that it had neither life nor perfume. Charles attributed the change in my temper to the weakness of my constitution. I believe that Madame de B. knew more of its real cause: she guessed my secret, and was sensibly affected by it. Anais gave hopes of increasing her family, and we returned to Paris. My languor increased daily. The spectacle of domestic happiness so peaceful--of family bonds so endearing--of love so passionate and yet so tender--was misery to a poor wretch who was doomed to live in no other bonds but those of dependence and pity. Days and months passed on thus. I took no share in conversation: my talents were neglected: the only books I could endure were those in which a feeble picture of my own sufferings was traced. I fed upon these poisons,--I feasted on my tears,--and remained shut up in my room whole hours giving way to them. The birth of a son completed the measure of Charles's happiness. He came, his heart overflowing with joy, to give me the news; and I recognised in the expressions of his delight, some of the accents of his former confidence. It was the voice of the friend that I had lost, and brought painful remembrances back with it. The child of Anais was as beautiful as herself. Every body felt moved at the sight of this tender young mother and her sweet infant. I alone beheld them with bitter envy. "What had I done that I should have been brought to this land of exile? Why was I not left to follow my destiny?--Well, if I had been the negro slave of some rich planter, sold to cultivate his land, exposed all day to the burning heat of the sun; still when evening came and my toils were over, I should have found repose in my humble cottage. I should have a sharer in them, a companion through life, and children of my own colour to call me mother! They would have pressed their infant lips upon my cheek without disgust, and lain their little heads to sleep upon my bosom.--Why am I never to experience the only affection my heart was made for? Oh my God! take me I beseech thee from this world,--I cannot, cannot endure life any longer!" I was addressing this impious prayer to my Creator in agony, upon my knees, when my door opened, and the Marchioness de C----, who was just returned from England, entered the room. I beheld her approach with terror, for I too well remembered that she had first revealed my fate to me,--she had first caused my misery. * * * * * "My dear Ourika," said she, "I want to speak with you. You know that I have loved and admired you from your infancy, and I grieve to see you giving way to such deep melancholy. How comes it that you make not a better use of the ample resources of your mind?"