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had attracted their notice, one half so gay
and lightsome as the smile of their own
sweet eyes! The arm of ma’arnselle
Sophie, the eldest daughter, rested on
Antoinette’s shoulder as she advanced to ;
inquire whether I were the widow Le
Tellier, of whom they had heard so much
from the Notary at St. Peter’s Port,
charged with the letting of the Chateau,
and whether I could kindly oblige them
by stepping up to see their mamma,
(who was a great invalid, or she would
have visited me herself,) to ask rny ad
vice respecting the ordering of her new
establishment?
‘There was something in the vounnr
strangers voice sw T eet as the combs of
my own hive honey;’continued the wi
dow; ‘and little Antoinette, who was not
more than twelve years old, having lifted
the latch, begged me to put on my bon
net and accompany them at once, as it
would be a great comfort to their poor
dear sick mamma. I had no power of
refusing. She took my hand and w alked
prattling by my side, as we ascended the
cote together; and when we reached the
old terrace gardens of the Chateau, the
two older girls joined in her exclamation
of ‘This wilderness is disgraceful, Ma
dame Le Tellier, after the beautiful gar
den plot at the farm. You must teach
us to put it into better trim. Papa is
not rich enough to keep a gardener, and
has too many anxious thoughts to admit
of his troubling himself about such trifles.
But we will all work in it, in hopes to
raise some flowers for mamma, and re
mind her of dear France.’ And already
they had tied up into a bouquet, for the
poor sick lady, the flowers I had hastily
gathered for Ma’amselle Antoinette be
fore we left the farm.
‘Well, Sir, we reached the Chateau, as
I have, told you; and never before had its
grey stone walls, mossed over with tufts
of capillaire, appeared so cheerless to my
old eyes. The house had stood so long
empty, and, though in good repair, was
so dingy with disorderliness, so unhu
manized, as one may say, so cobwebbed,
so neglected, that it seemed every way
unfit for the reception of the young, bril
liant, blooming creatures, who now’ led
me by the hand into the hall. 1 could
not help feeling that every thing, and
fancying that every one connected with
so much health and happiness, ought to
ibe as smiling arid sunshiny as them
selves. But when I entered the saloon,
which, by the care of Monsieur, and the
arrival of their property from St. Peter’s
Port, had been already converted into a
jcomfortable habitation, how grievously
was I undeceived! Scarcely had J glanced
at the Lady Marchioness, as she reclined
on a sofa, drawn towards the open win
dow, when 1 felt a chill come over me. I
It was the first time I had ever looked j
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
upon a human face stumped with the seal
of hopeless misery ! —I had seen the poor,
the sick, the humbled, the wretched; va
grants from the coast had stopped to
j heg at my gate, hungry, helpless, and
more than hungry or helpless, for they
were struggling with the hunger and help
lessness of the children who clung to
their backs, or tugged at their ragged
’ garments.
‘But these were not helpless.—Not one
among them had that God abandoned
look which had withered the beautiful
face of Monsienr de St. Sauveur’s wife :
it was as if her crown of thorns had
pricked too deeply for the endurance of
mere human flesh and blood. Her chil
dren seemed involuntarily to curb in their
playful steps and subdue their young
voices, as they approached her presence.
Yet, Heaven knows, it was at no instiga
tion of hers; for she was milder than
mildness can be—patient, meek and self
neglecting. It was that they had been
eariy accustomed to the spectacle of sor
row, and nurtured in habits of deference
towards afflictions they could not under
stand, and infirmities they could not as
suage. Poor girls!—poor, precious, mis
erable mother! —God be with her in her
rest! God be with her!’—and, uncon
sciously. the kind widow crossed herself
in humble piety, as she recurred to the
sufferings of the departed.
‘M onsieur de St. Sauveur showed also
the look of a man who had found troubles
to wrestle with,’ she resumed, after a
! short pause. ‘But his cause of grief was
evidently of a very different nature from
that of Madame. Poor ignorant woman
j as I am, 1 could see in a moment that his
were vexations he could meet face to
face, with a:, uplifted eye, without shame,
before God or man. And J was right.
His misfortunes had arisen to him in his
adherence to the cause of his master, in
his fidelity to what he believed to be the
true interests of his country. He had
j nothing to repent or to regret but the
j failure of his endeavours. He had striven
! to serve his fellow creatures; he had
| buffeted with the waves for their sake.
What fault of his, if Providence had left
him a wreck upon the shore?
‘The fine, stern, independent counte
nance of this noble gentleman won upon
I my heart still more, if possible, than the
courtesy and graces of his family*. [ was
glad, and, luckily, I was able, to serve
them. The infirmity of the marchion
ess’s health rendered it impossible for her
to interfere with the establishment of t he
family in their new abode; the young
ladies were too young to be useful in
such matters; and Monsieur, though full
of good w ill to adopt his habits to his
change of fortunes, was too high minded
a man, too accustomed to liberal house
j keeping and the thriftlessness of opulence,
to do himself justice in his dealings with
strangers. It pleases me to think that I
spared them all both trouble and vexa
tion, and even money, of which they un-
I derstood not the value. For my part, J
was amply repaid by the pleasure super
added to my life in the spectacle of their
! fair faces, and the cheeriness of their
young voices, when the three girls visited
me every morning with some message or
| commission from the chateau ; for I had
nothing of my own about me then to
love,’ said Madame Le Tellier, glancing
at Manon. ‘My husband was in his
grave; and my only brother was at that
period prospering in the world, and would
not spare me one of his children to make
a friend and a fondling. Things were
well then at the farm of Icart.’
Little Manon rose from her knees at
this allusion to the reverses of her pa
rents, and began to busy herself in ar
ranging the skillet upon the fire, so as to
conceal her face from the inquisition of
the English captain.
‘And yet,’ resumed her aunt, too much
absorbed in her own reminiscences to
notice the change of countenance of the
mortified girl, ‘dearly as I loved them all.
I seldom visited the chateau. There was
something in the sight of the marchion
ess’s despondency—an ailment that I
could not cure, a grief that l dared not
even notice—which went straight to my
heait, and made it ache for the remainder
of the day, w henever 1 was compelled to
have speech of her. So deeply, deeply
humble was her look, so submissive was
tiie tone of her voice, that one felt, a
thousand times humiliated by the sight
and sound. One longed to kneel down
in the dust to be meeker, and of a more
Christian-like lowliness than herself. The
poor lady seemed to be in a perpetual
s ate of penance ; ever shrinking away
from her fellow creatures, lest peradven
ture they should place their finger on
some sore spot, some hidden source ot j
torment. So, at, least, it seemed to me ;
and strangers often see most of a suffe- 1
rer’s feelings surrounded only by those!
whose views are magnified bv excess of
tenderness.
‘Monsier de St. Sauveur attributed all
the melancholy of his wife to her sympa- !
thy in his misfortunes; all her struggles!
to a desire to overcome the influence of j
adversity ; while the children looked
upon their gentle mother as a miracle of
earthly excellence, believed her a predes- j
titled saint, chastened with physical suf
fering by the hand of God in proportion
to his divine love of her virtues. None,
alas! dreamed of a worm concealed with
in the decaying fruit, but poor old Victo- j
rine Le Tellier.
‘The troubled in mind are usually
quickest of discernment; the poor, dear
lady soon discovered that I saw further ;
[December 11