or false modesty,
that she had entered the house of the Marquis as a beggar. Antoinette,
in her turn, spoke of herself. She knew nothing of France. Her childhood
had been spent in Louisiana; and she talked enthusiastically of the
lovely country she had left. Dolores, to divert her companion's thoughts
from grief, made Philip tell her what he knew about Paris Versailles and
the court, and the Marquis, not without design probably, did his best to
place in the most favorable light those attributes of mind and of heart
that made Philip the most attractive of men. Like another Desdemona
charmed by the eloquence of Othello, it was while listening to Philip
that Antoinette first began to love him.

After a month's sojourn at Chamondrin, she came to the conclusion that
Philip was kind, good, irresistible in short; and she was by no means
unwilling to become the Marquise de Chamondrin. Nor did she conceal
these feelings from Dolores, little suspecting, how she was torturing
her friend by these revelations. It was then that the absolute
impossibility of a marriage with Philip first became clearly apparent
to Dolores. Antoinette's confession was like the flash of lightning
which suddenly discloses a yawning precipice to the traveller on a dark
and lonely road. She saw the insurmountable barrier between them more
distinctly than ever before. Could she compete with Antoinette? Yes; if
her love and that of Philip were to be considered. No; if rank, wealth,
all the advantages that Antoinette possessed, and which the Marquis
required in his son's bride, were to be taken into consideration.

What a terrible night Dolores spent after Antoinette's confession! How
she wept! What anguish she endured! The young girls occupied the same
room and if one was unconscious of the sufferings of her companion, it
was only because Dolores stifled her sobs. She was unwilling to let
Antoinette see what she termed "her weakness." She felt neither hatred
nor envy towards her friend, for she knew that Antoinette was not to
blame. She wept, not from anger or jealousy, but from despair.

Since she had been aware of Philip's affection for her, she had
cherished a secret hope in spite of the numerous obstacles that stood in
the way of their happiness. Time wrought so many changes! The bride whom
the Marquis was seeking for his son had not yet been found. She had
comforted herself by reflections like these. Now, these illusions had
vanished. The struggle was