"I have never seen Josephine again, monsieur. She is now, I am told, a coryphee in one of the public dancing halls. She dropped her old name for one that I do not know, coined according to her habit of improvising upon all manner of subjects some of the wildest of songs. In short, she is lost forever. And yet, the girl had excellent qualities of heart. You now understand, monsieur, the cause of the sad emotion that came over me when you mentioned Josephine's name a minute ago." "Your emotion testifies in favor of your heart, Monsieur George. You have been calumniated. I doubted the truth of what I was told; I am now certain. Let us say no more upon that subject. I now wish to tell you what happened at my house three days ago. I was, in the evening, in my wife's room, together with my daughter. The girl had sat silent and meditative for a while. Suddenly, taking my hand and her mother's, she said to us: 'I have a secret to confide to you. I have long put off speaking, because I have long been reflecting, lest I speak hastily. I love Monsieur George Duchene'--" "Great God! monsieur," cried George, clasping his hands, and seized with inexpressible ecstasy. "Is it possible! Mademoiselle, your daughter!" "That was the language of my daughter to us," proceeded Lebrenn with deliberation. "'I am pleased, my child, at your frankness,' I answered her; 'but how came this love about?' 'First, father, through learning of George's conduct towards his grandfather; then through hearing you often praise his character, his industrious habits, and his efforts to cultivate his mind. Finally, he won his way to my heart with his gentle and refined manners, with his frankness, and his conversation, as I heard him talk with you. I never said to him a word that could make him suspect my sentiments for him. On his part, he never dropped his extreme reserve towards me. I would be happy were he to share the sentiments I entertain for him, and if you, father and mother, think such a marriage proper. If you think otherwise I shall respect your wishes, knowing that you respect my freedom. If I can not marry Monsieur George I shall remain single. You have often told me, father, that I had a will of my own. You will not doubt my resolution. If this marriage be out of the question, you will not find me either sulky or dejected. Your affection will console me. Ever happy, as in the past, I shall ever care for you, for mother and for brother. I have told you the truth. Now, I wish you to decide. I shall wait.'" George listened to Lebrenn with ever increasing astonishment. He could not believe his own ears. Finally he cried in broken accents: "Monsieur, is this a dream?"