To all, I was a puzzle! Some said I was a clumsy Norman--a phlegmatic Fleming--a Navarrese; the men declared my bearing odd; the women, my accent to be more so; but the gardener, with his bouquets, was an admirer so devoted, that I dared never venture into the garden, or into the avenue, when he was clipping the yews, or tending his orange tubs. Then judge of my alarm, when one day the mischievous Angelique, with her black eyebrows arched to the roots of her hair, her large eyes dilated with mock dismay, and a smile of drollery on her rosy mouth, began thus-- "Oh, Mademoiselle Basile--oh, how unfortunate you are!" "What has happened?" I exclaimed. "Madame has conceived a greater fancy for you than ever!" "Indeed!" said I, drily, while smoothing my front hair, before a glass; "then I suppose she is going to have my ears pierced at last?" "_Ma foi!_ what do you think? as she is too much afraid of ghosts to repose alone, you must take the place of mademoiselle and me." "What! ridiculous--I shall sell out--resign--desert from the chateau!" I exclaimed, while ready to sink with alarm and anger, until the wicked wag who had invented the whole story, burst out into a fit of laughter, at the dreary expression of my face. CHAPTER IX. HAUTOIS. The absurdity and annoyance entailed by my new character, together with the study and trouble it cost me to play such a part, would have been intolerable but for the facilities it afforded me for enjoying with perfect freedom the society of Jacqueline. Thus, together we could ramble for hours, in the shady walks of the garden, and the green leafy turnings of the labyrinth, or sit in the bowers of fragrant roses, which were trained, trimmed, and cultured by my admirer, the gardener, whose name I shall long remember, was Urbain. In the labyrinth we lost ourselves so often that the countess one day, somewhat to the confusion of poor Jacqueline, named it the _Val sans retour_, after that in the Breton forest of Broceliande--a mysterious path, out of which no false or fickle lover can ever return, for there the fairies raise up an impenetrable and impassable barrier. In that forest, too, say the legendaries, lies the tomb of Myrddyna, beneath a fatal and enchanted stone. If the curé of St. Solidore actually paid madame the visit she spoke of, discovery was certain. I did not fear the good man much, save a severe rebuke for conduct that was unseemly; but then there was that devil of a commandant coming also from St. Malo, and already in anticipation, I felt myself a prisoner in its dreary casemates that overhung the sea! This idea filled Jacqueline with terror. "Give me up and leave me," said she, with hands clasped upon her forehead, while her tears fell fast, "to what end do we love each other, Basil?"