"When thy last breath, ere Nature sank to rest
Thy meek submission to thy God expressed;
When thy last look, ere thought and feeling fled,
A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed;
What to thy soul its glad assurance gave--
Its hope in death, its triumph o'er the grave?
The sweet remembrance of unblemished youth,
Th' inspiring voice of innocence and truth!"--ROGERS.

The good Sister Frances, though she had scarcely recovered from the shock
of the preceding night, accompanied Victoire to the Chateau de Fleury.
The gates were opened for them by the old steward and his son Basile, who
welcomed them with all the eagerness with which people welcome friends in
time of adversity.  The old man showed them the place; and through every
apartment of the castle went on talking of former times, and with
narrative fondness told anecdotes of his dear master and mistress.  Here
his lady used to sit and read--here was the table at which she wrote--this
was the sofa on which she and the ladies sat the very last day she was at
the castle, at the open windows of the hall, whilst all the tenants and
people of the village were dancing on the green.

"Ay, those were happy times," said the old man; "but they will never
return."

"Never!  Oh do not say so," cried Victoire.

"Never during my life, at least," said the nun in a low voice, and with a
look of resignation.

Basile, as he wiped the tears from his eyes, happened to strike his arm
against the chord of Madame de Fleury's harp, and the sound echoed
through the room.

"Before this year is at an end," cried Victoire, "perhaps that harp will
be struck again in this Chateau by Madame de Fleury herself.  Last night
we could hardly have hoped to see these walls standing this morning, and
yet it is safe--not a stone touched!  Oh, we shall all live, I hope, to
see better times!"

Sister Frances smiled, for she would not depress Victoire's enthusiastic
hope: to please her, the good nun added, that she felt better this
morning than she had felt for months, and Victoire was happier than she
had been since Madame de Fleury left France.  But, alas! it was only a
transient gleam.  Sister Frances relapsed and declined so rapidly, that
even Victoire, whose mind was almost always disposed to hope, despaired
of her recovery.  With placid resignation, or rather with mild
confidence, this innocent and benevolent creature met the approach of
death.  She seemed attached to earth only by affection for those whom she
was to leave in this world.  Two of the youngest of the children who had
formerly been placed under her care, and who were not yet able to earn
their own subsistence, she kept with her, and in the last days of her
life she continued her instructions to them with the fond solicitude of a
parent.  Her father confessor, an excellent man, who never even in these
dangerous times shrank from his duty, came to Sister Frances in her last
moments, and relieved her mind from all anxiety, by promising to place
the two little children with the lady who had been abbess of her convent,
who would to the utmost of her power protect and provide for them
suitably.  Satisfied by this promise, the good Sister Frances smiled upon
Victoire, who stood beside her bed, and with that smile upon her
countenance expired.--It was some time before the little children seemed
to comprehend, or to believe, that Sister Frances was dead: they had
never before seen any one die; they had no idea what it was to die, and
their first feeling was astonishment; they did not seem to understand why
Victoire wept.  But the next day when no Sister Frances spoke to them,
when every hour they missed some accustomed kindness from her,--when
presently they saw the preparations for her funeral,--when they heard
that she was to be buried in the earth, and that they should never see
her more,--they could neither play nor eat, but sat in a corner holding
each other's hands, and watching everything that was done for the dead by
Victoire.

In those times, the funeral of a nun, with a priest attending, would not
have been permitted by the populace.  It was therefore performed as
secretly as possible: in the middle of the night the coffin was carried
to the burial-place of the Fleury family; the old steward, his son
Basile, Victoire, and the good father confessor, were the only persons
present.  It is necessary to mention this, because the facts were
afterwards misrepresented.



CHAPTER XIV


"The character is lost!
Her head adorned with lappets, pinned aloft,
And ribands streaming gay, superbly raised,
Indebted to some smart wig-weaver's hand
For more than half the tresses it sustains."--COWPER.

Upon her return to Paris, Victoire felt melancholy; but she exerted
herself as much as possible in her usual occupation; finding that
employment and the consciousness of doing her duty were the best remedies
for sorrow.

One day as she was busy settling Madame Feuillot's accounts a servant
came into the shop and inquired for Mademoiselle Victoire: he presented
her a note, which she found rather difficult to decipher.  It was signed
by her cousin Manon, who desired to see Victoire at her hotel.  "_Her
hotel_!" repeated Victoire with astonishment.  The servant assured her
that one of the finest hotels in Paris belonged to his lady, and that he
was commissioned to show her the way to it.  Victoire found her cousin in
a magnificent house, which had formerly belonged to the Prince de Salms.
Manon, dressed in the disgusting, indecent extreme of the mode, was
seated under a richly-fringed canopy.  She burst into a loud laugh as
Victoire entered.

"You look just as much astonished as I expected," cried she.  "Great
changes have happened since I saw you last--I always told you, Victoire,
I knew the world better than you did.  What has come of all your
schooling, and your mighty goodness, and your gratitude truly?  Your
patroness is banished and a beggar, and you a drudge in the shop of a
_brodeuse_, who makes you work your fingers to the bone, no doubt.  Now
you shall see the difference.  Let me show you my house; you know it was
formerly the hotel of the Prince de Salms, he that was guillotined the
other day; but you know nothing, for you have been out of Paris this
month, I understand.  Then I must tell you that my friend Villeneuf has
acquired an immense fortune! by assignats made in the course of a
fortnight.  I say an immense fortune! and has bought this fine house.  Now
do you begin to understand?"

"I do not clearly know whom you mean by 'your friend Villeneuf,'" said
Victoire.

"The hairdresser who lived in our street," said Manon; "he became a great
patriot, you know, and orator; and, what with his eloquence and his luck
in dealing in assignats, he has made his fortune and mine."

"And yours! then he is your husband?"

"That does not follow--that is not necessary--but do not look so
shocked--everybody goes on the sane way now; besides, I had no other
resource--I must have starved--I could not earn my bread as you do.
Besides, I was too delicate for hard work of any sort--and besides--but
come, let me show you my house--you have no idea how fine it is."

With anxious ostentation Manon displayed all her riches to excite
Victoire's envy.

"Confess, Victoire," said she at last, "that you think me the happiest
person you have ever known.--You do not answer; whom did you ever know
that was happier?"

"Sister Frances, who died last week, appeared to be much happier," said
Victoire.

"The poor nun!" said Manon, disdainfully.  "Well, and whom do you think
the next happiest?"

"Madame de Fleury."

"An exile and a beggar!--Oh, you are jesting now, Victoire--or--envious.
With that sanctified face, citoyenne--perhaps I should say
Mademoiselle--Victoire you would be delighted to change places with me
this instant.  Come, you shall stay with me a week to try how you like
it."

"Excuse me," said Victoire, firmly; "I cannot stay with you, Manon; you
have chosen one way of life and I another--quite another.  I do not
repent my choice--may you never repent yours!--Farewell!"

"Bless me! what airs! and with what dignity she looks!  Repent of my
choice!--a likely thing, truly.  Am not I at the top of the wheel?"

"And may not the wheel turn?" said Victoire.

"Perhaps it may," said Manon; "but till it does I will enjoy myself.
Since you are of a different humour, return to Madame Feuillot, and
figure upon cambric and muslin, and make out bills, and nurse old nuns
all the days of your life.  You will never persuade me, however, that you
would not change places with me if you could.  Stay till you are tried,
Mademoiselle Victoire.  Who was ever in love with you or your
virtues?--Stay till you are tried."



CHAPTER XV


"But beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree,
Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard
Of dragon watch with unenchanted eye
To save her blossoms, or defend her fruit."--MILTON.

The trial was nearer than either Manon or Victoire expected.  Manon had
scarcely pronounced the last words when the ci-devant hairdresser burst
into the room, accompanied by several of his political associates, who
met to consult measures for the good of the nation.  Among these patriots
was the Abbe Tracassier.

"Who is that pretty girl who is with you, Manon?" whispered he; "a friend
of yours, I hope?"

Victoire left the room immediately, but not before the profligate abbe
had seen enough to make him wish to see more.  The next day he went to
Madame Feuillot's under pretence of buying some embroidered
handkerchiefs; he paid Victoire a profusion of extravagant compliments,
which made no impression upon her innocent heart, and which appeared
ridiculous to her plain good sense.  She did not know who he was, nor did
Madame Feuillot; for though she had often heard of the abbe, yet she had
never seen him.  Several succeeding days he returned, and addressed
himself to Victoire, each time with increasing freedom.  Madame Feuillot,
who had the greatest confidence in her, left her entirely to her own
discretion.  Victoire begged her friend Annette to do the business of the
shop, and stayed at work in the back parlour.  Tracassier was much
disappointed by her absence; but as he thought no great ceremony
necessary in his proceedings, he made his name known in a haughty manner
to Madame de Feuillot, and desired that he might be admitted into the
back parlour, as he had something of consequence to say to Mademoiselle
Victoire in private.  Our readers will not require to have a detailed
account of this _tete-a-tete_; it is sufficient to say that the
disappointed and exasperated abbe left the house muttering imprecations.
The next morning a note came to Victoire apparently from Manon: it was
directed by her, but the inside was written by an unknown hand, and
continued these words:--

"You are a charming, but incomprehensible girl--since you do not like
compliments, you shall not be addressed with empty flattery.  It is in
the power of the person who dictates this, not only to make you as rich
and great as your cousin Manon, but also to restore to fortune and to
their country the friends for whom, you are most interested.  Their fate
as well as your own is in your power: if you send a favourable answer to
this note, the persons alluded to will, to-morrow, be struck from the
list of emigrants, and reinstated in their former possessions.  If your
answer is decidedly unfavourable, the return of your friends to France
will be thenceforward impracticable, and their chateau, as well as their
house in Paris, will be declared national property, and sold without
delay to the highest bidder.  To you, who have as much understanding as
beauty, it is unnecessary to say more.  Consult your heart, charming
Victoire! be happy, and make others happy.  This moment is decisive of
your fate and of theirs, for you have to answer a man of a most decided
character."

Victoire's answer was as follows:--

"My friends would not, I am sure, accept of their fortune, or consent to
return to their country, upon the conditions proposed; therefore I have
no merit in rejecting them."

Victoire had early acquired good principles, and that plain steady good
sense, which goes straight to its object, without being dazzled or
imposed upon by sophistry.  She was unacquainted with the refinements of
sentiment, but she distinctly knew right from wrong, and had sufficient
resolution to abide by the right.  Perhaps many romantic heroines might
have thought it a generous self-devotion to have become in similar
circumstances the mistress of Tracassier; and those who are skilled "to
make the worst appear the better cause" might have made such an act of
heroism the foundation of an interesting, or at least a fashionable
novel.  Poor Victoire had not received an education sufficiently refined
to enable her to understand these mysteries of sentiment.  She was even
simple enough to flatter herself that this libertine patriot would not
fulfil his threats, and that these had been made only with a view to
terrify her into compliance.  In this opinion, however, she found herself
mistaken.  M. Tracassier was indeed a man of the most decided character,
if this form may properly be applied to those who act uniformly in
consequence of their ruling passion.  The Chateau de Fleury was seized as
national property.  Victoire heard this bad news from the old steward,
who was turned out of the castle, along with his son, the very day after
her rejection of the proposed conditions.

"I could not have believed that any human creature could be so wicked!"
exclaimed Victoire, glowing with indignation: but indignation gave way to
sorrow.

"And the Chateau de Fleury is really seized?--and you, good old man, are
turned out of the place where you were born?--and you too, Basile?--and
Madame de Fleury will never come back again!--and perhaps she may be put
into prison in a foreign country, and may die for want--and I might have
prevented all this!"

Unable to shed a tear, Victoire stood in silent consternation, whilst
Annette explained to the good steward and his son the whole transaction.
Basile, who was naturally of an impetuous temper, was so transported with
indignation, that he would have gone instantly with the note from
Tracassier to denounce him before the whole National Convention, if he
had not been restrained by his more prudent father.  The old steward
represented to him, that as the note was neither signed nor written by
the hand of Tracassier, no proof could be brought home to him, and the
attempt to convict one of so powerful a party would only bring certain
destruction upon the accusers.  Besides, such was at this time the
general depravity of manners, that numbers would keep the guilty in
countenance.  There was no crime which the mask of patriotism could not
cover.  "There is one comfort we have in our misfortunes, which these men
can never have," said the old man; "when their downfall comes, and come
it will most certainly, they will not feel as we do, INNOCENT.  Victoire,
look up! and do not give way to despair--all will yet be well."

"At all events, you have done what is right--so do not reproach
yourself," said Basile.  "Everybody--I mean everybody who is good for
anything--must respect, admire, and love you, Victoire."



CHAPTER XVI


"Ne mal cio che v'annoja,
Quello e vero gioire
Che nasce da virtude dopo il soffrire."

Basile had not seen without emotion the various instances of goodness
which Victoire showed during the illness of Sister Frances.  Her conduct
towards M. Tracassier increased his esteem and attachment; but he forbore
to declare his affection, because he could not, consistently with
prudence, or with gratitude to his father, think of marrying, now that he
was not able to maintain a wife and family.  The honest earnings of many
years of service had been wrested from the old steward at the time the
Chateau de Fleury was seized, and he now depended on the industry of his
son for the daily support of his age.  His dependence was just, and not
likely to be disappointed; for he had given his son an education suitable
to his condition in life.  Basile was an exact arithmetician, could write
an excellent hand, and was a ready draughtsman and surveyor.  To bring
these useful talents into action, and to find employment for them with
men by whom they would be honestly rewarded, was the only difficulty--a
difficulty which Victoire's brother Maurice soon removed.  His reputation
as a smith had introduced him, among his many customers, to a gentleman
of worth and scientific knowledge, who was at this time employed to make
models and plans of all the fortified places in Europe; he was in want of
a good clerk and draughtsman, of whose integrity he could be secure.
Maurice mentioned his friend Basile; and upon inquiry into his character,
and upon trial of his abilities, he was found suited to the place, and
was accepted.  By his well-earned salary he supported himself and his
father; and began, with the sanguine hopes of a young man, to flatter
himself that he should soon be rich enough to marry, and that then he
might declare his attachment to Victoire.  Notwithstanding all his
boasted prudence, he had betrayed sufficient symptoms of his passion to
have rendered a declaration unnecessary to any clear-sighted observer:
but Victoire was not thinking of conquests; she was wholly occupied with
a scheme of earning a certain sum of money for her benefactress, who was
now, as she feared, in want.  All Madame de Fleury's former pupils
contributed their share to the common stock; and the mantua-maker, the
confectioner, the servants of different sorts, who had been educated at
her school, had laid by, during the years of her banishment, an annual
portion of their wages and savings: with the sum which Victoire now added
to the fund, it amounted to ten thousand livres.  The person who
undertook to carry this money to Madame de Fleury, was Francois, her
former footman, who had procured a pass to go to England as a
hairdresser.  The night before he set out was a happy night for Victoire,
as all her companions met, by Madame Feuillot's invitation, at her house;
and after tea they had the pleasure of packing up the little box, in
which each, besides the money, sent some token their gratitude, and some
proof of their ingenuity.  They would with all their hearts have sent
twice as many _souvenirs_ as Francois could carry.

"D'abord c'est impossible!" cried he, when he saw the box that was
prepared for him to carry to England: but his good nature was unable to
resist the entreaties of each to have her offering carried, "which would
take up no room."

He departed--arrived safe in England--found out Madame de Fleury, who was
in real distress, in obscure lodgings at Richmond.  He delivered the
money, and all the presents of which he had taken charge: but the person
to whom she entrusted a letter, in answer to Victoire, was not so
punctual, or was more unlucky: for the letter never reached her, and she
and her companions were long uncertain whether their little treasure had
been received.  They still continued, however, with indefatigable
gratitude, to lay by a portion of their earnings for their benefactress;
and the pleasure they had in this perseverance made them more than amends
for the loss of some little amusements, and for privations to which they
submitted in consequence of their resolution.

In the meantime, Basile, going on steadily with his employments, advanced
every day in the favour of his master, and his salary was increased in
proportion to his abilities and industry; so that he thought he could
now, without any imprudence, marry.  He consulted his father, who
approved of his choice; he consulted Maurice as to the probability of his
being accepted by Victoire; and encouraged by both his father and his
friend, he was upon the eve of addressing himself to Victoire, when he
was prevented by a new and unforeseen misfortune.  His father was taken
up, by an emissary of Tracassier's, and brought before one of their
revolutionary committees, where he was accused of various acts of
_incivisme_.  Among other things equally criminal, it was proved that one
Sunday, when he went to see Le Petit Trianon, then a public-house, he
exclaimed, "C'est ici que le canaille danse, et que les honnetes gens
pleurent!"

Basile was present at this mock examination of his father--he saw him on
the point of being dragged to prison--when a hint was given that he might
save his father by enlisting immediately, and going with the army out of
France.  Victoire was full in Basile's recollection; but there was no
other means of saving his father.  He enlisted, and in twenty-four hours
left Paris.

What appear to be the most unfortunate circumstances of life often prove
ultimately the most advantageous--indeed, those who have knowledge,
activity, and integrity, can convert the apparent blanks in the lottery
of fortune into prizes.  Basile was recommended to his commanding officer
by the gentleman who had lately employed him as a clerk; his skill in
drawing plans, and in taking rapid surveys of the country through which
they passed, was extremely useful to his general, and his integrity made
it safe to trust him as a secretary.  His commanding officer, though a
brave man, was illiterate, and a secretary was to him a necessary of
life.  Basile was not only useful, but agreeable; without any mean arts,
or servile adulation, he pleased by simply showing the desire to oblige
and the ability to serve.

"Diable!" exclaimed the general one day, as he looked at Basile's plan of
a town which the army was besieging.  "How comes it that you are able to
do all these things?  But you have a genius for this sort of work,
apparently."

"No, sir," said Basile, "these things were taught to me when I was a
child by a good friend."

"A good friend he was, indeed! he did more for you than if he had given
you a fortune; for, in these times, that might have been soon taken from
you; but now you have the means of making a fortune for yourself."

This observation of the general's, obvious as it may seem, is deserving
of the serious consideration of those who have children of their own to
educate, or who have the disposal of money for public charities.  In
these times no sensible person will venture to pronounce that a change of
fortune and station may not await the highest and the lowest; whether we
rise or fall in the scale of society, personal qualities and knowledge
will be valuable.  Those who fall cannot be destitute, and those who rise
cannot be ridiculous or contemptible, if they have been prepared for
their fortune by proper education.  In shipwreck those who carry their
all in their minds are the most secure.

But to return to Basile.  He had sense enough not to make his general
jealous of him by any unseasonable display of his talents, or any
officious intrusion of advice, even upon subjects which he best
understood.

The talents of the warrior and the secretary were in such different
lines, that there was no danger of competition; and the general, finding
in his secretary the soul of all the arts, good sense, gradually acquired
the habit of asking his opinion on every subject that came within his
department.  It happened that the general received orders from the
Directory at Paris to take a certain town, let it cost what it would,
within a given time: in his perplexity he exclaimed before Basile against
the unreasonableness of these orders, and declared his belief that it was
impossible he should succeed, and that this was only a scheme of his
enemies to prepare his ruin.  Basile had attended to the operations of
the engineer who acted under the general, and perfectly recollected the
model of the mines of this town, which he had seen when he was employed
as draughtsman by his Parisian friend.  He remembered that there was
formerly an old mine that had been stopped up somewhere near the place
where the engineer was at work; he mentioned in private his suspicions to
the general, who gave orders in consequence.  The old mine was
discovered, cleared out, and by these means the town was taken the day
before the time appointed.  Basile did not arrogate to himself any of the
glory of this success; he kept his general's secret and his confidence.
Upon their return to Paris, after a fortunate campaign, the general was
more grateful than some others have been, perhaps because more room was
given by Basile's prudence for the exercise of this virtue.

"My friend," said he to Basile, "you have done me a great service by your
counsel, and a greater still by holding your tongue.  Speak now, and tell
me freely if there is anything I can do for you.  You see, as a
victorious general, I have the upper hand amongst these
fellows--Tracassier's scheme to ruin me missed--whatever I ask will at
this moment be granted; speak freely, therefore."

Basile asked what he knew Victoire most desired--that Monsieur and Madame
de Fleury should be struck from the list of emigrants, and that their
property now in the hands of the nation should be restored to them.  The
general promised that this should be done.  A warm contest ensued upon
the subject between him and Tracassier, but the general stood firm; and
Tracassier, enraged, forgot his usual cunning, and quarrelling
irrevocably with a party now more powerful than his own, he and his
adherents were driven from that station in which they had so long
tyrannised.  From being the rulers of France, they in a few hours became
banished men, or, in the phrase of the times, _des deportes_.

We must not omit to mention the wretched end of Manon.  The man with whom
she lived perished by the guillotine.  From his splendid house she went
upon the stage, did not succeed, sank from one degree of profligacy to
another, and at last died in an hospital.

In the meantime, the order for the restoration of the Fleury property,
and for permission for the Fleury family to return to France, was made
out in due form, and Maurice begged to be the messenger of these good
tidings--he set out for England with the order.

Victoire immediately went down to the Chateau de Fleury, to get
everything in readiness for the reception of the family.

Exiles are expeditious in their return to their native country.  Victoire
had but just time to complete her preparations, when Monsieur and Madame
de Fleury arrived at Calais.  Victoire had assembled all her companions,
all Madame de Fleury's former pupils; and the hour when she was expected
home, they, with the peasants of the neighbourhood, were all in their
holiday clothes, and, according to the custom of the country, singing and
dancing.  Without music and dancing there is no perfect joy in France.
Never was _fete du village_ or _fete du Seigneur_ more joyful than this.

The old steward opened the gate, the carriage drove in.  Madame de Fleury
saw that home which she had little expected evermore to behold, but all
other thoughts were lost in the pleasure of meeting her beloved pupils.

"My children!" cried she, as they crowded round her the moment she got
out of her carriage--"my dear, _good_ children!"

It was all she could say.  She leaned on Victoire's arm as she went into
the house, and by degrees recovering from the almost painful excess of
pleasure, began to enjoy what she yet only confusedly felt.

Several of her pupils were so much grown and altered in their external
appearance, that she could scarcely recollect them till they spoke, and
then their voices and the expression of their countenances brought their
childhood fully to her memory.  Victoire, she thought, was changed the
least, and at this she rejoiced.

The feeling and intelligent reader will imagine all the pleasure that
Madame de Fleury enjoyed this day; nor was it merely the pleasure of a
day.  She heard from all her friends, with prolonged satisfaction,
repeated accounts of the good conduct of these young people during her
absence.  She learned with delight how her restoration to her country and
her fortune had been effected; and is it necessary to add, that Victoire
consented to marry Basile, and that she was suitably portioned, and, what
is better still, that she was perfectly happy?  Monsieur de Fleury
rewarded the attachment and good conduct of Maurice by taking him into
his service, and making him his manager under the old steward at the
Chateau de Fleury.

On Victoire's wedding-day Madame de Fleury produced all the little
offerings of gratitude which she had received from her and her companions
during her exile.  It was now her turn to confer favours, and she knew
how to confer them both with grace and judgment.

"No gratitude in human nature!  No gratitude in the lower classes of the
people!" cried she; "how much those are mistaken who think so!  I wish
they could know my history, and the history of these my children, and
they would acknowledge their error."




FOOTNOTES


{1}  "Whom the gods wish to destroy, they first deprive of
understanding."