"Ah, your chaperone! And she will wish to know who is your visitor. I cannot have it arranged that way." She seemed in deep thought: then said, "Listen, cheres demoiselles. There are reasons why I wish it not known that we have met: I will explain all when I see you. Do you go sometimes to ze French market?" "Oh yes--often." "Come, then, to-morrow morning: I will meet you. I will tell my story, and you will tell yours. Mon Dieu! after all these years, how strange! I must leave you now. Au revoir. Remember, to-morrow, early, at ze French market; and not one word to your chaperone, Madame Long: you promise?" We promised of course--what foolish girls wouldn't have promised?--and the graceful little Frenchwoman moved away, leaving two girls more interested and excited than they had ever been in all their lives. We cared no more for the ball: we went home like people in a dream. We scarcely slept that night, fearing to be late for the French market in the morning. Before it was fairly light we had dressed ourselves and hurried off. "Oh, Stell!" cried my tall sister, "let us never say we haven't had an adventure! No novel I ever read was half so exciting. I feel quite like a heroine, don't you?" "I think the little Frenchwoman is more the heroine of the piece." "Yes, so she is; and she ought to be. Isn't she a charming, graceful, pretty creature?" "She is pretty," said I, hurrying along to keep pace with Lilly's long steps, "but there was something about her I did not quite like. It seemed to me she had a sort of common look, in spite of her fine dress." "Common! Well, Stell, you had better not say anything more!" said Lilly with crushing emphasis. "It was so queer," persisted I, "that she made us promise not to say anything to Mrs. Long!" "Oh, that will all be explained." "I felt like a conspirator stealing out of the house this morning." "As if we don't go to the French market whenever we like! And there's certainly no harm in going to meet a _lady_. If it had been a young man now!" and Lilly's laugh rang out gayly. The French market was as pretty and bright as usual, though it was the dull Ash Wednesday morning. The long line of stalls was bright with fruits and flowers, and walking about, buying, staring, chatting, drinking coffee, eating oranges, were people of almost every nationality under heaven. However, the unique interest of the scene, this morning at least, was thrown away upon us. In the crowd we soon distinguished the figure of the little Frenchwoman, and joined her at once. She had on a close black bonnet and a veil, and did not look nearly so pretty as she had looked the night before. Her skin lacked delicacy, and there was a haggard look about her eyes. "Mes cheres demoiselles," she exclaimed, "I have thought of nothing all night but of seeing you here this morning." We very truthfully assured her that such had been the case with ourselves. "You did not wear them?" exclaimed she, looking at Lilly's ears.