dian. He was good to me, but M.
Charloix----" She shivered slightly. "But the letter,"--she drew it forth
reverently--"ah, that changes the world for Henri and me!

"You see, when my father was very young, scarcely more than a boy, he ran
away and married a girl of great beauty and intelligence, but one
considered by the people among whom he moved as far beneath him in
station. The rest is so old a story--his family were so cruel to him when
it came to their knowledge, disinheriting him; and my father, not being
accustomed to earn his own living, could not make enough to protect his
sweet young wife--my mother----" Her voice broke, and Lucile squeezed the
small, brown hand encouragingly.

"Ah, imagine it!" she cried. "Most often she had not enough to eat. Then,
when I was only an infant, heart-broken at the suffering she thought
herself to have brought upon herself and little daughter, together with
so great privation itself, she died. My father followed soon
after--heart-broken. Before he died, he wrote me this--ah, see how old it
is--for he could not bear that I should hear of him from other lips than
his."

"But you, the child?" Lucile interrupted, eagerly. "What became of you?"

"Ah, he bequeathed me to the one friend whom he had not lost--and he was
good; I cannot make you understand how good!"

"But he never told you about your parents?"

"It was my father's request that he should not--and--and----" Her voice
trailed off into silence. Chin in hand, she gazed unseeingly at the
opposite wall.

Lucile was silent for a moment, busy patching the pieces of the story
together into one connected whole. Then, leaning forward suddenly, she
cried, excitedly, "Then M. Charloix deliberately made up that wicked,
cruel lie that separated you and his son?"

The girl nodded. "But nothing matters now, save that it was a lie," she
cried, and Lucile, looking at her, marveled.

The raucous toot of a motor horn brought both the girls to their feet
with a startled exclamation.

"Oh, it is your friends," said Jeanette, running to the window. "You must
go down at once. Ah, I am sorry to part with you, _ma cherie_," holding
the younger girl from her gently and looking earnestly into the flushed,
eager, face. "You have come into my life like some good fairy, bringing
happiness with you."

Emotion choked the words Lucile wanted to say, but her silence was more
eloquent than words and Jeanette was satisfied.

A moment later the