er to
keep their children. But I am old, and I should not like to part without
seeing you married, a mother, with affections that will replace mine."

"Oh, this is wicked! Never, never!" she exclaimed; "let me cry alone for
a minute." And she left the room hurriedly.

When she returned after a while, she found Denoisel in the room.

"You have been out? And where have you been?"

"Well, if you want to know, I have been to church to pray that I may die
before father. I knelt before a statue of the Virgin. And, you may
laugh, but it seemed to me that she nodded at my request. And it made me
quite happy."

The conversation drifted to gayer topics, and the two soon fell into
their wonted tone of banter. "Tell me, Renee," said Denoisel, "have you
never felt, I won't say love, but some sentiment for anybody?"

"Never. That sort of thing only occurs when the heart is empty. But when
it is defended by the affection one feels for a father--as a child I
felt perhaps the beginning of that emotion of which one reads in novels.
And do you know for whom?"

"No."

"For you. Oh, only for a moment. I soon loved you differently for having
corrected the spoilt child of its faults, for having directed my
attention to noble and beautiful things. And I resolved to repay you by
true friendship."

M. Mauperin entered the room, and interrupted the confidences.

A few days later, Renee having set her mind upon playing in private
theatricals, a discussion arose about the filling of the second lady's
part in the play that had been chosen. One by one the names suggested
were dismissed, until Henri said, "Why not ask Mlle. Bourjot? They are
just staying at Sannois."

"Noemi?" replied Renee. "I'd love it. But she, was so cold towards me
last winter. I don't know why."

"She will have L12,000 a year," interrupted Denoisel, "and her mother
knows that you have a brother. And they are not a little proud of their
money."

Twelve thousand a year! Madame Mauperin thought of her son's future, and
supported his suggestion. It was decided that they would call on the
Bourjots on Saturday.

To Sannois they went as arranged on the Saturday. They were received
with effusion, and had to put up for an hour or so with the unbearable
arrogance of their hosts' display of wealth. Renee's warm advances to
the playmate of her childhood were received by Noemi with coolness, not
to say reluctance, but the request that Noemi should take part in the
theatric