gurd! He adored my wife; I have known him listen for
hours to catch the sound of her footstep; he would actually deck the
threshold with flowers in the morning that she might tread on them as
she passed by." The old bonds sighed and rubbed his hand across his eyes
with a gesture half of pain, half of impatience--"And now he is Thelma's
slave,--a regular servant to her. She can manage him best of us all,--he
is as docile as a lamb, and will do anything she tells him."

"I am not surprised at that," said the gallant Duprez; "there is reason
in such obedience!"

Thelma looked at him inquiringly, ignoring the implied compliment.

"You think so?" she said simply "I am glad! I always hope that he will
one day be well in mind,--and every little sign of reason in him is
pleasant to me."

Duprez was silent. It was evidently no use making even an attempt at
flattering this strange girl; surely she must be dense not to understand
compliments that most other women compel from the lips of men as their
right? He was confused--his Paris breeding was no use to him--in fact he
had been at a loss all day, and his conversation had, even to himself,
seemed particularly shallow and frothy. This Mademoiselle Gueldmar, as he
called her, was by no means stupid--she was not a mere moving statue of
lovely flesh and perfect color whose outward beauty was her only
recommendation,--she was, on the contrary, of a most superior
intelligence,--she had read much and thought more,--and the dignified
elegance of her manner, and bearing would have done honor to a queen.
After all, thought Duprez musingly, the social creeds of Paris _might_
be wrong--it was just possible! There might be women who were
womanly,--there might be beautiful girls who were neither vain nor
frivolous,--there might even be creatures of the feminine sex, besides
whom a trained Parisian coquette would seem nothing more than a painted
fiend of the neuter gender. These were new and startling considerations
to the feather-light mind of the Frenchman,--and unconsciously his fancy
began to busy itself with the old romantic histories of the ancient
French chivalry, when faith, and love, and loyalty, kept white the
lilies of France, and the stately courtesy and unflinching pride of the
_ancien regime_ made its name honored throughout the world. An odd
direction indeed for Pierre Duprez's reflection to wander in--he, who
never reflected on either past or future, but was content to fritte