‘This is a very curious story,’ said Miss Glenlyne, when the door had closed upon her companion; ‘I hardly know how to believe it. A marriage between my nephew Henry and Félicie Dumarques! It seems hardly credible.’ ‘The record in the parish register proves it to be a fact nevertheless,’ said Lucius quietly. ‘So Mr. Pullman tells me. Félicie left me to go to Rouen, she said, summoned home by illness in her family. And now it seems she stole away to marry my nephew. She must have been an artful treacherous girl.’ Lucille rose hastily from her seat near Miss Glenlyne. ‘You forget, Miss Glenlyne, that she was my mother,’ she said firmly; ‘I cannot stay to hear her condemned.’ ‘Nonsense, child,’ cried the old lady, not unkindly; ‘sit down. The truth must be told even if she was your mother. She treated me very badly. I was so fond of that girl. She was the only person I ever had about me who suited me thoroughly. She would have been amply provided for after my death if she had stayed and been faithful to me. I never treated her as a servant, or thought of her as a servant; indeed it would have been difficult for any one to do so, for she had the manners and instincts of a lady. Yet she deceived me, and left me with a lie.’ ‘Love is a powerful influence,’ said Lucille softly; ‘she was persuaded to that wrong act by one she fondly loved, one for whom she willingly sacrificed her own happiness, and who rewarded her at the last by desertion.’ ‘My nephew was always selfish,’ said Miss Glenlyne; ‘he was brought up by a foolish mother, who taught him to count upon inheriting his uncle’s money, and never taught him any higher duty than to seek his own pleasure, so far as he could gratify himself without offending his uncle. She taught him to flatter and tell lies before he could speak plain. He was not altogether bad, and might have been a much better man if he had been differently trained. Well, well, I daresay he was most to blame throughout the business. I’ll say no more against poor Félicie; only it was not kind of her to leave an invalid mistress who had shown her a good deal of affection.’ ‘Whatever error she committed she suffered deeply for it,’ said Lucille. ‘The sin was chiefly another’s, but the sorrow was all hers.’ ‘Ah, my dear, that’s the usual distribution between a man and a woman,’ replied Miss Glenlyne, considerably softened by this time. She turned and scrutinised Lucille’s candid countenance—took the pale interesting face between her hands and held it near her. ‘Yes,’ she said at last, ‘you have Félicie’s eyes and Félicie’s mouth. I can readily believe that you are her daughter. And pray, Mr. Davoren, what is your interest in this young lady?’ ‘We are engaged to be married,’ answered Lucius. ‘Indeed! Not in an underhand way, I hope, like Félicie and my nephew, who must have been making love by some secret code before my very face, when I hadn’t a suspicion of any such thing.’