friend's scanty stores were arranged that would have appealed even to Adéle's heart, if she had not been intent on self-preservation. "You must excuse me, Lucy," she said, as she shook out Lucy's frocks and unrolled her stockings; "I only serve you as I serve me myself—it is nearly finished, and then, as me, you will be tranquil—one thing more, and we have done—look, madame!" she took the last article, a cotton petticoat, from the bottom of the trunk, unfolded, and shook it. The cape fell from within it! There was a general exclamation. Adéle's reiterated "Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!" drowned every other. After the first burst of surprise Mrs. Hartell seemed entirely occupied with examining a zigzag tear in the cape, which marred her pleasure in her recovered property; a pleasure that otherwise would have engrossed her to the exclusion of all emotion at the discovery of such guilt in an apparently innocent young creature; for, in her eyes, Lucy was but a little servant girl; a species of the human genus with whom she had about as much sympathy as with the bees and the silkworm, whom she fancied were created solely to make honey for the table, and spin silk for ladies to wear. "Oh, Lucy! how could you? how could you?" exclaimed Ophelia, mortified and grieved.
Lucy was near fainting, and pale as death. Ophelia's exclamation brought the colour to her face, and tears and voice to her relief. "I did not take the cape," she said; "I don't know how it came into my trunk—Adéle must know!"
"Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu! listen, madame! You have never seen one such bold person—one
