"And I shall tell him this, if he comes hanging about here where he sees he is not wanted, and stands in the way of a gentleman of good French Huguenot descent, I'll horsewhip him. There!" He turned on his heel, and bounded up the old staircase three steps at a time. "Oh!" ejaculated Louise, as she stood till she heard a sharp tap at her aunt's door and her brother enter and close it after him. "Mr Pradelle, too, of all people in the world!" "Ah, my darling," cried Aunt Margaret, looking up from the tambour-frame and smoothing out the folds of her antique flowered peignoir. "Bring that stool, and come and sit down here." Harry bent down and kissed her rather sulkily. Then in a half-contemptuous way he fetched the said stool, embroidered by the lady herself, and placed it at her feet. "Sit down, my dear." Harry lowered himself into a very uncomfortable position, while Aunt Margaret placed one arm about his neck, struck a graceful pose, and began to smooth over the young man's already too smooth hair. "I want to have another very serious talk to you, my boy," she said. "Ah, yes," she continued, raising his chin and looking down in his disgusted face; "how every lineament shows your descent! Henri, I do not mean to die until I have seen you claim your own, and you are received with acclamation as Comte Henri des Vignes." "I say, aunt, I've just brushed my hair," he protested. "Yes, dear, but you should not hide your forehead. It is the brow of the des Vignes." "Oh, all right, auntie, have it your own way. But, I say, have you got any money?" "Alas! no, my boy." "I don't mean now. I mean haven't you really got any to leave me in your will?" There was a far-off look in Aunt Margaret's eyes as she slowly shook her head. "You will leave me what you have, aunt?" "If I had hundreds of thousands, you should have all, Henri; but, alas, I have none. I had property once." "What became of it?" "Well, my dear, it is a long story and a sad one. I could not tell it to you even in brief, but you are a man now, and must know the meaning of the word love." "Oh; yes, I know what that means; but I say, don't fidget my hair about so." "I could not tell you all, Henri. It was thirty years ago. He was a French gentleman of noble descent. His estates had been confiscated, and I was only too glad to place my little fortune at his disposal to recover them." "And did he?" "No, my dear. Those were terrible times. He lost all; and with true nobility, he wrote to me that he loved me too well to drag me down to poverty--to share his lot as an exile. I have never seen him since. But I would have shared his lot." "Humph! Lost it? Then if I had money and tried for our family estates, I might lose it too." "No, no, my boy; you would be certain to win. Did you do what I told you?" "Yes, aunt; but I can't use them down here." "Let me look, my dear; and I do not see why not. You must be bold; and proud of your descent."