Yesterday morning, at half-past eight, we repaired, Monsieur George, Monsieur de Breuilly, and myself, to an unfrequented path situated about half way between Mauterne and Malouet, and which had been selected for the dueling-ground.  Our adversary arrived almost immediately after, accompanied by Messieurs de Quiroy and Astley.  The nature of the insult admitted of no attempt at conciliation.  We had therefore to proceed at once to the fight.

Scarcely had Monsieur George placed himself in position, when we became convinced of his complete inexperience in the use of the sword.  Monsieur de Breuilly cast upon me a look of stupor.  However, after the blades had been crossed, there was a semblance of fight and of defense; but at the third pass, Monsieur George fell pierced through the chest.

I threw myself upon him; he was already in the grasp of death.  Nevertheless he pressed my hand feebly, smiled once more, then gave vent, with his last breath, to his last thought, which was for you, sir: 

“Tell Paul that I love him, that I forbid him seeking to avenge me, and that I die—­happy.”  He expired.

I shall not attempt, sir, to add anything to this narrative.  It has already been too long and too painful to me; but I deemed this faithful and minute account due to you.  I had reason to believe, besides, that your friendship would like to follow to the last instant that existence which was so justly dear to you.  Now you know all, you have understood all, even what I have left unsaid.

He lies in peace by her side.  You will doubtless come, dear sir.  We expect you.  We shall mingle our tears over those two beloved beings, both kind and charming, both crushed by passion and seized by death with relentless rapidity in the midst of the pleasantest scenes of life.

[THE END.]

THE SPHINX;

OR,

“JULIA DE TRECOEUR.”

CHAPTER I.

“A BALEFUL AFFECTION.”

All those who, like ourselves, knew Raoul de Trecoeur during his early youth, believed that he was destined to great fame.  He had received quite remarkable gifts from nature; there are left from him two or three sketches and a few hundred verses that promised a master; but he was very rich, and had been very badly brought up; he soon gave himself up to dilettanteism.  A perfect stranger, like most men of his generation, to the sentiment of duty, he permitted himself to be recklessly carried away by his instincts, which, fortunately for others, were more ardent than hurtful.  Therefore was he generally pitied when he died, in the flower of his age, for having loved and enjoyed immoderately everything that he thought pleasant.