“Madame Jean? who is Madame Jean?” said Herbert, whispering to his aunt, after he had bowed to the stranger. Giovanna was anxious about this meeting, and her ears were very sharp, and she heard the question. Her great black eyes shone, and she smiled upon the young man, who was more deeply impressed by her sudden appearance than words could say. “Monsieur,” she said with a curtsey, smiling, “it is the little child who is the person to look at, not me. Me, I am simple Giovanna, the widow of Jean; nobody; but the little boy is most to you: he is the heir.” “The heir?” said Herbert, turning a little pale. He looked round upon the others with bewilderment, asking explanations; then suddenly recollecting, said, “Ah, I understand; the next of kin that was lost. I had forgotten. Then, Aunt Susan, this is _my_ heir?” “Yes,” she said, with blanched lips. She could not have uttered another word, had it been to deliver herself and the race from this burden forever. Giovanna had taken the child into her arms. At this moment she swung him down lightly as a feather on to the raised floor of the porch, where they were all standing. “Jean,” she cried, “ton devoir!” The baby turned his blue eyes upon her, half frightened; then looked round the strange faces about him, struggling with an inclination to cry; then, mustering his faculties, took his little cap off with the gravity of a judge, and flinging it feebly in the air, shouted out, “Vive M. ’Erbert!” “Encore,” cried Giovanna. “Vive Monsieur ’Erbert!” said the little fellow loudly, with a wave of his small hand. This little performance had a very curious effect upon the assembled party. Surprise and pleasure shone in Herbert’s eyes; he was quite captivated by this last scene of his reception; and even Everard, though he knew better, was charmed by the beautiful face and beautiful attitude of the young woman, who stood animated and blooming, like the leader of an orchestra, on the lawn outside. But Reine’s suspicions darted up like an army in ambush all in a moment, though she could not tell what she was suspicious of. As for Miss Susan, she stood with her arms dropped by her side, her face fallen blank. All expression seemed to have gone out from it, everything but a kind of weary pain. “Who is she, Reine? Everard, who is she?” Herbert whispered anxiously, when, some time later, the three went off together to visit their childish haunts; the old playroom, the musicians’ gallery, the ancient corridors in which they had once frolicked. Miss Susan had come upstairs with them, but had left them for the moment. “Tell me, quick, before Aunt Susan comes back.” “Ah!” cried Reine, with a laugh, though I don’t think she was really merry, “this is the old time back again, indeed, when we must whisper and have secrets as soon as Aunt Susan is away.”