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the army without. He who issued these commands was a young man, who did not appear to have numbered more than two and twenty years. His long brown hair parted on his forehead, fell in waving curls over his temples and cheeks, which were pale and thin; and his whole countenance was stamped with that indescribable air of melancholy which, in the eye of superstition, is considered to mark those who are fated to die young. He was bending over a table, and beneath the large blue cloak which was wrapped loosely round him, might be discerned the marks of his rank--the insignia of a general. A geographical chart lay before him; and by the light of a lamp, which seemed to grow pale in the more lurid blaze of the burning village, he was tracing with a pencil the route his men were to take. It was the young republican General Marceau.

At length the work of destruction was over. The village so lately smiling in its peaceful valley was reduced to a heap of ashes. The groups of men which surrounded it once more forming into column, prepared to traverse the dark and circuitous route which separates St. Crepin from Montfaucon ; and when, some minutes after, the moon shone for an instant from behind the thick clouds, on their glittering bayonets, as they crept almost noiselessly along, they appeared, winding through the darkness like an immense serpent, covered with scales of burnished steel.

Marching to an attack by night is a melancholy thing to an army. War may be glorious to the enthusiast by day, when, amid the roar of the cannon and the clanging sound of conflicting weapons, the martial trumpet excites ardour in the soul, and friends and enemies are by to see how gloriously we fall. But in the deep silence of night, not to know how we are attacked, nor how to defend ourselves; to fall without seeing who strikes us, nor whence the blow came; to be trampled under foot in the darkness, surrounded by the dying and the dead, with no friendly eye to pity and no arm to succour us; these, these are the horrors that often make the boldest heart quail, and the most daring arm tremble. Such thoughts passed rapidly through the minds of many in that army, as they pursued their route cautiously and in silence; for they knew that a sharp conflict awaited them at the end of a toilsome and difficult march-a battle by night. Marceau himself was their guide; he had so attentively studied all the localities that he believed himself able to conduct them in safety to the spot to which they were bound, and the event proved he was not mistaken. In little more than an hour they found themselves in the dark gloom of the forest, where, according to the intelligence he had received, Marceau

expected to surprise a number of the fugitive royalists, and some part of their forces, amounting to nearly eighteen hundred men, assembled to hear a mass.

The General now separated his little troop into several columns, with orders to traverse the forest in different directions, and surround the appointed spot on every side. Half an hour, he calculated, would suffice for each party to take up its respective position. One division remained to advance by the way which lay before him, the others separated on each side to pursue their respective routes; the heavy tramp of their steps gradually became fainter and fainter, and at length died away altogether.

The half hour passed quickly, and the word "Forward!" was at length given by Marceau. As they cautiously and gradually advanced, the cross-way which formed the centre of the forest appeared illuminated. On a nearer approach a number of glittering torches were perceived, and soon as every object became more dis tinct, an unusual sight burst upon their view. On an altar rudely erected by piling together a number of loose stones, the minister of Saint Marie de Rhé was performing a mass; a number of old men encircled the altar, bearing torches in their hands, and round about a crowd of women and children were on their knees, engaged in prayer. Between the republican army and this group, the men were stationed in a thick phalanx, evidently prepared for attack or defence. The royalists did not wait for the onset. They had sharpshooters in the wood, who had already commenced firing on the approaching soldiers, who advanced firmly step by step, without pulling a trigger, or answering in any way the reiterated fire of their enemies. The only words heard were, after each discharge, "Close up! close up!" All this time the priest continued to read the mass, his audience remaining on their knees, apparently unconcerned with what was passing around them. The republican army steadily advanced; when they were within thirty paces of their enemies, the firing commenced; the first rank dropping on one knee, three lines of guns were discharged, making terrible havoc among the royalists, and some balls, passing into the midst, fell at the foot of the altar, killing or wounding women and children in their course. All was instantly cries and tumult. The priest raised the host, and every head bent to the earth in reverential silence. The republicans fired their second discharge at ten paces; as calmly as though they were at a review, and with as much precision as before a target. Neither party had time to reload, but, rushing on, closed with their bayonets; and here the republicans, being regularly armed, had a

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decided advantage. The royalists began to give way; rank after rank fell before their powerful enemies. The priest, perceiving this, gave a sign, and in an instant every torch was extinguished, and the warfare carried on in total darkness. In the midst of the scene of carnage and disorder which ensued, the words "Mercy! mercy!" were pronounced in a heart-rending voice at the feet of Marceau, who was in the act of striking the soldier now clinging to his knees. He paused. It was a young Vendéen, disarmed, who sought to escape from this terrible conflict. "Mercy!" he repeated, "for the love of heaven, save me!" The General drew him a few paces from the field of battle, to avoid the notice of his soldiers, but was soon forced to stop the stranger had fainted. Marceau felt surprised at this excess of terror in a soldier, but he nevertheless hastened to assist him; and on unbuckling his helmet, to give him air, he discovered by the long flowing tresses which escaped that it was a woman he had saved! Not an instant was to be lost. The orders of the Convention were strict: "Every Vendéen found carrying arms, or joining an assemblage, be their age or sex what it would, was to perish on the scaffold." Placing her under a tree, Marceau hastened back to the field of battle. Among the dead he distinguished a young republican officer, whose height and size appeared to him to correspond with that of the unknown, and, hastily despoiling him of his uniform and helmet, he returned to his charge, whom the fresh air of the night had nearly restored to consciousness. "My father! my father!" were her first words, as, partly raising herself, she passed her hand rapidly across her brow, as if to collect her scattered senses, "I have abandoned him! he is killed !" "No, Mad. Blanche,” said a voice from behind her, "the Marquis de Beaulieu lives; he is saved! Vive le Roi!" He who uttered these words disappeared like a shadow, but not before Blanche had recognized the faithful follower of her house. "Tinguy! Tinguy !" she exclaimed, stretching her arms whence the sound came. "Silence!" said Marceau, "one word will betray you, and then even I cannot save you, though I would wish to do so. Put on these clothes, and wait here." He again repaired to the scene of conflict. The royalists were entirely routed, and many of them taken prisoners. Giving his troops orders to retire towards Chollet, and leaving his colleague in command, he returned to Blanche, whom he found ready equipped to follow him. They directed their steps towards the high road which traverses the forest, where Marceau's servant awaited him with led horses. Here his embarrassment increased, for he feared his prisoner would not be able to manage her

steed so as to use all the expedition he knew was necessary; but he was quickly re-assured by seeing her vault into the saddle with all the ease and grace of the most accomplished horseman. She smiled faintly on observing his surprise, and said "You would not be astonished, did you know all the circumstances which have made every manly exercise familiar to me." "At some future period I will hear them, said Marceau; "our object must now be to gain Chollet as quickly as possible: so give your steed the rein, and follow me." He spurred his horse into a gallop, and in half an hour they entered the town. Proceeding to the Hotel de Sans-Culottes, he engaged two rooms, and, conducting his charge to one of them, recommended her to lie down in the clothes she then wore, and endeavour to gain a little of the repose she so much needed, after the horrors of the past night. Youth is a period in which misery appears so foreign to existence that it seems almost impossible to become familiarized with it. Thus, Blanche, notwithstanding the deserted state in which she found herself, could still look forward with hope to the future. The soft voice and elegant figure of the republican general had already made an impression on her young heart. The idea of death—of the scaffold-never once entered her mind, for Marceau had said "I will save you."

The General quickly laid his plans: one only method of saving Blanche appeared practicable, which was to convey her himself to Nantes, where his family then lived. For three years he had not seen either his mother or sisters, and now, finding himself within a few miles of their residence, he determined to wait immediately on the general-in-chief, to acquaint him with the success of his late expedition, and at the same time solicit him for leave of absence. This he obtained without difficulty; and in a few hours he and his young charge set out on their journey. No sooner did he find himself alone with Blanche, than he claimed her promise of detailing to him the events of her past life; for he already felt a lively interest in the young stranger so unexpectedly thrown upon him for With a touching simplicity she related the following circumstances. Having lost her mother when very young, she had become the sole companion of her father, the Marquis de Beaulieu ; and was accustomed, from her earliest years, to share with him the chace, and all the manly sports of the age, After the insurrection of La Vendée broke out, she was thus enabled to show her devotion to her fond parent, by following him in the disguise she wore when Marceau found her. Perceiving how deeply the young General was interested in the recital, she went on to relate all the fatigues

succour.

and terrors she had undergone from the taking of St. Florent till the night on which he had saved her life. The city of Nantes broke upon their sight as she finished her tale; and in a few minutes Marceau was in the arms of his family. His first welcome over, he presented to them his young fellow-traveller. A few words were sufficient to interest them in her behalf; his sisters vied with each other in showing her the most delicate attentions; and on her expressing a wish to exchange her present dress for one more becoming her sex, conducted her to their apartments, where they assisted her to array herself in a more suitable costume, selected from their own wardrobe.

Prepossessed as the young General was already in her favour by the sweet simplicity, mingled with the womanly dignity, she had displayed throughout their intercourse, he could not conceal his admiration when he beheld her striking beauty, as, on returning to the room, she smilingly extended her hand towards him. Blanche could not but perceive the impression she had made, and a sensation of delight arose in her mind as she did so. For the first time in her life she became conscious of the full value of personal charms; and she inwardly thanked heaven for having so plentifully bestowed them on her. All was joy and happiness under one roof in Nantes on that evening.

Days passed rapidly on. Every hour Marceau became more convinced of the danger of remaining in Blanche's society, yet found it impossible to tear himself away. It was vain to attempt to conceal his passion; it was visible in his every look and action. On one occasion he presented to her the most costly ornaments, but she could not be prevailed upon to accept any. "Do jewels become my situation?" she replied sadly, "while my father is probably begging his bread from cottage to cottage, a homeless outcast, with a price set on his head ; myself a proscribed fugitive! No! my simplicity will hide me from observation, and remember, discovery would be ruin." Then, on seeing how much he was hurt by her refusal, she said more gaily, "Well, then, I will take this," selecting from the ornaments before her a small artificial red rose," and wear it in memory of your kindness." A fortnight still remained before the expiration of his leave of absence, when Marceau suddenly received an order to return immediately to his regiment, and join the army in the west of France. He was astonished and dismayed beyond measure at this unexpected command. One thing was certain—it must be obeyed; to hesitate was to be lost.

Must he, then, leave her who had become dear to him as his own

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