"Very true," she replied, laughing frankly;
"well, then, here it is. I am slightly lame, as
you know. I was born so. The defect was
held to he incurable till I was nine; then my
parents heard of a man who worked wonderful
cures somewhere in Normandy; and, after
hesitating a long time, they sent me down to one
of my aunts, who resided in the province. You
must know, lest you should wonder at some of
the particulars in my narrative, that in those
days surgical skill was powerless over many an
enemy it has since conquered, and you need not
be surprised that my parents, who were wealthy
and intelligent, acted as they did. My aunt
lived in a dingy old town; I would rather not
mention its name, even to you. It was a very
picturesque and ancient place, with wooden
houses that projected over the streets, and
seemed to nod at each other in a friendly way.
I speak of it as I saw it when I left it for ever;
with the sunset rays streaming down its narrow
is, and a strip of blue sky appearing high
above the dark roofs and gable ends; but very
different was its first aspect to me. We arrived
at night; the post-chaise rattled through silent
lanes that were black as ink, the postilion
wound his horn with a loud unearthly music,
and if my father had not been by me I believe I
should have fancied we were going straight
down to some dark land of enchantment. We
drew up on a narrow irregular Place. A bright
moon hung in the sky above it, and lit it well;
I saw a Gothic church, all carving and niches,
with saints' images in them; near it a large
stately building, the Palais de Justice, as I was
told later; and near that, again, a gloomy stone
mansion, with a few red lights burning behind
its crimson curtains. This was my aunt's house.
My father carried me in—I could not walk—
and my aunt—she was my great-aunt in reality—
stood at the head of the staircase to receive us.
She was a very grave, solemn-looking lady,
dressed in stiff silk brocade that spread wide
around her. I felt frightened of her the
moment I saw her, and that feeling of awe did not
leave me whilst I remained beneath her roof.
My father commended me to my aunt's care,
promised in my name that I would be very,
very good and obedient; and as he had an
appointment at court, and could not stay with
us, he took his leave at once, kissed my aunt's
hand, bade me good-bye, and entered the post-
chaise, which drove off with a great clatter and
rattling of wheels. Again the postilion wound
his horn, and again I felt as if the blast had
magic in it. I was an enchanted princess, and
this gloomy old house was my palace. Truly it
proved so; for six months, not till my father
came to take me away for ever, did I cross its
threshold.

"I do not know that I was a very observant
child, but some words which my father had
spoken as he was leaving, and which seemed to
refer to me, had struck and perplexed me.
'Never alone,' he had said very significantly;
and in the same tone my aunt had replied,
'Never alone.'  Her manner implied, indeed,
that my father's recommendation was a very
unnecessary one; but the event proved its wisdom
and also its uselessness.

"I did not like my aunt's house. It was large,
cold, and gloomy. I did not like my room,
with its lofty ceiling and tomb-like bed, and its
three deep windows looking out on the Place,
and facing the solemn Gothic church. But I
dearly liked my aunt's garden. It was large,
ami it had tall trees, and marble vases, and
white statues, anil plashing fountains; and when
I think of it, it seems to me that never since have
I seen such a fairy place. I dare say there are
plenty like it still, but yet I do not know. A
garden in the heart of a crowded city is rare,
and my aunt's was a green and blooming oasis
in the great stone desert around it.

"My aunt's maid Marie carried me down to it
the next morning. How I remember the blue
sky, the young spring green on the trees, the
fragrant flowers, and above all the summer-
house to which Marie took me! It was built
like a little circular white temple, with a flat
roof, and supported by slender columns. It was
a temple, I am afraid, and a heathen one; for
within it, on a marble pedestal, stood a statue of
Cupid bending his bow. I was placed on a couch
facing the little god, and Marie said to me:

"'Will you be afraid if I leave you?'

"I was not a cowardly child. I said I should
not be afraid, and she went, promising to return
quickly. I had been reared in a city, taken out
for drives in a carriage; but I had never been
in a spot like this: truly it was enchantment!
Around the temple grew some old acacia trees.
I saw their light waving shadow on the sunlit
path; their delicious fragrance filled the air; and
the grass was white with their fallen blossoms.
A little further away I beheld the waters of a
fountain glancing in the sun; beyond it, I caught
a glimpse of a white statue; and, to make it all
more delightful, a blackbird began to sing as
bird surely never sang out of a fairy tale."

"My dear countess," I interrupted, "the
prince is coming."

"The prince," she said, wistfully. "Ah!
well, well. I had scarcely been five minutes
alone when Marie came back, with a young
man. I need not describe him: this Velasquez
was his prototype. His dress, however, was
of sober black cloth, very plain, yet deriving
elegance from the carriage of the wearer. Child
as I was, I could see that. I also saw that
this young stranger wore no powdered wig—
nothing but his own fair hair. Marie was not
an amiable woman. In the shortest and most
ungracious speech, she informed me that Monsieur
Pierre was very clever; that it was hoped he
could cure me; and that for this he must see my
lame foot. I made no objection. My foot was
laid bare for his inspection; he knelt on the floor
to see it better, and after handling and examining
it carefully, he sighed and looked up at me.

"'Can you bear pain?' he asked, in a voice
so sweet and low that it was like music.

"'Oh no, no!' I cried, much alarmed.

"'Then I cannot cure you,' he resumed,
'for to cure you I must make you suffer.'

"I shed bitter tears; but I wanted to be cured,