at its edge one bank of a brawling, foaming little tributary stream that flashed like snow and silver through the landscape. The ornamental grounds were not extensive, and, although the roughness and untidiness that are features of Brittany as characteristic as its costumes-all unaltered thirty years ago—were much modified in the case of the Château de Rastacq, it had a certain bareness and formality of aspect in the front view that was not altogether relieved by the sweep of the forest at the back of the house. A formal piece of water, with a leaden fountain of heavy and tasteless design in the middle, was divided by a railing with a tall gate in it from a flat and formal parterre, and beyond that was the wide perron roofed in by a marquise. The latter was an innovation due to the Parisian taste of Madame de Rastacq.

Under the summer sun, shining on hill and plain, forest and river, the leaden-capped turrets of the château were turned to silver, the glass roof of the marquise glittered, the water in the pond became a sheet of crystal, the formal flower-beds in the parterre glowed with glorious colour, and the facteur, trudging wearily up the woodside road with the letters for the château, put a little extra fatigue into his gait on perceiving that a young lady was on the look-out for him at the small door in the grille. The château was at the far end of his walk, and a chope of rough heady cider as his guerdon was the almost invariable rule. The facteur, a good specimen of the sturdy saturnine Breton peasant, whose attire the traditional costume of the country, loose trousers and cartwheel hat inclusive-was thickly powdered with the dust of the roads, was too well accustomed to this hospitable attention to take much note of it. The presence of Mademoiselle indicated, however, a probable gift of a small coin at the least, perhaps a large one, for Daniel Grosset had a packet for the young lady herself and money is only less dear to the Breton than to the Norman soul. Daniel's expectations were realised; the young lady on the look-out for him at the grille joyfully received the packet which he handed to her, and gave him a pourboire so liberal that the habitual seriousness of his dark face was relieved for a moment by something like a smile. Returning to the perron, she seated herself on one of the broad steps and began to read the welcome letter.

The new

While Mademoiselle' was thus engaged, a second figure, emerging from the open door, appeared upon the scene. comer was a small, slight, elderly woman, of remarkable elegance of figure and deportment, richly but appropriately dressed, with a closer observance of the prevailing mode than might have been looked for in a region so remote from the centre of fashion; but

who could never have been otherwise than plain in her first youth, or even in her second-a period frequently more favourable to Frenchwomen's looks than early girlhood. Madame de Rastacq was not Breton, but Parisian, and as a young woman she had successfully practised the art of charming without beauty—an art essentially Parisian, although le plus joli laideron' of the Second Empire was Austrian. Her features were insignificant, her small, deep-set eyes, shrewd of expression and singularly quick of glance, were of an indefinite colour, her complexion was evenly dark and sallow, her thick black hair had never been lustrous, and only the perfectly white and even teeth redeemed her face from positive ugliness. Madame de Rastacq descended the steps with a light tread, and smilingly laid her still beautiful hand on the shoulder of Mademoiselle.'

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So you have got your letter, Sybille,' she said, in French that was as purely Parisian as her gown and her cap. And now you will be tranquil. Eh! the dear mother writes much!'

'Does she not?' said Sybil Vivian, rising; and it is all so good. Mama makes such charming plans.'

Madame de Rastacq cast a sharp glance at the papers in the young lady's hand.

'Do they include her coming back soon to take you away from me?'

No; she cannot return for some time yet. She has an affair to arrange which is dragging itself, and she must wait to complete it. But I will read her English into our language for you. Did you come to call me to breakfast, dear Madame ?'

Yes; and here comes Jean to reproach us with the cooling of our cutlets.'

Madame de Rastacq and her guest entered the house. No one could have detected under the easy politeness of the elder lady's manner, perfect in its mingling of familiarity and attention, the secret apprehensions that were besetting her, with respect to a design of her own on which she was seriously bent. She was a clever woman in her way and in her degree, but she was narrow in her views, devoid of high-mindedness herself, and incapable of recognising it in others. Not only was she firmly persuaded that the chief object in life of Madame Vivian was to marry her daughter, but her estimate of the good sense and maternal virtue of her wealthy, worthy, but withal somewhat mysterious neighbour would have been seriously lessened had she been convinced that she was in error. The whole duty of the mother of a daughter was comprehended in 'marrying her;' it would be impossible that even the misfortune of Madame Vivian's half-English blood and breed

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ing could have obscured her sense of right in that matter. Two points on which the mind of Madame de Rastacq was exercised were, respectively, the unaccountable seclusion in which a lady of such manifestly easy fortune chose to live, with a daughter to marry who would presumably be much the better for seeing and being seen by society, and the entire silence that was maintained by her mother on the subject of Sybil's dot. The first was, after all, a harmless eccentricity; and however puzzling it might be to Madame de Rastacq, it was distinctly fortunate, because the success of her own design in reference to her Anglo-French neighbours depended upon their continued residence in the vicinity of Quimperlé. The second was very annoying, not only because it was contrary to custom, but because it gave rise to an uncomfortable sense of insecurity. That detestable liberty in the disposition of their own property which English people were unhappily suffered to enjoy, might exert itself injuriously in the case of Mademoiselle Vivian. It was possible that the fortune, of whose importance there could be no doubt, was all her mother's, and at her mother's ultimate disposal, and that she might not be inclined to doter Sybil with proportionate liberality; especially as she participated in the absurd English ideas of love and marriage—an effect of her mixed parentage that could not be too fervently deplored.

Madame de Rastacq had entertained particular views respecting the residents at the Château de la Dame Blanche from an early period of her acquaintance with them. That acquaintance had been made after due inquiry, and by the advice of M. l'Abbé Foix, curé of a small parish in the environs of Quimperlé, an ecclesiastic whose savoir vivre and savoir faire, without any detriment to his piety, might have fulfilled the requirements of a more important sphere of action. The mother was half English, but the daughter was virtually French. Sybil had never been in England; she spoke English fluently indeed, but not by preference; her graceful ways and passive obedience were French. There was about the dark-eyed daughter of Madame Vivian none of the independence of opinion and action which Madame de Rastacq especially disliked, because it was so English. There was no personal reason why Madame de Rastacq should not marry' her only son Réné to the young lady of the Château de la Dame Blanche, and there was, presumably, a very sufficient pecuniary motive for making up the match if possible. That presumably' was the crux, and at present Madame de Rastacq was bent upon removing it.

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When, like the sublime scapegrace of the Tale of Two Cities,' Madame de Rastacq 'looked over her cards,' she noted some very

VOL. LIII. NO. CCXII.

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