stance, the principal thing is that I have
opened a way to my correspondence, and that is immense progress in my
plans, for which I might well show my gratitude to my tender Marietta by
a few caresses."

CHAPTER IV. LOUISE DU TROUFFLE.

Madame du Trouffle paced her room restlessly; she listened to every
stroke of the clock, every sound made her tremble.

"He comes not! he comes not!" murmured she; "he received my irony of
yesterday in earnest and is exasperated. Alas! am I really an old woman?
Have I no longer the power to enchain, to attract? Can it be that I am
old and ugly? No, no! I am but thirty-four years of age--that is not old
for a married woman, and as to being ugly--"

She interrupted herself, stepped hastily to the glass, and looked long
and curiously at her face.

Yes, yes! she must confess her beauty was on the wane. She was more
faded than her age would justify. Already was seen around her mouth
those yellow, treacherous lines which vanished years imprint upon the
face; already her brow was marked with light lines, and silver threads
glimmered in her hair.

Louise du Trouffle sighed heavily.

"I was too early married, and then unhappily married; at eighteen I was
a mother. All this ages a woman--not the years but the storms of life
have marked these fearful lines in my face. Then it is not possible for
a man to feel any warm interest in me when he sees a grown-up daughter
by my side, who will soon be my rival, and strive with me for the homage
of men. This is indeed exasperating. Oh, my God! my God! a day may come
in which I may be jealous of my own daughter! May Heaven guard me from
that! Grant that I may see her fresh and blooming beauty without rancor;
that I may think more of her happiness than my vanity."

Then, as if she would strengthen her good resolutions, Louise left her
room and hastened to the chamber of her daughter.

Camilla lay upon the divan--her slender and beauteous form was wrapped
in soft white drapery; her shining, soft dark hair fell around her rosy
face and over her naked shoulders, with whose alabaster whiteness
it contrasted strongly. Camilla was reading, and so entirely was she
occupied with her book that she did not hear her mother enter.

Louise drew softly near the divan, and stood still, lost in admiration
at this lovely, enchanting picture, this reposing Hebe.

"Camilla," said she, fondly, "what are you reading so eagerly?"

Camilla started and looked u