hand hastily from that of the Baron. The tallows, and the vulgar apparition of the peasantgirl, produced an unpleasant sensation in the "man of the world; " but the dim glare of those candles shone like a ray from heaven, sent to illuminate the dark precipice that yawned at the feet of this unhappy young woman, who had suffered herself to be led away by her feelings, until her inconsiderate passions had led her to its very brink.

"No! no!" said she, with a voice full of passion, but to which self-command began to be restored, " a wife must be pure and unspotted the tumult of passion is deceptive, but so much the more inevitably certain is the remorse that follows. I adjure you, by all that is sacred to you, never again to renew this subject."

The apothecary entered the room. "Now I am free," said he, with a friendly nod. "I am afraid you must be ennuyée. Let us make a bowl of punch, and play Bos

ton."

But the Baron was visibly discomposed, and would not listen to any proposal. Disappointed in his expectations, he rushed home to his own house, to toss about his couch the whole night long.

Next morning the crafty roué from the capital was up to his ears in love with the simple provincial apothecary's wife, and that, too, madly and hopelessly.

CHAPTER V.

"I mean he didn't return it again in person." "No, not as yet."

"What an impudent fellow he must be - he should be taught manners.”

66

But

'Yes, it seems odd enough, even to me. tell me for heaven's sake, what does the Baron sit at the apothecary's the whole day for? He is an Aulic councillor and a man of fortune, and he has got things that would astonish you to see. I saw a ruby ring with him the other day - a beautiful thing-must have cost five hundred rubles at the lowest figure. And I asked him if he knew all the ministers, and he said that he knows most of them. It is well enough for such as I am to loiter about the apothecary's to kill time; but it seems quite out of place for such as he is- a curious business."

"I can't make out how he can admire the apothecary's wife. She is just a German Frau, and nothing more. A Polish lady is quite a When we were quartered in Little Russia, I was quite delighted with them. You can't say a word against them. How well educated they are, and how well they dance the mazurka; but what do you think I should say to the apothecary?"

"That is your affair; do what you think best."

"That is a nice 'coup,"" whispered the chief of police to the assessor, as the old secretary of the local tribunal was reading aloud a long and tedious report of some cause before it.

"A grand 'coup,' I say. Civilization has made great progress of late years; and has even reached our town. The apothecary has sold his wife for 5,000 rubles."

"He was in too great a hurry with the bargain," observed the assessor, gravely; "he would have got double the money, if he had held out a little; but, even as it is, that is a good round What luck some people have, to be

"Have you heard the news about Franz Iwanowitsch?" said the justice of peace to the burgomaster, with a wicked leer.

"What do you think?" replied the assessor.

and he became almost a Werter. He was really in love-in love like a student-he who had intended to treat love after the manner of a lion of the modern school. At times, 'tis true, he was ashamed of the sincerity of his feeling, and he would then take all possible pains to screw himself up to the proper pitch of obduracy becoming a fashionable monster. But love, that pure drop of heavenly dew, effaced his evil intentions in despite of himself; and the seduced seducer, constantly thwarted in his immoral plans, was compelled to cast down his eyes modestly, play duets on the pianoforte, and listen to oft-repeated stories and anecdotes of her former female companions, her playful school girl tricks, and the modest pleasures of her maiden life, and that, too, at a time when his heart was convulsed with the fiery stream of passion.

In vain he endeavoured to repeat the scene that had followed the ever-memorable dinner. The apothecary's wife exhausted all her female stratagems to avoid confessions of love or declarations of any kind; and when he got angry with himself, and execrated his own want of fashionable heartlessness, she would smile on him so winningly, and gaze on him with so much expression, that the cloud passed from his brow, and hope once more stole into his heart. Often, too, the Baron witnessed the most painfully prosaic details of household life, and Charlotte would come out to meet him with an expression of fatigue and tucked-up sleeves, which always denoted that washing was gone on. Frequently, too, her dress outraged the fashion more than was necessary; and more than once she interrupted his allusions to his eternal passion, by giving charges to the bare-legged servant to look after the roast mutton. At such times the Baron would get out of temper with himself and his passion, and order his servant to pack the carriage. But as he thought it uncivil to go away without taking leave, he would go once more to the apothecary's shop, and then he found Charlotte musing at the window, and she would smile on him, and her gentle melodious voice vibrated once more in his heart, and he forgot his ill temper and his plans of seduction, and then he sat down after the old fashion, and seemed never tired of looking and listening.

CHAPTER VI.

One morning, the dandy in the braided frock paid a visit to the Baron, just as the latter had got out of bed, and was in the act of opening a letter that moment come from the post.

"I beg pardon-I hope I don't intrude," said the provincial.

"Oh, no, by no means."

"Well, as you are so good, perhaps I might ask for a pipe?"

The Baron called his servant, who filled a pipe for the dandy, giving him at the same time a most savage look, and slamming the door after him as he went out of the room.

The Baron went on reading his letter, and smiled once or twice at passages in it.

This the dandy perceived, and it attracted his curiosity.

"Did you receive that letter from St. Petersburg, may I ask?” "Yes."

"From one of your family?"

"No; from a lady of my acquaintance." "Indeed! Then it is written in French ?" "No; in Russian."

“Ah, that is very interesting. I should like to know how the Petersburg ladies write. Does it contain secrets?"

"Oh, no, by no means."

"Oh, might I request the great favor of being allowed just to peep into it."

"You may read it, if you like."

The provincial clutched eagerly at the letter, and turned it round and round-"How sweet it smells!" said he; "quite delightful; it is easy to see that it comes from the capital—and what is this in the corner?"

"The countess's coast of arms."

Oh, what funny people! just to think of what they invent-letter-paper with the arms stamped into it. So that is a count's coronet.” "Yes."

"I never saw any thing like it before, 'tis so nice." Here he began to read aloud.

"I promised to write to you long ago, but as a letter is a dangerous document, you must not be surprised at my writing in Russian, as a letter in that language is not likely to compromise any one, and I am quite sure no one ever made a bad use of a document of the kind; and thus I save appearances, and abandon myself to the pleasure of writing to you. We miss you very much, and are quite disconsolate at not hearing you chat and jest as usual. What are you about in your province, oh, most redoubtable lion? We all grieve for you, for all our fun has departed with you. Yesterday we danced at the waters;* what figures, to be sure, there were there! What has become of all the beauty now-a-days! Cavaliers comme il faut are becoming more scarce every day. It has now gone so far that our lionnes are surrounded by mere children. The island looks quite deserted; there are only two or three ladies here; the

*The establishment for artificial mineral springs near St. Petersburg, at which balls are given occa sionally.

↑ Pleasure-grounds near St. Petersburg.

weather is tolerable. What more news can I tell you? My husband is gone down to his estate, to economize; he proposed to me to accompany him, but I detest the provinces, and pictured to myself this pleasure in such dreadful colors, that I could not make up my mind to go. I can just imagine what sort of caps and bonnets they wear there; the sight of them must be enough to kill one; and then the provincial dandies killing one with attention, and the petites maitresses et dames de qualité full of pretension and ennui. It must be very laughable. Come back as soon as possible, and tell us all your adventures—I am sure they must be very amusing. And then we might take a trip somewhere, perhaps to Paris. I shall await you most impatiently for that purpose; we should amuse ourselves admirably. I have no more news. Your friends are all well, sighing chacun aux pieds de sa belle, and I am quite abandoned perhaps only because I am waiting for you. As to you, take care not to fall in love with the wife of one of those monstres described in the Revisor. We made up a party the other day to go to the Russian theatre. Only fancy! it was the first time in my life. After all they play very well; they represented the Revisor by some man called Gogol; it was amusing enough, but mauvais genre, as you may suppose. Adieu! Don't forget que vous etes attendu avec impatience. I expect a letter from you with the promised details, and a description in full of the caricatures amongst whom you spend your time.""

"Admirable style!" exclaimed the dandy, full of enthusiasm; "that is what I call charming. With people of the world, every thing is so striking and apt. Bon ton is every thing; and," added he, with a sly laugh, "no doubt she is a beauty to boot."

"That is to say, so-so; however

"Oh, you are too discreet and too modest; it is easy to see that she is a beauty-it can't be otherwise! I congratulate you, Herr Baron." "There is nothing particular in the whole affair."

"Of course you would not say so; that is clear. Pray, allow me to smoke another pipe!"

The proprietor of the frogged coat smoked two pipes more, and when he perceived that he could not fish out any more news, he took his leave of the Baron with a significant smile, and went straight over to the apothecary's.

There he found every thing quiet, and apparently as usual. Charlotte was sitting in the

*The Revisor is an excellent comedy by Gogol, that satirizes with great truth the absurdities of Russian provincialism.

window, watching the street; the apothecary was conning over a German newspaper, a year old at least.

"I have just come from the Baron's. What an admirable young man he is!"

Charlotte turned round suddenly. The apothecary nodded assent, and said, "Indeed he appears to be a good young man!"

"A regular paragon of perfection; and then —so much gaiety, so much frankness; we have just sworn brotherhood together." "Indeed!"

"Do you know what?—but it must be between ourselves - he has just confided to me that he has a liaison at St. Petersburg."

"That is an untruth!" said the apothecary's wife, interrupting him, and turning as pale as

death.

"An untruth! well, that is civil; but have I not just read a letter of his? and such a letter, too-quite a gem."

"From a lady?" demanded Charlotte.

"From whom else could it be? What a nice person, too! He confessed to me that she is a regular beauty; you comprehend, a beauty in the capital is something more than one of our provincials."

“And what did she write to him?" demanded the apothecary.

Charlotte listened with the greatest attention, and endeavoured to catch every word as it fell from the provincial's mouth.

"That is the best of it, what she writes. But you must be sure not to mention a word about it, as he confided it to me under a promise of strict secrecy."

"Well, what is it?"

"There were some words I did not understand; but, at all events, the Baron seems to know how to manage the ladies admirably. Ha! ha! what funny things they write to him."

"But the letter?" demanded Charlotte, eagerly.

"I must think for a moment. Yes, this was it-'I don't know how to save appearances, but I abandon myself to the pleasure of writing to you. Why did you go away? I am always weeping for you; you are a lion.'

"He must have treated her very roughly."

"Where are the good old times? There are only three ladies on the island; the lionesses walk about there with their children. Let us leave the country, and then we shall be happy." "That looks like an elopement."

"Yes, and then 'In the province where you are, there must be dreadful caricatures."" "That is meant for us; it is not very polite, but no matter."

"Come back as soon as possible, that we may

have something to laugh at. The women there, and their caps, must be very absurd. Other ladies have men to sigh to them, but I am waiting for you. Don't fall in love with the wife of some monstre."

"What is monstre?"

- and thou art surrounded by the wretched attributes of thy lowly condition, copper money, tallow-candles, the smell of the apothecary's shop, provincialism, rags, and solitude. How darest thou to love this stately man, to whom thy wretched mode of life must be disgusting, al

"Oh, then, I do not know who that is meant for-We are all expecting you impatiently' – (How is it that he lingers on here, while they are lamenting his absence in the capital?- and that he spends time paying visits to you, and swearing brotherhood with me)."

Perhaps the dandy expatiated on the Baron's triumph with a certain degree of malicious triumph, because Charlotte's evident bias towards Fuhrenheim displeased him. However that may be, the affair ended strangely enough, for the apothecary called our friend, the provincial, aside, and requested of him never to enter his doors again; and Charlotte sat in the window, pale, and apparently unconscious of every thing round her. She no longer looked out into the street, and neither moved nor spoke, but seemed totally absorbed in her own bitter thoughts.

CHAPTER VII.

Poor Charlotte never closed her eyes that night. How could she, poor, simple, unadorned woman, who was constrained to wash and to cook she, the apothecary's wife-the provincial-how could she think of entering the lists against the fine ladies in plumed bonnets, in laces, and silk robes, with whom the Baron was so intimate? She afforded him only the pastime of a moment, nay, she was but a toy wherewithal to drive away his ennui. She should be grateful, if he condescended to whisper a few civil words to her, even in jest. How could he love an apothecary's wife? He loves a lady of high rank-she corresponds with him, and awaits his return with impatience. And when he does return, they will turn to jest, and cover with ridicule, the apothecary's shop and its inmates, and bandy witty sayings about the tender loves of Chamomile and Cinchona.

Jealousy, deeply burning jealousy, seized on the poor young woman, and made her its prey. Yes, suggested her inflamed imagination, he loves another, she is not so handsome and youthful as thou art, - she has not thy blooming cheeks, nor thy luxuriant tresses, but men never remark such things. Every thing around her shows luxury and affluence—and thou art surrounded by penury and poverty. She has flowers in her hair, and flowers in her saloonsshe lives among flowers, in autumn as in winter

forgotten, or hast thou never remarked, how the sight of thy poverty clouds his forehead, and brings a contemptuous smile to his lip? And thou, his humble slave, art content to catch a look of pity, instead of love. Thou hast forgotten thy pride, and the dignity of thy sex, in order to become an object of ridicule to a fine lady, and a subject for compassion to a man of the world, who always despised thy poverty, and would be ashamed to be happy with thee.

The next day the apothecary's wife was deadly pale, and immersed in thought; her husband watched her with anxious looks, gave her several powders to take, and seemed much discomposed himself.

The Baron appeared, as usual, about noon. Charlotte received him coldly, and scarcely replied to his questions, and then left the room, under pretence of household business. The Baron went home out of sorts. The apothecary was silent. The next day it was the same thing again, and the third. Charlotte was pale and careworn she neither sighed nor smiled; there was something cold, collapsed, and brooding in her look. The apothecary never said a word.

A week passed thus. It was evening—the Baron was sitting in his room, buried in thought, and leaning his head on his hands. Charlotte's coldness strengthened his passion much more even than the most refined coquetry would have done. His frivolous plans all vanished. He was in love, really, earnestly-full of ardent, boy-like passion-restless and sleeplesswithout a ray of hope-plunged in despair.

This sudden change in her deportment was inexplicable to him. A moment's explanation must put all to rights again— but just now, as if to prevent it, her husband never left her side for a moment. Suddenly he raised his head, the door creaked, and the apothecary walked into the room.

What can this mean?

Even the apothecary's good-humored face looked pale and care-worn.

"I come to you,” said he, “on an important affair. You have been staying here on business?"

"Yes," replied the Baron, coldly.

"But your mission is at an end- is it not?" "No doubt it is—but what of that?" "Why do you linger on here, when your business is at an end?"