"I did, but I was an altered man. I had no longer a purpose to uphold me--the motive for industry was gone. I traveled from city to city, earning plenty of money by my art, but spending it recklessly; and, forgive me, Pauline, wasting it often in the transient excitement of the gaming-table. I was too restless to remain in one place; I sought for change of scene, and for a life of action, for I was forever haunted by the memory of your unhappy fate; and one day I found myself in San Francisco, homeless and penniless. I had flung away my last dollar at the gaming-table. It was then that I resolved on accumulating a second fortune, and returning to France once more to seek for you. A sudden inspiration seemed to take possession of my mind; I felt that in all I had done, I had not done enough, and I determined to redouble my efforts, and devote the remainder of my life to the search for you." "And you have succeeded." "Ay, Pauline, in so unlooked for a manner, that I almost doubt now if this is not some strange but rapturous dream." "You have arrived at New Orleans in time to assist at my wedding." "Your wedding?" "Yes, this day I become the wife of a wealthy Spaniard." "Pauline!" "Armand!" She held out her hand to him as she spoke, and in the expression of that one word, "Armand," there was enough to tell him that he had no cause for fear. He lifted the little hand to his lips and covered it with kisses. He was interrupted by the entrance of the mulattress, Pepita, who brought a sealed packet addressed to Pauline Corsi, in the hand of Silas Craig. Pauline took the packet, and glanced carelessly at the address. "Has Mr. Lisimon arrived yet, Pepita?" she asked. "He has, mademoiselle; he is in the drawing-room." "Very good, Pepita; and Donna Camillia, where is she?" "In her own room, mademoiselle." The mulattress retired. Pauline broke the seals of the envelope, and took from it a parchment document, folded in an oblong form. Upon the flap of the envelope were written these words: "I send you that which you required of me. The advertisement appears in to-day's paper.--S.C." "Come, Armand," said Pauline, "I have changed much since you first knew me; the bitter wrongs of my youth had a terrible influence upon my womanhood. I have been ambitious, heartless, mercenary, designing; but with your return my old nature comes back to me, and the fresh feelings of my girlhood revive." "My dearest Pauline! but this marriage--that bridal wreath." "Shall be worn by me, but not to-day. Tell me, Armand, do you still love me, the nameless orphan, the spurious child, as you did, when you thought me the heiress of one of Italy's proudest dukes? Have your feelings for me undergone no change since you learned that secret?" "They have, Pauline, a very great change." "Armand!" "Yes, my beloved, and the change is that you are ten times dearer to me to-day than you were ten years ago; for I have known what it is to lose you."