“It is impossible, Madame, for me to make them at so low a price,” said Rosalie; “it would not repay me for the cost of the materials—these should bring me one pound ten, in justice to myself, but necessity compels me to part with them just now at a lower rate than I can afford; but I am to take them to the lady who ordered them at three o’clock, and I shall decline making any more at that price.” “Well, child, you cannot expect patronage, if you persist in such extravagant terms,” said the lady, turning with an air of indifference from the wax camelias, and adding, as she again sent her searching gaze round the room—“but it was not to purchase artificial flowers that I came here this morning. My daughter’s maid, and my own, whom (with a glance at Grayson) perhaps you may recognize, in their search after flowers for the fancy ball, found their way here a day or two since, and brought back to us a story of the beautiful rose-tree you have somewhere here, and of your refusal, owing to some sort of a whim, to part with any of the flowers, though, from appearances, one would think you might have been willing to exchange what must be useless to you, for a much less sum than she was bidden to offer.” “The roses she wished to purchase, Madame,” said Rosalie, with emotion, “have a value to me, that, with all my pressing wants, gold fails to possess. They are,” she added, tears filling her soft eyes, “memorials of a beloved mother and sister—the tree was planted by the latter, and for her sake fondly cherished, amid the wreck of almost all else that we possessed—its first flowers were laid upon her grave, and now, yearly, I watch its bloom to strew them on my mother’s—nor can I let even my poverty tempt me to neglect this duty, which, on each anniversary of her death, I promised her faithfully to perform.” A covert sneer lurked round the mouth of Madame de Rochemont, who wanted sensibility to appreciate a sentiment so tender and refined; but there was a gentle dignity, a touching truthfulness in Rosalie’s words and manner, that checked the sarcasm which else she might have uttered, and with an air of cold nonchalance, she only said— “Ah, I see—a little bit of romance—but never mind. If not too precious to be seen, will you favor me with a sight of this wonderful rose-tree?”