an was manifested in the person of this fair young maiden. The word
"dazzling" might be applied without exaggeration to the lustrous
whiteness of a complexion tinged in the cheeks as though by the
reflection of a sea-shell. Her full, dewy lips disclosed milky rows of
childlike teeth within. Her eyes were of the clearest azure; but, in
spite of their expression of mingled tenderness and gayety, one who
could pause to lay the finger upon an imperfection, would note that
something was wanting to complete their beauty;--the eyebrows were too
faintly traced, and the lashes too light, though long. The low brow,
straight, slender nose, the soft curve of the chin, the fine oval of the
face, were obviously an inheritance. At a single glance it was
impossible not to be struck with the resemblance which these classic
features bore to those of the countess. But the sportive dimples,
pressed as though by a caressing touch, upon the cheeks and chin of the
young girl, destroyed, even more than the totally opposite coloring, the
likeness in the two countenances. The hair of the countess had been
remarkable for its shining blackness, while the yellow acacia was not
more brightly golden than the silken tresses of Bertha,--tresses that
ran in ripples, and lost themselves in a sunny stream of natural curls,
which seemed audaciously bent on breaking their bounds, and looked as
though they were always in a frolic. In vain they were smoothed back by
the skilful fingers of an expert _femme de chambre_, and confined in an
elaborate knot at the back of Bertha's small head; the rebellious locks
_would_ wave and break into fine rings upon the white brow, and lovingly
steal in stray ringlets adown the alabaster throat, ignoring
conventional restraint as sportively as their owner.

Bertha de Merrivale, like Madeleine, was an orphan, but, unlike
Madeleine, an heiress. The Marquis de Merrivale, Bertha's uncle, was
also her guardian. He allowed her every year to spend a few months with
her mother's relatives, who warmly pleaded for these annual visits. Her
sojourn at the chateau de Gramont was always a season of delight to
Bertha herself, for she dearly loved her great-aunt, liked Count
Tristan, enjoyed the society of Maurice, and was enthusiastically
attached to Madeleine.

"A letter! a letter from Maurice!" exclaimed Bertha, dancing around her
aunt as she held out the epistle.

The countess broke the seal eagerly, and after glancing over the first