nted lustre; her
usually clear blue eyes looked heavy and shadowed; her rosy mouth had a
half-sorrowful, half-fretful expression. It was evident that some
nightmare preyed upon her mind, and had broken the childlike sound
sleeping that generally visited her pillow. When the ball that was to
take place that evening was mentioned, she brightened a little, but
quickly sank back into her musing mood.

"You must give me some assistance this morning, Bertha," said
Madeleine, as she poured a few drops of almond oil into a tiny cup.
"Your task shall be to gather, during your morning walk, this little
basket full of the greenest and most perfect ivy leaves you can find,
and bring them to the _chalet_. Then, if you feel inclined to aid me
further, I will show you how to impart an emerald brilliancy to every
leaf by a touch of this oil and a few delicate manipulations."

"I suspect you are inventing something very novel and tasteful,"
remarked Bertha, with more indifference than was natural to her.

"You shall judge by and by," replied Madeleine, as she left the room,
with the cup in her hand.

She carried it, with her work, to a dilapidated summer-house, embowered
by venerable trees. Madeleine's taste had given a picturesque aspect to
this old _chalet_, and concealed or beautified the ravages of time. With
the assistance of Baptiste, she had planted vines which flung over the
outer walls a green drapery, intermingled with roses, honeysuckle, and
jasmine; and, within doors, a few chairs, a well-worn sofa, a table, and
footstool gave to the rustic apartment an appearance of habitableness
and comfort. This was Madeleine's favorite resort when the weather was
fine, and not a few of the magic achievements of her "fairy fingers" had
been created in that romantic and secluded locality. There was glamour,
perhaps, in the sylvan retreat, that acted like inspiration upon hands
and brain.

Bertha usually flitted about her as she worked, wandering in and out,
now and then sitting down for a few moments, and reading aloud, by fits
and starts, or occasionally taking up a needle and making futile efforts
to busy herself with the womanly implement, but always restless, and
generally abandoning her attempt after a brief trial; for Bertha frankly
confessed that she admired industry in her cousin without being able to
practise it in her own person.

This morning, however, Madeleine sat alone; the fleecy tarlatan, that
rolled in misty whitene