dazzle the eye and bewilder the mind of one unaccustomed
to such splendor. Madame De Boismorel, dressed with the most
ostentatious display of wealth, was seated upon an ottoman, in stately
dignity, employing her fingers with fancy needle-work. Her face was
thickly covered with rouge, and, as her guests were announced, she
raised her eyes from her embroidery, and fixing a cold and unfeeling
glance upon them, without rising to receive them, or even making the
slightest inclination of her body, in a very patronizing and
condescending tone said to the grandmother,

"Ah! _Miss_ Phlippon, good morning to you!"

Jane, who was far from pleased with her reception in the hall, was
exceedingly displeased with her reception in the saloon. The pride of
the Roman maiden rose in her bosom, and indignantly she exclaimed to
herself, "So my grandmother is called _Miss_ in this house!"

"I am very glad to see you," continued Madame De Boismorel; "and who
is this fine girl? your grand-daughter, I suppose? She will make a
very pretty woman. Come here, my dear. Ah! I see she is a little
bashful. How old is your grand-daughter, Miss Phlippon? Her complexion
is rather brown, to be sure, but her skin is clear, and will grow
fairer in a few years. She is quite a woman already."

Thus she rattled on for some time, waiting for no answers. At length,
turning again to Jane, who had hardly ventured to raise her eyes from
the floor, she said, "What a beautiful hand you have got. That hand
must be a lucky one. Did you ever venture in a lottery my dear?"

"Never, madam," replied Jane, promptly. "I am not fond of gaming."

"What an admirable voice!" exclaimed the lady. "So sweet and yet so
full-toned! But how grave she is! Pray, my dear, are you not a little
of a devotee?"

"I know my duty to God," replied Jane, "and I endeavor to fulfill it."

"That's a good girl," the noble lady rejoined. "You wish to take the
veil, do you not?"

"I do not know what may be my destination, neither am I at present
anxious to conjecture it."

"How very sententious!" Madame De Boismorel replied. "Your
grand-daughter reads a great deal, does she not, Miss Phlippon?"

"Yes, madam, reading is her greatest delight."

"Ay, ay," rejoined the lady; "I see how it is. But have a care that
she does not turn author. That would be a pity indeed."

During this conversation the cheeks of Jane were flushed with wounded
pride, and her heart throbbed most violently. She felt