seen my father but once since I parted with him
at Paris. He is much altered, and his hair is grey."

"Is he comfortable where he is, Auguste?"

"Yes, Valerie; I think that he did wisely, for it was ruinous travelling
about with so many children. He is comfortable, and, I believe, as
happy as he can be. Oh, if he did but know that you were alive, it
would add ten years to his life."

"He shall know it, my dear Auguste," exclaimed I, as the tears coursed
down my cheeks. "I feel now that I was very selfish in consenting to
Madame d'Albret's proposal, but I was hardly in my senses at the time."

"I cannot wonder at your taking the step, nor can I blame you. Your
life was one of torture, and it was torture to others to see what you
underwent."

"I pity my father, for weak as he was, the punishment has been too
severe."

"But you will make him happy now, and he will rejoice in his old days."

"And now, Auguste, tell me about Nicolas--he never liked me, but I
forgive him--how is he?"

"He is, I believe, well; but he has left his home."

"Left home!"

"You know how kind your mother was to him--I may say, how she doted upon
him. Well, one day he announced his intention of going to Italy, with a
friend he had picked up, who belonged to Naples. His mother was frantic
at the idea, but he actually laughed at her, and behaved in a very
unfeeling manner. Your mother was cut to the heart, and has never got
over it; but, Valerie, the children who are spoiled by indulgence,
always turn out the most ungrateful."

"Have you heard of him since?"

"Yes; he wrote to me, telling me that he was leading an orchestra in
some small town, and advancing rapidly--you know his talent for music--
but not one line has he ever written to his mother."

"Ah, me!" sighed I, "and that is all the return she has for her
indulgence to him. Now tell me about Clara."

"She is well married, and lives at Tours: her husband is an _employe_,
but I don't exactly know what."

"And Sophie and Elisee?"

"Are both well, and promise to grow up fine girls, but not so handsome
as you are, Valerie. It was the wonderful improvement in your person
that made me doubt for a moment when I first saw you."

"And dear little Pierre, that I used to pinch that I might get out of
the house, poor fellow?"

"Is a fine boy, and makes his father very melancholy, and his mother
very angry, by talking about you."

"And now, Auguste, one more question. On