tears; they have passed this way.' And a new burst of sorrow overpowered her.

"Has their having passed this way anything to do with your tears?' asked the compassionate Duchess.

"Oh! yes, madame! It is this hunt which breaks my heart.' "This hunt? The King's hunt?' responded Louise.

"Alas! yes,' sobbed the girl.

"But why? how? Explain yourself.'

"Willingly, madame. Perhaps you can help me.

you will speak to the King.

You can, if

"But what is it? Tell me? What has my speaking to the King to do with it?'

"Oh! madame-everything. If you would only ask him!' "Ask him what?' the Duchess inquired nervously.

"Madame, I will tell you. There is in this part of the forest a young deer. This deer and I are old friends. I may say that I have brought her up; for, three years ago, being seated at the edge of the wood, with a kid which I had then, while my pet kid browsed on the grass beside me, a little fawn, which looked as if it were not more than two or three days old, came up to me. I caressed the little creatureI fed it-it became accustomed to me, and no day since that time has ever passed, that, towards the fall of night, it does not come to meet me under yonder great old trees, where I wait for it, to give it something to eat. In winter, above all times, when snow covers the earth, and that the branches of the trees and the furze bushes are frosted over-it was then that this poor deer showed me its gratitude in the best manner it could. It would run to me from afar, whenever it perceived me. It would lick my hands, and would not leave me until I sent it away. And, madame, I was the only person it would approach; the sight of anyone else sent it flying into the forest. I have always been afraid whenever the hunting horns echoed through the forest of SaintGermain-for the safety of my pet; and I never fail to go in search of it. I call it, and it always comes to me; and I have never yet found it in danger-never feared for it as I do to-day. But this morning the chase commenced on this side of the forest. I heard the horns, the dogs, and huntsmen quite close to my father's cabin, and I rushed into the forest at once. I called my pet deer; but she never came, and for more than two hours I have been running over and searching every part of this forest, and I cannot find her. Oh! madame, what I want you to ask of the King is, not to kill my pet deer. Ask him this, madame, and night and morning shall my prayers rise to heaven for you"

"Louise, who had attentively listened to the young girl's simple story, turned to her companion, and said, with a sigh:

666 Do you not think I might ask this of the King? There can be no danger of a refusal.'

"A refusal! Oh, no!' replied the lady. He will be but too happy to grant it. You distrust the King too much, Louise.'

"Poor child,' said the gentle Duchess, addressing the girl. "I promise to intercede with the King for your favourite if it is indeed your pet deer that the hounds are after-and, if I arrive in time, I think that I may be sure of success in this matter. Do not cry any

more.

name.'

Take this purse. Dry your eyes, and tell me what is your

"Eline Cochard, of Carrière-sur-Bois,' replied the young girl, now smiling amidst her grief. Oh, I shall be so happy if you save her! Oh, madame, you are too good.'

"The Duchess gave orders to her coachman to drive with as much speed as he could; and, having well considered from what point the sound of the hunting-horns came, he turned his horses eastward, and set off in the direction of the Cross of Saint Simon. Meantime, the King's huntsmen had succeeded in dislodging the deer, and the dogs were on the scent again.

"Radiant in beauty, assisted by all the arts of the toilette, full of witticisms, and having regained her usual spirits on seeing the hounds in pursuit, Madame de Montespan rode, now beside the monarch, now amongst the ladies and gentlemen of the court. Wherever she approached, precedence was immediately given to her; for all looked upon her as a star newly risen.

"Sire,' said she to the King, playfully, pointing out a spot that took her fancy, 'I think that a rendezvous for the hunt would be delicious near these old oaks.'

"You think so?' he replied, courteously. Then this evening the orders shall be given that a rendezvous shall be formed there at once. But what is that I see below there, at the end of that avenue? Something strange, is it not?'

"Madame de Montespan looked in the direction the King pointed out; and a shudder crept over her, as she perceived in the distant perspective, just glimpsed through the trees, moving along like an apparition-so slow and shadowy-a mourning-coach, black as night, drawn by black horses, with coachman and attendants in the deepest mourning habiliments.

"Find out,' said the King to one of his officers, what melancholy visitor comes thus into our forest.'

"The officer obeyed on the instant, and departed at a gallop. "All eyes were soon turned on the hunt, which, suddenly emerging from a thick part of the wood, presented before them the spectacle of the weary, tired-out deer, pursued closely by two dogs.

"Ah,' said an old huntsman who was with the King's party, evident that the animal is near its end.'

it is

"Poor hind! She no longer displayed the grace and agility which she had done at first starting. Her head was bent, her pace slow. The King, with his party, now seemed to take great interest in the chase, and looked on attentively. They watched the poor animal cross and recross the neighbouring routes. They saw her, as if gathering up her last strength, turn towards the Chateau de la Muette, and make the circuit of the building more than once. The carriages came rolling on, and the mounted cavaliers hastened from every side. The dogs, which had been kept back, were now let loose to have their turn. The poor animal no longer sought to escape by flight. Certain that she must die, a presentiment of it appeared in an expression of resignation in her melancholy eyes, as she betook herself to an angle of the wall of the Chateau; and, noble to the last moment, faced the death which the dogs that harassed and yelled at her showed her was inevitable.

"Every eye was bent upon the poor hunted creature. Fair ladies, leaning out of the windows of the Chateau, eagerly gazing on the scene, felt no pity for the fate which was about to befall the beautiful hind.

"Just at this moment a road was opened amongst the crowds of spectators, to allow the carriage of the Duchess de la Vallière to pass. The carriage stopped. The door was opened; and the Duke de Longueville-now the faithful friend of the Duchess, of whom, in days gone by, he had been the secret admirer-sprung forward, to hand her out and lead her to the King, whither she, almost inarticulately, bade him conduct her.

"Sire,' said she to the King, as she approached him, I find that I have arrived just in time to

"No, madame, certainly not in time: you are late,' he impatiently returned, interrupting her.

"Time enough, I hope,' she continued, 'to ask and obtain a favour from your Majesty.

"As she spoke, a young peasant-girl rushed through the crowd, and, pushing aside every one, threw herself at the feet of the Duchess, exclaiming

"I was not deceived: it is my deer-my poor pet deer! Oh, ask the King not to kill her!'

"Sire, I implore you, for this young girl, to spare the life of her favourite. I am sure you will not refuse my request, when I tell you why I ask this favour.'

"And, in her sweet, winning way, in a few words, she related what the young peasant had told her-of the affection that subsisted between her and the poor hunted deer.

"And now, sire,' she said, as she concluded, 'I know you will save this poor animal from the dogs. You will bid the huntsman call them off at once: I am sure you will !'

"Madame de Montespan burst into a laugh before the King could reply.

"In truth, dear Duchess,' said she, nothing can be more mal-àpropos than the officious part which you have taken upon you! This deer belongs to me; his Majesty has given her to me; and after the hallali, which will soon take place, we are to have the hounds' fee.' The King has decided upon this; so, charming Duchess, you must do as we do, and be a spectator of it.'

"Sire!' said the Duchess, looking entreatingly at the King, 'see how this poor child weeps and implores you.'

"What can I do?' said the King, with marked impatience. 'You ought to understand, Duchess, that it is very difficult, if not impossible, for me to interfere at this late hour with the arrangements of the chase.'

"This is all badinage!' cried out Madame de Montespan. The Duchess, it must be owned, acts in it to perfection, and with a grace all her own. But, Sire, you cannot comply-your word is given-I depend upon your Majesty's promise.'

"You hear, Madame,' said the King coldly, scarcely looking at the Duchess,' what Madame de Montespan says. You must see that I have no right to comply with your request. In fact, I cannot.'

"The Duke de Longueville would have spoken in favour of the Dnchess; but as he began to intercede, the King stopped him with a frown, saying impetuously, I cannot interfere with the hunt, Longueville; it is useless for you to ask me, I cannot.'

"You cannot, Sire, for you are no longer the master!' cried the Duchess de la Vallière, cut to the heart at his refusal. And, not daring to persist further in her entreaties, she turned away, striving to hide as well as she could her bitter humiliation, as well as the deep regrets she felt at not being able to serve the unhappy girl, who sunk on her knees, sobbing piteously.

"The deer was doomed; and the Prince do Guémenée having received two hunting poles from the Commandant, now presented one to his Majesty, and retained the other himself, while the prickers, with voice and whip, endeavoured to restrain the eager hounds.

"To approach a deer at bay with the hounds is always a service of considerable danger. In the reign of Henry IV. two of his Majesty's principal huntsmen were killed by deer. One, Monsieur de Clairbois, met his fate in the forest of Livry, and the other, named Le Bon, in the forest of Sénart. There seemed to be a little hesitation as to who would dare the attack now. But it was only a momentary delay. The youngest lieutenant belonging to the hunt, emboldened by the King's presence, begged the dangerous office as a favour, and was permitted to undertake it. He walked courageously towards the spot with his hanger unsheathed, and encountering the formidable resistance which a deer pushed to the last extremity and at the last gasp always makes, succeeded, though not without risk and difficulty, in inflicting a mortal wound on the beautiful hind. The rest was soon over, and the Marchioness de Montespan had the cruel pleasure of beholding the transport and impatience of the dogs as they enjoyed the 'hounds' fee.'

"That night Madame de Montespan appeared in her highest spirits and most playful moods at a grand court ball. She wore that robe so celebrated by Madame de Sevigny-'une robe d'or sur or, rebrodé d'or, rebordé d'or, et pardessus un or frisé, rebroché d'un or mêlé avec un certain or, qui fait la plus divine etoffe qui ait jamais été imaginée; ce sont les Fées qui ont fait cet ouvrage en secret; âme vivante n'en avait connaissance.' With this robe so dazzling in its magnificence were united jewels beyond price, which, sparkling in her hair and adorning her neck and arms, made her truly the queen of that night. Her cup was full of joy. The information which she had received just before entering the ballroom that the Marquis de Montespan, her husband (determined to consider her dead to him), had celebrated her funeral obsequies, had hung his gates with black, ordered a funeral service to be performed at the parish church, had put himself and his household into the deepest mourning, and that the dismal equipage which she had glimpsed through the vistas of the forest was his mourning coach, did not dim her eyes, or steal a smile from her lips."

"Is this historical?" asked Crawford. "Excuse me for interrupting you-did the Marquis really thus celebrate her funereal rites ?"" "He certainly did," replied Lavalette. "But to continue my narration, which is nearly ended. That night, while Madame de Montespan revelled in the homage that was paid to her-those of the highest rank, with few exceptions, eager to pour their adulation into

The

the ear of the favourite of royalty-one more beautiful and a hundred times more amiable waked and wept, deploring her past faults, and sorrowing over the hour in which she had first entered the precincts of a Court. Louise wept for herself, but not for herself alone. piercing shriek of Eline Cochard, when the young officer attacked her pet deer with his naked hanger, rung all night in the ears of Louise, and the cruel conduct of the Marchioness de Montespan pierced her heart the deeper, as she thought on early ties, and how she herself had befriended her.

"That night the Duchess determined to enter the Carmelite Convent at Chaillot without further delay, and to become a professed nun. She had been for a year in secret preparing herself for this step. Her domestics bitterly regretted their separation from her; her friends entreated her to choose a convent whose rules were less severe; and the volatile King did all he could to detain her at Court; but in vain. Under the designation of Soeur de Louise de la Miséricorde she made her profession. Madame de Montespan visited her after she was a nun, and insultingly inquired if she was really as happy as people said she was, in bidding adieu to the world. I am not happy, but I am content,' was the reply of Sour Louise. Gentle, yet dignified, in her manners, and deeply feeling her past errors, the sorrowful nun ('cette petite violette qui se cachait sous l'herbe,' as Madame de Sevigné calls her,) could not but be hurt by Madame de Montespan's cruel irony. But naturally of a soft, melancholy temperament, and loving solitude, for she had never cared for the gaieties of the court, Louise found at last that peace of mind which she had lost, and-"

"Became," said Crawford, as Lavalette paused for an instant as if at a loss how to conclude, "the pensive nun devout and pure,' no doubt, with looks communing with the skies.""

There are few individuals who do not hail with pleasure the return of spring. The rich, the poor, the country gentleman, the town mechanic, alike rejoice in the genial season. The swallow has returned, the cuckoo's notes are heard, the corncrake's harsh voice has begun to rise from the emerald green grass-birds of every description are carolling their wood-notes wild; lambs are bleating, cattle lowing, horses neighingall nature is glad, and the air rings with joyousness. Nor is the true sportsman less awake to the charms of this bright sunny time. Though winter has passed away, the foxhunter repines not at the change. With pleasure he beholds his gallant steeds, which have carried him through many a brilliant run, turned out in the field to recruit their fiery spirits ere another season returns; or he beholds some favourite