our departure-arrived there with the intelligence, that M. de Blanchefort was in a violent rage at the abduction of his daughter, and had sent strict orders in every direction to have us arrested. On the supposition that we should take the nearest road to the frontier, Justice Michelot-one of the cleverest lawyers in Lyons, and De Blanchefort's devoted creature-had been despatched to Grenoble; my servant preceded him but a few hours, and if we had not met, our apprehension would have been certain. You may imagine our perplexity. Doubtless the design of reaching Savoy by Pont de Beauvoisin was anticipated; we were therefore compelled to change our route, and decided upon trying to gain the frontier, on the other side, through Briançon to Piedmont, in the hope of arriving there before fresh orders could be issued for our arrest. The good people of Grenoble spoke of the perils of these dangerous roads, the deep defiles and narrow passes, which certainly lessened the chance of pursuit, but how traverse them with one so delicate, so unaccustomed to fatigue as Ernestine. I did not know her," continued he, casting an affectionate glance upon the blushing girl. "Instead of shrinking from the prospect of fatigue and danger, she advised our proceeding, with an energy and courage I can never sufficiently repay. Having dismissed my servant with a handsome recompense, changed our hotel, procured a couple of strong saddle horses, sold the carriage, and purchased the dresses we now wear, we started for Briançon, in the hope of arriving there this evening, when the violence of the storm, and the lady's fall from her horse, obliged us to accept the hospitality of Lauterat. There, Sir, is our history, and you may see that our situation was sufficiently alarming prior to the arrival of Michelot and the gendarmes. This man s information with regard to our movements must have been obtained, by means of a superior bribe, from the servant-curses light upon the .eliow--whom I parted with at Grenoble. Michelot does not appear quite satisfied with your account, and under other circumstances than those of fever and exhaustion, no disguise, if report speak true, would have concealed us from his penetrating eye. To-morrow, refreshed by a night's rest. our discovery is certain. Now, Sir, you know who we are, and why we fled It is for you, either to assist, or leave us to take the best care we can of ourselves."

These last words were uttered in a tone which proved the repugnance of the haughty youth to accept a favour from an inferior, however much he might need it; but Martin Simon, happily for him, remarked it not. He had listened with the greatest attention to the history of the young lovers, and at its conclusion remained for some moments, without speaking, in an attitude of reflection. "Children," said he, at last quietly rising from his seat, "you are more culpable than I anticipated. I imagined you were the sons of a noble family, who had committed some boyish prauk, or contracted more debts than you could pay, and I was well disposed to assist you; but instead, I find a noble lady, an only daughter, leaving her old father to follow the fortunes of a dissipated gambler. I can do nothing for you. I have perhaps already done too much."

The blood mounted to the face of De Peyras.

"Sir," said he, in a voice of subdued anger, “I can pardon much in consideration of the service you rendered us; but--'

"Oh! let him speak," cried Ernestine; "however severe his reproaches, they are not equal to those of conscience. Since I left my father's house to follow you, I have felt that I was wrong, but never did my conduct appear so wicked as at this moment. You have misled my heart and my reason; but you, Sir, whom God has placed in my way to recall me to honour and duty, abandon me not, hate me not; counsel me, be my protector, my friend, my guide."

At the same time, she clung to the skirts of Martin Simon's coat, and wept abundantly.

De Peyras regarded her with a dissatisfied air.

"What means this, Madam?" said he coldly. "Have I not your promise? And after encountering so many dangers together, will you abandon me to place yourself under the protection of the first new comer?"

"Silence, young man," said Martin Simon authoritatively. "If she you have misled sincerely repents her fault, and appeals to me for protection, I shall not allow any one to interfere with her wishes. You do not know Martin Simon; you regard me as a peasant, slightly persumptuous perhaps, with a mind as common as my costume; 'tis time you were undeceived. Know, that if I wish it, M. de Blanchefort will consent to your marriage with his daughter. Do not shrug your shoulders with such an air of pity M. de Peyras, and cease to wear that look of haughty defiance. Take care, or I may leave you to your fate, which is not very promising at the present moment."

This outburst from a man whose appearance was so humble, struck the impetuous De Peyras dumb with surprise; and without giving his auditors time to reflect on the meaning of his words, Martin Simon continued, addressing Ernestine

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Lady, if in our mountains a young girl acted as you have done, she would be lost, for no honest man would marry her; but these things are visited with less severity in towns and cities. For myself, if my daughter Margaret was capable of abandoning me to follow a lover, I do not think I could refuse to pardon her, did she return penitent and imploring. Your father would doubtless do the same Suffer me, then, to conduct you to him ; implore his pardon, and we may then perhaps find some means to overcome the difliculties which at present appear insurmountable."

"Hallo, my master," interrupted the chevalier in an ironical tone; it seems that you pride yourself upon your eloquence, for the devil take me if I can see by what other means you intend trying to appease the anger of M. de Blanchefort against his daughter and myself. You do not know him-an old man, proud, cruel, and stubborn, who, as a judge, never pardoned a criminal, and to whom his daughter would kneel in vain. His unkindness, his hardness of heart, and perfect indifference to his only child, decided Ernestine to leave her home, more than my prayers and entreaties; and it is certain that, if to-day we fall into the hands of M. de Blanchefort, the remainder of her life will be passed in a convent, and mine in some dungeon. The orders are already given, and Michelot is charged with their execution." Is this true?" demanded Martin Simon, looking at Ernes

tine.

"It is too true," replied the young girl; "my father has always been inflexible, and now I have so deeply offended him, there will be no mercy for either myself or De Peyras. But, if you think it my duty, Sir, to return to my father, I am quite willing to do so." The mountaineer was touched by this resignation.

Poor child!" said he, have you no mother?"

"If I had, do you think I should be here?" sadly replied Ernestine.

Martin Simon no longer hesitated.

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Children," said he, "the recital you have given me in some degree excuses your fault; but you, lady, ought not to have abandoned your old father, whatever his conduct towards you; and you, Sir, should not have stolen this young girl from her friends, because you were refused her hand, for very good reasons, according to your own confession. However, there are many in the world whose sins are as great or worse, and you have erred from youth and bad example; I will therefore serve you, and hope I shall never have cause to repent so doing."

The tone of superiority assumed by the mountaineer had, as we have said, more than once offended the haughty chevalier, who deemed it prudent, however, to conceal his anger until some future period, when he might be able to humble, in his turn, this singular protector, without inconvenience to himself.

'Well then, counsel us," cried he. We will follow your advice. Although you have been severe in your judgment of our fault, your words are those of an honest man and my life would have been passed more creditably if I had ever possessed a friend like you."

Martin Simon was not insensible to this compliment.

""Tis well," replied he with an air of satisfaction; “I see that, despite the faults of your education, you possess more sense, and a better heart, than I expected. Believe me, nothing could give me greater pleasure than to hear the son of Philip de Peyras express a noble and generous sentiment, and, on my honour, young man, your future prospects will be all the better for it."

"How am I to understand your words?" returned the chevalier with curiosity. But Martin Simon, who had for a moment forgotten himself, relapsed into impenetrability, and replied

In this sense only, that an acknowledgment of our fault is the first step towards amendment. But let us consider the subject of your escape. Your return to Lyons would not be pru dent. We must give this Marquis de Blanchefort time to think, and become more reasonable. I have another plan--"

"That we should cross the frontier, which is not far distant," said Marcellin.

"Such an extreme measure is not necessary at present," replied Martin. “Listen to what I propose.-I live some few miles distant, in a village almost hidden by lofty mountains, and the inhabitants of which rarely have any intercourse with those of the neighbouring hamlets; it is called Bout-du-Monde. From its position in the midst of frightful precipices, steep rocks, and immense glaciers, which appear like the end of the world, a stranger

would never discover its existence. It is there, in my humble home, that I offer you a safe and undisturbed asylum. I exercise a sovereign authority over the people, and a word from me will secure you against any annoyance or curiosity from them. My daughter Margaret will do the honours of our house, and be at the same time a companion to the Lady Ernestine. For yourself, chevalier, there are books in my library, and you can shoot the white partridge, or fish for trout in the Guizanne. These are doubtless favourite amusements. If not, what matters it; you must submit to necessity for a time. I will myself go to Lyons, see M. de Blanchefort, make certain propositions to him, and I hope to return with his pardon and consent to your union. Well, will this arrangement suit you?"

"Perfectly, my brave and generous friend!" cried the chevalier enthusiastically.We desire some peaceful retreat, and both Ernestine and myself are delighted with this accomplishment of our wishes; but there is one thing it will be impossible to realizethe pardon of M. de Blanchefort." How do you know that? refusing you? said the mountaineer.

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What was his chief motive for

"I have told you, he is avaricious, and his principal objection was, because the lands I once possessed, together with the Chateau de Peyras, have passed into the hands of iny creditors. If I had not foolishly dissipated the greater part of my inheritance, my dear Ernestine might have been mine."

"Come, come, we may arrange all that," continued Martin Simon, smiling. “This old man must not be allowed to sacrifice his daughter to motives of cupidity. But, my children, I have been thinking that I cannot receive you into my house as two lovers, -what an example it would be to my Margaret-you must, therefore, pass as brother and sister until you are married, which will not be long, I promise you.'

"Oh! you have anticipated my wish!" exclaimed Ernestine. "I blush thus to appear before anyone, and could not support this disguise much longer."

But," observed the chevalier," will it not be difficult to find a priest who would unite us, without the usual formalities, and the mutual consent of our respective families?"

My son," said the old monk, with an air of profound respect, "you are one of the benefactors of our house; you can therefore command our obedience."

"I thank you, my father," replied Martin; "and pray remember well my instructions. Detain this justice and his gendarmes as long as possible; and if you are questioned, do not forget the history I gave yesterday of my pretended nephews."

Take care," said the monk; " do not ask me openly to confirm a lie. I passed the night in prayer as a penance for my sin in silently assenting to your deception last evening."

The end justifies the means," observed Martin Simon, laughing; "it was for a good cause, and you need not fear.”

The monk seized him by the arm, and murmured in a low and suffocated voice-" Do not attempt to convince me by such sophistry. I commit a great sin in becoming your ally in this falsehood; but you know my motive, even at the peril of my soul, to secure your favour, and I hope when God calls you to himself, that you will give to this house-

Martin Simon made a gesture of impatience-"I have told you more than once Father Superior," said he, satirically," that you labour under some error with regard to my affairs, and it is im possible for me to satisfy your strange expectations. But our young friends have finished their repast, and it is time to depart."

The superior then conducted them before the crucifix, and they all knelt, except the chevalier, who contented himself with slightly bowing. This ceremony ended, the guests prepared to bid Lauterat farewell; when the old monk, who had taken his station in front of the box in the wall, again intercepted them, and requested charity.

Marcellin put his hand in his pocket, and actuated by the generosity natural to his age more, perhaps, than the wish to secure the blessing of the monk, ostentatiously placed six gold pieces in the coffer; the superior simply bowed, and to the chevalier's surprise exbibited no sign of astonishment at the value of the offering.

The chevalier rose, kissed the brow of Ernestine, and prepared to follow his imperious friend to the apartment destined for his repose.

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Martin Simon kindly regarded the young girl. "My child," said he, smiling, "take courage, I will watch over you.' "Heaven bless you!" replied Ernestine, affectionately pressing his hands; you opened my eyes to my fault, and overwhelmed me by your anger and reproaches, but you have taken pity on my weakness, and awakened my soul to repentance. Accept, then, from this moment, the power of a father over his child, and it will be my happiness to obey you in all things."

The two men then retired, and Ernestine was left to the repose she so much needed. An hour afterwards a profound quiet reigned in the convent, and all were apparently sleeping, despite the continued howling of the wind.

Next morning, at daybreak, and just as the bell commenced tolling for matins; the mountaineer, with a dark lantern in his hand, and the leathern bag, of which we have previously spoken, on his arm, knocked gently at the doors of the apartments occupied by his young protegés, and whispered that the hour for departure had arrived. Shortly afterwards, Ernestine and Marcellin left their rooms equipped for the journey, and on meeting each other began to speak in low and affectionate tones, when Martin hastily interrupting them, murmur d, as he pointed down the corridor"Peace! They are there, and this enraged justice is not such an invalid as to be unable to pursue us. Preserve the strictest silence, and let us depart."

They slowly descended to the refectory, and there found the superior, an old man of venerable and striking appearance, who politely asked them to partake of some refreshments, which were placed upon a little table near the fire. Martin Simon advised them to accept this offer, as he did not intend stopping until they arrived at his residence. In the meantime, the mountaineer went out to assist in placing the baggage upon the backs of the horses, which were already saddled and standing before the porch; he then returned to the refectory and thanked the superior for his attentions.

The chevalier and Ernestine de Blanchefort regarded this scene with an air of stupefaction, but the superior manifested no emotion, and simply bowed, as he had done on receiving the offering of De Peyras.

In heaven's name, who are you?" demanded Marcellin of Martin Simon, "who can pay thus for a night's hospitality."

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Ah, you saw it!" calmly replied the mountaineer; "well, it is easily explained. I made a vow, that if a certain undertaking was successful, I would bestow the half of my gains on the good fathers of Lanterat. These things are common enough in the mountains, but 'tis said that in cities people are less devout."

Then, as if to avoid further questions, the mountaineer passed through the open door, and was followed by the disguised lovers. The horses had been well fed and were eager to start. After Martin Simon had again thanked the superior for his attentions, and whispered a few last instructions, the party mounted, and immediately set forward at a brisk pace.

CHAPTER III.

THE SCHOOLMASTER.

Ir was daylight in the valley of Lauterat when the travellers left the convent. Martin Simon was mounted on a large and rather heavy-looking horse, but gentle and sure-footed. He was enveloped in a woollen cloak, which was necessary to protect him from the cold in these regions, even in summer. Ernestine and Marcellin were glad to follow his example, and wrapt their mantles closely around them, damp as they still were from the storm of the preceding evening. The Chevalier de Peyras, with a view to conciliate his protector, first drank, and then offered a flask containing some brandy to the mountaineer. Martin Simon leisurely passed his finger over the mouth of the bottle, and after raising his hat in salutation to Ernestine, placed it to his lips and drank deeply; ne then stuck his heels into his steed, snapped his fingers in the air, and cried, "Courage, children; all will be well."

The tone of security in which he spoke had its effect upon the lovers. There was something about their unknown protector which inspired them with confidence, and they alrea ly felt that he would never make a promise he was unable to perform. But from what

source did he derive this power-that was the mystery. When he so frankly offered to assist them, and parted so freely with his gold, Marcellin had at first thought he might be some prince or nobleman in disguise, but this idea was soon dismissed. There was a simplicity of manner, a rough cordiality about him which could not be assumed, and his conversation showed an education which had been more solid than brilliant. Marcellin tired at last of his suppositions with regard to Martin Simon, endeavoured by questions to penetrate his secret, but the mountaineer was on his guard. Before revealing himself, he must be convinced that his companion was worthy of his confidence, and skilfully evading the too evident design of De Peyras, he became in his turn the interrogator of the chevalier.

De Peyras had no cause to deceive a man to whom he was so much indebted, and his history of himself showed a singular mixture of good qualities and brilliant defects. Martin Simon listened to his recital with great interest, sometimes smiling complaisantly, and frowning and shrugging his shoulders when his disapprobation was excited. As for Ernestine, she did not join in the conversation, and only spoke when any direct question was addressed to her. In the pale light of the advancing day the travellers progressed but slowly. The storm of the preceding evening had destroyed the road and scattered large fragments of rock in every direction. In many parts of the valley were long white masses, covering what had once been a verdant pasturage or noble pine forest; these were the avalanches which had fallen from the higher glaciers during the storm. Soon the sun rise in the heavens and first touched with its bright rays the tops of the mountains, then gradually shed light and warmth over the valley.

The tempest had wonderfully cleared the air, and our travellers could see over an immense space around them.

The road wound considerably, in consequence of the large rocks and other obstacles, and although some miles had been traversed, the dark walls of the convent were still visible and did not appear to be at any great distance.

In front of the party was a deep chasm, through which a foaming torrent seemed to dispute possession with the road; it looked as if some convulsion of nature had cleft the mountains from top to bottom, and so formed the frightful abyss into which the rays of the sun never penetrated.

At this moment Martin Simon looked behind him in the direction of Lauterat, but seeing nothing to indicate pursuit, he exclaimed gaily," Forward, my young friends. If we can once place this defile between us and Michelot, and nothing arises to delay our progress, we need not fear his being able to overtake us, and in my own village of Bout-du-Monde I can easily protect you. Quick then, and you, lady, need not be afraid; there is very little danger. This intimation was necessary, for they had scarcely ridden thirty paces ere they became involved in an obscurity, which appeared the more intense from its contrast with the bright light they had just left. The width of the abyss was not more than fifty or sixty feet, and on either side were 10cks of an immense height; a narrow blue band above, and a faint luminous appearance at the end of the pass, were all that could be seen of the heavens; the air was damp and foggy, and the roar of the torrent, which echo repeated, again and again, drowned the sound of their voices and the noise of the horses' feet. The lofty rocks seemed ready to fall upen them as they passed, and the waters swollen by the storm had risen from their narrow bed, and covering part of the road, often dashed their foaming spray in the faces of the travellers. The only signs of vegetation were a few stunted shrubs, and all this together formed a scene well calculated to alarm one so timid, so accustomed to the comforts of civilized life as Ernestine. She also felt chilled to the heart by the intense cold which reigned in the defile, and cast an uneasy glance at Marcellin, as if to implore his assistance, but the chevalier was occupied in viewing the scene with wonder and admiration. Soon, however, he remarked the agitation of his companion, and hastening to her side whispered words of encouragement, which the noise of the torrent prevented her hearing. Hap pily this weakness did not last, and rousing herself, she smiled upon Marcellin to thank him for his attention, and the party con

tinued their route.

Martin Simon had not noticed this delay on the part of the lovers, his whole attention having been occupied in looking fixedly upon a black speck at the end of the gorge, which appeared to advance. It soon after became more distinct, and assumed the

form of a tall man who walked slowly along, with an open book in his hand. He must indeed be fond of reading to study in such a place; but this did not seem to astonish the mountaineer, who evidently knew the approaching stranger.

"God forgive me!" cried he, "it is Eusebius Noel, the school. master of Bout-du-Monde! What the devil does he bring his Virgil

out here for, instead of remaining quietly at home and instructing the children? He must have been sent with a message by my daughter Margaret, for this learned book worm never travelled so far but once, when we waited breakfast for him, and he was afterwards found among the glaciers of Pelvoux without being able to tell how he got there. He is an original, and so absent, and full of his Latin poet, that it is impossible to help laughing at him; but do not treat him harshly, for he taught my child, and poor Eusebius is, after all, a good man, and much beloved in the village."

By the time this explanation was finished they were close to the person in question. He was about sixty years of age, tall, thin, and bilious-looking, with his dull eyes burthened by heavy steel spectacles. His dress consisted of a black cloth coat and breeches, his legs being covered with blue woollen gaiters, often worn by the mountaineers in cold weather. His scanty hair was slightly powdeied, and three pens stuck in his old hat like a plume of feathers (a custom still preserved in the Alps), indicated that Master Eusebius Noel taught writing, reading, and also Latin. Despite bis singular appearance, the poor instructor had an air of kindness and cordiality about him, which disarmed ridicule. At present he was so absorbed in the contents of his book that he did not see the travellers until he fell against the horse of Martin Simon, who thundered-" Well, schoolmaster, what are you thinking about?" This sudden question, and the lond tone in which it was put, so frightened the poor master, that he dropped his book and stood trembling in the middle of the road; then looking around him with an air of astonishment" Infandam!" cried he, in a shrill voice; "how came I here? I knew, I thought--"

'You thought you were taking your usual welk in front of the church-was it not so?" said Martin Simon; “and you find yourself in a defile of Lauterat at a distance of more than two leagues from the village. I am surprised that you have not broken your neck five or six times over.'

"What is your pleasure, Laird ?" replied Eusebius Noel, quietly picking up his old book, and turning it over until he found the page where he had been interrupted. "I am reading the fourth book of Virgil's Æneas, which I think the best. I appeal to this young man, who may not have yet forgotten the strains of the great poet of Mantua, whether he does not consider the fourth book the best of all."

It was to Ernestine de Blanchefort that the schoolmaster addressed this question; she smiled, but before she could reply, Martin Simon cried, in a rough voice

"To the devil with the fourth book and all the others! Is it not absurd to be always reading what you already know so perfectly. But come," he continued, in a softer tone and trying to fix the attention of the scholar, "tax your memory, my good Noel. Has my daughter sent you to meet me with a message? or have you wandered here unconsciously? Think, my friend. Margaret charged you with something to tell me."

The good man tried to remember what the adventures of the pious Eneas had quite put out of his head.

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Yes, yes,” said he quickly; “ Margaret sent me to wait for you near the rock of La Quille, but I opened my Virgil to look for a certain passage, and——”

He stopped suddenly, and carefully examined, through the large glasses of his spectacles, the companions of Martin Simon: then said, in a mysterious mauner-"Are you going to take these gentlemen to your house?”

"What matters it if I do ?" replied Simon.

"Do 1ot, do not," repeated the schoolmaster, alternately regard ing the mountaineer and the two lovers; "you will repent sooner or later, for they will cause you much unhappiness."

Why so, fool that you are?' cried Martin, who could scarcely help laughing at the important air assumed by the old pedant.

Because the signs are ominous," he replied. "You have in vain known the sortes Virgiliance; but it is no less true that the divine poem of the friend of Octavius has the power to predict the future. Besides, this morning, when I started in search of you, I opened the book at a venture, and my eyes fell upon this verse

'Quis novus hic nostris successit sedibus hospes?'

Is not that enough to make you tremble??

"I do not care about this nonsense; I do not understand your conjuring rubbish," said Martin. “I ask you——

"Ah, you do not understand. I am sorry," replied Noel, "that you did not learn Latin. 'Tis said your father educated you himself, and if I recollect rightly, he was not well up in the classics. Well, I will tell you the meaning of the verse, word for word

"What is this stranger, who comes to sit at our fireside?"

It is clear, by this, that if you receive a new guest to-day, it will cause you great unhappiness."

Martin Simon impatiently interrupted him, and replied, "Master

Martin Simon.

Eusebius, you are more superstitious with all your learning, than the most ignorant peasant of Queyras, who believes in hob-goblins and sorcerers. But tell me why you came here, as I am anxious to get home. Say, then, quickly, the message my daughter charged you with."

Thus pressed, the absent pedagogue made another effort to remember, and replied, gravely, " She expected your arrival at the village last evening until the tempest, and we then concluded that you would pass the night at Lauterat, and come home this morning."

"You thought rightly," said Martin. "Why, then, could Margaret not wait my arrival? Why did she send you to meet me?" "She said-yes, that was it-she said that she was quite well, and had a great wish to see you," replied Noel.

"Was that all ?" asked the astonished mountaineer; "have you not forgotten something? Margaret would never have sent you to tell me that."

Noel looked at the lovers. "That was all," he said at last; "I am sure she did not give me any other message."

Martin Simon vainly tried to refresh the memory of the weakminded scholar. "Pest on the fool," he said, in despair, "I feel certain that my daughter did send a message, which this simpleton has forgotten in reading his everlasting book, but perhaps it was not of much consequence, or she would have chosen some other envoy. Come on, friends; we can learn nothing from this feeble head, and have lost much valuable time already. Master Noel," continued he, in a loud voice, "walk before us, and don't forget that our horses are behind you."

"Quis novus hic nostris successit," grumbled the schoolmaster. Soon, however, the movement of the horses compelled him to proceed, and with rapid strides he advanced in front of the travellers, who were now very near the end of the defile. The conversation with Eusebius had rendered Martin Simon silent and pensive, and when the road became wider, Marcellin rode up to him, and said

"I should like to know whether your meeting with this man has caused you to feel any alarm for the safety of your family or friends?"

"I cannot tell. Perhaps his long walk, from the village to this spot, was taken in a fit of absence; but perhaps, also, my daughter, who is aware of his devotion to our interests, may have charged nim to tell me something, which has occurred during my travel.

It does not matter; we shall be at home in two hours' time, and then I shall know. You must not think that this man is always so dull and stupid as he now appears: for example, no one could instruct better than he can; his method is clear, simple, and easily comprehended by the most obtuse. When he arrived at Bout-duMonde, poor, dirty, and half dead with hunger, there was not a soul in the village could read except my father and myself. I was then forming the establishment you will soon see, and one of my chief wishes, in the scheme of improvement, was the instruction of our mountaineers; I therefore engaged poor Noel to teach the children, giving him, at the same time, a moderate salary, a comfortable little house, and a small piece of land; so that in comparison to what he was when he first came (a beggar), he ought to be the happiest of men. He has taught all the village; but it is in the education of my daughter he prides himself. Would you believe it, I had great difficulty in preventing his teaching her Latin? and the good man entreated me only the other day to allow him to instruct the young girls of our village in his favourite language, declaring that in Paris the ladies frequently quote Virgil."

As he thought of the schoolmaster's request, Martin Simon laughed until the rocks echoed again, and the two lovers joined in his merriment; then, becoming calm, the mountaineer continued"But what was I saying? Oh, I remember-I was speaking of the poor devil who trots before us, with his thin legs, swinging arms, and long bent back, looking as if he was going to fall every minute; but, as I said, he is intelligent, and clever sometimes, and would be capable of great things, if he did not so soon relapse into his old fits of vacuity. However, I believe that the worthy schoolmaster affects a little occasionally, and I think his forgetfulness to-day, when I questioned him in your presence, was only assumed." "But of what use was this subterfuge on his part ?" asked Marcellin.

"Perhaps he had something to communicate which was only for my ear," replied Martin. "As for his prophecy, tliat was a trick to lower you in my regard; for you must have seen that he does not look upon you with a very favourable eyc."

"And what motives could this man possibly have for his animosity," haughtily inquired Marcellin.

"What motives? faith, I cannot tell," replied the mountaineer. "I only know he is always vexed to see a stranger enter my house. But, look," continued Martin, pointing to the scholar,