yonder, Messieurs A—— and Z——; or, let us say, that pale little lady, Miss de Bassompierre?"
"You know what I think of your mother. I have not thought of Messieurs A—— and Z——."
"And the other?"
"I think she is, as you say, a pale little lady—pale, certainly, just now, when she is fatigued with over-excitement."
"You don't remember her as a child?"
"I wonder, sometimes, whether you do?"
"I had forgotten her; but it is noticeable, that circumstances, persons, even words and looks, that had slipped your memory, may, under certain conditions, certain aspects of your own or another's mind, revive."
"That is possible enough."
"Yet," he continued, "the revival is imperfect—needs confirmation, partakes so much of the dim character of a dream, or of the airy one of a fancy, that the testimony of a witness becomes necessary for corroboration. Were you not a guest at Bretton ten years ago, when Mr. Home brought his little girl, whom we then called 'little Polly,' to stay with mama?"
"I was there the night she came, and also the morning she went away."
