II.

HOW LAW BECAME A CONVERT TO THE FAITH OF ROME.

ON the following morning, as Law and Lady Catherine were alone together in her ladyship's exquisitely furnished boudoir, which looked upon the magnificent gardens at the back of their hôtel, Law, not without some misgiving, opened the matter to her. She heard him with dismay.

"I see that the step I am about to take does not meet your approval," he said; "but let me explain my motives for it. I must either become minister, and so have entire control of the finances of the country, or see the wondrous work I have raised with so much labour perish. I have attained a pinnacle of greatness, but shall be cast down unless I can make my footing secure. You do not comprehend the extraordinary difficulties and dangers that beset a position like mine, or you would not be surprised that I seek to strengthen myself."

Lady Catherine looked at him steadily for a moment, and then said: "If your System can only be saved by the sacrifice of principle you are prepared to make, let it perish, but be true to yourself. Let us retire from this splendour in which we have lived so long, and which has not been altogether productive of happiness. I will readily give it up."

"It cannot be," said Law. "You might as well ask a general to throw down his arms, and quit the field at the moment of victory, as urge me to retreat. What would all France-all Europethink of my retirement?"

"What will all good men think when they hear you have abjured your faith?" she rejoined. But you will not do it." At this moment Thierry entered, and informed his master that the Abbé Tencin had come according to appointment.

"Show him to my cabinet, and say I will be with him presently," observed Law. And as Thierry departed, he said, with a forced smile, "You can guess the object of the abbe's visit, I suppose?"

"I can," she replied, sadly. "Oh! as you love me as you would not make me wretched-let me implore you not to go near him! Send him away. Let me use all the influence I possess with you to deter you from the fatal step you are about to take, for fatal I am sure it will be. Nothing but ill consequences will flow from it. Hitherto, prosperity has attended your career, but how can you hope for a continuance of it, if you thus provoke

Heaven's anger. You are about to become a proselyte to the faith of Rome, not from conviction, but from unworthy motives-forgive me, if I use strong terms, but you know they are prompted by affection."

"Why should you doubt my sincerity?" rejoined Law. "Why do you assume that I do not really incline to the Romish faith? Let me tell you that I should have joined that Church long ago, but from consideration for you."

"If it be so-though I can scarce believe you," she rejoined, "let consideration for me prevent you from joining that idolatrous Church now."

"Be content, Kate. I do not ask you to become an idolator. You shall have your own way, let me have mine."

"This is the first real unhappiness I have felt since our marriage. Henceforth there will be a bar between us."

"Tut! tut! there will be no bar," he rejoined. "Be reasonable, and dismiss your fears. But mark mc, Kate-when the Abbé Tencin has done with me, I wish him to see our children." "You do not desire that they, too, should be converted?" she cried.

"I have not time for further discussion now," he rejoined, rising from his chair. "Do as I bid you without questioning, Kate." And he hastily quitted the room.

For a moment Lady Catherine thought of following him, but feeling convinced from his manner that any further attempt to move him would be futile, she sank back in her chair, and gave vent to her affliction in a flood of tears.

She was roused by the entrance of Belinda, who was still a guest at the Hôtel Law.

Lady Catherine told her all that had occurred, adding, “You will acknowledge that I have good reason to be unhappy. This is the heaviest blow that has ever fallen on me."

"You are wrong to take the matter so much to heart," replied Belinda. "For my part, I really cannot blame Mr. Law for the step he is about to take. It is unavoidable. To be comptrollergeneral he must renounce his religion, and become ostensibly a Catholic. I say ostensibly, because I dare say he will secretly be as good a Protestant as ever."

"It may be so-but what dreadful hypocrisy! I shudder to think of it!" exclaimed Lady Catherine.

"Ah! my dear, you must not judge your husband too harshly. He is in a peculiar position."

"And then my children! Why should they be forced to abjure their religion? I will never consent to it-never!" cried Lady Catherine.

"Your son is too young to understand any points of doctrine,"

VOL. LV.

2Q

said Belinda. "But as regards your daughter, she scarcely requires conversion, for she is more than half a Catholic already. I have my information from a good source-Colombe Laborde."

"If Colombe told you so it must be correct, for she knows Kate's sentiments better than any one else," rejoined Lady Catherine. "I hope Colombe has not led my poor child into the paths of

error.'

"Not intentionally, I am certain," said Belinda. "But you must obey your husband's injunctions, Kate."

"I suppose I must," rejoined Lady Catherine. "Oh! Belinda, I begin to be weary of the life I am leading. I am tired of splendour. I am sick of the adulation of these great people, who court me, and pay me homage, only to obtain favours from my husband. I treat them haughtily-not from pride, but because I despise their meanness. I well know their hollowness and insincerity, and that if any reverse were to happen to Mr. Law, they would at once turn their backs upon me."

"Very likely, my dear. 'Tis the way of the world. And this proves how necessary it is for Mr. Law to maintain his position by every means in his power. So don't blame him. For my part, I think him the best and kindest of men, and I am sure he is always actuated by high and honourable motives."

"You do him no more than justice, Belinda. But I wish he would remain true to his religion."

"Well, as it can't be helped, you must submit. But let us change the subject, and return to Colombe. I wish we could see her united to Evelyn Harcourt. Is there any chance of it?"

"I begin to despair," replied Lady Catherine. "M. Laborde is still obdurate as ever, and insists upon the fulfilment of her engagement with M. Cossard. The utmost I have been able to accomplish has been to delay the marriage from time to time on one pretext or another, in the hope that Cossard's patience would be exhausted, and that he would retire in disgust, but I have been disappointed."

"Poor Colombe! I pity her much. She is a charming girl, and deserves a better fate than to be sacrificed to such an odious wretch as Cossard. No one knows better than myself how unhappy a woman is who is tied to a man she cannot love, and were Colombe wedded to this Cossard she would be miserable, as I was in my first marriage. You will have other anxieties soon, Kate. In a year or two you will have to choose a husband for your daughter."

"We have already plenty of suitors," replied Lady Catherine. "Yesterday we had an offer from the Prince de Tarento; and I may say, without boasting, that her hand has been sought by representatives of the noblest families of France, Germany, Italy,

and England. But the husband I have in view for her is her cousin, Lord Wallingford."

"And a very good husband he would make her, no doubt,” replied Belinda. "But don't force her inclinations."

"That I will never do," said Lady Catherine. "Neither will Mr. Law; and for this reason he will not entertain any proposition, however important, at present. But I must now go and prepare my children for an interview with the Abbé Tencin," said Lady Catherine. "My heart revolts from the task."

"Let me go with you," said Belinda. "I may be of use." And they quitted the room together.

As may be imagined, the Abbé Tencin did not experience much difficulty in the work of conversion, and after a few visits he declared that his illustrious proselyte was in a fit state to be received into the bosom of the Church of Rome.

The abjuration of heresy was solemnised with great pomp in the church of Saint Roch, in the presence of a vast assemblage, which comprehended all the highest nobility; and Law, with his son and daughter, who attended with him, having made public profession of the Romish faith, were admitted into the communion of that Church.

For this labour in the cause of his religion the Abbé Tencin received a gratification of two hundred thousand livres, and as the sacred edifice in which the ceremonial took place was at that time in an unfinished state, Law, with his usual liberality, bestowed five hundred thousand livres for its completion.

A ROMANCE IN LOW LIFE.

SOME time last year the Times correspondent in Paris was good enough to inform his readers that there was a considerable amount of excitement in the Faubourg St. Marceau. Fortunately, the French possess a government which, " as it emanated from the people, has nothing to fear from the people;" at least, M. Troplong said so, and he must have known, for he was acknowledged to be one of the first lawyers in France. Possibly, M. Troplong knew nothing about the excitement in the Faubourg St. Marceau, and never even visited it. My reader being, I have no doubt, in the same case, I will at once inform him that the Faubourg St. Marceau is the head-quarters of the rag-pickers of Paris.

Quelle horreur! certainly, but only because the word sounds so ugly in English; in French it is remarkably neat: chiffonniers-this pretty substantive at once reminds us of an elegant article of furniture which is indispensable in every boudoir, and a great lady will even lock up her billets-doux in a chiffonnière. Thus, then, we become reconciled with the sound of the word, though the idea it conveys remains the same.

Once before it had been seen that the chiffonniers did not understand a joke, under the government of Louis Philippe, when it was proposed to stop the trade of the poor fellows, or lay a heavy tax on it. At that time, however, the excitement was so great that the government at once let its plan fall, and gave way; a week after it was all forgotten, and the ragpickers marched as before through the streets of Paris, and were in good humour. This was in those days; but between then and now there is a difference like day and night. What under Louis Philippe seemed dangerous or impossible, can now be easily effected; what under a royal government divided people and throne, simply serves in an empire "to draw more closely the links between the nation and the ruler." At least, M. Troplong said so, and he ought to know.

The chiffonniers, who, of course, are not such good logicians, and regard matters of this world from a lower point of view, were not at all satisfied with this reasoning, and many of them said, loudly and boldly, "Cela n'est pas encore fait, nous verrons." What was it, in fact, that the government desired of the peaceable inhabitants of the Faubourg St. Marceau— peaceable so long as they are left at peace, and not disturbed in their trade-and what was the storm that gathered over the heads of the Parisian rag-pickers? The story is simple enough: the government wanted to make a monopoly of rag-picking, to retain the chiffonniers, but to organise them as a great corporation-administer, and control them. That the government should want money, is an old story: what government does not want it, much more one with a deficit of three milliards? With such a deficit a good minister of finances must think of everything, and it seemed that chiffonnerie stood at the head of M. Fould's financial schemes, and that the plan was seriously proposed. Rag-picking, therefore, must produce a great deal in Paris, or else the minister would not have descended to this region to seek help. People talked about sixteen or eighteen millions, and hence the affair was worthy of consideration.

"By Jove!" many a reader may, perchance, exclaim, "eighteen mil