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great coarse tipsy wretch! She is engaged, as you know, to your connexion, my grandson, Barnes-in all respects a most eligible union. The rank of life of the parties suits them to one another. She is a good young woman, and Barnes has experienced from persons of another sort such horrors, that he will know the blessing of domestic virtue. It was high time he should I say all this in perfect frankness to you.

“Go back again and play in the garden, little brats” (this to the innocents who came frisking in from the lawn in front of the windows). .66 You have been ? And Barnes sent you in here? Go up to Miss Quigley. No, stop. Go and tell Ethel to come down; bring her down with you. Do you understand ?”

The unconscious infants toddle upstairs to their sister; and Lady Kew blandly says, “ Ethel's engagement to my grandson, Lord Kew, has long been settled in our family, though these things are best not talked about until they are quite determined, you know, my dear Mr. Newcome. When we saw you and your father in London, we heard that you too—that you too were engaged to a young lady in your own rank of life, a Miss —what was her name ?-Miss MacPherson, Miss Mackenzie. Your aunt, Mrs. Hobson Newcome, who I must say is a most blundering silly person, had set about this story. It appears there is no truth in it. Do not look surprised that I know about your affairs. I am an old witch, and know numbers of things."

And, indeed, how Lady Kew came to know this fact, whether her maid corresponded with Lady Ann's maid, what her ladyship’s means of information were, avowed or occult, this biographer has never been

had been made aware of that interesting circumstance, had announced it to Lady Kew in the course of a cross-examination, and there may have been a battle between the granddaughter and the grandmother, of which the family chronicler of the Newcomes has had no precise knowledge. That there were many such I know—skirmishes, sieges, and general engagements. When we hear the guns, and see the wounded, we know there has been a fight. Who knows had there been a battle royal, and was Miss Newcome having her wounds dressed upstairs? . “You will like to say good-by to your cousin, I know," Lady Kew continued, with imperturbable placidity. “Ethel, my dear, here is Mr. Clive Newcome, who has come to bid us all good-by." The little girls came trotting down at this moment, each holding a skirt of their elder sister. She looked rather pale, but her expression was haughty almost fierce. Clive rose up as she entered, from the sofa by the old Countess's side, which place she had pointed him to take during the amputation. He rose up and put his hair back off his face, and said very calmly, “ Yes, I am come to say good-by. My holidays are over, and Ridley and I are off for Rome; good-by and God bless you, Ethel.”

She gave him her hand, and said, “ Good-by, Clive," but her hand did not return his pressure, and dropped to her side when he let it go.

Hearing the words good-by, little Alice burst into a howl, and little Maude, who was an impetuous little thing, stamped her little red shoes, and said, “ It san't be good-by. Tlive san't go.” Alice roaring, clung hold of Clive's trousers. He took them up gaily, each on an arm, as he had done a hundred times, and tossed the children on to his shoulders, where they used to like to pull his yellow mustachios. He kissed the little hands and faces, and a moment after was gone.

" Qu'as tu,” says M. de Florac, meeting him going over the bridge to his own hotel.“ Qu'as tu, mon pétit Claive. Est-ce qu'on vient de t'arracher une dent?”

« C'est ça," says Clive, and walked into the “Hôtel de France." " Hullo! J.T.! Ridley 1" he sang out. « Order the trap out and let's. be off.” “I thought we were not to march till to-morrow," says J. J., divining perhaps that some catastrophe had occurred. Indeed Mr. Clive was going a day sooner than he had intended. He woke at Fribourg the next morning. It was the grand old cathedral he looked at, not Baden of the pine-clad hills, of the pretty walks and the limetree avenues. Not Baden, the prettiest booth of all Vanity Fair. The crowds and the music, the gambling-tables, and cadaverous croupiers and chinking gold, were far out of sight and hearing. There was one window in the “ Hôtel de Hollande” that he thought of, how a fair arm used to open it in the early morning, how the muslin curtain in the morning air swayed to and fro. He would have given how much to see it once more! Waiking about at Fribourg in the night, away from his companions, he had thought of ordering horses, galloping back to Baden, and once again under that window calling “Ethel, Ethel." But he came back to his room and the quiet J. J., and to poor Jack Belsize, who had had his tooth taken out, too.

We had almost forgotten Jack, who took a back seat in Clive's carriage, as befits a secondary personage in this history, and Clive, in truth, had almost forgotten him too. But Jack having his own cares and business, and having rammed his own carpet-bag, brought it down without a word, and Clive found him environed in smoke when he came down to take his place in the little britzska. I wonder whether the window at the “Hôtel de Hollandesaw him go? There are some curtains behind which no historian, however prying, is allowed to peep.

“ Tiens, le petit part,” says Florac of the cigar, who was always sauntering. “ Yes, we go," says Clive. “There is a fourth place, Viscount; will you come too?”

“I would love it well," replies Florac, “but I am here in faction. My cousin and seigneur M. le Duc d'Ivry is coming all the way from Bagnères de Bigorre. He says he counts on me:-affaires d'état, mon cher, affaires d'état.”

“How pleased the duchess will be. Easy with that bag!" sħouts Clive. “How pleased the princess will be." In truth he hardly knew what he was saying.

“Vous croyez; vous croyez," says M. de Florac. “As you have a fourth place I know who had best take it."

“And who is that?" asked the young traveller.

Lord Kew and Barnes Newcome, Esq., came out of the “Hôtel de Hollande” at this moment. Barnes slunk back, seeing Jack Belsize's hairy face. Kew ran over the bridge. “Good-by, Clive. Good-by, Jack.” “Good-by, Kew." It was a great handshaking. Away goes the postilion blowing his horn, and young Hannibal has left Capua behind him.

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CHAPTER XXXI.

MADAME LA DUCHESSE. TN one of Clive Newcome's letters from Baden, the young man 1 described to me, with considerable humour and numerous illustrations as his wont was, a great lady to whom he was presented at that watering-place by his friend Lord Kew. Lord Kew had travelled in the East with Monsieur le Duc and Madame la Duchesse d'Ivrythe prince being an old friend of his lordship's family. He is the “ Q” of Madame d'Ivry's book of travels, “ Footprints of the Gazelles, by a daughter of the Crusaders,” in which she prays so fervently for Lord Kew's conversion. He is the “Q” who rescued the princess from the Arabs, and performed many a feat which lives in her glowing pages. He persists in saying that he never rescued Madame la Princesse from any Arabs at all, except from one beggar who was bawling out for bucksheesh, and whom Kew drove away with a stick. They made pilgrimages to all the holy places, and a piteous sight it was, said Lord Kew, to see the old prince in the Jerusalem processions at Easter pacing with bare feet and a candle. Here Lord Kew separated from the prince's party. His name does not occur in the last part of the "Footprints;" which, in truth, are filled full of strange rhapsodies, adventures which nobody ever saw but the princess, and mystic disquisitions. She hesitates at nothing, like other poets of her nation: not profoundly learned, she invents where she has not acquired ; mingles together religion and the opera; and performs Parisian pasde-ballet before the gates of monasteries and the cells of anchorites. She describes, as if she had herself witnessed the catastrophe, the passage of the Red Sea; and, as if there were no doubt of the transaction, an unhappy love-affair between Pharaoh's eldest son and Moses's daughter. At Cairo, àpropos of Joseph's granaries, she enters into a furious tirade against Potiphar, whom she paints as an old savage, suspicious and a tyrant. They generally have a copy of the “Footprints of the Gazelles” at the Circulating Library at Baden, as Madame d'Ivry constantly visits that watering-place. M. le Duc was not pleased with the book, which was published entirely without his concurrence, and which he described as one of the ten thousand follies of Madame la Duchesse.

This nobleman was five-and-forty years older than his duchess. France is the country where that sweet Christian institution of nariages de convenance (which so many folks of the family about which this story treats are engaged in arranging) is most in voguc. There the newspapers daily announce that M. de Foy has a bureau de confiance, where families may arrange marriages for their sons and daughters in perfect comfort and security. It is but a question of money on one side and the other. Mademoiselle has so many francs of dot; Monsieur has such and such rentes or lands in possession or reversion, an étude d'avoué, a shop with a certain clientèle bringing him such and such an income, which may be doubled by the judicious addition of so much capital, and the pretty little matrimonial arrangement is concluded (the agent touching his per-centage), or broken off, and nobody unhappy, and the world none the wiser. The consequences of the system I do not pretend personally to know; but if the light literature of a country is a reflex of its manners, and French novels are a picture of French life, a pretty society must that be into the midst of which the London reader may walk in twelve hours from this time of perusal, and from which only twenty miles of sea separate us.

When the old Duke d'Ivry, of the ancient ancient nobility of France, an emigrant with Artois, a warrior with Condé, an exile during the reign of the Corsican usurper, a grand prince, a great nobleman afterwards, though shorn of nineteen-twentieths of his wealth by the Revolution,--when the Duke d'Ivry lost his two sons, and his son's son likewise died, as if fate had determined to end the direct line of that noble house, which had furnished queens to Europe, and renowned chiefs to the Crusaders-being of an intrepid spirit, the Duke was ill-disposed to yield to his redoubtable enemy, in spite of the cruel blows which the latter had inflicted upon him; and when he was more than sixty years of age, three months before the July Revolution broke out, a young lady of a sufficient nobility, a virgin of sixteen, was brought out of the convent of the Sacré Caur at Paris, and married with immense splendour and ceremony to this princely widower. The most august names signed the book of the civil marriage. Madame la Dauphine and Madame la Duchesse de Berri .complimented the young bride with royal favours. Her portrait by Dubufe was in the Exhibition next year: a charming young duchess indeed, with black eyes, and black ringlets, pearls on her neck, and diamonds in her hair, as beautiful as a princess of a fairy tale. M. d'Ivry, whose early life may have been rather oragious, was yet a gentleman perfectly well conserved. Resolute against fate his enemy (one would fancy fate was of an aristocratic turn, and took especial delight in combats with princely houses : the Atridæ, the

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