although the marquis not unfrequently regretted this when it was too
late for him to recede from an over hasty concurrence. Now, however,
the great aim of the baroness' life might be accomplished. Those were
days when the inclinations of the persons really most interested were
held of small account in family alliances, and if Madame de Valricour
could only obtain a complete ascendancy over her weak sister-in-law,
the success of her plan was certain. That ascendancy she had at last
achieved, and the game seemed to be in her hands.

The return of Isidore to France had of course been the great event of
the autumn, and the chateau had been even more than usually thronged
with visitors during the six months that succeeded his arrival. Madame
de Valricour had managed matters with her accustomed dexterity, and
although she had not yet brought Isidore to the point of formally
avowing himself as a suitor for the hand of Clotilde, she was satisfied
that all was going right, and was too wary to spoil all by
precipitancy. The baroness fancied she knew Isidore better even than
he knew himself, and secretly rejoiced to find his visits to Valricour
become more and more frequent, and his walks in the forest with
Clotilde, accompanied by Marguerite for propriety's sake, more and more
prolonged. At last she thought the pear was ripe, and she took a
decided step in order to bring the affair to an issue. Let us see what
came of it.

[Illustration: Headpiece to Chapter II]

CHAPTER II.

Whether or not there was in that part of France a more charming view
than that from the terrace of the Chateau de Valricour, there certainly
was not in all France on that bright May morning a more happy pair than
the two young people who sat side by side, each clasping the other's
hand, in one of the pleasant trellised arbours which from either end of
the terrace overlooked the pleasant scene. And yet, perhaps, those who
think the beautiful in nature inconsistent with strongly marked and
striking features, might consider that true happiness and prosperity,
so called, could not co-exist with such intense excitement and such
bewildering surprise as just then rendered Isidore and Marguerite for
some minutes incapable of expressing what they felt.

"I can scarcely believe it possible. O Isidore! are you quite sure
that there is no strange mistake in it all?"

"Nay, read for yourself, my darling one," he replied, once more
unfolding the