ir leavings for twenty-six years!--And now like
the story in the Old Testament, the poor relation has one ewe-lamb which
is all her joy, and the rich man who has flocks covets the ewe-lamb and
steals it--without warning, without asking. Adeline has meanly robbed me
of my happiness!--Adeline! Adeline! I will see you in the mire, and sunk
lower than myself!--And Hortense--I loved her, and she has cheated me.
The Baron.--No, it is impossible. Tell me again what is really true of
all this."

"Be calm, my dear child."

"Valerie, my darling, I will be calm," said the strange creature,
sitting down again. "One thing only can restore me to reason; give me
proofs."

"Your Cousin Hortense has the _Samson_ group--here is a lithograph from
it published in a review. She paid for it out of her pocket-money, and
it is the Baron who, to benefit his future son-in-law, is pushing him,
getting everything for him."

"Water!--water!" said Lisbeth, after glancing at the print, below which
she read, "A group belonging to Mademoiselle Hulot d'Ervy." "Water! my
head is burning, I am going mad!"

Madame Marneffe fetched some water. Lisbeth took off her cap, unfastened
her black hair, and plunged her head into the basin her new friend held
for her. She dipped her forehead into it several times, and checked the
incipient inflammation. After this douche she completely recovered her
self-command.

"Not a word," said she to Madame Marneffe as she wiped her face--"not a
word of all this.--You see, I am quite calm; everything is forgotten. I
am thinking of something very different."

"She will be in Charenton to-morrow, that is very certain," thought
Madame Marneffe, looking at the old maid.

"What is to be done?" Lisbeth went on. "You see, my angel, there is
nothing for it but to hold my tongue, bow my head, and drift to the
grave, as all water runs to the river. What could I try to do? I should
like to grind them all--Adeline, her daughter, and the Baron--all to
dust! But what can a poor relation do against a rich family? It would be
the story of the earthen pot and the iron pot."

"Yes; you are right," said Valerie. "You can only pull as much hay as
you can to your side of the manger. That is all the upshot of life in
Paris."

"Besides," said Lisbeth, "I shall soon die, I can tell you, if I lose
that boy to whom I fancied I could always be a mother, and with whom I
counted on living all my days----"

There were tears in her eyes, and