tidings which he at this time received of the fate of the Neapolitan campaign, in which his army, it appeared, had been completely defeated, many of his nobility killed, among others the two Princes de Nevers, the brothers of Diana. This intelligence, deeply as it grieved the heart of Diana, of course put an end to those projects of a conventual life, which her family had entertained for her in her childhood.

She became immediately, as might be expected, the "cynosure of neighbouring eyes," the object of adoration at court. By the death of her brothers her fortune had now become enormous. No alteration, however, was observable in her demeanour, except that her friend observed that her gentle eye seemed secretly to rest oftener than before on Gonzaga, who with a corresponding anxiety seemed to avoid her glance.

The King, in the mean time, daily becoming more gloomy and more irritable through corporeal suffering, for his naturally weak habit of body had been increased by vexation at the failure of his military schemes, resorted every day to his favourite pastime of hunting, accompanied by a small train, of which Gonzaga and Caussade always formed a part. The latter seemed obviously advancing in his good graces, while his master was as visibly declining; for the attentions which the Duke openly paid to his sister could not escape his notice, while they plainly were in the highest degree distasteful to him; the more so that they appeared on her part to be received with approbation, and that at the very moment when he her brother was toiling to raise her to a throne, she was treating the individual whom he had selected only with sarcasm and contempt. With his usual power of controlling his emotions, however, he disguised his irritation; determined, nevertheless, to avail himself of the first opportunity to remove out of his way the impediment which opposed itself to his wishes.

Charles had on one occasion been separated from his train in pursuit of a stag, and had been extricated by the arrival and presence of mind of Caussade, who, however, had only succeeded in preserving the King's life, at the price of a severe wound, which was followed by a fainting fit occa

The King

sioned by loss of blood. sprung from his horse, and hurried, without waiting for the arrival of his train, who were still at some distance, to restore the wounded page to his senses, by tearing open his vest to give him air. The first object on which his eye rested, as the Duke Gonzaga came up, was the white band with the ruby ornament resting on Caussade's breast. He recognised it at a glance. His next rested on the Duke, who, although he did not recognise the ornament, seemed confounded to see a white silk band so adorned on his page's breast. But remarking the penetrating eye of the King directed upon him, he thought it most prudent to pretend that he had seen nothing; so he hurried to a neighbouring spring in search of water, while the King, with sudden resolve, placed the ribband within his own breast. Caussade had in the mean time recovered his senses, and ignorant of the loss of his treasure, and delighted at having been the means of preserving the King's life, abandoned himself to a feeling of youthful triumph. He seemed determined not to quit the King's side. The latter, though his brow was clouded, seemed not displeased by his zeal. He gave his train a signal to ride on before, while he followed with Caussade at a little distance.

66

"Caussade," said he, turning suddenly, and directing a piercing glance towards the confounded page, you have betrayed a secret-but (and thank the saints for it) as I hope, to me alone!-for thus I am enabled to requite life for life. Caussade, how comes my sister's sash in your hands ?"

Caussade stood for an instant as if struck by lightning. "Your sister, sire?" said he at last mechanically.

"How comes it in your hands?" repeated the King, still more sternly. "I will promise to conceal what you tell me; but the honour of my house demands enquiry, and I will know how that ornament comes to be on your bosom."

"Sire," said Caussade, who had now recovered his presence of mind, "I know not the owner. A ruby in the clasp had broken loose. The Duke desired me to have it quietly replaced-perhaps the Princess may have directed him."

"The Princess!-direct him! Ah!

I see you would conceal some intrigue with some of her attendants. No matter, I will not betray the falsehood. Restore that ribband to him who intrusted it to you. And be silent with regard to this conversation if you value your life."

The King rode forwards. Caussade's handsome lip curled into a sneer. "Yes, sire,' he whispered to himself, "I might have told you such a tale of myself; but you would not have believed it. Well. The Duke must get out of the scrape now as he can. At all events, his head is not so likely to pay for it as that of a poor page. And I owe him a grudge, since he has taken it upon himself for some time past to direct his glances where they are little wished for."

Caussade was not the man to be daunted by what had taken place; he only followed the King a little more slowly, and when his master entered his own apartments late in the evening, the page seemed almost to have forgotten what had happened. Not so Gonzaga himself. The King had this evening treated him with more than usual coldness. A perpetual cloud seemed to lower upon his brow, and he was frequently lost in gloomy reveries. The Duke could not but ascribe this increased irritability to the adventure of the morning. And setting down all to the credit of the unlucky page, he determined to bring matters to a crisis with him at

once.

"It is time, Seigneur Caussade de St Megret," said he, as soon as they were alone," that I should tell you plainly what I have hitherto avoided doing. Your glances have long ago betrayed to me too much. But even these, it seems, will no longer content you. An adventurer, who is a riddle even to his patron, and yet is tolerated by him, should at least beware how he ventures to approach, even with his eyes, an element to which, notwithstanding his amphibious nature, he can scarcely hope to raise himself. What the King drew from your breast this morning might be to me a matter of indifference, were it not probable that the monarch holds me answerable for the audacity of my servants, and had I not observed too the white colour of the ribband, which looked but too like a pledge of love. I advise you to make me your confidant at once. Have the goodness,

Seigneur Caussade, once more to allow me to look at the jewel."

Shame and displeasure appeared to contend with each other in Caussade's features, but he did his best to affect extreme surprise and consternation. "How," said he, "what say you?in the King's hands? I have indeed missed it with pain. Well, if he interrogates me I must answer him as I may."

"Him-but not me?" cried Gonzaga, with anger.

"Towards you I am candid, my Lord Duke. I have told you a vow restrains me."

"If it bind you one moment longer, you remain no more in my service. Stay-whither so fast."

"To take my leave, since such is your Grace's pleasure. Yet permit me to remark, you might have chosen a better time for my dismissal."

"That sounds like a threat.Begone.-Quit the castle!"

Suddenly a dark glow shot into Caussade's cheek, which was as quickly exchanged for a deadly paleness. He made a movement as if to lay hand on his sword; but soon calming himself, he darted a look of indignation on the Duke, bowed with an air of mock reverence, and retired in silence.

The next morning the King paid an early visit to his sister. He appeared more open and cheerful than for some time past; but his good humour seemed to excite the very opposite feeling in the Princess. The subject of her royal suitor was brought upon the carpet, and Renée could not resist indulging in the usual remarks with which she never failed to treat the matter. "Hush! hush!" said Charles at last, with earnestness. "Be on your guard, Renée. The union is fixed. I have already pledged myself for your consent."

"Let him come. I will see him first, and then-time brings counsel."

The brow of the King became visibly clouded. "Renée," said he, "show me the sash with the gold and ruby ornaments, which I presented to you. I should like again to examine the workmanship."

Renée blushed crimson, and remained standing before him. "I will not deceive you, brother," said she at last," I have it not. I gave it some time since to the Princess of Nevers. Since her good fortune, a gift of value would have been unsuited to

her. A trifle from me best suits with her elevated fortunes. She throws your sister now into shade," she continued jestingly, scarcely knowing whether the observation proceeded from a slight feeling of envy, or the wish to lead the King's attention to another subject; "who knows but she may soon witness kings at her feet? Even before her accession of riches and dignity she had refused the hand of the Duke Gonzaga."

"In truth," said the King, with a bitter smile, "she seems fortunate in finding a friend disposed to take at second hand what she had rejected." And he retired precipitately, as he always did when he wished to conceal his rising passion, or had not matured his resolutions in regard to its object.

The Princess was at first rejoiced that she had escaped so easily out of this difficulty. But when Caussade suddenly disappeared from court, when neither Gonzaga nor any one else knew what had become of himwhen the only intelligence which she could gather was that he had been dismissed from his master's service, a trouble arose in her bosom which every day tended to increase. Since her brief interview with Caussade she had concealed from her friend what had taken place; and the sudden change in Diana's fortunes had still further increased the temporary separation of the friends; but now in this hour of distress she again resolved to resort to her friendly sympathy and to disclose all, when her resolution was shaken by the sudden reappearance of Caussade in the train of the King, and in the attire of a young courtier.

The King had perceived that he no longer appeared in the service of the Duke, and missing him at the hunt, where his services had become in a manner indispensable to him, his suspicion and displeasure against the Duke were increased by his disappearance. It appeared probable that the Duke had dismissed him as a penance for his indiscretion, or from fear of discovery. After some days he asked the Duke, with whom since the conversation with his sister he had had little communication (the more so as he suspected the introduction of Diana's name on that occasion to have been a mere pretext), what had become of the page.

"I know not," said the Duke, with apparent unconcern, "where the fel

low has gone to. I disliked his mysterious bearing, and dismissed him." It seemed as if every trifle increased the suspicions of the King. Even in the open avowal of the Duke he thought he perceived the secret consciousness of guilt. He was silent, but that same evening he gave instructions to a confidant, and next morning Caussade appeared in the antechamber of the King. He was soon summoned to the Royal presence.

"Caussade," said the King, " Gonzaga has dismissed you from his service. For what reason?"

"I hate him," exclaimed the King, gloomily. "Caussade, do thou likewise. I expect from you fidelity and devotion. If you know of any wrong done to me, it is your part to avenge it."

"Your wrongs shall be mine," exclaimed Caussade.

The King looked at him sharply. "Think well what you say or do, Caussade, if you would gain or keep my favour. I am sickly, irritable. A word may excite me to-more than words. There, take this weapon," continued he, with a strange smile, pushing across to Caussade a splendidly ornamented dagger which lay on the table, such as was then generally worn at the girdle; "that I may not be tempted in a moment of passion to raise it against you, since it lies so conveniently before me. Forget not this lesson. Provoke not Kings. Take it, and use it against your enemy, and mine, when need is."

Caussade turned pale as he took the dagger; "and when will need be?" said he, in a hurried and faltering voice.

"When he forgets once more that

. Charles has no mercy for him, were he ten times a Duke, who seeks to mislead his sister, who forgets the respect due to him, and opposes his will. And now go!"

Caussade went; but scarcely had he reached the chamber assigned to him, when he cast the dagger from him with a shudder. "No, Charles!" said he to himself, "not to this did I engage myself not to play the assassin's part am I here. True I dislike this imperious Gonzaga; I will revenge myself upon him; but it shall be by repaying evil with good. Now he is safe since his life is in my hand. Perhaps, too, it was I that brought him into this danger. Well, what better does he deserve? Why will he continue to court the favour of her who has eyes only for me, and play the magnifico as he does in her presence? No, pride must have a fall."

The time for decision soon arrived. Two days afterwards he was again hunting in the train of the King, and as he assisted the monarch to mount, Charles whispered in his ear-"Have you your new weapon by you, Caussade?"

Caussade nodded.

"Then to-day let the game fall; I will give you opportunities in the course of the day for executing the deed unobserved.'

The King kept his word. In the course of the day he gave the Duke and the page several commissions, so as to separate them from the rest of the train; and in which Caussade easily discerned his intention, that he should attack the Duke in the dark and unfrequented part of the wood. He saw in the agitated features of the King an enquiring, restless, and discontented look when the Duke, after executing the commission, again appeared safe and sound. The day wore on by degrees, and the King, darting a look of vengeance on Caussade, gave the signal for return.

He sent for Caussade instantly into his cabinet. A sort of bold defiance sat upon the features of the youth as he entered; but the gloomy and lowering indignation which sat upon the brow of the King seemed gradually to banish his confidence, and for the first time perhaps in his life he felt his own insignificance in the presence of superior power.

66

"Boy!" thundered Charles in his ear, you have made a fool of me. And yet you dare return to a house

which you ought never to have entered alive till another had, through your means, been brought hither a corse? Did fear unman your mind-for of opportunities you had enough?"

"Sire,' said Caussade, calming himself and looking up with more confidence," 'twas on your account I paused. Repentance never comes too late-permit me

"Silence!" interrupted Charles. "The King knows not the word repentance. Bethink thee of the words with which I delivered that dagger to you. Think of them, and provoke me

not.

The dagger is destined for him -or you. There is no third course. No-go and choose; to-morrow we hunt again-till then you can deliberate."

"And

Caussade retired. A feeling of despair to which his former life had been entirely a stranger, seemed to overmaster him. "A murderer or murdered-or"-he did not express the thought, but shook his head. yet a third course there must be," said he with determination, after an internal contest. "Fool that I am, I have deserved degradation; I will bear it him; my childish dislike to him must disappear before the prospect of his danger."

He hurried to the window. It was still early; lights were burning in all the chambers. He hastened to the chamber of the Duke, whom he fortunately found in the palace-he pushed past the page, who seemed to hesitate about announcing him, and entered the apartment unannounced.

The Duke sprang up in displeasure, and as he saw Caussade draw out a naked dagger, clapped his hand upon his sword; but ere he could draw it, or even utter a word, the latter, casting the dagger from him, had dropped upon his knee.

"What is the matter?" cried the Duke, in surprise.

"See," exclaimed Caussade, with an agitated voice, pointing to the dagger," there lies my shame. That weapon the King forced into my hands to murder you the secret suitor of his sister, as he and many believe. I cannot, I will not be a murderer. But both our lives are at stake, we must flee, and that on the instant."

"Flee!" replied the Duke, whose momentary agitation had soon given way to an appearance of cold composure, "Gonzaga never flees."

"So then," replied the youth, almost with a sneer, "you would willingly sa

crifice existence; for, doubt not, hundreds of murderers are at the King's command, though in this case by good luck he has mistaken his man. I have perhaps unthinkingly been the means of drawing suspicion on you-but I have no time now to accuse myself; my purpose is to save you; weigh well what you do you have time to consider till

to-morrow's hunt."

Caussade now communicated to him the substance of his conversations with the King-the reports which prevailed at court with regard to his attentions to the Princess-his own suspicions, and all such with a degree of openness, that the Duke almost felt himself reconciled to the young ad

venturer.

He stood a moment in thought, then said, "lift up the dagger, Caussade, and let me look at it. In truth a sharp and trusty weapon-which would glide through clothes and flesh into the heart like wax. Now retire, Gonzaga will not forget this moment. Come to me secretly to-morrow. Mean time I will consider of your plan. Take the dagger with you. Let it be to you from this moment a token of honour, and not of shame."

Caussade retired in strong agitation. The Duke looked after him with an apparent calmness: but no sooner had he disappeared, and he began to weigh in its full extent the danger which he had escaped-but as it appeared for a moment only, than the weakness of nature began to assert its power even over the resolution of his mind. He seemed to feel by anticipation the cold steel within his heart; he could see at the time no way of escape from the wrath of the young King, who, when roused to vengeance, was never known to listen to any other voice than that of passion. Wherever he turned his eye, a dagger's point seemed to threaten him. The thought which next to his own peril haunted him was that of his mother and of her grief. His mother! with the recollection of her a glimmering of hope revived, for he remembered how often in times of peril and difficulty her wise counsels had averted evil from her house. Without further pause, with an agitated and hopeful haste, as if he had been flying from the pursuing steel, he dashed down the secret stair into her chamber.

The Duchess was not alone. She was accompanied by the Duchess of Nevers, who had latterly become an almost daily visitor, accustomed to find

in the instructive and clear-minded conversation of the Duchess a source of amusement and interest which she met with no where else. Diana, as she saw the Duke rush in in such agitation,withdrew into the recess of a window, not to interrupt a conversation which she foresaw was one requiring the presence of no witnesses. Gonzaga in his present state of excitement scarcely noticed her. In a whisper he communicated to his mother the danger of his position, and entreated her advice.

"Advice!" she repeated with a shudder; "where the King is inflamed to hatred! But stay," said she, interrupting herself, as if a sudden thought crossed her brain. Then after a pause, she continued. "I know but of one plan. You must marryand to-night. The question is where to find a bride."

Her son stared at her in confusion. The plausibility of this plan as a means of escape was as evident to him as its execution appeared impracti cable. In the same moment, however, he saw his mother, with her usual quickness of decision, at the feet of the Princess. "Be our benefactor-save me-save my son!"

Diana, who had overheard no part of the whispered communication, and was wholly at a loss to know to what to ascribe the agitated condition of the Duke, scarcely possessed composure enough to raise the Duchess from the ground, who, with all the eloquence of a mother, briefly put her in possession of the peril in which her son stood.

While she did so, the Duke had, with evident uneasiness, attempted to interrupt the narrative. A dark flush of shame, the herald of a feeling even more painful than the apprehension of death, crimsoned his cheek, while his piercing glance rested with an expression of offended pride upon the Princess, whose paleness by degrees was giving place to a blush not less intense than the Duke's. 66 Mother," he exclaimed, "what are you doing? This hand she has already

"Rejected," added Diana, has

tily, rejected while she was a dowerless and friendless maiden-dedicated by her relations to a convent.. ual life-because she prized it too highly to think of obscuring the lustre of a life to which she would rather have imparted some added rays. When it might have been inclined to think and act otherwise, it was no