"Harmless indeed," replied the surly husband; "and how do you know that?" "She is perfectly right, however," cried Henry; "I assure you that you have nothing to apprehend from me." "Why," said the peasant, "it would to be sure be strange if you did not speak well of yourself; but I think I see a storm coming ou, and so at all events you may stay." Henry, thanking his host for this ungracious permission, advanced to the fire, and taking a seat, was about to place himself in it, but the peasant rudely pulled it from him. By the mass," cried he, “ thou art a pretty || fellow, to seat thyself at my fireside without my leave: what, dost thou not know the respect which is due to the master of the house?" "I bad forgotten it, I confess," replied the monarch, who in spite of himself could not refrain from a smile; "but I trust you will not be hospitable by halves, but allow me to rest, and give me some supper, for in truth 1 am very hungry." "Thou shouldst have been a courtier, I think," cried the peasant; "for thou hast suf ficient assurance to ask for any thing; patience, however, my good friend, it is not my supper time yet, and I would not alter my hour for his majesty." While he spoke a very pretty girl came from an inner room, and making a bashful obeisance, to the stranger, seated herself by the hostess The King, ever an admirer of beauty, gazed upon the fair Nina (which was her name) with admiration.-"Is this sweet girl your daugh ter?" asked he. The peasant replied in the affirmative, and Henry could not refrain from praising her beauty and wishing her a good husband, "She is an obstinate fool," replied her father; "or else I should have seen her well married before this time; but she must fall in love forsooth, and with one as poor as herself too, like a disobedient baggage as she is." "My dear father," cried Nina in an imploring tone. "Don't dear me," said the surly peasant. "Iwill be judged by the stranger here, whether thou art not the greatest fool in the world. You must know," continued he, "that Nina has been offered the band of one of the first men in the adjoining village, one who possesses property enough to maintain her like a lady, and yet she has rejected him, for the sake of a beggar; for you know very well," continued be, turning spitefully to his daughter, "that Louis Decency is nothing more." "Well, but husband," interrupted the wife, you should not be too harsh with Nina: recollect, that almost from the time of her birth, Louis and she were never separated till you forbade her seeing him, after his father became so unfortunate; he would not have been a beggar, had not that wicked Antoine seized his father's property so unjustly, when Nina refused him her hand.” "Hey day!" said the peasant; "what, do you too, take the part of this disobedient wretch; be silent I charge you, or I shall think you as bad as ber." It was evident that the peasant was master in his own house, for his wife made no reply, and the sweet features of Nina, which during her mother's speech had brightened a little, resumed their pensive cast. • "Thou shalt not long wear the look of sorrow," thought the benevolent Henry, as be gazed upon the interesting girl, whose future felicity with her beloved Louis, he internally determined should be his future care.-" You must not be too rash with your daughter," said he to the peasant; "she is a charming girl, and if her mind equals her form, she is worthy of a monarch?" "Why, in truth," answered the peasant, "I should be sorry if our Henry was to see her." "And wherefore?" asked the King. "Wherefore," repeated the peasant; "why, where have you lived, not to know that the King is a devil of a fellow amongst the women?" "He is then a very bad man," replied the | Monarch, who wished to hear his own charac ter from the mouth of his surly host. "A bad man," cried he, angrily," and who told you that our Henry was a bad man? What, our good King, the father of his people, to be abused under my roof, and by such a one as you; I believe that you are of the League, and if I was sure of it, you should not stop here a moment longer." "You are mistaken," said the King, 66 SO far from being of the League, there is not a man in France, who is a more hearty well wisher to Henry than myself, but yet I am sensible that he has a great many faults, and you must allow it." "I shall not allow any such thing; I tell thee that he is the father of his people." "But his fonduess for women," resumed the monarch, "there you must own him highly reprehensible." "And why so," cried the peasant, “the women are as fond of him as he is of them; and if his nights are given to his mistresses, his days are spent in providing for the welfare of his people, whom he loves with all his heart, and for whom he daily exposes himself to danger and hardship; God bless him, and preserve him from bis enemies; by the mass, if I had them in my power, I would shoot every one of them as readily as I would so many wolves." The affectionate heart of the monarch glowed with pleasure at this rude, but sincere tribute to his worth. Supper was by this time ready, and Henry wanted no intreaty to induce him to partake, with an excellent appetite, of the homely meal, to which he sat down with the family. While they were at table, a young peasant entered the cottage, at the sight of whom, the host started from his seat :—" What brings you here?" demanded he,|| angrily. "To see my Nina for the last time," said the peasant in a voice of agitation; "to-morrow I quit my native village never, I hope, to return to it." Ah, what became of the tender Nina at hearing these words from the lips of her lover; forgetful of the presence of her father, she started up, and would have flown to the embrace of her dear Louis, but her strength for sook her, and she sunk motionless into the arms of her mother. “And will you,” cried Louis, throwing him- || self at the feet of the peasant, "will you break the heart of your daughter by sundering us for ever? will you devote me also to destruction? for if I quit my Nina I shall seek death in battle." No. XXXIII. Vol. V.-N. S "I care not where you seck it," returned the inexorable father; "leave my house this moment." "Oh, no, in pity, my father," cried Nina, who recovered her senses just as he uttered the last words, and springing towards him, threw herself beside her lover at his feet. Henry had beheld beauty glowing in all the pride of youth and vivacity, but never had he been so touched, so interested as at this moment; Nina's fine dark eyes were fixed upon her father with a look of intreaty which might have softened the heart even of a savage, while the paleness which despair spread over her beautiful features, gave additional interest to one of the loveliest countenances in the world. The sight of his daughter's distress evidently softened the rough old man." What can I do?" cried he, after a pause; "you know, Louis, you are not in a situation to marry-no, no, I cannot consent." "Yes, you will," said Henry, with vivacity. "I will provide for your daughter and her husband." "You will provide !" cried the peasant, in an incredulous tone; "my good friend you have certainly lost your senses; go, Louis," pursued he, "I cannot consent, and you must give up all thoughts of Nina." Before the King could interpose, the horn was sounded, and in a moment some of his Majesty's attendants entered the cottage. He had been missed from the camp, and his faithful followers, terrified at the danger which he incurred in wandering alone through a country, where fanaticism had raised him so many enemies, had sent a large party. in search of him; these dispersing, took different routes, and on entering the cottage, their exclamation of "Thank Heaven! your Majesty is safe," struck the peasant and his family with astonishment. The old man advancing, threw himself at the feet of the King. "I crave pardon, Sire," cried be. "What," answered Henry, affably, "for having spoken well of me?" "No, Sire, but for the rudeness with which I treated you while I was in ignorance." "My friend," interrupted the monarch, "I PP APPROACHING the Prince with respectful tenderness, he asked his consent to the marriage of his daughter with Gherardini. Hannibal did not hesitate to accord it; he even thought he might make the offer to Adolfo of augmenting the marriage portion of the beautiful Stefanina, but Rinaldi refused it.—" A wife," said he, "should bring no other dowry to her husband than gentleness and virtue; and riches are but too apt to destroy in a female heart the only qualities which constitute the happiness of their husbands." However, the infamous Des Rochers had not beheld without jealousy the marks of esteem with which the Prince had distinguished the valiant Rinaldi, and he determined on his ruin. Des Roehers, born in France, of obscure parents, united to the most relaxed priuciples the most cunning mind: a single glauce was sufficient to enable him to see and to take hold of the weak side of the most artfu! characters. The ardent nature of the Prince did not escape his penetrating eye, and he judged that to second the unbridled desires of Hannibal was the surest road to that fortune and honour he was ambitious to obtain: he began by rendering himself agreeable, and finished by making himself necessary. His atrocious mind easily familiarized with crime, he joyfully committed it, as it was advantageous to his views and to the accomplishment of his Prince's wishes. Sabionetta, and there was not a family in the duchy who did not weep for a daughter or a sister seduced or violated by the satellites or artifices of the Prince, who was become the execration of his subjects. Adolfo alone restrained the hatred of the public; he was dear to the soldiery, who cheerfully obeyed him, were ever submissive, and kept the people under subordination. Alas! Adolfo was far from foresceing the abyss which his cowardly opponent was opening for him. He set off for Ripafratta, carrying with him the satisfaction of having seen that time had not effaced from the heart of Hannibal the remembrance of his services, and enjoying the pleasure of announcing to his daughter that the husband whom her inclination and her duty had chosen was agreeable to the Prince. The gentle Stefanina awaited the return of her father with all the impatience of love and the anxiety of fear. Her lover, no less agitated than herself, suffered his imagination to lengthen out the time which yet separated them and delayed his happiness, when Rinaldi arrived. He asked for his future son-in-law, who had passed over into Casale during the absence of Adolfo; and Gherardini arriving instantly on the orders of Rinaldi, learned from his own lips that the morrow was the day fixed for his union with the lovely Stefanina. The day was passed in preparations for their jour ney; for Rinaldi had told them that immedi. Des Rochers had spread terror through ately after the ceremony they would mount their horses and repair to Sabio: etta, where {| however, dissipated her fears, and made her the Prince had requested they should keep their wedding. Although Stefanina did not murmur, it was not without regret that she heard the com mand to quit her present way of life, and encounter the bustle of the world in that mo ment when her happiness could be found only in retirement and in the sole soci-ty of an adored husband, who would have taught her to enjoy every heartfelt delight by his own sentiments and feelings. This was the first time that Stefanina, failed to perform with pleasure the commands of her father; her tears flowed in spite of all her efforts, and in spite of all the happiness she pomised herself in her union with Gherardini, he experienced only melancholy sensations in her inmost soul. Often she would wish her marriage to be delayed, in order to put off the instant when the misfortunes which her imagination had assured her were about to overwhelm her as she quitted the altar which should witness her vows. Night came; Gherardini remamei, for the first time, at the Cas le of Ripafratts, and retiring to the apartment which had been destined for him, he gave himself up to the pleasure of thinking on those joys which the morrow would give to him; his heart anticipated them, and such was the enchanting image which his imagination gave to the future, that he thought the delicious moments of certainty too tardy in their arrival. Alas! poor Stefanina was far from xperiencing such delight; her terrified spirit seemed to see only disasters; she trembled for her father, her husband, and herself, while dark forebodings tormeated her incessantly. It seemed as if some infernal power, jealous of the happiness which she was about to enjoy, 10%jured up phantoms to destroy the peace of so pure a spirit; or rather it seemed as if Heaven, who formed woman of a clay more pure than that from which it created man, had given them also an higher degree of feeling to r nder them able to receive that prophetic in piration with which they are some imes animated: whatever it might be, Stefanina saw the morning break only with terror; she shuddered as the sound of the bell called her to the chapel; love, hasten her steps to the apartment of her father. She found him animated with joy at the idea of the happiness he was about to procure for his daughter; be embraced her with tenderness, and said to her," Stefanina, thou wilt pass from the arms of a tender parent into those of a fond husband; remember that I give up to him all my rights; never take advantage of his tenderness, if you wish never to feel the weight of his authority; your husband has every qualification to constitute the appiness of a virtuous woman; but he has also that strength of mind which will render him master over his affections when it is his duty to sacrifice them to what is just and right, beware of failing in your duties towards him; your husband otherwise will become your tyrant, ad you will find no longer a support in your fa her." Never before had so much severity been known in the counsels of Rinaldi to his daughter; nor ever had he sought more by his carresses to make her forget whatever might have been too harsh in his expressions. Stefanina, comfort d by the testimonies of affection which er father lavished on her, suffered her heart to pour forth the torrent of tenderness with which it was overwhelmed, and forgetting all the anxietics of the past night, its phantoms and the terrors of ear a ly dawn, she saw only happiness in view, and she followed her father to the altar, where the impatient Gherardini awaited her. Stefau:na looked like the just opening rose, while Gherardini was like the sua when, issuing from the gates of the east, he sheds light and life on the whole creation. At the awful sound of the sacred v ws which the minister of God pronounced to bless their union, the tender bride heaved a gentle sigh which added to their extatic charm, as he promised to ive only for her faithful Gherardini, who, intoxicated with the most delightful sentiment, led her from the chapel to the door where their horses awaited them, and from whence they departed, accompanied by Ri naldi and some esquires. The atrocious Des Rochers was the cause of this journey. He had found means to persuade the Prince that to celebrate the wed ding in the palace of Sabionetta would give it more popularity than elsewhere; besides he could not better honour the man who had taught his father arms, than in taking upon himself to make the fortune of his family. But these motives which he had placed before the eyes of Hannibal, were not those which had determined him to draw Rinaldi, Stefanina, and her husband to Sabionetta: the monster proposed to carry off the bride of the valiant Gherardini, and it was with this intention that he had engaged to invite the new married pair to his Court. Des Rochers was aware that Rinaldi did not know he had enemies in his neighbourhood, and Le began his journey without any precaution, because he had no suspicion, and Gherardini would ensure the safety of his father-in-law, and follow his example of security; consequently a few ruffians which Des Roehers had always in pay, would be sufficient to render him master of St fanina, after having killed Rinaldi and Gherardi, and put their suite to flight. Between Sabionetta and Ripafratta there was a little thick and lonely wood, and it was there Des Rochers posted himself with his troop. Rinaldi soon made his appearance, when Des Roebers, who was completely armed, let down his vizor, and followed by his men, rushed from bis ambuscade, and couching his lance, darted on Rinaldi, who adreitly parrying the lance, let fail a terrible blow with his sword on the helmet of the murderer; Rinaldi was about to repeat the blow, and gain a triumph || perhaps, although in his ordinary habits, against a man completely armed, when a ball from an a quebuse struck his horse, and he fell dead over his rider. While the hardy Adolfo, stunned by his fall, lay extended on the ground, Des Rochers flew to Stefanina, and lifting her from her palfrey and seating her before him upon the horse he rode, set off on full gallop, leaving to his satellites the care of getting rid of Rinaldi and Gherardini But Gherardini was no such easy prey; by the help of the two esquires he faced the assail. ants, and two amongst them were already desperately wounded, when the intrepid Gherardini received a sabre wound in his left arm, and at the same time a stroke on the head which caused him to fall senseless between the horse's feet. At this sight the esquires, already wounded, fled from the field of battle, and the bandits, content with their victory, retired for fear that the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages might run to the place at the noise of the combat, and give information of the authors of this crime, and for which all Lombardy would cry aloud for vengeance. However, Des Rochers had caused his prey to be shut up in the castle at the gates of Sobionetta, which contained a woman as corrupt as himself, and with whom he had long maintained a criminal correspondence. Donna Biauca, for it was to her care that Des Rochers had confided the virtuous Stefanina, sought at first to assure her of her safety, and to inspire her with confidence; but the daughter of Rinaldi seemed as if annihilated with sorrow, all her senses appeared frozen; she shed no tears, and Donna Bianca judging that the idea of her misfortunes had left too deep an impression on her mind for any thing to diminish its agony, ceased to speak to her, and ordered her to be left alone in her chamber, which was now her prison. While things were in this train at the castle of Donna Bianca, the valiant Rinaldi recovered from his swoon, disengaged his left leg which remained under his wounded horse, and snatching up his sword, sought to avenge his fall by the death of some of his enemies; but the brave old man saw himself only surrounded by dead corpses; the two Esquires had perished in fighting in his defence, Stefanina had disappeared, and her husband lay weltering in his blood, proving to the eyes of Rinaldi that he had only abandoned his bride with life. However, an unaccountable cmotion caused him to inspect the wounds of his sonin-law; he found him wounded only in the arm, and be attributed to that only the ap pearance of death which spread itself over the person of Gherardini, and also from the loss of blood. He bound up the wound, and heard a gentle groan; this gave hopes to the brave man; a neighbouring brook offered its pure waters, and he bathed the face and temples of his unfortunate son, who coming to himself, |