verence for her husband. I have known Dusantoy and have loved him
from my earliest childhood, and have received from him more proofs of
undeviating friendship and unwearied devotion than I can ever repay.
He has saved my life, too, though he unwittingly took from me, what
I believed at that time to be all that made life desirable," said
Victor sadly, as they approached the palings of the Jardin Du Roi,
through which the red and yellow roses and peonies, confident in their
gorgeousness, were nodding their heads insolently at the _gens d'arme_,
who paced listlessly before the gate. The verbenas and <DW29>s, equally
brilliant but less flaunting, were dotted about in compact groups in
the parterres and on the lawn. The statue, surmounting the column in
the centre of the lawn, blackened and defaced by the wear and tear of
years, looked down grimly from its pedestal, as if to impose silence
on all beneath. So that the jardin, in its absolute repose, found
little favor in the eyes of children and nurses, who respectively chose
for their gambols and their flirtations some more joyous and expansive
locality. Its sole occupants on this occasion were an elderly priest,
too much absorbed in his breviary to be conscious of the rustling of
Mathilde's dress as she passed him, together with a pensive soldier,
who possibly sought diversion from the pangs of unrequited affection
by tracing with a penknife, on the stone bench which he occupied, an
accurate outline of his sword.

"You knew Pauline d'Arblay as a child," said the countess to Victor, as
they seated themselves on a bench at the extremity of the lawn.

"Yes, we were brought up together,--that is, our families were very
intimate. She was the only child of her parents, and I was the youngest
of a large family; but as my brothers and sisters were much older than
myself, and Pauline was nearer my age, we were always together, and,
until I was sent to college, she was my constant playmate."

"You must regard her as a sister, then," said Mathilde. "Remembrances
of childish int