ere fixed on her with a strange
expression, she overcame her unwillingness.

"Here is my hand--I swear that all your father told you is false!"

Camilla laughed gleefully. "Oh, mamma, I have caught you: you always
want me to tell the truth, and never give my right hand when a thing is
not true, and now you have done it yourself."

"What have I done!" said the mother, trembling.

"You gave me your right hand, and swore that all papa told me was false;
and I say it is true, and you have sworn falsely."

"Why do you believe that, Camilla?" she asked.

"I don't believe it, I know it," said the child, with a sly smile, "When
papa spoke to you, for the last time, and told you good-by forever, he
told you the same he had told me. Oh! I was there and heard all; you did
not see me slip into the room and hide behind the fire-place. Papa told
you that you had been the cause of all his unhappiness and shame; that
from the day you had run off with the gardener and he, at the king's
command, went after you, and married you--from that day, he had been a
lost man, and when he said that, you cried, but did not tell him, as you
told me, that it was not true."

Louise did not answer. This last taunt had crushed her heart, and
silenced her. Still leaning on the bed, she looked at her child with
painful tenderness. Camilla's mocking laughter had pierced her soul as
with a dagger.

"Lost," she murmured, "both of us lost!"

With passionate despair she threw her arms around the child, and pressed
her closely; kissed her wildly again and again, and covered her face
with burning tears.

"No, Camilla, no! you shall not be lost, you must remain good and pure!
Every child has its guardian angel; pray, my child, pray that your angel
may watch over you!"

She pressed her again in her arms, then returned to her chamber, sadder
and more hopeless than she had ever been before.

But this unusual sadness commenced to annoy her; her heart was not
accustomed to feel sorrow, and her remorseful, dreary feeling made her
shudder. "If the carriage would but come!" she murmured, and then, as
if to excuse her thoughtlessness, she added, "it is now my holy duty to
listen to the prince; I must regain the respect of my child. Yes, yes,
I must become the wife of Henry I I can accomplish this, for the prince
loves me truly."

And now, she was again the coquette, whose captivating smile harmonized
perfectly with her alluring costume--no longer the tender