ng girl who conceals something from her mother always does
wrong," she uttered. "It is a long while since I have had for the
first time the presentiment that you were hiding something from me.
But, when I questioned you, you succeeded in quieting my suspicions.
You have abused my confidence and my weakness."

This reproach was the most cruel that could be addressed to Mlle.
Gilberte. The blood rushed to her face, and, in a firm voice,

"Well, yes," said she: "I have a secret."

"Dear me!"

"And, if I did not confide it to you, it is because it is also the
secret of another. Yes, I confess it, I have been imprudent in the
extreme; I have stepped beyond all the limits of propriety and social
custom; I have exposed myself to the worst calumnies. But never,--I
swear it,--never have I done any thing of which my conscience can
reproach me, nothing that I have to blush for, nothing that I regret,
nothing that I am not ready to do again to-morrow."

"I said nothing, 'tis true; but it was my duty. Alone I had to
suffer the responsibility of my acts. Having alone freely engaged
my future, I wished to bear alone the weight of my anxiety. I should
never have forgiven myself for having added this new care to all your
other sorrows."

Mme. Favoral stood dismayed. Big tears rolled down her withered
cheeks.

"Don't you see, then," she stammered, "that all my past suffering is
as nothing compared to what I endure to-day? Good heavens! what have
I ever done to deserve so many trials? Am I to be spared none of the
troubles of this world? And it is through my own daughter that I am
the most cruelly stricken!"

This was more than Mlle. Gilberte could bear. Her heart was breaking
at the sight of her mother's tears, that angel of meekness and
resignation. Throwing her arms around her neck, and kissing her on
the eyes,

"Mother," she murmured, "adored mother, I beg of you do not weep
thus! Speak to me! What do you wish me to do?"

Gently the poor woman drew back.

"Tell me the truth," she answered.

Was it not certain that this was the very thing she would ask; in
fact, the only thing she could ask? Ah! how much would the young
girl have preferred one of her father's violent scenes, and
brutalities which would have exalted her energy, instead of
crushing it!

Attempting to gain time,

"Well, yes," she answered, "I'll tell you every thing, mother, but
not now, to-morrow, later."

She was about to yield, how