d by Philip. This cousin was the Count de Mirandol. The master
of a large fortune which he had accumulated in the colonies, a widower
of long standing and the father of but one child, a girl of eighteen,
who would inherit all his wealth, he had returned to France, intending
to take up his permanent abode there. He had been afflicted for years by
a chronic malady, contracted during his long sea voyages, and he
returned to his native land with the hope that he should find there
relief from his sufferings. But he had scarcely landed at Marseilles
when he was attacked by his old malady in an aggravated form. He could
live but a few days, and realizing his condition, and desiring to find a
protector for his daughter, his thoughts turned to his cousin, the
Marquis de Chamondrin. Although he had scarcely seen the Marquis for
thirty years, he knew him sufficiently well not to hesitate to entrust
his daughter to his cousin's care.

The Marquis did not fail him. He accepted the charge that his relative
confided to him, closed the eyes of the dying man, and a few days
afterwards he and Philip returned to the chateau, accompanied by a young
girl clad in mourning. The stranger was Mademoiselle Antoinette de
Mirandol.

Endowed with a refined and singularly expressive face, Antoinette,
without possessing any of those charms which imparted such an
incomparable splendor to the beauty of Dolores, was very attractive. She
was a brunette, rather frail in appearance and small of stature; but
there was such a gentle, winning light in her eyes that when she lifted
them to yours you were somehow penetrated and held captive by them; in
other words, you were compelled to love her.

"I bring you a sister," the Marquis said to Dolores, as he presented
Antoinette. "She needs your love and sympathy."

The two girls tenderly embraced each other. Dolores led her guest to the
room which they were to share, and lavished comforting words and
caresses upon her, and from that moment they loved each other as fondly
as if they had been friends all their lives.

Cruelly tried by the loss of her benefactress and by her mental
conflicts on the subject of Philip, Dolores forgot her own sorrows and
devoted herself entirely to the task of consoling Antoinette. It was not
long before the latter became more cheerful. This was the work of
Dolores. They talked of their past, and Dolores concealed nothing from
her new friend. She confessed, without any false shame