full of interest for me--I had nothing else to every act she was twice called upon the stage ; think of for weeks before the event.

The evening came: I was one of the first arrivals, and succeeded in obtaining my usual seat in the centre of the pit. The house was crowded long before the musicians made their appearance; and during the long half-hour before the play commenced, I amused myself with trying to discover the new author, by the anxious expression which must, of course, be visible in his face. I fixed upon one individual, in the nearest stage-box, as the candidate for dramatic fame. He was a pale young man, dressed with faultless taste, and was gazing earnestly round the house-not like a theatrical habitué, who stares languidly about him to single out his acquaintances with a nod-but nervously and apprehensively, as one who dreads a critic in every spectator. He was alone, and I observed that every now and then he wiped his forehead, or folded his arms resolutely across his chest, as if to keep down the agitation that possessed him. When the overture began, he retired behind the draperies of the box, and when the curtain rose I forgot him.

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and with every act she rose in power and sublimity. As the Moorish dancing-girl who devotes herself to the defense of her people—who inspires her countrymen with fearlessness-who raises the drooping courage of the indolent Boabdil himself—who sacrifices even her love to her patriotism-and who, at the last, herself leads on the Moors to the last fatal engagement, and dies by the sword of her lover, Bertin carried the hopes and fears of the whole audience along with her. Heroism, nobleness, and devotedness, were painted by her with a truth such as I had never beheld on a stage before. Nine times she was summoned before the curtain at the end of the play; flowers and even jewels were cast to her from the boxes: Paris had never before so rapturously greeted a débutante!

There were a couple of vaudevilles to follow, but I left directly, for I could see nothing after Celeste Bertin, and returned home in a rapture of admiration.

For the ninth time she had bowed and retired, when some one called for the author. The cry was taken up; the curtain moved again, andI had guessed aright!-the occupant of the stagebox stepped forward, and acknowledged, in a few words, the favors of the public. He was sensiThe first and second scenes were decidedly ble, he said, that for his success he was entirely dull. Bocage played the hero, a young Spanish indebted to Mdlle. Bertin; he was proud-glad cavaliero; but he could produce no effect in it--grateful-he knew not how to express all that the house was cold and silent-the applause that he felt, but he thanked them respectfully and welcomed Bocage was for the actor, and not the sincerely. piece. The débutante, however, had not yet made her appearance, and the audience began to whisper to each other that if the lady were no better than the play, and the play no better than at present, the whole must be a failure. The third scene began the stage represented the environs of Granada, in the time of Boabdil el Chico; a party of Moors, ignorant of the near approach of the Spanish invaders, were carousing under some trees. Wine and fancied security rendered them insensible of danger: far away was heard the faint echoing tread of the hostile troops; in front, the song, the wine-cup, and the dance. On a sudden, a wild and beautiful form bounded into the circle of revelers! Her arms extended, her hair floating on the wind, one hand grasping a lance-fire, disdain, inspiration in her eye so stood Celeste Bertin. A thrill of admiration ran through the audience: Celeste spoke-words of energy and reproach. Her voice filled the theatre, and rang upon the ear like martial music. She pointed to the distant hills, and to the coming foe; she bade them rise and save the city of their fathers; the Spaniard and slavery was at hand; day waned, and night was coming fast; back, back to Granada while yet was time; to arms! to arms! to arms!

Night after night all Paris flocked to the Porte St. Martin to worship the divine actress-I among the throng of her followers. Every glance, every gesture, and tone of the beautiful artiste was treasured in my memory, and my chief delight after leaving the theatre was to study the play attentively, and endeavor to recall the enchantment of her voice and eyes in every passage.

She was the subject of every conversation. The strangest stories were afloat respecting her. From the highest gentleman to the poorest garçon de boutique, all had some vague report to circulate. But all agreed in one point, that she was betrothed and tenderly attached to M. Victor, the young author in whose play she had made her first appearance.

Six weeks had passed away: the season was at its height, and matters were the same at the Porte St. Martin. Still Celeste Bertin rose in public estimation with every character that she performed. One night, after she had surpassed all her former grandeur, and taken us by storm in the Phedre of Racine, I had returned home, as usual, to read the piece, and endeavor to reproduce in my memory the inspired interpretation of the tragédienne. I had drawn my chair to the fire; my reading-lamp stood on a table beside me, and I was bending over a volume of the great dramatic poet, when a sudden and violent knocking at the outer door startled me: I listened-it was repeated; and as I opened the Her triumph was complete: at the end of window, a voice cried loudly:

One look, one gesture, one word of proud command-and she was gone! The curtain instantly fell it was the close of the first act.

For a moment there was a pause-and then an overwhelming tempest of applause. All rose simultaneously; the house shook with the sound, and even the band partook of the general en

thusiasm.

"Holà! holà! is there a surgeon in this watching her pale and lovely face, and contrasthouse!"

"I am a physician," I replied.

“Yes, yes, come down-come instantly, pour l'amour de Dieu! quick! there is no time to be lost!"

I seized my hat, ran to the door, and there found a man, who, the moment that I appeared, beckoned to me to follow, and set off running down the street. I had no resource but to run also, and so I chased him down two neighboring streets, till he stopped before the gate of a small house, and there paused for me to come up. Both gate and door were standing open, probably as he had left them in his haste: through these he quickly led me up a flight of stairs and into a small bedchamber. There were three persons in the room: a female on the bed, an old man crouching in a chair by the fireside, weeping bitterly, and a woman-servant, who was bathing the forehead of the sufferer.

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She has been undergoing great excitement," said my guide, pointing hurriedly to the bed; "she had scarcely reached home when she complained of giddiness and exhaustion; about half an hour ago she became suddenly convulsed, and-"

I seized a candle and crossed rapidly to the patient. Heavens! It was Celeste Bertin! pale and motionless; dressed in the gorgeous robes in which I had beheld her a couple of hours since, brilliant with genius and power, on the boards of the theatre. There she lay-her eyes closed-her splended hair, yet glittering with jewels, unbound and scattered in wild disorder -her hands contracted-her whole form rigid and cold. Blood-stains were on her lips, and on the pillow she had ruptured a vessel on the lungs.

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ing her, as she lay there, with the terrible and thrilling Phedre that had, but a few brief hours since, transfixed me with her appalling beauty.

The servant sitting at the other side of the bed fell asleep the feeble lamplight shed a pallid glare upon the face of my patient; not a sound in the house, save the ticking of my watch; not a whisper in the quiet street without. The silence, the solitude, the mental exertion which I had gone through, all oppressed me; things around me were beginning to yield to the influence of extreme lassitude, and to assume strange and indistinct forms. My eyes closed-my breathing became heavy-I was just falling into a deep, calm sleep, when I felt my wrist grasped tightly, and heard a movement in the bed.

She was sitting upright, turned toward me, and looking at me with a strangely mingled expression of anger and alarm.

"You shall not. My reputation is at stake: value that, if you do not value your life."

"I must! it is necessary-you do not know how necessary. Ah, monsieur," she went on, with a sudden change to gentleness and entreaty-"Ah, monsieur, but this one night; by your art give me strength and power to play this one, only night, and I care not if I never live another."

"Madame, lie down."

She obeyed me. I administered a few drops of cordial, took my seat, and looking steadily in her face, went on:

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For an instant, consternation almost deprived me of the power of thought: I trembled to think that the very life of this wonderful being depended on my promptitude and skill. I turned to my conductor-it was M. Victor, her lover. The expression of agony and entreaty upon his face restored me to myself: I hastened to apply Repose and silence are the conditions on the proper restoratives, and to release the pa- which you live. Declamation and excitement tient from some of the incumbrances of her would be your death. If I permit you to intheatrical costume. After a time, I had the sat-fringe the slight and fragile tenure on which isfaction to find warmth and consciousness return-she would have spoken, but I forbade the exertion; I explained to her that she had had a sudden attack of illness, that the utmost quiet was necessary, and that I should remain all night beside her couch, in order that no requisite attention should be wanting.

I did so, and dismissed all but the female attendant for the night. M. Victor pressed my hand gratefully on retiring, and thanked me with intense earnestness. The old man, whom I took to be her father, seemed stupid with grief, and scarcely sensible of what was passing.

During the whole night she slept so stilly and motionless, that many times I bent over her to listen if she really breathed. All seemed to me like a strange dream, as I sat hour after hour

your existence depends—if I assist you to your destruction, I am, in effect, a murderer. I know of no right by which mademoiselle dares to commit self-murder: it is my duty to prevent her, and I will."

What a fierce gleam was that that shot from her dark eyes as I said these words! Impatience, disdain, almost hatred, flashed upon me in their lustrous glance. But she was silent, if not conquered: she turned her face hastily from me, and we spoke no more.

Day dawned at last-gray, cold, sunless day. Heavy clouds shut in the sky; not a bird sang; not a leaf stirred; not a stray beam made its appearance. She slept. Silently her father and lover came and went; silently the attendant summoned me down to the salon for refresh

ment; silently many times that day we stood around her couch in hope and fear, and still she slept on. It was a fortunate slumber, and during its long continuance we had the unspeakable joy of witnessing the returning bloom-of hearing the calm and regular breath; and from it we hoped and foretold good.

mais, le pauvreté est dure! Let him first be in my position, and then pass judgment upon

me.

But to my narrative. Time was flying, and I had promised to return to the Rue St. P in an hour. Half that time was already past! I had several things to arrange, some change of attire to effect, a note to write, and a consultation to hold with my landlady. With my utmost speed, these occupied me an hour beyond the appointed time: at last I left the house, and hastened with nervous rapidity in the direction of my patient. When I was more

The shades of evening fell. All day she had reposed in that life-giving oblivion, and yet showed no sign of waking. I thought that I might venture to my lodgings for a few moments to read any letters that might have arrived for me. Promising to return in an hour, I went. A man was pacing up and down my apart-than half-way, I remembered the card of the ment when I entered. His back was turned Prince de C, and was forced to turn back toward me he was tall and well-formed: a hat again, for I had left it on the table. I am not and gloves were thrown upon the table, and a superstitious, but this return and my delay large cloak was cast carelessly upon a chair. I seemed ominous to me. I fell into an unusual stopped and observed him. I felt sure that he trepidation, and when within a yard or two of was a stranger; and yet it was somewhat famil-my own door, felt an anxious haste, that apiar thus to take possession of my rooms. He peared to summon me back again without destopped-looked out of the window-so stood laying even then to go in. for some minutes-then turned, and seeing me, bowed with perfect self-possession, and address-childishness!"

ed me.

"Monsieur H, I believe?"

I assented.

"Bah!" I exclaimed, to myself, "this is mere

And I went in, up-stairs, and taking from the table the prince's card, observed, for the first time, that the writing with which the back was

"Monsieur is the medical adviser of Mdlle. closely lined was in cipher. I was surprised, Bertin?"

"I have that honor."

"Will Monsieur favor me with his unreserved opinion of the lady's illness-if it be likely [here his voice altered slightly] to-to have a fatal termination ?"

I replied briefly that the symptoms had been highly favorable, and that I believed rest and seclusion might, in a few weeks, effect a perfect cure.

He took a card from his pocket, and wrote some words on it in a small, concise hand. While he was doing this, I had leisure to observe his pale, dark countenance, his firm lip, his easy, aristocratic grace. A brilliant of intense lustre glittered on his finger; the rest of his attire was fastidiously plain.

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Oblige me, monsieur," he said, "by giving this to your patient. Good-evening. He threw his cloak round him, seized his hat, and was gone. In another moment I heard the wheels of a carriage drive to the door, saw him step in, and, ere a second had elapsed, the vehicle had turned the corner of the street, and disappeared. There was a coronet upon the panels. I turned to the table, and took up the card. It bore the name of the Prince de C. A folded paper was laid beneath it, on which was written a draft for one thousand francs!

Pride and Poverty had a hard struggle that evening, and Poverty conquered. I was poor -very poor. The prince had paid me for my attendance on his friend; I might, on this ground, refuse payment from her, and so balance the obligation. My present need was great, and I put the draft in my pocket-book. The heroic reader may condemn me for having thus accepted money from an entire stranger—

and, I confess it, somewhat curious; but I thrust it into my pocket, ran down-stairs, and presently was running once more in the direction of the Rue St. P———.

And now, as I approached it, my agitation returned in tenfold power. The nearer I drew, the less I dared to go forward: some horrible influence was upon me-some vague and formless dread that moved my inward soul with apprehension, and seemed to clog my footsteps to the ground.

The door stood open. I had not left it so. I went up. The door of her chamber stood open likewise. I paused upon the threshold, and then walked noiselessly in. She was

I had half-expected the shock. gone!

Gone! and not a soul was there to tell me whither! I rang the bell furiously: I cried aloud; I opened every door and closet; I entered every room, from attic to kitchen.

Father, lover, servant, patient-all gone! Every place silent and empty.

She was gone-gone to the theatre-to her death! And the empty house? The rest were gone upon a vain search for her. I alone knew the fatal direction of her steps!

Till this moment I had never known I loved her. All unquestioned, I had suffered my heart to cherish and garner up a hopeless passion. I was paralyzed, body and mind-plunged into a dreamy wilderness of grief, without the power to think or act.

The time-piece in the dressing-room struck seven. In another half-hour she would be again upon the stage delighting all hearers with the last inspiration of her genius. I started up

"Perhaps even now I may rescue her from

the fatal excitement of performance! perhaps | appropriate in plot, it painted the career of an even now prevail upon her to return!"

But I must see her-my business is of the others' souls. In a recitation which she is reutmost importance."

"At the end of the first act I will deliver and her reproaches. Under the vail of a fiction, Monsieur's request."

M. H," here he referred to a paper in To the royal box, where sit the rulers of the his hand—“ Mdlle. Bertin desired particularly land. There sat the Duchessa da G————, interthat if a gentleman of that name should ask to ested, delighted, unsuspicious; and there, too, see her, he should on no account be admitted. sat the Prince de C, pale, guilty, trembling I am very sorry, monsieur, but such were made--withdrawn into a corner of the box, conscious moiselle's commands."