“And now, sir,” she began, “where do you take me?”

By the light of the gas in the stores, which from time to time lighted up the interior of the carriage, she could see the features of her neighbor.  He looked at her with manifest satisfaction; and a smile of friendly malice played upon his lips.

“Ah!” he replied, “that is a great secret.  But you will know soon, for the man drives well.”

The poor horses went, indeed, as fast as if the dollar which the driver had received had infused the noble blood of the fastest racer into their veins.  They drove down the whole long street at a furious rate, turned to the right, and, after many more turns, stopped at last before a house of modest appearance.  Lightly and promptly, like a sheriff’s clerk, Papa Ravinet jumped out; and, having aided Henrietta to alight, he offered her his arm, and drew her into the house, saying,—­

“You will see what a surprise I have in store for you.”

In the third story the old man stopped; and, drawing a key from his pocket, he opened the door which faced the staircase.  And, before she had time to consider, Henrietta found herself gently pushed into a small sitting-room, where a middle-aged lady was embroidering at a frame by the light of a large copper lamp.

“Dear sister,” said Papa Ravinet, still in the door, “here is the young lady of whom I spoke to you, and who does us the honor to accept our hospitality.”

Slowly the elderly lady put her needle into the canvas, pushed back the frame, and rose.

She seemed to be about fifty years old, and must have been beautiful formerly.  But age and sorrow had blanched her hair, and furrowed her face; and the habit of silence and meditation seemed to have sealed her lips forever.  Her stern countenance, nevertheless, expressed kindliness.  She was dressed in black; and her costume betrayed a lady from a provincial town.

“You are welcome, madam,” she said in a grave voice.  “You will find in our modest home that peace and that sympathy which you need.”

In the meantime, Papa Ravinet had come forward; and, bowing to Henrietta, he said,—­

“I beg to present to you Mrs. Bertolle, my dearly beloved sister Mary, a widow, and a saint, who has devoted herself to her brother, and who has sacrificed to him every thing,—­her fortune, her peace, and her life.”

Ah! there was no mistaking the look with which the old man caressed the old lady:  he worshipped her.  But she interrupted him, as if embarrassed by his praise, saying,—­

“You have told me so late, Anthony, that I have not been able to attend to all of your orders.  But the young lady’s room is ready, and if you choose”—­

“Yes, we must show her the way.”

The old lady having taken the lamp, after removing the screen, opened a door which led from the parlor directly into a small, modestly furnished room, which shone with exquisite tidiness, and which exhaled that fresh odor of lavender so dear to all housekeepers from the country.  The mirrors and the furniture all glistened alike in the bright fire on the hearth; and the curtains were as white as snow.