"And you, then, are the mother of the beautiful child, I wish to adopt?" asked Madame Vincent, gazing admiringly at Rose.

Our heroine's long lashes drooped upon a cheek that crimsoned like the heart of a June rose, as she timidly answered:

"Yes, madame."

"You are extremely pretty, child, and very young to be a mother. Have you any other children?"

"None," replied Rose, "but Charley."

"And you would not give him up to me?" asked madame, coaxingly. "Do you think his father would object?"

"His father is dead, madame," said Rose, in a low voice.

"Pardon me, child, I did not know that you were a widow. I am a widow. It is very dull, being a widow; don't you think so, dear? Did your husband leave you property?"

"No," replied Rose, answering the inexcusable question, for she could not bear to seem disrespectful to Vincent's mother.

"That is a pity, dear; my husband left me plenty. I shall will it all to Charley, if you will only give him up to me. What was your husband's name, dear."

"Vincent L'Estrange Vincent;" answered Rose, startled at the strange sound of her own voice.

"Singular! Same name as my son's," said madame, "Very singular."

"He was your son;" said Rose, in the same strange, cold tone.

"My son never was married;" replied madame.

"God knows he told me we were so, and I believed him," answered Rose.

"He made believe marry you, then, did he?" asked the childish old lady. "He did that to a great many women, I believe. Gentlemen often do such things, so they tell me. Your child is of course illegitimate then."

Rose's lips moved, but no answer came.

"And what do you intend to do with him, child?"

"Bring him up to despise the sin of which his father was guilty," replied Rose, boldly.

"Oh yes, that's all very proper; but if you give him to me, there will be no occasion ever to mention it at all, or you either, child."

"Madame," said Rose, with a proud dignity. "Is it a mother who speaks to a mother such words as these? You love your son none the less that he made my name a reproach and a by-word, crimsoned my innocent cheek with shame, dimmed my eyes with unavailing tears. Shall I, think you, love my son the less that your son deserted him? Shall I love my son the less that through days and nights of tearful anguish his smile, his love, was all of heaven I ever dared to look for?"

"Oh, certainly not—oh, of course not," replied the old lady, nervously; "but you know he may not always love you as well as he does now, when he knows—"

"In God I put my trust;" said Rose, as tears streamed from her eyes.

"Well, don't cry, child—don't cry. I hate to see people cry. All I wanted to say was, that you would always be a drag on him, if he tried to rise in the world; but don't cry. It is right for you to trust in God, every body ought to be pious, it is so respectable. I have been confirmed myself; but don't cry, it will spoil your handsome eyes. You are young yet, perhaps somebody may marry you, if you keep quiet about this."

"I would never so deceive any man," answered Rose, with dignity.

"Deceive! oh, no, child, that would be very wrong. I only meant that you should say nothing about it; that is a different thing, you see. Now I loved a Mr. Perry much better than I did my husband, but it would have been quite foolish had I allowed it to be known, you know, because Vincent was very rich, and it was necessary I should have a handsome establishment. Oh, no! of course I do not approve of deception, that is very wrong, but there are cases where it is best for a woman to keep quiet. Well, how about Charley? have you quite decided not to part with him?"

"Quite," said Rose, "Charley must remain with me;" and, with a dignified air, she bowed madame to her carriage.