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poets, philosophers, and courtiers presided over by St. Evremond should be hailed with general delight, and every possible inducement held out to induce Madame de Bouillon to prolong her stay. She appears, indeed, to have enjoyed herself thoroughly in the society of these congenial spirits, and to have become a proficient at the then fashionable game
of basset. La Fontaine, who, in spite of his loyalty to his patroness, could not make up his mind to cross the sea, deplored her protracted absence in the following terms :-“We are beginning, madame, to complain bitterly of the English for keeping you so long away from us. I propose that they should restore you to us before the end of the autumn, and that we should give them in exchange two or three islands in the ocean. If I consulted only my own wishes, I would let them have the ocean into the bargain.”
She was on the point of returning to France, when the downfall of James the Second caused her to apprehend the possibility of being kept a prisoner by his successor. William, however, with unwonted courtesy, not only refrained from opposing her departure, but ordered one of his own ships to be got ready for her accommodation, together with a special escort, as far as Rouen. On her arrival, she applied to the King, through M. de Seignelay, for permission to visit Venice, and received for answer that she might go where she chose, provided that she neither set foot at Court nor in Paris. Soon after we find her in Rome, where her brother-in-law, the Cardinal de Bouillon, resided, and where her eldest son, the Prince of Turenne, subsequently rejoined her. The career of this gallant young officer, who at the death of his great uncle, the Marshal, had inherited his name and title, was short but brilliant. Together with the Prince of Conti and Engene of Savoy, he had incurred the displeasure of Louis the Fourteenth by heading an expedition in Hungary against the Turks, and having been consequently exiled from France, had afterwards repaired to Venice, and served with great distinction as a volunteer under Königsmark in Greece. Five years later he was at length permitted to return, in company with his mother, to his native country, and followed the King as aide-de-camp to the siege of Namur. In the ensuing campaign, while leading a charge at the battle of Steinkerke, he fell mortally wounded; and the Duchess, hastening to see him before he died, arrived only in time to witness his interment at Mons. Her second son, the Duke d'Albert, succeeded his father as goveruor of Auvergne ; the third was a Knight of Malta, and the Count d'Evreux, the fourth and youngest, ultimately married the daughter of a wealthy financier, somewhat slightingly designated by Madame de Bouillon her “golden ingot."
From this period, until her death in 1714,* the subject of our notice
* Her husband survived her seven years, and died in 1721, at the good old age of eighty-two.
coutinued to reside in Paris, retaining to the close of her life the prestige of her irresistible fascination. In her intercourse with literary men she displayed an affability very different from her usual haughty bearing; and, to the last, interested herself warmly in the welfare of those especially deserving her encouragement and support. In her, the arts lost a liberal and intelligent patroness, and society one of its most distinguished ornaments. As St. Simon truly remarks : “ (She owed her proud position to wit and beauty, and the world had been long accustomed to be ruled by them.”
* Except on one occasion, when Lesage, having promised to read to her his comedy of Turcaret, arrived after his time, and was greeted on his arrival by the rebuke that he had made her lose an hour in waiting for him. “In that case, madame,” he coolly replied, “you may gain two hours by not listening to me; and with a low bow rolled up his manuscript, and quitted the room.
FIERCE Winter's iron heel is on the land,
And all the streams are mute, the trees are bare,
Save where the frost-wraiths twine them here and there,
With jewels sparkling like a diamond band
Thrown loosely over them ; they silent stand,
Then o'er the hills the swift north breezes tear.
The south wind follows with her sweet command,
To break the icy chains; the poor earth breathes :
Where bitter frost still hides beneath his wing.
J. E. PANTON.
My Lodging is on the Cold Ground.
A STORY, IN THREE PARTS.
By the Author of “HIS LAST STAKE,” &c.
“ SAVE me! save me from him, for the love of God!”
This wild appeal, spoken, as are so many wild appeals of a like nature, without a thought being given to their solemnity, was addressed by a young and very beautiful woman to a gravelooking Englishman not more than half-a-dozen years older than herself. They were in a foreign hotel, and the Englishman was alone in his private sitting-room on the first floor; opposite to his room, which he had now occupied for some time, was another private sitting-room, let—he knew vaguely—to country people of his own, for a waiter had in his hearing called the gentleman “Milor Anglaise," and his wife was sometimes Milady" and sometimes “Madame."
The grave Englishman was also vaguely conscious that Milor and Madame kept late hours and saw much company, for sounds of revelry often reached him as he sat reading in his own quiet chamber, while until a late hour in the afternoon all would be still. Once or twice he had seen a pretty boy carried in or out of the opposite room, in the arms of a picturesque Italian nurse, and on one occasion he had been obliged to linger on the stairs to allow Madame to convey her sweeping and rustling train out of reach of his awkward English feet; her face he had not seen.
But now it seemed as if against his will he was to be dragged into contact with his unknown neighbours; he had heard sounds in the opposite room against which he would gladly have closed his ears—he hated strife and unseemly noise, everything, in short, that ruffled his easy, studious life—then suddenly the door of the stranger's “apartment” flew open; simultaneously—as it seemed—his door flew open too, and a lovely woman with dark hair streaming over her half-covered shoulders was kneeling at his feet, and crying out, "Save me !
" ! save me from him, for the love of God!"
Edward Sinclair was not the man to hear such an appeal from any woman unmoved, but when, in the kneeling figure at his feet, he recognised a woman whom he had madly loved, and who had basely deserted him, as he supposed, for the man from whom she now fled in terror, he was moved as he never thought he could have been moved again by anything in the world.
The excited creature had not at first recognised her old lover, but when he leaned over her and touched her on the shoulder, and said in a voice which surprise and emotion had made uncertain, but could not alter, “ You here, Fredericka! you here, and asking help from me ? ” she gave another cry and looked about her as if she would gladly have fled from him as she had just before fled from her companion in the other room.
But there was no time then for explanation or question ; there was a tall, handsome man, with excited eyes, flushed face and disordered dress, standing in the doorway, gazing at the pair in the room ; the woman cowered down on the floor when she saw him, but Sinclair went forward to speak to him.
The new-comer, however, spoke first.
“Who are you?” he said. “English by your face; I tell so much. Is she,” pointing to the kneeling figure, “ going to transfer herself to your protection now
“Hush!" interrupted Sinclair, with outstretched hand. “Mrs. Douglas
“Ha, ha !” interrupted the other in his turn. “ Mrs. ! don't you
believe a word of it, she's only—" But Sinclair's hand was on his collar. “You villain,” he exclaimed, " say it again if you dare !”
There was then a scuffle ; Fredericka tried to fling herself between them, and called loudly for help, but before help came Sinclair fell wounded with a bullet through his shoulder, and Douglas had rushed back into his own apartment, locking the door behind him.
While the landlord and the waiters were gesticulating and jabbering over Sinclair, and while some of the practical English and Americans, who had come up from the public salon, were suggesting that a doctor should be sent for without delay, a second report was heard in the locked room. The landlord and the waiters rushed pell-mell across the passage, threw themselves against the door and burst it open, to find Douglas lying dead upon the floor, shot through the head.
The unhappy Mrs. Douglas flew from the side of the wounded man to that of him who was beyond her care, and who had, as