Louis put her hand mechanically to his lips, and withdrew, without casting another glance at his so lately worshipped Otteline. Sinzendorff was satisfied with what he had done towards opening the eyes of this ingenuous young man; and, without committing himself by making a remark on what had passed, he wished him a good night at the door of the gallery. Louis ran through the other passages; as if, by the swiftness of motion, he could fly the thoughts which clung like harpies to his heart. The palace clock struck one; and the extinguishers of the lights which illumined the avenues to the various apartments, were appearing in every direction, and rapidly involving the whole in the sombre hue that suits the hour of rest. He passed through the grand quadrangle to the portal, at which he had ordered his carriage to be in waiting. At the moment he put out his hand to open its door, he was seized in the strong grasp of some person. He could not see by what sort of a man, the night being profoundly dark, and the lamps over the great gates too distant to cast more than a gleam, sufficient to shew where the carriage stood. Before he could make even an attempt for extrication, the person whispered in his ear,--"On your life, do not return to the Chateau to-night. It's porch is filled with your father's enemies." Ere Louis could reply, his arms were released, and he was alone. But it was the faithful heart of Wharton which had beat against his; it was his well-known accents which had announced this second warning! Louis looked around, and listened.--He could see nothing but his dingy vehicle; hear nothing, but the champing of his horses' bits, as they impatiently awaited his arrival. "Coachman," said he, as he threw himself into the carriage; "drive to the Vien, and there I will give you further orders." The fatal letter, that dissolved the bright vision of love which a few hours before revelled in his breast, had proved the stability of friendship; for it corroborated the timely caution of Wharton's warning epistle: and therefore Louis could not doubt, (had it been possible for him to doubt any thing from Wharton,) the veracity of his present information. Before he cast a second thought on the use he ought to make of it, he could not refrain from comparing the steady disinterestedness of his much calumniated friend, with what they who disesteemed him would have foretold of his conduct in such circumstances.