urved lips--do you still pout when angry,
cherie?--and that square, decided turn to the chin, more apparent than
ever. You have grown, Joyce; you are a woman now."

"Yes, mother, but still a baby to you, and I want always to keep the old
name for you, no matter how I grow. Ma mere, you have grown younger, and
are more beautiful than ever."

"No flattery, mignonne! It is not good for me. Sit down here and tell us
all there is to tell. You are very lonely, now?"

"I am alone--yes."

Joyce drew a chair close beside the other and sat down, while the older
women smiled slightly.

"Yes, there is a difference. They tell me you are very rich."

"Too rich, dear mother; it frightens me!"

"Money is a great power, my child."

"And a terrible responsibility, as you have always taught me, ma mere."

"True. We have both known happy days without it. Still----" "If it had
only come in the right way, Mother Bonnivel!" cried the girl in an
irrepressible outburst, "But oh! there's a stain on every dollar. I must
spend my whole life trying to remove the stain, trying to make it honest
money. Do you remember our little French fable? How the cursed coin of
the oppressor left its mark in boils and burns, until it had been
sanctified by relieving the starving child? I must sanctify what my
father--snatched--ma mere."

"And you will, Joyce--I know that."

"Yes, I mean to, God helping me. I have just come from a stormy
interview with dear old Mr. Barrington, but I have won him over at last.
Yet, it is you, mother, who will do it all, for I shall simply carry out
your plans and----"

"My plans? what, Joyce! I have never----"

"Oh no, because you had not the means, so what was the use? But all the
same it is you. Didn't you supply all the ideas, all the longings and
the foresight? Every bit of it is what you have instilled into me from
babyhood."

"They are your own dreams--yours and Leon's. Now let us make them
reality. But where did Dorette go, and where is Camille? I want you all
to hear--and good Larry, too."

"Then stay the day with us, dear. Larrimer will not be home till
evening, and there is so much to talk about."

"Shall I? Oh, how blissful to think I can! I will go out and send
Gilbert home, then. He has waited for me so patiently all the morning.
Dear Mother Bonnivel, is it wicked that I can't be sad and regretful,
but that the freedom is so sweet--_so sweet_?"

"It is natural at least, my love. Go and dismiss Gil