the race of Champdoce will again recover the proud position that it formerly held.”  Faithful to this idea, he wedded, in 1820, although his heart was entirely untouched, a young girl of noble birth but utterly devoid of beauty, though possessed of a magnificent dowry.  Their union was an extremely unhappy one, and many persons did not hesitate to accuse the Duke of treating with harshness and severity a young girl, who, having brought her husband five hundred thousand francs, could not understand why she should be refused a new dress when she urgently needed it.  After twelve months of inconceivable unhappiness, she gave birth to a son who was baptized Louis Norbert, and six months afterwards she sank into an untimely grave.

The Duke did not seem to regret his loss very deeply.  The boy appeared to be of a strong and robust constitution, and his mother’s dowry would go to swell the revenues of the Champdoce family.  He made his recent loss, too, the pretext for further retrenchments and economies.

Norbert was brought up exactly as a farmer’s son would have been.  Every morning he started off to work, carrying his day’s provisions in a basket slung upon his back.  As he grew older, he was taught to sow and reap, to estimate the value of a standing crop at a glance, and, last but not least, to drive a hard bargain.  For a long time the Duke debated the expediency of permitting his son to be taught to read or write; and if he did so at last, it was owing to some severe remarks by the parish priest upon the day on which Norbert took the sacrament for the first time.

All went on well and smoothly until the day when Norbert, on his sixteenth birthday, accompanied his father to Poitiers for the first time.

At sixteen years of age, Louis Norbert de Champdoce looked fully twenty, and was as handsome a youth as could be seen for miles round.  The sun had given a bronzed tint to his features which was exceedingly becoming.  He had black hair, with a slight curl running through it, and large melancholy blue eyes, which he inherited from his mother.  Poor girl! it was the sole beauty that she had possessed.  He was utterly uncultured, and had been ruled with such a rod of iron by his father that he had never been a league from the Chateau.  His ideas were barred by the little town of Bevron, with its sixty houses, its town hall, its small chapel, and principal river; and to him it seemed a spot full of noise and confusion.  In the whole course of his life he had never spoken to three persons who did not belong to the district.  Bred up in this secluded manner, it was almost impossible for him to understand that any one could lead a different existence to that of his own.  His only pleasure was in procuring an abundant harvest, and his sole idea of excitement was High Mass on Sunday.

For more than a year the village girls had cast sly glances at him, but he was far too simple and innocent to notice this.  When Mass was over, he generally walked over the farm with his father to inspect the work of the past week, or to set snares for the birds.  His father at last determined to give him a wider experience, and one day said that he was to accompany him to Poitiers.