ed the elder gentleman.
"She knows that her mother is a countess, and that she lives in a
palace; but she has never been told the name of the street in which is
her home."

"How come you to be here, little countess?" inquired the younger man.

"Diana can tell you," was the reply.

"And who may Diana be?"

"Why, who else but mama's Diana?"

"Allow me to question her," here interposed the elder man. Then, to the
child: "Diana is the person who helps you put on your clothes, is she
not?"

"It is just the other way: she took off my clothes--just see; I have
nothing on but this petticoat and this hideous shawl."

As she spoke she flung back the faded shawl and revealed how scantily
she was clad.

"You poor child!" compassionately ejaculated the young man; and when he
saw that her thin morocco slippers were buried in the snow, he lifted
her hastily in his arms. "You are half frozen."

"But why did Diana leave you half clothed in this manner?" pursued the
elder man. "Why did she undress you? Can't you tell us that much?"

"Mama slapped her this morning."

"Ah! then Diana is a servant?"

"Why, of course; what else could she be?"

"Well, she might be a goddess or a hound, you know," smilingly returned
the old gentleman.

"When mama went to the opera, this evening," explained the little one,
"she ordered Diana to take me to the children's ball at the marquis's.
Instead, she brought me to this street, made me get out of the carriage,
took off my silk ball-gown and all my pretty ornaments, and left me here
in this doorway--I am sure I don't know why, for there is n't any music
here."

"It is well she left this old shawl with you, else your mama would not
have a little countess to tell the tale to-morrow," observed the elder
man. Then, turning to his companion, he added in a lower tone: "What are
we to do with her?"

"We can't leave her here; that would be inhuman," was the reply, in the
same cautious tone.

"But we can't take her in; it would be a great risk."

"What is there to fear from an innocent prattler who cannot even
remember her mother's name?"

"We might take her to the conciergerie," suggested the elder gentleman.

"_I_ think we had better not disturb the police when they are asleep,"
in a significant tone responded his companion.

"That is true; but we can't take the child to our apartments. You know
that we--"

"I have an idea!" suddenly interposed the young man. "This innocent
child has