you ask?"

They had drawn a little apart by this time, and the clerk heard no more;
but their manner--the lady's especially--was so singular that he thought
I ought to know that she was here under a false name, and so had sent
Margery to me with the news. As for the gentleman and Madame Letellier,
they were still conversing in the lowest tones together.

Interested intensely in this new development in the drama hourly
unfolding before my eyes, I dismissed Margery with an instruction or
two, and passed into the hidden chamber, where I again laid my ear to
the wall. The mother would have something to say when she returned, and
I determined to hear what it was.

I had to wait a long time, but was rewarded at last by the sound of
voices and the distinct exclamation from the daughter's lips:

"Oh, mamma! what has happened?"

The mother's reply was delayed, but it came at last:

"My face is becoming strangely communicative. You will read all my
thoughts next. What makes you think anything has happened? Is this a
place for occurrences?"

"Oh, mamma! you cannot deceive me. Your very limbs are trembling. See,
you can hardly stand; and then, how you look at me! Oh, mamma, dear! is
it good news or bad? for from your eyes it might be either. Has he--"

"He, he--always he!" the mother passionately interrupted. "You do not
love your mother. You are thinking always of one whom you never saw till
a year ago. My doubts, my fears, my sufferings are nothing to you. I
might die--"

"Hush! hush! Whenever did you speak like this before, mamma? Love you!
Did ever a child love her mother more? But our affection is sure, while
that of him you do not like me to mention is threatened, and its
existence forbidden. I cannot help but think, mamma, and of him. If I
could, I were a traitor to the noblest instincts that sway a woman's
heart. I may not marry him--you say I never will--but think of him I
must, and pray for him I will, till the last breath has left my lips.
So, what is your news, dear mamma? Has papa written?"

"It is too early for the mail."

"True, true. Some one has come, then; a messenger, perhaps, from New
York. M. Dubois--"

"Dubois is a traitor. He has not kept the secret of our whereabouts. We
have to settle with Monsieur and Madame Dubois, meanwhile--"

"What?"

"Honora, can I trust you?"

"Trust me?"

"Ah! who is trembling now?"

"I! I! But how can I help it! You glance toward the door; you seem
afraid som