Assignats were abundant, but good mercantile paper, a notorious coward,
had made itself wings and fled, and specie was creeping into strong
boxes like a startled rabbit into its hole. The fine was paid; but
Beaurepaire had to be heavily mortgaged, and the loan bore a high rate
of interest. This, with the baron's previous mortgages, swamped the
estate.

The baroness sold her carriage and horses, and she and her daughters
prepared to deny themselves all but the bare necessaries of life, and
pay off their debts if possible. On this their dependants fell away from
them; their fair-weather friends came no longer near them; and many a
flush of indignation crossed their brows, and many an aching pang their
hearts, as adversity revealed the baseness and inconstancy of common
people high or low.

When the other servants had retired with their wages, one Jacintha
remained behind, and begged permission to speak to the baroness.

"What would you with me, my child?" asked that lady, with an accent in
which a shade of surprise mingled with great politeness.

"Forgive me, madame," began Jacintha, with a formal courtesy; "but how
can I leave you, and Mademoiselle Josephine, and Mademoiselle Rose? I
was born at Beaurepaire; my mother died in the chateau: my father died
in the village; but he had meat every day from the baron's own
table, and fuel from the baron's wood, and died blessing the house of
Beaurepaire. I CANNOT go. The others are gone because prosperity is here
no longer. Let it be so; I will stay till the sun shines again upon the
chateau, and then you shall send me away if you are bent on it; but
not now, my ladies--oh, not now! Oh! oh! oh!" And the warm-hearted girl