MADAME was born in Baltimore, and at the age of eighteen she became acquainted with Baron R, who accompanied the French minister to this country. She was younger than the handsome foreigner by three years, and such was her beauty and wealth that he loved her devotedly at once. Amid much stir and golden bustle they were married with Protestant rites, and the happy girl departed for France with a train of her worshiping school-mates. The day on which they bade their adieux was one of the rarest of the year. The air had a Sicilian softness, the sky was unblemished by a single cloud, the glowing expanse of the sea invited, and a whole city came to bid them godspeed. Her name was upon every lip, and they who beheld her upon the deck of the ship always remembered her radiant face. It was a picture which filled their eyes and their hearts. The young republican was full of serene ecstasy, and her warm glance fell now upon her brave husband, now upon her thronging friends, and now upon her beloved land. People brought their children to be kissed by the "baroness;" the gardeners adorned her surroundings with flowers; the mothers and grandmothers prayed for her in secret.

In the interval between her departure and her return there occurred the coupd'état of Napoleon III. The husband, the Baron R- was an Imperialist; therefore his star was in the ascendant. People in America rejoiced at the splendid fortunes of the wife, and the glory of those marvelous days was transmitted across the ocean. It was gallant news to hear; that of fetes, journeys, and royal excursions, and of splendid preferments. The name of the beautiful American was always prominent; it was constantly coupled with that of the empress, and it seemed that they were good friends. Travelers who returned from abroad brought accounts of the

exile, and it appeared that her career was what might be called a luminous one, so filled was it with the delights of a happy and prosperous court.

The interval I have referred to was one of twenty-five years. At the end of that time the baroness returned to this country, arriving in New York. She was bent, she hobbled with a cane, and she brought two trunks.

A policeman procured a carriage and she begged him to purchase a newspaper for her. She examined its crowded columns, and she thrust a pin into a notice of lodgings to let in a private hotel. She bade the driver hasten thither and draw up opposite the house so that she might examine it.

Then she sank back into the farthest corner of the carriage, and drew her shawls about her. The day was stormy, the street was sombre, and the pavement was covered with mud. Now and then the horses came to a stop in the midst of a mob of drays, and the shouts and oaths of the drivers filled the air. The feeble and unresisting lady was tossed here and there by the rude collisions, and she was stunned by the noise. The terrible clangor of wheels, bells, and voices benumbed her ears, the hurry of everything confused her eyes, and her thoughts, distracted and fragmentary, overwhelmed her brain and made a child of her.

Her destination was three miles off, and on the western side of the city. When she arrived she lowered the window-sash and contemplated the house. It had several excellent qualities. It was retired; that is, it was in a quiet street. It had a low basement, which would obviate the necessity of climbing a long flight of steps an important advantage. Several of the blinds were closed, which indicated that the house was not thronged. Two neat maids were cleansing the windows; a proof that the landlord was particular: two men were just

finishing the storing of a load of coke instead of coal under the sidewalk; an indication that he was economical and that his prices were not great.

The lady installed herself under this roof. She occupied a parlor on the first floor; she would have gone higher, had she been younger and had she been richer. She at once established herself.

She sent out and purchased two or three prints and two or three vases and a handful of flowers. She also purchased one of those bedsteads which may be folded up in the day-time. She secreted her somneau and her trunks behind a screen of figured baize, and thus she eked a chamber out of her drawing-room.

She procured the services of a maid; engaged her meals from a neighboring hotel; arranged that a carriage should come at eleven o'clock on each warm day, and made a list of the best physicians upon a bit of paper which she kept in the fly-leaves of her book of Common Prayer. She contracted this routine. She arose at nine, listened while her maid read the lessons of the day, ate a breakfast of rice and toast and marmalade, was dressed for out-ofdoors, and after her return from a ride she rested and dozed before a fire until dinner-time at six, when she ate frugally, and then retired to bed again.

Now and then a splendid equipage would arrive with aged visitors for her, and it was always noticed that they wept as they went away, and that they never came again. It was also noticed that after these calls Madame walked for a while without a cane, and that she walked a great deal. They seemed to arouse her and quicken her spirit.

One day she received a letter from France. It was in a blue envelope.

Presently the wife of the landlord was sent for. She had never entered the room before.

She beheld her lodger seated in a deep chair which almost touched the ground, laughing heartily. Tears ran down her wrinkled cheeks, and the lace upon her cap trembled as if agitated by a breeze.

She cried out suddenly with a harsh and penetrating voice,

"He is coming! He is coming!"

She shook the letter. The maid stood behind her, nervously knotting the fringe of the chair. The woman, who was shrewd and experienced, diverted her attention to something else.

"I don't think your seat can be a comfortable one, Madame. It is too low. I think it would be easier if you were to raise it with a cushion."

"Yes—yes, that is true. your hands and I will get up."

Give me

She was assisted to her feet and her cane was given to her. She fixed it on the floor and endeavored to steady herself, but her arms and limbs trembled. This was something new. A deep gravity overspread her face while she was thus struggling with herself. She looked down and attentively regarded the involuntary agitation of the skirts of her dress. The steel point of the cane which touched the hearth beat a tattoo. Presently she looked up with a significant smile and said to the landlady,

"You see that I want another cane. One is not enough; I must have two.”

Thereafter she walked at a snail's pace and like a quadruped. The landlady heard no more of the letter from France, neither did the maid; it disappeared, and the old lady kept her own counsel.

Shortly after this she declared on one beautiful morning, when the air was warm and the sun was bright, that she was tired, and she refused to ride. The maid, whose eyes were wide open, regarded this infringement upon old habits with solicitude. She remarked that her mistress now fell asleep more easily than before, and that it was harder to arouse her.

There were two amusements which occupied the invalid's time in her wakeful hours, one being a pretty game of solitaire, and the other the sorting and rearranging of numerous pieces of lace of delicate and intricate fabrication. In the early part of the afternoons she would dissolve some lumps of sugar in a glass of water, place it ready to her

"Then it is high time I should be prepared. Take these — there is a cap, a collar, and a pair of sleeves -- and place them where you can reach them at a moment's notice; to-morrow, when I am not so tired, I will select a dress, and you will put that with the lace. Be ready to dress me in them at any time." Pretty soon the old lady deemed it wasteful to require that a carriage should be brought to the door only to be sent away again empty, and so she stopped it. She compensated for this pleasure by sending for a physician every day.

Now and then, while moving her thinning hands, a ring would drop off and roll away upon the carpet. "Ah!" she would say, half aloud, "the vanity of gold and vanity of flesh begin to desert the skeleton at the same time."

It did not appear that her present abode was a resting-place only. She never hinted of going away; she never spoke of unfulfilled desires, or projected designs. She seemed tranquil and

fixed.

Seated, hour in and hour out, in her deeply hollowed chair, she pursued a melancholy pastime. When her cards and her laces palled upon her, she searched for evidences of her failure, for flaws in her health. She examined with unrelenting persistence the little trifles which went to show that her death was approaching.

When she fancied she perceived a whiter pallor in her cheeks, she spent the day with a hand-glass. If she imagined that the cords in her neck were stiffening a little, she would endeavor to catch the old studied poses that she had used in the days of her coquetry. If she dreamed that her memory was

something less active, she would chant and hum the most ancient of her songs, the most difficult of the foreign airs and roundelays, and perhaps in the midst of them would begin to nod and would fall asleep.

She forbore to interest herself about the other inmates of the house until one day when she was at a loss. She was seized with a desire to ride, but it was stormy and therefore impossible. She began to gossip with the landlady, who had come in to inquire after her health.

"There is a lady up-stairs who interests me," said the visitor," she seems to be very poor, but I cannot bring myself to treat her harshly."

"Tell me," said Madame in a pleasant voice.

"She is a Cuban," continued the landlady, "and her name is Aldama. She has a husband in France, and he is coming to see her pretty soon. She has been here nearly three months, and she has reached the top of the house. She commenced by living in the parlors over this one, but as her stock of money decreased she ascended, and she is now just under the roof. She has a pretty child, five years of age, and she is very beautiful herself."

"And what does she do all these long hours?"

"Oh," responded the other, "she tries her fate upon a little table with a pack of cards. It takes up her time, and it amuses her to decide something either one way or the other."

"Do you think she would like to come and visit me here?" "Yes," replied the other, "I think she would."

"Then arrange it for us."

When the invited lady entered Madame's apartment, she found her in good spirits. She arose with great effort from her chair, and after poising herself she put out one of her small hands and smiled more warmly than she had upon any one. The lady pleased her.

She was small and pale, and she was dressed in black. Her rich hair adorned her head, not burdened it. Her coun

tenance betrayed a profound sadness of heart and at the same time a divine sweetness of spirit. The carriage of her head, the attitude of her body, and her very step, which was tardy and gentle, was that of one who had suffered deeply.

She advanced toward her aged hostess with the indescribable manner of one who flies to repose, or who hastens to a shelter.

The timid hand-clasp became a kiss; the kiss became an embrace; it was the confluence of two hearts; that of a mother, and that of a daughter.

There was a fire upon the hearth, and they sat down before it with their chairs close together. They entered at once upon that sudden intimacy which is obtainable only by perfect accordance. Nothing can equal the love generated by first glances.

On one hand the questions were, Why do you suffer so much? Why did you leave your home to come to this barren land? How much longer must you wait for relief? On the other: Why are you here? you who have been so great, so admired, so honored. What terrible disaster has befallen you, the divine baroness? tell me, so that I may take heart again.

By degrees the answers came from either side, and they were not given as answers, but as complete and voluntary expositions.

At

One said: "I am here because my husband has got tired of me. He has thrown away my fortune and has not loved me in return. The title of baroness,' I found, did not fill the heart. In all the glory of a life at court my spirit failed because I was alone. home they believed I was happy, but it was a mistake, a great mistake. I followed my husband hither and thither, except when he bade me stay in my hotel, and I supplied him with money; that was enough for him. Now I learn that he is coming here in search of me; his letter says that he comes repentant, but I know that he comes poor. I am not desirous of meeting him again, even though I have possessed his name for a

"What, with the name of Aldama?” "Yes," persisted the other, but with a blush. Madame noticed the blush and quietly reflected upon it. The story proceeded. "He came to Havana on a mission from his government. I met him at Puerto Principe. He was over forty years of age, and he was handsome, and his breast was covered with decorations. That delighted me. I married him; I left my home to do so, but we were married for all that. one year he went away to France. He said the government wanted him, and I could not help thinking he was a great deal of a slave. But he wrote to me every month. Pretty soon there was a revolution in our country. Then I became poor, as the Spaniards seized our estates. I remained in Havana until I was warned away. Then I came here."

In

This was the substance of a long story delivered with a broken voice and in a broken tongue. Madame's eyes rested upon her with tenderness but with great persistence. Now and then she shed a few tears, and frequently a soft convulsion would stir her wrinkled face.

One day the poor girl placed her hand in that of her friend, and cried despairingly,

"I weet for heem and he doos not coom. 1 grow tired, I tink he cheat mee, den I pray for deeth. My moder has gone away, my fader has gone away, and de cruel Spaniards, dey have shot my good broder- O mye!-O mye!- O mye! I loove my hoosband and my leetle babe, but dere is no one to loove me.

The young wife and the old wife mourned together. It became the daily custom for the Cuban to descend from her dismal garret to the warm parlors, with her child, and there to sit until night returned.