Mademoiselle d'Ermay, though originally of Poitou, was born at Noyou; her father, a man of rank, having spent his fortune at court, emigrated to America, leaving a young wife and his daughter Eugenie, then only six years old, with very slender means of support. Death, ere long, bereft the daughter of her mother's care, when an old aunt brought her desolate condition under the notice of the Archbishop of Paris, by whose recommendation and influence she was placed in a convent in this capital, and received the usual education of a nun, which, though it failed to stifle generous feelings in her bosom, it taught her to conceal them. Trained to keep the secrets of others she became impenetrable as to her own, and hid a proud and resolved spirit under the meekest possible exterior. Mistress of herself, her calmness and presence of mind never for an instant forsook her. "You have seen," continued Madame de T----, "how far Mademoiselle d'Ermay carries disinterestedness, and may thence infer how faithful and devoted a friend she is capable of being; but," added she, "I have a notion she _could_ be a most implacable foe. "The superior of the convent where she was educated was a relation of M. de Fosseux, who often visited her, and thus had opportunities of seeing her youthful charge, and of ascertaining how much she was neglected and even ill-treated. Touched with compassion for her forlorn condition, and smitten by her beauty, he found means of communicating with her, avowed his sentiments, and won her heart. Nothing was easier than to elope from the convent, as M. de Fosseux proposed; but the young lady at once rejected so romantic a mode of proceeding, and went to the superior and simply demanded her liberty. It might have been expected that she would be asked what she was about to do, and whether she was going; but as the old aunt had ceased to pay for her board, and Eugenie was therefore a burden on the establishment, they allowed her to depart unquestioned. She immediately repaired to the house of M. de Fosseux, and their connection was one of unmixed happiness until the late fatal accident dissolved it. I have now told you all I know." "Then, madame," said I, "your friend is, in fact, penniless?" "I cannot say," answered the comtesse; "it is a point on which Eugenie is obstinately silent; she has refused to stay with me, and I think she has had too much experience of convent life ever to go there again; but I believe she has some secret but honorable resource which affords her a decent maintenance. I have already told you that her father went to America, where he died, and his daughter probably got whatever he left behind him."