ou art a droll child!' said her mother.

'Ah, but we are going to be like Telemaque.'

'Heaven forfend!' said the poor lady.

'Yes, dear mamma, I am glad you are going with us instead of staying at
home to weave and unweave webs. If Penelope had been like you, she would
have gone!'

'Take care, is not Jacques acting Penelope?' said Madame de Bourke,
unable to help smiling at her little daughter's glib mythology, while
going to the rescue of the embroidery silks, in which her youngest son
was entangling himself.

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and a message was brought
that the Countess of Nithsdale begged the favour of a few minutes'
conversation in private with Madame. The Scottish title fared better on
the lips of La Jeunesse than it would have done on those of his
predecessor. There was considerable intimacy among all the Jacobite
exiles in and about Paris; and Winifred, Countess of Nithsdale, though
living a very quiet and secluded life, was held in high estimation among
all who recollected the act of wifely heroism by which she had rescued
her husband from the block.

Madame de Bourke bade the maids carry off the little Jacques, and Ulysse
followed; but Estelle, who had often listened with rapt attention to the
story of the escape, and longed to feast her eyes on the heroine,
remained in her corner, usefully employed in disentangling the
embroilment of silks, and with the illustrations to her beloved Telemaque
as a resource in case the conversation should be tedious. Children who
have hundreds of picture-books to rustle through can little guess how
their predecessors could once dream over one.

Estelle made her low reverence unnoticed, and watched with eager eyes as
the slight figure entered, clad in the stately costume that was regarded
as proper respect to her hostess; but the long loose sacque of blue silk
was faded, the _feuille-morte_ velvet petticoat frayed, the lace on the
neck and sleeves washed and mended; there were no jewels on the sleeves,
though the long gloves fitted exquisitely, no gems in the buckles of the
high-heeled shoes, and the only ornament in the carefully rolled and
powdered hair, a white rose. Her face was thin and worn, with pleasant
brown eyes. Estelle could not think her as beautiful as Calypso
inconsolable for Ulysses, or Antiope receiving the boar's a head. 'I
know she is better than either,' thought the little maid; 'but I wish she
was more like Minerva.