“One so gentle and sweet would never harbor resentment, especially toward a dear, only sister.” “No, no; but it has parted us forever--this unkindness of mine! And it may be that she--my sweet one, my dear one--has perished with want, while I rolled in wealth. Ah, me! what shall I do?” “I believe she is living still, and that we shall yet find her!” cried Floy, starting up in excitement and pacing to and fro, her hands clasped over her beating heart, her eyes shining with hope. “It may be so,” said the Madame, wiping away her tears. “Child, would you like to see your mother’s face?” She drew out of her bosom the little gold locket which of late she had worn almost constantly, and opening it, held it out to Floy. In an instant the young girl was again on her knees at her aunt’s side, bending over that pretty child-face, one strangely like it in feature and coloring, yet unlike in its eager curiosity, its tremulous agitation, the yearning tenderness in the great, dark, lustrous eyes. “How sweet! how lovely!” she said, raising her eyes to her aunt’s face again. “But ah, if I could see her as she was when grown up!” “Look in the glass and you will,” said the Madame. Floy’s face flushed with pleasure. The Madame opened the other side of the locket. “This was of me, taken at the same time,” she said, displaying the likeness of a girl some six or eight years older in appearance than the first; bright and handsome too, but with a darker beauty, and a proud, wilful expression in place of the sweet gentleness of the other. “Our mother had them painted for herself. After her death I claimed the locket as mine by right of priority of birth, and though Pansy wished very much to have it, she yielded to me for peace’s sake, as usual.” “You, too, were a very pretty child, Mad--” Floy broke off in confusion. “Aunt Nannette,” corrected the Madame, with a slight smile, passing her hand caressingly over the soft, shining hair of her newly-found niece. “Aunt Nannette, or simply auntie, as you like, my little Pansy.” There was an earnest, unspoken entreaty in Floy’s eyes as she glanced from the locket to her aunt’s face. “There is hardly anything I would refuse you, little one,” the Madame said in answer, “but this I cannot part with. I will have them copied for you, though; and the locket itself shall be enough handsomer to more than compensate for the pictures being only copies of the original.” CHAPTER XXXI. A WONDROUS CHANGE. “Herein fortune shows herself more kind Than is her custom.”--SHAKESPEARE. Mr. Tredick, having accomplished his mission by breaking the good news to Madame Le Conte and ushering Floy into her presence, quietly withdrew, and, leaving a message with Mary to the intent that he would call again the next morning, returned to his office. This was a memorable day in Floy’s life, the turning of a new page in her history.