ut who
found it impossible to continue her friendship and favour to a humble
milliner's girl. The sight of her occasioned me a surprise by no means
of a pleasing nature; and the involuntary start I gave, evidently
recalled me to her recollection. In a moment her cheeks assumed the
paleness of death, and her self-love seemed to suffer the most horrible
torments at the light in which our rencontre mutually placed us. As soon
as she could command herself sufficiently to speak, she cried,

"Ah! madam, do I then appear in your presence?"

"Yes," replied I, "before the poor and humble milliner to whom you so
harshly refused your friendship."

"Fortune has well avenged you, madam," said Brigitta, in a melancholy
tone; "and as I can easily imagine how unpleasant the sight of me must
be, I will hasten to relieve you from it."

These last words touched me, and restored me in a degree to my natural
good temper.

"Brigitta," said I to her, "after the little affection you have ever
manifested for me, it would be impossible as well as unwise to take
you into my service; but let me know in what way I can best promote the
interest of yourself and husband, and I pledge myself to accomplish it
for you."

"I thank you, madam," answered she, resuming her accustomed haughtiness,
"I came to solicit a situation near the person of the comtesse du Barry.
Since that is refused me, I have nothing more to request."

"Be it as you please," replied I. Brigitta made a low courtesy, and
quitted the room.

Henriette, who had been the witness of this scene, expressed her
apprehensions that I should be displeased with her for introducing an
unwelcome visitor to me. "No," cried I, "'tis not with you I am vexed.,
but myself."

"And why so, dear madam?"

"Because I reproach myself with having in my own prosperity forgotten
one of my earliest and dearest friends, who loved me with the tenderest
affection. Possibly she may now be in trouble or difficulties, from
which I might have a thousand ways of relieving her; but it is never
too late to do good. To-morrow, early, you shall set out for Paris; when
there, go to the rue Saint Martin, inquire for the sign of la Bonne Foi;
it is kept by a pastrycook, named M. Mathon, of whom I wish you to learn
every particular relative to his daughter Genevieve."

My wishes were laws to Henriette, who instantly retired to prepare for
her journey. I had not ventured to desire her to glean any information
concer