own; for the rest, embroidery in the newest patterns and
most elegant style, some few books, chiefly religious and polemical
works--and what can be drearier than Roman Catholic polemics, unless,
indeed, Protestant ones eclipse them?--a large house, vast estates,
servants who never raised their voices beyond a certain tone; the envy
of all the middle-class women, the fear and reverential courtesies of
the poorer ones--a cheerful existence, and one which accounted for some
of the wrinkles which so plentifully decked her brow.

"That is our nephew," said she; "my husband's heir."

"I have often seen him before," said I; "but I should have thought that
his father would be your husband's next heir."

Never shall I forget the look she darted upon me--the awful glance which
swept over me scathingly, ere she said, in icy tones:

"What do you mean? Have you seen--or do you know--Graf Eugen?"

There was a pause, as if the name had not passed her lips for so long
that now she had difficulty in uttering it.

"I knew him as Eugen Courvoisier," said I; but the other name was a
revelation to me, and told me that he was also "to the manner born." "I
saw him two days ago, and I conversed with him," I added.

She was silent for a moment, and surveyed me with a haggard look. I met
her glance fully, openly.

"Do you wish to know anything about him?" I asked.

"Certainly not," said she, striving to speak frigidly; but there was a
piteous tremble in her low tones. "The man has dis--What am I saying? It
is sufficient to say that he is not on terms with his family."

"So he told me," said I, struggling on my own part to keep back the
burning words within me.

The countess looked at me--looked again. I saw now that this was one of
the great sorrows of her sorrowful life. She felt that to be consistent
she ought to wave aside the subject with calm contempt; but it made her
heart bleed. I pitied her; I felt an odd kind of affection for her
already. The promise I had given to Eugen lay hard and heavy upon me.

"What did he tell you?" she asked, at last; and I paused ere I answered,
trying to think what I could make of this opportunity. "Do you know the
facts of the case?" she added.

"No; he said he would write."

"Would write!" she echoed, suspending her work, and fixing me with her
eyes. "Would write--to whom?"

"To me."

"You correspond with him?" There was a tremulous eagerness in her
manner.

"I have never corresponded w