gentilhomme_, who earned the hatred of Paris by taking her off the stage.
So that is her daughter I see no likeness to her mother--much handsomer.
Why does she call herself Caumartin?"

"Oh," said Frederic, "a melancholy but trite story."

"Leonie was left a widow, and died in want. What could the poor young
daughter do? She found a rich protector, who had influence to get her an
appointment in the ballet: and there she did as most girls so
circumstanced do--appeared under an assumed name, which she has since
kept."

"I understand," said Victor, compassionately. "Poor thing! she has
quitted the platform, and is coming this way, evidently to speak to you.
I saw her eyes brighten as she caught sight of your face."

Lemercier attempted a languid air of modest self-complacency as the girl
now approached him. "_Bonjour_, M. Frederic! Ah, mon Dieu! how thin you
have grown! You have been ill?"

"The hardships of a military life, Mademoiselle. Ah, for the _beaux
fours_ and the peace we insisted on destroying under the Empire which we
destroyed for listening to us! But you thrive well, I trust. I have
seen you better dressed, but never in greater beauty."

The girl blushed as she replied, "Do you really think as you speak?"

"I could not speak more sincerely if I lived in the legendary House of
Glass."