meet with one so truly congenial to her own.
Another week elapsed without any thing material happening, during which the Countess heard from her daughter; she gave the letter to Madeline to read, and the vivacity with which it was written, and the assurance it contained of her own health and happiness, clearly proved that Madame D'Alembert was entirely ignorant of her mother's late illness and disquietude.
The wonder of Madeline was increased at finding she concealed this disquietude even from her daughter. Surely, she thought, its source must indeed be painful when she thus hides it from those who are most interested about her.
In vain she tried to assign some cause for it in her own mind; the more she thought upon it, the more impossible she found it to conjecture from what or from whom it pro-
