ning the brother of Genevieve, and yet at the recollection of the
handsome Nicolas my heart beat impetuously. With what impatience did I
await the return of Henriette! at length she came.

"Well!" said I.

"I have found out M. Mathon," answered Henriette.

"Which, the father?"

"Yes, madam."

"And what is his present occupation?"

"As usual, madam, superintending his kitchen and shop."

"Is he alone in his business?"

"Oh, no! madam; he is assisted by his son, a fine dark handsome young
man."

"His son then lives with him?"

"Yes, madam, and he is married."

"Married!--but it is not of this young man I wish to speak, but of his
sister, of Genevieve; tell me of her."

"I only learned, madam, that she had married a tailor, named
Guerard--who, after having been very unsuccessful in business, died
suddenly, leaving her wholly destitute with two young children."

I immediately wrote the following note to my early friend:--

"The comtesse du Barry having heard of the misfortunes of madame
Guerard, and knowing how much she is deserving of a better fate, is
desirous of being useful to her. She therefore requests madame Guerard
will call next Monday, at two o'clock, on her at her hotel, rue de la
Pussienne."

Poor Genevieve nearly fainted when she received this note, which was
conveyed to her by a footman wearing my livery. She could not imagine to
whom she was indebted for procuring her such exalted patronage, and
she and her family spent the intervening hours before her appointed
interview in a thousand conjectures on the subject. On Monday,
punctually at two o'clock, she was at the hotel dressed in her best,
her lovely countenance setting off the humble style of even her holiday
garb. She knew me the instant she saw me; and, in the frank simplicity
of her own heart imagining she could judge of mine, she ran to me, and
threw herself into my arms, exclaiming,

"Oh, my dear Jeannette, what pleasure does it afford me to meet you
again. Oh! I see how it is; you are the friend of the comtesse du
Barry, and it is to you I shall owe my future good fortune, as I do this
present mark of her favor."

"No, my good Genevieve," cried I, weeping for joy, "she who now embraces
you is the comtesse du Barry."

After we had a little recovered ourselves, I took my friend by the hand,
and led her to a sofa, where we seated ourselves side by side. Returning
to the scenes of our early youth, I related to Genevieve all that h