e had done to that of "Gelert," being apparently on perfect
terms of friendship, not to say intimacy, with the young lady who had
just asked him so pertinent a question.

He certainly had not forgotten her. He would not have been a gallant
dog if he had; nor would he have displayed that taste and wise
discrimination which one would naturally have expected to find, in a
well-bred dog of his particular class, for his interlocutor was a
remarkably pretty girl--possessing the most lovely golden-hued hair and
a pair of blue eyes that were almost turquoise in tint, albeit with a
somewhat wistful, faraway look in them, especially now when she gazed
down into the brown, honest orbs of the retriever, who was watching her
every moment with faithful attention. She had, too, an unmistakeable
air of refinement and culture, in spite of her being attired in a
plainly made black stuff dress such as a servant might have worn, and
having a sort of cap like those affected by nuns and sisters of charity
drawn over her dainty little head, partly concealing its wealth of fair
silky hair. No one would have dreamt of taking her to be anything else
but a lady, no matter what costume she adopted, or how she was
disguised.

"Who ever thought, dear doggie," she continued, speaking the thoughts
that surged up in her mind while addressing the dumb animal, who looked
as if he would like to understand her if he only could,--"who ever would
have thought that things would turn out as they have when I last patted
your dear old head at Bingen, `Fair Bingen on the Rhine,' eh?" and she
murmured to herself the refrain of that beautiful ballad.

The retriever gave a long sniff here to express his thorough sympathy
with her, and the girl proceeded, musingly, thinking aloud.

"Yes, I mean, doggie, when Armand and I parted for the last time. Poor
mamma was alive then, and we never dreamt that this terrible war would
come to pass, severing us so completely! Poor Armand, he said he would
be true and return to me again when he was old enough to be able to
decide for himself without the consent of that stern father of his, who
thought that the daughter of a poor German pastor was not good enough
mate for his handsome son--although he was only a merchant, while my
mother was a French countess in her own right. Still, parents have the
right to settle these things, and I quite agreed with dear mamma that I
would never consent to enter a family against their wi