htened
at his own love, for he remembered his promise to her dying father. He
begged the superior to look for a suitable husband for Mademoiselle de
Chaverny, and was told that her nephew, a young Breton, having seen her,
loved her, and wished to obtain her hand."

"Well, monsieur?" asked Helene, hearing that the unknown hesitated to
proceed.

"Well; your father's surprise was great, Helene, when he learned from
the superior that Mademoiselle de Chaverny had replied that she did not
wish to marry, and that her greatest desire was to remain in the convent
where she had been brought up, and that the happiest day of her life
would be that on which she should pronounce her vows."

"She loved some one," said Helene.

"Yes, my child, you are right--alas! we cannot avoid our
fate--Mademoiselle de Chaverny loved your father. For a long time she
kept her secret, but one day, when your father begged her to renounce
her strange wish to take the veil, the poor child confessed all. Strong
against his love when he did not believe it returned, he succumbed when
he found he had but to desire and to obtain. They were both so
young--your father scarcely twenty-five, she not eighteen--they forgot
the world, and only remembered that they could be happy."

"But since they loved," said Helene, "why did they not marry?"

"Union was impossible, on account of the distance which separated them.
Do you not know that your father is of high station?"

"Alas! yes," said Helene, "I know it."

"During a year," continued he, "their happiness surpassed their hopes;
but at the end of that time you came into the world, and then--"

"Well?" asked the young girl, timidly.

"Your birth cost your mother's life."

Helene sobbed.

"Yes," continued the unknown, in a voice full of emotion, "yes, Helene,
weep for your mother; she was a noble woman, of whom, through his
griefs, his pleasures, even his follies--your father retains a tender
recollection; he transferred to you all his love for her."

"And yet," said Helene, "he consented to remove me from him, and has
never again seen me."

"Helene, on this point pardon your father, for it was not his fault. You
were born in 1703, at the most austere period of Louis XIV.'s reign;
your father was already out of favor with the king, or rather with
Madame de Maintenon; and for your sake, as much or more than for his, he
sent you into Bretagne, confiding you to Mother Ursula, superior of the
convent wher