born in America?" said the old man.

"I was," he replied.

"And you knew a girl named Clotelle," continued the old man.

"Yes, and I loved her as I can love none other."

"The lady whom you met so mysteriously last evening was she," said Mr.
Devenant.

Jerome was silent, but the fountain of mingled grief and joy stole out
from beneath his eyelashes, and glistened like pearls upon his ebony
cheeks.

At this juncture, the lady again entered the room. With an enthusiasm
that can be better imagined than described, Jerome sprang from the
sofa, and they rushed into each other's arms, to the great surprise of
the old gentleman and little Autoine, and to the amusement of the
servants who had crept up, one by one and were hid behind the doors or
loitering in the hall. When they had given vent to their feelings and
sufficiently recovered their presence of mind, they resumed their seats.

"How did you find out my name and address?" inquired Jerome.

"After you had left the grave-yard," replied Clotelle, "our little boy
said, 'Oh, mamma! if there ain't a book!' I opened the book, and saw
your name written in it, and also found a card of the Hotel de Leon.
Papa wished to leave the book, and said it was only a fancy of mine
that I had ever seen you before; but I was perfectly convinced that you
were my own dear Jerome."

As she uttered the last words, tears--the sweet bright tears that love
alone can bring forth--bedewed her cheeks.

"Are you married?" now inquired Clotelle, with a palpitating heart and
trembling voice.

"No, I am not, and never have been," was Jerome's reply.

"Then, thank God!" she exclaimed, in broken accents.

It was then that hope gleamed up amid the crushed and broken flowers of
her heart, and a bright flash darted forth like a sunbeam.

"Are you single now?" asked Jerome.

"Yes, I am," was the answer.

"Then you will be mine after all?" said he with a smile.

Her dark, rich hair had partly come down, and hung still more loosely
over her shoulders than when she first appeared; and her eyes, now full
of animation and vivacity, and her sweet, harmonious, and
well-modulated voice, together with her modesty, self-possession, and
engaging manners, made Clotelle appear lovely beyond description.
Although past the age when men ought to think of matrimony, yet the
scene before Mr. Devenant brought vividly to his mind the time when he
was young and had a loving bosom companion living, and tears wer