like to be
introduced to Mademoiselle Laurentia now."

"Very well. See, she is coming this way," said Elsie. "Is she not pretty?
Have you ever seen her before?"

"Seen her before? How could I have seen her before?"

He told the untruth unblushingly; it was by no means his first.

Mademoiselle Laurentia was close to them now, and Elsie said, in her
clear, distinct tones:

"Let me introduce Mr. McAllister to you, mademoiselle. You are
compatriots."

Just then Lady Severn called Elsie, and Marie Gourdon and Noel McAllister
were left alone for a moment. She was the first to break the awkward
silence, as she said in her quiet voice, without the faintest shade of
embarrassment in it:

"How do you like this country, Mr. McAllister?"

"How do I like this country? Is that all you have to say to me after
these years?"

"What else can I have to say to you? Is not this a fine old garden? How
brightly the moon shines!"

"Marie Gourdon, do not speak to me in that calm, aggravating way.
Reproach me! Anything but this. I cannot bear your indifference."

"Reproach you? For what? Do you mean for leaving me? If so, that is an
old story, told long, long ago. I am thankful now you did leave me. And,
Mr. McAllister, I must remind you that only to my most intimate friends
am I known as Marie Gourdon. I must beg you to excuse me now; Lady Severn
is calling me."

CHAPTER X.

"O! primavera gioventu dell' anno!
O! gioventu primavera della vitae!!!"

It was a beautiful afternoon in the middle of June, and the London season
was at its height. Everyone who was anybody of importance was now in
town. Sweet, fresh-looking girls, in the full enjoyment of their first
season, were cantering by, gaily chattering in the Row, their faces
glowing with excitement and pleasure as they caught sight of some
pedestrian acquaintances and nodded their greetings. Stately old dowagers
were enjoying to the full the bright sunshine, as they lay comfortably
back in their well-padded broughams. Here were brilliantly apparelled
men and women, the very butterflies of London society, talking of the
events of yesterday, and speculating on the evening's entertainment, as
they walked leisurely up and down the broad promenade of the Park. But
near, and almost touching the skirts of these favored ones, ran an
undercurrent of poverty, distress and misery. So close allied were the
two streams of human life, that scarce an arm's length divided them.