what terms are my father and
mother, and how does she conduct herself?"

"My father treats her with ceremony and politeness, but not with
affection. She has tried every means to resume her empire over him, but
finds it impossible, and she has now turned _devote_. They sleep in
separate rooms, and he is very harsh and severe to her at times, when
the fit comes on him. Indeed, Valerie, if you sought revenge, which I
know you do not do, you have had sufficient, for her brow is wrinkled
with care and mortification."

"But do you think she is sorry for what she has done?"

"I regret to say I do not. I think she is sorry for the consequences,
but that her animosity against you would be greater than ever if she
knew that you were alive, and if you were again in her power she would
wreak double vengeance. Many things have occurred to confirm me in this
belief. You have overthrown her power, which she never will forgive;
and, as for her religion, I have no faith in that."

"It is then as I feared, Auguste; and if I make known my existence to my
father, it must be concealed from my mother."

"I agree with you that it will be best; for there is no saying to what
point the vengeance of an unnatural mother may be carried. But let us
quit this subject, for the present at least, and now tell me more about
yourself."

"I will--but there is Lionel's knock: so I must defer it till another
opportunity. Dear Auguste, give me one more kiss, while we are alone."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

In a few minutes after Lionel's return, which he had considerably
postponed, until Monsieur Gironac's dinner hour had all but arrived, my
good host first, and then kind, merry little madame, made their
appearance, and a little while was consumed in introductions,
exclamations, admirations, and congratulations, all tinctured not a
little by that national vivacity, which other folks are in the habit of
calling extravagance, and which, as my readers well know already, the
good Gironacs had by no means got rid of, even in the course of a long
_sejour_ in the matter-of-fact metropolis of England.

Fortunately, my friends were for the most part, _au fait_ to the leading
circumstances of my life, so that little explanation was needed.

And more fortunately yet, like tide and time, dinner waits for no man;
nor have I ever observed, in all my adventurous life, that the sympathy
of the most sentimental, the grief of the most woe-begone, or the joy of
t