"Not in my case, Mr. Duhamel. You always warned me to expect my step-mother to defraud me. But for that I should probably have tried to get a wife long ago."
"Yes, of course I did. And I turned out right, you see."
"Not quite right in the end. She quarrelled with her husband, and forgave me. Her death, about three weeks ago, has given me back all that my father left to her."
Mr. Duhamel gazed at his visitor with a face where dismay gradually gave way to congratulation." Well, well; I always said you would get nothing from her while she lived," he said emphatically. "And so now you have got two fortunes?"
"Only one. And I am reasonable enough to be satisfied."
"But you said just now that you had made sure of your bride's money?"
"No, Mr. Duhamel; only of my father's. As for my bride, I hope I am sure of her, but I should like to have your consent."
"My consent?" repeated Mr. Duhamel, bewildered.
"Yes, please, dear uncle," said Anne, quietly coming to the side of her lover.
"What! Anne? What do you both mean?"
"Uncle, you do not wish me to be an old maid? " murmured Anne, smiling.
"No, child, no. Bless me!" said Mr. Duhamel, "who would ever have thought it? But she has no money at all to speak of!"
"Quite enough for me," answered Sir George;" thanks to my stepmother."
Mr. Duhamel here left the pair and trotted back to the study, where Claire and Emile were entertaining one another. "Come with me, young people," he said, "and don't fancy you've got all the love-making to yourselves. Ah, I did suspect it once." He led the way to the drawing-room, and announced cheerfully: "Here is my son-in-law, Sir George — fairly caught at last, you see."
"De Bellechasse!" cried Sir George, as Emile came in with Claire; "are you here? Welcome to England!" and while they shook hands, he looked expectantly for the appearance of Mr. Duhamel's son-in-law, Eugène.
"De Bellechasse!" repeated Mr. Duhamel and Claire together.
"Certainly," answered Sir George. "I did not know you were acquainted."
"But, my dear fellow, this is Eugène Bertand," asseverated Mr. Duhamel.
"Mr. Duhamel," answered Emile, "do me the favor to own that I never said so."
"You called yourself De Bellechasse, certainly," Mr. Duhamel owned — "for a whim."
"Was it for a whim that I was called De Bellechasse in Paris, Sir George?"
"I have no reason to think so. Your conduct has always been honorable and straightforward. But what does all this mean?"
Claire had left Emile's side, and clung fast to her father's arm; both father and daughter looked confounded. It was Anne who came to the rescue.
"My dear uncle," she said, "you have only made a slight mistake, and one easily mended. This gentleman is not your old friend's son, but he seems very willing to act as if he were — why not let him?"
"Yes," added Emile eagerly;" only try me, Mr. Duhamel — Claire, don't, I beg of you, don't send me away!"
Claire could not help smiling; and Mr. Duhamel saw a way out of his dilemma.
"As you will, then," said he, suffering his good-humored face to beam on the circle. "But you are the only people I ever knew who were clever enough to mislead me."
THOUGHTS OF AN OUTSIDER: INTERNATIONAL PREJUDICES.
When General Grant delivered an address the other day upon the opening of the Exhibition at Philadelphia, we courteously expressed our surprise that he had not talked greater nonsense. He indulged in pretty good common sense instead of soaring into the regions of bombast upon the wings of the American eagle. He even admitted that Americans might have something to learn from Europe; and that the inevitable struggle with material obstacles had distracted their attention from the pursuits more immediately interesting to the intellect and the imagination. This, doubtless, was all as it should be. A certain lowering of the old tone of patriotic bluster is perceptible just now throughout the world. It is curious to notice the great waves of sentiment which sweep at intervals across whole nations. Popular fits of depression and exultation seem to propagate themselves like the cholera. At one period in the life of a people everything seems to be rose-colored. A great chorus of self-satisfaction
