But Dr. Willett was quite equal to playing host, and taking the lead in all the clever talk going on at his table, between his old friend, who slily looked amused--an artist, a gentleman with a rich wife, and a beauty--and two ladies; the younger members hearing, and saying nothing, but wondering at Uncle Jonathan's ease and eloquence. But there came a break to this; Madame Giche would like Inna to bring her artist father and his friend to the Owl's Nest, to be introduced to her, and to see the pictures, some of which were supposed to be good. So one day they all went, Inna feeling the importance of the part she had to play, and hoping she should come out of it all gracefully. Ah! she need not have disquieted herself. Sweetly gracious was Madame Giche, wrapped about with a black lace shawl, sitting by the wood fire in the tapestried room, and rising in her stately way when Inna led the gentlemen in, holding a hand of each, and saying-- "Madame Giche, this is papa, and this is Mr. Mortimer." Little dreamt she what would follow, nor they either. Inna fancied she heard her aged friend murmur, like an echo, her last word, "Mortimer!" as she glided from them, to stand by her side, then---- "Hugh!" they all heard that: 'twas like a musical wail of gladness; and Madame Giche sank into her high-backed chair--like a snowflake was her face for whiteness--and fainted. "She is dead! Madame Giche is dead!" sobbed the little girl, but Long, whom they hastily summoned, said-- "No, miss; 'tis only a faint," and asked if the gentlemen would carry her to her chamber, so that she could be revived in quiet. This Mr. Weston did, lingering with his little daughter and Mr. Mortimer on the terrace outside, to hear tidings of the poor lady's state before leaving. Here a servant came to them before many minutes had passed, though the time seemed long to them in their perplexity. Madame Giche was better, she said, but begged them to excuse her seeing them now, and would they come by appointment to-morrow, at ten o'clock? You may be sure Inna lived in a state of continual excitement and curiosity, so mysterious was Madame Giche's fainting fit to her, for the remainder of that day and until ten o'clock on the morrow; and when she saw the two gentlemen set forth alone for the interview, she not being needed now, she felt like a very inquisitive little girl, who did not half like being left behind and so not to see and hear what might happen next. In the meantime, the two arrived at the Owl's Nest, and reached the tapestried room, where Madame Giche, still like a snowflake for paleness, and sweetly weak and trembling, received them, not rising from her chair this time. Ah! well, it was no time for ceremony. Question followed question from the poor old lady's lips as to who was Mr. Weston's father, when born, his real name, and so forth, until the artist sat down and told her his story--for he had one.