keys,
and the musician saw their American visitor beside her.

"I should love to have you see the country whose music you interpret
so well," she said impulsively; "I should like to be with you when you
do see it."

"You are kind, and I trust you may be," replied the Marquise, with a
pretty nod that was a bow in miniature. She was rising from the piano,
when Mrs. McVeigh stopped her.

"Pray don't! It is a treat to hear you. I only wanted to ask you to
take my invitation seriously and come some time to our South Carolina
home; I should like to be one of your friends."

"It would give me genuine pleasure," was the frank reply. "You know I
confessed that my sympathies were there ahead of me." The smile
accompanying the words was so adorable that Mrs. McVeigh bent to kiss
her.

The Marquise offered her cheek with a graciousness that was a caress
in itself, and thus their friendship commenced.

After the dowager and her daughter-in-law were again alone, and with
an assurance that even the privileged Dumaresque would not break in on
their evening, the elder lady asked, abruptly, a question over which
she had been puzzling.

"Child, what possessed you to tell to a Southern woman of the
States that story reflecting on the most vital of their economic
institutions? Had you forgotten their prejudices? I was in dread
that you might offend her, and I am sure Helene Biron was quite as
nervous."

"I did not offend her, Maman," replied the Marquise, looking up from
her embroidery with a smile, "and I had not forgotten their
prejudices. I only wanted to judge if she herself had ever heard the
story."

"Madame McVeigh!--and why?"

"Because Rhoda Larue was also a native of that particular part of
Carolina to which she has invited me, and because of a fact which I
have never forgotten, the young planter for whom she was educated--the
slave owner who bought her from her father's brother was named
McVeigh. My new friend is delightful in herself but--she has a son."

"My child!" gasped the dowager, staring at her. "Such a man the son of
that charming, sincere woman! Yes, I had forgotten their name, and bid
you forget the story; never speak of it again, child!"

"I should be sorry to learn it is the same family," admitted the
Marquise; "still, I shall make a point of avoiding the son until we
learn something about him. It is infamous that such men should be
received into society."

The dowager relapsed into silence, digesti