ange for the most beautiful one that Greuze ever painted. Not that
her face bore any resemblance to the pictures of Greuze. It had neither
the sweet simplicity of the girl in "The Broken Pitcher," nor the
sentimental graces which he bestows on his court beauties. It was an
exceedingly piquant, animated face, never at rest, always kindling,
flashing, gleaming, whether with sunlight or lightning. Her movements
were quick and darting, like those of a humming-bird. Her enunciation,
though perfectly distinct, was marvelously rapid. The same quickness
characterized her mental operations. Her conclusions, right or wrong,
were always instantaneous. Her prompt decisiveness, her talent for
mimicry and her witchery of grace and beauty won her a devoted following
of school-girls, to whom her tastes and opinions were as authoritative
as ever were those of Eugenie to the ladies of her court. School-girls,
like college-boys, are very apt in nicknames, and Helen's was the
"Little Princess," which her pretty, imperious ways made peculiarly
appropriate.

I do not know how her parents dared trust her to me for a year beyond
the sea, but they did. We set off in high enthusiasm, and Helen was full
of mirth and laughter till we were fairly on board the steamer in New
York harbor, when she threw herself on her father's breast with a
gesture of utter abandonment that would have made the fortune of a
debutante on any stage in the world. It was so unlooked-for that we all
broke down, and Mr. St. Clair was strongly inclined to take her home
with him. But so sudden was she in all her moods that his foot had
scarcely touched the shore before she was again radiant with
anticipation.

I will not linger on the pleasant summer travel, the Rhine majesty, the
Alpine glory. September saw us established in the city of cities--Paris.
Everywhere we had met throngs of Americans. Neighbors from over the way
in our own city greeted us warmly in most unexpected places. But we had
not crossed the ocean merely to see our own countrymen. In Paris we were
determined to eschew hotels and pensions and to become the inmates of a
French home. Everybody told us this would be impossible, but I find
nothing so stimulating as the assertion that a thing can't be done. Two
weeks of eager inquiry, and we were received into a family which could
not have been more to our wish if it had been created expressly for us.
It was that of Monsieur Le Fort, a professor in the Medical Co