She did not, however, forget or neglect her old friends, but wrote to those at a distance of her changed circumstances, and, as the Christmas holidays again drew near, found great pleasure in preparing a handsome present for each. Hetty and her mother were remembered in like manner, and treated to an occasional drive in the Madame’s fine carriage; only occasional because they were so busy, and Ethel generally accompanied in her drives by the Madame herself, and her maid. Hetty rejoiced greatly in the improved fortunes of our heroine, but not more than Miss Wells and Mr. Crosby. Both of these wrote, congratulating her heartily, and the latter added that he had vastly enjoyed communicating the tidings to Mr. Alden, and seeing him almost ready to tear his hair with vexation that he had been the means of keeping such an heiress, or perhaps rather such a fortune, out of his family, for Espy had gone and left no clue to his whereabouts. CHAPTER XXXIII. A LETTER, A STORY, AND A PROMISE. “The love of gold, that meanest rage And latest folly of man’s sinking age.”--MOORE. Mr. Alden was so chagrined, so deeply repentant, so anxious to repair the mischief he had done, that at length he wrote to Ethel himself, apologizing, begging her to forgive and forget, assuring her that his opposition to her union with Espy was entirely withdrawn--nay, more, that he was extremely desirous that it should take place, and entreating her to be kind to the lad should she ever meet or hear from him again. Ethel was with her aunt in the boudoir of the latter when this letter was handed to her. The weather was very cold, and a three days’ storm had kept them within doors till the Madame had grown unusually dull and spiritless, weary of every amusement within her reach, and ready to snatch at anything that held out the least hope of relief from her consuming _ennui_. “Ah, a letter!” she said, with a yawn. “Pansy, you are fortunate! no one writes to me.” “Because you write to no one, is it not, auntie?” the girl asked playfully. “But will you excuse me if I open and read it?” “Certainly, little one; who knows but you may find something entertaining? Ah, what is it? may I hear?” as she saw the girl’s cheek flush and her eye brighten, though her lip curled with a half-smile of contempt. Ethel read the letter aloud. Madame Le Conte was all interest and attention. “What! a lover, my little Pansy!” she cried, “and you never to tell me of him! Fie! did you think I had grown too old to feel sympathy in affairs of the heart?” “Oh no, Aunt Nannette! but--you have troubles enough of your own, and I did not think--” “Ah, well, tell me now; a story, and above all a love-story--especially of your love--will be the very thing to while away these weary hours. And who knows but I may have the happiness of being able to help these poor divided lovers?” she added, touching Ethel’s cheek caressingly with the fingers of her left hand, as she had a habit of doing.