han usual about every fourth day, she began to understand
Why he appeared ungrateful to her for growing up. He went out a great
deal, though no visitors came to the house; for it was known that Mr.
Carewe desired to present his daughter to no one until he presented her
to all. Fanchon Bareaud, indeed, made one hurried and embarrassed call,
evading Miss Betty's reference to the chevalier of the kitten with
a dexterity too nimble to be thought unintentional. Miss Carewe was
forbidden to return her friend's visit until after her debut; and Mr.
Carewe explained that there was always some worthless Young men hanging
about the Bareaud's, where (he did not add) they interfered with a
worthy oh one who desired to honor Fanchon's older sister, Virginia,
with his attentions.

This was no great hardship for Miss Betty, as, since plunging into the
Revolution with her great-uncle, she had lost some curiosity concerning
the men of to-day, doubting that they would show forth as heroic,
as debonnair, gay and tragic as he. He was the legendary hero of her
childhood; she remembered her mother's stories of him perhaps more
clearly than she remembered her mother; and one of the older Sisters had
known him in Paris and had talked of him at length, giving the flavor of
his dandyism and his beauty at first hand to his young relative. He had
been one of those hardy young men wearing unbelievable garments, who
began to appear in the garden of the Tuileries with knives in their
sleeves and cudgels in their hands, about April, 1794, and whose dash
and recklessness in many matters were the first intimations that the
Citizen Tallien was about to cause the Citizen Robespierre to shoot
himself through the jaw.

In the library hung a small, full-length drawing of Georges, done in
color by Miss Betty's grandmother; and this she carried to her own room
an& studied long and ardently, until sometimes the man himself seemed
to stand before her, in spite of the fact that Mile. Meithac had not
a distinguished talent and M. Meilhac's features might have been
anybody's. It was to be seen, however, that he was smiling.

Miss Betty had an impression that her grandmother's art of portraiture
would have been more-successful with the profile than the "full-face."
Nevertheless, nothing could be more clearly indicated than that the hair
of M. Melihac was very yellow, and his short, huge-lapelled waistcoat
white, striped with scarlet. An enormous cravat covered his