After she had left the room, Monsieur Blanque explained his mishap, and begged that a servant might be permitted to accompany him in his search for the missing boot. Gaston proposed that a servant should go alone. The idea made the cloth dealer tremble. Wearing a pair of Gaston's slippers, he set out, attended by old Berthe, who was "general utility" at the château.

Old Berthe took off his shoes, and wading into the slough, succeeded in finding the boot with its precious contents. Monsieur Blanque was not usually generous, but in his joy, he actually gave Berthe a fivefranc piece-it is only fair, however, to state that he first searched in vain for a smaller sum.

While old Berthe was rooting in the mud for the boot, Monsieur Blanque had found something else. This treasure trove was a package wrapped in a handkerchief. With

his usual caution, the cloth dealer, unobserved by his attendant, slipped the package under his cloak. The packet had not lain long on the road, he surmised, for the handkerchief was but slightly damp. haps it belonged to Comte de Francheville or the unknown young girl. Monsieur Blanque determined to examine it.

Per

When he and Gaston had partaken of the petit souper-served with a display of plate and old china that infinitely increased the guest's respect for the house of Francheville-he asked to be shown to his room. Alone, in the large square chamber, with a canopied

"In case of accident to me open this, but not until you reach Nantes. "Your mother,

"Y. M."

Monsieur Blanque did not hesitate to tear this cover. Beneath it he found an envelope addressed to "Madame la Comtesse de Francheville."

The cloth merchant was mean by nature, and therefore unscrupulously curious. He was sure now that the young girl had dropped the packet. It belonged neither to Gaston nor to the driver. What could this unknown girl have to do with the mistress of the château ? His curiosity was intensely excited. He held the envelope between his eyes and the candle, vainly endeavoring to get an inkling of its contents. He gave the attempt up, and laying the envelope on the table, tried to compose himself to sleep. Who was this young woman? Madame de Francheville did not seem to know her. Who was the mysterious Y. M.? He puzzled himself with numerous conjectures. He could not sleep. He rose, and again took the envelope in his hand. It bore no seal. fling the voice of conscience, he moistened the gummed flap of the envelope, and gradually, carefully opened it. He read the following words, in French:

Sti

"LA COMTESSE DE FRANCHEVILLE.

"MADAME: To you, the oldest friend and neighbor of my father, I address myself. A glance at the

signature appended to this letter, will at once remind you of my story, for you know it well. When I became the wife of Bernard Moore, and my father, in consequence, disowned me, we-Bernard and I sailed for America, the native land of my husband. There we lived for twenty years-years which would have been of unmixed happiness, had my father sent one forgiving word across the sea. I used to think him cruel. I know now that he was just. Four years ago Bernard died, and I was left with one daughter, Adèle. Of four children, she alone lived. The death of my husband reduced us from comparative affluence to poverty. Twice I wrote to my father. No answer came. I should have sunk into despair, Madame, for the consequence of my sin was very bitter, had not the holy consolations of the Church crowned my repentance, and given me resignation.

"In the latter part of last year, I received, through the French Consul at New York, a letter from you. You told me that my father had forgiven me. I blessed you for those words, Madame! But my joy was bitter, his cold, dead lips could never speak that forgiveness.

"I answered your letter, and with Adèle, started at once for Europe. The fear that you may not have received my answer causes me to write this.

"My daughter has not been informed of the motive of our voyage. I have been fearful lest there might be some mistake-fearful that my father might have willed his estate to another. The realization of this fear would be terrible to me, and a crushing disappointment, I have no doubt, to Adèle. I am not avaricious, Madame, but poverty has taught me the value of wealth. I have determined that Adèle shall know nothing until it is certain beyond doubt that I am the heiress of the Marquis de Saluces.

"Adèle will come to you with this letter. Read it privately, and if my hope be unfounded, burn this paper. Do not let Adèle know of the disappointment. Judging her nature by mine, I am sure that the knowledge would embitter her life. If it be as I fear, I implore you, by the memory of my father's friendship for you and your late husband, to provide for her in France, or send her back to New York.

"On Adèle's finger you will see the only souvenir of my father's kindness, a ring bearing his crest.

"May Mary, Immaculate Mother of the unprotected, guard her well, and reward you for aught of kindness you may do in her behalf. YOLANTHE MOORE,

"née DE SALUCES."

This strange young woman was then the granddaughter of the Marquis de Saluces!

Monsieur Blanque's curiosity was satisfied. How was he to restore the packet to its original appearance? how make the envelope look as if it had never been opened? These were questions. A new idea entered his mind. The letter he had just read plainly stated that Adèle Moore was unaware of the object that had brought her mother to France. And without this letter how was Madame de Francheville to know that the heiress of the Marquis de Saluces had arrived at the château?

During the day Monsieur Blanque had been on a collecting tour through the neighboring country, and he had met many garrulous people and asked many questions. He had obtained some scrap of information about every family of note in the vicinity. Among other things, he had learned that the Marquis de Saluces had lately died, bequeathing his entire wealth to a daughter in America, and SO Monsieur Blanque knew that Yolanthe Moore's hope was not groundless.

"Madame de Francheville will not be blind to her own interest," Monsieur Blanque reasoned; "if I give her the letter, she will marry the rich Mademoiselle to Monsieur Gaston; and why should I be blind to my own interest? Why should I not gain the prize? I am not old; I am, they tell me, not positively hideous; I am, I flatter myself, of good address."

And Monsieur Blanque tried to imagine the envy of his fellowbourgeois of Bordeaux, when it should be known that he-Jérémie Hercule Blanque, of the firm of Drap et Blanque-was the husband of the heiress de Saluces. His face flushed at the thought of the brilliant prospect before him. But it paled in an instant, and his cloud castle faded away. The girl's name and the ring! Madame de Francheville would surely recognize them.

In feverish haste he returned to the letter, in search of something to dispel his fear. In the envelope he found a certificate of the mar riage of Bernard Moore and Adèle de Saluces. There were several other papers of importance, but nothing that he wanted just now. Again he re-read every word of the letter. He found a postscript crowded on three lines at the end of the last page. He had overlooked it.

"You will deem me over cautious, Madame, when you read that I changed my name while en route, for a weak woman has everything to fear when travelling; besides my means were small, and I did not wish it to be known that ladies of our name and condition were reduced to take passage in the steerage. I have assumed the middle name of my husband-Martinthat none might suspect our coming and going."

"Women are fools," remarked Monsieur Blanque, somewhat relieved," and it is well for men.”

The ring would have to take its chance of recognition. Monsieur Blanque climbed into the canopied bed, to dream that under the title of Marquis de Saluces he had been appointed Prime Minister to his Satanic Majesty, and to awake frightened by the thought that even sponging would not secure cloth against fire!

Next morning at breakfast, Monsieur Blanque met Gaston and his mother.

Madame de Francheville was at least sixty years of age, but she seemed ten years younger. Her features were small and regular, her skin pure white and scarcely wrinkled, and the dainty puffs of snowy hair arranged above her forehead added to the beauty of her complexion. She was proud of her pride and her exquisite taste in dress. Of these two qualities, she had sufficient to have stocked all the De Franchevilles since the days of Bertrand du Gueselin. She was a devoted adherent of the fallen empire, and since the Emperor's death, she had never failed on every opportunity to indulge in a little sentimental grief. This morning

her negligé of white and purple was perfect, and Monsieur Blanque was fascinated by the lace at her throat and wrists. He knew the value of it. After the weather and the state of Madame's health had been disposed of, he asked about the "heroine of last night's adventure,” as he phrased it.

"She is not well, poor thing! She has a slight fever, and I have sent for a physician. I hope her malady is not contagious." And Madame shivered.

"Pauvre demoiselle!" said Gas

ton. "It is strange that she ventured out alone last night. She seemed from her appearance to be a lady. Is it not so, Madame ?”

"It is impossible to tell, Gaston. There is no dividing line between the classes under this vilain gou

vernement provisoire, and everybody is a lady. But the poor child has not the air of a common person. It was certainly improper that she should be out last night without an attendant, but then, I have reason to believe she's an American, and one never knows what to expect from them-the Americans. Why, when I was in Paris "

This one visit to Paris was the crown and glory of Madame's life. Having heard every detail of it at least a score of times, Gaston was anxious to avoid the interesting subject; he was also curious about the young girl.

"Why do you think she is an American, Madame?"

"Politeness, Gaston, should teach you never to interrupt a lady," returned Madame, freezingly. "I was about to observe, Monsieur Blanque, that when I was in Paris some years ago, there were at Meurice's two demoiselles Americaines who rode in the Bois every afternoon. Their dress was outré in the extreme; their appearance very singular. It was said that their modiste had made a fortune in arranging bizarre toilets for them. One day, when the Emperor and Empress were riding in the Bois, one of these demoiselles stopped her horse immediately in front of the imperial carriage. The coachman, of course, reined in his horses, to avoid a collision. The other demoiselle at once rode up to the side of the imperial vehicle, and holding out her hand, said, 'I've made a wager to shake hands with your majesty in the Bois, and I'll do it! Donnez-moi la main, vieux drôle.' What was it, Gaston?" Madame sunk back in her chair, and fanned herself with her handkerchief, as if the audacious words were too much for her.

Gaston knew the anecdote by heart, and he was well prepared to take up the thread.

"Give me your hand, old fellow, VOL. VII.-6

here's my paw!" he laughed, giving the words in English. "And now, Madame, how do you know that our young lady is of the nation of those bold demoiselles ?"

"And she actually shook hands with the Emperor-truly, Monsieur Blanque!" pursued Madame, not to be diverted from her story. "The poor Emperor-requiescat in pace!" she continued, brushing away an imaginary tear with a handkerchief bordered with imperial violets. Having divided an instant of silence between her grief and the measuring of the exact quantity of cream she could endure in her coffee, Madame at last condescended to answer her son's question. "I discovered some cards in the young woman's pocket-book as I was searching for her address-for one doesn't care to have a sick person on one's hands, you know. On the cards was written, 'Adèle Martin, New York.' I found no address."

Monsieur Blanque silently congratulated himself on the sharpness of his intellect. What should be his next move? He resolved to keep Madame in a good humor at all events. He respectfully expressed ardent admiration for Madame's lace, and offered to procure her some marvellous ochre-tinted Valenciennes at a remarkably low price. He called her "Countess" as often as he could. Madame allowed herself to be pleased, and concluded that the cloth merchant knew his place.

"One forgets time in the society of Madame la Comtesse," said he, rising from the table," doubtless the cabriolet is waiting."

"The cabriolet started two hours ago," said Gaston. "Pierre's lazy conscience began this morning to reproach him for his delay, and when old Berthe had called you once he started for Nantes."

Monsieur Blanque waxed indig nant. "Three thousand devils!-pardon, Madame la Comtesse! 'Tis

ance to start without its passenger! It's incredible! I will complain to the proprietaire! I will complain to the maire! Parbleu! a thousand devils, Madame-pardons, I would say, Madame la Comtesse! I will"

"You had better take it quietly," said Gaston. "Pierre is sole owner of the cabriolet, and if you complain to anybody he will surely manage to put you in the wrong. There is nobody equal to Pierre for making excuses. Besides, he is not bound to wait until his passenger chooses to rise. It is raining now. I will order the carriage if Monsieur is impatient."

Madame de Francheville entertained no thought of ordering her stately equipage merely for the convenience of a bourgeois.

"Nantes is only four miles away," she insinuated, "but I am sure Berthe will never allow the horses to be taken out on such a day. Old servants are such tyrants, Monsieur! When the rain ceases the walk from here to Nantes will be quite pleasant. If Monsieur wishes it, however—”

"Oh, no, Madame! By no

I am a

means! I like to walk.
lover of nature and exercise."

"You delight me, Monsieur; we have kindred tastes." Gaston had already left the room. Madame rose to follow his example. "Will Madame la Comtesse favor me with a moment's conversation?" Monsieur Blanque had decided on his move. Madame, stiffly bending her neck in assent, returned to 'her seat.

"I am an eccentric man, Madame la Comtesse. I am charitable -too charitable for my own temporal good, for this world has many bad hearts. I am also impulsive, Madame, foolishly impulsive."

Madame smiled sweetly, and looked at her watch.

When I saw that poor young

Monsieur Blanque placed one. hand on his heart, and assumed an attitude. For the moment he really believed that he was doing something very generous and heroic.

"Eh bien!" said Madame, placidly taking out her gold and ivory bonbonnière. "But suppose the girl requires no protector."

"In that case, Madame la Comtesse, my good intention will be its own reward. I am unmarried. I desire a wife. My soul is an abyss of pity for this young girl. If you find that she is friendless, inform me. I will leave my address. During the two coming months I will remain at the inn of the Golden Horse, Nantes. If this girl is penniless, if she is wholly without dot, I care not. My fortune is sufficient for both."

Overcome by the thought of his own disinterestedness he actually wept. Madame thought it only proper to draw out her own violetembroidered handkerchief and apply it to her eyeglass. Although the man was a bourgeois and a fool, one must be polite, you comprehend?

"I will think of your proposition, Monsieur. It is a decided novelty to have an utter stranger thrown on one's hands, and to receive an offer of marriage for her from another stranger."

"You will do a good action by mentioning my offer to her, and if she is homeless-"

"She will, if she is prudent, accept it."

66 It is customary to present a slight gift to the promoter of the marriage, and if the Valenciennes of which-_??

"Very well, Monsieur," said