CHAPTER IV.

EDMOND.

EXTRACT FROM THE JOURNAL OF COUNT EDMOND.

"How few among us ever really grapple and close with the great questions of Human Life!

"Here, already passed beyond the boundary-line of man's maturity, I find myself stumbling at the simplest of these enigmas. Here I halt irresolute, hesitating, timid. And I, the man whose brain is burdened with the too, too heavy weight of thought, I am ready to ask my road of a child."

CHAPTER V.

FELIX, EDMOND, AND JULIET.

JULIET TO THERESA.

"L—, 20th June, 1814.

"THE first emotions are over. We have got to be accustomed to each other again, and have grown into the habit of each other's lives.

"It is better so, for it is calmer. Your letter spoke of feelings somewhat akin to these when you told me about your child and your husband, and of your love for these two, and of the difference in that love. How strange it would be did any one become jealous of his own flesh and blood. Is jealousy possible between father and child-brother and brother? But what am I talking of? I meant to tell you something of our lives; how we are all living together here; how quietly; and how happily the days go by.

"Well, then, after breakfast father usually goes out with Edmond, to look over the mills, the farm, the cattle, and see how the crops are coming on. Or sometimes they both take their horses and ride about the forest, to inspect the timber, and that Edmond may see how well and carefully all his suggestions and plans have been attended to during his absence.

"It is really amusing to see how the dear old gentleman behaves on these occasions. He is as eager and as timid as a schoolboy; doubting if he have done

well, and impatient for Edmond's approval. Then, when they both come home, I can always see at a glance, by the way he rubs his hands and chuckles to himself, if all has gone smooth and well. As for Felix, we hardly ever see any thing of him before late in the evening. He has registered a vow never to return home without a stag, or some enormous trophy of the chase; and he generally sets out at daybreak, before the house is out of bed. Father is by no means too well pleased with these extensive devastations of Felix just at this season. The other day Felix kept his vow by not coming home all night. Such a fright as we were in! He reappeared, however, the next morning. And in what sort of equipage do you suppose? Mounted on the top of a wooden charette, and sound asleep between a wild boar and a stag-a magnificent ten-horner! We all burst out laughing when he made his triumphal entry in this way up the shrubbery, where we were just then taking our morning walk. It was ludicrous to see the puzzled face of him, and the astonished way he rubbed his eyes, and stretched and shook himself like a great dog, before he seemed to know where he was. But, before mother could scold him for the anxiety he had caused us all, he jumped down from the cart, and into her arms, and contrived to pour into our ears, without stopping to take breath, such a long story of wonderful adventures, that no one could put in a word. What saved him, I think, was that it so happened we really were in want of game, for we are expecting a house full of visitors next week. Well, but you must not fancy, Theresa, from all this, that Felix is rude, or selfish, or

that he has no taste for any thing but dogs and horses, and shooting and hunting. If Edmond only says one word to him, 'tis enough. He quietly lays his gun by in the corner, sits down as sober as a judge, and in an instant he is quite a different creature; sociable, gentle, and so sweet-tempered and sunny that it is really impossible to be angry with him for any of his numerous misdeeds. Edmond is every thing for him. There is nothing like it. He looks up to Edmond as to a second father. And indeed he may well do so, for he owes him much. Do you know, Theresa, that during the campaign Edmond, though he never studied for the army, at once took the lead of his brother in all the details of military science and practice? All through the war he was the guide and teacher, as well as helpmate, of Felix; and here he continues to be the same in all things. What a surpassing spirit it is!

"Edmond is the most accomplished and complete man I ever met with. What an intellect, and what a soul! Such extraordinary powers of application, such self-possession and solidity of character! Yet he does not seem happy. And this makes me sad. I think Felix is the only perfectly happy creature. He is happy completely. The other, with all his gifts, all his lavish wealth of nature, has yet need of more. Felix is rich with little or nothing. Edmond hardly ever speaks to me now; and I should almost begin to think him indifferent to me if a thousand little nameless silent kindnesses, and acts of thoughtful care, did not prove to me the contrary. And all that he does for me is done so quietly. Felix does nothing at all

for me. On the other hand, he is always wanting met to do something for him. Yesterday he must needs set me down all the morning to mending his great leathern shot-belt, which I did, indeed, so well that I managed, before I was through with that rough, unwonted work, to run the scissors into my finger, and hurt myself horribly. Edmond, before Felix even noticed it, was at my side. He turned quite pale when he saw the blood on my hand; and, throwing a glance of disapprobation on his brother, he left the room to look for some English sticking-plaster.

"But Felix, when he at last saw what was the matter, jumps up, and crying, "Nonsense! nonsense!" seizes hold of my finger, thrusts it between his lips, and sucks out the blood so hard that he makes me cry. Then, before I can stop him, he catches up the scissors (the instruments of my mishap), and cuts a great piece out of my cambric pocket-handkerchief, as if it were merely a rag of hospital lint. Therewith he bound up the wound tightly, and stopped the bleeding in a minute. I confess that I felt a pain at the heart when, a minute afterward, poor dear Edmond came back with the sticking-plaster, and found that there was nothing left him to do for me. Felix, in his rough way, had done every thing.

"'Tis a trifle, this. But-well, I hardly know why, Theresa, and yet I have noticed that on these occasions mother shakes her head and steals a furtive, unquiet look at Edmond, as he sits beside us, so quiet, so self-involved."