“‘I am beginning to love her once more; to feel a real interest in her. I find her greatly improved, thanks to you, I suppose. A few months more of seclusion, and I shall introduce her to the world; but I will not have her family hanging on me—a set of low Yankees, working in shoe-shops, teaching school, and making dresses for the rabble. “‘Is not her family a good one, then?’ Madame Verwest asked, and he replied: “‘Good enough for its kind, for aught I know. No stain, unless it be the half-sister or something of the father, who went to the bad they say—ran off with a Boston man, who never meant to marry her, and the natural consequence, of course.’ “‘Where is this woman?’ madame asked, and he replied: “‘Dead, I believe, or ought to be. Why should such women live?’ “‘Yes, oh, why?’ was answered sadly in madame’s heart; but she made no response, and when her tyrant of a master motioned her to the door in token that the interview was ended, she went out without a word. “Three days later he left the chateau, saying he should come again in September or October, and possibly bring people with him. Madame Arschinard, a lady of high position and great wealth, had long wished to visit Southern France, and he might perhaps invite her down with other friends, and fill the chateau. “‘And you, my little white rose,’ he said to Anna, ‘I want you to get your color back, and be like your old self, for I shall wish my wife not to be behind any Parisian beauties. I shall send you the very latest styles. Worth has your number, I believe. And now good-by, my pet. Take care of yourself, and if——’ “He bent down to her, and whispered something in her ear which turned her face to scarlet, and made her involuntarily exclaim: “‘Oh, anything but that—anything but that!’ CHAPTER VI. IN THE AUTUMN. “The summer had gone by—a long, bright beautiful summer so far as sunny skies, and fair flowers, and singing birds, and fresh, green grass could make it bright and beautiful; but to Anna, still watching drearily the daylight fading in the western sky, and whispering messages for the sun to carry to the dear ones across the water, it had dragged heavily, and not all Madame Verwest’s love and petting which were given without stint to the poor girl, had availed to win her back to the comparatively cheerful state of mind she had been in before receiving the sad news of her mother’s death. “She had ceased writing to America; that was useless, she knew. Her letters would never reach there, and she had ceased to expect any news from home, for however often Mary or Fred might write, their letters would never come to her. Of this she was convinced, and she gradually settled into a state of hopeless apathy, taking little or no interest in anything, except poor Agatha’s grave.