“Sidney Morton! I don’t even remember the name. Oh, yes! I have heard it,” added Camilla, innocently, and with a candour that showed how little she knew of the secrets of the family; “he was one of two poor boys in whom my brother felt a deep interest--some relations to my uncle. Yes--yes! I remember now. I never knew Sidney, but I once did see his brother.” “Indeed! and you remember--” “Yes! I was very young then. I scarcely recollect what passed, it was all so confused and strange; but, I know that I made papa very angry, and I was told never to mention the name of Morton again. I believe they behaved very ill to papa.” “And you never learned--never!--the fate of either--of Sidney?” “Never!” “But your father must know?” “I think not; but tell me,”--said Camilla, with girlish and unaffected innocence, “I have always felt anxious to know,--what and who were those poor boys?” What and who were they? So deep, then, was the stain upon their name, that the modest mother and the decorous father had never even said to that young girl, “They are your cousins--the children of the man in whose gold we revel!” Philip bit his lip, and the spell of Camilla’s presence seemed vanished. He muttered some inaudible answer, turned away to the card-table, and Liancourt took the chair he had left vacant. “And how does Miss Beaufort like my friend Vaudemont? I assure you that I have seldom seen him so alive to the fascination of female beauty!” “Oh!” said Camilla, with her silver laugh, “your nation spoils us for our own countrymen. You forget how little we are accustomed to flattery.” “Flattery! what truth could flatter on the lips of an exile? But you don’t answer my question--what think you of Vaudemont? Few are more admired. He is handsome!”