and thought fondly of his shyness and diffidence when he hardly ventured to raise his eyes to hers.  Octave, however, fell a victim at the first glance he caught of Diana, and permitted himself to be swept away by the tide of his private emotions, which upon every visit that he paid to Laurebourg became more powerful and resistless.  Like a true knight, who wishes that he himself should gain the love of his lady fair, Octave addressed himself directly to Diana, and after many attempts succeeded in finding himself alone with her, and then he asked her if she could permit him to crave of her father, the Marquis de Laurebourg, the honor of her hand.  This appeal surprised her, for she had been so much absorbed in her own troubles that she had not even suspected his love for her.  She was not even frightened at his declaration, as is the patient when the surgeon informs him that he must use the knife.  She glanced at De Mussidan strangely as he put this question to her, and after a moment’s hesitation, replied that she would give him a reply the next day.  After thinking the matter over, she wrote and dispatched the letter which Francoise had carried to Norbert.  The prisoner in the dock as he anxiously awaits the sentence of his judge, can alone appreciate Diana’s state of agonized suspense as she stood at the end of the park at Laurebourg awaiting the return of the girl.  Her anxiety of mind lasted nearly three hours, when Francoise hurried up breathless.

“What did the Marquis say?” asked Diana.

“He said nothing; that is, he cried out very angrily, ’Never! no, never!’”

In order to prevent any suspicions arising in the girl’s mind, Mademoiselle de Laurebourg contrived to force a laugh, exclaiming:  “Ah! indeed, that is just what I expected.”

Francoise seemed as if she had something to say on the tip of her tongue, but Diana hurriedly dismissed her, pressing a coin into her hand.  All anxiety was now at an end; for her there was no longer any suspense or anguish; all her struggles were now futile, and she felt grateful to Octave for having given her his love.  “Once married,” thought she, “I shall be free, and shall be able to follow the Duke and Duchess to Paris.”

Upon her return to the Chateau, she found Octave awaiting her.  His eyes put the question that his lips did not dare to utter; and, placing her hand in his with a gentle inclination of her head, she assented to his prayer.

This act on her part would, she believed, free her from the past; but she was in error.  Upon hearing that his dastardly attempt at murder had failed, the Counsellor was for the time utterly overwhelmed with terror, but the news that he had gained from M. de Puymandour calmed his mind in a great measure.  He was not, however, completely reassured until he heard for certain that the Duke had become a helpless maniac, and that the doctor, having given up all hopes of his patient’s recovery, had discontinued