ns, as you see. You are an early visitor
to-day, M. de Bois. Of course, you are on your way to the chateau?"

"I have let--let--letters for the count. He intrusted me
yes--es--esterday with a package to take with me to the Chateau de
Tremazan, where I was engaged to pass the evening, and I have brought
him the replies. But before I play the postman, let me come in and talk
to you, since you are the only person I can ever manage to talk to at
all."

"Come in then, and welcome."

Gaston accepted the invitation with alacrity. He took a seat, and,
regarding her work, remarked, "This must be for to-night's ball; is it
your own dress?"

"Mine? All these tucks for a dress of _mine_? No, indeed, it is
Bertha's, and I hope she will like the toilet I have planned; each tuck
will be surmounted by a garland of ivy, left open at the front, and
fastened where it breaks off, on either side, with blush roses. Then
among her luxuriant curls a few sprigs of ivy must float, and perhaps a
rose peep out. You may expect to see her looking very beautiful
to-night."

M. de Bois sighed, and remained silent for a moment. Then he resumed the
conversation by asking, "And the dress will be ready in time?"

"Before it is needed, I trust, for it is now well advanced. Fortunately
my aunt's dress was completed last night. But it was not new,--only a
fresh combination of materials that had already been employed. Yet she
was kind enough to be highly pleased."

"Well she might be! You are always wor--wor--working for the good of the
whole family."

"What other return can I make for the good I have received?" replied
Madeleine, with emotion. "Can I ever forget that, when I was left alone
in the world, without refuge, without friends, almost without bread, my
great-aunt extended to me her protection, supplied all my wants,
virtually adopted me as her own child? Can I offer her too much
gratitude in return? Can I lavish upon her too much love? No one knows
how well I love her and all that is hers! How well I love that dwelling
which received the homeless orphan! People call the old chateau dreary
and gloomy; to me it is a palace; its very walls are dear. I love the
trees that yield me their shade,--the parks that you no doubt think a
wilderness,--the rough, unweeded walks which I tread daily in search of
flowers,--this ruined summer-house, where I have passed hours of
delicious calm,--all the now familiar objects that I first saw through
my tears,