at her heart of ice; the crime of permitting that
heart to melt to the extent of a single tear? It
may have been. She drank off three glasses of
brandy one after the other, as they were handed
to her by her obsequious manager. Then rose,
stood erect, and with a wave of her hand cast
her thoughts and her feelings away from her, as
one would cast a pebble into the sea. " C'est
fini," she said; " I am better now. Let us go.
and view the château."

McVariety seemed to be quite relieved when
the countess recovered her ordinary humour;
for the mood into which she had been sinking
perplexed and troubled him. He was troubled
as he would have been if a performing horse of
his, noted for kicking and throwing his rider,
had suddenly shown a disposition to be docile
and steady.

The manager led the way to the drawing-
room, and the countess followed briskly, singing
a snatch of a gay reckless French song.

"What do you say, countess, is this your
style?" he said, as he threw open the door of
the gilded apartment. The proprietor of ten
thousand extra lamps had not miscalculated the
effect of the gilding and the brass cornices and
the ormolu chandelier. The countess was
delighted.

"C'est magnifique, c'est charmant!" she said.
"Monsieur McVariety, you are the prince of
managers, and be assured that the disinterestedness
of your regard for me has my highest
consideration. You are a pattern to your profession,
mon bon enfant, and I hope, when you die,
you will be stuffed and put into a museum as an
encouragement to managers. Ah! I see your
honest face mantle with gratification at the
doing of a good deed; but, ma foi, I have known
managers who, if they had caught themselves
performing a virtuous action, would have said
their prayers for once in their lives, and asked
to be forgiven. But you—vous êtes la perle
des entrepreneurs."

"Thank you, countess. I'm very much obliged
to you," said Mr. McVariety, with a knowing
look; " I'm glad you appreciate what I have done
for you; for you see I've got the Cottage up
regardless of expense. Come and see the
bedrooms. This one's for you; a snug crib, ain't
it? light, comfortable, and airy, with elegance
into the bargain."

"Charmante! charmante!" The countess
was pleased, or feigned to be pleased, with
everything.

"And this little one," said Mr. McVariety,
leading the way into the dainty white chamber,
"is for missy."

"For missy!" said the countess. "Pour-
quoi? Because it is all in white? Why not
for me? White is the emblem of purity, is it
not? Why not for me then, monsieur? Ha!"
And she grinned that horrible grin of hers.

"Oh, well," said the manager, " if you like
this one best, you can have it.. Please yourself,
countess, but I thought you would prefer the
large one."

"Monsieur Mac," said the countess, tapping
the manager on the arm with her riding-whip,
"you did not think anything of the kind. l am
not a fool, Monsieur Mac; but no matter, the
imp shall have this dainty room; the little devil
shall be rolled in snow. She shall be my
guardian angel." And she leered at the manager
knowingly as she spoke.

Mr. McVariety had seen a good many theatrical
mothers and guardians in his time; he knew
how heartless, how ruthless, how rapacious they
were; but he had never known one to equal this
terrible Frenchwoman. He was very glad to
escape from her to the bustle of his managerial
duties, in which he was accustomed to forget
many things in connexion with his profession
which it was not pleasant to dwell upon and
think about.

When he had gone, the countess called for
Lily. The girl entered the room timidly and
doubtfully.

"Come forward, child," said the countess;
"nearer, close to me. There. Listen. I am
your mother. Do you hear that?"

Lily answered with a faint "Yes."

"Your father," continued the countess, " was
a scoundrel, a cheat, a beggar. He deceived
me, beat me like a dog, degraded me, and at last
left me to the mercy of the world. He died as
he had lived—a beggar—and yet he left nie a
legacy. Do you know what that legacy was?"

The countess repeated the question fiercely,
and Lily answered falteringly, "No."

"Then I will tell you," said the countess.
"You were that legacy. Do you understand?
No? Then you shall. I am your mother, you
are my daughter. It is the duty of a daughter
to obey her mother in all things. You shall
obey me in all things. Do you hear?"

Lily stood before her mother, trembling and
with downcast eyes, and answered, " I hear."

NOSES OUT OF JOINT.

IT is not pleasant to have anything out of
joint. A finger out of joint can neither wear
diamonds nor darn a stocking; a shoulder out
of joint cannot carry a musket nor a hod—
scarcely a shoulder-knot or an epaulette; Pisgah
cannot be climbed if the foot or the ankle, the
hip or the knee, has started from its socket; but
the most uncomfortable, though not the most
unserviceable, of all is when the nose is put out of
joint, as it is so often, by the intervention of a
foreign body between it and its aspirations. For
years you go on in your appointed path of life
with your nose in perfect order. It may be
Roman, or it may be Grecian, aquiline perhaps,
or perhaps only a common-place snub, but it is
straight, at all events, and with bones and
cartilages undamaged; when suddenly Fate
doubles her fist and gives you a tremendous blow,
putting your nose out of joint for the rest of
your natural term.

Take the example, known more or less
intimately to us all, of the favourite brother or
sister to whom you were everything in the