unsullied through everything. An account
of this unusual conduct on the part of a beautiful young actress chanced
to reach the ears of a certain rich and powerful prince, who was very
much struck and interested by it, and immediately sought an introduction
to my mother. As his actual rank and position equalled hers of imaginary
princess, she received his attentions with evident pleasure. He was
young, handsome, eloquent, and very much in love with her--what wonder
then that she yielded at last to his impassioned entreaties, and gave
herself to him, though, because of his high station, he could not do as
his heart dictated, and make her his wife. They were very happy in each
other's love, and after I was born my young father was devoted to me."

"Ah!" interrupted de Sigognac, eagerly, "that explains it all; princely
blood does flow in your veins. I knew it--was sure of it!"

"Their happiness continued," resumed Isabelle, "until reasons of state
made it necessary for him to tear himself away from her, to go on a
diplomatic mission to one of the great capitals of Europe; and ere his
return to France an illustrious marriage had been arranged for him by
his family, with the sanction of royalty, which he found it impossible
to evade. In these cruel circumstances he endeavoured to do
everything in his power to soften the pain of this rupture to my poor
mother--himself almost broken-hearted at being forced to leave her--and
made every possible arrangement for her comfort and well-being; settling
a generous income on her, and providing lavishly for my maintenance and
education. But she would accept nothing from him--she could not receive
his money without his love--'all or nothing' was her motto; and taking
me with her she fled from him, successfully concealing her place of
refuge. She soon after joined a band of players travelling through the
provinces, and resumed her old role; but her heart was broken, and she
gradually faded away, dying at last when I was only about seven years
old. Even then I used to appear upon the stage in parts suitable to my
age. I was a precocious little thing in many ways. My mother's death
caused me a grief far more acute than most children, even a good deal
older than I was then, are capable of feeling. How well I remember being
punished because I refused to act the part of one of Medea's children,
the day after she died. But my grief was not very long-lived--I was but
a child after all, and the a