“What a lovely face!” said the mother. “Is it--yes it is--the poor idiot girl.” “Ah!” said the bridegroom, tenderly, “and she, Mary, beautiful as she is, she can never make another as happy as you have made me.” Vaudemont heard, and his heart felt sad. “Poor Fanny!--And yet, but for that affliction--I might have loved her, ere I met the fatal face of the daughter of my foe!” And with a deep compassion, an inexpressible and holy fondness, he moved to Fanny. “Come, my child; now let us go home.” “Stay,” said Fanny--“you forget.” And she went to strew the flowers still left over Catherine’s grave. “Will my mother,” thought Vaudemont, “forgive me, if I have other thoughts than hate and vengeance for that house which builds its greatness over her slandered name?” He groaned:--and that grave had lost its melancholy charm. CHAPTER VII. “Of all men, I say, That dare, for ‘tis a desperate adventure, Wear on their free necks the yoke of women, Give me a soldier.”--Knight of Malta. “So lightly doth this little boat Upon the scarce-touch’d billows float; So careless doth she seem to be, Thus left by herself on the homeless sea, To lie there with her cheerful sail, Till Heaven shall send some gracious gale.” WILSON: Isle of Palms. Vaudemont returned that evening to London, and found at his lodgings a note from Lord Lilburne, stating that as his gout was now somewhat mitigated, his physician had recommended him to try change of air--that Beaufort Court was in one of the western counties, in a genial climate--that he was therefore going thither the next day for a short time--that he had asked some of Monsieur de Vaudemont’s countrymen, and a few other friends, to enliven the circle of a dull country-house--that Mr. and Mrs. Beaufort would be delighted to see Monsieur de Vaudemont also--and that his compliance with their invitation would be a charity to Monsieur de Vaudemont’s faithful and obliged, LILBURNE.