such a proud, lively boy; so patient
with all my blunders in reading; and so wonderfully to be depended on,
for he never spent those evenings from home: I had a constant fear that
he would accept some invitation and forsake us; but he never did, nor
seemed ever to wish to do it. Thus, of course, it can be no more. I
suppose Sunday will now be Dr. Bretton's dining-out day....?"

"Children, come down!" here called Mrs. Bretton from below. Paulina
would still have lingered, but I inclined to descend: we went down.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE LITTLE COUNTESS.

Cheerful as my godmother naturally was, and entertaining as, for our
sakes, she made a point of being, there was no true enjoyment that
evening at La Terrasse, till, through the wild howl of the
winter-night, were heard the signal sounds of arrival. How often, while
women and girls sit warm at snug fire-sides, their hearts and
imaginations are doomed to divorce from the comfort surrounding their
persons, forced out by night to wander through dark ways, to dare
stress of weather, to contend with the snow-blast, to wait at lonely
gates and stiles in wildest storms, watching and listening to see and
hear the father, the son, the husband coming home.

Father and son came at last to the chateau: for the Count de
Bassompierre that night accompanied Dr. Bretton. I know not which of
our trio heard the horses first; the asperity, the violence of the
weather warranted our running down into the hall to meet and greet the
two riders as they came in; but they warned us to keep our distance:
both were white--two mountains of snow; and indeed Mrs. Bretton, seeing
their condition, ordered them instantly to the kitchen; prohibiting
them, at their peril, from setting foot on her carpeted staircase till
they had severally put off that mask of Old Christmas they now
affected. Into the kitchen, however, we could not help following them:
it was a large old Dutch kitchen, picturesque and pleasant. The little
white Countess danced in a circle about her equally white sire,
clapping her hands and crying, "Papa, papa, you look like an enormous
Polar bear."

The bear shook himself, and the little sprite fled far from the frozen
shower. Back she came, however, laughing, and eager to aid in removing
the arctic disguise. The Count, at last issuing from his dreadnought,
threatened to overwhelm her with it as with an avalanche.

"Come, then," said she, bending to invite the fall, and when it