would sometimes have been for days together without a morsel of food. “‘This, however, was far from being sufficient to satisfy their wants, and the care of providing food devolved, of course, upon the eldest child Jeanne (Madame de la Motte herself). She would wander along the public road from sunrise to sunset, holding her little brother by the hand, and carrying her sister, yet a helpless infant, on her back, and thus the little trio, faint and weary, and covered with sordid rags, would run by the side of every carriage that passed on the highway, calling out in a piteous tone, “Charity, charity, for the love of God! A morsel of bread for three poor starving orphans, descended from the royal blood of the Valois!” This appeal failed not, of course, to attract notice. “‘I was fair, and pretty,’ said the comtesse, as she told the tale, ‘and sometimes returned laden with silver, which I hastened to convert into necessaries for our use, and comforts for my father, ere I sought my home at night. This state of things lasted fur more than two years. The old ruin had fallen into greater decay; the count had fallen into a state of greater gloom and apathy, scarcely ever uttering a syllable to the children, nor seeming to take the least notice of their departure or return, nor of their efforts to procure for themselves and him the nourishment which was needful to sustain existence. “‘One evening, poor Jeanne returned with her little companions, weary and footsore, to the old tower. They had been out a longer time than usual, the day had been wild and stormy, and but few travellers had passed the road, so that but small profit had been made, and there was a prospect of a supper even more scanty than usual. On entering the tower, they were struck by the unwonted silence and darkness of the place, for the count generally took upon himself the charge of feeding the fire, and at nightfall lighted a torch to read over and over again, for the millionth time, the genealogy of his family, and the title-deeds proving his descent from the Valois, the only occupation in which he now seemed to find amusement or consolation. “‘Upon this occasion, however, all was dark and silent as the grave, and Jeanne, after having called her father without receiving any answer, drew near to the hearth, and blew up the few remaining embers into a sickly blaze, which just sufficed to light the interior of the tower. Her father was seated, drooping and motionless, in his customary seat in the chimney corner, leaning against the wall, with his head bent low upon his bosom, and his hand upon his heart.’ “‘He is asleep,’ said Jeanne, to the little ones; ‘let us make no noise, but hurry to bed as quickly as possible, that he may not be disturbed.’