Though born and bred in the focus of a most gorgeous civilization, reared like a princess amidst obsequious troops of vassals and retainers, having enjoyed a life of wit and splendor amidst a brilliant and dazzling society, and then suddenly, in her downfall, banished away to the ends of the earth, surrounded by perils and privations, Madame de Monesthrol wasted no time in vain regrets. Like many another of her class, she displayed a marvellous power of accommodating herself to circumstances and extracting pleasure and profit from them. In her former life she had loved, rejoiced and suffered with her whole heart; now there was nothing for it but to make acquaintance with the practical and inexorable. She coolly counted chances and weighed consequences, and then, fully and freely, accepted the situation and its conditions. A submissive spirit might be patient, a strong will could supply resolution; here existed an elastic mind, a willingness to seek comfort, a power of turning readily from evil to good, and of finding enjoyment in many simple occupations which carried her away from the memory of her sorrows. In her fantastic French desire to act the new role to perfection she would fain have adapted herself more quickly than was possible to her new surroundings. She saw no reason why, with all the ease of a woman of the world and the loftiness of a great lady, she should not sell in the shop or undertake a share of the superintendence of the domestic affairs, as Le Ber’s wife had done. She was promptly called from these delusions by Demoiselle[3] Le Ber’s bewildered consternation, Nanon’s shrill clamor, and more than all by the shocked and genuine distress of the trader himself. “I am well aware, Madam la Marquise, that the home I have been able to offer is entirely unworthy your dignity. Have I failed in showing my appreciation of the honor your coming has conferred upon me that you should treat me thus?” the host reproached his guest. “Even a dog can die,” the lady replied with spirit. “I am not of puddle blood—I, Adrienne Monesthrol—that I should perish at the first breath of adversity. Still, my old and good friend, to whom I owe so much”—Madame laid her white jewelled hand upon the merchant’s arm, and when she softened there was something wonderfully winning in this woman’s proud gentleness—“if it pleases you best that I should remain seated like an image I must even yield, and give up all hope of being useful.” Then Le Ber kissed the gracious hand respectfully, for by him the French lady was encircled with a halo of reverence. Perceiving that her well-intentioned efforts had failed, Madame, philosophically reviewing all the facts of the case, graciously permitted herself to remain upon the pedestal where the loyalty of her devoted friend had placed her.