THE WATCH-TOWER OF K.OAT-VEU. 139 



haughty that the most dissolute morals would have made her fewer 

 enemies than her insolent virtue. 



Tired of this ill feeling, and having no tie at Versailles, or at 

 Paris, Rita came to dwell at her chateau at Kervan. During her 

 residence in France she had never been so much alone as now. And 

 it was here that she regretted her faith of former times ; but it was 

 too late. Irritated and chagrined she passed long hours of suffering 

 from imaginary cares, and wished for happiness she could not taste. 

 She fell away ; tears dimmed her cheeks ; without resource, without 

 refuge against these bitter sufferings, against the nervous excitement 

 which robbed her of her health, she bore a life of wretchedness, 

 until a singular chance introduced her to Henry. 



One of her servants one day informed her that some fishermen had 

 discovered a young man of extraordinary beauty almost dying in an 

 old ruin upon the sea-coast, and, knowing the humanity of the duchess, 

 they were come to the chateau to beg for assistance. 



This tale made a lively impression on the romantic character of 

 the duchess, and the same day she visited the tower of Koat-veu, 

 accompanied by Perez. She saw Henry for the first time. Affected 

 by the calm sadness impressed upon the beautiful and noble counte- 

 nance of the young man, Rita explained, with emotion, the cause of 

 her visit; having heard that assistance might be useful to him, she 

 came to offer her own. 



Henry thanked her with gratitude, but added that he hoped ere 

 long to have no longer need of aid. His history was simple. An 

 orphan, educated by his uncle, an old clergyman, with whom he lived 

 until death snatched the old man away. Thrown upon the world, 

 alone, without means of support, and without friends, Henry could 

 but pursue the vocation which he conceived sincere that of the 

 church. Nevertheless, before he decided irrevocably, and wishing 

 to try his fortitude in supporting the solitude, the fastings, and the 

 austerities of a monastic life, he had retired for some time into this 

 tower. 



His strength had failed him ; he fell sick ; an old servant who 

 waited upon him had deserted him, because he was unable to pay 

 any longer for his sevices ; and but for the unexpected arrival of the 

 fishermen he would have died unknown. " But it matters little now,' 7 

 he continued, " for I feel my life is ebbing fast, and soon, poor or- 

 phan, I shall rejoin a mother in heaven whom I never knew on 

 earth." 



The melancholy resignation of this solitary being, his misfortunes, 

 and the candour visible in his features, affected the duchess violently, 

 who had felt at first a deep pity for the unfortunate young man. 



From this day Rita dated a new existence ; by an extraordinary 

 contradiction this proud duchess, who had refused such brilliant and 

 splendid homage, felt a sensation as yet unknown at the sight of this 

 suffering, this unfortunate being ; and although the most elegant va- 

 cancy, the most polite manners, and the most fashionable imperti- 

 nence had not gained a single look from Rita, the pale and melan- 

 choly face of Henry remained impressed upon her heart ; the features 

 which she had gazed upon but once were ever in her thoughts, and 



