'Oh no; depend upon it, he has had it, or he must have caught it long ago.'

'I didn't mean that, of course; I meant that he might over-work himself and so be ill. Oh, Charles, ask your mother to take me home.'

'No, no, trust to me; I will run over to-morrow, and say nothing to nobody, and will be back before they suspect where I have been, if you keep my counsel-mind you do.'

'Oh yes, dear Charles, how good-how very very good you are! I really don't know how to thank you;' and tears once more filled Lilla's eyes. 'Seeing someone who has seen him will bring him so near-how very kind!'

'No, I am not kind: don't thank me like this, please. I am not quite -I mean, I am not so disinterested-that is, altogether-indeed, Lilla, I wanted rather to take the opportunity of telling you something which very much concerns myself. I do not like you not to know-besides, I depend on you-only we must be very cautious, and I must trust to you not to betray me.'

'I must tell my father, of course,' said Lilla; 'but I won't anyone else.' 'Oh, of course; well, then-'

'O Vivian, you are here, I have been searching for you everywhere,' said an English voice. Will you go to Mrs. Vivian immediately?'

'Where is she? What does she want?' said Charles, receiving not at all graciously the information which his young college acquaintance gave him.

'She wants you to contrive some way of getting your party home, I believe.'

'Home! surely not yet; the fun is only just begun. Why does she wish to go?'

'Why, Miss Vivian seems very unwell-faint, or something-in great pain in her side, as far as I could understand.'

In as short a time as possible a carriage was procured, and Grace lifted into it; and thus it came about that the long expected ball at the Tuilleries was cut short, as long-expected pleasures often are. And while Mary Vivian was tossing in the restlessness of weakness at Woodleigh, poor Grace was laid low by an attack of pleurisy, so violent as to put her life in the most imminent peril. Charles's secret, meanwhile, remained unspoken; and even amidst all the bustle and excitement of nursing, Lilla found time to wonder what it could possibly be.

(To be continued.)

'SEE what I have brought you! Or no; open your mouth, and shut your eyes, and see what I will give you!'

It was such a laughing, coaxing, happy voice, that it was almost irresistible; nevertheless Marie did resist it, or at least, she obeyed the first of her son's behests and not the second, raising herself with an eager start from her recumbent position, and opening her eyes wide, as she exclaimed, 'You returned, my darling? Ah! how thankful I am to see you! And now, what news about your poor father?'

'Good news; fairly good, at least, for Lord Louis has written to the Duke to ask him to intercede for my father. He said he could not do more than that, but oh! dear Mother, do not look so grave; it will all come right, Father Ambrose thinks it will. He could not come in with me, for he was wanted at the convent, but I can tell you all that passed as well as he, only first try and eat some of these dainties that Lord Louis has sent you. I told him you were sick, and he was so sorry.'

Marie was far too ill and unhappy to care to eat; but she saw that the child's heart was set on it, so for very love's sake she stilled her anxious lunging to hear more, and let her little son feed her with some sweet syrup which Louis had told him was 'right excellent in sickness.'

It was quite a pretty picture; the delicate sweet-faced mother raising herself on one arm to be fed, a smile gathering in her eyes, and thrusting back the tears, as she accepted the ministrations of the loving little fellow, who knelt on the ground beside her couch, carefully filling a horn spoon from the flask which he held in his left hand, and then with his right raising it to her lips, watching her the while with his bright eager glance, as if hoping to see already some sensible effects from the 'right excellent' remedy which he had brought her. His little brown face was all in a glow with exercise and excitement, the cheeks ruddy with health, the eyes sparkling and dancing, the pretty little red pouting mouth unclosed, showing its dimpled corners and rows of small white teeth. Assuredly, if the syrup did not act as a cordial, the sight and

touch of this dear little face did, for the mother's tears were quite gone, and her smile shining out victoriously, when presently she said, 'That will do, my Jeannot; you have done me good, and I thank you heartily; now sit down, and tell me all you have done to-day.'

Jean put away his treasures, and sat down close to her-so close that her wasted hand could smoothe down the dark waves of his wind-ruffled hair as he went on with his narration.

'You must know, dear Mother,' he began, 'that when we got to the Hotel Bourbon, Lord Louis was not there'

'Ah!

'But the people at the gate told us that he was only gone on a visit to his uncle the Duke of Berri at the Hotel de Nesle; so we set off thither.' 'No! did you? all that way, and across the river too?'

'Yes; it was a long way, but I did not mind; first there was a little bit of the Rue St. Denis, and then we crossed the Pont au Change and got into the city, and there, in the Rue de la Barillerie, Father Ambrose met a man with a mule whom he knew, and he gave me a lift all along that street and across the Pont St. Michel to the left bank, and then we had only to walk along the quay till we came to the Tour de Nesle, and there we were!'

'It was a long journey for you, though, and for the good Father, who walked all the time.'

'Yes; I wish he had had a ride too; the mule-man was so kind, he would not have let me walk even along the quay, only that the mule was tired; it was taking provisions for the Duke of Berri's household, and it had a great heavy sack slung at each side. It was such a good thing we met that man, for the servitors at the Hôtel knew him, and they would never even have let us inside the gate but for him. They were so rough and rude, not a bit like the people at the Hotel Bourbon; and they seemed to have no respect for Father Ambrose, though they must have seen he was a holy man-nasty cross fellows! I—'

'Ah; but tell me what happened when you got into the castle.'

'Well, at the door of the great hall, who should we meet but Lord Raymond and another of the Duchess of Bourbon's pages, and they knew me, and he said that the Duchess and Lady Isabelle and Lord Louis were all staying there 'to be out of the way of the rascaille in the city and the ville;' so then I began to tell them that we were not rascaille, and that we of the right bank were a great deal more peaceable than those of the left, for you know what fights the students have, Mother; but he called me a saucy varlet, and they mocked me, and Father Ambrose squeezed my hand in his so tight I could hardly help crying out with the pain.'

'Poor child! but he did it to warn you. You are too forward with your tongue; I have told you so often.'

'Well, and then he spoke to the young lords himself, and they brought us into the hall; and there were many strange knights and squires, and

there was such a dog, oh!'-And Jean was going off into a rapturous description of the charms of the Duke of Berri's great wolf-hound, when his mother stopped him with the inquiry, 'But, dear child, was Lord Louis there?'

'Indeed no; Lord Louis is sick, and it was some time before we could get leave to see him; we stayed among the servants by the fire at the lower end of the hall, while Lord Raymond went and told him we were there. Then we learned that the Duke of Berri was not in the castle, but was away somewhere with the King and the Duke of Bourbon, and the servants told us that the Duke of Burgundy is dying; but he is away somewhere too. And none of the knights at the upper end took any notice of me; it was not a bit like being at the Hotel Bourbon !'

'But why should you expect notice? You must not be set up as though you were a real king-that was but a play; and now you are only a poor little boy again, you must be modest, as becomes your station.'

'But if I grow to be a learned man like Maurice de Sulli, people will honour me then, will they not?'

'I trust they will,' said Marie, smiling, though she had not the faintest notion who Maurice de Sulli was; for I have heard learning brings honour; but you should desire it for a better reason, and not give way to vanity.'

When his mother began anything like reproof or exhortation, Jean found it remarkably convenient to go on with his story, and accordingly he continued: 'Well, but Lord Louis was just as kind as ever; and when I at last got to see him, his eyes shone on me almost as yours do, dear Mother, and he let me kiss his hand. And then I told him all our trouble, and begged him to help me, and he sent for his confessor and consulted with him, and presently he said that he could not do anything in this matter without his father's consent, but that the Duke was not far off ;-he would not tell me where ;-and he would write a letter and send it to him at once. So then a scribe came, and Lord Louis said the words, and the scribe wrote-oh, so fast! I wish you had seen him! and Lord Louis said he would send to us soon to let us know the answer; and he hoped my father would be set free. And he made me eat some cakes, and he begged Father Ambrose to eat also; and he gave me this syrup and the other things from off a silver stand by his side; and he bade me greet you from him, and say he trusted you would like them, and that you must keep up your heart, for he knew his noble father would help you in this sore trouble.'

'He is a blessed youth; may the saints reward him!' said Marie earnestly.

'Yes; and he said he hoped soon to come back to the Hotel Bourbon, and then he would send for me to see him; and he said too, 'I do not wonder that you miss your poor father, and long to have him free again, for I am wearying for my own good father, although I know that he is in perfect freedom and safety.'

'Yes; his eyes were heavy, and his cheek was almost as white and thin as yours; but still he laughed when he spoke, and made light of his illness. And he was not in bed; he was sitting in a chair by the fire, reading; and when I asked him why he did not bide in bed when he was sick, he said his father did not like him to be lazy, and that he should never be fit to be a knight if he could not bear up against a little pain. He had a parchment scroll on his lap, all with names on it; and when I made bold to ask him what it was, he told me it was a list of places in Beaujolais, and that the Duke was going to give him that bit of the duchy as his ap-oh! what was the word?-appanage! so soon as he should be knighted; and then he talked about what he would do, and said perhaps some day he would found a monastery, such as his father is building at Vichy, and that there should be a school there, and I should be one of the teachers if I had learning enough. His eyes got all bright as he talked, and he looked so happy, and said so grandly, 'I will do this,' and ‘I will do that; but presently his confessor, who had been speaking with Father Ambrose, turned round and said, in oh! such a stern grave way, 'My son, if the Lord will, we shall live, and do this or that!' 'Ah, true! And what did Lord Louis say?'

'He said nothing, but hung his head and reddened like a girl; I wondered to see him so easily abashed, but I think it must have been all out of his goodness, for he is very good, I am sure, Mother.'

'Yes, truly he is,' replied Marie, speaking faintly, not from lack of interest, but because the effort of listening and answering had become too much for her head in its present weakened state. Well was it for her that at that moment the armourer's wife, who had been home for a while, returned, silenced Jean's talkativeness by giving him his supper, and held quiet rule in the little room for the remainder of the evening.

The next day, Jean very unwillingly went to school as usual, and had some difficulty in excusing himself to his masters for having been absent the day before. However, long Simon spoke for him, and Father Antoine pitied him and took his part; and the only bad result was, that Father Martin was angered by his careless nonchalant way of accounting for his absence, and thought that in future a little sterner discipline would be better for him than the gentle treatment he had received hitherto.

'If his father is seditious and rebellious to the laws, he can have but a bad example at home,' reflected the monk; and this, which to some would have seemed a sort of excuse for the little boy's self-willed pertness, to him appeared only an additional reason for discouraging that fault by rigorous rebuke. So, between the chief master and the smallest scholar arose a sort of contest, which was renewed day by day, till Jean began almost to hate Father Martin, and to enjoy vexing him, while the Father himself was far from hating Jean, but was becoming more and more determined to conquer his unruly spirit.