On the morrow I called upon Paqueta, and found her living, with some elegance, upon a second floor, or “flat,” as we call it in Edinbro’. To those who have been in Paris, or to those who have read Parisian books, or books written elsewhere of Parisian life, it is not necessary to say what a “second floor” is; and all others may as well remain as they are. She received me with her whole heart, with no show of her changed condition—which was to me like the sudden shifting of a scene in some melo-dramatic piece upon the stage—and sat me down, and at once commenced talking of Louisiana, and of her early life, and of its happiness, and sighed that it could not have so remained forever. She then told me of her history since her coming into France; how that her mistress, who was without children, after settling down in Paris treated her more as a favorite daughter than otherwise; how that she had masters given her, who taught her ten thousand things beside the counting of five; how that her mistress had died two years before, bequeathing her thirty thousand francs; and how Charles once met her, and loved her, and they were married. And thus she ran on for one full hour, her eyes sparkling with delight, the same Paqueta with whom I had trifled away many a pleasant minute ten years before. _Cœlum, non animum mutant, qui trans mare currant._ While we conversed, her husband entered, and took my hand with much cordiality, and welcomed me, saying that his wife had told him of her having known me in America. “And did you tell him what a hard master I was?” “Ah, I remember the fillips perfectly well, and sometimes think I feel them burning upon my ears even now,” said Paqueta. “And the little medal, your god; with the good Father Joseph’s advice?” Paqueta’s face, for the first time, looked troubled; the sunlight left it; and I felt sorry that I had asked the question. “Charles made me lay the medal aside the second day after our marriage; and as to praying for health, or aught else, Paris knows nothing of that.” Charles laughed, and said “that he had been long since convinced that a priesthood was incompatible with Liberty.”