removing the screen, opened a
door which led from the parlor directly into a small, modestly furnished
room, which shone with exquisite tidiness, and which exhaled that fresh
odor of lavender so dear to all housekeepers from the country. The
mirrors and the furniture all glistened alike in the bright fire on the
hearth; and the curtains were as white as snow.

At one glance the old dealer had taken in every thing; and, after a
smile of gratitude addressed to his sister, he said to Henrietta,--

"This is your room, madam."

The poor girl, all overcome, sought in vain for words to express her
gratitude. The old lady did not give her time. She showed her, spread
out on the bed, petticoats, white linen, stockings, a warm dressing-
wrapper of gray flannel with blue flowers, and at the foot a pair of
slippers.

"This will answer for a change to-night, madam," she said. "I have
provided what was most pressing; to-morrow we will see about the rest."

Big tears, tears of happiness and gratitude, this time, rolled down
Henrietta's pale cheeks. Oh, indeed! this was a surprise, and a
delicious one, which the ingenious foresight of her new friend had
prepared for her.

"Ah, you are so kind!" she said, giving her hands to brother and
sister--"you are so kind! How can I ever repay what you are doing for
me?"

Then overcoming her emotion, and turning to Papa Ravinet, she added,--

"But pray, who are you, sir,--you who thus come to succor, a poor
young girl who is an utter stranger to you, doubling the value of your
assistance by your great delicacy?"

The old lady replied in his place,--"My brother, madam, is an
unfortunate man, who has paid for a moment's forgetfulness of duty, with
his happiness, his prospects, and _his_ very life. Do not question him.
Let him be for you what he is for all of us,--Anthony Ravinet, dealer in
curiosities."

The voice of the old lady betrayed such great sorrow, silently endured,
that Henrietta looked ashamed, regretting her indiscretion. But the old
man at once said,--

"What I may say to you madam, is, that you owe me no gratitude,--no,
none whatever. What I do, my own interest commands me to do; and I
deserve no credit for it. Why do you speak of gratitude? It is I who
shall forever be under obligations to you for the immense service which
you render me."

He seemed to be inspired by his own words; his figure straightened up;
his eyes flashed fire; and he was on the point of letting,