"Had they discovered our assignation, those venal parents? Was she ill--what had happened? "It was, however, merely a visit of that provoking Monsieur d'Escombas which interfered with her arrangements, as he insisted on escorting her, wherever she was going. But next day, when I sought the same place and pressed her to my breast, we retired to a secluded part of the garden, where we could converse and freely deplore the hard destiny which was about to separate us for ever. "_Grand Dieu_! Monsieur Gauntlet, why should I weary you with all this, and what interest can it possibly have for you?" exclaimed the Frenchman, suddenly interrupting himself; but I pressed him to continue, for the modulated tones of his voice, a certain pathos in it, and his sorrowful earnestness, gave his story an interest which cannot be imparted to it here. "I implored Isabelle to elope with me; but she trembled, closed her eyes, and whispered, in a broken voice, that she dared not. "'You are but sixteen, Isabelle, and they would consign you to a man of sixty--a sweet young girl like you surrendered to the cold arms of one whose heart is but the dregs and lees of a life spent in Paris! Oh, it is piteous!' "'And bitterly they taunt me----' "'Who taunt you?' "'My father and mother,' said she, shuddering and closing her eyes, 'taunt me with _you_, Gervais. I ask for a husband who will love me as I would wish to be loved, and in reply they lay diamonds, jewels, fans and feathers at my feet. Away with these, I exclaimed, lest I tread upon them!' "And then the poor young girl wept passionately-- "'My beloved Isabelle,' I exclaimed, 'how shall I survive seeing you consigned to a fate so miserable--to such a hopeless life--to a lord and master whose age, ideas, tastes, and ways are all so unbearable and uncongenial? Whose scorn and cruelty--oh, I know him well--will make you shrink as the frosty wind withers the early flowers of spring, and whose sordid coldness will crush your little heart! God preserve you, Isabelle, from the fate of many others who are similarly mated and lost in our worthy city of Paris!' "'I have to thank you for the character you give of me, friend Monjoy, but 'twill avail you little,' said a voice behind us, and we found ourselves in the presence of M. du Platel, and M. d'Escombas who had just spoken, and also of his grim kinsman, the governor of the Conciergerie du Palais. "Fortunately the latter personage, of whom I had--I know not why--an instinctive horror, was present; for we were in a solitary part of the garden. I had my sword on, and the malevolent smile on the thick lips and coarse dark visage of M. d'Escombas, with the furious scorn and indignation of M. du Platel, might have prompted me to commit some desperate extravagance. "'Oh, my father, my father!' implored Isabelle; 'let me go back to my convent. Mother St. Rosalie de Sicile assures me that I have a true vocation!'