as clean as if a diamond had cut it. This did
her a world of good: destruction of sacred household property gave her
another turn. "There, I've broke your glass now," she cried, with a
marvellous change of tone; and she came-to and cried quietly like a
reasonable person, with her apron to her eyes.

When Edouard saw she was better, he took her hand and said proudly,
"Secret for secret. I choose this moment to confide to you that I love
Mademoiselle Rose de Beaurepaire. Love her? I did love her; but now you
tell me she is poor and in distress, I adore her." The effect of this
declaration on Jacintha was magical, comical. Her apron came down from
one eye, and that eye dried itself and sparkled with curiosity: the
whole countenance speedily followed suit and beamed with sacred joy.
What! an interesting love affair confided to her all in a moment! She
lowered her voice to a whisper directly. "Why, how did you manage? She
never goes into company."

"No; but she goes to church. Besides, I have met her eleven times out
walking with her sister, and twice out of the eleven she smiled on me.
O Jacintha! a smile such as angels smile; a smile to warm the heart and
purify the soul and last forever in the mind."

"Well, they say 'man is fire and woman tow:' but this beats all. Ha!
ha!"

"Oh! do not jest. I did not laugh at you. Jacintha, it is no laughing
matter; I revere her as mortals revere the saints; I love her so that
were I ever to lose all hope of her I would not live a day. And now that
you have told me she is poor and in sorrow, and I think of her walking
so calm and gentle--always in black, Jacintha,--and her low courtesy to
me whenever we met, and her sweet smile to me though her heart must be
sad, oh! my heart yearns for her. What can I do for her? How shall I
surround her with myself unseen--make her feel that a man's love waits
upon her feet every step she takes--that a man's love floats in the air
round that lovely head?" Then descending to earth for a moment, "but I
say, you promise not to betray me; come, secret for secret."

"I will not tell a soul; on the honor of a woman," said Jacintha.

The form of protestation was quite new to Edouard, and not exactly the
one his study of the ancient writers would have led him to select. But
the tone was convincing: he trusted her. They parted sworn allies; and,
at the very moment of parting, Jacintha, who had cast many a furtive
glance at the dead game, told Edouard de