His history may be very briefly summed up. He was the second son of a wealthy Louisiana planter, whose estate being entailed upon the eldest male child, left little or nothing to younger brothers or sisters. Marcellus, when required to select a profession, being of a grave and studious disposition, would have preferred divinity or medicine, but finally yielded to the wish of his father, and entered West Point Military Academy to be educated for the army. At the age of twenty-one he graduated with honors, and then went to spend a short leave with his parents previous to joining his regiment. He met them by appointment at Saratoga, which was at that time the headquarters and great summer resort of Southern families, flying from the fierce heat and fatal fevers of their native districts to the cool breezes and healing waters of the North. And here, Marcellus, or, as he was most frequently called, Marcel de Crespigney, met the great misfortune of his life, for here he first saw the lady who was destined to be his wife. Marcel de Crespigney was one of the handsomest men of his time. At the age of twenty-one he was as beautiful as Apollo. His form was of medium size and fair proportions, his head stately and well set, his features Romanesque in their regularity and delicacy of outline; his hair and beard were dark brown, and closely curled; his eyes dark hazel, with a steady, thoughtful, sympathetic gaze that had the effect of mesmerizing any one upon whom it fell. Such beauty is too often an evil and a cause of weakness in man. It frequently inspires and nourishes vanity, and saps and blights true manliness. Such, however, was not its effect upon Marcel de Crespigney. He had his fatal weakness, as you will presently discover; but that weakness did not take its root in self-love—quite the contrary. If he had possessed vanity, however, he would have found a surfeit of food for it. Wherever he appeared, he was noticed as the handsomest man in the company, and many were the light-headed and soft-hearted girls who fell more or less in love with him. At Saratoga, in the immediate circle of his mother and sisters, he met a party of West Indians—the Count Antonia de la Vera, an aged Portuguese grandee, his young wife, the Countess Eleanor, her sister, Eusebie La Compte, and their three-year-old daughter, named after the good Queen of Portugal, Maria da Gloria; but for the radiant beauty of her fair complexion, golden hair, and sapphire eyes, which she inherited from her mother, they called her Gloria only. Of all the people present, this child took suddenly and solely to the young lieutenant. She would leave father, mother, auntie or nurse, to leap into the arms of her “Own Marcel,” as she soon learned to call him. It was wonderful; and superficial people said it was his gay uniform that attracted the child—but then the child looked only at his eyes!