as a long apartment with two windows reaching nearly
to the floor. It was carpeted with crimson and black Brussels,
contained two sofas of French workmanship, made in a heavy, though
rich style, covered with cloth also of crimson and black; with chairs
fashioned and carved to match the couches, and finished in the same
material. A quaint-looking piano stood in one corner of the room. In
the centre was a Chinese lacquered table on which stood a lamp in
bronze, the bowl of which was supported by various broadly-smiling,
grotesque creatures, belonging to a genus known only in the domain of
fable.

On the evening following the burial of poor Pat McGrath, Mrs. Dubois
sat in this apartment, engaged in embroidering a fancy piece of dress
for Adele. That young lady was reclining upon a sofa, and was looking
earnestly at a painting of the Madonna, a copy from some old master,
hanging nearly opposite to her. It was now bathed in the yellow
moonlight, which heightened the wonderfully saintly expression in the
countenances of the holy mother and child.

"See! _ma bonne mere_, the blessed Marie looks down on us with a sweet
smile to-night".

"She always looks kindly upon us, _chere_, when we try to do right",
said Mrs. Dubois, smiling. "Doubtless you have tried to be good to-day
and she approves your effort".

"Now, just tell me, _ma chere mere_, how she would regard me to-night
if I had committed one wicked deed to-day".

"This same Marie looks sad and wistful sometimes, my Adele".

"True. But not particularly at _such_ times. It depends on which side
the light strikes the picture, whether she looks sad or smiling. Just
that, and nothing more. Now the moonlight gives her a smiling
expression. And please listen, _chere mere_. I have heard that there
is, somewhere, a Madonna, into whose countenance the old painter
endeavored to throw an air of profoundest repose. He succeeded. I have
heard that that picture has a strange power to soothe. Gazing upon it
the spirit grows calm and the voice unconsciously sinks into a
whisper. Our priests would tell the common people that it is a
miraculous influence exerted upon them by the Virgin herself, whereas
it is only the effect produced by the exquisite skill of the artist.
_Eh, bien!_ our church is full of superstitions".

"We will talk no more of it, _ma fille_. You do not love the holy
_Marie_ as you ought, I fear".

"Love her! indeed I do. She is the most blest and honored among
w