"Oh, yes! all of the time. I have seen whole tracts of pictures, and no end of palaces and hotels--hotels--hotels!" Frances said, awakening to the necessity of being talkative and vivacious with the young girl. She threw off her cloak. There was a rip in the fur, and the dirty lining hung out. Lucy shuddered. Mrs. Waldeaux's blood must have turned to water, or she would never have permitted that! "You must rest now. I will take care of you," she said, with a little nod of authority. Frances looked at her perplexed. Why should this pretty creature mother her with such tenderness? Oh! It was the girl that George should have married! She glanced at the white room with its dainty bibelots, the Bible, the Madonnas, watching, benign. Poor little nun, waiting for the love that never could come to her! "I am glad you are here, my child. You can tell me what I want to know. I have not an hour to spare. I am going to my son--to George. Do you know where he is?" "At Vannes, in Brittany." "Brittany--that is a long way." Frances rose uncertainly. "I hoped he was near. I was in a Russian village, and Clara's letter was long in finding me. When I got it, I travelled night and day. I somehow thought I should meet him on the way. I fancied he would come to meet me." Lucy's blue eyes watched her keenly a moment. Then she rang the bell. "You must eat, first of all," she said. "No, I am not hungry. Vannes, you said? I must go now. I haven't an hour." "You have two, exactly. You'll take the express at eight. Oh, I'm never mistaken about a train. Here is the coffee. Now, I'll make you a nice sandwich." Frances was faint with hunger. As she ate, she watched the pretty matter-of-fact little girl, and laughed with delight. When had she found any thing so wholesome? It was a year, too, since she had seen any one who knew George. Naturally, she began to empty her heart, which was full of him, to Lucy. "I have not spoken English for months," she said, smiling over her coffee. "It is a relief! And you are a friend of my son's, too?" "No. A mere acquaintance," said Lucy, with reserve. "No one could even see George and not understand how different he is from other men." "Oh! altogether different!" said Lucy. "Yes, you understand. And there was that future before him--when his trouble came. Oh, I've thought of it, and thought of it, until my head is tired! He fell under that woman's influence, you see. It was like mesmerism, or the voodoo curse that the negroes talk of. It came on me too. Why, there was a time when I despised him. George!" Her eyes grew full of horror. "I left him, to live my own life. He has staggered under his burden alone, and I could have rid him of it. Now there are two of them." "Two of them?" said Lucy curiously.