and was speaking to him of her more affluent days, when, as
they were near the house where she had once lived, she proposed to walk
on a little further, that she might point it out. He consented, and as
they drew near to it, she exclaimed, '_Ah! nous l'apercevons_,' and,
without another word, fell suddenly in a sort of apoplectic fit, not
living more than half an hour longer. The circumstance of this lady
dying suddenly so near the place where she had once lived, and which she
so seldom visited, was certainly very singular. To my surprise, I
learned that the younger lady was the daughter of old Marie, having been
adopted and educated by the person she had always supposed to be her
aunt; she having no children of her own. What made it more singular was,
that the younger lady had herself been in possession of this family
secret only a few years. It reminded me somewhat of Tennyson's Lady
Clare, though in this case no one had been kept out of an estate by the
fiction. It was merely to give the young lady the advantage of the
supposed relationship. This, then, accounted for the strong affection
existing between them, and lest any reader might think this conduct
strange, I must again bear witness to the kindness and true affection
always displayed toward the real mother. I would not narrate this true
story, did I not feel how little chance there is of my humble pen
writing any thing that would reach the ears of this family, living so
obscurely in the great world of Paris.

Just opposite us, in the court, lived another lady, who has played many
fictitious parts, as well as a somewhat prominent one, on the stage of
real life. This was Madame George, the once celebrated actress; in her
younger days, a famous beauty, and at one time mistress of the great
Napoleon. Though long retired from regular connection with the stage,
she still makes an occasional appearance upon it, almost always drawing
a full audience, collected principally from curiosity to see so noted a
personage, or to remark what portion of her once great dramatic power
time has still left her. One of these appearances was made at the Odeon,
while we were in Paris. Marie informed us of the coming event before it
was announced on the bills, and seemed to take as much interest in it as
if it had been the _debut_ of a near relative. We had sometimes caught a
glimpse of the great actress, tending her geraniums and roses at the
window, or going out to drive. On the evenin