enderness of heart had won the love of all, with the
exception of its master, and commanded even his respect. The second was
no other than the young French governess, Mademoiselle de Barras, in
whose ready sympathy and consolatory counsels she found no small
happiness. The society of this young lady had indeed become, next to that
of her daughter, her greatest comfort and pleasure.

Mademoiselle de Barras was of a noble though ruined French family, and a
certain nameless elegance and dignity attested, spite of her fallen
condition, the purity of her descent. She was accomplished--possessed of
that fine perception and sensitiveness, and that ready power of
self-adaptation to the peculiarities and moods of others, which we term
tact--and was, moreover, gifted with a certain natural grace, and manners
the most winning imaginable. In short, she was a fascinating companion;
and when the melancholy circumstances of her own situation, and the sad
history of her once rich and noble family, were taken into account, with
her striking attractions of person and air, the combination of all these
associations and impressions rendered her one of the most interesting
persons that could well be imagined. The circumstances of Mademoiselle de
Barras's history and descent seemed to warrant, on Mrs. Marston's part, a
closer intimacy and confidence than usually subsists between parties
mutually occupying such a relation.

Mrs. Marston had hardly established herself in this little apartment,
when a light foot approached, a gentle tap was given at the door, and
Mademoiselle de Barras entered.

"Ah, mademoiselle, so kind--such pretty flowers. Pray sit down," said the
lady, with a sweet and grateful smile, as she took from the tapered
fingers of the foreigner the little bouquet, which she had been at the
pains to gather.

Mademoiselle sat down, and gently took the lady's hand and kissed it. A
small matter will overflow a heart charged with sorrow--a chance word, a
look, some little office of kindness--and so it was with mademoiselle's
bouquet and gentle kiss. Mrs. Marston's heart was touched; her eyes
filled with bright tears; she smiled gratefully upon her fair and humble
companion, and as she smiled, her tears overflowed, and she wept in
silence for some minutes.

"My poor mademoiselle," she said, at last, "you are so very, very kind."

Mademoiselle said nothing; she lowered her eyes, and pressed the poor
lady's hand.

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