The Bondwoman

a history belonging more to American lives than French. She was of the Caron establishment when Judithe first came into the family, and has charge of a home for aged ladies o

vigne estate––the one forming the only dowery of Judithe

hemselves suited her, their names were uncompromisingly plain––did not attract her at all. She married them, proved a very good wife, but while one was named Johnson, and another Tuttle, the good wife 2 persisted in being called Madame Trouvelot, either through sentiment or a bit of irony towards the owner of that name. But, despite her vanities, her coquetries, and certain erratic phases of her life, she was absolutely faithful to th

people on both sides of the water––who could

lives and delights in recitals of gossip belonging to the days of the Second Empire. The Countess Helene and Mrs. McVeigh had been school friends in Paris. Mrs. McVeigh had been Claire Villanenne, of New Orleans, in those days. At s

ly days;––an impetuous boy held in check, somewhat, by military discipline and his height––he measured six feet at twenty––and also by the fac

with the opposite sex. The fact that he had a little mother who leaned on him and whom he petted extravagantly, just as he did his sister, gave him a manner towards women in general that was both protecting and deferential––a combination productive of very decided results. He was intelligent without being intellectual, had a

udey's; and he looked like one of the pictured Norse sea kings as he towered, sallow

nged about the artiste, and others were congratulating Ma

ip, and on the strength of it the two young men, meeting thus in a foreign country, became at once friends and brothers;––"all celebrities and no one s

returned the young officer, "I have not yet got be

s are all so pretty they spoil you!––and by the same t

the chattering groups to where the

looking mother for the young officer to claim. She met his glance and smiled as he no

France," he confessed. "My French is of the sort to be exploited

Lieutenant McVeigh dropped his hand

e your prejudices by unearthing the C

call it the Irish language,"

m who did. All about them were the softened syllables of France––so provocative,

s new picture, you know, at the Marquise de Caron's;––excuse me a

out. He had not been in France long enough to be imperviou

rm. But the infamous 2d of December had ended all that. He was one of the "provisionally exiled;" he had died in Rome. Madame La Marquise, the dowager Marquise now, was receiving again, said the gossips back of him. The fact was commented on with wonder by Madame Choudey;––with wonder, frank queries, and wild surmises, by the little group around her; for the aged Marquise an

Rome!" and Sidonie Merson raised

er settled for life in her old vine-covered villa; no one e