‘A great pity, my little maid,’ he answered, sleepily. ‘But I am not sure how De Nesselrode would approve of your carrying it off, nevertheless.’ And then he gave two huge yawns, and closed his eyes. ‘It will all be restored some day,’ I said cheerily, ‘and made more beautiful, perhaps, than it was before.’ ‘Do you think so, mademoiselle?’ inquired the Baron of me. ‘I hope so, monsieur. And what a fine organ! If its tone is only as good as its appearance, we shall have a treat.’ ‘It has not been touched for years,’ he said, as he opened it, ‘until I told Denise to dust it for you this morning.’ Tessie seated herself at the instrument, and commenced to play some passages from the ‘Stabat Mater,’ whilst I worked the bellows for her. The organ had been left to the tender mercies of so many winters, that its tone left a good deal to be desired. Still, it was a very fine instrument, and only required a few fires and regular practice to bring it once more into working order. I was wondering to myself what this visit would lead to, and if Tessie would receive an invitation to come up to the château and play the organ, until she had played herself into the owner’s heart, when I found that the owner had crept round to the back of the instrument, and was standing beside the bellows and myself. Ange was busily engaged setting the Virgin’s altar in order, and dusting the ornaments with her pocket-handkerchief; Mr. Lovett was slumbering blissfully on the oaken seat, and the notes of the ‘Mater Dolorosa’ were still pealing out from under Tessie’s skilful fingers. As far as what we said or did was concerned, the Baron de Nesselrode and I might have been quite alone, and now was the opportunity, I thought, to put in a word for the future of my sweet Tessie and the man who stood beside me. But it was he who commenced the conversation. ‘Mademoiselle, why do you think that this ruined chapel will some day be restored?’ ‘Because I believe that when you _can_ do it, you _will_.’ ‘But will that opportunity ever arise?’ ‘That I cannot say, Monsieur; neither have I the right to inquire. Only—I have been told——’ ‘_What?_’ ‘That you will not always be as you are now.’ I said the words timidly, but directly they had left my lips they sounded terribly bold, and I coloured under the conviction that they were so. ‘Forgive me, monsieur,’ I added; ‘I should not have said that. I feel I have entrenched on your private affairs.’ ‘There is nothing to forgive, mademoiselle. I have ruined myself. The story is patent to all. It is also true that by a long course of privation I may regain my former position. But it is not at all likely.’ ‘Why not?’ In my interest and surprise I overlooked the fact that this question was entrenching still more upon his private affairs than the former remark had been.