“I cannot deny it,” said Monsieur de Salins, “and I think they have acted wrong, and are acting wrong toward you. They think they are doing it for your good, I dare say—they think it is for your interests—for your future pecuniary advantage; but there is nothing should be so dear to any one, as the memory of a parent, except, indeed, it be his own unspotted name. You have enough. I do not covet more for Mariette than I am told you possess. Strange as it may seem, I have learned from poverty, to value wealth less than I used to do—but here comes my wife,” he added, laying his hand kindly on my arm, “and our Mariette. I know their steps upon the little path. Oh, what music it is, the step of the loved, to the ear of sorrow and sickness!” It was music to my ear, too; and the moment after, Mariette and her mother were in the room. The instant she saw me, the dear girl’s cheek flushed, and then turned pale, but she was not kept in suspense; for her father immediately threw his arm around her, and drawing her gently toward me, put her hand in mine. “Bless them, my dear wife,” he said, turning to Madame de Salins, “bless them; for they are united.” Madame de Salins embraced us both with eager joy, and then threw her arms round her husband’s neck, saying, “This is all I have most desired, my husband; for I am sure Louis will be to her, all you have been to me.” THE DROP OF GALL. Having told Father Bonneville that I should spend two or three days in London, and directed my portmanteau to be sent to a small but comfortable hotel at the end of Brooke street, I rode straight to a livery stable, near Charing Cross, where I was accustomed to put up my horse, and left him there. I then walked on along Pall Mall, meditating my future course, with more calmness and consideration than I had hitherto given to the subject. In regard to one point, my heart was now at rest. Mariette was found—was to be mine, and I had but one great object for thought and endeavor. I had not reached the end of St. James’s street, when I saw before me, a tall, fine, stately figure, which seemed somewhat familiar to me, walking slowly, and deliberately onward, and I turned my head to look at the face as I passed. “Good morning, Monsieur de Lacy,” said the Earl of N——, in a frank and easy tone. “Whither away so fast, this morning?” I paused, and took the two fingers he extended to me, saying, “I am going to Brooke street, my lord.” “Ah, to see Charles,” he answered; “well, I will walk with you part of the way,” and he put his arm through mine, leaning on me somewhat heavily.