DEATH IN LIFE.
BY AGNES JAMES.
"For love is strong as death ; jealousy is cruel as the grave."
THE Soft September sunlight fell with a mellow evening radiance upon the gray walls and broad terraces of Hautlieu . The old chateau itself was sombre and frowning as a prison, but its parks and terraces were very lovely in the fair light of evening. The brilliant flowers glowed in their marble vases, the fountains tinkled musically in their wide basins, the shadows of the great oaks lengthened and deepened on the emerald grass.
It was the sweetest, idlest, dreamiest of weather, and the great chateau seemed to have fallen asleep in its noontide of splendor," and to be slumbering still, so profound was the quiet that reigned within and around it.
But one living figure appeared amidst this lovely scene. Up and down the terrace glided a lady, passing through shadow and sunlight with bowed head, and loosely, listlessly, clasped hands. Her rich dress of pearl-gray silk, with gay trimming of scarlet velvet, swept in a gorgeous train over the grass. Rare, filmy lace covered her white neck and arms, and the sunlight that fell upon her, lingered, quivering and glowing, in the hearts of the blood-red rubies that bung in her ears, fastened the lace on her bosom, and encircled her slender throat and rounded arms. These were the "Hautlieu rubies —priceless, peerless; drops of restless, undying flame, and their wearer was the young Marquise de Hautlieu. The " Child Marquise, " they had called her at court, whither she had gone not six months before, just from her convent school, glowing with the roses of youth, health, and high spirits, radiantly beautiful—a young girl of sixteen, and the bride of a man of sixty years.
She was the only child of a gentleman who had dissipated an immense fortune by a series of wild extravagances, and had died, leaving his widow and daughter in utter destitution.
Madame de Beranger, a gentle, timid woman, bowed down with grief and despair, saw no refuge but the convent-walls for herself and her child ; and it was with untold emotions of gratitude and joy that she listened to proposals made to her by the Marquis de Hautlieu, a powerful and wealthy friend of her husband.
These proposals were for the hand of her young daughter, not yet fourteen, but already renowned for her beauty, her intelligence, and her sparkling vivacity. Mademoiselle de Beranger was placed in a convent, by the marquis, for the completion of her education, and her mother, meanwhile, lived in the enjoyment of every luxury the wealth and respectful affection of the marquis could supply. To the young Vivienne he was kind and gentle as a father; to Madame de Beranger as thoughtful and devoted as a brother. So the child was very happy when, after two years in the convent, she came to court with her gray-haired husband-as happy as a bird set free; and the stately gardens of the palace echoed with her clear laughter and singing, and the sound of her flying footsteps.
She set all decorum at defiance; she shocked the grave mistress of ceremonies into speechless despair ; and the decorous court-bred beauties pursed up their rosy lips, and looked unutterable scorn and wonder. But the gay cavaliers raved about her sparkling hazel eyes, her bronze- brown waving hair, that almost swept the ground when in some wild, childish race or game she had shaken it from its fastening, and it fell glittering around her, about her cheek, with its soft, peachy bloom, her little, lovely figure, her tiny foot , and her wonderful white hand. Even the king smiled at her wildest pranks, and gazed admiringly into the beautiful, bewitching face, that, with such demurely smiling lips and dancing eyes, craved pardon for some breach of court-etiquette.
"There is nothing one could not forgive, madame, to such loveliness as yours," said the king, with a gracious inclination - and the little marquise swept a laughing courtesy, and glanced around with saucy triumph in her bright eyes.
This was in the old, old time, when the French monarch was a grand, stately, wicked old man; when the French court was brilliant as it was corrupt, and when there was scarcely one amongst the beautiful and witty ladies of the court whose fame was spotless and pure. But the Child Marquise, " in spite of her gay coquetry, and her scores of admirers, passed unscathed through the ordeal of court life. She laughed, and flirted her fan, and tossed her
