Little Marie learned by degrees to smile again, and in after years married another arrow-head maker, as swarthy and as shaggy as the Black Beaver. There is no moral to my story except that of poetic justice. Père François Xavier had sown a plentiful crop of stratagems, and he learned in the lonely forest that "Whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap." Meanwhile to all but you, my readers, the Crèvecoeur cameo remains as great a mystery as ever. LIZZIE W. CHAMPNEY. MONSIEUR DELILLE. NOTE-BOOK OF A SECRETARY OF LEGATION. The newspapers of Berlin announced the arrival of a superior artist, the celebrated M. Delille of the Théâtre Français de Paris, where he had played first parts. Born and bred in the French metropolis, it was believed he would not only open new sources of amusement to the public, but add elegance to the French even of the highest regions. Everybody was talking of him. His acquisition, rendered possible only by a _différend_ with the Paris manager, was a triumph for Berlin. I was quite curious to see him. One day I stepped into Rey's perfumery shop to buy some cologne water. The rooms were crowded with fashionable ladies looking over the glittering and fragrant assortment of _savons de toilette_, _pâtes d'amandes_, _huiles essentielles_, _eaux de vie aromatisées_, etc. While making my purchase, a very handsome fellow came in who excited unusual attention. His toilette _recherchée_, his noble but modest air made one look at him again and again. He spoke with Rey in a voice so harmonious and in such French as one does not hear every day even in Paris. I heard a lady whisper to another: "Ah, voilà qui est parlez Français (that is the way to speak French)." The stranger was certainly _somebody_, or so many furtive glances would not have been cast at him. I might, by inquiry, easily have ascertained who he was, but I found a kind of pleasure in prolonging my curiosity. The Emperor Nicholas of Russia was daily expected. He was supposed to be the handsomest man in the world. But he was six feet two, taller than this person. The Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin had arrived the previous afternoon; but, it seemed to me, no German could speak French with just that modulation. The Prince de Joinville was expected. Perhaps it was he. "Will you kindly give yourself the trouble to send the box to M. Delille, Friedrich strasse 30?" Ah ha! _Le voilà!_ There was my man. Strange I had not thought of him.