The crowd shrunk back. Cshonin raised up the beautiful Christian. He supplicated her to be seated. He removed from his head the red bonnet; and he flung to a distance from him on the floor the dreadful wenpons which seemed to excite the fears of the maiden. He did his utmost to inspire her with counnge, He did 80 by his words, and by his emiles; and he at length thus spoke to her, with an emotion that was marked by his trembling fips—
“ Whoever you are, do not feel tho vlightest fear, but eign to answer me.”
“To whom shall I give an answer? Ys it to an enemy 2”
«No—but to a citizen, a patriot,and an honest man.”
“ Well, then, what is your will?”
“E wich to know what you were doing thore.”
“I was praying to God for you ; for all.”
“Forus?
“ Yes, for the murderers of my father.”
“Then, who are you?”
“Tam the daughter of an aristocrat, Iam Lucille de Matortie,”
‘To bear such a name was at that poriod a most awful crime; and it imposed upon the Commissary of the people the performance of a dreadful duty; but it was one that, in despite of the promptings of his heart, be must discharge. The crowd collected in the chateau yelted forth “down with the female aristocrat ;” and Cabonia was compalled to order our heroine, and who was already his proteg/e,.to rixe in haste, and take her place even in tho midst of her enemies; to obey what was called “the law,” and to follow him.
“Farewell! wo shall mect in another and a better world,” said Mademoiselle de Malortie, as her hand war kissed by her old and faithful servant.
“Angel of Heaven!” stommered forth the old man, as ho knelt at the feet of Cabonis ; « where is she going? Where are you bringing her?” .
“To death!” exclaimed a voice in the crowd.
“To martyrdom,” remarked (he maiden,
“To liberty,” murmured the Commissary of the people.
In a few hours afterward, Mademissle de Malortie was a prisoner in the Castle of Ha; and on the evening of that day, the jailor of the prison was dismissed, no one could tell why or wherefore. The jailor was an old man, and he was replaced by a man’who was young, and whose very name was a terror to the aristocrat—in short, by an inexorable patriot whose courage, resolution, and popular influence were unquestionable. ‘This new jailor wote the scarf of a Commissary of the people, and he was called John Francis Cabonie.
A very great surprise awaited Louise de Malortie the next morning; for, in the place of the old and sulky jailor, that the day before visited ber, she saw her cell
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door opened by the man of the people, who had the goodness to sinilo upon, to encourage, and defend her, in the great hall of her father’s chateau, Cabonis hum- bly and respectfully took her hand and led her quickly through all the detours of @ dull and frightful labyrinth, where nought could be heard but the dolorous echo of groane, of sighs, arid of wailing, *'They thus proceeded for a considerable time. At length the mysterious guide camo to a door that was low, thick, and plated over with iron; he pushed with his foot, and the fair prisoner found herself in a room, the very aspect of which elicited from her a cry of gratitude, surprise, and joy. It was @cham- ber in which there was pure air; there was light, there were flowers. An odoriferous brecze filled the air; and the sunbeams came in a long spiral of tuminous atoms; while wall-flowers pushed their way through the gra- tings of the window. Lucille ascended a fow ateps that led to the window—she plucked a flower and presented it to her joitor, and us she did ao, she ssid with a sad smile—
“I am—I am surely indebted to you alone for the kindness of providing me with this charming room— my last pleasant abode in this world, A day more— pethaps not an hour—and I shall have coased to exist. Accept then, Sir, this flower; it is all that I now possess —and keep it as @ remembrance of your unhappy pri- soner.”
“<T swear to you that it sball always Le kept by me,” cried the intractable republican; “but,” he added, in a low voice, “have you any thing to ask of me, any thing to inquire from me 1”
«© Yeo—but first I havo a queetion to ask of you. Do you think Ihave long to live."
“T hope so.”
“Then I ask you to procure for me # prayer-book, some of my dressea from the chateau, and some books,”
«T will go to the village myself to-night, and you shall he in possession of thore things in the morning.”
“That is not all; but, indeed, I am ashamed thus to jntrude upon your kindaose—I would also wish for pen, ink and paper.”
“You shall have them—slthough by doing these! things I jeopardize my repulation, my honor, and per- haps my life—but whet matter, Speak, order, com- mand—say to your bumble servant, ‘stand up,’ and I tise—‘kneol down,’ and I shall bend before you—‘obey,” and I do your bidding; ‘dio, if it be necessary, and I will die—Farowell !”
‘The jailor went, or rather rushed out of the chamber. Hee closed the door with violence behind him, and for an entire week was absent. A turnkey, in whom he could confide, executed the commands of the lady, ond came each day to receive her orders, the slightest one of which, in tho eyen of his master, was equivalent to (he irrevo- cable commandment of a law. �
