"No," replied Helene; "but when your hand clasps mine, a strange thrill passes through me."
"Speak to me, Helene," said the unknown, with an expression of tenderness. "I know already that you are beautiful, but this is the first time I have heard your voice. Speak—I am listening."
"But have you seen me, then?" asked Helene.
"Do you remember that two years ago the abbess had your portrait taken?"
"Yes, I remember—an artist came expressly from Paris."
"It was I who sent him."
"And was the portrait for you?"
"It is here," said the unknown, taking from his pocket a miniature, which Helene could feel, though she could not see it.
"But what interest could you have in the portrait of a poor orphan?"
"Helene, I am your father's friend."