would have thought dear Bellanger would have--"

Gabriel rose hastily, and interrupted the widow's pathetic reflections.
"I only ran in to say Bon jour. I must leave you now."

"Adieu, my dear boy,--not a word on the miniature! By the by, here's a
shirt-pin for you,--tu es joli comme un amour."

All was clear now to Gabriel; it was necessary to get rid of him, and
forever. Dalibard might dread his attachment to Lucretia,--he would
dread still more his closer intimacy with the widow of Bellanger, should
that widow wed again, and Dalibard, freed like her (by what means?), be
her choice! Into that abyss of wickedness, fathomless to the innocent,
the young villanous eye plunged, and surveyed the ground; a terror seized
on him,--a terror of life and death. Would Dalibard spare even his own
son, if that son had the power to injure? This mission, was it exile
only,--only a fall back to the old squalor of his uncle's studio; only
the laying aside of a useless tool? Or was it a snare to the grave?
Demon as Dalibard was, doubtless the boy wronged him. But guilt
construes guilt for the worst.

Gabriel had formerly enjoyed the thought to match himself, should danger
come, with Dalibard; the hour had come, and he felt his impotence. Brave
his father, and refuse to leave France! From that, even his reckless
hardihood shrank, as from inevitable destruction. But to depart,--be the
poor victim and dupe; after having been let loose amongst the riot of
pleasure, to return to labour and privation,--from that option his vanity
and his senses vindictively revolted. And Lucretia, the only being who
seemed to have a human kindness to him! Through all the vicious egotism
of his nature, he had some grateful sentiments for her; and even the