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(Drawn and engrayed expressly for The Weekly Novelette.}
{Hutered according to Act of Congress, in the Clerk’s Office of
the District Court of Massachusetts.]
TEE FOUNIDILINGs
—orR,—
HERMIONE OF ST. ANTOINE.
A ROMANCE OF THE CONTINENT.
BY MAJOR F. C. HUNTER.
[conciupEp.]
CHAPTER XIX.
A MEETING BETWEEN, THE LOVERS.
Count DE Montnon sat in the favorite bower of
Hermione, with the fair white hand of her he loved en-
closed in his own, on the evening succeeding the scene
described in our Jast chapter. De Monthon gazed into
her pure face, and the lovers were happy, little dream-
ing of the approaching storm which so soon would peril
or blast forever.their ardent and long-cherished hopes.
De Montbon was not yet aware that Francois had
reached Paris, and the lovers entertained not the slight-
est idea that either would again be annoyed by the
“ Duke Pazzoni,” or the ranaway Francois.
“ This ring, dear count,” said Hermione, displaying
the rich jewel he had presented her with before leaving
Paris, and which she had lost and regained at the ball
in Venice. “ This pretty ring—may I ask its history ¢”
“Tt was a gift, dearest, from my kind uncle and
foster-father, Monsieur D’Aumail. Its richness and
purity I deemed a type of your own beauty and
virtues, and an appropriate present I thought it, at
the time I placed it upon your hand. But why this
question ?””
“ Nothing, that is, a very striking coincidence, merely.
The Duke Pazzoni, who has arrived in town—you may
remember the duke at Venice, Eugene—”
LAST MEETING OF D’AUMAIL AND FRANCOIS.
“ Well,”? said De Monthon, starting at this intelli-
gence, “ what of the Duke Pazzoni ?”
“He called here to-day, to pay his respects, and
promised to repeat his visit this evening. Upon his
finger I noticed a ring, the counterpart of this, and set
exactly like it. He told me it once belonged to his
sister, whom he informed us died a while ago. He
has renewed his negotiations with my father, count—
which he began, I believe, in Venice—for the hand of
Hermione.
“ How ?” said De Monthon, disturbed.
“So Monsieur Chanfrau informed me but an hour
ago.”
“And you replied—”
“That my heart was not my own. I told Monsieur
that I could entertain no feelings for the duke, save of
respect.”
“ The ‘Duke Pazzoni’ is not his title, dearest.”
“ How mean you ?” asked Hermione, astonished.
“ He is a villain, Hermione. You may safely say to
Monsieur Chanfrau that you have authority for assert-
ing this, when next he may allude to him,” continued
De Monthon, warmly.
“ But a truce to this, sweet Hermione. I have in-
formed my father of our intentions, and he warmly
approves my choice and determination. It now re-
mains with yourself but to fix the day of our nuptials,
and as I imagine Monsieur Chanfrau will scarcely con-
sent to give away bis daughter to De Monthon with a
dowry, you shall be mine without one. I need
not tender you a renewal of my affection. You
know my heart beats but for yourself. My fortune
is ample, dearest, and shall we not be happy at an early
day ?”
The interview between the lovers was prolonged.
The beauteous Hermione accepted the pledge which
De Monthon again renewed, and when they left the
arbor, the day had been fixed upon for the bridal—the
union of two hearts devoted to the happiness of each
other. The real character of the burglar-brigand,
Francois, was rehearsed to her astonished ears, and a
shade of melancholy overspread her features as they
parted. Something at the heart of Hermione foretold
of future sorrow. .
The bold and reckless Francois had braved the peril
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of meeting with De Monthon in Paris, in the first place
relying upon the character of the count and his natural-
ly forgiving disposition. Since his arrival he had
Jearned the particulars of D’Aumail’s secret, and now
presuming upon this, in view of the relationship be-
tween Eugene and the governor, he fancied himself se-
cure against exposure from the foster-fatber or his
nephew. Moreover, he had been utterly ignorant of
De Monthon’s pretensions to the hand of Hermione,
until lately, and this consideraiton had not. previously
entered into his calculations at all.
But the count had too much at stake in this matter,
and after leaving Hermione, he determined at once to
call upon D’Aumail, and denounce the traitor, who had
forfeited his favor by venturing again to the scene
from which he had been banished, and to which he had
solemnly pledged his honor that he would never again
return. Little did De Monthon know what he would
be called upon to encounter in this undertaking. In-
stead of returning to his lodgings, therefore, he ordered
his carriage to be at once driven to the private rooms
of his uncle, Monsieur D’Aumail.
He found the governor greatly embarrassed, and ev-
idently laboring under a deeply depressed state of
mind—a rare occurence with D’Aumail, and which in-
duced the count to be pointed and curious in his inqui-
ries. D’Aumail had always confided in De Monthon,
but he did not know in what way he should broach the
dreadful tidings to his nephew. He was no longer
the murderer that he had for years believed himself to
be; but what would the world say to the discovery
which must soon be divulged?» Where was his shield
to ward off the terrible blows of malice which must be
thrust at him, the instant his disgraceful secret was
promulyated ?
Within twenty-four hours after the last visit of Fran-
cois to his private chamber, D’Aumail had set himself
studiously at work with the chain of evidence which
the brigand had furnished him, determined to be assur-
ed by other lips of the truth or falsity of bis assertions
—more than half inclined as he was to believe the lat-
ter part of his story a forgery, arranged to induco the
governor to aid him in his desperate cause with Chan-
frau. He had found, upon investigation, that the nar-
rative was too true! He had followed up the history
