most insensibly found its way round her waist. She did not repel it; but he felt the hand he still held in his tremble violently." Unhappy!" he repeated; "can you imagine I would wish you so? But why should you be unhappy because I love you ?"

She paused for a moment; then suddenly starting from the sofa, she exclaim. ed-“ Leave me, Melville-leave me to think. Come to me to-morrow evening. I would fain do what is right, but I have no one to guide me. Leave me, in pity leave me:" and she turned away her head, while her eyes still remained fixed upon the ground.

"Have I offended you?" asked Charles, as he rose to obey her.

"Oh no, indeed," she answered, holding out her hand to him, and raising her blushing face with a smile, that seemed to struggle through a variety of emotions; for though it was playful, it was but faint

"oh no, indeed: no woman was ever offended

offended at being told that she was loved. But leave me now, Melville-leave me now."

There was something in the way that she said it, that made Charles see clearly that she really did wish him to leave her; and accordingly, obeying her command, he returned to his own hotel, in a state of mind very different from that in which he had left it. His feelings were not altogether of the most pleasant character: he had entirely committed himself with the baroness while he was with her, he was in a state of infatuation; but when he had left her, there were some remembrances he wished to banish; nor did he exactly like to scrutinize his feelings towards her. With these feelings, his mind was so far agitated that he did not like to meet Mr. Wilmot, and went to his own apartment without seeing him: but there, resolved as he was to go blindly on, thought pressed on him more than he liked, and composing himself as well as he could, he descended

scended to the saloon, resolving to fill up the space of time, ere he again saw the baroness, with different amusements, which would not permit the intrusion of other reflections.

Whether Mr. Wilmot did or did not observe that Charles was at all agitated, he took no notice of it at their meeting, but merely proposed, as an occupation for the morning, that they should visit the cemetery of Pere la Chaise-" Much," said he,“ has been said in its depreciation, but it has always highly interested me."

Charles was glad of any object that would turn his thoughts into another channel, and acceding gladly to the idea, the carriage soon brought them to the gates of the burial-ground.

Pere la Chaise is a large piece of enclosed ground, sloping considerably in different parts, and from some of the highest points commanding the finest view of Paris that Mr. Melville had yet seen; and standing, surrounded by a past-by multitude, silent

and

and cold in their confined and earthly dwellings, while he looked upon the gay and vicious capital, raising its proud domes and spires in the clear, unclouded atmosphere, the contrast of the city of the living, and the city of the dead, struck him most. forcibly. In each of the burial-grounds, numerous denizens had his little garden railed in, and decked with flowers and evergreens, and these were to be seen in all states, from that whose newly-laid turf was thickly ornamented with blossoms and garlands, to that which had gradually become desert and neglected, as the friends who once decked it had gradually sought the same asylum, or as the memory of affection had faded with the flowers which a first short sorrow strewed.

But this was not always the case; passing through one of the walks, Charles observed a little grove, whose simple, but fresh, decorations led him to imagine that

it had been lately formed. were blooming thick about it,

The violets and at small

distances

distances groups of crocuses and hyacinths were putting forth their early blossoms. On looking at the tombstone, he found that it was dedicated to the memory of an amiable wife, and eighteen years had passed since the moment it was placed there. After passing through the farther parts of the cemetery, he returned to look at it again, but was deterred from approaching, by observing an old man in mourning leaning against the monument. There was another plain marble obelisk, marked simply with the name Julie; and round the fence which enclosed it, a young officer, with several orders at his breast, was engaged in binding a fresh wreath of flowers. Perhaps it was the tomb of a sister he was adorning; perhaps of one still dearer: but on seeing strangers coming near, he snatched up his hat that lay beside him, and passed quickly amongst the surrounding monuments.

A moment or two after, Charles's eye fell upon the figure of a man whose coun

tenance