ore, it was not a child of poor people,
but, perhaps, the child of some nobleman and a little bourgeoise of the
town--or again--we made a thousand suppositions, but we never
found out anything-never the slightest clue. The dog himself was
recognized by no one. He was a stranger in the country. At any rate, the
person who rang three times at our door must have known my parents well,
to have chosen them thus.

"That is how, at the age of six weeks, Mademoiselle Pearl entered the
Chantal household.

"It was not until later that she was called Mademoiselle Pearl. She was
at first baptized 'Marie Simonne Claire,' Claire being intended, for her
family name.

"I can assure you that our return to the diningroom was amusing, with
this baby now awake and looking round her at these people and these
lights with her vague blue questioning eyes.

"We sat down to dinner again and the cake was cut. I was king, and for
queen I took Mademoiselle Pearl, just as you did to-day. On that day she
did not appreciate the honor that was being shown her.

"Well, the child was adopted and brought up in the family. She grew, and
the years flew by. She was so gentle and loving and minded so well that
every one would have spoiled her abominably had not my mother prevented
it.

"My mother was an orderly woman with a great respect for class
distinctions. She consented to treat little Claire as she did her own
sons, but, nevertheless, she wished the distance which separated us to be
well marked, and our positions well established. Therefore, as soon as
the child could understand, she acquainted her with her story and gently,
even tenderly, impressed on the little one's mind that, for the Chantals,
she was an adopted daughter, taken in, but, nevertheless, a stranger.
Claire understood the situation with peculiar intelligence and with
surprising instinct; she knew how to take the place which was allotted
her, and to keep it with so much tact, gracefulness and gentleness that
she often brought tears to my father's eyes. My mother herself was often
moved by the passionate gratitude and timid devotion of this dainty and
loving little creature that she began calling her: 'My daughter.' At
times, when the little one had done something kind and good, my mother
would raise her spectacles on her forehead, a thing which always
indicated emotion with her, and she would repeat: 'This child is a pearl,
a perfect pearl!' This name stuck to the little Claire, wh