He was descending the rocks, and was passing the Frenchman to get his basket, when Monsieur Gramont, unfolding his rod and landing net, turned suddenly round, and looking into Bill’s honest face, said, pointing to the net— “Hold this a moment, my man, and I’ll thank you.” Bill started back as if a thirty-two pound shot had made an attempt to pass between his legs, for the Frenchman spoke in unmistakable English. Bill was taken aback, and he at once replied— “I’ll see you——first.” But immediately recollecting his dumb character, and seeing his master waving his hand for him to come on, he glared at the cool, and collected, and smiling Frenchman, and uttered such a succession of unearthly sounds, that any one else would have been confounded; and then, with a look of unmistakable rage at Monsieur Gramont, he seized his basket, clenched his huge fist, and departed, whilst the Frenchman kept quietly putting his rod together, singing “Malbrook,” and other French airs. “Well, blow me,” muttered Bill, “if I wouldn’t give twelve months’ pay to thrust my fist into that crapaud’s mouth! I’d spoil the beauty of his Moll Brook, the cursed frog-eating lubber! speaking English too, thinking to take me in. Ay, ay; sink me if it is not enough to capsise a fellow under bare poles.” Thus grumbling and growling, and rather afraid his master would think he had not acted his part well, and, on reflecting, deeply regretting that he had not thrown Frenchman, rod, and all into the pool, he hurried on after the party. As our hero and his fair companions proceeded towards the château, the conversation naturally turned upon the discovery which had just been made of Marie de Tourville being no other than Mabel Arden. “And is it possible, monsieur,” said Julia Plessis, “that your heart never suggested the idea that Marie and Mabel were one and the same person? Was there no trace of the thin, pale girl left in the sweet face of my beloved friend to recall the past?” “Yes,” replied the young man, gazing with fond delight upon the beautiful and happy girl who leaned upon his arm so confidingly. “Yes, the child’s image constantly haunted me; sleeping or waking the two faces appeared before me. It seemed to me as if I was loving both; I was most completely bewildered. Still, I really never for a moment thought it possible they could be one and the same; that idea never entered my head at all. It is true, Marie’s eyes always reminded me of Mabel’s; and I often in fancy pictured to myself my little protégée grown into just such another lovable being as Marie, and I continually tormented myself as to whether Mabel would ever remember me as anything but a brother, if I had kept my affections free.” “Ah, the fact is, I was always quite right,” said Julia, laughing; “love is blind, and lovers infatuated.” “But your time will come, fair Julia,” suggested the lieutenant.