"I must ask it. Some of them send flowers, and some of them send jewels; and every one of them writes letters--infamous, abominable letters--saying they are in love with me, and asking for appointments as if I was--" She could say no more. Poor dear Jeanne--her head dropped on my shoulder; she burst out crying. Who could see her so cruelly humiliated--the faithful loving daughter, whose one motive for appearing on the stage had been to preserve her father's good name--and not feel for her as I did? I forgot all considerations of prudence; I thought of nothing but consoling her; I took her in my arms; I dried her tears; I kissed her; I said, "Tell me the name of any one of the wretches who has written to you, and I will make him an example to the rest!" She shook her head, and pointed to the morsels of paper on the floor. "Oh, Ernest, do you think I asked you to come here for any such purpose as that? Those jewels, those hateful jewels, tell me how I can send them back! spare me the sight of them!" So far it was easy to console her. I sent the jewels at once to the manager of the theater--with a written notice to be posted at the stage door, stating that they were waiting to be returned to the persons who could describe them. "Try, my dear, to forget what has happened," I said. "Try to find consolation and encouragement in your art." "I have lost all interest in my success on the stage," she answered, "now I know the penalty I must pay for it. When my father's memory is clear of reproach, I shall leave the theater never to return to it again." "Take time to consider, Jeanne." "I will do anything you ask of me." For a while we were silent. Without any influence to lead to it that I could trace, I found myself recalling the language that the Princess had used in alluding to Jeanne. When I thought of them now, the words and the tone in which they had been spoken jarred on me. There is surely something mean in an assertion of superiority which depends on nothing better than the accident of birth. I don't know why I took Jeanne's hand; I don't know why I said, "What a good girl you are! how glad I am to have been of some little use to you!" Is my friend the secretary right, when he reproaches me with acting on impulse, like a woman? I don't like to think so; and yet, this I must own--it was well for me that I was obliged to leave her, before I had perhaps said other words which might have been alike unworthy of Jeanne, of the Princess, and of myself. I was called away to speak to my servant. He brought with him the secretary's card, having a line written on it: "I am waiting at your rooms, on business which permits of no delay." As we shook hands, Jeanne asked me if I knew where her uncle was. I could only tell her that he had left me at my own door. She made no remark; but she seemed to be uneasy on receiving that reply. X. WHEN I arrived at my rooms, my colleague hurried to meet me the moment I opened the door.