and sighs from Mademoiselle; and a hearty welcome from old greybeard! Be sure you let him know of the antiquity of the St. Maurs. He has already heard of your good qualities."

The Prelate was in a humour that could not be denied; he seemed to enjoy the relief which the meeting with St. Maur afforded; and confessed, that although he was bent on the immediate release of Mademoiselle, he had been pondering very unsatisfactorily how he should effect it and have her conveyed home safe, without it being known to whom she owed either her captivity or her rescue.

Seeing the men, with Jules at their head, waiting for the Secretary, the Prelate desired him to say that it was a lieutenant of the municipal corps whom he had been talking to in the coach, and who had gained a clue to the lady's place of detention. St. Maur was, therefore, to despatch him and the others, in a contrary direction, on a false scent, while he rode with the Coadjutor till a convenient opportunity and place occurred where he might alight and depart unobserved, leaving the valet to act as guide.

This was accom omplished by Jules being commissioned, at the civic functionary's wish, as St. Maur told the barber, to make the circuit of the Isle towards the Pont Neuf, while he proceeded eastward: the place of réunion to be the Hôtel Dieu.

The carriage drove rapidly along the Quai de la Cité, and turning up a side street, de Retz alighted, and was speedily out of sight, wearing his mantle so as to shade his face.

St. Maur and the Italian knave sat face to face, much to the annoyance of the Secretary, who had conceived a great antipathy to him; but what the Coadjutor was forced to endure, it was not for him to complain of. After a while, Jocoso, whose failing was not want of confidence, said:

"When I told Monsieur, this morning, that I had a charge on my hands, I did not expect my labour would be my reward. Corpo di Bacco Monsignor has so much politics in his head, he has no leisure to admire a bella donna like Signora Broussel!"

The youth was very ill-pleased at having to reply to this rogue; it was bad enough he thought, for a servant to be obliged to do the ungracious offices expected by a dissolute master; but to outrun him in the career of profligacy, and cater gratuitously to his depraved taste, displayed an innate love of villany which excited his abhor

rence.

“You have certainly not received the reward you expected, Jo

coso," observed St. Maur; "but I trust Monseigneur has not been blind to your merits in striving to embroil him with his friends." 1 Corpo di Bacco! When 1 lived at Rome with the Cardinal Albertini," said the valet, "he would have given me a cup full of crowns for such—”

"Silence, Jocoso!" exclaimed St. Maur, sternly," and do not utter another word unless necessary to our present business."

The man was silenced; and the thoughts of the Secretary dwelt on the approaching interview. In what condition should he find the lady? He was tempted to ask Jocoso how she bore up against the cruel treatment she had received; but his feelings revolted from farther converse, and he indulged in his own reflections.

The coach turned into a quiet sequestered street, in which the houses were of a character superior to the generality in this quarter of the city; it had probably, in some former period, been a favourite location of people of condition, but was now abandoned for a more fashionable neighbourhood. The mansions wore a gloomy exterior, each with its arched carriage-entrance under the body of the building. In some instances the gates were falling to decay, and disclosed to view a spacious yard, or garden in the rear; or a dilapidated fountain was visible through a broken gate, seen for a moment, as the coach drove rapidly by, conveying a feeling of ancient grandeur and present desolation.

The carriage stopped before one of these old houses. Its exterior was in better order and repair than many of the others, but it was without any signs of life or habitation. Like the street, it bore a forlorn aspect, of itself enough to frighten a maiden of sixteen, gentle and simple-minded as Louise de Broussel. The indifference, or rather the repugnance which St. Maur felt to the adventure, melted into deep sympathy when his imagination pictured the damsel torn suddenly away from her friends, and hurried into such a desolate old place.

Immediately the coach stopped, the gates were opened—the Secretary could not see by whom; and as it wheeled under the heavy portal, disturbing the dreary silence of the neighbourhood with the unusual clatter, he saw that the street was without thoroughfare at the upper end. Casting his eyes on Jocoso, his glance was so keen and indignant, that even that prince of valets quailed beneath it. . The coach stopped at a door under the archway, and Jocoso, begging pardon for breaking silence, said they were now at their place of destination. As they descended in the gloom, St. Maur

could distinguish very little of the house, or of the offices in the rear. An ascent of several steps led into the hall, which was richly adorned with painting and statuary, and from which rose a staircase of grand proportions. The whole had an air of magnificence, but was gloomy, unconfortable, and desolate. Before the Secretary had time to recover from the surprise occasioned by the unexpected contrast of the interior with the general dilapidation of the street, they were met by a domestic in livery—a man about forty-five or fifty, well-clothed and fed, but with a downcast, uneasy look, very different from the usual gay, impudent bearing of lacqueys of people of quality.

"Well, Jacques!" cried the Coadjutor's valet, "you lead a quiet life here! Has Monsignor returned from his lands?" And without waiting for the man's reply, he continued, “ Corpo di Bacco ! Never mind; if you cannot introduce your company to your master, let us have the society of the guests of this dreary old castello !"

St. Maur could not well understand the drift of this address; but divined, that Jocoso was not unwilling to give a better colour to the character of the old castello, as he called it, than, from the use he had made of it, it really deserved.

Be it as it may, the other seemed to understand Jocoso; and bowing awkwardly to St. Maur, and at the same time taking a sly, quiet, yet searching glance at the Secretary's figure-viewing him as it were, from head to foot-he led the way up the staircase. The corridor above terminated abruptly by a closed door; and the man paused, as if unwilling to enter.

"I understand!” cried Jocoso, "it is quite as well. Modesty. becomes you, Jacques;-it fits as close as your doublet. You may leave us."

The man retired, without having uttered one word throughout the scene; but at parting he gave the valet a look, which seemed to say, that on other ground, and on a different service, the Italian should not have all the discourse to himself.

Jocoso took the trouble to see that the fellow went down the staircase, and returning to the Secretary, who all the while had been a silent, wondering spectator, he exclaimed,

"Ben trovato, Signor! I hear my friends talking; they are gaming to pass time; I hear the rattle of the dice. It is a vicious failing, which I am never guilty of. I often wonder at the depravity of these French --I beg pardon, Monsieur, I forgot you imposed silence!"

Well thought St. Maur, the Coadjutor extols himself for sobriety, the valet for his horror of gambling, and I am praised for my modesty; so, taking the round of the archiepiscopal household, we might muster all the cardinal virtues.

Jocoso put a stop to his reflections by opening the door; the Se cretary entered, and the valet followed, closing it carefully after him.

CHAPTER XIX.

A sergeant of the lawe, ware and wise,
That often had ybeen at the parvis,
There was also, full rich of excellence;
Discreet he was, and of great reverence;
He seemed such, his wordes were so wise.

CHAUCER.

ST. MAUR found himself in an ante-chamber or gallery, furnished in the same profuse yet gloomy style as the hall beneath. It was lighted by two windows, in deep recesses, fitted with benches or window-seats, one of which served as a board for the two sentinels, who, seated, or rather squatting on the floor, were engaged very earnestly in rattling the dice-box, in imitation of the prevailing vice of their superiors.

They started to their feet on seeing the Secretary and Jocoso, pocketed the box and dice, and looked abashed, like boys detected by their pedagogue playing at unlawful hours.

"Sweet notes for a lady's ears, you scellerati!" cried the valet; but up, and make ready to begone."

He spoke a few words to them in an under tone, which St. Maur did not hear; but, by the direction of their eyes to the door at the far end of the gallery, he concluded that the discourse related to their fair prisoner.

The Secretary, who had hitherto acted under the tutelage of the valet, deeming it wisest in such a strange and dangerous abode, was secretly burning with indignation at the villainous proceedings of Jocoso, and the coolness he displayed in being forced to undo all he had done, assuming the air of a man whose services were not appreciated, and who saw the fruits of his toil thrown away..

He resolved now to interfere; and calling the valet aside, told

hìm briefly, that every moment lost in delay was so much more in torture added to Mademoiselle's sufferings, and commanded him instantly to set her free.

"I should be most happy, Monsieur," replied Jocoso; "but Monsignor charged me that that was Monsieur's task. I am not to see the Signora again. I wish,” continued the man," that it was my lot; the smiles I should have for such a service would compensate me for all the hard words the Signora―"

St. Maur could endure the effrontery no longer; but unsheathing his rapier, he advanced towards Jocoso, who in great terror skipped back several paces, and falling on his knees, produced a key, exclaiming,

Perdonate, Monsieur! There is the key-there is the door: the lady is within."

"Do what remains for you to do, Jocoso, and begone!" said the Secretary, taking the key from him.

The valet arose, and in a very humble tone, acquainted St. Maur that his orders were to give up the key, and retire from the house with his two comrades, leaving the equipage at the command of Monsieur. It was, he said, a hired vehicle, and the men did not know by whom they were employed. He would also leave such orders below, that no impediment would be offered to St. Maur taking away the lady; and, for additional security, he would remain with the two men in the vicinity of the house till the carriage departed; but, for obvious reasons, the Coadjutor did not wish his people to be seen more than could be helped.

When Jocoso and his associates had departed, and St. Maur found himself alone, he felt the embarrassing nature of his position, and the difficulty of accounting for his presence; he knew not what he should say, or in what state he should find the

poor damsel. The key admitted him into an apartment richly furnished, adorned with mirrors and paintings, enclosed in rich frames, which the light of declining day left in partial obscurity. The darkness was increased by a trellice-work of wood outside the building, perhaps intended as support for a vine, or for some creeping shrub.

St. Maur did not immediately observe the fair occupant of the apartment, and began to fancy that Jocoso had played him false., At the far end, beneath one of the windows, was a couch, on which the youth discovered Mademoiselle de Broussel, her head resting on her hands, which were clasped and thrown across the back of the seat. On approaching, he found that she was in a swoon;