consists of the very flower of chivalry. To Charles himself Nature has not been indifferent; but I have eyes only for one. Forgive your friend if, occupied with her own thoughts, she has failed to spy out your favourite, and tell me, without further concealment, who, amidst that glittering cavalcade, appears the fairest and the most amiable in your eyes. Nay, no preaching tones," said she, laying her finger on Diana's lips. "Be gentle; repel not my confidence; for I, too, feel impelled, by an irresistible temptation, to deposit a sweet secret in your breast. Who is the fairest and

the most amiable?"

"Be it so then," said Diana gazing on her with a look of anxiety, "your confidence is dearer to me than any thing. The fairest, say you-in truth, Renée, I know not-but the most amiable is the Duke Gonzaga."

"Gonzaga!" exclaimed the Princess, with surprise," and is it he you love?"

"Love him!" repeated Diana," I said not that; and yet, Renée"-and she with difficulty repressed her tears,

"I almost believe so. But fear not. You see how his whole attachment, his whole attentions are directed to It is not love, it is sisterly anxiety which agitates me. What can come of it? Your brother will never bestow your hand upon the Duke."

you alone. Mistake me not.

"I love him not," said the Princess, hastily; "but you!- -This does indeed surprise me. Why then did you refuse his hand, or are the reports of his secret courtship and your refusal untrue? I cannot believe it."

"Were he again to offer me his hand it would be again refused," said Diana, sinking her eyes to the ground.

"How am I to understand this ?" "His happiness is too dear to me to allow me to sacrifice his prospects on my account. A princely coronet in prospect is his; but were his uncle in Mantua dead, his pretensions are not so clear, so undisputed, but that in that land of intrigue he would have ample need of powerful connexions, active relations, and ample treasures to support his claims. What could the poor parentless Princess of Nevers do for him? A union with me would only close the door against his rights and make his wife a burden to him."

"Strange, overscrupulous girl! !" said the Princess, looking at her intently and with surprise" You might be happy, and yet for the sake of a mere chimera you sacrifice that happiness. Alas! what have we poor maidens left in this world, if we are voluntarily to sacrifice its brightest jewel-love? I must resign it, I was born to do so-but you-strange!"

"Then learn from me, dear Renée, to make the sacrifice patiently when it must be made."

"I shall make none to which I am not compelled by outward force," said Renée, with emotion. "And so it is to me that your faithless swain pays his court? I will not deny that I was flattered by the thought of being able by a gentle smile to atone for your coldness; but now since this confidence I look upon the matter in another light. I love him not-and could not-Oh! Diana, ungrateful friend"-stopping short, and concealing her glowing cheeks on the bosom of her friend"Oh, Diana! you have attached to yourself a sweeter glance, and will not perceive it: Oh! how I loathe this greatness, which scares from the heart every feeling of love."

"What do you mean," said Diana; "and of what glance do you speak?"

"Of that which reached you without your knowing of it-of that of the handsome Caussade."

"The madman!" replied Diana, in a tone of irritation. "True, it is not the first time I have witnessed his shameless glances-not directed indeed to me, but to you; although I will not deny it, I perceived also that he had no objectoin to make use of me as a device to conceal their true direction. Be candid with me, Renée! you know it as well as I; trust not the audacious youth."

"I wished but to hear it confirmed by you," said Renée, blushing; "but you call him shameless, audacious. Why so? because he has an open heart

an eye for beauty--because love gives him courage to dare any thing

Their conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of some of the attendants of the Princess, to announce that her presence was required in some of the usual monotonous avocations of the day. Nor did the friends find an opportunity of meeting again till the vesper bells were ring. ing, and the hunting party, amidst a

peal of woodland music, had re-entered the castle.

Renée pressed the hand of Diana, and whispered, "I have thought of all you said. You are a saint, Diana, however heathenish your name may sound. Yet even the saints are permitted to be happy-and, by our Lady, I shall do my best to make you so: Gonzaga shall be yours."

"For God's sake," exclaimed the Princess of Nevers, in terror, "let me not have occasion to repent my confidence in you!"

"That you shall not," replied Renée. "Confide in me: I will not interfere, if such is your resolve; but, at least, be not angry if I would fain learn whether Gonzaga is to be the man. Listen, and do not chide me. I have spent the morning, as usual, in the apartment of the Duchess of Mantua, tumbling over her books. She is a very learned lady, as you know, though she makes little pretension to it. Among others, I met with a thick quarto volume, written on vellum, and illuminated with strange painted figures. Know you of what the book treated? Of natural magic! The Duchess and I talked a great deal about it: it is all perfectly innocent, I assure you. And now, tell me"-said she, pausing, and putting her finger to her forehead" do you happen to have in your possession any sword or weapon belonging to your family?"

"I believe," said Diana, with some surprise, “ my brothers, when they joined the army, left a number of articles in my possession; and that there are weapons among them."

"Excellent!" exclaimed her friend, clapping her hands joyfully together. "Come, come!" And hurrying to the wardrobe, she was not long in finding a sword among its miscellaneous contents.

"But explain, explain," cried Diana, following her.

"We have found what was wanting. Ere to-morrow morning-if you have courage to confide in good spirits-you shall know whether Gonzaga is destined to be yours or not. Natural magic, you must know, Diana, teaches us, that if any one, man or woman, wishes to know whether the beloved object shall be theirs, she must place under his pillow a naked sword; and if she dream of him du

ring the night, when he sleeps above the blade, her wishes shall be realized. Why do you look at me thus doubtingly? The hour is favourable. The Duke is engaged at a late dinner with the King we can cross his mother's apartment, who is now gone to vespers. A small stair, as you know, leads from her chamber to his sleeping-room we cannot be surprised; and we can easily conceal the weapon in the folds of our robes."

The Princess of Nevers had listened in silence, with a blush on her cheek: she had involuntarily pressed the hand of her friend-a gentle hope seemed unconsciously to arise in her mind and to be reflected in her looks; but suddenly calming her emotion, she exclaimed, "To the Duke's chamber. Oh! never-never will I do that which would call a blush into my cheek, even though undetected; I will never do that which the whole world might not behold. Would Renée of France advise her friend to do what she con ceives to be beneath her own dignity?"

Had I the same inducement, Diana, I would not hesitate an instant."

"I cannot."

"And you believe me capable of leading my friend into a snare I would myself avoid? Give me the sword, I will myself place it under his pillow."

"You! the sister of the King, enter the chamber of the Duke!"

"And why not? He is not there. Come to the window; see how busily the pages and servants are still occupied with the banquet. Come, I will take your place."

"O, Renée, be prudent. Should any one meet you

"Accompany me only to the Duchess's apartment. Once there, all is easy. On the little stair leading to the Duke's there is no chance of meeting any one. And should impossibilities happen," she added, "a Princess may lose her way in the dark passages of the castle as well as others."

"Do as you will then," said Diana, "but remember your promise."

They soon reached the apartment of the Duchess. Renée, light as a nymph, with one finger placed on her smiling mouth, and the sword in her other hand, flew without hesitation

towards the door in the tapestry leading to the stair, and disappeared. Anxiously, and with beating heart, Diana awaited her return in the middle of the room; she could not hear a footstep, so gently had the Princess ascended the stair. She counted, with anxiety, the minutes till her return, which was not long delayed; but instead of the noiseless step with which she had mounted the stairs, Diana now heard her rush down the stair as if pursued. She burst into the room, glowing, breathless, almost sinking to the ground but for the support of the sword which she still held in her hand, and with terror in her looks she threw herself into the clasping arms of her friend.

"What has happened?" exclaimed the latter, almost on the point of fainting, like her friend.

"Oh, nothing-nothing; and yet everything! Nothing that will betray you; but I-I am lost. And yet would I not exchange that moment for a crown.'

"Speak--speak-I am dying with anxiety and terror," interrupted

Diana.

"Oh! would I had died before this," cried the Princess, bursting out into a passion of tears. "But staycalm yourself - you shall hear all. First, however, we must conceal the sword," and seating herself, she enveloped it dexterously in the folds of her

dress.

"Listen, then. I reached the Duke's chamber. The atmosphere felt faint and sultry-I never was conscious of such a feeling of oppression. I summoned up courage, however, and stood for a moment listening under the doorway. All was still around me-not a hush. Alas, it was a treacherous stillness. I advanced towards the bed with a stealthy pace. I drew back, with hasty hand, the silken curtains. The chamber, as you know, fronts the west. The last ruddy rays of the setting sun illuminated the couch. Oh! conceive my terror-there he lay."

"How?-who? The Duke? Oh! my God!"

"No!-the graceful page, Caussade de St Megret. The lazy page, tired with hunting, and, perhaps, unwilling to be caught asleep by his fellow-servants, had availed himself of his master's absence at the banquet to enjoy an hour upon his bed. I had

never had an opportunity of seeing him so near-so exactly. And now I comprehended why I had found the air of the apartment so sultry, so oppressive."

"And you hurried away immediately," cried Diana, clasping her hand. Renée shook her head. "I could not, at first. I was fettered-fascinated "and she paused. "But why did you hurry back in such terror, Princess?"

"He awoke. Nay, start not. He did not recognise me. As he opened

his eyes I vanished. He may have observed my flight, but ere he could raise himself from the couch I was gone. Chide me not, Diana; it was done through love of thee."

"But not through my wish, Princess ;” then changing her tone of displeasure to one of deep pity-" Alas! Renée," said she, as she witnessed the agitation of her friend, "if this be love, I thank God for that coldness of heart with which you reproached me. Cold it is not; but it knows no flame like this. You terrify me. You love an adventurer, of whom the Duke himself, it appears, knows little, though he conceals his ignorance in a veil of mystery, that he may not appear to have been guilty of a foolish action. Renée, Princess, think of the consequences.'

"The consequences!" repeated Renée, boldly. "I will tell you what they will be. First, a brief, happy dream of love, then a long and hapless marriage. I will secure some moments of happiness first, that I may have strength to bear my misery afterwards. Fear me not, though I am Imade of different mould from thee. Your friend, and the sister of a king, will not forget her rank; but to see him to listen to the accents of his voice-to speak to him "

"Speak to him!" exclaimed Diana, in terror.

"Not with words; but I fear my glances have spoken long before. Listen, Diana; it was but lately the King communicated to me that the second son of the King of England, the Duke of . ah! what care I for the name —is a suitor for my hand. His pieture will arrive immediately. Short is the space, then, allowed me to be my own mistress. If I lose it"

"But if some spy--if the King himself"

"The King! I fear him not. We have nothing to fear from the jealousy of any one except Gonzaga; and against his jealous observation a beloved friend knows how to guard us." "I!" cried Diana, with anxiety. "Why that look of terror? I ask not much. I ask you only, as before, to be by my side-to follow my footsteps to watch my glances-to let him dwell upon your face when jealous observers are by; be my protecting spirit, if you will not be the patron of my love."

Reconciled, but not calmed, Diana withdrew from her friend's embrace to her chamber. The lively temperament of her friend the recklessness with which she was accustomed to give free play to her inclinations, were not calculated to remove the fear she felt of some unfortunate issue, and it was with an anxious heart and gloomy presentiments that she retired to rest.

Renée, on the contrary, would readily have regained her ordinary lightheartedness, had not her apprehensions been awakened again by an unfortunate discovery. In undressing she found she had lost a white silk sash, with a gold clasp ornamented with rubies, which had been the gift of her royal brother, and which the beauty of the workmanship would have enabled any one easily to recognise. She thought of her hasty retreat from the Duke's bedroom, and began to fear she might have dropt it on the stair, or even in the room itself. In this case it might have fallen into the hands of the Duke or of a servant, who could hardly be expected to conceal the discovery, and thus a detection might take place which would be attended with the most disagreeable consequences. So terrified was she that she did not even dare to consult Diana; but paying an early morning visit to the Duchess's apartment, she carried her eyes vainly into every corner; listened to every whisper among the attendants, but still without hearing of any thing having been found; and now the certainty that the sash must have been dropt outside the Duchess's room, increased her anxiety. Neither this day nor the following did any thing occur to throw light upon its disappearance. On the third day the King had another hunting party; but this time the Princess had not the heart to watch their departure,

In the mean time it had occurred to her as possible, that the missing ornament might have fallen into the hands either of some covetous servant, or that perhaps some more trusty attendant, knowing or suspecting its owner, was only waiting a proper opportunity of placing it again in her hand.

Allowing her friend then to attend the Duchess that morning, she herself, under some pretext, took her way towards a gallery which connected her apartments with those of the King, and to which the way led through one or two narrow and solitary passages. As she was passing through one of these, Caussade suddenly presented himself before her. She had sup

posed him at the hunt, and was struck dumb by his unexpected appearance. What was her consternation, however, when, after casting a hasty glance around him, he knelt down, and with out uttering a word, presented to her the sash with the ruby clasp.

What she would have snatched with avidity from any other hand, she allowed to remain for some moments in his. His evident conviction that she was its owner, his position, his silence all announced to her that he had recognised her in the Duke's apartment, and she felt horrorstruck at the conclusions he might have drawn from her presence there. She ventured not to ask a question or to deign to him a look either of censure or of thanks; as she stretched out her arms to receive the sash, the hands of both trembled so that they involuntarily touched each other; and the ear of the agitated Princess caught the words, whispered soft and low, "I alone know of the discovery, and I am silent and true."

The words pointed too plainly towards the suspicion of a secret understanding between the Princess and the Duke, to allow Renée to hesitate a moment in putting an end to the suspicion. At first, however, her offended dignity could not find words. "It is well then for your master," said she gravely, "that you are so. To me you owe nothing, farther than that respect which my sex if not my dignity demands. That respect might teach you to believe that nothing but a mistake could have led my steps from the apartment of the Duchessmother to that of her son; my very agitation on discovering you might have convinced you of this."

She paused, she could not proceed; a deep blush purpled her cheeks, and, unknown to herself, a look betrayed to Caussade what the mouth of the Princess would not for worlds have revealed to him.

It was true she had been discovered. Caussade had scarcely laid himself down on the Duke's bed, when he heard the tapestry pushed aside. Fearful of being surprised, he had drawn the curtains hastily together, and looked through the small opening still left. The open and almost smiling countenance of the Princess; the drawn sword in her hand, the haste and anxiety with which she approached the bed, were an enigma to him. Her terror on discovering him changing the same moment into a look of too expressive admiration, flattered his excited fancy too much not to quench every jealous suspicion which her appearance there might have at first awakened; and her sudden flight, when he pretended to awake, served to confirm the pleasing conclusions he had drawn.

"I was aware," he replied, without losing his presence of mind, notwithstanding the severity of the Princess's tone, "I was aware the instant you fled that your entrance was the consequence of mistake. And the proof that I did so, is that I did not mention to my master what I had found as I should otherwise have thought myself bound to do, and that I have been vainly seeking an opportunity for two days past of restoring it to you."

"I thank you," said the Princess in a milder tone," and will not forget your discretion."

"O, Princess," sighed he, still kneeling, "if you are not in truth offended with me, leave me a memorial of this hour, the sweetest of my life-when I was first permitted to exchange words with you. Take the jewels, but leave me this silken band, valueless to you to me of priceless value."

Alas! poor Renée was in no condition to chide. Her thoughts were all confusion; terror, delight, maidenly shame, the recollections of her rank, crossed and bewildered each other; at last, in a tone, to which she endeavoured to impart as much of coldness and indifference as she could throw into the words, she said, "Keep the

VOL. XLI. NO. CCLVI,

whole-it is enough for me to know that it is in safe hands."

She said no more; she hurried from him as she had done before, but with a look more eloquent than any confession in words. He sprang up, and would have pursued her, but at that instant he heard the door closed and bolted behind her. He paused for a moment, as if in thought. "No!" he exclaimed, "I were a monster if, after that look, I could believe in any connexion with Gonzaga! Now my destiny is decided." And he hurried from the gallery.

When the Princess again reached her chamber, she sank exhausted into a seat. Agitation, repentance, shame, contended in her mind; but she could not but feel that at last every feeling merged in one of satisfaction, almost of transport. She determined to conceal this last secret even from her friend, who had no difficulty in discovering, notwithstanding, from her agitated embrace, and her unconscious reveries, that something remarkable had taken place.

In the mean time the portrait of the English Prince arrived. It represented a young man, the unpleasing expression of whose features the painter had used all his art to disguise, but with partial success. Even the adroit representations of the ambassador, who requested the Princess to suspend her judgment till the arrival of the original, on the ground that nothing but extreme haste could have induced him to present to her a portrait which did the Prince so much injustice, failed to remove the unfavourable impression which the miniature itself had produced. In the present excited state of the Princess's mind, even the disadvantages of the Prince's external appearance seemed rather to afford matter for satisfaction; and among her confidential friends she ventured to give vent to her satirical opinions on the subject, with a freedom which induced the Duchess-mother to remonstrate with her in the most serious manner on her conduct. The King, before whom she took no trouble to disguise her sentiments, measured her with a gloomy expression, but remained silent. He seemed less imperious than wont, but more suspicious, more irritable; a state of mind which was perhaps to be accounted for, or at least was naturally increased, by the evil

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