LOVE AND DUTY.

AFTER

(CONTINUED.)

FTER a struggle in her own mind, between the pleasure of finding herself beloved at the same moment that she had, for the first time, discovered the state of her own heart, and some counterbalancing and painfully oppres. sive feelings, Constantia clasped her hands mournfully together, and exclaimed, "Rise, sir, and insult me by that posture no longer. It is weak, it is criminal in the son of the President des Essars, to address, in that posture, the daughter of the disgraced d'Anglade. Rise, sir, and hear the determination to which the dreadful necessity of this moment sompels me." "I will obey you,' replied Eugene, "in order to prove to you my respect; but surely it is not forbidden the son of any man to love and adore the virtues of Constantia d'Anglade !

this moment, and before Eu

[NO. 17.

gene had risen from the feet of Constantia, a most unexpected and unwelcome visitor entered the apartment; and this was the President des Essars himself. My father! exclaimed Eugene, rising and Madeleine, terrified and confounded, hid her face on her pillow; while Constantia, tho' conscious of innocence, trembled as if about to incur the anger of just judge.

So, sir; said the President, with a forced smile, and in the tone of suppressed indignation, the length and frequency of your visits here is accounted for. Who is this lady, whose charms have

shed a lustre over this humble ha

bitation, which you cannot find in the circles befitting your rank and expectations? This lady, sir, replied Eugene, with a pale cheek, and a faltering voice, is Mademoiselle d'Anglade. D'Anglade! answered the President, in a tone of fury-d'Anglade !what!-the daughter of thatHere Constantia, restored to all

her self-confidence by the dread of insult, suddenly rose, and interrupting him, exclaimed-I will spare you, sir, the guilt of insulting the unfortunate, by removing instantly from your presence.— Yes, sir, I am the daughter of the unhappy d'Anglade; and allow me to assure you, sir, that I am also too proud, and too conscientious, ever to see your son again, after having been convinced, as I have just been, that my meetings with him are dangerous to his peace, injurious to my own reputation, and odious to you.

So saying, she left the room; while Eugene, who was hastily following her, was forcibly and angrily held by his father. She is gone, and I may never see her more! cried Eugene, sinking into a chair. Oh no, replied the President, with a sneer, your convenient friend here, your Madéleine, will no doubt contrive more meetings for you. There, my child, said Madeleine, you see what my fatal blindness and indulgence have exposed me to; but I leave my justification to you-I shall not attempt it. Sir, (addressing the President) it is true that appearances are against me; still you might have been slower to condemn so harshly an old and faithful servant like me. Sir, exclaimed Eugene, I, and I only am to blame. Oh! doubt

:

less returned the President-it is heroic and proper that you should say so; but follow me home, sir, and there I shall expect a full, though not a satisfactory explanation. Then, without deigning even to look at Madeleine, he withdrew; and Eu gene was preparing to follow him, when Madeleine exclaimed, with tears of agony-He is gone without speaking to me, or even looking at me, and I see that I have forfeited his favor for ever! Nó, dear Madeleine, replied Eagene, affectionately pressing her cold hand, my father may be angry, but he can never be unjust ; and if he renounces you, he must

also renounce mc.

So saying, he departed, and erdeavoured, as he slowly followed his father, to fortify his mind to endure with composure the awful interview which awaited him. But when they reached the President's hotel, unexpected company was awaiting him, and Eugene was at liberty to retire to his own apartment, where, for the first time in his life he ventured to violate the strict obedi ence which he had uniformly preserved even to his father's slightest will; and being tempted by opportunity, he set down, and wrote to Constantia, in language only too expressive of the deep rooted passion of his soul;

and having finished his letter, without giving himself time to deliberate, he sent it by a confidential servant, to Constantia's lodgings. That same night, when his guests were departed, the President summoned Eugene into his presence.

Little did I expect, said the father, in a mournful tone, while I was affectionately yielding to your wishes, in not pressing you to marry, because you were at present averse to marriage, that you were cruelly and clandestinely blasting all my hopes, and your own prospects in life, by forming an attachment to the artful offspring of an abject and disgraced being, and a convicted criminal! Forgive me, sir, interrupted Eugene, if I assure you that the object of my attachment is one of the most artless of human beings; and that, in my opinion, her father was unfortunate only, not criminal, and most wickedly and unjustly condemned! Nay, then, exclaimed the President, rising with great indignation

if this is the case, if this child of shame has such influence over you as to make you doubt 'the justice of the laws of your country, and blind you to guilt the most manifest, it is time that she should be placed where her power and will to do mischief shall be rendered void; and I will go

+

this moment to obtain a lettre de cachet, and have her conveyed to some place of security. No, sir, said Eugene, rising also, and speaking in a tone at once firm, yet respectful: no, sir, you will not do this; you will not, I am sure you will not do in a passion what you must repent in a moment of reflexion. No, sir, you will not oppress the orphan who has none to aid her, and give your son reason to blush for his father! Eugene ! cried the President sternly, at the same time reseating himself; Eugene, re peated he, till this unfortunare moment I never knew you forget the respect due to me,

True, sir, replied Eugene, for never till this moment did I see you on the point of forgetting the respect due to yourself. O

my

dear father, reflect on what you were going to do! What, you!--the advocate of the poor and friendiess-you, whose name lives in the memory of so many oppressed and indigent people, rescued by your eloquence and activity from undeserved shame! you go to solicit a lettre de cachet against a helpless orphan, and merely because she has virtues, beauty, and talents, and your son has a heart to value them !—nay, has been taught by you to value them above every thing else!— Oh, sir, the judge who condemn

ed d'Anglade to the galleys was virtuous, compared to what you would be, if you sought to confine his unhappy and friendless daughter!-He thought himself right; but you, you know, that while you were acting thus, your own generous, upright heart would instantly condemn you!

Bat this girl deserves my anger and my vengeance; for, has she not inveigled the affections of my son? She gave the first provocation, and have I not reason to fear the further artifices and influence of that woman who can

make my son, a youth well studied too in the law of evidence, believe her parents, spite of evidence, guiltless of the crime for which they suffered? But what if I was convinced of d'Anglades innocence before I ever saw this daughter, replied Eugene. How ! reitterated the President. Have you then forgotten, sir, said Eugene, that at the time of the condemnation I told you, like the boy in the Arabian Night's Entertainments, had been the judge, I should have examined the count de Montgommery's servants and chaplain, as he said that he should have examined the olive merchants; and that I thought, if such an examination had taken place, it would have been proved that d'Anglade and his amiable wife were entirely in

nocent? I do I de remember. And do you not also remember sir, that though I failed to convince you, you were pleased to say, "That boy has an active, inquiring mind, and I think he will be an honor to me and his profession!" I do remember that also, cried the President, melting into tears, and opening his arms to his son; but oh, Eugene, have I not now reason to fear that my fond foolish hopes are at length completely blasted? Impossible ! replied Eugene, impossible !-It you but confide in me, and do justice to the object of my love and adoration

But your love for such an shject is itself a crime, said the President. Impossible! replied Ex gene, to love virtue is to be virtu ous-nor can you require me not to love mademoiselle d'Angladė. All you can require, or I can grant, is, a promise never to let her influence interfere with my duty; but even to endeavour, some time or other, to fulfil your wishes, and marry the object of your choice. And will you promise this? enquired the President. I will immediately promise not to marry mademoiselle d'Anglade without your consent; but the other promise, till I hear from her, I do not think myself at liberty to make. Hear from her! exclaimed the President--