“Yes, it is pretty,” said her cousin; “but I like an orange-colored shawl better.--Well, child, my lover spends his time in doing such work as that. Since he came to Paris he has turned out three or four little trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years’ study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----” “Then you often see him?” “Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest.” “And he is in love with you?” asked Hortense eagerly. “He adores me,” replied Lisbeth very seriously. “You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!” “And he will fare like the five others,” said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. “Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me.” “This one does better than that,” said Hortense; “he has brought down the sun.” “Where can that be turned into money?” asked her cousin. “It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine.” These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness’ troubles by making her compare her daughter’s future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. “But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?” said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. “Oh, you want to know too much at once!” said her cousin. “But, listen, I will let you into a little plot.” “Is your lover in it too?” “Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count.” “Has he a moustache?” “As long as that,” said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. “If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing,” she went on. “You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three.” “I am listening; I am a wooden image,” said Hortense.