peared on
the shelves; not even the stray crust of bread for which the poor woman
had been looking. "Go, my dear, and quiet your brother," she said--and
closed the cupboard door again as patiently as ever.

Stella opened her pocketbook when Blanche had left the room. "For
God's sake, take something!" she cried. "I offer it with the sincerest
respect--I offer it as a loan."

Madame Marillac gently signed to Stella to close the pocketbook again.
"That kind heart of yours must not be distressed about trifles," she
said. "The baker will trust us until we get the money for our work--and
my daughter knows it. If you can tell me nothing else, my dear, will you
tell me your Christian name? It is painful to me to speak to you quite
as a stranger."

Stella at once complied with the request. Madame Marillac smiled as she
repeated the name.

"There is almost another tie between us," she said. "We have your name
in France--it speaks with a familiar sound to me in this strange place.
Dear Miss Stella, when my poor boy startled you by that cry for food, he
recalled to me the saddest of all my anxieties. When I think of him, I
should be tempted if my better sense did not restrain me--No! no!
put back the pocketbook. I am incapable of the shameless audacity of
borrowing a sum of money which I could never repay. Let me tell you what
my trouble is, and you will understand that I am in earnest. I had two
sons, Miss Stella. The elder--the most lovable, the most affectionate of
my children--was killed in a duel."

The sudden disclosure drew a cry of sympathy from Stella, which she was
not mistress enough of herself to repress. Now for the first time she
understood the remorse that tortured Romayne, as she had not understood
it when Lady Loring had told her the terrible story of the duel.
Attributing the effect produced on her to the sensitive nature of a
young woman, Madame Marillac innocently added to Stella's distress by
making excuses.

"I am sorry to have frightened you, my dear," she said. "In your happy
country such a dreadful death as my son's is unknown. I am obliged
to mention it, or you might not understand what I have still to say.
Perhaps I had better not go on?"

Stella roused herself. "Yes! yes!" she answered, eagerly. "Pray go on!"

"My son in the next room," the widow resumed, "is only fourteen years
old. It has pleased God sorely to afflict a harmless creature. He
has not been in his right mind since--since the mis