hose essential
nobleness of nature struck her as did little Eustacie's at the first
moment she saw her; and yet she had decided, before the young woman
arrived, that her own good opinion and assistance should depend on the
correspondence of Madame de Ribaumont's history of herself with Maitre
Gardon's.

Eustacie had, for a year and a half, lived with peasants; and, indeed,
since the trials of her life had really begun, she had never been with a
woman of her own station to whom she could give confidence, or from whom
she could look for sympathy. And thus a very few inquiries and tokens of
interest from the old lady drew out the whole story, and more than once
filled Madame de Quinet's eyes with tears.

There was only one discrepancy; Eustacie could not believe that the
Abbe de Mericour had been a faithless messenger. Oh, no! either those
savage-looking sailors had played him false, or else her _bele-mere_
would not send for her. 'My mother-in-law never loved me,' said
Eustacie; 'I know she never did. And now she has children by her second
marriage, and no doubt would not see my little one preferred to them. I
will not be HER suppliant.'

'And what then would you do?' said Madame de Quinet, with a more severe
tone.

'Never leave my dear father,' said Eustacie, with a flash of eagerness;
'Maitre Isaac I mean. He has been more to me than any--any one I ever
knew--save----'

'You have much cause for gratitude to him,' said Madame de Quinet. 'I
honour your filial love to him. Yet, you have duties to this little one.
You have no right to keep her from her position. You ought to write to
England again. I am sure Maitre Isaac tells you so.'

Eustacie would have pouted, but the grave, kind authority of the manner
prevented her from being childish, and she said, 'If I wrote, it should
be to my husband's grandfather, who brought him up, designated him as
his heir, and whom he loved with all his heart. But, oh, Madame, he has
one of those English names! So dreadful! It sounds like Vol-au-vent, but
it is not that precisely.'

Madame de Quinet smiled, but she was a woman of resources. 'See, my
friend,' she said, 'the pursuivant of the consuls here has the rolls of
the herald's visitations throughout the kingdom. The arms and name of
the Baron de Ribaumont's wife will there be entered; and from my house
at Quinet you shall write, and I, too, will write; my son shall take
care that the letters be forwarded safely, and you shall