I press you to my heart, which ceases to
beat.'"

After having wiped her eyes, Mademoiselle de Camargo continued as follows:
"Shall I describe to you all my sorrows, all my tears, all my anguish!
Alas! as he had said, I returned to the opera. I did not forget Monsieur
de Marteille, in the tempest of my folly. Others have loved me. I have
loved no one but Monsieur de Marteille; his memory has beamed upon my life
like a blessing from heaven. When I reappeared at the opera, I was seen
attending mass; I was laughed at for my devotion. They did not understand,
philosophers as they were, that I prayed to God, in consequence of those
words of Monsieur de Martielle: 'Now it will be I who will wait for you.'

"When I left the chateau, I plucked a bouquet in the park, thinking that I
was plucking the flowers that had bloomed for him; I brought away this
bouquet, along with the portrait that you see there. I had vowed, in
leaving our dear retreat, to go every year, at the same season, to gather
a bouquet in the park. Will you believe it? I never went there again!"

Mademoiselle de Camargo thus finished her history. "Well, my dear
philosopher," said Helvetius to Duclos, in descending the steps, "you have
just read a book that is somewhat curious."--"A bad book," answered Duclos,
"but such books are always interesting."

In April, 1770, the news spread that Mademoiselle de Camargo had just died
a good catholic. "This created a great surprise," says a journal of the
day, "in the republic of letters, for she was supposed to have been dead
twenty years." Her last admirer and her last friend, to whom she had
bequeathed her dogs and her cats, had caused her body to be interred with
a magnificence unexampled at the opera. "All the world," says Grimm,
"admired that white pall, the symbol of chastity, that all unmarried
persons are entitled to in their funeral ceremony."

MY NOVEL:

OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE.(7)

BY PISISTRATUS CAXTON.

BOOK IX.--INITIAL CHAPTER.

Now that I am fairly in the heart of my story, these preliminary chapters
must shrink into comparatively small dimensions, and not encroach upon the
space required by the various personages whose acquaintance I have picked
up here and there, and who are now all crowding upon me like poor
relations to whom one has unadvisedly given a general invitation, and who
descend upon one simultaneously about Christmas time. Where the