Paris. The outer cover was directed in the handwriting of her uncle's
_concierge_; on the inner, a request, that if Mademoiselle de Merrivale
were absent the parcel might be immediately forwarded to her, was
written in familiar characters. Bertha had no sooner caught sight of
them than she cried out,--

"Madeleine! It is the handwriting of Madeleine!"

She tore open the paper with trembling hands. There was no note,--not a
single written word,--but before her lay a handkerchief of the finest
texture, and embroidered with the marvellous skill which belonged alone
to those "fairy fingers" she had so often watched.

Vainly might we attempt to convey even a faint idea of her tumultuous
rapture,--of the tears of ecstasy, the hysterical laughter, the dancing
delight, with which she greeted her uncle and Maurice, who entered a few
moments after the package was received. She kissed the handkerchief
moistened with her tears, waved it exultingly over her head, kissed it
again, and wept over it again, while the marquis and her cousin stood
looking at her in speechless astonishment.

"Madeleine! Madeleine! it is from Madeleine!" at last she found voice to
ejaculate. "See, that is her handwriting," pointing to the paper cover;
"and this is her work; her 'fairy fingers' send me a token on my
birthday. I am seventeen to-day, and no one has remembered it but
Madeleine. She thinks of me still; she never forgets any one; she has
not forgotten me!"

Maurice caught up the paper in which the handkerchief had been
enveloped, and with throbbing pulses eagerly examined the handwriting.

"See, Maurice," Bertha continued, joyfully, "in the corner she has
embroidered my name, surrounded by a wreath of forget-me-nots,--for
_she_ does not forget. The crest of the de Merrivales is in the opposite
corner; and this,--why this looks like the bracelet I gave her on her
last birthday. How wonderfully she has imitated the knot of pearls that
fastened the golden band! And this corner, Maurice, look,--this is in
remembrance of you,--of your birthday token to her. Do you not see the
design is a brooch, and the device a dove carrying an olive-branch in
its mouth, and the word 'Pax' embroidered beneath?"

Maurice looked, struggling to repress the emotion that almost unmanned
him. Pointing to the stamp upon the envelope which had contained the
handkerchief, he said,--

"It is postmarked Dresden."

"Dresden? Dresden? Can Madeleine be in Dresden?" ret