ceive me, or do I behold Mademoiselle Clermont?"
The heart of Madeline vibrated to his voice, and looking up, she beheld de Sevignie. The pleasure, the agitation of that moment cannot be expressed;—a pleasure, an agitation which, even in a greater degree he seemed to experience.
"For once (cried he, taking her hand and pressing it between his), for once has chance been my friend!—oh, how often have I wished for such a moment as this!—but hopelessly I wished—despairingly I sighed for it."
Madeline blushed and trembled; she was not more confused by his manner, than by the looks of the officers, whom she perceived smiling significantly at each other: her countenance betrayed her feelings, and made de Sevignie recollect himself; he resigned her hand, endeavoured to repress his agita-
