y
recollection. A right jolly old boy is Father Sebastien; indeed very
amusing at times."

"At times, yes," said Father Beret, who had no birth-mark on his
shoulder, and had never had one there, or on any other part of his
person.

"How strange!" Alice remarked, "I, too, have a mark on my shoulder--a
pink spot, just like a small, five-petaled flower. We must be of kin to
each other, Father Beret."

The priest laughed.

"If our marks are alike, that would be some evidence of kinship," he
said.

"But what shape is yours, Father?"

"I've never seen it," he responded.

"Never seen it! Why?"

"Well, it's absolutely invisible," and he chuckled heartily, meantime
glancing shrewdly at M. Roussillon out of the tail of his eye.

"It's on the back part of his shoulder," quickly spoke up M.
Roussillon, "and you know priests never use looking-glasses. The mark
is quite invisible therefore, so far as Father Beret is concerned!"

"You never told me of your birth-mark before, my daughter," said Father
Beret, turning to Alice with sudden interest. "It may some day be good
fortune to you."

"Why so, Father?"

"If your family name is really Tarleton, as you suppose from the
inscription on your locket, the birth-mark, being of such singular
shape, would probably identify you. It is said that these marks run
regularly in families. With the miniature and the distinguishing
birth-mark you have enough to make a strong case should you once find
the right Tarleton family."

"You talk as they write in novels," said Alice. "I've read about just
such things in them. Wouldn't it be grand if I should turn out to be
some great personage in disguise!"

The mention of novels reminded Father Beret of that terrible book,
Manon Lescaut, which he last saw in Alice's possession, and he could
not refrain from mentioning it in a voice that shuddered.

"Rest easy, Father Beret," said Alice; "that is one novel I have found
wholly distasteful to me. I tried to read it, but could not do it, I
flung it aside in utter disgust. You and mother Roussillon are welcome
to hide it deep as a well, for all I care. I don't enjoy reading about
low, vile people and hopeless unfortunates; I like sweet and lovely
heroines and strong, high-souled, brave heroes."

"Read about the blessed saints, then, my daughter; you will find in
them the true heroes and heroines of this world," said Father Beret.

M. Roussillon changed the subject, for he always somehow d