Colonel s...o...b..y was at hand to catch the fair one as she came near falling. He was her old beau, and he knew the weak points of her character; moreover he had splendid red whiskers and a million of money--she married him, partly from ambition and partly from revenge.

The moment they were united, Moses set sail for the United States, with his twenty thousand dollars, and arrived back safely. When asked how he had acc.u.mulated such a sum in so short a time, he answered, "trading," and when questioned about the prospects of the El Dorado, would answer, with a grin, that it was a "great country for women."

And this was the end of his California speculation.

THE FRENCH GUARDSMAN.

With the army of Marshal Saxe, encamped near Fontenoy ready to give battle to the allies, there were not a few ladies, who, impelled by a chivalric feeling, or personally interested in the fate of some of the combatants, had followed the troops to witness the triumph of the French arms. Their presence was at once the incitement and reward of valor, for what soldier would not fight with tenfold gallantry when he knew that his exploits were witnessed by the eyes of her he loved as wife, mistress, or mother, and whose safety or honor, perhaps, depended on his prowess?

Among those most distinguished for their beauty was the youthful Heloise, the lovely daughter of the Baron de Clairville, a French general officer. The _beaux yeux_ of the demoiselle had enslaved more than one young officer, but of the host of suitors none could boast with reason of encouragement, except Henri de Grandville, and Raoul, Count de St. Prix, both commanding companies in the French Guards.

Both were handsome and accomplished young men, and both had yet their spurs to win upon the field of battle. They had been fast friends until the pursuit of the same lady had created a sort of estrangement between them. Little was known of Henri de Grandville previous to his reception of his commission in the guards. He had been brought up by his mother in an old provincial chateau, and though his manners and education were those of a gentleman, still he seemed but little acquainted with the world, and above all ignorant of the lighter accomplishments of the courtier. Perhaps this very simplicity of manner and frankness of character, contrasting so strangely with the fashionable affectations of the court, endeared him to his comrades, and strongly prepossessed Heloise de Clairville in his favor. His rival was of a different stamp. Raoul de St. Prix was a dashing, brilliant officer, brave as steel, but fond of dress, reckless, dissipated, and extravagant. Yet his faults were those of his age, and belonged to the circ.u.mstances by which he was surrounded. The Baron de Clairville, while he left his daughter free to make her election, yet, as a plain, blunt soldier, rather than a courtier, secretly inclined to favor the pretensions of Henri. Still, his treatment of the two young guardsmen was the same, for they gave equal promise of military gallantry.

It was on the eve of the battle of Fontenoy that Henri sought an interview with Heloise, who occupied a gay pavilion near her father's tent. He found her alone and weeping.

"Mademoiselle," said he, "you are unhappy. Will you permit a friend to inquire the cause of your sorrow?"

"Can you ask me, Monsieur de Grandville! Of the thousands of brave men who lie down to-night in peaceful slumber, how many sleep their last sleep on earth! How many eyes, that will witness to-morrow's sun arise, will be closed forever before it goes down at evening! O, what a dreadful business is this trade of war! My poor father, he never cares for himself, he never asks his men to go where he is unwilling to lead. I fear for his safety in the deadly conflict of to-morrow."

"If the devotion of one faithful follower can save him, lady,"

answered Henri, "be a.s.sured of his safety. I would pour out the blood in my veins as freely as water to shield the father of Heloise de Clairville."

"But you--you--Henri--Monsieur de Grandville--you think nothing of your own life."

"If I fall," answered the young soldier, "my poor mother will weep bitterly for her only son, though he perish on the field of honor. But who else will shed a tear for the poor guardsman?"

"Henri!" exclaimed the young girl, reproachfully, and the soft eyes she raised to his were filled with tears.

"Is it possible?" cried the young soldier. "Can my fate awaken even a momentary interest in the heart of the loveliest, the gentlest of her s.e.x? Ah, why do you render life so dear to me at the moment I must peril it?"

"Believe me," answered Heloise, drying her tears, "that I would not hold you back, when honor beckons you. It is to such hands as yours that the honor of the golden lilies is committed. I am the daughter of a soldier, and though these tears confess my s.e.x, I honor bravery when it is displayed in a good cause. I honor the soldier as much as I detest the duellist."

"Then listen to one whose sword was never stained with his brother's blood. I had thought to go to the field with my secret concealed in my own breast, but something impels me to speak out. I love you, Heloise--I have dared to love--to adore you."

The fair girl blushed till her very temples were crimsoned over with eloquent blood. The young soldier threw himself at her feet, and taking the fair hand she abandoned to him, covered it with kisses; nor did he rise till he had received confirmation of his new-born hopes, and knew that, for good or ill, the heart of Heloise was irrevocably his. Finally, he was compelled to tear himself away, but he carried to his tent a feeling of delicious joy which steeled his mind against all thought of the chances of the morrow.

The moments pa.s.sed away in delirious revery, but at length he was interrupted by St. Prix.

The count was in the worst of humors--his brow was dark with pa.s.sion, and he threw himself into a seat, and flung his plumed hat on the table with an energy that betrayed the violence of his emotions.

"What's the matter, Raoul?" asked Henri. "Has Saxe changed his plans?

Do we fall back instead of advancing?"

"No, thank G.o.d! there will be plenty of throat-cutting to-morrow, and the French Guards have the post of honor."

"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed Henri, joyfully.

"You seem in excellent spirits to-night, Captain Henri de Grandville."

"I wish I could say as much of you, Captain Raoul de St. Prix."

"Tell me the cause of your felicity."

"Enlighten me respecting your ill humor."

"Willingly, on condition that you will explain your satisfaction."

"Agreed."

"Well, then--you know the marked preference--marked preference, I say--always shown me by Mademoiselle Heloise de Clairville."

"I will not dispute with you--go on."

"You must have been blinded by absurd hopes not to have noticed it; every officer in the army looked to me as the _futur_ of the lady.

Well, sir, encouraged and led on by this siren, I made my proposals to her to-night. _Ventre St. Gris_! I had engaged to settle with my creditors out of her marriage portion."

"Go on--go on--this is excellent, St. Prix."

"Well, sir, she rejected me--me, the Count de St. Prix. A prior engagement, forsooth! I wish to Heaven I knew the fellow! Before sunrise he should have more b.u.t.ton holes in his doublet than ever his tailor made."

"Captain St. Prix," replied Henri, "you have not far to look. In me behold the fortunate suitor. Come, come; confess that your pride, and not your heart, was engaged in the affair. The game was fairly played; the stakes are mine."

"This trifling will not pa.s.s muster with me, sir," said the count, sternly. "Know--if you knew it not before--that Raoul de St. Prix never fixed his eye on a prize that he did not obtain, or missing it, failed to punish his successful rival. You are a soldier, and you understand me, sir," he added, touching his sword knot with his gloved hand.

"This is midsummer madness, Raoul," answered Henri, with good temper.

"Had I been unsuccessful, painful, fatal as the disappointment would have been, I should have resigned the lady to you without a struggle."

"That shows the difference between a gentleman and a _parvenu_,"

retorted St. Prix.

"A _parvenu_!" cried De Grandville, starting to his feet.

"Yes. Who knows you? Whence came you? You are an intruder in our ranks."

"I bear the king's commission."

"Yes, and have not courage enough to sustain it. I have defied you to your teeth, and you refuse to fight."

"My principles are opposed to duelling. In the words of the lady whose preference honors me, 'I honor the soldier as much as I detest the duellist.' Besides, has not the marshal strictly forbidden duels in the camp? Conscience, reason, authority, every consideration forbids my acceptance of the challenge."

"Then," said St. Prix, "you shall submit to an indignity that disgraces a French gentleman forever." And raising his sheathed sword, he struck De Grandville with the flat of the scabbard.

Henri's sword instantly flashed in the lamplight, and St. Prix drawing his rapier, they were instantly engaged in deadly combat. Both were expert swordsmen, and while one fought with the ferocity of hatred and disappointment, the arm of the other was nerved by a sense of wrong.

The metallic ring of their blades was unintermitted, for neither paused to take breath, but, with teeth set and eyes glaring, thrust, parried, advanced, and fell back in the fierce ardor of the combat. At last, De Grandville, seeing an opportunity, sent his adversary's blade whirling through the air, and drawing back his weapon, prepared to thrust it through his breast.

"Strike!" said St. Prix; "you have vanquished me in love and in arms, and there is nothing left me but to die."