314 HOW THE WORLDLY TORMENT THE SERIOUS.

wherever it might be. She opened Mrs. Balfour's letter. Indignation added to the feelings agitating her breast. Disgusted though she was with the flippant style of the letter, still she was glad that the lady had written, since that lady might direct her to her nephew.

She set off on the following day. Arrived in Paris, she went directly to Mrs. Balfour's address. The desired interview, so unexpected on the part of Mrs. Balfour, was readily granted.

"What, my old friend! Why, I'm ravished to see you; but you seem sad. Oh! I see-your nephew. But really, my dear friend, don't let that disturb you. For my part, I think it a mercy to have a little excitement now and then. To be sure, it's very annoying to think that these Jesuits will run riot in Protestant gold hereafter; but what's to be done. There's no resisting the clever fellows. They can filch your very heart out of you, let alone your purse. But you are in mourning, my friend?" "Pardon me, Mrs. Balfour. I have troubled you with a visit to ask one favour from you."

"Name it, my dear friend, I'm all in all to my friends; never so happy as when I can serve them; name it, 't is granted."

66 'Will you tell me where I shall find my nephew?"

"Oh, ho! what! you intend to give us a windingup scene. Oh! that's glorious. I admire your spirit. You are right, my friend. The men give way, we women should give battle.

Let's assert

our rights, and reform the world; purge out society, purify religion, and banish the Jesuits,—those ravenous wolves in sheep's clothing. You're right; have at 'em. Now, this is beautiful. I'm in ecstacies. Oh, yes; I can tell 'll find your where you you nephew. My old footstool, Count Poodle, as I call him, knows where everybody lives in Paris. expect him here every moment. Oh, here he is." The Count entered, bowing to the ladies. He was introduced to Mrs. Malcolm.

66

I

My dear Count," said Mrs. Balfour, "the affair of young Devigne, you remember. Mrs. Malcolm is his aunt."

"Vraiment! Oh, it's killing. My dear madam. It's epigrammated, epic, episodic, tragic, melodramatic. It's all the rage, all the fury;-a most entrancing uproar. Gad! madam, everybody is obliged to your nephew. He has quite revived us. We were dying for a blaze. Now we're all up. Twenty epigrams have been published, two episodes; our magnificent, prodigious, and sentimental poet, Elecampine, is engaged on an epic; the inexhaustible Macedonian is spinning a tragedy, and, out of the stray remnants thereof, he intends to fling off a melodrama. See what glorious excitement your heroic nephew has produced! Permit me to sit down, ladies;" concluded the Count, quite exhausted, and fanning himself with his handkerchief.

It must be evident that Mrs. Malcolm was excessively annoyed. Mrs. Balfour was "ravished" of course; she said,

316

A GENTLE REPROOF.

"Do, Count, describe the duel-scene once more. I want my friend to see how you can enter into the thing. Believe me, my friend, the Count is another Talma; you'll be ravished."

"Excuse me, Mrs. Balfour, you can easily suppose that I am ill at ease. I would not interfere in your merriment, but sadness suits me best just now. If your friend can give me the information I need, I will disembarrass you of my presence, for I feel that I must be a burthen."

Mrs. Malcolm spoke so touchingly, that her gay friend could torment her no longer. She said,"Count, can you tell my friend where she may find her nephew?”

“Oh, certainly. I'll escort her myself; should be most happy to protect her in case of violence; for believe me, madam, these Jesuits are terrible fellows; but I'll put a veto on them any time. Will you honour me with your arm?”

Suiting the action to the word, the Count rose, but Mrs. Malcolm said,

"I am obliged for your offer, but I need no protection except that of the Almighty. Give me the address, if you please."

66

Certainly, madam.”

"Write it, if you please; my memory is unsteady; my thoughts will get the uppermost."

The Count wrote the address on a card, which he handed to Mrs. Malcolm, adding :—

66

I hope you will favour us with an account of

MRS. MALCOLM AND A JESUIT.

317

the interview, madam. We shall die of impatience till we see you again."

Mrs. Malcolm made no reply, but hastily took leave of Mrs. Balfour and the Count, and started for the Novitiate.

She found the house with some difficulty. She was admitted by the porter.

In a few minutes one of the Fathers entered, and bowed to Mrs. Malcolm. She began:

"I beg the favour of an interview with Leonard Devigne, my nephew."

"I fear, madam, that your wish cannot be complied with at present. The regulations of the house interdict the indulgence which we would otherwise be most happy to grant."

"But, sir, I have come to France for this express purpose. I have important questions to ask my nephew. Surely there can be no harm in my seeing him but for five minutes. This is all I wish. I only want to know if he is happy."

“Oh, on that score, madam, you may rest satisfied; he is quite happy."

But, sir, excuse me; I must be assured of that from his own lips. Why should you fear to let me see him?"

"Fear! madam,-there is no fear," retorted the Jesuit, pointedly, but politely.

"But there is fear, sir; there must be fear where craft triumphs."

"Excuse me, madam; you are excited."

“I admit it; and have I not enough to excite

318 me? Have you not insulted-dishonoured the name of my fathers-insulted my religion-perverted my son-my brother-and now my nephew? Is not this enough to excite me? But I insist on seeing my nephew. I'll appeal to the authorities of the land. They'll enable me to see justice. Will you, or will you not, grant the interview?" exclaimed Mrs. Malcolm, firmly.

A HOPE OF FURTHER SUCCESS.

The Father requested her to wait a moment, promising to bring an answer. He left the room. A consultation ensued: it was decided not to grant the interview. "But," said the Superior to Father Fraser, "go and announce the refusal, and pacify the lady. Perhaps further success is in store for us."

The Superior's look and manner, as he uttered these words, inspired confidence, and forcibly appealed to the man's vanity, or the Jesuit's spiritual ambition. The "merit" of Leonard's conversion was his; he had conquered the nephew,-might he not subdue the aunt? Had he not already and often tested the charm of his eloquence on woman, on many a difficult occasion? Always ready, always self-possessed-he gladly obeyed the command. Prepared for the worst, he hoped for the best, and opened the door to enter, with persuasion on his lips.

At the sight of the venerable lady, her grey hair partially dishevelled on her brow, tears streaming from her eyes, poignant grief in every lineament of her face, Father Fraser stood, and gazed in sudden