the
spot; but at length, mastering his emotion, he went towards her.

"Here he is, papa, dearest," said she,--"our noble deliverer.--And,
O, monsieur, how can we ever find words to thank you?"

"Dear monsieur," said the old count, embracing Claude, "Heaven will
reward you; our words are useless.--Mimi," he continued, turning to
his daughter, "your dream was a true one.--You must know, monsieur,
that she dreamed that a young Frenchman came in an open boat to save
us. And so it really was."

Mimi smiled and blushed.

"Ah, papa, dear," she said, "I dreamed because I hoped. I always
hoped, but you always desponded. And now it has been better than our
hopes.--But, monsieur, may we not know the name of our deliverer?"

She held out her little hand as she said this. Claude raised it
respectfully to his lips, bowing low as he did so. He then gave his
name, but hastened to assure them that he was not their preserver,
insisting that Zac had the better claim to that title. To this,
however, the others listened with polite incredulity, and Mimi
evidently considered it all the mere expression of a young man's
modesty. She waved her little hand with a sunny smile.

"_Eh bien_," she said, "I see, monsieur, it pains you to have people
too grateful; so we will say no more about it. We must satisfy
ourselves by remembering and by praying."

Here the conversation was interrupted by the interposition of the
Count de Cazeneau, who came forward to add his thanks to those of
Laborde. He made a little set speech, to which Claude listened with
something of chagrin, for he did not like being placed in the
position of general savior and preserver, when he knew that Zac
deserved quite as much credit for what had been done as he did. This
was not unobserved by Mimi, who appreciated his feelings and came to
his relief.

"M. Motier does not like being praised," said she. "Let us respect
his delicacy."

But Cazeneau was not to be stopped so easily. He seemed like one who
had prepared a speech carefully and with much labor, and was,
accordingly, bound to give it all; so Claude was forced to listen to
an eloquent and inflated panegyric about himself and his heroism,
without being able to offer anything more than an occasional modest
disclaimer. And all the time the deep, dark glance of Mimi was fixed
on him, as though she would read his soul. If, indeed, he had any
skill in reading character, it was easy enough to see in the face of
that y