said the old sailor to himself as he put his horse to a canter; "or
perhaps young people are not what they used to be. But what ails my

niece? Now she is walking at a foot-pace like a gendarme on patrol in
the Paris streets. One might fancy she wanted to outflank that worthy

man, who looks to me like an author dreaming over his poetry, for he
has, I think, a notebook in his hand. My word, I am a great simpleton!

Is not that the very young man we are in search of!"
At this idea the old admiral moderated his horse's pace so as to

follow his niece without making any noise. He had played too many
pranks in the years 1771 and soon after, a time of our history when

gallantry was held in honor, not to guess at once that by the merest
chance Emilie had met the Unknown of the Sceaux gardens. In spite of

the film which age had drawn over his gray eyes, the Comte de
Kergarouet could recognize the signs of extremeagitation in his

niece, under the unmoved expression she tried to give to her features.
The girl's piercing eyes were fixed in a sort of dull amazement on the

stranger, who quietly walked on in front of her.
"Ay, that's it," thought the sailor. "She is following him as a pirate

follows a merchantman. Then, when she has lost sight of him, she will
be in despair at not knowing who it is she is in love with, and

whether he is a marquis or a shopkeeper. Really these young heads need
an old fogy like me always by their side . . ."

He unexpectedly spurred his horse in such a way as to make his niece's
bolt, and rode so hastily between her and the young man on foot that

he obliged him to fall back on to the grassy bank which rose from the
roadside. Then, abruptlydrawing up, the Count exclaimed:

"Couldn't you get out of the way?"
"I beg your pardon, monsieur. But I did not know that it lay with me

to apologize to you because you almost rode me down."
"There, enough of that, my good fellow!" replied the sailor harshly,

in a sneering tone that was nothing less than insulting. At the same
time the Count raised his hunting-crop as if to strike his horse, and

touched the young fellow's shoulder, saying, "A liberal citizen is a
reasoner; every reasoner should be prudent."

The young man went up the bankside as he heard the sarcasm; then he
crossed his arms, and said in an excited tone of voice, "I cannot

suppose, monsieur, as I look at your white hairs, that you still amuse
yourself by provoking duels----"

"White hairs!" cried the sailor, interrupting him. "You lie in your
throat. They are only gray."

A quarrel thus begun had in a few seconds become so fierce that the
younger man forgot the moderation he had tried to preserve. Just as

the Comte de Kergarouet saw his niece coming back to them with every
sign of the greatest uneasiness, he told his antagonist his name,

bidding him keep silence before the young lady entrusted to his care.
The stranger could not help smiling as he gave a visiting card to the

old man, desiring him to observe that he was living at a country-house
at Chevreuse; and, after pointing this out to him, he hurried away.

"You very nearly damaged that poor young counter-jumper, my dear,"
said the Count, advancing hastily to meet Emilie. "Do you not know how

to hold your horse in?--And there you leave me to compromise my
dignity in order to screen your folly; whereas if you had but stopped,

one of your looks, or one of your pretty speeches--one of those you
can make so prettily when you are not pert--would have set everything

right, even if you had broken his arm."
"But, my dear uncle, it was your horse, not mine, that caused the

accident. I really think you can no longer ride; you are not so good a
horseman as you were last year.--But instead of talking nonsense----"

"Nonsense, by Gad! Is it nothing to be so impertinent to your uncle?"
"Ought we not to go on and inquire if the young man is hurt? He is

limping, uncle, only look!"
"No, he is running; I rated him soundly."

"Oh, yes, uncle; I know you there!"
"Stop," said the Count, pulling Emilie's horse by the bridle, "I do

not see the necessity of making advances to some shopkeeper who is
only too lucky to have been thrown down by a charming young lady, or

the commander of La Belle-Poule."
"Why do you think he is anything so common, my dear uncle? He seems to

me to have very fine manners."
"Every one has manners nowadays, my dear."

"No, uncle, not every one has the air and style which come of the
habit of frequenting drawing-rooms, and I am ready to lay a bet with

you that the young man is of noble birth."
"You had not long to study him."

"No, but it is not the first time I have seen him."
"Nor is it the first time you have looked for him," replied the

admiral with a laugh.
Emilie colored. Her uncle amused himself for some time with her

embarrassment; then he said: "Emilie, you know that I love you as my
own child, precisely because you are the only member of the family who

has the legitimate pride of high birth. Devil take it, child, who
could have believed that sound principles would become so rare? Well,

I will be your confidant. My dear child, I see that his young
gentleman is not indifferent to you. Hush! All the family would laugh

at us if we sailed under the wrong flag. You know what that means. We
two will keep our secret, and I promise to bring him straight into the

drawing-room."
"When, uncle?"

"To-morrow."
"But, my dear uncle, I am not committed to anything?"

"Nothing whatever, and you may bombard him, set fire to him, and leave
him to founder like an old hulk if you choose. He won't be the first,

I fancy?"
"You ARE kind, uncle!"

As soon as the Count got home he put on his glasses, quietly took the
card out of his pocket, and read, "Maximilien Longueville, Rue de

Sentier."
"Make yourself happy, my dear niece," he said to Emilie, "you may hook

him with any easy conscience; he belongs to one of our historical
families, and if he is not a peer of France, he infallibly will be."

"How do you know so much?"
"That is my secret."

"Then do you know his name?"
The old man bowed his gray head, which was not unlike a gnarled oak-

stump, with a few leaves fluttering about it, withered by autumnal
frosts; and his niece immediately began to try the ever-new power of

her coquettish arts. Long familiar with the secret of cajoling the old
man, she lavished on him the most childlike caresses, the tenderest

names; she even went so far as to kiss him to induce him to divulge so
important a secret. The old man, who spent his life in playing off

these scenes on his niece, often paying for them with a present of
jewelry, or by giving her his box at the opera, this time amused

himself with her entreaties, and, above all, her caresses. But as he
spun out this pleasure too long, Emilie grew angry, passed from

coaxing to sarcasm and sulks; then, urged by curiosity, she recovered
herself. The diplomaticadmiral extracted a solemn promise from his

niece that she would for the future be gentler, less noisy, and less
wilful, that she would spend less, and, above all, tell him

everything. The treaty being concluded, and signed by a kiss impressed
on Emilie's white brow, he led her into a corner of the room, drew her

on to his knee, held the card under the thumbs so as to hide it, and
then uncovered the letters one by one, spelling the name of

Longueville; but he firmly refused to show her anything more.
This incident added to the intensity of Mademoiselle de Fontaine's

secret sentiment, and during chief part of the night she evolved the
most brilliant pictures from the dreams with which she had fed her

hopes. At last, thanks to chance, to which she had so often appealed,
Emilie could now see something very unlike a chimera at the fountain-

head of the imaginarywealth with which she gilded her married life.
Ignorant, as all young girls are, of the perils of love and marriage,

she was passionately captivated by the externals of marriage and love.