ately, there are so many ways left you
of atoning for one indiscretion, that your regret need be but small.
Shall I not have the pleasure of seeing M. d'Harville this evening?"

"No, my lord. The scene of this morning has so much affected him that he
is--ill," said the marquise, in a low, tremulous tone.

"Ah," replied Rodolph, sadly, "I understand! Come, courage! you were
saying that you required an aim, a motive, a means of directing your
thoughts. Permit me to hope that all this will be accomplished by
following out the plan I have proposed. Your heart will be then so
filled with the delightful recollection of all the happiness you have
caused, and all the good you have effected, that, in all probability,
you will find no room for resentment against your husband. In place of
angry feelings, you will regard him with the same sorrowing pity you
look on your dear child. And as for the interesting little creature
herself, now you have confided to me the cause of her delicate health, I
almost think myself warranted in bidding you yet to entertain hopes of
overcoming the fearful complaint which has hitherto affected her tender
frame."

"Oh, my lord!" exclaimed Clemence, clasping her hands with eagerness,
"can it be possible? How? In what manner can my child be saved?"

"I have, as physician to myself and household, a man almost unknown,
though possessed of a first-rate science. Great part of his life was
passed in America; and I remember his speaking to me of some marvellous
cures performed by him on slaves attacked by this distressing
complaint."

"And do you really think, my lord--"

"Nay, you must not allow yourself to dwell too confidently upon success;
the disappointment would be so very severe. Only, do not let us wholly
despair."

Clemence d'Harville cast a hasty glance of unutterable gratitude over
the noble features of Rodolph, the firm, unflinching friend, who
reconciled her to herself with so much good sense, intelligence, and
delicacy of feeling. Then she asked herself how, for one instant, she
could ever have been interested in the fate of such a being as M.
Charles Robert,--the very idea was hateful to her.

"What do I not owe you, my lord?" cried she, in a voice of thrilling
emotion; "you console me for the past; you open to me a glimpse of hope
for my child; and you place before me a plan of future occupation which
shall afford me both consolation and the delight of doing my duty. Ah,
was I not ri