uld this be done without a home in
Paris? The marriage would take place early in September, and the first
week in October he would come for Leonie. He looked forward with delight
to having a home for his beautiful beloved child.

It was the last week in September. The rain was falling in a dull dreary
way, as it had been falling all day and almost a week of days.

"I wish it would clear up," said Leonie. "I hate to have everything look
so dreary just the last week I have to stay."

"Do you ever think, cherie, how dull it will be for me when you are
gone? What shall I do without ma chere petite?" asked Madame Perrin
tenderly.

"And what shall I do without you, chere maman? I am afraid I shall not
like the new mamma that papa has given me. Or perhaps I am only afraid
that she will not like me. You are my real mother," taking her hand
caressingly. "I wish I could remember my own mother. Why have you never
told me anything about her? I have asked you so many times."

"I never was acquainted with your mother. She lived in Paris, you know,
and I lived here."

"But you have seen her. Was she beautiful? Am I like her?"

"Yes," said Madame Perrin with a little start--"so much like her that it
frightens me." Then more deliberately, in reply to Leonie's astonished
eyes, "I mean that it is sad to be reminded of one who is dead."

"Papa must have loved her very much. I remember when I was a little
girl, and began to wonder why I had not a mother like Helene, you said I
must never ask papa about her, it would give him so much pain. But now I
may, now that he has given her place to somebody else."

"By no means, Leonie--less than ever. If your poor father has at last
succeeded in leaving his sorrow behind him, do you wish to drag him back
to it, you thoughtless child?"

"Then you must tell me yourself, ma tante. It is very strange that you
are so unwilling to tell me anything about my pretty mother who died
when I was almost a baby."

"Why will you be so persistent? I do not like to give you so much pain."

"Why, dear aunt, I shall like to hear about her. It is very sad not to
have any mother, but I can't feel as distressed about it as if I had
known and loved her. She is only a beautiful dream to me. I cannot feel
as I should if you were to die and leave me. You must tell me. I shall
not let you have any peace till you do. You can't refuse me now, just
when I am going away."

"Well, if I must, I must," said Madame Perr