loved and wished to please, he was gentle and insinuating; and when he chose to open the resources of his highly gifted mind, his conversational talents were more versatile and fascinating, than those of any individual whom I have ever known.  There was a cast of deep thought, almost of melancholy, in his countenance, which was ascribed, I know not if correctly, to an early disappointment; but it was seldom banished, even from his smiles, and often increased when all around him seemed most gay and happy.  His feelings, indeed, were never expended in light and trifling emotions; they were strong, silent, and indelible; and those who viewed the calmness of his exterior, little dreamed of the impetuous passions which slumbered beneath, and which he was accustomed to restrain by the most rigid and habitual self-command.  Some of these traits excited my father’s solicitude for the future happiness of his daughter; but they were overbalanced by so many noble qualities and shining virtues, that no other eye detected their blemishes.  Your mother believed him faultless; she had given him her affections, with all the enthusiasm of her guileless heart; and he regarded her with a devotion, that almost bordered on idolatry.”

Madame de la Tour paused, and Lucie, raising her head from the attitude of profound attention with which she listened, asked, in an accent which seemed to deprecate an affirmative answer,

“You are not weary, I hope, dearest aunt?”

“Not weary, Lucie,” she replied; “but you must sometimes allow me a moment’s respite, to collect and arrange my thoughts.  More than twenty years have passed since these events, yet, child as I then was, they made too deep an impression on my mind to be effaced by time; and I cannot, even now, reflect on them without emotion.

“I have dwelt thus minutely on your father’s character,” she continued, “that you may be prepared for”—­

“For what?” interrupted Lucie; “surely all these happy prospects were not soon darkened by clouds!”

“We will not anticipate,” said Mad. de la Tour, in a voice slightly tremulous.  She again resumed,

“De Courcy was the younger son of an ancient and honorable family.  My sister’s rank and fortune equalled his expectations, her beauty gratified the pride of his connexions, and the endearing qualities of her mind and heart won their entire approbation and regard.  Their marriage was solemnized; and never was there a day of greater happiness, or one which opened more brilliant prospects for futurity.  De Courcy conveyed his bride immediately to a favorite estate, which he possessed in Provence, whither I was permitted to accompany them; and six months glided away, in the full enjoyment of that felicity which their romantic hopes had anticipated.  Winter approached, and your father was importuned to visit the metropolis, and introduce his young and beautiful wife to the gay and elevated station which she was expected to fill.