what we
always called you after finding your letter. Our lives were saved by
that unexpected supply of food."

Then they talked of other matters,--of what things should be carried
back to France. And as the strength and energy of the American girl
seemed to have gone--owing, perhaps, to a too meagre diet--the Princess
insisted upon having her own maid sent up to pack the trunks. Jacques
departed on this errand, and to get one or two men. He soon returned
with them, and accompanied by the Archbishop. With a half-suspicious
interest His Grace studied this young woman, still seated in her usual
place by the table, her eyes, with a listless gaze, following the
daughter of the house as she opened drawers and cabinets.

His Grace was standing by the big tapestry, between the two busts, his
hands behind him.

"Pardon me, my child," he said with a deep-toned benevolence, calculated
to impress the guiltless and to awe the guilty, "but what I find it
difficult to understand is why your friends did not look for you. They
certainly must have guessed the situation."

Elinor shook her head gently, as if she also recognized the mystery.

"To what do you attribute this singular indifference to your fate on the
part of your family and friends?"

"I cannot guess. I have no idea."

"It was purely accidental your--your arrival here?"

"Naturally."

In this reply there was something that smote the Archbishop's dignity.
It seemed verging upon impertinence. Again he scrutinized the faded
garments, the sunburned face, the hands somewhat roughened by toil, now
folded on the table before her. His perceptions in feminine matters were
less acute than those of the Princess. He remembered a young man had
been a companion to this girl in this cottage, and during a whole year.
It was only natural that the Princess, in treating this person with so
much consideration, should be misled by a very tender, romantic heart,
and by a Parisian standard of morality too elastic and too easy-going
for more orthodox Christians. Into his manner came a suggestion of these
thoughts,--his tone was less gracious, a trifle more patronizing. But as
the victim supposed this to be his usual bearing, she felt no
resentment.

"It was certainly a most unprecedented--one might almost say,
incredible--blunder. And in daylight, too."

She nodded.

"Do I understand that you came here in a steamboat?"

"Yes."

"And the steamboat, after leaving you and the young