The park, and alleys of the gardens, echoed with the laughter of joyous and happy spirits, and the flowery groves, and trelliced arbors—fit spot for love's communion—were made this night the trysting spot of many a youthful pair, while the gentle breeze as it swept through the leafy paradise, carried upon its wings confessions—reciprocal disclosures—vows, and protestations, baseless all—aye, baseless as the courier by which they were borne away! “Beautiful Mary, you wrong me, every way you wrong me, by your unjust suspicions. The _Deperney_ may be as fascinating as you describe her, but I own not her power! The _Canaille_ of the _National Assembly_ may be won by her lures, but _Marmonti_ wears no colors save those of the fair Destraix!” “Hold, impertinent! Know you not that the Lady Deperney is my friend, and beware how you speak of the members of the Assembly, or I shall send you to republican America, there to learn more fitting terms, by which to designate the leaders of the people!” “That I may also gain some tidings of your lover of Barnstable,” was the laughing rejoinder of her companion. “Your uncle tells strange stories of that same youth, and I am half inclined to be jealous of some certain passages that occurred, in the _tete-à-tete_ you wot of.” “Aye! my gallant deliverer from the raging billows of the Atlantic.” For a moment, there came associations of a painful nature, across her mental vision, and she felt herself checked in her levity: it was but for a moment, for in the next, she smilingly tapped the mercurial Frenchman upon the shoulder as she answered, “Nay, you should not be too severe upon my youthful follies—the boy saved me from a watery death, and in the hour of parting, there might have been things spoken, prompted more by gratitude than prudence—besides I was so young!” “But what if the boy should clothe this pretty romance with the sober hues of reality, and come to claim his rights? What would the heiress of Marne think, if, at the levee of our gracious sovereign, her quondam lover should step forward, and demand her as his bride?” “Rest contented on that score, knight of the tristful countenance,” laughingly responded the fair one; “the lad has too much sense to attempt any flight of the kind; his modesty and wits would teach him that in so doing he was transgressing the bounds of discretion.”