y of all other
women, fell in disorder upon her shoulders. The vague light, which came
in from the adjoining room, was just enough for the Count to remark the
extraordinary thinness and deathly pallor of the Marchioness.

Hardly had he come near her, when she said to him, quickly, almost with
vehemence:

"I suffer from incredible pains in my head. The cause is in my
hair,--for eight months it has not been combed. Count, do me this
service--comb it!"

After she had sat down, she reached a comb to M. de R., who
involuntarily obeyed her. She did not speak again, and he did not dare
to. As he confesses, he was greatly agitated. Without doubt he performed
his office of waiting-maid badly, for from time to time the lady uttered
a slight murmur of complaint.

Suddenly she rose, said "Merci!" and vanished in the gloom at the end of
the chamber. The Count waited a few moments, vainly stretching his
senses, but saw and heard nothing more. Then he resolved to return into
the first room. When his eyes fell upon the writing-desk, he perceived
that its contents were in the greatest confusion. However, he found the
family papers that he had been sent for. After he had closed the desk
again he waited a few moments; he called, but there was no answer.
Finally he went down stairs, and as he said himself, with steps that did
not linger.

There was no one in the court-yard. Before the iron gate was the
coachman ready to start. M. de R. saw no reason for tarrying longer. On
the returning way, as he was seeking to collect his thoughts upon the
strange event in the chateau, he perceived that his clothes were covered
with the Marchioness's hair.

He stopped at Rouen, and two days after returned to Paris. It was the
third of December. He sought for the Marquis, but could not find him. It
is now thought he must have fallen in the firing on the Boulevard
Montmartre, where his club is situated.

Such is the narrative which M. de R. had promised to tell in the _salon_
of the old Polish lady, where he was waited for till midnight. He came
just as the company were about separating, and showed the hairs of the
Marchioness. One of them lies on the table before me.

EDWARD EVERETT AND DANIEL WEBSTER.

The some time expected new edition of _The Speeches, Forensic Arguments,
and Diplomatic Papers_ of DANIEL WEBSTER, has just appeared, in six
large and beautifully printed volumes, from the press of Little & Brown,
of Boston. The editori