er resolute and reserved old helpmate.

Meanwhile the humble cottage in the park of Charrebourg was deserted,
and permitted to fall to decay, for the old visconte, and even
Marguerite, had been removed to the establishment at Des Anges, and so,
in process of time, the little walks were overgrown with grass, the
fences spread and straggled, dark green plants clambered to the roof,
and weeds showed themselves over the tiled vestibule and even ventured
into the inner chambers. Thus time and nature, in mournful alliance,
began their obliterating work. But there were some plants and flowers
which grew outside what had been for so long Mademoiselle Lucille de
Charrebourg's window. They had been the objects of her care, and
Gabriel!--sweet but sorrowful remembrance!--had been, in those happy
times, privileged to tend them for her. Poor Gabriel was now desolate
indeed, but he pleased himself with dressing those flowers, and
watering, and weeding them day by day, just as if she were there; and he
would then sit on the bank that bounded the bowling-green, and watch the
desolate casement where he used so often to see that face that too
probably was never more to beam on him. And thus hours would glide away,
and, young as he was, he came to live chiefly in the past.

And generally when he rose, and with an effort, and many a backward
look, lingeringly departed, he would strengthen his sinking heart with
some such reflection as this:--

"She did not love the fermier-general--it was the visconte who made her
marry him. This Monsieur Le Prun--what was he at first but a
roturier--no better than myself--and made his own money--fortune may yet
befriend me also. I have energies, and resolution, and courage, for her
sake, to dare ten thousand deaths. I'll not despair. And then the old
fellow can't live _very_ long--a few years--and so who knows yet what
may befall?"

There was one beautiful rose which grew close to the window, and which
Lucille herself had planted, and this tree Gabriel came gradually to
regard as connected by some sweet and silent sympathy with the features
and feelings of its mistress. When it drooped, she, he thought, was sick
or in sorrow; when, on the contrary, it was covered with blossoms and
fresh leaves, she was full of smiles and health; when a rough gust tore
its slender sprays, some vexation and disappointment had fretted her;
and when again it put forth new buds and sprouts, these were forgotten,
and time h