“I am, then, to regard you as my friend?” said she, trying to smile through her tears, while she bent on him a look of softest meaning. She did not, however, prolong a situation so critical, but at once, and with an impetuosity that bespoke her intense anxiety, burst out into the story of her actual calamities. Never was there a narrative more difficult to follow; broken at one moment by bursts of sorrow, heart- rending regrets, or scarce less poignant expressions of a resignation that savored of despair. There had been something very dreadful, and somebody had been terribly cruel, and the world--cold-hearted and unkind as it is--had been even unkinder than usual. And then she was too proud to stoop to this or accept that. “You surely would not have wished me to?” cried she, looking into his eyes very meltingly. And then there was a loss of fortune somehow and somewhere; a story within a story, like a Chinese puzzle. And there was more cruelty from the world, and more courage on her part; and then there were years of such suffering,--years that had so changed her. “Ah! Mr. Stocmar, you would n't know me if you had seen me in those days!” Then there came another bewitching glance from beneath her long eyelashes, as with a half-sigh she said, “You now know it all, and why my poor Clara must adopt the stage, for I have concealed nothing from you,--nothing!” “I am to conclude, then, madam,” said he, “that the young lady herself has chosen this career?” “Nothing of the kind, my dear Mr. Stocmar. I don't think she ever read a play in her life; she has certainly never seen one. Of the stage, and its ambitions and triumphs, she has not the very vaguest notion, nor do I believe, if she had, would anything in the world induce her to adopt it.” “This is very strange; I am afraid I scarcely understand you,” broke he in. “Very probably not, sir; but I will endeavor to explain my meaning. From the circumstances I narrated to you awhile ago, and from others which it is unnecessary for me to enter upon, I have arrived at the conclusion that Clara and I must separate. She has reached an age in which either her admissions or her inquiries might prove compromising. My object would therefore be to part with her in such a manner as might exclude our meeting again, and my plan was to enter her as a pupil at the Conservatoire, either at Bologna or Milan, having first selected some one who would assume the office of her guardian, as it were, replacing me in my authority over her. If her talents and acquirements were such as to suit the stage, I trusted to the effect of time and the influence of companionship to reconcile her to the project.” “And may I ask, madam, have you selected the person to whom this precious treasure is to be confided?--the guardian, I mean.” “I have seen him and spoken with him, sir, but have not yet asked his acceptance of the trust.” “Shall I be deemed indiscreet if I inquire his name?”