d."

"How many years ago was that?" faintly inquired Valerie.

"Oh, about six--the young man was then about fifteen; the girl not more
than twelve."

"They could not have known their own minds at that age," murmured
Valerie.

"Oh, that was not at all necessary in a French betrothal," laughed the
lady; "but, however, Aimee, child as she was, certainly knew her mind.
The love of her betrothed husband was, and is, the religion of her life.
I presume that Count Waldemar is equally constant; and that he will now
press for a speedy marriage. My brother-in-law is down on his estates in
Provence, just now; but I shall write and ask his permission to withdraw
Aimee from her convent, in anticipation of her marriage, for of course
she will be married from this house."

"But--her mother?"

"Oh! I should have told you; her mother, my dear sister Anne, passed
away about a year after the betrothal of her daughter. The marquis took
her loss very much to heart, and has never married again. The motherless
girl has passed her life in a convent; but I hope to have her out soon.
Here, my love, is an album containing portraits of my sister and
brother-in-law and their children, taken at various times. You cannot
mistake them, and they may interest you," said Lady C., taking a
photographic volume from a gilded stand near, and laying it upon her
guest's lap.

Valerie received it with a nod of thanks, and the lady glided away to
give some of her attention to her other guests.

"The young English duchess is lovely, but too sad," said an embassadress,
as the hostess joined her.

"Ah! yes, poor child! lost her father and mother within a few weeks of
each other," answered Lady C.

"But that was six months ago; she ought to have recovered some
cheerfulness by this time," remarked old Madame Bamboullet, who was a
walking register of all the births, deaths and marriages of high life
in Paris for the last half century.

"Well, you see she has not done so; but here come the gentlemen,"
observed Lady C., as a rather straggling procession from the dining-room
entered.

The host, Lord C., went up to the embassadress to whom it was his cue to
be most attentive.

The Duke of Hereward sought out his hostess, and entered into a bantering
conversation with her.

Count Waldemar de Volaski came directly up to Valerie where she sat alone
on the sofa in a distant corner of the room. The little gilded stand
stood before her, and the photographic