268 CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND. CHÉRIE LESCROque. "Heart, thou wilt grieve no more, Storm cloud, and gloom are o'er, Fate smiles at length, on The web she hath wove, Gives one to love me, Heart! AUTHOR. A MONTH had passed, and young Steyne was no longer a stranger in the pleasant little room at Queen-street. It took a prominent part in all his day-dreams. The labour of the long hours was lightened by the anticipation of the evening; when, with a lover's speed, he betook himself to the presence of his beloved. Oh frailty of human resolve!-oh potency of circumstance!-where are now the vows of vengeance, the dedication of a lifetime! Scant leisure had young Steyne for such ideas: occupied in recollection or anticipation of the moments when, gazing into the sparkling eyes, listening to the piquant chatter, of Chérie Lescroque, he forgot the Past, and looked not to the Future, his whole life centred in the Present. Long before that month had gone by, Philip had learned the romantic history of the pretty brunette; YOUTH'S PARADISE. 269 how her father had been exiled from his country, "for reasons what you call politique," - his death - the struggles of her young life-her loneliness-had all been related with the broken speech, the abandon de douleur, the pretty pantomine of touching helplessness. Like himself, she was forlorn and solitary, appealing for sympathy and love, to a heart yearning to bestow them, and Philip yielded, without a question, to the attraction. Evening after evening found him a welcome visitor at Chérie's little home. The toils, the annoyances, the hardships of the day, were all forgotten in the sunshine of that smile which greeted him; or as he paused upon the stairs to listen, delaying a fuller happiness in the pleasure of hearing the clear voice of his darling, trilling out some favourite song. What though bully Tom had railed or cursed? What, though work was slack, and wages fallen ?-As he made his hasty though careful toilet at his poor lodging, as he pictured her look, which in a few moments he should meet, as he rehearsed involuntarily all he would tell her-did he bear one grudge against Fortune or humanity? His fare might have been of the scantiest, his limbs ache with cold, his bed hard as the floor; but did he envy the wealthiest ? What noble would he have changed places with, when, kneeling at her feet, her long black tresses showering upon his head and shoulder, he heard again and again the assurance in that broken speech, dearer to him than music: "Yese, Philippe, you are my ami, so very deare and goode." The king upon the throne might envy him, he thought; for had he not Chérie ? -Sweet, dear Chérie-was she not his ?-his only ? Mine own!-how jealously the god clings to this first condition!-this test of the reality of his empire -how imperatively rejects the shadow of another's right or claim-mine alone! How the white teeth glistened, how the bright eyes danced, as she laid down that everlasting embroidery, and extended her hands at his approach. In her tasteful attire and coquettish head-dress she was pretty to any eyes-to the young lover earth never yielded vision half so fair. How she loved him!-How gracefully she accepted his humble offerings-pure as they were, how much she made of them. The ribbon, the bracelet, the smart apron-unworthy of her as he knew they were—how her eyes sparkled, and her broken accents extolled the goodness of " Ce cher bon Philippe." He, poor lad, had, not unlikely, half-starved himself for a week to make the offering upon the shrine of his deity, who smiled graciously upon all, even to the dainty pâtés and choice fruits, with which, in default of more costly gifts, he was wont to deck her little tea-table; and to do the pretty Lescroque justice, she made no secret of how she enjoyed these bon-bouches, which her devoted admirer made but a pretence of sharing. Reward enough for him, to sit at her feet, (upon the cushion of poor Bonbon defunct,) to watch the progress of her swift fingers covering the delicate muslin with the flowers and leaves of her own ingenious devices -to listen to her sweet broken talk-to guess at the meaning of sentences in her native tongue: and make attempts at it himself to be encouraged, chidden, and corrected by his laughing instructress-often to sit in silence, even happier perchance to steal a hand and hold it imprisoned-till the owner ransomed it upon his own terms, then used it for his chastisement.Ofttimes looking back upon his life and all its hardships, he would say, with tears in his eyes-"I would suffer it all again, Chérie, to have your love-dear, beautiful Chérie !" "You are my goode Philippe," was the reply: "you are so kind, you nevere forget bring me quelque chose--" "But you love me, Chérie; you'd love me if I couldn't bring you anything ?"-asked the eager lover, holding one of her hands. "Assurément qu'oui !-oh!-je t'aime toujours mon Philippe-there, you learn that now-n'est ce pas? you comprehend me ? "Yes, yes, I understand you quite, darling-" "Let me then now-allez-let me go; you see, I must put this in the cupboard, then I shall take home this work-" And with a long kiss upon it, the hand was let go. These walks, to take home Chérie's work, were welcome events. The bazaar for which she was employed in embroidering collars, sleeves, vests, and handkerchiefs, was quite on the other side of the town, and Philip enjoyed the duty of being her escort. His heart swelled with pride, his head was more erect, as her arm rested upon his, as he charged himself with her parcel. How carefully he guided her steps, how shielded her from contact with the rougher passengers, how courteously bent his ear even to her slightest remark. In those days beat the heart of a true gentleman under that coarse jacket of thine, Philip. On such occasions their return would be late; he was never permitted to enter the house. Chérie always insisted on parting at the corner of the street, though he would watch in shadow, till the door had closed upon her, and then hasten to his poor lodging and hard bed, glorifying all time and fate, that had sent him such a blessing. Pretty Chérie punctiliously observed a fixed hour for her lover's departure. There was no clock within hearing; but the sons of the old woman who kept the house came in at a certain time, and the clumping of their boots and the odour of their pipes gave the signal. Ten minutes were allowed for farewell, and off Philip must go. Meanwhile he had not stood still at the foundry. Better work and better pay he now got; and, to add to his comfort, Tom Hinton had taken his departure with a final blessing, in his own peculiar style, upon young Steyne, and a hope they should meet again. Tom had got a start in life, so he hinted-found patrons in some branch of art more lucrative than any he had yet put his hand to. With visions of happiness came reminiscences of old acquirements, and a strong wish to render himself more worthy of the prize he had obtained. Philip stole two evenings during the week, from his heart's worship, to attend the evening classes, held for young men at the Mechanics' Institute in the town. friend, the foreman, had procured for him the use of the library belonging to it, and many a volume was carried to the little home in Queen-street, there to be read, expounded, and explained to his queen. His None of the deepest or most edifying, doubtless, |