saved from the wreck of a fine fortune even so much as I have contrived to do—for Emile." A faint, delicate flush overspread the furrowed cheeks of the old lady as she uttered the name she loved best in the world, and added, with a little tender hesitation that was almost touching, "I am very fond of your sister, M. Henri."
"I know it, ma tante," said Henri, kissing her hand. "I can never be half grateful enough for all your goodness to her, and to my dear mother. But I am sure Clémence will be happy, and that you are kind and generous enough to rejoice in her happiness."
He went to the door of his sister's room, and knocked. After a slight pause, his knock was answered by a gentle "Come in" from Madame de Talmont. Mother and daughter stood together at the window, and traces of tears were on both their faces. Henri made his request that Clémence would accompany him into the town; and Madame de Talmont, who did not like to deny him anything, decided that she had better go. Clémence would far rather have stayed at home; but she yielded, as usual, to the wishes of her mother.
"Have you no dress but that one?" asked Henri with a little hesitation, as he pointed to the plain black serge worn as mourning for him, and which, in the three bright, bewildering days that had passed since his return, she had been too much occupied to think of discarding. "M. Ivan tells me that the Czar noticed with sadness 'the number of women and children in mourning' that he saw on the day of his triumphal entry into Paris. Do not let him see one in mourning to-day who has no cause to mourn."
"I have one coloured dress," said Clémence; and going to a closet near at hand, she took out the purple brocade which her mother had given her before Henri's departure, and which she had never worn.
"It will do very well," said Madame de Talmont. "Already
