station, it is just possible I might not so ably have combated the
difficulty of the situation.

"At all events," said the elder lady, "Monsieur has one advantage: he
knows who we are."

"I shame to say, Madame," said I, bowing low, "that, in my ignorance of
Paris, I have not that honor."

"Indeed!" cried she, half incredulously.

"It is quite true, Madame; I have been but a few days here, and have no
acquaintance whatever."

They now spoke to each other for a few seconds; and after what seemed
strong persuasion, the younger turned away to remove her bonnet.

"We have, then, no right to exact any concession from Monsieur," said
the elder lady, "seeing that we preserve our own secret."

I could not but assent to this doctrine, and had just acknowledged
it, when the younger turned abruptly round, uttering a half cry of
amazement.

"Margot!" exclaimed I; for it was she. But already had she buried her
face between her hands, and refused to look up.

"What means this?" said the elder, sternly, to me. "Do you know this
young lady?"

"I did so, once, Madame," said I, sorrowfully.

"Well, sir?" replied she, proudly, and as if desiring me to finish my
speech.

"Yes, Madame. I knew her as a child in her grandfather's house. I was
scarcely more than a boy myself at the time; but had the interval been
four times as great, I could not forget all that I owe to his kindness
and to hers."

I could scarcely utter the last words from emotion. The child Margot--a
beautiful woman, graceful and fascinating--now stood before me, changed,
but still the same; her dark eyes darker and more meaning; her fair brow
expanded and more lofty.

"You know my story?" asked she, in a low, soft voice.

"Yes, Margot. And oftentimes in my saddest hours have I sought
excitement and relief in the thought of your triumphs--"

"There, child,--there!" exclaimed the elder, enthusiastically, "there
is at least one who can prize the glorious ambitions of the scene, and
knows how to appreciate the successes of high art. Stand not abashed
before him, child; he comes not here as your accuser."

"Is it so indeed?" cried Margot, entreatingly.

"Oh, if you but knew, Margot, how proudly I have often pondered over our
hours of the past,--now fancying that in my teachings of those days some
germ of that high ambition you have tried to reach may then have been
dropped into your heart; now wondering if in your successes some memory
of me might have sur