"Such a pity, to be sure," Mrs. Piggins was saying, "when you had painted and made all nice so lately. It is but a month, scarcely a month, I think, Betsy, since I got a daub of green paint on my cloak (all my own carelessness, ma'am; I'm sure I don't mean----) from your green wicket, and now it is pulled down and burned to ashes! and the smoke, I see, has blackened the cornice; so lately as it was painted! We just looked up before we knocked at the door, to find whether the front of the house seemed any-how different; and then Betsy pointed out to me that the cornice was blackened." "And so brutal it was of the people, Mademoiselle," observed Miss Harvey, "to make you light the pile that was to burn your brother. I wonder how you ever did it,--only that I suppose you could not help yourself." "O, that is quite a mistake," replied Mademoiselle, smiling. "They asked us for fire, and we told them our fires were out; that was all." "Well, to be sure!" cried Miss Harvey, looking at her sister, "we were told that they dragged you among them, and made you set the bonfire alight with a torch, and that you cried out loud, 'My hand but not my heart consents.' So this is not true?" Mademoiselle shook her head. "Then it may not be true either--It is better to ask at once," said the lady, in answer to her sister's wink and frown, "it may not be true either that M. Gaubion was handcuffed when he was fetched away to the Treasury." "What is that?" asked Mademoiselle, whose ear did not happen to have ever been met by the word 'handcuffed.' By gesture, as well as explanation, the sense was made known to her; and then her laugh had as much of indignation as of mirth in it. "You might have supposed that was false without asking," said the younger Miss Harvey to her sister. "As it was not true that M. Gaubion had his right arm broken, and that Miss Adèle lay without hopes of recovery----" "I!" exclaimed Adèle; "they did nothing to me; they never thought about me at all." "So I find, my dear; but that is the way people will talk." "Now, Mademoiselle," observed good, kind Mr. Belson, "if you are quite sure that neither my wife nor I can do any thing for you, I had better be going, instead of helping to fill your room when you cannot possibly be much disposed for entertaining company. You are very right, my dear,--quite right to open your doors, and let people see how little is to be seen; but there is no need for me to trouble you any longer. When you wish to see my wife, just send across to tell her so, and make any use you like of me. Good morning, ladies." More visitors came in, and Mademoiselle had again to begin the ten-times-repeated tale. "And which window was it you first looked out of, ma'am? The first story, did you say? We were told the lower----" "It is certainly a hackney-coach, Adèle," cried Mademoiselle, who had started from her seat in the midst of that which was being said to her; "it is a hackney-coach with two gentlemen in it."