has probably left Brussels--perhaps is gone to England, as she
said she would," muttered I inwardly, as on the afternoon of the fourth
Sunday, I turned from the door of the chapel-royal which the door-keeper
had just closed and locked, and followed in the wake of the last of the
congregation, now dispersed and dispersing over the square. I had
soon outwalked the couples of English gentlemen and ladies. (Gracious
goodness! why don't they dress better? My eye is yet filled with visions
of the high-flounced, slovenly, and tumbled dresses in costly silk and
satin, of the large unbecoming collars in expensive lace; of the