ement invective against my
enemies,--he insisted that I was a perfect heroine--the bravest and most
accomplished of women, as well as the dearest of sisters.

But when I had finished my own story, which I did not begin until I had
extracted from him every particle of information about my family--

"Well, my little Valerie," he said caressingly, as he put his arm about
my waist, "you have told me everything--all your little sorrows, and
trials, and troubles--all your little pleasures and successes--all your
little schemings and manoeuvrings in the love-affairs of other people--
and all about the great little fortune which you have accumulated--quite
a millionaire, upon my word, with your twenty-five hundred _livres de
rente_--but not one word have you told me about your own little
_affaires de coeur_. I am afraid, little sister mine, you are either a
very great hypocrite, or very cold-hearted, which is it, dearest
Valerie?"

"Very cold-hearted, I believe, brother. At least I certainly have no
_affaires de coeur_ to relate. I cannot pretend to say whether it is my
fault or that of other people, but certainly no one ever fell in love
with me, if it were not that odious Monsieur G--; and most certainly I
have never fallen in love with any one at all."

Auguste gazed earnestly in my face for a moment, as if he would have
read my heart, but I met his eyes with mine quite steadily and calmly,
till at length I burst into a merry laugh, which I could not restrain.

"Quite true, little sister?" he said, at last, after my manner had in
some sort convinced him.

"Quite true, Auguste, upon my honour," I replied.

"Well, Valerie, I suppose I must believe that earnest face, and that
honest little laugh of yours."

"You may just as well do so, indeed," I replied; "for no one was ever in
love with me, I assure you. And I do not think," I added, with a touch
of the old pride, "that a de Chatenoeuf is likely to give away a heart
that is not desired."

"It is all very strange," he added. "And this Monsieur Lionel
Dempster?"

"Is a little older than poor Pierre, whom I used to pinch when I wanted
to get out of my mother's reach, and regards me very much as he would a
much elder sister--almost, indeed, as a mother."

"A mother, indeed, Valerie!"

"He once told me something of the kind! He is a very fine young man,
certainly, full of talent and spirit, and will make you a very good and
agreeable friend--but he is no husba