hich Traverse had first seen her,
and she now beckoned the young doctor to come and take a seat near her.

"My story is almost as melodramatic as a modern romance, Doctor Rocke,"
she said.

Traverse bowed gravely and waited.

"My father was a French patriot, who suffered death in the cause of
liberty when I, his only child, was but fourteen years of age. My
mother, broken-hearted by his loss, followed him within a few months. I
was left an orphan and penniless, for our estate was confiscated."

"Ah, your sorrows came early and heavily indeed," said Traverse.

"Yes; well, a former servant of my father held an humble situation of
porter on the ground floor of a house, the several floors of which were
let out to different lodgers. This poor man and his wife gave me a
temporary home with themselves. Among the lodgers of the house there
was a young Virginian gentleman of fortune, traveling for pleasure and
improvement; his name was Mr. Eugene Le Noir."

"Le Noir!" cried Traverse, with a violent start.

"Yes--what is the matter?"

"It is a familiar Virginia name, Madam, that is all; pray go on."

"Mr. Le Noir was as good and kind as he was wise and cultivated. He
used to stop to gossip with old Cliquot every time he stopped at the
porter's room to take or to leave his key. There he heard of the poor
little orphan of the guillotine, who had no friend in the world but her
father's old servant. He pitied me, and after many consultations with
Father and Mother Cliquot, he assumed the position of guardian to me,
and placed me at one of the best schools in Paris. He lingered in the
city and came to see me very often; but always saw me in the presence
of Madame, the directress. I clung to him with affection as to a father
or an elder brother, and I knew he loved me with the tender, protecting
affection that he would have given a younger sister, had he possessed
one. Ah! Doctor Rocke, tell me, besides yourself, are there many other
men in your State like him?"

"I knew but one such; but go on, dear Madam."

"When I had been to school some months he came to me one day scarcely
able to conceal his woe. He told me that his father was ill and that he
should have to sail in the first packet from Havre, and that, in fact,
he had then come to take leave of me. I was wild with grief, not only
upon his account but upon my own, at the prospect of losing him, my
only friend. I was but a child, and a French child to boot. I knew
not