"Yes, sir, Mademoiselle Laurentia is at home. Please walk up this way."




CHAPTER XII.

"I know, dear heart! that in our lot
May mingle tears and sorrow;
But love's rich rainbow's built from tears
To-day, with smiles to [**-?]morrow.
The sunshine from our sky may die,
The greenness from life's tree,
But ever 'mid the warring storm
Thy nest shall shelter'd be.
The world may never know, dear heart!
What I have found in thee;
But, though naught to the world, dear heart!
Thou'rt all the world to me."

Gerald Massey.


Mademoiselle Laurentia was sitting at her five o'clock tea-table, a
dainty little wicker-work affair, covered with delicate china of palest
pink, blue and green tints. The cups and saucers were clustered
invitingly round a huge old-fashioned silver teapot, and, on the nob of
the little fire-place a kettle was singing away merrily. A great rug of
white bear-skin was stretched on the floor, and curled up comfortably
in its warmest corner lay a large Persian cat, which, at the entrance of