“We used to talk of you. We never had any sister of our own. We were sent to school, and once a year came back to Paris. Papa was at court. I was a page for awhile, then I went to a military school. Honoré preferred books and a religious life. He was very sweet and gentle, while I liked life and stir and adventures. I do not think mamma quite approved Honoré, but she was proud that I was to be a soldier. And then the dreadful times began with the mob which first deprived the King of authority, and then cast him into prison with hundreds of others. Oh, it was indeed a reign of terror!” “And your father?” in a low tone. “They were both cast into prison,” and his voice fell a little. “My mother died there. It would have been better if my father had died with her. The Commune hated every vestige of royalty, abolished titles, confiscated estates. And then poor papa was one of its victims. Our school was broken up and we were driven into Paris. I don’t know what our fate would have been, impressed in the army of the rabble; but I would not have fought for the men who had murdered my father. I would have died first.” Renée wiped the tears from her eyes. Until now it seemed as if she had never cared for her father. Surely he had expiated all mistakes and sins by his death. “Then I ran away. I found my way to the monastery and Honoré and told them the sad tale. They were very kind and would have kept me, but there was no knowing how long they would be allowed their refuge. I resolved to escape to England, as every week or two refugees were flying thither. I found my opportunity. And there I heard many things about these new United Colonies. The English are not over-cordial to them, but the thought of a people who had fought seven years for liberty and conquered in the face of such odds fired my heart. I resolved to come to America. We had never forgotten you, madame, and Honoré wrote that if I found you I was to give you his love. He is a sweet, gentle fellow and will make an excellent priest, if there is any France left,” he added mournfully, drawing a long, pained breath. She was glad they had remembered her and talked of her. She raised her sweet, sympathetic eyes. “Then I came to New Orleans, as I learned from there I could reach St. Louis. It is queer, but all of you on this side of the river are under Spanish domination, and it is well for you, perhaps, even if you are French.” “I know so little about it,” she replied gravely, “only that we are proud of being French. But the poor King and Queen, and—papa!” “Honoré and I were thankful mamma died in prison, though we do not know what she suffered. And that is the whole of the sad story, madame. I am young and can work for my bread, surely, and it will not be so lonely since I have found you.” Her tender heart went out to him. “Monsieur Robert,” she said, “I hope we shall be good friends. I am glad you came to me——”