acquaintance with the family which permitted him to be led to their
house, to return the visits Madame le Tisseur had made him, and his dog,
once more returned a penitent to his master, always conducted his
steps to the humble abode, and stopped instinctively at the door,--"I
propose," said St. Amand, after a pause, and with some embarrassment,
"to stay a little while longer at Malines; the air agrees with me, and
I like the quiet of the place; but you are aware, madam, that at a hotel
among strangers, I feel my situation somewhat cheerless. I have been
thinking"--St. Amand paused again--"I have been thinking that if I could
persuade some agreeable family to receive me as a lodger, I would fix
myself here for some weeks. I am easily pleased."

"Doubtless there are many in Malines who would be too happy to receive
such a lodger."

"Will you receive me?" asked St. Amand, abruptly. "It was of _your_
family I thought."

"Of us? Monsieur is too flattering. But we have scarcely a room good
enough for you."

"What difference between one room and another can there be to me? That
is the best apartment to my choice in which the human voice sounds most
kindly."

The arrangement was made, and St. Amand came now to reside beneath the
same roof as Lucille. And was she not happy that _he_ wanted so constant
an attendance; was she not happy that she was ever of use? St. Amand was
passionately fond of music; he played himself with a skill that was
only surpassed by the exquisite melody of his voice, and was not Lucille
happy when she sat mute and listening to such sounds as in Malines
were never heard before? Was she not happy in gazing on a face to whose
melancholy aspect her voice instantly summoned the smile? Was she not
happy when the music ceased, and St. Amand called "Lucille"? Did not her
own name uttered by that voice seem to her even sweeter than the music?
Was she not happy when they walked out in the still evenings of summer,
and her arm thrilled beneath the light touch of one to whom she was
so necessary? Was she not proud in her happiness, and was there not
something like worship in the gratitude she felt to him for raising her
humble spirit to the luxury of feeling herself beloved?

St. Amand's parents were French. They had resided in the neighbourhood
of Amiens, where they had inherited a competent property, to which he
had succeeded about two years previous to the date of my story.

He had been blind from the a