you to declare it freely."

"You are very obliging, indeed, madame," said the pretty foreigner,
drily, "but I have no such wish, at least at present."

"Very well, mademoiselle," replied Mrs. Marston, with gentle dignity; "I
regret your want of candor, on your own account. You would, I am sure, be
much happier, were you to deal frankly with me."

"May I now have your permission, madame, to retire to my room?" asked
the French girl, rising, and making a low courtesy--"that is, if madame
has nothing further to censure."

"Certainly, mademoiselle; I have nothing further to say," replied the
elder lady.

The Frenchwoman made another and a deeper courtesy, and withdrew. Mrs.
Marston, however, heard, as she was designed to do, the young lady
tittering and whispering to herself, as she lighted her candle in the
hall. This scene mortified and grieved poor Mrs. Marston inexpressibly.
She was little, if at all, accessible to emotions of anger and certainly,
none such mingled in the feelings with which she regarded Mademoiselle de
Barras. But she had found in this girl a companion, and even a confidante
in her melancholy solitude; she had believed her affectionate,
sympathetic, tender, and the disappointment was as bitter as unimagined.

The annoyances which she was fated to receive from Mademoiselle de Barras
were destined, however, to grow in number and in magnitude. The
Frenchwoman sometimes took a fancy, for some unrevealed purpose, to talk
a good deal to Mrs. Marston, and on such occasions would persist,