Price Two-Pence.

ADÈLE.

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A NOVELETTE-IN TWO PARTS. PART THE FIRST.

CHAPTER I. ADELE was only seventeen, and yet she was quite alone in the world, and dependent solely upon her own industry for subsistence. The parents, who had guarded her childhood with tender affection, were no more, and she had even lost a brother by an accident, which almost broke her heart. Withal she was very pretty, and had such a timid, yet winning air, that every one who saw her, loved her. But the delightful power of awakening admiration is sometimes a questionable blessing, at least in a giddy and wicked metropolis. She had no one to guide or protect her. Heaven help the orphan girl doomed to procure a livelihood in Paris!

The window of Adèle overlooked a court. It formed a part of the large building in which was her own apart ment. On the opposite side of this court, in a room commanding a view of

hers, a young gentlemen had taken up his abode. She did not know who he was, nor indeed for a long time did she regard him with attention. At length, while she sat, busily employed with her needle, she observed that he came often to the window, and staid there a long time, and, once or twice, when her eyes were accidentally turned that way, she could not but perceive that his were fixed full upon her, with an expression of earnest admiration. Adèle was as modest as she was lovely. She was displeased to be thus openly the object of curiosity and attention in a perfect stranger. By his air, dress, and appearance, he was evidently a gentleman; perhaps rich, perhaps of high rank. Why should he employ his thoughts upon a poor girl who could only obtain subsistence by her needle? Her occupation was of a kind which did not prevent her from thinking as muc has she pleased while she was at work ever so industriously, and she had nothing else under heaven to think of but the young stranger. So unentangled was she, in her little bed-room in the rue St. Martin,

with all the goings on of the world, that even the occasional and perhaps acciden tal glances of one respecting whom she knew nothing, broke in upon the quiet monotony of her life, and afforded her an excitement. She reasoned herself quite into a passion; and at length, when she next observed him at his post, and once more attentively regarding her, she drew the snowy muslin curtain before her window, so as quite to intercept the view.

Adèle rarely left her apartment except on Sunday, when she was accustomed to attend the celebration of the mass in the church of St Nicholas. On the return of the sacred day, she dressed herself in her neatest attire, and, poor as she was, no lady of the court was more neat and graceful respecting those arrangements by which even modesty itself unconsciously seeks to heighten the natural charms of youth and beauty. Adèle's form was perfect. You would fall in love with her only in seeing her turn a corner. You might be inspired with an affection but by walking a few moments behind her. The sight of her hand alone made you feel that she was charming. The very foot was instinct with beauty. Her face made your heart

ache.

Adèle was not only modest and lovely, she was also very pious. She was a complete little saint. On this Sunday there was one near her, by whom she was more worshipped than all the rest of the calendar. Ah, who would not have worshipped Saint Adèle?

The ceremonies were concluded. The crowd were nearly gone. Adèle was about leaving the cathedral, when a youth, with a blushing face and trembling hand, ventured to offer the holy water for her acceptance. On perceiving that he was the same who had intruded on her solitude by reconnoitring her window, and who resided in the rue St. Martin, Adèle also blushed, and without exactly knowing what she was about, accepted with a graceful embarrassment delightful to her companion, the marks of attachment he had been presumptuous enough to offer. Emboldened by her condescension, he proceeded with great respect, yet not without hesitation, to improve the opportunity of forming her acquaintance, and so successfully, that they were at the rue St. Martin before she imagined they were half way.

"Oh," murmured Adèle, when she reached her well-arranged chamber,

SOME months passed. Eugene saw Adèle frequently. He was the son of the wealthy proprietor of the house. His father was the landlord of Adèle, and, although she did not reveal it except on the strongest persuasions, a very hardhearted landlord he was. Few good citizens in Paris were richer, but that made no difference with Monsieur Lagarde. The principal object of his life was the accumulation of money. He would not have forgiven a quarter's rent to his father-why should he to the little Adèle ?

"No, no, mademoiselle!" he said to her one day, "you must not ask me to diminish my price. Au contraire, you must pay me, not only punctually, you must pay me more. Ten livres a month are not enough."

"Monsieur Lagarde, do not demand more. You see I am now employed my whole time, and receive only sufficient for my support. I can pay no more than ten. Consider, Monsieur Lagarde, I am but a poor orphan.'

"Pho, pho, Mademoiselle Adéle, don't talk to me of poor. I have been offered fifteen livres. Monsieur Nichole offered me fifteen livres."

"Eh bien, Monsieur Lagarde. You shall have fifteen livres."

When Eugene heard this, he blushed to the forehead.

"No matter, my sweet Adèle," he said. "It is only a way my father has. He means nothing by it. He does it to frighten you, that he may enjoy your innocent terror. He is ambitious of being considered severe and unyielding."

"What a curious ambition!" said Adèle.

"I will speak with him."

"Oh no. He will be angry with you." "Leave it to me. You will see what a different message I will bring.” It was just twilight-Adèle had done

her work, and was sitting by her window, with a little purse half-finishedshe had not explained for whom-when a low knock announced some one's desire for admission."

"Who is it?" she said, with her soft voice.

"Adèle! it is I. Eugene."

"Bless me! Eugene!" she cried, in a fright, for her toilet was not made carefully enough to present herself before him. "What can you want? Wait one moment."

Her little fingers were rapidly employed in adding all the accuracy and taste possible to her dress.

"Now Eugene, come in. What is it you want?"

"My dear Adèle, my sweet little

friend!"

"Oh, ho!" said Adèle, pouting out her little dimple-mouth, full of mirth. "What an excellent story! You are quite an orator."

"Nay, Adèle, do not laugh. What do you think? I have spoken to my father about the fifteen livres. He said he had always told people that this room brought him fifteen livres, in order that he might, without blushing, charge more for the others."

"I should like to see Monsieur Lagarde blush. Nay, forgive me, Eugene!" "Well he tells me, therefore, he must have the fifteen livres from you; but he knows your merit, and permits me privately to bring you them as a present, on one condition."

"How very extraordinary! what condition?"

And

"My glove, Adèle."

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"Oh, careless! It is under the table."
"Thank you! good night, Adèle."
"Good night, Eugene."

Again he disappeared, but in a moment once more returned.

"You gave me only one glove, Adéle. I have left both."

"Intolerable! see, it is here at my

feet."

But the youth still knelt, and taking her hand, said

"Adèle, I love you. I never loved any one else. I never shall. I know you are as pure as you are lovely. I am rich and my own master. Adèle! beautiful Adèle! you shall be my wife?"

"Eugene," she said, "you know already that-but-I am-I do notI wish.-There is no need--."

"Oh, dear Adèle! I see you are as much of an orator as I am. You, too, have told an excellent story; but it is enough for me. Adieu, sweet Adèle ! You love me I am sure. Nothing shall prevent my making you mine. I will come to-morrow and appoint the day. Have no fear. I could not sleep till I had declared my wishes and heard yours in return. But hark! some one approaches. Good night, dear Adèle." "Good night, Eugene, and — one word-"

"What?"

"Do not forget your glove at the next lady's you visit!"

CHAPTER III.

"So, so, Mademoiselle Adèle," said Monsieur Lagarde, "have you got my fifteen livres ?"

"There they are, Monsieur Lagarde, and I am sure I ought to be much obliged to you.'

"To be sure, Mousieur Lagarde, and so I am; and I love you very much." "Do you," said the withered old scoundrel, thinking that his attractive person had made an impression on the susceptible heart of his young lodger.

"Yes, Monsieur Lagarde, although circumstances will not permit me to say so; and although it would be very wrong, and all that, yet I do love you, Monsieur Lagarde, and I cannot help telling you so!"

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'Heyday! heyday!" thought the old fool. "Is it possible the gipsy has had the good sense to see my merit."

At this moment Adèle, with a grateful look of mystery (for the artless simpleton fully believed the ridiculous story of Eugene), raised her eyes to his face, and held out her hand, as much as to say, "I am acquainted with your generosity, and I thank you." But Lagarde, who was not a whit better than other men, and, in many respects, not half so good, quite misinterpreted all this kindness.

"As sure as I live," thought he, "the jade is taken with me. Well done, old Lagarde! I always knew I could have been a sad dog among the girls, had I been inclined. Parole d'honneur, she is an angel!"

With these thoughts he received the hand which the innocent and unsuspecting young creature had offered, and pressed it to his lips, while she had no idea of doing more than giving it a friendly shake.

"Adèle !" he said, "you are a little angel. I never knew how pretty you were till this moment. Why, your eyes are as bright as two louis!"

"Oh, Monsieur Lagarde !"
"Your lips-

Mercy! Monsieur Lagarde; go away with yourself, you wicked creature. I declare if the old fool has not kissed me. Even Eugene never did

such a thing!" Eugene ?"

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"Ay, Eugene." "What, my son?"

Adèle saw her mistake, but the vile miser, who was as great a libertine as he was a fool, and who understood, in a moment, how much he had been deceived in supposing that Adèle loved him in any other way than as a daughter, was in a fury.

"Morbleu!" he said, "I will pack you out of the house this very day; and the young scoundrel shall go to the wars. I will teach you, Mademoiselle Adèle, what it is to offend Monsieur Lagarde."

CHAPTER 1V.

EUGENE loved Adèle sincerely, and was confident of a requital. His own master, with a handsome independence settled on himself, it was his intention to

marry the object of his affections, and he determined to expedite the ceremony, trusting to obtain his father's pardon. His impatience was excused by the friendless circumstances in which Adèle was placed. I must here mention that a predominating sentiment in Eugene's heart was love for his father. Not all the manifold and gross faults of his parent could overcome it, and he was always striving to conceal his weakness and vices. It was with this feeling that he had invented the story of the fifteen livres, which the reader has long before understood were presented out of his

own purse.

After Monsieur Lagarde had gone from Adèle, Eugene went to her apartment, but finding it unoccupied and locked, returned to his own, where he resolved to wait and watch her re-appearance. She had gone out for half an hour, resolved to remain no longer under the same roof with Monsieur Lagarde. Ah, unhapy Adèle. How much misery may grow up against one in half an hour!

Eugene sat at his window on the alert. The stairs, which mounted from the ground into this lofty part of the building, ran in a spiral course, in such a way as to be visible at the window of each story through which they passed in their ascent. While the lover was on the qui vive for the return of his Adèle, he observed the form of a man, muffled in such a way as to render recognition impossible, slowly and cautiously mounting the steps. He gave him but a passing thought, as his mind was fully occupied with affairs much more interesting to himself, and he concluded that the unknown would stop in some of the lower stories. This, however he did not do, but continued mounting and mounting, till Eugene caught his figure even as high as the seventh window, and at last beheld him upon the very floor of his own apartment.

"This is very singular!" he thought, "I will keep an eye on my friend!”

Concealing himself, therefore, from observation, in a way which did not intercept his own view, he began to entertain a somewhat livelier interest in the proceeding. The intruder passed the doors of all the rooms till he came to Adèle's, and there he paused. Eugene was breathless. There was no knock, but the man, stealthily opening the door, entered and remained there a minute, when he re-appeared and prepared again to descend.

"Oh, heavens!" murmured Eugene, " is it possible! A stranger in the room of Adèle, and with a false key!"

A bitter pang of jealousy shot across his bosom. Was Adèle faithless? Was that heavenly innocence merely assumed? Maddened with fury, he resolved to pursue the stranger and demand an explanation. Accordingly, he sprang down the stairs. Adèle, who was ascending, called him with her innocent voice, but he cast on her a look of stern indignation. The incognito had reached the lowest flight. Eugene laid his hand fiercely on his shoulder, and cried

"Monsieur, you are a villain!" stranger let fall his mantle.

The

"Adèle, I will fling myself out of the window if you don't open the door this instant !"

The window was nine stories high, and the ground was paved with stone. Adèle opened the door.

She turned away her head as he entered. Her face was buried in a snowy handkerchief, perfumed with rose-water. Her little bosom heaved with grief, and her lover was at her feet a minute before either of them could speak a syllable.

It requires, however, but few circumvolutions for two such young people to be reconciled together. Words are useless when wishes are the same.

"Adèle !" said Eugene.
"Eugene!" replied Adèle.

And the whole affair was settled. This is a worthy example now for foolish litigants.

"How could you," at length sobbed

Adèle, putting back the curls from his handsome face.

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"I was distracted," answered Eugene, with her little hand in both his own, and pressed sometimes to his lips, sometimes to his bosom.

"You hate me," she said, half smiling. "Yes, Adèle, I hate you with all my heart."

Thus, without having said a word about the ferocious look which he had cast on her when they met on the stairs, and which had been the cause of her grief and their quarrel, they were better friends than ever. Indeed, not only was the look forgotten, but Eugene had allowed the whole incident of his curious rencontre with his father to slip from his memory. He forgot his clandestine entrance into her chamber. He forgot the false key. He forgot every thing but Adèle !

"Eugene, had you not better wait awhile?"

"Wait, Adèle? I do not understand you!"

"Are you not rash in disobeying your father, and marrying me without his consent?"

"Can you ask, Adèle ?"

"Perhaps when we are married you will tire of me?"

"Adèle, if my existence were lengthened for ever; if we were both immortal, and you were by my side, I could spend all eternity just so, looking into your eyes."

"Could you, Eugene?"
"I swear!"

"All eternity, Eugene ?"

"Yes, if there could be two eternities twenty-nay, a million, I would never wish one instant to wander from your side."

"And will you never quit me?"
"Never!"

"For the cafés-the operas — the wars?"