e abbey was built.

One fine summer's morning Fleur-de-Marie gazed listlessly at this
splendid landscape; her hair was plainly braided, and she wore a high,
white dress with blue stripes; a large muslin collar was fastened around
her throat by a small blue silk handkerchief, of the same hue as her
sash.

Seated in a large armchair of carved ebony, she leant her head on her
small and delicately white hand. Fleur-de-Marie's attitude and the
expression of her face showed that she was a prey to the deepest
melancholy.

At this instant a female of a grave and distinguished appearance entered
the room, and coughed gently to attract Fleur-de-Marie's attention. She
started from her reverie, and, gracefully acknowledging the salutation
of the newcomer, said:

"What is it, my dear countess?"

"I come to inform your royal highness that the grand duke will be here
in a few minutes, and, also, to ask a favour of you."

"Ask it, you know how happy I am to oblige you."

"It concerns an unhappy creature who had unfortunately quitted
Gerolstein before your royal highness had founded the asylum for orphans
and children abandoned by their parents."

"What do you wish I should do for her?"

"The father went to seek his fortune in America, leaving his wife and
daughter to gain a precarious subsistence. The mother died, and this
poor girl, then only sixteen, was seduced and abandoned. She fell lower
and lower, until at length she became, like so many others, the
opprobrium of her sex."

Fleur-de-Marie turned red and shuddered. The countess, fearing she had
wounded the delicacy of the princess by the mention of this girl's
condition, replied:

"I pray your royal highness to pardon me; I have, doubtless, shocked you
by speaking of this wretched creature, but her repentance seemed so
sincere that I ventured to plead for her."

"You were quite right. Pray continue," said Fleur-de-Marie, subduing her
emotion. "Every fault is worthy of pity when followed by repentance."

"After two years passed in this wretched mode of existence she repented
sincerely, and came back to Gerolstein. She chanced to lodge in the
house of a good and pious widow; encouraged by her kindness, the poor
creature told her all her sad story, adding that she bitterly regretted
the faults of her early life, and that all she desired was to enter some
religious house, where by prayer and penitence she might atone for her
sins. She is only eighteen, very beautiful