The poor old man smiled feebly at the courageous excitement of his daughter.

“Poor child!” said he; “I understand very well how you strive to appear strong in order to keep me up.  May heaven repay your love, dear angel whom God has given me! your word and smile control me so completely that I may say a part of your soul passes with them into mine.  I came home just now quite heart-broken and half crazy with despair; but you, my child, have restored me to myself again.”

“That’s right, father,” said she, rising from her knees and sitting down on a chair close beside him; “come, father, tell me now all your adventures to-day, and afterward I will tell you something that will make you laugh.”

“Alas, my child!  I went to Monsieur Roncevaux’s academy to resume my English lessons; but during my sickness an Englishman was put in my place:  we have lost our best bit of bread.”

“Well, how is it about Mademoiselle Pauline’s German lesson?”

“Mademoiselle Pauline has gone to Strasburg and will not come back again.  You see, Lenora, that we are losing every thing at once; so, have I not cause to be anxious and downcast?  This news seems to overcome you, my child, strong as you are!”

In truth, Lenora was somewhat appalled by the dejecting words; but her father’s remark restored her self-possession, and she replied, with a forced smile,—­

“I was thinking, father, of the pain these dismissals gave you, and they really annoyed me Yet there are some things that ought to make me happy to-day.  Yes, father, I have some good news for you!”

“Indeed?  You astonish me!”

Lenora pointed to the chair.

“Do you see that linen?” said she.  “I have a dozen fine shirts to make out of it; and when they are done there are as many more waiting for me.  They pay me good wages, and I think, from what they say, that in time there will be something better in store for me.  But as yet that is only a hope,—­only a hope.”

De Vlierbeck seemed particularly struck by the last remark of his daughter, as he looked at her anxiously.

“Well! well! what is it that makes you so happy and hopeful?” said he.

Lenora took up her sewing again and went busily to work.

“You wouldn’t guess it in a week, father!  Do you know who gave me this work?  It is the rich lady who lives in the house with a court-yard, at the corner of our street.  She sent for me this morning, and I went to her while you were abroad.  You are surprised, father; are you not?”

“I am, indeed, Lenora.  You are speaking of Madame De Royan, for whom you were employed to embroider those handsome collars.  How does she come to know you?”

“I really don’t know.  Perhaps the person who gave me her collars to embroider told her who worked them:  she must have spoken to her about your illness and our poverty, for Madame De Royan knows more of us than you imagine.’