"Mais!" exclaimed the lady, with a laugh and speaking with a decidedly French accent. "You surprise me! I knew not that you had a niece. Why did you not tell me? It is one bad husband you are not to tell me of the dear demoiselle. You are welcome, child. She resembles you, mon ami," taking Jeanne's face between her hands and giving her a long look. "We shall be great friends, my dear. Is it not so?" "Yes;" Jeanne's lips quivered and her eyes filled suddenly with tears at this unexpected greeting. Her mission had ended so differently from the way she had anticipated;--the doubt of her loyalty and the knowledge that her uncle was a rebel had filled her heart with misgivings so that this welcome was almost more than she could bear. But as this gleam of sunshine comforted her, she steeled herself against its influence and drew herself up bravely. "I must tell you something," she said, "before you welcome me too warmly. I am for the Union." She did not dare to look at them as she spoke. Her thought was that they must know her principles before going further. She was homesick and longing for love and tenderness, but not for one moment would she receive them under false pretenses. A glance flashed from husband to wife and then a clear, silvery laugh rang out as the lady caught her to her. "You dear little Yankee! you are too ridiculous for anything! Did you think we would turn you out because you were not a rebel? Well, we are rebels, my dear, but as we have to stand that odious, uncouth General Butler of yours I think we won't mind a little thing like you. Come now, and I will take you to your room and you shall rest. Then you shall tell us why you have come all this way to see us at such a time." Jeanne returned her caresses with fervor, and abandoned herself to the delight of being fondled and petted again as only children can do who have been deprived of endearments after being accustomed to them. "They are nice people," she whispered as the lady left her in a cool quiet room. "I wonder if it is wrong to like them? But it is father's brother, and I ought to love them. Oh, I do wish they were not rebels! How can they be traitors when they are so good!" After she had rested her uncle's wife came for her. "You are not weary now, are you?" she asked in her soft, caressing voice. "You looked so fatigued, child. Tell me, what is your name?" "Jeanne." "Jeanne? Oh, you darling! That is French, isn't it? I did not know that the Americans ever named their children so. Jeanne! It is delightful." "And you are Aunt Clarisse?" "Ma foi, Jeanne! Do not call me anything so prim. Call me 'Cherie.' Aunt Clarisse indeed!" She laughed gaily. "Cherie! what does it mean?" asked the girl wonderingly, gazing at the bright face above her with delight. "It should be something brilliant and sweet to suit you, I think. Something like rich red roses heavy with perfume and sweetness."