So it was decided that Fred should go to Paris, and be happy. Mrs. Blanchard gave him a farewell party, and all the young ladies were at their sweetest. Fred behaved with sullen dignity, as a lion should. He refused to be comforted by Adelaide and Rose, walking about with one or another, and looking at Leonora, at whom all mankind were gazing that night. She was in dashing spirits, a glorious color diffused her cheeks, her eyes fairly danced. Her dress was of feathery black tulle, and a broad silver ribbon, like an order, went over her shoulders. In the shining black braids glistened fern leaves of silver filigree. Fortunately, Fred and I discovered them--Leonora and her inseparable cavalier, Denis, I mean--in an alcove of roses and jessamines. She admiring the flowers, and he talking with a fervor very easy to read. She listening, as women always listen when the pleader is eloquent. But in her downcast face I read only pain, while my son translated the deep blush differently. When we were at home, and I waited to bid him good night, he took me in his strong arms: 'You love me, mamma, don't you?' He was all I had in the world, so I told him. Then followed a week we long remembered--the first week of Denis's absence. Leonora was gloomy and _distraite_; Fred cool as a peak of the Andes, and about as unapproachable; I immersed in the hurry and confusion of my son's departure. He had a suite of rooms over mine, and, the night before he went away, leaned over the ballusters, and called, as in old time: 'Leonora!' She gave a glad start, and ran up to him. So I followed, of course. I wanted to put some flannels into his trunk, which stood in his bedroom. The doors were open between us. He had a bundle of her letters tied up in a bulky packet, and began to talk with great discretion. 'I have been putting my affairs in order,' said the systematic young man. 'I may never come back, and at any rate, my absence will be long. I thought it would be better to give you these, lest they fall into alien hands.' 'Why not burn them?' suggested his listener. 'I could not, Leo.' 'I am not so sentimental,' she returned, taking up the packet. 'They shall blaze directly. Do you want your own?' 'Oh, Fred, what a bungler you are!' I thought. 'You misunderstand,' he began, in a desperate tone. 'Fred!' I screamed, as if I were twenty rods distant, 'do come and open this bureau drawer. I can't move it.'